Breakpoint

Os Guinness is a renowned scholar and accomplished author. He sits down with John Stonestreet on the BreakPoint Podcast to receive recognition for a republishing of his first book.

In The Dust of Death, Os outlines the trappings of a liberal movement that hadn't yet reared an overwhelming influence in society. He shows the strategy and forecasts much of the modern challenges we face to our freedoms in America.

Yesterday marked the start of Advent. Officially, at least according to the Church calendar, it's not yet Christmas. Officially, it's Advent. This time of preparation is among the most important seasons of the Christian calendar. Reflecting on the God's promises throughout history, first to Israel and then to the Church, is a remarkable way to cultivate and reinforce a Christian worldview in our hearts and minds.

For nearly two millennia, Advent has called Christians to understand life between the two bookends of God's redemptive acts in Christ: His Incarnation, when the Word became flesh, and His coming again in glory to judge the living and the dead.

Advent is a time to recall God's utter and unstoppable faithfulness to His people. Though Israel failed to keep its covenant with God, made at Sinai and renewed on several occasions afterwards, He always intended to keep His covenant with Abraham, that "through your offspring shall all the nations of the earth be blessed." That offspring was, of course, Jesus Christ.

Throughout Church history, reflecting on God's faithfulness has led to the inspiration and production of many great hymns, including the one most identified with Advent, "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." The lyrics of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" are taken from what are called the "O Antiphons." An antiphon is a phrase or short sentence recited or sung either before or after a psalm or other passage of Scripture.

The "O Antiphons" belong to Christian antiquity. Roman philosopher Boethius, who lived in the late fifth and early sixth centuries, alludes to them in his writings. One scholar suggests that, "in some fashion, the O Antiphons have been part of our liturgical tradition since the very early Church." And, since at least the eighth century, the "O Antiphons" have been set aside for the week preceding Christmas Eve, December 17 to 23.

The O Antiphons, like the hymn they produced, offer a journey through salvation history. Each Antiphon includes both a Messianic title, a reminder of who Christ is, and the invitation, "Come," a reminder of our helpless state and need for divine rescue.

Christ is the Wisdom of God (Isaiah 11). He is Adonai, the Lord our lawgiver and judge, who will save us (Isaiah 33). He is the root of Jesse's stem, whom the Gentiles will seek (Isaiah 11). He is the Key of David, who unlocks the doors of our prison. He is the Radiant Dawn, the light that shined upon the people who dwelt in darkness (Isaiah 9). He is the King of the Nations (Isaiah 2). And of course, He is Emmanuel, God with us (Isaiah 7).

This sort of theological profundity, which cannot be found on any of the 24-hour Christmas music stations, is worthy of our silence, reflection, and meditations.

My Colson Center colleagues have prepared a free, downloadable booklet featuring an explanation of each of the O Antiphons, a short meditation on their meaning, and quotes from Christians throughout history on the wonder of Advent. The booklet is called Emmanuel: Readings for Advent. Come to breakpoint.org to receive this gift from our team to you and your family.

Exploring these remarkable statements about the nature and work of Christ is a wonderful way to intentionally engage with the season of Advent.

John Stonestreet and Shane Morris recount what they're thankful for this Thanksgiving season . . . and then wade into the deep waters of the ethics surrounding the upcoming COVID vaccines, whether they use fetal stem cells and whether it is ever ethically acceptable to take an innocent life, even for a so-called greater good. The good news is, major Christian organizations and ethicists have given the green light to two of the upcoming vaccines . . . but not a third.

Also in this week's episode, a federal circuit court has enjoined local ordinances that forbid so-called gay "conversion therapy." Clearly, the law is not settled, and John urges Christian counselors, churches, and institutions not to cave into the cultural narrative that our urges and desires define who we are.

They wrap up the show encouraging Christians to observe the season of Advent--and have some recommendations to make to bless you and your family.

Black Friday will be different this year, thanks to COVID-19. Instead of a single day of sleep-deprived consumers trampling security guards for flatscreen TV's, it's more a couple weeks of online over-marketing. While the presumed decrease in physical violence is certainly an improvement, the additional appeals to fill the voids in our hearts and minds with material goods isn't.

