random anxieties of existence

the hunt for the 'historical Jesus'

2006-04-14T10:22:00.003-04:00

Sometimes the latest theories about "who Jesus was" or "what he did" sound more like Enquirer stories than anything remotely resembling history. In my mind they appear much like the following:

(Note: neither of these are actual Enquirer covers - I modified them to make a point)

my Jesus

2006-04-14T09:46:00.001-04:00

so this is what we wanted to prove Jesus through our intellect to show that He met up to our standards of historical science we tried to have God on our own terms then we realized that history is not a science and neither is science because we are not scientific and neither is God

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but by then it was too late we already had the Jesus seminar and the historical Jesus movement which were essentially glorified predecesors to the Da Vinci Code historical fictions without the history as if such a history would satisfy our souls were it even possible

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we wanted a personal Jesus no, I wanted a personal Jesus not you, not we, because there is no 'we' we, i mean i, cannot prove a 'we' and yet i write to you who isn't because i don't know you scientifically, that is

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and so i want a personal relationship with Christ my Jesus, my way my documents, my pictures, my videos or at mcdonalds my fries, my drink, my shake my forbidden fruit my Jesus, my homeboy

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maybe if He's really mine maybe if he's really mine i don't need him to be Other after all, i can't prove the Other scientifically

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so he is a god, is he? but he's my god because i have a personal relationship with him just me and i can prove him scientifically i mean historically it doesn't really matter my intellect, my way he was a man like me i showed you that or at least i showed me that historically scientifically

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our stars, our gods they're not so shiny they're not so holy they fall, like you and me they die, like you and me he died, like you and me he fell, like you and me

or like me i think because i don't know you or he just me scientifically, that is

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we're really all the same if there were a we because all of you all of he is really me we all fall i fell

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maybe we're all gods maybe i'm a god, i mean maybe i'm the God 50 cent is my god because he makes me feel like God at least he admits he's fallen the rest i have to drag down oh, they'll fall eventually, obviously they'll die but not fast enough for me

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the deader they are, the more alive i feel the faster they fall, the more god-like i feel

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i am what i am sounds familiar isn't that from the bible somewhere? it must've been talking about me after all, it's only a book i could write a book i practically wrote it myself that's what my history says

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so i can't get away from you whoever you is my fear is that you are an indication of a He but maybe if i pretend that you are not an indication but He, but he then i can pretend that i, too am He, am he

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then we can rejoice in our humanity

and sing hosannas to ourselves until we fall, until we die until i fall, until i die

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my reoccuring nightmare, though my only dream is that when i fall, when i die, there will be a He a He that died for my fall but a He that rose again historically scientifically for me but...

satan's shackles

2006-03-04T05:41:00.001-05:00

One day the angels came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan also came with them. The LORD said to Satan, "Where have you come from?" Satan answered the LORD, "From roaming through the earth and going back and forth in it." Then the LORD said to Satan, "Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one on earth like him; he is blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil." "Does Job fear God for nothing?" Satan replied. "Have you not put a hedge around him and his household and everything he has? You have blessed the work of his hands, so that his flocks and herds are spread throughout the land. But stretch out your hand and strike everything he has, and he will surely curse you to your face." The LORD said to Satan, "Very well, then, everything he has is in your hands, but on the man himself do not lay a finger." Then Satan went out from the presence of the LORD. (Job 1:6- 12)

In an age where postmodernists (modern skeptics) and moral relativists are more plentiful than jackrabbits in spring, it is necessary to recall this story from the book of Job. This world has a Prince, a Prince who is the Father of Lies. Oh, how cleverly the serpent weaves his webs of deceit and iniquity! How subtly he phrases his ever-changing lines. "Did God really say?" he asks, and changes that which is into that which is not by a mere hiss and a linguistic magic show.

What must always be remembered is that Satan has no authority save that which has been given to him for a time. We live in a world that is perceived through doubt and unprovability. Since coming to know good and evil, but still being unable to do control the world-plan, humans in-the-image of God who think they're gods have struggled to see the natural fall reconciled with the intellectual fall by trying to use scientific methodology to get to the heavens. As Karl Popper would say, all any scientific theory needs to be disproved is one more piece of data. It can be falsified but not verified. One can never have absolute proof if he or she is caught up in the world. In the same way, one is never able to reconcile one's bloated logical, moral knowledge to ever-changing empirical reality if he or she tries to begin with himself or herself.

Yes, Satan is the Prince of this world. But we always have proof that he is shackled to the Good and to the Eternal. Evil, as a privation, can always only point to the Good. If everything was 'evil,' then we would have no knowledge of it, for there would be no good to compare it to. Of course, then it wouldn't be evil since evil requires an idea of good to be contrasted with. If everything (from our perspective) was good, then we would have no knowledge of evil. Instead, because there is evil, there must be a Good to be its standard, and we must always know this Good in order to know that the evil is not it.

Truly, evil runs rampant in this world ruled by the Prince. But even the Prince is ruled by God and will face judgment one day. In the same way, any philosophy that asserts no right or wrong asserts that the only right is that there is no right or wrong and the only wrong is claiming that there is, and so they are already always wrong by their own standard. Also, any philosophy based on the intent to deconstruct, tear down, or disprove, is always subject to the charge of constancy of change. If they wish to maintain that there will always be something that comes up to disprove a stated truth then this itself is a stated constant truth that will be disproved. On the other hand, if they state that only some things will be disproved then they have relinquished their pessimistic insistence on the lack of absolute grounding.

Thus, in both morality and logic, Satan is already always shackled to God, no matter how much we might wrestle with evil in the world or with our inability to settle on some clearly and distinctly provable idea.

proof

2006-03-01T22:34:00.001-05:00

Something to think about:

"You think you've figured something out? You run over here all pleased with yourself because you changed your mind? Now you're certain? Hal, you don't know anything The book, the math, the dates, the writing, all that stuff you just decided with your buddies, it's just evidence. It doesn't prove anything." "OK, what would?" "Nothing. You should've trusted me." -from the movie Proof (2005)

speaking from silence

2006-03-01T00:16:00.000-05:00

Secrecy and silence is often the best to express oneself. Kierkegaard wrote Fear and Trembling under the psudeonym Johanne de Silentio. He wrote as a poet, as one who claimed to have no faith, writingabout faith. He used the old Socratic technique of claiming ignorance. Ignorance is always safe to claim. Usually it's the one thing we're right about.

It often seems as though speaking from the silence of the grave is often the only expression one gets. Think of the Count of Monte Cristo, who was only free to live his life and get his bitter-sweet revenge after he was considered dead. Think also of Huck Finn, who killed a pig and spread its blood on the floor, making it look as though robbers had killed him in order to begin a new life away from his psycho father. I would prefer to speak while alive. I would prefer to live my life while alive, and not wait until after death to live. I have much better things to be doing when I'm dead.

keep commenting!

2005-11-22T00:31:00.001-05:00

one of my favourite things about having a blog is the ability to see comments people leave me. have no fear! if you leave a comment it will still eventually appear. unfortunately, due to mass advertising i now have to moderate my comments, so your wise and profound thoughts won't appear untill i have a chance to read them. but they will appear! i also had to take down the sidebar comments form because it was causing pop-up ads, and no one likes pop-ups except if it's a pop-up children's book. those are still pretty cool, but i wasn't able to integrate a pop-up children's book into my site.

poster-boy keith

2005-10-23T00:58:00.001-04:00

In case you're interested, the Dominican University College has included my photo a few times on their new website at www.collegedominicain.ca. To see the pics, go to admissions or cost of studies or student association (there's a couple of other places too) and wait for a second for the image on the right to change. You should then see my happy mug peering out of the screen at you. It's pretty glamorous, I know, but I'll try not to let it go to my head :)

Average

2005-10-21T12:32:00.001-04:00

6 out of 10 was the average of the German quiz I received back today. 60%. Apparently that's a fairly average mark for a language class; according to my professor. I've never thought of myself as average. Generally I'm a bit over par when it comes to schoolwork, but today it was there, staring me in the face. Keith Dow is average.

Incidentally, three out of the four marks I lost were mis-translations of the word "Teil" or "part." Where the sentences contained "Teile," which is plural, I mistook for "Teil," one singular part. The truth is, I don't like thinking of myself as one part among many. I recognize that I am a part; there is no way to avoid this in being distinct in the world. I merely fail to make the necessary connection that there are numerous other parts; that I am not as distinct or unique as I sometimes would like to think I am.

One of the things that I most enjoy doing, and that which I've occasionally received compliments about, is writing. I enjoy language and expressing my thoughts; apparently, though, my mind doesn't work in such a way so as to easily grasp languages. Greek was my first indication of this, as my friends quickly shot ahead of me in marks when second semester came around. Now I'm finding German a challenge. It's discouraging to realize that perhaps even those gifts we think we have are not as profound as we once thought.

As I stepped on the dingy bus, filled with people I'd never know and whose lives would never touch mine more than a passing glance, I saw as though for the first time the shadow of insignificance that haunts each of us.

The Possibility of Possibilities

I've never been one to stop dreaming. We live in a passionless age, one where the idea of an infinite universe dwarfs any step our finite feet might take, but each of us hang onto some thread of identity that somehow makes each further step possible and every action significant; if only for ourselves. Indeed, in an empirical sense the most we will ever be able to be is dying dirt. Our bodies break down a little more each day as entropy takes its toll, and the accumulation of worldly wealth we gather is no more than a grain of sand on a freckle on the backside of the world. Even the effort we invest with our whole life in building something of significance will soon be forgotten. The people we affect will die, and the memory of our interaction on this earth - for good or for evil - will quickly be forgotten. Even the greatest men in history are now no more than an empty shell of who they were; a name, an image, or an accomplishment. The monuments we establish will do no more than bear our hollow name until they are torn down to be replaced by another monument, of someone whose name will be forgotten just as quickly as ours. Emily Dickinson wrote the poem "I dwell in possibility:"

I dwell in Possibility A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior - —for Doors— Of Chambers as the Cedars— Impregnable of Eye And for an Everlasting Roof The Gambrels of the Sky— Of Visitors - —the fairest— For Occupation - —This— The spreading wide of narrow Hands To gather Paradise—

I don't know the first thing about the Emily Dickinson, except that apparently she was a bit kooky. I don't like how many hyphens she uses. If B. F. Skinner were here, he'd definitely skin her. Ha. He would say that there's no use talking about possibility because there really is no such thing as an autonomous man. Being products of our environments, possibility is nothing but the future effects of environmental necessity. Even the chemicals in our brain that we perceive to be the idea of possibility are a direct result of our environment and their explanation could be found in a purposeless event that happened three years ago.

If you're not into the atheistic types, perhaps you'd prefer Spinoza. He'd say that it's emotionally enslaving to talk about ourselves as being free as modes of God in a world that must necessarily be entirely determined by God, so anything we do is completely out of God's necessity. He and Calvin could have some interesting discussions. Oh, and Spinoza would add that the God we think is God really isn't because we essentially make Him in our own image, projecting our desire for the world to run according to our wishes onto Him and so say that He orchestrates everything for our benefit.

I'm sure Freud would jump in here (although he and Spinoza would probably kill each other) and add that our perception of God stems from prehistoric man and tribal rituals and our idea of God as Father finds its roots in repressed sexual urges and as a religious community we make up invisible metaphysical concepts in order to keep one another in line and to abate the guilt that comes from our carnal instincts and subconscious passions.

The experiences we have here on earth and the knowledge of how the world operates truly do seem to back up our insignificance. From this standpoint, any empirical way you look at it, we don't really accomplish much being down here. In fact, if the end or telos of each one of us is death, then wouldn't we be best fulfilling our purpose if we just died?

Beyond Possibility

Strangely enough, there are still a lot of people living out there. I saw a bunch of them on that bus. Many of them had their heads down and didn't look too happy. Not many were smiling. They were all pretty average. A lot of them were ugly. I don't think many of them were good at sports. A lot looked like they'd be pretty dumb, too. Even the ugliest, dumbest brutes of them all, though, were still alive. Apparently there's something in the human spirit that hangs on regardless of empirical data. Each silly person still hung onto the dream of their identity; the dream that they were making a bit of a difference in the world somehow, to someone. Some were obviously closer to realizing that their lives wouldn't make much of a difference than others, but even they still hung on.

One of my favourite bands is Dogwood. You've probably never heard of them, and you might not ever hear of them again unless it's from me. Their first albums were probably the worst music ever made, and some people find his voice horrible. I think his voice is tremendous in a rough and non-singing sort of way. Here's a song of theirs called 1983:

When we were kids, our dreams were invincible,
When we were young, our whole lives ahead of us,
And it was well understood we'd all become astronauts,
And firemen,

Let's not pretend, we all become famous,
Let's not pretend, there's more to this then we hoped for,
For we knew the rules when we were still children,
You blow it,
You fail it,
Disappointment.

It's well on it's way, well understood,
And you have a place, to be (when we were young),
Time on our hands,
Still out of our hands, just like rain (it rained so hard),
Time ran away, and left us afraid,

Your parents are proud,
You've got everything,
No passion at hand,
You'll be Ivy League,
It's more probable,
We all become salesmen,
You know it,
You fear it,
Mediocrity.

It's well on it's way, well understood,
And this is your life,
Don't apoligize for what you are,
Because you're a star.

I hope you find contentment,
I pray you find an answer,
'cause life is better than your occupation,
Revelation.

When we (when we were young) were,
Time on our hands,
Still out of our hands,
Just like rain (it rained so hard)
Time ran away, and left us afraid.

Sometimes I sense the fear they sing about. The fear of mediocrity and disappointment. At these times I cannot dwell in possibility. I can long to dwell in possibility, but I can't dwell there. As an eternal refuge it's far too destructable. If possibility were my only guide, I would have fallen off the cliff a long time ago. Gravity, as the nature of everything to fall down and to fall in upon itself, would have cast me off the heights before I had even looked for a place to dwell. Empirically I know my possibility is limited. There are a few people in my life who see possibility in me, and their support is the foundation of almost all possibilities that have been realized in my life. Even during those times when I realize how much possibility will fail to come to fruition in my life they help me to aim for the potential that is there.

Where I Dwell

Through the most empirical times, though, when not even their cheers make it onto the court of reality and any confidence I had in personal significance was long ago abandoned, there are still Arms that hold me. The psalmist writes,

"He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty" -Psalm 91:1

This is where I ultimately dwell; not in possibility but in the secret place of Yahweh, the Great I Am. He is the First and the Last, and He knows all that I have been, all that I am, and all that I ever will be. In Him I am not merely one of many indistinguishable Teile, for I am a Teil of His family and He has led me, Keith Dow, to His secret place and has hidden me under His mighty shadow. I know that in Him who has no need to simplify everything that I am finds its roots and grows. While I am here on earth He enables me to dwell both in His secret place and in possibility. To the human mind these are unreconcilable, for the one who abides under the shadow of the Almighty is he who has abandoned Self; who has given up all hope of ever achieving anything on his own, who has shunned the illusion of possibility. With man this is impossible, but with God nothing is impossible. The last shall be first and His strength is made perfect in my weakness. Through Him who is able to do more than we can ask or imagine, I find the weakness to let Him work His strength through me. Does the shadow of insignificance still haunt my every step? Looking into the light of Christ's victory, I pray that my life will fade away, so that His life might shine through me all the more clearly.

The Ultimate Test

2005-10-20T14:47:00.001-04:00

I had a German test on Friday. It's only another couple of days until I find out how terribly I actually did on it. The problem is, teachers never mark tests according to our humanity. They don't say "Keith, there were a few things that need to be worked on but I'm sure you'll have them down by next time." No, they mark us like machines. You are and always will be 7.5 out of 10. This particular quiz mark will never change. There is no next time for this one. You cannot improve.

It's the same idea as a SIN number; the system gives you one number, and that number is you to them. The name "Keith" is flexible enough to encompass my varying fluctuations and to allow for improvement or decline on my part yet particular and specific enough that when people hear my name they are able to point me out in a crowd. A number, on the other hand, is absolute. In a closed all-encompassing system, a number represents a specific point which will never be different than it is.

That's one of the reasons I liked home schooling. I never had tests. Upon entering high-school, though, my marks were the best they've ever been. My mom and dad were able to gauge where I was at and what I needed to work on. They didn't need to simplify my progress to a easily-comprehensible integer in order to help my academic achievement.

God doesn't need to simplify us to be able to fit us into His system, either. Throughout our life we don't receive various report cards from heaven, defining absolutely how much less than perfect we actually are. True importance has never been found in the law; God has always been more concerned with mercy than sacrifices.

