Before I get to the content of today's post, I want to give you some reassurance. No, I will not make every future post about my dad or his death. Yes, I will soon move toward lighter content. I know you don't need to think about this as much as I do, so I'll do my best to make my public musings more relevant to the rest of you. This will hopefully be a bit of a transition piece to move in that direction.
Death is hard, although I don't know what it's like to experience it first hand. We'll all learn that experience someday, but until then we can only speculate. My statement is about the second hand experience: permanently losing contact with a loved one, being near them when they lose the ability to respond to those around them, and watching as moving and breathing becomes more and more difficult for them. This is hard.
I've heard some very "traditional" Christians make comments about death that I still can't understand. They have said (or implied) that death shouldn't be hard for Christians. They have said that because we believe in life after death that far surpasses life on earth, we have nothing to be sad about. To this, I call BS. And this is where my crisis of faith begins.
The above statements are more of a half-truth, and the half isn't always easy to believe in the heat of the moment. The other half is about a person being permanently absent from your life, and for me, the second half tried hard to overshadow the first half during the days after my dad's passing.
In the heat of the moment, when we went from a world with my dad to a world without him, I was flabbergasted by comments made by those around me (alternative reading: those with stronger faith than mine). The comments seemed to ignore the pain of the moment. As I knelt beside his hospital bed, unable to take my hand off of his arm, physically shaking from fear and sadness, they made what could almost be described as jokes.
I remember my aunt saying that dad is in Heaven dancing now (his legs hadn't worked well in over a year, and he hadn't been out of bed in over a month), and my mom's response that his dancing wouldn't be a pretty sight given his dancing skills. She actually laughed just moments after he passed, saying how glad she was that he was finally done being stuck in this stupid, broken body that had held him back for so long. I could not comprehend the joy that was expressed in this moment.
I remember my brother's commentary on watching his final moments. We had both watched him after he took his final breath, and we saw the physical signs of life taper off. He said that this was a neat thing to see, when I had watched it unblinkingly like a train wreck, terrified that his life would end yet knowing there was no other way. I could not comprehend the sense of awe that was expressed in this moment.
I remember the following morning, just hours after he passed, right before we settled into my mom's living room for the skyped church service that had been set up for my dad just a couple months ago (the whole extended family would join in this time). We disassembled the hospital bed and got it out of the living room, but there was a big "Happy Birthday" balloon still tied to the bed from my dad's 56th birthday celebration just 2 weeks before. I remember vaguely hearing of an idea to use the balloon in some form of memorial, but I didn't fully understand until 2 big bags of helium balloons showed up at our door. I watched as children, grandchildren, siblings, cousins, nieces, nephews, and great nieces and nephews wrote final thoughts of encouragement to my dad, then stapled their notes to the balloon ribbons. I watched as everyone, young and old, brought their balloons into the front yard, and I watched as everyone released their balloons to the sky yelling a "Happy Birthday" to celebrate my dad's first day in heaven. I could not comprehend the excitement that was expressed in this moment.
I did not comprehend what I saw, but I was glad I saw it, because in the hours and days after these moments, understanding finally set in. While I was still filled with pain from the loss of my dad, I was encouraged as person after person shared their faith with me. With each act of faith, my own was restored bit by bit.
I began to have faith enough to believe that dad was in heaven dancing and running, but hoping that he focused more on the running to spare other Heaven-dwellers from the sight of his dancing.
I began to have faith enough to see that signs of life on earth are fleeting, and that the end of your heartbeat isn't the end of you.
I began to have faith enough to celebrate my dad's new life in Heaven.
We talked a lot about the "cloud of witnesses" last week, as mentioned in Hebrews 12:1. Others said that my dad joined the great cloud of witnesses and was now speaking up on our behalf, but that's not how I saw it. As I saw the great acts of faith in the wake of my dad's death, and as I saw the sheer number of people who were so touched by his life that they took off work on a Tuesday afternoon (even rode a motorcycle 5+ hours each way) just to attend his funeral, I saw a great cloud of witnesses surround my family and me, and this cloud of witnesses has restored my faith.
Because death is hard, and because I needed so much support to get through this week, to everyone who surrounded us during this time, thank you. You probably didn't know it, but you restored my faith. I sincerely, wholeheartedly thank you.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Monday, August 12, 2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
A Faithful Discussion About the Death Penalty
I was recently invited to an event discussing the death penalty, with the same title as this post. There would be a screening of a film, a panel discussion, and some free form discussion on the topic. I was urged strongly to come by my friend Jeff, who was moderating the event.
This isn't a topic I've thought much about until recently. As you may have read, my recent post entitled A New Command I Give You discussed the implications of the death penalty and revenge against criminals as a whole. I also recounted my experience as a juror in this post, which is my still my most influencing experience with the justice system.
Going into the event, I considered myself quite clearly against the death penalty for no other reason than I thought it wrong. I vaguely recognized that the death penalty put blood on our hands ('our' being the jurors, the judge and attorneys, the legislature, and the citizens of the state whom these people all represent), and I didn't like this. I knew that I supported forgiveness over retribution (in principal, at least, if not in practice). But these ideas were unformed and generic.
I was intrigued to hear these ideas fleshed out, as well as new ideas that hadn't come to me before this event.
1. The death penalty is expensive
The standard statistic is that a death row inmate costs 3 times what a life prisoner does. The statistics are slightly more significant in Texas, although each state varies.
Does this convict me to oppose the death penalty? Not really, but it's an important issue to discuss when considering a change in law.
2. The death penalty doesn't work
To punish a killer by killing is irrational. To teach the community that killing is wrong by killing the killer is backwards. There may be an argument that the death penalty keeps the killer from killing again, but life in prison accomplishes the same goal without the destruction.
This is a little more convincing. I believe punishment should have a heart of discipline, which produces change instead of resentment. We can't help a person overcome their shortcomings to reach a better life if we just kill them off. I would much rather see them learn, grow, be healed, and mature during the course of their life.
3. Family of victims who are avenged by the death penalty rarely move on
This is a soft statistic, but it's demonstrated in the film screened at the event. Victims (or families of victims) deserve to move on from their tragedy. If they don't move on, they become trapped in a life of resentment and bitterness, tainting the entire world around them through the lense of their tragedy. Those who forgive the criminal to the point where they don't seek revenge seem to move on to a more productive, happy life much easier than those who seek revenge through the death penalty.
Now we're getting somewhere. I know most people don't care much about the criminal, since "he made his choice," but now we're talking about the benefit of the victims. There's still some trouble with this argument, though, since many people don't put much stock in intangible ideas like forgiving and "moving on." But I think common sense supports the far and wide benefit of a joyful life over a resentful one.
4. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind
A point was raised by a panelist about the original "eye-for-an-eye" laws found in the early chapters of the Bible. He said that this principal isn't in line with our gut instincts. That our gut instincts would say "he took my eye, so I'll take both of his eyes, steal his wife, and burn his house down." So to tell an early culture that you should just take what they took from you was revolutionary! It demonstrated control and consideration, rather than raw vengeance. Today, we even consider "eye-for-an-eye" to be barbaric because of how we've learned the principal of control and consideration in our culture.
This blows me away, partly because I learned something new about one of the oldest 'rules' in the world. But mostly, it starts to put a voice to what I believe. We may think we've moved miles past the olden days of "eye-for-an-eye," but the death penalty shows that our animalistic tendencies still push us toward flagrant revenge. Once we recognize this, we can see the death penalty for what it is: murder by the state. Whether just or unjust, it is, most basically, revenge for what they did to us.
5. We are all human, and we are all broken
This sums up the entire issue for me. It also cuts to the heart of racism, homophobia, nationalism, and many other major issues in our world. When we see people as people, it becomes much harder to mistreat them.
But that's just it. We don't see all people as people. Black people have been identified as sub-human, undeserving of the rights white people claim. Foreigners have been dubbed barbarians, their lifestyle fit to be destroyed. Gay people have been called mentally unbalanced, making it ok to treat their identity like a disease that should be eradicated through drugs. And people who have made mistakes different from our own have been called criminals, allowing us to treat them as scum rather than trying to help them work through their wounds that took them so far off track in the first place.
