One of the more popular promises of Jesus is found in Matthew 20:16:
So the last will be first, and the first will be last.
I think its universal popularity comes from the fact that we all see ourselves as a victim of sorts. “So-and-so ignored me today, but someday, the last shall be first!” There’s probably some truth to this, but if I’m being honest, I have to admit that by nearly every world standard, I am not last, but first.
I am a white, middle-class, healthy, able-bodied female born in the United States to two parents who paid for my college education. I have a lot of privilege.
When I think about this promise in light of eternity, part of my soul gets really excited. I imagine a woman sold into sexual slavery brought before the throne of God to stand, happily and proudly, while all of heaven cheers for her. I imagine the orphans in Mongolia getting a standing ovation, or the men and women strugging in the slums of India being showered with riches. And that is so great.
In Dallas, my church’s small group spent one summer letting each member lead a discussion based upon their favorite psalm. It was a great experience, both because I learned more about one of my favorite books in the Bible and because I learned about my fellow group members. The psalm chosen, the way it was presented, how they taught–all helped me get to know my friends a little more.
One member of our group was a middle-aged man who chose two psalms and one poem, then had us create a triple Venn diagram to analyze their similarities and differences. He’s a teacher.
All three were melancholy but hopeful, which is exactly my poetry aesthetic. We talked about waiting, and being still, and how to trust God when it seems like there are no answers. We read Psalm 130, Psalm 131, and Nondum by Gerard Hopkins. It’s a bit lengthy, but I encourage you to read the whole thing, paying attention to the longing behind every word.
God, though to Thee our psalm we raise
No answering voice comes from the skies;
To Thee the trembling sinner prays
But no forgiving voice replies;
Our prayer seems lost in desert ways,
Our hymn in vast silence dies.
We see the glories of the earth
But not the hand that wrought them all:
Night to a myriad worlds gives birth,
Yet like a lighted empty hall
Where stands no host at door or hearth
Vacant creation’s lamps appal.
We guess; we clothe Thee, unseen King,
With attributes we deem are meet;
Each in his own imagining
Sets up a shadow in Thy seat;
Yet know not how our gifts to bring,
Where seek Thee with unsandalled feet.
And still th’unbroken silence broods
While ages and while aeons run,
As erst upon chaotic floods
The Spirit hovered ere the sun
Had called the seasons’ changeful moods
And life’s first germs from death had won.
And still th’abysses infinite
Surround the peak from which we gaze.
Deep calls to deep, and blackest night
Giddies the soul with blinding daze
That dares to cast its searching sight
On being’s dread and vacant maze.
And Thou art silent, whilst Thy world
Contends about its many creeds
And hosts confront with flags unfurled
And zeal is flushed and pity bleeds
And truth is heard, with tears impearled,
A moaning voice among the reeds.
My hand upon my lips I lay;
The breast’s desponding sob I quell;
I move along life’s tomb-decked way
And listen to the passing bell
Summoning men from speechless day
To death’s more silent, darker spell.
Oh! till Thou givest that sense beyond,
To shew Thee that Thou art, and near,
Let patience with her chastening wand
And lead me child-like by the hand
If still in darkness not in fear.
Speak! whisper to my watching heart
One word-as when a mother speaks
Soft, when she sees her infant start,
Till dimpled joy steals o’er its cheeks.
Then, to behold Thee as Thou art,
I’ll wait till morn eternal breaks.
I grew up arrogant, assuming I could know the entire truth of God. Now that I am growing up, I find comfort in the mystery and agony, the “abysses infinite surround the peak from which [I] gaze.” I long more and more, not for answers, but for the One who will lead me “if still in darkness not in fear.”
I’m grateful to my Dallas small group for many things, and this poem is definitely one of them.
Theodicy is the theological term for “the problem of evil.” It is, essentially, a defense of God when someone asks, “How could a good God allow evil to exist?”
When I studied theodicy in church and in seminary, I often felt disconnected from the reality of the discussion. Sitting at a table, it’s easy to defend God’s goodness. There are graphs and outlines and quotations. Everything is sanitized, kind of like this video describing Augustine’s famous solution to the problem of evil.
It’s all very logical and intellectual, and while safe at my privileged desk, I agree with the theology. But there has always been a deeper part of me, ruled by emotion, that rebels. I don’t care that God must allow evil in order to preserve free will. How can God be powerful and good when animals are killed so that humans might be fashionable, prisoners are raped so that power might be asserted, and wars destroy people, homes, and countries, so that feuds might be settled? When children are cowering in corners watching Daddy throw Mommy down the stairs in their pretty suburban house?
Theodicy answered my intellectual questions. But it could not satisfy the horror in my heart. I knew how a good and powerful God could allow evil, but….how could a good and powerful God allow evil?!
