A Perfect Father

Our attitude

Parents might just be the most difficult people to forgive.

We can usually forgive children when they mess up. That’s what children do.

Most of us forgive the simple, everyday offenses that others commit against us. We couldn’t have meaningful relationships if we didn’t.

Some go even further and forgive the bigger hurts inflicted by coworkers, friends, siblings, and spouses.

But parents? Parents can be so hard to forgive.

How many adult children are still walking around with unhealed resentment toward their moms and dads long after the damage has been done? Long after they’ve reached an age where they should be mature enough to work through their pain and let it go.

Growing up

We have an intense longing for perfect parents. Part of this seems to be inborn, but we also quickly learn to expect our parents to always understand us and always meet all of our needs.

Right from the start they feed us when we’re hungry, comfort us when we’re upset, and change our diapers when they’re messy. The natural conclusion: These people take such good care of me, they must be perfect.

As time goes by, we become disillusioned. We’re understandably hurt and disappointed when they fail us. Which they always do.

And yet they expect us to obey them, as most of us do most of the time prior to adolescence. A perfect foundation for internal conflict. Which we later blame on them.

The Ten Commandments don’t tell moms and dads to raise their children well, but they do say to honor our parents. Parents have a natural tendency to want to raise their children well. We all have a natural tendency to remember their failures.

The blame game

In the twentieth century, “blame the parents for everything” psychology became common and powerful. I remember reading an article in the 1970s. (I’m pretty sure it was in Reader’s Digest.) It concerned a condition that hadn’t been talked about much up until then: autism. The behaviors associated with the condition had been blamed on poor parenting. But new research showed that they actually had a biological basis.

Around the same time, in my first job working with special needs children, I was told that kids with Down syndrome are naturally sweet and easy-going and loving. Therefore, if they misbehave consistently, it’s because their parents have been lax in their discipline.

Just recently, though, I was informed that the condition itself is associated with a tendency toward stubbornness. They do have a sweet, loving temperament that responds well to kindness. But they often present real behavioral challenges that can’t be due to their environment alone.

I look back in horror to a time when parents (especially moms) were blamed way beyond what they deserved for their children’s troubles. How did they live with the guilt being heaped on them?

Psychologists seem to have backed away from the insistence that every single issue stems from poor parenting, but it’s still easy to blame our own moms and dads for our troubles.

Freya India, a young author in the United Kingdom, describes a new twist on the blame game. Because most of them are not mental health care professionals, parents are now looked down on as incapable of being “helpful” to their children. Members of Gen Z (those born from about 1997 to 2012) are being encouraged to back away from their parents, who are obviously incompetent and usually harmful, and let therapists take on the roles—and the emotional connection—that used to belong to Mom and Dad. 

Instead of being counseled to understand their parents, take responsibility for building better relationships with them, and forgive them for the mistakes they’re bound to make by simply being human, these young people are now advised to transfer the relationship to their therapists.

Forgiving

I hope I’ve forgiven my parents for their very real sins against me and my siblings. (Just to be clear—my childhood was mostly good, mostly happy. Overall, I think my parents did a good job. They definitely had their faults, though.)

As a Christian, I have all the tools I need to forgive my parents.

(I’m not going to discuss here why we should forgive, but a good book that deals in-depth with cancel culture’s blindness to the precious value of forgiveness is Timothy Keller’s Forgive: Why Should I and How Can I?. The following thoughts aren’t taken directly from that book, which I read after I’d written the original draft of this article, but of course some of them will overlap, since we’re both writing from a Christian perspective.) 

I can forgive those who harm me because God forgave me. The enormity of my sins against Him far outweighs any debt anyone could ever owe me.

Every time I flaunt His commands, I’m replacing the sublime God with a measly little idol, blaspheming the name of the loving creator of the universe, defiling His image before the watching world, and giving the devil a foothold in my heart and mind. If a holy God can forgive me for all that, surely I can forgive those who sin against me.

I can see my parents as God sees them—as my fellow fallen human beings. They’re not any more perfect than I am. They need grace as much as I do. Of course they made mistakes. We all do.

When I was a support group leader at my church many years ago, I was taught that one way to forgive Mom or Dad is to grieve that which we long for but never had and never will have. We needed something from them that we didn’t receive.* They weren’t perfect.