I'll leave your conclusions to you, but my decision is to oppose the death penalty. I would be interested to hear any opposing arguments if you would like to share them.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
This isn't a topic I've thought much about until recently. As you may have read, my recent post entitled A New Command I Give You discussed the implications of the death penalty and revenge against criminals as a whole. I also recounted my experience as a juror in this post, which is my still my most influencing experience with the justice system.
Going into the event, I considered myself quite clearly against the death penalty for no other reason than I thought it wrong. I vaguely recognized that the death penalty put blood on our hands ('our' being the jurors, the judge and attorneys, the legislature, and the citizens of the state whom these people all represent), and I didn't like this. I knew that I supported forgiveness over retribution (in principal, at least, if not in practice). But these ideas were unformed and generic.
I was intrigued to hear these ideas fleshed out, as well as new ideas that hadn't come to me before this event.
1. The death penalty is expensive
The standard statistic is that a death row inmate costs 3 times what a life prisoner does. The statistics are slightly more significant in Texas, although each state varies.
Does this convict me to oppose the death penalty? Not really, but it's an important issue to discuss when considering a change in law.
2. The death penalty doesn't work
To punish a killer by killing is irrational. To teach the community that killing is wrong by killing the killer is backwards. There may be an argument that the death penalty keeps the killer from killing again, but life in prison accomplishes the same goal without the destruction.
This is a little more convincing. I believe punishment should have a heart of discipline, which produces change instead of resentment. We can't help a person overcome their shortcomings to reach a better life if we just kill them off. I would much rather see them learn, grow, be healed, and mature during the course of their life.
3. Family of victims who are avenged by the death penalty rarely move on
This is a soft statistic, but it's demonstrated in the film screened at the event. Victims (or families of victims) deserve to move on from their tragedy. If they don't move on, they become trapped in a life of resentment and bitterness, tainting the entire world around them through the lense of their tragedy. Those who forgive the criminal to the point where they don't seek revenge seem to move on to a more productive, happy life much easier than those who seek revenge through the death penalty.
Now we're getting somewhere. I know most people don't care much about the criminal, since "he made his choice," but now we're talking about the benefit of the victims. There's still some trouble with this argument, though, since many people don't put much stock in intangible ideas like forgiving and "moving on." But I think common sense supports the far and wide benefit of a joyful life over a resentful one.
4. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind
A point was raised by a panelist about the original "eye-for-an-eye" laws found in the early chapters of the Bible. He said that this principal isn't in line with our gut instincts. That our gut instincts would say "he took my eye, so I'll take both of his eyes, steal his wife, and burn his house down." So to tell an early culture that you should just take what they took from you was revolutionary! It demonstrated control and consideration, rather than raw vengeance. Today, we even consider "eye-for-an-eye" to be barbaric because of how we've learned the principal of control and consideration in our culture.
This blows me away, partly because I learned something new about one of the oldest 'rules' in the world. But mostly, it starts to put a voice to what I believe. We may think we've moved miles past the olden days of "eye-for-an-eye," but the death penalty shows that our animalistic tendencies still push us toward flagrant revenge. Once we recognize this, we can see the death penalty for what it is: murder by the state. Whether just or unjust, it is, most basically, revenge for what they did to us.
5. We are all human, and we are all broken
This sums up the entire issue for me. It also cuts to the heart of racism, homophobia, nationalism, and many other major issues in our world. When we see people as people, it becomes much harder to mistreat them.
But that's just it. We don't see all people as people. Black people have been identified as sub-human, undeserving of the rights white people claim. Foreigners have been dubbed barbarians, their lifestyle fit to be destroyed. Gay people have been called mentally unbalanced, making it ok to treat their identity like a disease that should be eradicated through drugs. And people who have made mistakes different from our own have been called criminals, allowing us to treat them as scum rather than trying to help them work through their wounds that took them so far off track in the first place.
I'll leave your conclusions to you, but my decision is to oppose the death penalty. I would be interested to hear any opposing arguments if you would like to share them.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Monday, April 22, 2013
A New Command I Give You
A week ago today, a tragedy occurred at the hands of two individuals. At least 3 lives were ended by their choices, and hundreds were injured. For 2 days, US intelligence investigated the crime while the country honored the dead and injured. For 2 days, law enforcement hunted the suspects while the country did their best to help. And for the 3 days since the capture of the final suspect, the country has become inundated with a resurgence of verbal violence.
I can understand the reaction. We, as a country, were attacked and hurt. Families have been forever changed as a result of the attack. People want retribution. They want the criminals to get what they deserve. They want justice.
Normally, justice would be served in a courtroom. Opposing groups of lawyers would present evidence and lack thereof. A judge would preside to ensure the laws were upheld, that neither side was treated unfairly. A jury of 12 average Americans would hear the evidence, and they would finally be asked to decide the accused person's fate. They would assign the proper punishment based on the evidence, whether that be fines, community service, jail time, or death.
What surprised me first after Dzhokhar Tsarnaev was captured was the energy of the crowds in Boston. While the suspect in the procession of emergency vehicles back to the police station, the city emerged after days of lockdown to give each one a hero's welcome. But the energy of the crowd was something more than excitement. It seemed vindictive.
The city wasn't just proud of law enforcement for "catching the bad guy," they were ready to assign punishment. Parts of the crowd looked like they came out to catch a glimpse of the bad guy so they could do their worst to him.
The next morning, I read that Dzhokhar hadn't been Mirandized. This was done initially, but the formal decision would take time. The news media said the decision may hold. The suspect may not be allowed an attorney, and he may not be allowed due process at all. I read that the 19 year old boy who moved to the US at the age of 8 might be tried as a foreign terrorist.
From this point forward, what surprised me most were the jeers. Social media was full of angry, violent, and vengeful statements about what Dzhokhar deserved. He should be tossed in a pit and left to die. He should rot in prison. He deserves the death penalty.
Finally, I realized why this all sounded so wrong. I knew Dzhokhar had a major part in causing the tragedy in Boston. I knew he would be punished in a method and severity to be determined by a court. Somehow, I knew that was enough. Somehow, I knew the jeers of society weren't necessary.
I thought back to last April, when I sat on the jury for a murder trial.
The crime took place between old friends, practically brothers. The victim had started to poke fun at the defendant after the defendant's girlfriend had done the same. The defendant had a medical condition, and the joking came at the expense of his condition. He tried to get his friends to stop, but they wouldn't. He walked away, but the jokes continued. He told his friend to leave, but again poking fun at his condition, the victim asked "What are you gonna do? Make me?" The defendant picked up a kitchen knife in threat, and his friend was killed when he lunged to take the knife from the defendant.
For 4 days, I sat with 11 other jurors unable to talk about the case. We heard statements about the incident, statements from both mothers, and the police involved. We had to look at autopsy pictures and hear a statement from the pathologist who detailed his wounds. We knew full well the impact of this man's actions.
But when it came to the fifth day, we agreed on something else: this man had lived for 6 years knowing that his oldest friend was killed by a knife that he held in his hand.
We couldn't call it murder, because we don't think he ever intended to cause harm, but maybe he did. So, wWe assigned a verdict of manslaughter, and shortly after gave the man the minimum 5 year prison sentence.
We hesitated to make this decision, because we didn't want the victim's mother to feel justice wasn't served. We hesitated, because society would clearly say that he deserved worse for ending a human life. What got us past our hesitation was the thought of mercy.
Suddenly, in the midst of our discussion, we knew that we held a huge gift in our hands. While we had the power to assign life in prison, we also held the power to show mercy. We could look this man in the eye, all understanding what had come to pass, and we could give him a second chance. We could give him less than he deserved.
Today, I see Dzhokhar Tsarnaev sitting in the defendant's seat. I see a boy of 19 who did something awful. I see someone who couldn't have been in his right mind, whether brainwashed or mentally ill. I see someone with so many years ahead of him that he could learn to love. I see someone who needs a second chance.
We could join in with the rest of the country to shout "crucify!" to the courts. We could join in with jeers of our own, urging for the most severe punishment the law allows and more. We could strive toward an eye-for-an-eye punishment.
