I've been reading a lot of existential literature lately: Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard. One popular and concise definition of existentialist thought is the statement "existence precedes essence." In other words, we first fundamentally exist and from there determine our own sense of meaning, value, and truth: essence. Under this paradigm, there is no essence or reason that precedes the fact that we exist; existence is the solitary starting point. Of course, in a lot of existentialist literature, the point is not to look at things from a strictly existentialist perspective, but to waver back and forth between the apparent meaninglessness of a lack of pre-existing essence and the urge to find an underlying reason for the nature of things. Likewise, my thoughts here aren't about classical existentialism but more broadly about figuring out, in a given place and time, "Why am I here? What, if anything, am I supposed to be doing here?" In both of the aforementioned plays, the main characters spend a lot of frustrated dialogue conversing in circles, noting where they are and what they seem to be doing, and trying to figure out why they are there, whether it be for some pre-determined destiny or whether life is something you're supposed to make into your own magnum opus. It is true that the idea of "existence precedes essence" is pretty antithetical to our lives having been foreknown and designed by God before time began, but there are times when you ask, "What am I doing here? What, if anything, am I supposed to be doing here?"
What we know from Exodus 2 is that Moses, raised as Pharoah's daughter's son, killed an Egyptian in defense of a Hebrew, escaped the wrath of Pharoah, and fled Egypt in exile to the land of Midian for forty years before returning to lead the Hebrews from captivity. When you think about Moses in the wilderness for forty years, the question of what he was doing there almost proffers itself as an existentialist quandary:
Was he there because God had planned to cultivate him into a guide and leader for the Exodus of the Hebrew people by training him as a shepherd for four decades?
Was he there because he wasn't where he was supposed to be? Was he hiding from the role of emancipator that God had chosen for him, to the point that God had to appear as a burning bush to wake him out of his lethargy or latency?
Was he there simply as a logical consequence of his actions: killing an Egyptian and fleeing the country? After all, it's only in verse 24 that God "remembered His covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob." Was Moses simply in the right place at the right time for God to give him the part?
Was he there because God didn't really have a specific plan for him, other than to stay alive for forty years until the time was right to march back to challenge Pharoah?
See, we know that Moses was there in the wilderness for forty years, and the big question is why? The question is important to me because it seems to me that I've been living the last year in a sort of recurrent spiritual wilderness. I haven't been well connected to Christian community or teaching or discipleship; for the last year, it's mostly felt like God and me out there alone, where it can either be amazingly intimate or terrifyingly lonely. Is it for a reason? Is it a preparatory stage for greater things? Is it somehow punitive or correctional? Is it just because that's the way life is sometimes, coming and going in phases and seasons?
There's biblical precedent for all of the above rationalizations, so maybe the answer is yes. And it is true that trying to parallel my experience with Moses's is violating one of my cardinal rules of biblical teaching: you study the biblical text, you determine what truth is there about God, and then you apply that truth to your life, without skipping the middle step. But a lot of biblical teaching, most notably Jesus's teaching, is parabolic in nature. We are supposed to identify with the characters in the stories that we accept as stories of truth.
Let me know when you figure out why Moses was out there in the wilderness.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Skin Deep
Today I had a thought, and my thought was about how we're wired to be attracted to physical beauty. People always make it out to seem like a bad thing, like if you're a Christian, and you notice and remark that a girl is hot, you need to check yourself because you're falling into an entrapment in a superficial and meaningless value system. You'll miss the deeper aspects of her character because you're too fixated on the outward appearances. "Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised." I have a friend who on occasion wears a t-shirt that reads "Modest is Hottest" and ironically, it's small print right across the breast area of the shirt. Should we then aim to be blind to physical beauty, concerned wholly with the inward?
I have this notion that maybe we're wired to be attracted to and desire physical beauty for the positive reason of learning to be attracted to and desire God. If you would grant: that one reason we were made to be physically hungry (and a reason we fast) is so we would know what it means to depend absolutely on God for sustenance and provision, to hunger and to be sated; that one reason we were made to need sleep is so we would know what it is to be refreshed, which also translates to the renewal that our relationship with God brings about. The physical experiences of our corporeal bodies help us better learn and understand spiritual realities about us, our world, and God. Could it not be the same way with our attraction to beauty? If we know what it is to be electrified at first sight of a beautiful woman, could we not better know what it is to react inexorably to true beauty? Otherwise, how would we understand what it means to call the Lord "Beautiful One"?
