This afternoon my wife, son, and I met with the principal of the Catholic private grade school in our neighborhood. Never having done this before, we weren't sure what to expect. In the end, the result was positive, as our son was accepted to start at this school in September 2008. In fact, it seemed like she had already made up her mind to accept him.
While this is speculation, I think that she liked the fact that we are probably one of the few families that actually believe and practive our faith in mostly similar ways. She also seemed interested in all of us being native English-speakers, as English is the chosen 2nd language of the school. Our son is perhaps the only native English speker there. As my wife has training in TESL, the principal asked her if she might be able to work with some of the discussion groups. I mentioned that I might be able to help bring some native English-speakers to help with these groups.
I feel relieved that our decision seems to be made now. I think that the school will provide a good training ground for our son...and probably daughters as well. The school also seems interested in our involvement as well, which may provide some open doors for ministry.
jeudi 29 novembre 2007
mercredi 28 novembre 2007
Blue Like Jazz: Laura at Reed College
I started rereading Don Miller's classic book Blue Like Jazz (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2003) a couple of days ago. I found my first reading of it in December 2005 to be enjoyable and stimulating. I saw it prominently placed in a bookstore at Washington Dulles Airport 2 weeks ago, so I figured that it must be popular among travelers.
I came across chapters 4 and 5, which tell of Miller's involvement at Reed College in Portland, Oregon. The Pacific Northwest is known as being one of the most unchurched regions of the U.S. In this way, it is like France and a lot of Western Europe.
Miller describes Reed College in the following way: "Some of the Christians in Portland talk about Reed College as if it is hades. They say the students at Reed are pagans, heathens in heart. Reed was recently selected by the Princeton Review as the college where students are most likely to ignore God. It is true. It is a godless place, known for existential experimentation of all sorts. There are no rules at Reed, and many of the students there have issues with authority. Reed students, however, are also brilliant. Loren Pope, former education editor for the New York Times, calls Reed 'the most intellectual college in the country.' Reed receives more awards and fellowships, per capita, than any other American college and has entertained more than thirty Rhodes scholars." (p. 17)
He then tells of his taking courses there, making friends there, and even of some people finding Christ there. I appreciate how he sees people there as people, rather than simply evangelism targets. Concerning a classmate named Laura, he writes: "Laura and I didn't talk much about religion after that. She had dreams of becoming a writer, so we talked about literature. She would give me articles or essays she had written. I ate them. They were terrific. It was very much an honor to even know her. I could sense very deeply that God wanted a relationship with every human being, but with Laura I could feel God's urgency. Laura, however, wanted little to do with it. She never brought up the idea of God, so I didn't either." (p. 41)
Miller was stimulated by this environment. He writes: "I felt alive at Reed...As odd as it sounds, having grown up in church, I fell in love with the campus. The students were brilliant and engaged. I was fed there, stimulated, and impassioned. I felt connected to the raging current of thoughts and ideas. And what's more, I had more significant spiritual experiences at Reed College than I ever had at church....Interacting with these guys showed me how shallow and self-centered my Christian faith had bcome. Many of the students hated the very idea of God, and yet they cared about people more than I did." (pp. 41-42)
Later on in the story, Laura mentions that "I feel like God is after me Don." (p. 52) She says, "I want to believe, but I can't. I hate this." (p. 54)
Miller writes: "I had no explanation for Laura. I don't think there is an explanation. My belief in Jesus did not seem rational or scientific and yet there was nothing I could do to separate myself from this belief. I think Laura was looking for something rational, because she believed that all things that were true were rational. But that isn't the case. Love, for example, is a true emotion, but it is not rational. What I mean is, people actually feel it. I have been in love, plenty of people have been in love, yet love cannot be proved scientifically. Neither can beauty. Light cannot be proved scientifically, and yet we all believe in light and by light see all things. There are plenty of things that are true that don't make sense. I think that one of the problems Laura was having was that she wanted God to make sense. He doesn't. He will make no more sense to me than I will make sense to an ant." (p. 54)
The chapter ends with the following e-mail that Laura sends him:
Dearest friend Don,
I read through the book of Matthew this evening. I was up all night. I couldn't stop reading so I read through Mark. This Jesus of yours is either a madman or the Son of God. Somewhere in the middle of Mark I realized He was the Son of God. I suppose this makes me a Christian. I feel much better now. Come to campus tonight and let's get coffee.
