good and evil - how do we know?

Human beings like to break the world up into binary categories of right and wrong, good and evil, moral and immoral. It seems that this is a mode of thinking that has been adopted from the beginning, yet not what is intended for us. Essentially, it is a way of passing our own judgments on the world on what we see is good, and what we see as bad. But where do we get these ideas from? And who says?

When Jesus turned up, he gave a lot of his air time to pulling apart ideas that pulled some people into a class of "righteous" and some into the "unrighteous" category. He chastised the religious pharisees yet raised the poor and downtrodden, the undesirables, the unclean. It was radical equality in the face of authoritarian religion.

In this undoubtedly epic talk by Mark Strom, he unpacks these ideas and decontructs this thinking through the story of scripture. I listened to this 3 or 4 times in the middle of last year and I am still thinking about it. It is that revolutionary and mind crunching. What does living without law actually mean? What is grace? What does it mean to be a human in relationship with God?

This really is a challenge, because it is about 3 hours long. But if you're up for it, give it a download and listened to it on the way to work a few times. It will stretch you and confuse you and hopefully push you into understanding how trapped we are in our thinking.

Are ya keen?

what is up with suffering?

Over the past few years, I have become near obsessed with the issue of suffering. It's strange really, because it's not like I've experienced huge amounts of tribulation or pain myself. I guess what I have begun to realise is that God so closely associates himself with suffering, and I find this intriguing. I have begun to ask myself the question: what if there is more to suffering than just trying to avoid it? It seems that it is not something that God is interested in simply getting rid of, but an important part of the way He reveals Himself.

Suffering is a significant roadblock for a lot of people, and it is no surprise. How is a human being supposed to reconcile a supposedly loving and all powerful being with the fact that a family member is suffering from a debilitating disease and is in huge amounts of pain? How can He just watch rape, genocide, starvation and terrorism and apparently sit on His hands? This problem is not to be analysed under the microscope of the ivory laboratories of theological debate, but in the messy, excruciating, desperate realities of real existence on this risk laden planet.

The problem of suffering is referred to in theological spheres as “theodicy”, meaning the ‘justice of God’. Discussion usually centres around this age-old conundrum: If God is good then he can’t be all powerful if He lets people suffer. But if He is all powerful then He can’t be good if He lets people suffer. Therefore God cannot be both good and all-powerful at the same time. Consequently, the God of the Bible that claims to be both of these things is nothing more than a revered fairy tale and a cause for tribalism.

But then there’s Jesus. Jesus who actually was good – goodness in the flesh. God Himself. But instead of preventing suffering and exercising some sort of divine control and separation from pain, Jesus enters into pain, social isolation and extreme physical suffering. He chooses to. If Jesus is truly God (and if you’re a Christian, then that’s you my friend) then Jesus is revealing who God really is, and God’s stance to the problem of pain. God enters into it; he doesn’t put an end to it. What on earth do we do with that? All our theology needs to begin with Jesus, and if our theology of suffering does too, we need to begin all our discussions from the cross.

Unfortunately, our tradition has offered some less than helpful answers to the issue, looking to defend God in what seems to be some sort of pious Stockholm Syndrome. Some of these thinkers sound a lot like Job’s friends offering suggestions that seem reasonable explanations to them, often blaming the sufferer or appealing to some sort of “the ends justifies the means” argument. I heard the story of a woman who suffered a miscarriage and while in hospital recovering, her well-meaning friend suggested that the reason her baby had been taken away from her was because “God looked around Heaven and decided that He needed something to brighten the place up.” The woman had to use every ounce of self-control to not say something nasty back to such a ridiculous response. We must do some good thinking around here since it is a place that so many people fall off.

John Newton suggested that we suffer so that we don’t become too attached to this world and keep our eyes on Heaven. John Piper thinks that our suffering is a means to greater glory and is evidence with your union with Christ (why non-Christians suffer too then, is a mystery). James Boyce wrote it is necessary because there is no other way to build character. While there is truth in these statements, they are flimsy and shallow once applied to real situations, like a road worker shot down senselessly in south Waikato this week. The question remains: What is God up to?!

Over the next little while I’ll be looking at this whole topic in more detail, but for now, perhaps we need to change our perspectives around this. Instead of framing suffering around ideas of injustice, how do we frame all suffering in light of the cross? God suffers. How does that even work? And what does that mean for the suffering of human beings?

Peter Rope: Desmond Tutu and Les Misérables' lesson: be the difference

1940’s apartheid South Africa: a small African boy of age nine and his mother, a domestic worker, are walking down the street. Passing the other way is a tall white man, a priest in a black cassock. As they pass on the street the priest glances at the boy’s mother and tips his hat.

