contemplations...

Sometimes I feel as if my life is a waste.

I look at my life, and all I see is failure. I see mistakes I’ve made, am making, and mistakes I probably will make. I see where I have fallen without seeing where I’ve picked myself up. I see all the ugliness and wretchedness of what I’ve done and who I’ve been. I see my selfishness, my greed, my indifference. I look at my life and wonder, “How is my presence on this earth a blessing?”

What have I accomplished that is truly worthwhile?
What have I done that has made an impact in our world?
Who have I been to leave behind a cherished legacy?

I want to accomplish something magnificent, but it seems so far out of reach. I want to make an impact in the world, but it seems impossible—making an impact in one person’s life is difficult enough! I want to be remembered as someone special, someone unique… but how different am I from most people in our world?

I wish I were so much different.
I wish I could make a difference.
I wish I could do something to make an impact.
I wish people would know my name and cherish it like gold.
(Is this just my own selfishness? Or my own grasp for meaning?)

I can’t help but looking at the past two years of my life. So much has changed. I’m not who I was before. I feel stuck in a rut, unable to escape. Yet in my heart there is a burning desire to be different. A “difference” not so much in actions or ideas or anything of that nature, but a difference in the core of my being. I want to be remembered as someone who was passionate, sincere, caring, compassionate, loving, tender, kind, yet someone not afraid to speak the truth and unafraid to be himself.

“But who am I?”
Sometimes I wonder if I even know who I am.
I know my quirks, my downfalls, my strengths and weaknesses.
But who am I really, under the skin?
Who am I? Who was I? Who have I become?
Who will I become?

I have an image of myself. It is an image where I am standing behind a pulpit, speaking passionately, so passionate that tears stream down my face. I see people coming from all around to just hear me speak. I see people speaking of my love, my care, my devotion, my warm and welcoming heart. Yet above all, I see a quaint, yellow-painted cottage, with a walk-around porch and a hanging garden. I see a swing on the porch, and on that swing, I sit with my wife, my arm wrapped around her. We drink cold lemonade and watch our children play in the yard, the sun gently setting, its dying light caressing our faces as we smile at one another and kiss.

That is who I want to become. That is who I want to be.

Come to think of it... my life doesn't have to be a waste, after all.

yet another excerpt...

The road continued to wind its way through the hills. The scenery never changed. Bags formed under Lárien’s eyes; she began to nod off, the gentle rocking of her ride drawing her towards sleep. Once she nearly fell off the pony; Eärendur, riding beside her, put his arm out and put her aright. She had smiled, a weak smile laden with weariness. Now he rode beside her, in case she were to fall again. The sun began to slowly set, far to the west, its light dancing over the curving buttresses alight with waving grasses. They passed an abandoned cart full of spoiled fruit. The occasion made them hungry, and they stopped to eat a quick supper before heading out once more. Eärendur planned on stopping once the sun fell. The road wound around a hill and rose up another; along the road were several ivy-draped trees, their gnarled limbs casting silhouettes against the bright orange sun slipping away. The moon began to shimmer above them, stray clouds passing over; a few stars began to shine, the brighter ones first, then the dimmer. Constellations came into view.

Cresting the hill, Eärendur saw the road go down the hill and pass over a small ravine cut through twin hills, a small creek running through it. “We’ll sleep there tonight,” he said.

They tied their ponies to lifeless trees overhanging the bank. Eärendur went through a bag and unrolled several blankets, handing them to Lárien. They laid them out beside the rocks and lied down. Lárien wrapped her arms around Eärendur as he pulled a woolen blanket over them. She kissed his neck sweetly and closed her eyes. Eärendur laid there, staring at the mosaic of twinkling stars above, listening to the gurgling creek.

He had though Lárien had fallen asleep, but then she spoke: “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “My mind was… vacant. I’m tired.”

“Do you know what I was thinking?”

He turned his head, grinned at her transcendent profile. “Please enlighten me.”

“I was thinking, ‘This is nice.’ Laying here. With you. Beside this creek. Under a canopy of stars. We don’t see the stars much at home… I mean, where home used to be. But here… They’re… indescribable. And I was thinking that one day, we’ll have a nice little cottage beside a creek just like this, and we can lay out under the stars together. Every night.” She took up his hand under the covers and squeezed. “Does that sound nice to you?”

He kissed her sweetly on the forehead. “’Nice’? No, not ‘nice.’ Wonderful.”

She squeezed him tight. “I think we’re at the beginning of something good, Eärendur.”

“Me too,” he said, his heart leaping with joy at her words. “Me too.”

emotional exhaustion

I feel exhausted.

Physically, I'm wide awake. Emotionally, I'm exhausted.

I can't tell you why. Not because it's something I'd be embarrassed to share, but, rather, because it is something I don't really understand. My life is going fantastic. I don't have anything to complain about. Yet something sits within me, unsettled. A restlessness gnaws away at my bones. A quiet whisper comes from the dark corners of my mind: You are meant for more.

I don't know what it means.

I am meant for more? If only I knew what that voice meant!

I told Courtney on the phone today, "I have no idea where my life is going. I have no idea what I want to do with my life." It used to all be so clear. I was going to go to college. I was going to fall in love. I was going to get married. I was going to be a youth minister at a small church. I had my whole life planned out in front of me.

This illusory idea that I control my own fate fell to pieces this year. Being suicidal for four months straight, wishing for nothing but death and being tempted at times to just slit my wrists and be done with it, all of this forced me to reconsider life, to reconsider faith, to reconsider my perspectives. I went through what sociologists call "cognitive dissonance": the way I perceived reality was not the reality I experienced. This forced me to re:examine every aspect of my life. I drowned in confusion and hopelessness. The great burden on my heart seemed, quite frankly, unbearable at times. I would weep as I drove around Cincinnati, crying out for God to just take my life. Everything in my world was falling apart—my friendships, my faith, even my own sanity—and I had nothing to hold onto. I wished for a shoulder to cry on, but I feared anyone or anything that offered a shoulder. I became cynical and skeptical. As one of my favorite songs goes, "I'm tired, cynical and broken, but wiser; heavy with a sense of resentment. But I used to be so much different: I used to have so much faith, I knew I could make a difference." I echoed their refrain in yet another song: "If you ever feel loved or needed, remember that you're one of the lucky ones. And if it's over, just remember what I told you: it was bound to happen, so just keep moving on, there's no perfect endings." I have been accused by many of having my head in the clouds; yet a deep sense of realism lives within my bones, and I find that I often force my head into the clouds as an escape hatch from the reality of the world we live in. A world where there are no perfect endings—at least not for boys like me. One of their lyrics became my motto: "It never ends, it never ends, it never ends. Big shot, screaming, put your hands in the sky. Give it up, Boy, give it up, or you're gonna die. You'll get a bullet in the back of the neck, in the back of the neck, right between the eyes." Why keep striving? Why keep thriving? Why keep moving forward, stumbling through the wasteland of the life that has been dealt to me? It seems anytime I reach, anytime I attempt to fly, anytime I even dream, my world crashes down, reality spits in my face, and I am left more broken and bloodied than before. The cycle of failure, let-down, and despair continues to spiral, to spiral out-of-control, its descent growing faster and faster with each feeble attempt to seize a life worth living.

I would like to think that that stage of my life is but yet a memory. The hopelessness and despair have vanished, but my outlook and perspective has drastically changed. I no longer feel like I can make a difference. I no longer feel like I have a future. I no longer feel that there is anymore for me than what I can taste, touch, and feel. Perhaps this is an overstatement, and I'm sure it is. My faith in God bent, but it did not break, and though it has returned in a slightly different, more stoic form, it is still present. My friendships are returning, though some of the beauty has been lost. The utter depression has abandoned me, but in its wake it has left a deep hole that needs to be filled. It poisoned my heart and chewed away at it, and though it is gone, its damage remains unhealed. I am afraid to dream. I am afraid to hope. I am afraid to "reach for the stars," so to speak, for I fear that such an endeavor will only be met with great failure and loss—driving me ever-deeper into the confusion that is my life.

