Pleasure

Maybe pleasure's not bad. But maybe when we're blinded to the source of true pleasure we seek it in other ways that are inherently selfish and detrimental to ourselves and others. And then religion equates this wrong pursuit of pleasure to the actual thing itself, and so vilifies pleasure and seeks to ban it. Then you have even those who have been introduced to the source of true pleasure incapable of actually partaking in it.


From the Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis:

"He's (God) a hedonist at heart. All those fasts and vigils and stakes and crosses are only a facade. Or only like foam on the seashore. Out at sea, out in His sea, there is pleasure, and more pleasure. He makes no secret of it; at His right hand are 'pleasures for evermore'. Ugh! I don't think He has the least inkling of that high and austere mystery to which we rise in the Miserific Vision. He's vulgar, Wormwood. He has a bourgeois mind. He has filled His world full of pleasures. There are things for humans to do all day long without His minding in the least-sleeping, washing, eating, drinking, making love, playing, praying, working. Everything has to be twisted before it's any use to us. We fight under cruel disadvantages. Nothing is naturally on our side."

Sin, Hate, and God

So I was reading comments on a blog post regarding a clip of a Mark Driscoll sermon. Yeah, I know . . .

But anyway, there were two sides to the argument of whether or not God is capable of hate. What I found interesting is that there was a leap from "Got hates sin" to "God hates people". I think that really reveals a person's view of what sin is.

If sin is something people "do" that angers God or invokes His wrath, it's easy to equate "hating sin" with "hating the sinner". However, if sin is a disease that we are all born with, it's a whole different matter.

I hate cancer. I've lost both grandmothers to it, I've watched the brother of a friend succumb to it as a very young man. I really hate cancer. However, it would be absolutely absurd of me to state that I hate cancer patients.

Paul stated that if anyone had reason to boast of their works (put confidence in their flesh), he far more. But what good did it do him?

You can have the most perfect diet, high in all the right vitamins, lacking preservatives and additives. You can work out four hours a day, never smoke, never drink, never do drugs. Yet none of that will rid you of cancer. It is beyond your ability to fix.

If sin is a disease, something that lives within us from the moment of our birth, then God is the One who heals, restores, and rescues us from the ravages of sin. The cross is the ultimate cure, it does for us what we could never achieve by our own works.

If, however, sin is simply our undesirable actions, then it is much easier to see God as divine punisher. The cross then is simply a way for God to take out His anger on His innocent Son so that we wouldn't get the whipping we deserve.

So which is it? Is God a loving Father who hates what sin does to us and seeks to rescue and cure us? Or is He more demanding, insisting that we fall in line with His standards and commands? Is He upset with us when we fall short? Does He actively hate us when our actions aren't in line with His will?

Why Do I Believe?

Do you ever find yourself wondering exactly why you believe in God? Or maybe someone's asked you that question out of nowhere and you've found yourself stammering "Um, uh, I just kinda do."

Lately I've been asking myself that question, and it seems that there are many possible answers. Unfortunately, none of them really seem to sum it all up properly.

There's the easy answer - "I was raised that way."

It's true, I was brought up a Christian. I asked Jesus into my heart at 3 and received both a water baptism and the baptism of the Holy Spirit in the next few years. I was active in children's church and youth groups.

But at some point it stopped being my parent's religion. At some point I felt the need to critique what I had been taught and decide if I really wanted to adopt it as my own. As it turns out, I did choose to hang on to it, at least the basic stuff. I still believe in God three in one. I believe in Jesus came as the Son of God, fully man and fully divine. I believe in his virgin birth, his death on the cross, his resurrection after three days and his ascendancy to heaven. I believe the Bible is inspired by God.

Even though I do still believe much of what I was taught, it's no longer blind belief in what my parent's have told me. I have examined its merits for myself, making the decision to adopt it as my own system of faith.

There's the default answer - "Well, everyone's gotta believe something."

This answer fails to capture the deliberate nature of how I decided what to believe. I didn't just flip a coin and say "Heads I believe in God, tails I don't." I didn't throw a dart at a chart of all possible belief systems.

