The Christian Atheist, by Craig Groeschel

It doesn't take much of a stretch to say that many, if not most, American Christians live like Christian atheists.  Sure, we have Christian values (whatever that means in your particular Christian circle), we attend church, maybe even several days a week, maybe even in leadership, we listen to Christian music, we have Christian friends.  But how much of that fully acknowledges God's role in our lives?  This question has troubled me for a long time.  If I have a non-existent devotional life, if I don't consult or acknowledge God in my daily decisions, and if I otherwise live without daily interaction with him, I guess I'm counted among the Christian atheists. 

When I saw the title of Craig Groeschel's book, I knew I had to take a look.  Groeschel is founder and pastor of LifeChurch.tv, one of those church names that makes me groan on a number of levels.  Even though the church follows that multi-campus, marketing driven, seeker-friendly, ultra-hip model that makes me sick, I have to give him credit for reaching lots of people.  As the domain name in the church name suggests, they are spread over several locations in several states, linked together by technological means. 

Besides attending at one of LiveChurch.tv's real campuses, you can apparently attend as an avatar in the virtual worship center.

I have never heard Groeschel preach, but I am thinking that The Christian Atheist must reflect his teaching/preaching style.  One the plus side, he uses lots of personal stories, both from his own life and from people in his church and who he has met.  He's not one to get stories from "Sermon Illustrations Weekly"; he brings real lives of real people into his teaching.  Groeschel covers many of the ways I live as a Christian atheist: not praying, doubting his total love for me, questioning his sovereignty, trusting in my efforts and money for my needs, not sharing my faith.  In much of the content, he addresses the typical American pagan, who thinks he's a Christian but who has never made a decision to follow Christ, but much applies to people like me, who have been Christ followers, but who go through the motions of faith and church, and don't live in communication and relationship with God on a daily basis.

Ultimately I was disappointed in the book.  It showed Groeschel's engaging style, but lacked much substance.  The target audience would be the seeker, without a background in Christian teaching and theology, which probably makes sense.  I get the impression that's who he preaches to every week.  For someone who has been immersed in church life and Christian teaching, there's nothing new here, and what is here is pretty superficial.  That's not to say it's completely without value, but I will say the value is quite limited.  I guess it will take a lot more than Groeschel's book to break me out of my Christian atheism.

The Confession, by John Grisham

In The Confession, Grisham has brought together his straight-forward, page-turning suspenseful style, a la The Firm with the anti-death penalty, justice system reforming crusade of The Innocent Man.  The stalwart pro-death penalty advocate may not enjoy this book, but if you have any sympathy at all for the Innocence Project, which works to "free the staggering numbers of innocent people who remain incarcerated and to bring substantive reform to the system responsible for their unjust imprisonment," and for people who are wrongly convicted of crimes, you will appreciate the tone and message of The Confession.

The Confession is the page-turner Grisham fans have come to expect from him.  The story alone doesn't rank as one of Grisham's best, but that's like saying one of Beethoven's symphonies isn't one of his best.  The Confession is still a great story.  The premise is rather simple: Travis Boyette, a convicted rapist and all around nasty guy, reads that a Donte Drumm is about to be executed for the murder of a cheerleader from Drumm's school.  Boyette remembers her well: he stalked her, kidnapped her, raped her, and murdered her, and got away with it.  His convictions were for other crimes.  Boyette tells his story to an earnest minister, who make it his mission to stop Drumm's execution.

As is Grisham's style, the plot is straightforward, seemingly predictable, but with just enough surprises to keep the reader interested.  The case against Drumm seems ludicrously flimsy, but I'm sure Grisham was inspired by actual cases, in which an outside observer would be dumbstruck to learn that someone was convicted on such flimsy evidence.  With the omniscient author's perspective, Grisham builds a firm case for the wrongfulness of Drumm's conviction.  On those grounds, The Confession becomes an entertaining, highly readable, anti-death-penalty argument.

Maybe I'm just more aware, having read this book, but it seems like there are more and more examples of people wrongfully convicted of crimes.  One day when I was almost finished with the book, the Star-Telegram ran a front-page article about a man who has already been executed, but whose guilt has been called into question because a hair found at the scene of the crime--the sole piece of physical evidence tying him to the crime--turned out not to be his.  On the same day, one of the S-T editors wrote an editorial stating that Texas could actually save money by abolishing the death penalty, because the expense of the automatic appeals process far exceeds the expense of housing a prisoner for life.  Arguments for the deterrent quality of the death penalty fade in the face of evidence that it is, even in only in a small minority of cases, wrongfully implemented.  From the perspective of justice, as well as economics, there's a strong argument that it simply doesn't make sense to have a death penalty.

