When we begin to feel that we are not living our lives, but our lives are living us, then we begin to long for a place of rest, where we can restore our ability to make decisions, take actions, relax, instead of simply responding to pressures that keep coming our way.
People talk about feeling like they are "on a treadmill" that won't stop, or "on a rollercoaster" that just keeps going.
But, where does the pressure really come from? Although there may be a number of external pressures, responsibilities to job, family, friends, etc., the real pressure comes from within.
The treadmill, the rollercoaster, is an inner reality and experience. Going to an externally peaceful place may help one find an internally peaceful place, but the key experience is the internal one. That is the place where we experience our world most intensely. Within us is a place where we negotiate our interactions, make sense of our engagement and disengagement with life.
At times, this inner place feels like a place of defeat. At other times, it feels like a place of celebration. And, then at other times, it feels like a planning room, or an artist's studio, or a workshop. And, then, at times, it feels like a place of freedom and rest and joyful anticipation.
Sometimes we get to the point of interpreting our engagements in life in a negative way. By negative, I mean we understand our relationships, responsibilities in a way that diminishes our joy in living and may diminish the joy of others that deal with us. When this is happening, it is due to an inner imbalance, an inner depletion of liveliness. And, we are in need of restoration - from the inside out.
And, restoration and renewal may begin as we change our outer circumstances in a way that allows our inner lungs room to breathe, awaken, and begin to nourish and restore our joy in living.
Back in the days of ancient Israel, when Isaiah was a prophet, Israel was particularly interested in making alliances with powerful nations in order to insure their survival as a people in a dangerous world. After all, Israel was a small nation beside the great powers of Assyria and Egypt.
And, God inspired Isaiah to speak these words to an anxious nation: "In quietness and trust is your strength; in rest and returning you will be saved."
Before these words were spoken, Isaiah had been talking about the futility of putting trust in horses and chariots (military strength) and the futility of putting trust in Egypt or Assyria (political alliances with strong nations).
And, of course, there are many ways to respond to situations of anxiety. In a sense, being human is an anxious situation. We might seek our security in friends and family. We might seek our security in money and property. We might seek our meaning and security in keeping everybody happy. We might seek our security in keeping our reputation untarnished. We might seek meaning in our achievements at work or elsewhere. We might seek our security and meaning in pursuit of pleasure. And, all of these ways of engaging in life are alright when they are in balance, but to have balance in our desires and actions requires a profound inner stillness. It requires a profound "inner balance." If we have this, then we have a solid foundation to stand on. We have a sane standpoint from which to see and experience life.
But, the pathway to this inner balance is a mysterious one. The prophet Isaiah certainly points to it. "In quietness and trust is your strength; in rest and returning you will be saved."
This quietness and trust is that of Psalm 131. This rest and returning that saves - what is it?
Or, better, how does one do it?
In spiritual matters, we often talk of a "static" state of being (being at peace, having faith, having joy). We encourage and exhort each other at church and synagogue and mosque to "trust in God, be at peace, etc." But, what do we say to each other about how to get there? What can we tell each other about what the path is like? Instead of talking about a place of peace, maybe I ought to start talking here about the "way to peace."
Is the life of faith a clear destination that we have arrived at and can claim with confidence (e.g., "I'm saved") or is the life of faith more like being on a journey towards a desired but unknown land?
It feels more and more like a journey, a pilgrimmage towards the promised land, and like Israel, there is some real wandering in the wilderness for those who trust in God. Because, God does not reveal himself in the uplifting manifestations we would like at times, but reveals himself in the 'still small voice,' and in the unlikeliest of places like in the body of Jesus being tortured and executed on a cross of wood.
We have not been given a religious treasure that we can possess or claim or hold or store up. We have been invited onto a path. We have been called to follow. We are called into a future, into a journey, the outlines of which have been revealed to us in the life and death of Jesus of Nazareth. It is a journey that is taken in trust, in hope, in love, and in forsaking all other allegiances but the deep and abiding allegiance to the living God and Father of Jesus Christ.
