The Amazing Expandable, Shape-able, Inexhaustible Gospel

It's a funny thing evangelicals sometimes do: placing all the emphasis on a personal relationship with God, and reading the Bible for yourself to see what it says, and then wondering why the next generations don't arrive at the exact same theology that theirs did.  There are at least two ways to go about this: you can either focus on indoctrinating children with your precise version of orthodoxy, OR you can teach them to love God, love their neighbors, follow the teachings of Christ, study the Word of God, and tread their own paths in the process.  I would say evangelicals as a whole have--thankfully--done the latter, even though they have done so in spite of a continually resurfacing impulse to want it both ways, as if to say, "Do it yourself, but use our blueprint." "Read the Word yourself, but just make sure you end up agreeing with all of our interpretations."  "Be Spirit-led, but let us arbitrate what's truly of the Spirit or not." 

Even though each new movement within Christianity likes to think of itself as hearkening back to to teachings and practices of the earliest Christians, a bit of genuine honesty should force us to admit that we are reshaping the Gospel to suit the needs and desires of our world, in our particular generation.  This sounds like heresy to some--to do anything with the Gospel other than simply "do what it says."  But the church survives and thrives just like anything else does: by adapting.  God has intended it this way.  It's part of the reason why he sent the Holy Spirit, to work alongside the church and guide us in our Gospel-spreading mission (see Acts 15:28, "It seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us . . . ")  The substance of the Gospel remains the same, but each generation, each culture, each nation, each revival gives it a new shape.  The Gospel is shape-able because it is expandable.  It is inexhaustible.  I think Jesus may have compared it to a mustard seed or something like that.


So when the old guard laments the fact that the new generations have deviated from some of their cherished doctrines, my response is, "You taught me how to do this." And then, "Thank you for doing so!"  Thank you for teaching me to love God with everything I have and love my neighbor as myself.  Thank you for teaching me to read the Bible for myself and not just blindly accept church authority.  Thank you for teaching me to interact with God daily on a personal level.  We, with the Spirit's leading, can continue spreading the Gospel, reshaping it along the way, precisely because you, with the Spirit's leading, did it before us.  And we will teach our children to do the same, in a way that is knowledgeable and respectful of the rich history of the body of Christ, rather than of a spirit of sheer rebellion.           

My Token Atheist Friend

I'm Christian, he's atheist.  I'm ebony, he's ivory.  (Okay, we're both ivory. Not every story can be perfect!) 

I met Logan when I was working for Chi Alpha at UL.  Chi Alpha is a campus ministry organization that I was involved with while in college.  After graduating, I worked for them for a few years, filling a number of roles, one of which included teaching a class called "Foundations of the Faith."  During my last year there, Logan came poking his heathen head around, trying to stir up trouble.  Just kidding.  Logan is one of the most morally-driven people I know.  The real reason he came to my class was because he believed that truth is worth spreading and sharing and talking about.  That's something you have to respect, especially if you profess a religion whose founder commanded his followers to, "Go and make disciples of all nations."

So Logan would come to my class, sit and listen attentively, and then every single week he would come to me with questions afterward.  And every single week, we would end up getting coffee and sitting down and talking for hours. (For those unfamiliar, this is a luxury reserved only for college students and retirees.)  One topic would blend seamlessly and endlessly into another, until our only cue for stopping was when one of us could no longer hold in the coffee.  Mother nature would force the break, and we would just take that as our stopping point and pick up again the following week.

After the class was over, Logan would continue to spontaneously drop by my office at Chi Alpha.  As long as I wasn't doing anything terribly pressing (I usually wasn't), we would get coffee and chat, just like old times.  And by "chat" I mean talk very seriously for hours about God, Jesus, faith, and life.  (I eventually had to make it a point to start asking him questions about his life because it suddenly dawned on me one day that my total time talking to him exceeded any one of my own family or friends, and I barely knew anything about him.  That was the nature of our conversations.  No small talk.  Just straight to the deep stuff.)

As I mentioned earlier, this all took place during my last year at Chi Alpha.  I had been working there for four years and had decided I wanted to try something new.  Then something funny happened.  I had applied to work at Starbucks, and shortly before I was hired, I found out Logan had JUST started working at the very same location I was hoping to get hired at.  A few weeks later I got the job, and just like that, Logan and I were co-workers. Just at the moment when circumstances would have separated us, they brought us back together again.  Of course, he would chalk this up to coincidence.  As you may have guessed, I believe it was providence.  However, the reason I say that might surprise you.

