Tag Archives: Evil

Certain Death

This is a fictional reflection of the Gospel reading from this past weekend: the story of the woman caught in adultery. Most of it I made up since only a small part of her story is told in the Gospel. I just thought it would be interesting to see what might have taken place after she walked away.

We had only just got married, Isaac and me. Then he left. He didn’t really say where he was going. Just on business. He was a merchant: had some things to sell. He was a smart man. He would buy things that smiths and carpenters and other people made or grown, and then sell them for profit, but he had to travel a lot. It made me lonely. So that was how I ended up with Michael.

We were only friends at first, but then we were more than that. People got suspicious since he would come to our house a lot. People started asking questions. I kept getting strange looks in the market, and our neighbors would even avoid me. I could tell they at least thought we were up to something. I told Michael that we had to stay away from each other for a while, and we did. It didn’t really work out, though.

He came to me late one night. We were both feeling lonely. The thing was, he had been set to be married a year before, but his fiance got sick and died. It would have been alright, except that my neighbors were noticing, and that night, Isaac came back. I didn’t hear him come in. I hadn’t expected him to be coming back in the night. He threw Michael out of the house, and he didn’t press charges against him, but he was very angry with me. He slept in a different room, and the next morning, he brought me to the authorities, and they took me to the temple. I was so scared.

There was this new teacher, though who was there, and for some reason, the Pharisees didn’t like him. I was terribly afraid of him because he seemed to have some kind of authority. They said to him that the law said they should stone me, which I knew was right, but they asked what he would say. I don’t know why they asked him, but then he did something scary and weird. He asked me my name. I told him it was Elizabeth. He wrote my name on the ground, and he wrote what I’d done. Then he said that if any of them didn’t have any sins, they could kill me. He gave them kind of an odd look, and I didn’t really know what it meant, but they started walking away. When maybe half of them were gone, he bent down to where he’d written, and wiped it away with his hand.

There were some people left, but they walked away slow, too. When nobody was left, I was still scared. I didn’t know if I should leave or stay or if he was going to do something or what, so I just stood there. I felt pretty awkward, and I was embarrassed of the whole thing, and I kind of wanted to cry, and I didn’t dare look at him. He said, “Hey, look at me.” I didn’t dare not, so I looked him in the face, and he smiled. “Has nobody condemned you?” he said, and I said, “No.” I looked away because I still felt bad. He walked over to me, and touched me, so I looked at him again. He smiled and said, “Neither do I. Now go. Make amends with your husband, and don’t do this again.” I nodded, but I couldn’t say anything. I just walked away.

It wasn’t normal, what he’d done. I was still really anxious while I walked home. I had to go through the market to get there, and I hoped I wouldn’t see my husband until that night when he got home, but he saw me at the same time I saw him. We both stopped for a couple of seconds, and then he started walking over. He didn’t look angry. I couldn’t really tell anything by the look on his face. I didn’t know if I should try and get away or wait for him, really. I didn’t have time to decide, though. He caught me, but he wasn’t angry.

“I’m so sorry for what I did,” he said. “Can you forgive me?”

I wanted to say, “You just almost got me killed!” but I didn’t. I told him what had happened. I said, “There’s a new teacher. He got even the pharisees to go away.”

“Who is he?” Isaac said.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but you could ask around and find out.”

“Okay,” he said, and then he said again, “Can you forgive me?”

I thought of what the teacher had done, and finally, I said, “Yes, I forgive you.”

It took us a little while, but eventually, things got back to normal. We found out that this teacher’s name was Jesus, and that he’d done quite a few strange things. I was glad of it, though. They were all good strange things. A few months later, by chance, Isaac had to go away again. This time he said I should stay with a cousin. I thought that was a good idea, so I did. It turned out that my cousin knew some of the teacher’s followers. That’s how I got to know some of his friends, and I finally got to know him.

The Way Of The Cross

I was going to read through someone else’s meditations on the Stations of the Cross. Then I remembered that I’m a Catholic writer with a vivid imagination, so I thought I’d write my own.

The First Station: Jesus is condemned to death.