And, we have been given inner resources, but those are not in our possession either. We have to find the path to that inner sanctuary, that inner oasis, as well. And, the inner journey is maybe even more mysterious and unpredictable than the outer journey. There are wanderings within as a man, woman or child tries to find that which is holy, that which is pure, that which, as George Fox says, "leads you up to God." But, like a hard hike to a beautiful mountaintop, like a difficult path to a beautiful waterfall and pool below - that is what the inner exercise can be. There is an inner exertion and discipline that is similar to the outer exertion and discpline necessary to reach a place of beauty and rest and renewal. And, the journey each time is a little different, or even a lot different, but there is a common feel to it. There is a way of living in trust, and hope, and love, and in yearning for justice and good for everyone. There is a way of celebration of the very goodness and mystery of God - the Creator, Judge and Redeemer of all the world. But, it is something we can seek out and it comes to us as a gift amidst the struggle. It is not something "we have inside of us," but a relationship we discover within that is deeper than life itself. And, this journey is something we can share with each other; in fact, it may be that we simply can't take this journey alone - without trust. For the journey of faith is about discovering the mysterious union of love of God and love of human beings. The one comes in the other, with the other, arising from the one in whom all things hold together -Jesus, the Christ, the one in whom God was and is reconciling the world to himself and us to each other.
To experience that reconciling presence in the depths of the soul is to feel life itself at work. This holy experience is deep within and between us and others.
But, as you experiencing reconciliation, you become aware of alienation: from yourself and from others. The presence of God awakens a sense of alienation, because once we experience what it is like to be "at home" with ourselves, others, and God, we begin to realize how often we are "far from home."
But, we must experience this alienation in life; it is simply part of sharing in flesh and blood. The person who is most lost is the one who is lost and doesn't know it. But, there is no other way to live than to wander into the wilderness -that is the only way to make it to the promised land. And, we wander in faith and hope and love - these three, but the greatest of these is love.
Jesus wandered in faith deeper into alienation from human beings and from God than anyone. And, that is why he cried out from the cross: "my God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me!?"
And, from Jesus' place of deepest alienation, God began the re-creation of life through reconciliation. If we trust God like this, and love human beings like this, then we will find ourselves in the experience of alienation. And, just at the point where we have had all we can stand and begin to cry out: "My God, my God . . . ," God begins to re-create and reconcile through us. Because we have been drawn into the beautiful, joyful, stubborn, recreative, persistent power at the center of life that Paul describes in 2 Corinthians 4:7-11. And, in Paul's experience of deepest alienation, he says: "It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me." Somehow in the depths of his brokenness and alienation from life, Paul discovered this upsurging of new life. 2 Cor. 1:8-11. This is an inner discovery, an outer discovery - when we are reconciled to that which is inside of us and that which is outside of us.
These are some thoughts I am having as I try to find the way of peace.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
A Hunger for Peace and Grace and Truth
In today's society, there is a noticable hunger for peace and grace and truth. People don't come to church anymore looking for something real showy or fancy - they can get that on T.V. or in the movie theatre or over the internet. No, what people look for in church these days is something real, something humble, something decent, something free of anger and compulsion.
Churches used to make a living by fussing at people through teachings and interpretations of scripture meant to control and change people, but people like me and others in society, aren't looking to be fussed at. We want someone to speak a sane word to us like we mattered, like we shared the same reality and struggles of the speaker.
In today's society, people are looking for an unpretentious church, a place to worship in truth, a place to worship in peace.
So long as we want to bring our anger to church, our desire to control and our need for applause, people will find other places to be - other places where they might worship God in spirit and in truth.
Churches used to make a living by fussing at people through teachings and interpretations of scripture meant to control and change people, but people like me and others in society, aren't looking to be fussed at. We want someone to speak a sane word to us like we mattered, like we shared the same reality and struggles of the speaker.