In the same way, our position at a specific point is never written in stone for eternity. In the ministry of redemption, God's Spirit is always at work in our lives to lead us to the Rock that is higher than ourselves. Given, there will come a time when we will stand before our Lord and be called to give an account for everything done in the flesh, but as Christians we are assured that what stands between us and perfection will be burned away as wood, hay, or straw. We will be left with that which is beautiful and that which lasts.

God in a Box

Strangely, although we know that God deals with us with incomprehensible love and grace, we often try to approach Him systematically in order to put Him within our reach. The Israelites tried to fully understand who God is by making images out of Him. The golden calf incident is one of many such attempts. No wonder the second commandment forbids making an idol in the form of anything, because there is nothing that can make God entirely comprehensible to our senses or intellect.
In modernity, we try to reduce God to a series of propositions that we call doctrine in order to try and His entirety in a closed system of reason. Kant made a distinction between what we can know concerning the physical, empirical world and what we believe concerning the metaphysical realm. This is a distinction that is quickly pushed aside by Christians, because it casts doubt on our ability to know anything empirically about God. However, this distinction must be seriously considered by Christian theologians because it has led to the division of Christian thought. On one side are those who try to reduce God to scientific certainty through empirical. On the other side are those who try to exclude God from the realm of reason so that we can comprehend Him by not having to think rationally about Him. With God as a far-removed metaphysical concept, there is no need to let His empirical truth transform our lives. This is closely related to the Absentee-Gardener syndrome, where we push God further and further back into metaphysics until He is no longer a significant part of our physical existence.

Travesties of Presentation

The problems with the way we present God to ourselves and others don't merely reside within the realm of thought and reason. They concern the relation of reason, body/emotion, and spirit. One blatant example of such a tragedy is when one attempts to override a person’s intellectual blocks to God by an emotional experience. This is why hyped-up religious events yield little lasting fruit. Eventually everyone will calm down enough to hear the intellectual objections they had before. Another travesty is in trying to overcome perceived experiential problems that people have with God by reason. If someone feels that God allowed someone close to them to die for no good reason, preaching abstract doctrines isn’t going to incline their mind towards the truth. Just as Jesus both came in flesh and was a fulfillment of the law and the prophets, so people need to see flesh-and-blood examples of a Christ-filled life as well as hear the life-giving words of the gospel message.

Underlying each of these travesties, though, is the assumption that by the communication of our own emotion or intellect we may single-handedly introduce a person to Christ. It is only the Spirit of God that can bring someone to the place where they meet Christ. When it comes to spiritual matters, no earthly convincing will cause someone to cross over from death to life. At that time of a person’s journey, the intellect can take no further step. The spiritual is beyond the realm of the intellectual.

The intellect can choose to believe that either Christ was fully God or Christ was fully man, but it cannot rationally choose to believe that Christ is both God and man apart from brain-death, insincerity, misunderstanding, or truly taking on the mind of Christ which transcends human logic and must be preceded by spiritual renewal. It is no wonder that only those spirits who acknowledge that Jesus has come in the flesh are from God.

Conversely, while emotion can convince a person to say that they believe in Christ, it cannot actually take the step to belief. Just as the intellect is caught between human logic and divine logic, in being unable to empirically perceive God the sensual soul is caught between the tragedies observed every day and the beauty of God’s creation. Based only on constantly changing empiricism the soul could never absolutely decide that God is a God of love and not hate.

The Un-markable Test

Ultimately, the mystery of Christ’s love can only be entered into by taking the nail-pierced hand of Christ Himself as he dies on the cross. It is only by dying in this way in faith that one may come to knowing His resurrection; that one may cross over from death to life and come to know true life in Christ. It is only through meeting God the Absolute in the frailty of the finite through the meekness of his weakness on the cross of Christ that we are able, through God's grace, to become heirs of the eternal and to pass the ultimate test: do you know My Son? Knowing Christ, even then, is not a quantitative fact of the intellect or a qualitative intuition of the heart, but is an experience that transcends all known experience through the mystery of His Spirit.

Selling your Soul on Ebay 101

2005-10-12T12:51:00.001-04:00

As some of you know, it wasn't long ago that that my car was broken into and the culprit ran off with my CD/MP3 CD player. At the time I was quite happy about how I handled it. My roommate's car had been broken into that night as well so I had a foreboding feeling that mine had too. So, when I found that it had, indeed, been broken into and my CD player was gone, I wasn't completely unprepared. In fact, I was quite relaxed about the whole thing.

At first I think it was out of a genuine unattachment and the feeling that the situation was out of my control. It wasn't long, though, until I transformed this loss into an opportunity to upgrade to an all-out MP3 player. Now I realize that, instead of turning to God in this situation that was out of my control, I turned it into an opportunity to assert my dominance over a world - and ultimately a God - that (Who) can't be controlled.

My attitude reminds me of the United States in their insistence on rebuilding the World Trade Center towers - this time with the "Freedom tower," measuring 1,776 feet. When the original Twin Towers were built they measured approximately 1360 feet each. At that time they were the tallest buildings on earth. Wikipedia reports that at a press conference revealing these landmarks, the architect Minoru Yamasaki was asked: "Why two 110-story buildings? Why not one 220-story building?" His response was: "I didn't want to lose the human scale." Apparently this time they're looking beyond the 'human scale.'

In my own desire to control beyond a human scale, I ended up ordering an iPod Mini on eBay. Thankfully it wasn't 1.5-2 billion dollars, but to this poor widow it was certainly comparable. As soon as the screen read "you are the highest bidder," it hit me that here I was, the rich young ruler.

We all know that one can not serve two masters, God and mammon. Yet I imagine that you, like I, have found a way to excuse yourself from the demands of Christ on your finances, on my life. You are not the subject of this investigation, however, for I am the first to blame and at this moment feel like the worst of sinners. The terrible thing is, I feel that I'm leaving disheartened with the young man, bound and trapped by my great wealth. You see, far too often I'm a creature dominated by my passions. I see the new zip-up hoodie at the Gap and I begin to lust after it. We may describe it as 'wanting,' but is there really much of a difference when it comes to an eternal perspective on the treasures of earth? The Best Buy catalogue shows up in our house and it's not much different than a dirty magazine. "Man, look at the size of that screen!" It sounds crude and vulgar, but I certainly don't think it's much of a stretch.

You see, passions master us. It doesn't matter what the passion is; if it's not firmly rooted in God then it masters us. The etymology of "passion" comes from the same root as "passive" in Latin, to be affected by, to undergo, to be acted upon. When we talk about something we're passionate about we might say "it moved me." What is it that is acting upon us, that is mastering us, when we gaze longingly in shop windows or at the latest ad? It certainly isn't our Heavenly Father. So I find myself in the same position as the rich young man. Selling all that I have and giving the money to the poor to gain treasure in heaven isn't something I'm prepared to do right now. Or right now. Or right now.

I'm counting on God's imimpossibility to bring me to eternal life, as I sit here feeling as out of place in my adherence to Christ as a camel in the eye of a needle. I know we don't have long here. We're just passing through. I pray, though, that Christ's kenosis (emptying himself) will begin to wear off on me so that I might arrive in heaven and not feel the flames nipping my heels. I pray, Lord, that in you and your power I will act as you have called me to. Right now. Right now. Right now...

smelly things

2005-09-29T11:51:00.001-04:00

remember those scratch-and-sniff things? of course they still exist, but i haven't smelled one in a while. now all we have are those horrid cardboard car scents: those leaves of aesthetic tragedy. the one i'm thinking of has a strawberry scent. it might have been strawberry shortcake - that little red-headed girl with strawberries painted all over her ginormous hat, a hat ten times the size of her head. this reminds me of those markers you can buy that smell, too, often like berries of some sort. i can remember the blueberry ones the best.

which scents do you remember?

when Jodi and i (and sometimes Justin, Dan, Kaia or some other participant) would take empty milk jugs and stealthily place them on Mark Vust's doorstep (our Resident Director), i would sometimes smell the rotting milk. it didn't smell good. i'll give you that. but it was certainly a powerful scent.

smelling things reminds me of how much i love life. like when i'm in a forest and the scent of fall is in the air. there is an excitement to reality that can be forgotten amongst the drab de-odourized or fake-smellified places we live in. hardly anyone bakes bread anymore. touch, sight and sound are senses I use all the time. i'm usually expecting taste when it occurs. scent, though - it's usually so unexpected. it wakes me up to the wonder of the world around me, dragging me out of introverted thoughts and thrusting my earthly body with all its perceptions into the yet-beautiful remnant of the Garden of Eden.

squeaky

2005-09-23T10:09:00.001-04:00

this left shoe of mine is very squeaky today. his brother glides quietly along the polished floors, polite and well-behaved, as though lost in profound meditation in these silent monk corridors, while he obnoxiously shouts echoing obcenities at passers-bye that have the ill-fortune to be in the wake of yet another disrupting college student.

Thoughts from Kant

2005-09-21T13:47:00.001-04:00

"In order to reach God, freedom, and immortality, speculative reason must use principles that in fact extend merely to objects of possible experience; and when these principles are nonetheless applied to something that cannot be an object of experience, they actually do always transform it into an appearance, and thus they declare all practical expansion of reason to be impossible. I therefore had to annul knowledge in order to make room for faith."

Dogmatism in metaphysics: "Encourages them (youth) quite early and strongly to reason with ease about things of which they understand nothing and into which, moreover, neither they nor anyone else in the world will ever have any insight"

Warning: this post may change your life!

2005-09-21T13:02:00.003-04:00

Today I received this envelope in the mail. It says on it "Opening this envelope may change your life!" My first reaction was "Yeah right. Whatever." Of course I didn't think it would for a moment. Then I realized just how wrong my perception was. Unconsciously I was thinking "I mean, it would be nice if it changed my life, but it's really not going to," instead of "If this was true, it would be the worst thing that could happen to me!" I'll let Paul elucidate:

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will-- to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment--to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ. In him we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will, in order that we, who were the first to hope in Christ, might be for the praise of his glory. And you also were included in Christ when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation. Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God's possession--to the praise of his glory" (Ephesians 1:3-14).

Wow. To think that we have been blessed with every spiritual blessing in Christ. He had given us anything we could possibly need! Not only that, but "If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" (2 Cor. 5:17). Sure, there are things in my life that I know need to be changed, but they need to be taken back to who I already am in Christ, so it's not as much a life change as it is a living up to what I have already obtained (Philippians 3:16). The media bombards us with messages telling us that we need to change, that we are insufficient and that they have what we need. For only $29.99, I can have the life I've always wanted. Consumerism thrives on discontentment. These are Satan's lies, which influence my thinking far too much. The truth is that we have been given everything of value in Christ, but even now the Father of Lights does not stop sending down every good and perfect gift from His infinite storehouse. Every day, if our eyes are open, we realize that we have been given more than we can comprehend. We are everything in Christ and have been given everything through Him, and yet still God's mercies and compassion are poured out with each new day (La 3:23). If there are any changes to be made, it will be Christ at work in me, for His love renews me day by day. In the meantime I'll praise Him for the innumerable blessings He has poured out on me.

New Every Morning Every day is a fresh beginning, Listen my soul to the glad refrain. And, spite of old sorrows And older sinning, Troubles forecasted And possible pain, Take heart with the day and begin again. -Susan Coolidge

self-destruction might be the answer

2005-09-02T04:11:00.001-04:00

so reads the cover to fight club, the movie of a man who meets someone who he thinks is everything he wants to be only to find out that someone is his worst nightmare and that someone is himself.

you see, on this globe there will always be a part of us which is that someone we once thought we wanted to be only to find out that he is everything we have grown to hate. that demon within started feeding with the first forbidden fruit and hasn’t stopped feasting since. he has grown oh so fat that one is scarcely able to step around him upon encountering oneself, especially in a culture worshipping self-indulgence and painless existence. the fattest demons are those who use the lie that alcohol will make them disappear. they are the ones that command constant drink or else their dictatorship is too painfully real.

in the Christian’s life, such rulers have been cast out by the throne of grace. all-too-frequently, however, the empty hole where they used to be still resembles their form to the extent that they are able to press close to the believer and whisper their commands through the shadow where they used to reign.

this is the old man. this is Satan’s treachery. this is true destruction. the only way to purge such evil is to self-destruct the bloated shadow of the demon once there. to, step by step and little by little, allow the burning light of Christ to incinerate all mastering passions until their ashes are blown out by the wind of new direction.

otherwise one is left fighting between two masters. for hours on end. one moment the light will speak, declaring a new beginning, a fresh start, a burial of past regrets and planting of new seeds. the next moment the whispering demon will say he’s going to end it all. you will not see me again. this is my last day on earth. if i must go, so will he. i will cut his wrists and you see that evil prevails.

there is pain in every chance to start again. it will seem as though a friend is betraying you. as though Christ himself had turned on the you you thought you wanted to be. in the moment, you do not realize this is the you of your nightmares. it was one of your only friends, your close companion who had called these strangers to lead away in handcuffs. you may curse him who brought you there, denying you ever knew the one you had once cared about so dearly. at the moment, with the darkness of the demon pressing close upon you, with his drunken stupor hanging over you like a cloud, you do not see that it was love that forced you to the place of healing.

every day we make decisions. these decisions are the choice between life and death, blessings and curses. to take the narrow way and the yoke, the cross of suffering and the pain of death, or to choose the broad road, the life of ease and painless existence. with the acceptance of living death – death to self – there comes life everlasting. that is true courage: to face every day despite the pain. the way the darkness told you was courageous, the path you thought lead to life, only ends in torment. it seemed so easy, yet when you hit it you will never return. redemption seems so hard, but its yoke is light because the weight has already been carried.

you may die, my friend. you might make that choice. you are the only one who make this choice, even though the demons whisper that they control you. you may live, though, for God has provided a way of life no matter what temptation you face.

after you have done everything, if you stand, you will receive a crown of glory that outshines the sun. my Lord’s victory has been sealed. death’s darkness has been driven out by the light of life. your talons may snatch one or two sheep on the way down, Satan, but your fate is sealed, and one day soon you will meet the lamb you killed who rose a Lion, who will tear you limb from limb.

I am redeemed. I will face pain, and I will have to fight through all of life, but I am redeemed. there is no power that can separate me from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus my Lord, and one day I will stand with him in victory. on that day, death will be forgotten as the dance of life everlasting begins, and there will be no sorrow there. on that day, the murdered Son of God will crush the serpent under his feet for the all time and death will be killed by the power of the indestructible Life, a life which I will share for eternity – a life I began living the day I met my Lord and a life that I will live in full upon beholding Him face to Face.

Proving God

2005-08-24T01:10:00.002-04:00

"When one grows older, everything becomes so miserable. God in heaven has to sit and wait for the decision on his fate, whether he exists, and finally he comes into existence with the help of a few demonstrations; human beings have to put up with waiting for the matter to be decided... Youth understands immediately that there is a God."

"There was a thinker who became a hero by his death; he said that he could demonstrate the existence of God with a single straw. Let the thinker keep his demonstration; give youth the straw-it cannot demonstrate. But why is demonstration necessary at all when one has the straw and-God! When one grows older, along comes the demonstration, and the demonstration is a prominent traveler whom all look upon with admiration."

-Soren Kierkegaard in "Think about Your Creator" in Eighteen Upbuilding Discourses

2005-08-23T15:51:00.001-04:00

"Do not take too much control of the young, nor of the infant, but do not therefore do the opposite, either; do not make it prematurely old, lest it drink the bitterness of not being allowed to be young when one is young, and for a second time drink the bitterness of not having been allowed to be young when one was young."

-Soren Kierkegaard in "Think about Your Creator" in Eighteen Upbuilding Discourses

2005-08-23T13:36:00.002-04:00

"Indeed, nothing is more loathsome than to see the miserable beggar whose eyes and countenance implore everyone for the flattering falsehood that he still seems young, or to see the poor wretch who despite his advanced age still bolsters himself with the lie that he has youth ahead of him, or to see the weakling who has no other defense against the years than a feeble wish that he were still young."

-Soren Kierkegaard in "Think about Your Creator" in Eighteen Upbuilding Discourses

tarts and towers

2005-06-21T01:23:00.002-04:00

I just finished possibly the best pecan tart I have ever eaten. It was crumbly, but it was oh so delectable. Yesterday night I went downstairs to cook a late supper, settling on my usual fare - microwaved hot dogs on bread with a cheese slice. Upon entering the kitchen, I noticed that on the stove-top were a fantastic-looking pie with crumble on top, which I found out later to be peach pie, and a pan of melt-in-your-mouth pecan butter tarts.