"What is it that I want out of life?" It is simple. I want to love and be loved. I want to love a woman with all my heart, a woman who loves me. I want to love my kids and give them the world. This is what I want. This is it. This is all. I am so easy to please. Yet tell me why the simplest dreams seem to be the most intangible? Tell me why they seem so hard to grasp? Why does it feel like holding onto such a dream is akin to clutching onto a barbed wire fence: the harder I squeeze, the firmer I hold on, the more it hurts, the more blood and tears I spill. I had a dream. I tasted that dream. And then it was ripped from my fingers. "And a voice inside my head just repeated: 'This is not the way we were told that it was going to be.'" I do not wish to go back to that dream. No, I have found another dream—a dream that I hope will, one day, become a reality. Yet terror grips me. I am frightened to hope. Frightened to dream. My instincts shout, "Run! Run, or you'll only be hurt!" To love and be loved… So simple yet so elusive.

Yet the whisper still calls me: You are meant for more.

I am haunted by a dream. In this dream, I am sitting in a tear-stained sofa mutilated with coffee stains and cigarette burns. A burning Marlboro 27 sits between the fingers in one hand, smoldering, and in the other is a bottle of whiskey. I smoke and drink, for that's all I have left. My dreams are gone. They've abandoned me. They've slipped through my fingers. Maybe I wasn't good enough, wise enough, cute enough. Maybe I wasn't the man I should have been. Or maybe life just never dealt me a good hand. Who knows? The route doesn't matter; it's the destination that I see. An alcoholic drowning his miseries away, only compounding the depression, but having no motivation to clean up his life because "What's the point? It'll all just be shot to hell. Somehow. It always ends up breaking on the rocks."

And when I awake, my heart churns and the voice whispers: You are meant for more.

I sat out on the front porch, staring at the moon. It hung like a dying ember, and it looked so beautiful. Yet I know that it is nothing more than a rocky wasteland strewn with craters. Desolate of life. Dreams can look so beautiful, yet beneath the veil of hope lies another wasteland void of life.

You are meant for more.

Cynicism runs through my veins. Skepticism has become my second-nature. "Don't dream, Anthony. Don't hope. Just embrace life. Become a full-blown stoic. Hell, what do you have to lose? Every time you've dreamed, you've been broken. Every time you've hoped, you've been let down. Every time you've reached for the stars, you've been mocked and shot down. Every time you've dared to move forward, fate has delivered a kick to your face and left you sprawled on the ground, spitting blood and broken teeth. Isn't it obvious? You are not meant for anything. You're a defective human being. You want to make a difference? Too bad, because you can't. You want to love and be loved? Too bad, because you're not lovable—and every time you love someone, you somehow screw it up. And even when you don't screw it up, they screw you over. I don't understand why you keep daring to believe that you're meant for more."

Neither do I. Yet I cannot forsake the voice that whispers to me in the quiet: You are meant for more. SO MUCH MORE. What is this Voice speaking of? I hold my breath, close my eyes, imagine. What if God isn't done with me yet? What if there is more for me. What if He has magnificent, amazing, unbelievable plans for me? A certain aura has followed me my entire life—those who have come to intimately know me sense a spark of greatness within me, a spark that they do not see in others. There is something me. Something enduring. Something that will not give up so easily.

I want to make a difference.
I can make a difference.
I will make a difference.

But I don't know how.

my week...

Ah... A good day. Courtney was supposed to call me last night, but never did. When she didn't answer my phone calls or text messages all day today, I began to worry. I hoped and prayed she had not gotten in a car wreck or something of that nature. She finally called around 11:00 at night; she had left her phone at a friend's house and had been unable to receive my calls or texts. She sent me an AIM message last night, but for some reason I didn't get it. Well, all is well--and for that I am grateful.

Dad and I are going camping tomorrow night. I'm really looking forward to it. Spending time with Dad, getting back out into nature, and then going to the Creation Science Museum in Kentucky will be a blast. I am sure most people who have read this over the years know that when it comes to the big evolution/creation debate, I say, "Why does it matter? God did it!" Personally I think evolution is a better candidate for the mode of God's creation (though it is not flawless); and I believe this for two primary reasons:

After researching heavily both sides of the debate (and being, at one time, a very solid believer in young-earth creationism), I have come to my own, personal, and most likely wrong conclusion (for I am no scientist) that science supports evolution more-so than young-earth creationism. Obviously I hold to a "theistic evolution" viewpoint.

Second, I believe (after an intense study of the biblical accounts of creation) that the scriptures do not tell us how God did it. As I told Courtney today on the phone, the earliest commentators on the Torah did not hold to a literal approach to the Genesis narratives on creation. Genesis is an ancient document with ancient writing styles, and the writing style employed by the Hebrews in writing and composing the Genesis narratives of creation is written figuratively as a polemic against Babylonian gods. Thus when we interpret it literally, we are reading the text from a Greek mindset (because of Hellenism and the "advances" of the Enlightenment) rather than from a Hebrew mindset, as we should.

In other news, I got to hang out with Chris, Matt, and Nathan at Starbucks late tonight. Good fun. Chris and I plan on hanging out throughout the week. Courtney is coming up this weekend; I'm extremely excited. It's sad that I will not see her for two months while I'm away at camp.

interpreting the pauline texts

Reading the Pauline Epistles may seem to be nothing difficult, yet when one investigates the nature of the epistles and the world in which they were written, interpretation can become something quite hard. Oftentimes we let our own set of norms, assumptions, and expectations (in short, our own “cultural codes”) influence our reading of these ancient texts. Our 21^st-Century, modern or postmodern, Western civilization affects how we read these texts, and we often read material into the text that seems obvious to us but to Paul and to the original audience, what seems so obvious to us isn’t really there at all! Thus when reading and interpreting these ancient texts, we must stick to five hermeneutical principles in interpretation.

First, we must be conscious of the rhetorical situation. The rhetorical definition can be defined, “The complex of events in which one attempting to persuade receives a perceived reality [often a problem] and the one attempting to persuade believes he or she can resolve the perceived reality by inserting a written text into the complex.” Thus a discourse (in our case, the Pauline Epistles) is given to persuade a certain action in regards to a specific situation. When reading these ancient letters, we must ask ourselves, “What is the rhetorical situation? How does Paul attempt to resolve the situation?” The letters we have from Paul are intimately connected to the rhetorical situation, and many letters that we have are only snapshots of a conversation taking place between letter exchanges. So, in a sense, we are “eavesdropping” on Paul’s conversations with churches in the ancient Mediterranean world. The challenge is figuring out the rhetorical situation—the “story behind the letter,” so to speak—so we can interpret the text correctly. A common error in the church is the belief that the New Testament letters are sterile and dormant to us, a collection of doctrinal statements; Paul is often viewed as a theologian, not a missionary meeting social realities of his time within his evolving theology.

The second principle is the acknowledgement that letters are one-sided. Ancient letters are part of an ongoing conversation or story, and the letter-writer assumes that the reader is inside the conversation or story. In order to accurately read and interpret the letters of Paul, one must reconstruct the conversation to the best of his or her ability. As Paul writes his letters to people involved in rhetorical situations, so he does not think—we can assume—that his letters, as a whole, will be read by people outside the rhetorical situation. Thus we, in our modern, Western world, must try to figure out the story in which Paul writes, a story from which we are far disconnected. It looks like this: Paul’s epistles are rooted in the rhetorical situation and are addressed to people in this rhetorical situation; we, however, are greatly disconnected from the situation completely. All we have is an ancient text which we must use to try and piece together the story. This involves trying to figure out the conversation in which Paul is writing his letters.