In today's society, people are looking for an unpretentious church, a place to worship in truth, a place to worship in peace.
So long as we want to bring our anger to church, our desire to control and our need for applause, people will find other places to be - other places where they might worship God in spirit and in truth.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Thoughts About and Experiences of God
When I am sitting around in conversation about religious matters, at what point is it I am in conversation about thoughts, feelings, experiences, guesses about how life works, etc. What I am asking is: what exactly is our religious talk based on?
At one time and in one conversation or monologue I can be so certain that I know something of God, even from God sometimes. And, at other times, my 'knowing' seems very uncertain and to give way to Psalm 131: "O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high. I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul . . . "
And, when my "knowing" gives way to this trust, I often feel I have reached the deepest level of knowing which shapes my life in a holy way.
The mystics are right: there is a way of "knowing" that arises from a deep sense of "not knowing." But, this "not knowing" is not skepticism, but its opposite. This "not knowing" trusts in another and trusts in something deep and mysterious in the self. This trust and experience of our Creator's trustworthiness is the deepest part of faith that I know.
Have you ever been with someone you loved and trusted very much, and the two of you were facing a very difficult problem? And, it was unclear what you should do. Have you ever had the feeling that even though you didn't have any idea of what to do at that moment, that nonetheless you felt absolutely confident at that moment that the two of you would figure out the right thing to do?
It is that kind of "knowing" that I am talking about when I talk about the experience of faith.
Another thought I have been having is this: when I pray many times, I am imagining myself in relation to God and imagining God. But, there are a few times, when that imagining gives way to experiencing and communing. But, isn't that a lot like our relationships with others we are close to? We spend a good deal of time imagining that relationship, imagining how we are in relation to the other, how the other is in relation to us. We have conversations with the other in which we are trying out this or that presentation of ourselves or this or that construction of who the other is. But, sometimes, these conversations give way to utter communion, when we are talking and listening to each other so much that we are taken up in one conversation, not two separate ones trying to make contact.
So, I don't want to devalue abstract theological discussions or abstract personal discussions, or any genuine attempt to move towards understanding, whether theological or personal. It is not so much the level of the discourse that matters, but the direction and intent of that discourse that matters. Where people are joined together really seeking understanding, they tend to find it together. Where a person or persons are really seeking understanding with God, within the self, and with each other, they tend to experience it.
A good, well-intentioned abstract philosophical discussion is better and more humanly meaningful than a serious effort at personal discussion of personal and religious issues that is guided by bad motives, whether those motives are conscious or unconscious.
Where the heart is turned towards God and neighbor, about any discussion can be worth having, whether it is about tilling the garden or a new grandchild or your favorite baseball team.
At one time and in one conversation or monologue I can be so certain that I know something of God, even from God sometimes. And, at other times, my 'knowing' seems very uncertain and to give way to Psalm 131: "O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high. I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul . . . "
And, when my "knowing" gives way to this trust, I often feel I have reached the deepest level of knowing which shapes my life in a holy way.
The mystics are right: there is a way of "knowing" that arises from a deep sense of "not knowing." But, this "not knowing" is not skepticism, but its opposite. This "not knowing" trusts in another and trusts in something deep and mysterious in the self. This trust and experience of our Creator's trustworthiness is the deepest part of faith that I know.
Have you ever been with someone you loved and trusted very much, and the two of you were facing a very difficult problem? And, it was unclear what you should do. Have you ever had the feeling that even though you didn't have any idea of what to do at that moment, that nonetheless you felt absolutely confident at that moment that the two of you would figure out the right thing to do?
It is that kind of "knowing" that I am talking about when I talk about the experience of faith.
Another thought I have been having is this: when I pray many times, I am imagining myself in relation to God and imagining God. But, there are a few times, when that imagining gives way to experiencing and communing. But, isn't that a lot like our relationships with others we are close to? We spend a good deal of time imagining that relationship, imagining how we are in relation to the other, how the other is in relation to us. We have conversations with the other in which we are trying out this or that presentation of ourselves or this or that construction of who the other is. But, sometimes, these conversations give way to utter communion, when we are talking and listening to each other so much that we are taken up in one conversation, not two separate ones trying to make contact.
