On the Meaning of Life

“Nothing like cooking on a freshly cleaned stove to make you contemplate the futility of all human endeavors.” Some of you may recognize this as a Facebook status I posted a while ago. It was a joke. But it was also deadly serious.

I could blame it on the lockdown. Not seeing anyone in person has this way of making relationships less satisfying. Or maybe I just have too much time to myself to think.

On a pretty regular basis lately, I’ve been feeling like everything is pointless. I cook. I eat. I run out of food and need to cook again. I clean. Dirt piles up. I exercise. It makes no discernible difference in my health, unless I do it again and again and again. In the short term, the exercise might even make me sore. And in the long term, I’m still going to die.

Yes, but what about those things that only need to be done once? My knitting and writing, for example. Each of these produces a thing that wasn’t there before. But does the world really need another baby blanket? And my dissertation … will be read by exactly four people in the form I’m working on right now. If I’m lucky, I’ll publish it after significant revisions. Maybe someone will read it in that form, too. Maybe someone will be convinced to look at the Bible closer to the way I do. I think that will be a good thing? But my confidence in my ability to come to the truth right now is very low.

And then there are relationships. Normally, I tell myself that if I can make life better for one other person, then my life counts. But is that happening? “Making life better” is a vague goal, and it’s harder to convince myself I’m reaching it when I can’t see people in person. My presence in a room feels significant in a way that silently lurking on a zoom call isn’t. Talking on a zoom call feels more like a contribution, but sometimes I don’t have anything to say. And in the long term, other people are going to die, too.

Fun is … fun. But it doesn’t really matter if I have fun. Work is always there afterward. And does anyone other than me care if I enjoy myself? Maybe because they’re kind, but not because it actually helps them in any way.

But writing this has been somewhat artificial. I was feeling life’s pointlessness at the beginning, but as I wrote, I kept thinking about other things. Things that go beyond the futility I was describing. Like how making something that wasn’t there before is me exercising the image of God. Like how other people are made in the image of God, and that’s why improving their lives is a good thing. Like how even though we’re all gonna die, that’s not the end of the story.

I guess what I’m writing is a paraphrase of Ecclesiastes. There is nothing new under the sun, including this blog post. Ecclesiastes talks about life under the sun, in a world without God. It concludes that everything is meaningless. But then, the implication is, we must turn our eyes to something greater than the sun. We live under heaven, under God, and that is what makes this life significant. We do good things, even if we’re just going to have to do them again, because he made us to do them. Our relationships matter because people are walking pictures of God, and they’re going to exist forever. What we create is valuable not because the world desperately needs another baby blanket or even another dissertation, but because by making, we are acting out the image of our Maker, and that brings Him pleasure(!). Even fun matters as we enjoy the good world He made or good things made by his “sub-creators” (a term I shamelessly borrow from Tolkien).

In some ways, it’s good for us to “contemplate the futility of all human endeavors.” We tend to make the good things in life more than they are, as though we can make our own meaning. But that’s impossible, for meaning has to connect to something outside of us to count as meaning. We need to be humbled, to recognize that what we work for and worry about isn’t as big as it seems.

And yet, right now, we also need to be elevated. We need to look up and see beyond the sun to the heaven that makes our lives matter. We need this both for our own sanity and because it helps us focus on what truly matters. Yes, fun is valuable if received as a gift and rejoiced in, but using it to numb ourselves to pain is a misuse of it. The same goes for work, and relationships and everything else. We must relate them to the Creator for only in Him do they find their meaning.

Thanksgiving Reflections

This year, like many others, I feel tempted to skip over Thanksgiving and go right to Advent. Not Christmas, Advent. The time of waiting for Christmas, when we sing the only lament most Evangelicals know ("O come, O come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here …") and look out from our troubled world to the hope of something better. (Who? Me? Depressive?)

But that’s why I need to give thanks. I need to remember that there is good in the world I’m in right now. My ultimate hope is in the future, but that’s not the only hope. And God has already given me many tremendous blessings.

