history of violence (part II) | the eighth month

What in me is dark

Illumine, what is low raise and support,

That to the height of this great argument
I may assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of G*d to men.

/John Milton                  

//

Tom White was 65 when he died. 

In May of 1979, White was captured and imprisoned in Cuba for his M work. Tom endured a year and a half of incarceration and torture before he was set free. After the successful reception of his book, G*d's Missiles Over Cuba,  White was launched into the Chr*stian public consciousness and became the executive director of Voice of the Martyrs--a well-known Chr*stian publication.  And under his leadership, the organization saw tremendous expansion.

But White's death wasn't from natural causes.  In the week prior to his death, an investigation had begun.  It seemed that Tom had molested a young girl.

She was 10.

She was 10, and Tom had committed suicide.

//

Logically, the problem of evil isn't terribly hard to overcome.  The thrust of the argument relies on the listener's inability to believe that actual evil and the Chr*stian G*d can coexist.  Like I outlined before, if evil exists, then an all-powerful/knowing/loving G*d could not. But why would that be the case? Because such a reality, one with evil, is obviously less ideal than the ultimately desirable reality that such a G*d, if He did exist, would desire to create.  This assertion pleads an obvious question: how is it possible to know that?  Plainly, it isn't.  But the tacit desire that lurks beneath the problem of evil's challenge is one worth questioning as well--that desire being to live in a world where evil is impossible.  While initially this notion could be considered a pleasant one, the principles that it would necessitate are far from pleasant.  In what world would evil not be possible? One without choice.  True...in a world without choice, men could never do evil.  Perhaps this could be considered more desirable.  But another basic question is potent here as well: but in what way is that more desirable?  I mean, what meaning would any action have, overall, if those actions were devoid of agency? 

Agency, a fancy word for choice, allows for what we understand to be an essential component of love--that being the choice not to love.  To me, compulsory love seems more akin to rape than romance.  Ergo (to use another fancy word), if you banish choice you banish evil--and consequently love; and how anyone can conclude with any kind of confidence that a world without love is superior to a world without evil is beyond me.

But perhaps all of this assumes that we've already agreed upon terms, and I don't think that assumption can be made.  I think a definition of good and evil would be pertinent at this point.  In a world where the Chr*stian G*d exists, good can be most aptly and succinctly defined as that which glorifies G*d.  Evil, then, would be those things that do not.  A notion that these would-be-evident definitions rely upon concerns the concept of relativity: G*d serves as point relative to which other points are deemed good or evil.   This is important to note for ohsomany reasons, but for our purposes one bears mention: it is impossible that G*d do/create evil, because He serves as the definer of good.  All definitions of good or evil that can used on G*d outside of direct comparison with Him are utterly useless, because they would be only effective in a postulated reality where there is a system of law and justice greater than not just us, but G*d himself.  And in such a reality, G*d ceases to be G*d actually, subservient to the rule of a greater Law.

But, at least according to our understanding, there is no such thing. 

It is precisely this fact of reality that Job, in squalor and misery, presents his friends with so that they might understand his very clear understanding of the Almighty.  He explains that G*d "is not a man, as I am, that I might answer him, that we should come to trial together.  There is no arbiter between us, who might lay his hand on us both."  If this is the case, then we must reconcile a reality in which a perfectly good maker began a series of events that led to evil manifested.  This reconciliation, daunting as it may be, fully relies on our understanding of how little we can understand.  It is fully possible that, since G*d being glorified is the greatest good, perhaps the choice of free beings to love (and not love) that G*d is the best possible means G*d can be glorified, and that instead of a reality with evil being somehow incongruous with a reality with good G*d, it is the expected consequence of a reality with a good G*d.  Perhaps, but we cannot know.  But ignorance is the expected plea from beings who are positioned as we are, given the limited intellect and knowledge we have.  Ignorance is the plea that must be made by thinking individuals, and, not only thinking individuals, but humble ones, too.

But of course, the efficacy of this rebuttal rests wholly on your ability to accept the existence of choice.  Now of course there are those, and those are legion, that to assert such a thing violates G*d's sovereignty.  I understand the contention, but I don't know if I agree.  I don't know that it's possible that liberated beings and a sovereign G*d could coexist in the same reality, but I don't know that's it's impossible either.  In fact, I have no idea how I could even make a determination.  That being the case, I feel relatively (fully, actually) at ease saying that I have as much reason to believe that it is the case as I have reason to believe anything else, and that based on my experience, I should side with the version of reality that best fits my data.

I think that reality implies a complex interplay of wills, divine and otherwise--that G*d works tirelessly to engineer righteous eventualities in opposition with unrighteous realities. 

//

Then the woman said, "Please let your servant speak a word to my lord the king." [David] said, "Speak."  And the woman said, "Why then have you planned such a thing against the people of God? For in giving this decision the king convicts himself, inasmuch as the king does not bring his banished one home again.  We must all die; we are like water spilled on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again. But God will not take away life, and he devises means so that the banished one will not remain an outcast."

//

The power of the problem of evil isn't necessarily embedded in logical impossibilities so much as it is emotionally distressing.  To try to understand the compatibility of ever-obvious present evil and an ever-present good G*d is a challenge and then some, but it really doesn't make a firm case for anything.  The problem is most provocative on an emotional level, not an intellectual one. But what is so ironic about that is how much more emotionally distressing the converse possibility is.  It is certainly hard to deal with an evil world and a good G*d, but it is even harder to deal with an evil world and nothing else. In fact, that depressing worldview becomes infinitely more so when the realization is made that it wouldn't actually be evil and no good G*d but that there would be no real reason to call anything evil or good.  The distinction would be purely arbitrary, and the moral difference between giving bread to a starving child and brutally killing the same kid would be nothing more than a product of your own meaningless mind, whose own significance is equally absurd to discuss because significance is, like good and evil, invented--not existent.  There will be no redemption, nor is it even possible, because there is nothing to be redeemed.  Evil, then, is just the word we use to describe the very natural, possibly infinite state of the universe.

For whom then, exactly, is the problem of evil a problem?

//

What seems to most challenging to believers, maybe more than anything else, is when supposed Chr*stians do confirmed evil.  But it's interesting that similar things didn't seem to bother J*sus: "'Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.  On that day many will say to me, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?'  And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.'"  It's an almost faith-annihilating thing when we mull over the evils done by those who claim to be followers, but I think it is our inherent idolatry of man that contributes the most to that power.

But to a certain extent, it may certainly feel justified.  After all, it is biblical to believe that believers stand for G*d, for it appear to Paul "as though God were making his appeal through us." But what must be looked out for is the subtle switch between advocate for G*d's case and substitute for G*d's person--something that I'll discuss another time.


