Towards the end of his book Perelandra, C.S. Lewis juxtaposes two seemingly opposite ideas as true ways of perceiving reality. There is first the idea that God has a purpose for us - a part for us in His plan that gives us meaning - and that He thus has need of us and we likewise have need of each other. No one is separate and alone; in the great plan of God, every part is necessary and depends on each other. We see this in the common biblical analogy of the church to a body, where every member is strengthened and built up by what the other members supply: no one of those members could survive separately, but each needs all and is needed by all. Even Christ, as the Head of the body, needs us (in a manner of speaking, for He is self-sufficient), that, for example, He might reveal in us His grace, mercy, and righteous judgment.
The second idea is that God has no need of anything that He created - He simply created us and loves us out of the overflowing abundance of His goodness. He was not less before He created us, nor is He the greater because He created us. He does not lavish His grace and blessing upon us because He needs our love or because we deserve His favor, but simply because He is. Likewise, in this idea, we have no real need of one another, and so we are able to love as He loves: freely, without the conditions of merit or need.
I can't say that one or the other of these ideas is false; both ring true to me. The first speaks to my inner hunger for purpose, to my desire to be needed, and to my honest admission that I desperately need God and other people. But the second expresses the riches of God's grace, explains how we can begin to love as God loves us, and leaves God's eternal glory unlimited. Maybe this is one of the seeming paradoxes of Christianity - the pairs of apparently contradictory truths whose reconciliation lies beyond our current ability to reason and understand, like the concept of the triune nature of God. What matters is that it is true. We are needed, and all that we do matters and has significance, and we must not let our feet slip; we are not needed, and we can give and love in the freedom of our insignificance, resting in the greatness of our God.
"He has immeasurable use for each thing that is made, that His love and splendour may flow forth like a strong river which has need of a great watercourse and fills alike the deep pools and the little crannies, that are filled equally and remain unequal; and when it has filled them brim full it flows over and makes new channels. We also have need beyond measure of all that He has made. Love me, my brothers, for I am infinitely necessary to you and for your delight I was made. Blessed be He!
"He has no need at all of anything that is made. An eldil is not more needful to Him than a grain of the Dust: a peopled world no more needful than a world that is empty: but all needless alike, and what all add to Him is nothing. We also have no need of anything that us made. Love me, my brothers, for I am infinitely superfluous, and your love shall be like His, born neither of your need nor of my deserving, but a plain bounty. Blessed be He!" - C.S. Lewis, Perelandra
Showing posts with label quotes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label quotes. Show all posts
Friday, February 24, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
The glory of being human
"The upright gait is the sign of distinction, but to be able to prostrate oneself in adoration and worship is even more glorious; and all nature is like the great staff of servants who remind the human being, the ruler, about worshiping God. This is what is expected, not that the human being is to come and assume the command, which is also glorious and is assigned to him, but that worshiping he shall praise the Creator, something nature cannot do, since it can only remind the human being about doing that. It is glorious to be clothed as the lily, even more glorious to be the erect and upright ruler, but most glorious to be nothing by worshiping!
[...] The human being and God do not resemble each other directly but inversely; only when God has infinitely become the eternal and omnipresent object of worship and the human being always a worshiper, only then do they resemble each other. If human beings want to resemble God by ruling, they have forgotten God; then God has departed and they are playing the rulers in God's absence. This was paganism; this was human life in the absence of God. This was why paganism was still like nature, and the most grievous thing that can be said about it is that it could not worship." - Soren Kierkegaard, Uplifting Discourses in Various Spirits
[...] The human being and God do not resemble each other directly but inversely; only when God has infinitely become the eternal and omnipresent object of worship and the human being always a worshiper, only then do they resemble each other. If human beings want to resemble God by ruling, they have forgotten God; then God has departed and they are playing the rulers in God's absence. This was paganism; this was human life in the absence of God. This was why paganism was still like nature, and the most grievous thing that can be said about it is that it could not worship." - Soren Kierkegaard, Uplifting Discourses in Various Spirits
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
A Farewell (or A Eulogy)
Our culture is in the process of banishing two of the great handmaidens of civilization. I'm not thinking of truth and beauty, although the same could be truly said of them (and indeed they are the greatest, second only to the great triad of faith, hope, and love), but rather of another pair: nobility and wonder. In their place, we have chosen cynicism and flippancy - cheap and shriveled substitutes for the living glory we might have known.