This year in particular, I have much to be grateful for. I was accepted into a PhD program, so I know what I’ll be doing for the next five years or so. In the words of Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof, I get to “discuss the ancient books with the learned men seven hours every day.” It’s a cool job and one that I really enjoy when I stop to think about it. This also means I get five more years with the wonderful community I’ve grown so fond of over the last two years. I’m thankful for my great friends here and the spectacular, generous hospitality I’ve received from them. I also have a contract on a really cute house 2 miles from campus. I’m so thankful that things have worked out so well for me.

And then there are all the universal blessings, things I’ve enjoyed for most of my life. My incredible family, old friends who I can still stay in touch with through the marvels of modern technology (even when they’re on the other side of the world), heat and air conditioning, modern medical care, the beauty of the natural world and so much more. God has been really good to us.

This year has also been hard for me in one major way. My beloved grandmother passed away in February. Now it feels like there is a hole in the world, a place where she should be but isn’t. I can turn in a moment from smiling at a compliment someone gave me to feeling deep sorrow when I realize that the compliment was on a piece of jewelry I inherited from her. And yet, this, too, is something to be grateful for. I’m grateful that my grandmother was such a sweet, generous woman. I’m thankful for all the things she taught me, for the good memories I have and that I was able to spend so many years with her. I’m also thankful that I was able to see her and say goodbye a month or so before she died. I miss her, but I’m glad for the time I had with her and that she is now no longer suffering but rejoicing before the throne of her beloved Savior.

And this leads me to the last and greatest reason why I give thanks. During my devotions this morning I read Colossians 3:1-4:

If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.

I’m thankful that Christ died for me, that I died with him, and now I, like him, have been raised up and received new life. None of the troubles of this world can touch me because the source of my life is beyond this world. I have the hope of sharing in His glory when He returns.

So now, as I wait for that time, I will try to give thanks, to rejoice, to enjoy all the good things God has given me while holding them loosely, knowing that my true treasure is in Christ.

On Remembering We Are Dust

As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust. – Psalm 103:13-14

Three months ago, the summer stretched in front of me, weeks and weeks with no fixed schedule where I could devote myself to everything I wanted to get done. I planned to learn German read both fiction and nonfiction, whip my mom’s garden into shape, reconnect with old friends, write a large part of a novel, compose several blog, practice my flute regularly and shop for a house. I wish I was exaggerating. Classes start tomorrow, and not all of that got done. Not even close. My summer is just like life in general: so much to do, so little time.

If someone walked up to you and said, “You are dust,” you’d probably be very confused and a little offended. If they explained that in the Bible, comparing people to dust is a way of emphasizing mortality, you’d be less confused, but probably still offended. Our culture does everything it can to forget about death. We encourage our kids to reach for the stars and promise that if they work hard they can be anything they want to be. We spend hours exercising and go on all kinds of diets so that we look young and attractive. Even our meat comes in pristine shrink-wrapped packages with all the icky organs removed, so it doesn’t remind us of the animals it came from.

It’s tempting to think that reminding people of their mortality – or any limit – is unkind. People want to be encouraged, to have people build up their self-esteem. But actually, recognizing our limitations is far kinder than denying them.

Psalm 103 associates God’s compassion for humanity with His remembering that they are dust. Often, we are least compassionate when we forget human limits. It’s easy to get impatient when you think someone should be able to do something for you, but they don’t. And if you’re in a position of authority, expecting people to do more than they’re capable of can make their lives miserable. New professors, for example, are infamous for giving unreasonable amounts of work because they don’t know what students can handle.

The same goes for my attitude toward myself. Too often, I forget that I am dust. When I think about everything I tried and failed to do this summer, frustration and discouragement threaten to overwhelm me. There are so many good things to do, and one lifetime is far too short to get them done. But I don’t have to do everything. I am dust, and creatures of dust need time to rest. And God knows I am dust. He will not be disappointed that I can’t do everything. He knows my weakness and has compassion. Paradoxically, God extends compassion and mercy precisely because He knows we are dust. He loves us not because we can do so much but because we need His love so desperately.

