A Different Kind of Life

Time and Beyond Time

(Another interesting thought from C.S. Lewis, this one from Mere Christianity.)

Our life come to us moment by moment. One moment disappears before the next comes along; and there is room for very little in each. That is what time is like. And of course you and I tend to take it for granted that this time series--this arrangement of past, present and future--is not simply the way life comes to us but the way all things really exist. We tend to assume that the whole universe and God Himself are always moving on from past to future just as we do...

Almost certainly God is not in time. His life does not consist of moments following one another. If a million people are praying to Him at ten-thirty tonight, He need not listen to them all in that one little snippet which we call ten-thirty. Ten-thirty--and every other moment from the beginning of the world--is always the Present for Him. If you like to put it that way, He has all eternity in which to listen to the split second of prayer put up by a pilot as his plane crashes in flames.

That is difficult, I known. Let me try to give something, not the same, but a bit like it. Suppose I am writing a novel. I write "Mary laid down her work; next moment came a knock at the door!" For Mary who has to live in the imaginary time of my story there is no interval between putting down the work and hearing the knock. But I, who am Mary's maker, do not live in that imaginary time at all. Between writing the first half of that sentence and the second, I might sit down for three hours and think steadily about Mary. I could think about Mary as if she were the only character in the book and for as long as I pleased, and the hours I spent in doing so would not appear in Mary's time (the time inside the story) at all.

A Forceful Justice

I, the Lord, will punish the world for its evil and the wicked for their sin. I will crush the arrogance of the proud and the haughtiness of the mighty. Few will be left alive when I have finished my work…For I will shake the heavens, and the earth will move from its place. I, the Lord Almighty, will show my fury and fierce anger.
--Isaiah 13:11-13

Yesterday’s passage was an image of utter peace and tranquility; today’s is one of complete rage, destruction, and violence. Yet they come a mere two chapters apart and are both seem to come from the voice of God himself—a fact that is possibly more shocking and disorienting than either alternative on its own. In the course of thinking about this, that very discomfort got me thinking—why? Why am I so uneasy with the idea of a God who was both loving and judging, with divinity capable of both peace and violence? If we are truly honest about this situation, I think that most of us would be somewhat comfortable with a god that solely embodied either extreme—either all peace and love or all violence and judgment. It’s a simpler stance—we know what to do with a god like that. Our response can then be equally cut-and-dried; it is when he embodies both that we get uncomfortable and uncertain.

So why then are we so uncomfortable with a God who embodies peace and promises violence? Allow me for a moment to suggest a possible reason: the stance is all too familiar to us. We ourselves know what it is to stand in the tension between peace and violence, desiring the former but very capable of the latter. What is more, we know all too well our own willingness to forsake peace and unjustly employ violent action. We know the uncertainty of our own thoughts and actions—the idea that God would be prone to such erratic behavior is not too far fetched.

Yet there is a deeper strain at work here that we must not miss if we are to properly understand the character of God that Isaiah describes. God here speaks in very violent terms indeed, but it is the force and violence that justice brings. Where we act from a self-seeking violence, God moves in a kind of “forceful justice”—a justice that will brook no quarter to evil and will not be swayed by any opposition. Throughout the Bible, God speaks at great length of his mercy, kindness and grace available for all who would accept it. Yet even God will not allow such grace to be ignored and trampled upon forever. One day he will put a stop to the violence and hate of our world with a forceful justice that will leave no room for opposition and no chance of resistance.

One day all will be at peace—whether willingly or unwillingly. A scary thought indeed.

A Vision I'm Too Small For

In that day the wolf and the lamb will live together; the leopard and the goat will be at peace. Calves and yearlings will be safe among lions, and a little child will lead them all. The cattle will graze among bears. Cubs and calves will lie down together. And lions will eat grass as the livestock do. Babies will crawl safely among poisonous snakes. Yes, a little child wil put its hand in a nest of deadly snakes and pull it out unharmed. Nothing will hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain. And as the waters fill the sea, so the earth will be filled with people who know the Lord.
--Isaiah 11:6-9

Quite an interesting mental image, isn't it? A wolf and a lamb standing calmly in the same pasture, a bear and a young calf sleeping side by side, and a young child walks safely and surely among them all. Such a nice and picturesque scene, eh?

And I don't buy it. I just don't.

Allow me to explain. I am not saying that I think it is impossible, or that God has lied or otherwise claimed something that He is incapable of doing or unwilling to bring about.

What I am saying is that my heart, my mind, and my soul simply don't lean that way. I have so long lived in a world corrupted by its own selfishness, greed, malice, and violence that I am incapable of taking such an image as an authentic reality. My mind is incapable of comprehending a state of absolute peace, and my heart is unwilling to accept that the ultimate bend of history is toward peace--that God will truly make all things well.