When I use the word "nobility," I am not referring to aristocratic hierarchies or rich and landed persons, but to an "elevation of mind and exaltation of character," to high ideals and upright conduct. Nobility is what enables a person (and collectively, a society) to see innate worth rather than mere hedonistic or utilitarian value in every individual human being, to pursue true honor and seek after deeper meaning without forsaking dignity and courtesy, and to labor wholeheartedly for a cause because it is right and true and glorious and beautiful even if it has no earthly hope of success. It is a focus on deeper and higher things - an eternal perspective - that enables production rather than consumption and allows one to be content and at peace in any material circumstance. It is a quietness of the heart that leads to efficacious action rather than to indolence, because it is coupled with a great purpose: to know and will the good. In this quietness, filled and made great by the desire for the good, there is no room for petty complaints, for selfish worries, or for the trivial thoughts and actions that waste a life; there is no capacity for scoffing at or ridiculing anything that aspires to the good.
Wonder has no capacity for scoffing at all. Wonder looks at the world around her and delights in the beauty of it all, dances to its secret songs, falls back in awe at the marvels she beholds. She is like a child in her open curiosity and excitement, but with the maturity and wisdom to endure through great trials and see the glory behind this pain, the light beyond these dreary shadows. You might accuse of her of looking at the world through rose-colored glasses; she would retort that you must be looking at it through blackened ones. She asks why "the way things really are" must always be the way that holds the most hurt, that allows for the most sin, that conceals corruption and falsehood, when God is good and has made a good world. It is not that she ignores all that is bad and decaying and cruel - it is simply that these things fade away in the light of all the wondrous things she sees as well. Her eyes look into the eternal, and her heart is filled with a joy greater than all temporal ills, which no evil can destroy. While she may appear foolishly innocent and hopelessly naive, she has in reality found a solid rock beneath the shifting sands on which those around her have staked their souls, and she has seen the truth to which they have blinded their eyes. She sees the permanent unfading goodness against which the winds of trouble and sin beat in vain, and rejoices in that goodness rather than despairing at the winds.
How sharply nobility contrasts with the flippant and mocking attitude of our culture today! We would rather stand by and laugh (and what a deadened, joyless laughter it is, in the bitterness of our hearts) at the demise of our communities and families than hope and labor for their healing; we laugh too at those who do labor, and take pleasure in their failures, because then we can proudly proclaim how right we were about the fall of civilization. It is damning to say that we saw things fall apart and chose to do nothing, even if the fall were inevitable; but we see only how we might come out on the top of the pile at the end of that fall and then laugh in our self-assured complacency all the way to the bottom. Then, to make our consciences rest easy at the deceit, exploitation, filth, and pain that we rely upon to maintain our material comfort and fill our empty hearts, we make innocence a joke and ridicule those deluded enough to believe in beauty and to cling to truth. There is no quietness except the stillness of the morgue; no peace except the final rest of death.
And how complete is the separation between open-eyed, childlike wonder and our harsh, defensive cynicism! More than anything else, cynicism is the last defense of the terrified heart against despair: by assuming the worst in advance, with an attitude of knowing negativity, one can escape the pain of thwarted dreams and even take pride in one's ability to avoid the delusions of joy. After all, it is undeniable that things will go wrong in this life, and that people will disappoint us. Why should we trust anyone, when we have been hurt and seen other be hurt by betrayal of such trust? Why should we look for beauty in anything, when the startling filthy ugliness of sin has jumped out at us from so many seemingly beautiful people and places? How can we open our hearts again to beauty and light and truth when we have begun to doubt that they exist at all, when we have been crushed in the darkness and cruelty of this life? In our cynicism, we can feel that at least all this pain has made us wise enough to understand the darkness of the world. And we look down upon wonder and joy with cool and sneering disdain, because in the depths of our hearts we hate and despise them as cheats - even as we desperately crave what they pretend to give - but know how foolish it would be to reveal those true feelings. In wonder, every emotion is genuine and life, imbued with the light of truth, overflows with joy; in cynicism, no sincere feeling is revealed, and the heart, being covered with deceit, moulders in the dust of fear and the black rot of hate.
