The Glories of a Good Corn Dog

7 January 2025

Imagine a friend of yours got involved in a commune, one of the really crunchy ones that does their own farming and such along with poetry nights and music and art. They’re pretty good at all this, actually. They’re using some really interesting permaculture practices at the communal farm, the poetry is actually half-decent, and they make the absolute best goat-cheese pizza you’ve ever tasted. As you ask a few more questions, it turns out that come March 21st, they’re all planning to drink cyanide in order to liberate their spirits to join the alien spacecraft that’s coming to take them away. Upon further investigation, this is the third such cult the charismatic leader has founded. He contends that the suicides of the two previous groups have indeed gone on to be with the aliens, while he selflessly remained behind to spread the good news.

How fast would you want to get your friend out of there?

So listen, I have some bad news for you. Large swathes of Western culture are that commune. We’re doing it in slow-motion, but look at the birth rates. What we are seeing is a cultural suicide pact. Hold that thought for a moment, we’ll come back to it.

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In a post that’s worth your time to read, Michael Clary observes that one of the major objectives of neutral-world church strategy was “drawing left-leaning urban millennials, the most coveted demographic of the neutral world church planting boom.” In the interests of drawing the left-leaning urban crowd into church, we were all counseled to be “gospel centered” and “major on the majors,” setting “secondary matters” aside as “distractions.” Why were we given that counsel? Is it because our church growth experts were so taken with the gospel that for them, everything else just paled in comparison? Pretty to think so…but no, as I’ll demonstrate about four paragraphs down. Our experts knew that the left-leaning urbanites we were courting despised everything we love: backyard barbecues, fireworks on the 4th, “World’s Greatest Mom” mugs from Wal-mart, funnel cakes and corndogs at the county fair, all of it. They told us to “major on the majors” because our corn dogs offend left-leaning urbanites.

The urban elite have way fewer kids than the rest of us. It’s “grill Americans” who have the kids; the ranks of the urban elite are fed by a steady stream of young adults emigrating from flyover country. As a result, the rank and file of left-leaning urbanites didn’t grow up in that culture. They actually came from “grill American” culture, and lhey left it behind on purpose in order to fit into the elite leftist culture of their colleges. (You can tell this by their social media feeds over the holidays: they’re constantly reposting supportive tips for getting through dinner with your conservative relatives. Natives of the urban elite don’t have dinner with conservative relatives.) As young adults, these cultural emigres look back on heartland American culture with the white-hot disgust of the newly converted. In part, that performative disgust is driven by vulnerability: if you grew up slinging fries at McDonalds, you can’t afford for anybody at your art gallery job to even suspect you of plebian tastes — the accusation alone could ruin you.

I had half a mind to make this post a hit piece on that sad and hypocritical demographic. While they maybe deserve it, they need Jesus too! Somebody’s gotta go in there and get them, and the ugly truth is that unless you happen to catch them struggling to change a tire, you probably can’t make the initial approach in greasy Wal-mart jeans with a Modelo in your hand. When it comes to the logistics of winning that demographic, our neutral-world coaches were not wrong about the things they would find off-putting. But this is one of the major problems with managerial culture: it gets preoccupied with logistics at the expense of values.

Our coaches didn’t just steer us away from tailgating at the high school football game; they also told us to expunge all references to the sin of abortion from our church services; in fact, they told us not to talk about politics at all (as if the Bible doesn’t speak to such issues!) They upbraided us for big celebrations of Mothers’s Day and Father’s Day. They wrote long think pieces about the dangers of what they called “idolatry of the family” — a sneer at those who have the audacity to think growing up, getting married, and raising kids is normal. “Major on the majors; keep it about Jesus,” they said. “All things to all men,” they said. Too many of us listened.

Here’s what actually happened: Our advisers were not counseling us to “avoid secondary issues” because they cared so much about the gospel; it was because they wanted to muzzle the conservatives. Conservative values embarrassed them, and so as long as the voice of the church on “secondary issues” was conservative, no excuse was good enough for bringing those issues up. Now that left-leaning urbanites occupy positions of influence in the church, the very same advisers have suddenly discovered that there’s nothing more gospel-centered than a left-leaning take on…well, anything.