Unquestionably, I believe in the human responsibility to share what we believe to be true and good, as well as the Biblical mandate that I, as a Christian, should share the Gospel.  But I do not believe that God has saddled me with a special burden to convert this particularly unconvinced soul.  Friends have sometimes asked me if I feel that he has come any closer to faith because of our relationship.  I refuse to even speculate.  I do not take credit if he is.  I do not accept guilt if he isn't.

There is only one life I can control, and that to a limited degree.  That is my own.  So when I say that my friendship with Logan is part of providence, I refer to the role Logan has played in my own life.  Every friend adds something unique to our lives, and Logan adds something particularly invaluable to me:  a questioner of my most cherished beliefs and assumptions.  No matter what our beliefs, if we have even a shred of humility, we must sometime wonder if we are wrong, right?  Logan helps me feel that I have taken at least a step towards wondering more honestly and thoroughly.       

This isn't to say that I value him only for that function.  We really are friends, and I'm happy to report that we now sometimes talk about things other than religion.  But I'm also happy to predict that our respective beliefs will always have a place at the center of our rapport.  Those things are immensely important to us both.  I've learned that sharing beliefs is reciprocal.  To share properly is to invite and welcome other beliefs, including criticism of your own beliefs.  I've decided that I have no desire for a faith that cannot withstand that sort of exchange.  I implore everyone to seek out friends with very different beliefs.  If done honestly, it can only change you for better, never for worse.       

"Get in There! Yeah yeah!"

Then I heard another voice from heaven say:

“Come out of her, my people,

so that you will not share in her sins,

so that you will not receive any of her plagues;" (Revelation 18:4)

It seems rare that this verse is given serious consideration in modern Evangelical sermons and conversations.  Granted, throughout church history there has been a tug-o-war between the ideas of "letting your light shine" on one side and being "holy," "separate," "in the world, but not of it" on the other.  But it seems to me that if  either side is winning right now, it's the side for which being involved has become an unquestioned value: Of course we should vote; of course we should lobby for issues that matter to us; of course we should engage in "culture wars."  Many Christians can't see any reason why one wouldn't get involved in such things.

But if there is a Biblical context in which God commands his people, "come out of her," "get un-involved," then I ask, where is that reflected in Biblical preaching today?  I'm not saying the message to get involved is always wrong, but shouldn't it at least sometimes be to get uninvolved?  Shouldn't there be some discussion about discernment to differentiate between the two, rather than the assumption that getting involved is always the right thing to do?

The political and cultural battles of our day are full of disrespect, greed, coercion, and hatred, and most of what we hear from Christian leadership is, "Get in there!"  Perhaps some should rather listen to the voice from heaven saying, "Come out!"  

 

Finishing from the Start

I'm on page 830 of a book that weighs in at just over 1,000 pages.  I started it over 2 years ago, put it down for awhile, realized I hadn't retained anything, restarted from the beginning, started taking notes to retain the information better, realized I wasn't enjoying it as much that way, then made a New Year's resolution to finish it by April of this year.  Here I am in August with almost 200 pages to go. 

My slowness in reading it has not been for lack of discipline or desire.  I very much enjoy reading it, and I read often enough.  My concern has been reading it right.  Not that there's any one right way to read a book.  What I mean is, reading it the way I really want to, maximizing both my enjoyment of it and its educational benefits.  It's dense and packed with difficult-to-remember names, places, and ideas, so I don't find it beneficial to fly through it like a novel.  But at the same time, I don't find it desirable to read it like I'm studying for a test.   I've taken my time in finding a good balance--a pace that's not too quick to remember, but not too slow to enjoy.

At various times, I've been tempted to feel discouraged with how long it has taken me.  A few times, I even thought about stopping, wondering how many other good books I'm missing out on for this one.  It feels good to be so close to the end of it.  A pride of accomplishment seems to always accompany the act of finishing a book.  But I find a more worthwhile pride in the fact that I took pleasure in it, as well as having retained a reasonable amount of the material. 

There are times to just be done with something, and then there are times to finish. We can be done with something in an instant.  Ironically, finishing has meaning for each present moment, beginning to end.  So then, when we decide something is worth finishing, the important question is never "Am I finished yet?" but "Am I finishing right now?" 

Opposng Emmanuel, Menino, AND Savoie--Is It Consistent?

