A Response to Car Troubles

It would be unfair of me not to provide a counterpoint to the previous post, as dolorous in tenor as it was. Without going in to the details of the car (except that it still looks like it will end badly, that is, with it being sold for parts), I should like to address how the Lord has answered my complaints and queries.

In essence, He spoke to me through the eighth chapter of Romans, which I had been approaching as part of my regular Bible study in the mornings. The chapter begins with Paul explaining the difference between the old man and the new man. One walks according to the flesh, the earthly way of being and doing and thinking and feeling, while the other walks according to the Spirit, because the Spirit lives in him. And because the Spirit lives in him, he is set free from fear (15), and is a son of God.

This served as a balm to my raw and swollen soul. This was comfort and consolation, the affirmation of my new position in life, my freedom from sin and fear, the opportunity to draw upon the resources of God. It helped even out my emotions through quiet consolation, a still, small whisper of love.

But the Truth came next, the bolstering up of my spirits, the renewing of my mind. Verse 18: "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us." Well, that rocked me back on my metaphorical haunches. I was suffering last night, and Paul's suffering is worlds' worse than mine will ever be, in all probability. It was a kind of dope slap upside the head: Wake Up! It's just some light and momentary troubles!

Which brings me to the famous passage beginning with 31: "What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us?" He goes on to say that God's no skinflint, a niggardly Scrooge doling out coals that barely generate heat on a cold winter's day. He sacrificed His Son for us; do we really think He'll blanch at trifles like money, physical health, relationships, and the like? What are they but hay and stubble? "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?" (35). Are we that stupid as to think that the things of this world can break bonds forged in the blood of God's Son, God Himself? Even an unutterable tragedy like a car breaking down a few times can't come close to being in the same universe as the provision that blood-soaked cross and empty tomb made for us.

To add to my shame, the next verses talk of facing death, equating themselves to slaughtered sheep, before we come to arguably one of the most triumphant verses ever penned: "For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (38-39). We are to be more than conquerors in these things, never forgetting how we do this, "through Him who loved us," and gave Himself for us (37).

So this morning was a gentle dope slap and a spiritual hug.

Car Troubles: An Understatement

Tonight I found myself standing along the side of the road in 30 degree weather, at 10:30 at night, as my car's hazard lights dolefully signaled my depression in regular rhythmic bursts of light. Why, I asked myself? Why does this keep happening to me? What have I done? Is this punishment? Does suffering build character? Surely character-building must end and the character built must be put into practice, musn't it? How much more character do I need, O Lord?

To fully appreciate the situation, let me back up a bit. Almost 2 weeks ago my car died. Just conked out a couple blocks from my house. My uncle towed it to a mechanic he trusted and I was carless for a while, necessitating my father to drive 3 hours round trip to shuttle me to my classes. After a sojourn in Kirksville, he shuttled me back again, leaving me with the promise of the use of my good friend Walker's car. All the while the car in questions languished at the mechanic's, who seemed less interested in fixing it than taking his son to football games. 

 

At last, come Friday, I was told it was ready, after a mere $500+. I enlisted Walker's help on Saturday morning to pick it up, with a check from my parents since my cash flow is less of a flow and more of a dry ravine at this point. The mechanic refused to take a check, preferring cash. I had to cash the check and return today, once I could get someone to drive over with me. The mechanic had "fixed" the problem, but now the idle was reminiscent of my early attempts to learn stick shift, a violent bucking and missing of the engine at stops. It made it to Walker's house, where I enjoyed his company and games for a while. A mere three minutes away, the car shuddered and died. My best efforts to revive it were fruitless. Eventually Walker came and helped push it off the road, with a charitable passer-by also lending a hand. 

 

That is the tale. Less than 5 hours after getting the car back from the shop, it sputtered and died. Now, my ire toward the mechanic notwithstanding, I find myself in the position of Job, wondering why I seem to attract futility and misfortune like moths to light. Not only have I been unable to find gainful employment since being fired over 2 years ago, but I have had at least 5 significant problems with cars since then, beginning with the totalling of an earlier car. At this point the pattern is alarming.

 

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart; lean not on your own understanding. Acknowledge Him in all your ways, and He shall direct your paths." This verse floated into my mind as I drove to my house, fuming and talking to God. I poured out my frustration and despair to Him, and this is what He told me. The "lean not on your own understanding" seems easy enough, since I'm baffled at this continual catastrophe that seems to dog my efforts. Trusting in the Lord is harder, however. At least, for my heart. I am aware of the verses that speak of this, I know the arguments and answers to such wonderings; if the situation happened to someone else I would rush to offer sage wisdom and comfort. But when you're the one at the bottom of the trough and the wave looks a mile high as it looms, poised to crash over you, the calm logic rings hollow and the Christianese falls flat. My heart feels battered and bruised, bewildered and crushed, despondent and discouraged.

Birthday Musings

What would you do if you had five years to live? Or one? I guess the difference would make quite a difference, but the point of the well-worn exercise is to reexamine your life. As I celebrate another year of existence, and begin to delve into the bleak and cynical world of the television series Mad Men, I find myself pondering such arcane issues as "where do I find enjoyment in life? What do I do that satisfies me and brings me peace and contentment? And more importantly, what would I do differently if a clock was running down somewhere?"

