last night i was doing the usual theological discussion amongst friends...
except this time i was surrounded by new faces which in turn means.....first, new location (san luis obispo)...new ideas..new passions..new....souls? of course...this was probably why i was also doing more listening than actual talking...
nonetheless i am undoubtedly the typical skeptic who dabbles in pessimism (what a christian, right?). This applies especially when it comes to the idea of soul-mates. I refuse to agree that there is someone meant for me...but i always feed off of the hope of people who do believe in soul-mates--namely, my best friend, Lauren.
Last night, then, the overwhelming majority did not believe in a love that was planned. Maybe it was only a little, but my heart did break at this point (as I saw the nods that really meant "negative, ghostrider" around the room). I felt, if I won't fight for the idea--then who will? What is the belief in a soul-mate other than a belief in fate? And if we can't believe in soul-mates then to what lengths does our belief in fate extend? I'm afraid not far enough.
At least not far enough for the skeptic/pessimist.
ps don't judge my bad grammar. it adds spunk.
2.16.2008
2.15.2008
God's Funeral
If anyone has ever felt isolated and misunderstood while grieving through the death of a relative or close friend then they can, at the very least, make a rough estimation as to the way I felt not too long ago. They feel hollow and, for the moment, any hope of recovery is voided like a fraudulent check. Consolation provides a moment of insufficient relief. Insufficient because there is nobody to provide comfort in the dark when one must fall asleep to their own impromptu, a capella tune consisting of prolonged high-pitched cries of grief and ending with a sigh. The eyes of those in mourning, even if a natural sky blue, look like unlit lamps, an expressionless pitch-black outer space-like vastness that holds no stars and even the natural reflection of light on the pupil is absent. However, though expressionless on the outside, they are accompanied by an over efficient amount of mostly painful emotions within. Here I would argue that apathy, or at least the appearance of it, contains more intense of a feeling than what Mr. Webster and his dictionary let on. It is only when feelings become so intense that one becomes too exhausted to show it. The heart of the unfortunate one who has to bear the uncertainty of life while his friend has gone to the place with the yellow brick road and white, pearly gates, beats along with an internal bitter melody. This is how I felt when my best friend died. Yes, this is how I felt when God died.
Like with many deaths, Gods death was unanticipated. I knew He had been sick for a couple weeks, but I thought it was something like a mere cold and chose not to visit Him in my prayers. Unaware that his sickness was more like the Black Plague, he died at what I thought was the climax of our friendship. And he died amidst the cold, unwelcome feeling of papers and printers. He died in what mother refers to as a mess. He died in my computer room. In these quarters where some of my most intimate moments with God occurred, I recognized my disbelief, or more closely, my skepticism about a creator. My already dark December sky was now vacant, the moon and the stars receding from my view.
Of course, God was still alive to those around me. The inconceivable joy of my familiars at church provided no comfort for me. Instead, it left this once over eager youth group leader in the shadows. The testimonies given by the typical, conservative, white males who had just come home from a missions trip in Uganda became monotonous, and rather than encouraging, they provided more discouragement. Periods of desperation and hopelessness had become part of my life. My need to know the answers to everything and theism's unanswered questions led to my doubtfulness concerning my life of faith.
It so happened that the more I started reading the Bible, the more I understood it to be a myth or fairy tale. Somehow as my intellectual mind grew, there was less room for imagination or for the creatures discussed in Revelations. When I finally decided to put my pride in my pocket and told my friend *Kristen of the situation, the only comfort she offered me was seeing is not believing. I remember giving her a warm smile but knowing full well that clichés do not heal the brokenhearted. The advice she so kindly offered me was trivial and commonplace. The old and familiar saying, seeing is not believing, is what my mother used when I questioned her about Santa Claus. And we are all old enough to know the truth about him.
Oh, the countless hours I spent longing for my faith to return! Tears, heartache, anguish, and distress became my most persistent companions. Living a life without my familiar friend was like traveling along an ill illuminated staircase, unaware and fearful of my destination as I slowly and reluctantly edged my way up the long set of steps in the dark. Nonetheless, without my friend, reaching the top of the staircase would serve no purpose and, in turn, a life without reason is no life at all. If not nihilism, surely cynicism had regrettably started to take hold of my mind and my heart..
Now, if you are waiting for me to tell you next that I was visited by an appearance of Jesus or the Virgin Mary on my grilled cheese sandwich and that I returned to faith at once, you are reading into the wrong persons life. Those miracles do not apply here, though I am sure it would make for a more memorable and widely discussed story. Instead, after having to wash my white tear stained pillows, I came to an understanding; not an epiphany or revelation this time, but more of a general realization.
I came to understand that faith and love is not always coherent with positive emotional feelings towards God. One should not lean on feelings alone. Feelings are fickle and should not always be trusted and used solely as a basis for understanding or decision-making. Through it all, I recognized that even while I was questioning my faith, I was obviously worried about its condition. If I had not been worried, or if I was truly a nihilist, I would have turned from God without regret. Instead, I spent countless, restless nights waiting for my child-like faith to come back to me. And in turn, through His death I was given the chance to understand that same longing and emptiness that those without purpose must feel, whether they admit it or not.
It also became known to me that God allows believers and non-believers to ask honest questions regarding their faith, or lack of, without it turning into blasphemy. This is possible with a loving God because for the life-long church member questions allow him to make faith his own. It allows him to establish his reason for believing in the Creator. For the non-believer, honest questions allow one to become acquainted with His character. Likewise, how else is one supposed to come to know God if he is not allowed to inquire about Him?