Nobility offers to take the pain and fight the evil, regardless of the consequences; its deepest desire is to do what is right, and not merely to do what is right but to pour itself out in the doing, and not solely to pour itself out in the doing, but to suffer all the pain of the doing in themselves. Nobility seeks to not to draw in, but to give out; not to obtain personal pleasure, but to do what is right that others might thus be uplifted:
"'If I were to be made a knight,' said the Wart, staring dreamily into the fire, 'I should insist on doing the vigil by myself, as Hob does with his hawks, and I should pray to God to let me encounter all the evil in the world in my own person, so that if I conquered there would be none left, and, if I were defeated, I would be the one to suffer for it.'
'That would be extremely presumptuous of you,' said Merlyn, 'and you would be conquered, and you would suffer for it.'
'I shouldn't mind.'
[...]
Merlyn wrung his hands. 'Well, anyway,' he said, 'suppose they did not let you stand against all the evil in the world?'
'I could ask,' said the Wart.
'You could ask,' repeated Merlyn.
He thrust the end of his beard into his mouth, stared tragically at the fire, and began to munch it fiercely." - T.H. White, The Once and Future King
Wonder sees the world and rejoices that it is. If we can mourn a loss or complain at the downward path some things are taking, we can with wonder celebrate those things that are not lost, and praise those things that rise upward. While we know that all is not well now, that there is pain and darkness and sin, we do not have to be absorbed by those negative things: we can wonder and delight in the things that are good in opposition to the evil and in the things that are good simply in being themselves:
"This elementary wonder, however, is not a mere fancy derived from the fairy tales; on the contrary, all the fire of the fairy tales is derived from this. [...] These tales say that apples were golden only to refresh the forgotten moment when we found that they were green. They make rivers run with wine only to make us remember, for one wild moment, that they run with water. [...]
The wonder has a positive element of praise. [...] Here I am only trying to describe the enormous emotions which cannot be described. And the strongest emotion was that life was as precious as it was puzzling. It was an ecstasy because it was an adventure; it was an adventure because it was an opportunity. The goodness of the fairy tale was not affected by the fact that there might be more dragons than princesses; it was good to be in a fairy tale." - G.K. Chesteron, Orthodoxy
We have dismissed King Arthur as a myth, turning him into a comic buffoon or an ignorant medieval warrior, so his nobility will not affront our flippancy. Chesterton we never knew - and what did he know about life, anyways, that deluded Christian author from a wealthy family in a privileged nation? God we have forgotten. And with Him we have forgotten how to conduct ourselves with the honor of a noble spirit and the joy of a wondering heart; we have forgotten how to be truly civilized, and so all things come apart.
When I use the word "nobility," I am not referring to aristocratic hierarchies or rich and landed persons, but to an "elevation of mind and exaltation of character," to high ideals and upright conduct. Nobility is what enables a person (and collectively, a society) to see innate worth rather than mere hedonistic or utilitarian value in every individual human being, to pursue true honor and seek after deeper meaning without forsaking dignity and courtesy, and to labor wholeheartedly for a cause because it is right and true and glorious and beautiful even if it has no earthly hope of success. It is a focus on deeper and higher things - an eternal perspective - that enables production rather than consumption and allows one to be content and at peace in any material circumstance. It is a quietness of the heart that leads to efficacious action rather than to indolence, because it is coupled with a great purpose: to know and will the good. In this quietness, filled and made great by the desire for the good, there is no room for petty complaints, for selfish worries, or for the trivial thoughts and actions that waste a life; there is no capacity for scoffing at or ridiculing anything that aspires to the good.
Wonder has no capacity for scoffing at all. Wonder looks at the world around her and delights in the beauty of it all, dances to its secret songs, falls back in awe at the marvels she beholds. She is like a child in her open curiosity and excitement, but with the maturity and wisdom to endure through great trials and see the glory behind this pain, the light beyond these dreary shadows. You might accuse of her of looking at the world through rose-colored glasses; she would retort that you must be looking at it through blackened ones. She asks why "the way things really are" must always be the way that holds the most hurt, that allows for the most sin, that conceals corruption and falsehood, when God is good and has made a good world. It is not that she ignores all that is bad and decaying and cruel - it is simply that these things fade away in the light of all the wondrous things she sees as well. Her eyes look into the eternal, and her heart is filled with a joy greater than all temporal ills, which no evil can destroy. While she may appear foolishly innocent and hopelessly naive, she has in reality found a solid rock beneath the shifting sands on which those around her have staked their souls, and she has seen the truth to which they have blinded their eyes. She sees the permanent unfading goodness against which the winds of trouble and sin beat in vain, and rejoices in that goodness rather than despairing at the winds.