I know why this is happening. He doesn’t have to die. He’s dying because we’re weak; because we’re sinful; because there’s a huge, dark chasm between us and His Father, and He wants to bridge that gap. He’s dying because He loves us, and He desperately wants us to love Him back. Still, He doesn’t have to die. I just feel like this could have, really should have happened another way. Who am I in this scenario? If it were me, would I, like Pilate, knowing Jesus was innocent, be a coward and let Him die? Would I be one of the soldiers? If so, would I just do what the others were doing and beat Him and insult Him? Would I have the courage to at least question the others? Would I be one in the crowd practically cheering Pilate on? Would I be one of His friends who ran away? Would I be a silent friend who stood by at a distance? How close am I really willing to get? I don’t like these questions, but they’re there. This is what my sins cost Him, and this is the price He’s willing to pay for my soul. I am grateful, but I know I can never thank Him enough.

The Second Station: Jesus receives His cross.

I know that sins are heavy. They hurt. When I realize I’ve done something particularly wrong, I feel it. It makes me sad, and it makes me ashamed of myself. I physically feel that guilt. That’s just for one person; that’s just for me. Jesus, who is fully human, had to carry my own sins, but everyone else’s, too. Even the thought is terrifying. On top of carrying all the sins of everyone ever, He was brutally beaten and insulted, He had to carry the instrument of His own physical death. Through all of it, He was silent. I can’t even fathom that. It would make me so angry. We are quick to be angry, particularly at Judas, but had he even hoped for the Lord’s forgiveness, he would have been forgiven. Jesus wants to forgive us, but the weight of our sins makes us afraid to go to our Savior. That’s exactly who He is: our Savior, and we can trust Him. He desperately wants us to trust Him.

The Third Station: Jesus falls the first time.

God fell. The strongest Person in the universe fell. He wasn’t weak. He was brave. He is brave. He was willing to fall for us. He was willing to fall for me. He was willing to die for me. Thinking of Him falling kills me because I can’t do a thing about it. I can’t go back in time and make it right. We say that after Original Sin was the “fall.” He didn’t have to fall. He could have stopped all of this. He allowed Himself to fall. He was doing His Father’s will, but it was a choice, too. This is what our fall cost. This is what it looks like. God is willing to fall with us. He’s willing to come down to our level. If we’ve fallen as low as it’s possible for a human to fall, God will find us there.

The Fourth Station: Jesus meets His Mother.

To be sinless in a sinful world must have been strange, both for Jesus and his Mother. Obviously this whole ordeal was terrible for Him, but His Mother, who was, and is, the closest person to His Heart, had to watch the whole thing. I imagine her being there would have been a comfort for Him. Would it not also have been painful? She had to suffer, too. She had to watch her Son suffer and die for sins that were not her own. A part of me wonders how she could have been there and not be resentful, but of course, I know. She would have known that it was worth it. I’m grateful that she was there to comfort Jesus since I can’t be. What would I even say if I could be? Neither “Thank you,” nor “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” seem to cut it; and what can just a glance really say? Somehow I think she could say it all with just a look.

The Fifth Station: Simon helps Jesus carry the cross.

Simon was a stranger. He didn’t know Jesus. To him, Jesus was just a guy–a criminal for all he knew–who was too physically weak to carry that cross. Jesus, in His humanity, needed help. Still, Jesus is God, and God needed help. I keep coming back to the fact that things could have happened differently. Again, this is a moment that looks like weakness. From a strictly human perspective, I suppose it is. Truthfully, though, it’s a moment of love. Throughout this ordeal, what Jesus needed most was love. This time, Jesus initiated it. He allowed someone to help Him in His weakness. He needed to love someone because very few people were loving Him. I expect that changed Simon a lot, and I expect by the end of their short encounter, He loved Jesus. I wonder if anything was said between them. I wonder what I would have done had I been in Simon’s place. If Jesus had been a stranger to me, and I had been there at the time, would I have agreed to help? Would I have refused? Would I have seen Him for who He really was? Would I have spoken to Him? Would I have listened and responded had He said anything to me? There were people there who knew Him from before. They were watching from a distance, but after seeing Him fall, no one thought to help. They were afraid to help. What makes me most uncomfortable is the thought that I might have been afraid to help. In the end it was a stranger who helped Him, and it wasn’t exactly willingly. Jesus said that when we help “the least of these,” we’re helping Him. More often than not, “the least of these” are strangers. I need to remember that when I am given the chance to take the place of Simon.