That joke about global warming on a record-setting snowy day? Total distraction. Come on, let’s keep it about Jesus, okay? But Greta Thundberg on climate change, that’s gospel-centered. Christians of all people should care about the world God made.

What are we to do with this situation? We can gather in twos and threes in desolate places and grind our teeth about the injustice of it all, but let’s not. I suggest we rethink the situation from the ground up. Let’s go back to that admonition to keep things gospel-centered, and have another look. I’m going to say something a bit controversial, and I welcome pushback, but I think I can make it stick.

I contend that we had a gospel-centered culture, however imperfect. In order to appeal to the coveted neutral-world demographic (left-leaning urban Millennials), we were urged to surrender our gospel-centered culture in favor of a different culture entirely. It is…ah, not obvious, shall we say, that the replacement culture is more gospel-centered than what we had. For one thing, that culture is committing suicide in slow motion. Remember the low birth rates? These are the people driving those statistics. Left-leaning urban Millennials are the cultural equivalent of that commune with the suicide pact.

Was existing grill-American culture perfect? By no means! But the Christian version of it loved children, honored mothers and celebrated fathers, valued and incentivized intact families, loved our country, made quilts and fluffy biscuits and plumbing that worked and sturdy front porches for the kids to play on, and had kids to play on them.

Left-leaning urbanite tastemakers don’t have kids. We traded young adults who got married and raised families for young adults who shack up, get cats, travel the world, and “don’t feel called to children.” We traded women who knew all Grandma’s best recipes for women who can’t make anything but a cocktail; men who could build a retaining wall in a weekend for inexplicably bearded men who can’t so much as change a tire. (A friend of mine asserts that today, a conspicuous beard is “the push-up bra of masculinity.” I’m afraid she may have a point.)

Conceding that someone needs to win these folks to Jesus, why would we want to adopt their culture? It’s not like it’s an improvement. So here’s my modest proposal: the gospel is indeed the center, but it is the center of something. Something good, not to put too fine a point on it. Where we genuinely fall short, let’s repent, and having repented of the evil, let’s not be embarrassed by the good things that remain. Let’s be a little loud about the beauty of marriage, the joys of having a gaggle of kids, the pleasure and difficulty of physical work, and the glories of a good corn dog. We have plenty of room to grow, but let’s not give up the good we already have for bland, HR-approved substitutes. Yech.


Worldly Amusements

29 August 2024

If you go back a few generations in certain parts of the American church, you will encounter a strong current of thought that Christians ought not partake in “worldly amusements.” Drinking, dancing, card- and pool-playing all get roundly condemned, along with moving picture shows and various other pastimes. Sometimes it would take a thoroughly amusing turn: some of my older relatives have informed me that when TV was new, it was off-limits as a “worldly amusement,” but when color TV came out, somehow black and white TV became ok!

Despite the poisonous legalism, they were onto something. Evangelicals typically fear being branded as legalistic, so (ironically) we focus on the legal aspects of a leisure-time activity. We ask if it’s morally wrong for some clear reason, and if not, well, that’s really all we have to say about it. But in a consumer culture drowning in entertainment options, we need to ask more questions than that.

One of the questions has to do with opportunity cost, and this is where our Holiness-movement forbears might have a point worth considering. What am I giving up in order to give the next 90 minutes to this innocent and fun activity at hand? Now, there is a tight-shoed and wicked way to apply that question. If absolutely everything has to be filled with maximal purpose, and if purpose is defined in the hopelessly short-sighted and narrow way such people tend to define it, we will become very dull, joyless folk, incapable of enjoying anything. But if we refuse to entertain the question, we cannot escape becoming distracted, vapid idiots flitting from one amusement to another.

