a peaceful dawn

a lot is going to change

Sarah and I watched a weird movie called “Black Sheep” on Monday night. Genetically-mutated sheep become infectious and begin attacking people left and right. The bitten people, if they are not consumed by the berzerking sheep, become half-human, half-sheep monsters that thirst for human blood. Technically, it’s a comical zombie movie… But I think it is more along the lines of a twisted werewolf (were-sheep?) plot. Kayla and I went to Starbucks last night. I recommend the gingerbread latte. It was good to get away from campus and just talk about all kinds of fun things. I went over to James and John’s house in Clifton. Sarah joined us. We played Halo on their XBOX-360. Weariness overcame me, so I came back to campus. Now I am sitting in my dorm room, very thirsty, contemplating a shower followed by reading “The Road”, a book I picked up from Barnes and Nobles a few days ago. 

Tomorrow I leave for Georgia. My cousin is having his bar mitzvah. A good amount of my family is Jewish. I’m really looking forward to it. This will be the second bar mitzvah I’ve gone to, and the first one was pretty fun as well. 

A lot is going to change. A lot already has changed. I sat in the coffee shop today waiting for Sarah to return from Wal-Mart, and I ran into several individuals who were once a big part of my life but have now gone "off screen", for lack of a better word. One was an ex-girlfriend, whom I am over, but seeing her sometimes still brings back the memories. Good memories. Not painful memories. Memories that make me all the more eager to hold a girl in my arms once more. Another person I ran into was an individual whom I semi-dated at the beginning of the semester. Great girl. Everything was going good, it looked like we would be official soon, then she just stopped talking to me, stopped answering phone calls, refused to hang out, just cut me out of her life. It's been a wild semester. And, yes... A lot is going to change.

a convo with amanda

Amanda asked me last night, “Are you disgusted with yourself?” 

“Huh?” I said, confused. 

“Aunt Teri said you are disgusted with yourself. She said that she could read it in your eyes.” 

“I’m not disgusted with myself. I don’t know why she thinks that.”

And I’m not disgusted with myself. I am pretty happy with who I am. I’m a good guy. I treat girls right. I don’t take advantage of people. I give people the respect they deserve. I am kind and caring and compassionate. I put other peoples’ happiness before my own, even though it sucks at times. I am a good guy. I really am. I have things I need to work on (who doesn’t?), but in the core of my being, I am a silly boy who wants people to be happy and gets upset when he sees injustice in all its forms. Yes. I’m a good guy. I’ve had people tell me that I’m not. But I think I have a cool personality—quirky, weird, loopy, silly. This is good stuff, eh? And I treat people well. Even if I absolutely loathe someone, I treat them with dignity and respect because they are human beings. So am I disgusted with myself? No, I don’t think so. Sorry if this seems rather egotistical. I just don’t know why someone would presume that I am disgusted with myself. I’m content to be Mr. Anthony Barnhart, and I don’t want to be anyone else—even with all the problems and issues that come along with that name, I wouldn’t trade it in for anything else. God made me who I am, and who am I to question the workings of His hands?

the horned devil from the river of hell

With ten minutes to spare in class after teaching my lesson, I felt inspired to play some hangman with the class. I wanted to throw them off, so I wrote on the board, next to a silhouetted gallows: _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _. The hint: “This word means ‘The Horned Devil from the River of Hell.’” It took them a while to guess it, but they eventually figured it out by throwing out vowels and consonants: Stygimoloch. “This dinosaur was ten feet long,” I told the class, “and it was discovered in Hell Creek, Montana. Its name is the corrupted blending of two words: styx and moloch. Styx was the river in Greek mythology that the dead had to cross to reach the Underworld. Moloch was a horned demon in Hebrew mythology, and a corruption of ‘Molech’, a pagan god to whom infants were sacrificed. It was a pachycephalosaur, cousins to the stegosaurs. It had a thin dome of bone on its head, and its head ornamentation included nasty, protruding spikes and stubby horns.” And then I dismissed the class. Here is a colorful image of the dinosaur: 

I have two more classes to teach before I am done at Southwest. I somehow want to weave dinosaurs into the mix. I am thinking about doing one lesson on the beauty of dinosaurs and how they point us to the Creator, using texts from psalms to illustrate how creation sings of God’s glory. And perhaps with another one I will tackle the creation/evolution debate, giving several different theories regarding how dinosaurs fit into the historical narrative of planet earth.

