A whole lot bigger

Sitting in a waiting room the other day, I picked up a Time magazine. I don't really mind waiting rooms because they're relaxing, quite, and give me a chance to catch up on my pop-publication reading. The really annoying part of the doctor visit is when they move me from the cozy waiting room with good entertainment, to the little exam room without a window or anything decent to read, and then proceed to make me wait there. I would really much prefer if they just let me do all the waiting in the room built and named for doing so, instead of using a completely inappropriate place for the activity.

But, as I was saying, I picked up Time. They had a really fascinating article in which they documented a debate between a top atheist scientist (Richard Dawkins) and a top Christian scientist (Francis Collins). It was fairly short for the topic at hand, but a very good read none the less. Both of the men in the article are clearly brilliant and at the top of their profession, but one happens to attribute some of the inexplicable to the God of Judeo/Christian tradition, and the other does not. Reading the article would not, I don't believe bring anyone to move from one camp to the other. That is, a Christian reading the article would probably agree with the statements made by the Christian scientist as being perfectly logical and feasible, which they would be for a Christian, while an atheist would likely find the atheist's position more probable and legitimate.

However, a statement at the end of the article was very striking. Dawkins is explaining that he doesn't necessarily rule out any sort of intelligent design, he just doesn't buy into the god put forth in traditional Christianity as being that designer. He postulates that it could be the god of some other planet, or aliens, or something entirely different, and then he says, "If there is a God, it's going to be a whole lot bigger and a whole lot more incomprehensible than anything that any theologian of any religion has ever proposed." Yes.

To believe that one can understand God is to remove the real, powerful, vibrant romance and adventure of this life. Is one capable of knowing God? Absolutely; God himself promised us that. But, to suggest that we might actually understand him will drive people to either confused despair or crushing boredom, depending on whether they realize they will never reach the supposed goal, or falsely believe they reached it long ago. No, Dawkins is right; God is a whole lot bigger than that. Catching little glimpses of that incomprehensible size and majesty is what makes this life an honor and a pleasure to live.

Evangelical Agnostic

Sometimes I listen to this streaming radio station by the name of RadioIO, and specifically the acoustic section. It's cool because they play a bunch of music I don't hear anywhere else, and it's all acoustic, which is pretty rare. It's not so cool because they play these bizarre ads that say things like, "The odds of your child being in a Broadway show: 1 in 3400. The odds of your child developing autism: 1 in 167", and then go on to talk about autism awareness, or something. I always get so freaked out by the first part of the ad that I never hear what I'm supposed to do about the situation. They have other fun ones about the dangers of mercury poisoning, and how last year Americans spent more than they saved for the first time since the Great Depression; you know, topics that don't quite make it into the NBC advertising slots. The radio station offers commercial free programming for a fee, so I have my suspicions that the ads are designed to both convey information, and drive you toward paying to get rid of them. I'm seriously considering just paying the money.

The other day I heard a song on this station that I think was titled "Happy New Year", by Todd Snider. It was kind of a clever little, tongue-in-cheek commentary on the singer's avid agnosticism, which he labeled as evangelical agnosticism, which in itself is a humorous idea. But, one part of the song struck me as particularly telling, and I think it was the evangelical part. The lyrics are, "i believe this is where i wanna stick to what i know, which is nothing you know, nothing for sure". This is an important statement because it (as music and poetry often do) expresses the feelings of the current culture and age, and there's a good reason for these feelings. Saying something like this makes everyone feel all warm and fuzzy, like they just got an answer correct in front of the class. It makes them feel like that because it implies that there is no right answer, so whatever they say is fine. So now we've got all kinds of "tolerance" floating around us like a soothing song. Above all, I believe humans are driven by a desire to feel they're okay, and the sentiment that we can't really know anything for sure, so whatever anyone believes as their truth is just that, goes a long way in providing the security for which people are looking.

But, are we sure we can't know anything for sure? If so, then we are sure of at least one thing, which means that it is possible to know something for sure. Of course if we aren't sure we can't know anything for sure, then it is again possible that we might know something for sure. My point here is that while statements like the one above are comforting in their apparent humility and inclusion, they are actually empty and a little silly at their foundation. Our culture wants to keep having conversations about how there really is no absolute right, or truth, when that statement itself is an absolute. So, I propose we abandon the idea that we can't discover the truth and just have an honest conversation about what we believe and why. Maybe then everyone will be a little more evangelic and we can actually have some decent discussions.

