Gushing Like A Bieber-Crazed School Girl Over the Slactivist, Fred Clark

Let's start here: this is how I feel about the Slactivist.

as well as

and even a little

As you know, the Grumpy One likes thinking about writin'. He likes pondering spiritual matters, secular though he may be. And he likes profound thoughtations.

Well, if you like any of those things, or -- especially -- all of them, hold onto your freakin' hats, boys and girls, because I'm about to introduce you to Fred Clark -- not to mention link to him eleventy-billion times or so. Fred used to run the Slactivist site, though now he's moved to his own site at Patheos. Much of the content is simlar to that of any smart liberal blog, like Atrios or Digby, but his Fred's a little different.

Because Fred's also reviewing Left Behind, Tim Hayes and Jerry Jenkins's take on what the world would be like after the Rapture.

The writing in Left Behind is horrible, as is, as Fred cogently argues, the theology. No surprise there -- the surprise is that Fred's an evangelical Christian.

Like Fred Clark, except completely different

Those who know the Grumpy Buddha personally are aware that he has about as much love for evangelical Christianity as the English have for dentistry, but I have to say, Fred's opening up a new perspective for me. It's not completely new -- I was aware that Jesus spent a helluva lot more time complaining about the Pharisees than about condemning people for their sins -- but I'd never heard it come from an evangelical before.

Fred's put me in a tough position; I'd like to describe his amazing work in more detail, but I know that any words I choose will be inadequate to the task. (Great attitude for a would-be writer, right?) I don't mind being a link-monkey here, though, given what's on the other end.

Suffices to say, Fred bounces between writing critique and theological critique with aplomb. His is, officially, The Most Interesting Blog In The World. 

So, without further adieu I give you *drum roll, please*

 ... oh, crap, I guess I need a little adieu, to introduce you the basics of Left Behind.

1) The Rapture happens.Two billion people (the "good" Christians and all children aged ~13 or less) disintegrate, their clothes neatly folded (courteous!) and their souls go to heaven.

2) Raymond Steele (no, he's not a porn star, he's the most superduper pilot in the world) is Left Behind, along with his daughter, Chloe.

3) Buck Williams (no, he's also not a porn star, he's the Greatest Investigative Report of All Time) is also Left Behind.

4) They soon convert to Christianity and ... well, and don't do much, because after all, the coming apocalypse is God's Idea, and so they really can't oppose the Antichrist, because he's Part of the Plan. (At least, they can't oppose him by the middle of book #2.) So they mostly mope around and try to get close to the Antichrist because it might be helpful for narrative purposes.

The convenient thing for Fred is, Tim and Jerry really suck at everything.

They suck at worldbuilding:

The Event -- the spontaneous disintegration of every child on Earth -- is regarded as little more than a curiosity. It is the subject of idle speculation at the water cooler, but no one seems affected by it in any meaningful way. This is, again, an insurmountable, fatal failure for this book. It turns every scene in the novel into something monstrous and horrifying.

In LB, the disappearance of 2 billion people is scarcely noticed, but the possibility of a new secretary-general at the United Nations has everyone on the edge of their seats like they're watching the ninth inning of a perfect game.

They suck at creating characters:

While the Rayford-POV section was all about what a great guy Rayford is, the Buck-POV section is all about what great guys both of them are:

Buck tried to concentrate on the captain's answers but felt himself trying to impress Chloe, too. Everyone in the business knew he was one of the best in the world at interviewing. That and his ability to quickly sift through the stuff and make a readable, engaging article of it had made him who he was. Buck had breezed through the preliminaries, and he liked this guy. Steele seemed honest and sincere, smart and articulate. He realized he had seen a lot of Rayford in Chloe.

Consider those two paragraphs alongside this one:

Whether you're interested in poetry or prose, fiction or nonfiction, you'll hone your skills and polish your craft, working alongside one of the Guild's Master Craftsman.

That's from the site touting Jenkins' "Christian Writers Guild Writing Course." For only $1,365 you, too, can learn to flesh out your characters by piling on the superlatives and adjectives. How will your readers know that your hero is "honest and sincere, smart and articulate" unless you tell them?

On that note, Hero #1, Buck, is a complete idiot:

Buck Williams has his work cut out for him. He's in charge of investigating and reporting the biggest story in the history of the human race.

What caused the instantaneous disappearance of 1/3 of the world's population? Could this strange event have been the result of foul play? Are the missing still alive? Is it possible they could return just as suddenly and mysteriously? What does it mean to suddenly find ourselves in a world without children?

None of these questions occur to Buck or to his editor, Steve Plank, as they sit down to discuss his duties in the days ahead. They aren't yet able to answer even the most basic questions about the disappearances -- who, what, when, where, why, how? -- but none of this seems to bother them. 

Buck thinks he should be investigating international financiers. Steve, on the other hand, thinks Buck should focus on the Jews. Yes, you don't have to be a member of the John Birch Society to work here ... but it helps!

