A Carol

"Hallelujah, Humiliation"

Equality with Deity
He did not seek to grasp.
Instead He donned man's flesh upon
Himself, His love His clasp.

Through labor pains to stable plain
Was Infinite confined,
Corporeal, memorial
Of God's plan for mankind.

Hallelujah, humiliation!
He put Himself to degradation.
Hallelujah, humiliation!
The stepping down, the Incarnation.

Heaven's beloved, the nature of
A servant did betake,
Obedient and lenient
For Law and grace's sake.

This awesome goal gave Jesus' soul
Abode in Bethlehem:
The Son of God with flesh was shod
To save the souls of men.

Hallelujah, humiliation!
He put Himself to degradation.
Hallelujah, humiliation!
The stepping down, the Incarnation.

Now, Christians, all hark to His call
To follow His Advent.
He will robe you in bodies new
To pass through firmament.

Hallelujah, the restoration!
His remnant is a new creation.
Hallelujah, the restoration!
Salvific love, propitiation.

Goodness

I like making theories.  In a high school class entitled "human behavior," I'd make up theories about psychology.  One, which I'm pretty sure was wrong, was that each person can only retain a set amount of knowledge, and their personality is totally based on the knowledge retained from their first years of childhood.  It's bogus.  In college, I tried to limit myself to theories on history.  I had a good one in my "History of China" class, but I'm not terribly interested in Chinese history, so I used it in a paper and promptly lost the data.  Teaching has led me to come up with some educational theories, the main one being that learning has almost nothing to do with the teacher (I know it's not true, but sometimes I wonder...).  Mostly, though, my life experience deals with being a Christian, so I've made plenty of theological theories.  One of these, and I think lots of Christians share it, is that Christians go through phases of being taught certain lessons, to the point that most believers can say "God has really been teaching me _____________ lately."

Well, God has really been teaching me that He is the Author of Goodness.  I've spent the last year and a half or so thinking of Christianity as a privileged duty.    I've been thinking in terms of my response and not in terms of God's grace.  I act as though my faith starts with God but ends with me.  In reality, my faith starts with God and ends with God, extending an undeserved and unreturnable grace to me.  I'm starting to understand the answer in the Westminster Catechism to the question of "What is the chief end of man?"

Answer:  Man's chief and highest end is to glorify God and fully enjoy Him forever.

In Stephen Lawhead's book series The Song of Albion, the Celtic characters sometimes refer to God is the "Gifting-Giver."  Should I meet God on a mountain, I want it to be Calvary and not Sinai.

Adam of the Amazon

Standing on the peak of a South American mountain, overlooking the Amazon, I felt the same feeling as when I viewed the source of the Nile in Africa, the one Mark Twain writes about as he stands in the ancient city of Tangier, Morocco, in The Innocents Abroad.  I was too modern to juxtapose myself with this place.  My blue jeans, faded by manufacturers more than wear, clashed with the endless jungle.

Longing to be Adam, to be a part of the pristine world, I removed my clothing.  My attempt to be a part of a fall-less world was impaired, however, by the trail behind me.  Someone might come, might laugh, might feel embarrassed.  Someone might see me.  I took a quick glance around and slipped my legs back into my pants.  I couldn't stand there in "all my glory," because I was no longer glorious.  I was not Adam of the Amazon; I was a tourist from a broken world.

The desire to regain that place, to stand in Adam's steps, is one I feel no shame in possessing.  But the shame itself is another thing.  Meditating on this experience, I am forced to see that my own humiliation is nothing compared to the Incarnation, let alone the Crucifixion.  And because of that, a brighter glory is ahead, one with white robes to wear, with a more pristine world to stand proudly in.

"A Lover is like Narcissus"

A lover is like Narcissus

Or Eros to Psyche.

In offering his love the best,

He says, "The best is me!"

But how can man this justify

If first he loves his brother?

One cannot love a plural first

Unless the self is other.

Disgusted at lovers' conceits,

We leave them to our loss.

But self-love finds a selfless place

In the Man Upon the Cross.

Augustine

I was reading through the old saint's Confessions this morning, and I came upon an interesting little section. I'd quote it and let you love it, but I left it at home, so I'll just paraphrase.