Or we could choose to love our enemies.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
I can understand the reaction. We, as a country, were attacked and hurt. Families have been forever changed as a result of the attack. People want retribution. They want the criminals to get what they deserve. They want justice.
Normally, justice would be served in a courtroom. Opposing groups of lawyers would present evidence and lack thereof. A judge would preside to ensure the laws were upheld, that neither side was treated unfairly. A jury of 12 average Americans would hear the evidence, and they would finally be asked to decide the accused person's fate. They would assign the proper punishment based on the evidence, whether that be fines, community service, jail time, or death.
What surprised me first after Dzhokhar Tsarnaev was captured was the energy of the crowds in Boston. While the suspect in the procession of emergency vehicles back to the police station, the city emerged after days of lockdown to give each one a hero's welcome. But the energy of the crowd was something more than excitement. It seemed vindictive.
The city wasn't just proud of law enforcement for "catching the bad guy," they were ready to assign punishment. Parts of the crowd looked like they came out to catch a glimpse of the bad guy so they could do their worst to him.
The next morning, I read that Dzhokhar hadn't been Mirandized. This was done initially, but the formal decision would take time. The news media said the decision may hold. The suspect may not be allowed an attorney, and he may not be allowed due process at all. I read that the 19 year old boy who moved to the US at the age of 8 might be tried as a foreign terrorist.
From this point forward, what surprised me most were the jeers. Social media was full of angry, violent, and vengeful statements about what Dzhokhar deserved. He should be tossed in a pit and left to die. He should rot in prison. He deserves the death penalty.
Finally, I realized why this all sounded so wrong. I knew Dzhokhar had a major part in causing the tragedy in Boston. I knew he would be punished in a method and severity to be determined by a court. Somehow, I knew that was enough. Somehow, I knew the jeers of society weren't necessary.
I thought back to last April, when I sat on the jury for a murder trial.
The crime took place between old friends, practically brothers. The victim had started to poke fun at the defendant after the defendant's girlfriend had done the same. The defendant had a medical condition, and the joking came at the expense of his condition. He tried to get his friends to stop, but they wouldn't. He walked away, but the jokes continued. He told his friend to leave, but again poking fun at his condition, the victim asked "What are you gonna do? Make me?" The defendant picked up a kitchen knife in threat, and his friend was killed when he lunged to take the knife from the defendant.
For 4 days, I sat with 11 other jurors unable to talk about the case. We heard statements about the incident, statements from both mothers, and the police involved. We had to look at autopsy pictures and hear a statement from the pathologist who detailed his wounds. We knew full well the impact of this man's actions.
But when it came to the fifth day, we agreed on something else: this man had lived for 6 years knowing that his oldest friend was killed by a knife that he held in his hand.
We couldn't call it murder, because we don't think he ever intended to cause harm, but maybe he did. So, wWe assigned a verdict of manslaughter, and shortly after gave the man the minimum 5 year prison sentence.
We hesitated to make this decision, because we didn't want the victim's mother to feel justice wasn't served. We hesitated, because society would clearly say that he deserved worse for ending a human life. What got us past our hesitation was the thought of mercy.
Suddenly, in the midst of our discussion, we knew that we held a huge gift in our hands. While we had the power to assign life in prison, we also held the power to show mercy. We could look this man in the eye, all understanding what had come to pass, and we could give him a second chance. We could give him less than he deserved.
Today, I see Dzhokhar Tsarnaev sitting in the defendant's seat. I see a boy of 19 who did something awful. I see someone who couldn't have been in his right mind, whether brainwashed or mentally ill. I see someone with so many years ahead of him that he could learn to love. I see someone who needs a second chance.
We could join in with the rest of the country to shout "crucify!" to the courts. We could join in with jeers of our own, urging for the most severe punishment the law allows and more. We could strive toward an eye-for-an-eye punishment.
Or we could choose to love our enemies.
"A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples." (John 13:34-35, NIV)
"You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well." (Matthew 5:38-40, NIV)
"You’re familiar with the old written law, 'Love your friend,' and its unwritten companion, 'Hate your enemy.' I’m challenging that. I’m telling you to love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst." (Matthew 5:43, MSG)
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Monday, April 8, 2013
I Wonder
As I've discussed in a couple of my recent posts, I've taken part in some lively debates in recent weeks. Anytime I end up in one of these, whether I'm the one who started the discussion or I've stumbled into it after several people have taken sides and voiced their opinions, I have the same gut reaction: I have to find the common ground!
I still explore my beliefs on the subject and take a position, but for the sake of a fruitful debate, my heart wants to find the point where we all agree. If I manage to find it, I try to view both points from the perspective of the common point. Sometimes, I'll even go to the point of explaining both points from that common perspective in the hopes that both sides will experience empathy toward each other. In my best-case-scenario, we would end up with a win-win situation, where each person can edify the other's beliefs, or even reach a comprimise.
Too often, debates don't ever reach this point. It breaks my heart when this happens, especially when debates end so badly that grudges are held. Recently, I've been disappointed by the result of debates more often than not.
Like many of my other gut instincts, I've experienced this need to find common ground for many years, but I haven't been able to define it. A few days ago, a large aspect of this was defined for me.
I've said it before, but I'll say it again. I am extremely lucky to be brought up the way I was. My parents were and are strong Christians, and they raised my brother and I to always learn and grow in all aspects of our life. Right now, I can see 2 major benefits of my upbringing.
First, I seem to have pretty good instincts. Because of the principals that were ingrained into me by my parents, and because of the relationship with the Holy Spirit that I was taught to nurture, I have learned to be confident in these instincts. I don't say this to brag, especially because this isn't anything I created in myself, or through any of my own efforts. But I've noticed that when I instinctively know what is right and wrong, and when I pray through the journey of acting on these instincts, they take me somewhere better than where I was. It helps me to trust that I'm on the right track, even when I can't see all of the road signs
Second, I'm not alone in my identity as a Dawson. I have an older brother who is a lot like me. We have different jobs and different hobbies, but we have this amazing connection. When we sit in a room and discuss something we're both interested in, I feel this synergy. We have the same principals and the same moral code, so similar that I haven't experienced this close a connection with anyone else, and we have the same way of wondering about the unknowns in our world.
Since I'm the younger brother, he always operated at a maturity level higher than mine. Of course, this gap gets smaller as we get older, but the differences between us have also become more defined. He went to college for a ministry degree, studying scripture and doctrines to get to the root of the issues of faith we all struggle with. He will admit before anyone that he doesn't have it all figured out, but he has this vocabulary, this way of expressing himself that exceeds anything I have within me.
A few days ago, he defined some of my instincts in one of his own posts. He defined our sense of wonder in the world. He defined this ingrained desire to explore the unknown, to find answers, to see the world through new eyes. He defined what I feel when I explore, whether it's a mountain trail or a political road fraught with potholes.
This wonder is an amazing part of my character that The Creator set up in me, and that my parents brought out in me. I've learned that this is why my heart breaks when people refuse to look at the world through someone else's eyes, or chooses to assert their opinions instead of asking questions of others. I want my sense of wonder to rub off on someone, the way it was rubbed off on me. I want people to experience the childlike joy found in a spirit of curiosity.
I'll leave you with a quote from my brother's post, which sums up my thoughts better than I ever could:
I wonder...
Always moving forward,
Tyler
P.S.: The full blog post referenced today can be found at http://aaroniswondering.blogspot.com/2013/04/introduction-big-blue-chairs.html
I still explore my beliefs on the subject and take a position, but for the sake of a fruitful debate, my heart wants to find the point where we all agree. If I manage to find it, I try to view both points from the perspective of the common point. Sometimes, I'll even go to the point of explaining both points from that common perspective in the hopes that both sides will experience empathy toward each other. In my best-case-scenario, we would end up with a win-win situation, where each person can edify the other's beliefs, or even reach a comprimise.
Too often, debates don't ever reach this point. It breaks my heart when this happens, especially when debates end so badly that grudges are held. Recently, I've been disappointed by the result of debates more often than not.
Like many of my other gut instincts, I've experienced this need to find common ground for many years, but I haven't been able to define it. A few days ago, a large aspect of this was defined for me.
