On Belief: My Great Protest

My dear readers,

I've been too busy to write here, but I have not been away from blogging. I won't steer you toward what I've been up to -- elsewhere -- but I will say that I am tired. My fatigue is not the kind one feels after some arduous task or struggle; rather, it is the kind one feels from spending too much time in one's head.

Suffice it to say, I am tired of trying to sound convincing.

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Why do any of us believe what we do believe?

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A Tangent

A few questions come to mind. They emerge randomly to me; they carry no import of any expedience. They just merely show up, bowing their heads while standing atop a ball: ?????

• If Jesus the Christ is real, and if He was a blogger, what would He blog about? What tone would He take?
  
• If Christ accepted comments at His blog, what would be the first question you'd ask?
• If Satan is real and he had a blog, what would he write about? What question would you ask him?
• If there is a God, does He love Satan? If so, why? If not, why not?

Ahh, the questions seem so silly once I write them down. They do not hit me as being more than the ruminations of a sophomore. But I wonder.

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THE QUESTION EXPLORED

Why DO we believe what we do? Is it not a matter of desire, of will? Do I believe in Christ merely because it is my desire to do so? Is belief nothing more than an act, a choice, a decision?

My non-believing friends, be they atheists or agnostics or materialists or empiricists, inform me that the cosmos possesses no inherent "meaning." In other words, there is nothing of religious import -- or the equivalent -- in the universe that exists independent of human consciousness. Moreover, there is no meaning or purpose not only intrinsic or extrinsic to the universe, there is no equivalent in human consciousness: there is nothing in your thought-life that impels you -- by force of law, rule or precept -- to think certain ways. You can, pretty much, do whatever you believe is right, meaningful and purposive. Ultimate meaning and purpose is up to you: the object of your adoration, worship or motivation is yours to create, and you need not even create a thing.

This, at least to me, is the materialist/atheist worldview in a nutshell. It is an idealism of mammoth proportions, for it only exists in the human mind and that mind is the only place it can ever exist.

And yet ...

I wonder if it's true? For I note that now that I've written down this great truth about the cosmos -- that no truth exists independent of the mind who creates or at least affirms it -- there seems to be some possibility -- however remote -- that the very act of communicating this truth -- by merely writing it down -- renders the truth false. The proposition "All minds find meaning on their own terms" appears to this writer as something quite like an absolute that transcends any individual mind, for it is meant to apply as the law of all minds. In other words, there is something extrinsic that binds humans together: Humans must create. There is no exception. You have no choice in the matter. And I communicate this to you: you do not find it for yourself.

That seems rather problematic.

Moreover, if I say that morality is always evolving, that an individual's personal ethics are shaped by the expectation of any social group in which an individual exists, I must admit that morality is absolutely always evolving, mustn't I? And if I admit that, then I must admit other absolutes, like what was once preferred is not now preferable; what was once good is now not; humans must change; standards are dynamic and never static. Of course there is something static, e.g., humanity, evolution, society (as a concept), and choice: humans (static) evolve (static) in society (static) willingly (static).

Have I, as I wrestle through all of this, merely mangled my arithmetic? If humans MUST create, then there is no choice; if humans evolve by willing to create, then choice is real. Irrespective of my apparent fallaciousness, the assumptions are meant absolutely: they are not created.

But none of this matters. What matters is that I do not see how to explain why a person believes what he or she does independent of that person's will. I can never, ever present a case for the truth of Christianity that could be described as irresistible. I think such a thing impossible. And I note that those who aim to discredit Christianity or theism cannot possibly argue from a position of absolute compulsion, either. There is nothing any of us can say to each other that can change another's heart. We believe, and belief is a choice.

Perhaps, then, a good question in debating another person about God's existence or non-existence is to ask what it is our interlocutor desires? What does he or she want to believe? What sort of universe do they want to accept? For if an atheist, for example, says to me that he wants his beliefs in the universe to conform to what the universe is as described and defined by science, then he is admitting that his beliefs come from outside him: he is saying that something that he did not create defines his beliefs: he can't help but submit to reason and the hard, brute facts afforded him by his senses and the scientific method. But surely this is utterly unhelpful, because now we are back where we started: we do not create meaning. Instead, the universe gives it to us -- and we submit. Absolutely. Or, so we should.

