sunday meditation - Micah 6.8

Sometime during the seventh and eighth centuries B.C., the king of Israel, a ruthless man named Ahaz, turned from the worship of God and embraced the worship of pagan gods, committing infant sacrifice in the Valley of Hinnom (a.k.a. Gehenna) and demanding sexual orgies at pagan hillside shrines. He built a pagan altar in the Jerusalem Temple and said, “Worship my gods here,” and closed off the Temple to the worship of God. As he did this, a strange prophet wandered the countryside, declaring that if the people refused to turn from the false gods and to turn back to their God, the God of Israel, destruction would come upon them. It is here where he declares that famous verse: “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does YHWH require of you? To act justly and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (as opposed to all those false gods Ahaz loved to serve). Thus Micah gets to the heart of the matter: what is it that God demands of his people, even of his lawless, disobedient, and willfully wayward people? 

Do Justice. 

Love Mercy. 

And walk humbly with YHWH. 

This is what it means to be good. 

This is what it means to be righteous.

The term “righteous” is a term that, at least in our culture, brings to mind plenty of off-color images. More revolting than Saw (or Saw II, or III, or IV, or V…) is the image of a self-righteous man, bathing in hypocrisy and two-facedness, pretending to be one thing on the outside while being rotten on the inside, the living metaphor of whitewashed tombs. The word “righteous” brings to mind holier-than-thou attitudes and self-righteous (a better word may be religiously-egotistical) living. Many of us—including Christians—are turned off by our culture’s perception of what it means to be “righteous”: to do all the right things, which generally means not being gay, not drinking alcohol, and not dancing (oh, and hating everyone who is or does any of these). You can tell if someone is “righteous” based upon how sour, glum-faced, and mean they are. This concept of “righteous” falls short of the word’s actual glory, turning something beautiful, colorful, and celebratory into something downright awful.

“Righteousness” in the Hebrew sense—in the tsedaqah sense of the word—means to be merciful, kind, faithful, generous, and just. It means—as Micah makes quite clear—to love mercy, to do justice, and to walk humbly with God. Righteousness is the character of God, his dispositions towards man (even towards sinners as sinful as myself): mercy, kindness, faithfulness, generosity, and justice. This is the character of God, and it is the character God demands of his people precisely because they belong to him and are to reflect his “image” as his image-bearers.

Mercy. Kindness. Faithfulness. Generosity. Justice.

That definition of righteousness comes as a breath of fresh air, as a candle lit in a dark room.

And it sheds light on what St. Paul says in Philippians 2.14-16, where he speaks of the people of God shining as lights in the darkness. He echoes a passage in the Book of Daniel which speaks of the righteous shining like stars: those who are righteous don’t just bring light into the world, they pierce the darkness. The righteous manner of living—a manner of living characterized by mercy towards others, kindness in our dealings, faithfulness to our fellow man, generosity towards all, and justice for the downtrodden—doesn’t just burn bright as a candle but pierces the darkness, exposing the darkness for what it really is. Selfishness, greed, and indifference to both God and man gives birth to a world of wickedness, evil, pain, and suffering. And when God’s people live righteous lives, they pierce that darkness and expose that darkness for its true colors, just as when sunlight enters a dark room, it exposes all the contours and textures and ugliness. In the same way, the righteousness of God’s people exposes all the good in the world, bringing it to surface, bringing it to praise and redemption. 

Shining as lights in the world isn’t just about preaching the gospel. It is about living in tune with God’s new world. It is about living a life characterized by righteousness, a life characterized by mercy, kindness, faithfulness, generosity, and justice. In short, it is characterized by one’s disposition towards others, a disposition summed up most beautifully in that wildly-misunderstood and multi-textured word: love. 

Righteousness is good. 

Righteousness is beautiful. 

Righteousness is exposing. 

And righteousness is hard. 

Living righteously in a world consumed with the exact opposite is an incredibly difficult task, especially when we are so used to living in a wholly different manner altogether. And on top of it all, living righteously brings about all sorts of sufferings: there’s friction as two manners of living collide, and where there’s friction, there’s bound to be earthquakes. 

Micah’s words aren’t spoken to those who are gathered in church. His words aren’t spoken to those who have it all together. His words aren’t spoken to a people who are pretty much already trying their best to live righteously. He speaks to a people who have abandoned God. He speaks to a people who have turned their backs on their God and turned themselves over to the pagan gods. He speaks to a people who have rejected God’s ways and embraced a manner of living that is all about self-indulgence and self-satisfaction. He speaks to a people of a different way of life, a life which will be difficult not only because it’s something they’re not used to, but because they live in a world where the worship of God is forbidden, a world where worshippers of God will be mocked, beaten, and put to the spear. Don’t let anyone tell you living righteously is easy. It’s not. But—and this is important—it is good. 

