This Christmas, my parents definitely surprised me by giving me a Playstation 3, something I had neither asked for nor expected. I was very thankful, but a little surprised by the selection of games that accompanied it: Skyrim, Borderlands 2, and Call of Duty: Black Ops II. All of them were rated R particularly for graphic violence (Borderlands 2's cover is a man in a bloody, eyeless mask pretended to shoot himself in the head- ironically, it's one of my favorite games for the sardonic interpretation of the meaningless of violence, but that might be me reading into it a bit :).
Call of Duty, however, was by far the most graphic and violent of the three games, not only because of the knifing but because of its stark realism, rather than the almost cartoonish style of Borderlands. But I digress. One of the intriguing aspects of the game was the multiple endings available to the player based on a few decisions you made, all of which seemed to be unconnected to the actual decision (I read about all the endings on wikipedia after I finished the game and was thoroughly disappointed). For instance, if you choose to shoot a man in the head or in the chest, he'll either die or come back at the very end. If you choose to shoot a different man in the head or the knee, he'll either die and sink with the ship or the Chinese air force will come to his aid and he'll survive. Did I mention it was violent?
The most gratuitous, however, was a decision you had to make as a mole in a terrorist organization. The leader, the villain of the story, forces you to kill a captured soldier, one of the main characters in the plot line. As the mole, you can either kill the soldier or try to shoot the leader (you fail if you do). But get this: if you try to shoot the leader, a cyber attack will be unleashed at the end of the game, the leader will escape from prison, and snap the neck of an old soldier in a wheelchair. As I read this on wikipedia, I was instantly regretting my decision to not kill the captured soldier, but later thought better of the decision, considering the limits of my knowledge.
To be cliche, hindsight is 20/20. It's easy to see after the facts the outcome of a decision and realize that things would have been different if you had chosen otherwise. This is the foundation of wisdom and repentance But we cannot hold ourselves accountable to something that we couldn't have known. When reading or watching a murder mystery again, it's easy to point out and read into the story who the culprit really is- but it fails to treat the first time viewer fairly, who could never have been expected to know the ending. Likewise with the Bible, it's easy to think that some of its characters are idiots and completely lack faith (some did, much as we do). But that's because we know the ending of the story- they didn't.
In my ethics class this past semester, we talked extensively about consequentialism, an ethical theory that suggests that an action is morally right or wrong based on its outcome. It's an attractive theory in many ways, including our intuition that we should try to do the most good that we can. Consequentialist theories all suffer some issues, but I think the crucial issue is this: we're not in a position to know the outcome of our actions. True, we can reasonably assume certain outcomes and should be held accountable if we do something foolish even with good intentions, but we really don't know the full ramifications of any given action; we know that dropping a pebble in water will cause a splash, but we don't know where the ripples end. We can't know the full consequences of our actions. God does.
I think that we can't always see why a particular action is good, or why, when God gives revelation to a person, telling them to do something absurd, that action will (ultimately) end well. But we're not in a position to know that, and we have to believe God. Faith is a fundamental aspect of the moral life, because we are not the ultimate moral arbiters of the universe. And thus, even though my choice had a terrible outcome, I shouldn't have shot the captured soldier in Call of Duty.
(I personally think that a version of virtue ethics is probably the best way of looking at Christian ethics, but that's another story :)
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Update
I'm currently writing this on my phone as I drive through the Pacific Northwest, road tripping with my sisters. I'm in Idaho right now, which might be my new favorite state (though that might just be me reacting to the vacuum that is Wyoming).
That being said, I might not write for a while until I get home again (which won't be until late June, maybe even into early July. But I also have had a lot of thoughts I'd love to write on. For instance, the necessity of pain and discomfort for joy (partially inspired by Wyoming, sleeping in a tent in below freezing weather), the connection of the limits of our knowledge with moral responsibility (as seen in Call of Duty: black ops II), as well as what's the difference between pain and shame (not sure-but has that ever stopped me from writing?)