Emotion must be answered by emotion, and emotion is best conveyed with music and with story. The opening chapter of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Silmarillion gave me both. Entitled “The Music of the Ainur,” Tolkien presents a creation narrative similar to the one in the Bible, with some noticable differences. In The Silmarillion, God (here named Eru Ilúvatar) creates the Ainur, who in turn create the world. These angelic equivalents carry out their task of creation by singing into existence the will of Ilúvatar. Be forewarned – I will quote from the book extensively. I could explain the plot instead of allowing it to speak for itself, but explaining is intellectual, and the emotional power of story is in its telling.
And it came to pass that Ilúvatar called together all the Ainur and declared to them a mighty theme, unfolding to them things greater and more wonderful than he had yet revealed; and the glory of its beginning and the splendour of its end amazed the Ainur, so that they bowed before Ilúvatar and were silent.
Tolkien’s creation mythology has a perfect God creating a perfect world. His story also includes free will, since Melkor, the Lucifer equivalent, rebels against the Great Music Ilúvatar created.
But now Ilúvatar sat and hearkened, and for a great while it seemed good to him, for in the music there were no flaws. But as the theme progressed, it came into the heart of Melkor to interweave matters of his own imagining that were not in accord with the theme of Ilúvatar…straight-away discord arose about him, and many that sang nigh him grew despondent, and their thought was disturbed and their music faltered; but some began to attune their music to his rather than to the thought which they had at first. Then the discord of Melkor spread ever wider, and the melodies which had been heard before foundered in a sea of turbulent sound. But Ilúvatar sat and hearkened until it seemed that about his throne there was a raging storm, as of dark waters that made war one upon another in an endless wrath that would not be assuaged.
The chaos of evil is sometimes too much for words to express. At a certain point, the sheer enormity of it all makes my brain shut down. But a raging storm of music? I can perfectly imagine that and feel the dread and confusion and terror it would evoke. Evil has entered the perfectly created world. What will God do? What can God do? Erase it, or start over, or…something else? Something more powerful?
Then Ilúvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that he smiled; and he lifted up his left hand, and a new theme began amid the storm, like and yet unlike to the former theme, and it gathered power and had new beauty. But the discord of Melkor rose in uproar and contended with it, and again there was a war of sound more violent than before, until many of the Ainur were dismayed and sang no longer, and Melkor had the mastery. Then again Ilúvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that his countenance was stern; and he lifted up his right hand, and behold! a third theme grew amid the confusion, and it was unlike the others. For it seemed at first soft and sweet, a mere rippling of gentle sounds in delicate melodies; but it could not be quenched, and it took to itself power and profundity. And it seemed at last that there were two musics progressing at one time before the seat of Ilúvatar, and they were utterly at variance. The one was deep and wide and beautiful, but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came. The other had now achieved a unity of its own; but it was loud, and vain, and endlessly repeated; and it had little harmony, but rather a clamorous unison as of many trumpets braying upon a few notes…
Then Ilúvatar spoke, and he said: ‘Mighty are the Ainur, and mightiest among them is Melkor; but that he may know, and all the Ainur, that I am Ilúvatar, those things that ye have sung, I will now show forth, that ye may see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined.
It might be that Tolkien’s stories play exactly into the way my mind and heart are designed, but this story, more than any theodicy, gives me peace about the nature of God and the existence of evil. Zooming out to the big picture of creation acknowledges that evil consistently clamors for dominance and even seems to win it. But God is bigger than evil, and somehow the words “he that attempth this [evil] shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined” makes my heart sink into the most profound sense of peace.
There is evil in this world, and as Christians, we try to defend God’s honor against those in pain. While I am thankful for intellectual explanations, I cannot help but feel they are too often inadequate. Augustine’s powerful and good God who allows for evil in the creation of free will is distant and a little cold. But Eru Ilúvatar brings the world into existence with song, rises from his seat again and again and calmly assures his created servants that he has everything under control.
Four years ago, I rode in the backseat of a van through the Mongolian countryside. Gany and I had joined an American mission team to visit the Genghis Khan Equestrian Statue. Gany brought up a topic her church had recently discussed.
In Shrek, the Gingerbread Man’s legs are ripped off and crumbled into cookie dust, yet he spits in Lord Farquaad’s face and yells, “Eat me!” when asked the location of his friends. It isn’t until Farquaad reaches for his purple candy buttons that the Gingerbread Man caves, saying, “No, not the buttons! Not my gumdrop buttons….I’ll tell you.”
Gany said, “Before we say we will follow God, we have to give him even our gumdrop buttons, the things we value the most.” Continue reading →
[I wrote this article two years ago on a different blog. In light of SCOTUS’s decision to legalize same-sex marriage throughout the United States, I thought it was worth sharing again.]