Friend, when (not if) people fall short of your expectations, remember that they are dust. And when (not if) you disappoint yourself, remember that you are dust. And rejoice that God also remembers we are dust, forgives our sins and comforts us in our weaknesses.

On Empathy and Race

In a previous post, I discussed the importance of empathy in communication, especially when it comes to issues of sexuality. But there’s another hot-button issue where empathy is just as important, or more so: race.

I grew up in a white family, where my parents almost never mentioned race. I had Black, Hispanic and Asian friends, and I don’t think I reacted differently to them because of their race. I just thought of them as friends. But what I didn’t understand was that my friends of different races have very different life experiences than I did.

Race is not a biological category. There is no “gene” for race. It’s a social construct based on certain physical characteristics that are common in people whose ancestors lived in certain parts of the world. But the fact that it’s a social construct doesn’t mean it’s not real. It’s real enough to be one of the first things people notice when they look at someone. It’s real enough to have been the source of tremendous amounts of conflict in history and today. It’s real enough to affect people’s lives profoundly and even to cut those lives short.

I attended a celebration for a mime group’s anniversary at a mostly Black church in South Bend. One of the men who led the group stood up and talked about how miming had affected his life. He announced with pride that of the young men who started the mime group with him years before, all of them were still alive, except for one who had died of a disease. There was a murmur of surprise and a few shouts of “Amen!” It took me a minute to realize what he was talking about. This man was amazed that none of the teenage boys who started the group had been shot! I’ve never had to worry about one of my friends being killed. He was living in a whole different world than I was. 

Of course, that's not to say that all African-Americans have the same experiences either. It just means that we should be cautious  in thinking we know what life in America is like. Life for us can be very  different from what life is like for others.

I’m really not qualified to write about anyone’s experiences other than my own. I did get a taste of what being a racial minority was like when I lived in Taiwan. But that doesn’t tell me much about what it’s like to be an African American, for example. The only way to understand others’ experiences is to listen to them. Ask questions. Resist the urge to interrupt and change the subject to your own experiences. Recent events have shown just how much racial tension is present in America. There’s a lot that needs to be done to fix it. But the first, most basic step is to listen and empathize.

On Empathy and Sexuality

“You don’t understand! You don’t know what it’s like!”

I looked across the table and saw the frustration in her eyes. I didn’t want to lose this friendship. I took a deep breath.

“You know, you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like. So tell me. Help me understand.”

And she did. She told me all about how she had never fit in, how vicious pre-teen girls had teased her, calling her a lesbian among other things, how she’d never felt the passion for boys that the other girls did. She explained how coming out a few weeks before had given her an accepting community and reassured her that she wasn’t a freak.

“I’m sorry those girls treated you like that,” I said. “I was bullied in middle school, too. And I’m sorry you have to worry about whether your family and friends will still like you. I still like you, and I want to keep being your friend. I wish I could say I agree with your coming out, but …”

“But you can’t.” She finished the sentence for me.

“But I can’t,” I said, nodding.

We left with our friendship intact, agreeing to disagree. There’s room for improvement in how I handled that conversation, but one thing I think I did right was listening and showing empathy.

My generation has been encouraged to make decisions based on emotion, not on reason. I distinctly remember believing in middle school that “I feel…” meant more or less the same as “I think,” only “I feel” was stronger. Since feelings hold the place of honor, the best way to treat others with kindness is to understand and appreciate their emotions. In other words, empathy is a significant virtue in the minds of my peers. This is why so many millennials support LGBTQ rights. They see people in pain and seek to legitimize them, legally and socially, so that pain will go away.