Basically, Augustine was talking about how it's not wrong to love "corporeal objects." Rather, our love of all worldly things is good, because it makes us love the Giver more. Only in our self-deception can we ever love the object without giving glory to its Maker, and so, Augustine says, go on and love the world appropriately.

I usually just can't do that. I really like a lot of things. I love backpacking, but half the time, I only love it because it makes me feel cool. I like writing, even writing about how wonderful God is, but I often turn to scholarship or style instead of the Author of all things good.

I read a little Decartes the other day, and he was talking about purging himself of all things that are doubtable so he can start over fresh. I'd sometimes like to purge myself of all loves that are empty on their own and be made new. But I've already been made new. Weird.

"The Healing Pool of Belcedare"

I raised my king to his riding chair,
And the destination, far from there,
Was the Healing Pool of Belcedare.

My king, who once looked bright and fair,
Had caught the gorgon's diseased stare.
He now sat tethered to his chair
Till he reached the Pool of Belcedare.

In all Creation, nothing's so rare
As the Gift that springs to acrid air,
The water from that ancient lair
Of life. And every bather will Heaven spare
In the Healing Pool of Belcedare.

The monarch bearing with much care,
I crossed through plains and deserts bare;
We took straight paths, climbed each steep stair.
At last arrived, we caught a glare
Making red the water flowing there
In the Healing Pool of Belcedare.

The deep maroon gave me a scare,
But the king he bade me to prepare
For his descent from the riding chair.
Toward the flow, like colt to mare,
The king he crawled. His robes did tear,
And in he fell, broke body bare,
To the Healing Pool of Belcedare.

My heart could burst; my king was where?
Had to his death I led him there?
Then I heard laughter in a blare
Of royal noise, and I gave up care.
"Come, friend," spake king, "wherefore despair?
Just scrub your face and wash your hair
In the blood that makes the foulest fair.
I am healed at the Pool of Belcedare!"

You can figure out the allegory.

Some Pleasurable Snippets

I thought I'd entertain with a few words from my students.  Grammatical errors have been corrected.  These come from tests, papers, and class discussions:

From an extra-credit assignment:  

"The War of 1812 was fought between two well-known countries which had fought several times before:  the United States of America and Great Britain."  

For those of you who are unaware of this, the US had only fought Britain in the Revolution.

From a paper on the Second Great Awakening:  

"A refunding disposition was in progress."

I simply have no idea what that could possibly mean.

From a Bible Quiz:

Q:  Do Jesus and Nicodemus discuss any of the "Ultimate Questions" of Origin, Identity, Meaning, Morality, or Destiny?  Explain.

A (Student 1):  You are a Spirit of God.  

A (Student 2):  They discuss that Christianity is real.

While I do appreciate that one of my students thinks I am a Spirit of God, and although I am willing to admit that my students might use phrases (like "refunding disposition") that I am unfamiliar with, I must say, these kids make me feel pretty smart sometimes.

Servants Indentured and Beggars Relieved

"Each man is a slave to his own spirit."

During the days of Thomas Edison and Henry Ford, hard work was the high moral, the principle behind the Greatest Commandment of the spirit of the age.  The Classical Era has been cited as a time when beauty was held in highest reverence.  Tolerance and equality command the pens of today's historians, and we think in terms of ourselves.  And how could we not?  

The great issue of all time has been personal liberty, and it has never been achieved, nor (praise Heaven) will it be, in the modern sense.  The list of totalistic libertarians stretches from Adam to Judas to me, and yet each man (including my students, with little prompting) can recognize the fact that he is enslaved.  The high vocabulary includes "success" and "adventure" and "love," but each of these has taken on a personal meaning and lost its value.  Should I be a slave to any of these things, as many are, indeed, my life will be an enslavement to my own selfish spirit.

When I discussed this with my students, they said that we choose our masters.  I didn't bring up God's sovereignty with them, because they mostly aren't Christians and are being evangelized to.  That'd be like saying, "Become a Christian; you might do it anyway."  However, I feel that a short mention of it is appropriate here.  Will we indeed be slaves to God of His choosing?  I certainly believe so!  For I cannot change my blemished spirt for His Holy Spirit.  The desire to do so doesn't even originate in me.  But I am an indentured servant to the Man of the Cross, doing His work and set free to exist as is right.  