Anyways, I hope all of you are well and I will share my hundred pictures of mountains and trees from my trip when I get a chance!
That being said, I might not write for a while until I get home again (which won't be until late June, maybe even into early July. But I also have had a lot of thoughts I'd love to write on. For instance, the necessity of pain and discomfort for joy (partially inspired by Wyoming, sleeping in a tent in below freezing weather), the connection of the limits of our knowledge with moral responsibility (as seen in Call of Duty: black ops II), as well as what's the difference between pain and shame (not sure-but has that ever stopped me from writing?)
Anyways, I hope all of you are well and I will share my hundred pictures of mountains and trees from my trip when I get a chance!
Friday, June 7, 2013
Self- Rejoinder
In my last blog post, I mentioned that the
ability to keep thoughts to oneself is a crucial part of a healthy mental
state. I stand by that statement, and definitely think that in the context of
me writing a blog, I needed to realize that it is good for me to be quiet.
However, not because I need to be more quiet (though, as many of you would be
quick to note, I could always be more quiet :), but because thinking in the
context of a conversation makes my thoughts inauthentic and fake. This is what
I wanted to get at.
A good friend, as good friends do, questioned
and clarified her thoughts on the statement "Blogging,
while increasing introspection, has a propensity to starve the unexpressed
thought, a staple of having a healthy mental life." She noted that it is
important to also have the communication and, if I may take some liberty, the
communion, of expressing your thoughts among people that matter. And I agree,
claiming that this is a much more foundational stake of a flourishing human
life than keeping one's thoughts private.
Here's a better resolution of what I was going
to say. The aspect of the human heart I was trying to point out is that we all
deeply yearn for acceptance and belonging. We want people to think that we are
good, worthy of their praise, and worthy of them. At times, this makes me feel
like a little child, yelling
"EVERYBODY LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME I AM SUPER DUPER AWESOME."
Sometimes I do that. And yet, at other times, this deep desire to belong is
beautiful, is painful, is meaningful.
Here then is vulnerability- that we want to be
accepted by others, for who we are, by those of whom we desire their esteem.
The problem is that we are imperfect, and others do not accept us in our
imperfection. And so we fake ourselves, putting on masks to please and placate
others. It's stupid and I hate it.
This is partially why I hesitated to continue
blogging- because it makes me think about how I can make my thoughts acceptable
(or worse, praise-eliciting). And then I don't think what I think, I think what
I think you (you vague, diffuse notion of my general audience) want me to
think.
So, in agreeing with my friend, true
vulnerability requires me to be honest and unreserved about who and where I am.
And this requires the expression of my thoughts, the risk of being rejected,
and the
bravery of authenticity.
However, I think my previous point about the
need for an internal privacy of thought still has hold here in vulnerability.
Because just as true vulnerability requires us to be ourselves, it requires the
people that we want to be considered worthy by are the people worthy of giving
us their opinion. (As an aside, there is still a naive, childish element of me
that just wants the whole world to love me, but a more mature side recognizes
that there are certain people that I could care less what they think of me. In
fact, I think the reason that I still want their acceptance is not to be
accepted, but out of a fear that their criticisms or judgments would be true of
me- not that they don't love me, but that there is something about me that is
unloveable. Maybe.) There is something exclusive about true vulnerability- it
means that we are judging somebody as being more worthy of knowing us. Perhaps
this is true only in a broken, sinful, world, but it is very true (and deeply
impacts how we experience love). Think about marital intimacy- as
Christians love to (rightfully) proclaim, choosing to marry somebody means
rejecting everybody else, and having an exclusive relationship with your
spouse. Think about true worship- it means claiming that God is above all else,
and that we will have no other gods- and not just "before" Him, but
even with Him. Read Hosea. (I think there's a lot of interesting things to be
said about this, but I shall retire).