To communicate with anyone, but especially those whose worldview differs from our own, we must seek to understand where they’re coming from. And if we want them to understand us, we need to show that we care about them. For Christians talking to non-Christians in America, that means listening to where they’re coming from, asking questions and even apologizing for ways Christians have sinned against them.

But empathy doesn’t require us to agree with all their positions. Feelings are real and powerful, but they also can be misleading. It’s always loving to try to understand what someone is feeling, but it’s not always loving to encourage people to act on how they feel. All of us go against our feelings on a regular basis. We get up when we don’t feel like it, we eat healthy foods rather than just junk food, and we try to be kind to people even when we’re angry. Now, these feelings are usually less strong and less permanent than sexual attraction to your own sex or than feeling like your gender is wrong. But the principle is the same: acting on your feelings isn’t always wise or right.

God doesn’t give commands arbitrarily. When He gives a moral law, it’s because the act in question damages us or other people. In the case of homosexuality, it’s a bit of both. Same-sex relationships can’t provide society with the stability of families with two biological parents But even more harm is done to the people involved, who objectify and misuse their bodies, looking for happiness in relationships that can’t ultimately provide it. These are often people who have suffered greatly and are looking to ease the pain but are going about it all wrong.

So please, Christians, let’s treat the LGBTQ people in our lives with respect as image-bearers of God. (Many of us do this already, so let’s continue.) Let’s ask them questions about their lives and really listen to them, genuinely trying to understand how they feel. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt when we’re not sure what their motives are. And let’s call them to a life of faith in and obedience to Christ, the only place where they can find perfect love, hope and healing. 

The Darkness Before Easter Dawn

In the hours before dawn, the women rose, gathered their spices and went to anoint Jesus’body. He was their friend, their teacher, and in one case, their son. The one person who knew their hearts completely and loved them still. The person who had given them hope that God had seen the misery of His people and was going to help them. The person who had healed sickness and cast out demons and even raised the dead. But now he was the one who was dead.

They had watched him take every agonizing step up Golgotha. They had seen the pain on his face and seen those long nails sticking out of his wrists. They had stared, unable to tear their eyes away but wishing they could. They had wept and wondered why God would allow this injustice and why the best man they had ever known would have to suffer so, and why they would have to lose him.

But by Sunday morning, their tears were spent. They must have found some way to numb the sorrow, to block it up in the bottoms of their hearts and roll a stone over the entrance. They busied themselves with preparing to anoint the body and with worrying about the stone at the entrance to the tomb, because the alternative was just too painful.

We, too, feel pain that is the same in kind if not in degree. We lose those we love. We watch friends get hurt. We see the injustice of the world and mourn for victims of senseless violence. We feel hope, only to have it crushed. Some of us wonder if there is anything left to live for.

But power is at work in the hour before Easter dawn. Even as the women trudge along the dark, stony path to the tomb, angels descend, and the stone is rolled away. Air fills the lungs collapsed by crucifixion, the hands pierced by nails move, His eyes open, and the soul of the man who spoke and laughed and cried and loved returns to His body. He is risen.

And those three words breathe life into souls that were nearly destroyed by sorrow. The injustice is righted, the loss is restored, the pain is healed. Hope is not only rekindled, but it blazes forth as brightly as the sun that now rises above the eastern horizon. He is alive, not only in our hearts but in reality. And because He lives, we also will live.

It’s now the day after Easter. The songs are sung, the decorations are coming down, and the chocolate is, or soon will be, consumed. It’s Monday, and people are going back into the drudgery of work. Life presses in with its various problems: sick children, quarrels with loved ones, disasters on the news, and pain hidden in our hearts.

But the Resurrection is not just a story. It is a historical event in which the raw, physical reality of death was reversed. Jesus had – and still has – a body just like yours but now transformed. He experienced all the struggles of your life and more. But He has overcome all that evil, and someday, He will return to destroy evil forever.

Friends, Christ is risen today and every other day. Remember that next time you feel the darkness pressing in on you. Jesus is alive.