Much love,
Laura (p. 58)
During my lifetime, I've been a part of the chain of contacts that is a part of some people coming to faith in Christ, or coming back to Him. This is great. But I want to see much more of this during this current chapter of ministry here.
I came across chapters 4 and 5, which tell of Miller's involvement at Reed College in Portland, Oregon. The Pacific Northwest is known as being one of the most unchurched regions of the U.S. In this way, it is like France and a lot of Western Europe.
Miller describes Reed College in the following way: "Some of the Christians in Portland talk about Reed College as if it is hades. They say the students at Reed are pagans, heathens in heart. Reed was recently selected by the Princeton Review as the college where students are most likely to ignore God. It is true. It is a godless place, known for existential experimentation of all sorts. There are no rules at Reed, and many of the students there have issues with authority. Reed students, however, are also brilliant. Loren Pope, former education editor for the New York Times, calls Reed 'the most intellectual college in the country.' Reed receives more awards and fellowships, per capita, than any other American college and has entertained more than thirty Rhodes scholars." (p. 17)
He then tells of his taking courses there, making friends there, and even of some people finding Christ there. I appreciate how he sees people there as people, rather than simply evangelism targets. Concerning a classmate named Laura, he writes: "Laura and I didn't talk much about religion after that. She had dreams of becoming a writer, so we talked about literature. She would give me articles or essays she had written. I ate them. They were terrific. It was very much an honor to even know her. I could sense very deeply that God wanted a relationship with every human being, but with Laura I could feel God's urgency. Laura, however, wanted little to do with it. She never brought up the idea of God, so I didn't either." (p. 41)
Miller was stimulated by this environment. He writes: "I felt alive at Reed...As odd as it sounds, having grown up in church, I fell in love with the campus. The students were brilliant and engaged. I was fed there, stimulated, and impassioned. I felt connected to the raging current of thoughts and ideas. And what's more, I had more significant spiritual experiences at Reed College than I ever had at church....Interacting with these guys showed me how shallow and self-centered my Christian faith had bcome. Many of the students hated the very idea of God, and yet they cared about people more than I did." (pp. 41-42)
Later on in the story, Laura mentions that "I feel like God is after me Don." (p. 52) She says, "I want to believe, but I can't. I hate this." (p. 54)
Miller writes: "I had no explanation for Laura. I don't think there is an explanation. My belief in Jesus did not seem rational or scientific and yet there was nothing I could do to separate myself from this belief. I think Laura was looking for something rational, because she believed that all things that were true were rational. But that isn't the case. Love, for example, is a true emotion, but it is not rational. What I mean is, people actually feel it. I have been in love, plenty of people have been in love, yet love cannot be proved scientifically. Neither can beauty. Light cannot be proved scientifically, and yet we all believe in light and by light see all things. There are plenty of things that are true that don't make sense. I think that one of the problems Laura was having was that she wanted God to make sense. He doesn't. He will make no more sense to me than I will make sense to an ant." (p. 54)
The chapter ends with the following e-mail that Laura sends him:
Dearest friend Don,
I read through the book of Matthew this evening. I was up all night. I couldn't stop reading so I read through Mark. This Jesus of yours is either a madman or the Son of God. Somewhere in the middle of Mark I realized He was the Son of God. I suppose this makes me a Christian. I feel much better now. Come to campus tonight and let's get coffee.
Much love,
Laura (p. 58)
During my lifetime, I've been a part of the chain of contacts that is a part of some people coming to faith in Christ, or coming back to Him. This is great. But I want to see much more of this during this current chapter of ministry here.
mardi 27 novembre 2007
School choices for next year for son #1
This Thursday we have an interview at a private Catholic school in our neighborhood for our son.
I can't believe that he's already in his 3rd and normally final year at his French preschool/kindergarten. 3 years ago at this time, we were working through school choices for him. We're thankful for how God led us to his particular school, which our older daughter also is attending for her 2nd year. Our younger daughter, if she makes the age cut off, may attend there next year. She's not even 2, yet has decided to potty train herself this week. She's done everything earlier than her 2 older siblings, so this shouldn't be surprising, but still is.
Our neighborhood doesn't have the reputation for the best public schools in Paris. We have a couple of options based on where we live. One is known for its lack of discipline, so that one isn't a good option. Another one seems to be good, according to several of our neighbors whose kids go there.
