Esprit d’escalier after a Spring-Creek-Park conversation about a friend’s experience with You, God, since a conference at Life Center back in February:
“Friend, I realize in retrospect that the reason for my muted reaction to your account of what God has done for you this past year was not jealousy or my own lack of similar experience: It was simply that what you were telling me was news Ethan has been sharing with me repeatedly since you encountered God so powerfully last February. I do remember rejoicing when I first heard the news. I praise God for it.
“It’s true that I don’t know what to say when speaking directly with someone describing an experience such as yours, because it’s true that I haven’t had much in the way of similar experience. But then, my heart is filled with peace and joy and light and has been—increasingly so—since my adolescence. Just because I’m not effervescent about Christ doesn’t mean I don’t love Him. I do always want to love Him with more of me, but I don’t need a powerful encounter to galvanize my love. Though to my limited understanding, it would be nice, for sure.
“On the subject of me finding it hard to get excited about the Gospel because I don’t understand it, perhaps an analogy will do: When you say Jesus showed His love for me when He allowed Himself to be executed by the Romans and Jews, I hear something akin to if Carla came to me and said, “Scott, I love you so much that I built an underground calliope that shoots chipmunks out of each pipe but only when you play in the key of B♭(my favorite key) so that when I want to see you and embrace, all I have to do is play a B♭ major chord to dispatch to chipmunks, who will run to tell you so.” If I don’t understand how you making an subterranean steam organ could mean ‘I love you,’ you won’t appreciate my love. If it doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make heart. You can’t tell me to stop trying to understand it, I don’t think.”
“Christ redeemed us from the curse of the Law” (Galatians 3:13a).
Jesus be like, “S’alright. I got this.” And boom, with his execution, fulfills the requirements of the Law once and for all so that we don’t have to worry about it.
No, really. Paul writes that He bought us off a lender who was on our backs. You don’t need to do anything to inherit eternal life. He paid your ticket.
Carla and I sat through our first foster care preservice training class session this evening. I wasn’t surprised by anything the CYS folks said. It was heartening and entertaining to hear from the guest lecturing Pollock family, who have six kids right now. Carla and I thought we disagreed about whether we could proceed, but further conversation revealed that we agree: While she is on Council, we will stick with respite foster care only. She thought I wasn’t even OK with that; I had forgotten respite was all she wants to do at the moment.
The only other notable thing, besides the gratis Smartfood popcorn bags we snagged for the kids’ lunches tomorrow, was that I think every one of the candidates, plus the Pollocks, are motivated by their faith in Jesus Christ.
I need not fear the prospect of my children deciding against following Christ. It may happen. But it should not cause fear, apprehension, or anxiety. Sadness, yes, but even that the sadness of someone who can’t share a specific joy with someone else, not the sadness of a man robbed of his heart and soul. I will still be Christ’s, and Christ will still be mine. And the Christ I know these days doesn’t bar people from eternal life on the basis of their professions of specific faith, anyway.
But if I do experience such emotions, as yesterday after Carla pointed out that I answered a question Sullivan had not asked (Sullivan: “I wish the Lundins came to our church.” Me: “Well, they don’t go to church. Tom doesn’t believe in God.” Sullivan: “Really? He doesn’t believe in God?”), I need not be ashamed of them. It’s my shame about those feelings that causes me to clam up and act out rather than speak plainly about them.
“Paul wanted [Timothy] to go with him; and he took him and circumcised him because of the Jews who were in those parts, for they all knew that his father was a Greek” (Acts 16:3). Now that’s dedication.
A slight feeling of stomach-drop creeped into me this evening as Sullivan came out of his bedroom after bedtime to talk through the disappointment he was feeling about how his “splat ball” that he had earned during this “cookie dough” fundraiser at Lemont Elementary was only intact for about an hour and a half this afternoon before it burst or leaked or something. He had worked relatively hard to get that splat ball, and he was sad, either that he had abused the ball so as to break it, or that it was of such poor quality as to break so easily. Carla handled his disappointment with aplomb, as you might imagine.
What is this feeling? It’s like I fear he is not going to be able to handle his disappointment and thus somehow let them lead him to despair and religious doubt.
I also felt it last night when Éa offered at the end of A Picture Book of George Washington, where it mentions Washington’s death, that our first president is now alive again. I replied that some people think so, yes, in heaven, while other people think his soul is asleep, to be resurrected by God at the end of time. The fear here is that this will sound preposterous to her, and she’ll reject Christ because of it.
The feeling comes because in the face of death, disappointment, grief, and unanswered deep questions, I fear my children may, like many in this world, come to the conclusion that knowing God isn’t worth the mental effort, and that it’s much easier to simply believe that everything is random.
But that’s why I have my list. God, I trust You; help me in my lack of trust.
Finding Christian music I like is harder than finding non-Christian music I like because the lyrics matter more: You not only have to find music you like, you also have to find a theological bent you agree with. And you’re working with a smaller subset of the populations, so the pickings are slimmer.
Could a fellow charismatic humor my perhaps fussy inner lexicographer? I’m looking for a definition of “enter in.”