What's most interesting about Chr*st's prophesy is how opposed it is to our own expectations.  I don't think surprise would have manifested on J*sus' face had the Tom White controversy exploded in C.E. 30 Palestine instead 2012 America.  Why would it?  The point of J*sus' point was to prevent any such bewilderment.  Instead of shock, the evil of "good" people is something to be expected.  In fact, according to His words, not only will evil be done by "good" people, but miracles as well.  The plain truth is that our confusion is a product of our own ignorance of the Word--not a contraction between reality and our knowledge of the W*rd.

//

In the winter of 1937 as the Japanese soldiers prepared to invade Nanking, Chinese nationals and westerners fled the city in droves.  Those that didn't, most of them, formed the "International Committee for the Nanking Safety Zone," and most of the members of that committee were m's.  As atrocities heaped unimaginable, these men and women saved an estimated 250, 000 lives. 

G*d was there in Nanking, evil in that slaughter full sick of sin.  G*d was there saving lives from the horrid-black violence of wicked men.

And He made is appeal through men.

//

12 am and I needed to go to sleep something awful.  I was drowsily piling covers on, convincing myself this was the place to be. For the past couple weeks, some weird philosophical depression had leaked into my consciousness.  Doubts and hard thoughts and the like. Sometimes being in the extreme minority with your convictions on important things makes your convictions on important things seem south of plausible, and you begin to ask yourself, as Musgrove would say, "Am I the crazy one?" 

But in that ohsoperfect timing that is a complex product of my perception and divine intervention, my phone rings. 

"David. What?"

"You want to skype with Matt?"

"Uh.....sure"

As I walk into David's room, I hear David and Matt talking, and I know something is up.  I get square with the computer screen and see ruffled but glorious Matt Witty, and he's beaming.

"Matt. What's up man?"

"Alex. I got saved."

 //

I don't think I can rightly describe the moment. I had talked to Matt for months--crap, years--about everything and G*d and the whole deal.  The last time I really talked to Matt before leaving for China he was in tears.  In tears because he could not believe in G*d.  He could not believe in a G*d that he had never experienced or known. 

To listen to Matt describe how that G*d become known...I can't say really...but I can tell you something else:  It was an answer for me like non other.  In that space and time I understood the infinite value of a single human life.  It's something I just don't think is widely understood.  Because for me right there in front of him all I could think was that the entire compound length and weight of history was worth the single eternal relationship that now existed between G*d and my friend.  Because we ask, and often, why G*d tarries--why He allows this wretched world to continue.  But I think the answer is obvious.  He bides His time because He wills that non would perish, and that all who would love Him have every opportunity to do so.  He waits because He loves us infinitely, and since it's so hard to grasp that, the whole thing feels like some problem when actually it is His means to our s*lvation.

"But God will not take away life, and he devises means so that the banished one will not remain an outcast."

/(the wise woman that talks to David)

history of violence (part I) | the seventh month

And Samuel said to Saul, “The Lord sent me to anoint you king over his people Israel; now therefore listen to the words of the Lord. Thus says the Lord of hosts, ‘I have noted what Amalek did to Israel in opposing them on the way when they came up out of Egypt. Now go and strike Amalek and devote to destruction all that they have. Do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey.’"

//

"G*d loves everyone, Linda," I said.

And she heard that, and I knowing she was thinking and thinking hard. But, then, "Where was G*d in Nanjing?" she asked-- eyes immediately darting to her phone. "Do you know this word?" "OVARIES" blazed in all capitals on her phone's display.  "The Japanese, they cut these out of the Chinese women. G*d was there loving then?" 

//

Maybe I'm alone I this. I doubt it. So perhaps you have noticed this trend, but I really don't know if "trend" is the right word.  Let's reword. Alright, perhaps you've noticed an attitude I have noticed.  It's not a bad attitude, but I would be lying if I told you I could qualify it. It's not so much bad as it seems removed, or something, from reality.  The attitude I speak of is one that seems to emphasize G*d's incredible incredible love, and always that and not much else.  It's not that it is inaccurate to say that G*d is love; He is. He defines the terms.  So, it's not that the words themselves are inaccurate so much as the quality of love those words seem to espouse--the version of G*d that those words make in minds.

My point isn't the more or less cliched "You talk about G*d's love but what about His wrath?" objection.  That's not the gist here.  The point is that the G*d who's love we boast of seems to emerge from a partially examined Word and a largely ignored reality.  My point is either our understanding of love is way off, or it is right on the money, and G*d isn't composed of it. 

//

As they were making their hearts merry, behold, the men of the city, worthless fellows, surrounded the house, beating on the door. And they said to the old man, the master of the house, “Bring out the man who came into your house, that we may know him.” And the man, the master of the house, went out to them and said to them, “No, my brothers, do not act so wickedly; since this man has come into my house, do not do this vile thing. Behold, here are my virgin daughter and his concubine. Let me bring them out now. Violate them and do with them what seems good to you, but against this man do not do this outrageous thing.” But the men would not listen to him. So the man seized his concubine and made her go out to them. And they knew her and abused her all night until the morning. And as the dawn began to break, they let her go. And as morning appeared, the woman came and fell down at the door of the man's house where her master was, until it was light.

And her master rose up in the morning, and when he opened the doors of the house and went out to go on his way, behold, there was his concubine lying at the door of the house, with her hands on the threshold.

He said to her, “Get up, let us be going.” But there was no answer. Then he put her on the donkey, and the man rose up and went away to his home. And when he entered his house, he took a knife, and taking hold of his concubine he divided her, limb by limb, into twelve pieces, and sent her throughout all the territory of Israel.

//

One of the most powerful and popular arguments against the existence of G*d is now commonly termed "The Problem of Evil."  The basic layout of the argument is this: since evil exists, it is, therefore, impossible (or improbable) that an all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving G*d exists.  The G*d that could exist must then be at least somewhat ignorant, or very-but-not-all-powerful, or not really loving. In other words, something has to give.  And that something would invariably violate, in the way of the comprehensively detrimental, our image of the living G*d.  There are a number of reasons I don't find this argument to be a particularly compelling atheist (or anti-theist) argument, but what I do find compelling is the reality this argument find it's strength in--that being the reality of pervasive, profound pain and the confusion that naturally arises, and should, from it. 

//

In one of the initial battles of the first crusade, the city of Antioch, of Pauline conversion fame, found itself under siege.  The crusaders, inspired by pope Urban II's claim that "G*d wills" the retaking of the holy land, found themselves in dire straits.  The whole strategy of siege warfare relies on a disparity in supplies.  Those besieged, being cutoff from supplies, can't last as long as those laying siege, so they get weak, surrender or die.  In this case the opposite was true.  The Turks within the walls were better off than their attackers, and thus it was only a matter of time before those with the theoretical advantage would get weak, surrender, or die. 

But that didn't happen. A christi@n within the city walls opened the gate, and the crusaders shouting the Pope's divine declaration rushed onto the streets of Antioch, overwhelming the outer defense and pushing the remaining forces into the city's citadel.  After four days of this smaller siege, another Turkish army surrounded Antioch, laying siege to the crusaders as they were in the process of laying siege to the defenders in the citadel. 