I've said it before, but I'll say it again. I am extremely lucky to be brought up the way I was. My parents were and are strong Christians, and they raised my brother and I to always learn and grow in all aspects of our life. Right now, I can see 2 major benefits of my upbringing.
First, I seem to have pretty good instincts. Because of the principals that were ingrained into me by my parents, and because of the relationship with the Holy Spirit that I was taught to nurture, I have learned to be confident in these instincts. I don't say this to brag, especially because this isn't anything I created in myself, or through any of my own efforts. But I've noticed that when I instinctively know what is right and wrong, and when I pray through the journey of acting on these instincts, they take me somewhere better than where I was. It helps me to trust that I'm on the right track, even when I can't see all of the road signs
Second, I'm not alone in my identity as a Dawson. I have an older brother who is a lot like me. We have different jobs and different hobbies, but we have this amazing connection. When we sit in a room and discuss something we're both interested in, I feel this synergy. We have the same principals and the same moral code, so similar that I haven't experienced this close a connection with anyone else, and we have the same way of wondering about the unknowns in our world.
Since I'm the younger brother, he always operated at a maturity level higher than mine. Of course, this gap gets smaller as we get older, but the differences between us have also become more defined. He went to college for a ministry degree, studying scripture and doctrines to get to the root of the issues of faith we all struggle with. He will admit before anyone that he doesn't have it all figured out, but he has this vocabulary, this way of expressing himself that exceeds anything I have within me.
A few days ago, he defined some of my instincts in one of his own posts. He defined our sense of wonder in the world. He defined this ingrained desire to explore the unknown, to find answers, to see the world through new eyes. He defined what I feel when I explore, whether it's a mountain trail or a political road fraught with potholes.
This wonder is an amazing part of my character that The Creator set up in me, and that my parents brought out in me. I've learned that this is why my heart breaks when people refuse to look at the world through someone else's eyes, or chooses to assert their opinions instead of asking questions of others. I want my sense of wonder to rub off on someone, the way it was rubbed off on me. I want people to experience the childlike joy found in a spirit of curiosity.
I'll leave you with a quote from my brother's post, which sums up my thoughts better than I ever could:
"Jesus said something I've not been able to get out of my head for a few years now: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 18:3). I don't think "become like little children" means going back to a day when someone else zips your jacket and wipes your nose. I think Jesus has something else in mind. When I look at [my daughter], I see so many things I've lost as I've grown up. Now, I can't help but think as I watch her everyday: What if reclaiming our childlike wonder is the true foundation of life under Christ?"
I wonder...
Always moving forward,
Tyler
P.S.: The full blog post referenced today can be found at http://aaroniswondering.blogspot.com/2013/04/introduction-big-blue-chairs.html
Friday, April 5, 2013
A Public Apology to Anyone
During the last few weeks, there's been a lot of talk around the country regarding the rights, status, and morality of a particular group of people. I wrote about this topic recently, and it spurred even more discussion.
Some of these discussions were very fruitful, involving 2 or more people who just wanted to understand each other. No arguing, no blaming, just talk. I was even pleasantly surprised that an old friend used the topic to ask for some personal advice about a difficult situation. I don't know how helpful I was in answering their questions, but I was glad to know that we shared a respect that led us toward mutual edification, even in light of our differing beliefs.
I love to be a part of discussions like this. It makes me feel like I'm part of something bigger than myself. Like I'm not just an individual living life for myself. It makes me feel like I'm part of a movement. And when those movements meet my ideology (whether biblical, ethical, or political), it feels like the most important movement in the world.
But I have a problem. In the same way an addict seeks the next thrill, I have a tendency to seek out the next big movement and make myself a part of it. While there's nothing wrong with being part of an important movement, pushing yourself into a movement before you fully understand its direction can be detrimental.
I've never been a part of a picketing or rioting event, but I tend to lobby through my words. That's quite obvious in this setting, but I also gravitate toward message boards or facebook discussions, and lately I've spent a lot of time in the latter.
In the past, I've been so drawn into discussions on a topic that I wrote solely out of emotion. That's not to say that emotion in writing is bad (quite the opposite!), but to exclude the logical or faithful side of your thoughts is to leave yourself with empty rhetoric or worse. In some cases I found myself wanting to push the envelope so badly that I found myself arguing points that even I didn't believe.
In the last couple of weeks, I think I made a similar mistake. To be clear, my post entitled Coming Out remains valid. I also defend the points I made in online discussions during the next few days. But the way I expressed them was wrong.
The more I wrote and read about whether the lifestyles of a particular group were right or wrong, the dirtier I felt for discussing this issue so publicly.
I believe that issues such as prejudice and equality should be brought to the public, but I think I crossed a line. I was spending less time defending the rights to equal treatment and more time debating the morality of their actions. I wanted to blame my opposition as being too judgmental, but I realized that I wasn't any better. Whether I thought they were right or wrong. I was still standing in judgment of their actions, as if I held any authority to judge.
So, I hope I didn't offend anyone in my public discussions about homosexuality. If I did, I am truly sorry. I want to love my neighbor, whether they be racially, financially, geographically, or sexually different than me, and especially if they're imperfect like me. And I want to give my neighbors the respect they deserve, and a part of that respect is to observe the boundaries of friendship. I'm sorry if I crossed those boundaries.
While my actions crossed lines, I have learned that my beliefs on this topic are important. I believe I have found the heart of Christ in this issue, and I need to follow His example of loving the marginalized in my community. I think my next step is to learn how to be an activist without becoming judgmental. As always, I invite any accountability my readers have to offer.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Some of these discussions were very fruitful, involving 2 or more people who just wanted to understand each other. No arguing, no blaming, just talk. I was even pleasantly surprised that an old friend used the topic to ask for some personal advice about a difficult situation. I don't know how helpful I was in answering their questions, but I was glad to know that we shared a respect that led us toward mutual edification, even in light of our differing beliefs.
I love to be a part of discussions like this. It makes me feel like I'm part of something bigger than myself. Like I'm not just an individual living life for myself. It makes me feel like I'm part of a movement. And when those movements meet my ideology (whether biblical, ethical, or political), it feels like the most important movement in the world.
But I have a problem. In the same way an addict seeks the next thrill, I have a tendency to seek out the next big movement and make myself a part of it. While there's nothing wrong with being part of an important movement, pushing yourself into a movement before you fully understand its direction can be detrimental.
I've never been a part of a picketing or rioting event, but I tend to lobby through my words. That's quite obvious in this setting, but I also gravitate toward message boards or facebook discussions, and lately I've spent a lot of time in the latter.
In the past, I've been so drawn into discussions on a topic that I wrote solely out of emotion. That's not to say that emotion in writing is bad (quite the opposite!), but to exclude the logical or faithful side of your thoughts is to leave yourself with empty rhetoric or worse. In some cases I found myself wanting to push the envelope so badly that I found myself arguing points that even I didn't believe.
In the last couple of weeks, I think I made a similar mistake. To be clear, my post entitled Coming Out remains valid. I also defend the points I made in online discussions during the next few days. But the way I expressed them was wrong.
The more I wrote and read about whether the lifestyles of a particular group were right or wrong, the dirtier I felt for discussing this issue so publicly.
I believe that issues such as prejudice and equality should be brought to the public, but I think I crossed a line. I was spending less time defending the rights to equal treatment and more time debating the morality of their actions. I wanted to blame my opposition as being too judgmental, but I realized that I wasn't any better. Whether I thought they were right or wrong. I was still standing in judgment of their actions, as if I held any authority to judge.
So, I hope I didn't offend anyone in my public discussions about homosexuality. If I did, I am truly sorry. I want to love my neighbor, whether they be racially, financially, geographically, or sexually different than me, and especially if they're imperfect like me. And I want to give my neighbors the respect they deserve, and a part of that respect is to observe the boundaries of friendship. I'm sorry if I crossed those boundaries.
While my actions crossed lines, I have learned that my beliefs on this topic are important. I believe I have found the heart of Christ in this issue, and I need to follow His example of loving the marginalized in my community. I think my next step is to learn how to be an activist without becoming judgmental. As always, I invite any accountability my readers have to offer.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
My Crisis of Faith - part 3
Continuing on the same path of a few recent posts, I want to be open about another struggle in my faith. I've found there's healing in this, not only for me, but possibly for people reading this who share the same struggles.