I realize there's a lot of room to misstep in taking this line of thought to an extreme, and we're both probably very familiar with those arguments. But you can also be gluttonous if you become too enraptured with physically eating, and you can also be lazy if you become too obsessed with the experience of sleep. We weren't meant to shut our eyes and feel bad about ourselves every time a hot girl walks by. That's not the freedom that Christ promised us.
I have this notion that maybe we're wired to be attracted to and desire physical beauty for the positive reason of learning to be attracted to and desire God. If you would grant: that one reason we were made to be physically hungry (and a reason we fast) is so we would know what it means to depend absolutely on God for sustenance and provision, to hunger and to be sated; that one reason we were made to need sleep is so we would know what it is to be refreshed, which also translates to the renewal that our relationship with God brings about. The physical experiences of our corporeal bodies help us better learn and understand spiritual realities about us, our world, and God. Could it not be the same way with our attraction to beauty? If we know what it is to be electrified at first sight of a beautiful woman, could we not better know what it is to react inexorably to true beauty? Otherwise, how would we understand what it means to call the Lord "Beautiful One"?
I realize there's a lot of room to misstep in taking this line of thought to an extreme, and we're both probably very familiar with those arguments. But you can also be gluttonous if you become too enraptured with physically eating, and you can also be lazy if you become too obsessed with the experience of sleep. We weren't meant to shut our eyes and feel bad about ourselves every time a hot girl walks by. That's not the freedom that Christ promised us.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
The Snot Teapot Thought
I mentioned the idea in an earlier post that sometimes it's hard to accept the gospel of Jesus as true because it's "too good to be true." The way His salvation and grace is so perfect and complete and meets all of our needs with no atoning works or righteousness necessary on our parts is just so, well, convenient. And we distrust immediate belief in things that are convenient because we don't want to be called naive, simply calling things true because we want them to be true.
From a certain aspect, the thesis that Jesus is too good to be true adds credibility to His message. Imagine if the Bible spent all of its time talking up the omnipotence and goodness of God and promoting Jesus as the only way to salvation, and imagine if somehow, that salvation was incomplete or defective. Not the triumphant spectacle and redemption we had hoped for and been led to anticipate. What would happen? We would wonder at the disappointing disconnect between what we thought God was capable of and what ended up happening. This perceived disparity is actually the prevalent doubt most amateur theologians wrestle with, manifested specifically as the Problem of Evil.
So if the gospel of Jesus seems too good to be true, then it becomes all the more compelling, since it touts itself as the only way to salvation, freedom, truth, life.
The Neti Pot has been the recent popular buzz item, a proven cure for sinuses and congestion. My fiancee has one, her sister has one, and my roommate has one. The procedure sounds disgusting: you brew up some warm solution in this teapot-looking-contraption, tilt your head sideways, and pour the liquid through one nostril, letting it seep through your nasal cavities and out the other nostril into the sink. It's the stupidest scam I've ever heard of, but 100 % of the users I've talked to swear by its effectiveness, which is remarkably convincing. By all accounts, its ridiculous design notwithstanding, the Neti Pot really is too good to be true, and that's the main reason that I'm becoming convinced it must actually cure sinuses and congestion. Gross.
From a certain aspect, the thesis that Jesus is too good to be true adds credibility to His message. Imagine if the Bible spent all of its time talking up the omnipotence and goodness of God and promoting Jesus as the only way to salvation, and imagine if somehow, that salvation was incomplete or defective. Not the triumphant spectacle and redemption we had hoped for and been led to anticipate. What would happen? We would wonder at the disappointing disconnect between what we thought God was capable of and what ended up happening. This perceived disparity is actually the prevalent doubt most amateur theologians wrestle with, manifested specifically as the Problem of Evil.
So if the gospel of Jesus seems too good to be true, then it becomes all the more compelling, since it touts itself as the only way to salvation, freedom, truth, life.
The Neti Pot has been the recent popular buzz item, a proven cure for sinuses and congestion. My fiancee has one, her sister has one, and my roommate has one. The procedure sounds disgusting: you brew up some warm solution in this teapot-looking-contraption, tilt your head sideways, and pour the liquid through one nostril, letting it seep through your nasal cavities and out the other nostril into the sink. It's the stupidest scam I've ever heard of, but 100 % of the users I've talked to swear by its effectiveness, which is remarkably convincing. By all accounts, its ridiculous design notwithstanding, the Neti Pot really is too good to be true, and that's the main reason that I'm becoming convinced it must actually cure sinuses and congestion. Gross.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
No Time For Love, Dr. Jones.