How sharply nobility contrasts with the flippant and mocking attitude of our culture today! We would rather stand by and laugh (and what a deadened, joyless laughter it is, in the bitterness of our hearts) at the demise of our communities and families than hope and labor for their healing; we laugh too at those who do labor, and take pleasure in their failures, because then we can proudly proclaim how right we were about the fall of civilization. It is damning to say that we saw things fall apart and chose to do nothing, even if the fall were inevitable; but we see only how we might come out on the top of the pile at the end of that fall and then laugh in our self-assured complacency all the way to the bottom. Then, to make our consciences rest easy at the deceit, exploitation, filth, and pain that we rely upon to maintain our material comfort and fill our empty hearts, we make innocence a joke and ridicule those deluded enough to believe in beauty and to cling to truth. There is no quietness except the stillness of the morgue; no peace except the final rest of death.
And how complete is the separation between open-eyed, childlike wonder and our harsh, defensive cynicism! More than anything else, cynicism is the last defense of the terrified heart against despair: by assuming the worst in advance, with an attitude of knowing negativity, one can escape the pain of thwarted dreams and even take pride in one's ability to avoid the delusions of joy. After all, it is undeniable that things will go wrong in this life, and that people will disappoint us. Why should we trust anyone, when we have been hurt and seen other be hurt by betrayal of such trust? Why should we look for beauty in anything, when the startling filthy ugliness of sin has jumped out at us from so many seemingly beautiful people and places? How can we open our hearts again to beauty and light and truth when we have begun to doubt that they exist at all, when we have been crushed in the darkness and cruelty of this life? In our cynicism, we can feel that at least all this pain has made us wise enough to understand the darkness of the world. And we look down upon wonder and joy with cool and sneering disdain, because in the depths of our hearts we hate and despise them as cheats - even as we desperately crave what they pretend to give - but know how foolish it would be to reveal those true feelings. In wonder, every emotion is genuine and life, imbued with the light of truth, overflows with joy; in cynicism, no sincere feeling is revealed, and the heart, being covered with deceit, moulders in the dust of fear and the black rot of hate.
Nobility offers to take the pain and fight the evil, regardless of the consequences; its deepest desire is to do what is right, and not merely to do what is right but to pour itself out in the doing, and not solely to pour itself out in the doing, but to suffer all the pain of the doing in themselves. Nobility seeks to not to draw in, but to give out; not to obtain personal pleasure, but to do what is right that others might thus be uplifted:
"'If I were to be made a knight,' said the Wart, staring dreamily into the fire, 'I should insist on doing the vigil by myself, as Hob does with his hawks, and I should pray to God to let me encounter all the evil in the world in my own person, so that if I conquered there would be none left, and, if I were defeated, I would be the one to suffer for it.'
'That would be extremely presumptuous of you,' said Merlyn, 'and you would be conquered, and you would suffer for it.'
'I shouldn't mind.'
[...]
Merlyn wrung his hands. 'Well, anyway,' he said, 'suppose they did not let you stand against all the evil in the world?'
'I could ask,' said the Wart.
'You could ask,' repeated Merlyn.
He thrust the end of his beard into his mouth, stared tragically at the fire, and began to munch it fiercely." - T.H. White, The Once and Future King
Wonder sees the world and rejoices that it is. If we can mourn a loss or complain at the downward path some things are taking, we can with wonder celebrate those things that are not lost, and praise those things that rise upward. While we know that all is not well now, that there is pain and darkness and sin, we do not have to be absorbed by those negative things: we can wonder and delight in the things that are good in opposition to the evil and in the things that are good simply in being themselves:
"This elementary wonder, however, is not a mere fancy derived from the fairy tales; on the contrary, all the fire of the fairy tales is derived from this. [...] These tales say that apples were golden only to refresh the forgotten moment when we found that they were green. They make rivers run with wine only to make us remember, for one wild moment, that they run with water. [...]
