The other day I read Job 10. It had a throwback to my last post: "Your hands shaped me and made me... Remember that you molded me like clay" (verses 8-9). And other parts of this chapter tied into my Taize experience in another way.
The entire book of Job has a fair amount of "why am I alive" passages, but these are from chapter 10: "Why then did you bring me out of the womb? I wish I had died before any eye ever saw me. If only I had never come into being, or had been carried straight from the womb to the grave!" (18-19)
At the risk of sounding extremely melodramatic, in my life I have asked/said similar things to God. This February through conversations about the concept of having children, I've come to realize that probably at least 51% of me thinks not existing must be better than existing (which I am aware is unprovable and perhaps senseless). I bet this is related to the fact that as I age and (hopefully) mature spiritually, I am not less sad than I was when I was younger/farther from God. Often the opposite seems true.
I discovered what I took as a response to this at Taize, when one of the girls in my house --I don't know which one-- translated and wrote out lyrics to a song. Even though we were all in silence all week, the girls in the house communicated daily, often through eye contact. Though only two of us (out of about ten) were native English speakers, English was used whenever language was necessary. So the words on the notes we left for each other on the big table were sometimes translated from other languages, in this case, German. (Meaning I am not sure of ever tracking down the originals of what I'm about to share).
The song's title was something like "Don't forget this." It was pretty cheesy. The kind of thing that makes you smile dopily and want to hide your face so people don't see your dopey smile. I'll spare you that (mostly because I can't remember specifics). The gist, the line that stuck with me, was something like, "Never forget that living and breathing were not your idea." That could be taken in a depressing way, but it made me feel free. I don't have to find a reason for my existence. If I don't seem to be getting consistently happier during this season of life, maybe happiness isn't the main goal. I'm responsible for my actions and reactions, but I am not responsible to figure everything out, or to take credit (or blame) for my personality or family situation or anything that happens to me.
A related poem, a prayer, showed up on the table a few days later. I copied down the three lines that I loved best:
I am because of you
in front of you
and for you.
So, sure, it wasn't my idea, but it was someone else's, and I live out the life I received by gift in his full view and I'm responsible to him for how I choose to do this. I should perhaps not expect that God will answer me why I was born, but I can know that it was on purpose.
These words also gave me insight into forgiveness. Lately I've been struggling more than usual with unforgiveness. It can be hard to forgive because if I do, the person may not understand how much they hurt me. It can even be easier to forgive deeper cuts, because the offending person must understand how awful it was for me. But if someone does something that seriously bothers me but ultimately doesn't ruin my life, then I am tempted to use unforgiveness as a way to show my frustration, which the person could otherwise miss altogether. Honestly, though, they still miss it almost altogether. I am not quite terrible enough to chase people down and make sure they understand I am angry.
I understand the faulty logic of unforgiveness. I know that withholding forgiveness mostly just hurts the person who is already hurt, or keeps their wound fresh indefinitely. But the simplest reason is that Jesus asks me to forgive everything, big or small. To forgive not seven times, but seventy times seven. And he asks this for my own benefit: the Bible implies that by extending grace and forgiving debts we open our hearts to more fully receive grace and have our own debts forgiven.
From my human viewpoint, there are times forgiveness seems like a bad idea. God is so gracious to the undeserving, I tend to doubt that he would truly exact justice from those who have hurt me, particularly as they are usually believers. God is, I often remind myself, as much on their side as he is on mine. But Jesus doesn't set conditions on forgiveness. If I ran the show, I might do it differently. But if I accept that this whole living thing wasn't my idea, I can conceptualize that maybe I should just play by the rules of the person whose idea it was.
If forgiveness looks stupid, and life looks sad, I don't have to take credit for setting up and maintaining the set of systems under which that is possible. My sphere of influence is much smaller than that, and my responsibilities are exactly the right size for me, no larger and no smaller. None of this was my idea (hallelujah).
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Creation (My Clay Woman)
I spent last week at Taize, in silence. The week contained a lot of unexpected things for me. For example, I expected some big revelation, about really anything at all, but it never came. [Rather, one sort of came, but then was later swept away by a giant wave of doubt, leaving me in the same place as ever, but this time a little, just barely, one breath, more at peace. This is how things often are? God knows what he's doing?]
One of the things I did not expect to learn about was creation. I would have expected to learn mostly about Jesus' time on earth: each day we were given a few "gospel situations" or other Scripture to meditate on. (One was from the Book of Wisdom! Guys, that's not even in my Bible...) I tried to play along, especially the first few days, but the last few days' "assigned" texts didn't speak to me at all, because we were supposed to dig into the emotion in them, and I didn't have any. So I admit: I cheated on my gospel situations with my regular Bible reading plan. I was doing this little by little since Tuesday. Don't tell Sister Dominique.
At the beginning of the week Sister Dominique gave us some tips for how to structure (or not structure) our silent days. One of the resources available to us was this outdoor shack full of clay we could play with. She advised that we should just enjoy seeing the "empreintes, how do you say empreintes?" "marks? fingerprints?" that our fingers made in the clay. In her words, "...you had the pleasure of touching clay-- you don't have to make something who look like something."
But because I had five hours of free time to kill, and because I was inspired by clay creations left behind by past silent pilgrims,** I did want to "make something who look like something." I wanted to make a woman. She was going to be the best woman ever. Before I even began to create my woman, I began to be possessive of her, and fond of her. The lump of clay I chose to bring with me already had taken shape in my mind, I just needed to make a few tweaks and she would be perfect. I carried the lump with me to a moss-covered stone wall overlooking a beautiful stretch of farms and villages. I broke it into a few pieces to loosely ration out different body parts and got to work.
I soon learned that clay cracks like crazy on a hot sunny day. Even if you shield it from the sun with your own body. This would not do. Back to the shack. I returned to my spot with a red plastic bowl with a little water in it. Now creation was new. If I dipped a few fingers in water, suddenly the whole surface of the clay glided and flowed. This was easier, and funner. More satisfying. And unexpectedly, more emotional. I have heard so many times this idea that God is the potter and we are the clay.. for good reason, it's in the Bible.. and that we are marked with his very fingerprints. But never had I ever once considered this concept of what creating us does to God. That what we are made of gets all over his hands.
I spent over an hour on my woman. I didn't get that far. I was astonished how much work went into her. Also how many of the modifications I made for practical reasons also naturally made her look more realistic. Largely in the stomach/torso area. Also her one thigh I made. At one time I was running out of torso clay and I had to make her chest smaller. I thought apologetically, "Your creator loves you very much, but not enough to walk practically all the way back to the house for some boob clay." And, do you, reader, have any idea how much work goes into shaping a pair of breasts? It is WAY harder than I would have ever imagined. No matter what I did they looked terrible, and/or fake. I didn't know what else to try.
I know this sounds flippant, but I am serious when I tell you that this experience gave me more respect for God's handiwork. Not just breasts (I'm still being serious here) but all kinds of things that we have. When I was reading Genesis later and staring at my hands as I mentioned earlier, it was because how the heck would I have ever given my woman fingernails? Much less those tiny tiny little triangles on the skin of backs of hands. And even if I had made her technically perfect (to my specifications), no matter how well I did, I could never lean down and breathe the spirit of life into her like God did with Adam. How amazing is that! Gosh.
After my brush with creation, I felt sure that God is way more careful with creating us than I thought. I believe he purposely makes each human that has ever existed, but even if he had only made Adam and Eve and set them in motion, that would be enough to impress me. And God is never too lazy to go back for more clay if he wants to make you a certain way. And furthermore, if my personal attachment to that chunk of clay is any indicator at all, God loves you very deeply while he is creating you, and smiles to himself often about how great you are going to be, delights in it, gets lost in thinking about it.
Well, I ended up smashing my woman. I am just a fickle human creator, not God. She had a head, but no face or hair. She had one upper arm, one thigh, and a torso that was kickin' from the back but not so great from the front. I could not do her justice, and I knew it. Also the back of my neck was getting hot. I thought if I had time in the week I might revisit her, but I am glad now that I smushed her because it would be too sad for her to have dried into that pitiable condition forever.
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*Look up "God Moving Over the Face of the Waters" by Moby and give it a listen. Please? You will not regret it.
**This is a metaphor.. don't picture the Puritans with the big buckles on their shoes and hats...
Friday, April 27, 2012
Boats at Sea
Usually we don't realize what's going on around us in a given moment. Only in hindsight can one see (and marvel at) all that was taking shape at a given time, and how it all worked together to bring about the present moment. We're thrown into situations and have to figure stuff out while it's already going on, and there's no pause button. [A friend said of this: it's like a boat at sea. You can never dock it on dry land to patch holes or whatever; you have to make all your repairs while still keeping yourself afloat.]
The whole process of growing up fits this pattern. To use a super simple example, we had bodies long before we knew what bodies were, or that we could control our hands and feet using our thoughts. Which, sidebar, seems pretty miraculous when you think about it. This wordless fluency with which we pilot these bodies we didn't choose and often don't understand.
In a relationship with God you eventually look back and realize He was pursuing you all along, way before you were aware. He works before you give Him permission, to get you to a place where you will give Him permission.
All of life is improv. Maybe this is why on-stage improv can be possible. It's not nonsensical to step into a pre-existing situation/"scene", or, if it is, at least each player/actor has loads of experience from doing this every single day of their life. People say to me all the time that improv must be scary, and I appreciate what they mean by this, and don't mind the comment, but each moment of their own life has been improv. No matter how much you prepare for something, it's never exactly how you expected it, and you must adapt or face grave consequences. "Yeah, but you have to be funny," they reply. Well, it's easier to be funny than to be loving, kind, brave, gentle, good. Much. I would know.
I like clean breaks. Clear beginnings, wrapped-up endings. But I rarely seem to get them. I recently read that "closure" is an idea that often makes people unhappy by getting them to think it is a real thing. This was both a relief and a great disappointment. I'm sure closure is a real thing, but I am equally sure it is way more elusive than anyone wants. Certainly more elusive than I was able to admit to myself before reading that it might be fake.
