Waves.

Wave motion can be instructive.


If you have a chance to go to a wave tank, you might see sometihng interesting. Go to one end of the tank, and start churning the water with your hand. At the other end of the tank, have another person do the same. The waves that are created will move in opposite directions toward each other, and if you stand in the middle of the wave tank, you should see several things:


(1) some of the waves cancel each other out


(2) some of the waves augment each other, and


(3) some of the waves don't seem like they do anything, and merely pass right through each other without getting cancelled or augmented.


I am beginning to see my life in a community in a similar manner. Assuming that we are all just splashing around in a pool, our actions result in waves that are formed in the pool. If I act in concert with the other waves, my actions are augmented, and if I do not, my actions either have no effect or are muted by others acting in opposition.


So the question is really about vision. Do I share in the vision of others in the community I have chosen to be my own? At work, the answer is, of course. I only keep my job by working in concert with my colleagues, my staff, and my superiors. We work together, and so I keep my employment. The same thing goes with my personal life, with my family. I try my best to stay in sync with them, and most of the time, we try to work in concert so that we are not working against one another.


The last community to be examined is the community of believers to whom I have chosen to be close, to work together and to engage in fellowship. How do the waves look, from this position.

The problem is, of course, one cannot see what the effect is, of what one is doing. You just can't be a part of a community and be able to judge it effectively in real-time.

And this means that you have no idea of what you are doing, what the community is doing, and whether what you are doing is having a positive effect on the whole.

-David

The Humanity of Oppression

I think the best way to describe the interrelationship between and among humans, is oppression.


It starts with the parents and the child, and then it propagates outward to between siblings, and then outward again between strangers, who then cycle backward to between husband and wife, who then renew the cycle when they become the first part of the equation with parents and the child.


We seek to control others for our own gain. Even when the gain benefits others, or when it is benevolent, there is still gain to be had, and the extent of the oppression depends on weakness of the other, the strength of the oppressor, and the ability of the other to escape.


Where does such weakness come from? That is to say, why is there oppression at all? There would not be oppression (or very much of it at all), if there wasn't the weakness in mankind that allows for oppression to be developed. We are the cause of our own oppression, in other words. What are we lacking, that we cause it?

There is much to ponder.

-David

A Boy and his Plant

Continuing the story about a boy who once had a free-thinking lamb but then he got arrested and jailed for violating the village municipal law against possession of free-thinking lamb. (see the December 18, 2006 post for the full story behind this boy and what happened with his free-thinking lamb).

The boy, having spent a rather uncomfortable night in jail, decided to represent himself in the morning when the village elders gathered for the arraignment. The village lawyer was also the baker, and since the baker needed the mornings to bake bread for the entire village, and since village arraignments are always in the mornings, it was kind of pointless to ask for the village lawyer to represent you. Since the village had virtually no crime (other than the most recent crime which made the village newspaper front page), everything worked out just fine. The boy thusly represented pro se, the village elders regarded him with more or less indifference. The boy looked around for assistance but his erstwhile free-thinking lamb, being released on its own recognizance, did not appear in defense of the boy. The village elders, without further ado, asked him whether he thought himself guilty or innocent of the charge of violation of possession of free-thinking lambs. The boy replied,

"I did not know that my lamb was the cause of so much pain to this village. I plead guilty to this charge. I don't ask for forgiveness, but I will not violate the ordinance again."

The village elders conferred briefly but then released the boy, who felt rather severely chastened by his neighbors and not just a little hurt from being. The free-thinking lamb, of course, was REALLY no where to be found, and the boy returned home to his little cottage, alone and a day behind in his chores, but really no worse for wear. The story of what happened to the free-thinking lamb, well, that's a story for another time. The boy thought it best anyway, since the free-thinking lamb was the cause of his troubles, and since the free-thinking lamb didn't actually help out in any of the chores. Perhaps it was best this way.

So the boy continued to do his work; he would rise early in the morning, rub the dreams of owning non-free thinking, helpful around the house kind of farm animals from his eyes, and with his axe, go into the forest to cut some wood for the fires that needed tending. Then he would take the pail and draw water enough from the nearby stream to fill the barrels. Finally, he would collect the berries, the honey and any fish that got caught in the nets before coming back home. There were many chores to be done, and the boy felt his duties keenly. Without water, how would he eat, wash or bathe? Without wood, how would the fires warm the home and cook the food? Without the berries, honey and fish, surely he would die of hunger! So the boy continued his tasks without complaints. It kept him busy and the village elders had their own affairs to attend to, so all was well.

Day after day the boy continued his tasks, warily avoiding any contact with any animal that might even be construed like a free-thinking lamb. But then one day the boy chanced upon a rather odd plant, a plant with slightly bluish tint to its leaves, and a rather unusual flower petal design. Its berries were old and pitted, ans were very acidic and bitter to the taste. But rather than letting it be, the boy decided to take it home and plant it near his home, to make it grow and to see what might come of it. The boy had no herbology skills, and certainly was no farmer, but the boy knew enough to bring enough soil with the plant to keep it alive during its trip to the plant's new home. The boy then drew more water from the barrels, and kept the plant moist and dewy in the mornings before chores began.