Mundane?

What a gift it is to be a Christian, to be saved, to be free!  To live out a story of infinite adventure among people of infinite value wherein the real Protagonist is infinitely good, that is what I want to be a part of.  And I am!  Hemingway covers the idea this way:  "All good books have one thing in common - they are truer than if they had really happened."

Now, I don't think that ol' Ernest is being postmodern or is executing historical philosophy here, but I do think he's saying something about the reality presented in the great stories.  These are the ones where we feel deep connection, where we long for the ultimate defeat of the bad guy, and where we stand alongside the hero.  When we admire Beowulf, when we despise Voldemort, when we observe the heroic end of Arthur, we are seeking deeper realities than mundane, scheduled life.

Today, in Life of Christ, I was introducing my students to the calling of the disciples.  If only they could see that these stories are just colorful blips on the radar of our stories, what then? Going on from there, if we'd realize that our stories are just pixels on the IMAX screen of God's story, how much more joyful, more essential, more alive would each of our actions be!

At least I'm learning something...

According to my government students, I must be the best Bible teacher ever.

According to my Bible students, I might not even teach Bible.

I'm not too worried about that, though.  I really am enjoying working through the life of Christ and giving my 10th grade students mini-sermons that I think are synoptically snazzy.  I was teaching about the baptism of Christ today, and I really learned a lot from it.  I'm not sure if they did or not, but the homework pretty much reiterates the whole point, so whatever.

I was talking about how baptism has its roots in the Jews baptizing Gentiles into the Promise, which has its roots in the Jews passing through the Red Sea.  Now, I've argued fairly thoroughly with Ben Johnson about baptism, whether babies should be baptized or not, and, as I told my students today, I'm not terribly worried about that question compared to the understanding of the symbolism.  Let's take a quick look at the ol' passage through that Arabian body of water:

The Jews were coming out of Egypt, where they were in slavery, led by Moses, the soon-to-be lawgiver, into the Promised Land (if only they'd go in).  What would this possibly picture on a deeper level?  Well, I thought about it in the way I figured Jud Davis, my New Testament professor would, and I came up with something that seems fairly legitimate.  Passage from slavery through the law into the Promise.  That's what goes on.  Now, Moses doesn't get people into the Promised Land, because they're too scared to enter.  However, the Fulfillment of the law brings everyone into the ultimate Promised Land.

Get it?  Jesus' baptism is a picture of our salvation!  I don't think I did any sketchy Bible work to see that; the picture is slavery to promise, and as John the Baptizer says, Jesus' baptizes us not with water, but with the Holy Spirit.

Well dip me or sprinkle me, but I want some of that.

Runner's High for the second time.

Last night, I went for a run, following the setting sun into the Western frontier and all that, and the sky was just beautiful.  The colors here, as Amy and I marvel at time and again, are consistently unbelievable (sounds like an oxymoron, I know).  As I ran, I noticed that I'd reached a point where I didn't feel the pain anymore, and I recalled the first time that had happened.

I was running to work one morning in Rwanda, my iPod in my ear, looking pretty outlandish to the locals, and it was shuffling from one song about the Gospel to another.  I was getting pretty excited, and I remember thinking "I don't think I can usually run this fast, this long."  Well, I did.  And I passed Kim and Trigger as they were walking, and I said something that made them respond in a way that said I was not acting normal, especially for someone running in the morning that close to the Equator.

The same things was going on this time.  Ipod in, Jars of Clay blasting my eardrums, and I was thinking about the chapel presentation I'm giving tomorrow.  But I was listening to these songs about running away from Someone who just wants to love me, and I kept thinking, "Why do I always concentrate on the harshness of the Gospel?  The truth is grace and freedom!"

I don't think it's just because I was having runner's high for the second time that I thought that; I think God was really trying to remind me that the Sabbath is made for man, not man for the Sabbath:

Eternity is a gift for us, and that truth is fundamental to understanding before you start thinking about sacrificing all of yourself.

In Suriname, by Providence

In Suriname, by Providence, my restive strength was beached.