In the end, it seems that the root issue here is not that the vision Isaiah describes is too big to be real, but rather that I am simply too small to endure it.

Anyone else feel this way?

An Extraordinary Claim

(This excerpt is from Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis—I am curious to hear some thoughts on it…)

One part of the claim seems to slip past us unnoticed because we have heard it so often that we no longer see what it amounts to. I mean the claim to forgive sins: any sins. Now unless the speaker is God, this is really so preposterous as to be comic. We can all understand how a man forgives offences against himself. You tread on my toe and I forgive you, you steal my money and I forgive you. But what should we make of a man, himself unrobed and untrodden on, who announced that he forgave you for treading on other men’s toes and stealing other men’s money? Asinine fatuity is the kindest description that we should give of his conduct. Yet this is what Jesus did. He told people that their sins were forgiven, and never waited to consult all the other people whom their sins had undoubtedly injured. He unhesitatingly behaved as if He was the party chiefly concerned, the person chiefly offended in all offences. This makes sense only if He really was the God whose laws are broken and whose love is wounded in every sin. In the mouth of any speaker who is not God, these words would imply what I can only regard as a silliness and conceit unrivaled by any other character in history.

Between Friends

(This is an interesting thought from Brennan Manning’s book A Stranger to Self-Hatred)

A fellow Franciscan once challenged me: “Do you ever reflect upon the fact that Jesus feels proud of you? Proud that you accepted the faith that he offered you? Proud that you chose him for a friend and Lord? Is he proud of you that you haven’t given up? Proud that you believe enough to try again and again? Proud that you trust that he can help you? Do you ever think that Jesus appreciates you for wanting him, for wanting to say no to so many things that would separate you from him? Do you think that Jesus can ever be grateful to you for pausing to smile, comfort, give to one of his children who have such great need to see a smile, to feel a touch? Do you ever think of Jesus being grateful to you for learning more about him so that you can speak to others more deeply and truly about him? Do you ever think that Jesus can be angry or disappointed in you for not believing that he has forgiven you totally? He said, ‘I do not call you servants, but friends…’ Therefore, there is the possibility of every feeling and emotion that can exist between friends to exist here and now between Jesus and you.”

Better off Being Blind

Jesus said, “For judgment I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who see will become blind.”
--John 9:39

So we return to the question that I posed yesterday—is it worth it? Jesus heals the man who had been blind from birth, shows the religious leaders for the self-absorbed, power-hungry tyrants that they are, and causes a complete uproar in the town. Yet, is all of this worth it? Is showing the religious leaders for who they really are worth years of suffering by the blind man? Is this all there is, or is there more yet to the power of God that Jesus speaks of?

This leaves us to return to the man in question. After all, he is the one that has not only endured a lifetime of blindness “so that the power of God might be displayed in him,” but also has now had to endure the scorn, derision, and abuse of his community’s religious/social leaders. Is all that he has been through worth it?

I say yes.

In John 9:35, it says that after he was cast out, Jesus tracks him down and asks if he believes in the “Son of Man”—in other words, if he believes in Jesus as the promised Savior of his people. The man says that he does, and then worships Jesus.

Is he not better off now than he would have been had he not been blind at all? What we must recognize is that not only has he been cured of his blindness, but also has had the opportunity to intimately connect with God. He has been healed of a spiritual blindness as well as a physical one. He now is able to see in ways that those who have had physical sight their whole lives remain blind to; the power of God has been made real in his own experience.

This whole story leaves me with an interesting thought. We in American society tend to see suffering and hard times as things to be avoided at all costs. Without saying that we should embrace suffering, is it possible that our view of suffering lacks a bit of perspective? That perhaps it is more of a blessing than we realize?

Two Kingdoms

“Teacher,” his disciples asked him, “why was this man born blind? Was it the result of his own sins or those of his parents?” “It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,” Jesus answered. “He was born blind so the power of God could be seen in him.”
--John 9:2-3

As was mentioned yesterday, this is a difficult idea, a difficult picture of God to wrestle with. At face value, this not only depicts God as vain and capricious, but also extremely callous and self-serving. At any rate, it is definitely a far cry from the image of God that gets tossed around in religious circles of any type. So what is to be done with the quandary at hand?

In thinking about this whole issue, the conduct of the religious leaders struck me as not only curious, but equally callous to what Jesus seems to be saying of God. Not only are the religious leaders upset at what Jesus has done, but they are also mad enough to throw the man out of the community completely (keep in mind that there was no division in Jesus’ day between religious community and social community—to be an outcast in one is to be an outcast in both). And why are they so angry? In their own words, “This man is not from God, because he does not keep the Sabbath.” By healing this man on the Sabbath, Jesus violated their long-kept religious tradition; not the command of God, mind you, but their religious tradition. Think of it—these men were the leaders of the community and should have been celebrating the healing of a man who has been blind since birth, rejoicing at the end of his suffering. Instead, they react with anger and self-justification, laying on him a new kind of suffering caused by their desire for power and control.