Have you ever been stymied by that person who tells you that all truth, logic and meaning are subjective, and then berates you for being a Christian, calling Christianity a "lie?" I sure have. And I am quick to note that if all truth is subjective, then, it follows that Christianity is -- at least for me -- one of those subjective truths. And if it is a subjective truth, then why is my subjectivist interlocutor critical of my choice? Or does his subjective quest for meaning include his right to be critical: he derives further meaning by berating my freely chosen worldview? How, pray tell, can my choice be wrong or even inferior? What, does it fail to correspond to some objective truth? What is that truth, how do we know it, and why are we discussing subjectivism if there is in fact an objective truth?

Such puzzles.

I am left, of course, nauseous, just like Mr. Sartre, as I consider these conundrums. But despite the nausea, I fight, nay, I WILL to believe in a universe that is fundamentally rooted in purpose, the purpose of love. I choose to believe in a universe that can and will answer our deepest questions; I choose to believe in a universe where all goodness, beauty, joy, bliss, art, genius, justice, laughter, music, color, taste -- and so many more lovely things -- are not crushed into oblivion. I choose to believe like Friedrich Nietzsche that suffering makes humanity heroic; and I believe with him that life is everlasting. But unlike that great atheist, I refuse to believe that human heroism ends in nothingness, crushed in the vast emptiness forever forsaken, cast into some unconscionable hell; nor do I believe that life recurs in some endless and vicious circularity, where we can live out our futility ad infinitum in Nietzsche's "Eternal Recurrence."

I recall once reading in The Boston Globe a review of the lovely film about Sts. Francis and Claire, "Brother Sun, Sister Moon." The capsule review, wherein the film was given one star, included this: "A film only a saint could love." I remember sneering at the reviewer's smug and ridiculous words. For latent in the remark was nothing but disdain for the holy. I retorted, "What sort of person would not want to be a saint? What sort of person gives the pursuit of holiness but one star?"

In a meaningless universe, where holiness means nothing, where love is but a dream and a whim, I protest with all due rebellion: "This is my pride -- to believe in a lie that is more beautiful than the truth! I shall be a saint!"

The empty universe does not deserve such a compliment.

Peace to you, this day, and forever.

BG

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

An Update On Pain

In haste, I want to let my friends here know that it has been discovered that my dental pain is not due to an infection. Instead, what appears to have happened is that I have -- a sprained tooth! I kid you not! The ligaments which attach my tooth to my upper jaw or maxilla are torn or strained and wildly inflamed. The news boggles my mind, as I forget that the tooth-to-jaw connection is, in fact, a joint.

So, what is the cure? Well, the remedy is not the sort of thing one wants to hear about on Thanksgiving Eve: I have to give my teeth a rest! What? Do you mean I have to elevate my tooth on a pillow while I sit and watch football tomorrow? Do I have to put my tooth -- the one dragged a mile over the last four years to fill the gap left by an extraction -- into a tight little splint? Can't I just wear a palatal sling?

Had this been an infection, relief would have come more swiftly, though an infection portends the imminent demise of one's tooth. Hooray! My tooth lives! But I cannot tell you how hard it will be to enjoy tomorrow's turkey as I wear those tiny dental crutches. Better that, of course, than the very greasy -- but speedy! -- molar wheel chair.

Peace.

Bill Gnade

On The "Virtues" Of Vicodin

Last week, while in a meeting for parents about to send a child off to college, I could not help but think of death. You see, I had just come from the fitness club where I train; at the club there is a man who in his thirties suffered a stroke after one particularly arduous workout. As a result of that devastating stroke, that man now walks around the gym sliding a lame leg and awkwardly managing a lame arm. I recall him telling me not too long ago that, right after his ill-fated workout 10 years ago, he went home with a splitting headache. Later that night he collapsed. The rest, as we say, is history.

So while meditating on a dragging leg and a lame arm as I strained to listen to a guidance counselor, I sat in my auditorium chair seized by the realization that I was suffering the worst headache I could ever recall. Pain radiated through my jaw, up my cheek, under my left eye and on up into wherever pain goes. It was almost impossible to keep from lying down on the floor. Panic nearly set in. Inevitability and futility were words that came to mind. I thought of asking if anyone present had a weapon.