What was the lesson, Providence, You fore-ordained to teach?

I seek to own, by charity, whatever You bestow

For all from You is charity, since You came here below.

Pray, break me through, Omnipotence, that I no longer dream

Of aught but You Omnipotent; remove my optic beam.

When all that's left is faithfulness, Your own image divine

Will fly forth from my faithfulness, because it is not mine.

So I will aid in Suriname as acts Your church commutes,

Until, when they say "Suriname," I hear Your attributes.

And yes, that is a Shakespearean sonnet in iambic heptameter.

The Christian Goal of the Eight-Fold Path

Today, I practiced a learning exercise that really does a lot for me: teaching. I did teach six times today, actually, but there was one main point at which I was really getting something from what I said. Hopefully, the students found my insight more valuable.

In world history, I covered the foundations of ancient India and China. This required a little on the Indo-Aryans, a little on the Huang river, and a lot on Hinduism and Buddhism. I was particularly interested in teaching this as I have a student whose mother is a Hindu, which is the basis for her own "faith." Well, I explained the basic teaching of the fragmentation of the Brahman and the karmatic cycle of reincarnation and the caste system and did a decent job of laying out the rudiments in the time I had. I went on to Buddhism, and I was talking about the "Noble Eight-Fold Path" when I said something I hadn't thought of before:

"See, the whole point of the eight-fold path is to get rid of desires. You can compare this to the Christian doctrine of dying to self."

Whoa, whoa, hang on, Conner. I'd just stumbled upon the idea that the main ethical teaching of Buddhism is comparable to salvific and sancitific principles in Christianity. But the whole point is totally backwards.

In Buddhism, the goal is to lose oneself in the One, the Life Force, the Brahman. To become nothing. In Christianity, the goal is to unite with the One, the Godhead, the Christ. To become whole.

While both religions teach a strange sort of brokenness (fragmentation in one, fallenness in the other), one teaches total annihiliation as the ultimate good, and one teaches total glorification as the ultimate good. Huge.

New blog

First things first: Amy and I now have a blog with current events in our lives. This way, you can see what's going on without having to muddle through all my thoughts on this blog. The URL is: http://connerandamyarmstrong.blogspot.com/

And now to the thoughts that you're welcome to muddle through.

My subject today is all my hope and yet I feel like I'm only reconciled to it, not really hoping in it: Heaven.

"When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it." Matt. 13:46


I talked about this passage in my Bible class yesterday, mainly because I have one student in there who thinks that the Bible is plausibly true but is not going to throw his life into it, at least not yet. As you and I are well aware, this is problematic. You can't think the Bible is true and not put your faith in it. As Sheldon VanAuken writes in A Severe Mercy, "No one is incidentally a Christian." No, this pearl is not for putting on the shelf and looking at. It is the thing for which we get rid of all others to own. He sold everything so he could own a pearl of infinite value. He gave it all up.

And that's our calling. My calling is to forget my dreams and dream a better one. As I wrote in my poem, a few blogs below, "There are higher mountains in Heaven than the ones you've missed." But the ones I've missed here on earth on the ones I feel for. My calling is to admit the ache I have for the things I sojourn with on earth and pass them by for the Pearl of Greatest Price.

I don't understand why it's so hard to choose Something that's better anyway.

How graceful should I be with myself?

I remember a speaker at the Catalyst conference last October saying something about how, "If we are going to give God the glory for everything good, why do we always blame ourselves for something bad?"  I've not fully digested this question, yet, but I'm going to try to consider it via blog.

The reason I ponder it is because of my classes.  They haven't been bad.  They've actually been pretty good for the most part.  But I do have some students who don't speak English very well, and I get a lot of blank stares every time I explain an assignment (usually for the fourth or fifth time).  If they're not understanding what I'm saying when I give instructions, I wonder what they are understanding the rest of the time I'm teaching.

And I find it a little hard not to blame myself for it.  Maybe I'm just not good at explaining things.  Maybe my assignments are not good for high school students.  They sound easier than college stuff and seem to still force thought, but it just doesn't seem to get through.  But I know God could make people understand what I'm saying.