I have to admit that I don't pray or read the Bible near as much as I should.
I feel a bit odd making an entire post about this, because this seems to be the most common source of guilt for Christians. I don't hear it all that often, since people tend not to air out their problems on a daily basis, but I can remember hearing it often enough.
Usually it's in the scenario of someone asking a church group for a hand raise if they think they pray enough, others are in writings from counselors who posed the question individually to many people. They always say they get the same response. Hands aren't raised, individuals express guilt that they fall short of the mark, and a face full of shame always accompanies the answer.
And the same goes for reading the Bible. Much too often, Christians fall out of the habit of studying the instruction book for our faith. We'll attend church services, talk to friends about this week's sermon, and admit our faith to the world, but this seemingly essential piece of the puzzle goes missing.
A couple years ago, my wife decided to get a 1-year study bible. It's a Eugene Peterson publication that has The Message chopped up into daily chunks. Every day, you get a little Old Testament and a little New Testament. Each book has a blurb about its importance in the big story, and every 7th day has a single paragraph suggesting something for you to pray on and meditate about as a way to rest from the week's study.
I started reading it occasionally, starting from the very beginning with the books of Genesis and John. Later that year, I began commuting on public transit, so finding study time became easier. I even had time to catch up on a couple days all at once when I fell behind. I was on this schedule for most of a year, but still I didn't make it through the study.
Since then, I've had more time at home than I've had since college. You would think I would catch up on my bible study, spend time reading and praying in the morning now that I left the house about an hour later than before. You would think that, but unfortunately you couldn't be farther from the truth.
Not only have I severely cut back on the time I spend reading for pleasure (I think I've finished 5 books during this year), I've barely picked up the study Bible. When I do, I tend to keep it up for a couple of days before I wake up late, rush through a shower, barely have time to wait for coffee to brew, and run out the door. I end up right back at square one.
The story isn't as structured, but the same goes for prayer. I like to pray in bed before we turn out the lights. I don't fall asleep during prayers, but I tend to drift off and get sidetracked thinking about other things. When I first wake up, I haven't thought through my day enough to organize my brain. So, I hold off my big prayer til the end of the day, and more often than not I forget about it. And when you don't pray every day, I forget to pray about the little things that come up, like a tough project at work, health issues with my friends and family, or just a waive of gratitude about something good in my life.
I should probably feel better about this knowing that so many Christians have the same struggles, but I can't help but see the outliers. People like my dad, who I remember seeing at least once a week at the breakfast table with his study bible and a notepad during my childhood years, never expecting to be noticed. People like my friends with their new baby girl, who I hear talk faithfully about what they read or prayed about the other day, accidentally letting me in on their habits of faith. People like my Facebook friends, who post scripture references on almost a daily basis, making me realize how some people live their lives completely focused on the word of God.
These are just outward signs of a private habit. A habit I wish I had. A practice I wish I was better at.
While it might not seem like it, this journal is about more than words. It's about me being honest with myself about myself, and it's about mapping my journey toward a better me. So today, I'm giving myself a goal. No, I'm making myself a promise.
Today, I am on day 265 of my 365 day study. 100 days from now, I will finish what I started 2 years ago. Not because I need a goal, but because this goal is important. I need to be a better man of faith. I need to lead my family more strongly. I need my children to see me at the breakfast table showing them what a faithful Christian looks like.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
I have to admit that I don't pray or read the Bible near as much as I should.
I feel a bit odd making an entire post about this, because this seems to be the most common source of guilt for Christians. I don't hear it all that often, since people tend not to air out their problems on a daily basis, but I can remember hearing it often enough.
Usually it's in the scenario of someone asking a church group for a hand raise if they think they pray enough, others are in writings from counselors who posed the question individually to many people. They always say they get the same response. Hands aren't raised, individuals express guilt that they fall short of the mark, and a face full of shame always accompanies the answer.
And the same goes for reading the Bible. Much too often, Christians fall out of the habit of studying the instruction book for our faith. We'll attend church services, talk to friends about this week's sermon, and admit our faith to the world, but this seemingly essential piece of the puzzle goes missing.
A couple years ago, my wife decided to get a 1-year study bible. It's a Eugene Peterson publication that has The Message chopped up into daily chunks. Every day, you get a little Old Testament and a little New Testament. Each book has a blurb about its importance in the big story, and every 7th day has a single paragraph suggesting something for you to pray on and meditate about as a way to rest from the week's study.
I started reading it occasionally, starting from the very beginning with the books of Genesis and John. Later that year, I began commuting on public transit, so finding study time became easier. I even had time to catch up on a couple days all at once when I fell behind. I was on this schedule for most of a year, but still I didn't make it through the study.
Since then, I've had more time at home than I've had since college. You would think I would catch up on my bible study, spend time reading and praying in the morning now that I left the house about an hour later than before. You would think that, but unfortunately you couldn't be farther from the truth.
Not only have I severely cut back on the time I spend reading for pleasure (I think I've finished 5 books during this year), I've barely picked up the study Bible. When I do, I tend to keep it up for a couple of days before I wake up late, rush through a shower, barely have time to wait for coffee to brew, and run out the door. I end up right back at square one.
The story isn't as structured, but the same goes for prayer. I like to pray in bed before we turn out the lights. I don't fall asleep during prayers, but I tend to drift off and get sidetracked thinking about other things. When I first wake up, I haven't thought through my day enough to organize my brain. So, I hold off my big prayer til the end of the day, and more often than not I forget about it. And when you don't pray every day, I forget to pray about the little things that come up, like a tough project at work, health issues with my friends and family, or just a waive of gratitude about something good in my life.
I should probably feel better about this knowing that so many Christians have the same struggles, but I can't help but see the outliers. People like my dad, who I remember seeing at least once a week at the breakfast table with his study bible and a notepad during my childhood years, never expecting to be noticed. People like my friends with their new baby girl, who I hear talk faithfully about what they read or prayed about the other day, accidentally letting me in on their habits of faith. People like my Facebook friends, who post scripture references on almost a daily basis, making me realize how some people live their lives completely focused on the word of God.
These are just outward signs of a private habit. A habit I wish I had. A practice I wish I was better at.
While it might not seem like it, this journal is about more than words. It's about me being honest with myself about myself, and it's about mapping my journey toward a better me. So today, I'm giving myself a goal. No, I'm making myself a promise.
Today, I am on day 265 of my 365 day study. 100 days from now, I will finish what I started 2 years ago. Not because I need a goal, but because this goal is important. I need to be a better man of faith. I need to lead my family more strongly. I need my children to see me at the breakfast table showing them what a faithful Christian looks like.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Coming Out
I've hesitated to go internet public with this topic for a while now, because I don't think the internet is the best venue to debate hot topics. However, the more I've prayed about and researched this topic, the more I've realized that it's important for me to express my thoughts publicly.
I'm in support of gay marriage.
Years ago, my position on this topic was much softer. I believed the "act" of homosexuality was a sin, but I didn't feel it was right for the government to put restrictions on those who called themselves homosexuals. And the only reason I believed homosexuality was wrong was because I had heard this in a general sense from the church. I hadn't researched the topic, and I hadn't gone out in search of opposing viewpoints to inform myself. I just took it with a grain of salt and let it be.
In college, some experiences broadened my horizons (cliche, right?). Specifically, I had a dorm roommate who was gay, closely followed by two friends who came out together with their gender identity. I was suddenly faced with a very real version of this hypothetical situation.
I started to have discussions about this with people I respected for their faith and morality. On the surface, I found there were people I believed to be good, faithful, well studied Christians who believed that homosexuality was perfectly acceptable. And, of course, I found plenty of the opposing viewpoint.
Recently, with the gender identity issue coming to the forefront of our politics, I've started to dig deeper. I haven't found a clear answer, but I've found the source of the controversy.