The Measure of Success

Lately, my free evenings often end with me going to bed crushed by discouragement. I have so many plans and goals of things I want to get done and end up doing only a small fraction of them. Sometimes the problem is that I was lazy and chose to waste time, but more often the problem was basic math. Ten hours’ worth of work cannot be completed in three.  

When the numbers don’t add up, there’s really only one solution: set priorities. This is not something I’m good at. I want to do everything. How can I decide which of the many good things I can do is most important?

Fortunately, about 2,000 years ago Jesus answered my question. Well, actually, he answered some lawyer’s question, but you'll see the connection.

And one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. “Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?” And he said to him, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.” (Matthew 22:35-40)

Here we have a very clear statement of God’s priorities for our lives. It can all be summed up in one word: love. Loving God and loving others is more important than my work or my chores. It’s more important than my social life or my health. If I have a day when I get nothing done but love God and my neighbors well, that day will be a success in God’s eyes. And conversely, if I finish all my tasks at work for the next month, write fifty viral blog posts and a bestselling novel and develop the conditioning of an Olympic athlete but I don’t do it out of real love for God, then all those accomplishments are worthless.

My work and my writing are valuable, but only to the extent that they express my love for God, my coworkers and the people who read my work. And caring for my body has its place as a way to honor my maker and make sure I have the energy for my other loving actions. But I can’t let those things take away from what is most important.

These commands may be simple, but they are not easy to follow. Fortunately, God’s grace is there to cover the thousands of times we fail to live out these commands each day. He sees us, not as failures, but as His children clothed in the righteousness and perfect love of Christ. And focusing on living that love out sets us free from the burden of self-imposed expectations.

A Meditation on Isaiah 35

One night when I was in the depths of depression, I was getting ready for bed. Out of force of habit, I sat down to read a psalm. But in my tiredness, I missed Psalms and ended up reading through all of Isaiah 35 before I noticed my “mistake.”

Here’s what I read:

1 The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;

the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus;

2 it shall blossom abundantly

and rejoice with joy and singing.

The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,

the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.

They shall see the glory of the Lord,

the majesty of our God.

3 Strengthen the weak hands,

and make firm the feeble knees.

4 Say to those who have an anxious heart,

“Be strong; fear not!

Behold, your God

will come with vengeance,

with the recompense of God.

He will come and save you.”

5 Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,

and the ears of the deaf unstopped;

6 then shall the lame man leap like a deer,

and the tongue of the mute sing for joy.

For waters break forth in the wilderness,

and streams in the desert;

7 the burning sand shall become a pool,

and the thirsty ground springs of water;

in the haunt of jackals, where they lie down,

the grass shall become reeds and rushes.

8 And a highway shall be there,

and it shall be called the Way of Holiness;

the unclean shall not pass over it.

It shall belong to those who walk on the way;

even if they are fools, they shall not go astray.

9 No lion shall be there,

nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it;

they shall not be found there,

but the redeemed shall walk there.

10 And the ransomed of the Lord shall return

and come to Zion with singing;

everlasting joy shall be upon their heads;

they shall obtain gladness and joy,

and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

I believe that God directed me to the “wrong” passage that day because this was exactly what my hurting soul needed. I needed to read this promise of renewal for the deserts – the empty, lonely, broken places of the world – because my heart felt like a desert. I needed to hear that no matter how hopeless I felt, I wasn’t really without hope because God had promised to make things right.

Verse 10 in particular stood out to me with its promise that “sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” I believe the complete fulfillment of these verses will come when Christ returns. But until then, God’s promise that better things are coming can give us hope and comfort.

But is that all our faith offers? Is it merely a piece of positive thinking or an “opiate of the masses”? Not according to Isaiah.

Verses 5 and 6 speak of healing for the blind, the deaf, the lame and the mute. Just as God gives us emotional comfort, He offers healing. We see that in the pages of the Bible, and I believe that God continues to work miracles today. Yet once again we will need to wait until Christ returns for all disease to completely disappear.