The wonder has a positive element of praise. [...] Here I am only trying to describe the enormous emotions which cannot be described. And the strongest emotion was that life was as precious as it was puzzling. It was an ecstasy because it was an adventure; it was an adventure because it was an opportunity. The goodness of the fairy tale was not affected by the fact that there might be more dragons than princesses; it was good to be in a fairy tale." - G.K. Chesteron, Orthodoxy
We have dismissed King Arthur as a myth, turning him into a comic buffoon or an ignorant medieval warrior, so his nobility will not affront our flippancy. Chesterton we never knew - and what did he know about life, anyways, that deluded Christian author from a wealthy family in a privileged nation? God we have forgotten. And with Him we have forgotten how to conduct ourselves with the honor of a noble spirit and the joy of a wondering heart; we have forgotten how to be truly civilized, and so all things come apart.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Eternal hope
"... sagacity says, 'Surely one must not kill hope.' 'You hypocrite,' replies the eternal, 'why do you talk so equivocally; of course there is a hope that should be killed, just as there is a lust, a craving, and a longing that should be killed - the earthly hope should be killed, because not until then is one rescued by the true hope, and that is why the sufferer should not even want to "accept release" (Hebrews 11:35) on temporality's terms.'" - Soren Kierkegaard, Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits
Earthly hope is very pleasant to the mind and the heart, even when it so improbable as to be more of a desperate wish than a hope, because it fills the imagination with beautiful pictures of everything temporal healed and set right - of health and wealth and happiness, of the fulfillment of life's "little dreams" (like a house in the country with a wrap-around porch, or a home full of children, or a long and loving marriage, or recognition and respect). But to make those hopes the great desire of one's heart - to think of "the temporal as the highest and the eternal as a kind of desperate standby" (Kierkegaard again) - is in the end to lose these hopes themselves, and their fulfillment, or even if one does experience the happiness of their fulfillment in a temporal sense, it is still in the end to lose the highest hope of all: that which is eternal.
So it is better not to hope for those things at all - to kill them when they appear - that one may set one's heart on the greatest and highest hope without distraction or reservation. Is there a sense of loss, at the thought of killing these hopes and thus not pursuing their fulfillment and obtaining their promised happinesses? Yes, there is; but it is a better loss than the alternative, which is to never become alive in the eternal hope, to never pursue that eternal fulfillment and obtain eternal happiness.
Earthly hope is very pleasant to the mind and the heart, even when it so improbable as to be more of a desperate wish than a hope, because it fills the imagination with beautiful pictures of everything temporal healed and set right - of health and wealth and happiness, of the fulfillment of life's "little dreams" (like a house in the country with a wrap-around porch, or a home full of children, or a long and loving marriage, or recognition and respect). But to make those hopes the great desire of one's heart - to think of "the temporal as the highest and the eternal as a kind of desperate standby" (Kierkegaard again) - is in the end to lose these hopes themselves, and their fulfillment, or even if one does experience the happiness of their fulfillment in a temporal sense, it is still in the end to lose the highest hope of all: that which is eternal.
So it is better not to hope for those things at all - to kill them when they appear - that one may set one's heart on the greatest and highest hope without distraction or reservation. Is there a sense of loss, at the thought of killing these hopes and thus not pursuing their fulfillment and obtaining their promised happinesses? Yes, there is; but it is a better loss than the alternative, which is to never become alive in the eternal hope, to never pursue that eternal fulfillment and obtain eternal happiness.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Bonhoeffer: living by faith
Tonight I finished listening (for the second time this week) to Focus on the Family's truly excellent radio drama of the life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, which closes with a quote from one of his letters from prison:
"It is only by living completely in this world that one learns to live by faith. One must completely abandon any attempt to make something of oneself, whether it be saint, or converted sinner, or churchman, a righteous man, or an unrighteous one, a sick man, or a healthy one. By this-worldliness I mean living unreservedly in life's duties, problems, successes and failures, experiences, and perplexities. In so doing, we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously not our own sufferings, but those of God in the world, watching with Christ in Gethsamene. That, I think, is faith. That is how one becomes a man and a Christian." - Bonhoeffer, Letters from Prison
Listening to the account of his committed faith in the face of doubt, opposition, and the fear of torture and death, I was deeply challenged. I like to think that I serve God well - that I strive to love and follow Him, that I desire to seek and obey Him - but my faith is nothing compared to the faith of men and women like Dietrich Bonhoeffer. So many trivial and insignificant things even in this good life I have now make me anxious or afraid! How could I hope to have the faith and the courage needed to live out of trust in God like he did, when I am beset by fears here and now? If trials come to the Christians in America like they to the Christians in 1930's Germany, will I be one who lives in integrity and faith, or will I be like the countless people who submitted to and participated in evil because of fear? If I one day have the privilege of ministering for the gospel in a third-world country, will I be able to hold my witness boldly and without compromise if there is persecution or opposition?
