I'm not very well-acquainted with the prophets, so I've been reading Jeremiah lately. The going is slow, but that's a good thing: I am constantly re-reading passages. I have been thinking a great deal about repentance and forgiveness lately, probably because of Lent, and I'm starting to better understand what true penitence looks like. Jeremiah is, thus far, all about returning to God. At first glance, it seems that God spoke through Jeremiah in order to make Israel and Judah realize just how angry He was:
"'Therefore I bring charges against you again,' declares the Lord. 'And I will bring charges against your children's children.'" (2:9).
God's wrath is incredible. So much so that we can never really know it. He is terrifying, and His power is fearful. His anger, too, is righteous; we have no excuse for what we've done. When I was younger, I was frightened of our angry God; that, I think, is why I always shied away from books like Jeremiah. As I've gotten to know God more intimately, though, I've realized something. His anger is not only righteous; it is spurred by concern for our well-being. At the beginning of Jeremiah, God tells how the Israelites have turned from Him and begun to make their own gods out of rocks and wood or have adopted the false gods of other peoples. He is not angry just for the sake of being angry; He is angry because His people are shooting themselves in the feet, if you will. It's as though God's saying, "Please, just let me save you. I love you. You absolutely cannot do this alone. It is killing you":
"They say to wood, ‘You are my father,’
and to stone, ‘You gave me birth.’
They have turned their backs to me
and not their faces;
yet when they are in trouble, they say,
‘Come and save us!’
Where then are the gods you made for yourselves?
Let them come if they can save you
when you are in trouble!
For you, Judah, have as many gods
as you have towns." (2:27-28)
As always, God's words are very poignant. The verse that struck me the most, however, was this:
"They have forsaken me,
the spring of living water,
and have dug their own cisterns,
broken cisterns that cannot hold water." (2:13)
God is great with metaphors; He is always trying to make Himself understood to His people (as far as humans are capable of understanding God, that is). I read this verse and realized how many cisterns I have dug and continue to dig. I'm always looking for ways to fill myself, be it with school, hobbies, other people, or what have you. It works for a time, but then the water leaks out and I have to refill with something else. Sometimes, I try to fill it with God. But that's the problem: I'm trying to put God into this little well that I've dug for myself. A little well that fits my way of doing things, runs on my time, and doesn't impede other activities. I take some Living Water, but not too much - I don't want it to get in the way of my secular life.
God doesn't really give us that option, though. He does not offer just enough of Himself to sate our appetites for a time. He offers ALL of Himself. If we want a relationship with Him - a real, meaningful, transformative relationship - we cannot do it on our own terms. We have to abandon the broken cistern and immerse ourselves in the "spring of living water." God doesn't do lukewarm. We can't dip our toes in to test the spring out. It's all or nothing. And He allows us, unholy and sinful as we are, to wash ourselves in His spring.
T.S. Eliot wrote a wonderful poem called "Ash Wednesday" in which he struggles with the grace of God and his own shallow desires. The complete poem is quite long, but it begins with this stanza:
"Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?"
He presents a very common problem that I have. I sin, and sin, and sin; and then I repent, and repent, and repent. After a while, I tire of it. My own imperfection makes me feel entirely hopeless. In other words, I "do not hope to turn again." Instead, I desire worldly things; those are easier to pursue. It's much more comfortable drinking out of my own little cistern. Yet, even as I feel these things, God calls out to me. He is always waiting for us to turn, even though he knows that we will wander away from Him again. The stream of living water never runs dry; Christ has filled it eternally. All we have to do is drink.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Remember That You Are Dust
As is my yearly ritual, I walked into a local Catholic church this morning to begin celebrating Lent. In the Catholic tradition, the palm leaves used on Palm Sunday are burnt to ash. That ash is used for Ash Wednesday of the next year. During the rite, the priest blesses the ashes and sprinkles them with holy water. The priest (or liturgist) then dips his thumb into the bowl of ashes and uses them to make a cross on the forehead of each worshiper. He may say one of two things: "Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel" or "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." More often than not, I hear the former phrase. Today, however, when I stepped forward to receive my ashes in the silence of the sanctuary, the liturgist whispered the latter.