Then a miracle happened. One of the crusaders had a vision, in it he saw the spear that pierced J3sus within the city.  The crusader, empowered by his vision, showed the army where to dig.  And, insane as it may seem, they recovered a spear exactly where he told them they would.  After five days of fasting and pr@yer, proscribed by the aforementioned crusader, the soldiers were full out frenzied and completely overwhelmed the overwhelming forces that surrounded them, inside and out.

After the victory, the crusaders found themselves with a great many Turkish women.  They had, of course, killed all the men.  Praising their holiness, observers noted that the christian soldiers didn't rape, torture, or abuse the women in any way.

They just impaled them.

 

tell the truth | the sixth month

...the thing that is so awful about it is that it's so plain.  Plain as in plain to see--in one way.  But also plainly true, in a sense.  I think that might be it's most deceptive feature: the true-ness part.  That's where the best lies lie.

//

"But a prophet who presumes to speak in my name anything I have not commanded him to say, or a prophet who speaks in the name of other gods, must be put to death

You may say to yourselves, 'How can we know when a message has not been spoken by the Lord?'  If what a prophet proclaims in the name of the Lord does not take place or come true, that is a message the Lord has not spoken.  That prophet has spoken presumptuously.  Do not be afraid of him."  (Deuteronomy 18: 20-22)

//

Commonly, it goes something like "G*d is doing so much right now. It's amazing"; "The L*rd is really moving right now"; "I just feel like G*d is calling me in a different direction"; "I don't need a man; J3sus is my boyfriend" and so on/so forth.  Statements like these aren't all that odd among Chr1sti@n folk.  They're standard ways of communicating the way life seems; or, at the very least (perhaps worst), they're standard ways of communicating the ways we'd like others to think life seems to us.  (some re-reading of that last sentence is probably necessary; the structure's a little ridiculous). It's not uncommon because that's how we're supposed to read our life; that's how we've been taught to speak/think; in spiritu@l terms--otherwise, they're often wouldn't be much to give our conversations distinction from others of others.  I'm not getting at the nominality of most believers--not there yet.  I'm talking more about the inclination to be perceived otherwise, and the words that come with it. 

For many, being a believer means talking about the F@ther, a lot; but, not just in regular conversation, but everywhere. Pick your social media.  Twitter. Facebook. Whatever.  But in regular conversation too.  And ch*rch meetings.  Now passion is one thing; and passion is definitely needed.  But, it's also important to know what it means to say what G*d is doing here and now on earth, in your life and/or the life of anyone else.  When you say what G*d is doing, you speak as a prophet; you speak for G*d--and people got killed over that sort of thing. 

//

"Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of G*d!  How unsearchable his judgements, and His paths beyond tracing out!  Who has ever known the mind of the Lord?"

Then later...

"We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith."  (Romans 11:33-4, 12:6)

//

Of the gifts Paul lists in this section, prophecy is the only one he qualifies in such a way.  With the others, it goes like "If it's _____ let him _____"; but with prophecy he asks that the one prophesying does so "in proportion to his faith."  But what does Paul mean here, exactly?  Interpretation is a sticky thing, but I'll venture a guess:  I think Paul is saying that the one who prophesying should prophesy in proportion to what he actually believes.  I think what Paul is saying is that believers should tell the truth.  And I would assume, that since the penalty about doing that sort of thing incorrectly, at one time, was death then you had better believe what you are saying as if your life was on the line.  I think that's the pertinent definition of belief here;  I think that's the level of faith Paul's referring to.

But the narratives about G*d and/or what He is doing (and/or words about how awesome He is) are rarely treated with such gravity.  Often enough they're thrown around, without thought of consequence/without real attendance to the reality of the Person they're addressing.  Because, the fact of the matter is that every use of H*s name and purpose that isn't backed by intentions seriously thought out is a use of H*s name in vain--which is at least a trespass against the commandments, and a flat-out lie if the speaker isn't speaking it for the right reasons.  But it all sounds so good, our G*d words, and that's part of the thing that makes it all so hard to tease out of ourselves, let alone others (I mean, really, we should let alone others).  

But like I said, that's just where the best lies lie.

The name of G*d isn't for show.  His plans aren't an advertisement, not a self-promotion tactic, or a means to an end.  The name of G*d is an end in and of itself.  It's power, to be used at the user's peril.  I feel that when we misuse His name so we almost talk Him out of existence, for ourselves and for others.  Too often, if you talk about G*d  just right He means just enough to mean nothing.  

//

The Word meeting went as Word meetings go.  We read and stuff. Made observations.  Shared. (Somewhat).  I'm casting the wrong light, because I really enjoyed the talk and the Word.  I think my distraction was what gives a sour taste upon reflection.  One of the members of our study was, and had been for several meetings, less-than-thrilled.  Straight up bored and glassy-eyed is better and the fact of it made a stab at my heart.  A thrill was what I felt should be felt but that definitely wasn't here (you hope it's there), because this man looked quite a bit removed from any discernible emotion, not to even mention thrilled.  I admit, I asked myself for quite some time afterword how someone could be so detached.  I mean, we were talking about the words of life here.

//

And I think that might be the worst thing, how we can damage others with the show of spiritu@lity.  If the exchange of the Word of G*d for words about G*d happens enough, the two become nigh indistinguishable, and when the cracks begin to show in the lies, the truth that we married to them gets thrown out with the rest....and that's just about when people lose the thrill of the Word of G*d.

 //

“I hate, I despise your religious festivals; your assemblies are a stench to me.  Even though you bring burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them.  Though you bring choice fellowship offerings, I will have no regard for them. Away with the noise of your songs!  I will not listen to the music of your harps. But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream." (Amos 5:21-4)

the lives of others | the fifth month

Too many people, by like half, at least--not just in the sports bar, but in our booth too.  And it was loud. Too much of Lindenwood's student body left too little room for actual bodies.  Or conversations.  I looked over my shoulder to check the score.  Miami and Chicago were deep into the first game of the eastern conference finals, and it didn't look good for Miami.  They were choking, hard; and Chicago looked strong as they come.  The semester was a shred off done, and I know my mind was taxed.  Not really by classes or assignments or whatever--I mean there was still work to do--but I had long since stressed my way into a good position: a 90 page document bore witness to the power of deadlines.

Despite being throttled by noise (and other kinds of) pollution, Seth and I were determined to have a conversation.  You see we hadn't had a conversation in a long time.  School, work, idon'tknow, had gotten in the way nine times (to a full ten) out of ten.

"I mean I understand what you're saying man," said Seth with measured respect as he eased his drink to a landing on the table, its surface plastered by a honeyed residue.  "I just think it's easy, where you are, to say what you say...and live it too"

Leaning back, I calmly replied, "how so?"

"You live at home dude; you have hardly any belongings and even less money, and you don't really have to worry about those things, because, you know, you're family's there."