You don't get the hang of almost anything until you've been doing it for a while. Here's an example about getting involved in a new place. I've been telling people about this theory I have that it takes, say, 51 times showing up somewhere to reach the tipping point. The first 50 times you show up somewhere (examples: Bible study, the teachers' lounge) in a foreign country, you see strangers and any contact is necessarily shallow and you feel awkward and have to make an effort not to leave. But that 51st time you enter the room and are greeted by name and surrounded by familiar faces, probably friendly and smiling ones. If you are living somewhere for only a semester, you can hit this sweet spot right before it's time for you to move away. Here in France, the other teachers seemed to be nicer to me than ever in my last two weeks of teaching.
It's sometimes difficult for me not to feel a little regret and wonder how this year (this seven-month?) would have turned out if I had been more outgoing and taken more risks earlier on. But, two problems with that: 1) I can't turn back time, and there are plenty of great things about this experience, I'm not going to go out of my way to engage a bad feeling; and 2) I think you always appreciate people the most at the moment you say goodbye to them. This was one of my favorite things about the study abroad experience. I appreciated my college and all my friends sooooo much when I left the country, but unlike with graduation, I got to come back the next year and appreciate them in person again. In my experience you can't rush this goodbye- closeness/attachment/appreciation. I suspect it's brought on by the pending separation. That was why studying-abroad "worked" in this way: I really left, and really came back.
Is there a lesson I gained from this? I think it changed my interactions with people because I began to think, "This is fleeting. When I look back on this, how will I want to say it all went down?" Which I think is a good way for me to live in general, in relationships or in other areas. Because life is pretty short when all is said and done. And I loathe the idea that someone could be feeling unappreciated or unloved and have to wait until, like, their retirement party to find out what they meant to people. Or worse. But I bet that happens often. People say really nice things at funerals. When we die, hopefully we go to heaven and see what we meant to others, though while we were alive we just had to trust that it was Something and that there was a current guiding our little bobbing undockable boats that we just woke up inside one day with no warning.
You don't get the hang of almost anything until you've been doing it for a while. Here's an example about getting involved in a new place. I've been telling people about this theory I have that it takes, say, 51 times showing up somewhere to reach the tipping point. The first 50 times you show up somewhere (examples: Bible study, the teachers' lounge) in a foreign country, you see strangers and any contact is necessarily shallow and you feel awkward and have to make an effort not to leave. But that 51st time you enter the room and are greeted by name and surrounded by familiar faces, probably friendly and smiling ones. If you are living somewhere for only a semester, you can hit this sweet spot right before it's time for you to move away. Here in France, the other teachers seemed to be nicer to me than ever in my last two weeks of teaching.
It's sometimes difficult for me not to feel a little regret and wonder how this year (this seven-month?) would have turned out if I had been more outgoing and taken more risks earlier on. But, two problems with that: 1) I can't turn back time, and there are plenty of great things about this experience, I'm not going to go out of my way to engage a bad feeling; and 2) I think you always appreciate people the most at the moment you say goodbye to them. This was one of my favorite things about the study abroad experience. I appreciated my college and all my friends sooooo much when I left the country, but unlike with graduation, I got to come back the next year and appreciate them in person again. In my experience you can't rush this goodbye- closeness/attachment/appreciation. I suspect it's brought on by the pending separation. That was why studying-abroad "worked" in this way: I really left, and really came back.
Is there a lesson I gained from this? I think it changed my interactions with people because I began to think, "This is fleeting. When I look back on this, how will I want to say it all went down?" Which I think is a good way for me to live in general, in relationships or in other areas. Because life is pretty short when all is said and done. And I loathe the idea that someone could be feeling unappreciated or unloved and have to wait until, like, their retirement party to find out what they meant to people. Or worse. But I bet that happens often. People say really nice things at funerals. When we die, hopefully we go to heaven and see what we meant to others, though while we were alive we just had to trust that it was Something and that there was a current guiding our little bobbing undockable boats that we just woke up inside one day with no warning.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Wholehearted Devotion and a Willing Mind
The Lord your God commands you this day to follow these
decrees and laws; carefully observe them with all your heart and with all your
soul. You have declared this day that the Lord is your God and that you will
walk in obedience to him, that you will keep his decrees, commands and
laws—that you will listen to him. And the Lord has declared this day that you
are his people, his treasured possession as he promised, and that you are to
keep all his commands. –Deuteronomy 26:16-18
And you, my son Solomon, acknowledge the God of your father,
and serve him with wholehearted devotion and with a willing mind, for the Lord
searches every heart and understands every desire and every thought. If you
seek him, he will be found by you; but if you forsake him, he will reject you
forever. 1 Chronicles 28:9
God has been reminding me that following Jesus
is a big deal. It’s not an add-on to an already full and meaningful existence;* it's the central point. The two verses above were in my Bible reading on the same day last week, and they arrived the day after I felt convicted on this matter. I think lately I pay lip
service to Christianity without fully entering into what it means. Here is how I can tell: if someone were to ask me what I am living for, and what the point of my life is, I would reply that it's to glorify God, because I don't have anything better to say, but I would know deep down that if you look at all my actions and motivations, that's not really what I am living for. Because love for Jesus isn't what motivates the majority of my actions. In my daily life, I tend to follow him when it's convenient and lines up with what I would already do.
So what am I living for really? Well, that's the million dollar question in this recently-graduated season of my life. But I am far more lost than I ought to be. What I mean by that: I think some of the fear in my life comes from not accepting truths that the Bible teaches pretty plainly. There are some things I know already that I am still allowing to haunt me with doubt. In 1 Corinthians chapter 7 (which my Bible reading plan had me read with the above verses... what a day!) believers are specifically instructed: "each of you should live as a believer in whatever situation the Lord has assigned to you, just as God has called you." (1 Corinthians 7:17a). Then, "each of you should remain in the situation you were in when God called you," (7:20) is repeated twice. Among other things, I take this to mean that the situation I am in is the one God called me to. I shouldn't expect God to fret or be dissatisfied that the people he calls are in their respective locations. (This is also me reminding myself, again, that God doesn't call most of us to sell all our belongings and move to Africa, though he does call some to.) So I don't have to fear that I am wasting time here. I know God calls us to be wise and make the most of every opportunity (Ephesians 5:15-16), but that is separate from this larger concept of "where I am," and whether I "belong" there. The answer is yes, I freaking belong here. I must accept that and move on to other things, rather than getting mired in this question that has already been answered for me, and using that "confusion" as an excuse to walk or even limp after God rather than running after him.
Living in a jr-sr high school and getting little tastes of the social pressures and raw cruelty of that world, not to mention just plain living in another country's culture, have made me less sure of myself than I was before. I weigh my words as carefully as I can, trying to avoid saying things that will make people laugh at me for reasons I don't understand. When I say people, I of course mean the twelve- and thirteen-year-olds, because almost everyone else is mature enough to not be a jerk about language mistakes. This hesitation to speak is not in keeping with my beliefs about life, which include the idea that the only way to fail is to not try. After all, the more mistakes I make in front of these little critics, the quicker I will get feedback and improve my speech.
I am also less sure of myself at the grocery store, partly since I don't understand everything on the shelves. Today I wasn't sure if I wanted to try a can of beans with meat in it (cassoulet) but I knew I definitely didn't want to when someone else came into the aisle and I imagined looking like a loser, living alone and buying something that looked like dog food in a can. The other shopper was not looking at me, and probably even likes cassoulet, because it's probably good if there were so many shelves of its different versions, but I have not been marching to my own drum here because I have no idea how to act, and the constant awareness of not knowing how to act really throws me curveballs. This one is a great example, I mean, I don't think I would be tempted by cassoulet in America, because it doesn't seem that healthy and it wouldn't even have the distinction of being "French food," so only here in France do I find myself in this sort of weird pseudo-dilemma about what to buy and how it might seem to people I don't know, who don't know I live alone, and who are not looking at what I put in my bag.
So those are two ways I have been ruled by fear instead of living within truths I already know, like: my value doesn't come from what rude foreign children, or random strangers on the street, think about me. Or: I can afford to be kind to people, even if I'm afraid of coming across too intense because no one seems to smile and it's confusing and makes me want to stop trying anything at all.
Out of fear, I have been cherry picking which parts of God’s law and command I
follow. I make exceptions for dumb reasons like what other people are doing. That is such a terrible reason because my path
is different than theirs. If I want to be inspired by people, I should
look at the best things they do and seek to emulate those, not use the failings
of others to justify my own bad decisions. I used to justify music piracy because I had a missionary
friend that didn’t think it was a big deal and got free music all the time.
That is between him and God, just as it is between me and God for me to follow
my conscience as best I can and not look for loopholes and exceptions and wiggle room.
As a more recent example, nowadays I seem to overlook the repeated parts of God's commands that suggest (oh wait, actually command) that we devote every part of our lives and ourselves to holiness and to his service. I don't think television is necessarily unholy, but I think using reruns to fill any spare moment that's not spent online is a poor stewarding of the time one is given. More to the point, I think if I get to midnight on a day I had two hours of work, and I have found no time to rest in God's presence, but I found time to watch some TV, I have a problem.
To return to the 1 Chronicles passage: I do have devotion. It's just half-hearted devotion. It's devotion that wakes up and hastily gets dressed when guilt gives it a little kick because it's been a bit since I went out of my way to do something nice. It's devotion that swells when good things happen to me and ebbs when I am bored or I might actually have to be in an awkward social situation with the other teachers. And do I have a willing mind? No. I have a mind that's scared I will be called to talk about the gospel with non-believing friends. That hates that idea, and hates the hate. And feels guilt for it. Then, guilty for this guilt. I have a mind that genuinely has to resist the pull of Futurama when it comes down to a choice between that or reading the Word, a mind that lets the Bible win by just 1%, a percent composed of guilt and wanting to be able to say I made that choice if I ever talk about it. There is some part of me that's willing. I know it! But surely it can't be this fragmented and often grumpy mind.
Last week, two days in a row I went to read my Bible and, through moments of quietness and listening, was led instead to a different activity that still connected me with God. It was awesome. One day, it was much-needed self-reflection through writing, and the next it was music and a reminder of what God is
for me. And then an impossibly gentle further point was impressed upon me: I have a part to
play, too, if I am the Christ-follower I say I am. It’s an if-then thing, which
I appreciate. If I am a Christian, I have made
commitments I must live up to. If not, then it doesn't matter how I choose what to do. But it's not fair to call myself by Christ's name and then put Jesus second or third on my list of what I live for. Especially if reason #1 is super amorphous and contradictory and more composed of negatives and evasion tactics than anything defined and positive.