Many months passed, and then a full season. The boy checked in on the plant from time to time, which by now had grown at least a foot, and was nearly at the boy's waist. Still, there was no fruit to be had. After the spring thaw and the rains that periodically threatened the village with flooding had passed, the boy returned once again to his home and to his plant. He looked at the plant once more, and then uprooted it and tossed it into the fire.

The moral of this story is that sometimes, plants don't always work out the way that you planned.

-David

Eraser Crumbs

Sinning is a part of life. My life, anyway.

I do it as easily as I breathe, and as often as I breathe. Everything I do has some dark element to it, and I question all motives because there is nothing that can be pure that comes from me.

It is akin to walking on the beach in sneakers; no matter how carefully you walk, you will get sand on the inside rubbing against your skin. And then, later, when you shake out your sneakers, no matter how vigorously you shake, there will be sand remaining.

And this is how I feel these days, that I can never be clean. I feel weighed down with sin, and the fact remains that I am judged on this world by people who interact with me, and those judgments are based in part on my sinful self. If I am bitter or angry or resentful, then that side of me will color the perceptions and the judgments by those who view me, and so I am judged in my sin. I cannot escape myself, and I cannot escape judgment of those who interact with me.

God forgives, but the sin we hold inside remains tied to us while we are in this world, and those marks are indelible.

Jesus wipes away our sin, but we continue to sin, even as the eraser crumbs and marks are not yet swept away. Sort of like grass that grows so quickly that by the time you are done mowing, the first part of the lawn needs cutting again.

The end result, for those who are keeping score, is that it is as if the sin never left me, because the same sin that I was just forgiven for, I am still committing! Who can see the change, if no change is there.

It is a sad state of living, that the eraser crumbs of our sin are not yet even cleaned off of the page when we are back to our sinful lives. Or, rather, that the eraser crumbs of my sin are not yet cleaned off of the page when I am back to my sinful life.

And the comfort of knowing that my sins are forgiven is no comfort at all to me, because forgiveness is meaningless without change. Where is my change? How can I make my life more a testament to my faith, more a testament to my God? Where is the intent?

-David

Limited Perspectives

I am pretty good at hindsight analysis.

Even months or years later, when I look back at why things happened the way they happened, or what people meant when they said what they said, or why people did or didn't do certain things, I can still piece things together and with enough thought, I can figure it out. Of course, how cool would it be if I could piece things together in real time, but I'm not that smart and often times I need the hiddeninformation that I can only deduce from events or comments that happen later.

It's like putting together a puzzle. Someone says something a tiny bit curious, but not enough so that you wonder about it, and days or weeks later, I'll figure out the "grand" design behind the statement and see how it fits together with everything else. Corner or edge pieces are easy, but I don't often get people giving him those kinds of statements or doing something so obvious.

But, there is a huge caveat that goes with this: even with a large dose of empathetic transposition, I still only have a limited viewpoint on the world around me, and so whatever stories or puzzles I put together, it could be that I am completely wrong because I simply assumed incorrectly, or my biases brought forth an incorrect conclusion. More on this in a bit.

Anyway, here's my point.

I've often wondered at the stoicism and the lack of emotional support that many of the guys at my church exhibit. Recently, I've thought it through and I think that much of it has to do with the role models that second-generation Korean-American guys have - their dads.

Not to blame my dad, but he has been by far the biggest influence in my life, for good and for bad, and much of what makes me the person that I am, for good and for bad, has been the relationship that I've had with my father. And, for a myriad of reasons that I won't go into but most of which are fairly obvious (at least to other Korean-Americans), my father is incapable of offering emotional support on any level.

And I see that in most of the second-generation Korean-American guys that I've known. We are wary of showing weakness, of showing emotional weakness or vulnerability, and we lack the wherewithal and the knowledge of how to give emotional support.

So, I think to myself, hey, I figured it out. My dad is to blame for the way that I am, and all first generation dads are to blame for the way that second-generation Korean-American guys cannot bond together readily because they all lack the ability to emotional support another guy. We cannot do it.

And now here comes the caveat part again.

I have only a limited perspective. And I can only think upon things that I've seen. Maybe it isn't true that all Korean-American guys are unable to GIVE emotional support to another guy.

Maybe, it is just me. Maybe I am the one who is unable to RECEIVE emotional support from others, and since I don't interact people that much, I don't see the guys that I think are incapable, actually very capably giving one another sufficient and worthwhile emotional support. Maybe the reason I lack emotional support from anyone isn't because the guys aren't offering, it may be that I am not accepting it.

Maybe the moral of this story is that I shouldn't blame my dad for me, before I blame me for me.

-David

Will of God

I just read an essay written by Mark Lilla, a professor of humanities at Columbia University, printed in the New York Times magazine and lifted incidentally, from a book written by Professor Lilla, entitled The Stillborn God: Religion, Politics and the Modern West (to be published in 09/2007).

Here's the link (probably temporary) to the essay.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/19/magazine/19Religion-t.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&bl&ei=5087%0A&en=977bf4bf3ec3f31d&ex=1187841600

It is a rather astonishing piece of writing, sweeping in characterization and leads to much thought and an inward eye. It discusses with deft and lucidity, the Great Separation and the failings of the West to understand the current rise in Islamic fundamentalism.