The problem lies in the assumptions of our translations. People who translate Hebrew or ancient Greek into modern languages rely heavily on context. The rest of us tend to take the words at face value, so it's easy for us to assume an English word read in Leviticus (Hebrew) has the exact same meaning as the same English word read in Corinthians (Greek).
One of the more common assumed meanings (and one that has even made it into pop culture comedy) is the phrase "lay with" or the word "know." We've all heard jokes that someone was "known in the Biblical sense," implying a sexual relationship. But think of all the different ways the word "know" could be used! It can imply a personal relationship, book knowledge, or a wise understanding. In the same way, "lay with" isn't directly equated with sex in every instance of the word.
The translators take context not only from the verse they are translating, but also from other uses of the same Hebrew or Greek word throughout scripture. They scour the Bible for every use of that word, and they try to find a common context between them. True, a word may be associated with sex, but the context may imply something more like rape. This is the case with Hebrew words used in scripture about homosexuality, specifically Leviticus 18:22.
Unfortunately, the context isn't as cut and dry as we would like it to be, so nobody can strictly argue one specific English translation of the verse without flaw. One detailed breakdown of this verse came up with 7 possible meanings of Leviticus 18:22 based on the original Hebrew, only one of which narrows the issue down to a man having sex with a man. Others include a man raping a man or a married man having sex with a man, which I would consider wrong regardless of gender.
The issue of rape is consistent with other scriptures involving homosexuality, specifically the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. This story is often referenced as an example of homosexuality being wicked. However, this ignores a major part in the story: that the men of the town wanted to rape the angels who were staying with Lot. Even worse, Lot offered up his daughters to be raped to protect the angels. While homosexuality is involved, the clear element of rape may have been enough to condemn the cities, and supports the translation of homosexual rape in Leviticus 18:22.
The breakdown of this verse also points out the severity of Leviticus 18:22. The word we tend to translate as "abomination" is now more commonly translated as "taboo," and is used similarly in laws about mixing fabrics, Jews associating too closely with non-Jews, and other "non-mixing" laws common to that day. These customs were introduced early in Jewish history to solidify their identity, but these customs were not required of non-Jews, as Paul discussed in his letters and even argued about with Peter.
When it comes down to it, I believe that Leviticus 18:22 and other verses discussing homosexuality were intended to communicate the wickedness of rape and extra-marital sex, and foster the unique identity of early Hebrew culture. I'll admit that the difficulty in translating scripture isn't an exact science, but that difficulty itself leads me to my final thought.
To assume that I know fully the meaning of writings in an ancient language that I do not speak, to assume that my understanding is the right understanding, to assume that the knowledge I've been given is the full authority of God is to overstep my boundaries. We will never fully know the heart of God while living on the Earth. The Pharisees thought they had all the answers, and Jesus called them guilty because of their assumption (John 9:41).
While the heart of God never changes, our understanding of it does. It's more than we could ever comprehend, so we always learn more and more about it. I believe we're in a generation to which God is revealing his love in acceptance.
We don't have to agree with each others' choices, and we don't have to become like others to understand them. Jesus commanded us to love each other. To refuse that love on the basis of an assumed translation of scripture crosses a line, and it's not a line I'm willing to cross.
I hope you'll stand with me today in loving an ostracized part of our community. I hope you'll support the expansion of rights to the gay community.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
I'm in support of gay marriage.
Years ago, my position on this topic was much softer. I believed the "act" of homosexuality was a sin, but I didn't feel it was right for the government to put restrictions on those who called themselves homosexuals. And the only reason I believed homosexuality was wrong was because I had heard this in a general sense from the church. I hadn't researched the topic, and I hadn't gone out in search of opposing viewpoints to inform myself. I just took it with a grain of salt and let it be.
In college, some experiences broadened my horizons (cliche, right?). Specifically, I had a dorm roommate who was gay, closely followed by two friends who came out together with their gender identity. I was suddenly faced with a very real version of this hypothetical situation.
I started to have discussions about this with people I respected for their faith and morality. On the surface, I found there were people I believed to be good, faithful, well studied Christians who believed that homosexuality was perfectly acceptable. And, of course, I found plenty of the opposing viewpoint.
Recently, with the gender identity issue coming to the forefront of our politics, I've started to dig deeper. I haven't found a clear answer, but I've found the source of the controversy.
The problem lies in the assumptions of our translations. People who translate Hebrew or ancient Greek into modern languages rely heavily on context. The rest of us tend to take the words at face value, so it's easy for us to assume an English word read in Leviticus (Hebrew) has the exact same meaning as the same English word read in Corinthians (Greek).
One of the more common assumed meanings (and one that has even made it into pop culture comedy) is the phrase "lay with" or the word "know." We've all heard jokes that someone was "known in the Biblical sense," implying a sexual relationship. But think of all the different ways the word "know" could be used! It can imply a personal relationship, book knowledge, or a wise understanding. In the same way, "lay with" isn't directly equated with sex in every instance of the word.
The translators take context not only from the verse they are translating, but also from other uses of the same Hebrew or Greek word throughout scripture. They scour the Bible for every use of that word, and they try to find a common context between them. True, a word may be associated with sex, but the context may imply something more like rape. This is the case with Hebrew words used in scripture about homosexuality, specifically Leviticus 18:22.
Unfortunately, the context isn't as cut and dry as we would like it to be, so nobody can strictly argue one specific English translation of the verse without flaw. One detailed breakdown of this verse came up with 7 possible meanings of Leviticus 18:22 based on the original Hebrew, only one of which narrows the issue down to a man having sex with a man. Others include a man raping a man or a married man having sex with a man, which I would consider wrong regardless of gender.
The issue of rape is consistent with other scriptures involving homosexuality, specifically the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. This story is often referenced as an example of homosexuality being wicked. However, this ignores a major part in the story: that the men of the town wanted to rape the angels who were staying with Lot. Even worse, Lot offered up his daughters to be raped to protect the angels. While homosexuality is involved, the clear element of rape may have been enough to condemn the cities, and supports the translation of homosexual rape in Leviticus 18:22.
The breakdown of this verse also points out the severity of Leviticus 18:22. The word we tend to translate as "abomination" is now more commonly translated as "taboo," and is used similarly in laws about mixing fabrics, Jews associating too closely with non-Jews, and other "non-mixing" laws common to that day. These customs were introduced early in Jewish history to solidify their identity, but these customs were not required of non-Jews, as Paul discussed in his letters and even argued about with Peter.
When it comes down to it, I believe that Leviticus 18:22 and other verses discussing homosexuality were intended to communicate the wickedness of rape and extra-marital sex, and foster the unique identity of early Hebrew culture. I'll admit that the difficulty in translating scripture isn't an exact science, but that difficulty itself leads me to my final thought.
To assume that I know fully the meaning of writings in an ancient language that I do not speak, to assume that my understanding is the right understanding, to assume that the knowledge I've been given is the full authority of God is to overstep my boundaries. We will never fully know the heart of God while living on the Earth. The Pharisees thought they had all the answers, and Jesus called them guilty because of their assumption (John 9:41).
While the heart of God never changes, our understanding of it does. It's more than we could ever comprehend, so we always learn more and more about it. I believe we're in a generation to which God is revealing his love in acceptance.
We don't have to agree with each others' choices, and we don't have to become like others to understand them. Jesus commanded us to love each other. To refuse that love on the basis of an assumed translation of scripture crosses a line, and it's not a line I'm willing to cross.
I hope you'll stand with me today in loving an ostracized part of our community. I hope you'll support the expansion of rights to the gay community.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Monday, March 18, 2013
My Crisis of Faith - part 2
Recently, I wrote about how I've resolved a crisis of faith. Today, I want to write about one I'm still in the middle of.
In short, I don't know that I believe in Heaven. At least not the way we talk about it in Church.
This crisis of faith started young. I felt the conflict early on that while people preached that you should become a Christian to get to Heaven, being a Christian for the goal of getting to Heaven didn't seem like a Christian goal. By the teachings of Jesus, I felt that good people only focused on bettering others. That even improvements upon themselves were a means toward improving the situations of others. And if people followed those goals completely, they wouldn't for a second think about the Heavenly payment they would get in return.
To a point, I felt like to talk about Heaven was to distance yourself from it.