thanksgiving '07

I don’t see Mom’s side of the family very often, so when we get together, it’s always memorable. Tonight was one such nights. A delicious turkey and ham dinner, with mashed potatoes and corn and green beans, stuffing, lots of rolls. We all stuffed ourselves and spent the evening watching Season 3 episodes of “The Office” with Steve Carrel. All good times come to an end, however: everyone left. At least I get to look forward to seeing them again on Saturday for a bonfire get-together. Here is my cousin Jared’s dog: 

 He’s a boxer, and though he may look menacing when he growls and barks, he’s the biggest pansy. He’ll run from anything. Get in his face and he’ll jump up and run. One of my favorite things to do with him is run in circles around the house; he’ll follow, running and hopping like a deer, sliding over the tile floors; but when you turn around to face him, he throws himself in the other direction and runs like mad. I spent Monday and Tuesday at my cousin’s house, and Boozer slept with me, curled up in a ball at my side. He had nightmares one night several times. I patted his head, gently woke him up, and he would lick me and crawl closer. Cute, huh? A Hebrew prayer of thanksgiving: 

Though our mouths were full of song as the sea, and our tongues of exultation as the multitude of its waves, and our lips of praise as the wide-extended firmament; though our eyes shone with light like the sun and the moon, and our hands were spread forth like the eagles of heaven, and our feet were swift as hinds, we should still be unable to thank thee and bless thy name, O Lord our God and God of our fathers, for one thousandth or one ten thousandth part of the bounties which thou has bestowed upon our fathers and upon us.

craving for more

It’s a peaceful break from reality: playing PS3, watching countless comedies, and curling up beside my cousin’s boxer and falling quietly asleep. But it is in the quiet that thoughts begin to consume me, begin to tear at my mind, screaming at me in shrieking, shrill whispers. These thoughts come in waves, breaking upon me like the ocean surf against jagged New England rocks. Sometimes it’s just a fight to stay afloat. I’m not really complaining. I can handle it. I’ve dealt with it my entire life. A beautiful genetic gift from my mother. She understands me. Not many people do. I come across looking like the most pessimistic person in the world, but that’s not really the case. First of all, I like to consider myself a realist. And second of all, I have high dreams, hopes, ambitions that I expect to come to pass. One day I want to get married to a wonderful girl and raise a family. I want to work in a church where I can communicate the gospel message in a way that is relevant and powerful. I want to plant churches. And I want to spend time in Ireland, Scotland, and Australia. I have hopes and dreams and ambitions, and I know they are attainable… I just need to be patient. But patience comes in small packages, and I always feel like a chain-smoker who has run out of his last pack of cigarettes and only has a handful of nickels and pennies in his pockets. 

I want to be remembered. I want to be known as the poor, unknown, weird kid who made a difference. Who took the tear-stained ashes of his life and turned it into a flowering garden with beautiful orchids, flowering banana palms, and cycads reaching to the stars. I don’t want to be just another nobody walking the streets, living an unadventurous life and being void of stories to tell. I’ve had my adventures, and I’ve encapsulated one such adventure—if you want to call it that—into a book I published over the summer. But as I look at my mundane, unexciting, run-of-the-mill life, I can’t help but hunger for more. Hunger for life. For vitality. For a new kind of blood to course through my veins. I want so much more than I have now. I’m not talking about material possessions. I’m talking about the quality of life that I live. I want more, life abundant and beautiful, a life that seems more like an orchestra or ballet or rave than waiting at the doctor’s office till they invite you in and tell you that you have some type of incurable disease. I have a frightening nightmare every now and then: I’m twenty-five years old, sitting at a bar, throwing down shots and smoking a cigarette, drowning out my misery and suffocating in regret. I want so much more than I have now. But this is life: what you want, you can’t have; what you have is taken away; and happiness is as fleeting as the spring rains. Or maybe this is cynicism. Maybe my idea of being a realist is just self-deception. Maybe I need to pull some unknown mask from over my eyes, or at least see the world through a different lens. I want more.

yearning for a zombie apocalypse

My life isn’t very exciting.

I bet a zombie apocalypse would make it exciting. Sure, I’d have loads of emotional and psychological baggage to deal with afterwards (in the event that I did not end up bitten and join the legions of the Undead), but it would at least make my life a little more interesting. I

went outside this morning with my morning cup of coffee and felt great sadness: emotionally, spiritually, physically, romantically.

Emotionally, I want to be happy and content (I’m honestly struggling with that).

Spiritually, I want my communion with God to be rich and satisfying (it’s not).

Physically, I want to be skinny and attractive (I’m not).

