I awoke this morning as I usually do. You know, roll out of bed, rub your eyes, yawn, etc. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. Well, except for some pesky callouses developing on my finger tips from trying to learn how to play the guitar. I proceeded to fix breakfast, get dressed, turn on my computer, do a little writing, do a little reading, and bla bla bla. My morning routine was interupted by an elderly black man knocking at the door. He was the electrician. He was an elderly black man, but an electrician nonetheless.
Flashback - In our living room, the two ceiling lights and fans don't work. Something is wrong with the electricity. Hence, we called an electrician.
He tinkered around, flipping switches on and off, holding a little flashlight up to the sockets, and other strange experiments that were meaningless to me. And apparently they were meaningless to him too because he couldn't fix the problem. He called in for reinforcements.
Before he leaves he goes outside and in one last diagnostic experiment, he flips the breaker on the power box. And our electricity shuts down for a split second. And so does my computer. And so does everything that I was working on. Unsaved. Gone forever.
Frustrated and defeated, I turn the computer back on again. It was a song that I was working on and sometimes the program I use to record it can recover your progress. Well, it didn't. Ok, so I lost one song. No big deal. The electrician is long gone and I decide to leave as well. I lock everything up and step out to run some errands. It is about 11 o clock in the AM. I'm out all day. I don't return till 5:45 in the PM.
Upon my arrival, it is obvious that the electrician has returned and was successful. The lights and ceiling fans are running. Of course, all the clocks are blinking and my computer is off again. I turn on my computer, wait for it to load, and reset all the clocks. After I make my way around the apartment and return back to the computer I realize that it didn't turn on. Funny, I thought. I tried again. Nothing. Growing more concerned I got on my knees and tried to find out the problem - is it the power strip, the chord, the actual socket, or the computer itself. It turns out it was the computer. Funny, I thought.
I unplugged it and took it into the next room to hook it up to a socket that I knew worked. Nothing. It wouldn't turn on at all. Then I began to think of what was all on it that was unsaved. My novel. My entire year-long New Testament study. All of my notes on Galatians that I am teaching next week. All of my music. Every story idea, every letter written, every thought or question I've ever written was on this thing. It was no longer funny, I thought. Angry, I felt.
Followed by anxiety, more anger, nausea, frustration, a bit more anger, and despair. The thought of everything being gone shook my soul. Everything. I knew I would never start to rewrite the novel. I knew all of my time lines and character sketches and Bible references would never be replaced. I knew I never would go back and attempt to recreate an entire archive of songs I'd recorded. Everything I have ever done was hanging in the balance, teetering on either being salvaged or tossed into oblivion forever. And in a strange way, I felt like my very being was right there as well. It was at this point that I realized how desperatly I cling to this stuff. Is this idolatry? Or is this acceptable righteous anger? Then that whole debate starts happening in my head. How much do I worship "stuff?" How much of this reaction is appropriate? Downward I spun until I yelled at the top of my lungs until my throat felt like it was bleeding.
The next 2 hours were spent talking on the phone to Compaq, CompUSA, my parents, my friends, Best Buy, and other computer repair companies. Compaq was going to charge me $300 with NO gaurantee they could recover the data. CompUSA charged $100. Best Buy charged $60, and that was just for a diagnosis.
Side note - I don't have any money.
I decided my Best Bet was Best Buy. As I'm lugging this old clunky thing through the store I hear someone call my name. I turned to see a friend of mine, Dawson, approaching. Dawson is in his mid to late 20s. He goes to my church. He works for Campus Crusade. He is a genuinely sweet man. (His wife just had a baby.) I explained the situation to him and tried to hold back the volcanic rage that was growing inside.
"I bet you it's your power supply. Same thing happened to me Sunday night. I bought the part for 25 bucks, replaced it myself and it was up and running in minutes. You just need that part. I can switch it out for you in the parking lot. It will take 2 seconds." I had no other option so I followed him. We bought the part. He replaced it. I took it home. It now works. And all of my information has been since saved onto a disc now.