But the question that Professor Lilla doesn't pose, is perhaps the greatest question of all:

"Does God care about any of this?"

I don't have the time to go in depth on this right now (but I will), but it is a tremendously well-written article, and I highly recommend reading the essay, and probably the book as well when it comes out.

Here's my quick take on this.

Professor Lilla speaks of two shores: one, the shore on which we make our home, is a place where the Great Separation between theology and politics has been made (after much bloodshed and evolution of thought), and the other shore is a place where the Great Separation was never made, where political theology is the Everything, defining an entire generation and immunizing the believers from moral or legal penalties for doing whatever they do in the name of God. And the language is so different that there is little to bridge the gap because the two shores cannot co-exist where each's principal aim would lead to the destruction of the other.

The questions asked by people of both shores, about God, are the same: "How can I become closer to you, O Lord?"

But really, our question looks more like this: "How, under the emanicipating principles of freedom and the right NOT to believe in God if one so chooses, can I be made closer to you, O Lord?" The far shore's denizens might ask a slightly broader, more simple question, "How can I be made closer to you, O Lord?"

Thus do we attempt to practice our individualistic faith, if any, and thus does the far shore attempt to practice a communal fundamentalism. Neither can survive the other, unless one or both changes. Professor Lilla concludes his extremely well-written and thoughtful article with the notion that we must hope in the renovating change that may make radical Islam able to co-exist with the West. It is a sobering thought for sure, because such hope seems quite dim these days.

But that's not my point of this post. I am asking a different question, I think.

What does God think about us, the Great Separation, the individualistic principles of Western liberal theology, the radicalization and populist drive for purity and uncompromising belief of neo-fundementalist Islamicism? Does He even care?

Here I am, born into a post-Modern Western world, Christian and trying to be devout. I have strong individualistic tendencies, and do in fact believe the right not to believe in God is as important as any right to believe in anything. But I believe, hopefully as firmly as anything or more, in God the Father, God the Son, and the Holy Spirit as the tri-une God, Savior and Creator of us.

Would it matter to God, then, if I were born in a different time, or a different place, and even, say, born on the far shore? Would God only care about my life as a child of God and how I loved my Lord and my neighbor, and not in my profession, be in a crusading knight in the Dark Ages, or a lawyer in the Post-Modern times?

I guess what I am asking is, what difference should it make to any believer, what system of government we live in, what oppression or freedom we find ourselves in, or what lifestyle or occupation we are forced (or choose) to take?

Still, there is merit in the Great Separation. Western political philosophy, taken as a whole and bound together with only the singular principle of "do unto others." And this guiding principal is not an anathema to Christian thinking. This principle does not satisfy Christian theology, but given the minimalist nature of the setting, it acts as a foundation. We stand on the minimum rules, and then note that God doesn't JUST ask us to do unto others as we would have done unto us ("Love one another as you love yourself"), but understand that this goes WITH the commandment to LOVE THE LORD YOUR GOD, first and foremost.

With political theology, the command of LOVE THE LORD YOUR GOD is ultimately NOT situated with the command to LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF, and so the rhetoric will be self-defeating. Bloodshed will beget bloodshed, and no amount of fanatical piety will save us from our own evil that we perpetrate on ourselves in the name of God.

So, maybe that means that God's Will is that there is the Great Separation, so that we may practice what Jesus taught, and that we would have the freedom not to do so, if only to make clear which is real, and which isn't.

Honestly, though, I can't say for sure. I feel a bit out of my league, a bit like I'm in the deep end of the pool.

-David

An Apology Not Given

**

I think I owe someone an apology. I mean, I DO owe someone an apology (and in actuality, I owe multiple people multiple apologies), but I think I will not give it. At least, not right now. And it isn't because such person(s) do not deserve the apology (regardless of whether I should give it), but honestly, at this late date, what good can it do?

The milk is already spilled, and apologizing over it will not put the liquid back into container.

I believe that I am, now (more than I was, in anycase), a mostly-decent person. Every day, I try my best to help people in whatever ways that I can, and I have very little motivated self-interest in it except perhaps as tinge of a too-little, too-late pennance for my years of misdeeds and ills that I have heaped upon others. That, and a fairly strong double dose of (1) an OCD-like urge to make things better for everyone and (2) in-grained duty to help because that's how I've been trained. The psychological cocktail of reasons aside, I try my best to avoid hurting others and to be more responsible for my actions and inactions.

But, I also have my not-so-decent side (or, rather, had a not-so-decent side), and if there was a showdown between the number of people I've helped, versus the number of people I've hurt, the race would be too close to call. So, by my rather recent turning of a new leaf, have I earned enough do-gooding credit to stand again and face the people I see at, say, church, with my eyes no longer down, or without a heart hardened against emotional attachment?

No, I know this isn't true. And I don't think I will ever earn enough credit to do so. I am not like other people and I cannot give myself the benefit of the doubt. This isn't a court case where someone else has to prove whether I am guilty. I've seen what intents were hidden deep in my mind, and I cannot escape from myself. When I see other people, I know that I can only try to be better now, but I will never be as good or as decent as others.