While I'm very aware of the fact that I don't have all the answers, I do think that a belief in God lines up best with what I believe to be true. Based on what experience I have, I am rather convinced that some sort of divine presence exists. And this being known as "God" or "I AM" seems to be the best representation.

There's the ignorant and arrogant answer - "I know what I know what I know is true. You can't tell me different."

Maybe it's just me, but this kind of close-minded answer seems to do more harm than good. It's fine to have faith in something, but when you can't have a reasonable discourse about it there might be a problem. I think the core of this belief is insecurity. You cling to it with all your might, afraid that if you question one little tenet it all may come crumbling down. At that point, I honestly think it's better to let it crumble.

There's the empirical belief - "Well, this theory proves this and that proves that, so therefore there must be a God."

Yeah, yeah, I've done that whole creationism thing. Truth be told, I still do believe in the literal Genesis account. But if God were to show up tomorrow and tell me that it was just a story to kind of sum up all that happened, my belief system wouldn't be wrecked.

I understand people can have a hard time admitting that they "just believe something". It doesn't exactly sound intellectual. But I find that one of the greatest things about believing in God is the mystery and wonder that comes along with it. I don't have anything close to all the answers, or even most of them. There's a lot I just plain don't know. But I'm learning to like it that way.

What's my real answer?

I'm still trying to figure that out. I can't describe exactly why I believe in God, or why I believe He's good and gracious and kind and loving.

I believe in him the same way I believe that love is more than a chemical reaction in the brain. There have been times in my life that it seemed that something deep within me was reacting to something eternal and vast.

I believe that our five senses can only hint at what's really out there, that what we call reality is in many ways just a shadow of what's really there. I believe that the Unknowable is inviting us to know him, that the Unfathomable is reaching out arms to hug us.

I believe that joy and wonder have been placed deep within our hearts for a reason, that we are made to experience and rejoice in beauty. I believe that the longings deep within our souls are real, and that they were made to be satisfied.

I believe.

Wine Tastings and Honesty

Yesterday a friend turned 30 and a bunch of us went out to brunch to celebrate. Her husband had also rented an eight-passenger van, so after brunch several of us piled in and went to sample some wines by Cayuga Lake.

Since I'm a whopping 143 pounds and never built up a tolerance for alcohol, the constant sampling caused me to become slightly tipsy. Okay, I was probably drunk. First time ever, woo-hoo!!

My memory of that time is a little hazy, but I do remember laughing a lot, talking loudly, and being generally rambunctious and boisterous. Okay, I was probably horribly inappropriate and I may owe them all a blanket apology.

But it was good. Like, really good. It was just a lot of fun with some of my best friends. And at one point I realized that the alcohol had completely compromised whatever filter exists between my mind and my mouth. Every random thought I had was immediately verbalized, regardless of it's merit.

And now, the following morning, I am resisting the impulse to rake myself over the coals for it. I tend to do that after I've spent time with people (even completely sober). I go through my mental recording of everything I said and did and then I chastise myself for my stupidity. I second-guess everything, beating myself up for just not keeping my mouth shut.

But somehow, in the midst of all the craziness, there were some incredibly honest conversations. Already established friendships found deeper roots, the importance of our presence in each others' lives was verbalized and confirmed.

Maybe I don't really need more of a filter. Maybe I need less of one. I try so hard to control other people's perception of me that I sometimes wonder if they even have the chance to know me at all. My ego and fragile self-esteem hinder my attempts to be authentic and vulnerable. I try to keep all my messiness hidden beneath a veneer of having it all together.

And that's a lie. I don't have it together, even a little. But maybe community isn't a bunch of perfect people being perfect together. Maybe it's a bunch of us screw-ups peeling back our masks and tentatively showing our true faces. Maybe it's the surprising grace that meets us there, the disarming unconditional acceptance.

Maybe I can make a fool of myself, a wine-buzzed blathering idiot. But what's most pathetic is that I can't be that honest all the time. Sure, there's much to be said for wisdom and discernment. There's a time to speak and a time to be silent. But I want to be part of real community, even if that means peaking out from behind the mask so others can see me, warts and all.

So c'mon, open up another bottle of wine. Here's to great friends.