So, I don't want to devalue abstract theological discussions or abstract personal discussions, or any genuine attempt to move towards understanding, whether theological or personal. It is not so much the level of the discourse that matters, but the direction and intent of that discourse that matters. Where people are joined together really seeking understanding, they tend to find it together. Where a person or persons are really seeking understanding with God, within the self, and with each other, they tend to experience it.
A good, well-intentioned abstract philosophical discussion is better and more humanly meaningful than a serious effort at personal discussion of personal and religious issues that is guided by bad motives, whether those motives are conscious or unconscious.
Where the heart is turned towards God and neighbor, about any discussion can be worth having, whether it is about tilling the garden or a new grandchild or your favorite baseball team.
Monday, March 29, 2010
A Reflection on the Meaning of Lent
Many Christians observe "Lent" and practice "giving up things" for Lent. Some give up chocolate, others give up t.v., others give up soft drinks or coffee or wine or beer.
I don't ever give anything up for Lent - at least not voluntarily. But, this Lenten season, I ended up pretty much giving up two things: coffee (which I love, but which was hurting my stomach) and blogging (which I just lost the desire to do).
It occurred to me tonight that Lent is the voluntary practice of giving up things, because in life we have to undergo and survive the experience of involuntarily giving up things. We have to learn to give up so much that is so important. We have to learn to give up our health eventually, our ability to control this and that, and even our loved ones. It is actually a pretty solemn spiritual discipline, learning to give up things in preparation for giving up what is most precious in life and even life itself.
Life is a joy, and life is a struggle. As OCMS sings: "Walking a line between faith and fear." And, though we have each other to travel with, there is something deeply personal that each of us has to bear. There is a moment when you just plain have to bear it by yourself.
In worship this Sunday, we sang: "Jesus Walked this Lonesome Valley."
"Jesus walked this lonesome valley. He had to walk it by himself. Nobody else could walk it for him. He had to walk it by himself."
When we come to understand this, then we can help each other out, not necessarily by taking the load off of each other, but by understanding something about the load each other is bearing. In that way, we really do help each other bear the load.
These two thoughts are before me: one, about learning to give things up and reflecting on that as being a central learning of life, and two, about the deeply personal nature of that learning process. But, giving up what is most precious can strike us at the depths of our souls. And, what is most precious are those we love.
At some point, even those with faith cry out to God: "My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me!?" Faith outlasts that cry in the end, endures it. Or, maybe that very cry is at the heart of faith - completely pouring out the deepest heartfelt experience of life and death before God. And, that painful question gets an answer - someday, it gets an answer, not in words, but in the shocking appearance of God in our midst, the life-giving presence of the Holy. I guess that is what Easter is all about.
I don't ever give anything up for Lent - at least not voluntarily. But, this Lenten season, I ended up pretty much giving up two things: coffee (which I love, but which was hurting my stomach) and blogging (which I just lost the desire to do).
It occurred to me tonight that Lent is the voluntary practice of giving up things, because in life we have to undergo and survive the experience of involuntarily giving up things. We have to learn to give up so much that is so important. We have to learn to give up our health eventually, our ability to control this and that, and even our loved ones. It is actually a pretty solemn spiritual discipline, learning to give up things in preparation for giving up what is most precious in life and even life itself.
Life is a joy, and life is a struggle. As OCMS sings: "Walking a line between faith and fear." And, though we have each other to travel with, there is something deeply personal that each of us has to bear. There is a moment when you just plain have to bear it by yourself.
In worship this Sunday, we sang: "Jesus Walked this Lonesome Valley."
"Jesus walked this lonesome valley. He had to walk it by himself. Nobody else could walk it for him. He had to walk it by himself."
