“Explain to me again why God loves us?”
I’ve written on this before, yet I ask the question.
I’ve written of the smoothness of eternity, of the quiet reflective beauty of beings created for time without end, and how our headlong scramble over the rubble and scree of mortality scrapes our spiritual shins and knees. Unlike the angels, we enter eternity battered, bruised, and bleeding.
We tend to think of ourselves as important creatures. In reality we are more self-important than we merit.
That’s the main reason we sin... we believe that what we want and when we want it is more important than nearly anything else.
This blog has been filled with the angst of personal melodrama, a sordid little morality tale. For now, my life seems to be in a weird lull of its rising action.
Brenda has been nice to me lately.
Nothing extraordinary, just a little kinder, a little more considerate.
In the middle of the night, when I am only slightly aware I have moaned a little in my sleep and rolled away from her, she has reached out and touched my shoulder, moved a foot under the covers and touched mine, small gestures of reassurance.
Which makes my doubts seem unfair.
A week and a half ago she packed her things, swore she was leaving for good, while I told her I loved her, wished her the best, wished her good luck.
I meant it.
After the drama and trauma of the past year I am ready to quit on this marriage.
But... I cannot. Not now. Not yet.
She asked to stay. She has agreed to demands I have made, and I stand as firmly as I can on the shifting sand of this unsteady marriage.
I am hyper vigilant. Perhaps unfairly. I feel guilty being suspicious, being wary.
When I had given up on this marriage a reader of this blog took me to task for coming to that decision. It stung a little.
Since then, since I have forgiven once again, I haven’t heard from that reader.
That is OK. Though the criticism stung at the time I also knew I was justified, scripturally, in casting her aside.
I had thought the reader would have written something to me that was encouraging, reassuring, when I accepted her back, forgave her. But I really don’t need it.
I am satisfied I have stood steady, been true, and I do not need the reassurances of those who do not know my life regarding the decisions I make.
When she was packing to leave, when she got in her car and drove away, I was ready. I was willing to let her go. I meant my words of forgiveness and love and good wishes, but I was ready to let her go, let it end.
I’m a sentimental guy. I feel for those who suffer, I pray for those who haven’t the freedoms I have, the faith I have, the health and wealth I have. I ache over the hurts of my life, the hurts of those I know, the hurts of those I do not know.
My father, the one living the strange, hedonistic life in Thailand, would see such feelings as weakness. I don’t.
I think Jesus was sentimental.
I think He dealt with those He met with understanding, with kindness, with forgiveness.
Still, I have reached the edge of this mesa of forgiveness, and I am unwilling to trot off the rim of this place. I am willing to love her while I tell her goodbye.
And that is the tricky part.
I do love her.
But I don’t trust her.
It doesn’t seem right to have a marriage in such a precarious place.
It doesn’t seem right to wonder about her actions when she is out of sight, when she isn’t doing anything that tells me she is seeking me harm.
Such thoughts make me feel I am selfish.
I feel like I am being unworthy, unkind, self-centered, when I do not embrace her, her thoughts, actions, intentions.
I’m not writing these words to seek the approval of anyone. I don’t need the reassurances of others over what I do. I have walked this path, with my Lord, and I believe I have stood where I might have fallen, climbed higher where I could have slipped further into anger and self pity and jealousy and thoughts of vengeance. I am OK with my choices.
My uneasiness with my suspicions is also understandable.
I want to do what is right. I want to be noble, to please God.
Suspicion does not feel like an emotion that comes from God, and that is why I feel a little guilty over watching her out of the corner of my eye.
I am keenly aware of feelings which feel as they are not of God.
I am aware I am a self-centered, pretentious, self-important being who is extremely small in time and in space.
I am aware I am loved and forgiven by God, and though I am small, though I am flawed, He loves me enough to care, to help me as I shove my burdens ahead of me, up this steep incline of life. Like Sisyphus I haven’t any choice but to keep pushing this boulder in a direction that isn’t all that easy.
But, I am strong. This exercise may seem futile, it may even be futile, but it strengthens these spiritual muscles.
So, I will do my best to control my thoughts, set aside my wariness, and accept where I am, seek to provide a place where she can heal from the hurts she has, the wounds she carries.
I will seek God’s balm for myself and for her, and do my best to accept that, though I am flawed, He still loves me.
It doesn’t have to make sense.
I don’t need to explain why God loves me.
It is enough to know He does.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Memorial Day
Last Friday night, as I was chatting with each of my sons, preparing to pray with them, I talked to them about what had happened that day. That morning my children became U.S. citizens.
“There are billions of people all over the world who wish they lived in this country,” I told each of them.
“We have plenty of food in the frig and the pantry. We have a good roof over our heads. If we are in trouble we can call the police and not worry they might want money from us or they might be as much of a problem as the reason we called. That isn’t true for a lot of people.
“If we are hurt or not feeling well, help is only a three digit phone call away. In many places the only people who can get help are those who have enough money to get special privileges, and in those countries very few are in that position.”
Each boy looked at me, unsure how to respond, unsure what I was referring to. They cannot remember what their home country, Haiti, is like.
“I think many people in this country don’t appreciate what a privilege it is to live here,” I told them.
“I lot of people talk about gas prices, and politics, and our economy, but all that means very little when we compare ourselves to most of the world. We are very lucky to live in such a wealthy country, a place where there are people to protect us, help us, let us go to whatever church we want and vote any way we want.
“Now you are a U.S. citizen and that means an awful lot.”
I went on for a little while. I think the voting thing went pretty much over their heads.
Today is Memorial Day. It is primarily a day when folks remember those who have served in the military to protect our freedoms, but it is also used for us to visit the places where we have buried all our loved ones.
We have a memorial to the veterans of the Vietnam conflict. It’s the first thing one sees entering town from the west.
That Vietnam was difficult for us. Some folks are still upset about the reasons we were there.
We treated the soldiers of that war poorly. In the current conflict the American people are trying very hard to make it clear that whatever their feelings about the war in Iraq, we honor the men and women who serve.
That is why I think the memorial on the edge of town is a good thing. It is a memorial to the veterans, not the war. There was some valor in that war, regardless of the poklitics behind it. The helicopter is a medical rescue vehicle, not a weapon. It may be military, but it is at least a symbol of rescue.
We voted in President Nixon because he told us he had a secret plan to get us out of the war (though we didn’t know the plan was: “Everybody on the roof!”).
There is a great concern in our country that the current conflict might not be the right thing to do as well.
Still, it is Memorial Day and the flags are flying. The boy scouts are putting them on the streets, the Veterans of Foreign wars are doing the same at the cemetery.
There is an American flag on every veteran’s grave. There are too many of them.
At Zion Memorial Cemetery there are representatives from nearly every war, all the way back to the Civil war 150 years ago.
Brenda and I put flowers on Willy’s grave.
I don’t believe God is an American, but I do believe I am very fortunate to live in a place where I can worship Him without fear, or regard, to what others think.
I’m unsure what is best for us to do in the rest of the world, but I believe that as a people we really want to do what is best, what helps others. Perhaps not all our leaders have been motivated by that concern, but for even them, doing the right thing is a part of it.
