One time I went on a hike with my son’s Cub Scout pack in the national forest surrounding our town. Our assignment was to find “natural objects” and report back to the pack what we had found. It was a glorious autumn day: the sky was a deep blue with no clouds and the whole forest glowed bright yellow and orange. It was one of those ideal autumn days you see captured on a postcard. The scenery was absolutely beautiful. The boys loved it. They were excited about everything they saw and there was a lot to see. As we crested a small hill we were unexpectedly confronted with the sight of a rusting hulk of an old car sitting there, surrounded by beautifully colored foliage. There was no sign of a road, path, or anything to show how it had gotten there. There were mature trees all around and so it had sat there a long time. The scene was quite bizarre and unexpected. How could it have gotten there? The boys swarmed over it like ants on a piece of sugar candy. This was by far the neatest “natural” object they had seen all afternoon. What kind of car was it? Where were the doors? What had happened? How did it get here? Was there a dead body inside? Were there any bullet holes? Was there any money in it?
I found it interesting, also. There was so much missing on the car that it was nearly unidentifiable. But I recognized the general shape from my childhood. I grew up in the 50’s and cars looked vastly different then. I thought I knew what it was and looked mostly in vain for some nameplate that would make the identification sure. Finally, I found it. Cadillac. It was a mid-50’s Cadillac. That particular model was awesome: it was about a block and half long and I think the front bumper and grill alone weighed more than most of today’s cars. It was truly a tank. As I stood there looking at this discarded carcass of a car, I knew what it used it be. I knew what it looked like when it was new. I had seen cars like this in real life. But these young scouts were clueless as to what this piece of junk had been when it was young. They had never experienced the glory of a ‘54 Caddy. And there was no sense trying to explain it to them. Trying to extrapolate from this piece of junk back to what it was when it came off the assembly line was beyond them.
In the same way, everything we experience in this fallen world is at its best a rusting hulk. There is a Reality which once was, from which we have fallen, and about which we only have a foggy, largely unconscious recollection. Sometimes something will happen: we will see a good movie, or read a good story, or see a beautiful natural scene, or we will feel particularly lonely, and something awakens in us from somewhere down deep, a hunger which reminds us that we were made for more. There is something missing. So we are filled with longing.
About the Book
God, Gender, and a Fallen World
One time I went on a hike with my son’s Cub Scout pack in the national forest surrounding our town. Our assignment was to find “natural objects” and report back to the pack what we had found. It was a glorious autumn day: the sky was a deep blue with no clouds and the whole forest glowed bright yellow and orange. It was one of those ideal autumn days you see captured on a postcard. The scenery was absolutely beautiful. The boys loved it. They were excited about everything they saw and there was a lot to see. As we crested a small hill we were unexpectedly confronted with the sight of a rusting hulk of an old car sitting there, surrounded by beautifully colored foliage. There was no sign of a road, path, or anything to show how it had gotten there. There were mature trees all around and so it had sat there a long time. The scene was quite bizarre and unexpected. How could it have gotten there? The boys swarmed over it like ants on a piece of sugar candy. This was by far the neatest “natural” object they had seen all afternoon. What kind of car was it? Where were the doors? What had happened? How did it get here? Was there a dead body inside? Were there any bullet holes? Was there any money in it?
I found it interesting, also. There was so much missing on the car that it was nearly unidentifiable. But I recognized the general shape from my childhood. I grew up in the 50’s and cars looked vastly different then. I thought I knew what it was and looked mostly in vain for some nameplate that would make the identification sure. Finally, I found it. Cadillac. It was a mid-50’s Cadillac. That particular model was awesome: it was about a block and half long and I think the front bumper and grill alone weighed more than most of today’s cars. It was truly a tank. As I stood there looking at this discarded carcass of a car, I knew what it used it be. I knew what it looked like when it was new. I had seen cars like this in real life. But these young scouts were clueless as to what this piece of junk had been when it was young. They had never experienced the glory of a ‘54 Caddy. And there was no sense trying to explain it to them. Trying to extrapolate from this piece of junk back to what it was when it came off the assembly line was beyond them.
In the same way, everything we experience in this fallen world is at its best a rusting hulk. There is a Reality which once was, from which we have fallen, and about which we only have a foggy, largely unconscious recollection. Sometimes something will happen: we will see a good movie, or read a good story, or see a beautiful natural scene, or we will feel particularly lonely, and something awakens in us from somewhere down deep, a hunger which reminds us that we were made for more. There is something missing. So we are filled with longing.