The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, by John Boyne

From our perspective, decades after the end of World War 2, it's quite easy to see the black and white moral issues that colored that conflict.  But for Europeans on the scene in the late 1930s and early 1940s, some of the most extreme moral evil in history was being perpetrated right under their noses without their being aware.  As the war continued, more people realized what was going on, but willful ignorance seemed the order of the day.  The Holocaust did not fully come to light until after it was all but over.

In The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, John Boyne tells the story of Bruno, a nine-year-old boy living in Berlin during World War 2.  Bruno's father has a very important job, and one night the "Fury"comes to have dinner.  He offers Bruno's father a position as commandant at "Out-With."  Bruno understands that this is a very important position, but is not thrilled about having to leave their house in Berlin, which has a great bannister to slide down and still has places in its five stories that Bruno has not explored.

It doesn't take long for Bruno to see that Out-With (Boyne never actually calls Auschwitz or Hitler by their proper names, in keeping with Bruno's perspective.) is not at all like Berlin. He can see part of the camp from his window, and sees all the people in their matching striped pajamas. His sister Gretel asks, "What sort of place is this?"  Bruno replies, "I'm not sure. But it's not as nice as home, I do know that much."

Despite his misgivings about the place, he sets out to explore, and discovers a boy sitting inside the fence, on the edge of the camp.  Through the fence, Bruno and his new friend Shmuel spend many an hour talking as boys, Bruno oblivious to Shmuel's plight. Through the lens of this friendship Boyne demonstrates the basic humanity of ordinary people, for whom ethnic and religious differences mean little until they are taught or imposed. 

Bruno's father is presented as a good man caught up in the policies and politics of his time, his ambition silencing any moral objections that might arise. But he reveals his true feelings about the Jews when Bruno ask about the people "in the huts . . . all dressed the same."  His Father answers, "Those people . . . well, they're not people at all, Bruno . . . At least not as we understand the term."

Boyne softens the image of "Out-With" in a way, by limiting the descriptions of the camp only to Bruno's ignorant perspective. But given what we know now about the camp, the presentation comes across as that much more brutal. And the ending, which you must read to discover, exposes the horror of both the camp and those who run it. 

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is a powerful story which I cannot recommend highly enough.

Jesus Hates Religion, by Alex Himaya

In preparation for a sermon series, Alex Himaya, pastor of theChurch.at (How's that for a church name?) put up some billboards in the Tulsa area with the provocative message, "jesushatesreligion.com."  As he expected, the messages at the web site were pretty heated, one way or the other.  In the book that came out of that sermon series, Jesus Hates Religion: Finding Grace in a Works-Driven Culture, Himaya fleshes out the idea, which isn't quite as provocative as the title, but nevertheless captures important truth.

First of all, you have to understand Himaya's definitions.  He is not saying that Jesus hates the church, all religious institutions, or religious practices.  In fact, God "loves the church.  He created it!"  By religion, Himaya means, "a man-made path to God."  Jesus "hates the perversion of many churches which have added their own rules and standards to His genuine, honest and simple offer of relationship."

The gist of the book is that we are saved by grace, not by works.  This is not a new message, but it's still a hard one to fully grasp.  We try and try to measure up to God's standards on our own strength.  We buy into legalism, "a system of living in which we try to make spiritual progress or gain God's blessing based on what we do."  On the contrary, we are not saved by imitation, but by habitation.  "It's about God making His habitat in you.  It's about God living through you."

While Himaya is clearly theologically sound, I think most Christians' problem is more like mine.  I am only aware of strictly legalistic churches by reputation.  The legalistic religion he constructs is likely more straw man than common experience.  I can see how some people from, for instance, a Southern Baptist tradition (a tradition Himaya and I share) have felt like church was too legalistic.  But I suspect many Christians have just as much trouble with the abiding.

I am totally on board with Himaya.  I know that as a Christian, I am totally forgiven, that nothing I can do will make Jesus love me more, that because of Him I am faultless in the eyes of God, and that good works have nothing to do with my salvation.  But then Himaya says things like, "The Christian life can be easy.  You've just got to let God do it," I am left wondering.  What exactly does that look like?  To have intimacy with God, to abide with him, to focus on staying close to God sometimes seems unattainable.  I have to make time to spend with him, to pray, to worship.  Not that these things are burdensome, but they are still actions I take.  The rules I try to follow may not be "don't drink, don't cuss, don't steal, don't cheat on my wife."  But "pray daily, spend time in the word, focus on knowing God," still feels like rules, requirements necessary for abiding.

It's not Himaya's fault.  He's trying to point me in the right direction.  The closer we can get to abiding, and the farther we can get from legalism, the more we can attain the life we are offered, "joyful, abundant, exhilarating, divine, eternal life."  In rejecting legalism, however, let's remember that while Jesus hates many of man's expressions of religion, he does love the church, a place where we can mean him, learn to know him, and abide in him.