One appealing point of the Catholic school is that a number of the kids from our kids' preschool/kindergarden attend there. In that way, our son would already know some of the other kids there. This would also help us to continue with some of the relationships that have been built during the last couple of years.
While at the pool today, he was playing with a girl who is in her first year at this Catholic school. Her father asked when our interview was. While in the lockerroom afterwards, we ran into another girl from our preschool/kindergarden who is also now at this school.
Honestly, until the pool today, I was fairly impartial to both the Catholic school and the good public one in our neighborhood. But after these 2 encounters at the pool, I lean much stronger toward the Catholic school.
We'll see how the interview goes on Thursday and trust God to intervene if this isn't the best place for our kids to attend. But my wife and I plan to invest ourselves in whatever school(s) our kids attend. That is a primary way that we seek to be salt and light in our neighborhood.
I can't believe that he's already in his 3rd and normally final year at his French preschool/kindergarten. 3 years ago at this time, we were working through school choices for him. We're thankful for how God led us to his particular school, which our older daughter also is attending for her 2nd year. Our younger daughter, if she makes the age cut off, may attend there next year. She's not even 2, yet has decided to potty train herself this week. She's done everything earlier than her 2 older siblings, so this shouldn't be surprising, but still is.
Our neighborhood doesn't have the reputation for the best public schools in Paris. We have a couple of options based on where we live. One is known for its lack of discipline, so that one isn't a good option. Another one seems to be good, according to several of our neighbors whose kids go there.
One appealing point of the Catholic school is that a number of the kids from our kids' preschool/kindergarden attend there. In that way, our son would already know some of the other kids there. This would also help us to continue with some of the relationships that have been built during the last couple of years.
While at the pool today, he was playing with a girl who is in her first year at this Catholic school. Her father asked when our interview was. While in the lockerroom afterwards, we ran into another girl from our preschool/kindergarden who is also now at this school.
Honestly, until the pool today, I was fairly impartial to both the Catholic school and the good public one in our neighborhood. But after these 2 encounters at the pool, I lean much stronger toward the Catholic school.
We'll see how the interview goes on Thursday and trust God to intervene if this isn't the best place for our kids to attend. But my wife and I plan to invest ourselves in whatever school(s) our kids attend. That is a primary way that we seek to be salt and light in our neighborhood.
vendredi 23 novembre 2007
Desire: the Journey We Must Take to Find the Life God Offers
During the last couple of weeks, I've been able to read more than I have since our first child arrived nearly 6 years ago. Reading is a joy for me and something that I saw modelled in my mother, who usually had a book going all the time. During my single days here, I used to read much more. One year I read 50 books, nearly a book a week. But the tyranny of the urgent needs of 1, then 2, then 3 kids has made it much harder to find the time.
While in Colorado last week, I picked up John Eldredge's book Desire: The Journey We Must Take to Find the Life God Offers (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2007). It's the 3rd book I've seen recently that deals with the theme of "desire." The other two are by Erwin McManus and Bill Johnson. All 3 books see "desire" as generally something positive that we need to consider and follow. In some camps of Christianity, desire is looked at at something very bad that we should avoid. But these books encourage embracing our desire as something that God has allowed and takes pleasure in.
This goes against a syncretism of Christianity with Buddhism, whose goal is to avoid all desire. It is easy to see how the modern Church has bought into this mindset. Our prayers and lives can be passionness because they are done out of duty.
While in Colorado last week, I picked up John Eldredge's book Desire: The Journey We Must Take to Find the Life God Offers (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2007). It's the 3rd book I've seen recently that deals with the theme of "desire." The other two are by Erwin McManus and Bill Johnson. All 3 books see "desire" as generally something positive that we need to consider and follow. In some camps of Christianity, desire is looked at at something very bad that we should avoid. But these books encourage embracing our desire as something that God has allowed and takes pleasure in.
This goes against a syncretism of Christianity with Buddhism, whose goal is to avoid all desire. It is easy to see how the modern Church has bought into this mindset. Our prayers and lives can be passionness because they are done out of duty.
jeudi 22 novembre 2007
A Community of Brokenness
I think that this will be my last blog entry about Gerald Sittser's most excellent book A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows Through Loss. Chapter 13 is titled "a community of brokenness."