Would I be nicer to people? Or meaner? Would I stop procrastinating with my "dreams" and ambitions? Would I lose some inhibitions or gain some? It's a fun exercise, but it doesn't really get you anywhere to muse on it for its own sake. You have to move past it to look at how we define ourselves and our lives.

You see, the people in Mad Men, 1950's advertisement marketers, define themselves by pleasure. Notably, Don Draper, the central figure (I think "hero" is inappropriate for both the actuality and intention of the show's writers) smokes, drinks, has a wife and family, a prestigious and weighty job, a steady stream of women on the side, and, well, the world on a string. And I'm only 2 episodes in but I can already see that this is almost at the zenith of the parabola of his life. He's in his thirties, can get any girl that he wishes, goes home to a dutiful and doting wife, and makes a living in NYC in a bustling and challenging industry. Yet, he's unhappy. Deeply flawed. Desperately cynical. Absolutely existential in worldview. Live for the now, it's all there is. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die. Strike that, tomorrow we will die, whether tomorrow is the next day or 30 years away. Life ends in death.

We look at athletes, cultural icons like singers or actors, the filthy rich and powerful, all desperately trying to postpone that awful truth that death awaits all of them, that their beauty, their fame, their fortune, their abilities, their influence, their legacy cannot save them. No matter how filled the hyphen may be with success, pleasure, and happiness, the date always comes last. No hyphen ever ends unresolved.

And so I look back at my 29 years on earth and see no great accomplishments, in the world's context. I'm nearly broke, alone, rotund (to put it kindly), aimless. And before me dangles the promise that life will have greater meaning if you accumulate wealth, find a dazzling beauty's affection, and create an enduring legacy. But does it? Even someone like Shakespeare, whose work still remains relevant 300 years after his death, who is lionized and canonized, is no more than words on a page. His life is over, and long since his body has disintegrated. What has his fame and legacy profited him? What does it matter if a man gains the whole world without ever saving his soul?

You see, I'm tempted to resolve to live like I have a year left in life, or five. To stop procrastinating or drifting in life's uneasy eddies and DO SOMETHING! But what would I do? And why would it matter?

I am not unaware of the answer that Christ Jesus offers to this quandary that plagues every honest soul that looks around and at itself in frank evaluation. The answers, the counters, the hope, spring to my mind. That's kind of the issue, isn't it? If God's directing my steps, then the worth of my actions, my words, my very life, lie in that context as He decides and directs. It's a suspiciously simple answer: God! He's the answer! Like a cure-all that promises panacea, just trust God and continue on. Well, I trust God. And I'm still at that place I mentioned earlier. I've trusted Him most of my life, to varying degrees. And the alternative to God holds no attraction to me; as Mad Men exemplifies and reinforces, the crazed pursuit of worth, wealth, and ecstasy in the world's context is hollow and vain. I know it, like a man knows he's in love. It's a surety born not of mind or emotion but both, and therefore deeper and higher than either. I know God exists. I know He alone can answer these deep questions and notions we all face. I know that apart from Him, everything is vanity, a chasing after the wind. I know it.

I trust God, but my heart still cries out for meaning, for purpose, for peace and pleasure. How will God provide these? Or will He wait until death renders all questions moot?

Forgiveness?

The issue of forgiveness is fraught with complications. My small group recently grappled with this thorny problem, namely, whether or not we should petition for God’s forgiveness on a continual basis, and whether it is incumbent upon us to forgive others in order to receive God’s forgiveness. 

Matthew contains several passages that address this issue. 6:14-15: “For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” Pretty blatant, huh? No wiggle room there. Our forgiveness from God is directly proportional to our forgiveness toward our fellow man. 

Similarly, in chapter 18, Jesus answers his disciple’s question about forgiveness with a parable, the upshot of which is that the unforgiving man will not receive forgiveness from the Father. The message is clear: in order to receive God’s forgiveness, we must forgive. That means that our righteousness, our rightness with God depends upon what we do. Fair to say? Our standing with Yahweh is in our hands. 

Hmm. Does this sound right? That our salvation and forgiveness of sin depends upon ourselves and our own ability? First, it’s directly contradicted by a later New Testament book, Titus, where in 3:5 Paul explains, “Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost.” This passage states categorically that forgiveness of sins, salvation, is entirely dependent upon God’s work, not ours. Ephesians 2:8-9 echoes this sentiment, as well as Galatians 3:1-5. Paul spends a great deal of time hammering this point home in Romans 3-5, as evidenced in 3:28: “For we maintain that a man is justified by faith apart from the law.”

Well, we seem to find ourselves in a bit of a bind here. On the one hand, Jesus dictates that forgiveness comes through the efforts of man; on the other, Paul claims that grace and salvation are solely works of Jesus Christ and our faithful acceptance of His work on the cross and in the tomb. Who do we believe? On the one hand, Jesus is the Son of God and Messiah, so He seems to be the more credible source. On the other, the entire Christian message is predicated on this fact, that man cannot earn his way into God’s good graces, that through effort and devotion alone he cannot fulfill the demands of God’s righteousness. How do we reconcile these seemingly contradictory messages?