The Sixth Station: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus:

Veronica was brave. At this point, there was very little anyone could do. I sometimes find myself wondering about odd details like what the weather was like that day. Usually I picture the sky being overcast, but what if it wasn’t? What if there wasn’t a cloud in the sky? That would almost make the whole thing worse. What if the sun was shining bright on the whole bloody mess to show it in all its evil cruelty? For the most part, it was horrible, and awful, and cruel, and evil. Then out of nowhere, Veronica steps out of the crowd and offers Jesus what little comfort she could. I don’t even know if they had known each other from before. Maybe she was a stranger, too. Maybe this small act of kindness put her in danger. Maybe it cost her greatly, but to her, it was worth it. I think she knew who He was. Because of that, He shared something of Himself with her in a particularly special way. Jesus wants to do the same for us. He loves us. If we love Him, directly through devotion and prayer, or by helping “the least of these,” we do for Him what Veronica bravely did. Sometimes that’s what it takes. Sometimes it takes bravery. Let us be brave, and when we aren’t feeling brave, we can ask her to pray for us.

The Seventh Station: Jesus falls a second time.

Was this fall worse than the first? What was the cause of it? was it something specific? was it something external, merely physical, or was it some particularly horrible sins? Was it the weight of World War II? Was it the weight of all the abortions happening today? Was it the weight of two millennia of people rejecting His love? Why did He fall? When I think about it, I want to help Him up. I want to end His suffering, but that’s because I know Him. I know that this second fall was my fault. I ignored Him for a long time. I rejected His love for a while. I want to help Him up because I know Him. Do I want to help strangers up when they fall? Do I try? Do I at least pray for them? I can at least do that. Sometimes I forget to, and that, too, I think, is part of why He fell this second time. He will fall with us and for us as many times as it takes to show us who He is and how loved we are.

The Eighth Station: The women of Jerusalem weep for Jesus.

Jesus encounters another small act of love. All these women can do is weep for Him. Sometimes that’s all we can do when we encounter horrible things, especially injustice. Here Jesus shows His strength. He tells the women not to weep for Him. He offers them some comfort, and tells them that they should weep for themselves. They love Him. They are loyal to Him. Being loyal to the Lord, and staying loyal, is sometimes difficult. The first several centuries after Christs’s death were dangerous for anyone who would be called His followers. It more often than not meant a bloody death not unlike His own. For some, this is still the case. For many, though, calling yourself Christian usually means being seen as strange, and sometimes being shunned by colleges or neighbors. For the most part, it’s mostly dangerous to our image. What is most important to us? Our God, or our ego; our reputation? I imagine this is what He meant. Still, had I been there; had I been one of those women, I would have wept for Him. Maybe it was all He could say because He had to keep walking, but I would want Him to see that what He was doing mattered to me, and it matters to me that He still suffers for our sins.

The Ninth Station: Jesus falls a third time.

He fell because He was exhausted. Not only was He carrying the sins of the world; not only had He been tortured and insulted; not only was He carrying the physical weight of the cross; He was certainly being spiritually abused, too. This was the Devil’s last stand. He knew that Jesus was our Savior, and he knew that he had lost this war. He tried, nonetheless, to bring the Lord down. This was the last battle. Yet again, I want to do something. I see in my mind the Lord on the ground, bleeding and exhausted, and I wish there was even a word I could speak to Him. I wish I could take His hand, even for just a moment and give Him an ounce of comfort. I don’t know what gave Him the strength and courage to get back up, but He did. Maybe it’s this desire, and that of so many others that gave Him what He needed to get back up. I hope so. He has to know that I love Him. I know He knows that, but when you love someone, you tell them. Tell Him what He already knows, but desperately needs to hear.

The Tenth Station: Jesus is stripped of His clothes.