eclectics

Yesterday I went down to Cincinnati for a job interview. It went well, and the owner tentatively offered me a part-time gig. I went home and did lots of calculations and there's no way I could sustain myself on that pay. Oh well. It was nice walking around Fountain Square, and I got to swing by to see Rob at the Carew Tower before heading home. Today I went to Christmas in Springboro with Dewenter, and we met up with Hank and his wife Ashlie (who live on the main strip) and we got bourbon chicken and visited the various tents and then we went to The Garage which we helped build 5-6 years ago and lamented how what had at one time been a pretty successful venue has become a bike shop (albeit a pretty great bike shop). On the way back to my place, where we enjoyed some beer and Mario-Kart with Dad, we talked about how nostalgic the festival is for us, and we pondered how life carries us forward and we never know what's up next. Tomorrow I'll be going to church and then to the Oakwood Starbucks to visit my friend Jess Lynn while hammering out notes for the next chapter in "Re:framing Repentance." Oh: and I set up a small Christmas Tree in my room. It's pretty nice. Thanksgiving is next week, and it'll be good to visit family whom I don't see too often. 

a beer and Christian ethics

Tonight's "beer of choice" is cheap (thanks to low funds due to school loans and a trip to Cincinnati tomorrow) but delicious: blancahe de namur, a smooth and mild Belgian white beer laden with the scent and taste of fruits (notably orange) and notes of coriander and clove. Not the best but pretty good. Tonight I drink in celebration of finishing yet another chapter in "Re:framing Repentance." 

It's the first of a two-part chapter regarding Christian ethics. In this chapter I look at two polar opposite ways of viewing Christian ethics: the existentialist's fascination with authenticity and spontaneity in "living by the Spirit" and the legalist's adherence to a revised and updated "Mosaic Law" called "the law of Christ." Throughout this book I've examined different perceptions on different subjects and dealt with them in different ways. For some issues, I've picked bits and pieces from certain viewpoints and reconstructed them to what I believe to be a better view. On others, I've taken the foundations of different views and reworked them in lieu of a different foundation, making the foundations themselves more like pillars emerging from a different foundation. In this chapter, I took a different route: instead of embracing a paradigm shift, I advocated total deconstruction and reconstruction: new foundation and new pillars all! The foundation to understanding Christian ethics, I think, is two-fold, and they fit together: first, there is eschatology; and second, there is the rescue and renewal of human beings. The latter fits into the former. The latter approaches Christian ethics as what it looks like to live as a genuine human being, with Jesus being the true human being (of whom Adam was a type), and being "conformed to the image of Christ" is "being rebuilt into the fashion of a genuine human being." The former approaches Christian ethics as what it looks like to live in God's kingdom, God's new world, which was inaugurated with Jesus' resurrection and is advancing, and which will be completed in the future in a cataclysmic and beautiful act of God (what we call the "final judgment"). For the last two weeks I have agonized over this chapter, and I'm excited about how it turned out. 

Now I'm going to continue celebrating by polishing off this wonderful beer!

journal entry - 11.13

Maybe it's just another cycle--or even just the winter dregs--but I can't help but notice the cyclical nature of my life thus far. 'Round and 'round we go. Different faces. Different sceneries. Different subplots. But the overarching storyline remains the same: disappointment in every arena of life. Even the faintest hopes are disemboweled and gorged upon. I'm tired of everything being so damn cyclical. I want geographical movement. I want the story to GO somewhere. A few twists and turns would be nice. A few joyful surprises wouldn't turn me off. Anything but this cyclical rhythm. I feel like I'm on a merry-go-round and can't get off while everyone outside is living it up or at least on their way somewhere. Mom says I get way too complacent. Maybe, or perhaps I've just learned that it doesn't matter how hard you try, no matter how close you get, things won't change. Now, of course, I know that's not true. But its how I feel anyways, as if that matters. All I'm saying is that no matter how much "steam" you have, if your every effort is thwarted or ground to dust, you'll start losing your steam. Become long-winded, strained, exhausted, and then you'll collapse. Melancholy? Sure. But honest. I need a long-lasting manic cycle to get me out of this rut. In the end, what I want is change. I want the cycle to break. I want what has escaped my grasp despite my hard work, prayers, and resilience (a resilience which threatens to snap). Is there hope? Yes. There IS hope. "Remember, remember, the dumpster of November." The lament of Job 17.15-16--"Where is my hope?"--is answered by the first hints of dawn outside a smoldering Jerusalem in Lamentations 3.22-26: "There is hope in God. Remember!" My meltdown at the dumpster was a meltdown of hopelessness. Hope had seemingly abandoned me, and it felt--more than ever--that God had, too. And then, when it reached its pinnacle of hell, God acted--to my astonishment and thanksgiving, for his praise and glory. The world may be dark but there is light. "Hope in the LORD. Wait for the LORD. And watch him work." 