He writes: "Loss does not have to isolate us or make us feel lonely. Though it is a solitary experience we must face alone, loss is also a common experience that can lead us to community. It can create a community of brokenness. We must enter the darkness of loss alone, but once there we will find others with whom we can share life together." (p. 154)
"Community does not simply happen spontaneously, except in rare circumstances when conditions are right...When people suffering loss do find community, it comes as a result of conscious choices they and other people make." (p. 159)
"First of all, it requires a choice on the part of those who want to provide community for suffering friends. They must be willing to be changed by someone else's loss, though they might not have been directly affected by it. Good comfort requires empathy, forces adjustments, and sometimes mandates huge sacrifices. Comforters must be prepared to let the pain of another become their own and so let it transform them. They will never be the same after that decision. Their own world will be permanently altered by the presence of one who suffers. It will bring an end to detachment, control, and convenience. It will prevent them from ever thinking again that the world is a safe place full of nice people, positive experiences, and favorable circumstances." (p. 159)
"The experience of community has taught me another lesson as well. Not only must people who want to comfort someone in pain make a decision to do so, but people who need the comfort must also decide to receive it. Their responsibility will include facing the darkness with courage, learning new skills, and striving for mutuality in friendships. In other words, they must take command of their lives as much as they are able to, in spite of their distress and brokenness." (pp. 162-163)
"I realized soon after the accident that I had another significant responsibility to fulfill too, and that concerned my role in the community as an interpreter of my experience. Friends wanted to listen and empathize; but they also wanted to learn to reflect on the universal nature of suffering, and to make meaning for their own lives. So we became a reflective community together...They were willing to be changed; I was willing to exercise responsibility. They never felt manipulated and used; I never felt patronized and pressured. The result was a mutuality in our relationships. All of us contributed, and all of us gained." (p. 164)
"The result was love. We learned to love more deeply. This was especially, though not exclusively, true for me. I hesitated at first to risk loving again. There was a protective reflex in me that made me want to turn my back on everyone, even my own family. My experience taught me that loss reduces people to a state of almost total brokenness and vulnerability. I did not simply feel raw pain; I was raw pain. Consequently, I usually found myself on the receiving end of love and friendship. Eventually I had to decide, however, to become a contributing member of the community once again, not only willing to receive but also to give love." (p. 164)
"There is an ominous dimension to love, especially after loss. If loss increases our capacity for love, then an increased capacity for love will only make us feel greater sorrow when suffering strikes again. There is no simple solution to this dilemma. Choosing to withdraw from people and to protect the self diminishes the soul; choosing to love even more deeply than before ensures that we will suffer again, for the choice to love requires the courage to grieve. We know that loss is not a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So naturally we dread the losses that loom ahead. But the greater loss is not suffering another loss itself but refusing to love again, for that may lead to the death of the soul." (p. 166)
He writes: "Loss does not have to isolate us or make us feel lonely. Though it is a solitary experience we must face alone, loss is also a common experience that can lead us to community. It can create a community of brokenness. We must enter the darkness of loss alone, but once there we will find others with whom we can share life together." (p. 154)
"Community does not simply happen spontaneously, except in rare circumstances when conditions are right...When people suffering loss do find community, it comes as a result of conscious choices they and other people make." (p. 159)
"First of all, it requires a choice on the part of those who want to provide community for suffering friends. They must be willing to be changed by someone else's loss, though they might not have been directly affected by it. Good comfort requires empathy, forces adjustments, and sometimes mandates huge sacrifices. Comforters must be prepared to let the pain of another become their own and so let it transform them. They will never be the same after that decision. Their own world will be permanently altered by the presence of one who suffers. It will bring an end to detachment, control, and convenience. It will prevent them from ever thinking again that the world is a safe place full of nice people, positive experiences, and favorable circumstances." (p. 159)
"The experience of community has taught me another lesson as well. Not only must people who want to comfort someone in pain make a decision to do so, but people who need the comfort must also decide to receive it. Their responsibility will include facing the darkness with courage, learning new skills, and striving for mutuality in friendships. In other words, they must take command of their lives as much as they are able to, in spite of their distress and brokenness." (pp. 162-163)
"I realized soon after the accident that I had another significant responsibility to fulfill too, and that concerned my role in the community as an interpreter of my experience. Friends wanted to listen and empathize; but they also wanted to learn to reflect on the universal nature of suffering, and to make meaning for their own lives. So we became a reflective community together...They were willing to be changed; I was willing to exercise responsibility. They never felt manipulated and used; I never felt patronized and pressured. The result was a mutuality in our relationships. All of us contributed, and all of us gained." (p. 164)