Death is a part of life. Some of those we honor today died for others. Some simply died (such as Willy).
As I tried to explain that to my kids, I am grateful for those who sacrificed themselves for others, for me.
Most especially my Lord who sacrificed Himself that everyone, American, Venezuelan, Portuguese, Russian, all of us, that we may live not only forever, but live well in this world as well.
Happy Memorial Day.
“There are billions of people all over the world who wish they lived in this country,” I told each of them.
“We have plenty of food in the frig and the pantry. We have a good roof over our heads. If we are in trouble we can call the police and not worry they might want money from us or they might be as much of a problem as the reason we called. That isn’t true for a lot of people.
“If we are hurt or not feeling well, help is only a three digit phone call away. In many places the only people who can get help are those who have enough money to get special privileges, and in those countries very few are in that position.”
Each boy looked at me, unsure how to respond, unsure what I was referring to. They cannot remember what their home country, Haiti, is like.
“I think many people in this country don’t appreciate what a privilege it is to live here,” I told them.
“I lot of people talk about gas prices, and politics, and our economy, but all that means very little when we compare ourselves to most of the world. We are very lucky to live in such a wealthy country, a place where there are people to protect us, help us, let us go to whatever church we want and vote any way we want.
“Now you are a U.S. citizen and that means an awful lot.”
I went on for a little while. I think the voting thing went pretty much over their heads.
Today is Memorial Day. It is primarily a day when folks remember those who have served in the military to protect our freedoms, but it is also used for us to visit the places where we have buried all our loved ones.
We have a memorial to the veterans of the Vietnam conflict. It’s the first thing one sees entering town from the west.
That Vietnam was difficult for us. Some folks are still upset about the reasons we were there.
We treated the soldiers of that war poorly. In the current conflict the American people are trying very hard to make it clear that whatever their feelings about the war in Iraq, we honor the men and women who serve.
That is why I think the memorial on the edge of town is a good thing. It is a memorial to the veterans, not the war. There was some valor in that war, regardless of the poklitics behind it. The helicopter is a medical rescue vehicle, not a weapon. It may be military, but it is at least a symbol of rescue.
We voted in President Nixon because he told us he had a secret plan to get us out of the war (though we didn’t know the plan was: “Everybody on the roof!”).
There is a great concern in our country that the current conflict might not be the right thing to do as well.
Still, it is Memorial Day and the flags are flying. The boy scouts are putting them on the streets, the Veterans of Foreign wars are doing the same at the cemetery.
There is an American flag on every veteran’s grave. There are too many of them.
At Zion Memorial Cemetery there are representatives from nearly every war, all the way back to the Civil war 150 years ago.
Brenda and I put flowers on Willy’s grave.
I don’t believe God is an American, but I do believe I am very fortunate to live in a place where I can worship Him without fear, or regard, to what others think.
I’m unsure what is best for us to do in the rest of the world, but I believe that as a people we really want to do what is best, what helps others. Perhaps not all our leaders have been motivated by that concern, but for even them, doing the right thing is a part of it.
Death is a part of life. Some of those we honor today died for others. Some simply died (such as Willy).
As I tried to explain that to my kids, I am grateful for those who sacrificed themselves for others, for me.
Most especially my Lord who sacrificed Himself that everyone, American, Venezuelan, Portuguese, Russian, all of us, that we may live not only forever, but live well in this world as well.
Happy Memorial Day.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Nests
(A Short Tale of Nature and My home)
“Dad, could you come out into the front yard? I have something I want to show you.”
Isaac gets a formal tone, chooses his words carefully, when he really wants to connect with me. He often has trouble articulating. When his language becomes precise, I pay attention.
“There’s a bird’s nest in the plum tree.”
Sure enough, only about five feet off the ground, there was a nest in the crotch of the tree.
No bird in it. No chirping. I peeked in, there were only empty shells within.
I gently pried it out of the tree while Isaac took pictures.
Bird nests are cool. I’m not sure why, but they are.
I think it is partly because they are complex. The twigs and leaves and bits of detritus swirl around in a macramé bowl.
Oregon weather has been strange this year. We never got the real cold weather, but there was plenty of rain. The temperature swung into the 90s (F.) and back down into the 50s over just a couple of days. We had weeks of cold rain, (very unusual) and the fruit trees are confused about what they should be doing. And a pair of birds have already raised their young this year.
I took the day off today. I explained what was up to the boys when I sat on their beds last night, our nightly time together which ends in prayer.
I explained once again about their citizenship problems. I told them how we were going to the immigration office and try to get their citizenship, that we knew it wasn’t supposed to be possible for Jeremiah to get it yet, but we thought we might, so we were going to try.
I told them how fortunate we are in this country, that we have so much available to us.
We dressed up a little, the boys, myself, Brenda. We left the house at 6:30 a.m. for the half hour drive to Portland for an 8:00 appointment. We wanted to be certain we got there ahead of morning rush hour traffic.
GREAT NEWS!!!
By 9:00 we were at the post office, applying for passports for the boys and Brenda, evidence for the happy news that my children are now U.S. Citizens!
Once more...
MY KIDS HAVE BEEN GRANTED U.S. CITIZENSHIP!!!
Simple pleasure of an empty bird nest, a symbol of Spring, new beginnings, another generation. A tremendous victory and gift in my children gaining the benefits of U.S. citizenship, the threats of the legal status swept away by people who knew how to do what is right, show us the way out of the maze of legal red tape (sorry about the mixed metaphor).
I'm so glad not to find bureaucrats in a buraeucracy! Not what I would expect. Especially one that is now under the umbrella of Homeland Security!
How might this affect my home life?
I’m unsure. I know Brenda has a strong sense of responsibility, and the legal mess tied her to this home. Now the boys will have access to all the benefits of any American citizenship. Will this make it easier for her to leave? Perhaps. In or out, progress is good.
And so is God.
He has been faithful. I am grateful
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Gold
Our sun, Sol, is a third generation star. It has a grandpa (well, had, he's dead now).
First generation stars were large. Fueled by hydrogen and helium they lived short lives. They fused hydrogen and helium, making carbon, (and sometimes, with a little extra helium, oxygen) and in their explosive deaths rounded out the first 26 elements of the periodic table, stopping at iron.
Some of those stars were so massive that when they ran out of their hydrogen/helium fuel, exploding in a white nova, they left enough iron behind (1.44 solar masses minimum) to create a neutron star. The iron compressed, leaving a crust of hydrogen over "liquid" neutronium. A teaspoon of the stuff, if taken to Earth, would weigh a billion tons. The electrons of the iron are pressed into protons (poof, no more iron), forming more neutrons... a neutron star.
If two such stars collide... a special material is formed... gold.
An artist's concept of
The collision of two neutron stars
Our solar system gathered in some of that material.
Hydrogen and helium fused into carbon and oxygen, fused into iron, collapsed into neutronium, colliging with more of the same, creating... gold.
I know this bores many folks. I find it fascinating. The gold in my wedding band has this amazing history. Forged in the foundries of the universe, stars and neutron stars, shaped by a gold smith, and placed on my hand by my wife.