Here’s how I do it. And this may seem like a cop-out, but it’s quite possibly the only way to do it. Jesus was outlining the true demands of the Mosaic Law when He laid down these strictures. Remember that the Sermon on the Mount, which is where we found the first reference, featured Jesus defining the true meaning of the Law. Not that merely an outward abstaining from sin would suffice (i.e. committing adultery through the physical act) but the thoughts and feelings of the heart were enough to condemn people of sin (i.e. that a married man merely lusting after a woman constitutes adultery). God judges the heart, not just the behavior, Jesus preached, because He sought to debunk the myth that observance of the Law would justify people before God. No one ever completely fulfilled the demands of the Law perfectly, in thought and deed. Which meant that salvation and justification must come another way. Jesus was, in essence, knocking out the last wobbling supports of the righteousness man could produce to clear the way for the righteousness that He would offer after His resurrection was complete. 

So when He ordered men to forgive in order to receive God’s forgiveness, the undercurrent went something like this: “You have to forgive perfectly, completely, unconditionally, and utterly. Can you do it? Can you forgive like God forgives? Can you muster the strength of will, the compassion, the grace and mercy that God can muster? No? Then neither shall you be able, of your own ability, to obtain God’s forgiveness. Are you ready to give up and admit that you need help? That you can’t do it yourself? Good. Now you’re ready to hear some good news…”

The passages in which Jesus lays down the Law occur before the Crucifixion. They were setting the stage for the new kind of righteousness, a radical and utterly subversive understanding of the way people were to behave and live. As the Galatians reference I mentioned outlines, we received salvation through no work or worth of our own, relying completely on the sufficiency of Christ to provide for us. Even as we were saved, so should we also live. And here is the wonderful nature of the Gospel, because now the old passages of Jesus take on a new meaning. Because if we live as we were saved, completely relying on Jesus to live for us and through us, then we can forgive as God forgives because we have the life of God in us, animating us through the Holy Spirit. Isn’t that cool?

So now in light of this understanding, the two seemingly incompatible philosophies are reconciled by this simple principle, that conversion and redemption, joining the family of God through the death and resurrection of Christ, marks the switch from ego-centric activity to Christo-centric activity. The source of our activities and will in our lives no longer originates within ourselves, our minds, emotions, and will, but rather from the Holy Spirit who indwells us. And this should help us answer the other issue mentioned earlier, namely, whether or not we should continually petition God for forgiveness. 

If it is true that all our sins were forgiven at our redemption, as I John 1:7 and 9 suggest, and it is true that we are indwelled by the Holy Spirit and that nothing will ever separate us from that union (Romans 8:35, 38-39), if we are in fact the righteousness of God (2 Corinthians 5:21), then should we continue to ask for God to do what He did at Calvary? It would be like a man who owed another man ten thousand dollars continuously asking his debt-holder to forgive him the debt even after the debt-holder had forgiven it. 

But wait, you might rejoin, suppose the debtor continues to run up debt beyond that initial ten grand? Wouldn’t the debt-holder have to keep forgiving that debt? In my flawed analogy, according to the worldly context of justice, yes. But God’s forgiveness, as Hebrews 10 discusses, covers all sin: past, present, and future. In the analogy, it would be akin to the debt-holder saying, “I forgive you for your past debt, and furthermore, for any debt you may incur henceforth.” 

Hebrews 10 outlines this explicitly, drawing the distinction between the old covenant, which required sacrifices again and again, to pay for the sins as they were committed, and the new covenant, through Jesus, which covers all Sin past and future. Verses 10 through 12: “By this will we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all. Every priest stands daily ministering and offering time after time the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins; but He, having offered one sacrifice for sins for all time, sat down at the right hand of God.” 

The common objection to this free grace message runs something like “well, if we’re covered by Jesus’ blood and have unlimited forgiveness, let’s go out and have a ball, and if we sin, well, it’s all good.” The answer to this occurs in Romans 6, where Paul rebuts this argument soundly by explaining the fact that Christians no longer live in obedience to their sinful natures. We are dead to sins, he claims in verse 11, that we might live to God’s righteousness. And this brings us back to our first conclusion, regarding the indwelling Holy Spirit. As we walk in the newness of life that the Holy Spirit brings, we must choose to allow the new life of the Spirit to control. This will diminish the need for asking for forgiveness as we will commit fewer sins as the Holy Spirit takes over more of our hearts and behaviors. 

(Also, if a “Christian” decides to keep his sinful ways after having a conversion experience, without the slightest indication that his heart and attitude has been changed, then we have to question the genuineness of the conversion. The Holy Spirit hates sin; therefore, the continued presence and enjoyment of sin would be intolerable to the true convert, whereas the false convert, lacking the presence of Righteousness Himself, may freely wallow in sin without a scorched conscience.)

All that said, I believe that Christians should ask for forgiveness of God. Now, calm down, steady on. Before you froth at the mouth, let me clarify. I’m not saying we ask for forgiveness for the sins we commit; I’m advocating we ask for forgiveness for the breaking of the fellowship and relationship with God. In terms of marriage, a husband might ask for forgiveness from his wife (or, theoretically, vice versa. But let us remain in reality). Does it mean that until he does so their marriage is broken, that asking forgiveness “remarries” them? Certainly not. But their relationship is damaged and their fellowship, their intimacy might be marred, and asking for forgiveness can restore that intimacy. Similarly, when I sin, that sin does not come between me and God in the sense that it did before my conversion, which caused spiritual death and separated me from Life Himself. It is not as creature and Creator, as God and man, that sin sunders me now; rather it is as Father and son, as Husband and bride, the relationship I now share with Him that needs to be mended. For it is possible to grieve the Holy Spirit, as Ephesians 4:30 tells us, and like any person who has wronged another, to restore a right relationship with them we must admit our culpability and turn back to Him.