As I've said before here -- though only in passing -- I am a patient of a nearby orthodontist. I've been dealing with braces for the past 4.5 years; the process included moving a molar some considerable distance. But during that process, the molar became brutally temperature-sensitive, its root being left slightly exposed. Needless to say, hot or cold, anything other than 98.6 degrees could send me soaring.

And thus I chalked my pain up to something dental. And I was right: I was not having a stroke. But I was wrong about the intensity of the experience, for the pain just got ridiculous over the weekend. And why wouldn't it, now that I've learned that the temperature-sensitive tooth is currently sporting a raging infection? No wonder my left eye closes and tears in pain, and my brain slows to a crawl as I wait for some relief. Antibiotics can't work fast enough; and the pain-killers I've been given work for but a short time (I refuse to take a whole dose because I am pill-phobic -- and, without question, supremely tough).

All this to say that I am in the throes of a double whammy: temperature changes of the slightest kind course through a wimpy tooth and slam into an abscess. That I have a healthy perspective regarding those whose pain is far more insufferable is true, but I cannot help but wonder how painful pain can be. I mean, when I am asked to scale pain between 1 and 10, I always ask (myself, of course) to what the scale is compared. Pain, it seems, teaches us at least one thing: Today's 10 can be tomorrow's 25.

I pray it isn't so, for anyone.

Peace.

Bill Gnade

A Whole New Sort Of Rescue Dog

Marriage between a man and woman. So quaint. So old-fashioned. So "Christian."

I thank my "lucky stars" I was never given this sort of marital counsel.

I am quite certain the whole thing makes sense of Christian missionary commitments.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes.

Can You Say "Oy Vey?" How About "Oops?" Sorry?

[I tip my hat to James Taranto for directing me toward the absurdity -- one that incites laughter and tears -- pulled from the Letters to the Editor section of the Concord Monitor (I used to work for its sister paper) that has inspired this post.]

It is striking how interesting -- and perhaps even prejudiced -- some people can be. Take Mr. Peter Davis of Laconia, NH, for example. Here is a passionate man, full of fire and political consternation. Here is a man clearly given to analyzing the most complicated issues; he is probably noted around the house for his scrupulous attention to detail. He's probably got a ferret's relentlessness for sniffing out balderdash and rot. Surely his recent letter to the editor of the Concord Monitor ably bolsters that perception. If it doesn't, well, then surely it might present him a moment to reflect on his presumed certitude.

In response to an opinion column published in the Monitor on Sunday in which the word 'kafuffle' appeared, Mr. Davis takes a very curious tack. (How could he know that kafuffle can also be spelled 'kerfuffle' and that it comes from the Gaelic words meaning 'confusion' and 'disorder?') See for yourself:

For the Monitor:

What is a "kafuffle"? It's not in the dictionary. Is it just another proofreading error? Or is it a further example of your acquiescence to the Israelization of American culture by attempting to pass obscure Yiddish words into the mainstream of the American language?

It's bad enough that we are steered toward war with the entire Arab world and beyond because our "friend" Israel won't relinquish its occupation of Palestine and make peace with its neighbors. Still we are suckered into giving Israel, the 14th richest country on earth, billions and billions of our tax dollars in foreign aid every year, and we gave it carte blanche to rampage through Lebanon destroying everything in its path and inflicting collective punishment on its people, an aggression internationally condemned as a war crime, yet condoned by the Bush administration and sheepishly accepted by the American people.

How can we hold our heads high and proud when our own county illegally attacks and invades an Arab country that had done nothing to us, killing hundreds of thousands of civilians and wrecking their entire infrastructure, clearly Bush war crimes, all for the benefit of Israel because Saddam was assisting the families of Palestinian martyrs in their struggle against the illegal Israeli occupation of their land? We shouldn't be proud to be associated with Israel, and I don't appreciate their insidious adulteration of our language.

PETER DAVIS
Laconia

What Mr. Davis fails to note is that the word was actually coined by George W. Bush during a pig roast in Texas. The president had a huge and happy mouthful of ice cream and peach cobbler when he was asked, "Why are the Israelis building a wall?" Bush replied, "They're fearful." But all the scribes heard was "kerfuffle." So, in a roundabout way, the word does have Jewish origins.