And in my moment of despair I realized that it is moments like those that evidence why I needed Jesus for my righteousness, why I need him right now even as I write this, and why I will need him in five minutes. My carnivorous heart salivates for everything but him. It grips onto temporal and expendable stuff with white-knuckled intensity. It is shattered into thousands of pieces when I don't get my way. It is crushed when I cannot please someone or they expose their disappointment with me. I worship everything around me: music, literature, sex, sleep, food, alcohol, attention, approval, appearance, and above all, myself. I am truly polytheistic. I worship a pantheon of gods. The words of Revelation 3:17 resound in my head over and over these days - "You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked."
I almost lost my hard drive today. And I lost my mind because of it. What a pitiful wretch I truly am.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Friday, May 27, 2005
Son of a Beach
I just returned from 2.5 weeks at the beach. Most people would be jealous. Most people would kill to be in my shoes. Most people would salivate at that opportunity. But not me.
It was hell.
I just don't get people's fascination with the beach. I really don't. I have tried to figure it out. But I've got nothing. First of all, the sand. Goodness gracious, the sand. It is everywhere. And you shouldn't expect to walk down by the beach and be freed from it when you rinse your feet under those little water faucets. I did that. And I still had sand in my room, my shower, my bed, my teeth, and my hair. (I was scratching sand granules out of my scalp for days.) There is simply no getting rid of this stuff. It clings to you for life and finds its way onto parts of your body that leave you dumbfounded as to how it got there.
Second, the sun. And the lotion. I simply get tired of rubbing lotion over every square inch of my skin. That is a lot of surface space. Think about it. If you peeled off your entire skin covering and stretched it out, it would be quite a large canvas. And you have to cover EVERY square inch that is exposed. Cause if you don't, you get those terribly awkward sun burn patches. You know, those nice red splotches under your arms or on your shoulder blades. I know those splotches quite well. I had them for about 2 weeks. Furthermore, the lotion makes your skin sticky. There is nothing like lubbing up your entire body with adhesive and then walking out to a vast expanse of sand.
And then you have the actual ocean. You have the lovely combination of the unpredictable waves and the bitter saltiness of the water. This is why you see people who choose to go into the water rubbing their eyes as they exit. Salt water burns eyes. Ever accidentally swallowed any? It will clean out your sinuses faster than wasabi. And I haven't mentioned the sea shells that you step on, the sea weed that gets tangled around your legs, and the undeniable paranoia that accompanies swimming in water so dark that you can't see through it. Who knows what is swimming around me.
The ocean is a toilet. Literally. Millions of billions of fish are pouring their biological wastes right back into the water. And we are swimming in it. I must confess, on one of the few occasions that I found myself in the water, I urinated. And I know others have done the same. Perhaps that is why when the waves crash on the shore they are so sudsy.
The boiling sun, the sticky lotion, the splotchy sunburns, the salty-urine-ocean-water, the hotel room filled with wet towels and wet bathing suits and sand everywhere, the smell of dead fish, the wind that flaps the pages of the book you try to read, and bla bla bla. You can have it, friends. It is not for me.
It was hell.
I just don't get people's fascination with the beach. I really don't. I have tried to figure it out. But I've got nothing. First of all, the sand. Goodness gracious, the sand. It is everywhere. And you shouldn't expect to walk down by the beach and be freed from it when you rinse your feet under those little water faucets. I did that. And I still had sand in my room, my shower, my bed, my teeth, and my hair. (I was scratching sand granules out of my scalp for days.) There is simply no getting rid of this stuff. It clings to you for life and finds its way onto parts of your body that leave you dumbfounded as to how it got there.
Second, the sun. And the lotion. I simply get tired of rubbing lotion over every square inch of my skin. That is a lot of surface space. Think about it. If you peeled off your entire skin covering and stretched it out, it would be quite a large canvas. And you have to cover EVERY square inch that is exposed. Cause if you don't, you get those terribly awkward sun burn patches. You know, those nice red splotches under your arms or on your shoulder blades. I know those splotches quite well. I had them for about 2 weeks. Furthermore, the lotion makes your skin sticky. There is nothing like lubbing up your entire body with adhesive and then walking out to a vast expanse of sand.
And then you have the actual ocean. You have the lovely combination of the unpredictable waves and the bitter saltiness of the water. This is why you see people who choose to go into the water rubbing their eyes as they exit. Salt water burns eyes. Ever accidentally swallowed any? It will clean out your sinuses faster than wasabi. And I haven't mentioned the sea shells that you step on, the sea weed that gets tangled around your legs, and the undeniable paranoia that accompanies swimming in water so dark that you can't see through it. Who knows what is swimming around me.
