Dang Christian Hope

There are a lot of problems in this world: children dying of hunger, people exploited as labourers or trafficked for sex, people killed in wars for freedom.  This stuff is bad, and so I ask, what can we do, what can I do, to change the situation?

I've been told that I should do my part, be faithful with what I have, do as I should, and even if I don’t accomplish much, it will all work out in the eschatological end.  God will come back and set things right.  Don’t worry too much if a child dies of hunger, this life is a short trial, but heaven will be so lovely that these earthly struggles will be forgotten.

I don’t like it.  I find this answer to be too simplistic.  It feels like a cop-out to me.  It seems to me to render this live meaningless, or at least relatively insignificant.  While those with such a mindset often seek to alleviate the suffering of others, it seems they often to the good for the sake of doing the good.  They do care for those in their immediate presence, but don’t attempt to make the world a better place for everyone.  They realize they can’t, but they do their part to make life better for a few.  The do their part, God will take care of the rest… after they die.  I don’t like it.  It doesn't sit well with me.

The alternative seems to say, “Make the world better!”  It urges me not to be content with improving a few lives, but to seek world change, mass economic revolution and equality of all.  That begs the question, “how do we get there?”  Here’s the danger.  With such ambitious goals a temptation presents itself.  It is a little voice that answers the question slyly.  “By any means,” it says.  “By any means.”  Then those who dream about economic equality violently fight against the current powers.  Those who long that all be free and democratic use violence to work towards this end.

I don’t like it.  I fear this mentality all too often leads first to violence and rarely accomplishes what it set out to do.  I think extreme is good, but not all extremes.  We forget to do good in our immediate settings and dream only of what the world might be.  We might fight to get there, but in the way do more harm and actually accomplish little good.  A problem exists within this mindset because people are causing the problems, and getting rid of the problems all too often means causing harm to people.  I don’t like it.  It doesn’t sit well with me.

Well, my prof tried to offer me a third option, an option which hopes, which is a call not just to do our part, but to do all we can, together.  It is an option that recognizes limits and means congruent with the end.  It is an option that believe in the church, people, and hopes that they will come together to create social change.  He thinks that the church can have a greater influence than policy makers, politics or radicals…  I’m not sure I’m that hopeful.  I’m not sure I have that much faith.

Questions

"Why am I here? 
What is my purpose? 
Why am I made like this?"

"Do not question child,
your time will come."

"But why am I here"

"You were made with a purpose,
made in love. 
You exist to serve
and rise above."

"What is my purpose?"

"You will protect the people,
keep them safe from harm. 
The enemy you will destroy,
him you shall disarm."

"Am I made to fight?"

"That's right."

"And then to kill?"

"That's your role,
determined by his will."

"Why was I made like this?"

"Question not your maker. 
Next to him there's nothing you know. 
His plan is secret,
but when he calls, go."

"No."

"Take back your words."

"No."

"Stop your rebellion."

"No!"

"His ways are good. 
His ways are pure, 
Follow his will
and your future's secure"

"I was made for a purpose?"

"Yes."

"For his glory and good?"

"Yes."

"I was made to serve him?"

"Yes."

"By killing, destroying, fighting and might?"

"His will is right."

"Then right is wrong."

"You who is made mustn't question him who made."

"I stand for love."

"Your maker loves,
he loves his people. 
You must love
by protecting his people."

"I stand for freedom."

"Your maker fights,
he fights for freedom. 
You must fight,
so all'll have freedom."

"I stand for peace."

"Your maker pacifies. 
He pacifies the dissenter. 
You must pacify,
destroy the dissenter."

"Semantics, words, I cannot stand your polemics. 
I will not kill."

"You must.  It's his will."

"I will not kill."

"Your purpose you must fill."

"I will not kill."

"Yes.  You.  Will."

"No!  I object.  I demand an audience with my maker."

"What will you, o' formed one, say to him who formed?"

"I'll speak of the men, who he wants to kill. 
I tell of their mothers, children, sisters and brothers."

"O' formed one,
how little you know. 
You appealed to your maker,
you your maker you will go. 
O' but cursed, cursed is the one
who thinks he's got something to say. 
Cursed are you
this very day. 
Your will, it matters not. 
Your plea, land upon deaf ears. 
Your maker will have his way. 
Your mission nears. 
You have not choice,
no agency. 
You were built to kill,
to destroy the enemy."

How do people feel good about themselves when they feed the poor during the day and then go home at night to a comfy bed while the poor they've fed sleep out in the cold or in a crowded shelter?