In conclusion, retaining thoughts for yourself
have a dual role- in a practical way, they mean that we don't share parts of
ourselves that we think are unacceptable. And while vulnerability is important
for us particularly in our brokenness and sinfulness, perhaps it is better to
remain quiet about your faults than to mask them with falsehood. In the end,
though, this is unhealthy and inhibits true vulnerability, which inhibits true
friendship and connection. Secondly, though, retaining your thoughts is a way
of suspending the need to be accepted by others and becoming authentic-
thinking what you think not through the lens of others, but for yourself (which
I don't endorse as always right- heaven knows that I need to be corrected as
much as anybody, but I also need to be myself.)
And so I have more thoughts. And I'm not going
to share them. At least not on a blog :)
A Self-Rejoinder
In my last blog post, I mentioned that the ability to keep thoughts to oneself is a crucial part of a healthy mental state. I stand by that statement, and definitely think that in the context of me writing a blog, I needed to realize that it is good for me to be quiet. However, not because I need to be more quiet (though, as many of you would be quick to note, I could always be more quiet :), but because thinking in the context of a conversation makes my thoughts inauthentic and fake. This is what I wanted to get at.
A good friend, as good friends do, questioned and clarified her thoughts on the statement "Blogging, while increasing introspection, has a propensity to starve the unexpressed thought, a staple of having a healthy mental life." She noted that it is important to also have the communication and, if I may take some liberty, the communion, of expressing your thoughts among people that matter. And I agree, claiming that this is a much more foundational stake of a flourishing human life than keeping one's thoughts private.
Here's a better resolution of what I was going to say. The aspect of the human heart I was trying to point out is that we all deeply yearn for acceptance and belonging. We want people to think that we are good, worthy of their praise, and worthy of them. At times, this makes me feel like a little child, yelling "EVERYBODY LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME I AM SUPER DUPER AWESOME." Sometimes I do that. And yet, at other times, this deep desire to belong is beautiful, is painful, is meaningful.
Here then is vulnerability- that we want to be accepted by others, for who we are, by those of whom we desire their esteem. The problem is that we are imperfect, and others do not accept us in our imperfection. And so we fake ourselves, putting on masks to please and placate others. It's stupid and I hate it.
This is partially why I hesitated to continue blogging- because it makes me think about how I can make my thoughts acceptable (or worse, praise-eliciting). And then I don't think what I think, I think what I think you (you vague, diffuse notion of my general audience) want me to think.
So, in agreeing with my friend, true vulnerability requires me to be honest and unreserved about who and where I am. And this requires the expression of my thoughts, the risk of being rejected, and the bravery of authenticity.
However, I think my previous point about the need for an internal privacy of thought still has hold here in vulnerability. Because just as true vulnerability requires us to be ourselves, it requires the people that we want to be considered worthy by are the people worthy of giving us their opinion. (As an aside, there is still a naive, childish element of me that just wants the whole world to love me, but a more mature side recognizes that there are certain people that I could care less what they think of me. In fact, I think the reason that I still want their acceptance is not to be accepted, but out of a fear that their criticisms or judgments would be true of me- not that they don't love me, but that there is something about me that is unloveable. Maybe.) There is something exclusive about true vulnerability- it means that we are judging somebody as being more worthy of knowing us. Perhaps this is true only in a broken, sinful, world, but it is very true (and deeply impacts how we experience love). Think about marital intimacy- as Christians love to (rightfully) proclaim, choosing to marry somebody means rejecting everybody else, and having an exclusive relationship with your spouse. Think about true worship- it means claiming that God is above all else, and that we will have no other gods- and not just "before" Him, but even with Him. Read Hosea. (I think there's a lot of interesting things to be said about this, but I shall retire).
