IT DEPENDS UPON OUR PERSPECTIVE

Albert Camus:" Poverty prevented me from judging that all was well under the sun and in history; the sun taught me that history was not all." Camus was a philosopher, one of the many I had to study while in college pursuing my major in philosophy. I must admit I hated philosophy at the time perhaps only because the choice of majors was not mine to make. I/we had no choice. But it did teach me to think, I think.

Sometimes we think too much. Sometimes we, philosophers or no, have our heads somewhere else other than in the real world. Sometimes our minds our obsessed with ideas rather than with reality. Philosophers can give great explanations of why things are the way they are but they also often have little idea of how to deal with those very realities. Such led to Camus' observation.

When we are in the midst of a mess, it is very difficult for us to see anything clearly, to see the situation from afar, with a philosophical understanding. When we are up to our ears in alligators, well, you get the picture. Nevertheless, we must try as we might to not lose sight of the larger picture, the view, if you will, from the sun. For the view from the sun, as Camus states, allows us to have another perspective on the mess.

That perspective does not mean that the mess will either go away or that it suddenly does not become a mess. It simply means that the mess is only one part of the picture and not the total picture.

The total picture, the big picture, is what we need to have when we are bogged down by the present, as we often are in this life, life being what it is and of which is so much out of our control. For it is often only the big picture that allows us to realize that "this, too, shall pass, someday." The big picture is simply what gives us hope. Without hope, we die -- even while very much alive.

Yet, it is difficult to be hopeful when all you can see is a present that is filled with pain. It was difficult for Jesus to be hopeful there in the Garden of Gethsemane when his present and near future was full of pain and suffering. His human perspective was clouded by his present fear of the future pain. Yet what allowed Jesus to endure was his view from the sun, his view as the Son.

That same view, that same perspective can be ours as well. That same ability to find hope amidst despair can be ours. That same faith in God who will not abandon us ever is what can lead us through the mess, out from under the cloud to see, really see through the eyes of that faith, what good is in store for those who believe.

But let us not be deceived: it is not easy. The present difficulties can always easily be overwhelming, no matter what those difficulties are. The view from the sun, looking at the present from a different perspective, may not, probably cannot, take away the present pain. It still must be endured. It is our faith in God that sees us through, that gives us that different – and correct – perspective.

HOPE

Liz McAlister (in Year One via Other Side): "Hope never consists in thinking 'things will work out.' Hope finds its substance looking reality in the eye; realism finds its possibility in hope. Without a living hope, we can't stand reality; we lie to ourselves, cover up what is real, arm ourselves with illusions and rationalizations. Hope does not begin to exist except in the harshness of the reality with which we are confronted. Everywhere else we get along quite well without it."

Hope begins and ends in the real world, not in the world of our imagination, not in the world of our dreams, not in fantasy but in fact. Hope starts with what really is: with the bad and the hurtful, with pain and suffering. As McAlister says, when all is going well, or at least relatively smoothly, hope is not part of the picture. We only resort to hope when the picture is quite blurred.

Yet, no matter how blurred, how bad the picture, we must have hope. We must. We must somehow believe/know that what is so bad can, somehow in some way, even in some small way, become better. If there is no hope, we give up or we begin to live in a world of "illusions and rationalizations." We then either convince ourselves that the situation really is not so bad or we come up with some logical explanation why it really is such a mess – and for which we or nobody can do nothing.

Noam Chomsky (in Salt of the Earth): "If you assume that there is no hope, you guarantee that there will be no hope. If [for instance] you assume that there is an instinct for freedom, that there are opportunities to change things, there's a chance you may contribute to making a better world. That's your choice." Once we at least assume that the bad can be made better, that we can help make it better, there's at least a chance it can happen. Otherwise, we can either cash it in or collapse into a fantasy world.

That is easy to do, all too easy. Hope does not live so much in the future as it lives in the present because that is where hope begins. Milan Kundera (in The Art of the Novel): "There would seem to be nothing more obvious, more tangible and palpable, than the present moment. And yet it eludes us completely. All the sadness of life lies in that fact." Maybe not all but much because it is the present, the here-and-now, that we must change if we are to have a hope for the future.

