Mar 30, 2013

A Big Hoax on our Little Human Race


Have you ever encountered someone to whom your existence truly didn’t matter?  They don’t hate you – no, nothing so passionate.  Nor do they love.  They are simply indifferent.  I’ve met a few, and it unsettles me in a way hatred doesn’t.  I watch them walk away and everything inside me wants to cry, “I’m real!  I matter!  I should matter to you!”  

A cold snowstorm hit recently and my back door warped slightly.  The neighbor I asked wouldn’t help me push it closed enough to lock it—he told me later he was calculating how much he would normally be paid for doing “work”, and knew that my request for the help of his strength came with no money attached.  I spent the night in an unbolted house.  (Not a great idea in my neighborhood.)  The man doesn’t hate me – he just didn’t care.

I’m told that some men are just like that.  If you don’t annoy them, and don’t inspire love or lust in them, it’s said they don’t have the attention span or emotional capacity to engage in the meaningful exchanges of personhood, one valuing another.  They’re not trying to be mean – it’s just the way they are.  A fact of gender. 

This isn’t true. 

God is not indifferent, which means he didn’t create Adam (or Eve) with the trait either.  Where it exists, it’s a product of sin-nature, not gender.  A big hoax has been played on our little human race.  In fact, one of the worst and most effectively pervasive accusations against the character of God is that He’s indifferent.  Forget angry God or judgmental God – uninvolved God is Satan’s optimum lie.  It works better than the others.  With a deep, even if unarticulated, knowledge of sin, the average man feels God would be a little justified if He was angry or judging.  But, having had the breath of the Creator breathed into our lungs at the very beginning, each of us knows that in one way or another, we are of value – and that an indifferent God is a travesty against all that is natural and supernatural. 

God himself hates our own indifference.  He wishes, in Revelation, that we were either hot or cold … but this wishy-washy lukewarmth that doesn’t really care one way or the other – this indifference – is disgusting to him.  He calls that sort of a person shamefully naked, a blind man.  (Rev. 3) 

I know a “blind” man or two.  After interactions with them I feel general confusion and sadness - it takes a while for me to realize my soul is reeling from one of the most powerful darts of all – the lie that I don’t matter. 

A few years ago I had a dream.  The setting: the Great Tribulation.  The characters:  me and a bunch of bad guys.  As these men loaded pallets in a warehouse for shipping (the cargo was WMD or something as terrible) I calmly repeated to the foreman, “What you are doing is wrong.  What you are doing is wrong.”  I was ignored.  Finally, annoyed that a droning voice had been bothering him for too long, he turned and sent me to the ground with one solid, emotionless blow across the face.  I lay still, unable to rise as they continued loading.  He hadn’t hit me in anger, or out of frustration at the content of my message.  In fact, I was about as important as a fly.  He simply wanted the noise to stop.  A great realization came to me on that concrete floor.  I’d always thought persecution would be overt, direct, and angry.  But indifference… what an entirely different world this was.  Even hatred directed at a human acknowledges their humanness, their substance and existence as a soul.  At the end of the dream an old friend entered and passed me by, ignoring my injured state.  But her 12-year-old daughter walked in and saw, and stooped.  Oh, I was a human again.  She saw me! 

We’re well-rehearsed in our expectation of persecution and tribulation during the End Times.  Yet, we will still be surprised.  For it may not be hatred that rounds us up and tosses us overboard.  It may be indifference.  And that is a very different blow to our psyches.  Hatred I might meet with bravery, or anger with peace.  But before indifference my soul forgets it is a soul and my existence forgets I exist.  My heart forgets it is loved and my thoughts forget they are important.  I wonder if I am known or am worth knowing.  If today, when the sting of one man’s indifference to me can only be eased from inside the affirming arms of my Creator, what will the planet’s indifference do?  For indifference is injustice at its deepest – more so than hatred is – an injustice that disaffirms the essential value of existence.

We who think we’re so ready to remain loving under persecution may have a whole different arena of sanctification to go through when indifference hits us instead of hatred.  Our wills are strong enough to stand up to hatred on their own.  But without real intimacy between us and the Lover of our souls, we cannot come warm and unfrozen through the long tundra of indifference. 

“The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”
― Elie Wiesel

I suppose Satan’s great victory would be to convince us, not to slip to hate, but to linger in that cold world of indifference, and become indifferent ourselves to all who would be indifferent to us. 

God’s answer has always been clear.  He is not indifferent, and neither are we designed to be.  And the only thing that will keep us alive and joyful is not a hardened indifference to persecution or enemies, but a vulnerability-producing love for those enemies.  Yes, it will make us more "hurtable", but in the end, it will save our souls.

When we are not indifferent - when our hearts ache every time we offer love and have it boomeranged back at us - then we may become a bruised but living answer to a world that has actually believed God Himself indifferent to their own souls.  He isn't, and neither are we!