Romantically, I want to have a “Dream Lover” to call my own (I don’t).

A zombie apocalypse would make me realize how lucky I really am right now. I tend to forget that.

my weekend

Christmas in Springboro is this weekend. Every year it’s a good time: good booths (kettle corn and roasted almonds top the charts), horse-drawn carriages, free hot chocolate and coffee and cookies, and getting to see many of my old friends. Last night I was nearly ran over by the horse-drawn carriage; Pat yelled, “Anthony!” and I turned around to see a horse’s head in my face, the legs galloping without any hindrance, and I dove out of the way just as it passed, my arm brushing the horse’s side. Everyone in the carriage looked down at me and shook their heads (snobs!) and the people in the crowd laughed. I brushed myself off and just grinned. Ashlie, Hague and I walked around for a bit, then I visited Matt at the Garage, and Chris and Pat went to Chris’ place to play on his classic N64 before heading to Ashlie’s to watch Jingle All the Way. Brian and Nathan showed up. Grand times. My schedule for this weekend?

Clean the house.
Eat Chinese!
Attend Christmas in Springboro once more.
Work on a book I've been writing.
Teach class on Sunday?
Missionary convention?
Work 6-9 with Andrew at the Hilltop.

Thanksgiving break starts Tuesday at… six? I’m ready for it. I have 32 papers to write in the next three weeks. Gah.

the story of God and Hades

I taught class on Sunday. The church is going through St. Paul’s letters to the Philippians. I was asked to teach the first service gathering, so I obliged. I taught out of Philippians 1.15-18, where Paul writes about preachers who preach the gospel out of bad motives, but he writes that he is not going to oppose them because the gospel message is being preached (he doesn’t endorse their motives, however). We talked about how some people will preach the gospel out of bad motives even today—desire for wealth, fame, status, success, popularity. And we talked about how St. Paul viewed “the advancement of the gospel.” To Paul, the gospel’s advance is not marked by how many people become Christians but how many people hear the gospel and have the chance to respond. We can’t control whether or not people embrace the gift of the cross, but we can tell people the Good Message and thus give them a chance to partake in the gospel. With this in mind, we talked about how one would advance the gospel through their school—that being making the gospel message known—and then we addressed the question, “What is the gospel?” And I presented the gospel to them in the form of a story:

Creation: God creates the universe, and mankind and God are friends. The creation is beautiful and good.

The Fall: mankind decides to rebel against God (sin), and so mankind becomes enemies with God. The universe, because of this situation, begins to fall apart.

Cross: through the cross, God “erases” our rebellion against Him, and so we are no longer His enemies but His friends. And though we are God’s friends, we still live in a world that is falling apart because of the Fall, a world dominated by sorrow, grief, suffering, and pain. We await the day when God will fix all of this.

Restoration: God re:makes the universe, re:forming it with new planets and new stars and new galaxies and new animals, and God’s friends will dwell in this universe and reign with Him, building homes, raising crops, enjoying one another’s company, playing with the animals, enjoying the world of the new universe.

At the end of the class, a kid raised his hand and asked, “What about those people who aren’t Christians? What happens to them when God makes the new universe?” I paused for a moment, said, “The concept of Hell is not a very clear one. The Jews didn’t have a concept of the afterlife until the Intertestamental Period, when they adopted the afterlife views of Babylonian and Persian mythologies. And when the Bible talks about Hell, it isn’t really clear. But there are several views on Hell that can be supported using various scriptures. You should study them for yourself.” I wrote them on the board:

Exclusivism: only Christians go to heaven, all non-Christians are tormented in Hell for eternity. Our church holds to this view.

Inclusivism: some people who are not Christians will go to heaven and live with God because they responded appropriately to the knowledge of God that was available to them; salvation still comes through Christ’s blood, even if they do not know who Christ is.

Conditionalism: all Christians will go to heaven, and non-Christians will be tormented in Hell for what they deserve, and then they will be annihilated or extinguished. Their consciousness will be eradicated. Peace-loving people will not go through nearly as much pain as someone like Hitler or Kim Jong II. Purgatorial: people will be tortured in Hell for a period of time to pay for their sins, and then they will join everyone in heaven and share in the new universe with them.

Universalism: Hell does not exist; only Heaven is real; and everyone will go to Heaven due to the triumphal victory of God through Christ on the cross.

He asked me, “Which do you believe?” After a moment, I said, “I don’t know.”
And that’s just the truth.

