tax day
Today I did my taxes. Actually, I had them done for me. The only times available for my appointment were during work hours so I had to leave early. I don’t like leaving early from work unless I have to; but if I have to I love it. So I’m taking full advantage of it. This is why I’ve taken time to do something that I haven’t done in weeks: write on my blog.
Since I don’t have anything important to talk about I’ll write about the luck (or maybe divine providence) I’ve had today.
First, I received a letter from Dave that I’ve been waiting for. That sounds silly, but it’s true. If it’s been more than a week since writing to Dave, I’ll go to the mailbox everyday with hopes of finding my reply. These letters are like a gift.
Second, I made my first Craigslist sale today. Since I got off work early I had time to make the exchange: one PSP for 75 dollars. I think I came out on top.
Lastly, I accidently made a delicious meal. I started boiling some egg noodles. After I thought they were finished, I drained the water and threw in some extra-virgin olive oil. The noodles started sticking to the pot once I put them back in, so I had to scrape pretty hard with my fork. Finally, I threw in some parmesan cheese and cajun seasoning (the first two things I could think about). A pretty good meal followed.
This concludes my list. I think I’ll move on to something else now.
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Hello again…
Hello again. It’s been a little while since I’ve written. I’ve been terribly busy with work, school, church, band, and my own personal studies so I’ve slacked off.
Last night was my first time preaching. If you’re actually interested in hearing what I had to say you can find Impact’s podcasts at impactmovement.net; click the ‘media’ tab, then ‘podcasts’.
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An update
I realize that I haven’t posted in a while. This is likely due to lack of time, material, and interest. So I don’t end up like my poser blogger friends (you know who you are), I’ve decided to give an update.
I’m in Indiana right now, and it’s cold. Two nights ago the wind chill was -25 degrees Fahrenheit. For those of you who don’t know what that feels like, stick your head in your freezer for about ten minutes, and then note that in -25 you could stick your head in that same freezer to keep warm.
My parents’ house was built in 1800, and we rely totally on 3 of our 6 fireplaces to keep warm. In some areas small space heaters are used as well, but they aren’t very effective. I love to think that for over 200 years people have lived in this house using the same primitive means to keep warm. The house has three layers of brick on the outside, and this is the only insulation from the cold. You can imagine how much firewood is needed to be comfortable. For years people sat around the fireplace at night because that was the only source of heat and light. The fireplace was where they cooked, had discussions, read. I wish we had more of an opportunity to rely on such simplicity.
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Robert Frost
Donald Miller’s recommendation to buy Billy Collin’s new book “Ballistics” led me to the poetry section at Barnes and Nobles. The book was thin and expensive, so I continued to browse the poetry section because I like to get my money’s worth – not just in quality but in quantity. ”The Robert Frost Reader” was only a dollar more and five times thicker, so I bought it instead. I memorized “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost when I was in second grade and I admit I’m not as immersed in poetry as I should be, but it remains my favorite poem nonetheless.
I re-memorized it so I can recite it for my grandmother when I go home for Christmas; she loves that poem as well. Here it is from memory (just believe me):
Whose woods are these? I think I know.
His house is in the the village, though;
he will not mind me stopping here
to watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
to stop without a farmhouse near
between the woods and frozen lake
the darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
to ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
but I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep,
and miles to go before I sleep.
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Buddhist Temple
I went to a Buddhist temple to explore and learn. It was such a great experience. I’ve read about Buddhism, but I’ve never gotten to talk to a devout Buddhist about their beliefs and traditions and history. The most informative book I’ve read was (of course by Ravi Zacharias) called “The Lotus and the Cross.” This book is a dialogue between Jesus, the Buddha, and a young girl searching for fulfillment.
I was a little uneasy about going, but I left with a new perspective on Buddhism. This experience provoked enough thought for a few hours of conversation, but I will only cover the highlights.
The temple was enormous, and I was told that it is an exact replica of a famous Cambodian temple. There are a few different types of Buddhists – American Buddhists and traditional Buddhists (or imported Buddhists as the caretaker explained). This temple was home to a great number of imported Buddhists. As I entered, I was asked to remove my shoes as a sign of respect to the monks and to the Buddha. Many of their customs and traditions were centered around respect. The statue of Buddha was the highest object in the room, but there were multiple statues – some made of stone and others of copper. They were very carefully crafted, and it was apparent the caretaker was very proud of their shrine. The next highest were the teachers, or monks, who taught from a small stage. Visitors and ordinary followers of Buddha were on the ground level.