Gold is beautiful. Gold does not rust.
Over the past nine months my wedding band has been an awkward companion. I have removed it and returned it. I have hidden that hand when it bears the ring and hidden that hand when it nakedly told the world my marriage was over.
This glistening metal, a warm brightness... a gold band.
We dig deep to uncover this bright metal, shape it into jewelry and electronics.
"There is a mine for silver and a place where gold is refined. Iron is taken from the earth, and copper is smelted from ore. Man puts an end to the darkness; he searches the farthest recesses for ore in the blackest darkness. Far from where people dwell he cuts a shaft, in places forgotten by the foot of man; far from men he dangles and sways.
--Job 28:1-4
From the heart of stars and the heart of the earth, this band of gold represents my own heart... symbolically claiming what I am uncomfortable with... my marriage.
I’m seeing a lot of symbolism around this stuff. This metal of 118 neutrons, and 79 protons (with 79 matching electrons), stable at 197 amu mass.
I am not a wise man. If wisdom were gold I would pay much to get just a little of it.
Everyday I look at my life and think about where I am. I think about where I have been and where I might be going. I think about my children and struggle to know what is the best course of action for them, for me. I think about my Lord, what He has said for me to do... and the answers that come are only for the moment, only for the day.
They are answers which speak to love, faithfulness, integrity, being true. The answers are words springing to mind from the Lord’s Prayer (“...forgive me as I forgive...”), from the words of Jesus (“...he without sin may throw...”), the Serenity Prayer (“...accept what I cannot change...”) and other aphorisms which speak to holding steady, being true.
Still... I feel I am not putting my hand to the task, I’m not guiding my family... I am a reed in the wind. That doesn’t feel right either.
I seek wisdom.
Job compared such a search for wisdom as a search for gold:
Man's hand assaults the flinty rock and lays bare the roots of the mountains. He tunnels through the rock; his eyes see all its treasures. He searches the sources of the rivers and brings hidden things to light.
"But where can wisdom be found? Where does understanding dwell? Man does not comprehend its worth; it cannot be found in the land of the living. The deep says, 'It is not in me'; the sea says, 'It is not with me.' It cannot be bought with the finest gold, nor can its price be weighed in silver.
--Job 28:9-15
Perhaps wisdom comes from experience, perhaps from God, perhaps from both. Perhaps it comes from another source. I don’t know.
I know I need it.
If it only comes from experience, I’m in trouble, because that means the gaining of wisdom comes with a price. If it comes from God, then it comes from grace, so I can seek it but it may or may not be granted.
There is advice in Scripture, but often it seems difficult to apply. The Decalogue does not prescribe what to do here.
1768 image of The Decalogue (10 Commandments)
I held her close this morning. We were hitting the snooze button on the alarm clock, and I was holding her close.
I was thinking: Should I divorce her? She has not agreed to counseling. She has not been fully committed to working on our marriage. She has not been treating me as I believe a wife should. I do not need to bend her to my will, but I do need her to see us as partners. I need her to see me, realize where I need healing, and if not actively help, at least acknowledge it. Should I divorce her?
I spoke softly.
“We don’t have to go to counseling right away, not until your job cuts back to part time. But if we skip the counseling, then we must at least treat each other as man and wife.”
She nodded.
“OK.”
Not the rousing agreement I would like, but a step.
But a vague step, a vague agreement, difficult to identify, quantify.
So I look at my ring.
Is it a promise? Is it command? Is it a burden? Does it reflect my life, or is it simply star dust?
Gold.
Beautiful, enduring.
Born in the unimaginable power of the collisions of neutron stars, matter so dense one and a half suns are squeezed into a diameter of less than ten miles.
It rests on my hand. It mocks me.
Oh...
Where is my wisdom? Where do I find the precious guidance I need?
I search my heart, and I see my own failures, making it easier to accept the failures of others, of my wife.
I look at my ring and I blush with the memory of men’s words bragging about their wonderful wives.
Perhaps I should seek wisdom in my heart. It seems more honest that my sophistic mind.
Purify my heart
Let me be as gold and precious silver
Purify my heart
Let me be as gold, pure gold
Refiner's fire
My heart's one desire
Is to be holy
Set apart for You, Lord
I choose to be holy
Set apart for You, my Master
Ready to do Your will
Purify my heart
Cleanse me from within
And make me holy
Purify my heart
Cleanse me from my sin
Deep within
I HATE THIS!
I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!
In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy...
--1 Peter 1:6-8
Damn it, Lord. That is not the answer I want!
"Where then does wisdom come from? Where does understanding dwell? It is hidden from the eyes of every living thing, concealed even from the birds of the air. Destruction and Death say, 'Only a rumor of it has reached our ears.' God understands the way to it and he alone knows where it dwells, for he views the ends of the earth and sees everything under the heavens.
--Job 28:20-24
Oh...
That is not the answer I want!
OK.
OK.
I’ll stand here a while longer.
I will be patient.
I will obey.
And he said to man, 'The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom, and to shun evil is understanding.' "
--Job 28:28
First generation stars were large. Fueled by hydrogen and helium they lived short lives. They fused hydrogen and helium, making carbon, (and sometimes, with a little extra helium, oxygen) and in their explosive deaths rounded out the first 26 elements of the periodic table, stopping at iron.
Some of those stars were so massive that when they ran out of their hydrogen/helium fuel, exploding in a white nova, they left enough iron behind (1.44 solar masses minimum) to create a neutron star. The iron compressed, leaving a crust of hydrogen over "liquid" neutronium. A teaspoon of the stuff, if taken to Earth, would weigh a billion tons. The electrons of the iron are pressed into protons (poof, no more iron), forming more neutrons... a neutron star.
If two such stars collide... a special material is formed... gold.
An artist's concept ofThe collision of two neutron stars
Hydrogen and helium fused into carbon and oxygen, fused into iron, collapsed into neutronium, colliging with more of the same, creating... gold.
I know this bores many folks. I find it fascinating. The gold in my wedding band has this amazing history. Forged in the foundries of the universe, stars and neutron stars, shaped by a gold smith, and placed on my hand by my wife.
Gold is beautiful. Gold does not rust.
Over the past nine months my wedding band has been an awkward companion. I have removed it and returned it. I have hidden that hand when it bears the ring and hidden that hand when it nakedly told the world my marriage was over.
This glistening metal, a warm brightness... a gold band.
We dig deep to uncover this bright metal, shape it into jewelry and electronics.
"There is a mine for silver and a place where gold is refined. Iron is taken from the earth, and copper is smelted from ore. Man puts an end to the darkness; he searches the farthest recesses for ore in the blackest darkness. Far from where people dwell he cuts a shaft, in places forgotten by the foot of man; far from men he dangles and sways.
--Job 28:1-4
From the heart of stars and the heart of the earth, this band of gold represents my own heart... symbolically claiming what I am uncomfortable with... my marriage.
I’m seeing a lot of symbolism around this stuff. This metal of 118 neutrons, and 79 protons (with 79 matching electrons), stable at 197 amu mass.
I am not a wise man. If wisdom were gold I would pay much to get just a little of it.