"Seth, regardless my situation, the logic of my position is sound." Moving forward to rest my forearms on the table, I raised my eyebrow and continued, "I just don't see how we can justify spending the kind of money on ourselves that we do, given the suffering that exists, and the very real impact we can have on that suffering with the money we use to buy those luxuries."

Eyes narrowing, ever so slightly, Seth put his back to his chair and slid his drink forward, "and what have you given to help the suffering?"

//

Belief is a funny thing.  For the most part, our beliefs are the principles we act on.  I believe in gravity, so I don't freak out when I drop from a tree, a cliff, or remain attached to the ground.  I believe it, so I act on it.  Our beliefs about the physical word are functional insofar as they are acted upon.  After all, it would seem manifestly stupid of me to start screaming when I jumped from a diving board because of the inevitable fall that results, as if that's a surprise, or for me to express grave doubt as to whether I will fall before I jump, given my assurance to all that I believe in a physical force that makes things in our physical situation fall in that physical situation--jumping.

But beliefs of other kinds seem to escape that principle of absurdity outside functionality.  Like moral beliefs.  Many of us have, for instance, strong beliefs about prostitution.  It seems--and clearly is--wrong for anyone to pay someone else to provide them with sexual pleasure; it reduces the sexual act to a monetary transaction, and it degrades the person whose "services" are purchased to the level of a utility--like a blender or hot water: something you get because you paid for it, because you like it.  You know, objectification; this shouldn't be news to anyone.  But, the thing is, almost everyone who believes this regularly, or at least has on several occasions, viewed through purchase video media that includes nudity.  Now, excuses aside, the fact remains that our purchase and subsequent viewing is an action not unlike the use of prostitution that is so clearly morally repugnant.  But we balk at the suggestion, as if, somehow, when the sexual favors become included in a classic film things cease to be so clear.  I mean the analogy isn't exactly difficult to draw.  The purchase of that viewing, however acquired, funds people who tell other people to take their clothes off and, often, perform sexual acts that are almost always undeniably intended to elicit arousal.  It doesn't matter if you're aroused by it or not; your money goes directly to an institution that provides that service to others who are.  Don't wax into the gray area and waffled it around in your head; it is what it is. But, regardless of this reality and our so strongly held beliefs about human dignity and our duty to protect it we will continue to do things that seem to deny those moral convictions.

The thing is, Hypocrisy is as ingrained and patently obvious as moral conviction.

//

"I don't think I have to argue whether abortion is right or wrong, Alex, because I think the argument is pointless."

"What do you mean, Jeff?"

"Well," my English professor replied, "I don't think anyone acts like it is as wrong as they say it is, regardless of how strong their beliefs are.  I mean, if people really believed that fetuses are people like people are people then very few could say they act like it.

Imagine there's a house a block from where you live, and, in that house, 2 people are killed by gunshot every hour.  They're just murdered, you know. Shot through the head and they drop to the ground and bleed out.  If you knew that was happening you'd call the police.  Even if was legal, in whatever hypothetical country you were in, you'd hear the screams, and you would try to stop the massacre.  The thing is, people don't believe, whatever they say, that fetuses are people like people are people.  Otherwise, we'd see a lot more people rushing into clinics as if actual lives were on the line. Instead we have people bemoaning the "injustice of it all," while all the time half-believing the "injustice of it all."

//

The chocolate industry, like apparel and many other products, is supported by slave labor.  When you purchase a Hershey bar you are, like it or not, supporting slavery.  I know all about this; I've known about it for years.  But, despite that knowledge, over the past 8 or so months I've purchased at least 10 items that contain, most likely, ill-gotten chocolate, hating myself the whole time, of course, but I still enjoyed those truffles--every one.  Intellectually I fully understand that I promote human suffering, however infinitesimally, with the purchase of every such item, but human suffering sounds like such a silly topic when I've got product in hand. Who wants to talk about slavery when there's brownies to eat?

I mean, I love brownies.

When it comes down to it, our belief in the value of the lives of others are, in many ways, as frail a belief as so many other so-called beliefs.  I say, with great passion and earnestness, that I want to change the world with love, but I walk right by beggars everyday whose lives are punctuated by suffering I could only imagine.  So I let my imagining suffice.  Plainly, their suffering isn't real to me. Their lives inconsequential; perhaps they're intellectually acknowledged--but functionally irrelevant persons.  But I'm able to live with myself because integrity is something I can do without; I'm able to continue due to my almost unending capacity to tolerate loss of self-respect. And, even if I give them some money, or whatever, it's really more for me than it is for them; I'm trying to pay off my guilt, not buy them happiness...really.

It's not like I'm defeated about it all. Well, I kinda am. But, maybe I should say that the fact that I'm defeated about it all isn't all that bad.  The law, as the Word teaches, brings death--even the humane laws have this same consequence; the belief that other people are valuable is a statute as impossible to live by as any other.  But realizing that even the most basic of common moral principles is something that I habitually refuse to live by brings me to a place of humility that I cannot explain, but I know can be learned from. 

I mean, we have choice. I'm not a Calvinist; I think the thing that make humans special is that unlike the rest of the physical universe our relationship with other things isn't purely causal.  I think that a portion of the meaning of life is somehow bound up in that singularity.  And it is because of that gift, fully realized in s@lvation, that I believe that change is possible.  The law does bring death, but another reason the law was created was that G*d, I believe, actually expected people to follow it.

//

My pace was alright--not the best--but I was sick, after all; food poisoning had wrecked my body for the first couple days in Thailand.  I needed to catch up with Robert and David; they were itching to order breakfast I'm sure, and my inconvenient bathroom break had stalled things.  The run was inundated by the usual sights and sounds of Patong beach's coastal market: masseuses shooting their availability, cabs and scooters blitzing the beach, suit salesmen and fruit stalls displaying their wares--the sun beat down relentless...and beggars.

Back bent and eyes gleaming impossibly piteous, she looked me square, and a slender, filthy hand extended out for alms--her other hand busy attending an equally slender and dirty child.  I flew by.  But, not 50 yards past, I decided that maybe breakfast wasn't as important as other things. Like people.

"How think you that you obey Chr1st's commandments, when you spend your time collecting interest, piling up loans, buying slaves like livestock, and merging business with business?...And that is not all. Upon all this you heap injustice, taking possession of lands and houses, and multiplying poverty and hunger"

--John Chrysostom

believe | the fourth month

Three Gorges Square is Times Square. Only smaller. And Bigger.  It's dirty. Always wet.  Always. But it bustles just like New York; in fact, it bustles more.  You wouldn't even have to step foot to guess that: just the plain numbers could prompt that prediction.  There are 40 million people in Chongqing. That's more than the population of Canada. Sure, it's spread over a huge area. But 40 million? That's 5 times New York. 

From where I was sitting, Chongqing didn't look so large.

"I don't want to be a bel1ever," she said.  "I want to be selfish.  I feel like if I was to believe those things I would have to be brave, but I don't have the courage to."

