This morning I was awoken by the click of the door, unusual as I am usually the first up, and when I entered the living room/TV room, the NBC morning show was already on, something we watch by habit to get the weather. I stood before the screen, still fuddled by sleep, and saw one of the hosts interviewing a somewhat elderly man with soft blue eyes and a slightly unkempt appearance that made it clear he did not spend much time before the mirror. He was the epitome of calm, and more, of kindness, as he spoke to the interviewer, his voice filled with compassion. I kept watching.
His name was (something) Paul, and he had written a spiritual book titled The Shack. This had been done while he was working at menial jobs, and he had self-printed a dozen of them for his friends and family, never meaning to publish it for the public. Somehow (I did not find out how), it had been published and, to this date, has sold 25 million copies. Wow.
After the interview, while helping my wife change the bed, I mentioned this ruefully. "Man, why doesn't something like that happen to me?" I was joking, but his story had prodded a little envy. I, too, have written spiritually-oriented books, several of them, and all have been rejected by the agents. I live with it. Life is pretty good, regardless, but still there is that prod. Why, I asked myself, have I been "called" to such things without success, while actively trying to find a publisher, while this guy practically walks into a fortune?
Yes, there was another part to the story, or the piece of it I had heard: Paul had been sexually molested as a child (not by a priest - he was raised an Evangelical), and, he said, he had spent the last 50 years working his way out of it. He had paid a heavy price to find that we must all work towards knowing God, and that this was done through relationships - the very heart of the message of Christ. He had, then, paid his dues, and they were heavy indeed. Like Christ, he had lived and died in a way, and had to find his own form of resurrection. This, clearly, he had done, only incidentally getting rich in the process.
Whether I would trade this type of suffering for success, however, is beside the point of this piece. Lately, a few things (one thing in particular) have not been going the way I would have liked. Just as almost everyone with some belief in a higher power, I have prayed that these things would work out to my liking, and so far, they have not - and may never. I, again, have taken this ruefully, having determined that prayer of this sort does no good. Sometimes slipping into the blackness that believes there is no caring God, I eventually always go the other way - that is, that I determine that I do not know what is best. It is, I know, a philosophically sloppy way to think: that is, if God seems to grant a favor, then that is proof that It is a caring God; and if not, that I simply don't understand. I could not win any skeptics over with such an argument.
However, there have been times of late - usually literally "of late," for they take place in the middle of the night - where I have truly considered my desires, and surprisingly, have found them not only very shallow, but perhaps not right. At these times, a proposition has formed in my mind, one that seems genuine: "OK, if you really feel that these desires are right (and they are not for world domination or anything that would hurt others), then you can have them." The truth of these then seemed to spread out, simply and starkly, and I have had to admit to myself that I do NOT necessarily want them; that, indeed, my desires have been presumptuous, a product only of mundane social values. That they might happen would not hurt anyone, as said, and only, as far as I know, help; but I could clearly see that I did not know their meaning, and what affects they would have on those involved in the long run. I have had to admit, with a certain special insight, that the answering of those prayers might not be a blessing at all.
Can I convince a skeptic of the righteousness of the world, even as it continues to be swaddled in very bad things? I don't think so, for I can scarcely hold to this myself. Has, for instance, the trauma the author Paul received in childhood been worth it? Has the saran gas that was wafted through the neighborhoods of civilians in Syria been worth it? If not, where, then, is the will of God? But I can only say that I have seen a touch of my own foolishness, not in the guise of a punishing Divine Intelligence, but in an intelligent one. The incidents make me no more worthy of anything, but they do make me a tad wiser, a bit chastened like a child caught doing foolish or mean things. They have made me understand, just a bit more, that I don't know the answers or the way, which, I suppose, is a necessary step along this very way. FK
His name was (something) Paul, and he had written a spiritual book titled The Shack. This had been done while he was working at menial jobs, and he had self-printed a dozen of them for his friends and family, never meaning to publish it for the public. Somehow (I did not find out how), it had been published and, to this date, has sold 25 million copies. Wow.
After the interview, while helping my wife change the bed, I mentioned this ruefully. "Man, why doesn't something like that happen to me?" I was joking, but his story had prodded a little envy. I, too, have written spiritually-oriented books, several of them, and all have been rejected by the agents. I live with it. Life is pretty good, regardless, but still there is that prod. Why, I asked myself, have I been "called" to such things without success, while actively trying to find a publisher, while this guy practically walks into a fortune?
Yes, there was another part to the story, or the piece of it I had heard: Paul had been sexually molested as a child (not by a priest - he was raised an Evangelical), and, he said, he had spent the last 50 years working his way out of it. He had paid a heavy price to find that we must all work towards knowing God, and that this was done through relationships - the very heart of the message of Christ. He had, then, paid his dues, and they were heavy indeed. Like Christ, he had lived and died in a way, and had to find his own form of resurrection. This, clearly, he had done, only incidentally getting rich in the process.
Whether I would trade this type of suffering for success, however, is beside the point of this piece. Lately, a few things (one thing in particular) have not been going the way I would have liked. Just as almost everyone with some belief in a higher power, I have prayed that these things would work out to my liking, and so far, they have not - and may never. I, again, have taken this ruefully, having determined that prayer of this sort does no good. Sometimes slipping into the blackness that believes there is no caring God, I eventually always go the other way - that is, that I determine that I do not know what is best. It is, I know, a philosophically sloppy way to think: that is, if God seems to grant a favor, then that is proof that It is a caring God; and if not, that I simply don't understand. I could not win any skeptics over with such an argument.
However, there have been times of late - usually literally "of late," for they take place in the middle of the night - where I have truly considered my desires, and surprisingly, have found them not only very shallow, but perhaps not right. At these times, a proposition has formed in my mind, one that seems genuine: "OK, if you really feel that these desires are right (and they are not for world domination or anything that would hurt others), then you can have them." The truth of these then seemed to spread out, simply and starkly, and I have had to admit to myself that I do NOT necessarily want them; that, indeed, my desires have been presumptuous, a product only of mundane social values. That they might happen would not hurt anyone, as said, and only, as far as I know, help; but I could clearly see that I did not know their meaning, and what affects they would have on those involved in the long run. I have had to admit, with a certain special insight, that the answering of those prayers might not be a blessing at all.
Can I convince a skeptic of the righteousness of the world, even as it continues to be swaddled in very bad things? I don't think so, for I can scarcely hold to this myself. Has, for instance, the trauma the author Paul received in childhood been worth it? Has the saran gas that was wafted through the neighborhoods of civilians in Syria been worth it? If not, where, then, is the will of God? But I can only say that I have seen a touch of my own foolishness, not in the guise of a punishing Divine Intelligence, but in an intelligent one. The incidents make me no more worthy of anything, but they do make me a tad wiser, a bit chastened like a child caught doing foolish or mean things. They have made me understand, just a bit more, that I don't know the answers or the way, which, I suppose, is a necessary step along this very way. FK
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