But only to Mr. Davis from New Hampsha!

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Necessary Myth Mashing

A recently released study on media bias in news coverage during the first few months of the US presidential campaign season is enlightening. The study, produced by the Harvard-based Joan Shorenstein Center on the Press, Politics and Public Policy and Project for Excellence in Journalism, is thorough and engaging (read the PDF here), even if it is an erudite statement of the obvious: there IS a left-wing, pro-Democrat bent in the media. Look at the study for yourself. It will dispel few myths.

But there is one myth it will dispel, namely, that Fox News is some blaring mouthpiece for all things Republican. Not so, says the study, especially when compared to other cable news programs, like CNN, which leans decidedly left. Here's the report's statement about Fox:

The programming studied on Fox News offered a somewhat more positive picture of Republicans and more negative one of Democrats compared with other media outlets. Fox News stories about a Republican candidate were most likely to be neutral (47%), with the remainder more positive than negative (32% vs. 21% negative). The bulk of that positive coverage went to Giuliani (44% positive), while McCain still suffered from unflattering coverage (20% positive vs. 35% negative).

When it came to Democratic candidates, the picture was more negative. Again, neutral stories had a slight edge (39%), followed by 37% negative and 24% positive. And, in marked contrast from the rest of the media, coverage of Obama was twice as negative as positive: 32% negative vs. 16% positive and 52% neutral.

But any sense here that the news channel was uniformly positive about Republicans or negative about Democrats is not manifest in the data.

Surely we can all be confident that left-wing claims that Fox News is really Faux News will cease. I mean, it is well-known that we more conservative folk have an implicit trust in our liberal friends' ability to base their arguments on sound facts and methodology.†

But perhaps some trenchant thinkers, like those found at the Daily Kos or the Huffington Post, will not read this study and hence will be spared much troubling apoplexy. Their ignorance is a merciful ignorance.

And, for fun, this screen shot from the report showing the balance between positive and negative commentary on talk radio, conservative and liberal:



Granted. I post this table merely to incite laughter. It's clear the samples were rather small. But I do love the 100% tallies in the liberal talk radio columns. That's pretty funny.

It's sad that two seconds after you read this, you will most likely return to a world driven by media that lie to themselves about themselves. Media bias? Who really cares?

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

†I have not read the full text nor have I analyzed the study's methodology. For now, I'll make an assumption that this study intends to be taken seriously and hence has not been done shoddily.

Oh, I Don't Know...Blasphemy, Heresy, Sacrilege, Excommunication, Perdition, Hate Crime ...

Today, take yourself aside and sit in silence. Be still, and meditate on the following news bit: two women were ordained as "Roman Catholic" priests in a St. Louis synagogue by an alleged Catholic female bishop; the women "priests" have been given permission to celebrate regular Masses in a local Unitarian Church.

Now, once you've absorbed this news item into the deepest recesses of your soul, ask yourself what words percolate up from the depths.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Peggy Noonan On The Hill

Last week I directed readers to an incisive comment posted by James Taranto of OpinionJournal. Today I can't resist directing readers to Peggy Noonan's essay comparing Hillary Clinton and Margaret Thatcher. And like Mr. Taranto, Ms. Noonan pens one of the most trenchant comments I've seen in a long time. Here's what she said regarding Mr. Barack Obama's campaign to secure the Democratic presidential nomination vis-á-vis Mrs. William Clinton:

I am not sure of the salience of Mr. Obama's new-generational approach. Mrs. Clinton's generation, he suggests, is caught in the 1960s, fighting old battles, clinging to old divisions, frozen in time, and the way to get past it is to get past her. Maybe this will resonate. But I don't think Mrs. Clinton is the exemplar of a generation, she is the exemplar of a quadrant within a generation, and it is the quadrant the rest of us of that generation do not like. They came from comfort and stability, visited poverty as part of a college program, fashionably disliked their country, and cultivated a bitterness that was wholly unearned. They went on to become investment bankers and politicians and enjoy wealth, power or both.

It is a brilliant, devastating comment.