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the complimentary electronic review copy!

The Good Dad, by Jim Daly

Jim Daly, who replaced James Dobson as president of Focus on the Family in 2005, has some good words of encouragement for fathers in his new book The Good Dad: Becoming the Father You Were Meant to Be.  Some men who write books about fatherhood draw on their own father's examples, or on examples from their own lives.  When Daly talks about being a good dad, he tells plenty of stories on himself, setting an example as well as, in humility, talking about his failures.  But when he speaks of his own dad, step-dad, and foster dad, most of the stories fall on the failure side.  He writes "to encourage you to become the kind of father I never had."

Encouraging is the right word for The Good Dad.  Daly's history and the failures of his father figures gives him a heightened sensitivity to father failures.  But, he writes, "God really is a great example of what a father should be.  And if our own fathers failed us, we shouldn't let those failures obscure the model of our ultimate Abba father."  This is a chief concern of The Good Dad, reminding readers that even if our fathers let us down, and even when we let down our own children, we have access to a perfect heavenly father.

Daly's tone throughout is humble, honest, and realistic.  He acknowledges that fatherhood can be a challenge: "Spending time with kids, particularly very young kids, can feel like work.  It doesn't necessarily come naturally." He reminds fathers that "We're called to sacrifice for our families."  The sacrifices we make may, in rare cases, mean laying down our lives, but fatherhood is mostly about the small sacrifices, the small promises, to play a game or help with homework.  "'I'll die for you,' we tell our children. 'That's great,' they answer back, 'but can I just spend time with you?'"

Daly is a worthy successor to Dobson, and The Good Dad fits with the historical mission of Focus on the Family.  But as I recall from my reading of Dobson's books, Daly's style is much different.  Daly is less prescriptive, more relational, less directive, more experiential.  He writes, "Being a father isn't something we do.  It's something we are."  There is a place for rules, he says, but only to the extent that they help our children learn and grow.  And discipline must not be overdone; "you don't want to become so egregious in your discipline that your kids find it had to love you anymore." 

Daly boils down his principles of fatherhood to leading children to "a rock-solid commitment to Christ," "a sense of integrity," and "kindness and courtesy, how to treat people well--and why."  If I can accomplish passing those principles to my children, I will feel pretty great about my role as a father.  I am blessed to have a father who modeled those principles for me.  (How well I have followed his example, I'm not so sure. . . .).  Whether you had a perfect dad, a terrible dad, or no dad, and whether you feel like you have fatherhood mastered or need a lot of work, The Good Dad is a healthy reminder and a straightforward challenge to look to our heavenly father, and to be the father you were meant to be.


Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the complimentary electronic review copy!

I Like Giving, by Brad Formsma

Brad Formsma, a businessman in Grand Rapids, Michigan, found himself in an enviable place in life: a successful business, financial prosperity, and security.  But he found himself wanting more, a desire that couldn't be met by more success or stuff, but that he found could be met my giving from what he had.  He found that "no matter how successful you are, it is giving your life away to others that makes you happy. . . . Giving satisfies our most essential self, increases our happiness, and makes us feel more alive."  He writes: "If you're not experiencing happiness and satisfaction in your life, giving to others could be the one thing that turns that around."

Formsma's book I Like Giving: The Transforming Power of a Generous Life fleshes out this basic principal.  Through his own experiences, and the experiences of others gathered at ilikegiving.com, Formsma shows the power of giving, big or little, monetary or completely non-material, anonymously or face-to-face.  I was encouraged to look around my world with different eyes, asking every day, "Who can I give something to or do something for today?  What do I have that I can give?  What needs exist around me?"  That attitudinal change can make a world of difference in the way I go about my day.

Acts of giving can make a world of difference in other people's lives, as well.  Formsma emphasizes, more than really seems healthy, the impact of giving on the giver, giving as a means enrich the giver.  But the fact is, when we give randomly and extravagantly, even for our own benefit, the recipient of the gift is impacted as well, sometimes profoundly.  Formsma tells story after story of meals and groceries paid for, houses, cars, and bikes purchased or given, and gifts of time and presence that changed the lives of the recipients.

Formsma has a great message, but it does fall short in a few ways.  First of all, he downplays systematic giving.  He never even mentions the word "tithe," and talks about how "building campaigns, white envelopes, and charity fund-raiser dinners" turned him off of giving.  Those can be annoying sometimes, but there is so much good done through these channels that they should not be despised.  Plus, every Christian should prioritize tithing to the local church.  Buying groceries for a stranger and helping others out should be above and beyond the tithe.

