Fantasy Apocalypse?

I don't think it is so much in vogue with my generation, but with my parents' generation it was all the rage.  Like avid college sports fans and their bracketing or the speculation of fantasy football addicts, so it was with that generation and the End of the World.  Don't get me wrong, it is a fascinating topic to everybody (especially environmental enthusiasts) but I think you take it a little far when you are scouring the Prophetic literature looking for clues as to the identity of the Antichrist.  There's a whole subculture of Armageddonists (none of whom agree with one another) and it's gotten so that they can't see the forest for the trees.  Just like the addled disciples of Jesus's time who were baffled that He didn't throw down Rome and free the Jewish state once and for all, so too are many in the End Times camp: they are in danger of losing their faith when events don't play out like they expect.  My favorite example was a man who thought he had found the mathematical key to unlocking the Scriptures (he even wrote a book) and that by taking the verse, 'a day is like a thousand years...' he could then interpret all the mentions of Prophetic time with a little math and a pocket calculator.

The so-called apocalyptic literature (comprising the Book of Revelation, parts of Ezekiel and Daniel, along with parts of the other Prophets and even a smattering of the Psalms, Epistles, and Gospels) is quite a fascinating read and I believe the original sci-fi/fantasy literature, what with dragons and beasts and wheels within wheels and eyes and explosions and stuff, very exciting.  The only problem is we don't know what the future stuff means, so instead we make stuff up and proclaim it as Truth even more heartily than we do the actual Gospel.  The only thing we know for certain is:

1. Jesus has promised to come back.
2. The World will blow up.

Anything beyond that and we are truly entering the realm of speculation and fantasy.  Just like the excited masses who threw palm branches at the feet of the much anticipated Messiah's donkey and shouted for joy at His coming only to cry out in anger for His blood a mere week later when He didn't show Himself to be the military conqueror they had convinced themselves to anticipate, we should take the hint and approach the subject with humility so that we too do not lose our faith.  But what is our faith in?  Him or our own theories?  That would be certainty number three: what comes of those who have heard the Word but reject it, distort it, or ignore it?

God has a bigger plan in all of this, far bigger than we mere mortals can ever contrive or imagine, just  as He did at Christ's first coming.  He didn't send His own Son to free a certain nation but rather for the sake of the whole world and every person who had been or was yet to be.  We are small minded, myopic beggars plotting out each step in a war older than creation itself and then responding with the wrath of thwarted generals when our prognostications differ from someone else's.  We need to heed the verse that says:

"For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see."  

That's straight out of Revelation and a far more useful exercise than plotting exactly which modern world leader just might be the Antichrist.  'He who has an ear, let him hear!'

On ideas too big for words

There are stories and then there are Stories.  You've met them: a book that you initially dislike because it's too big for you and you resent the confusion, frustration, and feeling of inferiority it inspires, but then in later years, after you've grown a bit and been humbled far more, you pick it up again and suddenly you can't put it down.  'That Hideous Strength' and 'The Man Who Was Thursday' are a couple of mine and now I can add 'The Once and Future King' to that list.  Story has always been the vehicle whereby ideas are best conveyed to an often skeptical or hostile audience; they are the common parlance of the human soul, moving beyond borders, cultures, races, languages, and even time itself.  The best of them delve into the very heart of the conundrum of what it means to be human: what is the meaning and purpose of life, what is the best way to live, how ought we to interact with others, what truly matters?  This is what makes a great book: that in its heart it contains an idea too big for words; that it addresses some kernel of truth regarding the human condition that we are forced to mull over from a radically new perspective.

Much of modern literary criticism seems to circle the drain of 'what do I think the author is saying,' wherein we put our thoughts in the author's head and thereby negate all need or use for literature at all.  Why write books or tell stories if they all mean the same thing (or nothing at all) anyway?  If not that, then we discover the most celebrated works of the day are those that pander to the political and social elite of the moment, lauding as brilliance what is unfortunately mere propaganda.  I just saw an article on the evils of reading 'Little House on the Prairie' and its unfortunate and insensitive treatment of issues which have obsessed our culture for the last month or three, certainly an excellent reason to leave off reading what long has been considered a classic.  Who then is safe?  We have seen countless leaders in art, literature, music, politics, sports and acting thrown down because they said, wrote, or did something that is now considered politically incorrect thirty years prior when everyone was doing the exact same thing.

Is that why all the modern movies are sequels, prequels, spin-offs, or remakes?  Nothing is sacred and nothing is safe, save to spew out plotless tales peopled with insipid characters that mean nothing, that is merely 'a sound and a fury.'  Perhaps Shakespeare said it best:

"She should have died hereafter;

There would have been a time for such a word. 

— To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury

Signifying nothing."

~ Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)~

Did he know he was writing about modern literary trends when he penned those immortal words?  Probably not, perhaps he was commenting upon such trends found in his own day.  For man has not changed, merely his means of telling stories.  People used to listen to their grandmother tell old tales by the fireside, now we watch movies, but man himself has not changed in the least.  Will we embrace the difficult stories, tackle the impossible books, look in the mirror of classic literature or will we take the easy road, worn deep into ruts by countless lazy feet, that leads to nowhere?

A state of practical disbelief

"Unicorns don't care if you believe in them any more than you care if they believe in you."