Even though this whole thing seems negative and makes me sound really bad, I take comfort in the fact that, as evidenced by my last paragraph, God honors my efforts to reach out to him. I am not terribly disciplined yet, but he is giving me a heart just like his, and that can take a while. One of the hardest things for me to accept as a short-tempered human is God's patience with my serious issues and my waffling. He's not surprised by any of this, and it doesn't make him love me less. Instead I bet he's happy I noticed the glaring problem, and that he accepts whatever little part of my heart is his that is trying to get the rest of my heart on board. I have a hope and a belief that I am moving in the right direction, because God will do the heavy lifting (there's a lot of it) to change me, if only I ask him to. It has to be this way, because I can't do this on my own.
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*Ha, not that I have that right now anyway.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
All My Loving
"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you,
Tomorrow I'll miss you;
Remember I'll always be true.
And then while I'm away,
I'll write home ev'ry day,
And I'll send all my loving to you."
Today I was sitting on a bus randomly listening to "All My Loving" from the movie Across the Universe. I suddenly asked myself, "isn't this the song the guy sings the girl from across the ocean while there's a montage of him cheating on her?" I remembered how I had used to really enjoy the song before seeing the movie, because I took all the words at face value, and I had a revelation.
I believe people. When they tell me things about themselves, I buy them. The best example of this is when they tell me they don't have romantic feelings for someone. I believe their words in spite of their actions. This post isn't meant to target anyone in particular, because this has happened to me several times. And the conclusion I have come to is that people don't know themselves, either. It would be hypocritical of me to complain about this, since I certainly don't understand myself, and I am a verbal processor to boot. But this realization makes it difficult to trust people. It almost seems stupid to do so when so often I get burned in the end, whether simply looking foolish in front of other, more intuitive mutual friends, or feelings of betrayal when people blatantly go against what they told me to my face and I chose to trust.
My question would be how do you know when to trust people and when to ignore what they repeatedly verbalize in face of stronger evidence... but I said "would be," because ultimately I have no question. There isn't an answer. Sometimes I will just be wrong, and that can't be predicted in advance.
But I think there might be inherent value to trusting, given that I'll make mistakes whether I favor trust or cynicism. At the end of The Magician's Nephew, there are talking animals, and they are very nice. But Uncle Andrew can't understand their words and just thinks they are making animal noises, and is afraid of them because he perceives them as violent brutes. This is because Uncle Andrew is a giant jerk. C.S. Lewis is careful to point out here that our personal character affects the way we see others and the assumptions we make about them.
Right now I can't speak for trusting in all circumstances. I still don't trust that all the money we give to beggars goes to a good cause, for example, and my students here lie to my face without breaking a sweat. But in the context of established friendships, I wonder whether believing the words people chose for you to hear-- hard though it may be, and even though you might ultimately be wrong to do so-- is beneficial enough that it's worth it to try. To fight the instinct to distrust everyone forever, just in case. (This instinct isn't unreasonable, after all. Most people in your life end up hurting you, maybe even a lot.) To stay pure of heart and let God defend you when people take advantage. Yet in the end, I just don't know.
[Lastly,
"I'll pretend that I'm kissing
the lips I am missing
And hope that my dreams will come true."
This is unrelated, but I have to complain about this line. In the context of cheating, it's particularly horrible. In my opinion you can't pretend to be kissing the lips you are missing unless you are actually kissing some other pair of lips. Otherwise you'd just be imagining it.]
Tomorrow I'll miss you;
Remember I'll always be true.
And then while I'm away,
I'll write home ev'ry day,
And I'll send all my loving to you."
Today I was sitting on a bus randomly listening to "All My Loving" from the movie Across the Universe. I suddenly asked myself, "isn't this the song the guy sings the girl from across the ocean while there's a montage of him cheating on her?" I remembered how I had used to really enjoy the song before seeing the movie, because I took all the words at face value, and I had a revelation.
I believe people. When they tell me things about themselves, I buy them. The best example of this is when they tell me they don't have romantic feelings for someone. I believe their words in spite of their actions. This post isn't meant to target anyone in particular, because this has happened to me several times. And the conclusion I have come to is that people don't know themselves, either. It would be hypocritical of me to complain about this, since I certainly don't understand myself, and I am a verbal processor to boot. But this realization makes it difficult to trust people. It almost seems stupid to do so when so often I get burned in the end, whether simply looking foolish in front of other, more intuitive mutual friends, or feelings of betrayal when people blatantly go against what they told me to my face and I chose to trust.
My question would be how do you know when to trust people and when to ignore what they repeatedly verbalize in face of stronger evidence... but I said "would be," because ultimately I have no question. There isn't an answer. Sometimes I will just be wrong, and that can't be predicted in advance.
But I think there might be inherent value to trusting, given that I'll make mistakes whether I favor trust or cynicism. At the end of The Magician's Nephew, there are talking animals, and they are very nice. But Uncle Andrew can't understand their words and just thinks they are making animal noises, and is afraid of them because he perceives them as violent brutes. This is because Uncle Andrew is a giant jerk. C.S. Lewis is careful to point out here that our personal character affects the way we see others and the assumptions we make about them.
Right now I can't speak for trusting in all circumstances. I still don't trust that all the money we give to beggars goes to a good cause, for example, and my students here lie to my face without breaking a sweat. But in the context of established friendships, I wonder whether believing the words people chose for you to hear-- hard though it may be, and even though you might ultimately be wrong to do so-- is beneficial enough that it's worth it to try. To fight the instinct to distrust everyone forever, just in case. (This instinct isn't unreasonable, after all. Most people in your life end up hurting you, maybe even a lot.) To stay pure of heart and let God defend you when people take advantage. Yet in the end, I just don't know.
[Lastly,
"I'll pretend that I'm kissing
the lips I am missing
And hope that my dreams will come true."
This is unrelated, but I have to complain about this line. In the context of cheating, it's particularly horrible. In my opinion you can't pretend to be kissing the lips you are missing unless you are actually kissing some other pair of lips. Otherwise you'd just be imagining it.]
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Saturday
Last night I went to the ACP Good Friday service and was so tired I fell asleep during the organ solo in the middle (and immediately woke up when the sleeping relaxed my hands and I loudly dropped my program to the floor) and I wasn't really connecting to the Scripture being read, or the hymns we sang, but at the end all the lights went out (it was a tenebrae service btw) and there was only one candle lit in the whole room, the Christ candle. And I stared at it avidly, and suddenly I was completely present to the moment, and the weight of Easter sunk over me full force. "Light of the world, by darkness slain..." goes the song.* That line ran through my head again and again. I did not want that candle to go out. I did not want our only hope to be extinguished. We would be in utter, blackest darkness without him. With no hope of a coming morning.
Earlier I had been talking to Elena about how sometimes you have hopes, or even something you think is a promise or dream from God, and waiting for them/it to come about is just like holding your breath. This stereotypical expression is perfect to describe it. You hold your breath until you can't anymore, and instead of gasping, putting your head above the water, because you can't do that-- it's all water once you've jumped into the river with God-- you, well, you drown. Better put, that one part of you dies. It's as painful and strange as you would expect, learning to live with death inside. You wake up every morning, and remember that part of you is dead. Obviously it feels like a mistake. You think, "God is the author of life! What did I do? What happened here? He doesn't make mistakes, so I must have." But I don't think that's necessarily the case.
A few months ago, I heard a sermon on the life of Joseph. It was in French, which for me sometimes means that the message takes on delightfully fuzzy edges and the ideas I take away from it are more general. Not because I don't understand it, but I simply don't remember exact wording as well as I would English. The main takeaway for me from this sermon was that things that look like a mistake aren't necessarily one. Joseph being in jail, for example. Who would think that an honest man, righteous and walking close to God, would go to jail because he did the right thing? What sorts of thoughts did Joseph have as he woke up each morning for those couple years, as he "wasted his life," forgotten and alone, even presumed dead by the father who loved him? But he rose to great honor again, and it had all been part of the plan all along. He was in the perfect position to save all of Egypt (+ suburbs? what was Canaan?) from starvation.
Today, Saturday, is the perfect time to remember that I serve a God who raises people from the dead. A God who died. It must have seemed like the biggest mistake in history to anyone watching. Instead of a kingdom established for eternity, utter hopelessness. They thought he was a king who would reign forever, and instead he died and was buried. They had held their breath for his promises, perhaps half-doubting them all along --they sounded too good to be true-- and he died on them. How hollow the promises must have seemed then. What a Saturday.
If it wasn't a mistake even for Jesus to die, if that was actually the point, then we know that God does allow death. Not small setbacks or obstacles, but even real death to our dreams. He even let Lazarus die, and then said it was better that way. Because he is strong to save, and he resurrects. He takes great delight in resurrection. And frankly, that makes a better story and brings more honor to his name than a shallower alternative. It builds more faith in us.
Today, I am reminded that when I stand before impossible circumstances, there is nothing preventing God from a literal (or any other kind of) resurrection, because that is his thing. That is what he longs to do for his children, if they will only give him control by placing their trust in him. There is no circumstance dark enough that I need to be afraid.
Tomorrow, when the sun comes up over the Seine, I will be outside watching the light seep back into the world. I will sing, "...then bursting forth, in glorious day, up from the grave he rose again!" And I will remember that even my dead dreams, the ones that seem too impossible for a positive outcome, are in the hands of a God that, out of an infinity of possibilities, chose dying and coming back to life as the best way to redeem all that he'd ever created.
-
*In Christ Alone... durrr. But we didn't get to sing that at this Friday service.
Earlier I had been talking to Elena about how sometimes you have hopes, or even something you think is a promise or dream from God, and waiting for them/it to come about is just like holding your breath. This stereotypical expression is perfect to describe it. You hold your breath until you can't anymore, and instead of gasping, putting your head above the water, because you can't do that-- it's all water once you've jumped into the river with God-- you, well, you drown. Better put, that one part of you dies. It's as painful and strange as you would expect, learning to live with death inside. You wake up every morning, and remember that part of you is dead. Obviously it feels like a mistake. You think, "God is the author of life! What did I do? What happened here? He doesn't make mistakes, so I must have." But I don't think that's necessarily the case.