And then it clicked for me. By their reaction, they displayed the difference between the kingdom of God and the religion of man. The kingdom of God seeks to ease the suffering in the world and rejoices in that healing, where the religion of man counts nothing more important than the preservation of its rules. The kingdom of God is driven by grace and mercy where the religion of man seeks power and control.

Yet the question that I am left with (which I will dwell on tomorrow) is the following: Is it worth it? Is showing the religious leaders for who they really are worth years of suffering by the blind man? Is this all there is, or is there more yet to the power of God that Jesus speaks of?

Suffering for God's glory?

“Teacher,” his disciples asked him, “why was this man born blind? Was it the result of his own sins or those of his parents?” “It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,” Jesus answered. “He was born blind so the power of God could be seen in him.”
--John 9:2-3

Kind of a callous situation, don’t you think? Not so much the disciples’ answer—they were simply setting forth the understanding of their time (perhaps of ours as well, if we are honest). Put simply, they believed that all suffering was caused by sin. If you are suffering, they reasoned, either you or someone close to you did something (or will do something) to deserve such punishment. While this is a harsh way of looking at things, it does have the advantage of being straightforward and logically sound—you do the crime, you do the time, so to speak.

Yet Jesus shoots this idea down immediately, offering in its place something much more vague and troubling as regards the character of God. Where before at least he could be seen as supremely just (if somewhat lacking in tenderness or mercy), what do we make of this idea that Jesus offers?

I’m going to throw out some thoughts tomorrow, but first I want to hear what others have to say about this. What do you make of this idea?

Divine Humility

(Today’s post comes from The Business of Heaven by C.S. Lewis—I found it particularly thought provoking…)

We are perplexed to see misfortune falling upon decent, inoffensive, worthy people—on capable, hardworking mothers of families or diligent, thrifty, little tradespeople, on those who have worked so hard, and so honestly, for their modest stock of happiness and now seem to be entering on the enjoyment of it with the fullest right.  How can I say with sufficient tenderness what here needs to be said?  It does not matter that I know I must become, in the eyes of every hostile reader, as it were personally responsible for all the sufferings I try to explain—just as, to this day, everyone talks as if St. Augustine wanted unbaptized infants to go to Hell.  But it matters enormously if I alienate anyone from the truth.  Let me implore the reader to try to believe, if only for the moment, that God, who made these deserving people, may really be right when He thinks that their modest prosperity and the happiness of their children are not enough to make them blessed: that all this must fall from them in the end, and that if they have not leaned to know Him they will be wretched.  And therefore He troubles them, warning them in advance of an insufficiency that one day they will have to discover.  The life to themselves and their families stands between them and the recognition of their need; He makes that life less sweet to them.  I call this a Divine humility because it is a poor thing to come to Him as a last resort, to offer up ‘our own’ when it is no longer worth keeping.

This is the good stuff...

When the master of ceremonies tasted the water that was now wine, not knowing where it had come from (though, of course, the servants knew), he called the bridegroom over. “Usually a host serves the best wine first,” he said. “Then, when everyone is full and doesn’t care, he brings out the less expensive wines. But you have kept the best until now!” This miraculous sign at Cana in Galilee was Jesus’ first display of his glory. And his disciples believed in him.
--John 2:9-11

Hosting a party is a lot of work, causes a great deal of stress, and involves a great deal of potential embarrassment—it is no wonder that there are entire industries devoted to nothing more than planning and executing the most important “parties” in our lives (weddings foremost among these). Here in John 2 we see this stress come to life at a wedding Jesus was attending with his mother and disciples. (It should be noted here that weddings in ancient times were massive social occasions, involving most of the community and lasting multiple days—any kind of failure in the execution of such an event would be a massive embarrassment in front of the entire community.) And as it turns out, the wedding experiences the worst nightmare of any party host—they ran out of wine.

A lot of interesting things can be taken from this story of Jesus’ first miracle—the fact that Jesus saved the host from a great deal of embarrassment, that he proved himself in the eyes of his followers, that it seems like it was done at the request of his mother, and so on. Yet the thing that strikes me as particularly compelling is contained in one little phrase—“you have kept the best wine until now.” Jesus doesn’t just make more wine, he makes the best wine. Not only does he rescue the host from an extremely embarrassing situation, he turns that situation into a great honor for the host. He takes what was a devastating failure about the party and transforms it into a monumental success.

Too often we tend to see God as a harsh taskmaster, eagerly anticipating a chance to crush the merest hint of fun or celebration. Yet here we see God not only enjoying the celebration, but using his power to make that celebration extraordinary. His very first display of divine power did not heal the sick, give sight to the blind, or raise the dead. He simply made a good party better. That’s a whole different image of God than the one I tend to hear about.