The third principle is the ancient context. In order to accurately read and interpret the epistles, they must be read in their historical, cultural, and religious context. These are ancient documents and it is not easy to interpret them. Much of Paul’s writings in the New Testament use language, metaphors, similes, and allegories familiar to the people to whom Paul is writing but foreign to us. What the original readers would understand easily comes difficultly for us. An example of this is Rom 5.7, where Paul states: “For a righteous man, no one will die. But for a good person, one might die.” We perceive the righteous man to be better than the good man, so this verse becomes confusing. However, in the ancient Roman world, this made perfect sense: the righteous are those straining to be good, and those who are good are those who have met the goal of righteousness. Another example comes from earlier in the text (and throughout the Pauline epistles): the use of the word “ungodly.” We perceive the “ungodly” to be those who perform heinous actions. The “ungodly,” in the ancient context, are marked not by their actions but by their religious affiliation: the Jews perceived the “ungodly” as those who did not worship YHWH, the Christians perceived the “ungodly” as those who did not worship Christ, and the Romans perceived the “ungodly” as those who worshipped no god. In keeping with this principle, we must keep in mind the “cultural code” in which the letters were written: the norms of the culture, the assumptions of the culture, the expectations of the culture, and the values of the culture must all be taken into account.

The third principle involved the function of the letters. In the ancient Roman world, letters served a certain function. The question that needs to be asked when reading the Pauline epistles is, “What does this letter do?” rather than “What does this letter mean?” Function is an often-ignored aspect of ancient letter-writing. Letter-writers would try to make their letters sublime, transcendent, try to use them to deliver an emotional experience, and so in turn change how one thinks or acts. This is a letter’s primary function: “What influence or result does it have upon those to whom it is addressed?” The power of the words of these ancient letters is found in how it affects the readers. Paul writes his letters to affect his readers in certain ways. In the ancient world, the power of words is in their performance, not their eloquence (though eloquence is appreciated). A letter of great eloquence that persuades no one to action is held in lower regard to a letter of enormous over-simplicity that moves a person to action; function is key. The greatness of words, then, is seen in how they affect those whom they come into contact with. As we interpret Paul, we need to try and figure out what affect Paul is assuming he is making on his readers, and we need to interpret his literature in that light. Two questions need to be asked: “What affect does the author want his or her text to have on people?” and “How does this affect change one’s behavior?” Galatians is an example of function in the Pauline epistles. Galatians, written in a certain rhetorical context, serves the function of achieving certain goals Paul has decided upon; these certain goals fit into the bigger goal of getting the Christians in Galatia back on track in their faith. Everything that is in Galatians is written to achieve this goal. When we see Paul’s anger in Gal 5.12, perhaps we should ask, “Does he hope his anger will reveal his true disposition and open the Christians’ eyes to the true colors of the problem? Does he hope his anger will frighten them into submission?” When searching for theology in Pauline texts, function plays a role: theology formed from the Pauline letters must be built off the answer to the question, “What purpose is the writer trying to achieve?” rather than “What does this letter mean?” The significant meaning behind letters was not a priority in letter-writing until the Enlightenment; thus, reading the New Testament (which was written ages before the Enlightenment) requires a different mode of interpretation.

The fifth principle is text & theology. The ultimate goal in reading the Pauline texts is the discovery of theology. We use text (written conversation, laden with content and context) to discover theology (one’s understanding of divinity). Theology happens when communities dialogue with the Bible, thus unveiling God. As people dialogue together about the Bible, a theology (whether it is right or even consensual) evolves. Theology evolves as we wrestle with the Bible in our human circumstances; an Ethiopian peasant, a New York C.E.O., and a Midwestern preacher will come to different theologies because of the vast differences between them. Theology is a varied product that oftentimes comes to us processed and manufactured. There are two theological castes (“contextualized theology,” or “What the Bible Says in its Original Culture”; and “dynamic theology”, or “What the Bible Says to us in our Present Culture”). One must first begin with contextualized theology, and then move on to dynamic theology. Classic theologies include biblical theology (dealing with the text in its original setting), systematic theology (taking the results of biblical theology and creating categories of thoughts), and dogmatic theology (taking the results of systematic theology to arrive at a set of doctrines; “This is what the Bible says about _____. Period.”).

i hate insomnia

So here I am again. Sleepless.

I've been awake since 1:30 P.M. yesterday. I tried to go to sleep, laid in bed for a couple hours, but to no avail.

A million thoughts run through my head:
Questions.
Concerns.
Mysteries.
Confusion.

I think I'll take a hot shower. And try this whole "sleep" thing again.

*sigh* Good night (or good day).

we are not moving ahead...

I. Am. Always. Watching.

Today has been a very... blah/eh... day. I woke up at 1:30 P.M., craving a Diet Coke. Diet Pepsi was the best I could find, a large for a dollar at Marketplace Express (they're open 24 hours, so it's my favorite joint here in town). I watched The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring and worked on my fantasy story a little more. It's shaping up quite nice. I finished Chapter One at 69 pages. I have four more chapters to go for the first installment of my series! I have not worked on my Life of David book lately, perhaps I should re:start that? I am leaving for Joseph Badger Meadows on the 4th (that's next Monday, I believe). It's in Burghill Ohio, right on the border of Pennsylvania. A good five hour drive. How fun that will be [note: sarcasm]. Courtney is coming up next weekend; it will be the last time I get to see her before August [weeping]. I hope to post pictures of my days at camp on here periodically; it is determined on whether or not we have internet there. I'm pretty sure we do, if I remember right.

I feel at a standstill in my life. I am pondering which direction to go in nearly avenue imaginable. The words of Straylight Run shake through me:

I don't want this anymore.
Don't wanna be stuck here.
We are not moving ahead.

weird nature

This makes my sphincter wince.



This turtle makes me laugh.



The baby panda is so cute!

Cox Arboretum

Yesterday afternoon I decided to go to Cox Arboretum and take several pictures. A quiet breeze came in from the East, the sun sparkled behind whispering clouds, and the earth itself seemed to be energized with life. In that moment, walking down the stone pathways, listening to the gurgling streams, prancing through the meadows with my camera in hand, I felt the presence of God. It was a beautiful experience, something I haven't felt in a long time. Peace. Joy. Tranquility. All of this washed over me. And to top it off, the pictures were fantastic! Here are three I really like:

i'm so tired i cannot sleep

I find it slightly ironic that the moment I began to write this post, Kurt Cobain's "Pennyroyal Tea" came on through my media player with the lyrics, "I'm so tired, I cannot sleep..." That's pretty much where I am right now. I am not blaming it on insomnia; no, I think it has more to do with me sleeping for twelve hours straight yesterday, then, a few hours later, taking a three-hour nap from 5:00 to 8:00. So it only feels like I've only been up for ten hours (blended with the slight, acrid taste of exhaustion in my mouth).

I've spent this time of solitude well, as everyone in the house is sleeping for work or school and thus there are no distractions. I had two major works I planned on publishing, so I finally did it! I have published my "Old Testament Prophecy" notes and my first novel, "Starseed," which I wrote when I was a freshman in high school (five years ago! holy cow!). It's amazing for me to see how much my writing has excelled in those five years. You can download them for free or buy them in paperback (along with my other works, which can be viewed through links on the right side bar) here.

I think I'm going to go get some snapshots of the sunrise. I was thinking yesterday, "I want to get some sunrise pictures for my photo album, but I'll never wake up early enough." Now all I need to do is go out on the deck. Good day to all of you.

another mundane monday

I've had a headache all day. Maybe it's from having so much fun yesterday? I drove down to Colerain to visit Courtney. When I walked in her front door, we looked at one another awkwardly for a few moments, then embraced in a hug. I missed her so much and didn't ever want to let go! We went out to eat a Chinese buffet, grabbed coffee at Starbucks, and walked around Newport across the river. We went to "the beach", but it was dried up since the river is really low. We laid out on a blanket for a while and watched (ironically) The Break-Up. It was hilarious. I didn't want to leave, but my eyes were getting heavy and I knew I needed to get home. We held one another for a little while, outside by the Prism, then I forced myself to leave. All I could think about as I drove back home was her--how much I already missed her. And I still miss her. I can't wait to see her again.