Far-Gazing

When the wind wails like a mournful crow,
when the trees tremble like caffeinated children,
when the grass mutters like a spiteful spouse,
when the clouds darken like an agitated pond,
I see further down time’s rivulet
than the far-seeing prophet
who searches the sagebrush of
murky despair, the broad highways
palmed in indelible tragedy.
Spittle and blood sashay against the
hell-forces pushing up through
viscera and memory
elbowing each other as they
bowl in wooden sands, flailing
and falling from bottom to top.
Whenever my hair rises in salute
to mystery and reality, my breath wheezes
a victory of platitudes; nothingness
presides.

O come Bright Wonder!
Come and deliver
a sensible peace,
a smiling serenity
to tortured tongues
that flap with foul breath
and messages of inanity,
preambles of insanity.
The sun scolds my brow,
beaten with sins,
dejected by compromise
with facile temptations,
bland imprecations.
Release temples tempestuous
from the sheen of fallen dark,
rain petals floating on a windy
shore.
Sigh no more.

What's in a Name?

I was recently struck by something that may seem obvious to you, but stay with me. God does a lot of renaming in the Bible. People come up in the narrative and God decides to rename them. This is puzzling and somewhat ironic since God’s first marching orders to man was to name everything. Man must have done okay in naming the animals, but apparently we’ve botched the process of naming ourselves.

You see this all over the place. Abraham is the first and clearest example. Abram was not polysyllabic enough, it seems. Not to be left out, Sarai becomes Sarah. It skipped a generation, but then Jacob gets a new handle too: Israel. Funny that the name of the country was originally the name of the scheming, lace-panty grandson of Father Abraham, whose name meant “swindler, cheat, liar” appropriately enough. It even happens in the New Testament, when Jesus dubs Simon “Peter”. Later, Saul of Tarsus becomes Paul, wishing to avoid any unpleasant associations with the first king of Israel who was a bit off in the head. At least, until his head came off. But Paul, in his attempt to pursue humility, took a name meaning “little”, which may have also referenced his stature. Physically at least; in the annals of God, it’s another matter.

All very uninteresting, you might muse. Ever the cynic. Allow me another observation before a possible application. I’ve always enjoyed how names meant something in olden days. You never really get that very much nowadays except for Muslim names or African names with fifty letters and some weird punctuation like apostrophes and hyphens thrown in for color. What does “Tom” mean? Or “Phil”? “Jessica”? “Heather”? But “Abraham” means “Father of many” and “Sarah” means "princess," though the rename seems to imply that she would be mother of nations and kings (Genesis 17:15-16). Isaac means “He laughs” because of Sarah’s incredulous chuckle gave way to joyful giggling. We noted Jacob’s name, and it was changed to Israel since he struggled with God. Heck, even his brother Esau got into the act, thanks to his bountiful hair. “Peter” means “rock” and Jesus gives the meaning for this name change, explaining that the Church would be founded in some way upon Peter’s ministry and service. The point being, here, that the names said something about the person; they spoke of the person’s identity. Abraham became the father of a great nation, and spiritually the father of the Christians since his lineage included Christ, the Father of the new covenant. Peter became the rock of the early church, acting as a leader and apostle, dedicated until his death.

I have a name that originates in the Bible, which means “Beloved”, but by and large our names mean nothing to us anymore. They don’t speak about us or describe who we are; they’re just devices for differentiation. But names used to not only tell us what we were to call the person, they told us about the person as well, which is probably why people were given their final names later in life, not at birth. Which leads me to my final Scriptural references.

Revelation 2: 17. “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will…give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it.”

God’s not done renaming people. When we stand before Him and are shriven of our earthly flesh, purified in Jesus’ holy presence and burnt clean of imperfection, to each of us will He give a new name. And based on His naming practices in the past, the name He will give will describe us. This passage leapt off the page when I first encountered it; I have always fancied that the name He’ll bestow will be related to my unique relationship with Him. For each of us will have our entirely original relationship with God. He does not intend to subsume our personalities, to eradicate our individuality, but rather to perfect it by uniting it with the Source of meaning and life and personality Himself. Each of us will express our relationship with Him in our own way, in Heaven as we do on earth.

I also like that the new name is private. No one else will know but Him and me. No one else will impinge upon our intimacy, our connection. Like lovers have a pet name for each other that only emerge during their private times, I and God will share our private joy even in the midst of the fellowship of the saints.

Because I’m looking for a new name. Not that my old name doesn’t suit me, but I associate it with my past, the failings and sins that haunt me to this moment, that dog my steps, thoughts, and words and shall until my life is over. If I were to answer the question God asked Jacob, when He wanted to hear Jacob confess who he was, what he had done, my name(s) would be different but equally hopeless and shameful. God wants to change our name, but we have to acknowledge our name first. We have to realize that our identity as we have managed it is hopeless, and allow God to rename us, change our identity.

So I eagerly await the day when I’ll turn over the white stone and read the name God wants to know me by, who He thinks I am and who He’s making me to be. The name will be an identity unique and united with Jesus with unadulterated harmony and perfection.