So then what is the point for apologies? Since it is abundantly clear that I cannot make things right on my own, and apologizing only brings attention to my deficiencies and past misdeeds. (Or, in the alternative, if I take the Christian perspective on things, then I have already been set free of all guilt, and thus am clean as a pristine winter's snowfall. And in such state of cleanliness, there wouldn't be a need to apologize anyway. If God is the only one who can truly forgive, then why am I so bent out of shape about apologizing or trying to make things right or trying to at least be not as bad as the average person?). If it is the case that I cannot atone for my life by myself, and if it is the case that I cannot make whole that which I've broken, then what is the point?

To the people that I've hurt (whether a little or a lot), to those who still bear the scars of such pain (by their own sense of what is right or wrong), to those whose lives I've ruined in whole or in part (again, in their perspective, and not anyone else's), or irrevocably changed, it is theoretically impossible to generate enough credit to repair and to replace what I've destroyed. I am (as is probably already the case for just about everyone), best left to be forgotten. And in most cases, they probably don't even remember. Which is good (and which brings up the point about why apologize now).

Time heals wounds better than anything I can do or say. And to those who still have to deal with me, like, for example, my parents, or former friends that still are around, there can never be enough that I can do to repair the damaged relationships. My relationship with my parents and my family is such a tortured one, which has probably given me enough justification to cry out for mitigation, but then where would free will be.

So, then, I think, why apologize at all. It is just a half-hearted attempt to assuage my own sense of guilt or to whitewash my own view of the past. There is no sense is dredging up the already muddied waters, and there is no benefit to the oppressed. It is all self-interest on my part -

(1) For one thing, I may want to repair the relationship for my own selfish reasons.
(2) Or maybe I feel so guilty, that only a heartfelt and honest apology, followed by a heartfelt and honest acceptance of such apology, can make me sleep better at night.
(3) Or, even though I may sense that such person(s) would be benefitted from my apology, I can never truly separate the benefit received by said person and the benefit I receive from having benefited an aggrieved person (of course, without substantial psychoanalysis for each and every instance, how can I be sure of my own motives for anything).

Back on topic - To apologize, in this context I think, would leave me feeling dirty and not clean because this kind of altruism cannot be proved. And even if I could do good by apologizing, it is likely that if I hadn't done it by now, any good to the aggrieved would be far outweighed by the suspicion by the receiver of the apology that, in fact, I am only trying to serve my own interest. (Now, a part of me thinks that I am only trying to weasel myself out of apologizing, but even if that were true, it doesn't mean that I am not right about whether I should or shouldn't apologize now.)

**

Why is this important, if God is the only judge that matters?

Well, God is the only judge that matters, yes. But in this fallen world, people matter because relationships matter, and because God makes us matter. We are imperfect instruments of God's grace, at times, and during the other times, we can in fact exercise our free will to the destruction of everyone. Who can apologize for that? Who can forgive us for our own free will, the evil we do for whatever reasons or none at all?

Relationships with other people are all that we have right now, at least, all that we can see and feel and touch. God's hand works among us, among other ways, and God's touch can be felt through the hand of another life. The Body of Christ is made of such hands, and so are these relationships holy, or, at least, they can be holy. And though we are dirty and human, these are the only relationships we have between us, and so we must work to constantly fix and repair, lest we all drown in the pools of self-interest and destruction.

Moreover, despite the fact that when we aggrieve someone, we can ask forgiveness from God and receive it, the body of Christ is still hurt. We are causers, or rather, I, myself, am the cause of the pain. And if I am to live in the body of Christ, then I have to address the pain and not ignore it. That is a responsibility, mandated by God, if not by letter then by context. We must love one another as ourselves, and as God forgives, so must we forgive.

Nevertheless, most times I think about apologizing and trying to repair or to heal, I get a strong sense that there is nothing I can do. My apologies are just words, after all, and no apologies can bring the lost resource of time, or change the course of history to stop the pain from ever being there.

And so, in conclusion I guess, I've taken the easy way out. I avoid conflict and dredging by avoiding the giving of the apology. I also avoid the fruitless gesture of trying to replace actual pain with words of consolement, but the self-centered aspect of it all certainly does limit the effectiveness of it all. In the end though, I think I can see why I don't apologize. I am still the coward. And cowards shirk from hard tasks that fall to those with courage.

Maybe some day, I will be able to gain the courage it takes to take ahold of the fear, the shame and passive acceptance. But until then, the best I can do is this: to those whom I truly done wrong, I do apologize (small comfort since no one reads these posts!!). But if you are waiting for a personal one, you will have to wait until I am less of a craven.

-David

The Rooftop View

The Rooftop View

Many, many years ago, I was introducing a person I knew to another person I knew, acting as sort of a bridge. I said something like, "so this is one of my best friends, '____'...". The introduced person then acknowledged the introduction but somewhat humorously shrugged off the comment by saying, "well, I don't know about "best" but anyway..." It was almost an under-the-breath sort of thing, almost as a side-note in passing, but it came as a shock to me.