In conclusion, retaining thoughts for yourself have a dual role- in a practical way, they mean that we don't share parts of ourselves that we think are unacceptable. And while vulnerability is important for us particularly in our brokenness and sinfulness, perhaps it is better to remain quiet about your faults than to mask them with falsehood. In the end, though, this is unhealthy and inhibits true vulnerability, which inhibits true friendship and connection. Secondly, though, retaining your thoughts is a way of suspending the need to be accepted by others and becoming authentic- thinking what you think not through the lens of others, but for yourself (which I don't endorse as always right- heaven knows that I need to be corrected as much as anybody, but I also need to be myself.)
And so I have more thoughts. And I'm not going to share them. At least not on a blog :)
A good friend, as good friends do, questioned and clarified her thoughts on the statement "Blogging, while increasing introspection, has a propensity to starve the unexpressed thought, a staple of having a healthy mental life." She noted that it is important to also have the communication and, if I may take some liberty, the communion, of expressing your thoughts among people that matter. And I agree, claiming that this is a much more foundational stake of a flourishing human life than keeping one's thoughts private.
Here's a better resolution of what I was going to say. The aspect of the human heart I was trying to point out is that we all deeply yearn for acceptance and belonging. We want people to think that we are good, worthy of their praise, and worthy of them. At times, this makes me feel like a little child, yelling "EVERYBODY LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME I AM SUPER DUPER AWESOME." Sometimes I do that. And yet, at other times, this deep desire to belong is beautiful, is painful, is meaningful.
Here then is vulnerability- that we want to be accepted by others, for who we are, by those of whom we desire their esteem. The problem is that we are imperfect, and others do not accept us in our imperfection. And so we fake ourselves, putting on masks to please and placate others. It's stupid and I hate it.
This is partially why I hesitated to continue blogging- because it makes me think about how I can make my thoughts acceptable (or worse, praise-eliciting). And then I don't think what I think, I think what I think you (you vague, diffuse notion of my general audience) want me to think.
So, in agreeing with my friend, true vulnerability requires me to be honest and unreserved about who and where I am. And this requires the expression of my thoughts, the risk of being rejected, and the bravery of authenticity.
However, I think my previous point about the need for an internal privacy of thought still has hold here in vulnerability. Because just as true vulnerability requires us to be ourselves, it requires the people that we want to be considered worthy by are the people worthy of giving us their opinion. (As an aside, there is still a naive, childish element of me that just wants the whole world to love me, but a more mature side recognizes that there are certain people that I could care less what they think of me. In fact, I think the reason that I still want their acceptance is not to be accepted, but out of a fear that their criticisms or judgments would be true of me- not that they don't love me, but that there is something about me that is unloveable. Maybe.) There is something exclusive about true vulnerability- it means that we are judging somebody as being more worthy of knowing us. Perhaps this is true only in a broken, sinful, world, but it is very true (and deeply impacts how we experience love). Think about marital intimacy- as Christians love to (rightfully) proclaim, choosing to marry somebody means rejecting everybody else, and having an exclusive relationship with your spouse. Think about true worship- it means claiming that God is above all else, and that we will have no other gods- and not just "before" Him, but even with Him. Read Hosea. (I think there's a lot of interesting things to be said about this, but I shall retire).
In conclusion, retaining thoughts for yourself have a dual role- in a practical way, they mean that we don't share parts of ourselves that we think are unacceptable. And while vulnerability is important for us particularly in our brokenness and sinfulness, perhaps it is better to remain quiet about your faults than to mask them with falsehood. In the end, though, this is unhealthy and inhibits true vulnerability, which inhibits true friendship and connection. Secondly, though, retaining your thoughts is a way of suspending the need to be accepted by others and becoming authentic- thinking what you think not through the lens of others, but for yourself (which I don't endorse as always right- heaven knows that I need to be corrected as much as anybody, but I also need to be myself.)
And so I have more thoughts. And I'm not going to share them. At least not on a blog :)
Thursday, May 30, 2013
A Brief Explanation
As some of you may have noticed, I stopped blogging for about a week and a half. Part of it was probably just me getting over the traditional Nathan Thompson giddiness and excitement and actually settling in to see if I'll do this for a whole summer. But here are two other reasons I stopped blogging (and will hopefully figure out whether it's good to continue).