What’s in a name, the Bard once queried. Who you are and who you will be is the answer. So what’s your name?

Lessons from Spackle

It occurred to me today that I have achieved expertise at mudding a wall with spackle. I know this because it fell to me to put the second coat of spackle on. The first coat is usually done with a quick-drying compound that must be mixed many times and immediately applied to the cracks and joints between pieces of drywall. I also did this, preparing the room for a second coat. The first coat is literally filling in the cracks, getting the major joints and separations covered, so that the second coat, and third if necessary, will create a smooth, seamless transition from one drywall board to another. Then it will be time to paint.

Now, I did a decent job at the first coat. There were a lot of rough edges and iffy mud jobs, but again, the goal isn’t purity, it’s practicality. The subsequent coats require the more seasoned hand, feathering the spackle out to where it fades into nothing, a seamless transition to the drywall. And I put up the slower drying spackle that constitutes the finished coats. My uncle, who is “supervising” this home improvement project, stood in general approval of the progress of the room, but he failed to compliment me for (to my mind) the fine execution of the second coat. Don’t misunderstand; ever since I did a great deal of spackling for the upstairs rooms in which I now abide, I have been teasingly referred to as an “expert” in mudding walls. That is to say, I know the techniques well enough to need no instruction or oversight to put up the initial and subsequent coats. I’ve done a lot of first coats, and been plied with compliments by my uncle who is quick to praise and bolster my self-esteem in matters handyman.

So the lack of his praise in this case struck me as an even higher praise than the explicit acknowledgment usually rendered. In essence, my expertise in spackling has become so accepted that it is now expected, and hence unremarkable. When you are truly proficient at something, others tend to notice it less. Familiarity may not breed contempt, but it certainly leads towards complacency. This we find even if the familiarity is with excellence.

Allow me to illustrate this further with my favorite activity, golf. (Note: it is not only possible, but distinctly likely, that I am wildly overrating my abilities in spackling. Which, by the way, is a delightfully absurd statement in and of itself. Be aware that my uncle’s indifference might not have sprung from familiarity with excellence, but plain oversight, and the lengthy discourse you just suffered through was nothing more than me stroking my ego.)

As my elder sister could tell you from taking Theory of Coaching Basketball, there are four accepted stages of progression in mastering a skill: Unconscious Incompetent (where the novice is doing the motion required by the sport or activity wrong and doesn’t know it); Conscious Incompetent (where the novice realizes his/her inadequacies and struggles to correct them); Conscious Competent (where the practitioner begins to perform the motion correctly through diligent practice and conscious effort); and finally Unconscious Competent (also known as “being in the zone,” where the practitioner is performing the activity correctly without thinking about the motion and theory; highly desired by athletes professional and amateur alike). This usually applies to the athlete shooting a basketball, throwing a baseball, or swinging a golf club. The progression of knowledge and mastery is only to be gained by repetition and mental focus. And as I have discovered to my chagrin of late, even the physical action can be superseded by the mental element. It is of paramount importance that the golfer maintains a proper mental attitude, attempting to focus lightly on the golf swing during a round, allowing the practice to flow freely.

How does this relate? Well, if the golfer is dedicated (read: obsessed) enough to practice, study, and be deliberate in building his swing, then the results should produce an improved swing. Where once the irons sprayed all over the place, or the driver produced a banana slice shot, the wild vacillations and inconsistencies should diminish to the point where the golfer is hitting a consistent fade of ten yards every tee shot, or knows that his nine-iron will travel 145 yards every time. And less and less will the golfer focus on the swing mechanics of the driver or nine-iron, turning his attention increasingly to aiming the ball and controlling the distance properly. The swing can become unconsciously competent.

And here we finally see the correlation to my spackling expertise. Because if someone is familiar enough with the golfer’s game, they will no longer exclaim in the precise judgment and control of the drive, or the precision of the nine iron shot, because they expect nothing less. They have seen the golfer execute the shot enough times that the result is no longer surprising; indeed, the surprise comes only when the golfer fails to execute the proper shot. My uncle still remarks on my “gorgeous” driver shots, but only as a response to his inability to hit consistent drives. He witnessed my recent woes and repeatedly expressed shock and amazement at the futility of my shotmaking, so used was he to a higher caliber of play from me.
So take it from me that if you’re doing something exceedingly well and no one seems to notice or applaud, it probably springs from the fact that they expect excellence from you and we never marvel at the fulfillment of our expectations, only at their thwarting. Which is more satisfying? Is it better to hear the praise or to understand that the lack of praise denotes a respect and faith in one’s ability and proficiency? That is too great a question for me to answer for anyone other than myself. And here we delve into the murky waters of psychology and the machinations of people’s minds.

I must confess that for myself, I luxuriate in the praises of men, which should tell you something about me. The man who is truly confident in himself needs no other validation or confirmation.