If there were ever a time that we needed less distraction and more focus on what really matters, it's now. In such a context, the next four weeks is, for followers of Christ, a gift. Sunday is the beginning of the season of Advent, a time set aside in the Christian calendar to reflect on the coming of Jesus into the world.

The Latin word adventus, from which the word "Advent" is derived, literally means "coming." Positioned as it is, in the weeks before Christmas, Advent places Christ's first coming into the world, in a manger in Bethlehem, within the larger historical context of redemptive history and the long promises of God to send a Messiah. At the same time, Adventus is the Latin translation of the Greek word parousia, which is used repeatedly in the New Testament to describe Jesus' second coming, when He returns in glory at the end of the age.

Prior to this usage by Paul and other New Testament authors, parousia referred to the arrival of the Emperor in a city or a province. When notified of his coming, citizens would scramble to properly greet this very important person, preparing great feasts, and dressing in their finest clothes.

The original readers of the New Testament not only would have understood parousia in this context, they would have seen it as an explicit rejection of Caesar's claim of lordship. While Christians today think and talk of the Lordship of Jesus Christ in personalized terms, such as "have you made Jesus Lord of your life?" the earliest Christians understood it as a public, definitive, and risky proclamation. In other words, to say "Jesus is Lord" is to say, "Caesar is not." By using parousia to refer to someone other than the Emperor, Christians were saying something about who was really in charge.

This backdrop is essential to understand why so many early Christians became martyrs. Rome would tolerate various and eccentric religious beliefs and practices. At times, they'd even incorporate alternate religious celebrations and beliefs into their own. What would not be tolerated, however, were rival allegiances.

Nearly two millennia later, Christians must still clarify their allegiances. We, too, are tempted to give ourselves to would-be Caesars. Our false gods may be more subtle, but through the prevailing culture they exert power over our thoughts, imaginations, and loyalties. Unless we are intentional, we will worship them. While our would-be lords rarely demand, at least in overt terms, that we deny the lordship of Jesus, they are most effective in distracting us from ever thinking about what the lordship of Christ means and requires.

Advent invites us to prepare to greet the One who is "the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation," through whom "all things were created." We, too, are asked to prepare through prayer and generosity. We, too, are asked to array ourselves in our "finest." Not in garments but in truth, love, compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

To prepare this way, not only to remember Christ's first coming but to anticipate in hope His second coming, is every bit as culturally subversive as using the word parousia was two-thousand years ago. It's a way of living as if Jesus is Lord. Because He is.

For a list of resources, podcasts, books and ideas for Advent, visit us at breakpoint.org.

G.K. Chesterton once said that gratitude was "nearly the greatest of all human duties, (and) nearly the most difficult." It is the greatest of human duties, because as Paul wrote to the church at Corinth, "what do we have that we did not receive?" It is especially difficult in a year like this, because we see in so many ways that things could be better.

Chuck Colson made this point in a BreakPoint commentary from 2011. When life is great, Chuck said, it's easy to be grateful. When life is difficult, however, expressing gratitude can be a strange, yet profound, witness to the world:

A few years ago, university psychologists conducted a research project on gratitude and thanksgiving. They divided participants into three groups. People in the first group practiced daily exercises like writing in a gratitude journal. They reported higher levels of alertness, determination, optimism, energy, and less depression and stress than the control group. Unsurprisingly, they were also a lot happier than the participants who were told to keep an account of all the bad things that happened each day.

One of the psychologists concluded that though a practice of gratitude is a key to most religions, its benefits extend to the general population, regardless of faith or no faith. He suggested that anyone can increase his sense of well-being just from counting his blessings.

As my colleague Ellen Vaughn wrote in her book, Radical Gratitude, no one is going to disagree that gratitude is a virtue. But, Ellen says, counting our blessings and conjuring an attitude of to-whom-it-may-concern gratitude, Pollyanna-style is not enough.

What do we do when cancer strikes — I have two children who have battled it — or when loved ones die, when we find ourselves in the midst of brokenness and real suffering? That, she says, is where gratitude gets radical.

While they often mingle together in the life of a follower of Christ, there are actually two types of thankfulness. One is secondary, the other primary.