Now, I would like you to get a glimpse of how much I like butter tarts. Years ago I decided it was a prerequisite that the woman I was to marry had to know how to make butter tarts. That's how much I like butter tarts. Since then, reason has poked its hideous little head into the play-pen of my mind and has pointed out that perhaps this is a superficial and idiotic prerequisite to have, so I have dropped it as a requirement.

Anyway, so I was there nuking my very unhealthy dinner in the microwave, and Trina comes upstairs to check on her baking, which is still hot. I commented on how wonderful her baking looks, and she said that she'd leave one out for me when they cooled off (the one, in fact, that I ate just before sitting down to write).

The microwave finished and I opened the door. Oh no. Once again, I had managed to shrivel the weiners to the point that they were no longer recognizable. Suddenly I was hit by the contrast. Trina was telling me how her dad was quite the baker, and that she had a gift for being able to just throw things in a pan and they'd turn out wonderfully, and here I was a horrible failure at even warming a couple of hot dogs.

I made sure the door didn't fly open all the way, hoping that somehow she wouldn't be able to see what a mess I had made of such a simple operation. It was embarrassing. Then she went to the fridge, and I'm pretty sure she saw the full extent of the damage. Thankfully she didn't point out my absolute ineptitude at all things culinary.

I was once again confronted with the fact that I'll never be as good as some people at some things. I will especially never likely be the best at anything. To go further, in less than a couple hundred years my name in this world will likely be no more than a hard-to-find byte deep in the neglected annuls of cyberspace, because the people who are remembered are those who were the best at what they did.

There are a few ways of trying to overcome our own insignificance and ineptitude, and they always involve an other. When Trina gave me a pecan tart, my ineptitude at making such tasty treats was no longer a concern, because she had filled that lack for me. Even better has been the way Darcie has encouraged me to learn to cook, even bringing over ingredients and helping me through the process. Today she reaped the benefits of the tutelage, as community always does from such encouragement, because I cooked and froze quite a bit of spaghetti and made some for her and I for supper.

In coming alongside me, encouraging me by her example, and helping me know that I could accomplish this myself, there is no longer a need there that I cannot fill. "Feed a man a fish..." the saying goes. It is only in community that any one of us has significance, that any one of us can conquer our inadequacies. Either it is in others doing for us, or it is in them encouraging and enabling us to overcome obstacles ourselves.

It was this strength mis-directed that caused God to scatter and confuse the people at Babel. Like each one of us, they wanted to be remembered and to make a name for themselves (Gen 11:4). Like Adam and Eve, they went further and strove to be like God and to reach to the heavens (4), which, were it to be possible, would eliminate the possibility of the true God, for there is only One. When the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, he observes that as one people speaking the same language, "nothing they plan to be will be impossible for them" (6).

I don't think that the problem is in their unity or in the strength therein. In fact, this is what Jesus longs for in his followers, that we be one as he and the Father are one. The problem is that they were not also in God (John 17:21) in their desire to reach into his dwelling and snatch him from his rightful throne. Even if those at Babel had eliminated the impossible and had accomplished everything here on earth, they would not have made a name for themselves in heaven, because the only names that matter in eternity are those written in the Lamb's book of life (Luke 10:20). It is only through His gift to us that we have significance in this world. He was the only one who could successfully go through the fires of hell and come out perfected. At the same time, He not only does for us what we cannot do, but He gives us the power to accomplish the inconceivable; to choose to become children of God.

His gift is grace, His strength is faith.

We do not only receive the gift, but we are given the power to choose it for ourselves. We do not only receive the pecan tart we are unable to make, but we are enabled to make it ourselves. Indeed, it is a paradox, because we are unable to accomplish this for ourselves, but in receiving the gift we are also simultaneously given the strength to accomplish what we are unable to do. Praise God that the gates of hell cannot prevail against us who are united by Christ as one people, a chosen priesthood and a holy nation, speaking the one language of the Spirit and being found in God Himself. There is nothing that is impossible for us who are in complete unity in the Lord. Like Abraham and Joseph, He will bless everything we do as it is done in Him. Praise the One who is the Gift, the Giver, and the One who enables us to receive Himself. He gave it all, but in giving it all He has adopted us as Sons of God whose names are written in the only history book that matters: the Book of Life. Through Him and in Him we have attained an eternal remembrance that cannot be marred by our temporary ineptitude, failure, and inability to achieve anything truly creative, new, or remarkable on our own. In Him we bear His name and His glory in being the only Creator. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain!

the dangerous mechanic

2005-06-13T09:33:00.004-04:00

Understanding my distaste for unexpected expenditures, you can imagine my discomfort taking Arfy to the mechanic. As a general rule, though, if your car's radiator fan is not working and you can't drive more than 15 minutes without overheating and having your coolant boil and explode out of its container, and if overheating can cause your engine to warp and seize up, rendering your car useless - it's probably a good time to see a mechanic. In the case of a mechanic, the unexpected costs are generally the result of finding out that your car will explode into a million pieces unless you have this, this, and this replaced. In my case it was probably true. I think that's why I tend to have an overwhelming urge to put off going to a garage for as long as possible, basically until even I can tell I'm not going to last long driving the car, because I know they're going to tell me something is more wrong with my car than I first thought.

"How are you?" "Fine."

As humans, we really don't like being told there's something wrong with us. This is the reason I can't even remember how many years ago I last saw a dentist. I figure if I don't know about problems with my teeth, the problems don't really exist, right? (Just say I'm right) The thing is, as long as there's nothing wrong with us, there's no point going to the dentist or the doctor. It's not the healthy who need a doctor but the sick, but we're all sick and all of us have a insatiable desire to delude ourselves into thinking we're healthy.

"They are poor-so inexperienced, so stupid, that they have no other hope but him who called them" - Dietrich Bonhoeffer (The Cost of Discipleship)

Even if we do get up the courage to see the Doctor, almost immediately we try to forget we ever saw Him. "If I'm healed, then why do I need to remember the doctor?" Little do we recall that He gives us a prescription to follow, and that we still rely on His expertise. We try to forget that our dentist told us to floss regularly, or our doctor told us to lose weight, or that we should be taking these horrible things three times a day. These only remind us of our sickness, of our inadequacies. The truth is, though, until that Day, we are still being healed (1 Cor 1:18, 2 Cor 2:15). While we know that we have obtained the fullness of the medication on the part of the Doctor, we still bear symptoms of our illness until the Final Checkup when we are pronounced "clean."

"Do not say you do not got faith. You will not have it so long as you persist in disobedience and refuse to take the first step" -Dietrich Bonhoeffer (The Cost of Discipleship)

The Struggle

Indeed, taking Arfy to the mechanic felt much like I was taking my child to the doctor. Of course, if that was the case, I'd be a very bad father. His front tires were pretty much down to the metal wire and were about to explode; the engine was about to self-destruct due to overheating; my mass air flow sensor is unplugged - seeing which, the mechanic said "I didn't know cars could run without that connected;" there is engine oil leaking out of the valve cover gasket and burning on the engine (which could break out in flame at any moment), and the ball joint at the end of my steering tie-rod is wearing out, which could cause me to loose steering. You will notice that many of those are still in the present tense. I'm sure if I left a hospital with my child in that condition I'd be thrown in jail. However, I did have his front tires replaced and there's now a working fan in his hood to keep him a bit cooler on these hot summer days.

It's fairly painful watching the mechanic work away on him. I figured out that the difference between myself working on a car and a mechanic working on a car is that the mechanic doesn't care how violent he is, because he knows he can fix whatever he breaks. Seeing Denis tear out the radiator fan, with no regard for the feelings of the hoses in the general vicinity, is a vivid picture of the Adamic struggle to work the earth after the fall. An even more vivid portrayal of man's struggle against nature (as much such things can be called nature) is watching Denis try to extract a stubborn bolt. It is also a dynamic display of the dexterity of the English language in constructing a sentence composed of an infinite number of expletives. I was surprised the venom of his French didn't itself cause the bolt to dissolve. It was actually painful to watch. Here was this large man pounding away at my car, pieces of bolt flying this way and that, watching as he stripped the bolt and then broke off its head. I know it can't even be compared to someone watching their child die, but at that moment I wondered if Arfy would ever turn over again. Denis looked to be so upset that he might just take the entire car apart for spite, and I wouldn't be able to stop him (how do you think you'd fare against a mechanic with a hammer, a screwdriver, and vice-grips?). When he finally got the mass air flow sensor off, and managed to break off even the part of the bolt that was left sticking out, I wondered if this was one of those things that needed to be broken before it could've been fixed, like us. I don't think it was. I just think he was angry at the bolt and didn't want to deal with it any more.

The Total Cost

One difference between Jesus and a mechanic (besides that he doesn't mutter profanities at us and break us in his rage) is that Jesus can give us the final total up-front. When we come to Him, we have to give up everything. Mechanics invest a lot of money in their shop, but Jesus paid it all, even Himself. In return, He asks that we give up our lives for His sake, that we may find everlasting life in Him. Sometimes we, like Keith at the mechanic, want to just fix the most nagging elements of our life and live with the rest, because we can't bear the thought of the cost, but we forget that at the start we vowed to give all.

"Jesus has now many lovers of His heavenly kingdom, but few bearers of His cross" -Thomas À Kempis (The Imitation of Christ)

Although I'm thankful the mechanic at another garage replaced and balanced my front tires for $60 cash up-front, instead of the $70 plus tax he originally asked for(if I were a bit more law-abiding, I might start to wonder at that), I know that I won't see him much more in my life. Jesus, on the other hand, is with me 24-7 with on-the-spot roadside assistance. Heck, He even drives most of the time. I'd like to say that He does all the driving, like I promised He would when we started out together, but the truth is that sometimes I don't like where He's going, or I find a way I think I like better. Eventually, though, with Him back behind the wheel, we always end up heading in the right direction again.

"Let me love Thee more than myself, nor love myself but for Thee; and in Thee all that truly love Thee, as the law of love commands, shining out from Thyself" -Thomas À Kempis (The Imitation of Christ)

the cost

2005-06-11T12:28:00.002-04:00

I'm part Scottish, but sometimes I think I must be full-blooded. My proof for this is an intriguing cost-saving substance called "skim milk powder." While all other kids growing up 'got milk,' my sisters and I were sat in front of an over-diluted pail of this watery white substance that had the audacity to claim the name of 'milk' while every sense receptor on my tongue screamed the falsity of such an association.

For the longest time I probably wondered if my mom merely printed her own blue bags with 'milk' written across the side wherin she could deposit these powdery grains of dried food colouring, because I had never seen one of these bags outside of our house on God's green earth. To this day I haven't seen anyone actually drink the stuff besides the Dow clan, but I have seen the odd bag here and there, tucked in the deepest, darkest corners of grocery stores. I think they're made just for my mom, though. Possibly by my dad, who used to work at a milk processing plant in Mitchell.

Another evidence for this Scottish heritage is the fact that, growing up, I don't think any of us kids understood that all these used clothes we were wearing were, at one point in time, new; and perhaps they even came from some place other than Value Villiage or friendly old Beatrice from church. What do you mean, underwear comes in other shades than brown? What crazy talk is this? I'm just kidding, of course. We didn't wear underwear. That would be a frivolous luxury.

So perhaps my parents weren't that thrifty. They always bought us the necessities, and consistently sacrificed things that they might've wanted in order to bless us with gifts. They have always been hard workers for the Lord and we have never been truly in need, but they were certainly cautious when it came to the daily cost of living. They had to be, in order to live below the poverty line. One doesn't work for God for the pay.

I can see traces of their cost-saving attitude in myself when I go to the local Macs and undergo a lengthy deliberation process as to which size slushie to purchase. "Well, at the other Macs the 525 mL slushie is $1.29, like the small one, but here it's $1.59! Do these people not want me to get an education?!?" Darcie does well to bear with my penny-pinching posession. She doesn't expect anything too expensive. In fact, on those romantic nights when I take her out to treat her to something special, she graciously takes a small slushie rather than the large one.

There are other times when I couldn't care less about money. When I have planned to make a purchase in advance and know that it will be expensive, I am ready to accept this cost, and pay it without a second thought. Even large purchases for me can be made without any twinge of miserliness if I know in advance that this is something I have chosen to do. It's the unexpected costs that make me anxious, because I feel as though the money is disappearing without me giving it.

A classic example of this is the restaraunt scam. These con artists will entice you into fairly simple but elegant social atmosphere, have you sit down and present you with plates, cutlery, and water. They will make sure to have dignified-looking patrons sitting at nearby tables; those people that you know will despise you if you make any indication that you wish to upset the traditions and habits of people of culture. After some witty banter from the waiter or waitress, which could also be described as a thinly-disguised request for a huge tip, you are handed a menu. This is what you have been waiting for. Like Abel, you are willing to give almost anything for that steak on the first page that looks more succulent than any steak could possibly be. Then you look at the price. Steak, à mourir pour: $ your life and firstborn son. You know that you could buy the entire slaughterhouse and restaraunt for this amount, but at this point you realize your feet are chained to the floor. King Norm will have your head on a platter should you even think about getting up and going to another restaurant.

I suppose if I was really concerned about prices at a restaurant I could call ahead of time and find out their price range. When I'm out with people I care for generally money isn't an issue because I'm investing in people, which is priceless. For everything else, there's petty theft. Unfortunately, though, the money going into my account at the moment is a few pennies short of a nickel, and apparently Bill Gates isn't going to pay my credit balance any more.

The moral of the story? Sitting by and watching life eat away little by little at the self you grasp so tightly to in your unwillingness to choose cannot compare to choosing to spend your entire life with joy in the service of our Savior, for whom no cost was too great to feast in eternity with his friends.

"It is no small thing for a man to forsake himself, even in things that are very small"

-Thomas À Kempis, The Imitation of Christ

Dr. Keith E. Zacharias

2005-06-04T23:56:00.001-04:00

Today I had the privilege of going to a conference in Toronto with Dave Hood and Dan Carlson, two guys that I respect for their fellow geekiness and love of books, theology, philosophy, history, and literature/language.

The keynote speaker was Ravi Zacharias, a tremendous speaker and apologist who not only has a captivating intellect but also a stunning delivery of profound truths. During one session that he wasn't speaking I was coming in a little late, so I slipped around back of the pews in the large church auditorium and into my seat. As I'm rounding the back of the pews to come up the far side of the isle, whistling the song that everyone else is singing (don't ask my why I was whistling... I really have no idea), the door opens and who to my wondering eyes should appear but Dr. Ravi Zach, with a faithful minion at his side.

I go further up to my seat and, little do I know, this white haired Indian man is following me. I sit down. He sits down. Beside me. Of course, this is where the choir is supposed to sit when they come back, but neither my new friend nor his loyal minion seem to be aware of this. He seems to be a somewhat useless minion, actually. After all, he hasn't sat Ravi in the right spot, and it turns out that he hasn't gotten Ravi a song-sheet either. Dan and I have to give him ours, which means I ask to share the song-sheet with him until Dan finds another one. "Mind if I share," I asked, coolly and nonchalantly, as though we had been buds since high-school. He murmured some approval, as though distracted. "Should I help him by holding the one side of the book?" I ask myself... "Couldn't hurt." I timidly reach for the other page beside the one he's holding. You have to realize that at this time our hands are approximately this far apart:

Keith's hand ---------------------------------------------------------- Ravi's hand

Soon, though, Dan has another songbook so I share his instead. I try to sing nice harmony for Ravi to hear. Maybe somehow he'll realize, "Wow, this young man must have tremendous intellect - in spite of whatever he's trying to sing. Perhaps I will offer him a job right now as my personal assistant. After all, this minion doesn't seem to be doing so well."

I watched as others handed him books to be signed and even helped him by nudging one young man on the shoulder when his book was ready to be returned (after all, this is while talking was taking place up front). I figured that is what a loyal assistant would do. Maybe his minion could take notes.

Joe Boot was the speaker at the time, who has done apologetics at Oxford and other places and had authored several books, and he mentioned that he was somewhat nervous having Ravi there to hear him. The audience chuckled and all turned to look at me. Well, I guess Ravi more particularly. Really, though, they should have looked to me, because obvious Ravi must have thought I was pretty special to sit beside me. They should have been saying to each other, "Who is that? He must be a pretty tremendous speaker or theologian for Ravi to sit beside him." Then they'd all crowd around me after to get autographs and I'd leave them little personal notes like, "I feel God is calling you to the headhunting tribes... Follow Him. -Keith Dow." Of course they'd do it, because they'd figure I was famous. Headhunters need Jesus too, you know.