I like that idea. It confirms that real harm has been done, but it leads us to recognize our own mistake in expecting perfection from imperfect people. And it provides a process for working through the issue. We can never heal from any emotional pain as long as we maintain a victim mentality instead of doing whatever we’re capable of doing to repair the damage to our souls.

As a Christian, I have a deeper appreciation for the value of suffering. God can use it to draw us closer to Him and to bless others, if we turn to Him in our need and grow in His likeness as we heal.

I heard a story many years ago from a young woman. (I think it was on a Christian radio station.) She had been raised by “perfect” parents. In her perception, they did everything right.

Then she left home, and she was totally lost. She had no idea how to cope with a world that didn’t love her unconditionally and meet her every need, as her parents had.

Children become better people when their parents do their job well. Paradoxically, though, they also become better people when their moms and dads mess up. We learn and grow because we’re forced to deal with parents who do the wrong thing sometimes. (Of course, this doesn’t excuse any form of intentional mistreatment.)

God as our Father

And then God goes and reveals Himself to us as our Heavenly Father. How does that affect our relationship with Him?

For those who’ve been abused or abandoned by their dads, thinking of God as a Father can lead to rebellion against Him and make it incredibly difficult to trust Him.

All of our dads disappointed us in one way or another. It can be easy to carry over that disappointment and lack of trust to a Father God, often without realizing what we’re doing.

At times, we might blame Him for hurting us. We can struggle with finding a way to forgive Him.

Some people—even Christians—will need months or years to work through the harm done by their earthly fathers. As a body of believers, we need to recognize that and do what we can to contribute to their healing.

At the same time, we all long to have a perfect father. To know his unconditional love. To be able to return to him when we’ve rebelled, knowing that he’ll welcome us back again. To know that he understands our sorrow and anger and fears and failures. And still loves us.

We all have that powerful desire. Only God can fulfill it.


*The handout from that group credits “Robert Bly, in the video ‘A Gathering of Men,’” for this insight.

 

 

 

A Great King

An ideal king

Psalm 72. I’ve heard that it’s a prayer for King Solomon, a description of the perfect king, and a prophecy of the Messiah’s kingship.

In verse 2, the ideal king is righteous and just. Americans still value justice and righteousness in our political leaders today, although we no longer agree on what those concepts mean.

He brings abundant prosperity (v. 7). Definitely something we expect from our rulers now.

Verses 9 through 11 describe his power. Other nations bow before him, bring him gifts, and serve him. His enemies “lick the dust.” Many Americans shy away from a display of strength like that, but a leader can’t lead without some form of power.

What catches my eye as I read Psalm 72 this time around is the reason he has this power. Verses 12 and 13 say, “For he will deliver the needy who cry out, the afflicted who have no one to help. He will take pity on the weak and the needy and save the needy from death. He will rescue them from oppression and violence, for precious is their blood in his sight.”

The king’s righteousness and justice and power and the nation’s prosperity are directly tied to his heart. His compassion for the most helpless among us, as demonstrated by his actions.

The seventeenth verse declares that “all nations will be blessed through him.” Even the ones he’s conquered won’t be oppressed, but blessed.

God’s ideal king isn’t the one who defeats other countries and rules them with an iron hand. He isn’t the one who builds the strongest economy (although that can be a factor in helping the needy). He isn’t the one who grants his people the greatest freedom to pursue their own desires.

The greatest king, in God’s eyes, is the one who sees the suffering of an individual even when no one else is paying any attention to them. He uses his power, not to increase his own wealth and happiness and reputation, but to rescue the most helpless from oppression and violence. He values them highly. That’s when and why he prospers.

This was a radical idea at the time when it was written. It’s still a radical idea in many parts of the world. And even in America.

Although different groups disagree on the best means of helping the helpless, most Americans believe that part of governing is making sure that everyone’s needs are being met. But government assistance isn’t the compassionate, individual attention described in this psalm. It’s the identification of groups that are in need and the application of impersonal rules and requirements in providing for that need. Something important is missing here.

The radical part of this psalm is that the king will personally deliver the afflicted one who has no one to help—not even government programs. He will personally save the needy one from death. Not because he buys into a political philosophy or wants to increase his own popularity, but because their very blood is precious in his sight.

Two kingly examples

In 1 Kings chapter 3, two prostitutes—among the lowest of the low—brought their case before the powerful King Solomon himself. The women lived in a house together. They each had a baby. One of those babies died in the night. Both mothers laid claim to the living child.