A few months ago, I heard a sermon on the life of Joseph. It was in French, which for me sometimes means that the message takes on delightfully fuzzy edges and the ideas I take away from it are more general. Not because I don't understand it, but I simply don't remember exact wording as well as I would English. The main takeaway for me from this sermon was that things that look like a mistake aren't necessarily one. Joseph being in jail, for example. Who would think that an honest man, righteous and walking close to God, would go to jail because he did the right thing? What sorts of thoughts did Joseph have as he woke up each morning for those couple years, as he "wasted his life," forgotten and alone, even presumed dead by the father who loved him? But he rose to great honor again, and it had all been part of the plan all along. He was in the perfect position to save all of Egypt (+ suburbs? what was Canaan?) from starvation.
Today, Saturday, is the perfect time to remember that I serve a God who raises people from the dead. A God who died. It must have seemed like the biggest mistake in history to anyone watching. Instead of a kingdom established for eternity, utter hopelessness. They thought he was a king who would reign forever, and instead he died and was buried. They had held their breath for his promises, perhaps half-doubting them all along --they sounded too good to be true-- and he died on them. How hollow the promises must have seemed then. What a Saturday.
If it wasn't a mistake even for Jesus to die, if that was actually the point, then we know that God does allow death. Not small setbacks or obstacles, but even real death to our dreams. He even let Lazarus die, and then said it was better that way. Because he is strong to save, and he resurrects. He takes great delight in resurrection. And frankly, that makes a better story and brings more honor to his name than a shallower alternative. It builds more faith in us.
Today, I am reminded that when I stand before impossible circumstances, there is nothing preventing God from a literal (or any other kind of) resurrection, because that is his thing. That is what he longs to do for his children, if they will only give him control by placing their trust in him. There is no circumstance dark enough that I need to be afraid.
Tomorrow, when the sun comes up over the Seine, I will be outside watching the light seep back into the world. I will sing, "...then bursting forth, in glorious day, up from the grave he rose again!" And I will remember that even my dead dreams, the ones that seem too impossible for a positive outcome, are in the hands of a God that, out of an infinity of possibilities, chose dying and coming back to life as the best way to redeem all that he'd ever created.
-
*In Christ Alone... durrr. But we didn't get to sing that at this Friday service.
Friday, March 23, 2012
If you are not too long...
...I will wait here for you all my life. -Oscar Wilde
![[source]](http://www.google.fr/imgres?q=futurama+seymour&um=1&hl=en&safe=vss&tbm=isch&tbnid=YbJydYwPT9bRHM:&imgrefurl=http://xlcgozo.com/SOLAR-ENERGY/financial-grants/seymour-futurama-gif&docid=QvPmyncIrw59PM&imgurl=http://pretprieel.nl/pictures/futurama_seymour_at_panucci_pizza.jpg&w=480&h=384&ei=fbBrT9bEJY_a4QTF95TtBQ&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=824&vpy=144&dur=291&hovh=201&hovw=251&tx=160&ty=85&sig=106262110046652061879&page=1&tbnh=131&tbnw=164&start=0&ndsp=18&ved=1t:429,r:4,s:0&biw=1233&bih=632){kind=link}
Today an episode of Futurama made me cry. I thought that I was just being extra sensitive lately (yesterday I burst into tears five separate times) but in fact that was not necessarily the case today, as I am about to prove. I wanted to find a picture for this post, and when I began my search I was surprised how much Google Instant filled in for me; I clearly wasn’t the first to look for it. I came across the episode’s Wikipedia page and saw that a critic described the ending as, “one of the saddest endings to a television program that I have ever seen.” A TV critic. I’d assume this man has seen his fair share of television programs, and of sad endings. So that made me feel better, but what really clinched it was the enormous amount of commenters on some site (and also below the youtube video) talking about how this made them cry, even though many of them said they weren’t the crying type, or hadn’t cried in five years or whatever. So in this particular case, it’s definitely not just me.
SPOILER ALERT, I’m going to ruin this 2002 episode of Futurama. I don’t feel that bad about it because the rest of the episode wasn’t that great (my overall personal take on this show is that it’s very hit or miss, but mostly miss) and it’s not like you were planning to see it anyway.
So, for necessary background, the character Fry was living in New York in 1999 when on New Year’s Eve of that year he accidentally fell into a thing (a freezer? A time machine? Who cares) that sent him to the year 3000, where he made new friends, etc. Life in the year 3000 is the show’s basic premise. In this particular episode (it’s called “Jurassic Bark”—very classy) Fry and his self-centered robot best friend visit a museum exhibit that happens to be of the pizza place where Fry was working in 1999. They see a few artifacts Fry recognizes, and then a gray dog-shaped fossil. Fry gasps when he realizes who this is: his loyal dog, Seymour, who was his best friend at the time he was suddenly sent to the future with no warning. Through flashbacks you see how close the two of them were. Examples: after rescuing the dog from starvation, Fry says something like, "you're nice, you don't judge me like other dogs do," (my translation from French) and they have a song they sing/bark together.
SPOILER ALERT, I’m going to ruin this 2002 episode of Futurama. I don’t feel that bad about it because the rest of the episode wasn’t that great (my overall personal take on this show is that it’s very hit or miss, but mostly miss) and it’s not like you were planning to see it anyway.
So, for necessary background, the character Fry was living in New York in 1999 when on New Year’s Eve of that year he accidentally fell into a thing (a freezer? A time machine? Who cares) that sent him to the year 3000, where he made new friends, etc. Life in the year 3000 is the show’s basic premise. In this particular episode (it’s called “Jurassic Bark”—very classy) Fry and his self-centered robot best friend visit a museum exhibit that happens to be of the pizza place where Fry was working in 1999. They see a few artifacts Fry recognizes, and then a gray dog-shaped fossil. Fry gasps when he realizes who this is: his loyal dog, Seymour, who was his best friend at the time he was suddenly sent to the future with no warning. Through flashbacks you see how close the two of them were. Examples: after rescuing the dog from starvation, Fry says something like, "you're nice, you don't judge me like other dogs do," (my translation from French) and they have a song they sing/bark together.
Bref, I mean, anyway, Fry's doctor friend says he can clone the dog, and that they can even restore his personality, and even his memory to the moment that he died. Fry is SO excited about this idea and buys his dog a collar and a bed and everything in preparation. The robot gets jealous of the attention (and the collar) and throws the fossil in lava, but then rescues it, this just serves to heighten the suspense, and then the moment of truth arrives and they begin the cloning process. First they see that Seymour was age 15 when he died. When Fry sees this, he decides not to go through with it, reasoning that he knew Seymour when he was three, so the dog had had 12 years to move on, find a different master, live a full life. He says, "surely he's forgotten all about me." This is sort of a touching/selfless idea, and who would want to be resurrected old?
It seems like the end of the episode. But then there's one more flashback. Seymour never moved on at all. He sat outside the pizza place every day for twelve years, in all kinds of weather, a fact made most poignant when you see the pizza chef grow old, with white hair, and the pizza place close and get boarded up. He waited for Fry for the rest of his life at the place they last saw each other. Finally Seymour lies down, just once, and closes his eyes and the episode ends. I'm tearing up just typing about it. (It's very findable on youtube but I don't think it would be as good without the more detailed backstory provided by the episode).
I think the idea that really got me was that after all, Seymour would have LOVED to see Fry. Even if it were just for a little while before he would die again, even just one moment. That would have made his life complete in a sense. Yet Fry didn't give him this chance because he was trying to be nice, because he didn't know any better.
When I (and/or others) have a really strong emotional reaction to something, I try to find some sort of way that the emotion-triggering-thing can relate to universal ideas, and/or to God.
In my opinion, a surefire trigger (if done well, of course) is this idea of two ships passing. Sometimes it's two people who physically occupy the same space, but in Grey's Anatomy and The Golden Compass it can also be people who are in a physical space that overlaps but that is spiritually a different/alternate dimension and thus at least one of the people has no way to see, hear, or feel the other person, though they might somehow sense their presence, a little, for a moment.
"All day long I have held out my hands to an obstinate people," -Isaiah 65:2a
I don't see God as a stray dog who waits for us outside a pizza place. Honest, I don't. But if this animated rescued-stray dog's 12 year waiting made me cry, then how much more powerful is it when God waits for us? Waits for we who were created to wait on him. He waits with open arms for his children to turn to him, and many of them never sense this. They never see that in their very own universe (not even an alternate one!) Someone holds out their hands, hoping for a response. I don't have an extremely clear picture of my theological beliefs in this area as regards every human who has ever lived, but I will say confidently that, at least some of the time, God waits for us, eager to share life with us. And his patience and forbearance are beyond all measurement or compare.
If we only knew how attentive God is towards us, even when we do not sense him at all. If we only saw all the ways he blesses us that we're not even aware of. "The Lord longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him!" (Isaiah 30:18)
I think these words are at the heart of the emotion for me: "If you only knew!" Someone could be praying for you right now, asking God for exactly that thing you need. You could be showing hospitality to an angel (Hebrews 13:2, lol). You could be days away from your next big break. Someone could be writing you a letter, or something could already be in the mail for you. Someone across the world, your next best friend, could be making the decision about what they'll do next in life, that will bring them into your neighborhood.
A closing thought. At prayer meeting tonight, our pastor mentioned that reading the Bible all the way through is something that should be completed by at least 1-3 years after someone gives their life to Christ. He's right, and I am not in any way denying that. But 1-3 years? How patient God is. I think the length of the Bible shows it as much as anything. God doesn't expect us to read the entire Bible in one day. Nor does he ask us to panic about it if we haven't finished yet. It's not about being finished reading the Bible, it's about reading the Bible every day. God just doesn't see time as we do: "With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but wanting everyone to come to repentance." (2 Peter 3:8-9)
God, thank you for allowing me to glimpse your truth and the beauty of faithfulness today through a scruffy cartoon dog.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Women's Bodies and 2nd-Best Friends: paradigms change your life, yo
I think a great deal of my angst comes from my chronic tendency to see things in black and white. This means, for example, that for a long time I assumed that participating in things meant I should be the best at them, and if I would not be the best, I was failing and it wasn't necessarily worth it to continue in what I was doing. A nice thing about improv is that it's so thoroughly a team sport that this way of thinking about it doesn't make any sense. I am more than lucky (I call it providence) that that was my main college "sport."