One of the enemy’s basic weapons is distraction. He doesn’t actually have to destroy us to keep us off the battlefield; it’s enough to keep us focused on our own amusement. We can’t allow that.

The job here is to find the road between the ditches. God “gives us richly all things to enjoy,” and it’s wrong not to enjoy them. He also gives us a mission to fill the earth and subdue it, to disciple the nations, to reconcile the world to Himself, and we must be about it. Rightly construed, each of these reinforces the other. The God who is reconciling the world to Himself is the God who wants His good gifts to be enjoyed. We win the world in part by inviting them to enjoy His good gifts with us. Look around your life: who can you invite to join you?


Not Dead, Just Relocated

9 April 2024

Some while ago, the New Yorker published a think piece titled “The End of the English Major.” The article chronicles a strong trend away from studying the humanities in universities: “In 2022, only seven per cent of Harvard freshmen planned to major in the humanities, down from twenty per cent in 2012, and nearly thirty per cent during the nineteen-seventies.”

The author seems confused by the trend: “English professors find the turn particularly baffling now: a moment when, by most appearances, the appetite for public contemplation of language, identity, historiography, and other longtime concerns of the seminar table is at a peak.”

It’s not some big mystery. Speaking as a humanities teacher, I find that both students and adults continue to love painting, architecture, music, poetry, essays, novels, etc., when they’re given a chance. That hasn’t changed. But students no longer get that chance.

The richness of the humanities is the possibility of getting out of your own place and century and getting a deeper perspective on life, but exposure alone does not guarantee that perspective. Good habits of engagement are essential to receive the benefits. Good reading habits require a submission to the author and original audience first, and then a step back to exercise sober judgment. Neither submission nor sober judgment come naturally; both are disciplines developed under the tutelage of a skilled teacher who embodies those traits and can call them forth in the student. It’s a beautiful experience, and I was blessed to have two teachers in particular who invested themselves in giving it to me. (Thank you Mrs. Bornarth and Mrs. Brinkley!!!)

But academic humanities don’t do that anymore. At the university level, humanities faculties quit teaching their actual disciplines a couple generations ago, and the rot continues to spread to ever-lower levels. We’re now to the point where it’s entirely possible not only that your high school aged kid’s English teacher doesn’t know how to read a text; neither did his teacher, nor his teacher!

There’s a wide difference between reading a text for what the author is doing, and reading a text for our particular preoccupations. Say we’re interested in Elizabethan dueling customs. We’d be better off reading George Silver than Shakespeare, but it’s legitimate to read Hamlet and see if we can pick up some tidbits. We might be able to learn something, but only an idiot thinks that’s what Shakespeare is writing for. We’re imposing our own categories and interests on the text — and ditto with a Marxist reading, or a post-structuralist reading, or an intersectional queer Asian feminist reading.

Readings driven by contemporary preoccupations aren’t seeking understanding, still less to get out of their own century; they’re using the text before them as a springboard for their own preferred talking points — which are current, fashionable, and (predictably) boring as hell. Reading a classic text in that way is the very definition of provincialism, and it’s pointless besides. Why read a 400-year-old author to get all the same drivel you can read on Twitter?

Precisely that sort of reading predominates in university humanities departments, and has for at least two generations now. The students have finally noticed, and they’re voting with their feet, in droves. And good for them!

Does this mean that the humanities are dead? Not a bit of it. It means that university humanities departments are dead. The humanities themselves are alive and well. We’ve never been more able to access great art and architecture and music and dance and literature than we are right now. Anywhere with a functioning internet connection puts you in touch with more great works than you could contemplate in a lifetime. You can watch—and read, and listen to, and fall in love with—some of the most beautiful works the human race has ever produced, right on the same device where you’re reading this post right now. And having found something that you love, why would you keep it to yourself? Share with your friends! I introduced my barista to Antoni Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia just last week, and she loved it!

We could live in a rich culture of sharing and participating in beauty, and there’s only one thing stopping us: us. We just gotta do it. What are we waiting for?