For years, this was the lens through which I experienced the teachings of the Church. At times, I even ignored scripture that discussed the rewards of doing good. I pushed them out thinking "if I'm really going to do good, I won't care about that! I can find other inspiration to do good."
Later in life, some writing from C.S. Lewis (and the expansion on his ideas by a friend) changed my perspective a bit. I found that C.S. Lewis was adamant in the way he explains Heaven. He clearly explains that Heaven is a place of perfect community with God, while Hell is a place of perfect absence from God. He postulates further that only people who desire community with God desire Heaven.
Using this as a jumping-off point, C.S. Lewis writes entire chapters, even entire books, about his thoughts on Heaven. Some of these thoughts allayed my earlier concerns, since apparently only good people desire Heaven in the first place. I started to think that maybe being a good person was determined more by which rewards you desire, than the desire of a reward itself. Maybe it was OK to seek Heaven as a goal, because by seeking it in the first place, you're demonstrating a desire to be near God.
But this new-found perspective on Heaven and Hell led to more questions. In The Great Divorce, C.S. Lewis describes (through fiction) that Heaven and Earth may not be so separate. He uses an old book, The Great Marriage, as the basis for his idea. The Great Marriage speculated that Earth was a combining (or marriage) of Heaven and Hell. That the 2 spiritual realms, one with God and one without, came together in one place, where anyone can experience life with God and life without God. In the Great Divorce, Lewis tells a story about the separation (or divorce) of the two realms. He tells the story of a man who discovers the ever-separating realms and the immense difference between the two. Yet, in light of the differences, the worlds still seem so close. In the final moments of the book, the realms separate themselves totally.
While this book details a separation of Heaven and Hell, I saw more clearly than ever the marriage of the two. I started to see how people can experience "Heaven on Earth" in the moments when they are closest to God. I found people that experience peace and joy in the midst of struggle because of their close community with God. I began to follow the path of people traveling endlessly between the Earthly Heaven and Hell day after day, all the while trying to find the path to the Earthly Heaven in my own life.
This brings me to today. There's one piece of the puzzle I know I struggle with today: Eternity.
I've learned over the years that God's timing is not my timing. That God's time is even experienced differently than my time. Whether it's the years it's taken Katie and I to start a family or the returning of Jesus, I'm left with nothing but questions. I'm left wondering if God's meaning of eternity is what I expect it to mean. I wonder if the "second coming" is a single, worldwide event or something each of us experiences individually. I even wonder if the eternity in Heaven is promised to us is an afterlife, or if it somehow manifests itself into our Earthly lives.
I guess I could settle to say that I don't know what Heaven is or how I will experience it. And maybe that's healthy, since un-defining my expectations takes away the box I always try to fit God into. But one thing I know for sure is that I will never stop learning about God and what He has in store for me. Maybe He can teach me a little more about Heaven in the coming weeks.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
In short, I don't know that I believe in Heaven. At least not the way we talk about it in Church.
This crisis of faith started young. I felt the conflict early on that while people preached that you should become a Christian to get to Heaven, being a Christian for the goal of getting to Heaven didn't seem like a Christian goal. By the teachings of Jesus, I felt that good people only focused on bettering others. That even improvements upon themselves were a means toward improving the situations of others. And if people followed those goals completely, they wouldn't for a second think about the Heavenly payment they would get in return.
To a point, I felt like to talk about Heaven was to distance yourself from it.
For years, this was the lens through which I experienced the teachings of the Church. At times, I even ignored scripture that discussed the rewards of doing good. I pushed them out thinking "if I'm really going to do good, I won't care about that! I can find other inspiration to do good."
Later in life, some writing from C.S. Lewis (and the expansion on his ideas by a friend) changed my perspective a bit. I found that C.S. Lewis was adamant in the way he explains Heaven. He clearly explains that Heaven is a place of perfect community with God, while Hell is a place of perfect absence from God. He postulates further that only people who desire community with God desire Heaven.
Using this as a jumping-off point, C.S. Lewis writes entire chapters, even entire books, about his thoughts on Heaven. Some of these thoughts allayed my earlier concerns, since apparently only good people desire Heaven in the first place. I started to think that maybe being a good person was determined more by which rewards you desire, than the desire of a reward itself. Maybe it was OK to seek Heaven as a goal, because by seeking it in the first place, you're demonstrating a desire to be near God.
But this new-found perspective on Heaven and Hell led to more questions. In The Great Divorce, C.S. Lewis describes (through fiction) that Heaven and Earth may not be so separate. He uses an old book, The Great Marriage, as the basis for his idea. The Great Marriage speculated that Earth was a combining (or marriage) of Heaven and Hell. That the 2 spiritual realms, one with God and one without, came together in one place, where anyone can experience life with God and life without God. In the Great Divorce, Lewis tells a story about the separation (or divorce) of the two realms. He tells the story of a man who discovers the ever-separating realms and the immense difference between the two. Yet, in light of the differences, the worlds still seem so close. In the final moments of the book, the realms separate themselves totally.
While this book details a separation of Heaven and Hell, I saw more clearly than ever the marriage of the two. I started to see how people can experience "Heaven on Earth" in the moments when they are closest to God. I found people that experience peace and joy in the midst of struggle because of their close community with God. I began to follow the path of people traveling endlessly between the Earthly Heaven and Hell day after day, all the while trying to find the path to the Earthly Heaven in my own life.
This brings me to today. There's one piece of the puzzle I know I struggle with today: Eternity.
I've learned over the years that God's timing is not my timing. That God's time is even experienced differently than my time. Whether it's the years it's taken Katie and I to start a family or the returning of Jesus, I'm left with nothing but questions. I'm left wondering if God's meaning of eternity is what I expect it to mean. I wonder if the "second coming" is a single, worldwide event or something each of us experiences individually. I even wonder if the eternity in Heaven is promised to us is an afterlife, or if it somehow manifests itself into our Earthly lives.
I guess I could settle to say that I don't know what Heaven is or how I will experience it. And maybe that's healthy, since un-defining my expectations takes away the box I always try to fit God into. But one thing I know for sure is that I will never stop learning about God and what He has in store for me. Maybe He can teach me a little more about Heaven in the coming weeks.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Monday, March 11, 2013
My Crisis of Faith
I'm one of those guys who grew up going to church. Actually, let me rephrase that. I grew up in the Church. It's a subtle difference, I know, but I think there was something more than my weekly attendance to sing songs and hear the preacher preach. There was a lifestyle of faith in my home, and it stuck with me.
There's something about growing up in the Church that makes you approach things a little different than people outside the Church, those who came into it later in life. It's not that either one is better or worse, just different. I think the biggest difference is how each one views and reacts to their own original crisis of faith. Maybe this is me being ignorant to the struggles of others, but this is how I see it.
Someone who decided to join the Church later in life has grown up with assumptions about what the Church is, and what it means to be part of the Church. When they decide to join, it's usually the result of some struggle that makes them face their priorities. Somehow, the idea of being in the Church becomes greater than the idea of being outside of it. Sure, this internal struggle has many facets and in practice is much more complex than this, but at its core this is the transformation that brings someone to the Church.
People who grew up in the Church see things from a whole different angle. For many years, people like me hold an assumption that church is something you do, that being a part of the Church is something you are. But somewhere in the teenage years, you start to question those assumptions. It comes to you as a crisis, but it's really the struggle of every young person to build their own faith.
So what's the big difference? I believe it's a subtle, yet infinitely important distinction. One faces the choice to become a part of something, the other faces the choice to not be a part of something. At least that's how I saw it when I was younger.
I was used to having a preacher or youth minister show me the difference between right and wrong. I had grown accustomed to being part of not only a faith-based group, but a social group as well. I had somewhere I considered a safe place, and it seemed to protect me from the outside world and from myself. Questioning my faith felt like pulling the rug out from under me, leaving me to topple to the floor without that net of support.
For years after my crisis of faith began, I focused on filling that void. Finding a new voice to guide me, a new group of friends to support me. I tried to replace what I thought I had lost. And though I filled many of those gaps, I started to realize that I was missing the point. Yes, a community is important in growing your faith, but it's secondary to finding and defining your own faith.