His point - Yes, I was a friend, but not so close a friend that he would take responsibility for me. And I could be identified with him, but not identified as part of him or as someone he would be voluntarily be a part of.

From an objective standpoint I guess he was right after all. I was a friend to him, and he was a friend to me...just not that close. And when I said, "this is one of my best friends," I was probably overly-enthusiastic in my description. So, no fault with him being accurate. Perhaps if I had spoken with less haste, I would have phrased it differently, but nevertheless I did say what I said for a few reasons -

(1) I wanted the other person to know that the person I was introducing was important to me
(2) I wanted the person I was introducing to be complimented, if I were to be so vain as to think that such an introduction would be a compliment.
(3) And, probably most of all, I wanted the label to be accurate, if not then, then in the future.

I also knew that the harm in being inaccurate (over-label), was certainly less egregious than the harm in being inaccurate (under-labeling). What is the harm in calling someone a close frend, even if they weren't?

Well, he shot that thought down nearly immediately, which did a few things:

(1) Announced he was nobody's "buddy", but his own person who makes his own judgments;
(2) Told everyone that I was mistaken, embarassingly, about a relationship that in my own words, I should have known better about;
(3) Warned me that his correction of me off the bat like that was designed specifically to me, so that if I were to introduce him to anyone else, that I should refrain from using inaccurate labels, at the pain of being embarassed in a like manner again, and
(4) Announced to all close by that this kind of public correction was required because he obviously didn't want to be known as a good friend of mine, for whatever reason, and a private correction would have been ineffective.

It was a short-lived but embarassing moment for me, and it engendered a brief bout of sadness in me. A person that I respected, and wished to be a close friend, rejected the offer. Despite the time spent hanging out and doing things, despite the shared experiences and so on, I was no better of a friend (or only insignificantly better) than any of the other acquaintances that he had. Not only was I rejected for the past, I was rejected for the future. A sobering moment, when really, the main impetus was just to make introductions and to compliment a friend of mine.

I call it "The Rooftop View." You aren't socializing in the party, you aren't even at the party, but you can see the party if you go out onto your rooftop. From this vantage point, you can get to know a lot of things about the goings-on, who attended and what they ate or drank, and you can certainly imagine all things that you would do if you were at the party, but you were never there. And so I went from being at the party, to being left outside. The incident was thus over, and almost certainly not remembered by anyone involved. But it has stayed with me for all these long years, and it has bearing today.

Friends and Fellowship

I cannot grasp the idea of fellowship (this is a topic for another time, in any case, because it is far too big to handle here), but I can say this about it - what we are called to do is love one another as ourselves, and our bond in fellowship is out of such self-love.

But what does this have to do with "like"? You don't have to "like" the person to "love" a person, right? This is what has always gotten me messed up.

IF, for example and only as an example, I were to take the people that I know, now, and start introducing them to some random other person, how many of them would consider me to be a close friend? Further, let's take the reverse of that. If I were the one being introduced, would I actually feel the same way about the other? How many claims of close bonds of friendship would I agree with? Now, let's match them up. How many close friends do I have?

Honestly, at this point, with respect to the fellowship of the church that I attend, I would probably say that the number of coincidences (in a Venn diagram, say, the dark shaded areas) would be, maybe zero. The rooftop view that I once had with respect to this individual whom I thought I was a close friend, has now expanded. Maybe it is mostly my fault, or a combination of factors, but it is what it is.

Still, I would say, I try pretty hard to get to know the people in my church, and express my relationship with them in terms of love. What I would do for them, I would do for myself. What I would give to them, I would give to myself, and nothing less than that. But like? Are we called to like them, and them to like us? If so, then why am I stuck on the roof, and if not, then, I guess, you end up with the kind of relationships that I have at church: where you love everybody, and are fairly content in the steady-state of having few, if any, close friends.

- More on this in a bit, David

Faith, Hope and Love

Faith, Hope and Love.

I don't think that I have ever really understood Faith.

Hope is easy to understand. Hope is the belief that there is a future that will be better than what we experience now. Not much to explain, no need, really.

Love is a more difficult concept. Love encompasses much, but I think we can put this into an analogue that might be easier to understand. Love is the person that God would want us to be. I used to define Love as an action, the result of a feeling of intimacy that causes sacrifice. But I think that Love is more (and less) than an action, because it does not require intimacy and it may not result in sacrifice. Consider the oft-quoted passage from 1 Cor 13:4-8:

"4Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, 5does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, 6does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; 7bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 8Love never fails..."

Paul speaks here about Love and how great it is, but check out how Paul uses the word. Paul is describing a person! Now, I've heard and read this passage countless times, but this may be the first time that I've perceived this. I think this is why Jesus said in Matthew 22:40 that all of the Law and the Prophets hang on the commandments to Love. Love is to be the person that God commands us to be, and we are without excuse because inside of us, from the moment we are born to the day that we die, we have within our hearts an understanding of what this means. As surely as we can see creation and everything around us, we can also see what it means to Love.

So, then, we come down to the last thing - Faith.

What may be the heart of the Gospel is this idea of Faith, and how by Faith we are removed from the lists of those deserving of death, and put onto the lists of those deserving of being with God. We do not earn the removal, because it is given it freely (even though it is not free). And yet, we still have to have Faith.