OK, so Christianity offers emotional and physical healing – for us. But is it just a personal thing that only touches its followers? Again, the answer is “no.”

The whole point of this passage is that the physical world will be healed. Verses 1, 2, 6 and 7 speak of desert being turned into lush, fertile land. In a sense, this is undoing the effects that sin had on all of nature. Part of God’s curse after the first sin was that the land would be unfruitful, producing thorns and thistles instead of good crops. But here we see the curse undone. Even the harshest, least hospitable lands are transformed into lush valleys. The whole earth becomes a fruitful, safe and holy place.

How does all this happen? The passage doesn’t explicitly say, but verse 8 points to the answer. It refers to the “Way of Holiness” in which the redeemed walk. Verse 10 indicates that it leads back to Jerusalem, the city of God. In the Bible, Jerusalem is seen as the place of God’s presence, and we know from the New Testament that the way back into God’s presence is Jesus. He is the One through whom our hearts, our bodies and all of creation will be healed. When we believe and obey Him, we walk in the way of holiness.

We all face moments when we feel dry and empty. We sometimes fall and wander away from the way of holiness. But we must “Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees.  Say to those who have an anxious heart, ‘Be strong; fear not!’” That means picking ourselves up when we fall, but it also means building others up when they are weak. We must remember, as it says in verse 4, that God will come and save us. We can be strong and work to restore the things that are broken in human lives and the outside world only when we place our hope in the One who has the power to accomplish this seemingly impossible mission.

The Sun in the Night

Those who like me grew up going to church are aware that Christians like to draw a distinction between joy and happiness. The idea is that happiness is based on circumstances, but joy is not. We like to quote 1Thessalonians 5:16-18: Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

And that’s all well and good, but for someone who struggles with depression, it can be confusing. The Bible says we should be joyful in all circumstances. Depression is a circumstance. Therefore we should be joyful when we’re depressed. What?

This seems impossible, so I started examining each step of the argument. I don’t want to deny the truth of Scripture (by saying we don’t have to be joyful always). Arguing that depression is a sin (not a “circumstance”) also doesn’t make sense to me (for reasons I can explain if people are interested). So, paradoxical as it sounds, there must be a way to find joy in depression.

I’ve come to a tentative solution: joy in the midst of depression looks less like happiness and more like hope. I think the details are better explained in poetry than in prose.

The Sun in the Night

Joy is the sun that fills my world with light,

That paints the flowers with their rainbow hue,

That crowns the dancing waves with diamonds bright

And shimmers out from every drop of dew.

But sorrow strikes – I spin into the dark.

Night rises up to steal the sunlight’s throne.

A hungry void devours every spark.

Night hisses, “Light is dead. You are alone.”

Yet though the sun is hidden from my gaze,

It does not for that reason cease to be.

I see it in the moon’s reflected rays

And grasp at hope’s unfelt reality.

Joy’s gravity holds me within my way,

Saves me from slipping out into despair.

It guards me till I spin back into day

And dawn paints roses in the morning air.

Two Poems on Suffering

It's been a rough month. My last post touched on a news item that hit close to home, but there has been a lot of other bad news since then. We've had bombings in Boston (which also hit close to home, since I went to school there) an explosion in Texas, and earthquake in Sichuan, China, continued civil war in Syria, and a collapsed building in Bangladesh, not to mention countless other tragedies, many of which probably didn't get reported. All this bad news has caused me to think a lot about how messed up the world is. These are my best attempts at expressing my thoughts so far.