One final point. Is there any application from this discussion concerning our life with God? I have often marveled at the parallels between life and golf, and the analogies of golf to the Christian walk are no less striking. The main lesson or moral that might apply here takes a slight twist on the notion of the unconscious competency that is the highest level of proficiency. For the progression of faith-walking is similar to the mastery of a skill. We begin in blissful ignorance, unaware of our need for salvation and deliverance from sin. The carnal mind is not subject to the laws of God, neither indeed can be, for he is hostile towards God. Once the good news has been revealed to us, once the Spirit begins to work on our hearts, we become conscious of our need, our depravity, and ultimately become saved. The line between conscious incompetent and competent need not be salvation, for even after we are saved we are still learning to know the will and mind of God, and we still make horrendous mistakes and grieve Him. In fact, it sometimes seems to me that most Christians never actually progress from the second to the third phase; I myself often feel like I am hopelessly incompetent in living the Christian life and obeying God’s mandates.

And here we must differentiate between worldly endeavors and the ordinances of God. For we do not progress in closer fellowship with Jesus by dint of our efforts, our study, our practice of rituals, even rituals like reading the Bible or attending church. If you doubt this, you need only read of the Pharisees of Jesus’ and his disciples’ day, whose job it was to be preachers and teachers and students of the Scriptures, yet who could look on the physical face of God and shout for his execution. The efforts of man do not avail in the context of God. This is what Paul meant when he chastised the Galatians in chapter 3 of his epistle, reasoning with (and railing a little at) those believers who were trying to continue in the life of Christ in a completely different manner than that which led to their salvation. We are not saved by our own efforts, but through God’s provision; as we have been saved, so should we walk, relying not on ourselves to fulfill the requirements of Jesus, but again allowing God to have His way in us, to provide for our life even as He provided for our salvation.

And this is the difference between the stages, because we never become consciously competent in walking with God. We never become proficient in living the Christian life through our own verve and mastery. We become competent in living the Christian life to the extent that we focus our attention and will towards God, away from ourselves. So we must delete the Conscious Competent phase and skip to the Unconscious Competent phase, in which we are not oblivious to God, but rather we are oblivious to ourselves, our efforts to please Him and live for Him. He wants to live for us, not the reverse; to live through us, to accomplish His will His way, and use us as His hands and feet. The hands don’t decide what to do; they obey the head.
In fact, true Christ-likeness involves the recognition in us of our complete and utter inadequacy to live the Christian life. We don’t ever make it past the Incompetent stage! Our competency comes from surrender of our lives to God. This is the good news of living the Christian life: the pressure’s off! You don’t have to sweat it! Just let go and let God, to use an old cliché.

So who then gets the praise, the glory? Well, if we’re unequal to the task and God’s the one doing the work, bringing souls to Him, performing miracles, then who should get the glory? And this is the crux of the matter, because as long as we delude ourselves that we can live for God, do His work our way, be Consciously Competent for Him, then we can claim credit for the successes and bask in the glory. If we relinquish our foolish dreams of adequacy for God, He receives all the glory. And despite the countless hymns and songs and sermons the Church enjoys every Sunday that claim to espouse this attitude, it is all too rare nowadays to see in everyday Christian behavior.

So you must choose in your Christian walk: would you rather go it alone, take up the yoke and burden of evangelism and purity and observance of God’s perfection, and so claim the glory (what little there will be) for yourself? Or will you allow God to be your competency, to live and work through you, and so surrender both your life and the glory to Him?

What the Foolish Heart Feels

I wonder if loneliness can develop a hardened crust, a scab on the heart, a tough kernel that fulfills the prophecy it first believed long ago when the prophecy was untrue. Can it be that someone who thinks of themselves as worthless and unbecoming to the fairer sex will in fact truly become such because they've walked in that belief for so long? Or does the belief immediately render that person undesirable? And for that matter, how many times can someone be overlooked or rejected before such a self-opinion cannot help but form?

It's frustrating to think that I would be hung up on the opinion of other people when I claim to believe that God's opinion of me is of infinitely greater worth. And yet, I can't help it. I feel so unattractive, so crippled and bilious, so awkward and lonely, that even if a girl showed a hint of interest, would I even notice, or recognize it for what it was? Would I ever believe something contrary to my worldview? Or has my self-esteem been warped to the point where I can no longer believe a woman would find me desirable?

And that's not even the worst part! Because I have a sinking feeling that my pervasive and twisted view of my desirability for women may be tainting my view of God's love for me. After all, the feeling goes, if that species of humans specifically designed to find blokes like me desirable uniformly rejects me, with an imperfect understanding of who I am, then how much more can God, who knows my flaws and foibles with perfect clarity, who knows my divided and double-minded heart, who has felt my every betrayal, even stand to look at me?

You may be thinking to yourself, "Wow, what a monument to self-pity." And you wouldn't be wrong. It's all a lie, I know that with my head. But the lie fits so well in the wounds of my heart, like puzzle pieces designed to coincide, that they seem legitimate. "Well, that's silly," you might counter. "As if the fact that knife wounds fit the knife that makes them indicates that the wounds were justly given! The King of Liars knows where the wounds are, and can tailor the lie so well that they seem indistinguishable from the wound itself." All well and good; that doesn't help dispel the lie very much.

What combats a lie? Truth, obviously. I can receive the truth from the Lord, and from other books that discuss His Word. I can recite the truth to myself based on my study and my experience of God's love. If I'm feeling particularly vulnerable or pitiable, I can appeal to family for validation. And yet, if I'm being honest, when all the other parts of the lie have been dispelled, that kernel still remains. And will until a girl, of her own free will, decides that I am more than just a nice guy, a brother in Christ, a smart teacher or funny classmate, an avid golfer or clever wordsmith, whatever else I clothe myself in, and wants me for me. "God wants you for you," you retort. I can't disagree, but I can't see that affection in God's face. I can't feel that warmth of embrace, or the way His face lights up when He sees me or hears my voice. All these things may be true, but the heart is foolish and instinctive; it needs tangible affirmation.