What gives us the ability to hope, of course, is our faith, which "is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen," as the writer of Hebrews (11:1) reminds us. That is not quite the same as saying "things will work out, eventually, if only in eternity." That is true.

What is also true that this working out begins right here with faith as the foundation, hope as the guiding light and the strength of the Holy Spirit to enable us to do our part in this messy, often painful present, in this very real world. It will require work, often hard work, to make our world and our life as it should be and not as it is. Hope spurs us on but we must do our part.

 

 

DEAR GOD

David Heller has complied a wonderful book he titles Dear God: Children's Letters to God. Heller discovered, as did Art Linkletter decades ago, that kids say the darnest things. They really do. And in so saying they catch a glimpse of reality that we adults often miss or have forgotten. Why we miss or forget is not because we are so smart or so wise or even so dumb and so stupid. We miss it because we don't have or won't spend enough time viewing life as it should be and not as it is.

A favorite letter of mine is this one: "Dear God, Esq.: My family, the Sandersons, is pleased to invite your family, the Gods, over for bread and wine (I figured you might like this)....Please respond in writing or on a tablet. Very truly yours, Sheila Sanderson."

Little Sheila must come from a family of lawyers or else she has spent way too much of her young life reading the Old Testament, laws and tablets and all. At least she got to the part about the Last Supper and the bread and wine. Now as for the family, "the Gods," maybe she's on to something. Maybe that's how she understands the Trinity. Never thought about it that way. Did you? It does make some sense when you think about it, though. It certainly is one, good, albeit childish, way to describe the indescribable, the Trinity (the family of God?!)

We adults have a way of making God seem not dear or near or even clear, but distant, deaf and almost dead. We are afraid of a close, personal relationship. We keep God at a distance except when we almost shout at God with prayer upon request upon demand. Sometimes we almost act as if God doesn't care, and what we do or do not do does not really matter in the grand scheme of things anyway. "God? Oh, yes Him. Or is it Her? Ah, well, you know, God is, well God and well...what was that question you asked?"

But for children God is dear, near and very clear, Children believe they can and should sit on God's lap and have a face-to-face, heart-to-heart chat. God can do anything, anything: repair bikes, repair relationships, repair whatever is broken. There is complete trust because there is complete love. Children may expect a lot from God but they do not demand a lot. They know God can do anything and they simply hope that God will do some things near and dear to their hearts – even bring the family over for a loaf of bread and a glass of wine.

Martin Luther, who at times in his life was simply an old curmudgeon, in his Commentary on Galatians says this” "Faith does not require information, knowledge, and certainty, but a free surrender and a joyful bet on His unfelt, untried, and unknown goodness." A faithful surrender and a joyful bet! What a novel thought –and a very provoking one at that, is we dare go there.

Children bet on God. That is their faith. They win. We adults too often bet on ourselves; and all too often we lose. God is dear to children because to them God is good. That is all they need to know. That is all they believe. Would that we would have such faith. Then maybe our life would be what God – and we – want it to be and not what it all too often is.

IT'S ALL LOGICAL

I think I am a logical person, perhaps too logical, too much left-brained. Perhaps I don't allow my emotions to get in the way enough. Perhaps. Perhaps that goes back to my days in college studying philosophy, studying logic and marveling how, when it all makes sense, it's the sensible and right thing to do. Perhaps. In logic, the stronger the argument, the better the case. In logic there is a major premise and a minor premise and logical arguments (read "proofs) for both premises. And then the conclusion, the "therefore...." It all makes sense.

The other day someone sent along the following logical statement. "Marriage is an institution. Marriage is based on love. Love is blind. Marriage is an institution for the blind." It all makes sense. The first three statements are all true. Thus the "therefore" should also be true: Therefore marriage is an institution for the blind. And that is true, humor and all notwithstanding.

I suspect most of us have no problems with the first two statements: marriage is an institution and it is based on love. It's the love-being-blind part that we may have a problem with. But in many ways, true, unconditional love is blind. It is blind to the failings and shortcomings, the humanness of the beloved. If love is conditional, if married love is conditional, there will be problems, sometimes problems so big that the marriage ends.

Going one step beyond, thinking beyond marriage, thinking about the church, is it not correct (logical) to say the same thing about the church, about the gathered Christian community to which we belong? Can we not substitute the word "church" for the word "marriage" and reach the same logical conclusion: "the church is an institution for the blind"?