Ms. Noonan's essay makes me cheer for Mr. Obama; and it makes me wish I had met Ms. Thatcher.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Your Comments, Dinesh D'Souza, Atheism And Faith

There have been some great comments here of late, and I want to thank you all for that. Your input makes things far more interesting -- at least for me.

Recently I recommended a book to you all, and now that I have finished that book (last Saturday), I would like to recommend it again.

What's So Great About Christianity, written by Dinesh D'Souza, is superb. But I will guess that -- at least to some Christians -- the book's major flaw, if there is one, might be its title. For this is not so much a celebration of Christianity as most Christians might celebrate it. It is more a look at theism's contribution to Western culture. Yes, the emphasis is on Christian theism, but the case for theism in general is more aptly made. In other words, while Mr. D'Souza's work might edify lots of Christians by his excellent defense of the role Christianity has played in the world, his book might not convert people to follow Christ. Of course, I admit this is probably not Mr. D'Souza's intent. And I know that some skeptics will indeed find in this book answers to many or even all of their questions. This book is an excellent polemic; it is a great contribution to Christian apologetics. But this book is not a companion to, let's say, the Gospels; this is not a piece like Romano Guardini's amazing and MUST READ classic, The Lord. Nor is it really that much like C. S. Lewis' Mere Christianity. For both of these great works feel far more "churchy" or Christian than what Mr. D'Souza has given us. So, the book might very much edify and interest, but I don't see it as an integral part of a discipleship program. That, too, was not Mr. D'Souza's intent.

None of this, for me, detracts from Mr. D'Souza's book. What I particularly liked about What's So Great... is that Mr. D'Souza explores epistemology, with Immanuel Kant as his centerpiece. This, as I've said before, is an excellent thing: Kant is a great starting point. Mr. D'Souza makes very clear what Kant himself could only manage to write about in an abstruse manner. Kant (if I have this right) made a compelling case that we cannot know "things-in-themselves," we can only know our perceptions of things. For Kant, our senses even corrupt what we experience: I say a lemon tastes tart when in fact "tartness" is not a quality of the lemon, it is a quality of my experience of the lemon. My taste buds create tartness; from them, I infer a cause of that experience, namely the lemon. But I cannot know the lemon as it is; in fact, my senses prevent me from doing so. In sensing an object, all we can know is that we have sensation. We experience phenomena. But the cause of the phenomena -- the thing-in-itself -- we can't know.

But that is just part of the argument, and I must give Mr. D'Souza high marks for how he presents it, especially as it opens the mind to the idea that faith is foundational to all knowledge.

Pertinent to this is the quite interesting fact that no atheist seems to have refuted this argument -- ever. I have asked dozens, perhaps hundreds of atheists to reply to my "Letter to Christopher Hitchens." Not one has done so. My letter, too, as noted above, incorporates ideas gleaned from Immanuel Kant. To date, no atheist has expended any effort here to even debate it in any analytical way (except perhaps this comment by JW Haws). Granted, this does not mean it -- or Mr. D'Souza's argument -- is irrefutable. My piece may be so much fluff and bluster; I know that I have lots of blind spots in my psyche. But one would think that someone would rise up and dismiss what should be quite easy to debunk if, in fact, I have written fluff and bluster.† (I further note that no one has rebuffed the ideas presented in "Speaking In Parables," a short-story I penned in mid-September. I think some skeptic out there would have a counter-argument.)

Now, back to your comments for a moment. A recent comment in this D'Souza thread left by reader Luke Buckham has made me unsure of something I drafted. I wrote:

"most of D’Souza’s detractors will not read any or all of the book. Many, in fact, will not expend the requisite intellectual strength necessary to read the entire thing."

Luke Buckham responded thusly:

"I agree, totally. This is a big problem in our culture: most of ANYONE'S detractors don't bother to read the whole book. I vow to be an exception."

Now, I am flattered Luke agrees with me. But, for whatever reason, I heard something ironic in his words. I confess that I may have added the irony; Luke probably did not intend it.