The ocean is a toilet. Literally. Millions of billions of fish are pouring their biological wastes right back into the water. And we are swimming in it. I must confess, on one of the few occasions that I found myself in the water, I urinated. And I know others have done the same. Perhaps that is why when the waves crash on the shore they are so sudsy.
The boiling sun, the sticky lotion, the splotchy sunburns, the salty-urine-ocean-water, the hotel room filled with wet towels and wet bathing suits and sand everywhere, the smell of dead fish, the wind that flaps the pages of the book you try to read, and bla bla bla. You can have it, friends. It is not for me.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Questions for People Like Me Who Struggle with Assimilating into Society
When you leave the grocery store, wheeling your shopping cart out to your car to be unloaded, do you abandon the empty cart right there beside your car or do you wheel it into its designated place?
When you are at a restaurant, have you ever ordered water but then filled up your cup at the fountain with Sprite?
When you are in Wal-Mart, do you ever try on the assortment of hats and look at yourself in the mirror and if so, do you worry that you may be welcoming lice?
If the parking lot is full and there are five handicapped parking spaces near the front, all of them empty, and you know you are only going to be inside for a second, do you take the spot or not?
When you play Solitaire on the computer, do you have it shuffle out three at a time or one?
Do you always put Neosporin under Band-Aids?
When you are at a restaurant, have you ever ordered water but then filled up your cup at the fountain with Sprite?
When you are in Wal-Mart, do you ever try on the assortment of hats and look at yourself in the mirror and if so, do you worry that you may be welcoming lice?
If the parking lot is full and there are five handicapped parking spaces near the front, all of them empty, and you know you are only going to be inside for a second, do you take the spot or not?
When you play Solitaire on the computer, do you have it shuffle out three at a time or one?
Do you always put Neosporin under Band-Aids?
Pluralism Schmuralism
Pluralism, that crafty little worldview that believes that all faiths have equal stock in “truth,” continues to be both odious and attractive to me. Let’s begin with the attraction before we move to the odiousness.
Those who advocate pluralism are gentle and tolerant. In fact, tolerance is an idea built into the presuppositions of their very worldview. They are modest and genuinely seek civility, as they would much rather discuss spirituality and theology with praise and acceptance rather than blame and accusation. They have the freedom and flexibility to choose what doesn’t suit them and at the same time they are committed to not impose their decisions on you. You can almost hear them at the spiritual buffet, “I’ll take a little bit of that Nirvana stuff, give me a side of that third tier of heaven, you know, the celestial kingdom, and oh wait, no, you better keep that predestination and reincarnation. I’ll also pass on the abstinence.” Pluralists define spiritual reality as they see fit and what a glorious exercise this must be. Imagine a reality that simply revolves around your personal preferences.
There can be no theological arguments within Pluralism, for any “doctrinal” position remains fluid and incomplete. It has to. Spiritual discussions between Pluralists sounds more like an AA meeting, where they attempt to encourage and uplift the other, rather than a polemic debate. And as a result, Pluralists are more accepting, more tolerant, and more open-minded to different ideas and perspectives. They are willing to compromise and adapt, willing to synthesize ideas, and willing to accept people different from themselves without any prejudice. They are epistemologically modest. What’s true for you is good, and they genuinely mean it.
And this is all very attractive to me. I like the idea of telling someone my ideas about reality and though our ideas conflict with no possible chance for reconciliation, they respond with, “That’s great! What a wonderful perspective!” There seems to be an optimism and a genuine tolerance that comes with Pluralism, and this is attractive to me.
But of course, Pluralism is doomed by definition. For here we have a worldview that exalts itself over and above every other worldview by saying that any worldview that exalts itself over an above every other worldview is wrong. Pluralism’s defining position is that no other faith has the absolute claim to truth, which of course, is itself an absolute claim to truth. Oh, silly Pluralism. You thought you provided an answer to a vexing problem, and indeed offered a valiant solution, but you are surely deficient.
