J.R.R Tolkien
I WAS STANDING at a bus stop in northern Virginia this spring with another dad putting his kids on the bus. He is a federal employee coping with the sudden precarity of the career he pursued to support his family. President Donald Trump’s executive order in February that directed federal agencies to submit plans for “large-scale reductions in force” may leave this dad out of work.
President Trump’s deployment of billionaire Elon Musk to dismantle the federal government fulfills a long-held dream for some. Since the mid-1980s, certain far-right Republicans have wanted to enact political strategist Grover Norquist’s mantra: “I don’t want to abolish government. I simply want to reduce it to the size where I can drag it into the bathroom and drown it in the bathtub.”
Well, “government” is “people.” Real people. There are 2.4 million federal employees, not including the military or the postal service. Under the Trump administration, they wake up each day not knowing whether the world’s richest man and the world’s most powerful man will decide that they no longer have a job.
Federal workers are only one sector in Trump’s bull’s eye. This administration is attempting to erase the existence of transgender and other gender-diverse people: A day one executive order proclaims that “it is the policy of the United States to recognize two sexes, male and female. These sexes are not changeable.” Trump has banned trans people from women’s sports and the military and now is attempting to eliminate gender-affirming medical care for people under 19. Immigrants are also facing a terrifying crackdown. Immigration enforcement officials arrested more people in the first 22 days of February this year than in any month for the past seven years, according to The Guardian. Green-card holders have been deported for their political activities. Immigrants accused of gang membership were flown to a maximum-security prison in El Salvador in open defiance of court orders.
When he died on Nov. 22, 1963 hardly a soul blinked in Northern Ireland where he was born or in England where he spent most of his working life as one of the world’s greatest Christian apologists.
Clive Staples Lewis was a week short of 65 when he suffered a heart attack at his home in Oxford. The obituary writers barely noticed his demise, in part because he died on the same day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas.
British indifference to Lewis half a century ago will be examined at a one-day seminar at Wheaton College on Nov. 1, co-sponsored by the Marion E. Wade Center, the Institute for the Study of American Evangelicals and Wheaton College’s Faith and Learning program.
Lewis may be the most popular Christian writer in history, with millions of copies of his books sold, the vast majority in the United States where his influence is far greater than in his native country.
Was it Lewis’ modesty or British fear of discussing religion that fueled such indifference in Britain and Ireland?
This will be a night to remember!
On Monday, I had the opportunity of attending an advance screening of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey with a good childhood friend of mine. I sat in my favorite movie-watching seat (a few rows back and dead center), munching on free popcorn and drinks provided by a fellow moviegoer who wanted nothing more than to ensure that his entire row in the theater was happy and well-fed (not too unlike a Hobbit, really).
Just before the lights dimmed, I remember thinking how perfect the whole moment was. However, as exciting and as wonderful as those final moments of anticipation were, I also couldn’t help but wonder if I might be setting my expectations too high for the film that was about to come.
It turns out I needn’t have worried.