Through study of Romans, we might take it upon ourselves to say that Faith is not the equivalent of works, and is in fact wholly separate from it. So, Faith is not within ourselves to do or not to do. But it still lies in the realm of the human, because it is something that propels us to change ourselves, to turn towards God. And we must have this, on our own.

Does this make sense? I'm not sure. How can something that we think or believe (and therefore the concommitant and resulting action), not be considered works?

I guess we go back to Matthew, for the answer (Matthew 17:20): "And He said to them, "Because of the littleness of your faith; for truly I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible to you." Or check out Luke 17:5-6: 5The apostles said to the Lord, "Increase our faith!" 6And the Lord said, "If you had faith like a mustard seed, you would say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and be planted in the sea'; and it would obey you. "

How can anyone move a mountain or uproot a tree? Who is the only one who can do such a thing, who can do what would be otherwise impossible? Well, the answer is obvious, I suppose, so then perhaps Faith is like a portal to God's power, a wi-fi access point for God's will? Hmm, but that would still not explain how we get this portal or access point. We aren't quite there I guess.

Ok, so maybe I need to go back to Matthew, going back to one of the more clear examples of faith (Matthew 8:5-10):

"5And when Jesus entered Capernaum, a centurion came to Him, imploring Him, 6and saying, "Lord, my servant is lying paralyzed at home, fearfully tormented." 7Jesus said to him, "I will come and heal him." 8But the centurion said, "Lord, I am not worthy for You to come under my roof, but just say the word, and my servant will be healed. 9"For I also am a man under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to this one, 'Go!' and he goes, and to another, 'Come!' and he comes, and to my slave, 'Do this!' and he does it." 10Now when Jesus heard this, He marveled and said to those who were following, "Truly I say to you, I have not found such great faith with anyone in Israel."

So what is happening here? Why did Jesus name the soldier as having Faith, and a lot of it?

I guess what I see here is that what the soldier had, was an understanding of how things work. Just as when you take a step, you are doing so under the assumption that the next step that you take will result in your foot also hitting ground (thus does locomotion work). So then, did this soldier take it as a matter of fact that if he were to issue orders, so those orders would be followed. It is a given, and the soldier, especially in times of war, would base his very life on this assumption. Let me repeat that: the soldier would base his life on this assumption.

So, then, I guess the answer is upon me now.

Faith is the understanding of God's ordering of the world, that we are not worthy of fellowship with God, and yet we are still given by Grace the chance for our addition into the book of Life. Faith is the understanding that God's justice creates a debt that we can not pay, and yet that debt is paid by the sacrifice by God, and that if we align ourselves to this understanding, we will have our debt paid. Whew!

I guess this is why it is tough for anyone, Christians included, Christians especially included, to have Faith to move mountains or to uproot trees. How hard it is for us to keep to this alignment without changing every part of ourselves, to understand how little the things of this world mean, in the grand scheme of things. We are forced to choose, every moment of our lives, how we are to perceive and assume things around us, and when we choose actions or thoughts that are misaligned with God's purpose, we are doing so without Faith.

Tough words. Tough concepts. More on this later.

-David

The More I Think, The Less I Understand

I vacilate between an excited state and one near despair. I doubt that I am unique, so none of this makes me original or an island unto myself. Yet I feel no kinship with those who share the same burdens as myself. I am an atom, among countless atoms, and worth no more than the potential energy that I have inside of me. But I do not feel myself as part of a greater design, and so there is no structure for me. And so, I am aimless and inert, unable to perceive the fabric of the universe that should be there. I see shifting patterns with one or more stochastic elements but there is no firmament underneath it all. Sometimes I am pulled along for the ride, and other times I am alone, stationary and silent. And none of it gives me hope or desire. Yet I persevere because there is no choice. I am rational, and reason compels me to live. But there is no understanding in reason.

Yet there is still an energy source within me. I cannot tap into it without reaching out to others, and while the energy flows outward, I can sometimes feel a purpose come alive inside of me. It is the connection, the universal truth of fellowship in our fallen state that acts like a siphon and draws me to action. But nothing lasts for ever, and so I fall back towards inertia.

I've not written for a while, mostly because work has picked up and my responsibilities have made it more difficult for me to find the time. Sometimes I have a quiet moment and I reflect, finding a kernel of truth that would make an interesting post but then the epiphany fades, evaporates in front of me and there is nothing I can do to keep the thought whole and cogent. I am left with fragments that make no sense.

Tonight, however, I feel compelled to put my thoughts to page, to keep the discipline and to write my thoughts before they, too, disappear.

Think of a person sitting alone at a table, with a chessboard in front of him. He ponders his options, knowing that there are more chess moves available to him towards the end-game than there are grains of sand on any beach. But he cannot plot his way through the game, because he doesn't know who is he playing against, and thus cannot predict victory or defeat. And yet he must move, because the alternative is not to play - a form of defeat.

