I imagine somebody will say, ‘Well, if one is allowed to condemn the enemy’s acts, and punish him, and kill him, what difference is left between Christian morality and the ordinary view?’ All the difference in the world. Remember, we Christians think man lives for ever. Therefore, what really matters is those little marks or twists on the central, inside part of the soul which are going to turn it, in the long run, into a heavenly or a hellish creature. We may kill if necessary, but we must not hate and enjoy hating. We may punish if necessary, but we must not enjoy it… Even while we kill and punish we must try to feel about the enemy as we feel about ourselves – to wish that he were not so bad, to hope that he may, in this world or another, be cured: in fact, to wish his good. This is what is meant in the Bible by loving him: wishing his good, not feeling fond of him nor saying he is nice when he is not. ---C.live S.taples Lewis pg 119, 120
"In my life, I have prayed but one prayer: oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous. And God granted it." -Voltaire
"Beware of no man more than of yourself; we carry our worst enemies within us." - C.H Spurgeon
"Even a paranoid can have enemies." - Henry Kissinger
And yes bwus wee: "Take no thought of who is right or wrong or who is better than. Be not for or against." - Bruce Lee
I would love to hear your thoughts. Especially regarding Clive's comments, they challenge some of my previous feelings regarding the reconciliation of grace and justice.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Relief
Like a child who suddenly stops sobbing when he is clasped in the arms of his mother, such will be the grip of heaven upon our souls. -- Ravi Zacharias
Re-lief
Re-lief
| 1. | alleviation, ease, or deliverance through the removal of pain, distress, oppression, etc. |
Sunday, January 18, 2009
two saturday weekend
So i haven't blogged in a while for an assortment of valid reasons.
1)Other people are good at writing and after reading their stuff I feel like I'm finger painting with jello.
2)I'm busy, not with like school and social life stuff, but things like laundry (which apparently must be folded immediately after being dried or else will be so wrinkled it must be washed and dried again)
3)dishes
4)calling friends who I genuinely care about but who sometimes only get called cause I called a mutual friend who will tell 1st friend about said phone call and thus make 1st friend fell less valued
5)sitting on my porch smoking cigars and listening to explosions in the sky.
Today though is a miracle. Today is a miracle because it is the second day of the weekend that will not be followed be school. Sundays for me tend to tragically be divided into two parts: 1)Church. 2)The time after church in which I try to not feel guilty about my apathy towards school but never succeed. However thanks to Dr. King this Sunday is a Saturday...so i am free to sit on the deck and have an illegal cigar laced with guilt free apathy.
1)Other people are good at writing and after reading their stuff I feel like I'm finger painting with jello.
2)I'm busy, not with like school and social life stuff, but things like laundry (which apparently must be folded immediately after being dried or else will be so wrinkled it must be washed and dried again)
3)dishes
4)calling friends who I genuinely care about but who sometimes only get called cause I called a mutual friend who will tell 1st friend about said phone call and thus make 1st friend fell less valued
5)sitting on my porch smoking cigars and listening to explosions in the sky.
Today though is a miracle. Today is a miracle because it is the second day of the weekend that will not be followed be school. Sundays for me tend to tragically be divided into two parts: 1)Church. 2)The time after church in which I try to not feel guilty about my apathy towards school but never succeed. However thanks to Dr. King this Sunday is a Saturday...so i am free to sit on the deck and have an illegal cigar laced with guilt free apathy.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Beauty
The other day I was driving to the airport early enough to see the sunrise. The rays that beat the sun over the horizon shot through the trees on the side of the road and got snatched by the morning mist and fog in a way that made it possible to see light in a solid form. It looked like a series of horizontal strips, like gold finish-line tape in front of my car. Normally my writing limitations don’t bother me but in this case they do, I wish you could see what I saw but I’m pretty sure you know what I’m talking about.
Later in the drive I was thinking about a friendgirl and I thought “ she is pretty” I don’t have feelings for this girl other than the same love I have for other friends but I just kinda stumbled upon the realization that to me she is pretty.
Then I started to try and figure out something that is way out of my intelligence league so I thought I would bring it to all you (4-5 people). How do we know what is beautiful and what isn’t. I suppose I think a girl with certain features is pretty because I have been taught what I should think is visually appealing and what I should think is not. I’m pretty sure in the 1500’s men thought fat women were attractive ( of coarse they did also think the earth was flat and other crazy stuff), but anyway that would be enough evidence to show that what we like to look at is taught to us. But what about stuff like sunlight on a golf course in the early mourning? Or wind going through trees? Or an orange and purple and blue sunset? Or a flower? (or navy blue and burnt orange). Is all that taught to us too? And I guess you can’t ask why do some things look good, without asking why some things don’t look good? And God made all the stuff. So I guess we should think everything is great looking.