But now I believe the only thing I should aim to be the best at is being myself. Frankly, I don't have the self-discipline to be the best at singing or ice-skating or graphic design, though I like two of those things. There is no such thing as a best writer, because everyone's style is so different, though admittedly writing seems like a weird thing to do when you consider that everyone who is literate is capable of it, and there are thousands (more, even) of very talented writers out there doing their thing. Does the world need another one? Well, no and yes. No other writer is me. Thus no other writer has been and lived in all the exact combination of places I have physically and emotionally. And no one else has my mind. If writing was purely for entertainment value, well, no one will ever run out of things to read in their lifetime, so I'm adding to the noise. But if writing is to share viewpoints in a world where literally no two people have the same one, then it's not a useless pursuit.
This is meant to illustrate the importance of paradigms. I will take two personal examples to show how a correct vision of something can bring peace of mind, perhaps even joy, though the situation has not changed in any other way.
When I was, oh, I don't know what age(s) exactly, an adolescent, my body changed from that of a child to that of an adult. Pretty cool, huh. The thing was, though, that for years I didn't understand what a woman's body should look like. Or I will rephrase, the shape a woman's body normally has, on average. I never thought about it at all, and then when my body started looking different, I suddenly cared. But I was all wrong. I cannot imagine where I got all my warped views, but I thought the waist was located at the hips, and that it was supposed to be so small you could almost span it with your hands. I thought that thighs were to be completely straight with no roundness to them. I looked at my body and thought, "What the heck is going on here?! Why do I look like this?" I hated the tops of my little legs for each having one long curve down the front of them, because I thought that roundness was an indicator of fatness, and I didn't want to be fat. In retrospect, I guess most of the women I'd seen were curveless models, broken up by the occasional Disney princess. In fact, I'm sure that if I had tried to draw my mental image of what women look like (a combination of those two), it wouldn't have made any sense and I would have more quickly discovered my error. As it was, I don't remember how or when I was put right. I think I read something somewhere that jolted me out of my preconceptions. After this, I do remember noticing the hourglass shape on basically all women, once I started to look for it, and being surprised every time that we all look like that! But when I finally got it, I stopped being bewildered, confused, and vaguely resentful of my body. My body hadn't changed, but when my perspective finally did, it changed everything.
These are the waists I grew up seeing (the words I could take or leave, they're funny but not essential):
My second example is shorter, and I'm keeping it vague. Basically, I often get jealous of other peoples' friendships. I make progress in this area, then regress again, and I don't know where I'm at with it now. But recently I had the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, I am not meant to be best friends with a particular one of my dearest friends. Maybe God chose before the foundations of the world that I would only be her 2nd or 3rd best friend. This changed everything for me. If this is the case, I don't have to waste one more second wishing I were different, or competing with (any) other girl (or guy). I can be exactly myself, and love my friend in a specific way, without constantly measuring the strength or closeness of our friendship against any other. I can stop keeping score and just do my thing. I don't have to be best friends with all my friends.
This is what I think life is about: we can stop keeping score and just do our thing. [Warning: the rest of this paragraph is repetitive.] God has put us in a position where our task is to love him the way only we can love him. At onething the year I went, 25,000 people sang a song together (to God, obviously): "No one else can love you like I love you, Lord, cause I was made unique in your heart, I was made to bring you joy." The first many times I tried to sing this, even in the privacy of my room, I cried. It's true, though.* No one can love God the father like I love him. No one can love Jesus like I love him. No one can love and honor the Holy Spirit like I love him. If I were missing, if my voice weren't here, speaking, something would be missing. I was meant to be here, and to love him. I was made unique, and my function was, and is, and always will be, to be me. No one is better at that than me. Others might be better at golf, or writing, or speaking French or German, or small talk, they might date or marry sweet people that I would not have said no to, they might even be better friends with friends I love, but no one can take my place. And God does not, will never, love them more than he loves me, no matter what goes down (or up) in our respective lives.
I want everyone to know that this is true of them, too. I will put it in the second person, to this end. God made you to be you. No one can be better at your primary task in life, which is to glorify God using your unique gifts. No matter what others have that you don't, be it adventures or money or relationships, they have not taken it out of your pocket, because you're not competing with them. You're not even to be compared to them. God sees to it that you have enough of the right things for you, for now. You are never short-changed if Jesus is your king; you can't be. He doesn't make mistakes, and he's an abundant giver.
Viewing life through any other lens (as I admit to doing like 90% of the time) brings anxiety, jealousy, perhaps self-disgust, sometimes fear, sometimes confusion, sometimes even shame. And this, my friends, is why I think healthy paradigms are essential.
-
*Also the melody is charming and somehow lends itself to tears with all its high jumps.
But now I believe the only thing I should aim to be the best at is being myself. Frankly, I don't have the self-discipline to be the best at singing or ice-skating or graphic design, though I like two of those things. There is no such thing as a best writer, because everyone's style is so different, though admittedly writing seems like a weird thing to do when you consider that everyone who is literate is capable of it, and there are thousands (more, even) of very talented writers out there doing their thing. Does the world need another one? Well, no and yes. No other writer is me. Thus no other writer has been and lived in all the exact combination of places I have physically and emotionally. And no one else has my mind. If writing was purely for entertainment value, well, no one will ever run out of things to read in their lifetime, so I'm adding to the noise. But if writing is to share viewpoints in a world where literally no two people have the same one, then it's not a useless pursuit.
This is meant to illustrate the importance of paradigms. I will take two personal examples to show how a correct vision of something can bring peace of mind, perhaps even joy, though the situation has not changed in any other way.
When I was, oh, I don't know what age(s) exactly, an adolescent, my body changed from that of a child to that of an adult. Pretty cool, huh. The thing was, though, that for years I didn't understand what a woman's body should look like. Or I will rephrase, the shape a woman's body normally has, on average. I never thought about it at all, and then when my body started looking different, I suddenly cared. But I was all wrong. I cannot imagine where I got all my warped views, but I thought the waist was located at the hips, and that it was supposed to be so small you could almost span it with your hands. I thought that thighs were to be completely straight with no roundness to them. I looked at my body and thought, "What the heck is going on here?! Why do I look like this?" I hated the tops of my little legs for each having one long curve down the front of them, because I thought that roundness was an indicator of fatness, and I didn't want to be fat. In retrospect, I guess most of the women I'd seen were curveless models, broken up by the occasional Disney princess. In fact, I'm sure that if I had tried to draw my mental image of what women look like (a combination of those two), it wouldn't have made any sense and I would have more quickly discovered my error. As it was, I don't remember how or when I was put right. I think I read something somewhere that jolted me out of my preconceptions. After this, I do remember noticing the hourglass shape on basically all women, once I started to look for it, and being surprised every time that we all look like that! But when I finally got it, I stopped being bewildered, confused, and vaguely resentful of my body. My body hadn't changed, but when my perspective finally did, it changed everything.
These are the waists I grew up seeing (the words I could take or leave, they're funny but not essential):
My second example is shorter, and I'm keeping it vague. Basically, I often get jealous of other peoples' friendships. I make progress in this area, then regress again, and I don't know where I'm at with it now. But recently I had the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, I am not meant to be best friends with a particular one of my dearest friends. Maybe God chose before the foundations of the world that I would only be her 2nd or 3rd best friend. This changed everything for me. If this is the case, I don't have to waste one more second wishing I were different, or competing with (any) other girl (or guy). I can be exactly myself, and love my friend in a specific way, without constantly measuring the strength or closeness of our friendship against any other. I can stop keeping score and just do my thing. I don't have to be best friends with all my friends.
This is what I think life is about: we can stop keeping score and just do our thing. [Warning: the rest of this paragraph is repetitive.] God has put us in a position where our task is to love him the way only we can love him. At onething the year I went, 25,000 people sang a song together (to God, obviously): "No one else can love you like I love you, Lord, cause I was made unique in your heart, I was made to bring you joy." The first many times I tried to sing this, even in the privacy of my room, I cried. It's true, though.* No one can love God the father like I love him. No one can love Jesus like I love him. No one can love and honor the Holy Spirit like I love him. If I were missing, if my voice weren't here, speaking, something would be missing. I was meant to be here, and to love him. I was made unique, and my function was, and is, and always will be, to be me. No one is better at that than me. Others might be better at golf, or writing, or speaking French or German, or small talk, they might date or marry sweet people that I would not have said no to, they might even be better friends with friends I love, but no one can take my place. And God does not, will never, love them more than he loves me, no matter what goes down (or up) in our respective lives.
I want everyone to know that this is true of them, too. I will put it in the second person, to this end. God made you to be you. No one can be better at your primary task in life, which is to glorify God using your unique gifts. No matter what others have that you don't, be it adventures or money or relationships, they have not taken it out of your pocket, because you're not competing with them. You're not even to be compared to them. God sees to it that you have enough of the right things for you, for now. You are never short-changed if Jesus is your king; you can't be. He doesn't make mistakes, and he's an abundant giver.
Viewing life through any other lens (as I admit to doing like 90% of the time) brings anxiety, jealousy, perhaps self-disgust, sometimes fear, sometimes confusion, sometimes even shame. And this, my friends, is why I think healthy paradigms are essential.
-
*Also the melody is charming and somehow lends itself to tears with all its high jumps.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Too Good to be True: You're Not Breaking the Law
I know some people think The Shack (the book by William P. Young, not the shack pictured above) has dangerously false ideas in it. Maybe it does. But I think most or maybe all books can contain truths that set people free if handled/interpreted properly, or harm people if misused. I have no doubt that a Spirit-filled, Spirit-led person reading The Shack would be more blessed than harmed by its contents. I recommend this book highly to everyone with the caution that some of it is cheesily and badly written, but the best parts more than make up for the worst.
In The Shack one of the members of the Trinity (I forget which, beautifully, in this case I don't think it matters) says, “The Law that once contained impossible demands—‘Thou shall not…’—actually becomes a promise we fulfill in you.” This was a transformative thing for me to read. In this case, that means I haven't forgotten or gotten sick of the idea, even many months later, and I continue to find new applications for it. A few Scriptures jump out to me as lining up with this idea. Romans 12:1-2 exhorts us “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.” It doesn’t say, “transform yourself,” but “be transformed,” and we as are also incapable of renewing our own minds, that clause, too, puts us in the being-acted-upon category rather than that of the agent: promises are fulfilled in us.