I didn't talk to Ravi at all. Perhaps deep down I wanted to pretend that he was just another random dude and that I really wasn't interested in meeting him or in gaping at his holy glow, even when people started lining up around me to speak with him. I think I just wanted to believe that there really wasn't much difference between him and I. Here's a little blurb about him from his website:

For thirty-three years Ravi Zacharias has spoken all over the world and in numerous universities, notably Harvard, Princeton, and Oxford University. He has addressed writers of the peace accord in South Africa, President Fujimori's cabinet and parliament in Peru, and military officers at the Lenin Military Academy and the Center for Geopolitical Strategy in Moscow. He has been privileged to bring the main address at the National Day of Prayer in Washington, DC, an event endorsed and cohosted by President George W. Bush, and at the Pentagon. Additionally, Mr. Zacharias has spoken twice at the Annual Prayer Breakfast at the United Nations in New York, which marks the beginning of the UN session each year, and at the invitation of the President of Nigeria, he addressed the delegates at the First Annual Prayer Breakfast for African Leaders, held in Mozambique.

Like I said, I'd like to think that there's not much difference between us. I'd like to think that I'll definitely have done just as much as he has (if not more) by the time I'm in my late 50's. I'd like to think that my life will have made just as much difference for the Kingdom of God. After all, we were both born in foreign countries. That has to count for something.

The truth of the matter is, I don't have nearly as good a memory for captivating stories or pertinent antidotes as he does. I'm also not nearly as smart or quick on my feet or socially adept as he. Listening to his lectures at Harvard on our way home, I realized I certainly couldn't put those students in their place with the wit and thouroughness that he did. In fact, something deep inside me says I'll never be a Ravi Zacharias.

My whole life I've dreamed of having a profound influence on the world for Christ. This is why I've taken theology and philosophy degrees. They certainly aren't studies for those who hope to settle down quickly and make a lot of money. I'd be willing to die broke if I knew my life had been a uniquely transforming influence for Christ in the world. Sometimes I wonder if my thinking and writing could do that. I've had a couple of nice compliments on my blog, after all. But then, as Ravi said, "When the flood-waters are down, every shrimp has its own puddle." The compliments of a few friends and family are encouraging, but certainly not indicative of great things to come.

When all things are considered, it is merely vain hope to put my expectancy in something in particular that is profound or great that I might want to do, especially since I don't see myself as particularly talented at something. To put expectancy in such things or in myself is useless and will only end in disappointment. However, I do have a promise that "God works all things for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose," and I know that "it is God who works in [me] to will and act according to His good purpose."

If I wait patiently for the Lord, studying diligently to correctly handle the word of truth; if I do what I can to love others as Christ has loved me; if I press on to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus, then I know that no matter what results I may observe, God will use me for His glory.

I will never be a Ravi Zacharias. God has created Him for a reason, and He has created me for a reason. My dream is not to become Ravi. My dream is to become Keith - that Keith who God has called me to be. My dream is to see what God can do through me. Anything that is done with this frail clay is a miracle in itself. That I am hand-crafted and loved by my Father, who also happens to be the Creator of the universe; this is my glory and my crown! In fact, it is my redeemed imperfections that most clearly demonstrate the power of God, for when I am weak then I am strong because God's strength is made perfect in this weakness. Indeed, "we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us" (2 Cor 4:7).

Lord, refine my dreams that I may recognize your work through me whatever form it may take and give you the glory. May my life glorify you through both the strengths you have given me and through your victory over my inadequacies. Amen.

"But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things--and the things that are not--to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God--that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord." (1 Cor 1:27-31)

Bye-bye Bible

2005-05-24T09:24:00.001-04:00

Perhaps we should all be Jedi Knights. Their principle of non-attachment, which is strikingly like the Buddha's attempt to rid himself of earthly desires, is very appealing. "We will have to find out the cause of sorrow and the way to escape from it. The desire for sensual enjoyment and clinging to earthly life is the cause of sorrow. If we can eradicate desire, all sorrows and pains will come to an end." This makes a lot of sense. Actually, it makes perfect sense. He is right. It can be scary admitting Buddha is right, because what if he's right about everything? Well, even in this case, perhaps he is only right insofar as what he says is true. Does that mean his route is the best path to take on the proverbial road to enlightenment? Right now it might appear that way.

You see, I realized recently that I became very attached to something I owned. It's my Bible. Or, was my Bible. (Give me a moment to regain my composure...) I had my NIV study Bible for at least 1000 years, and had grown to be very comfortable with it. Sure, people made fun of my "cheater tabs" (I think because they have not experienced being up front and having to find a verse while keeping everyone waiting, or maybe they had the millimeters of Bible thickness memorized so they could find exact verses on their first open), but I realized how fond I was of this particular Bible when I lost it around Christmas time. I bought a new Bible, but it was so difficult to enjoy because I had not 'tamed' it. Its blank pages stared back at me with naked text I felt ashamed to look at. I missed the flowing blue, yellow, and green tresses of my old Bible.

Then, one glorious Sunday (well not glorious in that I got a $50 parking ticket) Bassam came up to me with a Bible looking strikingly like my old Bible. My heart began to beat like Josh's car on the 417 and I dared not to hope... but then he said it "Keith, is this your Bible?" Oh, that exhilarating moment of truth when I opened the cover and found my name there! But, alas. Here I am, my parking ticket past due (half because of Ottawa's ineptitude and half because of my own) and once again Bibleless. Well, okay, I still have my backup copy, but it isn't the same.

Let me retrace my steps. This past Sunday Christian and Graeme decided to toilet paper my car. I was tipped off however, and ran out to catch them in the act. They saw me coming and ran screaming like wee little babies to Christian's car. Like a mythical hero of old, I leaped across the parking lot in a single bound and landed firmly on the hood of Christian's car, my fiery eyes causing a chain reaction wherein both Christian and Graeme simultaneously wet their pants. I roared, and after a brief moment, when Christian and Graeme felt very uncomfortable and wondered when the last time it was that they had wet their pants, Christian started the car and began to dive.

When I had bounded across the parking lot with the wrath of 10,000 suns, I had my Bible in my hand. When the car began to move, I jumped clear, knowing that their fear of me would eventually drive them to an early grave. However, my Bible was still on their hood. One would think that a ginormous Bible the size of the Black Stone of Mecca (horrible analogy, I know) would be noticed by someone if it were perched right in front of them on the hood of their car. Well, at least that's what I thought. Apparently, though, vision tests for drivers aren't as thorough as they used to be. I guess being able to see as far as the hood is asking a bit much. After all, who really wants to drive Blind Grandma Gertrude to pick up her hemroid medication every day. So, my Bible is gone. Again.

When Christian and Graeme found out what had happened, they very graciously went back to look for my Bible along the route they had taken. Now knowing the extent of their eyesight, Darcie and I went back as well and walked a good 60 hours in the pouring rain to try and find it. Oh, and did I mention it was raining? Now that it's gone a second time, I am even more disheartened than the first, because I remembered how much I enjoyed that Bible when I got it back. "You don't know what you have 'till it's gone" is what some annoying pop song says, and I guess it's right. When Dan heard it was gone, he asked if it had a lot of sentimental value and sounded slightly incredulous that I missed it so much. I understand where he's coming from. I live in a country where I can just buy another one, and indeed I have several others. It's also crucial that we do not let the Bible be an idol. I'm not even going to pretend to be uber-spiritual and say that it breaks my heart to see God's book lost. After all, it's the message inside that's important and not the actual paper and ink.

The thing is, this message had become my message. When my Nanny committed suicide, it was on that paper that I highlighted where the psalmist writes "Praise be to God, who daily bears our burdens," which was the first passage I turned to. I had also put a lot of time into reading through it and highlighting what is important to me, so it was becoming a book I was could be comfortable with. It was becoming my own, and I had put more time into it than every essay I have ever written combined. Even the time I'd spent recently, highlighting what was important to me had taken longer than any essay I've ever written. I'm sure we all know what it's like to lose, just about lose, or fear losing something we've put a lot of time into.

You see, if my Bible was just a Bible, then it wouldn't be difficult to replace. It would be more of a position in my life to fill than something that hurts to lose. When we become attached to the uniqueness of this particular thing, however, we are in a very dangerous place, because things are temporary. Even people will die on us eventually. Thus, the Buddha is right in saying that if we eliminate desire we eliminate suffering. However, I tend to side with the old adage "It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all."

God, in theory, is a position. Let's be honest. The idea of an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God is not hard to come up with. There are billions of people who have a God-substitute that works fine as far as that is concerned. The problem is, for them there is no evidence that they will ever be able to cross the gap from their temporal, fleeting existence to the perfection they conjure up.

Jesus Christ, on the other hand, is Someone particular. Oh, if only He were just God and not also man it would be easy to say we love Him! We could come up with our own way of worshipping Him and say He is whoever we want Him to be. It wouldn't drive me to tears to think of His death. I wouldn't be faced with the reality of what He actually said and the claims that He made. So much hardship would be avoided! Alas, this is not the case. He has come and met with me, and this is one thing I cannot deny, for He is particular just as I am particular.

I have encountered the dying and the risen Christ here in all of my inadequacies and failures, here in my deformities and insecurities, and this is how I know His love for me. Once you have truly understood His love, it is impossible to deny it. If I had not looked in His eyes, I would be able to look away. If I had not heard his heart stop for me, my own heart would not have had to start to beat. I love Him because He first loved me. So, here I am. My dear little Bible is gone and my precious Friend has left this earth. I know missing my Bible will never bring it back, but my Friend has told me that if I believe in Him and confess Him out of my love for Him then one day I will see Him face to face. This is what it is to be a Christian. To be committed to love. There is no turning back. Once you love, it is not something you can forget about or discard, like an idea. In fact, we cannot truly love an idea or an object because we cannot identify with them enough. We may say we do, but we don't. I could never love my Bible. We can only love a Person. I believe with all my heart, despite the pain that comes with the possibility of loss, despite the times I wonder if I've been let down and despite the rough edges of the Man of Sorrows, that it is only His wounded arms of love that are able to bear us into eternity.

The Victory of the Little Prince

2005-05-16T10:12:00.002-04:00

First, in order to proceed beyond matters of great consequence, I must put before you a choice. It is, perplexingly enough, the choice between life and death, blessings and curses. It is this. What is the following picture to you?

Did you say:
A) A hat or,
B) A boa-constrictor digesting an elephant?

Only if you answered B you may proceed to read the rest of this post, because "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; What is essential is invisible to the eye" (The Little Prince). In fact, it would be best if you read The Little Prince before reading this post. I don't think you'll be lost, but it'll just make everything mean a whole lot more.

The Little Prince
I read this charming book with Darcie not long ago, a book about a tiny prince who leaves his tiny island and his temperamental and arrogant rose to explore the galaxy and search for friendship, only to discover that it was his tiny whimsical rose that he truly cared about and found joy in caring for.

The Little Prince, which, according to some sources was the third-most read book in the 20th Century next to the Bible and the Koran, intrigued me to the point that I began investigating the life of the author, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

I would agree with Otto Bollnow that our richest education in life comes through profound encounters with unusual, challenging, or inspiring literature, people, historical figures, works of art, etc. Reading The Little Prince was one of these existential encounters for me, and so I wondered if knowing the author would be a similar experience.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Probably the best way I could describe him would be to say that Saint-Exupéry was a man of passion. He was born in Lyons, France, in 1900 into a family of provincial nobility. His father died in 1904 of a stroke, leaving his widow to care for their five young children. He was educated in Jesuit and Catholic schools, before failing his final examination at a university preparatory school but going on to study architecture at a college.

One of the great passions of his life was flying. Entering military service in 1921, he trained to become a pilot. He was offered a job in the air force, but his fiancée's family objected, so took up an office job and began to write. The next years of his life were difficult. His engagement was broken off and he had no success in jobs, trying his hand at bookkeeper and automobile salesman among others. Finally he was able to fly again, delivering mail over North Africa, escaping death on several occasions. In 1928 became the director of a remote airfield in the desert, whose harsh beauty is the setting for The Little Prince and The Wisdom of the Sands. In fact, the first-person perspective of The Little Prince is that of a pilot whose airplane crashes in the Sahara Desert.

Perhaps you do not see the beauty in learning about others' lives as much as I do. I am sorry. I will try to be more succinct. Then, again, maybe we are in danger of being too grown-up to recognize the infinite importance of one life lived, caught up as we are in facts and figures, where deaths are statistics and lives are the memory lag before becoming one.

Antoine flies and writes. One of his novels, Night Flight, became an international bestseller, won a prize, and was adapted for the screen in 1933.

In 1931 Saint-Exupéry married Consuelo Gómez Carillo, who was the inspiration for the little prince's rose. Although she wrote of him that, "He wasn't like other people, but like a child or an angel who has fallen down from the sky," their relationship was stormy. She was jealous and felt neglected, and understandably, because Saint-Exupéry was seldom home and had numerous affairs with other women. Women were certainly another passion of his life, albeit an untamed one.

At the age of 44, wanting to get out of the military, he agreed to one last mission for his Mediterranean-based Allied squadron; to collect data on German troop movements. He took off from an airstrip in Sardinia on July 31, 1944 on a flight over southern France and was never seen again. His plane was found in May 2000. To this day it is unknown whether it was suicide, an accident, or if he was shot down.

It is likely that he was shot down by the German fighter-pilot Robert Heichelle, who reported shooting down an aggressive Lighting that day, but it is also plausible that he committed suicide, having felt isolated and alone in his squadron and being pessimistic about the future. Scientifically, we just don't know. Perhaps it is our desire to honor a dead man's memory that keeps suicide from being the option of choice. Perhaps it is more rationally sound to believe he was shot down. Maybe we just want it to be that way.

The Passing of the Little Prince

The end of The Little Prince is tragic and not completely unlike Saint-Exupéry's own passing. He has met a snake who claims "Anyone I touch, I send back to the land from which he came," and he comes to the realization that he has been tamed by his rose, that he is responsible for her and he must care for her. He must go back to the land from which he came to be with her again. "It'll look as if I'm suffering," he says, "It'll look a little as if I'm dying. It'll look that way." The pilot, who has come to care deeply for this little prince, is with him when to see the yellow flash close to the little prince's ankle. "He remained motionless for an instant. He didn't cry out. He fell gently, the way a tree falls." The pilot takes comfort in knowing that he did get back to his plant because at daybreak the pilot does not find his body. The little prince, like Saint-Exupéry, disappeared.

I still found the end of The Little Prince quite disconcerting. I had grown to love the pilot and the little prince. While I can see that the little prince cared so dearly for his rose, I myself have a hard time caring for the rose in that way and so wonder why he had to return. I, along with the pilot, have been tamed by the little prince. The whole thing carries with it the suspension of an uneasy and undefined situation. Letting the snake bite him is too close to suicide for my liking. Isn't there another way? If the little prince managed to get to earth in another way, could he not leave in the same way? Was there no other way to save his flower?

As with the death of Saint-Exupéry, it is not possible to say with scientific certainty what happened in the passing of the little prince. Oh, how we want for the truth to be that the little prince has in fact saved his flower, that it has not been eaten by the sheep, that despite how few thorns it has it and its arrogance, the little prince has returned to his planet and everything is right in the universe... that each star in the night sky blossoms with the beauty of the love of a little prince for his flower. Oh, how we want the truth to be that men do not commit suicide, that they do not have affairs. Oh, how we want the truth to be that Jesus Christ died and rose again, that we will one day be with him.

A Great Little Prince, a Serpent, and a Rose

We have a great Prince who became little, who allowed the great Serpent to poison him so that we, his precious rose, would be saved. Was there no other way? He came to earth peacefully as a baby, could not he have left upon the clouds?

As much as we try, we can never scientifically prove what happened on the cross or in the following days. It must be impossible to prove such a thing, by definition, otherwise it would not be a matter of faith. Of course, it is also impossible to prove otherwise. If it were possible to prove otherwise, there would be no faith on earth. There is a choice to make, for life or for death, for blessings or for curses. Can we look beyond the visible to see with our heart, to the inward and invisible? Can we look beyond this world where people kill themselves and commit affairs, trampling themselves and their roses? Can we look beyond what the world sees as 'matters of consequence,' that we have never actually known someone to come back from the dead and have never seen the entirety of God?