So he moves, and a counter-move appears. Now the person knows he has an opponent, but still there is no necessary sign of intelligence or personality in the move. It is just a counter-move. The person moves again, and again a counter-move appears, this time it appears that the opposing player, however invisible, is playing against him to some degree. The person thus sits back in his chair and ponders his next move. The person makes a clever decision and appears to have the early advantage. He sits back, satisfied at his cleverness and foresight in planning.

Then something happens. The chess board disappears and a new chess board appears. The person's moves are still on the board, but the opposing chess pieces are arranged differently, so the advantage has disappeared, and still there is no opponent. Then another chess board appears next to the first. And another chess board appears. And another. More moves to make, more decisions. Still no opponent in sight. And yet the person must continue to move.

Too many moves, too many choices, too few options, no goal, no opponent.

This is how I see life at the moment. We choose a path, and we are forced into situations that are beyond our control. Even if chance and circumstance favors us, we are still playing in a game that has no opponent and no point. There is no victory to be had, because there are always more chess boards, and to stop playing is to resign.

This is life without God.

But, let's say that we add God to the picture here. Now, there IS an opponent. That opponent is me. I am thus playing against myself, and again, there cannot be a victory because either way, I will lose.

What is the point then? Well, the Christian would point out that adding God to the equation changes things infinitely, because God can take us out of the pointless game and into something that is meaning-full. Sounds good, sounds very good. Where it was impossible to stop playing, and where it was impossible to win, now, with God, the impossible becomes possible.

But there is a catch. The catch is, we have to admit defeat, and we have to understand that chess isn't the only thing that is out there. To a chess player, this is a tough pill to swallow. We have to give up playing chess altogether, because it is a pointless game, and we have to admit that everything that we have strived for, everything that we have put our energy toward, has been fruitless on their own.

It is possible that God might have us continue to play chess, but the play would have an entirely different focus. It is possible that we might never play chess again. But regardless, the focus turns away from the chessboard and towards a Power, a Universe, a Creator who knows better.

Yet to a chess player who has only known chess, the risk is high. It may be more palatable to play against the unknown, than it is to live in a world with God where the opponent can only be yourself. At least then, you would not be to blame.

And yet to change, to become more or to become different, in the very least, is the essence of the conflict. At least you would still remain you, the person that you know, if there were no God. But to have God in the very midst of us demands choice. The universe screams the decision into my ears on a daily basis, and I can barely think with all the noise. How can one make a choice without knowing what the consequences will be?

It is easier, then, maybe, to not think so much.

-David

On Joy and Love

So here I sit at my desk, thinking on rather large ideas - love, joy and God. Reading John Piper scarcely helps me, confounding my reason and experience. I have to sit back and rethink my own life and attempt a new paradigm of existence. It is no small thing to do, and I've been sitting here for a while now.

John Piper defines love as thus: "the overflow of joy in God that meets the needs of others." (page 139, of Desiring God, Meditations of a Christian Hedonist." John Piper thus takes an idea, joy, and finds it in all things and in all people. As an epitome, Piper describes how the Creator's feeling of joy is transformed into an action that cascades down and assists those in want, those who are incomplete. Love is born out of joy. The action begins with a feeling.

Man, this is a difficult concept indeed. To be blunt, reading John Piper is like trying to eat a banana underwater. Every bite I take my mouth fills with things that I do not wish to swallow, and I end up most times with a watery banana mash in my mouth that I cannot choke down for fear of drowning. I've spent more time fighting with the water than tasting the banana. Not a good way to eat, not if you are hungry. If I were John Piper's editor, I would cry out, "John! I like my banana without the water! Get rid of the water!"

I think the problem lies in part in our (or my) brand of thinking. It lies in the way we have been trained to think on things. We have been trained in the art of conflict. Now, conflict has but two sides - the side you are on, and the other side is everything and everyone else that is not on your side. The binary is easy to understand, and we are trained thus since the beginning. When a child is given a toy, the child thinks, "this toy is mine." And when the parent takes it away, the child then understands, "that toy is no longer mine." The toy then represents the totality of what the child knows - what is his, and what isn't his. Trying to squeeze joy into our idea of the relationship between and among ourselves, and between ourselves and God, is difficult when we see things in binary.

So too is it with our conception of sin. We define God as sinless, the embodiment of being Perfect. And everything that is not with God, then, is sinful. For if it were not of sin, it would be with God and it would be part of God.

So what then are we? Are we with God or are we without? Can we be part of God and part not? I do not think this is possible, for God cannot co-exist with Sin. In our existence, we are either part of God or we are not. And in this perception, so we are separated from God by our own actions and thoughts. We are Sinful, and Fallen. We are without God. It is the height of the depths of Existentialism - that we are alone and without help. And joy falls aside, for where is joy when we are alone? Joy merely is a pleasure concept designed to numb us from the reality of abandonment that screams in our ears.

Then, how is it possible to Love? Again, we turn to the Bible and the words of the Son. And Jesus said unto the Pharisees, who asked him what the Greatest Commandment is, "And he said to him, 'You shall love the Lord Your God with all of your heart, and with all of your soul, and with all of your mind.' This is the Greatest Commandment. The second is like it, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' On these two commandments depend the whole Law and the Prophets.'" (Matthew 22:37-40, NASB). Now, there's a concept we can grasp in our binary mind. We understand love, because it pulls us like gravity toward each other. And yet we fail to see how all this is possible.

