God’s Dress Code

Posted on March 15, 2014 by Foxworld

For whatever weird reason, while in the shower a few minutes ago, I found myself reminiscing on an early passage of my journey with Jesus when I attended a classic “holy roller”-style Pentecostal church. The cliches were true: many of the men really did slick back their hair, and the women really did wear their hair in buns and wore long dresses and no makeup. They were not an outwardly attractive group, and I realize in retrospect that a lot of them were just as severe on the inside—and so was I. Which gets me to thinking about this whole business of appearance.

In 1 Samuel 16:6–7, we get the following insight into how God views things: “[Samuel] looked at Eliab and thought, ‘Surely the Lord’s anointed is before Him.’ But the Lord said to Samuel, ‘Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart’” (NASB).

It’s the heart that God pays attention to. Outer stuff is just that: outer, superficial. What God values is inside us. He’s after the candy bar, not the wrapper. He feels that way about every aspect of our lives, and he wants us to have the same perspective, as Jesus makes clear in one of his statements to the religious critics of his day: “‘Do not judge according to appearance, but judge with righteous judgment’” (John 7:24 NASB). Eugene Peterson renders this verse beautifully in The Message: “‘Don’t be nitpickers; use your head—and heart!—to discern what is right, to test what is authentically right.’”

Righteous judgment is judgment that’s informed by the heart and, to a large extent, by—dare I say it?—common sense. Moreover, holiness is about an inner condition that may or may not at all be reflected by how a person dresses. It’s tied not to external rules of deportment but to the law of love—love for God and love for one’s neighbor. Love guides in ways that rules can’t and furnishes nobler reasons than merely “getting it right.” Moreover, it does so in freedom, not bondage.

With this in mind, let’s consider what the apostle Peter was getting at when he advised women, “Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight” (1 Peter 3:3–4 NIV).

What was Peter really saying?

The people in that church I attended apparently thought he had issued some kind of anti-fashion dress code. But by zeroing in on the first half of the passage, they completely missed its purpose, namely, to create a backdrop for what follows. Too bad, because that second half is the true heart of the matter—and the part that’s far harder for us to deal with. It’s a whole lot easier to do something about the way we look than the way we are.

Many Christians have interpreted Peter’s words in a way that confuses holiness with homeliness. But that wasn’t Peter’s point; his point was to shift his readers’ focus from the outside to the place where true beauty lies: in one’s “inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit.” Peter could just as easily have told women, “Don’t preoccupy yourselves with looking as plain as possible, avoiding attractive hairstyles, jewelry, and fine clothes. Those things aren’t the issue. Concentrate on what’s within.”

Ditto for men. Greasing back one’s hair and wearing a suit doesn’t make a guy any more pleasing in God’s sight than wearing jeans and a T-shirt. What counts is the heart. And no, I don’t buy the idea that if our heart belongs to God, we’ll dress in a certain prescribed way “out of respect for the Lord.” The Bible tells us what God cares about, and it has nothing to do with whether we dress up or down. It doesn’t matter whether a woman dresses in a potato sack or a sequined gown if her mouth spews out poison in her relationships. It doesn’t matter whether a man wears a suit or cargo pants if he’s mean as a rattlesnake at home and a crook at work.

Now, please understand: I do believe that love will guide us to dress in a way that doesn’t tempt our brothers and sisters sexually. But that issue, while related to this one, is a separate discussion. You’re smart; you can figure it out, right? It’s about love, about seeking the best interests of others, not about rules.

It always is. When love reigns, so do color and creativity and freedom, tempered by healthy self-control born out of care for our fellow humans, not religious pressure; and in all of it, life the way God means us to live it.

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Choosing the Right Word: Close Isn’t Good Enough

Posted on February 24, 2014 by Foxworld

In his hilarious and withering lampoon of nineteenth-century novelist J. Fenimore Cooper, Mark Twain famously observed that good writing requires the writer to “use the right word, not its second cousin.”¹

Twain was a master at using the right word, with effects that ranged from the poignant to the stirring to the biting and, quite often, to the side-splitting. Here he is again in chapter 27 of Roughing It, describing with fond humor an associate from his silver mining days whose standard of usage was a bit different from Twain’s:

Mr. Ballou, through whose iron-clad earnestness no sarcasm could pierce, said that … the provisions were exposed and would suffer, the horses being “bituminous from long deprivation.”