Even with the strong-handed argument overshadowing the story, The Confession delivers.  Grisham fans will enjoy it; non fans will probably enjoy it, too.  For a "message" novel, it's definitely worth a read.

The Cure, by Geeta Anand

A while back, I commented on John Crowley's memoir, Chasing Miracles, in which Crowley recounts some of his experiences seeking a cure for his kids, two of whom have Pompe syndrome.  His efforts have been truly heroic and groundbreaking, literally saving the lives of his children and improving their health by spearheading the development of drugs to treat Pompe.  Their story first came to the attention of the public through a series of articles in the Wall Street Journal by Geeta Anand. 

The Crowleys

The lengthy subtitle of Anand's book, How a Father Raised $100 Million--and Bucked the Medical Establishment--in a Quest to Save His Children, tells most of the story in a nutshell, but doesn't come close to communicating the challeges Crowley, his family, and business associates challenged along the way.  Chasing Miracles was heart-breaking as the father tells his story, but The Cure will break your heart, too.  Much of it does read like something a WSJ business journalist would write, recounting the business deals and corporate life in meticulous detail, but Anand captures Crowley's emotion and passion as well as she describes the business angle.  Besides learning about Pompe disease, the reader will gain insight into the biotech industry and Wall Street dealings.

The Cure is well-written and tells an amazing, inspring story.  Anand chronicles the events meticulously and compellingly.  But I think she fell prey to the common "stretch this article into a book" syndrome.  I appreciated her commitment to detail and skillful crafting of the story, but I couldn't help thinking that I would have been satisfied by the articles themselves.  All criticism aside (I realize this criticism only reflects my own shallowness and laziness anyway!), the bottom line is an inspiring story that will make you want to meet this terrific family and join their efforts to treat rare, formerly untreatable diseases.

Trickle Up Poverty, by Michael Savage

Michael Savage hates Barack Obama.  I mean, he despises him.  I'm not talking about hating Obama's policies--he hates those, too--but he really hates Obama, the man, everything he is, and everything he stands for.  If you've ever heard Savage's radio show, you'll already be aware of this animosity.  If you haven't, read a few pages of Trickle Up Poverty: Stopping Obama's Attack on Our Borders, Economy, and Security and any doubt will be removed.  Take these quotes, taken somewhat at random:

"The world Obama envisions is one in which the central government confiscates its citizens' money and transfers it to his political comrades."

"Nothing Obama does, not one single policy or legislative initiative, has anything to do with the will of the people or what might benefit the people."

"Barack Obama doesn't want you to succeed in your job or your small business.  He wants to see you on your knees before him."

The problem I have with this book, and with Savage's radio show, is not that he doesn't have a basis for everything he says.  To the contrary, the man has a Ph.D.!  Even though his degree's in another field, he thoroughly researches his subjects and coherently defends his arguments, and does so in a frequently entertaining way.  The problem is that he does so with vitriol, biting sarcasm, and a vicious sneer.  Even though I almost completely agree with everything Savage says, I am frustrated by his tone.

Yes, Obama can hardly help being a socialist, given his intellectual heritage.  Yes, he has long associated himself with unsavory characters who have corrupted him intellectually, spiritually, and politically.  His ideas and policies are destructive to American, to freedom, and to financial prosperity.  Savage describes and documents all of this, but he comes across as a blowhard because of his rhetoric.  I'm reminded of a sweaty, screaming, pulpit pounding preacher.  The gospel he preaches may be 100% theologically and biblically accurate, but I sure don't want to listen to him.

Even though his style and tone drove me nuts, there's plenty of good information here.  Like I said, I was nodding in agreement the whole time I read.   I'm with Savage: I can't wait until the cancer living in the White House is returned to private life.  If you're looking for more reasons to hate Obama, or justification for reasons to hate him, you'll find it here.  If you're looking for balanced, reasonable policy analysis of the Obama administration, well, you'd probably be better off looking elsewhere.

Tunnel in the Sky, by Robert Heinlein

When I was a kid, I started reading Robert A. Heinlein's wonderful science fiction stories.  I don't know how much the themes of the books shaped me, but I know they helped me gain and maintain an interest in science and technology.  He's a great story-teller, certainly one of the best, sci-fi or otherwise.  His later books became much less appealing as he turned to a more adult audience.  (As I remember one relative saying, RAH became a dirty old man.)  Even though many of his novels are purportedly for young readers (teens, not little kids), their appeal holds at least for this middle-aged reader.  The first RAH book I read was Tunnel in the Sky, when I was probably 10 or 12.  Elliot is 11, so I thought I'd read it again and see if I still like it enough to pass it on.  I do!