As a gathered Christian community should we not have the same unconditional love for one another that we have for our spouse, our children, our personal family? Yes, we can say that we have no choice as Christians to unconditionally love our spouse, our children, our family; but the church is different. We don't have to belong to a church, this church. We do so because we choose to do so.

True. But once we do, then does not unconditional love go with the territory, with the choice? Yes, it is true that it is difficult enough sometimes to unconditionally love members of our own family, flesh and blood. Is it not asking too much to extend that family to a church? Is that not beyond our capabilities, logic or no logic?

It is, if we think we have to do it all by ourselves with only sheer will power. Sometimes it takes the grace of God to love my kids unconditionally. Sometimes it takes an even more abundant grace of God to unconditionally love those with whom I worship. But that grace is always offered, is it not? We don't unconditionally love because we can't. We don't because we don't want to. It is not God's problem: that God doesn't give us enough grace. It is ours: we refuse it, for whatever we think is a logical reason.

DRAZEN’S LAW OF RESTITUTION

“The time it takes to rectify a situation is inversely proportional to the time it took to do the damage.” (Murphy’s Law, Book Two) For example: it takes longer to glue a vase together than to break one. It takes longer to lose ten pounds than to gain ten pounds.

It always takes more time to correct the mess than to make the mess. We all know that from experience. We also know from experience that we never seem to learn how to stop getting ourselves into even bigger messes. We know better, no doubt about it. But we don’t do better. Oh, we're more careful next time when we rush through the house. And we really watch what we eat for the next few months.

But then we seem to forget until we're all-of-a-sudden another ten pounds over­weight, or we've knocked over the lamp because we were, once again, too much in a hurry. We seem to have a knack of reminding ourselves of our frailties and failures and usually at the most inopportune moments. I mean, the reason we knocked over that vase is that we really were in a hurry to get to that really important meeting. And we really didn't notice the ten pounds until we were getting dressed for our best friend's wedding and the suit was too tight.

And then it's too late. What we do, then, is berate ourself all through that meeting we were hurrying to because of our clumsiness and thus get little out of the meeting. And we're so uncomfortable throughout the whole wedding event because, not only is the suit too tight, but we're sure everyone else notices just how tight it is on us. It's no wonder we can get inferiority complexes. Would that we could be perfect. Would that we would not just learn from our mistakes but, even better, not make any in the first place. We’re just clumsy, error-prone, mere mortals.

Because of that we’re continually putting Drazen’s Law into practice. We pay for our mistakes and we pay almost immediately, if not immediately, for them. That certainly takes the fun out of life sometimes. The wedding was going to be a ball; but how can you have a great time when you can hardly breath? We were going to strut our stuff at that meeting, but all we did was waddle through because all we could think about was that broken vase, that expensive, antique broken vase.

Well, now, if you’re waiting for an astute solution to avoiding Drazen’s Law, you’ve come to the wrong place. Let’s face it, I, for one, am always making restitution. I can’t recall a vase I broke while hurrying although I’m sure others can. But I can recall putting on and taking off pounds—for almost all my life. I should have learned the first time back in 1958 or 1959.

It’s all part of the penalty we pay for being human, for sin. It’s always easier to commit a sin than to try to undo the damage done. The remission is always more difficult than the commission. All we can do is try to learn from our mistakes and pray for the strength not to make them again. Aside from that, I don’t have any other words of wisdom: just a wish. May 2023 be less of learning and more of loving.

THE “WHY” OF CHRISTMAS

Uncle Remus tells us something to the effect that we don't have to stand directly behind a mule to discover just how powerful its hind legs are. But sometimes we do. Some­times we do have to touch that hot pan not only to discover that we should listen to our elders when they say we shouldn't, but also just to discover exactly what "hot" feels like and means.

Sometimes we have to walk a mile in another's shoes otherwise we will have little or no idea what he is going through. All the books on hunger, all the tales of misery and woe, will never do nearly as much as our being really hungry ourself and not knowing from where our next meal will come. Sometimes experience, deep, personally involved experience, is the only teacher. Sometimes we just have to get kicked by that mule, no matter how painful the experience.