Everyday I look at my life and think about where I am. I think about where I have been and where I might be going. I think about my children and struggle to know what is the best course of action for them, for me. I think about my Lord, what He has said for me to do... and the answers that come are only for the moment, only for the day.
They are answers which speak to love, faithfulness, integrity, being true. The answers are words springing to mind from the Lord’s Prayer (“...forgive me as I forgive...”), from the words of Jesus (“...he without sin may throw...”), the Serenity Prayer (“...accept what I cannot change...”) and other aphorisms which speak to holding steady, being true.
Still... I feel I am not putting my hand to the task, I’m not guiding my family... I am a reed in the wind. That doesn’t feel right either.
I seek wisdom.
Job compared such a search for wisdom as a search for gold:
Man's hand assaults the flinty rock and lays bare the roots of the mountains. He tunnels through the rock; his eyes see all its treasures. He searches the sources of the rivers and brings hidden things to light.
"But where can wisdom be found? Where does understanding dwell? Man does not comprehend its worth; it cannot be found in the land of the living. The deep says, 'It is not in me'; the sea says, 'It is not with me.' It cannot be bought with the finest gold, nor can its price be weighed in silver.
--Job 28:9-15
Perhaps wisdom comes from experience, perhaps from God, perhaps from both. Perhaps it comes from another source. I don’t know.
I know I need it.
If it only comes from experience, I’m in trouble, because that means the gaining of wisdom comes with a price. If it comes from God, then it comes from grace, so I can seek it but it may or may not be granted.
There is advice in Scripture, but often it seems difficult to apply. The Decalogue does not prescribe what to do here.
1768 image of The Decalogue (10 Commandments)I was thinking: Should I divorce her? She has not agreed to counseling. She has not been fully committed to working on our marriage. She has not been treating me as I believe a wife should. I do not need to bend her to my will, but I do need her to see us as partners. I need her to see me, realize where I need healing, and if not actively help, at least acknowledge it. Should I divorce her?
I spoke softly.
“We don’t have to go to counseling right away, not until your job cuts back to part time. But if we skip the counseling, then we must at least treat each other as man and wife.”
She nodded.
“OK.”
Not the rousing agreement I would like, but a step.
But a vague step, a vague agreement, difficult to identify, quantify.
So I look at my ring.
Is it a promise? Is it command? Is it a burden? Does it reflect my life, or is it simply star dust?
Gold.
Beautiful, enduring.
Born in the unimaginable power of the collisions of neutron stars, matter so dense one and a half suns are squeezed into a diameter of less than ten miles.
It rests on my hand. It mocks me.
Oh...
Where is my wisdom? Where do I find the precious guidance I need?
I search my heart, and I see my own failures, making it easier to accept the failures of others, of my wife.
I look at my ring and I blush with the memory of men’s words bragging about their wonderful wives.
Perhaps I should seek wisdom in my heart. It seems more honest that my sophistic mind.
Purify my heart
Let me be as gold and precious silver
Purify my heart
Let me be as gold, pure gold
Refiner's fire
My heart's one desire
Is to be holy
Set apart for You, Lord
I choose to be holy
Set apart for You, my Master
Ready to do Your will
Purify my heart
Cleanse me from within
And make me holy
Purify my heart
Cleanse me from my sin
Deep within
I HATE THIS!
I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!
In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy...
--1 Peter 1:6-8
Damn it, Lord. That is not the answer I want!
"Where then does wisdom come from? Where does understanding dwell? It is hidden from the eyes of every living thing, concealed even from the birds of the air. Destruction and Death say, 'Only a rumor of it has reached our ears.' God understands the way to it and he alone knows where it dwells, for he views the ends of the earth and sees everything under the heavens.
--Job 28:20-24
Oh...
That is not the answer I want!
OK.
OK.
I’ll stand here a while longer.
I will be patient.
I will obey.
And he said to man, 'The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom, and to shun evil is understanding.' "
--Job 28:28
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Winning
The destiny of mankind is not decided by material computation. When great causes are on the move, we learn that we are spirits, not animals, and that something is going on in space and time, and beyond space and time, which, whether we like it or not, spells duty.
--Winston Churchill, Rochester, New York, 1941
It is late and I’m cross legged on an upper bunk. Sting is crooning a mournful song in one ear (iPod) as my other ear listens to the Molalla River whisper. It is saying something about melting snow and the patience it needs to obey the laws of nature... chewing through soil and rock as it seeks the level of the sea.
There was a speaker tonight. A wrestling coach or something. A score or so of men from my church sat in folding chairs and listened. I was perhaps the most reluctant listener.
First, I’m not into sports, and as he launched into his homily I heard the practiced voice of a coach, a seasoned pattern of earnestness, ardent tones that makes young athletes do their best to win.
And that was the second reason I was a reluctant listener... his topic was “winning.”
He began by telling us that winning is everything. He spoke of how men find their worth in how well they succeed at what they do.
I didn’t want to hear about winning. I don’t feel like a winner.
When I decided to go on this retreat my wife was living with another man. We were being kind to each other and she told me to go. She said she would watch the boys while I was gone. I told her I would go, and she could watch them, as long as she did not introduce her boyfriend to them.
Now she is in my home again. At this moment she is asleep in my bed (it is late).
I do not feel like a winner.
Perhaps I have saved my marriage. When I decided to come here I was certain we were divorcing.
Perhaps I haven’t saved it.
I don’t feel like a winner.
I feel like a man doing his duty.
There is a sadness about her. I don’t believe she wants to be there.
I am working on our marriage because I feel it is what my Lord wants of me. I believe it is what I am supposed to do, even if it doesn’t work out.
I feel I am working... working and working and working... I am being the father, being the husband, being the employee, being the Christ Follower... and I am tired.
She showed me more affection when she was pretending to be my wife. I received more hugs, more kisses, when she was trying to keep me from realizing how far apart we had become.
So I wasn’t particularly interested in hearing about how much we should be winners.
I don’t feel like a winner.
I do feel I am being obedient.
I feel I am carrying a load that is almost too heavy, and that I want to put it down.
I think about divorce.
I think about giving up.
I looked around the room and I saw men smiling and nodding, basking in the the cadence of a coach’s rousing words.
I suspect most men revel in the enthusiasm, the shared joy, of sports. But I haven’t any interest in it.
So, his words about winning only echoed in the empty place I feel over having an empty marriage. I don’t feel like a winner.
I knew he would turn his topic around because, deep down, I don’t think winning is everything.
I don’t feel like I am winning anything. I’m just slugging through my days, trying to encourage my wife to heal her heart, and heel her heart. I’m just doing the best I can in teaching my students, though the joy of being an educator is tainted by sorrow.
And he did turn the topic.
He had to.
Winning isn’t everything.
Sometimes people do their best, their very best, and they do not win. That doesn’t mean they have truly failed. They did their duty. They were obedient and steadfast and they failed.
He spoke about losing a wrestling match in college. Outmatched, he did his very best, and in the final seconds of the contest, lost.
Now he was holding my attention a little better.