I just wonder, if I'm to give God the glory for everything good, what should I do with everything bad?  I know blaming Him is wrong.  Maybe I should just lift it before Him more.  Pray more.  Care more beforehand and less afterwards.  Reminds me of something from the "Worldview and Life" conference:

"For us, there is only the trying.  The rest is not our business."

-T. S. Eliot

Teaching the Life of Christ

We're here in Suriname now, and classes start on Monday.  I'm teaching four social studies classes, drama, and a course on the Life of Christ.  Yikes.

In my Life of Christ syllabus, I have written the following statement:

"The study of the life of Christ is an all-encompassing study of life, as revealed through the One who has always lived and came to live among us as an example."

As I have a pretty free reign with this class (my only criteria being that I follow the Bible, use some real curriculum often, and do not stray from biblical teaching), I'm pretty excited to be able to teach the basic idea for a biblical worldview.  As we would try to teach on the worldview team, all the ultimate questions (Where did we come from?  What does it mean to be human?  What is the purpose of our lives?  How, then, should we live?  What happens after this life?) are answered in the person of Jesus Christ.

I'll be trying to tackle the concept of Christ the Eternal Second Person of the Trinity in this first week.  Look out, theology!

Christian at the house of Interpreter

I'm reading Pilgrim's Progress now; I haven't gone over it since I was quite small, and it's so good.  I don't read a lot of Christian literature, and I know that's a fault, but I don't have any trouble with Bunyan's classic.

The part I was reading last night contained the story of Christian at the house of Interpreter.  The protagonist walks through the house and is presented with all sorts of symbolism that will help him on his way to the Celestial City.  One of these images is that of two little boys, Patience and Passion.

" 'Their governess wants them to wait for their best things until next year,' says Interpreter, 'but Passion wants all his best things now; while Patience is willing to wait.'

Then one came to Passion and poured out at his feet a bag of treasures which he quickly gathered into his arms with great joy.  He laughed loudly and made fun of Patience.  But soon he wasted everything he had received, and had nothing left but an empty bag.' "

This passage hinted to me at the Prodigal Son, but a few paragraphs later, Interpreter points at that this is like the Rich Man and Lazarus.  Reading that section of Luke 16, you can see that the rich man "was clothed in purple and fine linen and feasted sumptuously every day."  He chose his comforts and lived on his passions, while Lazarus suffered.  And Lazarus' joys didn't get touched by "moth and rust."

I think about "Your Best Life Now" and cringe, because that's what the rich man had.  I think about being called to a place where we suffer and feel like we're missing out on life, but really, our joy is not in this world.  I wish we'd all stop looking for it here.

Behold the Man

Behold the master with his paint;
Behold the fencer with his feint.
Behold the skill, then look again:
Look past it still; behold the man.

Behold the Muslim with his prayer;
Behold the Socialist, his welfare.
Behold the views, then look again:
Look farther still; behold the man.

Behold the savage with his spear;
Behold the coward with his fear.
Admit the faults, but look again:
Behold them all; behold the men.

Behold the dirty with his mud;
Behold the hungry with his cud.
Behold your spite, then look again:
Behold His face; behold the Man!

Some Lyrics About Calling

I'm tired of fitting in.
I'm tired of being one of a crowd.
I want to move to the Equator,
Hear Kipling shout my name out loud.

Dream on, little boy,
You're not Hemingway or Dr. Livingstone.

I want to climb the mountain peaks.
I want to leave this all behind.
I want to laugh when I am achy.
I want to overcome my mind.

Dream on, little boy.
You're not Hemingway or Dr. Livingstone.

Now your family's getting hungry as you climb Kilimanjaro.
Why don't you do what you are here for, get your mind out of tomorrow.

And dream on, little boy.
There are higher mountains in Heaven than the ones you've missed.

I'm tired of giving up
All my favorite childhood schemes.
But I know there's something better
Than my technicolor dreams.

Now that I'm married...

I've heard a lot of fascinating things happen when you get married: life starts making sense, you realize all your spouse's faults, you feel more confident, and you start learning all sorts of stuff about God.

Maybe I'm just an idiot, or Amy and I have been doing something wrong, but none of those things really jump out at me from two weeks later. I like being married a lot, prefer it, even, but I don't really feel like co-habitation and all that goes with it (that is, the practical side of marriage) has really given me any new wisdom. I'm just trying to love Amy's all, and I just have more opportunities now.