(ouch)

Dec 21, 2011

The Thorns we Grasp

I went exploring the woods this morning in my new neighborhood and pricked my thumb on a thorn.

1.)  Who knew there were thorn trees in Missouri?!
2.)  I think I may have the princess-and-the-pea syndrome.  I'm so unused to sharp pain it seriously bothered me the rest of the walk.

On the other hand, I'm beginning to think it may have been a grace.  A little object lesson.  Not too painful, but just painful enough.  We reach out to grasp things we think will help, as I thought the angled tree limb would help me cross the creek, but if it's not what God would have us grasp (only what is wholesome, noble, courageous, and beautiful) it could harm more than help.  I didn't cross the creek.  My thumb was aching and the sun seemed less shiny and the mud muddier.

There is some writing I want to do today - some "creek crossing".  I need an aware spirit and a ready mind.  But over the last 24 hours my attention has been pulled, without too much resistance from me I'm afraid, to "comforting" things that in reality, not being God's for me to grasp hold of, may actually dull my sharpness for today's task.  I have been pricked, and like the fairy-tale Beauty my niece loves dressing up as, the thorn's poison might lull me to a dull sleep.  How can I write with a slumbering soul? (To be fair, I think she pricked her finger on a spindle, not a thorn :)

What we grasp onto with our hearts, even in the most cursory of ways, can become a brilliant tool or a stumbling block.  A rose, or its thorn.  Today's prick reminded me of that.  My thumb is amazingly sore - perhaps because the thorn went in right over the joint.  I don't want the same to happen within my soul.  Thank you, God, for Your corrections - they are life to me!

And hmmm, just in case the thorn trees in Missouri are even stranger than they seem...

3.) If I suddenly look very drowsy, somebody please come kiss me.  I'd rather be either alive or dead, than asleep!  :)

Nov 19, 2011

To all that shall be - Yes!

Packing your stuff out of house you've spent almost three years integrating into can be a discouraging activity.  "This is mine, that is yours..."  It seems endless.  I've been doing it for a few weeks, and today is the big push.  (Mostly because a few men are coming over to carry heavy things this afternoon, and I want to have as much as possible ready for them.  Thank you, Father, for giving half the population extra arm strength!  I like the way You think :)

It's been a cloudy sort of activity, this packing up of life.  Particularly as everything I own is going to go into storage except for my clothes and the food from my pantry.  The new place is too small to hold anything else, and I only plan to be there a few months as I look toward the future, and hopefully a home of my own.

Yesterday I suspect my sister(s) were praying for me.  After coffee with Jesus and Annie, I had such joy.  All day.  Anticipation, even.  I have always struggled with fearing the unknown.  In fact, when Ravi Zacharias gave the commencement address as I graduated college, I know the Spirit specifically gave him words just for me.  I watched his back from the stage and let his quotation of "The Gate of the Year" settle in deep:

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: 
“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”
And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. 
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

I remember if every once in a while.  Sometimes with a little guilt that I still need to hear the same thing, that my soul still hates the unknown.  At its core, this seems a distrust of God.  I have been feeling this distrust again, as I've looked into the unknown days ahead and sometimes quaked.  A lot of prayer has been going into this area recently, in the private sharings from my heart to His.  Yesterday's joy was a real victory.

This morning, unbidden, Dag Hammarskjold's words slipped into my mind. I think God dropped them there, and I found that they really did reflect my heart - a miracle of sorts coming at the end of what has been a difficult process and the beginning of months that seem potentially dreary:

For all that has been - Thanks!
To all that shall be - Yes!

Oh - my heart really said this!  Thank-you God!  But, was it just my mind?  Would I feel differently tomorrow?  Was the comfort brought by yesterday's whispers from Jesus in Luke just a temporary thing?  I need more assurance that He is really working inside - and I don't feel guilty about it.  He never minds when we want to be sure of what He is saying and doing.  Still, I set the thoughts aside and began packing.

Can you resist old photo albums and journals?  I can't.  But I was determined to be disciplined with my time and not get caught up into reading old things when I should be packing them away.  So I didn't.  But in an instant of forgetfulness my fingers just slipped open an old album on its way down into the box.  On the first page was a quotation, beautifully written out by a dear friend long years ago.  What do you suppose it was?  Of course.

Now.  When I have overcome my fears - of
others, of myself, of the underlying darkness:
at the frontier of the unheard-of.
Here ends the known.  But, from a source
beyond it, something fills my being with its
possibilities.
Here desire is purified and made lucid: each
action is a preparation for, each choice an 
assent to the unknown.
For all that has been - Thanks!
To all that shall be - Yes!
   -Dag Hammarskjold

I'm joining you, Dag, and to God I can honestly say:

For all that has been - thank you!  To all You will do - YES!