"The result was love. We learned to love more deeply. This was especially, though not exclusively, true for me. I hesitated at first to risk loving again. There was a protective reflex in me that made me want to turn my back on everyone, even my own family. My experience taught me that loss reduces people to a state of almost total brokenness and vulnerability. I did not simply feel raw pain; I was raw pain. Consequently, I usually found myself on the receiving end of love and friendship. Eventually I had to decide, however, to become a contributing member of the community once again, not only willing to receive but also to give love." (p. 164)
"There is an ominous dimension to love, especially after loss. If loss increases our capacity for love, then an increased capacity for love will only make us feel greater sorrow when suffering strikes again. There is no simple solution to this dilemma. Choosing to withdraw from people and to protect the self diminishes the soul; choosing to love even more deeply than before ensures that we will suffer again, for the choice to love requires the courage to grieve. We know that loss is not a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So naturally we dread the losses that loom ahead. But the greater loss is not suffering another loss itself but refusing to love again, for that may lead to the death of the soul." (p. 166)
mercredi 21 novembre 2007
The Absence of God
I finished reading Gerald Sittser's A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows Through Loss today. This is definitely a valuable book that I will come back to...and have a hard time lending out my copy, as it is well marked up.
Chapter 11 is titled "The Absence of God." This raises up the question of God's sovereignty. He writes: "Since suffering made belief in God more difficult, I decided to investigate the implications of unbelief. What would atheism do for me in my suffering that belief in God did not do or could not do?...If there were no God, there appears to be no ultimate reason why we should feel one way or the other, since emotions like grief or happiness have no grounding in a greater, objective reality outside the self. In an atheistic worldview, it becomes all but impossible to establish the absoluteness of truth and falsehood, or good and evil, or right and wrong...I realize that other people who have suffered loss have come to different conclusions from mine, and they are just as sincere and serious as I am. Some believe that we know good and bad through the operation of natural law, which governs the moral universe in the same way it governs the physical universe. Others believe that we have knowledge of good and bad through the influence of social convention. But these options seem to beg the question. Where did natural law originate? What is the source of social convention? These questions push me away from atheism and toward God...The implications of atheism are therefore intolerable to me. However difficult belief in God can sometimes be, belief in atheism is more difficult still." (pp. 138-140)
Sittser mentions 3 discoveries that helped him in the course of his wrestling with his tragedy.
"The first perspective has to do with an alternative way of understanding God's sovereignty. Prior to the accident...I was inclined to believe that God simply pulled the strings and manipulated the events of our lives as if we were marionettes on a string and God was a puppeteer controlling us completely...Since the accident I have been to question this perspective. ..My understanding of God's sovereignty...includes rather than nullifies human freedom...I can affirm God's sovereigny and still be a person instead of a puppet...Belief in God's sovereignty thus gives us the security of knowing God is in control, but it also assigns us the responsibility of using our freedom to make wise choices and to remain faithful to him. It assures us that God is transcendent without canceling out the important role we play. God's sovereignty allows us to believe that he is bigger than our circumstances and will make our lives better through those circumstances." (pp. 141-142)
"The second perspective concerns the peculiar relationship that exists between God's sovereignty and the Incarnation. God's sovereignty means that God is in ultimate control of everything. The Incarnation means that God came into the world as a vulnerable human being...God is therefore not simply some distant being who controls the world by a mysterious power. God came all the way to us and lived among us...The God I know has experienced pain and therefore understands my pain...No matter how deep the pit into which I descend, I keep finding God there. He is not aloof from my suffering but draws near to me when I suffer. He is vulnerable to pain, quick to shed tears, and acquainted with grief. God is a suffering Sovereign who feels the sorrow of the world...God understands suffering because God suffered." (pp. 142-143)
"The final perspective concerns the role of faith, whcih seems to be required of anyone who wants to know God...It is possible to see the natural world in a way that excludes God, to view history as empty of divine involvement, and to interpret Jesus as simply a great moral teacher, a radical revolutionary, or a deranged fanatic. We can live normal and productive lives on earth and dismiss God. We can choose to be atheists and get away with it." (p. 143)
"The point is that we have a choice. More than anything God covets our love. But real love can never be forced. Freedom is what makes love possible in the first place. Thatis why God will never coerce us into a relationship. Faith allows us to choose God in freedom. It is possible to believe in him, but it is also possible not to believe in him. If we believe, it is because we have chosen to believe, although even the opportunity to make a choice in itself is a divine gift." (pp. 143-144)