Initially, I was guided through a brief history of the life of Siddhartha Guatama and the basic teachings of Buddhism using a series of beautiful paintings. Each painting was about thirty feet wide and fifteen feet high, and they were each carefully painted with great detail and brilliant colors. It was apparent that the caretaker had run through this presentation countless times, but he was as passionate as he was comfortable.
The caretaker was very knowledgeable about what he thought was the essence of Christianity. He challenged me to recite each of the ten commandments, which I definitely can’t do in order. He told me that the Christians stole the last five commandments from the Buddhists. Technically, the ten commandments originated from Moses who was born around 1593 BC – one millennium before the supposed birth of Siddhartha Guatama. I didn’t correct him though. He continued to compare and contrast Christianity with Buddhism, and this is the conversation that provoked the most thought.
He explained the five commandments of Buddhism which were do not kill, do not steal, do not commit unlawful sexual acts, do not bear false witness, and do not take intoxicants. He explained that Christians replaced “do not take intoxicants” with “honor your father and mother” because we like to drink. He also said that honoring parents was already part of their lifestyle and would not require a commandment. I believe he was trying to simplify the five precepts of Buddhism in the way a Westerner would be able to relate to. The purpose of this moral code, as he explained, was simply to live a happy life. He went on to say that breaking this code would be bad Karma and will cause your next life to be quite disagreeable, but it could be corrected by committing good Karma.
The caretaker was confident in his understanding of Christianity. He explained that becoming a Buddhist would help one to be a better Christian as well – that it is possible to be a Christian and a Buddhist. I gave this some thought, and quickly realized his error although I didn’t point it out. He understood Christianity to have the same purpose as Buddhism – to live a moral life, and I totally understand his misconception. We, Christians, put our legalism on display, yet we hide our grace. We want others to see how moral we are, and it’s difficult to admit that we need to be cleansed – that we need a savior. So others see Christianity as just another moral code with another moral teacher. They completely miss, as many Christians do, the role that Christ plays as a savior, a healer, a sacrificial lamb that takes our sins that are like scarlet and makes them white as snow. Instead he’s just a moral teacher and we are his students; it’s our duty to live by the moral code that he has established. How can I explain to the caretaker that we don’t have to be perfect when we don’t believe that ourselves? How will he understand that our good can’t possibly outweigh our bad and that we desperately need a redeemer?
I was terribly open-minded when I decided to visit the temple, but the caretaker’s presentation raised a few questions that could not be answered. First, what about creation? He said that Buddhism agrees with science but rejects evolution. His broken English and thick accent made it difficult to understand this portion of his message, but I believe he referred to the elements earth, wind, and fire but didn’t give an explanation for creation. I asked him if Buddhists believe that the earth is infinite and has always existed, and he said yes. The question I couldn’t reconcile was their explanation of the supernatural. He mentioned no god other than the Buddha, but he admitted that the Buddha was dead and does not exist as we think of God the creator. So what guides Karma? Who defined good and evil? Who set the cycle of reincarnation in motion, and who stops it for those who have reached enlightenment? I require an answer for these questions, but the Buddhists do not. The caretaker was fine with having an incomplete philosophy because the purpose is simply to live a moral life. Whatever causes you to live a moral life is the answer.
I was inspired by their devotion and discipline and their endless pursuit of holiness. During my time with the caretaker, I began to see ways to share with them what I believe to be the truth. God loves them, and I believe that through their Buddhist teaching He can prepare them to receive the truth of Christ. They desire perfection and holiness, yet they cannot earn it. Most people don’t even desire it, but they are determined to maintain it. I believe that some of them will be thrilled to find out that Jesus Christ not only taught the Five Precepts and the Eightfold Path (or a similar moral code), but died to reconcile our inability to keep them. Not only did he die, but he resurrected and is alive again today dwelling with his people. And his people are the temple, and having the living, moving, creator-God dwell within his people allow them to better live according to this moral code and with freedom to live without fear of failure.