Solomon didn’t dismiss them as unworthy of his attention. He didn’t assign the case to a lesser representative or to the court system. He didn’t tell them how to sign up for a government program. He didn’t lecture them on how they were defying God’s laws by selling their bodies, or condemn them to death for breaking those laws (as he could have done). He treated their case with compassion.

Solomon’s solution: Cut the living infant in half and give one half to each woman.

That might very well have been considered justice by most of the people living in that part of the world at that time. The woman whose baby had died accepted the decision. That seems so cold and heartless to me. But in that time and place, it might have sounded reasonable and fair, even to her. They were prostitutes. Neither one deserved to have a living child.

But that wasn’t King Solomon’s purpose. The blood of that baby was precious in his sight. He intentionally declared his decree in order to determine which woman was the mother of that helpless child.

This case is an example of Solomon’s great wisdom. But it also provides a view of the type of king that the Lord wants to see ruling over His people. A king with a heart like God’s.

In Luke 8:42-48, a woman slipped in behind Jesus in the middle of a crowd and touched the edge of His cloak, believing that she’d be healed. She was.

Jesus immediately stopped and looked around, asking who had touched Him. The disciples dismissed His question, assuming someone in the pressing crowd had accidentally bumped up against Him. But He persisted and the woman came forward, trembling in fear. He spoke to her, calling her “daughter,” reassuring her, and telling her to go in peace.

Jesus made it a point to reach out to her personally. He didn’t want a system where people touch the edge of His clothing while His back is turned and go on their way without interacting with Him. He didn’t want anyone to be afraid to approach Him to His face to present their requests. The needy, the afflicted, the weak, the oppressed, and the victims of violence are precious in His sight. He is the King who perfectly exemplifies God’s description in Psalm 72.

The purpose of the psalm

This psalm isn’t saying that the only way a king can help his subjects is by giving his personal attention to each individual. There’s room in God’s design for systems and programs.

In the Old Testament, the Lord Himself put in place the system of having the reapers leave behind whatever fruit or grain they missed on their first pass through a field, so that “the poor and the alien” could collect it for their own use (Leviticus 19:9-10). In the New Testament, the apostles set up a program for feeding needy widows (Acts 6:1-6).

Instead, the psalm reveals the heart of the ideal ruler. One that reflects the heart of God, the greatest Ruler and King.

 

 

 

Fearful and Troubled

Israel’s fear

Joshua 8:1: “Then the Lord said to Joshua, ‘Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.’”

Of course Joshua and his fellow Israelites are afraid! Of course they’re discouraged! Look what just happened to them.

In chapter 6, they were cruising along, miraculously crossing the Jordan River on dry ground and destroying the walls of Jericho simply by marching around the city, blowing trumpets, and shouting. God was with them. They could see His hand at work. After forty years of wandering in the wilderness, He was beginning to fulfill His promise to give them a land of their own. What could be more exciting?

Following the easy victory at Jericho, they headed out for the second battle in this new territory, fighting the city of Ai. They were so passionate. So confident of God’s presence and their own strength that they limited the number of warriors they sent into the battle.

“But they were routed by the men of Ai.”

They never had a chance.

“At this the hearts of the people melted and became like water.”

Even Joshua was shaken. He questioned whether they should have crossed the Jordan. He feared that the Canaanites would hear about it and “wipe out our name from the earth.” They were understandably afraid of their enemies.

The Lord revealed to them that the cause of their disaster was sin. One single man out of the entire population had defied God’s direct order. Because of one man’s disobedience, approximately thirty-six men were killed in the battle with Ai, all of the Israelites were put to shame, and the man and his children were executed.

Who wouldn’t be afraid of God after witnessing His judgment? Who wouldn’t be discouraged as they looked at their own sinful hearts and realized that they could be next?

And yet He comes to Joshua and clearly says, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Under these circumstances, I have to think that this isn’t a command (in the sense of demanding instant repentance and obedience) so much as a word of encouragement.

Could anyone honestly command someone not to be afraid after he’s just faced terrifying actions from both men and God? Could anyone expect that person to respond to that command by straightening his spine and banishing all his fears without another drop of anxiety seeping in? Surely God knows us better than that.

The disciples’ troubled hearts

It reminds me of Jesus saying to His disciples in John 14:1, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” What had happened in the days and hours before He spoke these words?