What more could they–what more could we–do to Him? We could do this. We stripped Him of His clothes, but in so much of what we do, we sometimes unknowingly strip each other of our humanity. Jesus said to love our enemies. In this moment, we were His enemies. He didn’t hate us. He loved us. Ultimately, we aren’t meant to have enemies. If we have enemies, we see them as just that: enemies. We don’t see them as people. This comes out more subtly, in so many ways, however. Our sinful nature leads us to see others as objects of pleasure, or as convenience items, or as inconveniences to be disposed of. Even at this moment, Jesus did not see us this way. He saw us as people in need of redemption. Even at our worst, He loved us, and even at our worst today, He still loves us.

The Eleventh Station: Jesus is nailed to the Cross.

One of the final things Jesus does before His death, as He is being nailed to the Cross, is to ask that we be forgiven. We didn’t know what we were doing. We didn’t know that we were killing God. Still, He was human. Sure, He wasn’t sinful, but we had done everything humanly possible to hurt Him and shame Him, and He still loved us. Before any of this, He gave us the Eucharist, knowing this would happen, so that He could always be a part of our lives. Why He would want to be part of my life, after what my sins cost Him, is beyond me. That’s not how God is. That’s who He is. He is greater than any evil this world can throw at Him. He is greater than my fear, my confusion, my weakness, my sinfulness, or anything else. He simply loves me. Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but love doesn’t have to. It just is.

The Twelfth Station: Jesus dies on the Cross.

God is dead. God is dead, and I killed Him. It didn’t have to happen this way. He didn’t have to die to save my soul; to save humanity. He died for us to show us what we’re worth to Him. No matter what the world says, and no matter what I think because of that, God says I’m worth dying for. Still, God is dead, and my sins killed Him. I am tempted to feel guilty about this, and when I sin, I rightly do. He doesn’t want me to carry that guilt, though. He doesn’t want me to carry the shame. He already did that. He wants me to come to Him, and ask forgiveness. He wants to forgive me. He wants to be with me. That’s why I can look at a crucifix and say, “Thank you,” though I’m tempted to leave things at “I’m sorry.” Don’t just leave things at “Thank you,” though. Thank Him for the sky. Thank Him for hot water. Thank Him for the ability to read this. Even small things are so meaningful to Him, and that, too makes it worth it.

The Thirteenth Station: Jesus’ Body is given to His Mother.

This is a very human moment. Mary was Jesus’ mother. She had just lost her Son. It seems wrong that a person’s child should be the first to die. I’d like to think she knew what it meant, and I believe that she knew He would rise again. Nonetheless, her Child had died the most horrible death possible. He had suffered the most a human could suffer. If I were in her place, I’m not sure I would have had the hope I knew she had. I think again to the friends who ran away. Would I be with them, or would I be with Mary to receive Jesus’ body? What would I say to her? There probably would be nothing to say. I don’t think a single word of comfort would really be available, not when God is dead.

The Fourteenth Station: Jesus is laid in a tomb.

The finality of it just seems weird. What would I do, not knowing that this was not the end of the story? I think I’d be in shock. Death wasn’t supposed to happen; isn’t supposed to happen. It is meant to seem strange because it isn’t right. Yet God is willing to go even this far to save us. He died so that, in the end, we don’t have to. Jesus died and was laid in a tomb, and most thought that this was the end. Those in power hoped that this was the end. Time and time again, through the centuries, we are proven wrong. God is never outdone. The finality seems weird because it’s like an unresolved chord at the end of a song, or a spot on a canvas that hasn’t been painted, or the end of a story that hasn’t been written. Knowing that this isn’t the end of the story, but the sad end of a chapter, gives us what we need when we must hope against hope.

Do You Trust Me?

Isn’t it annoying when you forget to do something, or make the same silly mistakes over and over? Isn’t it even more annoying when a parent or a spouse or someone reminds you how to do it right over and over? I actually have a pretty terrible memory, so when you’re me, this happens a fair amount, or at least it used to. I’ve been good about simplifying things so I don’t have to remember details as much. I’ve also been pretty good at delegating things to people who can take care of stuff better than I can.

There is one thing that I haven’t quite mastered yet, and I can’t really give it away to just anyone. That one thing is worry. Two weeks ago I started going to worship thing at a church one town over. I was used to going to Adoration at my church where everybody sits in silence and prays silently for an hour. Occasionally there would be quiet music, but not always. When our priests got reassigned this past spring, and while our church is still transitioning from an individual parish to a collaborative with the other Catholic church in our town, weekly Adoration was put on hold. I missed it a lot.