Rod Walker will be graduating from high school soon, but first he has to pass the final exam in survival class.  On test day, he and his classmates will be deposited in an isolated area and will be expected to use the course's lessons and their limited equipment to survive, whatever the climate or surroundings.  They'll get to the mysterious destination via a planetary gates, a sort of portal through which on can simply walk from one place to another, whether across the continent or across the galaxy.  RAH does spend some time on the physics and discovery of the gates.  That's a real strength of his: even when he introduces seemingly fanciful technologies, he provides a scientific rational or foundation, making it almost believable.

The survival test starts out as expected, but when there's no gate at the appointed coordinates in the appointed time frame, Rod and his classmates realize they may be stuck for good, wherever in the universe they may be.  Like the English schoolboys in The Lord of the Flies, the kids have to figure out how to create a society together.  Rather than let themselves fall into chaos, the kids in The Tunnel in the Sky are determined to maintain civility--and civilization.  It was refreshing to see that when these older teenagers wanted to have sex and live together, they actually had the "mayor" perform a wedding.  And cursing was strictly prohibited, in order to retain decorum.

Once they got through the gate to the new planet, Tunnel became not so much sci-fi as classic teen survival literature like The Cay, Hatchet, or Lord of the Flies.  I love the message of the need for an ordered society, self-reliance and cooperation.  The kids' experiments in self-governance are instructive and present the question, how would we structure society if the slate was wiped clean and we were starting fresh on a new planet?

I was a bit surprised at the level of vocabulary and depth of the concepts in Tunnel in the Sky.  Either I was a smart kid or I understood it a lot less than I thought I did.  I'm going to pass this one along to Elliot and see what he thinks.  I hope he likes it as much as I did and do!

Why We Love the Church: In Praise of Institutions and Organized Religion, by Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck

If you're like me, you get tired of hearing about new churches, or sometimes old churches trying to make themselves new, who say things like, "We're the church for people who don't like church," "We're a different kind of church," "This is not your grandmother's church," and such things, the implication being that churches are somehow bad, full of failed traditions and dead faith.  Even worse are those who "love Jesus but not the church," who are "spiritual but not religious," who "worship by enjoying nature" and consider fellowship at Starbucks to be a legitimate substitute for corporate worship.  Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck have heard some of those same things.  DeYoung, a pastor in Michigan, and Kluck, a writer who attends DeYoung's church, take on some of these attitudes in a refreshing affirmation of church for people who like church, of church like your grandmother's church.

DeYoung and Kluck survey some of the recent literature that dimishes the role of church in the Christian life, discuss the demographic characteristics of "leavers," and provide some encouragement and inspiration in defense of churchgoing.  I have seen some of these books, many of which are written by leaders of the "emergent church."  (DeYoung and Kluck have also written a book called Why We're Not Emergent (By Two Guys who Should Be).)  Some titles are pretty self-explanatory, like They Like Jesus but Not the Church or When Christians Get it Wrong.  There are plenty of these, often written as a memoir of a 20-something or 30-something who has gone through some sort of crisis of faith. 

But I was surprised, as DeYoung was, by the anti-church writings of George Gallup and Leonard Sweet.  Both of these writers have been influential with their cultural, sociological analyses of church life and the role of religion in society.  But both have in recent years taken a turn for the worse.  According to DeYoung and Kluck, Gallup and Sweet are purveyors of the "Jesus on the golf course" and "Jesus at Starbucks" movement.  In their view, a good time enjoying creation and companionship on the golf course, or enjoying conversation and coffee at Starbucks, are legitimate expressions of church.  It's not that I, or DeYoung and Kluck, are against those things.  Of course relationships are crucial to the Christian life, and of course we can experience God in the beauty of nature (even the thoroughly manicured beauty of a golf course), but those experiences are not church.

One of the criticisms that church leavers hold against the contemporary American church is a disengagement from culture and the needs of the world.  Many churches have embraced social action in a positive way, but DeYoung and Kluck warn that churches often champion interests that are non-controversial rather than those with a biblical, evangelical mandate.  When churches oppose sex trafficking, work against world hunger, or build houses for the homeless, who would object to it?  "Let's make sure as Christians that our mission concerns go farther than those shared by Brangelina and the United Way."  The church isn't a social service agency, but the body of Christ on earth, with a very specific and unique gospel to proclaim.  Some miss the gospel; they want social action without atonement.