In today’s cultural climate, it’s nearly impossible to create a theology of sex without mentioning homosexuality (or bisexuality or transexuality). The church has a long history of staying silent on topics it does not understand or topics which it finds unseemly, and that silence is detrimental to our witness. However, I desperately don’t want to talk about this. I am deeply non-confrontational, and this topic is one that will almost certainly make someone angry with me. A Safe Conversation
With my insecurities in mind, I’ve decided to lay myself bare. I’m going to share my heart and my mind. I’ll explain my motivations and my doubts. I’ll ask you to accept my ignorance and my indecisions. I hope that by being so honest, you will understand me even if you do not agree with me. My hope is that honest and compassionate conversations can occur in which people on all sides of the gay/Christian dialogue can speak and be heard. This is my contribution. Continue reading →
I’m fangirling really hard over Christopher West’s Fill These Hearts, a book that combines theology and pop culture to discuss the universal longings of everyone’s heart for ecstasy, truth, beauty, and Love. It is explaining so much of myself, things I thought were silly but are maybe profound.
One of the things he talks about is how our world is a twisted version of what is meant to be. Death appears where there was only meant to be life, ugliness and pain where there was meant to be only beauty and pleasure. But despite the presence of these evil things, we still get to enjoy life, beauty, and pleasure. And it is in these gifts that we get a taste of what eternity with God will be like.
I don’t know about you, but there have been many times in my life when I’ve felt so happy I could just die. Most of the time, I’ve stopped myself. Of course I’m not really ready to die. I’m just really happy. But there are two times when I caught myself, then realized yes, I really would be okay if this were the moment I were ushered into eternity. Here they are: Continue reading →
When I grew up in church, there was a lot of talk about Jesus filling “the hole in your heart.” The implication was that before becoming a Christian, you were empty inside, and after, you became full. This is an incredibly dangerous theology, because it is absolutely not true.
In middle school, I went through a period of pretty significant depression. I would pray for God to kill me, because thankfully I was too scared to do so myself. A lot of my pain came from the fact that I carried an enormous amount of guilt. I was a Christian, so why wasn’t I perfect? If God had filled me up inside, why did I still want so much? Why did I long for a perfect life, perfect relationships, and perfect experiences? If Jesus was the answer to everything, why did I still feel so empty?
I wrestled with these questions alone, because I worried I was the only person thinking such things. My doubts seemed to fly in the face of the salvation narrative I had been taught, so naturally, I thought perhaps I was not saved at all. The combination of adolescence, evangelical guilt, and suffering alone put me in a very bad place for a couple years. And honestly, I didn’t heal so much as I ignored my doubts in favor of legalism and distraction. Continue reading →
Sometime around five years ago, I decided that James 1:27 (“Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world”) ought to be taken literally. I am still determined to adopt someone someday, and while I’m not opposed to single parenthood, I’m holding out for a marriage first. For a while, though, I considered working in an orphanage. When I mentioned this to Gany, a Mongolian girl working as a temporary interpreter in my hometown in Illinois, she invited me to visit the orphanage her church runs in Mongolia. Several months later, I did just that.
Every summer, The Children’s Place orphanage goes to a camp in the countryside to escape the polluted air of the capital city. Gany and I joined them for several days. Our taxi played a Backstreet Boys CD on repeat as we bounced down country roads and avoided massive potholes flooded with water. At the campground, the door to a simple one-room building opened, and five children ran to greet us. I had never met any of them before, but one grabbed my bag and two more grabbed my hands. I immediately knew that my heart wasn’t going to escape this visit untouched. Continue reading →
The answer might seem obvious to Christians. After all, throughout the Bible, God uses male pronouns to describe himself, and when God become flesh, he came as the man, Jesus. Most people are content to leave the issue there, but since I love thinking about culture, gender, and sexuality, I wanted to dig a little deeper.
In a fallen world, anything can become a source of division. This is true of music preferences; how much more when the character of God is in question? There are some who find solace in thinking of God as Mother rather than Father, and there are others who react against this with scorn and even hatred. It seems to me a part of the age old (Genesis 3 old) battle of the sexes: whichever sex God identifies with “wins.”
After all, if God is male, then it is one small step to assume that being male is like being God. And unfortunately, many of our Church forefathers taught wonderful truths about God alongside vicious insults about women. For instance, Thomas Aquinas viewed men as the default perfect image of God and women as defective copies: Continue reading →
The following information comes from information provided by Redeemed Ministries at their weekend conference on Aftercare Training.
Christians, if not careful, can let a healthy passion for ministry turn into a martyr’s complex.
In psychology a person who has a martyr complex, sometimes associated with the term victim complex, desires the feeling of being a martyr for his/her own sake, seeking out suffering or persecution because it either feeds a psychological need, or a desire to avoid responsibility. (Wikipedia)
In pursuit of pleasing God (as though he has not already given us his love), Christians can run themselves ragged, draining their own resources in service to the point that they are no longer useful. It is only with careful self-awareness that ministers can serve whole-heartedly…because they have made sure to keep their heart whole. The first step to healthy service is to examine the cost. Continue reading →
It Is Trish 