Waiting for Hope

We wait within this world of pain

Where sunlit days explode in fire

Directed by some dark desire

The shrapnel falls like April rain

We wait within this world of fear

With trembling rocks beneath our feet

Our shelters crumble in the street

And with them falls all we hold dear

We wait within these feeble frames

Where battles rage in every cell

The parts against the whole rebel

Or fall to famine, flood or flame

We wait – but if we raise our eyes

To look beyond our dying sun

In heaven sits the Living One

Upon whose wings from death we rise

We wait, and through the night we sing

Undimmed, the hidden stars still shine

Hate will give way to love divine

As ice dissolves in certain spring

And the second poem:

Prayer of Suffering

O God who hears our every plea,

When darkness blocks the sunlight’s beams

When bomb blasts shatter tranquil air

And cheers and laughter turn to screams,

We cling to hope that you are there.

O God of glory, fiercely just,

The cosmos rests within Your hand,

O master of each hurricane,

Although we do not understand,

We beg You for the grace to trust.

O Christ who bore our every grief,

Absorbed death’s fullest agony

When grief and pain impale our hearts

Back to Your spear-torn side we flee,

Your blood is balm for our relief.

O Christ who overthrew the grave

Within Your triumph we find peace,

We thirst for Your returning day

When You will cause all war to cease

And Your tormented people save.

O Spirit who grants every grace,

Infuse our hearts with mercy’s power,

To break the bonds of fear and pain

And even in this evil hour

With selfless love the night to face.

O Holy Spirit, living flame,

Send out Your glory’s radiant beams

To pierce the heart of evil’s throne,

Defeating dark, demonic schemes

And bringing honor to Your name.

Heart, Mind and Lies

The purpose of this blog, reflected in the title, is to combine the mind and the heart, intellectual truth (logos) with passionate love. I firmly believe that both of these are essential for our spiritual health.

The “mind” half of the equation has always come pretty easily to me. I have a hunch that this has something to do with growing up around two very intelligent and highly educated parents, one of whom is a college professor who taught me the word “omnivore” when I was 3.

The “heart” aspect of things is a bit more confused. I do have a passion for God, which I express best in my poetry and hymns. But I don’t trust my feelings as much as I do my mind. For years, I’ve struggled with painful emotions that seemed to have no connection to reality. I eventually learned to call these emotions “depression,” but that label didn’t help me to understand its cause. I still haven’t figured out all the factors involved, but one has become very clear to me recently.

I’ve realized that many of what I had called “emotional” problems actually began in my thoughts. At some point in my life, I bought into some lies about who I am, which have formed the unconscious background of my thoughts and feelings. Putting words to this idea is difficult, in part because it has been unexpressed for all these years. Many of my conscious thoughts reflect it, but they are only smaller manifestations of it, like in video games when the boss monster sends out smaller monsters to attack you.

The lie at the core of my problems is something like this: I am valuable only if I do everything that is expected of me perfectly. Once it is put into words, I see how ridiculous it is, and my mind comes to poke holes in it immediately. Here are a few problems with it:

1. All human beings are valuable, not because of ability, and not as something they earn, but in virtue of being human beings made in the image of God. I argue strongly for this when faced with many social issues, and I had thought it was an established part of my thinking.

2. I can’t do everything perfectly because I am not perfect. I am not God, and no one expects me to be.

3. This idea doesn’t mention exactly whose expectations I must live. In practice, this means that I try to please everyone I run into, both in big things like doing my job well and in small things like not admitting that I don’t like a movie they like. But it runs into contradictions when two people expect different things. In those cases, it is simply impossible to please everyone.

As you can see, my mind is more than capable of trashing the lie once it is exposed to the light of reason. But of course, it isn’t that simple. This idea doesn’t step out and face a direct battle with my other beliefs and ideas. Instead, it sits in the shadows, sending out negative thoughts and painful feelings like bullets from a sniper. I hope that now that I know it’s there, I can be on my guard against it. I’m trying to fill my mind with truth about my identity and my value, leaving no shadows in which this lie can hide.

It’s obvious that lies affect one’s mind. The whole point of a lie is to get one to believe something false. But these ideas affect our hearts too – they cause us to react in unhealthy ways to the experiences and challenges of our lives. What lies might you have bought into that affect how you think or feel about things?