"Tilting toward chaos..."

"Without God, great human powers demonstrate their weakness, their 'flesh,' by their inability to preserve the cosmos from tilting back toward chaos." (Allen Verhey, Professor of Christian Ethics, Duke Divinity School)

I have been thinking a lot about the "scandal" going on at the institution for which I work right now. Whatever the legal outcome, the fact remains that there was a lot of irresponsible, immoral and unethical behavior on the part of certain students. But why are we surprised at this, when they have been indulged by their governing authorities up until now? Why are we shocked at the instances of unethical actions by our soldiers overseas, when certain political leaders are found guilty of political scandal on our own soil?

I love Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. It is such a beautiful study of human behavior and society - this is Mr. Darcy explaining to Elizabeth why he is such a pompous jerk: "As a child...I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit...I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own."

Mr. Darcy expresses his gratitude toward Elizabeth for saving him. She spoke the truth to him about what he had become, and because of his love for her, he had motivation to change. But, how will an entire society change? I agree with Dr. Verhey - in our own human power, we are weak, unable to "preserve the cosmos from tilting back toward chaos." Our country has come to rely upon "the immortal soul...some divine spark of reason...the human capacities to think and choose and 'have dominion'...the capacities to trust and hope..." rather than in God, the One Who gives these capacities.

"The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners - of whom I am the foremost. But for that very reason I received mercy, so that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ might display the utmost patience, making me an example to those who would come to believe in him for eternal life. To the Ruler of the ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honour and glory for ever and ever. Amen." (1 Timothy 1:15-17)

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.

You deserved it.

Last week, I was recounting to a colleague the early morning drama at my house, which consisted of various liquids spilling on my countertops, my floors and myself. When I told her how I had knocked a huge cup of coffee all over the counter, she responded, “Aww, poor baby.” I went on to describe how I had spilled yogurt on my lap while driving, to which she responded, “Now that you deserved – you shouldn’t be doing anything in your car besides driving.” Sure. True. I should only drive when driving. Aside from the fact that that’s not going to happen, the “you deserved it” theology feels uncomfortable.

For example, should I treat a 65-year-old smoker with lung cancer differently than a 65-year-old runner with degenerative kidney disease? Where does “you deserved it” fit in here? I realize that the smoker might have different issues (i.e. guilt, regret), but does the runner not have similar issues? If we are being honest, what do any of us "deserve"?

I have no answers to this, only questions. When the people I love, and the people they love, are hurting, "you deserved this" or "you didn't deserve that" seems insufficient.

You'll understand when you're older.

Tonight, at a softball game, all the boys got to hit, but the little girl didn’t – so I made it about age. I was so concerned that she not feel like she was being kept from doing something because she was a girl that I told her, “It looks like only the kids in elementary school get to hit tonight.” And thus I contributed to her education about the virtue of being "older"...

The thing is, I don't understand why being “older” is a virtue in itself. Does being “older” ensure that you will understand life, that you will know what it means to have grief, to experience loss? What about the 14-year-old whose dream of winning the National Spelling Bee in front of millions (okay, probably thousands) of prime-time television viewers is crushed by the word “weltschmerz” in the 19th round of head-to-head spelling? Or the 12-year-old who now lives with her aunt because her mother was deported after their car was pulled over in a crackdown on illegal immigration? Or the 5-year-old who will not even have the chance to learn from life because he was executed in his home along with his parents, grandparents and siblings?

When I am shocked by a 3-year-old lying in a coma because his step-father shook him in anger, it is not because I have not lived long enough. When I don’t have any words to say to a family who’s just received news that their mother has a non-curable disease, it is not because, in my youth, I cannot imagine their grief. In my “short” 28 years, I have had my share of heartache and loss.

I rather like the phrase, “If you’re a young fool, you’ll be an old fool.” Nothing is guaranteed to come with age – whether 10, 40, or 90, you can choose to engage in life or withdraw from it. Experience can be a great teacher, but unless the student is willing, the lessons will be missed. The lessons are all around us, no matter how young or old we are.

What I love about dogs.

The thing I love about dogs is that they are not swayed by anyone else's opinion of me.

Just the other night, G told our dog to attack me (in that playful, "we-haven't-trained-her-to-do-anything-much-less-attack-someone" kindof way). At his command, she promptly licked his pointing finger. Then, he proceeded to explain to her all the reasons that she should attack me, and she responded by wagging her tail and licking his knee. Twice. After a demonstration of how he would like her to attack, she finally came over to me and put her head on my lap.

At that moment, I realized that nothing anyone else could say to her would change her opinion of me. Someone might say to her, "Rachel doesn't pick up her socks and then acts like it's somebody else's fault that her house has socks all over the place," but she'd still run up to the gate each time I pull into the driveway. Or "Rachel volunteers to do all these things and then complains that she doesn't ever have enough time to herself," but she'd still wag her tail helicopter style whenever I come into a room. Those words mean nothing to her; she is devoted to me because of who I am.

I wonder if God's like that.