He spoke about another failure. Of my Lord losing his trials before Pilate and Herod. He spoke about the beating and the whipping and the torturous climb up Calvary and the nails, and the blood and the death.
And he spoke of how what seemed to those who sent Him to Herod, how He failed to save Himself, found success, salvation for all.
OK.
That wasn’t so bad.
This guy isn’t telling me that winning in the eyes of the world is everything. He recognizes that sometimes it is being obedient that counts.
I’m growing tired. It is nearing midnight. I wonder if my wife is thinking about me, if she cares to heal my hurts as much as I want to heal hers. I wonder if she is willing to try and love me again.
I don’t feel like a winner.
I’m tired, and discouraged, and I’ve been writing in this blog lately about things that make me look like I am coping well in this mess I am in, and I am not nearly as strong or as good or as selfless as I would like folks to believe.
But I believe I am being obedient, being faithful.
There is more to life than the experiences of flesh, things beyond space and time.
I believe I am doing what He wants me to do.
Perhaps that is all the winning I need.
--Winston Churchill, Rochester, New York, 1941
It is late and I’m cross legged on an upper bunk. Sting is crooning a mournful song in one ear (iPod) as my other ear listens to the Molalla River whisper. It is saying something about melting snow and the patience it needs to obey the laws of nature... chewing through soil and rock as it seeks the level of the sea.
There was a speaker tonight. A wrestling coach or something. A score or so of men from my church sat in folding chairs and listened. I was perhaps the most reluctant listener.
First, I’m not into sports, and as he launched into his homily I heard the practiced voice of a coach, a seasoned pattern of earnestness, ardent tones that makes young athletes do their best to win.
And that was the second reason I was a reluctant listener... his topic was “winning.”
He began by telling us that winning is everything. He spoke of how men find their worth in how well they succeed at what they do.
I didn’t want to hear about winning. I don’t feel like a winner.
When I decided to go on this retreat my wife was living with another man. We were being kind to each other and she told me to go. She said she would watch the boys while I was gone. I told her I would go, and she could watch them, as long as she did not introduce her boyfriend to them.
Now she is in my home again. At this moment she is asleep in my bed (it is late).
I do not feel like a winner.
Perhaps I have saved my marriage. When I decided to come here I was certain we were divorcing.
Perhaps I haven’t saved it.
I don’t feel like a winner.
I feel like a man doing his duty.
There is a sadness about her. I don’t believe she wants to be there.
I am working on our marriage because I feel it is what my Lord wants of me. I believe it is what I am supposed to do, even if it doesn’t work out.
I feel I am working... working and working and working... I am being the father, being the husband, being the employee, being the Christ Follower... and I am tired.
She showed me more affection when she was pretending to be my wife. I received more hugs, more kisses, when she was trying to keep me from realizing how far apart we had become.
So I wasn’t particularly interested in hearing about how much we should be winners.
I don’t feel like a winner.
I do feel I am being obedient.
I feel I am carrying a load that is almost too heavy, and that I want to put it down.
I think about divorce.
I think about giving up.
I looked around the room and I saw men smiling and nodding, basking in the the cadence of a coach’s rousing words.
I suspect most men revel in the enthusiasm, the shared joy, of sports. But I haven’t any interest in it.
So, his words about winning only echoed in the empty place I feel over having an empty marriage. I don’t feel like a winner.
I knew he would turn his topic around because, deep down, I don’t think winning is everything.
I don’t feel like I am winning anything. I’m just slugging through my days, trying to encourage my wife to heal her heart, and heel her heart. I’m just doing the best I can in teaching my students, though the joy of being an educator is tainted by sorrow.
And he did turn the topic.
He had to.
Winning isn’t everything.
Sometimes people do their best, their very best, and they do not win. That doesn’t mean they have truly failed. They did their duty. They were obedient and steadfast and they failed.
He spoke about losing a wrestling match in college. Outmatched, he did his very best, and in the final seconds of the contest, lost.
Now he was holding my attention a little better.
He spoke about another failure. Of my Lord losing his trials before Pilate and Herod. He spoke about the beating and the whipping and the torturous climb up Calvary and the nails, and the blood and the death.
And he spoke of how what seemed to those who sent Him to Herod, how He failed to save Himself, found success, salvation for all.
OK.
That wasn’t so bad.
This guy isn’t telling me that winning in the eyes of the world is everything. He recognizes that sometimes it is being obedient that counts.
I’m growing tired. It is nearing midnight. I wonder if my wife is thinking about me, if she cares to heal my hurts as much as I want to heal hers. I wonder if she is willing to try and love me again.
I don’t feel like a winner.
I’m tired, and discouraged, and I’ve been writing in this blog lately about things that make me look like I am coping well in this mess I am in, and I am not nearly as strong or as good or as selfless as I would like folks to believe.
But I believe I am being obedient, being faithful.
There is more to life than the experiences of flesh, things beyond space and time.
I believe I am doing what He wants me to do.
Perhaps that is all the winning I need.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
A Wedding and a Mother's Day
I put the card back. It was the seventh one.
They don’t seem to make many Mother’s Day cards that fit my situation.
I couldn’t get one that said she was the best wife and mother. I couldn’t get one extolling the virtues of everlasting fidelity.
But I finally picked one. Picked one for the boys to give her. Picked one for the dog to give her. Trotted around to the next aisle to find a card for a wedding.
My brother called me a couple of days ago to tell me he was getting married. He asked me to be his best man.
Mike has been living with Lori for 18 years. Now they are getting married. Or rather, now they have gotten married, as it was today at noon.
So, I picked out a card, it had a picture of the little figures that go on top of a wedding cake, and inside: “Congratulations!!! You are SO cake worthy!”
I smiled. Took the card and hustled off to get a few items that I knew would go well with that it.
It was a very simple ceremony. A local judge officiated, there was less than a dozen people there. They insisted on casual dress.
I love my brother. I was honored he asked me to stand there beside him.
They said the usual vows. Love, cherish, forsake all others...
Brenda looked uncomfortable. I know I was.
When I got married I assumed it was going to be forever. I assumed we would walk together into old age, partners, living out the vows that we swore to each other. Twice.
Mike and Lori got a kick out of the card and little gift I bought at that store.
At the store I found a cake, picked up a couple of those number candles to represent their years together, went to the toy section.
I picked out a couple of figures to put on the cake to represent bride and groom.
So... how do I feel about marriage now?
I helped two people I love with the ceremony to make that commitment today, and I have been thinking, how do I feel about my marriage now?
First, I feel a little sad about it. That is reasonable. A part of me grieves over the loss of the dreams I had of our future. I get that.
I think the loss of dreams was a big part of my grief over Willy’s death... the loss of the dreams I had for him, for him and I, for him and us. It was a part of the sadness I felt when I realized my children will not go to college, will not be able to discuss the fine points of literature or science or theology. So, I feel a little sad about not being able to walk through this life with the certainties I thought I had when I said my vows.
But, it is OK.
Just as I love those boys with all of my heart, I still love my wife. I have no certainties that we will be able to work through our problems and make it to old age together, but I think I’m going to be OK with that.
