Dickens on the death of a young person

The following words from Charles Dickens (in Oliver Twist) help me on this, the first anniversary of my nephew's death:

"It is not always the youngest and best who are spared to those that love them; but this should give us comfort in our sorrow; for Heaven is just; and such things teach us, impressively, that there is a brighter world than this; and that the passage to it is speedy."

Boehner and Reid ... A Word from G.K. Chesterton

With his typically larger-than-life insight into contemporary affairs, G.K. Chesterton said this ... roughly a hundred years ago:

"The present chaos is due to a sort of general oblivion of all that men were originally aiming at [viz. happiness] ...  There is nothing that so much prevents a settlement as a tangle of small surrenders ... This dazed and floundering opportunism [of politicians] gets in the way of everything. If our statesmen were visionaries something practical might be done." (from What's Wrong With The World)

The "other" Christmas text

Most of the time, the gospels of Matthew and Luke comprise our go-to texts for the Christmas story. That was certainly true for me when the Navs were gathered for our year-end Christmas party, and I'm sure it'll be the text(s) our family reads on Christmas eve.

However, I've been meditating on 2 Corinthians 8:9 recently, and it's become my new favorite "other" Christmas passage:

For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that by His poverty, you might become rich.

Merry Christmas to all the poor-made-rich because of the One who was rich-made-poor!

All Hope Gradually Abandoned

Acts 27 describes the Apostle Paul's transit to Rome to stand trial before Caesar. The ship he was on ran into very foul weather, a circumstance which Paul had dimly foreseen. After three days, the ships tackle had to be thrown overboard, and we read:

Since neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small storm was assailing us, from then on all hope of our being saved was gradually abandoned. (Acts 27:22)

That phrase -- "all hope of our being saved was gradually abandoned" -- grips me. I've been there. I've worked with people who are there. I think our culture lives here. The darkness is great, the storm is unrelenting, and the threat is real. There's no prospect of help, because having a prospect means you can see something, some possibility, however unlikely, of a way out.

That's what hope means.

But all hope of our being saved has been gradually abandoned.

Then, a star appears over Bethlehem. (No one really even notices.) And a baby is born in a manger.

Dickens on the cares of childhood

Here is how Charles Dickens conveys the whole compass of a child's concerns. In the scene, young David Copperfield is playing with Em'ly, the orphaned niece who lives with Copperfield's housemaid:

"As to any sense of inequality, or youthfulness, or other difficulty in our way, little Em'ly and I had no such trouble, because we had no future. We made no more provision for growing older, than we did for growing younger." (Charles Dickens, David Copperfield, Chapter 3, "I Have a Change")

Reflections on reading David Copperfield

I've just finished reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, a monumental undertaking that took me four months. Not because David Copperfield was difficult or dull, mind you, but because it was long. Exceedingly long. (And because I read it in chapter increments after midnight most of the time.)

Among other things, I learned that it's best to read David Copperfield on a Kindle. Not only does this make you look exceedingly cool, it also keeps you from knowing exactly how big the book really is. You blithely begin clicking "Next Page" on your Kindle, and you feel like you're flying. Before you realize it,  you've clicked yourself 78 "pages" into a Dickens novel and you're only 1% through the book. But you're hooked. The only consolation is that you don't have to carry around a Penguin Classic paperback that's roughly the thickness of a cinder block. (And the people on the bus assume you're reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest or The Wall Street Journal.)

David Copperfield is one of the finest novels I've ever read. As I begin to reflect on the significance of the book (a process that generally takes me a day*), I set it alongside other Dickensian productions like Hard Times and A Tale of Two Cities**. I am struck by Dickens' portrayal of:

• the uplifting power of love between man and woman
• the strength of the lex talionis (the law of retribution in kind) in the universe
• the beauty of personal integrity
• the worth of each individual
• the distortion unrighteousness introduces on the soul by small degrees
• the possibility of noble sacrifice (or the blessedness of bearing necessary hardship)

I think I could go on, and I think I probably should. This short list, however, will help me arrange my thoughts for the future as I run back over my marginal notes and highlights.

For now, let me say that I think all people with a love of literature, Dickens, life, or humanity should read David Copperfield. But not before reading a shorter work by Dickens (let it be A Tale of Two Cities), and not before purchasing a Kindle so you look cool while being ... not cool.
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* The process generally only takes me a day because I begin reading another book and stop reflecting altogether. 

** I put it alongside those two books because they're the only other Dickens novels I've read. (Unless you count the Muppet rendition of A Christmas Carol.)

A Servant's Uniform

Katie and I are in Zambia right now with two of our kids and ten students from the IL/IN region. We're living in host homes and working together with the Zambian Navigators.

Charles and Priscilla Mpundu are our host parents. They live in a spacious house with more quarters -- and more people living in those quarters -- than I have counted. Nieces, nephews, kids, in-laws, dogs, guards, etc. are all around this place. It's a great kind of bustle.

This morning, when I came out of my bedroom, I noticed the new housemaid cleaning the floors. She had on a purple vest, and I assumed she worked for a cleaning service of some sort. It wasn't until later on that I took the time to read the logo on the back of her vest. It read, "To Know Christ and To Make Him Known."

Those in the know realize this motto has been with The Navigators from the organization's earliest days, and sure enough, the new housemaid was wearing a Navigators shirt. (She probably got it from Priscilla.)

Once again, a metaphor jumped me. Here we are, 14 Americans, on a missions trip in Zambia. How are we to make Christ known? Perhaps by getting on the floor and serving the families we live with.

"For even the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many." (Mark 10:45)

As I've thought about this metaphor, I've been thinking about our team. Just last night, Stacy and Lindsey finished dinner and washed all the dishes for our (sizeable) family. (They are living with the Mpundus, too.) Just this morning, Kyle told me that he and Andrew did the dishes for their host family and the young boy in the family joined them. "This is my first time washing the dishes," he announced to Kyle.

Imagine that, our team is serving and it's already making a difference. Tomorrow, we leave for the bush for three days (four nights) to dig a septic system for a village 100KM to the west of Lusaka. Why? To know Christ and to make Him known.

When we get back, we'll be meeting students at the Ridgeway Medical Campus, sharing the gospel where there is interest, sharing our lives no matter what. Why? To know Christ and to make Him known.

In short, we're putting on our purple vests and serving as best we're able. That's what it means to be a Navigator. At least, that's what the morning metaphor from the housemaid told me.