I have one more epistle of Paul's Pastoral Letters to study. Titus was good, 1 Timothy even better. Titus and 1 Timothy deal with basically the same things and should be read together. 2 Timothy deals with different issues and was probably written around A.D. 67, being Paul's final letter that we know of before his martyrdom under the Roman powers. I hope to have my study of 2 Timothy done by tomorrow night. On Wednesday I am visiting Nate and *maybe* Courtney. She is coming up for two days in two weeks, which I'm really excited about. It will be my last time to see her before camp starts (I leave for camp on the 4th; the Niagara Falls trip was canceled).

It's been good being around my family more, but I miss my friends at college. *sigh*

I had this weird dream when I took a nap this afternoon. In the dream, Courtney was the ring-bearer of the One Ring, being chased by orcs in the land of Mordor. Amanda told me about a weird dream she had: she dreamt she was a Union soldier who dressed up as the Confederates and, alongside her compatriot Keira Knightly, assassinated the Confederate general, who was dealing a bad hand of atrocities against the general public.

interesting

Christina Ricci vs. Courtney

As we lied out on the blanket outside her home, I told Courtney, "Have you ever seen the movie 'Casper'?"

"I know," she said. "I look like Christina Ricci. Everyone tells me that."

"You know... When I first saw 'Casper,' I had a crush on Kat."

How ironic.

this is my life...

I spent some good time old friends yesterday. I hung out with Chris and Lee in the early afternoon, watched "300" with Dylan and Tyler in the evening, then Anna came over and we grilled chicken and made macaroni and cheese before hitting up Starbucks. Good times. Sometimes it's sad to be home, away from friends; but at other times, it feels like I am stepping back in time, to the days before I ran off to college. Those were good days. These are good days, too... but in a different way. As I told my friend Patrick a month ago as we sat out on the deck smoking cigarettes, "Life was good back in those high school days. And it's good now. But it's a different kind of 'good.' We're all walking different paths, branching out. Lee's in school for meteorology, you're going to U.C. next year, Amanda is going to Anderson University, Ashlie is hitting up Wright State, Anna is at Purdue, and Chris is training to be a fireman. These are good days, but I do miss those times when we would grill hot dogs over the fire, have sword fights in my room, and run streaking through the backyard."

We've been going through the anonymous letter to the Hebrews at 413 Student Ministries, but Larry decided to switch things up to a topical teaching. Each week the students will be going through a different topic, and throughout the week they will have different ways to explore and experience the topic. This week's topic is "Prayer." Tomorrow we will be examining Philippians 4.6-7 I believe, and we will be discussing the "art" of prayer. Sunday night (Identity) will be an experiential exploration of prayer. The small groups will be on the Lord's Prayer and the benefits of prayer. And to wrap it up, on Saturday they'll be watching "Bruce Almighty" and then talk about how prayer was presented in the movie. I'm thinking it will be good for the students, most of whom do not have a grasp on what Christian belief and practice is all about.

After teaching on Philippians 4.6-7 tomorrow, I am going down to Colerain to visit Courtney. I haven't seen her in so long! I'm extremely excited. We might watch a chic flick together then go to Newport to sip some iced coffees on "the beach" (the strip of sand along the Kentucky shore of the Ohio River where helicopters seldom land). On Monday my bank account is opened, Wednesday I visit Nate, and next Tuesday I head to camp early (Kyle and I are going to Niagara Falls with Sarah and Britney).

I should be going to bed soon.

By the way, the "300" soundtrack is spectacular. Tyler Bates is the next John Williams.

contemporary false teachings

I've been studying the letter of 1 Timothy. I believe that knowing the background of the letters is vital to interpreting them correctly. In this case, a false teaching began spreading through the Aegean churches. This false teaching seems to have had its roots in the teachings of the Judaizers seen in Galatians and Philippians, though this teaching had advanced to a proto-Gnostic stage. These false teachers originated as Judaizers, preaching adherence to Mosaic Law and faith in Christ as equally necessary for salvation. They went a step further, embracing an ascetic ritualism with a zeal for visions of angels, and they had proto-Gnosticizing tendencies in promoting an experience of (a distorted) divine wisdom and knowledge. They also depreciated the physical world and reconsidered the physical resurrection and redemption of not only Christ but also the future resurrection of Christians. They not only denied Christ's resurrection, but they went so far as to deny even his physical incarnation and death. While they had abandoned their teaching on the need for circumcision among Christians, they now forbade marriage, promoted certain food laws, and claimed to impart a special kind of divine knowledge, whose source was, in actuality, demonic. Their vaunted asceticism often produced an arrogance prime for sexual recklessness. One of their heavy interests was in genealogies, the precise meaning of which we can't determine from the text.

This teaching was so saturating the churches that even some of Paul's former co-workers, as well as congregational leaders, were buying into it. Paul found himself faced with a dilemma: his usual method of sending out congregational letters (i.e. the Corinthian letters, the letter to Rome, the letter to the Ephesian church, etc.) would no longer work, because many of the leaders within the congregations were corrupt and would not heed his warning. Probably after much strategizing, he came up with a plan. He visited several of these churches, and he also sent out extremely personal letters to those within the churches whom he knew he could trust to deliver the message (including Timothy and Titus). The letter we have as "1 Timothy" is one such letter that Paul wrote. It is in the light of this false teaching that we must interpret 1 Timothy; i.e., all of Paul's words on the order of things within the church need to be examined under the light of the threat of this false teaching. Why is Paul promoting such an organized, hierarchical approach to church life? Because he knows that when operating correctly, it will serve as a steady defense against the false teaching.

As I've studied this, a question has come to my mind: "What false teachings are prevalent in the church today?" Off of the top of my head I came up with two that I have encountered in the church and even dealt with in my own life. The first is what we call the "health and wealth" gospel; the premise behind this teaching is that when we become Christians, our lives became easy, peachy, and we are showered with all kinds of spiritual gifts. All our dreams come true, the tears are wiped from our eyes, we get new cars and new houses and speedy promotions. This flies in the face of the gospel of serving others, sacrificing oneself, and bearing one's cross. Another false teaching is more prevalent. It is the teaching that one must do good deeds to enter the kingdom of God. It is when our hearts turn to God that we experience salvation (this is faith and repentance); everything we "do" is reflective of our repentance and of our identity in Christ. None of it merits our ownership in God's kingdom. This false view has led many to guilt and shame because of their own humanity, and it has led others to burning themselves out in the pursuit of doing as much good so that they find favor in God's eyes. The truth is, how good (or bad) we "live" the Christian life has no bearing upon our salvation. Salvation is a heart-based issue, not an actions-based one. These are just two such false teachings, and I know there are more. We must stand against this false teaching, as Paul exhorts to the young Timothy: "Watch your life and your doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both you and your hearers." (1 Tim 4.16)

thou art my dreaded druid princess...

I slept till 1:00 this afternoon, savoring every moment of it. My insomnia hasn't been striking me much this week, and for that I am grateful. I watched an Eddie Murphy movie, showered and shaved, then greeted Amanda as she returned home from school. My mom's Great Aunt passed away this week, and she left this morning for the funeral which is tomorrow. I have been craving an iced caramel macchiato from Starbucks for the past few days, and I am considering heading that direction sometime this afternoon. I called Courtney around 6:00, and I began telling her about an ancient school of philosophy that I was considering implementing in my own life (Epicureanism), but she fell asleep while I was talking! I hit a few buttons and woke her up. She apologized, I said it was okay, and then I left her to sleep. Bored, I photo-shopped a picture and posted it on Courtney's Myspace with the caption: "Thou art my dreaded druid princess!" I'm not great at photo-shop, but I still think it's funny:

I've been working on my fantasy story and have about sixty pages written so far. I have so many ideas, and I'm fearful of drawing the story out in points. However, I am reminded of Tolkien's one regret in his final product of "The Lord of the Rings": "It's too short." There is one section where I am skeptical of the "goodness" of my writing, so I am going to add a scene or two to make it more interesting. I have a post on difficulties in interpreting the letters of the New Testament (in particular, the Pauline Epistles) that I hope to throw up tomorrow. I have two more sections on my survey of salvation to put up (the first sections ["What is Salvation?", "Why is Salvation Conditional?", "Faith", "Repentance", "Confession", and "Baptism"] are scattered throughout the posts over the past few months). I have written a "Survey on Sin" that I might throw up as well.