Did Christ return to his land after being bitten by the snake, and is his rose safe?

I know that he did, and I know that we are. I returned that day, and his body was gone. Even now, he is disappeared. There are some things that are humanly, inductively, and rationally impossible. It is scientifically impossible that Christ is dead because of the empty tomb, and theoretically impossible because he is God. It was also imperative for him to die because he was man. Conversely, to human rationality it is theoretically impossible that he die because he is God, but inductively impossible that he should rise again, being a man. The very fact that we are able to choose to believe in spite of the impossibility of the death of God and the impossibility of a man coming to life again are proof for our belief. Such an occurance cannot be manufactured by us, for it is something we cannot think. For us in this unique faith in Christ, "Certum est, quia impossibile est" (Tertullian). It is certain because it is impossible. It must have been from God. As Christ himself said, "What is impossible with men is possible with God" (Luke 18:27).

Were we unable to believe, as an individual, that Christ died and rose again, we would not be able to enter the Kingdom of God. Because, however, we are able to believe that the snake is not the victor, we are certain of the victory of our little Prince. We believe in the eternal victory of our God - the past is redeemed in creation, the present particulars in the life of Christ, and the future sealed in his glorious return. The expectancy of our faith is victory over the future because it is an eternal victory, finding its proof not primarily in the scientific evidences of man but in the eternal love of our Father God. Through the our faith, the expectation that there is an eternal victory for the saints in Christ, we are able to conquer the future and, in doing so, conquer the particularities of ourselves. It is only through this conquering of ourselves and the future, Kierkegaard writes, that we are able to fully live the present.

Today, do you believe that the rose is safe? Do you believe that it is only through faith in Christ that we are able to overcome the snake's death-bite, that the only optimism in this world that makes sense is faith in Christ?

If this is what we believe, then we must come to care for the Rose as the Little Prince does. It is incredibly difficult, because, "Oh yes, she was quite vain!" In having difficulty loving the saints, though, we are only coming to see the grace that was required for Him to first love us. We, as his rose, as his body, torment him with our "rather touchy vanity." We think we are ready to fight off the roaming Lion with our four little thorns, but in truth we couldn't do a thing against him. Besides, it's the Lamb we must be most concerned about, for it is He who "can destroy both the soul and the body in hell." Hallelujah, for it is this same Lamb who has redeemed our life from the pit and who has died to free us from His own wrath!

Let us believe, then, in that truth which is invisible. Let us have full confidence, because of the disappeared Christ, that our Little Prince has returned to prepare a place for his Rose, His Body, His Saints. Because we, a rose of such little consequence, have become precious to the Prince, let us love His Rose as He loves us, even though we realize its inherently inconsequential nature.

Indeed, it is because He has chosen us that we have such great value. Not only does He love the world enough to die for humanity, but,

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will" (Eph 1:3-5).

Let us take joy in such a great salvation, in such a great love, and let us make every effort to draw others to our Great Little Prince, who has died for the sins of the world and is patient, "not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance" (2 Peter 3:9).

We are His people, the Rose of His garden. To the angels, to the animals, and to the world, He has said,

"You're lovely, but you're empty... One couldn't die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass. Since she's the one I sheltered behind a screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three for butterflies). Since she's the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose."

Oh, how He longs for us to see her how He sees her, to love her as He loves her, to see ourselves as He sees us, to love ourselves because He loves us, to see the world as He sees it, to love the world because He longs for them to be His rose! Let us go forth today in longing love for the world, in tender nurture for the church, and in glorious joyful victory in our Little Prince, who has shattered the chains of death and has crushed the head of the Serpent.

watch my language?

2005-04-14T12:08:00.001-04:00

i have to say, sometimes swearing is so ridiculous it's downright humorous. one is particularly aware of this as a Christian. countless times people have apologized to me for swearing in my presence, as though i'm so holy that i can't be in the presence of such talk or i'll melt. at the same time, this is usually a relief, because it's difficult to communicate when every other word contributes nothing to the conversation except to make me well aware that the person i'm talking to has a vocabulary less than that of a three-year-old.

then there's the other side of the coin - people who swear around me purposefully because i'm a Christian. somehow, one of the guys on my highschool bus in Northern Ontario learned that i had never used profanity, and promptly felt called to dedicate his life to causing me to curse. "just once, come on," he'd say. i could do nothing but smile. there was absolutely no reason that i could think of why i would want to do it merely because he told me to, and yet he kept at it as though he had some irrefutable case that one day i'd see the light and find freedom for my soul in letting the f-bomb soar.

then there's my friend Aaron, from highschool in Southern Ontario. knowing that I was a "churchie," he would string together the most creative combination of profanities I had ever heard, looking me straight in the face as he did. i've got to tell you, that was hilarious.

i find it fascinating that non-Christians will recognize profanity as something that is wrong, despite the fact that we Christians often can't entirely put our finger on why it's wrong even for us. there's the general principle of the matter, found in the Bible under such ideas as thinking about what's pure, lovely, etc., or Paul's exhortation to avoid coarse joking and vain words, and we know that using the Lord's name in vain is bad. however, where is the line drawn between profanity and legitimate word usage? this is a question that hits close to home for me, since i'm a specialized expert linguistic in using 'poop' in a creative variety of ways (e.g. poo, poop, poopoo) in order to get accross an insulting point, or 'crap' on occassion when something goes awry. is there really any difference between this and, well, other words that could be substituted?

the sweater song

2005-04-12T01:15:00.001-04:00

i'm lying in bed listening to music through headphones. pretty much every cd of the approximately two hundred i own, except for coldplay and collective soul, is of a 'Christian band' (were there such a thing), because I'm a good Christian.

i'll admit, just now i skipped 'be thou my vision' in my playlist in order to hear illegally downloaded afi, whose poetically depressing lyrics are smoothly integrated into complex guitar compositions. but i deleted the one song that has the f-word (the only profanity, as far as i know), probably because i'm a good Christian.

today i was wearing my favourite black zip-up hoodie. it is good, except the bottom-front part kind of bunches up and makes me look like i have a beer belly, even though i have never had a sip of beer (because i'm a good Christian?).

also, the sleeves are a little short. were my hands to suddenly become legs, my hoodie would be high-water pants. a truly Good sweater wouldn't be like this. however, this is my favourite, probably because i've never had a perfect sweater - or seen one, in fact. i guess i'll have to settle for this one. but if i had a perfect sweater it would not bunch up and the sleeves would fit better (were there such thing as a perfect sweater), because it would be a truly Good sweater.

hypothetically, were i to come across the perfect sweater, i would no longer think my zip-up hoodie was so good. in fact, there would be only one favourite sweater for me. if that were the case, i should probably completely forget about this hoodie and do everything i can to get the perfect one (were there such a thing), because it would be a Good sweater.

but, for now, I'll listen to my good songs in my good sweater, and be content to be a good Christian (were there such a thing).

The Superkeith [Überkeit]

2005-04-08T14:14:00.001-04:00

"Behold, I teach you the overman [Übermensch]. The overman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: the overman shall be the meaning of the earth! I beseech you, my brothers, remain faithful to the earth, and do not believe those who speak to you of otherworldly hopes! Poison-mixers are they, whether they know it or not. Despisers of life are they, decaying and poisoned themselves, of whom the earth is weary: so let them go."

-Friedrich Nietzsche in Thus Spoke Zarathustra

I'd like to think that if I were an atheist (assuming such a position were possible), I would live completely free of all moral restraints. Having no absolute Truth to guide me, I would be the most conniving, power-hungry villain to walk the planet. I'd be so good at being bad, in fact, that no one would know that I really didn't give a darn-tootin' diddley what they thought of my actions. I would be Superkeith, and there would be no stopping me.

Given my upbringing as a missionary and pastor's kid, I've learned the ins-and-outs of being 'such a good little boy.' My parents never forced me to act good; I just knew it was my lot in life. One of the things that most plagued my conscience growing up was when I sneaked small pieces off bacon slices before breakfast when my mom wasn't looking. The 'rebellious stage,' or, even worse, the 'rebellious pastor's kid' stage was something I never went through. Heck, I've never even frickin' cussed.

This veritable mastery of the art of looking good has placed me in a good position, I believe, to be potentially the worst person possible - one who acts perfectly on the outside, but whose innards are full of dead men's bones. I could be a white-washed tomb who revels in the darkness inside, an ethical egoist - Nietzche's overman - who is in complete mastery of his feelings, actions, and will, turning every situation into his advantage, attaining power in every area of life.

As for love, I would exploit it to the max. Oh, yes, the ladies would do as I pleased, thinking all the time that I was just as weak and vulnerable as they in the servitude of affection. Indeed, I would be well aware that, "Sometimes it requires only a stronger pair of spectacles to cure the lover, and he who had the imagination to picture a face, a figure twenty years older would perhaps pass through life very undisturbed" (Nietzsche in Human, All Too Human). Sensual pleasures and adoring devotion would be mine, for as long as they suited my fancy, until I decided to move on. Then I would leave, those who loved me feeling only that they had somehow wronged me, and all too ready to make it up at a moment's notice.

Such is the lure of power, of mastery, of the overman; one who has conquered the weakness of humanity and has only power left within his soul, with no conscience remaining to curb the fulfillment craftily calculated desires.

It's impenetrable.

There is only one overlooked tragic flaw. There is one weakness, and this is its strength. For the ultimate perfection of strength is found in the strength to be weak. This is what Lucifer hadn't counted on when he fell like lightning from heaven. Closest to absolute power is that which embraces all abilities except that to relinquish itself. Closest, however, is not absolute, is not perfect, and is not complete. On its own, It has fallen short, and It will continue to fall for eternity. It is constantly becoming more nothing than It was before, and yet never nothing enough to be free from the horror of plummeting from being more than It presently is.

Perfect love is found only in giving all. Perfect freedom is exercising the freedom to commit absolutely. Perfect peace is only discovered in the face of strife. Perfect knowledge is faith. Being seated at the right hand of God is in complete only in kenosis, in the Absolute emptying Himself and making Himself nothing.

Christ is the only Overman. Only He is perfectly God and perfectly man, and it is impossible to take His place, for He is the One and the Complete, and anyone who would go to the Father must go through Him. Only He has perfected power in weakness and love in vulnerability. I know no Superkeith is possible on my own, but through Christ I am beginning to understand with a knowledge that comes through faith, to choose freely to be His servant, and to love others with a love so strong that it is broken and weak, a love that embraces so closely that the beloved is free to go, and a love that would go through death that another might live.

"Love is all, it gives all, and it takes all" - Soren Kierkegaard

here held, close caught

2005-04-02T23:10:00.001-05:00

to faithful be, perhaps to see God’s perfect plan - my destiny within this frail, distorted jar of clumpy clay, a treasure far beyond the weakness that I know, beyond the darkness far below into the blinding light I go, to seek a king of grace to show my heart’s desire beyond the shade, a once-lost love, back from the grave this is my cry, my call, my dream: to sing, to bring, praise offering; a matchless prize, forgotten jewel; I long to strive to thrive - a fool! caught in his trap of boundless grace a sinner saved, by sight of face to haste this faith, my hope embrace an endless peace, a life to taste, richer than wine, to dine mine thine, thy kindly find mine mind and shine sweet light, to thank thy might, not quite my height to fight this plight not trite lost lest love lift low life long-lain, not sight-sought sweetness do I claim but by thy wind my wing-tips fly, found freely flowing fountains I within thy streams, beneath thy grace, a fearfully suspended place here held, close caught; thine thought truth taught choice cherished child, here - heaven’s home bows blessed before beloved’s throne

soul-spring

2005-04-01T12:56:00.001-05:00

the clouds are moving quickly today. the sky is restless, as though in trembling anticipation of some great event. i, along with the darting wind and quivering trees, am not sure whether this change is for the better or worse. today is a great battle of Spring and Autumn, with Winter still clinging to a remnant of earth with her slowly-loosening grip. Spring is new on the scene, calling for Summer to break through the darkened sky in all her glory and melt the last icy fragments of winter. Autumn refuses to concede that her work has come to naught, and her leaves flurry furiously in the air, rustling amongst themselves, having been disturbed from a deep sleep as their thick blanket has dissolved, baring them to the still-chilled breath of Spring. it is through this breath she strives to inspire life in the frigid ground, shaking mother earth from her slumber. the birds are the first to foresee the approaching reign of Summer, heralding their approval with sweet chirps and heightened activity, preparing for her triumphant return.

change is fearsome. even though i see now the blue sky peering out from her cloudy cell, i am not entirely confident of her release. if it is i who must defend her, then i fear she shall remain imprisoned forever. i know myself too well. unless the King of Heaven himself comes to our aid, i know i cannot see the sun of the kingdom. in this moment of anticipatory darkness, though, i feel an awakening of hope, of faith that something greater will come through the temporary unsettling of this change.

i see the clouds breaking apart, indeed growing brighter as i write, loosing their chains on the light from above. the birds are charged with more vigour than ever before. their sight of a kingdom unseen is contagious. with the Prince's defense, the King of Heaven will come to my aid. despite blunders of past mistakes, i know that my Redeemer lives, and it is he that makes everything beautiful in its time. though winter may last for the night, a new day approaches, and joy will come in the morning. weary trepidation has turned to the thrill of a glory seen from afar, instilling a confidence to take each new step knowing that the dawn of soul's summer is immanent.

and can it be? (amazing love)

2005-03-28T09:47:00.001-05:00

And can it be that I should gain
an interest in the Savior’s blood!
Died he for me? who caused his pain!
For me? who him to death pursued?

Amazing love! How can it be
that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?

’Tis mystery all: th’ Immortal dies!
Who can explore his strange design?
In vain the firstborn seraph tries
to sound the depths of love divine.
’Tis mercy all! Let earth adore;
let angel minds inquire no more.

He left his Father’s throne above
(so free, so infinite his grace!),
emptied himself of all but love,
and bled for Adam’s helpless race.
’Tis mercy all, immense and free,
for O my God, it found out me!

Long my imprisoned spirit lay,
fast bound in sin and nature’s night;
thine eye diffused a quickening ray;
I woke, the dungeon flamed with light;
my chains fell off, my heart was free,
I rose, went forth, and followed thee.

No condemnation now I dread;
Jesus, and all in him, is mine;
alive in him, my living Head,
and clothed in righteousness divine,
bold I approach th’ eternal throne,
and claim the crown, through Christ my own.

(Charles Wesley)

soma

2005-03-27T15:02:00.001-05:00

I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed– in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” (1 Cor 15:50-54)

Deep within the blackness of my peaceful slumber I see a pinprick of light ascending from below. It is approaching at a great speed; at such a rate, in fact, that within seconds it envelops my entire view. It is so bright that I can see into it no further than the darkness of before, but this light is filled with an inexpressible expectation.

From what seems to be a tiny seed inside me, there takes shape a form unlike I have ever known, a form now seen with eyes which thrive in this state of glory. It seems vaguely reminiscent of something I once knew before, but this something had been transformed and is now more a part of me than my flesh ever had been. It is a fullness that is perfectly whole, like the Jesus I had known, only recreated for the world of light. The pains of bleeding and heartache are gone, and there is no stench of disease or death to be found, only a fragrence like that of flowers in spring but filled with more life than seemed possible.

As I reach out my re-born hands, I find the tomb that had once held me in is no longer there. The stone has been rolled away, but even if it wasn't, I have the feeling that I could've walked right through it.

I am in a garden again. This time, though, there are no dead or dying plants or sick and mocking people. Instead, there are countless others, some whom I know and the rest in whom I only recognize a family likeness. They are majestic in their resplendent beauty, forged through years of sufferings and persecution for the faith they clinged so strongly to. It is then then I recognize not only a family likeness, but myself in their shining faces. We are one. We are a Body. Here there is no Anglican or Brethern, no slave or free. It is as though we are a living, moving reflection in a crystal pond. All that is needed is the One whom we reflect.

Then, coming down the path towards me, I see one who was unlike the others. He appears to be a gardener of some sort, one who had tended souls from their conception in the heart of God to their completion and re-birth. Is it really Him? For a brief moment, it is beyond my hope. This would be too good to be true, something I dare not dream. I had said I would go to die with Him, but to expect a return could not be imagined.

He continues to approach. He is very close now. "Shalom," he says, and a deep peace beyond comprehension floods my soul. Reaching out familiar hands, he says, "Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe." I grasp His warm, scarred hands - hands scarred by what was once my disease - and look deep into His eyes of sublime love and an infinite joy which has overcome untold sadness.