Take heart

I have the impression at times that a fair amount of people feel the world should be just. No one has actually come right out and said this to me in plain English, but I certainly perceive that to be the case based on their reaction to events appearing to be unjust. Actually, I also believe the world should be just. The rub is I know it's not. This is interesting to me because at no time in history have humans experienced a natural environment where justice is the predominant outcome, and it makes me wonder where we got the idea that it should be. It's really as if the concept came from another reality altogether.

One particular brand of injustice seems to bother people very much, and this is when bad things happen to good people, and to a slightly lesser extent, when good things happen to bad people. I can still remember an analogy one of my high school teachers used to help us remember that two negative numbers multiplied together produce a positive number; when a bad thing happens to a bad person, that's a good thing. I still remember this for a reason.

I believe we are particularly bothered by this occurrence of injustice for the simple reason that we'd like to believe we have the power to remove bad things from our life. Not that we necessarily want to make all the sacrifices associated with being a good person (I mean who really wants to be nice all the time, and quit swearing, and go to church every Sunday morning), but that if we were to do those things we would be rewarded with some sort of force field around our lives. After all, if we're going to go to all that trouble to be good, we're entitled to something for it.

But let's face it, we can't really be good. We might never show any anger or aggression, but we can't stop ourselves from feeling bitterness or resentment, or maybe even worse from feeling numb. We might be able to train ourselves not to swear, but we'd have a hard time not cursing someone silently at some point. And we can certainly make a habit of going to church on Sundays, but there's nothing fundamentally different about a church building and a movie theatre or place of business. To try to manufacture this type of "good" is not only tiring and frustrating, it's impossible.

This is where Christian spirituality departs from all other major religions. It recognizes without argument that we can't really be good just by trying. So Jesus shows up on earth and says, "I've come so you can have real and eternal life, more and better than you ever dreamed of." In other words, a good and lasting life. He then goes on to show how this is possible. You really have to read the book, it's quite interesting.

But, one might be thinking, bad things certainly happen to Christians. Certainly; I can personally attest to that. In fact, Jesus guaranteed they would. He said, "In this world you will have trouble." That's pretty clear. Christians have neither had their humanity removed, nor have they been removed from this present state of being, so it makes perfect sense that even in the midst of Jesus teaching them to live a better life, disaster can and will strike to a greater or lesser degree.

The really fascinating part comes after Jesus' guarantee. He says, "But take heart, for I have overcome the world." Marx would have tagged this as an opiate, and I can see why. Jesus freely acknowledges that the world is no good and that even his own followers are going to have problems, but then goes on to encourage them in the knowledge that he has already taken care of everything regardless of what happens in this life, and even suggests there will be a time and place without such a thing as trouble. But, unlike an opiate which wears off in time, Jesus said his words will never pass away. So, he is sort of like an opiate that never wears off...only without the drawbacks of being a heavy narcotic and with the added bonus of being the truth. I can take heart in that.

Unheard is sweeter

For the last few weeks I've ridden around in my truck without electronic sound of any kind; no cd, no radio, nothing. I wish I'd done this as the result of some sort of stoic choice, or commentary on the value of listening to pop music, but I didn't. My stereo deck quit working, and there's a small possibility that I may have broken it, but there's absolutely no way to know for sure. In the end though I ended up without the ability to produce artificial noise in the car. Riding around in a completely silent vehicle is awkward enough by yourself, but when you have someone riding with you, it's really just purely uncomfortable. Sometimes I'd role the windows down pretending to get some fresh air, but really just looking for some background noise.


At first all I could notice during this experience is how twitchy it made me to have no sound in the car. But, after several weeks of procrastination, I think I started to adjust a little to the situation and began instead to notice how much I needed that artificial sound. Then I started considering my daily activities. When it gets too quiet or too loud at work, I put my headphones on. I like to watch TV for a little while when I get home. Then I turn some music on if I'm reading or on the computer. In fact, as I write this I'm listening to a song containing the line "Let's tune out by turning on the radio."

I wonder a little at this reluctance to exist in silence. What of Keats who said "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on"? Is it possible I'm missing some of life's sweeter melodies by constantly attacking my conscious mind with things being heard? I believe I may be. In the future I think I'll willingly turn the stereo off in my truck every now and again, and maybe even with someone else in there with me. Then I'll turn to them and say, "Sweeter melodies", and we'll drive on in cozy silence.