Finally I decided I needed to find some place to go. I occasionally go to Mass at this church, so I decided I’d go there. I went two weeks ago, and it was not what I expected. I loved it, but it certainly took me outside my comfort zone. There was lively music, and the people sang along and danced. There was also a quiet time when someone read from Scripture, or something Jesus revealed to a saint. I decided to come back this week, and this time I knew what to expect. I prayed when I got there that God would help me come out of my comfort zone, and by the end, I was comfortable enough to dance and yell.

During the quiet time, one of the readings was about worry. In fact, the final sentence was a command: “Do not worry.” That struck a chord with me. I’ve heard it a thousand times in a thousand ways, but I still worry. As I sat there, though, Jesus said to me, “Give it to me.” Obviously I didn’t hear Him with my ears, but I know what He would sound like. Those words were full of compassion, and love, and, surprisingly to me, sadness. It bothers Him when I don’t let Him “worry for me,” in a sense. That’s crazy to me.

Worry is a twofold problem because it is distracting, and it builds on itself. It leaves us with unanswered and often unanswerable questions. Lately, of course, my biggest worry has been about the current state of the Church, and what on earth our future might look like. This is actually a pretty complicated issue on a personal level because it becomes a matter of trust. Jesus promised that He would always be with us, and that, though we would face major difficulties at times, the Church would not fail in the end. The question then is, how much do I trust that promise? I think when He spoke to me on Monday, it was also a kind of reassurance. Though I hate to admit it, I intellectually knew that Jesus is still here and working constantly to make things right again, but I wasn’t emotionally feeling it, and a part of me had to be reminded that evil will not win. Jesus has the final say, so I choose to trust Him.

Why I Am Against Extensive Gun Control

A few summers ago, my dad, little brother, godfather and I took turns shooting at a pineapple with an assault rifle on my godfather’s property. It was completely pointless, hilarious, and innocent. It was also the first time I had ever shot a gun. We were very safe about it. My godfather owns a lot of guns and has plenty of experience from hunting or going to the shooting range. To make a long story short, we decimated the pineapple and then put the gun away.

I have to assume that most peoples’ stories with guns are in a similar vain: it’s just fun. Do I deny that these are dangerous weapons? Of course not, but I firmly believe that it’s your intentions that matter far more than what a weapon is capable of. Why does my godfather have assault weapons? He just likes to collect them and occasionally do pointless, hilarious, innocent things with them.

Many believe that if we had more gun control, or if civilians were not allowed to own guns at all, we’d have a safer society. This, at least from my estimation, is just not the case. If civilians were not allowed to own guns, the criminals would still find ways of getting them and the rest of us would be completely at their mercy. Last night there were gun shots and a bomb threat at my friend’s college in D.C. He and his girlfriend were evacuated from their apartment building across from campus and taken to a safe place. It seems like this kind of news is almost constant these days. My dad takes the train into Boston every day for work, and he carries a knife with him, but what if something really dangerous happened at North Station? What if something happens when I go see Star Wars with my friends? Whether we like it or not, these are dangerous times, and I personally would feel safer if more reasonable people had weapons.

Admittedly, I’m biased. I’ve lived very much on one side of the argument, and I’ve seen how guns can be used safely and reasonably… although blowing up pineapples isn’t exactly reasonable. I think it’s also a matter of knowing yourself. Though I am against more gun control, I don’t think I should have a gun. I’m clumsy, and I don’t trust myself enough to know what to do in a dangerous situation. If you asked me if I tend to have a “fight” or “flight” or “freeze” impulse, I think I have a “fight” impulse, and I know that can be dangerous. That being said, I still would feel safer if I had some way of defending myself and others.

The sheer amount of mass shootings and death and bad news lately is staggering and really discouraging. Perhaps my stance on gun control is partially in response to all of this. I want nothing more than peace on Earth. I want everyone to love each other. I am an idealist. Maybe I’ve become cynical, but I’ve begun to believe that you can just wish and pray evil away. There is a part of me that is a fighter, and though I don’t want to have to, I am willing to fight evil. It has to be fought. I will fight it with words because that’s what I can do, but I think the people who can do more should be allowed to. At heart I’m a pacifist. I will never start a fight, but if it’s a fight worth having, I will finish it.