Even after all these realizations, it would be misleading to say that my moonless and starless night sky became a clear and vibrant, sun-filled, summer day. Remember that even the sun can get too bright and deprive us of sight just as much as the absence of light. More closely, walking too proudly and blindly in a life of faith can also lead one to questioning and disbelief. One must understand that my world did not turn from black to white. No, as an alternative, my world at least became a pale gray. My weather forecast since then has been mostly clear, but still with light patches of fog. Of course, there will always be unanswered questions. However, that is what faith and the ineffable and indescribable God demands. God would not require faith if all the unanswered questions were not left unresolved.
After having experienced the death of Christ in my own life, I have come to accept the never-ending process of growth and of coming to understand Gods character. Even though my sky is sometimes filled with rain clouds, I can feel the Creators smile because of my growth. He understands my overcast skies, but is more concerned with the sincere state of my heart. That is, though I do not fully know him or understand him, I am consumed by his overflowing mercy. I am addicted to his insurmountable love. And I still can hear him call me that sweet name in my native tongue that fills me with warmth and a beautiful internal song. He still calls me his mija. Yes, He still calls me his daughter.
Like with many deaths, Gods death was unanticipated. I knew He had been sick for a couple weeks, but I thought it was something like a mere cold and chose not to visit Him in my prayers. Unaware that his sickness was more like the Black Plague, he died at what I thought was the climax of our friendship. And he died amidst the cold, unwelcome feeling of papers and printers. He died in what mother refers to as a mess. He died in my computer room. In these quarters where some of my most intimate moments with God occurred, I recognized my disbelief, or more closely, my skepticism about a creator. My already dark December sky was now vacant, the moon and the stars receding from my view.
Of course, God was still alive to those around me. The inconceivable joy of my familiars at church provided no comfort for me. Instead, it left this once over eager youth group leader in the shadows. The testimonies given by the typical, conservative, white males who had just come home from a missions trip in Uganda became monotonous, and rather than encouraging, they provided more discouragement. Periods of desperation and hopelessness had become part of my life. My need to know the answers to everything and theism's unanswered questions led to my doubtfulness concerning my life of faith.
It so happened that the more I started reading the Bible, the more I understood it to be a myth or fairy tale. Somehow as my intellectual mind grew, there was less room for imagination or for the creatures discussed in Revelations. When I finally decided to put my pride in my pocket and told my friend *Kristen of the situation, the only comfort she offered me was seeing is not believing. I remember giving her a warm smile but knowing full well that clichés do not heal the brokenhearted. The advice she so kindly offered me was trivial and commonplace. The old and familiar saying, seeing is not believing, is what my mother used when I questioned her about Santa Claus. And we are all old enough to know the truth about him.
Oh, the countless hours I spent longing for my faith to return! Tears, heartache, anguish, and distress became my most persistent companions. Living a life without my familiar friend was like traveling along an ill illuminated staircase, unaware and fearful of my destination as I slowly and reluctantly edged my way up the long set of steps in the dark. Nonetheless, without my friend, reaching the top of the staircase would serve no purpose and, in turn, a life without reason is no life at all. If not nihilism, surely cynicism had regrettably started to take hold of my mind and my heart..
Now, if you are waiting for me to tell you next that I was visited by an appearance of Jesus or the Virgin Mary on my grilled cheese sandwich and that I returned to faith at once, you are reading into the wrong persons life. Those miracles do not apply here, though I am sure it would make for a more memorable and widely discussed story. Instead, after having to wash my white tear stained pillows, I came to an understanding; not an epiphany or revelation this time, but more of a general realization.
I came to understand that faith and love is not always coherent with positive emotional feelings towards God. One should not lean on feelings alone. Feelings are fickle and should not always be trusted and used solely as a basis for understanding or decision-making. Through it all, I recognized that even while I was questioning my faith, I was obviously worried about its condition. If I had not been worried, or if I was truly a nihilist, I would have turned from God without regret. Instead, I spent countless, restless nights waiting for my child-like faith to come back to me. And in turn, through His death I was given the chance to understand that same longing and emptiness that those without purpose must feel, whether they admit it or not.
It also became known to me that God allows believers and non-believers to ask honest questions regarding their faith, or lack of, without it turning into blasphemy. This is possible with a loving God because for the life-long church member questions allow him to make faith his own. It allows him to establish his reason for believing in the Creator. For the non-believer, honest questions allow one to become acquainted with His character. Likewise, how else is one supposed to come to know God if he is not allowed to inquire about Him?
Even after all these realizations, it would be misleading to say that my moonless and starless night sky became a clear and vibrant, sun-filled, summer day. Remember that even the sun can get too bright and deprive us of sight just as much as the absence of light. More closely, walking too proudly and blindly in a life of faith can also lead one to questioning and disbelief. One must understand that my world did not turn from black to white. No, as an alternative, my world at least became a pale gray. My weather forecast since then has been mostly clear, but still with light patches of fog. Of course, there will always be unanswered questions. However, that is what faith and the ineffable and indescribable God demands. God would not require faith if all the unanswered questions were not left unresolved.
After having experienced the death of Christ in my own life, I have come to accept the never-ending process of growth and of coming to understand Gods character. Even though my sky is sometimes filled with rain clouds, I can feel the Creators smile because of my growth. He understands my overcast skies, but is more concerned with the sincere state of my heart. That is, though I do not fully know him or understand him, I am consumed by his overflowing mercy. I am addicted to his insurmountable love. And I still can hear him call me that sweet name in my native tongue that fills me with warmth and a beautiful internal song. He still calls me his mija. Yes, He still calls me his daughter.
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