What I am saying is that I am not sure I agree with myself. Admittedly I averred what I did about Mr. D'Souza's detractors' laziness merely to be provocative -- appealing even to readers' vanity and conceit ("Well, I have what it takes to read the whole thing!"). But that only can be defended so far. Why? Because I think a reader can critique parts of some collection as long as the critic does not assume the parts make up the whole. I can critique argument A if I've not read B -- but only as long as I am sure my interlocutor has conveyed that B has nothing to do with A, or vice versa. Critics do this frequently. Egads, I do this frequently. And, yes, sometimes I get it right. But sadly I also sometimes get it quite wrong: I commit the fallacy many critics commit. In fact, this fallacy is one of the most popular and pervasive fallacies. It is the fallacy that argues that one false part nullifies not only whole sets of arguments, one false part nullifies the totality of the person making the arguments. If Mr. Smith is wrong about X, well, he must not only be wrong about Y and Z, he's really wrong about everything!

Besides, not being critical in Part A while waiting for Part B can lead to absurdities. If I can't denounce Mr. D'Souza before I get to the end of his current book, then it should follow that I can't denounce him until he gets to his LAST book. After all, he might emend things later on; he might even change his mind in his next volume, and the next one after that. Surely I should wait until he is finally done?!

So, all this to say that I am not sure I really believe myself on this one point.

Have a great life!

†Other puff pieces can be found here and here.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

On Christian Risk

Several weeks ago, while I was leading the adult Sunday School discussion in my church, a participant said a very interesting thing. We were in the midst of discussing Jesus' well-known "Parable of the Talents" found in Matthew's Gospel. Those of you familiar with this parable recall that three servants, each entrusted with money by their master who was leaving on adventures, did different things with what they were given. Two servants invested it without any prompts from their master; both doubled their wealth. The other servant, aware that his master reaped where he did not sow, took the one coin given him and buried it. In other words, the coin was not invested and he gained nothing.

The parable is powerful on a lot of levels. To me, everything hinges on the third servant's words:

'Master,' he said, 'I knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.'

Of course, the master -- who only moments before praised the first two servants for their fine work -- rebukes this hapless fellow, casting him out into the darkness. But note that the master does not -- in word -- disagree with the servant's description. The master says:

'You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed? Well then, you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest.'

But let me back up. The parable begins with the notice that the master gave to his servants "each according to his ability." Fascinating. For this suggests that the master knew his servants well, that two were more capable than the third. Does this play into the parable, then? Should we expect the third servant to fail?

Perhaps. But, in part, he did not fail. He returned the one talent he was given; it was not lost. Afraid to lose either the talent or what he would have earned in the investment, the third servant literally proved competent in his trustworthiness, particularly since the parable mentions nothing about the master's wishes. The master merely entrusts his wealth to these men. And not one coin was lost.

But the third servant is not rebuked because he buried his coin. He is rebuked because he does not know his master; and he is not really telling the truth. Moreover, he is unwilling to lose what he might have earned.

"I knew you reaped where you did not sow," says the servant. Well, if that is true, then he would have done exactly what the other servants did -- he would have sowed for his master so that his master could reap what was not his to reap. After all, it was the servants who invested, not the master. But the third servant did not invest. Why? Was it because he did not want to lose what he would have gained, essentially saying to his master, "Master, you take what is not rightly yours?" Indeed, that seems to be the case. Hence the servant lies; he is really saying that he did not want to lose what would have been his wealth. So, fearful of losing everything, he buries the coin, intent on showing his master that things were safe and secure.

But what does the master show, not say, in his dealings with the third servant? He shows that he is NOT someone who sows where he does not reap; in fact, he is the opposite. For we see that he not only lets his first two servants keep their profits, he lets them keep their original coins! And, to show his generosity, he takes the one coin given to the third servant and gives it to the wealthiest of the three! In other words, the coins were always going to be the servants' -- but only on the condition that they truly understood who the master was and why the coins were given.†

Hence, to sum up: Those servants who took risks were rewarded, discovering that there was no risk at all; and he who refused to take a risk, lost everything. But, and here's the rub: the servant who lost everything did so because his failure to take a risk was the result of his misunderstanding the nature of the gift he was given and the giver who gave it to him.

OK. Forgive the Bible lesson. What I set out here to discuss was something someone said during class to what I essentially wrote above. This person said this: There is no risk at all in the Christian life. To which I said, "Really? Wow!"