"Yes, to be a believer you must have courage; but, if you have belief, then courage is easy. Courage is just acting on principles that others don't normally acknowledge--or act on.  For believers, our lives are built around things people don't normally acknowledge; courage is just comes naturally to this kind of belief."

"Alex, I cannot know how to come to this. I do not feel G*d this way," Linda said--then paused.  Knees pressed together, Linda's eyes floated a bit, then settled somewhere around her feet.  "Will you pr@y for me?," she pleaded.

"Oh, well, Linda, I don't want you to worry.  Because God is real.  He can be felt and touched..."

I didn't pr@y for her that night

//

In what sense is G*d real to us?  From a young age, for many of us, we are taught G*d's divine attributes.  We learn that He is mercy and love.  Not only is He these things, but He is the source of their definition.  Not only is G*d love, but love is meaningless without G*d.  We are taught that G*d loves everyone.  We are taught that He created the earth and man, that He has a thing for yeast-less bread and bitter herbs, burnt offerings, and guys that can match him at wrestling get named Israel.  If you grow up in a Club, you learn a great deal about G*d.  But, it seems to me, the outcome of all that learning is a curious one. It, more often than not, has effects unlike the consequences that learning in any other fields has.  I feel like information concerning G*d is the only kind of information that we are graded on the accuracy of our knowledge of it without ever being expected to act on that knowledge. 

If there is a shred of truth to our so-called beliefs, then G*d isn't a concept, He is a reality.  Actually, if we're right in what we say, He isn't just a reality--or a part of it--He is the reality.  But G*d actually being real doesn't seem to figure into much of how we talk about Him or how we live about Him.  Sure, we talk about G*d; we tell each other about what He is doing or what He wants.  But, in fact, our talk seems to almost rely on the fact that He doesn't actually exist at all.  Like He is just a concept.  Like he is something we construct, for each other--something we created, instead of the other way around.  God is the only fact of reality that we continually acknowledge but hardly, if ever, count on.  If He isn't just a concept, then we might actually have to change our plans.

If, for a day, you stopped believing in G*d existing and all that, in what way would your life change?  Would you act, in any measurable way, differently?  I mean if He just became a pure concept, pleasant and whatever but wholly a product of your mind, would your life change?  Does your life at all rely on His existence?  I'm sure if you stopped believing in the existence of your friends, thinking them only fabrications of the mind, your actions would change. You wouldn't call. Or spend time with them. You wouldn't ask them--or should I say rely on them?--to do things for you, because nonexistent things can't do those things. But you couldn't imagine that, could you?  I mean, not really.  Or, if you could, your life would be totally different.  Because your whole life you've relied on their existence.  You ask them to do things, because they will do them.  You rely on that.  You spend time with them, because you love them, and you have a relationship with them--and that relationship is real.  You do things for them.  Because it matters to you and to them.

For many of us, if G*d became similarly fictitious to us, our mode of living wouldn't change all that much.  Our plans wouldn't change—nor would our actions.  Because the whole time we've been planning our lives as if G*d doesn't exist.  If He does, awesome, but He doesn't really figure into the day.  Ideally, we're Christians, but functionally Atheists. 

Christi@n apologetics, sometimes, almost seems to operate on a similar principle.  G*d is something to be proven into existence.  What a bizarre thought, for something that is so eminently real.  I mean, you don't feel terribly compelled to prove the existence of the ocean to other people, do you?  That would be ridiculous.  Just go walk into the ocean.  Why then, if G*d is so real to us, do we find it so necessary to prove G*d's?  If He is who He says He is, just go walk into G*d.  We don't prove the existence of G*d; He proves Himself.

There's this great part in Exodus. Israel is camped out by the Red Sea, because G*d told Moses to make the Israelites wander around for a while to make it look like they were lost.  Pharaoh sees this and thinks it is his chance.  He takes like 600 of his best chariots and a whole host of others to go hunt down bring them back to Egypt.  So the army is closing in and the people are all freaking out, but Moses is calm, and he says, "Do not be afraid.  Stand still, and see the s@lvation of the Lord, which He will accomplish for you today.  For the Egyptians whom you see today you shall see no more forever.  The Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace."  That just amazes me.  Because, when you boil it down (which doesn't take too much work), Moses is just asking them to act like G*d is real—that He is actually G*d, more real than those 600 trained murderers and their spears and swords and skill at making death.  And I wonder, how can we count on G*d to have victory over death for us, when He hardly has any impact on our life?

Because G*d to us isn't as real as all that.  And we substitute G*d for words about G*d--words that seem more bent on constructing a clearer image of a 4000 year-old fantasy in our minds then they seem to describe something that can actually be interacted with, like other real things. Water. Friends. Spears. Whatever.  And the consequences of this mindset are devastating. 

I'm reading this book, it's called The Life You Always Wanted--terrible title--but it has some real punch to it.  In the second chapter, the author discusses christi@n group markers: behaviors and features that are used by christi@ns to distinguish themselves from other people groups.  The chapter begins by discussing a believing jerk that used to be in the author's club for years, the weird thing wasn't that there was a jerk in his club, but that the jerk in his club stayed a jerk and no one really expected him to change.  As if, in other words, Christi@nity has nothing to do with an interaction with a real being, which resulted in real change, but instead, the maintaining of other markers of his indentity has a believer.  The man never drank in Club; if he smoked in the sanctuary, then that would have been grounds for an intervention.  But the man didn't engage in these things, so he was safe.  And the truth about those things, drinking, smoking, etc, is that in light of an overall attitude, they're inconsequential; but to the members of that club, they were a vital means of indentifying believers from others.  I mean, if you don't actually act like G*d is real, then you need to be some way of showing you're a Christi@n. So not being a smoker becomes more feature of Christi@ns than mercy, grace, and love--or a gradual progression towards those things.  If G*d isn't real to you, the inconsequential becomes essential; you have to hold the line with the inconsequential things to hide the inconsequentiality of your own f@ith.

//

"I mean, I talk to them, these guys that are part of the life group, and they seem all excited about it. They want to get together and study," Mikey said, "they're like, 'oh yeah man, that sounds awesome; we should totally do that.' but when I text them, they flake out."

"I know; it's because it isn't real to them yet," I replied.

"And when I read the Word, there's no enthusiasm.  I want to say, 'don't you understand? these are the words of G*d."

//

Is it really all that surprising that the words about G*d that we read would often have as little effect on us as the G*d who inspired them has on our lives?  In many ways, language works through familiarity; the words and metaphors that are most effective are the ones that conjure in the mind things that we are familiar with.  The phrase "dead as a doornail" has little meaning because we have no idea what the comparison means, and, even if we did, it would be unlikely that the image of a doornail would appear in the mind when it is used, because we're just not all that familiar with doornails, let alone what it means to call one dead...or how they are dead at all.  Communication becomes most effective when words are used that references things all parties know and have experience with; therein lays the rhetorical punch: the experience that informs language.  You see, the word "G*d" isn't G*d; it's just a word, a way of referencing something.  But if we have no experience with the reference, is it at all odd that the word seems to be nothing to us?  If you don't live as if G*d really exists, then every time you use His name it's in vain.