The reader will excuse me from translating. What Mr. Ballou customarily meant, when he used a long word, was a secret between himself and his Maker…. His one striking peculiarity was his Partingtonian fashion of loving and using big words for their own sakes, and independent of any bearing they might have upon the thought he was purposing to convey. He always let his ponderous syllables fall with an easy unconsciousness that left them wholly without offensiveness. In truth his air was so natural and so simple that one was always catching himself accepting his stately sentences as meaning something, when they really meant nothing in the world. If a word was long and grand and resonant, that was sufficient to win the old man’s love, and he would drop that word into the most out-of-the-way place in a sentence or a subject, and be as pleased with it as if it were perfectly luminous with meaning.

Twain not only elicits a smile but also makes a point that many a writer should take to heart. One of the corrections I make often as an editor is to switch out poor word choices for appropriate ones, and one of my more frequent queries is, “Correct word? Consider [I suggest alternatives].”

It’s good to choose colorful words that breathe vigor and freshness into a sentence. But they have got to actually mean what the writer wants them to mean. Not almost what he means; not merely in the neighborhood of what she intends, close enough that it might pass if the reader isn’t paying attention.² Close enough isn’t good enough. A good writer doesn’t use words casually. He or she loves them too much and cares too much about their effect to sling them about with the easy indiscriminateness of a Mr. Ballou.

Don’t you be a Ballou. Here are a few tips that can help you ensure you’re choosing the right word for the job.

Use Your Dictionary

If there is an overarching principle of good word usage, it is this: Keep your dictionary within easy reach and use it often. If you use an online dictionary, fine. Internet dictionaries are convenient, and I consult them regularly, although—call me old-fashioned—I still often prefer my print version of Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, Eleventh Edition, which is the current standard for popular writing.

Whatever your dictionary of choice may be, just use it, that’s all. I can’t emphasize this enough: Consulting your dictionary ought to be so regular and natural a part of your writing habit that it’s instinctive. When in doubt about a word, look it up. I’ve done so several times so far in writing this post and will do so many more times before it’s finished.

Use Your Thesaurus—Properly

A good thesaurus ought to sit right next to your desktop dictionary as a standard writing tool. It’s a treasure trove of possibilities for finding just the right word to create the effect you’re after. Look at all those cool words your thesaurus contains—words you never dreamed of, lustrous pearls of nuance and mood, all yours to choose from!

But before you string one of them onto that sentence you’re composing, do one thing: look it up first. Because its meaning might be other than what you thought and different from what you want to say.

Your thesaurus isn’t a dictionary. It’s designed to broaden your options for word choices, thus expanding your creativity and impact as a writer. But to use it successfully requires using it judiciously, with the understanding that the synonyms it suggests for a given entry all have their specific meanings, and a particular word may not fit the application you have in mind. So once you’ve found a word you like in your thesaurus, then unless that word is one whose meaning you’re certain of, look it up. Otherwise, your readers may be less impressed by it than you are.

Don’t Trust “Understanding through Context”

How often have you inferred the meaning of an unfamiliar word through the way it was used? You didn’t need to grab the dictionary; the word’s context defined it for you.

Or so you thought.

You can in fact often determine a word’s meaning from its context. But you’d be surprised how often you guess wrong. You may hit the bullseye, but you may just as easily merely clip the blue ring or even miss the target entirely. How do I know? Because my profession as a writer has shown me what a rotten shot I myself can be when it comes to using words whose definitions I’ve guessed at rather than looked up.

So I’ve learned to listen to that inner voice when it asks, Do I really know what this word means? As soon as that question pops up, it’s dictionary time. Only after I’ve ascertained the word’s meaning do I use that word—or refrain from using it and find a more appropriate choice. I’m nit-picky that way, incorrigibly so, and if you’re a writer, you should be too.

Deducing a word’s meaning from its context is fine when you’re reading casually and feeling lazy, but it’s not acceptable when you’re writing. If you care enough about your subject to write about it, you should care enough to write about it well, and that means, among other things, knowing exactly what it is you’re saying. Words are the currency of communication; be able to account for every dime you spend.

In Conclusion

Word usage is an area where you can’t afford to give yourself the benefit of the doubt. Don’t just think that you know what a word means; make certain you do before you use it. Frequently consulting your dictionary is the mark of a thirsty mind and an exacting and responsible writer.


___________________

1. Mark Twain, “Fenimore Cooper’s Literary Offenses,” 1895. Cooper wrote The Last of the Mohicans and other books in the Leatherstocking pioneer fiction series.

2. I’m well aware that I’ve used a verbless sentence. I’m quite comfortable with that. See my article on sentence fragments.