The young boy is blown away by this small gesture. Why would a white man tip his hat to a black woman? Looking back, he would call this occasion the defining moment of his life. Later, the priest would visit the boy for two years and sit by his bedside to chat when he caught tuberculosis.

The boy later came to see that the priest’s actions were consistent with his beliefs; that every person is of significance and infinite value because they are created in the image of God.

The young boy would develop a passion for the message of Jesus and human rights. That one meeting and action changed his life. And that young boys name was Desmond Tutu.

This story moved me strongly the first time I read it. That such a small action would set what has become such a significant man on his trajectory.

Les Misérables

Another thing that moved me more recently and caused me to think about such things was the musical movie that has recently been released, Les Misérables.

There is a parallel between this true story about Desmond Tutu and the priest, and the story in Les Misérables of the main character Jean Valjean (played by Hugh Jackman) and his meeting with the bishop.

In the movie Jean Valjean steals from a bishop, but is pardoned by him and sent off with what he has stolen as well as more to start a new life, instead of being handed over as a thief. This has a profound affect upon the character of Jean, and this unmerited favour proves redemptive. It’s a great example of the teaching of Jesus illustrated quite dramatically, and a powerful moment in the film.

In both cases the actions of a man following the teachings of Christianity (in the bishops case the quite dramatic outworking of the Sermon on the Mount) resulted in a redemptive effect upon the lives of the main character in the story.

The Culture

A conversation I had this week brought this all home to me in a more practical way. I was talking to my father about apologetics when he mentioned that, in our current secular culture, young people often don’t even know the remnants of Christian morality that used to be at least known and given lip service when he was a child.

This means that many of us young people in Australia and New Zealand live in what is a post-Christian culture. With many of our peers being brought up with no experience of Christianity in the household, and little religious education. A generation of mixed households and drifting morality.

Given this, Christians living in this environment should stick out like sore thumbs. For we have a fixed moral compass and truth we believe in, as well as the example of Jesus to follow, granting us a way that is dramatically different from how the world lives, and giving us the impetus to transform it. A way that offers love, redemption, and forgiveness.

In both the stories that I shared the practical outworkings of Jesus’s teachings were dramatically different from the actions of the surrounding culture. And caused both Desmond Tutu and Jean Valjean to question from whence these gracious acts came, and what would cause someone to perform such acts.

Given the culture that we live in and the gospel that we believe in, perhaps all that is needed sometimes is a little practical outworking. Something that displays the disparity between a lost culture and a transformative gospel. Sometimes maybe, all you have to do - is be the difference.

Ben Wilson: A Universal Observation

Every so often I like to think a bit bigger. I leave the shenanigans of my town and venture elsewhere. I don't usually bring company on these - but this is a place everyone should visit. Quiet yourself, grab a beverage, recline and enjoy the tour.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let's start somewhere familiar, if one could say that. Sol, or simply 'the Solar System' found inside an outer arm of the Milky Way galaxy. At the heart is a hellacious marvel of nuclear fusion, plasma and hot stuff known at 'The Sun' (or G2V). It's surrounded by eight planets drastically smaller than itself. It appears large, but's frivolous when pitted against distant behemoths.

VY Canis Majoris in the Canis Major constellation boasts a diameter of two billion kilometres. Two thousand times larger than the star before. To help ease our uncomprehending minds - it would vastly cover the solar system prior and most of the planets inhabiting.

This star mind you, is roughly four thousand light years from 'The Sun'. A light year isn't a measure of time, but distance. It's simply the distance it takes light to travel in a year  - some ten trillion kilometres. Such length seems mystifying, inconceivable. Like my biceps. 

In this place, it's the language of the land.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Seven Sisters. Known by the Ancient Greeks as the seven daughters of Atlas, the titan condemned by Zeus to uphold the sky. These ethereal relatives reside in the Taurus constellation some 380 light years from our original solar system. Apparently women can live together in groups.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even better than the female mystique. Nebulas! You might think this looks an awful lot like the Lagoon Nebula, but you'd be wrong. Before you is the most fun you'll ever have. Interstellar clouds like this are made from the same stuff found in beer. They're majestic giants of gas and common breeding grounds for stars. They're also freakin' hot.

 

If one day my awesomeness and pretentiousness run out and I too die someday - I'd want to go out like this. When a star dies it releases energy and matter  in a magnificent but deadly happening known as a 'nova' or 'supernova'. The flash briefly outshines any galaxy. It also looks like someone hiffed paint at a wall. This supernova is 26,000 light years from our starting line:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wonders don't stop yet. As the star falls back upon itself, it becomes infinitely smaller but maintains a colossal mass - a white dwarf star. Though some are only several kilometres across, a teaspoon of matter from a white dwarf star can weigh the same as a mountain. It is a ludicrously condensed version of its former self.