There is truth in Buddhism, truth we can learn from, but Buddhism isn’t The Truth. Jesus Christ is The Truth. If we can identify the truths within Buddhism and show that Christ completes that truth, they may be willing to see.
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FOCA
The Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA) could possibly be an issue here pretty soon so it’s worth being informed about. If you find that you cannot tolerate this act of legalized murder feel free to sign the petition. If you happen to like this act, well, that’s fine I suppose.
Click here to find the FOCA in its entirety.
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Christian perfection
I want to share today’s reading from “My Utmost for His Highest”. There’s no reason for me to add any of my thoughts, Oswald Chambers sums it up well here.
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haircutting wisdom
Today I got a terrible hair cut. I mean no disrespect for the woman who cut my hair; after all, she gave the same haircut that every other customer of hers is completely satisfied with. It was my fault for getting my hair cut on a military installation.
Now, I must tell the story from my last haircut experience at the same place. I met the wisest haircutter of all. She was the King Solomon of hair stylists, a true philosopher of hair. You see, every time I go to the barber shop (or even salon) I struggle to describe the style of hair cut that I want. I try to envision what I want my hair to look like when she finishes and describe it. Over time I’ve learned to use words like “fade”, and I can use numbers to convey the length I want my hair to be. No matter how hard I try or how detailed my request, my hair is always different.
But not last time. Last time was different. I sat in the chair rehearsing the description in my head – short on the side, fade, longer on top, not a high and tight, not a hight and tight! – while nervously anticipating the question, “What would you like?” But the question never came. Instead, was a different question, a question that was the pinnacle of hair cutting wisdom! ”What do you want, the same thing but shorter?”
“Yes!” I cried, and she proceeded to make my hair look just like it did before only shorter! It was perfect!
So I went back today expecting to find that every one of the hair cutters at this shop were her students. I imagined that they were studying under this master hair cutter, watching her every step, learning her secret wisdom. On the contrary. Before I knew it, I was giving a description that would be neither understood nor obeyed for I was on my way to receiving another high and tight.
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Frances Burney
A Young and Agreeable Infidel – Frances Burney
Miss W – is young and pleasing in her appearance, not pretty but agreeable in her face, and soft, gentle, and well-bred in her manners. Our conversation, for some time, was upon the common Bath topics; but when Mrs. Lambart left us – called to receive more company – we went insensibly into graver matters.
As I soon found, by the looks and expressions of this young lady, that she was of a peculiar cast, I left all choice of subjects to herself, determined quietly to follow as she led; and very soon, and I am sure I know not how, we had for topics the follies and vices of mankind, and, indeed, she spared not for lashing them. The women she rather excused than defended, laying to the door of the men their faults and imperfections; but the men, she said, were all bad – all, in one word, and without exception, sensualists!
I stared much at a severity of speech for which her softness of manner had so ill-prapared me; and she, perceiving my surprise, said,
“I am sure I ought to apologize for speaking my opinion to you – you, who have so just and so uncommon a knowledge of human nature. I have long wished ardently to have the honor of conversing with you; but your party has, altogether,been regarded as so formidable, that I have not had courage to approach it.”
I made – as what could I do else? – disqualifying speeches, and she then led to discoursing of happiness and misery: the latter she held to be the invariable lot of us all; and “one word,” she added, “we have in our language, and in all others, for which there is never any essential necessity, and that is – pleasure!” And her eyes filled with tears as she spoke.
“How you amaze me!” cried I; “I have met with misanthropes before, but never with so complete a one; and I can hardly think I hear right when I see how young your are!”
She then, in rather indirect terms, gave me to understand that she was miserable at home, and in very direct terms, that she was wretched abraod; and openly said, that to affliction she was born, and in affliction she must die, for that the world was so vilely formed as to render happiness impossible for its inhabitants.
There was something in this freedom of repining that I could by no means approve, and, as I found by all her manner that she had a disposition to even respect whatever I said, I now grew very serious, and frankly told her that I could not think it consistent with either truth or religion to cherish such notions.
“One thing,” answered she, “there is, which I believe might make me happy, but for that I have no inclination: it is an amorous disposition; but that I do not possess. I can make myself no happiness by intrigue.”
