It's Christmas, 2014.
I'm technically middle aged, and while my body agrees my mind disputes this reality … for I'm still so ignorant about life. In this month when Christians celebrate that which established the timeless reference of life, so I'm finding my friends are dealing with relational breakdowns, wayward children, dying parents, financial crises, physical body failure, delusions of conspiracy, and all wrapped by worries of the future. And for me? Tomorrow I might die. Next week I may be injured. Yet the following month I may realize an opportunity that's now invisible. Oh, I know the bigger picture. I was born (so they tell me), I'm alive (so my senses say), and I will die (by all evidence that’s available). I live acutely aware of my disabilities that leave me far from anything even close to being the intended creature. My capacity to work toward a future is pathetic; the grand plans I once tried to make have failed. The major events of my life have been unexpected, opportunistic, and a surprise. In a world of 7 billion free-willed and choice-making individuals, could it be otherwise? We are all constrained by the fundamentals of position in time and space while this almost infinite mix of events conspires to create our daily experience. Only the big picture elements can be truly depended on, those seemingly fragile yet inevitable patterns that fall over us to shape time itself, if we would only remember to look. We each travel along spattering droplets of colour and mud across a canvas filled with broad and bold brush strokes that none of us can alter – we each make messy moments for others to deal with as best they can. I couldn't imagine it any other way. For amazingly this unfolding collective image is somehow made beautiful; as the image unfolds its clear that, despite the pain and sticky mess, it has a haunting beauty where wrong is ultimately made right for those willing to look. So along the way I'll do my best to help paint a backdrop where even the spilled messes of literal and figurative blood, guts and gore will ultimately get blended to build the expanse of completeness. I can already see and sense the shape of the canvas on which we all paint, and it's going to be one fantastic tapestry when we one day step back and see it by the right light. It's Christmas, 2014, and I'm joyfully clueless about tomorrow. (If you're lacking one more Christmas present … go buy Melanie Penn's “Hope Tonight” CD, turn off the lights, sink into the armchair, close your eyes, listen to the words, and let your imagination do the rest).
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To borrow a saying, if I was paid a penny every time someone asked me why God doesn't just show himself conclusively, I would be rich. I've been asked this a number of times in recent weeks - no money though.
Sadly, it seems when God does provide incontrovertible proof; proof doesn't seem to have much staying power with humans. The revelation seems to quickly wear off. I've seen too much of this; from knowing of the Jews in the Old Testament quickly forgetting their miracle working to God, to first hand experiences of people healed in prayer and then walking away from God. Indisputable evidence is a poor motivator. Consider; we have proof that we're changing the climate to the detriment of all, and we won't engage in any substantive action. No-one denies that the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer, yet few respond. We know our politicians are largely at the beck and call of lobbyists, yet voting apathy seems to be at an all time high. Drugs destroy, yet we take them. Materialism fails to bring joy, yet we are passionate for acquiring the latest offerings. And so it goes on. Yet belief ... now belief, there's a strong motivator. Well, blind belief; not so much - that vaporises under pressure. Although belief rooted in fear; that gives rise to violent jihadists. But belief founded in hope and joy; now there one finds sacrifice and service that seems indestructible even in the face of death. Why is that? Is this why God does not simply show himself in undeniable proof? For even Lucifer, in the very face of God, and knowing that he was not God, yet still chose to rebel. It seems this is not only a human condition. Belief is our individual conclusion based on evidence presented. Belief cannot be taught, only discovered. And that which we learn for ourselves is more valuable than any knowledge we're taught. Because its mine, I examined it, I reasoned it, I realized it, I articulated it, and so I believe it because I know it. Of course I continually re-examine it. And when I come to the same conclusion (whether I like it or not), the belief gets stronger. There's a lot of beliefs I find uncomfortable and maybe wish were not true, but I can't deny evidence and still be honest with myself. This Christmas, why not re-examine your belief? Lots of reasons. But here's one: because otherwise I couldn't care less.
Think about it: God knows everything, past, present and future. So God does not need prayer. But if I don't talk about things, if I don't articulate the germ of a feeling or a thought, it will be lost in the nothingness of noise. Sometimes an emotion can be so strong that I just have to burst out in prayer. But more often I'm so numbed that I've forgotten to feel, and so neglect to pray. The poverty that surrounds me, the corruption and crime, and salacious media the pervades our existence - I'm so numbed to the reality of what it all means that I forget to pray. I need to articulate it to God; because when I put words to what's dying inside, I give new life to what's really important. God knows it already, but he wants me to talk about it, because it's important and needs to be talked about. Until I talk (pray) about it I will suppress it, and then I fail to live truth to the world, and fail to hear God's heart. When I hear and see hurt, I need to pray so I can feel and know. (quick thoughts from while on the move) There's a "grammatical pun" in the title -- work it out! I'm a little tired of teaching - of being taught - the sort of teaching that says "this is how you must do things". It seems that this is all we get from the pulpit now days, or from the Christian books ... the implicit "How To" series that go "Jesus says ... therefore you should ..." They might be right, but they're often not helpful. Its the temptation to counsel: we love to tell others what they should do, yet more often than not it's misguided fluff that gives us a sense of satisfying superiority rather than being rooted in compassion. When I look at what has really informed my life its not what I've been taught, its what has been revealed: when telling truths are told. About the only sermons I can really remember are those very few that opened my eyes to a new insight (sorry to all you preachers, but most sermons simply remind me of what I'm already aware of). The books that have steered my life are those such as Chesterton's "Orthodoxy" -- it doesn't teach, it tells truths. The secular world can also tell some truths; Pratchett's revealing of human nature, xkcd's uncovering of our daily realities. Jesus likewise: he "taught" by telling truths of relationship in a rigid world of rules. The solution is in the title: telling truths needs talking with people, not talking at people. (quick thoughts from while on the move) It's easy to point out the problems (especially when the problem is not with me). But its so hard to place the emphasis on the possible solutions, and then to do this in a way that encourages oneself and others. More often than not, when and if we even get to talking about the solution options, we start with "you should ..." There are few phrases more effective at raising my ire than the phrase "you should ..." The inferred or assumed authority and arrogance by the person who says "you should" quickly triggers my pride. Now you've doubled my problem: I have to deal with whatever challenge I'm facing and wrestle with my pride! |
Why?
Probably the best therapy is to express yourself. Why do you think psychiatrists make you lie on the couch and talk, while all they do is murmur "hmmm", "uhuh", or "go on"? Archives
May 2017
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