I ran across this quote as a kid sorting through my sister's 'Magic the Gathering' card game and thought it was kind of cool and for some strange reason it has stuck with me through the years though I have forgotten many far more important things.  Personally, I do believe in unicorns and fairies (not in a biological sense mind you, but certainly in a philosophical sense, whatever that means) but I don't believe in atheists.  Yes, you read that right, I don't believe in atheists (this is where an atheist falls down dead and can only be revived by clapping...or was that fairies?...I suppose the atheists out there would only roll their eyes at me and get on with their dull and tedious lives in which no wonder dwells).  Now don't get me wrong, I am fully aware that there are people out there who proclaim they do not believe in any superior being/force or anything supernatural but that is not an atheist, an atheist is theoretically someone who does not have a god, but that is impossible, because we, as humans, are wired to worship something be it a God, a philosophy, a cause, an ideal, a physical object, a pet, a person, or ourselves.  There are no atheists, we all worship something, the only question is what?

In the neighboring state, football is a religion.  There is a museum dedicated to Spam (the canned meat product).  There are people who 'marry' themselves.  Some choose to worship science or evolution or the cosmos instead of a Creator.  Some see saving the planet or the animals or the rainforest or whatever as their purpose for being.  We all have a religion, most of it just doesn't happen in church or mosque.  Some of us proclaim a particular creed but live an entirely different way.  The Pharisees in Jesus's day are a good example, proclaiming to be the most fervent followers of the Hebrew God yet lusting after power and wealth far more than they ever concerned themselves with what God actually wanted in a follower.  I love the example of them tithing their spices but neglecting the most basic tenets of the faith.  We all worship something, regardless of what we think or say we believe, what do we actually believe?  What do our thoughts and actions and words reveal about where our hearts truly lie?  We are none of us atheists, but are we living as we truly wish to live, and if not, what can we do to change that?

Joy in the pursuit

It's been a year since our daughter quite literally appeared out of nowhere and we were parents overnight.  After we adopted our son, I said never again, only to repent of my hastiness and try the whole thing over again, and this time it was nearly three years of waiting and we were about to give up for good, when BAM!, there she was.  I've spent eight years at some stage of waiting in the adoption process, but with the finalization of our daughter's adoption a few months ago, we are done for good (unless something really weird happens), and it feels really odd, to tell you the truth.

The waiting was extremely difficult at times, time seemed to drag by whenever you stopped to wonder if the phone would ever ring.  Your heart ached with a longing impossible to describe.  Your life felt like it was on hold, that you were 'person interrupted,' as if things just paused there until something or nothing happened.  But there was something taunting, intoxicating, exciting in it too.  Every day might be The Day, every phone call might be The Call, what would happen, how would it go, what would it be like?  A million unanswered questions dancing in tantalizing fascination just beyond reach.  Amid all the heart-rending ache and dread and ennui there was this exciting, mysterious inexplicable Hope.  Then it happens and you have a rush of euphoria, joy, and excitement, and then things settle back down to 'life as usual.'

You've felt it, or something like it, be it waiting to find out if you got into that school or you won the raffle or you got the job or if you've ever saved up for a house or a car or a big trip or if you've waited for him to pop the question or are waiting to fall in love or get pregnant or whatever.  It's the same rush that drives people to gamble and stay up until three in the morning because they just have to finish the book.  And then you finish the book, now what?  Here's an article that gives each of us thrill junkies an eternal hope, no matter how many books or weddings or adoptions you've look forward to, there's something even bigger, and far better, in the wings.

Love vs. Fear

'Perfect Love casts out fear"

It's one of those sayings you've always heard and acknowledged as true but somehow, inside your head or deep in your heart or somewhere in your soul, you have never realized the truth of the matter.  There is no room for fear in the presence of Perfect Love.  That being said, all our mortal loves are certainly imperfect, no matter how sublime, so don't freak out if a little fear sneaks into your relationships every now and again, it's part of our fallen and broken reality.  I grew up with the opposite however: Perfect Fear casts out love.  I've spent all these years trying to understand Love, knowing what it was on paper but never in practice.  I don't know what it means to be loved unconditionally, no matter what you do (or don't) or who you are (or aren't), at least as a parent should love a child.  At my house, fear was the rule rather than the exception.

Today I burned the biscuits I was making for lunch and then I went and burned the eggs too (I've never burned eggs before!).  Enter panic mode (probably an anxiety attack).  At my house you got in trouble when things were perfect, when things were bad...well, we won't go there.  So now I'm all grown up with a home and family of my own.  I understand that kids make mistakes and are well, kids, and I love them anyway and don't punish them for accidents and carelessness but somehow I can't apply that to myself.  I don't understand that it's okay to make mistakes, that the important people in my life won't quit loving because I screwed up.  I'm programmed that nobody loves me when things are going great, how much less when anything goes wrong?  Fear was a way of life, so much so that I didn't even know it was an issue; it was just how things were, it was normal.

But you know what?  I didn't get into trouble, nobody quit loving me, and while lunch was not as I had planned it, it was okay and now we can laugh about it.  We never laughed or even smiled at my house.  We never celebrated anything.  You never heard 'good job' or 'I'm proud of you.'  Hugs didn't happen.  I'm changing all that and it's wonderful, except I need to learn to apply it to myself as well as to everybody else.  What am I afraid of?  Old ghosts?  I know in my head that things are okay, but my heart is still skeptical at times, but it's warming to the idea.  Perfect Love, how do I even begin to wrap my mind around that idea if imperfect love is a stretch for my feeble imagination?  And it's for me, and you!