“I hope not, indeed!” cried I, almost confounded by her extraordinary notions and speeches; “but, surely, there are worthier objects of happiness attainable!”
“No, I believe ther are not, and the reason the men are happier than us, is because they are more sensual!”
“I would not think such thoughts,” cried I, clasping my hands with an involuntary vehemence, “for worlds!”
The Misses C – then interrupted us, and seated themselves next to us; but Miss W – paid them little attention at first, and soon after none at all; but, in a low voice, continued her discourse with me, recurring to the same subject of happiness and misery, upon which, after again asserting the folly of ever hoping for the former, she made this speech:
“There may be, indeed, one moment of happiness, which must be the finding one worthy of exciting a passion which one should dare own to himself. That would, indeed, be a moment worth living for! but that can never happen – I am sure not to me – the men are so low, so vicious, so worthless! No, there is not one such to be found!””Well, you are a most extraordinary character, indeed; I must confess I have seen nothing like you!”
“I hope, however, I shall find something like myself, and, like the magnet rolling in the dust, attract some metal as I go.”
“That you may attract what you please, is of all things the most likely; but if you wait to be happy for a friend resembling yourself, I shall no longer wonder at your despondency.”
“Oh!” cried she, raising her eyes in ecstasy, “could I find such a one!-male or female-for sex would be indifferent to me. With such a one I would go to live directly.”
I half laughed, but was perplexed in my own mind whether to be sad or merry at such a speech.
“But then,” she continued, “after making, should I lose such a friend, I would not survive.”
“Not survive?” repeated I, “what can you mean?”
She looked down, but said nothing.
“Surely you cannot mean,” said I, very gravely indeed, “to put a violent end to your life.”
“I should not,” said she, again looking up, “hesitate a moment.”
I was quite thunderstruck, and for some time could not say a word; but when I did speak, it was in a style of exhortation so serious and earnest, I am ashamed to write it to you, lest you should think it too much.
She gave me an attention that was even respectful, but when I urged her to tell me by what right she thought herself entitled to rush unlicensed on eternity, she said, “By the right of believing I shall be extinct.” I really felt horror-struck.
“Where, for heaven’s sake,” I cried, “where have you picked up such dreadful reasoning?”
“In Hume,” said she; “I have read his Essays repeatedly.”
“I am sorry to find they have power to do so much mischief; you should not have read them, at least till a man equal to Hume in abilities had answered him. Have you read any more infidel writers?”
“Yes, Bolingbroke, the divinest of all writers.”
“And do you read nothing upon the right side?”
“Yes, the Bible, till I was sick to death of it, every Sunday evening to my mother.”
“Have you read Beattie on the Immutability of Truth?”
“No.”
“Give me leave then to recommend it to you. After Hume’s Essays you ought to read it. And even for lighter reading, if you were to look at Mason’s ‘Elegy on Lady Coventry’ it might be of no disservice to you.”
This was the chief of our conversation, which indeed made an impression upon me I shall not easily get rid of. A young and agreeable infidel is even a shocking sight, and with her romantic, flighty, and unguarded turn of mind, what could happen to her that oculd give surprise?
Poor misguided girl!
***********
I know I go on about Ravi Zacharias, but it’s because he so accurately defines the human condition. Today I stumbled across some journal entries by Frances Burney, a late eighteenth and early nineteenth century novelist. One journal entry truly verifies Ravi’s case against antitheism in “Can Man Live Without God.” In order to make this post useful, I have to try to sum up what Ravi spends many chapters and books trying to clarify for us.
Antitheism has one logical outcome: meaninglessness. Any attempt to associate atheism with morality, purpose or meaning is simply a godless philosophy built on the foundation laid by theism. The alternative to an intentionally designed creation is an existence bereft of purpose, unity and morality. You see, if we are truly a product of chance, matter, time, and spontaneity, where is the universal standard for right and wrong? We would have to submit and say that right and wrong is up to the individual. If we truly came from nothing where do we find purpose? Why would life truly be better than death?
Atheistic philosophers recognize this, but they don’t advertise the consequences. They have no answer for evil. They will quickly assert that right and wrong is up to the individual. I must ask, what is your answer to child abuse, rape, genocide? To remain consistent, the atheist could not declare these wrong because they may be perfectly acceptable or ‘right’ to those involved.