//

And I didn't pr@y for Linda for that night, not because I didn't think it would be right but because after all my words about the reality of G*d, Linda asked me to do something that actually relied on that reality--and that was a scary thing for me.  Doubt crept in, not slow, so it didn’t really creep. All at once, and i couldn't hold it back.  My belief in Him wasn't sufficient in that moment.  And I don't think that's a coincidence; I think it only makes sense.  I feel like whenever I've heard words like "have f@ith" or "believe," it's always to give courage to those whose positions' validity is at the moment half-past dubious.  Belief is like the weak answer to doubt, what we make due with, or comfort ourselves with, to bide some time until the doubts and questioners cease or fade.  But belief is more than that, so much more.  It isn't weak, and it isn't something created--like an answer; belief is real, as real as anything is real and more. It's like an element of nature, one of its forces.  Belief isn't something we tell ourselves to make death less scary or life more bearable; belief is the gift of G*d; it is action made in light of evidence that few can see and fewer act on, and, if you have it, then there is no reason to fear.  Believe is courage. And courage does come naturally from people who believe what we say we believe.

//

To: David 13594256370 Sent: 10:46:41 11-01-2012

I'm really excited about what could be.  I'm just really scared.

Sender: David: +8613594256370 Received: 02:49:31 11-01-2012

If he is who he says he is, then there is no reason for fear.

the eraser | the third month

I don't think that these are the sort of things that you're supposed to find out about yourself in this career, that you lack character in almost every facet, that you're petty in the most petty of ways, that you betray essential principles for the simplest of conveniences--to say nothing of actual tests of integrity.  The pride that you began to think diminished is nothing short of entrenched, revealing a heart impossibly resilient to grace and forgiveness. These aren't the sort of things that you're supposed to find out about yourself, but they're exactly the sort of things that I have.

//

...and it still wouldn’t come off, that’s the thing. I lifted my shirt to the light, but light wasn’t needed; what once was a white shirt was consorting with a few other colors that were decidedly not white—which sucked.  Because I liked that shirt.  But hate spots. But there is nothing unique about that, no one likes spots.  Whites should be white, perhaps whiter.  Colored clothes should be the colors originally designated.  That’s the whole selling point for Tide.  I had borrowed a bleach pen from a friend; she had warned me that "the last time I used this I burned holes in clothes; so...be careful." Having tried a somewhat ridiculous number of washing techniques a fully ridiculous number of times, I applied liberally.  But, after what felt like its dozenth run, the bleach washed away, but the horrid spots remained.

The thing about the stains that was really bothering me was their origin.  The seemed to almost spontaneously emerge, polluting my previously fine, perfectly white shirt.  It honestly appeared to me as if it was the washing process itself that engendered spots on my good shirt, because it was almost certainly not because of any stains that I had washed it in the first place: the ordinary accumulation of everyday had made it necessary...or else I'd be deemed slovenly.  But what started to bother me even more was the irrepressible urge I now had to discard the soiled garment.  This had never really occurred to me as a dilemma before, but for some reason it became compelling: for what reason, precisely, is a stained shirt no longer worth wearing--or even having?

//

By the end of Romans 7, you can see Paul is clearly struggling.  The letter, up to this point, is too complex to represent in a boiled down thesis statement, but it can be thought of as a more developed theological extension of J3sus' pharisaical denunciations.  Paul is trying to break down a Jewish understanding of s@lvation which equates cultural practice with personal redemption; he's trying to tell them that their heritage as the people of God does not grandfather them into the Kingdom that J3sus ushered in, and that it is through faith, not lineage or ritual, that the transaction of s@lvation works.  But by the 7th chapter you can tell Paul is starting to freak:

For we know that the law is spiritual: but I am carnal, sold under sin. For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I. If then I do that which I would not, I consent unto the law that it is good. Now then it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me. For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not. For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do. Now if I do that I would not, it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me. I find then a law, that, when I would do good, evil is present with me. For I delight in the law of God after the inward man: but I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members.

Paul is dealing with something here that I couldn't understand until now.  As a person who does what I do, you begin to think yourself something elevated--to, at least, some degree.  That you have transcended problems that were the problems of you before now, but, as now is now, those were then, you have moved on.  But as I saw myself here and weaker, in certain ways, than I have ever before, I found the thesis untenable.  The pride that was the pride of Alex in America still in-dwelled, making its malicious and blundering way into this conversation and that situation, making arguments out of discussions, tension out of teasing.  And I found myself feeling the irrepressible urge to sink into depression, because I had ruined it all—because people had seen what and who I was and what and who I was wasn't all that great after all...even after all this.

This brings me to my shirt and how much I wanted to throw it away. I really wanted to throw it away. But why, exactly? I think I wanted it gone for the same reason that we feel uncomfortable when some homeless, disheveled, or an overall "lower-class" fellow shuffles his way into the average club on an ordinary Sunday.  For years I would look on such people with something I can only describe as revulsion.  Not that I wouldn't try to "reach out"...oh, I would.  But almost invariably my attempts felt as disingenuous to me as they had all along to the other person, and I walked away wanting to pat myself on the back but feeling I should be slapped in the face.  We want to throw away shirts with stains because as much as we'd like to tell ourselves that we aren't all about such things--about looks, about appearances, about (the semblance of perfection)--we're all about such things; as much as we tell ourselves that Chr1st is for the broken, we'd rather go to club with the fixed, the functional, the moderately attractive--and down the aisle with the very.

As much as Romans is a letter to the Romans, we have to remember that, in part, Paul was writing it to himself.  Before Paul was Paul, he was Saul, and Saul was a man very much about keeping up appearances, because Saul was the quintessential Jew.  Consumed with liturgy, performance, culture, and custom, Paul's faith was an inherited trait meticulously maintained. But J3sus destroyed that kind of thinking—and along with it Saul's life:

When J3sus had finished speaking, a Pharisee invited him to eat with him; so he went in and reclined at the table.  But the Pharisee, noticing that Jesus did not first wash before the meal, was surprised.  Then the Lord said to him, "Now then, you Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness.  You foolish people!  Did not the one who made the outside make the inside also?"

The outside was all Saul knew, but Paul knew better; but, even though he did know better, it didn't mean that he didn't chafe under the contradiction of his existence, an awareness of redemption that fought minute by minute with the flesh that sought damnation.

//

Charging full towards the basket, the student's drive was on a course that intersected the bulk of my mass, which, considering the size of a Chinese college student relative to me, was considerable.  But, in an indefatigable gesture, he pressed on--and strong.  Almost bemused, I stood my ground.  As the collision unfolded, however, it seemed the valiant effort was just that, an effort, and the student ricocheted off me with resounding effect, hurtling to the ground with all the impact 110 lbs can muster. I gently laughed and offered the student a hand.  Eyes lowered, he took my hand, a wry grin that reeked of shame spread slowly across his face as he accepted, his embarrassment almost palpable.