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Reflections on the Reflexive: How (and How Not) to Use “Myself”

Posted on January 7, 2014 by Foxworld

Dear Whole Wide English-Speaking World, It Seems:

Here is a word usage tip that can generate goodwill on our planet in a small way by eliminating my periodic urge to shake people violently by the lapels while bulging my bloodshot eyeballs in their faces and screaming, “Stop iiittttt!!!”

My tip is this: Don’t say “myself” when you mean “I” or “me.”

“Myself” frequently gets used incorrectly when more than one person is doing something. For example:

Susie and myself went to the store.

Ugh! No, please–not “Susie and myself.” I can feel my hand groping about instinctively for a lapel, and what follows won’t be mellow.

When to Say “I”

Let’s leave Susie out of the picture and pretend you went to the store alone. What would you say? You wouldn’t tell people, “Myself went to the store,” would you? (Please say you wouldn’t.) You also wouldn’t say, “Me went to the store”—not unless you’re Tonto talking to the Lone Ranger.

What you would say is, “I went to the store.”

Use “I” when you’re the one doing something (or, if you want to get technical, when you are the subject of the sentence). This holds true whether you’re acting alone or with other people.

With that principle in mind, let’s now add Susie back into the mix:

Susie and I went to the store.

Magnifique! That’s how it’s done. Susie went to the store, and I went to the store, so Susie and I went to the store. It’s almost mathematical in its elegance.

Here are a couple other examples:

Wrong: Myself, Josh, and Jessica were in the car.

Right: (Take away Jessica and Josh and you would say, “I was in the car.” Now add Jessica and Josh back in, and use were instead of was for more than one person.)

Jessica, Josh, and I were in the car.* (Niiiice! Oh, you are smooth!)

Wrong: After running five miles, myself and Steve grabbed a bite to eat.

Right: After running five miles, Steve and I grabbed a bite to eat.

When to Say “Me”

That was easy enough, wasn’t it. But what about when you’re not the one who’s doing something? What about when you’re the one to whom something is being done?

Cackling evilly, the mad professor locked myself and Pete in the dungeon.

Really, old bean, you’re making way too much work for yourself. What’s wrong with plain old, simple “me”?

Cackling evilly, the mad professor locked Pete and me in the dungeon.

See? Much better.

Use “me” when you’re not the doer but the done-to, the object of the sentence toward whom action is targeted.

Let’s say that Jennifer ran frantically toward you and Aaron. Jennifer was the one who did something–she ran–while you and Aaron were, in a sense, the recipients of her action. So, Contestant Number One, what would you say?

Jennifer ran frantically toward Aaron and myself.

Bzzzztttt! Sorry, wrong answer. Contestant Number Two, what’s your response?

Jennifer ran frantically toward Aaron and me.

Dingdingding! Congratulations! You’ve scored the daily double. Once again, you can determine the correct word by simply removing Aaron from the picture, thus: “Jennifer ran frantically toward me.” The way you would say the sentence without Aaraon in it is also the way you would say the sentence with Aaron in it, along with as many walk-ins as you please:

Jennifer ran frantically toward Aaron, Ashley, Ashley’s Aunt Susan and her pet monkey, a bald priest doing handstands on his skateboard, and me.

How to Use “Myself”

Normally, “myself” requires that you first use “I” in a sentence. You can use “myself” two ways:

1. Directly after “I” to emphasize your sense of identity:

I myself would love to go.

Losing my job was something I myself constantly feared.

   

Or, infrequently, for emphasis after “me”:

As for me myself, I’m content to sleep on the floor.

2. In a sentence wherein you are both the subject and the object–that is, you are doing something to or for yourself:

How could I hoard such a windfall all to myself?

Receiving the award was an honor I had never envisioned for myself.

So When Can You Substitute “Myself” for “Me” as a Sentence Object?

Apart from item two above, only use “myself” in place of “me” when you want your lapel removed.

I know you see it done all the time in both informal and formal communications, from Facebook comments to business letters, wherein people want to appear savvy and sophisticated (e.g., “Please direct future correspondence directly to myself”). But there’s nothing impressive about improper usage. Just say “me.”

Particularly when I’m around. Your lapel will last a lot longer that way, and the world will be a gentler, more harmonious place, at least in our vicinity.

_____________

* Note that in the correct examples shown above, “I” and “me” appear after references to other persons. It is normally good form to put others before yourself.

After all, which sounds better: “Me’n Sam was attending etiquette class” or “Sam and me was attending ettiquette class”?

Right, they both sound horrible. But “Sam and me” is nicer.**

** Though still wrong. Correct: “Sam and I were attending . . .” It’s a compound subject. But that’s another topic. Don’t get me started.

 

 

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