In the consummation of all love, tears flood my eyes, and I sink to the ground, my hands still clutching His, and His mine. "My Lord and my God!" We and He are face to Face; I am my Beloved's and He is mine. I know Him fully, just as I am fully known, and we are bound in an inseperable love that has shattered the chains of death itself.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade–kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God's power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith–of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire–may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls (1 Pe 1:3-9)

suspension

2005-03-26T10:57:00.001-05:00

When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it.” Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days (John 11:4-6).

at the moment of collision, a silence fills my senses. he is gone. i am no longer falling or moving at all. it has been four days since i have entered this tomb, and the stench lies pungent on my nostrils. he had known my sickness, he had heard of my misfortune, and yet he had lingered longer in the place where he was. i thought we were friends; best of friends. yet now i lay here, separated from flesh and substance in a nothingness like a deep, unwakable sleep. if he had been there, i would not have died.

oh, this foolish heart of mine. to always alight on such arms as to let me fall. why is this always so? will i ever find a love that doesn't let me go? each trust invested finds fickle response, each leap of faith impales on jagged precipices. how quickly strong attachment becomes a shallow shell of lost anticipation. if there is nothing forever in this world, why should i hope for such in the next? this Jesus was only the latest, and most tragic, of such misspent commitment.

he was to be my Savior, my fortress, my deliverer. he had been my friend, or so i had thought. yet, trapped behind this darkness as behind tightly shut and locked doors, i knew he had left. so many promises. so much expectation and hope. surrounded by palm branches, i had known he was the one. but that was before this. before the horror of it all. before every dream was shattered and every hope defiled.

in the darkness of this tomb, all i can hear is the soft sobbing of my fleshless spirit, resounding in invisible ears. then it comes back to me; "today you will be with me..." "destroy this temple..." such mystic utterances, cryptic sayings. we ate them up at the time, not knowing what they meant. i still don't know what they mean. but somehow, that unknowing suspends my spirit between peace and turmoil, between spirit and flesh, between good and evil in such a way that all i have left is a choice. to abandon this dream in the face of conclusive proof, or to cling to a doomed faith in light of a love that seemed too infinite to be overcome by the grave.

he had fallen below. far, far below. this much i knew. i had heard his last cries wherein he had forfeited his spirit. he had descended to the depths of the dead, the caves of the unknowing and the fortress of satan himself. would he return? such a thought seemed like desecration at this time of sorrow. though it was never spoken, the thought beyond hope lingered.

this is the moment to decide for broken faith or for harsh reality. for lost love or for empirical truth. for an unseen light or for the present shadow. there is no getting beyond this choice. the future of my world hangs in the balance. this is the time to cling to faith over doubt, hope over despair, and love over hatred - despite everything my eyes have seen and my senses recall.

caught between the two, with seeming no way of escape, a soft memory floods my consciousness. there he is, as clear as if it were happening again. we adored him as a king, as a prince, as the son of God. tired from the journey, we collapsed, tossing off sandals covering repungent feet, stained with the filth of the road. then, as though the entire universe had been flipped upside down, our Lord took out a basin and began washing our feet. we were too shocked to respond. who was this, who would raise the dead and clean feet? then the memory shifted to last night. the cries, the torture, the agony of a beautifully frail man being beaten and killed. it was as though life itself were dying.

i have made my choice. i choose death with this man before life with any other. the hush of the tomb was no longer tainted by failure. it had become the only bed fit for a king.

I am still confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the Lord.
(Ps 27:13-14)

the horror

2005-03-25T00:07:00.002-05:00

"For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the willing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not. For the good that I want, I do not do, but I practice the very evil that I do not want... Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?" (Rom 7:18, 19, 24)

I hate this sin at work within me. It started as a faint cough, then it began to wrack my whole body. Its defilement crept into this sarx, my flesh, and once it gained a foothold it never stopped its exponential onslaught. No longer can I remember the days of light, of walking quietly in the garden. All has faded to black in my depraved mind.

Only a shadow of a long-lost love remains. I can almost remember goodness, beauty, and truth. But alas, as a daydream plunges into a tragic nightmare it vanishes, as reality clutches me in her icy grip. I think back to that fated day when this hated lust began. He had offered so much, it seemed. To become like God. To possess the entire world and all its kingdoms in their splendor. To know the world in its entirety, both true and false, good and evil. All these had been promised. In a sense, they had come true. Only, to be like God was never enough when I knew I would never be. The kingdoms of the world no longer amused me. And it was only by falling outside of the good that I knew it; it is only in becoming evil that I comprehend what I lack.

"How then can we be saved? All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away" (Isa 64:5-6).

Every morning I fall out of his bed, hacking and broken, feeling nothing but tired and dirty. His stench clings to my flesh as I scrape this spot of damnation. "Out, out..." I cry, my voice trailing into a hollow whisper. Twelve years this bleeding has wracked my frail frame from the inside, and now the disease has broken out upon my surface, a black leprosy oozing for all to see. All who once called me their friend gape and mock, laughing at my wretched state. Collapsing on this ash heap, I scrape myself with broken pottery. Slowly I crawl into a dark whole to await another night to hide this shame and indulge in another.

Outside the insults have abated. The hating horde has been lured by another weak victim. A muffled sob of relief escapes as I turn back to scratching these raw wounds. Stopping suddenly, my curiosity is peaked. Who could this outcast be who would engage such a cruel crowd more than one as defiled as I? Crawling towards the throng, I see One who is more rejected than myself. It is beyond me to see why. He is rejected and despised by men, and yet I can see no flaw. Indeed, there is no beauty to attract me to Him, and yet He is whole. There are no pox-marks from continuous sores, and no scourge-welts from deeds done in secret. Unlike the rest of us, the oozing puss of decay has not punctured His skin, nor has the disease of death marred his robust body.

Then I understand. They hate Him because He is whole, while they are cursed with self-inflicted emptiness. They hate Him because He loves them, His enemies. They hate Him because He is what they never will be and have chosen not to be. They hate Him because He is the King's own Son, the son of a King they'll never be.

At first my disgust rises in me just as it has in then. I pick up a jagged stone to throw, to join with the rest of my doomed cell-mates. But then, beyond all hope, a small flame flickers. What if this man would love me as I dare to dream? It is ludicrous. But then, there is nothing left to lose. Inching closer, the crowd fades away. My pulse quickens. A garden, its haunting beauty echoing a time long a go. Closer, closer. He doesn't see me. If I only touch His cloak... I am there. My shaking, broken hand feebly closes on the strong white wool. As He turns, a power unlike I have ever known grips my body. "Today you will be with me..." His eyes pierce mine with sublime love and infinite sadness.

What have I done?

Tearing my eyes from His, they turn to a horror too unexpected to understand. I can only watch as the writhing decay of my graying arm eats away at the thick cloth. It has reached His flesh. A shriek of despair leaps from my lips to fill the air with a maddening echo. The disease has enveloped His beautiful body, tearing it apart and shredding his back. I reach for Him, only to find the flesh crumbling as rapidly as if it were my own. We fall. Darkness is upon us. In the flickering light of hellish flames, as we plummet through innumerable dimensions, I hear Him gasp for His Father.

"Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabachthani?"

Crushed on the floor of an endless void, we drop perpetually through time and space, the nothingness of me only surpassed by His insurmountable emptiness. His death is my destruction, consuming my filthy flesh in the fires of an eternal furnace. The universe collapses upon itself, as Satan himself and all his miserable army are drowned beneath the blood-red sea of a love beyond any understanding or comprehension. The curtain of existence has been torn in two. The line dividing good and evil has been plunged into the same terrible flame that wrought the beginning of time and forged the foundation of the world. Suspended in history as a portal into the eternal, the collision of darkness and light implodes as full consummation in the horror of the death of God.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me,
so far from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer,
by night, and am not silent...

But I am a worm and not a man,
scorned by men and despised by the people.
All who see me mock me;
they hurl insults, shaking their heads:
"He trusts in the Lord;
let the Lord rescue him.
Let him deliver him,
since he delights in him."

(Ps 22:1-2, 6-8)

caution: mighty power at work

2005-03-22T11:35:00.001-05:00

For we know in part and we prophesy in part; but when the perfect comes, the partial will be done away. When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known. But now faith, hope, love, abide these three; but the greatest of these is love.
(1 Cor 13:9-13, NASB)

We are in the dimension of imperfection. It is not a time of nothingness; it is a time of imperfection, of the partial. There is something here, and that something is beautiful. We have been blessed abundantly by God with every good and perfect gift through His Son. However, we are still incomplete. The Kingdom is within us, but it is also not yet completed, for it is still at hand. We are to pray "Thy Kingdom come," and yet it is here as a seal, as a promise, and as an imperfect perfection.

In this stage of transition, it is the ordering of desires that structures the realization of the Kingdom, that nurtures and fertilizes the seed of faith and that challenges to grow from mere infants into children of God. While we are not yet fully, it is not this moment that is to be focused upon, for this moment is transitory. Rather, it is the direction, the movement, of our lives within this moment that truly takes significance from an eternal perspective. It is who we love, what we desire, and what we will to do that determines who we actually are.

Indeed, it is inherently upon recognizing what is truly lacking and in striving for what is best to be completed that there is the possibility of completion, of perfection. The act of completion is realized only in faith, through which we are confident that our work, our striving, is not in vain. This act is not of ourselves, for it is only God who is able to perfect, for in Him is perfection.

In fact, were God merely complete, there would be nothing left for us to realize, since there would be no overflow of His perfection. His love, however, is immeasurable. It is constantly greater than anything, since there is nothing that can separate it from us. His love is in-finite, beyond any end or limit, even the limit of completion. God is love. He is always more, and able to do immeasurably more than we could ask or imagine. When we say that God is unqualified perfection, we not only acknowledge that there is nothing that is lacking in Him, but we paradoxically acknowledge that He is beyond perfection.
Aristotle's ideas on potentiality and actuality may help to clarify what this means for us. Actuality is what is while potentiality is what may be. God is. "I am who I am." He is actuality, for He is and He enables us to be. We participate in God's reality through the life He has given us and anything that "is" as we may define it. Everything was created by Him and for Him. Unfortunately, we often realize that what we are is not what we desire to be. We are not living up to our potential.

Potentiality, then, is defined as an "Inherent capacity for growth, development, or coming into existence" or "Something possessing such capacity." It can only be found within sequence, transition, or movement. This is our dimension. We have potential; this tremendous power of God's redemptive plan that we trust will one day allow us to see face to face and know fully. Potentiality is not lack, per se; it is capacity, a power (hence root 'potency'). It is included in what we are, not what we are not. Because it is in him that we live and move and have our being, it is according to His power that is at work within us that our labour is not in vain. We are perfect, as our heavenly Father is perfect, in potential, through His power. His power is our potential.

As believers knowing God's gift of free will and personal responsibility, our will and desires determine what becomes through our faith and God's power. As such, it is necessary that our desires are properly ordered, that we seek the only One who is able to reward our desires. Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.

In this, we must not be consumed with who we are right now, but rather we must focus on the Joy we are pursuing right now. We are to fix our eyes upon Jesus, who is the Author and Perfector of faith. It is this telos that we are striving for. He is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the End.

This is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. It is by His stripes that we are healed. He is our final end. As such, while we are on this journey we will not perfectly reach our destination, only imperfectly see it from afar and welcome it. The risen Christ at the right hand of God is the Joy set before us.

Thankfully, the servant Christ is our guide, walking the road to Emmaus with us. We are receiving the goal of our faith as God transforms us through His power to be children of light, even here and now in our imperfect state. Earthbound, I will never fully embrace my Lord, but He will always be my treasure and through His power I am drawing near to Him. In this life I will never be the ideal me, but the man of Christ is who I desire to be, and in faith I know that I am becoming that man. Christ's love compels us and gives wings to our weary souls, strength to climb another day.

real and ideal love

2005-03-21T00:22:00.001-05:00

as an unperfect actor on the stage,

who with his fear is put besides his part,

or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;

so I, for fear of trust, forget to say

the perfect ceremony of love's rite,

and in mine own love's strength seem to decay,

o'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might

-shakespeare
(from sonnet xxiii)

to me, girls are an elusive mystery yet a close perplexity, a distant illusion yet an obvious reality. in the Return of the King, Aragorn tells Eowyn, "It is but a shadow and a thought that you love." generally i am not in favour of quoting mushy movie lines, but unfortunately this one caught my ear and resonated too loudly in my mind.

i'm caught at a seemingly impassable fork in the road when it comes to the more-attractive half of humanity. on one hand stands the idealistic proverbs 31 babe. she is beautiful in heart, soul, mind and strength. her heart is devoted to loving others; especially God, those who are hurting, and yours truly. her soul is steadfast and unwavering in the things of the Lord, yet down-to-earth, aware of her own frailty and never condescending or arrogant. her mind is inquisitive, pondering the deeper matters of life and soaking in the beauty of God's wisdom, yet never letting such thoughts keep her from love or faith. her strength is spent selflessly, caring for her family, the church, and for the less-fortunate. essentially, she is perfection incarnate.

on the other hand, sometimes none of this seems to matter much. instead, what matters is to have someone who is here, who is real, and who cares for me as i care for her. someone who has flaws that teach me grace, struggles to teach me encouragement, and tears which i can dry. someone to fight through the darker side of life with and with whom to fly hand-in-hand through the rays of God's blessing. someone whose hurts echo mine and mine hers. someone to fight for and who wants me to fight for her; a companion with whom to open this gift of life, to investigate the mystery of redemption, and to swim in the ocean of Christ's love. someone who is frail and weak like me, small and cosmically insignificant like me, and a treasure in a clay pot like me.

the two paths appear exclusive in my mind. if a girl is the first, then I don't really know her. if i only seek the second, perhaps i am settling for second-best. must i be rid of the Idea? or should i keep my eyes on this shadow, this thought, so as to recognize the reality when i may? will i ever be ready to accept the reality and forfeit the thought? is there any substance to this shadow or is she an illusion, quietly slipping away through the night as i turn my light upon her?

in the end, it is only my Father who knows the answers to these questions. i must trust His hand. i have wondered at times if He keeps this reality from me, preserving a quiet longing and pain which, like a thorn in the flesh, keeps fulfillment from me so that i must perpetually be broken before Him and thirsting for the Living Water rather than for the simple streams of this life. i hope this is not so. i would prefer to inspire the saints with an overflow of love springing from the blessings i have received from His hand. either way, let it not be my will but Thine that is done, and may i have the strength to embrace Thy will as it is done.

wanna waddle?

2005-03-18T00:38:00.003-05:00

recently my msn name has been "I'd like to be a penguin." this has prompted a hefty slew of questions on why I'd want to be a penguin. this is slightly unexpected. after all, who wouldn't want to be a penguin - especially an emperor penguin? have you seen the snazzy suits they wear or thought about the joy they must have sliding along on their glossy white bellies?

as I thought about it more, and learned a bit more about these plump birds, I realized it was no longer merely an inane nickname. I really do want to be a penguin. perhaps it is because they are my inspiration when it comes to the ladies. all us single guys could use some 'picking-up' tips from these swathe gentlemen, these dashing romeos. while singing their love sings, their courtship behaviour includes a wide range of displays ranging from head bowing to head swinging and walking around in a most impressive manner.

after finding his girl, the two are together for good. apparently they haven't been to north america much. human husbands and fathers have much to learn from the male penguin about dedication and self-sacrifice. not only is he devoted to his mate for life, but after she has given birth he takes care of their young one 24 hours a day while she leaves him for the winter to regain her strength by the sea. by the time the chick hatches, he will have fasted for four months and will be starved to approximately half his original body mass, because he cannot leave the egg alone in the temperatures that may fall below -60 Celsius with blizzards of up to 200 km/h. all this is done with faith that his love will return in time to save him and their young one. that's romantic.