The first reason is that I don't think I'm a natural blogger. First, I'm long-winded. This may be hard for you to believe, but I like to talk. A lot. And I don't know yet how to effectively convey what I think in a concise and interesting fashion, or at least to the degree that I want to. But I think this gets to the deeper issue, which is that I'm built to be a conversationalist. I can definitely talk, but I love to listen. Perhaps more to my fault, I love to please and I need to know what people think of what I think in order to feel comfortable or validated. As infantile as it may sound, there's a good portion of me that simply wants to be patted on my head and told that I wrote a good blog post every time I write something. Blogging offers none of these benefits, however, because the whole enterprise consists of finding yourself and throwing it out to the murky quagmire of the Internet, in which you can't really receive meaningful feedback or begin a deep conversation. Perhaps this is the nature of art, to be unsure of your effect...or perhaps it's just me being childish and needy, and not receiving feedback makes me more confident in my own thoughts. Or maybe it's a bit of both.
The second reason I haven't enjoyed blogging as much is because it is an inherently self-centered activity (not that all bloggers are selfish, but that the act of blogging is). I actually somewhat hope that nobody noticed that I stopped blogging, because it would give too much weight to what I'm pursuing here. It also has an air of pretense about it, that my musings are in some way worth mentioning. And not that I don't think that my thoughts have some value, but that I'm an individual who spends time coming up what he thinks about certain subjects so that he can pontificate about them and write them down so others can appreciate and admire them. I noticed a change in my thinking the first week I was blogging, in that every interesting thought I had was a potential subject to expound upon. And while I obviously didn't write on everything that I thought of that week, there was a lack of the sort of "internal theater of the mind," in which I alone (and, I suppose, God) can ponder and consider something. Blogging, while increasing introspection, has a propensity to starve the unexpressed thought, a staple of having a healthy mental life. For some reason, I think of Mary in Luke 2, when she "treasures all of these things in her heart;" that the tremendous joy, confusion, excitement, and uncertainty of her child being the Messiah was not a good subject for Instagram, a facebook status, or a blog. Instead, it's proper place was simply within her own heart, needing no further an acknowledgement than herself and God.
So, I'll see if I'll continue to blog. As with all things, there is a good way and a bad way to do it. Hopefully I can continue to learn to blog in a good way.
The first reason is that I don't think I'm a natural blogger. First, I'm long-winded. This may be hard for you to believe, but I like to talk. A lot. And I don't know yet how to effectively convey what I think in a concise and interesting fashion, or at least to the degree that I want to. But I think this gets to the deeper issue, which is that I'm built to be a conversationalist. I can definitely talk, but I love to listen. Perhaps more to my fault, I love to please and I need to know what people think of what I think in order to feel comfortable or validated. As infantile as it may sound, there's a good portion of me that simply wants to be patted on my head and told that I wrote a good blog post every time I write something. Blogging offers none of these benefits, however, because the whole enterprise consists of finding yourself and throwing it out to the murky quagmire of the Internet, in which you can't really receive meaningful feedback or begin a deep conversation. Perhaps this is the nature of art, to be unsure of your effect...or perhaps it's just me being childish and needy, and not receiving feedback makes me more confident in my own thoughts. Or maybe it's a bit of both.
The second reason I haven't enjoyed blogging as much is because it is an inherently self-centered activity (not that all bloggers are selfish, but that the act of blogging is). I actually somewhat hope that nobody noticed that I stopped blogging, because it would give too much weight to what I'm pursuing here. It also has an air of pretense about it, that my musings are in some way worth mentioning. And not that I don't think that my thoughts have some value, but that I'm an individual who spends time coming up what he thinks about certain subjects so that he can pontificate about them and write them down so others can appreciate and admire them. I noticed a change in my thinking the first week I was blogging, in that every interesting thought I had was a potential subject to expound upon. And while I obviously didn't write on everything that I thought of that week, there was a lack of the sort of "internal theater of the mind," in which I alone (and, I suppose, God) can ponder and consider something. Blogging, while increasing introspection, has a propensity to starve the unexpressed thought, a staple of having a healthy mental life. For some reason, I think of Mary in Luke 2, when she "treasures all of these things in her heart;" that the tremendous joy, confusion, excitement, and uncertainty of her child being the Messiah was not a good subject for Instagram, a facebook status, or a blog. Instead, it's proper place was simply within her own heart, needing no further an acknowledgement than herself and God.