With every passing year I have become more accustomed to thinking about eternity. Just as I have become more accustomed to thinking large about the size of the universe, and thinking large of the incredibly small, just as I have become used to thinking about the great stretches of time this universe has already passed through, and the amazing range of the electromagnetic spectrum. (If the electromagnetic spectrum was a line stretching from Los Angeles to Anchorage the portion we see with our eyes would comprise a little over an inch of it.)
I see my marriage, the good and the bad of it, as an experience.
That is all.
The whole range of my life, the four score or so of it, is really quite a small thing.
I see my life as an important experience, something to shape my soul, to give me an interesting starting sprint into eternity.
Hopes and dreams... things of this life I once held as so important, are really very small in the larger view.
I am an eternal being.
What matters is how I live this life. That I live it right, and I feel comforted by the idea of how brief it is.
So, how I feel about my marriage...
It no longer matters so much to me that my marriage will be all I hoped it might be. That doesn’t mean I am not serious about dissolving it if it proves we cannot learn to be partners again or I'm not serious about loving and cherishing and holding her dear.
What it does mean is that I know I am called to stand true, to be obedient to God, and to love.
I love my wife. That isn’t the same as falling in love, as if it is some huge puddle I tripped into. It isn’t something that happened to me. It is something I am doing.
I love my wife in the sense that love is an action, a verb. It is what I believe I am called to do. At least what I am to do today. And today is all I can really do anything about.
I haven’t any control over the future. I do not know what will happen. I do not know what she will do, or what may happen because of the responsibilities of continuing to care for these two boys.
I cannot undo what has happened to our marriage. I cannot recreate the wholeness of the dream I had for us. One cannot unscramble an egg.
This is an awkward experience. I still feel uncomfortable with my wedding ring. I still feel tension with my wife.
But I love her, I will continue to love her.
This body I’m in right now will someday cease to move, cease to breathe. But I will not die. And all of this... my marriage, my sons, the jobs I have had, the adventures and misadventures I’ve had, will be merely experiences I went through on my way to eternity.
I’m OK with that.
They don’t seem to make many Mother’s Day cards that fit my situation.
I couldn’t get one that said she was the best wife and mother. I couldn’t get one extolling the virtues of everlasting fidelity.
But I finally picked one. Picked one for the boys to give her. Picked one for the dog to give her. Trotted around to the next aisle to find a card for a wedding.
My brother called me a couple of days ago to tell me he was getting married. He asked me to be his best man.
Mike has been living with Lori for 18 years. Now they are getting married. Or rather, now they have gotten married, as it was today at noon.
So, I picked out a card, it had a picture of the little figures that go on top of a wedding cake, and inside: “Congratulations!!! You are SO cake worthy!”
I smiled. Took the card and hustled off to get a few items that I knew would go well with that it.
It was a very simple ceremony. A local judge officiated, there was less than a dozen people there. They insisted on casual dress.
I love my brother. I was honored he asked me to stand there beside him.
They said the usual vows. Love, cherish, forsake all others...
Brenda looked uncomfortable. I know I was.
When I got married I assumed it was going to be forever. I assumed we would walk together into old age, partners, living out the vows that we swore to each other. Twice.
Mike and Lori got a kick out of the card and little gift I bought at that store.
At the store I found a cake, picked up a couple of those number candles to represent their years together, went to the toy section.
I picked out a couple of figures to put on the cake to represent bride and groom.
So... how do I feel about marriage now?
I helped two people I love with the ceremony to make that commitment today, and I have been thinking, how do I feel about my marriage now?
First, I feel a little sad about it. That is reasonable. A part of me grieves over the loss of the dreams I had of our future. I get that.
I think the loss of dreams was a big part of my grief over Willy’s death... the loss of the dreams I had for him, for him and I, for him and us. It was a part of the sadness I felt when I realized my children will not go to college, will not be able to discuss the fine points of literature or science or theology. So, I feel a little sad about not being able to walk through this life with the certainties I thought I had when I said my vows.
But, it is OK.
Just as I love those boys with all of my heart, I still love my wife. I have no certainties that we will be able to work through our problems and make it to old age together, but I think I’m going to be OK with that.
With every passing year I have become more accustomed to thinking about eternity. Just as I have become more accustomed to thinking large about the size of the universe, and thinking large of the incredibly small, just as I have become used to thinking about the great stretches of time this universe has already passed through, and the amazing range of the electromagnetic spectrum. (If the electromagnetic spectrum was a line stretching from Los Angeles to Anchorage the portion we see with our eyes would comprise a little over an inch of it.)
I see my marriage, the good and the bad of it, as an experience.
That is all.
The whole range of my life, the four score or so of it, is really quite a small thing.
I see my life as an important experience, something to shape my soul, to give me an interesting starting sprint into eternity.
Hopes and dreams... things of this life I once held as so important, are really very small in the larger view.
I am an eternal being.
What matters is how I live this life. That I live it right, and I feel comforted by the idea of how brief it is.
So, how I feel about my marriage...
It no longer matters so much to me that my marriage will be all I hoped it might be. That doesn’t mean I am not serious about dissolving it if it proves we cannot learn to be partners again or I'm not serious about loving and cherishing and holding her dear.
What it does mean is that I know I am called to stand true, to be obedient to God, and to love.
I love my wife. That isn’t the same as falling in love, as if it is some huge puddle I tripped into. It isn’t something that happened to me. It is something I am doing.
I love my wife in the sense that love is an action, a verb. It is what I believe I am called to do. At least what I am to do today. And today is all I can really do anything about.
I haven’t any control over the future. I do not know what will happen. I do not know what she will do, or what may happen because of the responsibilities of continuing to care for these two boys.
I cannot undo what has happened to our marriage. I cannot recreate the wholeness of the dream I had for us. One cannot unscramble an egg.
This is an awkward experience. I still feel uncomfortable with my wedding ring. I still feel tension with my wife.
But I love her, I will continue to love her.
This body I’m in right now will someday cease to move, cease to breathe. But I will not die. And all of this... my marriage, my sons, the jobs I have had, the adventures and misadventures I’ve had, will be merely experiences I went through on my way to eternity.
I’m OK with that.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Eternity
A crisis of faith can strike anyone. My wife is having a difficult time right now with her understanding of God, or as they put it in AA, her “higher power.”
I understand her frustration. She feels God has been capricious, perhaps cruel, in the events of our lives. We longed for children, she was barren. We adopted a child, took him home the day after his birth, and he died at three and a half months. We adopted two more, hoping to grasp our dream of raising children to carry on our values, our world view. They are both mentally handicapped. They are incapable of being who we wished they might be.
My wife feels punished. She thinks God should intervene in people’s lives, especially when people are trying to do the right thing, helping others, such as adopting orphans.
Oddly enough, though I have experienced those same life frustrations, my faith seems to grow stronger every year. What makes it especially odd is that I have this scientific bent to my nature. I read as much as I can, gobble up information on physics, geology, natural history, astronomy, quantum mechanics. I'm not a scientist, I know very little, but I try to learn as much as a lay person can. And all the science I digest does not shake my faith. Instead I see God in His creation all the more clearly because of the things I read, the things I learn.