What do you think? Is there no risk at all in following Christ? This week in Sunday School I led the discussion on the "Parable of the Good Samaritan." I was quick to note that the Samaritan took several profound risks helping a wounded man who was the victim of robbers who ambushed him on a treacherous road. Is the Samaritan representative of the Christian life? Is there much for which we can commend him if he did not face any risk at all? Where is Christian bravery and courage if there is no risk?

Or did my interlocutor mean something else, namely that there is no ultimate risk in the Christian life? But is this true? Does this not assume that we already know that everything we do will be approved by God, will be honored and praised and accepted?

Let me ask this as well: Is the Christian life worth living if it is filled with certainty? Is there any life worth living that is NOT an adventure? Does not risk give us our drive for excellence? Do we not need difficulties and obstacles to enrich our lives? Where would we be without risk? Would life not be the dullest thing without it?

I wonder.

Peace.

BG

†Admittedly, there is much more to say on all this. It seems likely, too, that the servants would've kept their gifts if they DID something -- anything -- with them. Imagine if the third servant reported to the master, "Master, I bought a needy family some food and clothes with what you had given." Would the master have rebuked him?

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

On Sitting In Church, Squirming

I sat last Sunday in my seat at church looking for some way to feel comfortable. It was not the first time I've struggled to find even a semblance of peace for my body while sitting in a church, but it was the first time since I began attending -- about 4 months ago -- the local evangelical church that I was afflicted with the squirms and twitches.

In front of me sat a married couple I've known -- only casually -- for nearly twenty years. They were guests this particular Sunday morning, that much I knew, but it was what they said to me at the beginning of the service that set me on edge: they announced they were members of the Churches of Christ. This is not in any way a bad thing. In fact, it is as far as I know a good thing. But what makes the Churches of Christ unique is that they do not use musical instruments in any part of their worship or liturgical services. "We sing everything a cappella," the couple affirmed as we prepared for worship. The lovely couple also affirmed that their children -- all of whom I had known -- were indeed off and married, having graduated from Church of Christ colleges like Harding University (where their eldest son attended).

Now, trust me when I say this idea of "a cappella" singing attracts me to no end; trust me too when I say that the church in which we were seated was about as far from a cappella as one might get. There are on any given Sunday morning at least a dozen microphones on the stage in my current church, with amplifiers and keyboards and drums and guitars and flutes and cellos all raring to go. This network of electrified instruments and voices is what is known as the Praise Team; the team includes a Praise Leader who cues us as we sing a prolonged series of praise songs. As many of you know, this is fairly common stuff in evangelical churches these days; many of you also know that what my friends in front of me were about to explore was not going to be anything short of a G-rated rock concert. And for this Episcopalian-in-exile, as I call myself, I had been quite content adjusting myself to the Praise Team's rambunctious musicality, content right up until last Sunday morning when the a cappella couple sat in front of me.

Seriously, my first reaction was to want to apologize; my second was to look for two sets of earplugs. And my third reaction, honestly, was to pray for a power outage. But I mortified my flesh and chose option four: I squirmed and stewed and even left the sanctuary during the offertory. It was all rather juvenile of me.

But you see, the presence of this couple suddenly made me very self-conscious (or at least overly conscious of them). My pride and vanity were partly brought to the fore: I wanted to let everyone know that I was not overly given to this sort of exuberance in worship (which is quite true). And I was suddenly obsessing about hospitality; I was like a fool rushing around his house declaiming before his guests that his domicile was "not usually this messy." But I was a mute fool, unable to issue apologies because my guests were distracted by everything else, including their own courtesies.

And my obsession did not rest. I noted that it seemed the congregation was standing too long, singing too much. I noticed that the husband before me leaned on the back of the chair in front of him. "Oh, no! Is he tired?" I wondered. I noted how he and his wife looked around as others more familiar with protocol fell to their knees or sat down to pray while the Praise Band wound its way through another chorus. I swear the couple was asking, "Should we sit down? Should we kneel? When can we sit? When should we stand?" I wanted to be their own personal and certified Worship Guide: "Mr. and Mrs. Smith? How nice to meet you. This morning I will be your personal guide as we wend our way through worship. As you may have already seen, there is no bulletin or outline or form of liturgy here; after all, we must not thwart the Spirit. We are a country without maps where each of us citizens nevertheless moves about quite ably. I do hope you will enjoy this time with us. Now, if you will put in these earplugs and follow me, I will lead you safely away from this place."

