Wednesday, July 23, 2014

forgiving the well-known

Most people like to be righteously indignant about someone else's objectively bad behavior.  I am no different.  The question I have is at what point do we need to let that indigence go and allow for someone to move on with their lives.

A few years back I posted on the requirement in the Christian faith on forgiveness.  It is expected to be unwavering and absolute, because our level of forgiveness reflects our level of acceptance of the position we have in relation to God.  This is not an expectation for non-believers, for Jesus himself stated that the one who has been forgiven little loves little (Luke 7:47), but there are no exceptions for Christians.  We are to forgive as we have been forgiven, and that is an astronomical standard to meet.

The first universal examples of where this becomes difficult that spring to my mind are with celebrities. Names that spring to mind of people who others seem to find difficult to forgive for their real or perceived sins are Michael Vick, Mel Gibson, Tonya Harding, and Kanye West.  For my own part, one person who always rubbed me the wrong way is the former Phillies outfielder, and later flawed investment adviser Lenny Dykstra.  This was mostly due to his reputation for brash obnoxiousness, but he also served time for bankruptcy fraud and money laundering.

Celebrities are easier to forgive than the next group that springs to mind: dictators and war criminals.  Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, the entire Kim family in North Korea, are the easiest names to generate in my mind.  These are just the well-known ones, though.  In reality, just the last hundred years has seen thousands of people who violently abused their positions of power.  None of these people ever wronged me or my family, so I am not in a position to need to forgive them, but how could a person do it?

My issue is that it is difficult for me not to think of myself as morally superior in my own self to many of the people whose names I have listed.  I don't think I am alone in that.  It seems a low bar to imagine myself as better than someone who is renown for their failings.  As long as I allow myself to dwell there, though, my pride is every bit as evil to God as the crimes of those other individuals.  That is my struggle.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

contentment

Last week I completed a six month read through the Bible which ate up more of my spare time than I anticipated it would.  This has been enlightening, but it has solidified my belief in something that causes me a great deal of concern.  God promises a lot of things in the life to come, but in this life we are promised little more than fulfillment and faith.

What I am talking about is illustrated in the context of the very popular verse, Philippians 4:13.  That specific verse is the one many quote which indicates that Paul can do all things through Christ's strength.  Ignoring context, it sounds heroic.  In context, it is challenging.
"I rejoice greatly in the Lord that at last you have renewed your concern for me. Indeed, you have been concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it. I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength. Yet it was good of you to share in my troubles."- Philippians 4:10-14
To summarize, Paul understood relative wealth and poverty. In all of these circumstances he had learned the secret to contentment. The implication is that this is found in the Lord. The challenge to my faith lies in the fact that we are not promised easy lives.  We are only promised that Christ's strength can give us contentment in the middle of difficult times.

I have long been careful not to tie my faith to comfort and claim that my belief in God is based on His caring for my needs and the needs of my family, because what happens when our needs conflict with God's purposes?  God is more than willing to undo me for His purposes.  If that were to occur, what value would faith be that says, "I trust you God because I believe you will always provide what I think I need?"  That so-called faith would be sorely tested, then eventually destroyed.

I know that this passage is intended to be encouraging, that even when things are bad contentment can be found.  I am seeing the limits of my faith in this passage, however.  I have a great deal of difficulty trusting the true promise of this passage, that God provides contentment in truly bad circumstances.  I see what other people have had to deal with—loss of spouses or children, loss of jobs, serious medical issues, divorce, etc.—and I honestly wonder how God could provide contentment in those situations.  This is not a question of doubting God's ability, but rather doubting His willingness to hand out contentment.  Even that is probably an inappropriate doubt, however.

Through my doubts I do still believe, however.  I do still believe.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

toy cars and fireworks

Last week we visited my parents' house for the Independence Day holiday.  There were two noteworthy things about the visit.

First, my mom pulled out some of my old toy cars for the kids to play with.  I did not expect CD to get excited about playing with them, but she found some Micro Machines that she liked.  Her statement to me was that the were cute, and she asked if I thought they were cute when I was a kid.  I told her that is not the word I would have used.

Second, I do not recall being anywhere where there were more fireworks being set off by random people in the neighborhood than this last weekend in the town in Nebraska where my parents currently live.  Every July Fourth brings some fireworks no matter where I am, but I was not used to half the neighborhood in their driveways setting off fireworks at once.  I think this is due to the official display being on the night before the Fourth.