My faith doesn’t spring from seeing the wonders science reveals. My faith doesn’t spring from reading scripture either. It just is.
My life has gotten pretty screwed up.
I have no idea where it is going, what will happen next. I harbor great anxiety over my future, over decisions I need to make each day. And though my faith tells me I need not be anxious, my faith isn’t quite strong enough that I drop the concerns I carry.
But my faith does not waiver.
Why is that?
Some time ago I resolved to stop caring what people in church thought of me as I worship. I shut my eyes, told myself that it hasn’t anything to do with anyone else, and let it all fall away as I turn my mind, and my heart, to praying the words I sing, imagining my God watching me, enjoying me, as I open my heart to Him.
I think that is one reason my faith has grown.
During those moments of worship I open my heart and I sense just a little of eternity.
There have been other times when eternity drew near. Those moments are with me always, and because of them I cannot give up my faith.
I was trying to explain this to a friend today.
I asked him to imagine time as having two dimensions. It is a little strange to try, but I think I can do it. Imagine that instead of being dragged along with the passage of time, being carried by that unrelenting stream that carries us in the direction of entropy, we could step away. We could step aside and remain in a particular moment for as long as we like.
Imagine we could turn around and face away from the line of time all together, and gaze across a smooth glassy plane that has no boundaries, no edge, no end in any direction. That one could turn and walk beside the time line, gazing into any part of the existence of the universe, both in time and in space. “When” would cease to have meaning.
I suppose there was a “time” when all there was to experience was that plain, that austere prairie of eternity. The trinity was there, existing in a reality that stretched everywhere and nowhere. That the only part of it that made it something was the existence of God Themself. A trinity of thinking, loving, existing I AM... A being so much the essence of love, the tangible deification and expression of Love, and They desire(d) to expand that experience, to fill all, to fill eternity, to be eternity.
For that two dimensional plane of eternity powerful beings were created. Beautiful souls capable of sharing that love, giving that love, “moving” and “being” in eternity. Powers, and dominions, and angels, and principalities. Their existence unmarred by strife, longing, death, corruption. Their existence a steady existence bathed in the central glory and glow of their Creator. Powerful, smooth souls gleaming and reflecting, love, community.
Time did not/does not/will not pass, for there is not/was not/will be no restriction to it, all of eternity existing all at once.
Until...
Until a thread was stretched and pulled up from that surface and lain across that plain. A constriction of eternity into one dimension. One end of it tethered to eternity, to the mathematically pure two dimensions of time, the other laid out a hundred billion or more years and flattened into nothing. One end the tight, bright beginning of the universe, the Big Bang we like to call it, and the other the smooth, cool evening of entropy, billions of years ahead of us, when all things lose themselves in expansion and quiet, cooling dissipation.
Imagine the wonder of those beings, those august mighty entities of eternity as they gaze(d) upon that line laid upon the plane of their existence. They could move alongside it, see the formation of the laws of physics as the hot plasma of raw matter cooled enough, held still enough to embrace electrons, and each other... forming hydrogen, helium, and stars.
They watched the stars dance into simple round galaxies, and grow, and die, and in dying their immolition creating more complex, heavier materials, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen...
Did some of those eternal beings with souls smooth and clean, created to reflect Love and Beauty and Glory, move along that strange line upon the plain and wonder? Did they glide along it a dozen or more billion years and see how worlds settled out of star dust and marvel(ed) at life?
It must seem(ed) a miracle, a great wondrous spectacle, to behold things tied to that line, that stream of entropy. It must have seemed so different to gaze upon mortality... plants, animals, creatures and things in corners of the universe consuming and procreating and dying.
It must have been a wonder to see Them nurture gardens and set creatures in them, to see how they moved and interacted and relied upon each other in a complex web of life. The complex web of ecosystems adapting to changing environments, of the rain of meteors, of ice ages, and of volcanoes. Watching as an atmosphere of carbon-dioxide cleared to one of nitrogen and oxygen. Watching as the age of green things ruled, and oxygen spiked so high insects grew to enormous proportions. The gritty reality of a limited universe filled with things that relied upon each other in complex ways. To note how the wolf is connected to the elk, the elk to the trees, the trees to the beaver, the beaver to swamps, the swamps to meadows, the meadows to flowers, the flowers to butterflies, and to watch those butterflies knowing they rely upon the wolf.
Amazing to watch the Lord let the systems of worlds age, settle, become used to each other. To watch Him place human-like place keepers in the world, the australopithicenes, proto humans, allowing them to hold the niche in nature, letting the ecosystems settle into their rhythms, waiting for the wonder that would bring texture to eternity, the mixing of souls with living things.
Then He did a most marvelous thing. The Lord God made Man, pushing tiny slivers of eternity out of the two dimensions of time, into the hearts of living beings so they could sense it, so they could carry fragments of a greater reality within their breasts and sense the larger truth that there is more than their narrow path, that thread through eternity. He gave them souls.
From within that thread, from within the thin line of time, I'm blessed to imagine a reality of greater proportions. It seems amazing to think of powerful eternal beings gazing upon us from outside our own thin existence.
It is amazing that I have this sliver of eternity within my own living body, this soul, and that it senses there is so much more than I can ever know from my books on science.
What can I offer in return for this amazing gift? All I have. I offer the devotion of a soul that sorrows and longs and grieves and loves and has choices. I can take the mysterious gift of free will and set my love in it and carry the strange experience of living a life along a single line of time. I can take with me into eternity the gritty roughness that comes from living among a species that can be selfish and self-serving and greedy and cruel and experience pain and let that soul bring texture to eternity.
Why do I believe in God? Why has my faith stayed when it could have turned to questioning whether or not God is capricious and cruel, or steady and loving?
I think I haven’t much choice about my faith.
I experienced eternity once.
March 15th, 1993.
I was walking in Molalla River State Park, before dawn, grieving over the death of my son.
The full moon was sinking, the air had that strange hush as nature holds its breath at the approaching dawn. The stars were sparkling through a sky gathering unto itself a color impossible to describe, a rich, dark violet tinge over velvety space.
I dropped to my knees in the hurt and anguish of lost dreams and the aching void my son had left and I heard Him.
I know my ears did not receive any sound, that there was no physical movement of His words streaming through air, but all of nature, the moon, the stars, the dark shadows of trees, the large river flowing by, the grass and dirt beneath my knees, all of it thundered silently with His words: “I KNOW.”
That instant my heart leapt, that sliver within me connected to eternity, leapt. For that instant I knew eternity. That moment took no time at all, and it lasted forever and ever and ever.
I carry that moment always.
I have no choice about my faith.
I experienced God Themself and I have no choice, for all the rest of this mortal life, but to believe in Him.
I understand her frustration. She feels God has been capricious, perhaps cruel, in the events of our lives. We longed for children, she was barren. We adopted a child, took him home the day after his birth, and he died at three and a half months. We adopted two more, hoping to grasp our dream of raising children to carry on our values, our world view. They are both mentally handicapped. They are incapable of being who we wished they might be.
My wife feels punished. She thinks God should intervene in people’s lives, especially when people are trying to do the right thing, helping others, such as adopting orphans.