Second, he criticizes a life of trying to get ahead, of seeking financial success in our work.  It is all too true that a life in the rat race can lead to frustration and emptiness.  Yet without a steady income that provides for my family's needs and more, can I really maintain a giving attitude?  Of course I could, but if I don't have enough to pay my own bills, I am hardly in a position to give to strangers.  Besides, work and giving are not mutually exclusive.  If I am truly seeking to meet the needs of others in my work, providing through my labor goods and services that meet their needs, I will likely be compensated for my work.  The better I am at giving, at meeting needs through my work, the more successful I will be at my job, and the more like I am to have both the means and the attitude necessary to give random gifts to strangers I meet.

Formsma has a great message.  I agree that giving to others "not only . . .  result[s] in a healthier, happier you, but it creates a better world."  It would be great if everyone regularly gave stuff away at random on a regular basis.  But giving systematically, with deliberation, planning, discernment, and direction can and should be a part of our giving as well.

Thanks to Waterbrook/Multnomah and Edelweiss for the complimentary electronic review copy!

Replant, by Mark DeVine and Darrin Patrick

I have long been attracted to and fascinated by crumbling churches that have been left behind by suburbanization.  It saddens me to see a church that clearly had some former glory, only to be abandoned by its congregation as they moved on to greener pastures in the suburbs.  In Replant: How a Dying Church Can Grow Again, Mark DeVine and Darrin Patrick tell the story of the reanimation First Calvary Baptist Church in Kansas City.

DeVine, at the time a professor at Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, was asked to serve as interim pastor at First Calvary Baptist Church, a historic congregation that had seen several decades of decline.  He was entranced by the beauty of the sanctuary, and compelled to take on the challenge of leadership in the face of what he knew would likely be a losing proposition.  The first few chapters of Replant recall his struggles to unseat the "cartel" of four long-time members who ran the church.  In a sickeningly amusing (and distressingly familiar, to many church leaders) series of events, DeVine led the body to reject the grip of "leadership" the cartel had been administering.  But this left the church in search of fresh leadership.

DeVine knew the church was on its last legs, and realistically did not have the internal resources to resurrect itself, so he began to seek another church in town which would take on FCBC as a satellite or mission church.  This didn't work out, but he became acquainted with the Acts 29 church planting movement, which had an active ministry in St. Louis.  Ultimately, FCBC became Redeemer Fellowship, an extension of The Journey, a multi-site church in St. Louis.

The partnership model DeVine and Patrick write about (Patrick is a leader in the Acts 29 network) is an interesting solution to the problem of a dying urban church.  As Patrick writes, "Urban soil is the most difficult place for any church to grow."  But any urban church planter, pastor, or ministry director will tell you that is where the need is.  What a great example of a church reestablishing a beachhead for the gospel in an urban setting.

I was left feeling a bit misled by the whole transition from FCBC to Redeemer.  Some of the core members of FCBC stuck around, but from an outside perspective, it sounds like very little of FCBC is left, aside from the building.  It reminded me of white congregations who sell their buildings to an ethnic congregation in neighborhoods where the demographics have changed.  The building is the same, but the culture is very different.  Of course, when an ethnic congregation takes over a building, the original congregants don't normally stick around.  As Redeemer Fellowship stepped in, many FCBC members stayed.  (It's also interesting that the Redeemer Fellowship web site states that the church started in 2008, without reference to the history of the building or FCBC.)

I admit I am a bit old-fashioned and skeptical of the multi-campus church or satellite church model, which was key to the establishment of Redeemer.  But I have to admit that it was also key to FCBC not being completely shut down.  I don't know Kansas City at all, but from DeVine and Patrick's account, I can get excited about Redeemer's commitment to the city and the life the church has brought back to the neighborhood.

Speaking of the neighborhood, one thing I found lacking in DeVine's exploration of solutions for the church is a reflection on the FCBC neighborhood.  Surely one factor in the declining attendance was changing demographics.  It sounds like the church retained its character as a white, middle-class church while the neighborhood around the church changed.  DeVine mentions that many members drove in from outside the area for services, but says little about ministry and outreach to the neighborhood.  The fact that he doesn't mention it doesn't mean they didn't do it; I don't have enough information to make a judgement either way.  But I would have been interested to hear how that factored into the church's decline.

All in all, Replant is a hopeful model for declining churches to look to and consider.  On the other end of things, perhaps churches with a surplus of leadership and resources can look to partner with a struggling church, bringing new life to old bones.



Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the complimentary electronic review copy!

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Uncle John's Bathroom Reader Germophobia

This little book accomplishes what every Uncle John's Bathroom Reader book sets out to do: gives you a little bit of reading entertainment while you are in the "reading room." The topic of Uncle John's Bathroom Reader Germophobia is especially appropriate, as you read about the number of germs found on your toothbrush (a lot) or the "world's worst diarrhea" (with detailed descriptions).