I had been playing well that day.  I made good power moves in the post and got great rebounds, steals, and the occasional block.

Already ahead by a solid 6 baskets, I drove to the basket (to the right, of course) into what was now obligatory triple team coverage, a teammate signaled he was open for the pass... but I had other ideas.  Backing into them with what should be a post move (decidedly well out of the post), I spun and launched a fade-away shot.  With the smoothest of motions, the ball passed through the basket, and I bent down low a let out a celebratory yell, christening the shot a "great shot" as the other team let out a sigh, almost in unison.

I won a lot that day.

//

I think we often misunderstand the consequence of forgiveness.  When we accept J3sus into our hearts, we accept that he has now purged us of our sins--that we are bleached white, where once we were assorted shades of black.  And we walk around accordingly, presenting ourselves as new, repaired, and whole, in spite of whatever is actually the case and spiteful of those who do not make the same efforts.  But the fact of the matter is that even after forgiveness, our spots remain; they are visible and may remain so for years.  The consequences of what we were reverberates in who we are, who people see us as, and in the reality we live; the consequences of our sinful past and present aren't erased the moment J3sus enters our hearts.  They're there for everyone to see.  When the B1ble says He has washed us clean, it's fully significant to us only if we understand what's truly being cleaned, because if we don't, we'll suffer under burdensome facade.  But I think the real problem is that as burdensome as that facade is, to many of us it is preferable to actual change.  I mean, the thing about stained shirts is that if you wear one you've got to define yourself by other means; assumptions come with the truth outright, with spots and stains seen, and we'd rather save the effort of actual repentance (as the source of character) and present (and fastidiously maintain) its presumable visible manifestation, e.i. a clean shirt.

The thing that puzzles me about a stained garment is the near-dread of wearing one; I can't quite pin down the origin of the fear.  I almost feel like we're terrified that if we wear something with a stain then other people will become certain that we actually live in the real world.  This is clearly unacceptable. Ideally, I suppose, accidents should never happen, the unintended is always avoided and mistakes are made by other for us to discuss in a straight white room with measured white shirts and buffed white teeth with clean white people.

Paul was writing to himself because his life before Chr1st was all those things, but his life after seemed anything but.  It wasn't as if he was all good before it J3sus showed up, but for him measuring up to a standard only skin deep was within his understanding.  At least he could look the part, when part was the whole.  But when J3sus opened his eyes to the reality of his sin, utter panic commenced.

So I haven't been reading the Word consistently recently, and I got into weird quasi fights with some of my team members; I got lazy in ways that matter, and I've been depressed.  I can link the depression to the lack of Word study.  I can link it to the spaces that are missing in my life because of the people that are. I wanted to end this thing with some punchy little ending, with a great conclusion that's super meaningful and all that, but I can't: partly because I feel like crap and mostly because it would be a total lie.  I refuse to compose some knowing, self-satisfied Chr1stian-y end to what I always want to be honestly expressed: my opinion written down.   I want to get forgiveness.  I want to get repentance.  Paul was struggling with it so hard; I read it, and it hit me so full and true.  I don't get how I can be saved from something I seem to be determined to return to at every feasible opportunity.  Then it's so weird, because at times I feel a grace overwhelming at high pitch pushing,

and I'm all in.

"What a wretched man I am!  Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God--through J3sus Chr1st our Lord!"

(the part in Romans 7 right after that other part)

pattern recognition | the second month

There are some that call themselves believers, L**, but they look at the f@ith as a religion, a set of rules and beliefs, instead of a relationship, I said earnestly, eyes half on L**, half intently searching for pieces of duck in the swirling, fragrant broth.  I was tired, and this conversation had already been going on for a long time.  I think knowing G*d is about having a relationship with Him; religion is about accepting societal customs.  Despite being nearly vacant, the hot pot restaurant was curiously loud—a noise that emerged from the pervasive bustle that characterized Chongqing.  Carrying platters of raw meat, potatoes, mushrooms, and vegetables of a kind that only grow in China, the waitresses hurried between the backs of mostly empty seats. Two men in table next to us were talking to each other—but looking, decidedly, elsewhere; bifurcated (or fractured) attention becomes habitual in a city of so many millions. 

I rarely seem be able to keep my eyes fixed and steady anymore.

In the chair next to me, L**’s constant readjusting betrayed the discomfort his placid face attempted to belie.  Slipping into autopilot, L** responded, Religion can help people get a better life, live with purpose, and feel better about themselves. I think religion is good…

There’s a dull, resonant flavor to the bitter pepper used in nearly every Chongqing dish. There was a lot of that pepper in the duck tonight.  Kicking my way back home along in the diffused bloom of a streetlight battling gloom, I mulled over L**’s backpedaling.   Nearly a month ago L** had sent me texts that had me thinking he was on the verge of a breakthrough.  Really, it was the logical thing to think.  But now, in the space of a few minutes, those hopes seemed dash. S@lv@tion isn’t supposed to work this way.

G*d, according to some Atheist thinkers, is product of the evolutionarily advantageous human inclination of pattern recognition.  Imagine you’re part of a tribe of hunters several thousand years ago.  Stalking through the bush, you think you see a pair of eyes and the shape of a big cat in the tall grass.  You think you see something that matches, enough, the pattern of a big cat to act accordingly.  Operating under this assumption, you flee.  Now, no matter if, in this particular instance, there was a big cat in the bush, it is beneficial to your survival to act as if there was.  If every time you think you see a shape that signals danger you act assuming the danger is real, then you will avoid the possible danger in every instance; however, if you ignore those signals, you might be right, but it only takes one wrong decision to make the strategy less worthwhile than a strategy that always guarantees your safety.  Pattern recognition, according to this theory, was beneficial to human survival and cognitive development, but, not just any pattern, it was advantageous for humans to interpret an intelligence behind what could be, and probably often was, just some odd arrangement of plants.  Thus, such pattern recognition is fundamental to human thought, and it is this behavior, on a larger conceptual scale, that created concepts like G*d. 

Christ@ins like to think in patterns. All people do.  But Christ@ins look for the patterns of G*d.  They look for situations to match up to their concept of G*d and his plan so that life makes sense.  We (unconsciously) build and create patterns through the stories we tell and through the ways we interpret past events.  In this situation, G*d was doing blank; “Yesterday, G*d taught me the importance of patience.”  Patterns are a means to meaning and therefore, bring us comfort.  We all feel very nervous in situations we cannot understand or predict.  But if we run across a situation that is analogous to another we have seen, we instantly feel more at ease, because we’ve seen it before.  Christians, in particular, generate and store such patterns to help them understand and predict the will of G*d.  In relationships or evangelism, especially, believers try to divine the will of G*d, looking for signs and signals that might reveal His plan; we use situations we’ve read about, heard of, and/or lived through—event patterns—to give us insight about the future; habitual pattern recognition naturally builds these expectations.  But, often enough, we find that reality is an ill-fitting garment.  Our expectations never materialize, and we are left perplexed—doubting G*d’s plan, significance, or even His very existence—all because what we thought should happen, didn’t. 