I’ll make a plug here for an idea I heard long ago at Hillsong London and then again briefly at my prayer meeting in St. Claude Thursday night. This is important. What is God's will? How can one discern it? How can you make choices that line up with his will? Good news, pastors say, it's simple: God’s will is always for you to live in such close relationship with him that you can’t help but do good, whether you realize it or not. It might not matter where you live, for example, as long as while you are there you are walking hand in hand with God, seeking him, trusting him, listening for his voice and heeding it when it comes. Same for what job you pick, and maybe other things too. So discerning God’s will might not be hearing your five-year-plan from him one particularly intense prayer night and jotting it down so you can hit all the highlights as they come up. His good, pleasing, and perfect will is for you to love him with all you have, and to love your neighbor, and put their needs on at least equal footing with your own, if not putting them first, depending on the verse you’re currently meditating on. :o) You can start doing this with whoever you interact with next. God’s will. What a blessing to be inside it. How great that you can be there the second you turn to him in faith and pursue him.
All of Romans chapter 8 is a delight to read. I’ll put just a few verses here (though there are more along these same lines) for brevity’s sake. “…And so [God] condemned sin in sinful man, in order that the righteous requirements of the law might be fully met in us, who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit. Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what the nature desires, but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace. […] You, however, are controlled not by the sinful nature but by the Spirit, if the Spirit of God lives in you.” (Romans 8:3b-9a)
I mean, this is neat. If you say Jesus is Lord and mean it--as opposed to saying it just to say it or because you’ve heard other people say it--the Spirit of God is in you (because "no one can say 'Jesus is Lord,' except by the Holy Spirit" 1 Corinthians 12:3b). So if you believe Jesus is Lord, then you are controlled by the Spirit and not the sinful nature. And if that is the case, then simply by living you are fulfilling the demands of the law rather than breaking it. And the demands of the law are totally impossible for humans to keep, so this is the sort of thing that is too good to be true, but is found within God’s promises and is thus still somehow true.
Friday, February 3, 2012
God-wrestler
I think the first time I learned and retained that "Israel" means "God-wrestler" (I've also heard: "he struggles with God") was my senior year of college. I really didn't like it. I complained to Jeremy at the train station (because I learned the weekend of improv regionals) that God and Israel are supposed to be spouses! Not wrestle each other. Yucky. I hate wrestling. (I do struggle with God sometimes, but again, that doesn't sound like a good thing.)
When I was reading Prayer by Philip Yancey he said some of the people in the Bible who were most richly rewarded were those who bargained with God and got in His face about stuff. God frequently is petitioned and shows even more mercy than He was going to. Yancey (paraphrase) writes that He likes when we ask because it can unleash more mercy on earth. Obviously I can see how this is so in the case of Abraham asking to spare those cities if fewer and fewer righteous people can be found (Genesis 18:16-33 if you forgot). Yancey asks: "Abraham stopped asking; would God have spared the cities for just one person?" Also there's that story in Luke 18:1-8 about the widow who won't stop bothering the judge until he gives her the justice she asks for. My TNIV Luke 18:1 says "Jesus told [this] parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up." And there are plenty of others in the Bible too.
Yancey also mentions his relationships with the people closest to him in life, like his brother, his wife, and his editor. About them he says "with each of these people, my intimate partners, I act in a way reminiscent of the bargaining scenes with God. I make suggestions, back off, accommodate their point of view, reach a compromise and come away changed."
Yancey also mentions his relationships with the people closest to him in life, like his brother, his wife, and his editor. About them he says "with each of these people, my intimate partners, I act in a way reminiscent of the bargaining scenes with God. I make suggestions, back off, accommodate their point of view, reach a compromise and come away changed."
Obviously I think it's possible to argue/fight/wrestle someone without love, but maybe there's significance in the fact that they can be done with love, too, and it might be a sign of love to be willing to. It can be really really hard to bring up some things with people, and most of us aren't willing to talk about tough stuff with those we don't know too well. Some aren't even willing to bring them up with friends. But like Yancey says, challenge changes us.
There was also a part I read and was disgusted by. Yancey talks about wrestling his brother in the dark when they were both little kids. And I am paraphrasing this, but he said it was a lot like making love, because you grapple back and forth, using up your energy against each other, body on body, then fall back, spent. I was like, "hello, incest!" but the image has stuck with me for months now. Perhaps because he's right that wrestling indicates a certain closeness. That's why it's far more blessed to wrestle with God than to simply be far away from Him. Sometimes literally.. Jacob receives God's blessing (after having to ask for it) when the wrestling is over in Genesis 32:26-29.
Maybe this is part of the key to the spousal relationship between Israel and God. Maybe a marriage is a promise to keep wrestling and not just peace out when hard stuff comes up, because something of deep value is gained through the back-and-forth of an honest, loving challenge. And maybe that something is the experience of turning into the strong and selfless person you were created to be in the arms of the one you love best.
There was also a part I read and was disgusted by. Yancey talks about wrestling his brother in the dark when they were both little kids. And I am paraphrasing this, but he said it was a lot like making love, because you grapple back and forth, using up your energy against each other, body on body, then fall back, spent. I was like, "hello, incest!" but the image has stuck with me for months now. Perhaps because he's right that wrestling indicates a certain closeness. That's why it's far more blessed to wrestle with God than to simply be far away from Him. Sometimes literally.. Jacob receives God's blessing (after having to ask for it) when the wrestling is over in Genesis 32:26-29.
Maybe this is part of the key to the spousal relationship between Israel and God. Maybe a marriage is a promise to keep wrestling and not just peace out when hard stuff comes up, because something of deep value is gained through the back-and-forth of an honest, loving challenge. And maybe that something is the experience of turning into the strong and selfless person you were created to be in the arms of the one you love best.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Songs I love but can't agree with, part one
[One of my favorite things is responding to songs as though they were one half of a conversation. I'm a little self-conscious because I know dumb pop songs are just dumb pop songs and supposedly they only pick the words because they rhyme. Maybe they are not meant to be taken that seriously. Nevertheless, I love this and am thus doing it anyway.]
Recently on a blog I keep up with there was a post called "I've been using music to amplify my toxic emotions." I got really excited when I saw the title, because I was like, "I think I do that too!" Unfortunately the post didn't live up to my expectations. I thought it was too general. And the author's way of using music isn't exactly the same as mine. But it probably doesn't matter whether we had the exact same emotions, or what songs overlapped with our negative emotions. I'm sure the outcome is quite similar, and unfortunately the solution too. What worked for her was wiping her iPod and starting from scratch with only music that creates positive thoughts. Ouch. I'll have to keep that idea on the back burner for a while until I can handle considering it. In the meantime, I am happy, delighted even, to critique songs I love (for the way they sound, and also in a guilty-pleasure-improv-character sort of way) but just cannot agree with.
Katy Perry has a place in my heart, even though I just deleted "I Kissed a Girl" from my iPod and iTunes because I realized how dumb that song is and how I am never just like, "man I want to listen to that song." The lyrics, even with gender aside, are all about kissing someone you don't even know, and that idea has honestly never appealed to me. (Also in this case they're drunk, which, if possible, makes it an even less inviting idea.) I was really sad when I learned that that awesome old black-and-white picture of a man dipping a woman into a kiss was between strangers. It no longer seemed as charming to me. So "I Kissed a Girl" was relatively easy to part with. I don't love it or agree with it.
But "The One That Got Away" is another story. It's super catchy. Sure the first verse is full of rascally behavior, but I consider high school to be distant enough past that it doesn't really matter. Well, tattoos are for life, but, moving on.. The chorus begins, "In another life/ I would be your girl/ we'd keep all our promises, it'd be us against the world." I can't argue with the factual nature of this, because it's another life so anything could happen, but I do think that this is sort of a dumb thing to think about, especially for this type of thing. We're not in another life, and continuing to repeat this particular speculation is more likely to hurt than to help anything, emotionally speaking.
The next part I have more of a problem with: "In another life/I would make you stay." I hate this line. You can't make someone stay, and if you could you wouldn't want to. This is like the whole epitome of why sin is possible and why the world is so f'ed up. God values free will highly enough that he allows us to make choices that hurt people, and hurt him. He invites us into love and freedom, but doesn't force it. Love is the opposite of making someone do something.
I am about to quote The Shack. Prepare your heart. In The Shack, Jesus says, "To force my will on you is exactly what love does not do. Genuine relationships are marked by submission even when your choices are not helpful or healthy." Thank you, Shack Jesus! Can you tell Katy Perry this, please?
Further, Jesus breaks all the locks and all the chains that bind us. This is something we cannot do, so this is always "his part." But we have a part, too. We have to walk out of the now-unlocked cages by ourselves. We have to stand up and dance until the chains fall off. If we can't do it right away, he waits. Super patiently. His arms are always open and they never get tired. But we have a choice to make that he can't and won't make for us. It's a partnership in this sense. [Oh, you want a concrete example of chains? He conquers the sin that other people have committed against us, breaking the hold it has on us, freeing us to forgive by his own victory and forgiveness. But we choose to forgive. He won't make us, and we yet we won't be free until we do forgive.] I say all this to emphasize that even Jesus doesn't make you stay (/make you do anything, technically). So it's stupid for anyone else to aspire to this. (Particularly if the only reason you give for this is "So I don't have to say you were the one that got away," which isn't even grammatically correct).
So Katy, or whoever actually wrote this song, in another life, you would not make him stay. You shouldn't want to. You should want him to be free, and happy. You can want him to pick you, but if he doesn't, he's not your man and you should respect that for both of your sakes.
I keep thinking of Terri or whatever Mr. Schuester's wife's name is in the first season of Glee. SPOILER ALERT.. for the first season, lol... she fakes a pregnancy to get him to stay with her selfish self. And guess what he does the second he learns the truth? That's right, he leaves. And he doesn't come back (at least not as far as I am in Glee, which isn't far, but I don't think he's planning on it, either). The things we could do to make people stay are not worth it. Honest, honest. And it doesn't work, usually. You can make someone stay physically without keeping them emotionally engaged. In fact, this is a likely outcome if you force someone to stay.
Back to "The One That Got Away." There's another verse, sort of clever but fluffy at the same time. Then she sings towards the end, "I should have told you what you meant to me," and this, I can get behind. This, rather than making someone stay, is actually a good thing to do a lot of the time. Then the other person can decide what they'll do about it, as a free being. So, ultimately she hits on a good idea. But she doesn't stick with it. She goes right back to that chorus. Twice.
Friday, January 20, 2012
All or Nothing, revisited / Empty Space
Something has been bothering me for months, and sitting here today I finally realized what it was. I had been turning around and around in my mind the idea of "either things matter, or they don't."