You won't likely find this Reader in the waiting room (or bathroom) of your doctor's office.  Doctors won't want you to read the stories incompetent doctors and dentists, their unethical practices, and unsanitary conditions of their offices.  I do wish they had provided some references.  Some of what they write is self-evidently true (there are lots of germs everywhere) but every now and then I had to wonder.  For example, I know some patients get sicker from infections they get at the hospital, but, according to the reader, "Over 1.7 million Americans are admitted to hospitals every year.  Around 100,000 of them die as a result of infections acquired during their stay." OK, quick math: that would mean about 5% of everyone admitted to the hospital die.  Those are pretty bad odds, and I suspect might be a bit high.  But what do I know?

These short chapters are guaranteed to make you laugh, get grossed out, or, as in the above example, stay away from doctors and hospitals.  But you will also find some good, practical advice here, such as, "If your face explodes in bloody open sores, see your doctor." Noted.





Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the complimentary electronic review copy!

Running Away, by Robert Andrew Powell

Most runners, at some point will hear wisecracks from their non-running friends along the lines of "What are you running from?" or "I only run if something's chasing me." Haha, so funny.  In Running Away, Robert Andrew Powell's memoir of his year of running, embraces, in a way, the idea of running as a means of getting away--from poor choices in his past, from failed relationships, from a desire to live up to his father's expectations for him.  He reveals a lot about running, but mostly he reveals himself while discovering himself.

Suffering from a painful divorce and some ugly breakups, as well as a bit of aimlessness in his career, Powell looks to his father for inspiration.  Powell's father, a successful businessman, took up running as an adult and within a year had qualified for and run in the Boston Marathon.  Powell decides to attempt to emulate that accomplishment, so he gets rid of everything that won't fit in his car, packs up and drives to Boulder.  There he rents an apartment in an old chicken coop, joins a local running club, and begins his training.

I won't spoil the book for you by telling you whether he accomplishes his goals of running a marathon and qualifying for Boston.  But his running odyssey is one that many runners can relate to.  He's pretty honest about not liking to run.  He writes, "I don't like to run.  I can't pretend I do.  I don't much like pain, really." When his running partner exclaims that there's nothing he'd rather be doing than running on a cold morning, Powell "spends the rest of the run exploring everything I'd rather be doing," including staying in his warm bed, watching college football on TV, eating pizza and brownies.  "Nowhere in this vision is there a sixteen mile run in the freezing cold."

What about the runner's high?  "No, I've never experienced  transcendence during my training. . . . I have noticed how wonderful it is to stop running."  But in spite of his ambivalence toward running, it's inspiring to see the dedication he brought to his training, most of the time, anyway.  He trained hard, ate well, lost a lot of weight, and shaved minutes off his pace.  His account is a reminder that even an out-of-shape, middle-aged guy can get fit and fast if he works hard at it.

As for his non-running life, well, it's frequently entertaining, but not so inspiring.  He has a gift for capturing the spirit of a place.  His move from Miami, "lawless, a state of nature," to Boulder, "an exclusive gated community, catered by Mexicans," gives plenty of opportunity for him to comment on the contrasts between the two places.  He is quite open about his personal failures.  He lives in the shadow of his father's success.  His chicken coop is a soon to be demolished anomaly in a neighborhood of new, expensive homes.  He notes, "If I'd worked hard and hustled and taken advantage of the head-start my parents gave me, I could have lived in this neighborhood, too."  Alas, as a freelance journalist in a dry spell, he's fallen short of the ambitions his parents had for him.

His writes about his career being a bit stagnant, but his love life is downright rotten.  Although he married young,  that's no excuse for his running around on his wife.  Most every man, I'm sure, notices other women, but the way Powell talks about actively seeking them out and flirting with them, at work and even at dinner parties he attends with his wife, is appalling.  Maybe I'm naive and this is common.  Then when his flirtations lead to rendezvous, the extent to which he and his lover travel to visit one another to carry on their affair is mind-boggling to me.  At the time of this writing, he is single, and presumably has learned his lesson about the costs of infidelity.

Ultimately, Powell's year in Boulder is not primarily about his training for a marathon and the discipline with which he approached his running.  More than that, it's about getting his life back on track.  I couldn't help but be a bit envious.  Most guys who are approaching middle age and seeking to retune their lives would not be able to pull up stakes and relocate across the country to spend a year training, with no real means of income or support.  In a way, that sounds pretty great.  I can't drop everything and go run like Powell did, but I can get a good laugh out of his adventures, and draw some inspiration for my own retuning.  Running away isn't the only way to get back on track; sometimes just running is enough.



Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher of the complimentary electronic review copy!