When we come to understand this, then we can help each other out, not necessarily by taking the load off of each other, but by understanding something about the load each other is bearing. In that way, we really do help each other bear the load.
These two thoughts are before me: one, about learning to give things up and reflecting on that as being a central learning of life, and two, about the deeply personal nature of that learning process. But, giving up what is most precious can strike us at the depths of our souls. And, what is most precious are those we love.
At some point, even those with faith cry out to God: "My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me!?" Faith outlasts that cry in the end, endures it. Or, maybe that very cry is at the heart of faith - completely pouring out the deepest heartfelt experience of life and death before God. And, that painful question gets an answer - someday, it gets an answer, not in words, but in the shocking appearance of God in our midst, the life-giving presence of the Holy. I guess that is what Easter is all about.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Freedom from force and compulsion
One thought continues to arise in my mind and heart, more and more strongly. And, that thought is: FORCE AND COMPULSION OF ALL KINDS, AND AT ALL LEVELS OF HUMAN LIFE, ARE AGAINST THE MOVEMENT OF GOD'S SPIRIT, AND AGAINST THE NATURE OF GOD'S SPIRIT. And, against everything that is good and deep and beautiful in human life.
Whether it is a personal compulsion that I have to exercise three times a day, or a personal compulsion that I have every part of the house clean before a guest can visit, or that I have to make everybody happy before I can relax (which means I can never relax), or more dark compulsive thoughts, these bind our hearts and minds, keeping us from the freedom of God's Spirit. Whether it is a parent reverting to threats and physical force - not as some last, desperation attempt to get control when it is lost - but, as a normal part of child-rearing; whether it is a teacher using shame and blame techniques to motivate students; whether it is governments passing more and more laws to try to force citizens into a certain mold; whether it is launching military campaigns whenever we feel a little threatened; whether it is using violent, abrasive language to try and "win" every debate with another, all of these practices are in a sense the choosing of violence over seeking understanding.
It seems to me that the great difference between God and the way religious people have portrayed God so often is that the real God is averse to using force, whereas religious people like to portray God as if he is all about force. The Gospel accounts in the New Testament about Jesus really agree on one thing very, very much, and that one thing is: Jesus did not try to compel people to follow him (rather he warned them how hard it would be); Jesus did not use force against anyone to get them to do anything; Jesus opposed the coercive teachings of the religious leaders of his day. And, well, there is God and who God is shown to be through Jesus. God was shown to be the opposite of violence; the absolute opposite of a coercer. For, "even though humanity was opposed to the ways of God," God didn't declare war on humanity, conquer us, and then put us in training camps to reprogram us. No, God bore our sicknesses, and evils in his very self, breaking the hold of compulsions and violence and oppressions of all sorts. God sought to reach humanity at the depths of our darkened hearts with a love that went deeper than our pain, deeper than our hatred, deeper than our pettiness, calling out from the depths of God's Spirit, to the depths of our spirits, Creator to creature, from the goodness and dignity and glory of the Creator to the goodness and dignity of the creature.
And, yes, it is a powerful and resounding call that comes to us from the heart of God, and when we hear it in our depths, we can't help but respond. But, this response is not some compulsion, but is the greatest release and joyful liberation. As we understand that the center and power of all reality is this overwhelming joyful love, our hearts rejoice and we become more alive than we have ever been before.
Whether it is a personal compulsion that I have to exercise three times a day, or a personal compulsion that I have every part of the house clean before a guest can visit, or that I have to make everybody happy before I can relax (which means I can never relax), or more dark compulsive thoughts, these bind our hearts and minds, keeping us from the freedom of God's Spirit. Whether it is a parent reverting to threats and physical force - not as some last, desperation attempt to get control when it is lost - but, as a normal part of child-rearing; whether it is a teacher using shame and blame techniques to motivate students; whether it is governments passing more and more laws to try to force citizens into a certain mold; whether it is launching military campaigns whenever we feel a little threatened; whether it is using violent, abrasive language to try and "win" every debate with another, all of these practices are in a sense the choosing of violence over seeking understanding.