 

It is also possible for a star to diminish severely enough to trigger the phenomenon known as a 'black hole'. In these nothing is palpable, not even time and physics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We haven't even left the Milky Way yet. We probably don't need to - it's 100,000 light years across (that's 100,000 x 10 trillion km). The galaxy above isn't the Milky Way though, it's the Andromeda Galaxy, one of its close neighbours. Eventually it will crash into the Milky Way and the two will merge, presumably after doing the fusion dance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There's galaxies, and then there's badass. Quasars are the latter. Though they look similar, quasars aren't conducive to life but lethal to it. They're heavier than a billion suns and can devour stars. Credit to their 'supermassive black hole'. They reside in the centre of young galaxies and are far more luminous - one thousand times more luminous. So needy are these promethean predators - they shoot a trail of light from their centre for trillions of kilometres. Star Trek style.

Travel further so we're 8 billion kilometres away and we reach an incubator of infant galaxies. Newborns who'll grow up to be like the Andromeda. Keep going and we reach the edge, the edge of the universe and the afterglow of the big bang.

 

13.7 billion light years out, and still it goes further...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Far far away, back where we first began. There stands a molecular object called Earth. Seven billion people, so close, so cramped on its tiny surface - and many of them feel lonely.

 

What's up with that?

Casey's Awkward Confessions: #7

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hate having the 'ex-talk'. Unfortunately it is fairly inevitable. There comes a time in every relationship where you just have to sack up and re-live your dirty past, all in the name of 'clearing the air'. Naturally we are curious about where our partner’s been and how much baggage they are bringing into the relationship. We take smug satisfaction in knowing their ex was a jerk and we would never treat them that badly (the ex-talk often happens in the slightly naïve, ‘we love each other and can do no wrong’ phase of the relationship).

When I first moved to Sydney for uni I had what I now refer to as ‘2 years off.’ The Christian label without the Christian lifestyle, or something to that effect. I didn’t completely lose the plot, but I certainly travelled down a different path for a while. There are a number of reasons I eventually decided to jump back on the Christianity bandwagon, but it just happened to coincide with being re-united with my very Christian high school boyfriend.

So it came time in the relationship for us to have ‘the ex-talk’. Let me put this into perspective: he was you’re a-typical ‘good Christian boy’, led worship, didn’t like partying, hadn’t dated anyone but me in the previous 5 years. I, on the other hand, had spent 2 years partying and had dated a non-Christian for 11 months. While he had been distributing bibles in China, I was dancing on bars in Sydney – you get the picture.  Needless to say, our ‘ex-talk’ was more of a ‘how-far-did-you-go-with-your-ex-talk’. I won’t go into the gory details of what my answer was, but it was a bit more than just hand-holding.

The moment came when the question had been put out there and was chillin' in mid-air with a mischievous grin, daring me to answer. I couldn’t bring myself to say it. My heart was pounding in my ears and I knew I was about to hurt someone I loved. I wasn’t entirely sure how he would take it – he was pretty much an angel compared to me. I thought he couldn’t possibly understand. I thought he would never forgive me.

So eventually, my eyes glued to my toes, I whispered the dreaded ‘base’ that I had made an unfortunate run to. He looked up suddenly with a shocked look on his face and said ‘WHAT?!?!’ Not exactly the response I was hoping for… So I cleared my throat and awkwardly repeated myself. He sat for a minute with a contemplative look on his face as he wrapped his head around what I’d just said.

Then, in one of the most beautiful examples of grace I have ever experienced, he looked me in the eye and said:

“You are no less precious to me.”

Awkward confession #­­ 7 : I thought I was a lost cause. I thought I’d done too much, said too much, seen too much. I thought I’d gone too far to ever be allowed back. Because of this, I thought there wasn’t any point in trying to turn my life around because I was already ruined. I didn’t like going to church because despite the obligatory ‘we all make mistakes’ it seemed like no-one there actually made any mistakes. Church was a place where people said ‘no-one is perfect’ but never actually admitted to any of their failings or struggles. I thought I was too damaged to ever fit in, so I gave up.

I realise that last year ‘Casey’s Awkward Confessions’ started to become ‘Casey Awkwardly Hates Everything Except Sex’ so I thought I’d start off 2013 on the more positive and uplifting side of life. After alluding to it in a few of my posts, I decided it was time to unpack this whole idea of ‘grace.’ Personally, I’m a big fan. After all, grace is the only reason I feel safe to write these confessions. I think there are a lot of layers to grace, but when I think about it the first thing I think of is forgiveness and mercy so I’ll start there.

I think sometimes we don’t give grace enough credit. We will readily tell people that they are forgiven, but hold on to our own failings and repeatedly beat ourselves up over them. We trap ourselves with the ‘yeeeeah, but…’ We listen to people talk about grace and think ‘yeah, but you don’t know what I’ve done.’ We tell ourselves that our sins are so much worse, so much more unforgivable. I’m not quite sure what it is that makes us think we are so special that we are the one person in the world that God can’t forgive. It seems a bit dramatic.