Looking at Bonhoeffer's quote, I think my course of action is clear. Here and now, I must live as God has called me to live. When fear rises in my heart, whether the cause is significant or trivial, I must take that fear to Christ and move on trusting Him. I must not let those fears dictate the extent of my obedience to Christ. And I must embrace any suffering, however great or however small, that He sends into my life, because He sends it for my sanctification, that through learning to trust Him in those sufferings my faith might increase and I might know Him more. This means being disciplined and vigilant in my walk with God and in all the daily details of my life, to endeavor to perform those details according to His will and for His glory, instead of according to my plans and to glorify myself. If I want to do great things for God and truly honor Him with my life, then I can't just sit back, go my own way, do my own things, and expect for it all to somehow just happen. I have to press into Him, to push forward, to aim upward, to seek Him in everything I do - and as Bonhoeffer pointed out, to do so in the midst of the problems, successes, and failures of this life (as opposed to some ideal life that I might picture in my head).
When some people think of pursuing God whole-heartedly - and of this pursuit being an important and even essential part of the Christian faith - they worry about legalism. Somehow striving to obey God must mean that you're trusting in that obedience to earn you God's favor and salvation, in their minds. I suggest that it might rather be a response to God's love and grace and a result of seeing God in His power and glory. If He is truly our God - our Lord, our Master, our King and Creator - then oughtn't we obey His commands? If, on top of that, He has redeemed us from death and loved us unconditionally through our sin, rebellion, and disbelief, don't you think that rationally we owe Him our very lives? When all we have is from Him, how can we hold it back for ourselves instead of giving it up to Him? This is not legalism; this is living as child of God. Grace does not excuse our sin; rather, it enables us to live righteously.
May we walk, then, in the grace that is from God and in faith in Him, in whatever He brings to our lives. Doing this now, when life is relatively easy, prepares our hearts to follow in faith when life becomes much harder, and brings glory to the Lord we love.
"It is only by living completely in this world that one learns to live by faith. One must completely abandon any attempt to make something of oneself, whether it be saint, or converted sinner, or churchman, a righteous man, or an unrighteous one, a sick man, or a healthy one. By this-worldliness I mean living unreservedly in life's duties, problems, successes and failures, experiences, and perplexities. In so doing, we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously not our own sufferings, but those of God in the world, watching with Christ in Gethsamene. That, I think, is faith. That is how one becomes a man and a Christian." - Bonhoeffer, Letters from Prison
Listening to the account of his committed faith in the face of doubt, opposition, and the fear of torture and death, I was deeply challenged. I like to think that I serve God well - that I strive to love and follow Him, that I desire to seek and obey Him - but my faith is nothing compared to the faith of men and women like Dietrich Bonhoeffer. So many trivial and insignificant things even in this good life I have now make me anxious or afraid! How could I hope to have the faith and the courage needed to live out of trust in God like he did, when I am beset by fears here and now? If trials come to the Christians in America like they to the Christians in 1930's Germany, will I be one who lives in integrity and faith, or will I be like the countless people who submitted to and participated in evil because of fear? If I one day have the privilege of ministering for the gospel in a third-world country, will I be able to hold my witness boldly and without compromise if there is persecution or opposition?