I’ve always taken to this way of thinking that is so well elucidated by Ravi, but I was honestly a little surprised to see it spelled out so clearly in the journal of Frances Burney. To give you a brief background, Frances Burney is writing about her encounter with a young brilliant woman that is struggling to find happiness. Burney summarizes the young woman’s devastating worldview:
“and [she] openly said, that to affliction she was born, and in affliction she must die, for that the world was so vilely formed as to render happiness impossible for its inhabitants.”
Read for yourself this portion Burney’s account of this interaction in her journal entry titled “A Young and Agreeable Infidel”:
“Well, you are a most extraordinary character, indeed; I must confess I have seen nothing like you!”
“I hope, however, I shall find something like myself, and, like the magnet rolling in the dust, attract some metal as I go.”
“That you may attract what you please, is of all things the most likely; but if you wait to be happy for a friend resembling yourself, I shall no longer wonder at your despondency.”
“Oh!” cried she, raising her eyes in ecstasy, “could I find such a one!-male or female-for sex would be indifferent to me. With such a one I would go to live directly.”
I half laughed, but was perplexed in my own mind whether to be sad or merry at such a speech.
“But then,” she continued, “after making, should I lose such a friend, I would not survive.”
“Not survive?” repeated I, “what can you mean?”
She looked down, but said nothing.
“Surely you cannot mean,” said I, very gravely indeed, “to put a violent end to your life.”
“I should not,” said she, again looking up, “hesitate a moment.”
I was quite thunderstruck, and for some time could not say a word; but when I did speak, it was in a style of exhortation so serious and earnest, I am ashamed to write it to you, lest you should think it too much.
She gave me an attention that was even respectful, but when I urged her to tell me by what right she thought herself entitled to rush unlicensed on eternity, she said, “By the right of believing I shall be extinct.” I really felt horror-struck.
“Where, for heaven’s sake,” I cried, “where have you picked up such dreadful reasoning?”
“In Hume,” said she; “I have read his Essays repeatedly.”
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Greenpeace
I was walking through downtown DC today to meet a friend for lunch. It was rather cold, and there was a slight wind that chilled any exposed skin. It was about a twenty-five minute walk from my hotel to my friends office. As I approached the last crosswalk before his block, I could see ahead of me an activist.
I don’t actually know what they are called, but they are the people that stand on the corners in big cities and give you information on their cause. They are usually activists, and this one happened to be from Greenpeace.
Whenever I go to a new city, I usually don’t know very many people, so I often talk to the activists simply because they’re willing to have a conversation. No one else in the city wants to talk to me except the activists. Last week I meet a guy that lived on a 100-acre commune in West Virginia with a bunch of artists. Their purpose was to start a revolution in the U.S. using their art. He was selling T-shirts and bumper stickers that said, “Stop Bitching – Start a Revolution!” I didn’t buy one.
Since I was meeting a friend for lunch I promised the Greenpeace guy that I would see him on my way back. He probably thought I was just trying to get rid of him, but I wasn’t. I went back to see him.
His cause was global warming – actually, the prevention of global warming. My initial thoughts were a little sarcastic, but I had to think it: “You have certainly picked the wrong place to try to convince me that it’s warm. I’m wearing a thick coat and giant gloves, and I’m not even remotely warm.” I didn’t actually say that, but I thought it. Although I’ve never taken an environmentalist seriously, I listened and weighed his arguments as fairly as I could.
He made some pretty sobering claims. For every lobbyist that represents the environment there are one hundred lobbyists with way more money and influence that represents major corporations that would be affected by environmental legislation. If this is the case, it doesn’t matter if global warming is a big deal or not because the system is jacked up. What would it take for such an underdog to make their case? We’ve had the natural disasters, and no one’s interested. They’ve got the numbers, but no one cares.
I didn’t sign up because I need to do some more research. I’m not one for supporting a cause after only twenty minutes of education on the subject. But I guess that’s the only thing that can help those underdogs – to encourage people to become educated. Numbers is what they need, the power of people.
They gave me a few more numbers, predications really, but I’m not sure I buy it. By 2100 (92 years from now), Washington D.C. will be underwater, and 100 million people will have lost their homes because of rising sea levels. Who knows, but it’s worth learning about.
www.greenpeace.org
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