What I meant by that was either our actions and our sins have consequences and eternal weight, or they do not. It's obvious that our sins do have consequences even if we are forgiven of them (example: a baby that results from adultery, which is also an eternal result). It's obvious that even if Jesus forgives you for making all the wrong choices, you still made them.
I was having trouble finding some idea to hold on to to sort of anchor my thoughts.. I felt like I was thrashing around and never colliding with anything substantial as I tried to make sense of how it was possible for grace to exist, and what it could mean, because if it doesn't wipe away the sin completely, then what does it really do? By the magic of external processing, I have just realized that I think an action is categorized as a sin (or not a sin) based on our attitude toward God as we do it (with some sort of exception for mental illness, I guess?), and that alone. Thus grace restores our relationship to God (again and again and again). That's what it does. Because we can't do that on our own.
Acting against what you know to be right, or against what you feel God's telling you, is sin, whereas the same action performed by someone else might not be a sin. And we could be hurt by an action that was not a sin, if someone has good intentions for us. Like if you were allergic to penicillin (spelled that right on the first try, nbd) and someone administered it to you in some sort of medical situation that requires penicillin, thinking it would save your life, but the result was you got much worse and were in much more pain, that's completely different than someone who knows you're allergic and wants to hurt you.
So the reason something is a sin is because it ruptures your relationship with God somehow. It could be you making your own choice despite what you believe God wants for you, thereby supplanting him as ruler of your life and know-er of all that is right (knowledge of good and evil?). In fact maybe that's all it ever is, but it just takes different forms. That's not a very original idea, I admit.
What does this all have to do with my revelation? I think most people, and most especially people my age, are looking for meaning in their lives, for some evidence that whatever we're doing isn't a waste. Either it's a waste, and we should change something, or it isn't a waste, and it's okay to keep many things the same. Either we have time to try harder later, or we are scorning God's gift by not trying hard now. All or nothing.
Living in France is neat, and one reason I like it is because the first thing that jumps to mind isn't "waste of time," when I think of "spending a year after college working in France." But really, just as atoms are mostly empty space, and outer space is mostly empty space, and lots of things in between* are mostly empty space with a few significant little pieces that give the rest meaning and identity, my life here has a lot of "empty space" between moments of importance or significance. Because I work about ten hours a week, and have between 2 and 3 "church things" a week, and the rest is up in the air and can be settled any which way.
So I find myself thinking, "oh, if I am wasting time here, Jesus will forgive me," and then I think, "but wasting time is squandering my brief existence on earth" and then I think, "I love being in my room! The only thing I don't love about it is this fear that I'm wasting time." Then I look at some blogs of women who put up 5-7 pictures of themselves in different outfits posing in different ways every few days, with the designer or store where they got each article of clothing neatly and perhaps painstakingly typed up beneath, and I think "what a waste of time, but also I'm jealous because so many strangers are complimenting their style" and THEN I think, "if what they are doing is a waste of time, then what do you call what I am doing reading these blogs?"
In short, I tried to look at my status as a child of God for confirmation that I am not wasting my time. It didn't work. Because I guess deep down I think things matter. But then, is that being blasphemous? Aka, am I really okay with coming to a conclusion that leaves me feeling sort of ashamed because frankly I can't see myself giving any more effort at this particular moment of my life without it becoming direct, unmitigated legalism? I can only be assured of not wasting my time on a macro level. I can be sure that good works are being done through me (I generally consider Jesus' commands to us to be promises fulfilled by the Spirit in us, a la The Shack), and that God has me here for a reason, which I occasionally glimpse, but the amount I realize his reasoning has no bearing on how good of a reason it is.
But I was not convinced that I am not wasting my time. I thought about what I would be doing if I lived in America instead. In my imagination that, too, was mostly empty space, because summers between school years growing up had their camps and stuff but were largely empty space. School leaves less room for empty space, because if you're in school you probably have friends there who you'll hang out with, and extracurricular activities that take up enough of your time that you don't have as much space to wonder if your life has meaning, and at any rate at the end you have a degree or something. But school is over for now. And even when I worked 35 hours a week last summer, the job I was at was definitely mostly empty space. I sat at a desk for 7-8 hour shifts and staved off the boredom the best I could, then came home to no homework.
Then that one guy made that youtube video about Jesus versus religion and I read a response to it that pointed out that Jesus was, in fact, sort of a fan of rules when he said (John 14:21a paraphrased) "If you love me, follow my commandments." And I said, "Am I really following those commandments? Most of the time I am not interacting with other people, in fact I have been known to sometimes avoid opportunities to interact with them when I am sure that interaction will not be fun or manifestly fruitful." But I am consciously following some of the commandments, some of the time. Here, too, is mostly empty space.
What I realized today was not an answer to my question "so, do things matter or not?", but I realized why I was asking: I was asking because by any reasonable standard, my life right now is a giant waste of time. The internet is full of well-meaning people telling you to seize the day, every day, and to get off the couch. Well, my couch is in a room that doesn't get internet, so often I don't even have the benefit of being on the couch. I am a step down from wasting my life sitting on my couch- I am wasting (most of) my life sitting in bed. -100 points. People say be creative and follow your dreams, that it's always worth it. I believe those people. But I don't even know what my dreams are.
Part of me thinks if we could just find contentment where we are, we would have defeated Satan for good, and the other part of me thinks that's exactly what Satan would want, so that we'll stop reaching higher and eventually just remain exactly where we are, getting too fat to be healthy. This clearly demonstrates the problem of having such a black and white mind as the one that animates my body.
I conclude that we should "just give our best and the rest will come," (thank you Sleeping at Last, this is the second time I have quoted this exact line on this blog) and grace will cover all the other things, but I don't know what my best is, or how to give it. That's life, huh?
[Hahaha this sounds like such an emo rant, but I promise it's not. I feel very even-tempered as I write this, perhaps even peaceful. I know I make myself sound bad and/or boring, but I'm not very afraid of that. I guess because I believe I can't be the only one with these questions. Also, though I guess I believe deep down that things matter, I know I also believe that everything will be okay.]
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*My "in-between" example is a city, especially if you think of it as including the airspace above it and the earth below it. Only the things at about ground-level, which take up a relatively small chunk, determine what city it is.
What I meant by that was either our actions and our sins have consequences and eternal weight, or they do not. It's obvious that our sins do have consequences even if we are forgiven of them (example: a baby that results from adultery, which is also an eternal result). It's obvious that even if Jesus forgives you for making all the wrong choices, you still made them.
I was having trouble finding some idea to hold on to to sort of anchor my thoughts.. I felt like I was thrashing around and never colliding with anything substantial as I tried to make sense of how it was possible for grace to exist, and what it could mean, because if it doesn't wipe away the sin completely, then what does it really do? By the magic of external processing, I have just realized that I think an action is categorized as a sin (or not a sin) based on our attitude toward God as we do it (with some sort of exception for mental illness, I guess?), and that alone. Thus grace restores our relationship to God (again and again and again). That's what it does. Because we can't do that on our own.
Acting against what you know to be right, or against what you feel God's telling you, is sin, whereas the same action performed by someone else might not be a sin. And we could be hurt by an action that was not a sin, if someone has good intentions for us. Like if you were allergic to penicillin (spelled that right on the first try, nbd) and someone administered it to you in some sort of medical situation that requires penicillin, thinking it would save your life, but the result was you got much worse and were in much more pain, that's completely different than someone who knows you're allergic and wants to hurt you.
So the reason something is a sin is because it ruptures your relationship with God somehow. It could be you making your own choice despite what you believe God wants for you, thereby supplanting him as ruler of your life and know-er of all that is right (knowledge of good and evil?). In fact maybe that's all it ever is, but it just takes different forms. That's not a very original idea, I admit.
What does this all have to do with my revelation? I think most people, and most especially people my age, are looking for meaning in their lives, for some evidence that whatever we're doing isn't a waste. Either it's a waste, and we should change something, or it isn't a waste, and it's okay to keep many things the same. Either we have time to try harder later, or we are scorning God's gift by not trying hard now. All or nothing.
Living in France is neat, and one reason I like it is because the first thing that jumps to mind isn't "waste of time," when I think of "spending a year after college working in France." But really, just as atoms are mostly empty space, and outer space is mostly empty space, and lots of things in between* are mostly empty space with a few significant little pieces that give the rest meaning and identity, my life here has a lot of "empty space" between moments of importance or significance. Because I work about ten hours a week, and have between 2 and 3 "church things" a week, and the rest is up in the air and can be settled any which way.
So I find myself thinking, "oh, if I am wasting time here, Jesus will forgive me," and then I think, "but wasting time is squandering my brief existence on earth" and then I think, "I love being in my room! The only thing I don't love about it is this fear that I'm wasting time." Then I look at some blogs of women who put up 5-7 pictures of themselves in different outfits posing in different ways every few days, with the designer or store where they got each article of clothing neatly and perhaps painstakingly typed up beneath, and I think "what a waste of time, but also I'm jealous because so many strangers are complimenting their style" and THEN I think, "if what they are doing is a waste of time, then what do you call what I am doing reading these blogs?"
In short, I tried to look at my status as a child of God for confirmation that I am not wasting my time. It didn't work. Because I guess deep down I think things matter. But then, is that being blasphemous? Aka, am I really okay with coming to a conclusion that leaves me feeling sort of ashamed because frankly I can't see myself giving any more effort at this particular moment of my life without it becoming direct, unmitigated legalism? I can only be assured of not wasting my time on a macro level. I can be sure that good works are being done through me (I generally consider Jesus' commands to us to be promises fulfilled by the Spirit in us, a la The Shack), and that God has me here for a reason, which I occasionally glimpse, but the amount I realize his reasoning has no bearing on how good of a reason it is.
But I was not convinced that I am not wasting my time. I thought about what I would be doing if I lived in America instead. In my imagination that, too, was mostly empty space, because summers between school years growing up had their camps and stuff but were largely empty space. School leaves less room for empty space, because if you're in school you probably have friends there who you'll hang out with, and extracurricular activities that take up enough of your time that you don't have as much space to wonder if your life has meaning, and at any rate at the end you have a degree or something. But school is over for now. And even when I worked 35 hours a week last summer, the job I was at was definitely mostly empty space. I sat at a desk for 7-8 hour shifts and staved off the boredom the best I could, then came home to no homework.