Let's Try This Again

Shoot, has it been that long since I posted something here? I have a number of drafts, maybe I should brush off and post a couple of those. I can't make excuses for not posting, other than I just didn't feel like it.

So, 2011 has sucked so far. Winter is generally a haze of unmotivated depression for me anyway, and the 180 inches of snow we got this year really didn't help. In February I had an appendectomy and right before Easter I lost my grandmother.

I also haven't been doing very well in my interactions with other people. I keep finding myself trying to manipulate their perception of who I am. And quite frankly, I've spent much of the past several months just being angry and bitter. I feel stuck, trapped, weighed down by the burden of just making my way through life. I'm frustrated that I haven't moved beyond this scene, that I haven't grown out of this phase. Maturity seems as reachable as Jupiter.

And yet, last Friday during a time of worship with friends, I felt as if God was reassuring me of his promise that I would know his love. He seems to make a habit of that, speaking of love when I am most unlovable.

The odd thing is that I feel almost ashamed to still be focused on Father's love, affection, and grace. Aren't these such elementary concepts? Shouldn't someone who has been a Christian their entire life have moved beyond this by now? I look at others who are focused on things like social justice and making a tangible impact in the lives of others. Why can't I be more like them? Why am I doing 2nd grade math homework when my peers have moved on to string theory? I feel as if my pursuit of a greater understanding of God's love and grace is self-indulgent, while other pursuits are more noble and selfless.

There I go again, losing sight of what (and who) is important. Why must I continually compare my own journey to those around me? Is a left rib envious of the right hand?

I wonder what Father's reaction is like each time I get all anxious and stressed out about this stuff. Does he shake his head in disappointment? Does he keep walking on so that I have to run to catch up? Does he gently smile and sit down in the dirt next to me as I pound my fists and feet against the ground while throwing a fit? Does he wait until I've exhausted myself before pulling me into his arms and cleaning my dirty, tear-streaked face? Does he again take my hand as we walk together, taking small steps to match my stumbling pace?

Well, this was somewhat uncomfortable. But it was honest, and I guess that's why I do this. Father, your love is so humbling. Thank you.

Vending Machine God

I've been reading Blue Like Jazz for the first time (I know, welcome to 2003 Christian culture). Anyway, he talked a little about tithing and it got me thinking. I grew up being taught that tithing was required and it was even a good idea to give above and beyond. I heard the verses from Malachi and everywhere else, I heard about how it was all really God's anyways and I heard about the blessings I'd get from giving.

Lately I haven't really been tithing, at least not regularly. Part of it is because I haven't been going to an institutional church and I had a hard time convincing myself to still give money to an institution that I was rapidly losing faith in.

I'm still giving, though. I do think that's important, but not really for the reasons I learned. And as I thought about the reasons I used to give, and as I considered what others had to say on the subject, I realized that sometimes we think about God like a vending machine. I know this is far from an original statement, but I finally got it.

We put in our tithes and offerings, push a button, and expect to get it pressed down and running over and all that stuff. We expect to have our material needs met and have the devourer rebuked. At least, as long as we hit that magical 10% mark.

We put in our faith, push the button, and expect answers to our prayers. Not just any answers, but the specific answers we asked for. Put some faith in the slot, press the button, and there you have it.

We put in our good works and obedience, push the button, and expect our rewards. We held up our end of the bargain, now God has to do his bit. Tit for tat and all that.

I really don't like this view of God. I don't want a God who is small and easily manipulated. I don't want a God whose sole purpose is to satisfy my every want and whim. I want real God, big God, sometimes-hard-to-understand God. I want ancient God, infinite God, bigger-than-me-and-all-my-fears God.

A vending machine is great when you want a candy bar. It's not very useful when you need a pair of arms to wrap around you late at night when you're kept awake by worry and anxiety. It's not very helpful when you need a voice whispering love and assurance in the midst of your biggest storms.

I like that God is master of the universe, wondrous and awesome. I like that Jesus is a real Person, not the magic coins you put in the machine to get what you want.

I don't want to try to manipulate God by giving. I want to give out of true generosity of the heart. I want to be generous, because he is generous. And his truly amazing generosity is one of the many things that endears me to him. So I give, and I try to learn to give from the heart, to give joyfully, to give like my Father gives.