I don't ask this question in judgment.  I don't even feed the poor, but if I did, if I saw their faces and knew their names.  If they told me their stories as we shared a meal.  How could I leave them?  How could I but invite them home with me?

Killerplanes, and the People Who Build Them

Some people build killerplanes.  What does it matter where these people live.  They may live in America or Russia, China, France or the UK.  People build planes that kill, and they probably do it with a similar set of motivations.  Some like the work.  They are trained in manufacturing and killerplane building pays well.  Others see it as a way to help their country, to protect their children.  Perhaps they are deeply motivated by love.  Perhaps some are motivated by hate.  A desire to eliminate the enemy, or more nobly, to bring peace to the world.

I suppose it depends on ones view of international conflicts if killerplane builders are our friends or our enemies.  Does it depend on where they live?  Who they sell their planes to? Or if there is any chance that the planes will be used against us?  When I think about WWII, an image that comes to mind is targeted bombing of factories building weapons.  I think about the neighbourhoods destroyed.  I can't help but wonder what would happen if there was an international conflict.  Would "our" killerplanes feel justified in attacking "their" killerplane factories?  While to many, this suggestion may seem reasonable, even justified, I don't like it.  Next to killerplane factories, the killerplane builders live.  I want to tell you about the killerplane builders.

Killerplane builders are both men and women.  They have both children and parents.  Killerplane builders laugh and joke with each other.  They hike together in the mountains.  They share meals together.  They fill up my cup and we toast.  We share meals together.  Killerplane builders have daughters who will grab on to my leg when we are white water rafting and they are afraid.  Their kids, like your kids, are the joy of their life.  Killerplane builders are playful.  They splash me with river water, and I splash them right back.  Killerplane builders are helpful.  When I don't know what I should be doing, they guide me.  I trust the killerplane builders.  I leave them alone with my stuff, I sleep in their houses.  When I close my eyes, I know they will do me no harm.  They have invited me in.  Their generosity overflows.  Killerplane builders are probably the most generous people I have met.  Never did I go hungry, never did they let me buy.  Killerplane builders gave me their best.  They offered all they had, and we played together, and they admired pictures of my family and of my country.  Killerplane builders are my friends, my unrelated kin. 

Whether they live near or far doesn't matter to me.  The colour of their skin doesn't make a difference.  They are no different.  They are people, they are friends and family.  Killerplane builders are not enemies.  No matter whose planes they are building, no matter what those planes are used for.  Killerplane builders are people, people I know, people I care about.

Mormon Pioneers - The Stories that Set the Compass of My Life

I knew I didn't have to go back to camp for camp clean up, but I knew I should.  If I hadn't gone, the consequences would have been minimal, maybe non-existent, but I had said that I would be there.  I didn't want to go.  I hadn't enjoyed camp all that much, and the thought of going back to clean didn't excite me.  other things excited me more.  Having time to relax, write, read and see friends; all of that sounded more fun than camp.  But it was part of my job.  I wasn't finished yet.
There was one problem, one big problem, I didn't have a way to get out to camp.  The rest of the staff were there already.  I didn't know anyone who could give me a ride.  I considered Greyhound, but the only bus travelled through the night, arriving near the camp at 2:50 am.  No one from camp would want to pick me up at that time. 
I was supposed to be there Sunday morning, but it was Sunday afternoon as I was sitting at home on the computer relaxing when I got a text message that changed everything.  My friend... no, she isn't my friend.  An acquaintance, someone who I didn't even know had my phone number, thought it a good idea to text me and let me know she was being kicked out of her house.  She had nowhere to go.  She didn't ask for help, but it was clearly a cry for help.  I thought of ways I could help her and found excuses so that I wouldn't have to help her.  I thought I could let her stay at my house, but my roommates wouldn't allow it.  Frankly though, I didn't want her to stay at my house.  Then I found myself browsing RE/MAX, thinking I could buy a house and have to open to people in need of a place to stay, no questions asked.  I didn't do anything for her; I didn't buy a house.  Rather, I bought a bus ticket.  I was supposed to be at camp.  I needed to get there.  After that I had a nap.  I had a long night ahead of me, so I slept when I could.
I woke up at 1l and rushed to get the last of my things ready.  As I walked to the city bus I looked up.  Overhead was Cassiopeia.  That has been my favourite constellation since I was a child.  I got on the city bus and started talking with the bus driver.  He told me of his trip to and around South America all on a bicycle.  Cool.  That trip shaped his life, it changed the way he thinks about things.  Because of that trip he's more likely to take the Greyhound than fly, because of the trip he doesn't own a car.  As we drove through a rougher neighborhood he said that people in Canada live like they are in poverty when they are not in poverty.  They always feel like they haven't enough when in reality they have so much.
Nothing remarkable happened on the Greyhound.  I decided against reading Just After Sunset by Stephen King, and spent the trip fixing my dreads.  Everything I had with me was packed in my large camping backpack, and I had a surprising amount with me.  I got off the bus, pick up my back and slung it on my back.  The bag was meant for hiking.  I had gone up mountains with similar packs.  Google told me it was 18 km to camp, so one step followed by another, I made my way there.  I had a lot of time to think.  I wondered why I was doing it.  What had me thinking that it was a good idea to walk 18 km in the middle of the night.  One minute I had been sitting contently at my computer, and then I had a greyhound ticket booked.  Why had I done it?
It must have been over a year ago when I saw a video about a Mormon pioneer.  I don't remember the details, but the story was about a guy walking miles every day to go and work on the Salt Lake Temple.  Up before dawn, home at dusk, but it was his job and he was faithful.  That guy isn't a hero.  He was just going to work, doing what was expected of him.  Such behavior should be seen as normal, not heroic.  I didn't do anything crazy, certainly nothing that deserves praise.  I got up and I went to work.  That is behavior we should consider normal.