I received a letter from J.B.M. (the camp where I'm working this summer); they sent me the curriculum and are asking me to explore it and recommend revisions. How privileged :).

Here is the prologue to the story I am writing:

He stood poised above the bed, the figures sleeping soundly, the awful blade held taught in his fingers. Sweat dripped down his brow, stinging his eyes; veins bulged from his neck, and bloodshot eyes stained with the last trickles of desperate tears hung deep in the hollows of his skull. Every breath shook his frail, battered form, his soul broken and bloodied by a million voices screaming murder, murder, murder, MURDER. His own hands quivered with each beat of his poisoned heart, and venom of the darkest ages seeped like foam from his gaping mouth. He panted despite the cool breeze coming in from the open window, a breeze beckoning a coming storm. Lightning danced through the window, sparkling fields ripe with harvest opposite the sleeping city walls. Murder, murder, murder… The voices refused to leave him, forming a prison in his own mind. His head pulsated with their tantalizing yet ferocious whispers. Kill them. Kill them. You must KILL THEM!

He moaned, fighting off their demands: “No… Please, no…”

Kill them.

“I can’t…” His voice barely rose against the sighs of the midnight breeze. He saw them sleeping, lost in their dreams: a man of great caliber, a warrior whose reputation reached to the heavens, and his beautiful mistress, a woman whose beauty made young woman cringe at their own forms in the mirror. These were the icons of a great civilization, the patrons of a kingdom… and he loved them dearly.

Kill them.

He could hear his gentle laughter, his caring touch… And he could remember standing beside him in the most grueling hours, as they fought alongside one another, stinking of warm blood and arms tired from swinging their massive swords. He saw her tender eyes, heard the way her voice sang with each word. He could feel their young sons tugging at his tunic, begging for him to play with them in the courtyard. He remembered standing beside the sleeping man on the day of his wedding, tears in his eyes from the overwhelming joy. He loved them dearly.

Kill them.

Tears crawled down his face. Lightning flashed, the white-hot light dancing over the steel hilt of the dagger.

Kill them.

“I can’t…” he muttered, sobs forming in the back of his throat.

You belong to Me. Kill them. Kill them both.

“No… No, I can’t…”

Do it. Now!

A scream riddled with sobs broke forth: “NO!”

The shout awakened the man, who broke forth from his slumber. He leaned forward in the bed, saw the figure with the knife looming over him. His eyes bulged in shock. “Brother?!”

The figure wrenched the blade down, driving it through his brother’s throat. Blood sprayed upwards, splashing over his countenance, tickling warm as it slid down the crevices of his face. His brother fell back on the bed, the knife being drawn from his throat: blood gurgled forth, staining the pillow. He groped at the wound. The assailant wept horrendous tears, his entire body convulsing in despair and grief.

The woman had awakened, and being silent in shock, now she screamed, lunging over her husband’s figure. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to stop the bleeding, the blood covering her hands. She looked up at her brother just as the dagger fell upon her face.

Her screams echoed throughout the dark corridors of the palace.

my new car!

After about nine months, I finally have a new car. When I received my first car, my biggest concern was how cool I would look when driving it around. My new concern is gas mileage, how many miles it has on it, and whether or not it's in good condition and can last me a while if I drive it carefully. My beautiful new car--a Geo Prism--is great in all those areas. Granted, the Geo Prism isn't the most coveted car on the market. As Professor Weatherly, our gospels professor, told us one day, "I can show you right now that the kingdom of God is not about all kinds of material blessings being poured on top of us in this life: just go look at the car I drive, a Geo Prism!" But I am extremely happy--and thankful. Thankful that my parents were kind and gracious enough to purchase me a new car.

Mom, Ams and I went to Verizon Wireless and purchased our new phones since we've had ours for two years now. This is, actually, my fifth phone. I have a terrible tendency to flip my phone in my hands (my hands must always be doing something or I feel... strange?), and many times the phone fell to its doom. Granted, it could take dozens and dozens of falls before anything seriously happened, and usually it was a small problem here, a small problem there, but eventually the phone would commit suicide and I'd be phone-less. One of the head chiefs at Verizon was able to fix my phone countless times without charging me anything. When we received our new phones today, he encouraged me to buy a special durable phone holder that he usually sells to construction workers, firemen, and policemen. Mom purchased it for me. Thus I've made out quite well.

Camp starts in two weeks, and I'll be gone most of the summer. I'm really looking forward to it. Life has been boring lately. I've spent my days watching television and studying Paul (only the latter makes my day feel worthwhile). It'll be good to be amidst friends, leading young adults, and making two hundred dollars a week having fun. I hope to visit Courtney on Sunday, and Nate and I plan on hanging out come Wednesday. I may even go down to Kentucky to visit Brian (I've been promising to visit him for some time now, and I want to make good on my promise before camp starts); I haven't been down there since Julie and I were dating. Wow... So much has happened since then, it's unbelievable. I can still remember my days with Sonja like they were yesterday, and my time with Julie is seared into my mind from the great depression I went through after the breakup.

Here is a quote from Brennan Manning in "The Ragamuffin Gospel":

Sheer scholarship alone cannot reveal to us the gospel of grace. We must never allow the authority of books, institutions, or leaders to replace the authority of knowing Jesus Christ personally and directly. When the religious views of others interpose between us and the primary experience of Jesus as the Christ, we become unconvicted and unpersuasive travel agents handing out brochures to places we've never visited. (44)

an ever-so-brief pauline theology

In trying to “dig out” a Pauline theology, one is faced with a certain difficulty: Paul is not a theologian! He wrote no doctrinal treatises or theological statements. He did not write out a “plan of salvation” or give a discourse on the Trinity. Rather, he was a theologizer. His title was not that of a theologian—evoking images of a gray-haired man with a pointy,, ashen beard, wearing Civil War uniforms and studying dusty books in a stuffy office—but, rather, his identity was that of a missionary. He was a community-builder, one who took the gospel message of the once-crucified and now-risen Messiah into Asia Minor and beyond, and he helped establish communities of Messiah-followers. His letters are written to these communities or to individuals within the communities, and they address certain issues the people are dealing with (i.e., great immorality amongst Christians in Corinth, Jewish Christians perverting the gospel message in Galatia, a young preacher-man named Timothy being intimidated by those superiors surrounding him, etc.). None of Paul’s letters explicitly deal with theology, and even Romans—viewed by many as one of Paul’s greatest theological works—only contains theology that addresses the issue at hand: the absence of an Apostle in Rome and divisions between the Jewish and Gentile Christians. In order to deduce a Pauline theology, we must explore these texts with their rhetorical situations at the front of our minds. This is a difficult task, but wields tremendous results. As our exploration deepens, we begin to see a Pauline theology of multiple, interwoven themes: Christian identity, Christian unity, sin, salvation, and Christian ethics.

Christianity is not about living by a new set of moral teachings. Christianity is not about illuminating Jesus as a great moral example. Christianity is not about a new, updated, revised “route” to heaven. Christianity is not about a new perspective on God; people are not in need of more information on God, but, rather, they are in need of salvation, in need of rescue and renewal, in need of new life, for they [we!] are dying. Christianity is about new life in God. In experiencing this new life in God, we come to enjoy a new identity. Our identity is that of children of God (Rom 8.21), friends of God (Col 1.20-22, Rom 5.10), “in Christ” (Rom 8.1) and “in the Spirit” (Rom 5.5) Through faith, God bestows a new identity upon us. We are carried out of the kingdom of darkness and into the kingdom of light (Col 1.13). Our identity means that we are 100% holy and blameless before God, and our adherence to a way of living that reflects this holy status does not make us any more or any less holy. In Christ, our identity has changed, and it is not dependent upon how we live but rather upon our coming to faith in the Messiah. In coming to faith in Christ, the Holy Spirit has indwelt us, and this indwelling presence of the Spirit is that which gives us the caliber of our new identity. Christians have a new identity in Christ—from the moment we turn against God, we are God’s enemies, but through the cross, we have been reconciled to God, and we are His friends (2 Cor 5.18).