Friday: Left my cell phone in Sarah’s car, drove around for three hours before finding the church where she worked. Went home to see Ams and swung by the Garage to visit good ol’ Matt Neil.

Saturday: watched episodes of “The Office” with Dad, went out to eat at an expensive joint for my grandparents’ 50th anniversary (sea scallop pasta and a delicious vanilla/chocolate/pecan desert). Went to the Garage for their last night, got to see tons of friends: Hague, Dewenter, Chris, Matt, Luke, Nathan, Brian, Megan, Ashlie, Alicia, to name just a few.

Sunday: hung out with Amos. We went to Fuddruckers for lunch and then relaxed at my place for a little while. The rain came down in drenching torrents, lulling me to sleep. I returned to campus to visit Trista and Monica in the coffee shop. It should be a good week, doing homework, hanging out with friends, writing a little here-and-there.

I got yet another email from a fan of my writings. His words pertain to my zombie novel 36 Hours:

Dear Mr. Barnhart:

I have just read your free version of 36 hours (the book is already ordered via lulu.com) and it is one of the best books I have ever read.

Especially towards the end, the story develops a depth only few books and even fewer zombie movies could even dream of attaining, making the tears of soft hearted and romantic guys like me flowing like waterfalls.

I would like to thank you very much for your great novel.

Yours sincerely.

M.S.

That’s always encouraging. I hope my writer’s block will eradicate soon.

History = His Story (???)

“History is His Story.” I saw this on a billboard today during my eternal driving around Mason to pick up a cell phone Sarah accidentally stole. As I pondered the billboard, I thought: “Bullshit.” Are world wars God’s history? Are the crusades God’s history? Is rape, murder, and genocide God’s history? God is involved in history, but sometimes I wonder if it is more our story than His. I’m not claiming to be a deist, I’m just wrestling with this concept that attributes everything in history—even the god-awful atrocities committed by human beings—to God playing humanity as if we were chess pieces on a global chessboard. Sometimes I wonder if history is more along the lines of God reaching out to Man and Man giving God the finger.

rethinking everything

“Life is about trusting your feelings and taking chances, losing and finding happiness. Appreciating the memories and learning from the pain and realizing that people always change.”

I am re:thinking everything.
Sarah: “Most of everything people tell you will be wrong.”

go figure...

I opened up my laptop in Exodus class today only to see a message telling me my hard drive was acting up. Becky let me use some of her cool notebook paper for notes. Anyways, I’ve spent much of the day trying to get it fixed, and when it seemed that the hard drive was mysteriously broken, I yanked it out of the computer and, with a foul word or two, slammed it repeatedly against the desk.

I am currently on my laptop and it seems everything is fixed.
Go figure, eh?

But I am still saving all my precious files to U.S.B. and I will re:format this beast sometime tomorrow.

Sarah and I are having a pizza and root beer party tonight at her house while we watch “Lethal Weapon.”

an update

Saturday nights are generally spent watching movies on the big screen in the family room, but every now and then I jump in the car and go down to The Garage on Main Street, a renovated bus garage that now serves as a venue for local artists. I’m not really a fan of the hardcore music, but I’m friends with everyone who works there: Chad on the sound board, Chris and Matt and Jeph in the coffee shop, and Seth who owns the place. The Garage was originally built by the (retired) youth minister of the church where I teach, and I did my youth ministry internship while The Garage was under its beginning and middle stages of construction. I helped with the electrical wiring, some construction, and getting things organized. A minor role. The pay-off is that I don’t have to pay the $7 cover fee whenever I show up. I just walk in. When the money-handlers are new, it’s sometimes a hassle. I look like I’m fourteen, so when I tell them that I get in free because I’ve been working with The Garage for as long as its existed, they think I’m just trying to slip them a lie. Eventually Seth comes down and explains it to them, and in time it’s not a hassle. Saturday night was a good night to be at The Garage. Some big bands played—the names of which I never caught—and lots of my old hometown, pre-college friends were there. Chris was working the coffee shop, so I helped him out a little bit. I slipped three bucks into his jeans and made myself an iced caramel macchiato. Ashlie showed up and we talked about everything and nothing. It was good just to talk with her in a non-hurried environment (a.k.a. church). There was a girl there flirting with me, and it was kind of awkward, because she’s fourteen and I’m twenty. It’s all right though. I’m used to it: twenty-year-old girls think I’m fourteen so they generally ignore me even if they’re interested (it’s been an occurrence when a girl was “interested” in me but was under the impression that I was much younger, so she didn’t move forward). I can’t blame the minor, either: she probably had no idea that I was twenty years old. Such is my life. My fortune cookie today after take-out Chinese read: Good Things Will Be Coming To You In Due Time. I don’t believe in fortune cookies, but sometimes I wish I did.