"Loss may call the existence of God into question. Pain seems to conceal him from us, making it hard for us to believe that there could be a God in the midst of our suffering. In our pain we are tempted to reject God, yet for some reason we hesitate to take that course of actions. So we ponder and pray. We move toward God, then away fromhim. We wrestle in our souls to believe. Finally we choose God, and in the choosing we learn that he has already chosen us and has already been drawing us to him. We approach him in our freedom, having minds that can doubt as well as believe, hearts that can feel sorrow as well as joy, and wills that can choose against God as well as for him. We decide to be in a relationship with God. And then we discover that God, in his sovereignty, has already decided to be in a relationship with us." (p. 144)
Chapter 11 is titled "The Absence of God." This raises up the question of God's sovereignty. He writes: "Since suffering made belief in God more difficult, I decided to investigate the implications of unbelief. What would atheism do for me in my suffering that belief in God did not do or could not do?...If there were no God, there appears to be no ultimate reason why we should feel one way or the other, since emotions like grief or happiness have no grounding in a greater, objective reality outside the self. In an atheistic worldview, it becomes all but impossible to establish the absoluteness of truth and falsehood, or good and evil, or right and wrong...I realize that other people who have suffered loss have come to different conclusions from mine, and they are just as sincere and serious as I am. Some believe that we know good and bad through the operation of natural law, which governs the moral universe in the same way it governs the physical universe. Others believe that we have knowledge of good and bad through the influence of social convention. But these options seem to beg the question. Where did natural law originate? What is the source of social convention? These questions push me away from atheism and toward God...The implications of atheism are therefore intolerable to me. However difficult belief in God can sometimes be, belief in atheism is more difficult still." (pp. 138-140)
Sittser mentions 3 discoveries that helped him in the course of his wrestling with his tragedy.
"The first perspective has to do with an alternative way of understanding God's sovereignty. Prior to the accident...I was inclined to believe that God simply pulled the strings and manipulated the events of our lives as if we were marionettes on a string and God was a puppeteer controlling us completely...Since the accident I have been to question this perspective. ..My understanding of God's sovereignty...includes rather than nullifies human freedom...I can affirm God's sovereigny and still be a person instead of a puppet...Belief in God's sovereignty thus gives us the security of knowing God is in control, but it also assigns us the responsibility of using our freedom to make wise choices and to remain faithful to him. It assures us that God is transcendent without canceling out the important role we play. God's sovereignty allows us to believe that he is bigger than our circumstances and will make our lives better through those circumstances." (pp. 141-142)
"The second perspective concerns the peculiar relationship that exists between God's sovereignty and the Incarnation. God's sovereignty means that God is in ultimate control of everything. The Incarnation means that God came into the world as a vulnerable human being...God is therefore not simply some distant being who controls the world by a mysterious power. God came all the way to us and lived among us...The God I know has experienced pain and therefore understands my pain...No matter how deep the pit into which I descend, I keep finding God there. He is not aloof from my suffering but draws near to me when I suffer. He is vulnerable to pain, quick to shed tears, and acquainted with grief. God is a suffering Sovereign who feels the sorrow of the world...God understands suffering because God suffered." (pp. 142-143)
"The final perspective concerns the role of faith, whcih seems to be required of anyone who wants to know God...It is possible to see the natural world in a way that excludes God, to view history as empty of divine involvement, and to interpret Jesus as simply a great moral teacher, a radical revolutionary, or a deranged fanatic. We can live normal and productive lives on earth and dismiss God. We can choose to be atheists and get away with it." (p. 143)
"The point is that we have a choice. More than anything God covets our love. But real love can never be forced. Freedom is what makes love possible in the first place. Thatis why God will never coerce us into a relationship. Faith allows us to choose God in freedom. It is possible to believe in him, but it is also possible not to believe in him. If we believe, it is because we have chosen to believe, although even the opportunity to make a choice in itself is a divine gift." (pp. 143-144)
"Loss may call the existence of God into question. Pain seems to conceal him from us, making it hard for us to believe that there could be a God in the midst of our suffering. In our pain we are tempted to reject God, yet for some reason we hesitate to take that course of actions. So we ponder and pray. We move toward God, then away fromhim. We wrestle in our souls to believe. Finally we choose God, and in the choosing we learn that he has already chosen us and has already been drawing us to him. We approach him in our freedom, having minds that can doubt as well as believe, hearts that can feel sorrow as well as joy, and wills that can choose against God as well as for him. We decide to be in a relationship with God. And then we discover that God, in his sovereignty, has already decided to be in a relationship with us." (p. 144)
mardi 20 novembre 2007
Why NOT me?