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
I have heard that phrase so frequently, and yet it has, until lately, meant so little. In fact, I wasn't even sure where those words could be found in the Bible. The source, I discovered, is the story of The Fall in Genesis. Just after Adam and Eve disobeyed God, God spoke to the serpent, then to Eve, and then to his first human creation:
"By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return." (Gen. 3:19)
Bleak; and yet necessary. Humans tend to think about death frequently, whether they consider it seriously or not, but Adam did not know what death was. He had never seen someone die. It was an abstract concept that suddenly became incredibly real. God was explaining his fate to him in terms that Adam, specifically, could understand. He had, after all, been molded from dust. God was telling him in no uncertain terms that he had been, was, and forever would be insignificant. That isn't to say that God didn't infinitely love Adam. But this, God was saying to Adam - and says to us - is what happens when humans forget themselves. When we forget who we are in the big picture: that is, creations of God meant for his joy. Our only purpose, really, is to glorify God. We may ask no questions and make no excuses. For our sins, we should have nothing to look forward to but dust. To dust we shall return.
Of course, because of Jesus, we are so much more than dust. God has breathed life into us, given our meaningless lives purpose, and promised that those who love him may return to dust physically but will be spiritually eternal. How often do we praise Him for this, though? How often are we so proud as to question the Almighty God?
Last night, I began Francis Chan's Crazy Love. The second chapter of the book, aptly entitled, "You Might Not Finish This Chapter," deals with the issue of our perceived invincibility. I realized that, while I think about death quite a lot in general terms (a character in a movie dies; I drive by a funeral home; I see an ambulance speeding toward an emergency), I rarely consider my own death in any meaningful way. Each day, I work through my to-do list - classes, rehearsal, homework, grocery shopping - and schedule in time for God. Wait. What? Schedule time for God? I wonder lately how it is that I don't spend my days praising Him and, if I can, pencil in time for the things that normally clog up my to-do list. In reality, it isn't that easy, of course. Isn't it?
It should be. We have so little time to make our lives meaningful. Every fraction of every second, we are living on borrowed time - God's time, to be exact - and yet we squander it as though we're somehow more important than He.
So, while I tend to think of life as a celebration and the Kingdom of God as a giant party, sobering reminders are important. When Roman generals returned triumphant from war, they would parade around the city in a chariot among thousands of Roman citizens. It was a huge party - they usually got a marble triumphal arch carved in their honor - a celebration that Rome was victorious. But as the war heroes rode around, they always had a slave sharing the chariot with them. Throughout the entirety of the parade, the slave would whisper into the hero's ear, "Memento mori." This is most popularly translated as, "Remember you will die." In George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, the poignant equivalent is "Valar morghulis" : "All men must die."
What a perfect example for Christians. We celebrate Jesus, His goodness, and life eternal, and we are expected to share that celebration with others. Lest we begin to think that our victories are our own, however, God reminds us: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
I have heard that phrase so frequently, and yet it has, until lately, meant so little. In fact, I wasn't even sure where those words could be found in the Bible. The source, I discovered, is the story of The Fall in Genesis. Just after Adam and Eve disobeyed God, God spoke to the serpent, then to Eve, and then to his first human creation:
"By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return." (Gen. 3:19)
Bleak; and yet necessary. Humans tend to think about death frequently, whether they consider it seriously or not, but Adam did not know what death was. He had never seen someone die. It was an abstract concept that suddenly became incredibly real. God was explaining his fate to him in terms that Adam, specifically, could understand. He had, after all, been molded from dust. God was telling him in no uncertain terms that he had been, was, and forever would be insignificant. That isn't to say that God didn't infinitely love Adam. But this, God was saying to Adam - and says to us - is what happens when humans forget themselves. When we forget who we are in the big picture: that is, creations of God meant for his joy. Our only purpose, really, is to glorify God. We may ask no questions and make no excuses. For our sins, we should have nothing to look forward to but dust. To dust we shall return.