I find a deeper inspiration in the penguin than just in the romance department. it is how I truly want to be a penguin. in fact, I intensely desire that everyone in the Body of Christ would become penguins in this way, especially in North America. I am not suggesting that we all start to waddle, as cute as that would be. I think there is a profoundly simple truth of our faith to be learned from penguins.

in the extremely harsh conditions of the winter months, the male penguins exemplify what it means to love their brothers. while incubating the little ones, male penguins pack as closely together as they possibly can. "there is a friend that sticks closer than a brother."
in this huddle, individuals seem to temporarily lose their identity and their mass adopts the appearance and behavior of a single living entity. "that they may be one as we are one."
they self-sacrificially follow one another in a constant rotation through the warmest centre of the huddle to the outer edges, where the cold bites most bitterly. "greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."
if it weren't for this sacrificial love and cooperation, there is no way that they could accomplish what they do. "a cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

not only this, but they are preserving the future generation. they don't just endure this hardship for their own survival, but for the survival of their brothers and the young ones. an egg or chick left unattended can freeze to death in two minutes. we also need to watch out for those who are still infants in the faith or their joy in the Lord, too, will die.

in the Word we are commanded emphatically, again and again, to love our brothers and sisters in Christ - to sacrifice for them and to care for them. if one in our huddle dies, it is because he was not relieved from the bitter chill of the Enemy by one of his brothers. if one of our sisters feels alienated from God's love, there is a good chance that she is not being loved by the Body.

"if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us."

if outsiders are not seeking warmth in the Body, it is almost certainly because our love for one another has grown cold. there is no greater inspiration to love than love itself. before anyone hears our words, they are going to look for our love.

"by this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another."

perhaps it will not be until we face -60 degrees and 200 km/h winds that we will truly learn to love one another. however, i do know that the air is getting colder, and I'd rather start a huddle now than wait until the blizzard hits.

would you be a penguin with me?

the old guitarist

2005-03-11T14:26:00.002-05:00

I took this picture at the Art Institute of Chicago. It could be my favourite painting of all time. I love blue. I think God must love it, too, because He painted the sky with it, but perhaps I'm biased.

In this painting I see a profound dialectic. On the one hand, the emancipated and contorted body and sorrow stressed during Picasso's 'Blue Period' stress deep suffering, likely inspired by the suicide of his friend, Casagemas, and the poverty and pain he saw in those around him and faced as a struggling young artist in Barcelona. This is the sorrow of the outcasts of society, the poor and the downtrodden that Picasso especially identified with during this time, as his sales had fallen sharply and he was forced to contend for mere survival.

On the other hand, this poor and blind guitarist is doing what he loves. Despite the misery of his situation, his world is transcended by the melodies of his instrument, his craft. In this sense, the blue of the painting also represents a sense of tranquility. No matter how painful our situation in life may be, if we are able to enjoy that which we love there is a peace that goes beyond the temporal situation.

As Christians, enjoying the One whom we love is our greatest joy in life, and the greatest hope we have. He has also blessed us with many simple sources of happiness and pleasure, including that of music. The pleasure and love we experience in this life is only a shadow of the bountiful blessings our Father of lights has in store for us.

We, as Picasso during this time and even more so as our Lord, need to have an our eyes open for those who are poor, suffering, and neglected. When Christ was on earth, He viewed situations such as this man's blindness not as works of evil, but as opportunities for God to be glorified. We must do the same. Just as we have this treasure in jars of clay, so there is resonance of God's grace in each outcast and downtrodden sinner. Despite our sometimes-crooked posture and spiritual starvation, there is still order and beauty to our lives in Christ.

As I gaze upon this painting, heartfully crafted by a young man who was about my age, I am reminded that God's strength is made perfect in my weakness, and that the melody inspired by my frail spirit is a beautiful symphony in the ears of my Lover.

The Old Guitarist (1903)

Pablo Picasso (1881-1973)

my offensive Beloved

2005-03-10T01:51:00.001-05:00

what is this tragic mercy, this divine sickness that compels me to hope? i'm condemned to an intangible optimism that requires staking every last object of my affection, every sensible pleasure and every delighted love outside the door of my death. doubt is a luxury too expensive for this vagabond who's hurled each coin of the thirty at his feet. the one whom i desire is the one from i would most often rather hide my face. he is my offensive Beloved. i cannot tear my eyes from his conflicting gaze. his glorious power and shameful weakness draw me to his vanished body. alone, my very breath betrays the substance of shattered hope. quaking here in timid assurance, i know beyond understanding that my Redeemer lives. when the universe has been incinerated, he will stand upon my earth. when this corpse has rotted to nothing and all memory of my life has passed from time, then, in my flesh, i will behold my God. i, keith ernest dow, will see him with these eyes - i, not another! oh how this fragile heart yearns within me.

analogous scissors

2005-03-09T01:14:00.001-05:00

I cut my hair today. I’m not sure how masculine it is to cut one’s own hair, but I do, and I like it. It’s saved me a lot of money over the past few years. In fact, when I was in the dorm at Briercrest it became quite a lucrative little business for me. In the end I was charging top dollar for Keith Kuts (no, I did not actually have a name for it). This probably had a lot to do with the fact that most people were too lazy to go into Moose Jaw, and I knew it. Sam Walton has nothing on yours truly.

Cutting hair is fun because it reminds me of those little pots that looked like faces that you could grow grass in. Eventually it got to the point that you could give them crazy green hair-do's, something I'm sure most of us secretly desired at one time or another.

It’s rewarding to see the dry, dead cells fall to the ground and the head regain a sense of symmetry and decency. I may not be able to order society, or bring justice to the people, but I can straighten a mop of hair. That is, if it falls within my specialized range of variation on the ‘Keith style.’

It’s like the sculptor, chipping away at a large rock until a beautiful marble statue is revealed from within, an exquisite work of art that was always there but took the master’s eye to reveal. It's like the way God chips away at our filthy sin and the dirt we cling to until he reveals us as a new creation, his beloved children.

Honestly, though, my hair cutting is nothing like that at all. Analogies are useful, but affirmative theology only goes so far. Analogy is the only language we’re left with when discussing the Person of God outside of reference to the revolution of Christ's humanity. Ana-logos: word beside word, or, in this case, word beside Word. Our linguistic tools are vain and pure artistry when left on their own to articulate spiritual substance. Their only redemption from pure mythology is in the reality they point to within our own spiritual experience. This is what gives our words truth in relation to spiritual matters. This is how we express spiritual truths in spiritual words. "He who has ears, let him hear." No wonder Jesus referred to himself as the Bread of Life, the Living Water, the Good Shepherd, the True Vine. No wonder he spoke in seemingly silly stories. Everyone who has will be given more, but whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. You have to know him to hear him, so to speak. He who belongs to God hears what God says. The Spirit of truth guides us into all truth.

Praise God that his Spirit is at work in everyone, that his Word does not return void… That his Word through us and in us does not return void.

tomorrow’s pain, today’s hope

2005-03-07T22:52:00.002-05:00

have you ever bit too much off of life? gone beyond you, grasping at divine complexity? clouds surround the sun, cutting off its light. in the rain and the hail, icy darkness turns every direction down. stepping too far into oneself is a dangerous thing. our frailty was never made to control eternity, only to live it. cobwebs of life past and future cloud reality until present fades in upside-down oblivion.

what does the future hold? i know. it holds the explosion of past mistakes and tragic failures. i must change this. i must change my future before it catches up with my past. but myself is something i cannot change. i am always me. i will never not be. this moment is doomed because it cannot predict the past or redeem the future. both are lost. how could i ever dream to accomplish what i once dared to hope? there is too much for me in this time i’ve been given. how could i my shoulds? incapable. inept.

strained eyes peering into the darkness of tomorrow turn blind. i can no longer see past this. confined here, a bizarre sight i see. there is something between i and then… someone i’ve been looking beyond. gone is the desire to embrace the dark. this light has captured my sight, and i cannot tear my eyes away from him. the future is now, and now is safely hidden in him, my life and my light. past redeemed, future sealed, present lived.

they dwell among us

2005-03-07T01:25:00.001-05:00

you may have caught a glimpse of them as you go throughout your day. you'll never find them as a high government official or even pumping gas, but one day they will rule the world. often quiet and observing, you never know when they will suddenly become a vibrant explosion of energy, doing things that people such as you and i would find absurd.

today i made the mistake of catching the eye of one of these little people. suddenly, i realized i was in over my head; caught in a staring match i couldn't win. i had driven a go-cart to a nascar race, and i knew i was about to be lapped like milk in a saucer. it must've been three minutes before my eyes watered over and i had to look away.

i enjoy watching people. each wrinkle in a face, each nervous twitch or gentle gesture is a clue towards unveiling the treasure of a unique personality. i am intrigued by each life story, each hidden pain or destiny-impacting moment encountered by every individual who shares the air of this terrestrial ball with me.
today, though, my fascination and open-eyed amazement at God's intricate investment in humanity wasn't enough. i had encountered one who was even more-so amazed, and i humbly took a back seat to a fairly inept bundle of cells and structures with honest eyes so absorbing and engaging that the deepness of my own seemed like shallow mud puddles in comparison. as i timidly held tiny mackenzie up to myself, unsure of whether i was worthy to handle such a precious creation, i realized again how miraculous every-day life is. here, cradled in my arms and smaller than a microwave box, there rested a being who would grow and suffer, learn and forget, bring joy to others and occasionally cause them pain. certainly, she could be the next hitler or mother teresa, but such menial notoriety and recognition is fairly insignificant in comparison to the mere expanse of experience and influence this one tiny person would have. she will love and be loved, laugh and bring joy to others, grow and take on an identity that no one else can fulfill.

from my experiences tutoring, counseling at camps, teaching sunday school, all the way up to being a youth pastor, i am overwhelmed by the beauty God has surrounded us with in the vitality and inspiration of young people. i truly do love them. from teaching a young girl how to read, or helping a boy to pass math class, to explaining to samantha at awana what it means for God to have sent his 'only begotten' Son, I have been greatly blessed by my interactions with these 'little people.'

there aren't many feelings in the world better than having a child, in his or her unbiased, unpolluted, and completely transparent initiative, come to care for me and value my presence in his or her life. a dirty dandelion from a child means more than the priceless garlands of princes. there are no tricky mind games or complicated reactions to interpret with children. if they like me, they'll run to me and give me a hug. if not, they'll run and cry to their mother. their choices are obvious and without facade.

through my encounters with children i have glimpsed two important truths. first, how overjoyed our father must feel when one of his long-lost children comes running back to him with a heart full of love. second, how we are to approach our father: naked and wonder-full as the first day, knowing we have nothing to give him but our transparent adoration, but knowing this is enough.

my soul, my soul must sing

2005-03-02T15:18:00.002-05:00

precious day, crown jewel in eternity
that your dazzling light should cascade
through the lens of my soul
a blessed sublimnity
my treasure immanent

my Joy, whose Spirit inspires air i breathe
whose grace crafts form in radiance
whose charity brushes space with spectrum
and whose power transforms every lofty peak
into a scepter proclaiming your majesty

you are full beauty to me

one me at a time

2005-02-27T05:41:00.003-05:00

"I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something I can do." -Edward Everett Hale

"i am going to make a lasting difference with my life!"

"what idiocy," frail keith scoffs. "who am i to change this world, a planet upon which there is nothing new under the sun?"

faithful keith timidly responds, "with men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."

i know that frail keith will likely have the upper hand again soon. this is my tragic flaw, my achilles' heel: Frailty imprisons Faith and tosses him in a prison of apathy, scorning and taunting, "who do you think you are, to dream of living a life beyond you?" then, licking my wounds in my hypnosis of self-pity and hopeless abandonment, i hear a still, small voice whispering, "beloved Littlefaith, why do you doubt?"

to go beyond myself, to bless a life other than my own, is this such a vain pursuit?

we were created to live for others. we were reborn to look past ourselves; to reach out to those trapped in the realm of the Deceiver, where people die alone on the street, abandoned and despised in a world in which they did not belong. i know a Kingdom in which they do belong, a Kingdom that transforms ragged misfits into children of the King.

i, like little mephibosheth, am a crippled outcast who has been welcomed to the King's table, and i know my King has come to heal the sick, to feed those who are hungry for the Bread of Life and thirsty for Living Water. He has gone into the highways and byways, calling to all so that the table of His wedding feast will be filled. i even have brothers and sisters who have sunk beneath the waves, who were once walking on the water but the wind has frightened them and they have begun to sink.

the only hand most of them need to lift them, to put their eyes back on the Lord, is the hand of someone to pour on them love and encouragement, to let them know that the Master of the wind and the waves does care, and He has saved them.

all men are to know that we are Christ's disciples because we love one another, but so often we are so caught in our own 'individual spiritual life' that we pass by our neighbor - more than that, our own family, who have been beaten and robbed by the Robber and left for dead. when will we realize that he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God, whom he has not seen? this love is the perfect bond of unity, and it is this that demonstrates the love of Christ to a world of counterfeit lovers.

is it too much for little ole keith to do something with this one chance at life he's got? yes, i suppose it is. alone. but i'm not. and maybe, just maybe, my heroic rants about changing the world, about going beyond anything i ever thought i could be and impacting lives for eternity, will help fertilize the ground for this tiny seed of faith that i know has been planted inside me. one day, this mountain of apathy and self-obsessed frailty will be tossed into the sea, and i will live to be all my Savior intended me to be.

faith-full eyes

2005-02-25T17:06:00.002-05:00

faith is a passionate intuition -william wordsworth

as a child i was a master lego-builder. this was back in the day when one could take pride in constructing a lego masterpiece, before all of this "put these three pieces together and you have the entire star wars trilogy." no, sirree, this was manual labour. as the foreman of my building project, i grew very attuned to my materials. i would train my eyes to only see the colour i was looking for, whatever the colour may be. sure, it would still take me a while to find the piece i was looking for, but when it was in my field of vision it would jump out at me because of my expectation of it.

to the pure, all things are pure -titus 1.15.

if you truly desire to see God’s beautiful tapestry being woven in your life, then see it. it is there. we’re not talking about believing in aliens here. the reason we are able to have faith is because, consciously or unconsciously, we have encountered the substantiation of God’s goodness in our lives.

faith is the reality within our soul of what is hoped for. it is the proof of what we cannot see with our eyes (heb 11.1). Jesus often repeated the bizarre saying, “he who has ears, let him hear.” i’m sure he wasn’t talking to multitudes of van goghs or evander hollyfields. they had ears, and those ears were built for hearing what he was saying to them.

human capabilities haven’t changed that much in two millennia. in the same way, we have eyes, and these eyes are created to see where he is working in our lives: today, in this very moment. sometimes i need to stop and ask myself; are my eyes tuned to see the brilliant colours of his tapestry, or are they captivated by the fleeting shadows of this world? seek and you will find (matt 7.7).

it worked with lego, and it works with faith.

crackers and hot chocolate

2005-02-24T23:49:00.002-05:00

my friend darcie told me tonight that sometimes i remind her of a little boy.

at first i was tempted to be offended. after all, i haven’t dedicated myself to goofing off for 23 years only to be mistaken for a little boy. or have i? in a psych class at briercrest we took a survey, and it revealed that i was one of the top two students in my class for highest degree of Positive Cognitive Stimulation. it sounded pretty exciting.

i found out it means that i’m quickly and easily excited by almost anything. particularly shiny objects, i’d imagine. kind of like a cat and a laser pointer. simple things have always entertained me, but even more-so when i was actually a child. there was never a more thrilling moment than when i had just borrowed a new hardy boys book from the sault ste. marie public library and knew that i would secretly stay up most of the night (which for me, then, was probably until 10:00) reading in bed with my flashlight and eating crackers and drinking hot chocolate.

in such a starkly uncomplicated life, i see a side of me i like, a me that is still here but only comes out to play when i'm not preoccupied with stressing out. in those days, i was an adventure-seeker, finding intrigue and heroic potential in everything. the simplest activities took on a mythical flair, and as i read my book i really was an ingenious detective with my friends chet, joe and frank as we saved damsels in distress and stopped cruel jewel thieves from destroying civilization as we know it.

now it seems like more of a compliment than anything when someone says i remind them of a child – i think i’d even like to remind myself more of a child sometimes. children seem to have the upper hand when it comes to recognizing life in all its fullness and potential. in fact, Jesus said that anyone who will not receive the Kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it. i think that means that the Kingdom is pretty exciting business. perhaps even something worth getting out crackers and hot chocolate for.

prince by birth, beggar by trade

2005-02-24T00:12:00.001-05:00

"against you, you only, have i sinned and done what is evil in your sight."

whatever Dave. you knocked up a married girl and had her husband killed. there were more involved than just God.

or were there? I guess, technically speaking, as fallible human beings ourselves, what actual right do we have to judge others for thier fallacies? maybe there is only one Lawgiver and one Judge after all.

i'll never forget a time many years ago, as a young boy, when Emily was struggling with anorexia. as we were going through the gift store, i saw the perfect present for her to show her how much we cared- a mug with a cuddly picture of a bear on it and the words "we love you beary beary much." i was very excited to give it to her. i don't often pick things out for people, so when i do, my whole heart goes into it. we went to her room, and i was nearly bursting my breeches to see her reaction. needless to say, it wasn't what i was hoping for. she said she hated it and didn't want it. it was as though it wasn't the actual mug that she hated, but it was the love behind the mug that she was rejecting. i cried long and hard that day. maybe i would never give a gift again. at that time, she was resentful of my parents for putting her in the Toronto Children's hospital, and she thought that they had picked out the mug for her.

it wasn't long before she was back to her loving self and has been a supportive part of our family ever since, but for a brief moment in time i caught a glimpse of what it was like to be our Father God. he had crafted his most beautiful creation, humanity, and had placed them in a paradise custom-tailored for their happiness. he loved them more than anything he had ever created, and desired to give them the a more extreme, powerful gift than anyone had ever received - the gift of freedom. "if you love something, set it free," the saying goes,and he did just that. this freedom was the ultimate expression of his love. unlike everything else he had created, these people could either come to him, the Father of Lights and giver of every good and perfect gift, or they could turn away from him, to nothingness. they chose not-him. they threw his gift in his face, and decided on death instead of life, rejecting his love - rejecting him.

every time we sin, we may not consciously recognize it, but it is the action of stabbing ourselves in the heart - not because we don't want life, not because we enjoy our own pain, but just to see our Father's reaction as we die in his arms. sin causes us pain... it destroys ys. no one naturally desires to destroy themselves. the only motive is power - power to choose not-God, in the desire to be a god ourselves. deep down, we know it's an impossibility, but in the very fact that we know that God is God and we will never be, there rises up a hatred of his goodness - a goodness that we will never attain to,and a love we will never fulfill. we are prostitutes, running away from our faithful husband for the very reason that we resent his perfect love in the face of our imperfection. there is nothing we enjoy about others' beds. we despise ourselves when we are there. but that's the only way to have autonomy. that's the only way to preserve our pride. that's the only way to avoid accepting grace - the charity we breathe to live.

smallness

2005-02-22T20:27:00.005-05:00

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed.

Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell:

the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

God's Grandeur by Gerard Manly Hopkins

This morning, as great frosted snowflakes filled the air, invading the emptiness of space and filling it with their soft light, I came to realize, yet again, how incredibly human we are in the face of God's beauty. Overtaken by the immanence of creation, every man and woman becomes a child before their Creator. There are no pretensions, no façades left to hide behind in our frail nakedness before the One who sees all.

This is how we were created to be - walking with our God, open and unashamed. Only in divine simplicity do we see ourselves as in a reflection and Him face-to-Face. Crafted to be loved by Him, indwelt by Him, and captivated by His gaze, our separation from the One who sustains all things by His powerful Word has caused an emptiness that can only be filled by Christ. Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in Him, as Augustine says. Even then, in a sin-soaked world, we are left with an intellect that takes emptiness and non-existence for granted. How I long for my home where all is in God and all is His truth, where, as in the purely natural and super-natural realms, contradictions fade away!

Earthbound it can be so difficult to see myself as God sees me. As with the stars at night, it is only when I look away from my own feeble flicker to Him that I can see even the faintest glimmer of His life in myself. Sometimes it takes the smallness of me in light of God's grandeur to help me realize that I'm here at all. Oh Lord, you have searched me and you do know me. Praise be to your Name.

"One thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple" (Ps 27:4)

this is love...

2005-02-21T14:56:00.001-05:00

In Plato's Symposium, the ascent of love of beauty is as follows:

Loving the beauty of one body
Loving the beauty of many bodies
Loving the form (ideal) of beauty found in all bodies.

I have loved the beauty of one girl, and I love the beauty with which God has crafted many girls. Even more than that, I love the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, and the beauty of a woman who fears the Lord. In fact, I find that it's easier to love the form and the ideal of feminine beauty than to find that one girl that I can choose to love for life in spite of our inadequacies. It turns out that I don't just want to love the form of all beauty - I'd rather love and cherish one imperfect earthly example, a girl with whom I can share struggles and triumphs, someone who understands me and who will love me in spite of all my manifestations of ugliness. The problem is not identifying the form of beauty, it is finding the girl with whom I can share my life.

In my case it is not exemplary of the Republic, where the philosopher is forced to descend to the realm of the images in order to lead others to see the form of the good. I desire to be actively involved in the world of the images, in the world of particulars and the senses: it's what I find most difficult to do well. In fact, I don't think one actually knows the Good if he or she can't express this knowledge in daily life. In our example, one cannot know true love of beauty without being able to demonstrate an imperfect love to an imperfect girl; it is the very existence of shortcomings that make this love so beautiful.

In the same way that I often long for that one girl I can love and be loved by without restraint, I often long for the person of Jesus to be here with me - so that I could love my God in human image, who in turn loves me, a human in God's image. It seems easy to love the Lord my God, the One who shines forth, perfect in beauty, as Asaph describes Him (Ps. 50:2), the completion and example of everything that is good and right in this world; the One who gives being to everything in reality (Acts 17:28). Jesus Christ, while through faith we see Him eternally incarnate in history, is presently sitting at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven (Heb 1:3). His flesh, except in the precious symbol of communion, is no longer evident in our daily life.

Would I love the incarnate Son? This one who was despised and rejected by men, like one from whom men hide their faces, one whom was despised and whom we did not esteem? If Jesus Christ was here today, would I be offended (skandalizo) by Him (Mt. 26:33)? So often I long for Him to be here to love me, practically and empirically (although even then I would hate to imagine the radical change His love would demand in my life - Mt. 10:37), but if He were here, would I really love Him?

Whereas there really is no univocal substitute love for a wife (although Catholic priests would claim it in the Church, and many Evangelicals would try to substitute Christ), we do find that God has made it possible for us to show our love for Christ on earth. Not only are we commanded to a spiritual adoration of God through prayer, contemplation, and meditation on Scripture (along with quasi-physical representations such as communion and baptism), but we are given ways to physically, empirically demonstrate our love for Christ.

We are told that the final judgment will be "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me" (Mt 25:40).
"If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?" (1 Jn 3:17).
The second great commandment is to "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Mt 22:38).

God has provided the means by which we can love Him with all of our heart and with all our soul and with all our mind and with all our strength. Do we?

Personally, I find myself sadly lacking in practical love for my Lord. All too often I echo along with Teresa of Avila

"Oh God, I don't love you, I don't even want to love you, but I want to want to love you!"

Would I have the strength to offer rides home to my brothers and sisters after a time of fellowship no matter how tired I was or how late it had gotten to be? Do I have the motivation to help the homeless or minister to the elderly? Do I use my money to glorify God rather than to glorify myself?

In light of the evidence, all I can muster is a frail whisper,

"Dear Jesus, I want to want to love you.

Please give me the strength to do so today."

still goin'

2005-02-20T01:26:00.001-05:00

today, as i was waiting for infamous route 111 to not show up, i saw a car go by. "that's exciting, keith!" you say. "very odd to see a car go by when standing at the roadside." i'm glad you're so enthralled. you'll be even more thrilled to know that this was no spectacular car. it looked like an older honda accord, its faded blue paint and triangular styling giving it a dated appearance.

i suddenly got the impression that this car never stopped. its chugging engine, audible above the other cars on the street, led me to believe that this car was not planning on taking a break until it got a long, long way - until it arrived at its destination, in fact. sure, it probably couldn't do much above 50, and were it to drop below 45 it would probably give up in a huff, but at its temperamental 'happy speed' it could keep on going until everything in it quit or it reached its goal.

quite frankly, i saw myself as this car. often i feel that my engine is getting weary. strange rattling noises come from the frame, and the motor sounds a bit strained and coughs every once in a while. i've been travelling for 23 years now, and sometimes feel that i've never pulled off the road, except to get gas once in a while. i think maybe i should stop at the side of the road and check my oil level. i'd like to test a few things under the hood and give the engine a good listen.

honestly, though, i'm scared to stop. what if it refuses to run when i try to start 'er back up? the best thing would really be to go to the Mechanic. i know He knows cars. He must really enjoy them to work with them all day. the problem is, i know he fixes so many cars, but would He really be able to fix mine? would He really want to fix mine? in theory, He knows what He's doing. in practice, though, sometimes I don't know if He's going to come through. plus, it means spending a good deal of time away from this road - and everything seems so frantically urgent on the highway. it's going to cost quite a bit, too. i'm going to have to give up some things that i have grown to enjoy in order to pay for the tune-up.

may i have the strength to let go of my worries and concerns and turn to Him. may i be willing to pay whatever it costs. may i let go of my pride and selfish ambition and let Him decide what's best. may i be an example to all others on the road, that they, too, might have the strength to hand their keys over to Him.

i think i'm a hedonist

2005-02-18T13:47:00.003-05:00

"Even in laughter the heart may ache, and joy may end in grief" -Proverbs

While we are earth-bound, there is always a white tinge of joy in every dark cloud, but there is also a dark cloud of sadness staining every sunny sky. We all long to be completely and utterly satisfied, filled with an eternal happiness. Epicurus went so far as to say that

"Happiness is man's greatest aim in life."

I think there's a lot of truth to that. After all, even if you think your greatest aim is someone else's happiness, it is still because it makes you happy to see them happy. In fact, I don't think God would have it any other way. Because He loves us, His greatest desir is to see us fulfilled and happy - with or without Him. We try so hard to be happy without Him and without His ways. All sin is seeking our own happiness apart from God.

The problem is not that we're seeking happiness, it's that we're not very good at it.

"Indeed, man wishes to be happy even when he so lives as to make happiness impossible."
-Augustine

What could be a worse hell than having one's greatest aim become an insurmountable impossibility? Aristotle surmised that true happiness could be found in the intellectual virtues and true friendship. John Stewart Mill settled for a system of ethics where each could at least pursue their own idea of happiness. The fact of the matter is, though, that,

"God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing"

-C.S. Lewis

Do not be ashamed to seek pleasure. Only, seek it well.

For us who are in Christ, our greatest pleasure is to be found in loving God and loving others. As for myself, I take these words to heart:

"Be happy, young man, while you are young,

and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth.

Follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see,

but know that for all these things God will bring you to judgment"

-Ecclesiastes

I have chosen to delight myself in the Lord, and I know that He has given me the desire of my heart: Himself.

the eternal now

2005-02-17T13:26:00.004-05:00

waking up this morning i opened my window and suddenly my room brimmed with life. the sun danced on the walls, the song of the birds provided the musical score, and the crisp February air shocked my senses into the realization that i was, in fact, once again face-to-face with consciousness.

it is reminiscent of when i was but a wee lad... springtime on the Island. each day i would leap from my bed, filled with joy at the prospect of setting free tiny rivers to flow without restraint while the world around me brimmed with its Creator's goodness. i would fall in love with a simple blade of grass and there, for a moment, not even Solomon in all his splendor could compare to this magnificent creation.

in jaded hindsight, it all almost sounds absurd. what i wouldn't give some days, though, to become that boy who was me in order to experience life without limits again.

it's not life that has changed. each moment is bursting with a vividness that only God can comprehend, a potency that goes beyond any self-absorbed pathos.

the Greeks sought immortality in their thoughts. in a way they attained it; that is, their names and their thoughts attained immortality. however, they, as individuals, are very dead. Moderns realize the dissatisfaction of an unenjoyable post-life, so they scramble to obtain temporal material possessions... until they lose their possessions and die just like the Greeks. we all seek immortality.

it's only in Christ that eternal now is fulfilled. only Christ destroys the time-eternity barrier and unites materiality and the transcendent. in Him we are called to an unfathomable optimism in each moment of existence - that right here, right now, in more ways than i could ever imagine, in more places than i could ever be, God is orchestrating His perfect symphony. it is by Christ that we are told "whatever you do for the least of these brothers..." and "no one who has left home or wife or brothers or parents or children for the sake of the kingdom of God will fail to receive many times as much in this age and, in the age to come, eternal life." this moment has an eternal significance. not only can we examine each moment in light of eternity, but in each 'now' there is an eternal dimension. possessed by an infinite God, each moment is an eternity - is our eternity.

truly God has made everything beautiful in its time, and has set eternity in the hearts of men (Ecc 3:11). seize today to praise Him that we are able to participate in eternal life through His Son (Jn 3:36). not a single moment of this life that we live is experienced in vain.

deserted haven

2005-02-16T22:50:00.001-05:00

it has been many long weeks since i first stepped foot in this arid desert. my empty water container lies a good three day's journey behind me, without doubt forever lost in the swirling sand. my hair clings matted to my head and my raw skin bears only the salty remains of my last few drops of sweat.

i glance down at what used to be my shirt, now torn in two and tied to these chapped and bleeding feet. i know i can't glance down for too long. if i loose my balance and fall with one of these shuffling, stinted steps i will never rise. my throat is parched and every painful breath echoes its rasping call inside my head, only overshadowed by the whistling winds over the dunes.

no longer do i even attempt to keep my mouth closed from the flying sand. lips protrude permanently, dry and cracked, no longer able to keep the stifling gusts from tearing apart my fragile mouth. out of this brittle skin all i can do is stare forward with lifeless, empty eyes.

dizzied, i stumble. i fall. through the ground i plunge.

gasping for air, with a mighty thrust i am propelled out of these deep, cooling waters and onto a mossy embankment. a peculiarly massive tree, with great sweeping boughs and strongly chiseled bark provides an expansive canopy as i lay panting under its stately protection. strangely invigorated by this placid pool, i nestle within the stout roots of my elderly guardian.

as my breath slows to a more reasonable pace, i catch an intoxicating fragrance in the air, as though spring is out romancing a garden of lilacs. the thick green grass interspersed with mossy embankments and stately stones clothes the forest floor in artistic simplicity. a calming rustle meets my ears as the gentle breeze flows through the jostling leaves above my head.

Here and there, gatherings of vividly-painted flowers poke their heads out from the moss, while laughing larks chase each other through the architecture of the overhanging branches. the pool is larger than i first thought, i muse as i bring a cupped palm-full of liquid refreshment to my mouth. the quiet chuckle of a tumbling water-fall not far off lulls me to sleep as i sink contentedly into my thickly-pillowed nook.

wanted: professional day-dumper

2005-02-16T22:47:00.001-05:00

it's really too bad that there aren't jobs out there for people who are just really good at killing time. and i'm not talking manslaughter here. this is first degree. it would be an ideal position for me, considering i have a general studies b.a. and am getting a bachelor of philosophy. at the end i'll be pretty good at thinking of most stuff, generally.

unfortunately, people don't want you to philosophize about their car troubles. they want a mechanic. in the same way, my coursework right now doesn't want me to sit here and philosophize about doing it, it wants a real bona-fide student to sit down and do it.

Victor Hugo wrote,

"One is not idle because one is absorbed. There is both visible and invisible labor. To contemplate is to toil, to think is to do. The crossed arms work, the clasped hands act. The eyes upturned to Heaven are an act of creation."

John Milton put it this way:

"They also serve who only stand and wait."

Both are beautiful sayings, and there is truth to what each says. Unfortunately, they're both also highly impractical. Thinking is not going to get me a good mark on my midterm. Sometime I'm going to have to put something down on paper. It has also been said that idle hands are the devil's workshop. Even then, in a twisted way, something is reportedly being done. No, I think I'm just a plain old unaccomplisher. Perhaps it's time for me to stop potentializing and start actualizing. Perhaps it's time for me to stop crapping diem and start carpeing it.

metaphysical ink

2005-02-15T19:19:00.006-05:00

is it possible to be a writer without writing? i don't think so. but if it were to be, i'd certainly be one. sometimes i dare to dream of myself as a great writer, one who has changed the flow of history with his great work... novel, prose, poetry... does it really matter? in the realm of metaphysics, it really doesn't. it doesn't change the fact that i have no books in my name.

it doesn't change the fact that i have created a blog but haven't written in it for years now. it is here hypothetically to timidly etch out some of my less-insane-thoughts so that possibly someone, somewhere, can see a side of me that is closer to me (if that were possible) than normally, but a side still removed enough that the reader isn't scared by my transparency and forced to flee into the night at the thought of bearing the burden of someone else's joys and sorrows.

life is a powerful potion, one that can only be taken in small doses due to our distance from its Source. to drink someone else's potion becomes an experience too much for one person. each day has enough worries of its own, as Someone I know once put it. this said, time to do battle with the worries of this day.