To some this will sound violent and scary, and you could probably use my words as an argument for gun control. To be fair I’ve heard ridiculous, super conservative people say things that sound similar, but I’m not them. I believe in people, and I believe in freedom. At my core, I’m a Christian, and I believe in peace. In a perfect world there would be no guns. We could get rid of them, and I’d be okay with that. Put them in a box, and send them to the bottom of the ocean. We have much more constructive things to do with our time. To me it’s a matter of allowing a lesser evil to fight a far greater, far scarier one. I don’t believe that guns are necessarily a good, safe thing to own. They are simply a necessary evil that might keep our people a little bit safer for the time being.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

My Brain Has Such Good Timing

Two nights ago I had a really bad dream. It wasn’t scary; in fact, it was really mellow compared to a lot of my dreams. However, what it implied about me as a person was awful.

I have very vivid dreams, and most of the time, they’re just ridiculous and don’t mean anything. Sometimes, though, I know there is something more important going on in my head.

My dream on Sunday night was this:

I was on a tour of this underground museum, and we were in this crypt where they had the bones of a bunch of dead saints in stone boxes. At the end of the tour, the guide said they had the bones of Jesus in another room. A bunch of the people who were also on the tour got all excited so we went into the other room to see. At first the box had Jesus’ name on it, but then it changed to gibberish. Then the tour was over and we all left, at which point I woke up.

At first I just thought the dream was weird, but then I realized that there were several problems with it. First, why would I dream this in the first place? Second, why didn’t I question the guy: where did they find the bones? How did they find them? How did they know whose they were? Third, and I think most importantly, what does it say about my faith?

I spent almost all day yesterday freaking out about this. After a conversation with my friend, however, I came to a conclusion: I don’t doubt God. I don’t doubt his existence, I don’t doubt his power, and I don’t doubt my salvation. I doubt my faith. I think this dream means I’m going to fail somehow, and I don’t want to. My friend suggested that this dream could just be the Enemy being an asshole (my words, not hers) and I hope she’s right. She said that everyone has some little bit of doubt, and sometimes Satan will feed that doubt, so I ought to feed my faith however I can.

I guess I’m not really sure how to do that. I need some kind of assurance. There’s a difference between knowing something and feeling something. I know that God loves me and that we’re okay, but I feel like something is very wrong, and I don’t know exactly what it is, and I ought to just be left behind. That’s what’s really bugging me: I don’t know what the problem is, so I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know what to pray for. I know something has to change, and I have to change it. I feel that. I also have to finish a paper, write a completely new paper, finish a fairly large project and study for a really difficult exam before next Monday. My brain has such good timing. I guess all I can do right now is hold on and take a shot in the dark. I’m going to spend a little bit of time tonight trying to figure things out, but distracting myself with school stuff might work just as well, at least for now. Once I’m on break I can focus on it more.

Prayers and comments are appreciated.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Songs Of Good And Evil

Last night I played an open mic at the Gulu Gulu Cafe. It was great fun. There weren’t too many super great performers, but it didn’t matter. The hosts were horrible and hilarious as always and the audience was pretty into the music, which is always a plus. There was also one slam poet who performed a very personal poem about getting sober. Artistically, it was nothing special, but it definitely came from the heart, and that’s really what matters when it comes to poetry, in my opinion.

I finished writing a song yesterday. It still doesn’t have a title. I almost played it last night but ended up deciding not to for two reasons. Firstly, I didn’t feel like I had the lyrics quite memorized enough. Secondly, the feature performer played a song that he said was basically about the fact that there is evil in the world. While he was introducing the next song, my dad said, “You should play ‘Good In Things.'” It was sort of funny because “Good In Things” is basically the  polar opposite of his song. I don’t normally talk about God when I perform, even though I want to, partly because I’m chicken and I don’t want people to think I’m a dork. I’ll admit, I am self conscious when I’m on stage. Last night however, I got on stage and said, “I’ll make this quick since my first song is kind of long, but it’s called ‘Good In Things’ because yes, bad things happen, but it could always be worse. Furthermore, God has his hand in everything. Ergo, everything is awesome and there is good in things.” Then I proceeded to play a seven minute long, obnoxiously happy song.