Oddly enough, though I have experienced those same life frustrations, my faith seems to grow stronger every year. What makes it especially odd is that I have this scientific bent to my nature. I read as much as I can, gobble up information on physics, geology, natural history, astronomy, quantum mechanics. I'm not a scientist, I know very little, but I try to learn as much as a lay person can. And all the science I digest does not shake my faith. Instead I see God in His creation all the more clearly because of the things I read, the things I learn.
My faith doesn’t spring from seeing the wonders science reveals. My faith doesn’t spring from reading scripture either. It just is.
My life has gotten pretty screwed up.
I have no idea where it is going, what will happen next. I harbor great anxiety over my future, over decisions I need to make each day. And though my faith tells me I need not be anxious, my faith isn’t quite strong enough that I drop the concerns I carry.
But my faith does not waiver.
Why is that?
Some time ago I resolved to stop caring what people in church thought of me as I worship. I shut my eyes, told myself that it hasn’t anything to do with anyone else, and let it all fall away as I turn my mind, and my heart, to praying the words I sing, imagining my God watching me, enjoying me, as I open my heart to Him.
I think that is one reason my faith has grown.
During those moments of worship I open my heart and I sense just a little of eternity.
There have been other times when eternity drew near. Those moments are with me always, and because of them I cannot give up my faith.
I was trying to explain this to a friend today.
I asked him to imagine time as having two dimensions. It is a little strange to try, but I think I can do it. Imagine that instead of being dragged along with the passage of time, being carried by that unrelenting stream that carries us in the direction of entropy, we could step away. We could step aside and remain in a particular moment for as long as we like.
Imagine we could turn around and face away from the line of time all together, and gaze across a smooth glassy plane that has no boundaries, no edge, no end in any direction. That one could turn and walk beside the time line, gazing into any part of the existence of the universe, both in time and in space. “When” would cease to have meaning.
I suppose there was a “time” when all there was to experience was that plain, that austere prairie of eternity. The trinity was there, existing in a reality that stretched everywhere and nowhere. That the only part of it that made it something was the existence of God Themself. A trinity of thinking, loving, existing I AM... A being so much the essence of love, the tangible deification and expression of Love, and They desire(d) to expand that experience, to fill all, to fill eternity, to be eternity.
For that two dimensional plane of eternity powerful beings were created. Beautiful souls capable of sharing that love, giving that love, “moving” and “being” in eternity. Powers, and dominions, and angels, and principalities. Their existence unmarred by strife, longing, death, corruption. Their existence a steady existence bathed in the central glory and glow of their Creator. Powerful, smooth souls gleaming and reflecting, love, community.
Time did not/does not/will not pass, for there is not/was not/will be no restriction to it, all of eternity existing all at once.
Until...
Until a thread was stretched and pulled up from that surface and lain across that plain. A constriction of eternity into one dimension. One end of it tethered to eternity, to the mathematically pure two dimensions of time, the other laid out a hundred billion or more years and flattened into nothing. One end the tight, bright beginning of the universe, the Big Bang we like to call it, and the other the smooth, cool evening of entropy, billions of years ahead of us, when all things lose themselves in expansion and quiet, cooling dissipation.
Imagine the wonder of those beings, those august mighty entities of eternity as they gaze(d) upon that line laid upon the plane of their existence. They could move alongside it, see the formation of the laws of physics as the hot plasma of raw matter cooled enough, held still enough to embrace electrons, and each other... forming hydrogen, helium, and stars.
They watched the stars dance into simple round galaxies, and grow, and die, and in dying their immolition creating more complex, heavier materials, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen...
Did some of those eternal beings with souls smooth and clean, created to reflect Love and Beauty and Glory, move along that strange line upon the plain and wonder? Did they glide along it a dozen or more billion years and see how worlds settled out of star dust and marvel(ed) at life?
It must seem(ed) a miracle, a great wondrous spectacle, to behold things tied to that line, that stream of entropy. It must have seemed so different to gaze upon mortality... plants, animals, creatures and things in corners of the universe consuming and procreating and dying.
It must have been a wonder to see Them nurture gardens and set creatures in them, to see how they moved and interacted and relied upon each other in a complex web of life. The complex web of ecosystems adapting to changing environments, of the rain of meteors, of ice ages, and of volcanoes. Watching as an atmosphere of carbon-dioxide cleared to one of nitrogen and oxygen. Watching as the age of green things ruled, and oxygen spiked so high insects grew to enormous proportions. The gritty reality of a limited universe filled with things that relied upon each other in complex ways. To note how the wolf is connected to the elk, the elk to the trees, the trees to the beaver, the beaver to swamps, the swamps to meadows, the meadows to flowers, the flowers to butterflies, and to watch those butterflies knowing they rely upon the wolf.
Amazing to watch the Lord let the systems of worlds age, settle, become used to each other. To watch Him place human-like place keepers in the world, the australopithicenes, proto humans, allowing them to hold the niche in nature, letting the ecosystems settle into their rhythms, waiting for the wonder that would bring texture to eternity, the mixing of souls with living things.
Then He did a most marvelous thing. The Lord God made Man, pushing tiny slivers of eternity out of the two dimensions of time, into the hearts of living beings so they could sense it, so they could carry fragments of a greater reality within their breasts and sense the larger truth that there is more than their narrow path, that thread through eternity. He gave them souls.
From within that thread, from within the thin line of time, I'm blessed to imagine a reality of greater proportions. It seems amazing to think of powerful eternal beings gazing upon us from outside our own thin existence.
It is amazing that I have this sliver of eternity within my own living body, this soul, and that it senses there is so much more than I can ever know from my books on science.
What can I offer in return for this amazing gift? All I have. I offer the devotion of a soul that sorrows and longs and grieves and loves and has choices. I can take the mysterious gift of free will and set my love in it and carry the strange experience of living a life along a single line of time. I can take with me into eternity the gritty roughness that comes from living among a species that can be selfish and self-serving and greedy and cruel and experience pain and let that soul bring texture to eternity.
Why do I believe in God? Why has my faith stayed when it could have turned to questioning whether or not God is capricious and cruel, or steady and loving?
I think I haven’t much choice about my faith.
I experienced eternity once.
March 15th, 1993.
I was walking in Molalla River State Park, before dawn, grieving over the death of my son.
The full moon was sinking, the air had that strange hush as nature holds its breath at the approaching dawn. The stars were sparkling through a sky gathering unto itself a color impossible to describe, a rich, dark violet tinge over velvety space.
I dropped to my knees in the hurt and anguish of lost dreams and the aching void my son had left and I heard Him.
I know my ears did not receive any sound, that there was no physical movement of His words streaming through air, but all of nature, the moon, the stars, the dark shadows of trees, the large river flowing by, the grass and dirt beneath my knees, all of it thundered silently with His words: “I KNOW.”
That instant my heart leapt, that sliver within me connected to eternity, leapt. For that instant I knew eternity. That moment took no time at all, and it lasted forever and ever and ever.
I carry that moment always.
I have no choice about my faith.
I experienced God Themself and I have no choice, for all the rest of this mortal life, but to believe in Him.
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