Jesus had predicted His death by crucifixion and told them about the frightening time of judgment to come (Matthew 24, 26:1-2). Impending danger from both man and God.

In John 13, He prophesied that He’d be betrayed by one of them. That He’d be going away and they wouldn’t be able to go with Him. That Peter would disown Him three times before the rooster crowed in the morning.

Who wouldn’t be troubled? Yes, He’d also provided some comforting words and actions (like washing their feet to express the depth of His love for them), but if the disciples were like me, the scary stuff would make a deeper impression than the comforting stuff.

And yet He says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”As if they could really do that. As in Joshua, I can’t see this as a command. It sounds more like an attempt to strengthen His friends in preparation for the most difficult challenge of their lives. To turn their focus from their fears to His promises and His character so that they would, in time, be able to overcome their troubled hearts.

God knows

When God tells me not to be afraid, I often feel like my fear is fully justified. Terrible, frightening things are happening. Doesn’t He understand that? How can He expect me to just let go of my fears and move ahead as if nothing was wrong?

But, as with the Israelites in Joshua’s day and the disciples shortly before Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion, the Lord often comes to me (through His Word, through worshipping at church, through other people, through His Holy Spirit) not to sternly rebuke me for my fears, but to strengthen me by comforting and encouraging me.

What does He base this on? Surely He can’t expect me to just pretend all’s right with the world and the threats don’t really exist.

In both the Old and New Testament passages, God based it on the fact that He knew what was coming. His hearers didn’t. Neither do I.

He knew that the Israelites would defeat their enemy the next time around. He knew that Jesus would be resurrected from the dead on the third day.

After the Lord encourages Joshua not to be afraid or discouraged, He says that He’s given Ai into their hands. Past tense. He provides them with the strategy for doing it (using the whole army, not just a few thousand, and setting an ambush). Israel experiences a decisive victory.

The events that occur after Jesus’ conversation with His disciples are even more spectacular than the victory over Ai. He’s betrayed by Judas (one of the chosen twelve) and arrested in front of an angry mob. His disciples scatter in fear.

He faces multiple trials, beating, mocking, a crown of thorns, and the death penalty. Isaiah says His appearance was “disfigured beyond that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness” (Isaiah 52:14).

He’s taken to Golgotha, where He’s brutally crucified along with two criminals. He cries out to His God, who’s forsaken Him. He dies. His body is laid in a tomb. How much worse could it get? How could any of His followers not be shocked and terrified?

But then, just as God knew would happen, just as Jesus had told them would happen, the whole reason the Son could say to them, “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” the most unexpected and amazing thing happens. Jesus rises from the dead.

It was too unbelievable for the disciples to understand Him when Jesus predicted it beforehand (e.g. Matthew 16:21-23). It was too unbelievable for even His closest followers to accept someone else’s word for it (Mark 16:9-12, Luke 24:9-27, John 20:24-25). It’s the greatest, most spectacular, most unbelievable event in the history of the world.

And God knew it was coming. That’s why Jesus could reassure His disciples that they didn’t need to be troubled. Nearly every time He told them about His coming death, He also promised them that He would rise from the dead.

My hope

When I’m fearful and troubled, when life hurts, when scary things are happening, I have the same reassurance that Israel and the disciples had. God knows my future.

It might involve additional suffering. The scary circumstances won’t necessarily just miraculously go away (although they sometimes do). Jesus’ followers went through an intensely painful time before experiencing the unexpected, overflowing joy of the resurrection.

As the years passed, many of them were imprisoned and tortured and killed because of their faith in Him. He doesn’t promise me a life of ease.

But God knows my future. He knows that my future, in this life, includes intimate fellowship with Him and with other believers, joy and wonder at the works of His hands, and the fruit of the Spirit growing inside me.

He knows that my future, in the next life, includes the overwhelming, unimaginable joy and love and peace and glory of being with Him. It includes being completely separated from sin and all its painful consequences. Forever and ever.

Jesus has defeated death. I think He can probably see me through even the most frightening and troubling days ahead.

I don’t always find it easy to trust Him to do that. But I can look at the many examples in His Word and imagine His voice saying, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged,” and, “Do not let your heart be troubled.” I can know that He knows my future, just as surely as He knew Israel’s and the disciples’ futures. I can learn to trust Him a little bit more.

 

 

 

Good Company

Despair

Rereading books from my personal library, deciding which are keepers and which can go. A Reason to Live, edited by Melody Beattie (1991), is my current choice.