And yet we remain steadfast in our perceptions. The love that we have inside of us, is the foundation for all of the Commandments; it is the foundation for all of the structure of how we should live, for all of the things that God's Chosen has said to us. And yet, still, we are apart from God. And yet again, we are still embodied with the ability to Love. As sinful as we are, as fallen though we might be, we still have the most critical element to bring us closer to God. Again, how is this possible?

So, again, we turn to the Bible. Paul writes in 1Corinthians 13, "But now faith, hope and love, abide these three; but the greatest of these is love." Faith, we need for redemption. Hope, we need to live another day. And love? What is love that puts the other two on a lower rung?

I'll repeat now, John Piper's definition of love: "the overflow of joy in God that meets the needs of others." Love starts as a feeling that God has within Him. But God's feeling IS God. God's joy is God, because it is a part of Him. Another way to say what Piper states, then, is "the overflow of God is what meets the needs of others, and this is what we call love." We can simplify this, by saying "God, in a state of joy, meets our needs, and this is love." The reason why love is the greatest Commandment of all, the foundation for all things, is because the foundation for all things is God.

And then the truism reveals itself. We are not alone in this world; we are not helpless in this world; we are made part of God by the thing that is within us that has always been a part of God. We are with God when we love, and we feel the thing that God feels, and that is joy. We are not alone then! We are connected FIRST by joy!

This is the rebuttal to those who do not believe, or who do not know - all human beings are connected to God, and to each other, through joy. And through joy, we are able to love. And through love, God meets our needs. This is why love outstrips faith, without which we fail at redemption. This is why love outreaches hope, without which we may not live out the day. Love is what makes us a part of God, what turns us away from Sin.

It is a rather telling commentary that we as believers need a book written, for Christians to understand joy, to jostle us into awareness at how things really are. What Piper wants us to understand what we already have inside of us waiting to for us to see. Joy is what connects us together, what brings us closer to God. Love is the action that comes from joy, and what makes us be with God.

We are not alone, and we are not helpless in this world. If we must see things in binary, then, let us see things as thus - Man is given the ability to feel, to experience joy, because it is the prerequisite for the action of love, for what brings us back to God. To be a Christian Hedonist is really just to be a Christian with your eyes open. We should seek joy, we should, in the words of Cathy who quoted Robert, we should fight for it. We are really fighting for us to be with God.

Finally, let me say this. Paul wrote in 1Cor. 13:2, "if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing." The connection between God and ourselves does not come through faith. It comes through love. And it is love that drives us to be a part of Him. But love that comes without joy is also nothing, because Joy is what is a part of God, and it is this feeling that we should feel, to make us to love not only each other, but God. This banana tastes good, trust me.

-David

In Memoriam

When a person passes from this life into the next, the family and the friends of the one who leaves them bereft of all but memories struggle to understand.

Joy turns into a hollow, empty space, and reason flees in the face of overwhelming sorrow, confusion and anger. What is left but to grieve, to hold the memory of the departed closer to our bosom than we had before the departure? How weak are those feelings that bubble forth from deep tragedy, impotent against the reality of life and death.

Comfort does not appear in the Bible, at least not to me. No, it is not the Bible that holds the faith that we will see the departed again. That faith must lie within us, and we cling to such faith because without it, all sense and logic turn to ashes just like the warming fire that must burn out when the fuel run outs. Comfort does not come in the masses of people that come to the door to offer condolences, again, not to me. Words of soothing and care will not bring back those we have lost, nor can they assuage the feelings hidden deep in the heart, feelings that cannot be expressed without also acknowledging the guilt of the guilty. We are always responsible for those we lose, and it is always our fault. Only God can forgive us for our sins, and only on Judgment Day will be freed from the chains of our own responsibility. Jesus Christ may save us from our mortal sinful selves, but responsibility remains until we face God and those who have already passed.

How then, really, can I restore my friend's life, my brother's life when he and his family have lost the bedrock of their lives? What can I do, but grieve silently and pray that God might bring blessing instead of pain to him who I love? Everything that I know, everything that I hold close to canon, all sound hollow coming from my lips. No lessons from the Book of Job, no comfort in words of Paul or in the songs of David. I refuse to engage in the knowledge of the mind when the pain lies in the heart.

We live in the darkest of times, when life moves so quickly that we are young and innocent one day, and old men and women the next. And in between such days, there is nothing but clutter and noise, need and want. In the blink of an eye, we find ourselves missing out on a lifetime of our families, the bonds of blood and friendship that we have taken for granted up until the moment we realize how fragile our mortal bodies really are.

Why does it take the passing of a life of one close to us, to realize the preciousness of God's gift? Every day, hundreds and thousands of random people around the world are brought to finality, and we do not notice or spend a second moment to reflect. Does it really have to take the ripping out of pieces of our hearts, to heed God's warning to us all?

And so, I sit here and write. Nearby, my friend and brother sits grieving with his family for a father departed before so much life that could have been. And nothing that I can do will take away the pain, the torment, the guilt and the fear that must be. I am broken, and yet I can only pray that God would first take care of my brother before me.

-David