On the way home, my dad told me something that really made me happy. He said, “When people are up there the audience is usually sort of doing their own thing: eating dinner or playing games or what have you, but when you’re up there, there’s usually a handful of people who are absolutely captivated. I think it’s because your lyrics are so positive. You may end up saving someone’s life. There was a woman in the audience tonight who had a look on her face like, ‘maybe the world is worth saving after all.'”

I tend not to watch the audience when I’m performing because I sort of go into my own little world, so I really didn’t know this. It was exactly the kind of thing I wanted to hear, though. It made me feel like even though I’m pretty much unknown on a large scale, my music is touching and maybe really helping people. That’s really what I want from it. I don’t care so much about being famous. I just want to be well known so that I can reach more people. I’m ready to start outwardly talking about the real meaning behind my lyrics when I perform. Before I got on stage last night, I asked God to bless my performance, and I think he did. There is evil in the world and evil in people, but we are created in the image of God, and this is his world. We just have to drown out the evil with love and joy, and we can totally do that.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Everyone Is Up All Night

General populous of the world, I deeply apologize for what I said yesterday; you don’t suck. I did exactly what I didn’t want to do and made a huge over generalization. Middle school and high school got me stuck into the mentality that people are inherently evil. I’m going into my 3rd year of college now, and I do believe that mentality needs to die.

To be honest, I’ve been sort of living with a dual philosophy of the world and people for a while now. It seems like I have a residual negativity trapped inside me while I actually believe that humans are capable of great good and selflessness. We can create beautiful things and inspire others. We want to be together because we were made to be social animals; family animals.

I want to believe that this life is good; I am always looking for a silver lining. The trouble is that the world keeps disappointing me. Natural disasters and disease kill thousands every year. People fight and even kill because of pride and anger. I just know things could be better than this.

One of my professors once talked about how the kingdom of God is both here and coming. In God’s kingdom, everything is okay; actually it’s super awesome. Earth is a mess in a lot of ways, but there are a lot of good people trying to clean it up. That is how God is here now.

I can say that everything is good with me, and it is, but I’m part of the big picture too, and everything is not okay in the big picture. If I want to, I can make my one little pixel or brush stroke a little brighter, though, and so can anyone else. If we try hard enough, we can make the world shine so bright it will keep everyone up all night. The dark can’t fight love, and it certainly can’t fight God.

Free Will, Chance and Predestination

I was reading a particularly boring novel today, and of course my mind started to wander. For some reason I started thinking about free will, chance and predestination. I stopped myself and re-focused on my homework, but I figured the topic would make for a good blog post.

Let’s ignore chance for a minute since the other two are tricky as it is. It is a self evident truth that humans have the freedom of choice. It is also true that God has a plan for this world. Some people believe that this plan includes a selection of the people who will be saved or not. By this thinking however, one has to believe that it does not matter how “good” or “bad” a person is because God has already decided their fate. This does not leave any room for redemption or for the choice to turn to or away from God, which obviously, people do. I would argue that God chooses people to be His followers, but he also allows them to freely make that choice. God knows what people will choose, and perhaps He will influence them one way or another, but ultimately, the choice is theirs.

But how does it work with less theological issues? Is there such a thing as chance or is every single event and situation  planned out? Why do bad things happen? In computer programs, sometimes variables are included. If X, then Y. If Y, then Z. If Z, then X. Perhaps parts of God’s plan allow for chance in this way. Obviously parts of it are fixed; people live and die; the world as we know it will come to an end some day, somehow, but it seems that there is some kind of “if, then” variable in some parts. Perhaps this variable is what we call human nature. This does not leave chance unacounted for because God “programmed” or “designed” human nature, and He allows for it, so it is still under His control.

Bad things happen because there is evil in the world like a virus in a computer program. Human nature was tainted by original sin, which made it impossible for the world to be perfect anymore. God allows bad things to happen as part of the redemption process, and ultimately, He will “fix” everything when the End comes. He could take care of everything instantly, but he doesn’t for a perfectly good reason that I don’t think humans can ever be fully aware of.

Well rheres a first attempt at least. Back to work now! Please leave comments!