Then that one guy made that youtube video about Jesus versus religion and I read a response to it that pointed out that Jesus was, in fact, sort of a fan of rules when he said (John 14:21a paraphrased) "If you love me, follow my commandments." And I said, "Am I really following those commandments? Most of the time I am not interacting with other people, in fact I have been known to sometimes avoid opportunities to interact with them when I am sure that interaction will not be fun or manifestly fruitful." But I am consciously following some of the commandments, some of the time. Here, too, is mostly empty space.
What I realized today was not an answer to my question "so, do things matter or not?", but I realized why I was asking: I was asking because by any reasonable standard, my life right now is a giant waste of time. The internet is full of well-meaning people telling you to seize the day, every day, and to get off the couch. Well, my couch is in a room that doesn't get internet, so often I don't even have the benefit of being on the couch. I am a step down from wasting my life sitting on my couch- I am wasting (most of) my life sitting in bed. -100 points. People say be creative and follow your dreams, that it's always worth it. I believe those people. But I don't even know what my dreams are.
Part of me thinks if we could just find contentment where we are, we would have defeated Satan for good, and the other part of me thinks that's exactly what Satan would want, so that we'll stop reaching higher and eventually just remain exactly where we are, getting too fat to be healthy. This clearly demonstrates the problem of having such a black and white mind as the one that animates my body.
I conclude that we should "just give our best and the rest will come," (thank you Sleeping at Last, this is the second time I have quoted this exact line on this blog) and grace will cover all the other things, but I don't know what my best is, or how to give it. That's life, huh?
[Hahaha this sounds like such an emo rant, but I promise it's not. I feel very even-tempered as I write this, perhaps even peaceful. I know I make myself sound bad and/or boring, but I'm not very afraid of that. I guess because I believe I can't be the only one with these questions. Also, though I guess I believe deep down that things matter, I know I also believe that everything will be okay.]
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*My "in-between" example is a city, especially if you think of it as including the airspace above it and the earth below it. Only the things at about ground-level, which take up a relatively small chunk, determine what city it is.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
God doesn't expect us to be good
I think it's self-evident that humanity is inherently evil, but if you are not convinced, here is a Dino Comic as evidence:
Now that that's established, I want to respond to some thoughts I heard in a class lecture by some dude named Bob Hamp.* By respond I mostly mean summarize so you don't have to listen to all hour and twenty minutes of it, and maybe add a few of my ideas.
To set the stage for his message, he refers to Scripture that comes soon after John 3:16. He uses the NASB, which might be why I had never heard it put this way before. He asks his class to fill in the blank in this: 20 For everyone who does evil hates the Light, and does not come to the Light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. 21 But he who practices _______ comes to the Light, so that his deeds may be manifested as having been wrought in God.”
"He who does evil hates the light [...] but he who practices ______ comes to the light."
What should go in the blank? a) truth b) good c) righteousness
Me, I said good.
I fell into his trap.
The correct answer is "he who practices the truth comes to the light." Mr. Hamp (I don't even know this guy, I feel weird using his name) says that in human economy, the opposite of evil is good, but in God's economy, the opposite of evil is truth.
Thus, he continues, when God tells us our righteousness is like filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6), he's not saying it to make us feel crummy, but to give us a realistic diagnosis so he can give us a realistic course of treatment.
He points out that when someone says they are a good person, they are only comparing themself within the human race, like "not as bad as Hitler, not as good as Mother Teresa," but since all humanity is sinful, it's nothing to be proud of even to come out at the very top of that spectrum. And, he concludes, if there's no good in you, and you try to do good, the best you can do is a good version of evil.
Hamp says relatively early on that Scripture doesn't give us a list of rules to follow but a blueprint of how reality functions. Thus, despite our human conclusion that the way to fix evil is to do good, the real solution is not to do good but to come to the light. When we come to the light, God begins to expose what is not him, and reveal what is him, and then life starts to work. What I say about this is that not only does God reveal our hearts at this time, but he actually changes them. I tend to believe that becoming aware of something instantly changes it in all sorts of cases, and I especially think so in this case.
Hamp says what God wants of us isn't that we be good, but that we practice the truth. He says Adam originally didn't have an awareness of good and evil before he ate from the tree, and he goes so far as to say (admitting that it's not supported by Scripture) that Adam even could have done some bad stuff before the fall without knowing it, because he didn't have the Knowledge of Good and Evil, but that it wouldn't matter if he did, because he was living so closely with God.
So once Adam and Eve had sinned, they hid from God, choosing hiddenness over light and truth (hey just like in John 3:20!) Hamp says, "I wish I could go back and tell him, there is no good reason to hide. Hiding is death."
Okay, so basically all of that has been that guy's thoughts. Now for a few of mine. I find it fascinating that I still can fear God's judgment or disapproval even after reading about how he forgives and heals even the deepest and most entrenched and disgusting sins. After reading all the Scripture about how God sees us as beloved children. Yet that fear creeps in, and I admit there are plenty of things about myself I would not want God to know about or see, if I could control it.
But I think maybe the best advice I ever read about making those tough choices about behavior that may or may not be a sin, you're not sure, was this: do not let anything hinder your connection with God. If you don't find yourself able to stop a sin pattern, at least do not add hiding from God to your list of problems. God is not going to be shocked, because he's heard worse, and you can't really hide things anyway, only refuse to discuss them with him. And discussing them with him is the most giant step you can take in the best direction. You can't conquer sin on your own. Trying to suppress your sin nature is like trying to hold a lid down on a pot that wants to boil over. Ouch! And also you're going to fail miserably. To extend this slightly odd metaphor further, God is the one (one as in, only one) that can lower the flame, so ask him about it!
One last thing. I think a few verses in Luke illustrate how God responds to our honest, unhidden hearts, and that moment when we see the truth/see the light.
In Luke 5:4-11 Simon Peter lowers his nets because Jesus tells him to, even though he'd been fishing all night with no success.When two boats are filled with fish, Simon falls to his knees and says, "Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!" Whether or not that seems like a random comment in that context,** I think it reflects our natural response to our sin-- hiding from God, distancing ourselves from him. Instead of crying out, "Go away from us, Lord!" Adam and Eve just hid instead. But Jesus, instead of being like, "Okay Simon, you're right, catch ya later," he says, "Don't be afraid, from now on you will fish for people," or put another way, he entrusts him with a super important task whereby saying, "I want you for my team." He sees the worth in Simon. It was Simon's right view of things that unlocked this response.
So: we can't do good, but what God asks from us instead is for us to come to him and see the truth and live out the truth [live out= acknowledge in all our ways]. Once we do that, God takes care of the goodness. All the goodness is his anyway.
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*It's a sermon I heard here: http://gatewaypeople.com/ministries/freedom-kairos/media1 almost at the very bottom of the page, it's called "The Hidden Heart." I think it starts mid-sentence and talking about something random, just go with it.
**It does to me. Maybe someday it won't. I love how the Bible can be a gift you keep unwrapping.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
It all goes back in the box.
This morning I came across this in my last Moleskine. It's from church this August. For context, it was the moment they were about to collect the tithe:
"What if, while you were playing Monopoly, whenever you gave away money, someone would put real money in a real account for you, and you were the only one who knew this? Would this change how you played the game? Remember that at the end of the game, all the money goes back in the box. It's worthless in reality. You can't take it with you when you're done playing, no matter how much you earned or saved."
I think the Scriptural basis for this, or one of them, can be found in Philippians chapter 4. Paul thanks the Philippians for sending him aid and gifts, then says, "...not that I desire your gifts; what I desire is that more be credited to your account." (4:17)
"What if, while you were playing Monopoly, whenever you gave away money, someone would put real money in a real account for you, and you were the only one who knew this? Would this change how you played the game? Remember that at the end of the game, all the money goes back in the box. It's worthless in reality. You can't take it with you when you're done playing, no matter how much you earned or saved."
I think the Scriptural basis for this, or one of them, can be found in Philippians chapter 4. Paul thanks the Philippians for sending him aid and gifts, then says, "...not that I desire your gifts; what I desire is that more be credited to your account." (4:17)
Saturday, January 7, 2012
God's Day Planner
I always feel like you have to pick between God who wants to bless YOU and God who wants YOU to bless EVERYONE ELSE. For blessings, some Jesus-followers tend to make much of things like, "Thank you God that I got to eat pumpkin pie today and it was a nice surprise," and in a way this feels almost shallow, or even too good to be true. I realize that God blessing you and you blessing others are not mutually exclusive, and neither takes priority, I suppose, though that sometimes seems impossible. But the truth is, God really does want to bless you, and he gives gifts of all sizes. Just because he likes you. And loves you.
This picture I've posted made me cry big surprise tears one night as I was rushing through this French comic book* so I could return it to the family that loaned it to me. It's a robot reading the day planner of his creator. I will (loosely) translate it for you. Whenever it says Robi, trade it for your own name, and when it says Sakapus, insert the name of your pet.
Monday the 19th
-Try to talk to Robi in a dream.
-Shine a ray of sun in his room and send a bird to his window to make his heart rejoice.
-Give Sarkapus an urgent need so Robi meets someone awesome instead of staying inside all day.
-Organize a meeting between Robi and someone who knows my address. (Lack of available staff!)
-Allow a circumstance that helps Robi learn to always look on the bright side.
-Save Robi's life. (Discretely.) [Accompanied by a picture of a bus almost hitting him.]
-Give him a nice moment with a friend from work that will turn into a great memory.
-Visit him inconspicuously.
Tuesday the 20th
Tuesday the 20th
Robi needs sleep!
-Instead of the sun and bird this time, inspire the neighbor to sing funny to cheer Robi up.
-Move the box Adeline forgot on the stairs so Robi doesn't fall.
-Inspire a phone call from a friend to restore his morale.
-Write to Robi.
-Find Robi a wife who really loves him. (Roba?)
-Keep him from meeting Pat, a bad influence; block the way.
-Make sure his book is where he'll easily find it.
Man, and this is just a made-up comic book. And those are not even that many things. What if in real life God has hundreds of things in mind for us each day? Bet you he does. :o)
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*The French are the biggest comic-book readers after the Japanese. In a huge bookstore on the busy, centrally-located Boulevard St. Michel in Paris, the entire entry-level floor is dedicated to comic books. Yes, there's a fair amount of manga. The Japanese are the biggest, after all.
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