Two quotes on page 125:

“So if you [God] are going to deal thus with me, please kill me at once.”

“It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life.”

The title of the article in A Reason to Live: “You’re in Good Company.” These words were spoken by Moses and Elijah in Numbers 11:15 and 1 Kings 19:4. Many of the readers of the book could relate to their despair.

Glory

Where’s the one place in the New Testament where these two great men appear together? With Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration (Matthew 17:1-9).

I’ve always wondered why they were sent to the Lord at that time. I’ve heard a couple of good explanations, but you know me. I continue to question God’s choices (or man’s explanations for God’s choices).

I’ve heard some say that Moses represents the Law while Elijah represents the prophets. That makes sense, since Jesus came to fulfill the Law and the prophets. But a little part of my brain asks, “Why should Elijah represent the prophets? Was he the greatest of them all? He doesn’t even have his own book, like Isaiah or Jeremiah.”

I’ve heard some say that one link between them is that neither had a definite burial place, just as Jesus’ tomb is empty. A good observation. Moses died on Mount Nebo and was buried “in the valley opposite Beth Peor, but to this day no one knows where his grave is” (Deuteronomy 34:6). Elijah was taken up to heaven in a whirlwind without ever dying (2 Kings 2:11). But if that was God’s reasoning, why wasn’t Enoch on this mountain, too (Genesis 5:24)?

I’m fine with these explanations. There may be others that I’m not familiar with.

But as I read these words of desperation from the lips of the two who came to Jesus on that mountain in the final days before His last journey to Jerusalem, I see God’s choice from a different perspective.

In Matthew 16:21, “Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, chief priests and teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.” He repeats this message in 20:17-19. In between is the transfiguration.

His coming suffering must have been on His mind even as His glory was revealed to Peter, James, and John. And then Moses and Elijah appeared and talked with Jesus.

Good company for Jesus

According to Luke 9:31, they “spoke about his departure, which he was about to bring to fulfillment at Jerusalem.” Jesus would be in control of His departure, but we know from His experience in the Garden of Gethsemane that it wouldn’t be easy.

As I read this article in this book I think, What do we all crave when we’re facing a difficult trial? The good company of someone who can relate to our fears and our pain.

Is that maybe one of the reasons the Father sent these two particular men to be with His Son at this particular time? Did they remind Him of their own trials and struggles, their own despair? Did their presence and their words strengthen Jesus as He faced both human and divine judgment at the end of His life on this planet?

(I don’t mean to imply that He was so dependent on help from human beings that He would have failed in His mission if He hadn’t had this encounter. Sometimes God sends us unnecessary blessings out of the abundance of His grace.

I’ve had times when I really would have been okay without any encouragement or strengthening from others, but the Lord has gone beyond my need and blessed me through someone else’s words. I treasure those moments.

The presence of Moses and Elijah wasn’t necessary for Jesus to have enough strength to face His coming trials. It was a gift from a loving Father to His Son.)

The background

When the Israelite slaves suddenly escaped from Egypt, they’d spent hundreds of years living in poverty and in terror of their masters, with few opportunities to make meaningful decisions. As a result, they understandably experienced fear and doubt and stumbling on their initial journey.

God was patient with them and provided for their needs during their many periods of grumbling. In the book of Exodus, He rebukes them for their complaints, but the only time He punishes them for their attitude and behavior is when they worship the Golden Calf at Mount Sinai in chapter 32.

The next book, Leviticus, is mostly peaceful. The only rebellions described are by individuals and are dealt with individually (chapters 10 and 24).

Then we move on to Numbers. The first ten chapters concern commands from the Lord and the departure from Mount Sinai. But something changes in chapter 11. The outline in my 1985 NIV Bible labels it, “The Beginning of the Sorrows.” Now the Lord becomes “exceedingly angry” with them for their complaints. He sends fire to consume “some of the outskirts of the camp.”

What’s happening here?

Through every trial, God had demonstrated His tender loving care for Israel. On Mount Sinai, He made a precious covenant with them to be their God. Their departure from that mountain signals that they have everything they need to enter into a deeper relationship with Him than any group has had since the fall of mankind.

It’s time for them to grow up, stop grumbling, and start trusting Him. Time for God to start using different teaching methods.

This is when Moses asks God to take his life. He doesn’t see how he can possibly bear “the burden of all these people.” And yet he does. For forty more years.