the walking dead

This is the kind of thing I watch when I'm tired but can't sleep.
And then I can sleep like a baby.
I think something's wrong with me.

on hope: journal entries

As promised, I have decided to include (in a series of 3-4 posts) echoes of my current struggles, which tend to focus, in varying angles, on two things: (a) hope and (b) the nature of God's workings with man, and indeed with myself. I'll give the actual dates when I wrote the journal entries, which is interesting, because it reveals an evolution (as well as a devolution) of my thought patterns. For example, in the post below, you'll see a moment of despair, then a moment of encouragement and resolution, then right back into the pit (albeit a pit reworked around the former encouragement and resolution). Perhaps the swinging back and forth could be due to my mood swings, but no one really knows. Anyways, here I am, bearing my soul for the first of 3-4 posts, and the subject is hope. 

October 15. I don't know what to do. Confusion and indecisiveness befall me at every turn. Life wasn't supposed to look like this. I was supposed to be married and working at a small church by now. Something went wrong--I went wrong--and the result is this: a minimum-wage job, a broken car, swamped in debt, single and broken-hearted and a breaker of hearts. Where has the joy, the hope, the passion gone? It's been replaced with a numbness, a resignation, an odd sort of sterility. Cold, calloused, burnt-out. This is who I am. And yet I plunge forward. Why? Because the hope that things will get better--however meager a hope--still lives within me, at times dormant and at other times erupting. Is this hope valid? Or just a coping technique? Will things get better? Or will the old prophecy come true, that I'm "waiting for a resolution that will never come"?

October 19. I do hope things will get better. I hope I'll find a job where I make enough to afford my own place. I hope I make some really great new friends. I hope I fall in love with a beautiful and--more importantly--wonderful and godly girl, and that we will build a family together. I am losing hope in aspects of all this as I become better acquainted with reality. The only thing that is guaranteed in this life is suffering. Are you happy? Rejoice. Are you hurting and sad? Get used to it. These hopes, these dreams, may be no more than wishful thinking, and we say, "They're my destiny!" while destiny--if there is such a thing--proves herself again and again to be a bloodsucking leech. It's futile to put our hopes--my hopes--in the things of this life, because everything is so fragile and easily broken. Instead of walking around with a smile, maybe I should walk around with a frown, a mirror image of the world around me--or, to be proactive, walk with some tape and glue to mend shit when it breaks (knowing it'll probably just break worse next time)?

October 21. Regarding what I wrote on the 19th, I DO have hope, and this hope will NOT disappoint. Nothing is certain in this life, in this "present evil age," but there is a hope that IS certain, and it's a hope that is eschatological. It is the hope that no matter what may happen to me in the "here and now"--that is, in my life in this fallen, corrupted, decaying world--there is the guarantee--no matter the present pains and sufferings--of EXALTATION, of GLORIFICATION, of INHERITING A NEW HEAVENS AND NEW EARTH. I wrote those in caps because they should be at the forefront of my mind. I have the hope--a certain hope--of one day living--even reigning!--in a world restored, revamped, reimagined, a world free of the corruption and decay of the present. While this life is certainly more than a "vale of tears," sometimes that's precisely what it feels like. And though I may feel overwhelmed, overpowered, overstressed and overdrawn, there is the promise of rest and renewed life the other side of judgment. It is the promise of resurrection, and this promise sustains me.

November 1. Where has hope gone? My stoicism takes hope and hurls it to the ground, crushing it underfoot. I mock any non-eschatological hope as a deceptive illusion, and in my mockery I embrace a sterile life where God, for all practical reasons, is absent. He won't intervene, he won't answer my prayers, he won't come through on his promises. I don't legitimately believe any of that, but those are the whispers that assault my mental ears daily. It's depressing, and maybe some of this is due to former disillusionment with God, a disillusionment which spurned me into rethinking my entire perception of God. I want him to come through. I want him to answer my prayer, the same prayer I've prayed for seven years. But I'm losing hope, and I want it back. 

new car

I finally got a new car, thanks to the generosity of my friend Patrick. It's in excellent shape minus chipping paint on the hood and roof, but I'm the kind of guy who really doesn't care. What matters is if it runs, and compared to the beat-up Prizm, this is like a dream come true. It's a 1992 Celica, and if you squint in low light, it looks like a Miata. "It's a two-seater." Minus the two seats in the back. Anyways, I've got a new car and new plates and insurance is good to go, so I'll be parking my Prizm on the street until I figure out what to do with it. In other news, I got a $150 pair of shoes for $1.50 at Goodwill, and they're in excellent condition. Pretty good deal. I had a piercing migraine after work today and slept three hours and my head still hurts so I'm not going to write much more. My week will be pretty uneventful, minus seeing my good friend Jess Lynn this Friday and then hitting up Christmas in Springboro--a tradition!--this weekend. Thanksgiving is only a few days away and I'm excited about good food and good beer with the family.