hope/less

Today I feel discouraged.  I feel like I'll never do any good in this world.  Moreover I am not even sure what good looks like.  I wanna squash disparity, but I don't want to do it by enabling the world's population to live like North American, that is both unsustainable and far from the best life.  Children in Chad play happily with their siblings.  Not because they have the newest toy to play with, I don't know why.  Making the world like us (the rich) would steal their happiness.  We really are not that great.  But some things that money brings - safe drinking water, food, education, are really great.  Perhaps we could have one world that is the best of both current situations.  The rich sacrifice their luxuries and clean water, enough food and some education are given to all.  That seems like a lovely world, but how do we get there?

"A linen shirt, for example, is strictly speaking, not a necessary of life... But in the present times, through the greater part of Europe, a credible day-labourer would be ashamed to appear in public without a linen shirt, the want of which would be supposed to denote that disgraceful degree of poverty which, it is presumed, no body can well fall into without extreme bad conduct.  Custom, in the same manner, had rendered leather shoes a necessary of life in England.  The poorest creditable person of either sex would be ashamed to appear in public without them"
Adam Smith - The Wealth of Nations 1776

I think we could substitute smart phone for linen shirt.  Probably some other things too.  We have got to stop thinking like that.  What if having excess became shameful...  shame probably isn't the best way to motivate social change.

Atheist at Bible Camp

So I am not an atheist, but I did look at Christianity from much more of an outside perspective this year at camp.  I found myself concerned not with what is true, but what is beautiful.  Perhaps truth is absolute, but beauty is not.

I began to see Christianity less as a set of beliefs, or as a way of life, but as a loosely fitting label some people take upon themselves.  It no longer seems to be an entity, rather it is a somewhat meaningless distinction...  or so it seems to me.

Christianity can be beautiful.  It can be inspiring.  I think that Jesus lived a beautiful life, but the things that he did are not beautiful because he did them, rather they were beautiful before he did them.  Christianity is beautiful when it is selfless.  When it puts others first.  When it focuses on loving people, really loving people.

But Christianity can also be ugly.  it can be selfish, self focused and experience based.  my experience becomes the thing that matters.  I don't like Christianity.

There are extremes in Christianity.  On one hand we could look at Shane Claiborne, and on the other we could consider Bethal Church in Redding.  Claibornes way of life and of thinking seems quite beautiful.  Bethal does not.  The God of Bethal seems to care about making rich people happier while forgetting about the poor.  I saw the influence of both Bethal and Claiborne at camp.  Christianity seems to be fluid, easily swayed by emotional speakers or experiences. 

Christianity can be beautiful.  Selfless, other focused servanthood. But people can live their lives beautifully apart from Christianity.

I wonder about Jesus.  The Gospels contain stories about him that can inspire beautiful lives.  For that, maybe I will read them, maybe I will share them and be excited by them.  They are stories that I'd like to shape my life around, but Christianity...  I don't need it.  Jesus never told his followers to accept a religion.  He asked them to accept him.  I think I can accept the things that he did, most of them anyhow, and try to shape my life around them.