And this little unacknowledged snag within its framework comes out quite clearly if you were to engage in a conversation with a Pluralist. The gentle, tolerant, open minded Pluralist who is eager for compromise and civility quickly becomes suspicious of anyone who claims to have a faith with absolute claims to truth. The Tolerant Pluralist is only intolerant of one thing, and that is other people’s intolerance to his tolerance. He is open-minded of everything but the idea of being closed minded, which of course, makes him closed-minded. He fervently defends his BOTH – AND system against opposition, revealing his true EITHER – OR commitments. And that is the thing. The Pluralist is absolutely committed to the idea of no absolute commitments. He is closed-minded about his open-mindedness. He is intolerant of intolerance. He is in fact, deep down, not a Pluralist after all.
What profound enlightenment does one reach with Pluralism anyway? What level of transcendence can a Pluralist really achieve? He is committed to everything and therefore committed to nothing. What is the spiritual gain here? Would anyone die in the name of Pluralism? Where are all Pluralistic martyrs? There are none. They have compromised it all and cling to nothing.
Their faith is built on nothing but tolerance and respect for diversity. While those are noble things indeed, one cannot build an entire system of thought on those alone.
Everyone say it with me outloud: Pluralism Schmuralism.
Those who advocate pluralism are gentle and tolerant. In fact, tolerance is an idea built into the presuppositions of their very worldview. They are modest and genuinely seek civility, as they would much rather discuss spirituality and theology with praise and acceptance rather than blame and accusation. They have the freedom and flexibility to choose what doesn’t suit them and at the same time they are committed to not impose their decisions on you. You can almost hear them at the spiritual buffet, “I’ll take a little bit of that Nirvana stuff, give me a side of that third tier of heaven, you know, the celestial kingdom, and oh wait, no, you better keep that predestination and reincarnation. I’ll also pass on the abstinence.” Pluralists define spiritual reality as they see fit and what a glorious exercise this must be. Imagine a reality that simply revolves around your personal preferences.
There can be no theological arguments within Pluralism, for any “doctrinal” position remains fluid and incomplete. It has to. Spiritual discussions between Pluralists sounds more like an AA meeting, where they attempt to encourage and uplift the other, rather than a polemic debate. And as a result, Pluralists are more accepting, more tolerant, and more open-minded to different ideas and perspectives. They are willing to compromise and adapt, willing to synthesize ideas, and willing to accept people different from themselves without any prejudice. They are epistemologically modest. What’s true for you is good, and they genuinely mean it.
And this is all very attractive to me. I like the idea of telling someone my ideas about reality and though our ideas conflict with no possible chance for reconciliation, they respond with, “That’s great! What a wonderful perspective!” There seems to be an optimism and a genuine tolerance that comes with Pluralism, and this is attractive to me.
But of course, Pluralism is doomed by definition. For here we have a worldview that exalts itself over and above every other worldview by saying that any worldview that exalts itself over an above every other worldview is wrong. Pluralism’s defining position is that no other faith has the absolute claim to truth, which of course, is itself an absolute claim to truth. Oh, silly Pluralism. You thought you provided an answer to a vexing problem, and indeed offered a valiant solution, but you are surely deficient.
And this little unacknowledged snag within its framework comes out quite clearly if you were to engage in a conversation with a Pluralist. The gentle, tolerant, open minded Pluralist who is eager for compromise and civility quickly becomes suspicious of anyone who claims to have a faith with absolute claims to truth. The Tolerant Pluralist is only intolerant of one thing, and that is other people’s intolerance to his tolerance. He is open-minded of everything but the idea of being closed minded, which of course, makes him closed-minded. He fervently defends his BOTH – AND system against opposition, revealing his true EITHER – OR commitments. And that is the thing. The Pluralist is absolutely committed to the idea of no absolute commitments. He is closed-minded about his open-mindedness. He is intolerant of intolerance. He is in fact, deep down, not a Pluralist after all.
What profound enlightenment does one reach with Pluralism anyway? What level of transcendence can a Pluralist really achieve? He is committed to everything and therefore committed to nothing. What is the spiritual gain here? Would anyone die in the name of Pluralism? Where are all Pluralistic martyrs? There are none. They have compromised it all and cling to nothing.
Their faith is built on nothing but tolerance and respect for diversity. While those are noble things indeed, one cannot build an entire system of thought on those alone.
Everyone say it with me outloud: Pluralism Schmuralism.
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