So, I'll see if I'll continue to blog. As with all things, there is a good way and a bad way to do it. Hopefully I can continue to learn to blog in a good way.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Work, Rest, and Manatees
It's incredible how quickly one reverts to a child when you come home.
Today, when my mother woke me up at 10:00 am to do yard work and clean the house before our relatives arrived for my graduation, I was mildly peeved. When I was a child, I would usually respond internally with a "you can't make me!" And as an adult, I responded internally with, "I am autonomous adult with the freedom to decide what ends I will pursue!" More or less the same thing, with just a few more big words thrown in.
And while I was working, I put on a podcast from Door of Hope, which happened to be on work. I hate how conviction works that way. The podcast reminded and rebuked me of two things.
First, I am not the center of the universe, and life is not about me. If I am a Christ-follower, my life is not my own and I should not be asking what should I do so that I am fulfilled, but rather what would Christ have me do that I might bring him glory. It's humbling, but what I needed to hear.
Secondly, a quote from the podcast really caught my attention: "What if Christ does not fill the empty cup we bring to him, but rather smashes it pieces, bringing freedom not from our darkness and dissatisfaction, but freedom from our felt need to escape it?"
Ouch.
I think this problem stems from a problematic understanding of what if means to be a Christian, and what it means to enter into rest, as the author of Hebrews considers in chapter 4. When I hear the phrase , "enter into my rest," I think of Jesus' call "Come to me all you who are heavy-burdened and I will give you rest." Most of the time, that's associated with our pain, struggles, and frustrations in life. And Christ, as the Good Shepherd and Prince of Peace, does bring freedom from that sin in our lives that causes such pain. But he does not do it because it makes us happy; he does it because it is good (I want to go on a tangent here, but I think it'll be better as another blog post later).
Sometimes, I think we view the Christian life like a medieval painting of a saint or an Orthodox icon- where they're super thin, have an expressionless face, doing that weird, two-finger "peace thing," and literally glowing with golden holiness. They're completely clean, untroubled, and static. And, if we did the Christian life well enough, we would transcend all the suffering, pain, and misery of human existence. We would go into some sort of zen-state that distances us from the evils of the world and "just be."
That's the spiritual equivalent of a manatee. Jesus did not make us to be manatees.
Life is difficult and hard, but that is good. And until we recognize that our work and striving is supposed to be challenging, sometimes painful, and often confusing, we can't enter into true rest and true peace. Paradoxically, you can't be a "zen-saint" by trying to be a zen-saint; you can't achieve happiness and fulfillment by seeking it. You see, when I'm at home, I just want to play video games, sleep, and eat good food that I don't have to pay for. Yet relaxing only satisfies in the context of work. There's a good satisfaction after you've just gone on a good run, or put in a good day's work, or accomplished a major assignment. Work, and rough, unpleasant work at that, is a necessary part of the fulfilled Christian life- the Sabbath only makes sense in context of a week of work.
Entering into rest is not about seeking stasis and the things we want, it's about seeking the things that are good (again, to be expounded upon in a later post) and finding, nay, being surprised by the happiness and peace. If I ever hear the Father say to me, "Well done, good and faithful servant," it will not be on the basis of me having believed the Gospel, having grandiose theological reflections, or praising him with beautiful worship. It will be on the basis of me working, not earning anything, but responding in my life when I do not want to obey Christ by obeying him nonetheless. It will be on the basis of serving, not when I think it's fulfilling, but when it is seemingly to my detriment. It will be on the basis of my surrendered life expressing the Gospel proclamation that Christ is King of all.
