Winter brings with it some interesting challenges, especially if one parks his car outside.

Yes, I’m often absent-minded—I admit it. A couple of weeks ago we had a 12-degree morning here in Columbus. Here is an approximate record of the sequence of events that ensued:

  1. Walk out front door, put bags in car, start car.
  2. Open garage, take stocking-stuffer de-icer off shelf, spray windshield.
  3. Put back de-icer.
  4. Close garage door.
  5. Realize that I started the car with the wrong key chain.
  6. Decide to de-ice front step.
  7. Re-open garage door to get salt.
  8. Salt front step.
  9. Put back salt.
  10. Close garage door.
  11. Turn off car to get to house keys so I can lock house.
  12. Go inside and get rest of bags.
  13. Lock house, restart car, put bags in car, and head off.

As I said, I’m a little absent-minded, but suffice it to say that in the winter there are more such steps required to get where you need to go. Winter just has a different, slower, sometimes clunkier rhythm associated with it.

I guess I’ve come to appreciate the change in the seasons more than I used to, even though each season brings its own challenges. We get winter’s cold, but we get winter’s beauty and the coziness of home and Christmastime. Sometimes summer gets really hot, but it’s often sunny and there’s more daylight to enjoy with our families, friends, and neighbors.

And behind it all stands a wonderfully creative God who seems to enjoy variety—not necessarily the variety that comes by being overly busy or overcommitted, but the simpler variety that lies all around us in His creation.

Let’s thank Him for His goodness.

—Beau Stanley

Those of you who were watching NBC’s most recent broadcast of Sunday Night Football may have ended up unexpectedly taking in a speech by President Obama, as I did.

Early in the game the network broke from covering football to provide live coverage of President Obama’s remarks at the Sandy Hook interfaith prayer vigil. Mr. Obama’s words were replete with spiritual and biblical references, including a direct quotation of 2 Corinthians 4:16-5:1. Much in the speech was noteworthy, but today I’d just like to highlight Mr. Obama’s use of a helpful but vanishing four-letter word: “evil.”

In commending the community of Newtown, Connecticut, for its response to Friday’s tragic events, President Obama said that Newtown had acted “in the face of unconscionable evil.” Later he conceded that “no single law, no set of laws, can eliminate evil from our world, or prevent every senseless act of violence in our society.”

Mr. Obama’s use of the term “evil” here is consistent with the Bible’s description of it. Evil has been around for a long time—it has been in our world since the events of Genesis 3—and it’s not going anywhere until Jesus establishes the new heaven and new earth (Revelation 21:4 ESV). Furthermore, we need not mute our appraisal of morally repugnant acts like murdering 26 people, including 20 children, by making this a matter of opinion. The president wasn’t saying, “This was unconscionable evil, in my opinion.” He was saying, “This was unconscionable evil, period.”

We would do well to recognize that such statements, which rightly resonate with us, are impossible in a morally relativistic framework. If we abandon the concept of absolute truth and morality, we also abandon the right to label even the most heinous acts as heinous in any universal sense. The best we could do is to say, “I find them heinous”—a much weaker and immeasurably less satisfying position. When we honestly wrestle with the repulsion we feel toward evil acts, we know that our repulsion is rooted in something much deeper than preference and individual perception.

Please join me in praying for the families affected by this unconscionable evil.

—Beau Stanley

I wouldn’t classify myself as a confrontational person, but I have had some confrontations in my life, some of them memorable. My first memorable confrontation occurred in the second grade. It was precipitated not by a bully’s cruelty, but by my teacher’s fondness for calling me “motor mouth.”

In his defense, the title was probably deserved, but my parents used this as a character-building exercise. They encouraged me to tell my teacher that the name bothered me. I told him, and I don’t think he ever referred to me as motor mouth again. That doesn’t mean that I’ve never been verbose since then, I’m afraid.

James tells us to be “quick to hear, slow to speak, [and] slow to anger” (James 1:19), and we might well note that one cannot be hearing and speaking at the same time. Excessive speech is actually foolish (see, for example, Proverbs 10:19), so for those of us who have a tendency to be a little windy, it can be quite helpful to learn the value of a good question.

When we ask good questions, we demonstrate to people that we are interested in what they have to say. We enable ourselves to understand their viewpoints. Asking good questions is a form of service. And as Greg Koukl explains, questions even usefully shape our dialogue with those with whom we disagree. Good questions take the conversational burden off the questioner and remind us that dialogue is not just about coming up with the best zingers.

Here’s a question for you, then: who are the best “question-askers” that you know? Do you enjoy speaking with them?