And sometimes I think that that's one of the reasons why there is a Christmas, why Jesus, the Son of God, became man and, as one of the Bible translations has it, "pitched his tent" among us. God really had to see how the rest of us live. There is no way in the world, God being God, that God would know what it is like to be human – someone who is not God, unless God actually became one of us.

To say that God had to become one of us to know what we're going through here on earth, to say that may not be sound theology. But it sure makes sense to me. God as God is not tempted. God doesn't get sick. God doesn't catch cold or have headaches. God’s God. And so it's rather difficult, if not impossible, for God to know what it's like to come home from a hard day at work, head pounding, feet aching, the kids wanting your total attention, husband oblivious to it all, all the while trying to get supper ready—God doesn't know how difficult it is to smile and be living in that situation.

Or at least God didn't until God sent God’s Son to become one of us and find out. Jesus' birth, in a barn no less, immediately gave God a new perspective on life in this world. God's education didn't stop in Bethlehem either. It stopped at Calvary. Now God knows what you and I are talking about when we cry out to him in pain and hurt and sorrow. Jesus went through it all.

There are other reasons why God became human, other sound, theological reasons. But sometimes I don't want theology. I want practicality. And so sometimes it helps me to know, to realize, that God really does know what I am going through in this life – both the joys and the sorrows, the good days and the bad. For God did walk a mile in my – in our – shoes, much more than a mile.

And God was kicked by that mule. God knows. That's why Christmas is so meaningful to me. I know why God became human: to get to know you and me a lot better, to be, if that were possible, an even better God. Christmas is much more than the celebration of the birth of a very special person. It's the celebration of God's saying to us "I know what you're talking about, what you're going through."

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

Some say the Garden of Eden the figment of the fertile imaginations of a biblical writer who was trying to convey a religious truth. Others say that it was an actual place inhabited for a time by the first man and first woman. But does it really matter?

Most biblical scholars look upon the first eleven chapters of Genesis more as parables than actual fact. Most fundamentalists look upon Adam and Eve, the Garden, Cain and Abel, Noah and the Ark, the Tower of Babel as real live people and events. It doesn’t really matter. Want to believe they’re parables? Fine. Just live out what they mean to teach. Want to believe the literal fact? Fine. Just don’t believe. Live out that belief.

That’s what is essential to all biblical truth and teaching: that we live it out. Take the Garden of Eden as an example. What does it teach and what does it mean? Parable or fact aside, the story says something very important to you and me. This is what I think it says, at least in part:

The Garden of Eden, as it is portrayed in Genesis, was paradise, heaven on earth. The inhabitants, call them Adam and Eve, had absolutely everything they could possibly want that would make them happy. Everything. It was all there. We don’t know what was all there; but whatever everything was, it was all there.

In the biblical Garden Adam and Eve had absolutely everything they could ever want to make them happy. But guess what? That “everything” didn't make them happy. They wanted something more. And when the biblical writer says that in their search for happiness they ate of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, he is telling us that that act of disobedience was the beginning of mankind’s discovery of what brings true happiness.

No, disobedience doesn’t bring happiness. What it brought for Adam and Eve was getting booted out of the Garden, woman bearing children in pain and man having to sweat in order to survive. And, believe it or not, that was the best thing that ever happened to mankind. When God closed the gate to the Garden, man and woman finally found happiness, finally discovered paradise.

For they found each other. They found out that happiness/paradise does not consist in having everything one’s heart desires but in having someone to love and care for. That’s what makes work, even with all the sweat and pain that is sometimes involves, worthwhile. We are doing it for someone we love and who loves us and not because it can or will bring them or us things to possess. That’s what makes the pain of childbirth bearable. It is shared by husband and wife. The physical pain is hers. He shares in it because of his love for her.

Yes. the best thing that ever happened to mankind was that our ancestors lost the Garden. For what they found, and what we must find, is that paradise, heaven on earth, consists in loving another and being loved in return. Things, possessions, just won’t do it. They can't. To cry because a loved one is in pain is understandable. To cry over possessions lost or cry because we can’t have something we want is tragic.

The Story of the Garden of Eden – real or parable, your choice – is a good reminder that real happiness is found in people not possessions. God help us if our possessions ever become more important than another person, any person.