Of course, because of Jesus, we are so much more than dust. God has breathed life into us, given our meaningless lives purpose, and promised that those who love him may return to dust physically but will be spiritually eternal. How often do we praise Him for this, though? How often are we so proud as to question the Almighty God?
Last night, I began Francis Chan's Crazy Love. The second chapter of the book, aptly entitled, "You Might Not Finish This Chapter," deals with the issue of our perceived invincibility. I realized that, while I think about death quite a lot in general terms (a character in a movie dies; I drive by a funeral home; I see an ambulance speeding toward an emergency), I rarely consider my own death in any meaningful way. Each day, I work through my to-do list - classes, rehearsal, homework, grocery shopping - and schedule in time for God. Wait. What? Schedule time for God? I wonder lately how it is that I don't spend my days praising Him and, if I can, pencil in time for the things that normally clog up my to-do list. In reality, it isn't that easy, of course. Isn't it?
It should be. We have so little time to make our lives meaningful. Every fraction of every second, we are living on borrowed time - God's time, to be exact - and yet we squander it as though we're somehow more important than He.
So, while I tend to think of life as a celebration and the Kingdom of God as a giant party, sobering reminders are important. When Roman generals returned triumphant from war, they would parade around the city in a chariot among thousands of Roman citizens. It was a huge party - they usually got a marble triumphal arch carved in their honor - a celebration that Rome was victorious. But as the war heroes rode around, they always had a slave sharing the chariot with them. Throughout the entirety of the parade, the slave would whisper into the hero's ear, "Memento mori." This is most popularly translated as, "Remember you will die." In George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, the poignant equivalent is "Valar morghulis" : "All men must die."
What a perfect example for Christians. We celebrate Jesus, His goodness, and life eternal, and we are expected to share that celebration with others. Lest we begin to think that our victories are our own, however, God reminds us: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."
Thursday, February 16, 2012
"Some Fool Will Start the Machine Again"
I like the internet. Most people do. I've been a part of more than one debate on whether the internet is actually a good thing, and I've found that, generally, people walk a very, very fine line between technophilia and technophobia. I find myself enthusiastic when I hear about certain technologies being developed, but I still read "The Machine Stops" with a furtive glance at my computer, iPod, phone, TV, and PlayStation 3. I'm one of those crazies who believe that the Kindle is destroying the literary world.
Is appreciation of technology problematic? Probably not. But as wary as I am of the direction in which the technological age is heading, I derive great joy from the internet and video games. I had my first domain when I was 11. I started teaching myself Photoshop around the same time. Today, I continue to blog and design graphics (though strictly as a hobby). I have three email accounts, two blogs, a Facebook, a Twitter, a Tumblr, a Livejournal, and a Cosplay.com account. Fanfiction is my guilty pleasure. So what's the problem?
I wake up in the morning, get a bowl of cereal, and immediately get online. I check all of my social media sites and my email. I might watch a YouTube video. I sometimes play a Sporcle quiz. Before I know it, 30 minutes of my day are gone. I feel tired and sluggish, and dragging myself out the door is a little more difficult. I repeat the internet process many times throughout the day, often for no reason other than procrastination. I get online in the evening. Sometimes I play video games. Rarely, I sit and meditate on Jesus.
It's sickening. When did the internet become an idol? When did I start gaming when I should be reading my Bible? I honestly don't remember. At this point, I feel irrevocably set in my ways. I don't like the phrase "wasting time," but that's exactly what I do everyday. How many minutes, hours, days have I lost? And, more importantly, how do I change it? How do I make technology a tool for my life rather my life a tool for the tech world?
My answer sounds much simpler than it really is: stop. No Facebook. No Twitter. No Tumblr. No LJ. Nothing. When I think about it, I feel terrified. And then ashamed of feeling terrified about so tiny a thing. And then I feel...excited. The thought of casting off all of these hobbies that have somehow become chains - it's exhilarating.