I was struck today by this title (chapter 9) of Gerald Sittser's A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows Through Loss.
He writes: "No one is safe, because the universe is hardly a safe place. It is often mean, unpredictable, and unjust. Loss has little to do with our notions of fairness. Some people live long and happily, though they deserve to suffer. Others endure one loss after another, though they deserve to be blessed. Loss is no more a respecter of persons and position than good fortune is. There is often no rhyme or reason to the misery of some and to the happiness of others." (p. 107)
He continues: "Loss deprives us of control. Cancer ravages, violence erupts, divorce devastates, unemployment frustrates, and death srikes--often with little warning. Suddenly we are forced to face ur limitations squarely. Our expectations blow up in our face. We wonder what has gone wrong. We resent the intrusion, the inconvenience, the derailment. It is not something we were planning on! 'Why me?' we ask." (p. 108)
But his 3 years of reflection after the tragic car accident led Sittser to believe that the better question is not "Why me?", but rather "why NOT me?" This is closer to the reality that most people live. The accident initiated him into a "fellowship of sufferings" that spans the world.
He writes: If I have learned anything over the past three years, it is that I desperately need and desire the grace of God. Grace has come to me in ways I did not expect. Friends have remained loyal and supportive, in spite of my strugles. Quietness, contentment, and simplicity have gradually found a place in the center of my soul, though I have never been busier. I go to bed at night grateful for the events of the day, which I try to review and reflect on until I fall asleep, and I wake up in the morning eager to begin a new day. My life is rich and productive, like Iowa farmhand in the late summer. (p. 114)
He writes: "God, spare us a life of fairness! To live in a world with grace is better by far than to live in a world of absolute fairness. A fair world may make the life nice for us, but only as nice as we are. We may get what we deserve, but I wonder how much that is and whether or not we would really be satisfied. A world with grace will give us more than we deserve. It will give us life, even in our suffering." (p. 115)
He writes: "No one is safe, because the universe is hardly a safe place. It is often mean, unpredictable, and unjust. Loss has little to do with our notions of fairness. Some people live long and happily, though they deserve to suffer. Others endure one loss after another, though they deserve to be blessed. Loss is no more a respecter of persons and position than good fortune is. There is often no rhyme or reason to the misery of some and to the happiness of others." (p. 107)
He continues: "Loss deprives us of control. Cancer ravages, violence erupts, divorce devastates, unemployment frustrates, and death srikes--often with little warning. Suddenly we are forced to face ur limitations squarely. Our expectations blow up in our face. We wonder what has gone wrong. We resent the intrusion, the inconvenience, the derailment. It is not something we were planning on! 'Why me?' we ask." (p. 108)
But his 3 years of reflection after the tragic car accident led Sittser to believe that the better question is not "Why me?", but rather "why NOT me?" This is closer to the reality that most people live. The accident initiated him into a "fellowship of sufferings" that spans the world.
He writes: If I have learned anything over the past three years, it is that I desperately need and desire the grace of God. Grace has come to me in ways I did not expect. Friends have remained loyal and supportive, in spite of my strugles. Quietness, contentment, and simplicity have gradually found a place in the center of my soul, though I have never been busier. I go to bed at night grateful for the events of the day, which I try to review and reflect on until I fall asleep, and I wake up in the morning eager to begin a new day. My life is rich and productive, like Iowa farmhand in the late summer. (p. 114)
He writes: "God, spare us a life of fairness! To live in a world with grace is better by far than to live in a world of absolute fairness. A fair world may make the life nice for us, but only as nice as we are. We may get what we deserve, but I wonder how much that is and whether or not we would really be satisfied. A world with grace will give us more than we deserve. It will give us life, even in our suffering." (p. 115)
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