As individuals, our identity has been changed in Christ. This has huge implications on a communal and corporate level. We who are “in Christ” and “in the Spirit” are unified together as Christ’s body, the church (Col 1.24). Unity is of primary importance to Christ (John 17.23), and it is of primary importance to Paul. In his letter to the Philippians, Paul admonishes the Christians in Philippi to conduct themselves in a manner worthy of the gospel. This worthy conduct is standing unified (Phil 1.27). As Christians identified by the Spirit living within us, we are to be unified as an organism in which the Spirit of God dwells. This makes sense: just as Americans are to stand united by their citizenship, so Christians are to stand united in their citizenship, their citizenship being that of children of God, friends of God, “in Christ” and “in the Spirit,” who enjoy an inheritance in the consummation of God’s unfolding story. In Philippians 1.27ff, Paul emphasizes the importance of Christians standing unified in spirit, mind, and body. It is obvious that unity is a centralized point in Paul’s theology; it is not a decentralized point as many Christians believe. Unity in the church should not be viewed as an act of ethics but as the “living-out” of our status and identity in God’s eyes. Unity reflects what is already the case: Christians are the people of God, brothers and sisters in Christ. Unity is not tangential to Christianity; rather, it is a focal point and a key aspect of the Christian faith. Even though there are many denominations and differing opinions on certain theological ideas, all Christians are to have unity in their purpose and identity in God. We need to work together for—rather than compete for—the kingdom. Unity ought not despise the various expressions of Christianity, but, rather, it should embrace them. For Christians, who have undergone a status-change in Christ, unity is essential.

One of the greatest hindrances to unity is sin. Our selfishness, greed, and indifference cause rifts, divisions, and fights within the faith. Denominations have emerged out of spiritual “nuclear wars.” A Pauline theology takes into account Paul’s theology on sin. In Rom 1.18-32, Paul identifies two types of sin: “sin in the likeness of Adam” (sin that is breaking God’s law) and “sin that brings death” (our sinful nature/wicked disposition in the heart). Paul does not bring sin down to a superficial level of do’s and don’ts. In Rom 2.16, Paul infers that at the Great Judgment, God will judge the external behaviors in accordance with the disposition of one’s hearts. The acts one has in his or her life—be they good or bad—are manifestations and a “living-out” of the disposition of the heart. The way one lives illumines the disposition in the heart, but yet it does not govern it. Paul’s approach to sin—with the emphasis on the heart—is much more rigorous and difficult than simply approaching sin as behaviors: we can train and discipline our behaviors fairly easily, but training and disciplining our inner selves is quite difficult. The heart of the Pauline theology on sin is the idea that the greatest sin is a wicked disposition towards God (a rebelling against God). In this sense, none of us can escape the clutches of sin no matter how well we discipline our lives. In our hearts, we are selfish, greedy, and indifferent towards God and others. We are, in a sense, instinctively opposed to God. This is the great sin, and one’s sinful behaviors are simply the fruit of this great sin. In Rom 2.3-10 Paul infers, in line with this theology of sin, that an evil man is not deemed evil by his actions but by his heart. An evil heart manifests evil deeds, and a good heart manifests good deeds.

Just as sin is a matter of the heart, so salvation is a matter of the heart. An incorrect reading of Rom 2.6 seems to imply that behaviors are the focus of Christianity, but when read in context, this verse simply states that deeds receive their value or currency as “good” or “bad” based upon why the person is doing the act [the disposition in the heart]. Repentance, which goes hand-in-hand with faith, is a heart-based issue. Repentance, in the strictest sense, is a change in mind (i.e. heart) that is an internal response to God. Behavior/ethics follows repentance, and good behavior is because of ethics, and good behavior finds its value in repentance. Thus those with a stubborn heart cannot come to repentance (i.e. salvation) (Rom 2.4-5).In Paul’s eyes, salvation is found in faith and faith alone (Eph 2.8), though a good biblical scholar will understand that repentance is an integral part of faith.

Ethics, one of the greatest issues in the Christian faith, is simply a “living-out” of our new identity in Christ, a reflection of our holy status before God. One who has been reconciled to God and whom is indwelt with the Holy Spirit is to pursue Christian ethics (Gal 5), and if one claims to be a Christian but does not reflect Christ at all, there is room for doubt to be raised over his or her identity. Our spiritual identity—children of God, friends of God, “in Christ,” “in the Spirit,” new creations, etc.—intersects our social identity—our identity in the eyes of the people around us. Our spiritual identity is the way God sees us and is our primary identity. Colossians 1.13-14, 21-23 explores our spiritual identity in Christ (we are members of God’s kingdom, redeemed by Christ’s blood, holy and blameless, reconciled to God). Our sin does not determine who we are; rather, our identity is determined by the presence of the Spirit living within us. Ethics ought to be viewed as the way one’s spiritual status is reflected in one’s social identity (thus a Westerner’s ethics may be radically different from a Chinese peasant woman’s ethics). In this light, ethics is not a list of do’s and don’ts stored in a vault in heaven; ethics is much more organic than that (though, it must be stated, certain ways of reflecting our spiritual identity are universal—i.e. no rape, no murder, no theft, being honest, caring, and a pursuer of justice). God’s commandments to us are all about reflecting our identity in Him. To the Jews, the Torah’s commandments existed to reflect their identity as God’s chosen covenant people. The whole “loving God and loving others” commandment that Paul speaks about (Gal 5.14) is a reflection of a Christian’s “in Christ” identity. Christian ethics is about reflecting one’s identity in Christ and the Spirit dwelling within them.

All of these themes—Christian identity, unity, sin, salvation, and ethics—are woven together in an intricate and complex web of theology, too difficult to describe in detail in one essay. In brief, Christians have a new identity (“in Christ”) that is determined by the Spirit living within them; the common denominators among Christians—being “in Christ” and indwelt by the Spirit of God—demands unity; all Christians deal with the inward sin of rebellion against God, and we must daily subordinate our own desires and interests for the desires and interests of the Spirit (this is ethics). This fresh understanding of Christian identity, salvation, sin, ethics, and unity has great influence on corporate Christian community.

Christians as a community must acknowledge that they are identified not by how well they live or by how well they resist temptation, but, rather, that their identity is defined by the presence of God’s Spirit living within them. Because of this identity that is not determined by one’s theological beliefs, Christians of every denomination need to rally together as one organic creature in order to advance God’s kingdom. Christians need to understand the role ethics plays in their lives, and they must ask every day, “Are my actions today reflective of my status in God or reflective of my sinful, crucified, defeated nature? Are my actions today in accordance with my own desires and interests, or are they in accordance with the desires and interests of the Spirit?” These are questions we must ask when it comes to ethics. Once again, I must emphasize unity, for both Christ and Paul emphasize it constantly: We must stand united. A house divided against itself will fall, but a house that is united will stand even the most perilous storms.

a restless evening

Hmmm, what to say? what to say? I have been really bored as of late. Without school, I haven't much to do. I called my hometown friends, and most of them have long summer jobs to attend to. I've been lounging around watching all kinds of movies and reading The Fellowship of the Ring. I get some writing done every once in a while. Insomnia strikes me, and I often find myself lying awake for hours before finally falling asleep. For some reason, which I can't quite place, this... plague... of insomnia greets me with each summer. Perhaps it is the restlessness in my bones? I need something to throw myself into. A hobby of some sort that can truly occupy my time. I can't wait for my summer job to start; then I will have much to devote my energies to. Exciting news: every day at my job I'll teach once or twice a day. I can't wait.