The secondary sort is thankfulness for blessings received. Life, health, home, family, freedom, a tall, cold lemonade on a summer day — it's a mindset of active appreciation for all good gifts.

The great preacher and American theologian Jonathan Edwards called thanks for such blessings "natural gratitude." It's a good thing, but this gratitude doesn't come naturally — if at all — when things go badly. It can't buoy us in difficult times. Nor, by itself, does it truly please God. And, to paraphrase Jesus, even pagans can give thanks when things are going well.

Edwards calls the deeper, primary form of thankfulness "gracious gratitude." It gives thanks not for goods received, but for who God is: for His character — His goodness, love, power, excellencies — regardless of favors received. And it's real evidence of the Holy Spirit working in a person's life.

This gracious gratitude for who God is also goes to the heart of who we are in Christ. It is relational, rather than conditional. Though our world may shatter, we are secure in Him. The fount of our joy, the love of the God who made us and saved us, cannot be quenched by any power that exists (Romans 8:28-39). People who are filled with such radical gratitude are unstoppable, irrepressible, overflowing with what C. S. Lewis called "the good infection" — the supernatural, refreshing love of God that draws others to Him.

And that, more than any words we might utter, is a powerful witness to our neighbors that God's power is real, and His presence very relevant, even in a world full of brokenness as well as blessings.

I'm John Stonestreet, from all of us at the Colson Center, happy Thanksgiving.

John and Shane venture where men seldom dare. They field questions on contraception and the role of sex in marriage.

They're asked for resources to build a scaffold for the purpose of marriage unions. In their explanation they delve into the impact of same-sex parenting and critiques on studies that show challenging outcomes.

John and Shane address the difficult issue of contraception. They field a question asking for a Christian worldview response to how contraception might separate childbearing from sex.

They conclude their time fielding a poignant request for resources on parenting boys. The listener references John's recent interview with Anthony Bradley, asking for resources to guide parenting and care for fathers and sons.

When Christians use the term "free will," it's often in discussions about divine sovereignty and predestination. Whether we choose God or God chooses us has been at the center of theological debate for centuries. On the other hand, when the term "free will" is used by evolutionary biologists the debate is over whether choice itself is real, whether it is an illusion produced by our brains.

Materialists have long insisted, because they kind of have to, that human actions and decisions are determined, not free. In other words, we think we make real choices as humans, but we don't. Our choices are really the inevitable outcomes of a whole chain of material causes that go back, like falling dominoes, to the Big Bang.

This idea is called "determinism." If true, a scientist with perfect knowledge of all of the conditions from the beginning of the universe could, like a cosmic weatherman, predict everything that would ever happen.

Evolutionary biologist Jerry Coyne, who runs a popular blog called "Why Evolution Is True," has long held this view. As he puts it, "our choices and behaviors are the result of the laws of physics…" Given our chemistry, the arrangement of atoms in our brains, and outside forces acting on us, we cannot help doing what we do.

Obviously, determinism does quite a number on things like meaning and moral responsibility, among other things.

Determinism is an unavoidable conclusion if you start with the assumption that the world is only a place of natural causes and processes. However, if you start with the evidence, it's another matter altogether. For example, neurosurgeon Michael Egnor points out at "Mind Matters" that quantum physics suggests we do not live in a deterministic universe. As early as the mid-60's, physicists had devised experiments that strongly pointed to the fact that nature does not determine every event beforehand. Quantum events, such as those that put a certain spin on an electron, are not the result of "hidden variables" at the subatomic level. In fact, we don't know what determines them!

While Jerry Coyne seems to be recognizing the implications of quantum physics for his determinism, he has chosen to double down rather than admit his framework is flawed. Reviewing a PBS video entitled "Can Free Will be Saved in a Deterministic Universe?" Coyne reiterates his belief that our sense of having free choice is merely an illusion. "…we could not have done other than what we did at any moment in time," he writes. "And, except for the action of any quantum events, the future is completely determined by the past."

In other words, Coyne's determinism applies everywhere in the universe … except for quantum events. Other than an undetermined variable that influences literally every physical process in the universe, everything else is determined?