We were talking about sacrificing the other day, because we both have heard that it's pretty essential to marriage, and we've done our share of it in dating, and some in our short time of matrimony. Anyway, we were talking about how sacrifice and forgiveness are sort of the ultimate sides of selfless love, and I thought I'd mention somebody who really inspires me.

My friend Kyle is one of the most mercurial people I've ever met, but that doesn't mean I find much in him to dislike. He's had some tough times with his family, and that's really where I've been able to observe the most Christ-like love I've ever seen. I was sitting with Kyle and two other friends on the back of his houseboat at Easter, and we were discussing the "greatest things we'd ever done." None of us could really think of anything great we'd done, but Kyle, after a long silence which I thought meant he assumed the question was kind of dumb, spoke up with, "The greatest thing I've ever done is forgiving my Dad."

And it was the hardest thing he'd ever done. It's a scary hope, but I hope that I can, someday, love like Kyle has loved. He's getting married tomorrow, and I can't think of a luckier girl than his bride. Congratulations, guys.

Moaning Over the Nativity

Friday morning on my way to lunch, I was getting thoroughly annoyed with the constant sound of commercials coming from the radio, so I flipped to the classical station, where the songs are so long that the odds are against tuning into a commercial.  I had just enough time to hear "And this is his Nativity Overture" before the music began.

The first few notes sounded from the strings section, low and ominous.  A sad, slow air came from the flutes, and the rest of the orchestra eventually mourned along.  I was feeling sufficiently somber, and then I remembered that the song was called "The Nativity."  I thought, "Wait a second!  This is no ordinary carol.  Not a whole lot of good Christian men rejoicing here."  I had to consider why the Nativity would be such a sad song.

The normal scandal of being born in a stable hit me, and that was sad enough, I guess.  But I think there is a definite scandal to the whole Incarnation, even without the Crucifixion and torture and hate.  I'm thinking about the Light being dimmed so it can be seen by all men.  I'm considering what it means for the Son of God to be contained.  No wonder the gnostics couldn't handle the idea of the Word becoming flesh.  He reigns supreme over the Cosmos, and yet He made his dwelling with us.

I don't think the sadness is a result of these things alone, though.  Whenever someone is obviously humble, it produces a sort of tension between jaw-dropping and mouth-shutting.  I think when we look at a major step in the Greatest Humility we should feel a sort of sadness.

But I still can't help admiring the Joy brought To The World.

Out of Focus

A friend was saying the other day how common it is for people, particularly Christians to go "out on the range, just looking for a fence to be on one side of."  I think people just focus on the wrong things.  In this illustration, people are focusing on theology rather than God.

I really believe that focusing on anything rather than the Person(s) of the Trinitarian God leads us to get some pretty screwy ideas.  What's the problem with the cults?  They focus too much on the unity of God or the mission of the church and forget about the Person of Christ.  Or Christian groups will forget put evangelism before love.  And it really gets messed up when people start thinking they have this "key idea."

I love thinking about stuff that's philosophical and theological.  It's not only a good way to recognize God, but it makes me feel smart and cool.  I just get so mixed up in the ideas (even the good ones) sometimes that I just think of God as an idea, as opposed to the Ultimate Reality.  I love the reason so much that I forget the fact that it's existential.

I Have Scorned The Deeper Dealings

This is a poem I wrote about self-denial.

I have scorned the deeper dealings in dark Amsterdam's dread dens.
I have prated on the prairies; I have fasted in the fens.
Now, still, I seek that fruit where all joy's beginning's end,
And You are here and love and great,
Offering grace in Your mandate.
How can I deny the body unless you snatch me and transcend?

You have loved the deeper dealers in dark Amsterdam's dread dens.
You were broken in the brooks; You were fettered in the fens.
You have offered bread and wine, that my meets its end.
And You are here and love and vision,
Offering grace in Your commission.
I will step into the world, if Your hands my knees will bend.

Wading, Wading

I'm trying to understand what's important, what I need to focus on.  I spend so much of my time looking at things that will affect me for a little while and so little looking at the Cross.