I ask because I’m generally suspicious of phrases in Christian circles whose meaning would not be immediately apparent to outsiders. “Enter in” strikes me as an example of the clichéd, mystical argot that helps to maintain power structures and in-group, out-group distinction in an organization. The first way to neuter such a phrase’s abusive possibilities is to provide a clear definition for it.
As far as I can tell, among Bible translations the phrase is unique to King James, and it never occurs in the context we hear it now: Congregational singing. What’s more, it’s redundant—that is, drop the word “in” and the phrase would, at face value, mean the same thing. The problem with that, however, is that we often use “enter in” without prepositional object, and if the guy at the microphone were to say simply “Enter!” during singing time (pause for a moment to picture it), the mysticism of the directive would, I think, be even more apparent.
“Who is there among you who is wise and intelligent? Then let him by his noble living show forth his [good] works with the [unobtrusive] humility [which is the proper attribute] of true wisdom…But the wisdom from above is first of all pure (undefiled); then it is peace-loving, courteous (considerate, gentle). [It is willing to] yield to reason, full of compassion and good fruits; it is wholehearted and straightforward, impartial and unfeigned (free from doubts, wavering, and insincerity). And the harvest of righteousness (of conformity to God’s will in thought and deed) is [the fruit of the seed] sown in peace by those who work for and make peace [in themselves and in others, that peace which means concord, agreement, and harmony between individuals, with undisturbedness, in a peaceful mind free from fears and agitating passions and moral conflicts]” (James 3:13,17-18, AMP).
Thank You, God, for reinforcing the lesson: If you think you’re wise, you’d better be able to prove it with deeds.
“Blessed are they who did not see, and yet believed” (Jesus, as reported in John 20:29).
I’ve always taken this saying of Jesus, along with several other beatitudes, as being some kind of moral judgment, in this case, that folks who trust Jesus without having to see Him are better people than those who need to see Him to believe. But that’s not what He is saying: Instead, it’s that the more credulous among us are happier, to be envied, as the Amplified Bible puts it. It’s true: If I didn’t feel impelled to study and intellectualize and apologize God, I’d be a much happier man.
I worry some my wanting to be the answers to my own prayers rather than merely praying them will be one of those revelations that doesn’t stick because I don’t implement it fast enough. But God, let it not be so. And it seemed to me to be the Holy Spirit who just said to me, “Hook your well-established system of doing it or queueing it to the impulses that come to you as you massage this new mindset into yourself.”
Current interpretation of the bits in James 1 and Romans 5 about persevering through trials: Perseverance through trials, even those that come in the form of intellectual challenges to the faith, breeds perseverance.
A locus of my anxiety about my religious doubt is my children. I have previously been so sure of God that I never worried about passing my faith on to them; I had what was in my mind a 100% sure platform on which to stand and call to them to join me. The thought of not being able to pass on to them something I know is true makes my stomach drop.
I should take my commitment to eschew multitasking further: Instead of filling all the short periods of waiting that come frequently at work with some other task, take advantage of them to return to awareness of and communication with God.
Acts 26:8 is a phrase that contains the heart of the problems of using a Bayesian probability approach to the question of the Resurrection: “Why is it considered incredible among you people if God does raise the dead?” In other words, if you’re a theist, it isn’t that hard to believe in a resurrection. If you’re an atheist, then yes, obviously, it’s, um, unlikely, to say the least.
In the Clover Highlands during my prayer-walk today, I came away with this: The people in front of you at any given moment are the most interesting, fascinating people in the world. Certainly more interesting than myself. Act—and listen—accordingly.
Exactly one year ago today, I have down in my journal that you told me in a videochat that you were wanting a supernatural experience to help you firmly believe that Jesus is alive. I share that desire. Any luck? I’m reading a book on the subject you might find interesting.
friend:
An interesting question. If I’m honest, no, that hasn’t happened yet. I do, however, feel a bit less inner conflict between my desire for rational truth about the way the universe works and my faith, or culture, or whatever it is. Maybe I’m becoming more content with my inner discontent. Maybe I do have a relationship with God. We’re working it out.
For whatever it’s worth I’m meandering my way through Richard Rohr’s Everything Belongs and think it’s pretty interesting. One of the appealing aspects of modern Catholic thought is that they reconcile faith and thinking as a dualism rather than a battle. His book sometimes feels a little close to the edge of my tolerance for meaningless easternisms, but it’s worth the read.
How are you?
me:
Historically, God’s hiddenness has been a source of laughter between Him and me. Only very recently has it become an occasional source of doubt and discontent. But I remain convinced that He has largely hidden Himself on purpose. I’m still sussing out His reasons…something to do with developing people and having them be the ones to give revelation, help, and prayer answering. Even in the New Testament, encounters with God were almost all mediated. There must be something to it.
I pray we all work this Relationship out.
Faith and thinking have always gone hand in hand for me. I’ve never understood the battle. May it end.
I’ll add the Rohr book to my functionally infinite list of books to read.
As for me, other than the novel experience of doubt—which, oddly enough, came because of some reading I’m doing as part of an exploratory, evangelistic effort with a good friend—life is as peachy as can be.