Thus did I discern my Lenten sacrifice. Starting Ash Wednesday (six days from now), I will be giving up all social media. I've allowed myself a couple of exceptions so that I can still function as a good student. I will continue to check email several times each day. I will also allow myself ONE Facebook session in order to invite people to an event that's been in the works for some time. I'm also going to continue blogging here in an effort to chronicle my fast. Other than that, I'm quitting social media cold turkey for 40 days. The machine stops.
Is appreciation of technology problematic? Probably not. But as wary as I am of the direction in which the technological age is heading, I derive great joy from the internet and video games. I had my first domain when I was 11. I started teaching myself Photoshop around the same time. Today, I continue to blog and design graphics (though strictly as a hobby). I have three email accounts, two blogs, a Facebook, a Twitter, a Tumblr, a Livejournal, and a Cosplay.com account. Fanfiction is my guilty pleasure. So what's the problem?
I wake up in the morning, get a bowl of cereal, and immediately get online. I check all of my social media sites and my email. I might watch a YouTube video. I sometimes play a Sporcle quiz. Before I know it, 30 minutes of my day are gone. I feel tired and sluggish, and dragging myself out the door is a little more difficult. I repeat the internet process many times throughout the day, often for no reason other than procrastination. I get online in the evening. Sometimes I play video games. Rarely, I sit and meditate on Jesus.
It's sickening. When did the internet become an idol? When did I start gaming when I should be reading my Bible? I honestly don't remember. At this point, I feel irrevocably set in my ways. I don't like the phrase "wasting time," but that's exactly what I do everyday. How many minutes, hours, days have I lost? And, more importantly, how do I change it? How do I make technology a tool for my life rather my life a tool for the tech world?
My answer sounds much simpler than it really is: stop. No Facebook. No Twitter. No Tumblr. No LJ. Nothing. When I think about it, I feel terrified. And then ashamed of feeling terrified about so tiny a thing. And then I feel...excited. The thought of casting off all of these hobbies that have somehow become chains - it's exhilarating.
Thus did I discern my Lenten sacrifice. Starting Ash Wednesday (six days from now), I will be giving up all social media. I've allowed myself a couple of exceptions so that I can still function as a good student. I will continue to check email several times each day. I will also allow myself ONE Facebook session in order to invite people to an event that's been in the works for some time. I'm also going to continue blogging here in an effort to chronicle my fast. Other than that, I'm quitting social media cold turkey for 40 days. The machine stops.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Jesus and Video Games, Part 3
Alright, it's time to bring everything together.
After scouring the interwebs for opinions on Christian gaming, I've found myself pleasantly surprised. The Christian gaming community is huge, and it's doing some great things.
First, I suggest checking out Jordan Ekeroth's site, Follow & Engage, which has resources for gamers that include devotions, articles, and opinion pieces. More importantly, Jordan is spearheading a movement to evangelize through video games. No, I don't mean more of this business. Let me just quote Jordan's About page:
"Video games have become one of the greatest cultural touchstones of this generation, recently surpassing Hollywood in terms of annual revenue...what I want to create is a resource to equip and inspire the church to be prepared to engage this arena of culture. If you don’t care about games, I aim to show you why you should."
At first, I was skeptical of using video games as a way to start conversations about Jesus. I wondered if Christian gamers were trying to justify playing inappropriate video games by calling them an evangelism tool. I've since changed my tune, in part because of a recent experience I had.
I was playing Dragon Age: Origins and talking about the game with a friend of mine. DA is a BioWare franchise and, as I've mentioned before, BioWare's games are fraught with sexual encounters. My friend and I were discussing the choice to romance a certain character in the game and how, as I've mentioned, your character must sleep with another character for a romance to be "complete" by BioWare standards. I told her that I was going to forego the romance trophy. She didn't understand why. I had the perfect chance to tell her how I feel about free love and how it relates to my faith, but I copped out. Instead, I told her that it was poor writing on BioWare's part for this particular character to be demanding sex and that the game was forcing a ridiculous relationship. As soon as I said it, I regretted it. While I wasn't lying, I wasn't telling her the real reason that I felt the way I did.