The Kingdom of God is advancing forcefully, and violent men attack it (Matthew 11:12). There are no manatees in the Kingdom of God. Our peace and rest comes not from stasis or distance from the world, but from Christ working in us and through us.
Today, when my mother woke me up at 10:00 am to do yard work and clean the house before our relatives arrived for my graduation, I was mildly peeved. When I was a child, I would usually respond internally with a "you can't make me!" And as an adult, I responded internally with, "I am autonomous adult with the freedom to decide what ends I will pursue!" More or less the same thing, with just a few more big words thrown in.
And while I was working, I put on a podcast from Door of Hope, which happened to be on work. I hate how conviction works that way. The podcast reminded and rebuked me of two things.
First, I am not the center of the universe, and life is not about me. If I am a Christ-follower, my life is not my own and I should not be asking what should I do so that I am fulfilled, but rather what would Christ have me do that I might bring him glory. It's humbling, but what I needed to hear.
Secondly, a quote from the podcast really caught my attention: "What if Christ does not fill the empty cup we bring to him, but rather smashes it pieces, bringing freedom not from our darkness and dissatisfaction, but freedom from our felt need to escape it?"
Ouch.
I think this problem stems from a problematic understanding of what if means to be a Christian, and what it means to enter into rest, as the author of Hebrews considers in chapter 4. When I hear the phrase , "enter into my rest," I think of Jesus' call "Come to me all you who are heavy-burdened and I will give you rest." Most of the time, that's associated with our pain, struggles, and frustrations in life. And Christ, as the Good Shepherd and Prince of Peace, does bring freedom from that sin in our lives that causes such pain. But he does not do it because it makes us happy; he does it because it is good (I want to go on a tangent here, but I think it'll be better as another blog post later).
Sometimes, I think we view the Christian life like a medieval painting of a saint or an Orthodox icon- where they're super thin, have an expressionless face, doing that weird, two-finger "peace thing," and literally glowing with golden holiness. They're completely clean, untroubled, and static. And, if we did the Christian life well enough, we would transcend all the suffering, pain, and misery of human existence. We would go into some sort of zen-state that distances us from the evils of the world and "just be."
That's the spiritual equivalent of a manatee. Jesus did not make us to be manatees.
Life is difficult and hard, but that is good. And until we recognize that our work and striving is supposed to be challenging, sometimes painful, and often confusing, we can't enter into true rest and true peace. Paradoxically, you can't be a "zen-saint" by trying to be a zen-saint; you can't achieve happiness and fulfillment by seeking it. You see, when I'm at home, I just want to play video games, sleep, and eat good food that I don't have to pay for. Yet relaxing only satisfies in the context of work. There's a good satisfaction after you've just gone on a good run, or put in a good day's work, or accomplished a major assignment. Work, and rough, unpleasant work at that, is a necessary part of the fulfilled Christian life- the Sabbath only makes sense in context of a week of work.
Entering into rest is not about seeking stasis and the things we want, it's about seeking the things that are good (again, to be expounded upon in a later post) and finding, nay, being surprised by the happiness and peace. If I ever hear the Father say to me, "Well done, good and faithful servant," it will not be on the basis of me having believed the Gospel, having grandiose theological reflections, or praising him with beautiful worship. It will be on the basis of me working, not earning anything, but responding in my life when I do not want to obey Christ by obeying him nonetheless. It will be on the basis of serving, not when I think it's fulfilling, but when it is seemingly to my detriment. It will be on the basis of my surrendered life expressing the Gospel proclamation that Christ is King of all.
The Kingdom of God is advancing forcefully, and violent men attack it (Matthew 11:12). There are no manatees in the Kingdom of God. Our peace and rest comes not from stasis or distance from the world, but from Christ working in us and through us.
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