One of the oddest things to come out of the ongoing controversy surrounding Chick-fil-A is that conservatives have ended up on the same side of the battle as their arch-nemesis, the ACLU.  Most of us seem to agree that attempts to ban Chick-fil-A from certain cities, due to the viewpoints of its owner, is an egregious violation of civil liberties.

But that's where consensus stops.  There is a very different battle being waged on the same front--a battle in which our nation is seemingly irreconcilably split down the middle.  It is in this battle that the Christian response of rallying around Chick-fil-A gives me malaise.  For many Christians, this whole debacle has little to do with civil liberties and much more to do with opposing gay marriage.  This is where I fall out of line with so many of my fellow Christians.  They seem less concerned with supporting Dan Cathy's right to say what he said and more concerned with sticking it to the gay community.

I may be off in my analysis, but it's at least consistent with another controversy going on right here in my hometown of Lafayette, LA.  The University of Louisiana at Lafayette has recently begun to offer an LGBT studies minor through the liberal arts college.  Congressman Jeff Landry, along with local conservative groups and religious leaders, have sought, unsuccessfully thus far, to oppose the move and have the minor dropped. It seems to me that in both cases, Christians are simply wanting their way, and any talk of concern for civil liberties must be a trojan horse.  If constitutional freedom is really what's at stake, then it seems like you would want to allow students to study a subculture that has been becoming an increasingly important part of every aspect of our society.  Only a concern for traditional marriage, over and above a concern for civil liberties, could cause one to oppose both Chick-fil-A bannings  and UL's LGBT studies minor.

What Do You Want to Hear?

"Hold fast to reproof, don't let go.
Keep it, for it is your life." -Proverbs 4:13


Imagine something with me.  You have some virus on your computer.  The virus makes your computer frustratingly slow, and may even be stealing your personal information for malicious purposes.  But there's good news! You know exactly how to remove the virus, and it's actually quite simple.  But there's bad news . . . every time you attempt to remove it, the computer shuts down.  It just turns itself off.  Horrible, right?


I have that virus.  Not on my computer but in my brain.  Unfortunately, you probably have it as well.  It's called an aversion to reproof.  While it may seem somewhat natural, it's actually malignant and fatal.  It essentially makes you immune to medicine.  By it's very nature, it won't allow anyone else to remove it.  Only you.


Although it never disappears completely, once you identify it and begin to treat it, you can mitigate the symptoms significantly.  Other viruses and diseases can be treated and removed, and your overall health can drastically improve.  


This computer virus analogy helps me understand just how dumb I am being when I follow my instinct to run from feedback/reproof/correction.  So many times I have just shut down when I started to hear things I didn't want to hear.  I thank God for the wisdom of his Word, and for friends and bosses and co-workers and experiences that have helped me to start retraining that instinct.  And now I sometimes actually manage to run towards reproof, rather than away from it. 


Physical life, as most biologists define it, requires growth.  If something does not grow, it is not considered to be alive.  It's unfortunate that once we reach a certain age, we consider ourselves "all grown up."  If we have no more growing to do, we are dead.  This is why the proverb says, "it is your life."  It has been my experience lately that my biggest "growth spurts" happen when I embrace reproof, and so I have I made it my goal to heed the word of God on this matter.       

The Crazy Couch Coincidence

Swinging in a hammock chair on my parent's patio, I recently learned something about them that I either never knew or had forgotten.  They told me how when they were dating, the first time my mom had gone over to my dad's apartment, she discovered he had a couch that she had previously owned.  She'd donated it to Salvation Army, and he bought it, well before they had ever met.

As I listened to that story, and watched them smile as they told it, I imagined how that experience must have deepened their mutual sense of connection to one another--that feeling that they truly belonged together.

It's oddly comforting to know that I was born not just from sex, but from romantic love.  It's humbling in a way, the thought that my story is a little branch shooting off from someone else's story.  But it also seems to be a boost to my sense of self-worth, knowing that I owe my existence to a loving relationship.

It also makes me think that this is perhaps why Christ felt it so important to know God as a loving father.  Even if I had come from a one-night stand, or a broken home, I could still know that I am a creation of love, a love as eternal and pure as anything can be.

How to Remember Important Stuff

I'm moving again.  (Just to another complex in Lafayette.  I no longer have a roommate so I had to find a single-bedroom apt.)  I've always disliked moving, and the biggest chore of it for me has always been my books.  I have quite a few.

As I was, for the second time in 10 months, packing them all into cardboard boxes, I thought for a second about the possibility of selling or donating them, but I immediately decided I couldn't.