Michael Egnor has responded with a personal challenge to Coyne: What in nature isn't the action of quantum events? Certainly, every event in the brain is quantum in nature—every brain state…every bit of protein synthesis or ion flow—is the consequence of quantum events. Because all quantum events are non-deterministic, then all brain states are non-deterministic, and the free will deniers' claim that nature is deterministic falls to pieces."

All of that physics jargon is making an important worldview point. In a Christian worldview, human attitudes and human actions are not only morally significant, but central to what it means to be in the image of God. We are not mere effects of material causes. It is because our minds are not mere emanations of our brains that we can talk about "right" and "wrong" as real concepts, to hold people accountable for their actions.

It also makes all of our talk about physics or neuroscience meaningful. To borrow an argument from Christian philosopher Alvin Plantinga, if our minds are merely the products of material causes, why should we trust our thoughts to conclude anything, including that our minds are merely the products of material causes? Ironically, Jerry Coyne is assuming free will and rationality in arguing against free will and rationality.

This is one of those things we can't not know about ourselves: Our thoughts, decisions, and beliefs are morally meaningful, not pre-determined. Anyone who is determined to deny this must assume their denial wasn't determined.

In 1967, ex-Harvard professor Timothy Leary famously coined one of the slogans of 60's counter culture when he told hippies to "turn on, tune in, [and] drop out." Psychedelics like LSD became a vital part of what Leary would later call the "graceful process of detachment from involuntary or unconscious commitments."

Advocating for psychedelics made Leary an academic pariah and a target of the FBI. Had he come along fifty years later, he may have landed a lucrative consulting gig with venture capitalists.

On November 3, Oregon became the first U. S. state to legalize "magic mushrooms" for therapeutic use, following the lead of a few cities like Denver, Oakland, and Ann Arbor. Almost immediately after, articles appeared advising investors how to "take full advantage of this $100 billion (USD) market potential." Investing Daily summed up the bullishness many see in this new market segment: "'Magic mushrooms' aren't just for getting high and playing your old Iron Butterfly albums. These versatile fungi are entering the consumer mainstream and they're evolving into a major investment theme." Joining the "cha-ching" chorus, Business Insider has run a few articles as well, with titles such as "4 ways entrepreneurs can break into the psychedelics industry," and "Why I'm betting big on psychedelics."

If I were to bet big about psychedelics, I'd bet our nation is making a big mistake. Psilocybin, the ingredient that puts the "magic" in "magic mushrooms," is sold on its therapeutic potential but, like marijuana (which also won big on election day in Montana, Arizona, New Jersey, South Dakota, and even Mississippi), there's no way to limit its use to medical settings.

In fact, Michael Pollan described the real-world use of psychedelics in his 2018 best-seller, "How To Change Your Mind: "What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression, and Transcendence." Pollan and others don't ingest "LSD, psilocybin and the crystallized venom of a Sonoran Desert toad" because they are clinically depressed. They are doing it to pursue what Leary called "the divinity within" and "the discovery of one's singularity."

To put it in more accessible terms, our increasingly materialist culture rejects any God Who is authoritative and transcendent (i.e. who exists outside of the material world). Thus, the divine must be found "within." Many think psychedelics can assist their search by making it that much easier to escape the constraints of reality, authority, and limitations.

Of course, something is noticeably missing in any alternate reality, whether induced by psychedelics, alcohol abuse, or virtual reality: other people. "Pursuing your singularity," as Pollan put it, leaves little room for anyone else, and feeds the illusion that we are somehow free of any obligations and commitments to others.

People who use psychedelics say simply that it makes them feel better. What often goes unconsidered is whether or not psychedelics makes them better… better spouses, better parents, better employees, better friends. Advocates, like Pollan, also say that it helps them see things more "clearly." In the 1990s, a small group of volunteers were injected with the psychedelic DMT. "Almost half experienced terrifying hallucinations, like 'aliens' that took the shape of robots, insects or reptiles."

And, of course, there's this notion that psychedelics help you "find yourself." But, as John Horgan wrote in the Scientific American, that may not be a good thing. "Far from making you wiser and nicer," he wrote, "psychedelics can make you an arrogant, narcissistic jerk. It can be hard distinguishing an ego that has vanished from one that has expanded to infinity." It reminds me of what my friend Mike Miller used to say, "We told a whole generation of young people 'go look inside, go find yourself.' But what if they find themselves, and they're jerks?"