It seems to me that the great difference between God and the way religious people have portrayed God so often is that the real God is averse to using force, whereas religious people like to portray God as if he is all about force. The Gospel accounts in the New Testament about Jesus really agree on one thing very, very much, and that one thing is: Jesus did not try to compel people to follow him (rather he warned them how hard it would be); Jesus did not use force against anyone to get them to do anything; Jesus opposed the coercive teachings of the religious leaders of his day. And, well, there is God and who God is shown to be through Jesus. God was shown to be the opposite of violence; the absolute opposite of a coercer. For, "even though humanity was opposed to the ways of God," God didn't declare war on humanity, conquer us, and then put us in training camps to reprogram us. No, God bore our sicknesses, and evils in his very self, breaking the hold of compulsions and violence and oppressions of all sorts. God sought to reach humanity at the depths of our darkened hearts with a love that went deeper than our pain, deeper than our hatred, deeper than our pettiness, calling out from the depths of God's Spirit, to the depths of our spirits, Creator to creature, from the goodness and dignity and glory of the Creator to the goodness and dignity of the creature.
And, yes, it is a powerful and resounding call that comes to us from the heart of God, and when we hear it in our depths, we can't help but respond. But, this response is not some compulsion, but is the greatest release and joyful liberation. As we understand that the center and power of all reality is this overwhelming joyful love, our hearts rejoice and we become more alive than we have ever been before.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Who Causes Evil?
There are good things and bad things that happen to us. Sometimes we have a large role in creating the good and bad we experience, but sometimes we don't. And, even when we largely give shape to what comes to us, we have been formed by so many things that went before us.
We are certainly agents that can affect our environment, even shape it, as we are shaped by it. But, we never have the chance to extripate ourselves from our environment: social, psychological, spiritual, physical, political, and make decisions without being pushed and pulled by forces we cannot fathom or control.
In thinking on things like this, I invariably think about God's relationship to what happens in this world. I feel that God is in about everything, but not "in control" the way God is often presented in Western Christianity. To hear many preachers, you would think that God just sits back at the switchboard and causes this and that to happen. And, though it may seem bad to us, it is all good in the end as it is all part of God's masterplan. Well, I just don't see things that way, nor do I experience them that way. And, not too many of those who wrote the Bible seemed to either.
Presbyterians are afraid to give too much credence to evil, and we are also afraid to punch any holes in our doctrine of providence. But, Jesus suffering and crucifixion, might be understood to reveal just how much in rebellion this world is and just how much evil lurks on earth in defiance of the goodness of God. In the resurrection, God says "NO" to the evil in this world, especially because of Jesus suffering and obedience to God as Jesus defied the powers of evil. But, the evil is strong. So strong, that though God struck a blow against its power over humans, the victory has not yet come. Sin still covers the earth, and stirs humans to twisted and distorted and violent living. Death follows in the wake of sin.
I really like the realism of the last book of the Bible. Most mainline Christians really hate Revelation. But, that's because they think things are really pretty good and we are just going to step right off of the earth to heaven through the passageway we call death. And, I guess things are at times pretty good for mainline Protestants in the U.S. - if they can pretend through the pain. But, things aren't good at all for many other people around the globe, as they watch their children die from starvation or civil wars. As they find their daughters raped and beaten during wars. No, for many, many people, life on earth can be a hell. And, the answer to all this comes not in heaven, but in God's coming to earth - fully and finally, bringing judgement and redemption.
To many people my talk probably sounds like science fiction. Yes, it is like science fiction. That's why I love science fiction, because it is one of the closest portrayals of the way things really are that we have in our imagination and writing. Life is really a lot more like "The Lord of the Rings"than contemporary understanding makes it out to be. And, life for me is a lot more interesting than it is for good, solid people that never stray from "common sense." I really like to think that God blesses us with "uncommon sense" so that we can see the glory that is hidden in the present.