It's not because I'm emotionally attached to stuff. I have on numerous occasions given away some of my favorite books to friends.  My philosophy about that is somewhat utilitarian: if I'm not reading it right now, why not let someone else enjoy it? Loaning is an option, but I don't like burdening my friends with the guilt of never returning it.   And I've never been much of a pack rat.  I often have the opposite problem: if I don't perceive the immediate value of something, I can toss it into the trash with a zeal normally reserved for dirty diapers and junk mail.

But my books . . . my books are my pictures.  I don't take a lot of pictures.  (I have a nagging sense I'm going to regret that one day.)  My books are snapshots of my soul's journey.  They help me remember who I am, what I believe, how I've changed, who recommended this one to me, what I was going through when I read that one. 

Luckily enough for me, I now buy most of my books on Kindle, so storage won't be an issue.  I can keep all of my books, so I don't have to worry about forgetting important stuff, like who I am.  Now I just need to work on putting my camera to good use, so I don't forget other important stuff, like my friends and family.

Can an Atheist Justify Morality?

Religious people are seen by some atheists as committing an intellectual, and perhaps moral, offense by making unjustifiable claims and leading others to believe them.  They point  out that the existence of God is unfalsifiable and assert that there is not a single good reason for believing it.

It's an arguable point, worth discussing.  Personally, it strikes me as a rather cynical and dim view of humanity that the overwhelming majority of people structure their lives around a belief that there isn't a shred of evidence for.  But that's beside the point.

What I really want to point out is that many of these same atheists seem to think that unjustifiable claims are okay when it comes to talking about morality.  Sam Harris, for example, seems to constantly brush off anyone who presses him to justify his moral positions.  For instance, in response to the idea that we need some type of religion to say that what the Nazis did was objectively wrong, Harris does 3 things:

1) He says that we have, "very serviceable intuitions about good and evil and what constitutes an ethical life, and we converge on those intuitions."

2) He points out religion's role as an especially insidious source of division amongst humanity, due to its ability to locate the source of that division in a transcendent being, as a reason why religion can't possibly be a valid guide to morality.

3) He talks about the Bible's track record on slavery as an example of further proof that religion can't possibly be  a valid guide to morality.  He concludes this point by adding that even in the implausible scenario that the abolitionists were inspired by Scriptural principles, that still would not proove that the book is divinely authorized.

I just wanted to point out that not a single one of these things constitutes even an attempt to answer the question of why, in the absence of a creator God, should we value the wellbeing of ourselves and/or others.  It seems that in response, Harris and many other atheists are content to say things like, "It's obvious," and like to point out that the overwhelming majority of us just do value those things.  They claim that justification for this belief is neither necessary nor particularly useful.  Anywho who would argue otherwise obviously has some sort of mental defect and can't really be reasoned with.

That sounds great, but I'm curious as to how this is not a double standard when someone also conceives a theist who seems to have little justification for belief in God as guilty of intellectual and moral failure.  How can one person be so demanding for justification in regards to theism, yet simultaneously excuse himself from any necessity for justification in regards to ultimate moral principles?

Another claim that Harris is fond of making is that Christian abolitionists were on the losing side of a theological argument with Christian slaveholders.  While I disagree with that, it's tempting to play Harris's game.  One could make a good case that Harris and other morally-driven atheists are really on the losing side of a philosophical argument with those atheists who have embraced the cold, hard reality of moral relativism in a godless universe.

Easter Fish

I've got some fish marinating in my fridge as a type this.  Many people commemorate Easter with dyed eggs and chocolate, but I find fish to be much more suitable for the occasion.  Afterall, the Resurrection was simple, wasn't it?  It happened quietly and without fanfare.  The contrast between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday is stark.

I find myself moved most not by a haloed, glorious Christ, kicking death in the nads and emerging from the tomb like some invincible champion, although that's pretty cool, too.  But I feel the love of Jesus most intensely on the shore of Galilee, there with just his disciples, eating fish and bread:

 Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” None of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord.  Jesus came, took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish.  This was now the third time Jesus appeared to his disciples after he was raised from the dead.  (John 21:12-14) 

 In this moment, Jesus reveals his deepest concerns to his closest friends: that they would know and reciprocate his love for them, that they would take care of one another, and that they would carry his love and his teachings into all the world (vv. 15-23).  And the world forever changed, over a plate of fish and bread.

Excuse me.  I've got some cooking to do . . .