That is, of course, at the root of the problem with psychedelics. Escaping reality never solves the problem of reality. Deluding oneself about oneself is never a fix for the problems of oneself.

Leary died in 1996. He didn't live to see this brave new world of psychedelics entering the consumer mainstream. It's just as bad of an idea today as it was fifty years ago.

Mary Eberstadt believes our national distrust is linked closely to a shift in fatherhood. A recent articled published in First Things makes the point that there is a link to violence and fatherlessness.

Eberstadt notes a rise in national distrust and violent response. John Stonestreet pulls out more reasoning from Eberstadt's article, The Fury of the Fatherless, and allows her to share more research that led her to her conclusion.

Resources:

The Fury of the Fatherless: https://www.firstthings.com/article/2020/12/the-fury-of-the-fatherless

A recent report by the Belgium affiliate of Amnesty International contained an elephant-sized irony that neither Amnesty International nor much of the media seemed to notice. Entitled "Nursing Home Blind Spots," the report claims that the human rights of nursing and rest-home residents were violated during Belgium's initial wave of COVID-19. Of the 11,500 people who died from COVID-19 in Belgium during that first wave, 6,500 were residents of nursing and rest homes. Amnesty International calls this a "stupefying figure."

The residents of these homes were, according to the report, "abandoned" by government authorities as the epidemic raged. Out of fear of overwhelming Belgian hospitals, only about half of COVID patients in nursing homes that needed to be hospitalized, were. What happened in Belgium is outrageous. That it happened in Belgium is not surprising.

Though Belgium wasn't the first country to legalize euthanasia, it has "the world's most liberal law on physician-assisted suicide." A practice originally sold as a way to ease the pain and suffering of terminally ill older people quickly expanded. In less than a year's time, legalized euthanasia was expanded to include children. Then it was extended to those chronically ill, but not necessarily terminally ill. Then to psychological suffering, not only physical suffering. The Psychiatric Times calls Belgium the "epicenter of psychiatric euthanasia."

In 2014, Belgium extended the right to die to a convicted rapist and murderer who preferred dying to serving his sentence. Soon, other prisoners requested to die. They were turned down, not out of a new-found respect for human life, but because the country had been criticized for a "failure to properly treat mentally ill prisoners."

Earlier this year, three Belgian doctors were cleared of murder charges after euthanizing a 38-year-old woman with autism. Her family insisted the doctors violated informed consent requirements and failed to properly treat her psychological issues.

For Belgians, euthanasia is quickly becoming a normal way of dying. Social workers and nurses who specialize in palliative care are quitting their jobs. In many instances, their jobs have been reduced to "preparing patients and their families for lethal injections."

While this recent history in no way makes abandoning the elderly during a pandemic any less outrageous, it does make it easier to understand. Once a certain group of people is considered expendable, something Belgium concluded a long time ago, necessarily becomes part of all kinds of equations, especially when this kind of stress is added to the system. It is then impossible to have conversations about medical rationing, or resource efficiency, or financial prudence, or even, "flattening the curve" without factoring in what has already been decided: that some lives are not worth the cost.

Once a society steps onto this slipperiest of slopes—which has already happened in Belgium and the Netherlands and, to a lesser degree for now, in Canada and even Oregon—it becomes impossible not to re-evaluate human dignity and value based on some extrinsic criteria, such as convenience or financial costs.

The so-called "right to die" is sold on promises of personal freedom and autonomy. But once the so-called "safeguards" such as "informed consent" are justified, something that has proven incredibly easy to do, it's a short, inevitable step from "right to die" to "expected to die."

We should know better. Certainly, many in the disabled community do. They've felt the unspoken but very real psychological pressure to buy the lies our culture tells about human value, to believe – God forbid – they'd be better off dead.

Christians should know better. We shouldn't kill our suffering or our elderly for the same reasons we shouldn't abandon them during a pandemic. They are image bearers. Their lives have infinite value, from conception to natural death.