There was one point in 2006 that changed me, but I didn't identify the change for years. It was 1 thing said by 1 guy, whose name I can't remember, and who I didn't spend much time with. Honestly, I don't even remember the exact words, but I remember the message.
We were having a college ministry planning meeting, something a little bit informal to let the students and leaders decide on the direction of the ministry during the coming year. We were discussing the idea of going around our neighborhood and mowing lawns as a way to love our neighbors. It was a cool idea, and everyone started making their own contributions of how to make the project as meaningful as possible. The discussion started to be taken in a specific direction, in which we would plan to chat with the resident about the Gospel while we did their yard work.
It was this person's response to our plan that caught me off guard. He said we were using the favor of mowing a lawn as a way to manipulate people into listening to us. That we were serving people with an agenda. He asked us why we couldn't mow lawns just to show love to our neighbors, to serve others as Jesus would, and why would we poison that by making our agenda more important than their needs?
His message rolled around in my head for months, even years. I had lived with the assumption that "good Christians" told people about Jesus all the time. That if you really believed, you would "share the Gospel" at every opportunity. Yet, I knew that street preachers and bullhorn prophets were missing the mark. I knew that the guys who stood on sidewalks and tried to reel in passers by to show them the error in their ways somehow weren't spreading the Gospel as Jesus intended.
This conflict unsettled me at first, but I finally realized that it put meaning to the feelings I couldn't define.
Now, if you hear me "preach" about anything, most likely you'll hear some paraphrase of Matthew 22:37-40. You'll hear my explanation that Jesus's biggest sermons focus on who we are and the consequences of our actions rather than listing out rules for us to follow. You'll hear me say that the only thing Jesus ever commanded during his earthly ministry was that we love God and love each other
God has given me opportunities to learn this lesson in practice. Once, it was a repeat of the lawn mowing idea from 2006. 3 of us went around looking for lawns to mow. At the first we barely talked to the resident, and we moved on after about half an hour of yard work. At the second house, we met Mama Chris.
Mama Chris was an old woman lived by herself in a small house in a rough part of town. She barely kept her house livable, giving us the opportunity to not only mow the lawn, but move some junk out of the house also. The more we saw, the more we wanted to help, and she was following us, pointing us toward boxes to move and where to move them. She was thrilled not only to have a helping hand, but also to have company in the house. She sat us down, offered us all a glass of water and a snack, and we heard all about her life.
What we couldn't have known that morning is the immense blessing we would get from this woman. All morning she had a smile on her face. All morning she shared stories about her family. We heard about her mission work to Haiti before it was called Haiti. We saw her picture on a plaque from her church, thanking her for the great ways in which she served the people around her. We heard her decades of wisdom, about how to help others, how to be a good steward of your resources, and how a handkerchief's fanciness is determined by the thickness of the lace border around it.
What started as a morning meant to serve others ended up being a huge service to me. I was reminded what a true servant's heart looks like. I got to see firsthand, that if you choose to love others in the name of Jesus, you don't have to say word about Jesus for Him to make his presence there. And sometimes you don't have to say a word to preach the Gospel.
I won't sit here and tell you that I have everything figured out. I don't think that will ever happen during my lifetime. For now, I can only try to keep living The Greatest Command as I make my way through my next crisis of faith.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
There's something about growing up in the Church that makes you approach things a little different than people outside the Church, those who came into it later in life. It's not that either one is better or worse, just different. I think the biggest difference is how each one views and reacts to their own original crisis of faith. Maybe this is me being ignorant to the struggles of others, but this is how I see it.
Someone who decided to join the Church later in life has grown up with assumptions about what the Church is, and what it means to be part of the Church. When they decide to join, it's usually the result of some struggle that makes them face their priorities. Somehow, the idea of being in the Church becomes greater than the idea of being outside of it. Sure, this internal struggle has many facets and in practice is much more complex than this, but at its core this is the transformation that brings someone to the Church.
People who grew up in the Church see things from a whole different angle. For many years, people like me hold an assumption that church is something you do, that being a part of the Church is something you are. But somewhere in the teenage years, you start to question those assumptions. It comes to you as a crisis, but it's really the struggle of every young person to build their own faith.
So what's the big difference? I believe it's a subtle, yet infinitely important distinction. One faces the choice to become a part of something, the other faces the choice to not be a part of something. At least that's how I saw it when I was younger.
I was used to having a preacher or youth minister show me the difference between right and wrong. I had grown accustomed to being part of not only a faith-based group, but a social group as well. I had somewhere I considered a safe place, and it seemed to protect me from the outside world and from myself. Questioning my faith felt like pulling the rug out from under me, leaving me to topple to the floor without that net of support.
For years after my crisis of faith began, I focused on filling that void. Finding a new voice to guide me, a new group of friends to support me. I tried to replace what I thought I had lost. And though I filled many of those gaps, I started to realize that I was missing the point. Yes, a community is important in growing your faith, but it's secondary to finding and defining your own faith.
There was one point in 2006 that changed me, but I didn't identify the change for years. It was 1 thing said by 1 guy, whose name I can't remember, and who I didn't spend much time with. Honestly, I don't even remember the exact words, but I remember the message.
We were having a college ministry planning meeting, something a little bit informal to let the students and leaders decide on the direction of the ministry during the coming year. We were discussing the idea of going around our neighborhood and mowing lawns as a way to love our neighbors. It was a cool idea, and everyone started making their own contributions of how to make the project as meaningful as possible. The discussion started to be taken in a specific direction, in which we would plan to chat with the resident about the Gospel while we did their yard work.
It was this person's response to our plan that caught me off guard. He said we were using the favor of mowing a lawn as a way to manipulate people into listening to us. That we were serving people with an agenda. He asked us why we couldn't mow lawns just to show love to our neighbors, to serve others as Jesus would, and why would we poison that by making our agenda more important than their needs?
His message rolled around in my head for months, even years. I had lived with the assumption that "good Christians" told people about Jesus all the time. That if you really believed, you would "share the Gospel" at every opportunity. Yet, I knew that street preachers and bullhorn prophets were missing the mark. I knew that the guys who stood on sidewalks and tried to reel in passers by to show them the error in their ways somehow weren't spreading the Gospel as Jesus intended.
This conflict unsettled me at first, but I finally realized that it put meaning to the feelings I couldn't define.
Now, if you hear me "preach" about anything, most likely you'll hear some paraphrase of Matthew 22:37-40. You'll hear my explanation that Jesus's biggest sermons focus on who we are and the consequences of our actions rather than listing out rules for us to follow. You'll hear me say that the only thing Jesus ever commanded during his earthly ministry was that we love God and love each other
God has given me opportunities to learn this lesson in practice. Once, it was a repeat of the lawn mowing idea from 2006. 3 of us went around looking for lawns to mow. At the first we barely talked to the resident, and we moved on after about half an hour of yard work. At the second house, we met Mama Chris.
Mama Chris was an old woman lived by herself in a small house in a rough part of town. She barely kept her house livable, giving us the opportunity to not only mow the lawn, but move some junk out of the house also. The more we saw, the more we wanted to help, and she was following us, pointing us toward boxes to move and where to move them. She was thrilled not only to have a helping hand, but also to have company in the house. She sat us down, offered us all a glass of water and a snack, and we heard all about her life.
What we couldn't have known that morning is the immense blessing we would get from this woman. All morning she had a smile on her face. All morning she shared stories about her family. We heard about her mission work to Haiti before it was called Haiti. We saw her picture on a plaque from her church, thanking her for the great ways in which she served the people around her. We heard her decades of wisdom, about how to help others, how to be a good steward of your resources, and how a handkerchief's fanciness is determined by the thickness of the lace border around it.
What started as a morning meant to serve others ended up being a huge service to me. I was reminded what a true servant's heart looks like. I got to see firsthand, that if you choose to love others in the name of Jesus, you don't have to say word about Jesus for Him to make his presence there. And sometimes you don't have to say a word to preach the Gospel.
I won't sit here and tell you that I have everything figured out. I don't think that will ever happen during my lifetime. For now, I can only try to keep living The Greatest Command as I make my way through my next crisis of faith.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)