Class on Sunday went extremely well. I slept in too late and missed first service, but made it to 2nd. I taught on selflessness as the way of life that Christians are to embody (for selflessness is the root of love, and Christians are to be known for their love). We examined two passages in Philippians—Phil 2.5-11 and Phil 1.21-27—and explored how Christ was sacrificial through living a life of servant-hood and giving himself up on the cross despite his desires to bring about reconciliation in another way; and we explored how Paul embodied selflessness by remaining to live for the sake of other peoples’ interests despite his own desires to manipulate his trial before Emperor Nero to bring about his own death.

In New Testament Seminar I gave a presentation on “The Role of Government.” The role of government, as seen in the New Testament scriptures, is to enforce justice. God doesn’t care what form of government is in place (democracy, dictatorship, aristocracy, republic, communist state, etc.) as long as it is enforcing justice. God’s concern is not the form of government but the function.

a conglomeration of heresies

It’s sad that the issue has always been Creation vs. Evolution. How come we think that if evolution is true, then creation isn’t? Why is it so unbelievable to think that God created through evolution? Perhaps I am too empiricist. I have studied six-literal-day creationism, old-earth creationism, and progressive creationism (i.e. theistic evolution), and to be completely honest, I find theistic evolution more agreeable to science and to the biblical texts. The creation accounts we have are apologetic/polemic and not scientific in nature. We are not supposed to read them as scientists; we are supposed to read them as an uplifting of Israel’s God YHWH over the surrounding pagan gods (especially those of the Babylonian Empire, in which—I believe—the Torah as we know it today was compiled). And the idea that science and faith are at odds is blasphemous to me. If God is real, and if He created, wouldn’t we be able to catch a glimpse of how He did it—the mechanisms, tools, and features of His creating power and act? We have peered deeply into the glass of earth’s history and see that it is not 6-8000 years old but 4.8 billion years old; and we look into the stars and see that they were here long before earth: the universe is 12-14 billion years old! Our earth is draped in a rich tapestry of life. I flip through some of my books on evolution and the history of life and see so many different kinds of marvelous creatures—the pinnacle of which (and I say this in my own childish fantasies) is the dinosaurs—and each different species and family and genre shrieks “Design!” I won’t deny that these animals ever existed (the idea that Satan put them there to trick is ridiculous and idiotic); and I won’t deny that God is the Creator. I believe He used evolution—a tool which He created—to bring about the world as we know it now. And then He said, “Hey, I’m gonna create a special organism, which I’ll make in My image, and which will have a truly unique connection with Me.” And so humans came onto the scene. Is this heresy? I wager it depends on whom you talk to.

“Will God judge everyone based on the same set of standards? Will He be harsher with those who were wealthier, who lived in better circumstances, who had an easier life? Will He be more lenient with those who were poorer, who lived in dire circumstances, who had a difficult life?” This is a question that has been lurking lately. When God judges us for our actions, will the girl who had sex on the streets to provide for her children be judged just as harshly as a girl who had sex just to have fun—or to use and manipulate boys (I have never met such a girl, but I am sure they are out there)? I can’t imagine a just God not taking into account such things. I’ve always been taught that we will all be judged by the same standards… Perhaps my re:thinking of this is heresy?

The concept of Hell is something else that has been bothering me lately. Usually I’ve just filed it away into a theological woodshed, but it is becoming more and more real to me. It is a life-changing concept. I’ve been struggling with the idea of God tormenting people in Hell forever. It’s just unbelievable to me that we can have no choice about whether or not to come into this world and yet be forced to suffer in eternal torment if we don’t do or believe the right thing. I am trying to bring the two poles together: God the Loving Father tormenting people in Hell forever (something no father in this world has ever been guilty of), and God the Lover who loves us all so deeply and yet torments us forever because we didn’t do or believe the right thing. Perhaps I am dancing on the lines of heresy. Or maybe I’m just re:thinking things. I’ve been pouring my heart and soul into the scriptures about this. I’ve been so cultured into the mindset of exclusivism that any other idea—inclusivism, conditionalism, universalism—seems to scream “Heresy!” But the truth is, I’ve never examined these matters for myself. And now I am. And I don’t know what I’m going to find. The truth, hopefully. It’s a fascinating and yet morbid matter.