At the Mount of Transfiguration, Jesus knew He would soon be bearing a great burden involving many people, on the cross. He and Moses could relate to each other.

In 1 Kings chapters 18 and 19, Elijah experiences a powerful victory over the false god, Baal. Queen Jezebel sends him a message vowing to kill him within twenty-four hours. He runs for his life and prays that he could just die by God’s hand. Elijah quickly plummets from the heights of success to the depths of sheer terror.

As they were talking, Jesus knew that He would soon go from the glory of the transfiguration to the intense suffering of the cross. He and Elijah could relate to each other.

In Mark 9:19, Jesus expresses exasperation with His disciples’ lack of faith, asking how much longer He’ll have to put up with them. Kind of like Moses and Elijah telling God they’re ready to be done with this life.

Jesus could relate to both Moses and Elijah. They provided good company for Him.

Good company for the disciples—and me

Shortly after the incident with the Golden Calf, Moses asks to see God’s glory. The glory of the Lord passes by him while he’s covered by God’s hand in the cleft of the rock. Moses only sees God’s back.

After asking the Lord to take his life, Elijah hides in a cave on Mount Horeb. (NIV note: probably an alternate name for Mount Sinai.) God says to him, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Elijah experiences God’s presence in a “gentle whisper.”

Moses and Elijah had indirect, yet intimate, encounters with God’s presence and glory. Peter, James, and John are there when Jesus is transfigured in all His glory. It wasn’t only Jesus who could relate to Moses and Elijah. These three disciples were in good company, too.

And I’m in good company. In both my despair and my joy. Moses, Elijah, and even Jesus went through deep emotional suffering. I can relate to them.

Moses, Elijah, Peter, James, and John all had intimate encounters with the glory of God. I don’t expect to ever see some kind of vision of God’s glory, like Jesus’ transfiguration, in this lifetime. But with the Holy Spirit within me, I can have a growing sense of His glory. I can relate to these men. I’m in good company with them in both their pain and their joy.

Part of that glory, part of that joy, is the Wow! I experience when I see new connections between different Bible passages. Moses and Elijah both despaired to the point of asking God to take their lives. That same Moses and Elijah appeared to Jesus shortly before His agonized prayers in the Garden of Gethsemane. God’s Word and His working are amazing.

 

 

 

Rejecting Wisdom

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy

Recently came across a 2023 article by Jon Haidt on his Substack, “After Babel.” He shares how his friend, Greg Lukianoff, a defender of the free-speech rights of college students, made a brilliant connection between policies implemented by American universities and declining mental health. (The irony—the policies were intended to improve mental health.)

Lukianoff had learned to apply Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) while being treated for depression. CBT focuses on thinking patterns, called cognitive distortions, that can be both causes and symptoms of depression. They’re referred to as distortions because they don’t accurately reflect reality. Learning to overcome these habits (including catastrophizing, black-and-white thinking, and emotional reasoning) contributes to psychological healing.

When we catastrophize, we look at a current issue or situation and jump to the conclusion that something catastrophic will happen if we don’t stop it or fix it immediately. I remember when I was learning to drive and the price of gasoline was threatening to skyrocket all the way up to two dollars a gallon. I thought the world would end.

It didn’t.

Most of the things we catastrophize about aren’t nearly as destructive as we imagine they’ll be. Human beings are amazingly resilient, both individually and as groups.

Black-and-white thinking means there are no gray areas. For example, every person is either good or evil and every action illustrates either love or hate. But in the real world each one of us is a mixed bag of thoughts and motivations. Even good people do bad things. Even bad people are capable of doing good things.

My dad used to say, ”Don't throw out the baby with the bathwater.” Wikipedia describes this as an “error in which something good or of value is eliminated when trying to get rid of something unwanted.”* Black-and-white thinking often leads to making this mistake.

Emotional reasoning uses feelings, rather than logic, in making decisions. Rational thinking alone can lead to trouble if we don’t take into account the psychological impact that a seemingly logical action can have on someone. (As a nerd, I’ve done this too many times.) But basing decisions solely on emotions rarely leads to the best solution to a problem.

Lukianoff suggested to Haidt that the behavior of many college students and the policies of many college leaders is, in effect, reverse CBT. (I haven’t had a chance to read it yet, but you can explore this idea in more detail in their 2018 book, The Coddling of the American Mind.)