As humans we are pretty in love with the concept of 'being fair'. We don’t like rule breaking, we don’t like people to get reward they don’t deserve. God's grace is hard for us to wrap our head around because it’s not deserved and can't be earned. It’s not give-and-take. It is given to us freely, but it is up to us to honour that. God doesn’t force us, grace isn’t an ultimatum. We make the choice to accept grace and it is our responsibility not to take advantage of it. It’s about embracing grace, but also recognising there is a reason we need that grace. There is a reason God calls us to live differently.

I specifically remember the day that reason became apparent to me. It was towards the end of my second year of uni and we were having a massive college celebration. I can’t say I remember a lot, but I was filled in on most of the night’s shenanigans by a few reliable witnesses. I’m not sure what I’m more ashamed of: biting a random guy’s ear, running up and down the corridor in my undies or deciding it would be hilarious to rip my friend’s singlet in half on the dance floor.

The next day I felt like my head had been filled with cotton wool in order to make it more comfortable for the elephant that was taking a nap on it. I spent the morning near-paralysed in bed, and dragged myself out to attempt to eat lunch. Which I got to enjoy twice as it made its unglamorous return to daylight. What a treat. I sat in my room doubled over my rubbish bin and amongst the fuzzy haze of my hangover I had a crystal clear thought: ‘WHO THE HELL AM I?!?!?!?!’

It wasn't so much that I decided I wanted to honour God with my life, rather then fritter it away on temporary pleasures - I wish I was that noble. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe God wasn’t just on a power-trip, dictating rules on a whim so that we could attempt to earn his favour. I realised what I was doing was soul-destroying. It was toxic. My self-worth was at an all-time low. I felt so incredibly isolated and unloved. I made ties with people that weren't designed to be broken, just so that I could feel wanted. Then I broke those ties and wondered why I felt so empty. The pile of regrets increased exponentially. It is only through grace that those wounds have started to heal. Grace pulled me out and gave me a home when I felt like I didn't fit in anywhere else.

I also think that grace is more than just a safety net. Grace isn’t passive. It’s more than just forgiveness for something you’ve already done. It’s not just about giving you salvation, it’s also about giving you life. It is by grace that we have life to live now, it is by grace that we have been given gifts to use now, it is by grace that we have been given the freedom to make the mistakes we need grace for in the first place (confused?). It’s not just something to fall-back on, it’s something to push us forward.

More than that, I believe grace makes our God so incredibly relevant. There are countless people in this world searching desperately for a little bit of love, and a little bit of grace. Where do we fit in that search? Grace should permeate every interaction we have with the people around us. Our lives should be a testament to the grace that has been shown to us. That doesn’t mean we let people walk all over us, but it does encourage us to look beyond the stuff that makes us uncomfortable.

A few years ago I met a guy who, for reasons I can’t quite pinpoint, I just couldn’t stand. I mean, he once told me that I was ‘sexy until you got to know me’, so that might have something to do with it. He was obnoxious, arrogant and often just plain rude. It wasn’t until I went to his 21^st and saw a glimpse of his home life that I realised where that deep-seeded need for attention came from. And yet, I had judged him so quickly. If only I had looked beyond his behaviour to the hurt within. I may not have agreed with all his choices, I certainly didn’t always enjoy the way he interacted with people, but he was still just as human as I am. I thought all he needed was a punch in the face, when what he really needed was a little bit of love, and a little bit of grace.

In a strange way I am grateful for my two years off. They have helped shape who I am today. They have made me more down-to-earth, more real and a lot rougher around the edges. I am better able to relate to non-Christians and Christians who have had similar experiences. I’m not suggesting taking ‘time-off’ is a requirement for being a relatable Christian. However, looking back I think I needed to go into that tunnel to get me to the place I am today. I am also flippin' lucky I came out the other side. I don’t know if I would say I’ve been ‘wiped clean’. The memories are still there, those things still happened. However I am no longer condemned by them. My mistakes are not my prison. God had the grace to let me take the reigns and do my own thing, and He had the grace to welcome me back.

At the end of the day, grace is simple. “You are no less precious to me.” That’s what it boils down to. I love that phrase because not only does it give me comfort that I haven't lost any of my value, it reminds me of just how much value I had in the first place.

I don’t know what you’ve done. I don’t know your mistakes. I don’t know your dirty secrets. What I do know – what I have experienced – is that it’s never too late. The love, the mercy, the favour, the blessing – it’s all there waiting for you. We just need to learn to accept it.

To read previous entries of 'Casey's awkward confessions, head to last year's blog -  lifefromthefishtank.blogspot.com to have a geez.