If anybody tells me, “No! Dan! You don’t sound like an idiot!” I will punch said person in the head. Over the internet.
But I get these days where I feel like I’m hitting my head against a bunch of bricks. Spiritually, I mean. Not just a bunch of bricks that have been built into a wall, but a bunch of bricks that are kind of lying around in a pile. And to take that simile to a place it simple wasn’t meant to go, it’s like God is building something in my life, and instead of seeing that thing he’s doing, I have decided instead that my time would be best served diving head-first into the construction materials.
So I’ve got bits of brick stuck in my head now. The jokes, they write themselves.
I think clarity is over-rated. I really do. You know that amazing night when a heavy cloud or something has dropped right over the city and all the lights are soft and everybody’s walking slow because they’re admiring the fog or they just can’t see more than a foot in front of themselves? I get the feeling truth might be like that: soft light and slow footsteps. I mean, there are some things we all get to know, obvious and not-so-obvious, but there are lots of things that I can poke and prod and you can debate and argue, yet at the end of the day these things are wrapped in pea-soup-thick fog. I guess then you and I can either saunter along and marvel at the whole thing, or walk quickly and knock someone’s trash over.
If there is a police force dedicated to arresting offenders of metaphor and simile, they should be coming along right now.
Maybe when you understand what you don’t know, that’s the point of maturity everybody’s always looking for and pointing at. I don’t know. I don’t even know how I know, though if Plantinga’s right, some things are properly basic. Some things don’t get clear. Maybe that’s properly basic.
The philosophy police are close behind.
There’s this kind of humility that, if you look close enough, isn’t humility at all. It’s not humility for a great pianist to dismiss his playing as pish. That’s a lie. On the other hand, God gave him the other hand, so there’s that, and some fingers beside. But you must ask, if pride is wrong and humility good–as scripture would suggest–what’s the motivation to try hard at anything? The answer is within my grasp, I know that. I just can’t think of how to frame it.
The… Can’t Think At Night Police follow, etc, etc.
I try not to get my knickers in a twist. God help me, I really do; but there is this certain subset of people who always seem to talk in New King James English whenever they talk about God. I am of the opinion that this is better than their parents, who probably stuck to the Old King James and his English (which as far as I can tell is the very English Moses himself came down the mountain talking). So we’ve got some improvement. At the same time I think we as Christians have gotten to a point where we can talk about spiritual stuff without sounding like automatons, without talking in code. I know, this is some sort of pet peeve thing, and you didn’t come here to waste your time reading me rant about what is essentially an inconsequential thing. But seriously, is it so hard to say that Jesus is here, now, and he takes on people’s crap every day? That he carries all kinds of stuff on his back, not the least of which is yours?
Maybe it was the way I was raised (which, I might add, isn’t something to mock; modern psychology aside, child-rearing is important), but I’m able to find fault in anything. I’m like those people that saw John the Baptizer and got angry because he lived in the desert and ate bugs, but then ripped into Jesus for going to parties with prostitutes and the IRS. I can find fault in anything, and it bothers me. Which is ironic, because I just found fault in myself.
There was once a man who went on a road trip to California. On the way, his car broke down, and while he was thumbing a ride to a local service station, the people he was riding with robbed him and beat him to the edge of death. They left him to die on the side of the highway and drove off.
A preacher came driving along, noticed the man on the side of highway, but for whatever reason, he kept driving and didn’t stop to help.
A little while later, the CEO of a prominent missions agency drove by as well, but he, for his own reasons, also kept driving and and didn’t stop to help.
A few minutes after that, a gay trans-sexual came driving along, his/her car festooned with rainbows. He/she saw the man, stopped, and tended to his wounds, driving through the night to take the wounded man to a local hospital, where he/she paid for his medical care, and left the hospital with his/her credit card number in case anything else was needed.
The question, of course, needs to be asked: which of these people was truly the man’s neighbor?