Now in a sense this is as it ought to be. The old order changes, yield ing place to new. Yet the thing that has replaced the former father- child relationship is not the natural desire for eventual independence. It is a spirit of rebellion. A cartoon, depicting a young fellow in a cloth ing shop, is typical. Having picked out a new suit he asks, “ Can I re turn this if my parents like it?" This is the spirit of the anti christ which is at work in the world. This is the spirit that is ruling in the hearts of men. It is destroying the school systems. It is making drug addiction a common thing. It is making crime a problem of gi gantic proportions. It has destroyed the morality which held the home together. It has destroyed the real ity of everything spiritual and moral and made drink and drugs neces sary to keep life palatable. Commandments are out of date and the answer for the avante garde life is permissiveness. But is it the answer? Thousands have found out by experience that it is not. It is a one-way road to slavery. Then what is the answer? Per haps it is something so very simple that it has been overlooked. It is not the child’s fault but the par ents’. Parents are not laying down any prohibitions partly because they came from a generation that never had any themselves. But now somebody had better start saying “ no” before everything is lost. Pos sibly it is going to be up to the present generation of youth to pull up their own socks. Then when parenthood becomes their lot, they must remember that the rod of correction is an integral part of a Christian home. It is a “ sad-sack” parent indeed who can’t say “ no.” And it’s a de struction-bent youth who doesn’t value and accept the fences that are erected. “ Our father told us not to,” may be strange words for re fusing to run the way of all flesh. But there is an everlasting heritage in the balance. KB Edward Arensen is a missionary to Kijahe, Kenya, and is currently on furlough.
‘‘ Help yourself,” he said, “ have a drink.” The cowboys looked at each oth er but no one made a move toward the table. “ Go ahead, have a drink. It's good wine,” the man coaxed. The silvery-haired leader turned to him. “ Our father told us never to drink wine. And we have never drunk wine, no, not from that day to this.” Their host looked at them and smiled. A relaxed and s a tis fie d smile. Cowboys— but they wouldn’t drink wine. Their father had told them not to. Obviously this didn’t happen in 1970. It happened in Prophet Jere miah’s time. These cowboys were the sons of Rechab — generations removed. The command had been given to Rechab that neither he nor his offspring were to ever drink wine, plant v ine ya rd s or build houses. As long as they obeyed, they would never lack a place in the Promised Land. They obeyed and to this day there are reported to be descendants of Rechab living in Palestine. In this incident Jeremiah himself is testing the sons of Rechab. He called them in Jerusalem, led them into a temple room and offered them wine. When they refused to disobey their father's injunction, he used them as an example to rebel lious Judah. In our time there are very few willing to do what their fathers tell them once they are in their teens — let alone when they are parents. This is one of the major problems that is facing the modern nations of Africa today. Not too long ago there was a healthy parent-child relation ship. The older a man became, the more respected he was. Years piled honor on his shoulders and he sat at the gate of the village, passing out advice to the young people that was not only accepted but sought. Today this relationship has lost its power. Because the old man knows more about goats than gears, he is ignominously left to sit on a little round stool, while the younger gen eration talks English and discusses the population explosion.
by Edward H. Arensen
Our Father Told Us Not To T he rugged band of cowboys gal loped over the last low rise and stopped. Before them lay the city, washed bright by the mid morning sun. For a moment they rested their mounts. They were a striking group bearing a strong family resemblance. Slim, hook nosed and tanned from a life in the desert, they sat their magnificent horses as if one with them. Then a nod from their leader, a v igo rou s man whose e v iden t strength belied his silver-streaked hair, sent them cantering toward the city. Just outside of the city wall, they dismounted. Leaving th e ir horses in charge of one of their comrades, they walked into the city. Its bustling streets were filled with people who turned and looked at the dusty cowboys. They walked with silent determination until they came to a large building. Near its door stood a man obviously waiting for them. He stepped forward and invited them in. They followed rath er distrustfully as men accustomed to the wide-open spaces are apt to do when brought inside four walls. He led them to a second-story room. He opened the door and bade them enter. A large table stood in the room. On it were pitchers filled with wine. Beside these were cups of various kinds. Their host pointed to the table.
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OCTOBER, 1970
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