How to Love Grammar and Not Be a Jerk

Grammar is personal.  I studied English and linguistics in college, so I tend to be much more observant than most when it comes to language.  I've learned that 99% of my observations need not be vocalized, for to do so is to risk poking around a very sensitive area in the human psyche.  And I'm not even talking about correcting, as I almost never do.  Simply noting a particular linguistic idiosyncrasy or asking a question out of curiosity can quickly make someone more insecure than Snow White at a Jersey Shore pool party.  For the most part, we are blissfully unaware of the numerous ways in which our everyday speech does not meet the rigors of "correct" grammar, and we prefer to keep it that way.

As much as I would enjoy pointing out certain things or satisfying my curiosity, simply observing is enough for me.  I love grammar, and all things language-related.  From usage to etymology, from semantics to syntax, I'm just fascinated by it all.  I especially LOVE LOVE LOVE accents.  All of them. I've never quite understood why people claim to hate certain accents.  The diversity of them is every bit as beautiful as the diversity of our skin colors.  (Many people seem to think that language should be homogenized and that we should all speak a standard, accent-less form.  That is an idea particularly abominable to linguists.)

My message here is simple: it is possible to love language and not be a judgmental turd.  It's possible to believe that our education system should teach the standard, and yet not insist that everyone conform to an American Midwest, phone operator dialect.  It's possible to see or hear mistakes and let it slide.  It's possible to not have a stroke every time someone uses the word "irregardless" or mispronounces "ask".  It's possible to not equate poor spelling, improper punctuation, or particular accents and dialects with lower intelligence.  Believe it or not, it's actually possible to not like some of the rules and intentionally break them!  Writers do it all the time.

And it's IMpossible to speak 100% "correctly" 100% of the time.  Most people who claim to don't even come close, and would be astonished at how many mistakes a grammar expert could point out in a ten minute conversation.  This blog post actually has several errors that I would be willing to bet no one noticed.

Again, the message is simple:  Love grammar.  Don't be a jerk.   

Let's All Be Jerks

I hate the word bitch.

Mainly, I hate it when someone refers to a woman as a bitch. 

Maybe it's because I have a great mother and two older sisters whom I love.  Maybe it's because many of my best friends are female.  Maybe it's because the word serves no purpose other than to degrade a woman . . . for being a woman. 

Sure, it's usually reserved for women who possess, or are at least currently displaying, negative character traits.  But why does a mean woman need a different word than a mean man?  Why can't we just all be jerks? Or assholes? Or any of the numerous other words that can indiscriminately describe unpleasant people?

What's worse is that some are much more inclusive in their usage of bitch.  Many men, and even some women, will use the words bitches and women interchangeably.

This is equally offensive, bigoted, and ignorant as the word nigger.  They are both words that degrade someone based on a God-given quality.  Gender and race are attributes to be embraced and celebrated.  To do otherwise is to dishonor oneself and all of humanity, not to mention the God who created us all, the God who shaped the human form and gave it it's vast array of expressions.

This tirade may seem petty in view of the fact that so many women around the world unfortunately suffer much worse than being called a derogatory name.  However, this is one small step towards justice that everyone can easily participate in.  Refuse to use the word, and speak up when others around you do.  Perhaps we can speed the day when calling a woman a bitch is equally taboo to other forms of bigotry.    

How to Be a Person of Depth

"Superficiality is the curse of our age…. The desperate need today is not for a greater number of intelligent people, or gifted people, but for deep people."
-Richard Foster, "Celebration of Discipline"

I've always been intrigued by people who seem to have a lot more going on under the surface than on the surface.  I'm sure most reading this will know what I'm talking about.  At least I hope you do because I'm not quite sure how to describe it.  Sometimes it's a quality that you can somehow sense upon first meeting someone.  Other times, you might perceive that a particular person wears everything on their sleeve, until you learn something surprising about them and you second-guess.

Regardless of whether it's perceptible immediately or gradually, it eventually comes out.  You realize that no matter how many questions you've asked (hometown? degree? job? aspirations? married? kids? dogs or cats? music?), no matter how much Facebook stalking you've done, you've only seen the tip of the iceberg.  Whether it's for potential romantic interest or pure friendship, you find yourself compelled to learn more about this person.