I really like "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings," because - to me - Tolkien's portrayal of Middle Earth is just "so realistic." The outcome does seem in doubt at times, but something deep within, something so good, just convinces you that the good will triumph - even though everything seems to point the other way. The simple goodness of little Hobbit trying to fulfill his destiny. The truth that it is only one so humble that has a chance really taking on the powers of evil that break humans.
O, yeah, I was going to talk about who causes evil. Well, in the deepest part of me, I think that God does not. I think that God is fully good, not good and bad. We traffic in evil; God does not. But, God's way of overcoming evil is not too easy to understand. We want God to be like the military and come and force evil out. But, problem is evil has grown within us along with our good, so the eradication of it would mean the eradication of us. We have to learn to live with it in God's patience and God's Spirit. And, to overcome it in time as the good becomes ever stronger.
We are certainly agents that can affect our environment, even shape it, as we are shaped by it. But, we never have the chance to extripate ourselves from our environment: social, psychological, spiritual, physical, political, and make decisions without being pushed and pulled by forces we cannot fathom or control.
In thinking on things like this, I invariably think about God's relationship to what happens in this world. I feel that God is in about everything, but not "in control" the way God is often presented in Western Christianity. To hear many preachers, you would think that God just sits back at the switchboard and causes this and that to happen. And, though it may seem bad to us, it is all good in the end as it is all part of God's masterplan. Well, I just don't see things that way, nor do I experience them that way. And, not too many of those who wrote the Bible seemed to either.
Presbyterians are afraid to give too much credence to evil, and we are also afraid to punch any holes in our doctrine of providence. But, Jesus suffering and crucifixion, might be understood to reveal just how much in rebellion this world is and just how much evil lurks on earth in defiance of the goodness of God. In the resurrection, God says "NO" to the evil in this world, especially because of Jesus suffering and obedience to God as Jesus defied the powers of evil. But, the evil is strong. So strong, that though God struck a blow against its power over humans, the victory has not yet come. Sin still covers the earth, and stirs humans to twisted and distorted and violent living. Death follows in the wake of sin.
I really like the realism of the last book of the Bible. Most mainline Christians really hate Revelation. But, that's because they think things are really pretty good and we are just going to step right off of the earth to heaven through the passageway we call death. And, I guess things are at times pretty good for mainline Protestants in the U.S. - if they can pretend through the pain. But, things aren't good at all for many other people around the globe, as they watch their children die from starvation or civil wars. As they find their daughters raped and beaten during wars. No, for many, many people, life on earth can be a hell. And, the answer to all this comes not in heaven, but in God's coming to earth - fully and finally, bringing judgement and redemption.
To many people my talk probably sounds like science fiction. Yes, it is like science fiction. That's why I love science fiction, because it is one of the closest portrayals of the way things really are that we have in our imagination and writing. Life is really a lot more like "The Lord of the Rings"than contemporary understanding makes it out to be. And, life for me is a lot more interesting than it is for good, solid people that never stray from "common sense." I really like to think that God blesses us with "uncommon sense" so that we can see the glory that is hidden in the present.
I really like "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings," because - to me - Tolkien's portrayal of Middle Earth is just "so realistic." The outcome does seem in doubt at times, but something deep within, something so good, just convinces you that the good will triumph - even though everything seems to point the other way. The simple goodness of little Hobbit trying to fulfill his destiny. The truth that it is only one so humble that has a chance really taking on the powers of evil that break humans.
O, yeah, I was going to talk about who causes evil. Well, in the deepest part of me, I think that God does not. I think that God is fully good, not good and bad. We traffic in evil; God does not. But, God's way of overcoming evil is not too easy to understand. We want God to be like the military and come and force evil out. But, problem is evil has grown within us along with our good, so the eradication of it would mean the eradication of us. We have to learn to live with it in God's patience and God's Spirit. And, to overcome it in time as the good becomes ever stronger.
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