—Beau Stanley

As readers of thefrontieratgrace.com, you are used to our Wednesday “Ask Beau” feature, in which we seek to give biblical answers to practical questions that men face (we can be reached at frontier@gracepolaris.org). Recently we received the following question from Chris via email:

With some attention being brought to Ayn Rand and her influence on many politicians and others, is Ayn Rand’s philosophy, “Objectivism,” in any way compatible with Christianity?

Today our feature is more properly called “Ask Dan,” because Dan Hermiz, a frequent contributor to the blog, has taken a shot at answering this one. Enjoy!

It’s a simple question, on the face of it. But the truth is that Rand, like many philosophers, spent a lifetime formulating and articulating her own unique philosophy which is, as she put it, “for living on earth.” This is to say that it is both systematic and comprehensive. It deals extensively with epistemology, morality, metaphysics, truth, politics, justice, and economics—just about everything a worldview needs. And because of this, what might seem simple at first glance is actually quite complex.

However, I do not believe that complexity must rule out the possibility for clarity. And having at once a healthy respect for complexity, yet a strong, even burdensome desire for clarity in regards to Rand’s philosophy, I admit that I have lamented on more than one occasion that “I’m waiting for the epic take-down” of her philosophic construct from someone far more qualified than me. But alas, I’m still waiting. And it may interest you to know that according to a survey conducted by the Library of Congress, Rand’s Atlas Shrugged ranks second, behind only the Bible, on a list of the most personally influential books among the American reader.

If I may, before jumping into a more analytical arena, I’d like to briefly share my personal feelings on this issue. For the lover of free-market economies, limited government, individual rights, reason, the law of non-contradiction, and the opportunity for personal achievement, Ayn Rand is a seductive ally. So seductive, that in spite of her being a pro-choice atheist, many “conservative Evangelicals” find themselves deeply enamored with her philosophy. I think this speaks volumes to the rhetorical force of her arguments, but in not every case is it true that “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” In my personal opinion (for what it’s worth), Rand’s philosophy, on the whole, is one of the darkest, most destructive and godless philosophies known to modern man—second only perhaps to nihilism. Yes, I just said that.

While I suppose that on some of the details, Rand’s philosophy may align with a biblical worldview, I am far more concerned with its central tenets. In a nutshell, Rand has described her philosophy as follows: “My philosophy, in essence, is the concept of man as a heroic being with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life with productive achievement as his noblest activity and reason as his only absolute.” She further described her purpose in writing both novels and philosophy: “to define and present the image of an ideal man . . . what man can be, and ought to be.”*

In Rand’s philosophy, the individual, quite literally, is the moral center of the universe—God.

The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no god’” (Psalm 14:1).*

Rand was an atheist.

Greater love has no one than this, that someone lays down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).

According to Rand, “in love, the currency is virtue . . . you love them for what they have achieved in their own character . . . you only love those who deserve it.”

God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6).

Rand believed that “rational self-interest” was the highest form of morality. And, if I may opine once more, her arrogance was breathtaking. In her own words, she had “superior contempt” for most of her peers, considered herself “the most creative person alive” and openly criticized just about every thinker, teacher, and philosopher in history.

Christ, the real “ideal man,” said this in Mark 10:42–45: You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.

In Christ’s kingdom, the currency is servanthood.

Rand believed self-sacrifice, or “altruism” of any kind, to be the highest form of immorality.

I’ll leave you with one interesting, yet profoundly relevant anecdote from Rand’s life. Rand considered Atlas Shrugged to be “the one central integrating purpose of everything I did.” John Galt’s epic speech alone took her two years to complete, as it was essentially the “summing up [of] all the essentials of the novel.” En route to its publication, Rand interviewed several publishers, and in a discussion with the publisher who eventually won the “contest,” Rand was asked, “Wouldn’t you have to clash with the Judeo-Christian Ethic?” Years later, in an interview, Rand said that it was for precisely this reason that the publisher “got the book.” In her estimation, he was the publisher who most “got it.” Rand’s philosophy, in her own words, is wholly antithetical to a Christian worldview. And she wouldn’t have us thinking otherwise.

(Note: Quotations from Ayn Rand are taken from the documentary, Ayn Rand: In Her Own Words, directed by John Little and Robert Anderson. Biblical quotations are from the English Standard Version.)

For some reason I find myself appreciating the Christmas season more these days. Yes, my hatred of the song “Jingle Bell Rock” remains high, but nostalgia may be weakening my defenses even against this grating schmaltz. For all the criticism that the Christmas season receives, there are lots of redeeming elements to it.