Does that make me a fool? Then I guess I'm a fool.

Mirth Without Measure

Have you ever laughed uncontrollably? Not at a funny movie or TV show tickling your funny bone, but just lost in hilarity? I met a girl the other day, whom I shall describe as, say, a flibbertigibbet, a scatterbrain, perhaps. Not ditzy, because I don’t think she’s stupid, but flighty. You know those people who get entirely lost and then breeze in cheerfully an hour after they promised to arrive, yet who are so compellingly attractive in personality that your immediate reaction is fondness. My twin has done her best impression of this sort of person on occasion. Anyway, this girl comes in, of whom we have been privy to much debate in the form of a running commentary by her cousin who is attempting to navigate her to the proper destination. I’m sitting next to a young rascal still ripening to full maturity, shall we say; barely legal to vote and smoke, not to drink. And after a few desultory comments from her, he and I exchange glances and start to bust a gut, as the saying goes. Just doubled over in laughter. My face is as red as a candy apple and I’m finding it difficult to breathe. Nonplussed, the girl inquires as to the source of our hilarity, which only serves to exacerbate the matter. Did she or the other people in the room say anything astoundingly amusing? No, not particularly. Were I pressed to give a reason for our uncontrolled laughter I might reference her blasé attitude coupled with her apparent woeful sense of direction. Grounds for a chuckle, a chortle perhaps, but hardly for the gales of laughter that issued from our lips.

Get to the point, you might well request. (Though if you’re a regular reader of mine you should know better than to demand clarity and simplicity in my writing.) Well, my point, again if pressed, would be something about the nature of laughter, the nature of mirth. G. K. Chesterton’s famous quote that concludes his treatise Orthodoxy is as follows: “There was some one thing that was too great for God to show us when He walked upon our earth; and I have sometimes fancied that it was His mirth.” This has always struck me profoundly as I am quick to laugh and eager to find humor in situations. Yet this was not the first time when I was overwhelmed with laughter without a great cause. Several years ago, (golly, it must be over ten at this point; how time flies), my sister and I were in my dad’s office and were talking about innocuous things, not remotely amusing. My sister then lifted her hand and said in a puzzled voice, “is this my left hand?” Nothing more, yet she and I promptly dissolved into fits of laughter similar to the episode I alluded to above.

Why should this be? Did we tap into some deep, vast reservoir of mirth that bubbles merrily below the conscious surface of humanity? Sure, we can laugh at a humorous movie or play; I was rebuked by my twin once for laughing too raucously in a movie theatre. I’ve seen movies that left me pounding the floor, breathless and teary with delight. But that’s not the sort of thing I’m discussing here. I speak of a mirth without any apparent direct cause. It borders on exultation in sharing experiences with others, in observing the minutiae of human behavior, the eccentricities and peculiarities that each human possesses, the gentle acknowledgment of the absurdity of ourselves. I’ve found that these experiences, of a preternatural hilarity, occur after seeing the complete and utter uniqueness of a human expression of intelligence and will. I shall give you a final example.

My dad and I used to play ping-pong at church on random evenings. We would have rousing and hotly contested battles in the foyer of the building, which also served as a temporary supply room for extra folding chairs. On one occasion, the ball scuttled under a pile of chairs and my dad lay prone to reach under and retrieve the errant ball. Finding himself not close enough to reach, he squirmed and wriggled a bit, looking to all eyes (mine) like a floundering fish. Unbidden and unpremeditated I gasped, “Free Willy!” And we both started laughing. For a good solid five minutes we guffawed and roared alternately, especially whenever we looked at each other. One of my fondest memories.

Now, to be sure, this involved a humorous stimulus, but again the inspired analogy that sprang to my lips hardly merited the unbridled euphoria and hilarity that resulted. Again, two people seemed almost to transcend the immediate situation, swept up to a plane of experience not directly related to the surroundings, there to partake of a mirth that, in my case, proved too potent to resist. In each case, I was helpless to arrest my laughter; even as my ribcage and my lungs protested, I could not stop laughing! An amazing phenomenon.

“To the point!” you cry. It is this: like C. S. Lewis’ description and pursuit of joy in his quasi-autobiography Surprised By Joy, have I, and those who have had similar experiences, tapped into a holy laughter, the mirth of God? In infinitesimal measure, sure, but a faint hint of it nonetheless? We like to imagine and revere the Father as holy, just, wise, and sovereign: the supreme Lord of Creation, the Judge of mankind, the noble Sacrificial Lamb and triumphant Redeemer, the Captain of the Hosts of Heaven. And He/They are all these things and immeasurably more. But isn’t it strange that for all the human emotions and behaviors that people experience, the one wholly absent from the Bible is mirth? There is no laughter in the Scriptures, no frivolity or humor. Even bizarre events like Balaam’s talking donkey, which presents possible puns, has a holy purpose and application. Any sarcasm or irony in Paul’s epistles are incidental and aimed more at puncturing puffed-up Pharisees than procuring a chuckle. If God did indeed create man in His own image, then whence comes the laughter? Is this a by-product of the Fall? Shall we never laugh again after the End of Days, even as we enjoy paradise for eternity? I do not see any inherent evil in laughter; like all other earthly things it can and has been perverted, but in essence it remains innocent.