So much for no opportunities to tell people about Jesus through video games. I had a great opening and didn't take it.
Needless to say, I now see where the Christian gaming community is coming from, and I'm absolutely behind the movement.
Another awesome site is Game Church. I particularly enjoy this article that mentions my favorite romantic video game pairing (and also comments on the problem with BioWare romance). And here's yet another article that mourns the death of video game romance.
The Cross and the Controller is a pretty popular site as well, but I must admit that I've not read much of their stuff. Here's why: when I had my original existential meltdown over Dragon Age II this past Christmas, I went to the internet to see what other people were saying. The first place I checked was TCATC, and I was...disappointed. Their review focuses on gameplay/sound/technical aspects. Yes, I know: that's what a review is supposed to do. But you can get that kind of review from anywhere: IGN, GameSpot, every single retailer's website, etc. I was looking for opinions about the deeper aspects of the game. The review touches on theological and moral issues presented in DA II, but it never asks the big question: should we even be playing games like this?
I'm going to leave this subject alone for now. Three blog posts is a lot. I'll be playing Final Fantasy XIII-2 over Spring Break, however, and Mass Effect 3 early in the summer (hopefully). You can expect more about Jesus and gaming then.
After scouring the interwebs for opinions on Christian gaming, I've found myself pleasantly surprised. The Christian gaming community is huge, and it's doing some great things.
First, I suggest checking out Jordan Ekeroth's site, Follow & Engage, which has resources for gamers that include devotions, articles, and opinion pieces. More importantly, Jordan is spearheading a movement to evangelize through video games. No, I don't mean more of this business. Let me just quote Jordan's About page:
"Video games have become one of the greatest cultural touchstones of this generation, recently surpassing Hollywood in terms of annual revenue...what I want to create is a resource to equip and inspire the church to be prepared to engage this arena of culture. If you don’t care about games, I aim to show you why you should."
At first, I was skeptical of using video games as a way to start conversations about Jesus. I wondered if Christian gamers were trying to justify playing inappropriate video games by calling them an evangelism tool. I've since changed my tune, in part because of a recent experience I had.
I was playing Dragon Age: Origins and talking about the game with a friend of mine. DA is a BioWare franchise and, as I've mentioned before, BioWare's games are fraught with sexual encounters. My friend and I were discussing the choice to romance a certain character in the game and how, as I've mentioned, your character must sleep with another character for a romance to be "complete" by BioWare standards. I told her that I was going to forego the romance trophy. She didn't understand why. I had the perfect chance to tell her how I feel about free love and how it relates to my faith, but I copped out. Instead, I told her that it was poor writing on BioWare's part for this particular character to be demanding sex and that the game was forcing a ridiculous relationship. As soon as I said it, I regretted it. While I wasn't lying, I wasn't telling her the real reason that I felt the way I did.
So much for no opportunities to tell people about Jesus through video games. I had a great opening and didn't take it.
Needless to say, I now see where the Christian gaming community is coming from, and I'm absolutely behind the movement.
Another awesome site is Game Church. I particularly enjoy this article that mentions my favorite romantic video game pairing (and also comments on the problem with BioWare romance). And here's yet another article that mourns the death of video game romance.
The Cross and the Controller is a pretty popular site as well, but I must admit that I've not read much of their stuff. Here's why: when I had my original existential meltdown over Dragon Age II this past Christmas, I went to the internet to see what other people were saying. The first place I checked was TCATC, and I was...disappointed. Their review focuses on gameplay/sound/technical aspects. Yes, I know: that's what a review is supposed to do. But you can get that kind of review from anywhere: IGN, GameSpot, every single retailer's website, etc. I was looking for opinions about the deeper aspects of the game. The review touches on theological and moral issues presented in DA II, but it never asks the big question: should we even be playing games like this?
I'm going to leave this subject alone for now. Three blog posts is a lot. I'll be playing Final Fantasy XIII-2 over Spring Break, however, and Mass Effect 3 early in the summer (hopefully). You can expect more about Jesus and gaming then.
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