The reason that I haven't posted in a while is linked to the reason I haven't had much substantive spiritual insight in a while, and that's because I've had much less time. Since I moved and reported in to my current job, my schedule is basically waking up around 4:30 am, driving to work, working nonstop (maybe a 10 minute lunch break) until 7:30pm or so, then driving back home, making myself dinner and tomorrow's lunch, watching the Houston Rockets give away the second-round playoffs to the L.A. Lakers, and then going to bed to repeat the process tomorrow.
This practical example begs the question of whether God is there (of course He's there in an ontological sense, but is His presence really felt and is our relationship with Him real) when we don't make time for Him. The answer that we want to be true is that God's grace overcomes the banality of our scheduling. We want God to be big enough so that He presents Himself definitively in our thoughts and inexorably in our lives, to the point where it's not a question of our efforts or our abilities to prioritize Him, but a reminder that He is much bigger than us and able to overcome our obstacles for us. I think there are two primary reasons that you might want the above to be true about God and you. The first is a subscription to reformed theology, which rejects the idea that we in our total depravity achieve anything on our own efforts, but that everything is enabled and accomplished through the unfailing grace of God: if there is any reason that a relationship with God succeeds, it is because of God and not of ourselves. And the second reason is that we are lazy and don't want to make time for God, and it's easier to accept the idea that God can be there for us all week without our having to micromanage our relationship with quiet times, church meetings, bible studies, or planned prayer, than it is to make changes in our schedule and priorities.
The answer that I'm learning to this question is part experiential and part biblical. When I was involved in campus ministry, there was an annual predictable cycle in our ministry and in the spiritual lives of most of our Christian members. In August as the semester started, most Cru students would be very excited about the prospect of seeing old friends, meeting new freshmen, starting up bible study, and engaging in discipleship relationships, but as the semester progressed through the academic tribulations of October, November, and December, enthusiasm and passion would wane, and spiritual droughts and doldrums would start to become more frequent and prevalent. Yet every Christmas break from January 2-7 came the Dallas Winter Conference, and uncannily, the conference would always re-invigorate students' spiritual lives. My friends and I would, without fail, return from DWC refreshed, renewed in our commitment to follow hard after God, awed at what He was doing in our lives and on campus, and very much alive in His presence. What happened? Was there an artificial excitement and possibly even valuable spiritual growth imbued by the conference speakers, the worship band, the seminars, and the activities? Sure, to a small degree. People can always be hyped-up by a band or fun-tivities, but this week also brought real insight and transformation. My strong impression was that students who attended DWC would always be guaranteed a renewed and refreshed love for Christ because they put aside hours and hours each day to invest in their relationship with Him. Like any other relationship that was important to them. They studied His words, they read about His life, they talked earnestly with each other about Him, and they did their damnedest to point their hearts towards Jesus and let His promised transformation take place. Year after year, it was a guaranteed rebirth for a person's relationship with Christ because that person would personally invest the time and make it a priority. It's not a theological argument, but it's a truthful observation. You have to make time for things that are important.
I think the direction of this thought is biblically sound, and the reason that we often wonder dumbfoundedly where God is during the work week is that we've consistently ignored what He's told us to do from the beginning: take a break from the mundane every once in a while, and pay attention to the holy:
"Six years you shall sow your land and gather in its produce, but the seventh year you shall let it rest and lie fallow [...] Six days you shall do your work and on the seventh day you shall rest." -- Exodus 23:10-12
"Surely My Sabbaths you shall keep, for it is a sign between Me and you throughout your generations, that you may know that I am the Lord who sanctifies you." -- Exodus 31:13
The specifics of keeping the Sabbath vary depending on whom you consult and what you read. In Old Testament tradition, the Sabbath was the "Queen of Days" that took precedence over all other days, including Yom Kippur and Passover; weddings could not take place on the Sabbath so as not to distract from the joy of the Sabbath. I don't want to discuss extents of legalism or doctrinal particulars on how to observe the Sabbath because the crux of what I'm learning is that the value is in taking time to "be still and know that I am God." Saturdays or Sundays notwithstanding: we can't complain about how we never feel like God's there or like we can't connect with Him if we don't set aside some time and invest our relationship with Him. Things are by definition made "holy" because they are "set apart" from other trivial things.
That's why when Jesus tells the Pharisees, "The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath," He might be reproving them for their legalism and hypocritical rules about observing the Sabbath, but He also constructively reminds them of the point of even having the institution of the Sabbath: it's for us. It's a gift from God to us, and the intent is for "you to know that I am the Lord."