I venture to say that the reason God might have omitted humor from His communiqués to humanity might be to avoid a certain inconsequentiality and irreverence that often accompanies laughter. After all, the court jester’s job was to poke fun at the king, to pull back the somber dignity of authority ever so slightly. And the redemption of man is no laughing matter. The ultimate depravity of man without God must be treated seriously; it cannot be dismissed or downplayed, and even the hint of humor might give grounds for skeptics to discount the entire Bible as fancy. As it stands, one cannot dismiss the Bible as frivolous; either it is deadly serious or it is fantasy. It cannot be funny. Moreover, as fallen humans we are too quick to wish to dull the shine of the majestic and noble, if for no other reason than the reminder they provide of our own shortcomings. God gives us no reason to do so, and the blasphemous inventions of those hostile to the Gospel come from their own imaginations and the human depictions and representations throughout the ages, not from divine Scripture.

But I wonder. I wonder sometimes when, during a frustrating round of golf, I hit a great shot or chip in from a ways away, if God’s not giggling just a little. I feel like He’s playful sometimes, when I’ve been musing on weighty issues for a while, and then I come to myself with a shake of the head and a sensation of wry amusement. I wonder if, after the glorious uniting of the saints with Him, the overthrow of the Devil (that humorless mongrel), the establishment of a new Heaven and Earth, the full realization of who God is and who we are in Him, I wonder if He might not rub His metaphysical hands together gleefully and say:


“Now for the fun part.”

The Pride of a Teacher

It strikes me that being a teacher, instructor, or professor of any kind in any subject is one of the most conducive professions to pride in the world, short of political leaders. Teachers face an unending stream of other people who are less informed, less accomplished, and less educated than themselves. The very existence of students is a constant boost of the ego of teachers, an ever-new reminder that they are superior.

As if this constant reminder was not sufficient reason for vanity, the actual task appointed to teachers reinforces this attitude. The teacher’s job, after all, lies in bringing up the students to their supposed level of intelligence, education, and sophistication. They are always pointing out things the students miss, informing them of facts or theories the students were ignorant of, and evaluating students’ work for errors, a tacit acknowledgment that the teachers are more expert in their discipline than the students. It’s a vicious cycle. I begin to understand the attraction of teacher, especially on the college level, the level I myself am most interested in.

The modern format of English classes, at least where I attended school, was supposed to counter this dynamic by having the class form in a circle, no one person at the “front” of the class depositing information to those listening and taking notes. In true Arthurian fashion, no one person is elevated above another. Yet even this equality is fundamentally flawed, because even when a student offers an opinion or several engage in a debate over the interpretation of a text, the final authority and arbiter of the dissension always ends up being the teacher. They are the “expert” on the text (they must be; they’re teaching it, after all, right?). And at the end of the day, or more accurately, the term, the students are submitting work and the teacher is evaluating it and assigning grades, as clear a delineation of roles as you will find nearly anywhere.

Now, this is not to say that all students are passive receptacles, empty vessels that consume and accept everything their teachers say. The very purpose of most composition and literature classes are directed toward the development of the individual voice of the student, a definite ability and opinion when it comes to textual analysis and aesthetic appreciation. And I have found that students who were challenged in high school English classes come prepared to offer very definite opinions on texts. This is commonly referenced by egalitarians as evidence that teachers don’t consider themselves better than students: “See, we allow diverse and opposing voices to be heard. Even if we know they’re wrong or uninformed we permit it.” But the very fact that teachers permit “dissension” relates the true attitude they hold, namely, that if they chose the students would not be allowed to render alternative readings or interpretations to the teacher’s.

Is this situation absolute and unequivocal? By no means. There are a great many teachers who understand that no matter how long and how thoroughly they study and ponder and teach texts and techniques, there will always be more to learn. I was reminded just the other day the thrill of introducing a text one has read and taught numerous times, and hearing an entirely new theory or interpretation from a student. It’s like discovering the text for the first time all over again, and that is the greatest satisfaction a truly humble teacher can ever enjoy. This is enhanced because it comes from a student, which shows that the student is actually engaging with the text to the point of coming up with readings that vary from the conventional. For there are always traditional and well-worn ways to interpret and comment about a text which the teacher is familiar with, so a truly unique and radical theory must necessarily be apart from the norm.

We have discovered the surest way of combating egotism in teachers, namely the learner’s spirit. As long as a teacher holds the attitude that they are thoroughly versed and entirely cogent concerning a text, their pedagogical manner will be condescending and elitist. If, however, they approach the text and the teaching with a desire to see something new, to hear a different take on it, with genuine interest in learning from their students as much as possible, they will avoid the pitfall of pride and will be truly open to an idea that they never considered. By a happy accident, they will also find that their own teaching of texts will improve overall, even if no revelatory theories are posited. The students can tell when the teacher cares about hearing their thoughts and when he’s just waiting to give his final reading. A true attitude of humility will produce more adventurous students and foster a free exchange of interpretations in the classroom far better than contrived or well-meaning strategies like a round-table discussion.

God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble. So do students.