OK. I would not have led them away. But I did feel a compulsion to intervene.

On top of all this I noticed that the Praise Band seemed unusually loud, unusually repetitive, and unusually and intolerably off-key. It was this last quality that forced me from my seat; I took refuge in the corner of the church kitchen as the offertory began. And believe it or not, as I stood in the corner with my forehead pressed against an overhead cabinet, a church elder came in to see if I was OK. (I am not lying about this.) I smiled, shrugged my shoulders, and simply said, "You know, K., how I struggle with things." I then made my way back to my seat.

The Churches of Christ folks I know have told me that part of the reason musical instruments are not included in worship services is that instruments can be a distraction. I should think my incessant squirming proves their point. But maybe it only proves that I am at times prone to spasmodic fits and catatonia, symptomatic, I am sure, of underlying mental illness.

Or are my fits consistent with hospitality: that people are freer when there is a set, prescribed and known order? Is it loving for a church to have its visitors guessing what worship -- or the structure and discipline of it -- is all about? Is it hospitable to have guests guess? Is it polite to give them no guidance, no frame of reference or sense of time? Would a dinner party be fun if no one knew what to wear, what to expect, what to say or when to say it; would it be fun if no one knew when the party might end?

When I think of the times I dined as a child at my neighbors' homes, I was never relaxed at those homes where I was unsure of the rules, of the protocols. Those families who patiently and kindly taught me their forms and rituals were always my favorite families with whom I would dine; where there was no guidance, I was adrift and often unsure whether the snickers and glances at table were directed at me. And in those homes where meals were served so informally there was no predictability at all, such homes were not one whit comfortable, as chaos and turmoil and even hell seemed just one misstep away.

I guess I will simply have to let go of it all when it comes to church. Besides, to my surprise, the couple in front of me did not sprint out once the benediction was given. Instead, they lingered for the better part of an hour, meeting people and plunging into conversations with a few folks they knew from outside the church's walls. To be honest, it is a very loving and comfortable church; there is much, very much, that commends it. I know this very well, and that is why I attend services there. So there were many good reasons for my friends to have lingered.

I, on other hand, ended worship in a struggle to understand my own problems. I am sure some of my issues are rooted in some perverse pride. But I know that there has got to be something to this idea of order and form and even quietude; there seems to be something wise in the ancient forms of hospitality.

All I know is I say these words here a cappella. And I pray that I do not become a distraction. Perhaps I always need to busy myself in the kitchen when surprise guests arrive; maybe squirming is my a cappella call to action, and retreat.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Confessions Of A Plain Man

In the comments thread of my recent essay "That Droll Man", I am criticized by a Contratimes guest for wasting my critical skills and resources on someone like Andy Rooney. I can't deny that my interlocutor is probably right.

Not a few of us who maintain blogs admit that it is not always easy to be interesting, let alone interested, in all things current, worldly, newsworthy. It is hard to be fresh and creative; it is hard to find a new meter or rhyming scheme, or to walk at a different cadence. The heart taps out its life in certain known and comforting rhythms; writers try to emulate the life-giving thrust of the heart but often find themselves speaking in arrhythmias and arrests.

What can I say if, instead of writing about pearls, I sometimes pick on swine? Have I wasted my time, and yours?

There are so many able writers in the blogosphere that I am nearly always hesitant to express an opinion for fear of being utterly superfluous. In political commentary, the likes of James Taranto render my comments rather insipid: I feel like there is more substance in prison-house gruel than in much of what I offer. In philosophic commentary, I take a backseat -- on a train -- to countless writers on the web. In religious discussions, I am a janitor working the pews after the College of Cardinals breaks for vespers.

So when I can find anything -- even something as small and insignificant as an Andy Rooney op-ed about baseball -- I have to confess that I've found it while dredging the murky depths in the swamp which is my current state of mind. I am a lot like that man sitting on a bench on some dirty subway platform playing old tunes on a borrowed harmonica. The only differences are that I have not put out a hat and I don't really know that many tunes. I strain to improve on the few tunes I do know; and I listen -- perhaps in vain -- for any new melodies I might bring to the waiting and hurrying travelers who pass my way with nary a nod.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.