I have never been diligent or dutiful about observing the 4th of the 10 Commandments, and I have no trouble admitting that I don't have an answer for how you're supposed to do it, but I know that I very often haven't done anything, and that's surely part of the answer of why it's hard to relate to God when my schedule seems too busy for Him.
You have to make time for things that are important.
This practical example begs the question of whether God is there (of course He's there in an ontological sense, but is His presence really felt and is our relationship with Him real) when we don't make time for Him. The answer that we want to be true is that God's grace overcomes the banality of our scheduling. We want God to be big enough so that He presents Himself definitively in our thoughts and inexorably in our lives, to the point where it's not a question of our efforts or our abilities to prioritize Him, but a reminder that He is much bigger than us and able to overcome our obstacles for us. I think there are two primary reasons that you might want the above to be true about God and you. The first is a subscription to reformed theology, which rejects the idea that we in our total depravity achieve anything on our own efforts, but that everything is enabled and accomplished through the unfailing grace of God: if there is any reason that a relationship with God succeeds, it is because of God and not of ourselves. And the second reason is that we are lazy and don't want to make time for God, and it's easier to accept the idea that God can be there for us all week without our having to micromanage our relationship with quiet times, church meetings, bible studies, or planned prayer, than it is to make changes in our schedule and priorities.
The answer that I'm learning to this question is part experiential and part biblical. When I was involved in campus ministry, there was an annual predictable cycle in our ministry and in the spiritual lives of most of our Christian members. In August as the semester started, most Cru students would be very excited about the prospect of seeing old friends, meeting new freshmen, starting up bible study, and engaging in discipleship relationships, but as the semester progressed through the academic tribulations of October, November, and December, enthusiasm and passion would wane, and spiritual droughts and doldrums would start to become more frequent and prevalent. Yet every Christmas break from January 2-7 came the Dallas Winter Conference, and uncannily, the conference would always re-invigorate students' spiritual lives. My friends and I would, without fail, return from DWC refreshed, renewed in our commitment to follow hard after God, awed at what He was doing in our lives and on campus, and very much alive in His presence. What happened? Was there an artificial excitement and possibly even valuable spiritual growth imbued by the conference speakers, the worship band, the seminars, and the activities? Sure, to a small degree. People can always be hyped-up by a band or fun-tivities, but this week also brought real insight and transformation. My strong impression was that students who attended DWC would always be guaranteed a renewed and refreshed love for Christ because they put aside hours and hours each day to invest in their relationship with Him. Like any other relationship that was important to them. They studied His words, they read about His life, they talked earnestly with each other about Him, and they did their damnedest to point their hearts towards Jesus and let His promised transformation take place. Year after year, it was a guaranteed rebirth for a person's relationship with Christ because that person would personally invest the time and make it a priority. It's not a theological argument, but it's a truthful observation. You have to make time for things that are important.
I think the direction of this thought is biblically sound, and the reason that we often wonder dumbfoundedly where God is during the work week is that we've consistently ignored what He's told us to do from the beginning: take a break from the mundane every once in a while, and pay attention to the holy:
"Six years you shall sow your land and gather in its produce, but the seventh year you shall let it rest and lie fallow [...] Six days you shall do your work and on the seventh day you shall rest." -- Exodus 23:10-12
"Surely My Sabbaths you shall keep, for it is a sign between Me and you throughout your generations, that you may know that I am the Lord who sanctifies you." -- Exodus 31:13
The specifics of keeping the Sabbath vary depending on whom you consult and what you read. In Old Testament tradition, the Sabbath was the "Queen of Days" that took precedence over all other days, including Yom Kippur and Passover; weddings could not take place on the Sabbath so as not to distract from the joy of the Sabbath. I don't want to discuss extents of legalism or doctrinal particulars on how to observe the Sabbath because the crux of what I'm learning is that the value is in taking time to "be still and know that I am God." Saturdays or Sundays notwithstanding: we can't complain about how we never feel like God's there or like we can't connect with Him if we don't set aside some time and invest our relationship with Him. Things are by definition made "holy" because they are "set apart" from other trivial things.
That's why when Jesus tells the Pharisees, "The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath," He might be reproving them for their legalism and hypocritical rules about observing the Sabbath, but He also constructively reminds them of the point of even having the institution of the Sabbath: it's for us. It's a gift from God to us, and the intent is for "you to know that I am the Lord."
I have never been diligent or dutiful about observing the 4th of the 10 Commandments, and I have no trouble admitting that I don't have an answer for how you're supposed to do it, but I know that I very often haven't done anything, and that's surely part of the answer of why it's hard to relate to God when my schedule seems too busy for Him.
You have to make time for things that are important.
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