The younger generation, DeYoung and Kluck argue, is "prone to radicalism without follow through."  They see Bono and his ilk, setting that kind of activism up as the model.  The authors ask, "What's harder: to be an idolized rock star who travels around the world touting good causes and chiding governments for their lack of foreign aid, or to be a line worker at GM with four kids and a mortgage, who tithes to his church, sings in the praise team every week, serves on the school board, and supports a Christian relief agency and a few missionaries from his disposable income?  Even if one is not harder than the other, certainly one is more common.  And sadly, that is the one that is more despised."  It may be that the latter is more boring.  Punching a clock and paying a mortgage may not be too glamorous, even dull.  But boredom can also be an expression of and side effect of faithfulness, a "long obedience in the same direction."

DeYoung and Kluck are to be commended for defending the oft maligned institutional church.  The bottom line, for those who want the church to "do more" is to remember this truth: "The gospel is not about what we do for God.  It's a message about what God has done for us."

The Common Lawyer, by Mark Gimenez

The Common Lawyer is another great legal thriller from D/FW's own Mark Gimenez.  I reviewed his The Perk back in June.  (I noted then that his books aren't too easy to find here; you can order from The Book Depository in the U.K., which ships to the U.S. for FREE!)  Gimenez scores another page turner with The Common Lawyer. 

Gimenez has been compared to John Grisham by reviewers.  The Common Lawyer, perhaps the most Grisham-like Gimenez offering yet, features a young, struggling lawyer getting an offer he can't refuse.  (Grisham lovers would say that sounds familiar.)  Andy Prescott is pretty content with his career.  Sure, he has a cramped office over a tattoo parlor, doesn't own a car, and makes barely enough money defending traffic tickets to support his mountain biking habit.  When a local billionaire drops by seeking Andy's services, his life takes a crazy turn.

Andy's first job for the billionaire, acting as his representative for some real estate development on Austin's south side, where Andy lives, sets up one of the interesting subplots of the novel.  A trendy neighborhood with easy access to downtown, south Austin has seen dramatic increases in property values, so that some of the long-time, low-income residents are priced out of the neighborhood.  Andy's client wants to build affordable housing in the neighborhood, to the chagrin of some residents.  Andy uses his contacts and good reputation in the community to attempt to convince the neighborhood to embrace the housing development. 

This part of the story highlights a feature of Gimenez's novels: an intimate knowledge of not only the geography but the culture and ethos of his settings.  I have little doubt that he spent a great deal of time in this neighborhood, getting to know the people and places and creating a believable, realisitic setting.  I'm not from Austin, but have been there a few times.  I could picture Andy riding around downtown, on the University of Texas campus, and the trails of the greenbelt on his mountain bike.  (I also got a kick out of Andy's shopping.  When looking for a gift for his mother, he browses the cool shops in his neighborhood.  He runs across a purse made from an armadillo, which he deems "weird, but cool."  When I was in college I had the audacity to buy one of those for my girlfriend, and, even better, she had the audacity to carry it!)  He then addresses social and cultural issues relevant to the people there, weaving an interesting social message through the story (without distracting from the plot).  I wouldn't be a bit surprised to visit Austin and see the very housing development Gimenez describes, or reading about a controversy over such a project in the Austin papers.

The overall plot also has a message, posing a difficult medical ethics question.  However, Gimenez brilliantly keeps the reader guessing as to the nature of the issue.  I hesitate to reveal too much, but Gimenez forces us to wonder, if I had a child with a terminal disease, and I were a billionaire, would I not do everything I could to cure him?  Would I do the unethical or illegal to treat him?  Again, without beating up an issue or forcing a position down the readers' throats, Gimenez uses the issue to drive a great story, while giving us a context to consider the ethical questions.

The Common Lawyer displays Gimenez's great pacing, multiple plots levels, and engaging characters.  Even with some dark elements, Gimenez keeps it light, with bumbling bad guys who could have stepped out of a Carl Hiaasen book, and Andy's free-wheeling approach to life and law that makes you want to hang out with him in his hip south Austin neighborhood.  I think you'll want to, too.  The Common Lawyer is a terrific read, keeping you guessing and accelerating like one of Andy's mountain bike rides toward an unexpetedly wild, thoroughly satisfying ending.  Highly recommended!