I watched "One Night With The King" this evening. I give it a C+. The acting could have been much better, the plot more lucid and understandable, and the movie could have been more accurate with the biblical account found in the Book of Esther. I remember studying the story of Esther and learning that the "gallows" upon which Haman planned to execute Mordecai (but which ended up being his own demise in an ironic twist of events) was probably not the gallows as we understand them today (i.e., hanging), but something along the lines of a proto-crucifixion. Interesting, eh?

I do not have much to write this evening. I leave you with a quote from Paul Tillach in his famous work, The Shaking of the Foundations:

Grace strikes us when we are in great pain and restlessness. It strikes us when we walk through the dark valley of a meaningless and empty life… It strikes us when, year after year, the longed-for perfection does not appear, when the old compulsions reign within us as they have for decades, when despair destroys all joy and courage. Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: ‘You are accepted. You are accepted, accepted by that which is greater than you, and the name of which you do not know. Do not ask for the name now; perhaps you will find it later. Do not try to do anything now; perhaps later you will do much. Do not see for anything, do not perform anything, do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted.’ If that happens to us, we experience grace.

an interesting dream

One of the students in the class I teach came up to me and said, "I've been really thinking about what you've been saying, and I've been practicing some of what you teach, and I've really been growing closer to God." Awesome! I can't tell you the excitement and joy that comes over me when I hear that my pitiful teaching is at least reaching one heart and helping to draw them closer to God. Class today went well: we discussed perseverance amidst suffering, temptation, persecution, and doubt. So many of the kids had all kinds of questions, especially about the sacrifice of Jesus and what it meant. It was exciting. The youth minister's wife, Heather, jumped in and helped me teach, which I thought was amazing. Co-teaching is wonderful because when the fool who is supposed to be teaching can't get his words straight, the other teacher can explain what he's trying to say in words that are fluid and understandable. I really have a passion for teaching, especially with Jr. High kids. This summer will be awesome.

+++

I had a dream last night.

In this dream, I saw a naked, bony, skinny, skeletal prisoner standing alone inside a cold, rusty prison cell. His head gazed downwards, and his skin shivered in the frigidness. His white-knuckled fingers wrapped around the bars, and he wept, "Help me..." As the words came from his mouth, something astounding happened: he suddenly found himself clothed and warm, and he looked at his arms to see muscles forming over the joints, sinews connecting them together. Organs began to grow in his abdomen, and a heart evolved and began to beat. Smooth skin covered his muscles. The darkness of the prison cell vanished with a brilliant white light, blinding him; when he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in a beautiful meadow, the sky burning high overhead, seagulls singing in the distance. Elephants and giraffes grazed nearby. A figure sat on a rock next to him, smiling.

The prisoner, confused, asked, "What happened?"

The man replied, "You asked for help, didn't you?"

"Where am I?" he asked, looking around. "This isn't my prison cell."

"No," the man said. "It's not. This is your new home. I freed you."

"You freed me?!" the man exclaimed. "Don't you know who I am? What I've done?"

"Of course I do." He spoke without a flinch: "I know your crimes."

"Then why did you release me?"

"Because you asked for help."

"I don't deserve to be here. I deserve to be back where I was."

"I know you don't deserve to be here. But that doesn't matter. I've brought you here."

"And where is 'here'?"

"'Here' is, simply, with me."

"And who are you?"

"Your Redeemer."

The man shook his head. "No, no... I don't belong here. This isn't right. It isn't fair."

"Of course it's not fair! But it's my will. Look." He pointed to a waterhole several yards away. "You see those people crowding around it? Do you know who they are? No? They're people just like you: rapists, murderers, con-men, alcoholics, porn-addicts, and adulterers. Do you know why they're here? With me?"

The man shook his head.

"Because I want them to be. But I won't force anyone to come here. They just have to ask."

"And I asked," the man said, "so you brought me here."

"Exactly," the Redeemer replied. "Now. Enough with the questioning. You are too tense. Run around. Stretch your legs. Explore. Relax. You're in my community now. You're safe with me. You're mine, and no one is going to come and drag you back to prison."

When I woke up, it struck me: This is grace.

mulling over grace...

I’m not your average college student. While many of my friends view summer break as a time to kick back and relax and do absolutely nothing, I see it as a great opportunity to further my learning. I’ve contemplated what I would like to focus my attention on this summer, and I’ve decided that I would like most of my attention to be on the letters of the New Testament. I have done so much research in the Old Testament that my New Testament studies are virtually non-existent. I started with one of my favorite Pauline letters, 1 Timothy, last night. I love this letter, because I can read it and experience it as if it were written directly to me. It is encouraging, convicting, uplifting, and, overall, beautiful.

“What is it that makes a sin a sin?” I think this is a very valid question, and one I’ve thought about a lot. There are many answers to this question, and many are right. See, I don’t think there’s “one” correct answer, leaving all other answers out of the pale of orthodoxy. I believe there are various “right” answers, and these answers are all “right” because they illuminate different aspects of sin. I’ve always equated sin as a selfish, greedy, indifferent heart and that which flows from this heart. Yet there is also a simpler way of looking at it that I have contemplated. Sin is that which goes against the nature of God, plain and simple. A heart that goes against the nature of God’s heart is sinful. Actions that go against the nature of God’s character are sinful. Hmmm…

I’ve been reading “The Ragamuffin Gospel” and here is a quote that I really like from chapter one:

Jaroslav Pelikan notes: “Luther suddenly broke through to the insight that the ‘righteousness of God’ that Paul spoke of in [Romans 1.17] was not the righteousness by which God was righteous in himself (that would be passive righteousness) but the righteousness by which, for the sake of Jesus Christ, God made sinners righteous (that is, active righteousness) through the forgiveness of sins in justification. When he discovered that, Luther said it was as though the very gates of Paradise had been opened to him.” (20)

God has made me righteous. He has given righteousness and holiness to me. I am 100% righteous. 100% holy. 100% innocent. This status has been given to me not because I did enough works or succeeded at not doing something extremely wicked, but because He loves me and I have come to Him in faith. My actions—good or bad—do not determine my holiness. If I live a life overflowing with good deeds and hardly any sinful deeds, I am no holier or more righteous than the Christian next to me who is a struggling porn-addict and alcoholic. I have been placed in right standing with God not by anything I’ve done, but by what Christ has done on the cross. He sacrificed himself as a blood offering so that I could come into the presence of God by means of forgiveness of sins and experience a renewed friendship with Him. I am in the league of divinity not by my own merit but through the great and abounding love and grace of God.

brokenness...

Sorrow made its way into my heart yesterday evening. As I drove, I kept thinking about Courtney. I really like that girl, and it hurts that I am not with her. As wise and mature a decision we have made, that doesn't mean it's one that I'm enjoying. I told Monica about our "break" and the reasons for it, and she said, "Wow, that's really mature of you!" I said, "It wasn't my idea." She said, "I didn't think so." Hah. But I know that I need to grow a spine, grow some hair on my balls, and become a man. I need to take charge of the different areas of my life and stop just floating around, waiting for the next burst of pleasant wind and wandering aimlessly as if I have no cares in the world. It's a hard-edged world out there, and I need to be prepared--or I'll drown under its waves.

I couldn't sleep very well last night. Brokenness consumed me. It hit me like a sledgehammer the moment I lied down around 12:45 a.m., and I could not fall asleep until 3:30. I tossed and turned for a while, my mind racing with thoughts and my heart weighted down. An unseen darkness draped over me. I went out onto the deck, under the stars, and sitting down, I thought about life. Some have labeled me a mystic; perhaps that is why I must give so much thought to the questions no one has answers to? Last night I contemplated every avenue and detail and back-road of my existence. My successes and my failures. My strengths and my weaknesses. My gifts and my faults. Areas where improvement would be wise, areas that need to change without question or hesitancy. I wrestled with God for quite some time. I poured out all my thoughts and cares onto Him, a waterfall, and He comforted and consoled me. He wrapped me up in His arms and held me close. For some reason, my mind often pictures God as cold, sterile, condescending. This is an absolute lie, though it is--in all honesty--something I struggle with. It is good when that depiction of God shatters as His peace, love, and joy washes over me. "You're My child," He says, "and I love you so very much. I want the best for you. I want you to be happy. My goodness and favor are extended towards you." And He kissed me as I fell asleep.

let me clarify...