And Hero #2 Ray Steele is an ass:

Rayford Steele and Hattie Durham make the long walk back to the terminal, carefully threading their way past the smoldering wrecks of various crashed planes. "All around were ambulances and other emergency vehicles trying to get to ugly wreckage scenes," LaHaye & Jenkins tell us.

One pictures Rayford wheeling his little pilot's bag behind him, muttering G-rated curses under his breath as it pops up onto one wheel and drags on its side after bumping over the still-twitching body of one of the thousands of injured. "Two square miles of tarmac," Steele thinks, "and this jerk has to drag his fatally wounded self right here so I have to wheel around him? Like I don't have enough trouble already?"

Okay, that last scene doesn't actually appear in the book. LaHaye and Jenkins, like their hero, are wholly focused on moving along. The "ugly wreckage scenes" are not explored in any further detail -- they exist only as obstacles between Rayford and his family.

Here we see the "profamily" ethic of Timothy LaHaye's brand of religious conservatism at work. Rayford is, first and foremost, a husband and a father. The dead and the dying who surround him at the airport are strangers, untermenschen. They are not his family and therefore, according to LaHaye's profamily view, Steele is right to ignore them on his way back to Irene and the kids. (Even though, by now, Steele has a pretty good idea that Irene and the kids are long gone.)

Rayford Steele's single-minded tunnel-vision -- his ability to avoid even seeing the suffering of those outside of his immediate family -- is typical of the worst extremes of this profamily ethic as applied by the outer wing of America's religious right.

... It is only by erecting such boundaries that Rayford Steele is able to sidestep the suffering of strangers, picking his way across the airport to the terminal and refusing to let his gaze dwell on the "ugly wreckage" that surrounds him.

There's something deeply perverse and inhuman about a story in which we are asked to consider such a man "heroic."

...

Rayford Steele is a massively deluded creature. We've just seen this painfully illustrated, yet again, in his long prophecy sales pitch to Hattie Durham. Throughout that conversation Rayford comes across as a controlling, self-centered, inarticulate jerk wholly devoid of empathy. Yet in every other paragraph of that section we're also told that he perceives himself as a paragon of "passion and persuasion," and that this is how he thinks others perceive him as well.

 And their lack of social skills is comical:

There's a bit of a lesson in the first meeting of our two heroes, Buck Williams and Rayford Steele. It's a fine portrait of the insecure alpha male in his native habitat. Rayford seems so eager to strike a dominant posture that I was afraid he was about to start peeing on trees or mounting somebody.

The theology is atrocious (Ray is accepting a job to become the Antichrist's pilot):

At some point in your life, the Antichrist is going to offer you a job.

Don't take it.

And especially don't delude yourself into imagining that taking it might actually be God's will because, conveniently, God's agenda for you and the Antichrist's agenda seem to perfectly overlap. The job offer itself is a trap set for you by others. The rationalizing delusion is a trap set for you by yourself. Just say no.

Rayford's delusion here might be the stuff of a better novel. He's supremely confident in the infallibility of his spirit-feelings, even when those feelings are leading him to become a henchman of the Beast. That smug confidence is the stuff of classic tragedy -- hubris, then a precipitous fall. I'm picturing a story in which Rayford is portrayed as someone like Alec Guinness' Col. Nicholson in The Bridge on the River Kwai, enthusiastically devoting himself to the work of the enemy with lots of grand, self-congratulatory speeches right up until that final horrified "What have I done?"

But of course this isn't a David Lean film or a Pierre Boulle novel. It's a slap-dash piece of pulp-heresy by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, and for LaHaye & Jenkins, hubris doesn't precede a fall. They regard it, instead, as a sign of godliness.

And did I mention the writing?

Buck heads inside and meets up with his friends and colleagues for the first time since one third of the world's people disappeared and hundreds of thousands more were killed in various catastrophes involving planes, trains and automobiles. Since that event, Buck had been on his own, but:

He was with people who cared about him. This was his family. He was really, really glad to see them, and it appeared the feeling was mutual.

That second "really" is what sets Jerry Jenkins apart as a novelist. Passages like this make one grateful that he is sharing this gift with others. You, too, can sign up for his "Christian Writers Guild" and you can learn to be a really, really good writer.

In the end, what hits me the hardest is something that Fred has pointed out more than once when discussing the admonishments and advice of LaHaye and Jenkins, and the greater conservative Christian community. 

The prophet Micah says, “What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with your God.” That right there is some pretty direct leading.

If you tell me that you’ve received a “direct” message from God to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly, I’m inclined to believe you. If you tell me that God has given you some kind of “direct leading” away from justice, love, mercy and humility, then I say “Bah, humbug.”

Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly ... if that isn't at least 75% of Eightfold Path, I don't know what is. And it's in the Bible, too. Go figure.