//

Hunched over—practically on—a city trashcan, a man, little more than a tuft of hair on pile filthy cotton, pressed a tongue toward the hay colored refuse, grasped in his small-knuckled fist, that looked the consistency and texture of pudding. His hands, invisible but for the battered, thin fingers emerging from his olive coat, slipped quickly back into the bin after he had finished the handful. His bowed back was cradled by a desultory stack of packages tethered to a length of bamboo, withered legs bent into submission by the desire to stave off starvation. 

//

But this mindset is hardly rational and, even, strikingly inconsistent with our ostensible assumptions about the nature of G*d.   In terms of the nature of His being, Jehov@h is defined by three characteristics: omnipotence, omnipresence, and omniscience.  These characteristics are all unmatched by anything that we are aware of within reality and are, therefore, incomprehensible.  G*d is, by necessity of his divine nature, impossible to understand.  Why is it, then, that we are surprised when the events that He oversees defy our concepts of what should and shouldn’t happen?  If we really believed that G*d’s nature is so difficult and impossible, we should really be more surprised whenever we find his will intelligible than when we don’t.   It stands to reason that the failure of many of our expectations should come expected—not unanticipated.   J3sus explains this in when he’s talking to Nicodemus: “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”  But instead, believers seem to base their belief on the premise that it will provide an explanation for all things, past, present, future, and, when a ready explanation isn’t so ready, our contingent faiths find themselves in deep trouble. 

I think we’ve forgotten what faith really means.   Paul, in the very beginning of Romans, outlines the importance of faith: “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of G*d for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek.  For in it the righteousness of G*d is revealed from faith for faith, as it is written, ‘The righteous shall live by faith.’”  Faith is our S@lvations foundation.  But it seems like most of us are bent on obtaining a faithless belief—that the strength of our belief is contingent on its ability to produce all answers and predict all events, at least personal ones.  Christi@n apologists, in particular, like to implicate, or explicitly state, that our faith isn’t really a faith, that it is the inevitable logical outcome of a rational and open mind.   But I think that such an attitude stands defiance of the eminently apparent incomprehensibility of the world that we live in and the G*d who wants to know us.  Not much of what we “know” is the product of pure rationality; most of it is based on articles of faith tacitly accepted.  The reality of reality, for instance, is such a faith-based assumption°.  When questions and unmet expectations are looked on as problems, the necessity of faith that is so essential to salvation is obscured and a perverted manner of viewing Christi@n beliefs is promoted.  Questions and unmet expectations are not just causes for doubt, but instead opportunities to display the vigor of a salvation whose efficacy overwhelms these.

Faith is the essence that drives our relationship with G*d; it is the basis of salvation and the force behind it.  When we encounter problems, when events just don’t turn out, when questions persist, let’s not act shocked or be shaken.  Don’t work to strip the faith from your beliefs.  When we feel the necessity of satisfaction at every turn, we suffocate the faith that is the genesis of our relationship with G*d.   A faith contingent on the regular meeting of expectations has little right to call itself faith and is most likely a “belief in self” more than a faith G*d.   If reality fails to live up to our hopes, are we upset because G*d wasn’t glorified or because we weren’t?  Perhaps instead of losing faith in G*d’s ability to carry our His will we should lessen our confidence in our ability to foresee it—like the wind in J3sus’s example.  It is the worst possible mistake in a Christi@n’s life to doubt G*d when we should only doubt ourselves.

But sometimes circumstances seem contrary to not only our own reasonable expectations, but the overall will of G*d—sometimes they actually seem to contradict His seemingly apparent, scripturally revealed plan.  We’ve all experienced moments in our life where the results of following what is quite obviously G*d’s will quite obviously fail.  Perhaps for the believer, these situations are the hardest to deal with.   Paul didn’t seem to have the same reaction; in second Timothy, he expresses earnest feelings of abandonment:

Be diligent to come to me quickly; for Demas has forsaken me, having loved this present world, and has departed for Thessalonica—Crescens for Galatia, Titus for Dalmatia.  Only Luke is with me….Alexander the coppersmith did me much harm.  May the Lord repay him according to his works.  You also must beware of him, for he has greatly resisted our words. 

At my first defence no one stood with me, but all forsook me.  May it not be charged against them.

Paul’s account is troubling, but the letter doesn’t end there; “But,” Paul continues, “the Lord stood with me and strengthened me, so that the message might be preached fully through me.”

The consequences of Paul’s obedience seem counterintuitive: those that were supposed believers left him; the army of G*d was represented by one.  He followed G*d’s will intently, but his harvest was bitter.  When we think about biblic@l figures, the stories that come to mind are of faith rewarded in deliverance—rarely do we conjure images of belief met with abandonment and failure.  But Paul defined failure a different way; his concerns didn’t rest on difficult outcomes, but on his relationship with and obedience to G*d through them.  The only consequences that should concern us are internal.  If our posture is one of worshipful faithfulness, G*d’s will is done and His Glory made manifest.  Faith is the beginning and end of G*d’s will for our lives.   It is through our faith that G*d is glorified, so, as long as we have faith, why do we worry?

The long-expected messiah was never visualized as a homeless carpenter, criminal sympathizer, and itinerant teacher; he was supposed to be the physical savior of a physical national; but instead he was the internal redeemer of individual spirits.  J3sus consistently emphasized the internal in his ministry; isn’t it about time that such a realm became focal point of our life, that our internal response to events, instead of the events themselves, became the pith and marrow of godly pursuit?

L** (or anyone) and the look of G*d’s plan for him (or anyone) cannot be the crux, or a crux, for my faith.  If it is, what sort of faith do I have?  

People, as I’ve said, deal in patterns, and we can only recognize patterns we’ve seen before.  Why should we be surprised that atheists cannot interpret a G*d whose language they’ve never learned?  Why should I be surprised that L** cannot recognize a pattern he’s never seen?  Why should I be surprised that he cannot see the same G*d I can?  It’s like expecting him to understand Melville if he didn’t know English: it’s lost on him.  And, even though I know the language, much of it, like Melville, is lost on me too.  I can only hope for the faith to thrive in the midst of it, the gift to see others come to Him, and, perhaps, the blessing to get better at the lingo. 

°(for an example of this basic principle, see The Matrix).

other, more interesting things: I almost cut off the end of my finger making breakfast; I killed an insanely huge cockroach with my B*ble; I ran into Chris Bosh (the nba player) at the airport; my bike fell apart while I was riding it; I played the best ping pong player I've ever seen; a cat jumped from a wall onto my bench during dinner; an old man lost his mind next to me and started pushing over granite pillars; I was the star of an indie film; and, there are no door-frame pull-up bars in china.