As my appreciation for Christmas grows, I should note a parallel, if unrelated, awakening that has taken place in my mind. I appreciate the incarnation more than I used to.

The word incarnation will be thrown around a lot in Christian circles during the month of December. Theologically the term refers to God becoming a man in the person of Jesus Christ (the term is related to the Latin words for “in” and “flesh”). This is the basic significance of Jesus’ birth: though we were distant from God, He reached out to us in the ultimate way by humbling Himself and becoming one of us (see Philippians 2:6–8).

If the Christmas story is true, then while we may certainly bemoan the trials of human existence, we cannot say that God doesn’t care about them. Whether or not we understand the reasons for our sorrow and suffering, we can see that God went to the utmost lengths to address it and even identify with it. It is impossible to reconcile the incarnation with the perception of God as detached and despotic.

The incarnation reminds us that one of the most significant gifts we can give is the gift of presence. Those of us who are husbands and fathers struggle with this sometimes. Even when we are in the same room with our families, we can be checked out, distant from the concerns, trials, and joys of our wives and children. Subtly we can take on the role of figurehead rather than the role of leader. This makes it impossible to live with our families “according to knowledge,” as Peter says it (1 Peter 3:7), because we are so practically distant that we don’t know them.

Giving the gift of presence means surrendering comfort, just as Jesus did. It means moving from my world into someone else’s. It means connecting meaningfully with others on their turf.

The Christmas season will soon be in full swing. Whether you find it joyful or frustrating, let the uniqueness of these weeks remind you of the greatest gift of Christmas presence, and may it encourage you to extend the gift to those closest to you.

—Beau Stanley

Post-holiday greetings, dear readers of thefrontieratgrace.com. I hope you had a pleasant Thanksgiving weekend and that you are able to digest your Monday inbox contents as thoroughly as you digested the highly nutritional food of the past several days. And in case your load is full today on the first day back after a holiday weekend, or if you’re saving time to wait in line for Cyber Monday sales, I thought I’d offer today just a brief reflection on giving thanks for something we usually leave out.

The above picture is a snapshot of our Grace Group in the midst of a service project we recently did in connection with Mission:Possible. You’ll notice that we are smiling (even if the bald guy on the far right has his eyes closed). Now, I know that most people prefer to smile for most kinds of pictures, but the juxtaposition of serving and smiles is helpful. Somebody very wise said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).

When we serve others, we experience the blessing of God, and that’s something to be thankful for. Since we live in a world governed by a God who loves to give, it probably shouldn’t surprise us that things are set up this way.

The list of items for which we are thankful usually includes things we have received. As we wrap up Thanksgiving and head into the Christmas season, maybe we can also be thankful for the blessing of giving. Such a stance helps us not only to appreciate the gift of grace that we have received in Jesus, but to extend grace to others.

—Beau Stanley

(Note: Photo courtesy of Taylor McGowen)

If you are just now noticing that American society is more fragmented than ever, you’re late to the (private) party. Social commentators quickly point out that American communities are far less cohesive than they used to be. We have back porches instead of front porches. Groups of all kinds are declining in membership, and significant affiliations have given way to marginal participation and Facebook friendship.

Occasionally, though, there are events that buck this trend. A few months ago at the visiting hours for the deceased wife of a family friend of ours, it struck me that in crisis situations we will still drop what we are doing to collectively support people we care about. I had a similar sensation in, of all places, the voting line on Election Day. Here were people in my immediate geography altering their schedules for a common purpose. (One woman appeared to have her pajamas on.) Neither of these occurrences represent the most profound experiences of local unity, but both of them made me feel a subtle pleasure that is getting harder to attain.

We Christians can bemoan the loss of community—both civic community and Christian community—but it would be far more productive for us to take personal steps to challenge the disintegration. And there is no more important step in this challenge than to declare ourselves willing to be inconvenienced and to waste time with one another (see Philippians 2:3,4, and our prior post on “time greed”). We often go in the opposite direction, though. Feeling insignificant in our detachment, we pursue so many “significant” activities that we don’t have room in our calendar for the relationships that grant life its depth (see the interesting interview with Harvard Business School professor Clayton Christensen on this topic).

The tremendous irony here is that the only way to escape our excessive time-angst is to spend our time liberally on other people, particularly those who are closest to us. This might mean fewer Facebook exchanges. It might mean less productivity. It might even mean a shorter obituary.

But then again, it also might mean that people will actually show up at our visiting hours.

—Beau Stanley