There are five things that stick out to me when I pose the question, "How do people cultivate depth in their personality and in their character?"  One is that they have deep friendships.  This may be counter-intuitive because the kind of person I've been talking about may seem coy, hidden, or mysterious.  However, this is not necessarily the case.  I think deep people can be any range of introvert or extrovert.  The key is that there's just a few people, their closest friends, who they really allow to see inside.  They value those friendships more than just about anything else in their lives, and they maintain those friendships over long periods of time, even when things like careers and geography threaten to break them up.

Ironically, solitude is the other side of this coin.  Deep people are in the habit of being alone on occasion.  When left to themselves, they find enough there.  Inside.  They are not instantaneously bored in the absence of people and iPhones.  They can read, write,watch a movie, eat, think, pray, or any number of other activities all by themselves and be perfectly okay (at least for some limited amount of time, of course. Introverts may naturally enjoy more extended bouts of solitude.  The balance is that introverts have more trouble being social, which is also needed for depth.  And that leads me to my next point.)

Deep people have a wide variety of friends.  Not necessarily a lot of friends, but there is at least some diversity among their friends and acquaintances.  Deep people enjoy good conversation.  They seek it out.  They steer small talk to deeper waters.  They want to hear an array of perspectives.  They listen attentively, and respond to what others say, rather than simply waiting their turn to interject what they've been wanting to say all along.  They well up with the joy of solidarity upon discovering points of mutual agreement, and they very carefully and gently express points of disagreement. They allow their lives to be shaped by people of varying beliefs, worldviews, backgrounds, and ethnicities.

Fourthly, deep people are grounded and stable.  They are consistent in their morals and in their ways of living.  Of course, that doesn't mean they never change.  They develop, grow, and mature in a steady direction.  They are regularly looking for ways to become a better man or woman.  They have a certain humility about them, believing that they are not the only person in the world with needs.  They of course experience pain just like anyone else, but they often recognize that their problems are trivial relative to the sufferings of so many others.  They feel a need to minimize the amount of resources they take from others, and maximize the amount they give.

Lastly, deep people have passions.  Not just fleeting hobbies and interests, but deep-seated desires to do something great with their talents.  They know the value of arts, crafts, and education.  They explore various hobbies, and when they find one they love, they stick with it and try to master it.

Oh, and one more brief add-on if I may: this should almost go without saying, but I'm saying it.  Deep people don't spill out their entire lives on social networks.  If I can go to your Facebook and Twitter and put together a basic outline of everything you did yesterday, including an approximation of your emotional state at each point, you may want to work on playing your cards a little closer to your chest.  :  ) And I say that in love because I can go overboard myself sometimes.  I'm just thinking that if you feel the need to let ALL of your Facebook and Twitter friends know that much about you, what's left on the inside?  What is there left that only your closest of friends will discover?  What will it say about our personality and character when the tip of the iceberg is all there is?  Author Richard Foster wrote that what the world needs most are deep people, and he penned those words long before the advent of social media!  If they were true then, they are even truer now. 

I Hate to Admit It, But . . .

I hate to admit it, but "I hate to admit it" seems to be a common phrase lately.  I've recently noticed this and have started to wonder, what makes a person "hate to admit" something?  What makes someone begin an observation by essentially stating, "I despise acknowledging the truth, but . . . "

Incidentally, the place where I've noticed this phrase most often is in political discourse. For example, when a liberal admits a good quality of a conservative, or vice-versa.  The following is a quote from a comment on a political video a friend of mine linked on Facebook:

"Ron Paul is more dangerous to this nation than Obama when it comes to foreign policy. As much as I hate to admit it."

Let's analyze that a little, shall we?  Why would this person, whom we must assume is conservative politically, hate to admit that Ron Paul is inferior to President Obama in the area of foreign policy?  I can't think of any other reason than that she prefers that anyone who is representing conservativism would in no way appear to be inferior to someone as liberal as the President.

What she's saying is that the truth is getting in the way of how she prefers to see the world.


What interests me here has little to do with politics, but rather with the way we think about truth.  In the case of this Facebook commenter, give her credit for honestly acknowledging the truth.  But it strikes me as odd that the acknowledgement is seen as something to hate.  She sees the truth as a pesky inconvenience to the way she would prefer the world to be (in this case, conservatives being superior to liberals in every regard).  


But shouldn't truth be the goal?  If it seems that, according to your beliefs, Obama's foreign policies have kept our country safer than other viable presidential hopefuls, shouldn't that be something to rejoice about?  Unfortunately, the Team Conservative vs. Team Liberal rhetoric has made this nigh impossible.  When the other team looks good, that's bad for our team, regardless of what is actually true or good.