Looking at Bonhoeffer's quote, I think my course of action is clear. Here and now, I must live as God has called me to live. When fear rises in my heart, whether the cause is significant or trivial, I must take that fear to Christ and move on trusting Him. I must not let those fears dictate the extent of my obedience to Christ. And I must embrace any suffering, however great or however small, that He sends into my life, because He sends it for my sanctification, that through learning to trust Him in those sufferings my faith might increase and I might know Him more. This means being disciplined and vigilant in my walk with God and in all the daily details of my life, to endeavor to perform those details according to His will and for His glory, instead of according to my plans and to glorify myself. If I want to do great things for God and truly honor Him with my life, then I can't just sit back, go my own way, do my own things, and expect for it all to somehow just happen. I have to press into Him, to push forward, to aim upward, to seek Him in everything I do - and as Bonhoeffer pointed out, to do so in the midst of the problems, successes, and failures of this life (as opposed to some ideal life that I might picture in my head).
When some people think of pursuing God whole-heartedly - and of this pursuit being an important and even essential part of the Christian faith - they worry about legalism. Somehow striving to obey God must mean that you're trusting in that obedience to earn you God's favor and salvation, in their minds. I suggest that it might rather be a response to God's love and grace and a result of seeing God in His power and glory. If He is truly our God - our Lord, our Master, our King and Creator - then oughtn't we obey His commands? If, on top of that, He has redeemed us from death and loved us unconditionally through our sin, rebellion, and disbelief, don't you think that rationally we owe Him our very lives? When all we have is from Him, how can we hold it back for ourselves instead of giving it up to Him? This is not legalism; this is living as child of God. Grace does not excuse our sin; rather, it enables us to live righteously.
May we walk, then, in the grace that is from God and in faith in Him, in whatever He brings to our lives. Doing this now, when life is relatively easy, prepares our hearts to follow in faith when life becomes much harder, and brings glory to the Lord we love.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
The fixed points of human life
A very old but very insightful thought:
"I could fill this book with examples of the universal, unconscious assumption that life and sex must live by the laws of 'business' or industrialism, and not vice versa [...] a man writes to say that the spread of destitution will never be stopped until we have educated the lower classes in the methods by which the upper classes prevent procreation. The man had the horrible playfulness to sign his letter "Hopeful." [...] the hopeful one concludes by saying, 'When people have large families and small wages, not only is there a high infantile death-rate, but often those who do live to grow up are stunted and weakened by having had to share the family income for a time with those who died early. There would be less unhappiness if there were no unwanted children." You will observe that he tacitly takes it for granted that the small wages and the income, desperately shared, are the fixed points, like day and night, the conditions of human life. Compared with them marriage and maternity are luxuries, things to be modified to suit the wage-market. [...] Motherhood, they feel [they being men like the hopeful man], and a full childhood, and the beauty of brothers and sisters, are good things in their way, but not so good as a bad wage. About the mutilation of womanhood, and the massacre of men unborn, he signs himself 'Hopeful.' He is hopeful of female indignity, hopeful of human annihilation. But about improving the small bad wage he signs himself 'Hopeless.'" - G.K. Chesterton, Eugenics and Other Evils
At Chesterton's time, abortion was just beginning to be more widely advocated, so he could see the philosophical and social problems that gave it a foothold: how the laws of business and industry (which at the time involved a few business men becoming quite rich on the backs of many others who were quite poor), being elevated above the good that is marriage and family, became a justification for the evil of abortion. The elite, not wanting to change their way of life, came up with a solution that allowed them to believe they were improving the lives of the poor, and cared not that it was abominable. Abortion may make people more well-off financially, but it makes them morally poorer and robs them of the riches of loving that unborn child.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Knowing the holy
"I see them in my imagination, celebrating in the public squares, when everyone about them has forgotten the difference between a celebration and a debauch. I hear them singing together, when everyone else has forgotten that there is anything to sing about. I see them cheerfully being themselves, men being men and women being women, with their gangs of children hollering about them, climbing trees and getting into everything, as they should. I hear them pray in solemn unison, while the world looks away abashed. Then they laugh with real mirth in their hearts, while the world looks askance in envy.
The churches may collapse into social clubs or philanthropic dispensaries or rubble. These men and women will have real communion, and will love their neighbors in truth. They will know the holy."
- Anthony Esolen, The Unquiet Men, Touchstone Magazine
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