I wonder, often enough, what I'm supposed to be looking toward.  The plot of the Bible seems to be the building of the Kingdom, so I guess that's what Earth's for.  I really hope that my life can be about that too.  If I try to find a plot in my life, it looks more like Kerouac in On The Road, just a guy sort of wandering.  I don't think I'll ever be that immoral, but I do think that if I don't stay focused, I could be like Hemingway in The Snows of Kilimanjaro.  Empty.

But how am I a part of this holy enterprise?  Can I contribute?  I wonder if my greatest contribution will be just getting out of the way.

When we lived in Brush Creek, Dad had this long wall he was building out of rocks.  There were a bunch of them in the area from the old, old days, and he loved them, and so he was building one behind our house.  It helped stop the erosion, too.  Anyway, I remember this one time Cameron and I were out that trying to help, and there was this big rock in the ground the was pointed all the wrong way, and we couldn't lay any stones on top of it.  This was a huge rock, too.  In the end, all we could do was work forever to get it out of the groud so the wall could be built right.  I wonder if some people are like that rock, and their greatest success is being moved.  And it's not their success at all, but the Builder's.

Not exactly an epic role, I know.  But then again, maybe my story shouldn't be epic.  My story should just be a part of His.

Overcome

Blogging's funny. I sort of philosophize about whatever's going on. Well, right now, fear's going on. Paralyzing, unholy fear.

Let me lay down the stats:
3 - hours I spend a day looking for a job
4 - nights in the last week where I've had trouble falling asleep because of worry about getting a job.
3 - Interviewers or resume reviewers who have told me I am unqualified (which I can't blame them for; I am.)
100% - of my recent prayers have ended with me forgetting that I'm praying and continuing to worry. Even if I'm praying about being faithful to God.

I don't know why we do this as humans. I mean, if there's one theme I want to have in this blog, it's that I try to look at things from Eternity's angle. But sometimes I just straight up don't believe in that stuff. I believe strongly in schedules and friends and deadlines and incompetence and very little in God's faithfulness. And that's just unrealistic.

A good view would hold worry as a pathetic and prideful thing, one that seeks to have everything in the person's control yet recognizes the lack of ability to control these things. A good view would recognize the fact that God leads the universe like a conductor a symphony, and the right sound comes out, even though that violinist in the back doesn't have a clue what he's doing.

But still the violinist sits and worries, not about how the band will sound, but about whether or not he'll be able to crescendo at the right time or play all those 32nd notes fast enough.

AND IT DOESN'T EVEN MATTER.

All I should do is be faithful to what God of Eternity has given me. Unfortunately, I'm more likely to succumb to the prince of this world.

Death and Divorce

I got this idea today while I was taking out the trash at work -

What if the reason we feel so much pain at people's passing has more to do with the picture of separation than it does with our own hurt?

To go on - the greatness of marriage lies in its picture of Christ and the Church in unity. That's why marriage is so beautiful, why everyone's so happy. Let's face it: John and Jane planning to spend a lot of time together is, in itself, just a very nice gesture on each individual's part. But the picture, that's the real deal.

So what if death is like that. Separation forever. Gone, and that relationship won't exist anymore. Looks a lot like a miniature picture of hell, eh?

That's all.

With A Little Help From My Friends

The Beatles -
"What do I do when my love is away?
Does it worry you to be alone?
How do I feel by the end of the day?
Are you sad because you're on your own?
No, I get by with a little help from my friends."

Amy's in Acapulco until April 23, and that's just downright strange. Not as strange as when I was in Rwanda and she wasn't around, but nearly. I'm so glad my friends are around. We've taken several late late night runs to the local "open all nite" establishment and made a video and just goofed off a lot in the past week, and I owe a lot to these guys. They're not making me avoid the recognition that Amy's gone, they're just trying to help me realize that there's a lot of other stuff going on in the world. It's a darned good perspective to have.

I remember, when Josh and I were rooming together, I'd get back from a long talk with Amy at 12:30 in the morning, and all I'd want to do was gripe and sleep. He always wanted to stay up and run around the dorms and do all sorts of things that people who are less than eight hours away from their first class of the morning should not do. But I almost always went along with him, mostly because he'd make me feel bad if I didn't, and I always was more able to look reasonably at whatever was upsetting me.