As I wrote my last post as a stream-of-thought flowing from my consciousness without any particular order, reason, or rhyme, I think it might make sense for me to clarify exactly what happened yesterday and what is going on between Courtney and me.

Both of us really like each other.
Both of us have things we need to work on in our own lives.
Both of us know that being in a relationship will make these changes harder.
Both of us, then, are taking a break to work on our issues over the summer.
Both of us want to get back together when next semester comes around.

It is not a "break-up" in the strictest sense of the word. A more accurate depiction would be a "break." We talked on the phone for a while last night, and it was good. I really like this girl and she really likes me. But we know what had to be done for the betterment of ourselves and for the betterment of our relationship. A sacrifice needed to be made, and while it sucks, we both hope that it will make our relationship that much stronger when fall semester comes around. There is no animosity between us. She is a wonderful girl, and I am thankful to call her one of my best friends. I can talk to her about everything and nothing, and each word spoken or unspoken is known.

I hope that brings some clarification if anyone was confused.

Now I must go. I moved back home last night, but I have to return to campus to work my last shift at work. I'll be working alongside Monica and Abby, so it won't be bad at all. I clean and check out of my room after work, and then it's home for the summer. *sigh* It was a bittersweet semester.

here i am again...

It has happened again: my girlfriend broke up with me this afternoon.

Before you start getting angry at her, let me step up in her defense. While in the past, girls have stepped on my heart and squished it as if it were some kind of venomous arachnid, this situation is different. Granted, I am not the happiest camper right now. How could I be? Am I mad? No. I understand her reasons. I am just… frustrated. Frustrated because this always happens. I feel as if I can’t expect any more. I can’t expect a normal relationship because, quite frankly, I’m not normal. I’m too strange. Too weird. And I have the worst luck with girls. Somehow I always end up with the good ones—and, in this case, even the best ones—but this sparkle of hope breaks with the tidewaters of normalcy. I can’t exactly tell you what it is—and this out of ignorance—but for some reason none of my relationships work out. Do I have too high of expectations? I used to. Not anymore, though. I guess I just want a normal relationship. Where I like her, she likes me, and we enjoy a good relationship without all the complexities and extenuating circumstances that make a normal relationship hard to come by or flat-out impossible.

Did I treat Courtney right? Yes. Did I make sacrifices for her? Yes, but I should have made more. I can turn over my relationship and scrutinize over every detail with a microscope, but I must just confess that I am not perfect. I made some mistakes. Everyone does. But on top of those mistakes, I treated her right. I treated her like a princess. We like each other a lot. But we both have issues we need to deal with, and if we are in a relationship, dealing with those issues becomes second-priority. Neither of us are ready for a serious relationship with the concept of marriage on the doorstep. What marriage needs—in my case, maturity and responsibility, and in her case, you’ll have to ask her because I’m not going to divulge her secrets on the internet—are not present in us. Where I succeed, she fails; and where she succeeds, I fail. Both of us have so much to work on. We are good people, she and I, but we aren’t ready for marriage—and if marriage is what dating is all about (at least in this point in my life), then what’s the use of dating when we don’t even have the fundamental building-blocks required for marriage?

How am I doing? I’m doing all right. Granted, tears welled up in my eyes a while after she broke up with me. I like that girl a lot. I mean, I really, really like her. She means the world to me. And not being with her anymore, not being able to call her “my girl”, not being able to enjoy a romantic relationship with her… Well, it feels like someone has sucked the oxygen out of my lungs and then plunged me into a deep vat of icy-cold water. But I must take the pain, because I know that she did what she had to do. For once in my life I have to simply suck it up and confess, “She’s right. We’re not in the right condition for a relationship.” I can’t base everything off of how it “makes me feel.” Sometimes, as the dirty cliché goes, “Truth hurts.” A friend and I went to Mt. Echo and talked after she broke up with me. Courtney and I had gone to Mt. Echo so many times, all the memories hit me like a flood: memories that once brought laughter and joy now brought sorrow. But I have to embrace the sorrow and let it transform me. Let it teach me. Let it mold me… And let it transform, teach, and mold me in good, beneficial ways.

I’m not angry with her. I’m upset, sure, but not angry. “Upset” can have so many different meanings. I am “upset” in the sense that my heart is heavy, a knot forms in my throat, I find myself fighting off the voices in the quiet: Why even try? You will never have a normal relationship. You’re too weird for it. You’re not good enough. You’re just a screw-up. The Enemy likes to attack me in this way. I know these are his most potent lies—he attacks me where I am weakest, and he does so feociously—but sometimes it’s hard to fight them. I am “upset,” but not at her. I am upset at the situation, but not at her. She did what she had to do. She did what she knew she had to do. She did what both of us knew had to happen, but something I did not have the ability to do. She had to step up to bat, and she did. And she should be commended for that, even though it causes me—and her, let’s not forget—pain.

I want everyone to know that Courtney is a very good friend of mine. She means a lot to me. I hope that one day we will be back together. I don’t want to be with Sonja, Jessica, or even Julie. I want to be with Courtney. And she wants to be with me. But right now, that can’t happen. Maybe next semester will be better. But then again, maybe not.

an excerpt from a story

This is an excerpt from a fantasy story I am toying with:

+++

The storm continued to rage in all its might early into the morning. The fire died down to mere embers, then vanished completely. Larien leaned her head against the cold stone wall, praying to the gods for protection and deliverance. The evil presence continued to grow in the darkness, and at times she felt as if someone were standing across the chamber, watching her. She kept her eyes closed, refusing to look, confident that her eyes would betray her even if nothing was there. Keeping her eyes shut made it all the less real.

The prayers comforted her for a time, but then the terror grew to unimaginable proportions. Her eyes forced themselves open, and she saw standing before her across the chamber a ghastly image: a shadowy figure draped in a dark green robe speckled with dirt and grime, a dark hood covering the top of the head and masking the face in shadow; she sat paralyzed, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to scream. The figure threw its head back, and she saw poisonous bloodshot eyes and blood dripping from its fangs. Its skeletal arms reached for her, and in them she saw a young child, moaning as blood trickled down its neck. A wild, cacophonous laugh filled the chamber, dancing off the icy stone walls, and the figure threw the child at her, the blood flinging against the stone walls and ceiling. The child fell into her lap, and she realized Eärendur was gone. She looked down at the child and saw its eyes glazed over, blood gurgling from a giant rip in its throat where a dagger had been thrust.

The figure shrieked, “Eat it! Taste it! Drink its blood and embrace your destiny!"

She hurled the child away and leapt to her feet. She screamed and rushed at the figure in a mystical rage; the figure vanished as she swung her fists at it, and there where it had stood, she saw Eärendur lying, his bare stomach ripped open and entrails strewn all over the floor, rats chewing on his maggoty-

“Larien!"

She screamed, her voice echoing over the chamber. Fierce arms held her. She shrieked and tore away, yelling, “Get off me! Get off me!”

The arms continued to grab her. “Larien!” Eärendur shouted. “It’s me! It’s me!”

She looked up and instead of seeing bloodshot eyes and fangs dripping with blood, she saw the stenciled and worried façade of her beloved. She fell into his arms, sobbing, as the storm continued to unleash.

Eärendur stroked her hair, whispered in her ear, “It’s okay, Larien. It’s okay. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.” She wept in his arms as they stood in the middle of the desolate chamber. “A dream,” Eärendur told her; “Just a dream.”

She wasn’t too sure. It had seemed so real. She could still feel the warmth of the child’s blood on her hands as she embraced Eärendur in a fierce hug and refused to let go.