Expressing deep concern about microaggressions is catastrophizing. Refusing to allow someone to speak on campus in their field of expertise because of a comment they’d made in a tweet concerning a completely different subject is throwing out the baby with the bathwater due to black-and-white thinking. Emotional reasoning is used to demand the removal of important textbooks from a college syllabus.

Universities are training and encouraging students to think in ways that have been proven to contribute to and prolong depression.

The Serenity Prayer

Then I happened to reread the “Serenity Prayer.” Originally composed in the early 1930s by Reinhold Niebuhr, a Protestant theologian, the prayer opens with, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

This prayer has been used successfully for many years (most famously by Alcoholics Anonymous) to help people overcome mental health issues and live better lives. But do we value its insights today?

Are we willing to accept that there are some things that we cannot change? Children have been told for at least a couple of generations now that they can do and have everything they want in this life. The message they’re hearing: Don’t accept the idea that there’s anything that you can’t change in order to get your own way.

Those who attract the most attention for trying to change the world often act like bullies or like spoiled children throwing a tantrum. Have bullies or tantruming children ever been considered courageous?

Do we desire wisdom, or would we rather just rush on to the next big thing without taking any time to contemplate whether it’s best to go there? Are we allowing wisdom to die out as we encourage electronic devices and artificial intelligence do more and more of our thinking for us?

Do we value wisdom and courage and the serenity of acceptance anymore?

Rejecting the past

Why is our culture rejecting the proven wisdom of the past? Wisdom that’s led many to better mental health. The fruit of that rejection can be seen in the increasing rates of mental health issues and deaths from despair.

A culture that lives this way weakens itself. (I’m tempted to say that it’s headed for destruction, but that might be catastrophizing.)

We seem to have adopted a definition of progress that means automatically dismissing anything old when something different comes along. No need to evaluate whether to accept the new. It’s always better simply because it’s newer. That’s how evolution works.

I saw this blatantly stated in a book about Robinson Crusoe and its imitators many years ago. (I no longer have the book, so I can’t identify its title and author with certainty.) There are probably other sources that I’m not familiar with that make the same assertion.

C. S. Lewis, in Surprised by Joy, calls this “chronological snobbery … the uncritical acceptance of the intellectual climate common to our own age and the assumption that whatever has gone out of date is on that account discredited.”

In contrast to this attitude, Lewis writes in The Case for Christianity, “Progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong turning then to go forward does not get you any nearer. If you are on the wrong road progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road and in that case the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man.”

What if we thought more carefully before taking that wrong turning in the first place? If we automatically reject the past, can we even recognize that old right road? Or will we build a new one that takes us even further from the truth?

I’m not saying that there was ever a golden age that we can go back to if we just overcome current ways of thinking and pass the right laws. I’m skeptical of any viewpoint that claims that there was once a time and a place where a majority of people were true Christians.

When Christianity is acceptable and popular, I have to question how many people are actually born again and how many are simply following the current philosophy without thinking it through and without any real repentance and change of heart. Jesus said, “But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it” (Matthew 7:14).

And I’m not anti-progress. I’m thankful for the developments in human thinking and technology that have occurred within my own lifetime.

Advances in medicine have led to longer, fuller lives. Personal computers have simplified the writing and rewriting process (thank You, Lord!), among many other benefits. We’re seeing greater equality between the races and the sexes. Pollution has been reduced and cleaned up.

Several decades ago, experts made great strides in understanding and treating mental health disorders. Talk therapies, like CBT. Medications that, when used wisely, can save lives. Now those advances are being replaced by newer ideas. Not because they didn’t work (when applied properly), but simply because they’re older.

Just as certain college policies can be seen as the opposite of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, rejecting the wisdom of the past can be seen as the opposite of progress.


*Recently, other writers have called my attention to some painful examples of how Wikipedia distorts the truth and refuses to change their story when their bias is pointed out to them. With those examples fresh in my mind as I was editing this post, I was tempted to find a different source for the explanation of this expression.

But then I realized that that might be a perfect example of throwing out the baby with the bathwater.

Should I use Wikipedia for its beneficial articles? Or should I stop referring to it because of the obvious bias in other entries? Does citing Wikipedia in this blog imply that I trust it completely? What if I can’t tell how inaccurate an article is and I accept, and even spread, the false teaching that it promotes without realizing that I’m doing that? I’m still struggling with these questions.