I think that's part of why we have other people around. God let's us see that all the stuff we're worried about isn't so terrible after all. Maybe, just maybe, we can even see, thanks to our friends, that there's Something much more important.

That said, I still miss Amy like crazy.

Seatbelts

I'll give our esteemed church father a break for awhile and comment on my own thoughts in relation to Rich Mullins.

I was driving over to Amy's place about a week ago, and as I rolled down the drive of my apartment, I started thinking, "Should I put on my seatbelt? It's only a couple miles..." I did buckle up, but I thought it strange that I should wonder about this. In the past, buckling my seat belt had been a natural thing. No thought involved. I just did what I should. However, as I've grown older, I've started thinking about most of the things I do before I do them, and that leaves me wondering whether the things I am doing are necessary. Even the good things.

Philosophy, sometimes I resent you. Would that I could return to the naturality of goodness! Instead, in an effort to give reason its fair due, I stop and think before even doing what I should. I wonder if that's what caused Eve to eat the forbidden fruit. This growing away from thoughtless good may lead me to a mature evil.

On the blog I had while in Rwanda, I quoted Rich Mullins's song "Growing Young," and I think that it applies here as well:

I've gone so far from my home

I've seen the world and I have known

So many secrets I wish now I did not know

'Cause they have crept into my heart

They have left it cold and dark

And bleeding,

Bleeding and falling apart

And everybody used to tell me big boys don't cry

Well I've been around enough to know that that was the lie

That held back the tears in the eyes of a thousand prodigal sons

Well we are children no more, we have sinned and grown old

And our Father still waits and He watches down the road

To see the crying boys come running back to His arms

And be growing young

Growing young

I don't think it's evil to think before I act. I just wish, rather, that I loved God so much my actions would flow from that. Maybe I should meditate more on his word than on my own attempts at understanding truth.

City of God, again

Man, I just can't get over Augustine. What a babe.

I just finished a paper on historian William Henry Chamberlain. Interesting enough. The really interesting part was talking about a quote I found:

"[The] most important [reason] of all, perhaps, is the inability of collective human intelligence and goodwill to cope with some of the problems which the modern age has posed. This, I believe, is the fundamental cause of the cyclical fall of civilizations throughout history after they have achieved a certain level of cultural and material accomplishment."[1]

So Chamberlain says the ultimate problem in the world is not loving our neighbors. So close. It reminds me of 1 John 4:7-8 "Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God, and anyone that loveth is born of God and knoweth God. He that loveth not, knoweth not God, for God is love."

And then there's Augustine. City of God. The whole book's about how Rome fell because the Romans were immoral and sought other things than God (as Adam Pontapea sort of notes in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers). Loving neighbors is great, and being your brother's keeper is unbelievably important, but you're just not doing it if you're not doing it because you love God.

Man, Augustine. Just won't leave me alone.



[1] William H. Chamberlain, The World’s Iron Age, (New York: 1941), quoted in Grace Isabel Colbron, Review [Untitled], American Journal of Economics and Sociology, Vol. 2, No. 4 (Jul., 1943), 574.

East and West

I've been praying and thinking a lot about the Muslim part of the lands around the Mediterranean lately. I'm not too positive why.

The East always holds the questions and the West offers the answers. At least, that's how I read it. The mystical oriental, the practical yank. Twain's character from Connecticut Yankee even begins his tale with something like "I am a yankee, and as practical and unsentimental as they come..." Western philosophy generally works for the natural world; Eastern looks completely past it. Hard to understand.

Please pray for me as I struggle with starting a career. I really want to serve God, and I'm so afraid of getting too caught up in life to admit that I, too, am supposed to be some kind of missionary. I just want to do what's right. I'm afraid that, out of a desire to take care of Amy, I'll settle for something that's adequate. She doesn't want anything close to that, but when we talk about what kind of material things will be necessary when we're married, I worry that we'll be too tied down to something unimportant to serve the only Thing that matters.

Maybe I should just head East, where people care less about this world. There's a definite truth to transcendentalism: we, for the most part, do not exist in permanence.