Last Friday a couple buddies and I were in a neighborhood off of Dean Road with some young friends. We were playing wall ball against someone’s house and kinda out of no where a girl who had to this point maintained a policy of only saying obnoxious things, instead shouted “heaven’s here, heaven’s here” a couple times and pointed. The sun was coming through one of the big trees in the neighborhood and similar to my car experience was getting caught in the afternoon, post-rain mist. It really was beauty. That’s my best guess as to why we can see things and them have such an impact on us. For me seeing “heaven” is what it took for me to realize that heaven was there. I pray and sing a lot for heaven to come here, and in that field with those unlikely friends it was present, and I think I would have missed it if I hadn’t seen it.
Later in the drive I was thinking about a friendgirl and I thought “ she is pretty” I don’t have feelings for this girl other than the same love I have for other friends but I just kinda stumbled upon the realization that to me she is pretty.
Then I started to try and figure out something that is way out of my intelligence league so I thought I would bring it to all you (4-5 people). How do we know what is beautiful and what isn’t. I suppose I think a girl with certain features is pretty because I have been taught what I should think is visually appealing and what I should think is not. I’m pretty sure in the 1500’s men thought fat women were attractive ( of coarse they did also think the earth was flat and other crazy stuff), but anyway that would be enough evidence to show that what we like to look at is taught to us. But what about stuff like sunlight on a golf course in the early mourning? Or wind going through trees? Or an orange and purple and blue sunset? Or a flower? (or navy blue and burnt orange). Is all that taught to us too? And I guess you can’t ask why do some things look good, without asking why some things don’t look good? And God made all the stuff. So I guess we should think everything is great looking.
Last Friday a couple buddies and I were in a neighborhood off of Dean Road with some young friends. We were playing wall ball against someone’s house and kinda out of no where a girl who had to this point maintained a policy of only saying obnoxious things, instead shouted “heaven’s here, heaven’s here” a couple times and pointed. The sun was coming through one of the big trees in the neighborhood and similar to my car experience was getting caught in the afternoon, post-rain mist. It really was beauty. That’s my best guess as to why we can see things and them have such an impact on us. For me seeing “heaven” is what it took for me to realize that heaven was there. I pray and sing a lot for heaven to come here, and in that field with those unlikely friends it was present, and I think I would have missed it if I hadn’t seen it.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
small ; wind
Today while I was driving home I realized that there are a lot of cars on the road.
I don’t know how many I saw, but I do know that at every intersection and stop sign and in every parking lot and gas station there were cars. I am fairly certain that there were also a bunch of cars on roads I didn’t see. In Opelika, Mobile, and Birmingham …and for that matter a really big bunch of cars in the great state of Alabama. Next time you drive look at all the cars…are there really stories in all those cars? Lives that have felt the things I have felt? People who have felt alone, peace, joy, neglected, cherished, forgotten, outside and loved?
It’s sad to me when I realize how many lives exist out there. It contradicts with my mom’s feeling that I’m so special. I don’t like idea that to a different life, in a different car; My life is just a car.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Last Friday I drove past a cemetery. It took me about 7 seconds to drive it’s full length.
How many lives lived did I pass in that seven seconds? How many bodies are in that cemetery? Are there thousands? How many generations are buried there, in that one relatively little cemetery in this small town? How many cemeteries are there in this town? Everything I am, everything I have done and will ever do is so small. So small in fact, that it would be more accurate to call it 0.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sometimes when I think about all the lives that have happened and which are currently happening I don’t feel real. I feel like I’m a character in The Truman show or a small piece of a big machine. If nothing is original, is anything real. If nothing is real is there any purpose.
Wind is real.
Wind happens and I can feel it. It touches my skin and hair in the winter and I feel pain. But O how blessed are we that we can FEEL pain. Just to feel proves life. It dances from across the railroad tracks to suburbia and from the mosque to the church and from the mountains to the oceans and from the person next to me to me…and me and strangers get to feel something together…wind is everywhere at once. Wind was there forever ago, and for that matter it was the same wind…and it appears as though it will be there, forever, and I like that. It feels good to see that something can exist apart from time. But my favorite part about wind is that though it’s existence can’t be denied, the only place we can see it is in the reaction of the world to its presence.
And he calmed the wind…
I don’t know how many I saw, but I do know that at every intersection and stop sign and in every parking lot and gas station there were cars. I am fairly certain that there were also a bunch of cars on roads I didn’t see. In Opelika, Mobile, and Birmingham …and for that matter a really big bunch of cars in the great state of Alabama. Next time you drive look at all the cars…are there really stories in all those cars? Lives that have felt the things I have felt? People who have felt alone, peace, joy, neglected, cherished, forgotten, outside and loved?
It’s sad to me when I realize how many lives exist out there. It contradicts with my mom’s feeling that I’m so special. I don’t like idea that to a different life, in a different car; My life is just a car.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Last Friday I drove past a cemetery. It took me about 7 seconds to drive it’s full length.
How many lives lived did I pass in that seven seconds? How many bodies are in that cemetery? Are there thousands? How many generations are buried there, in that one relatively little cemetery in this small town? How many cemeteries are there in this town? Everything I am, everything I have done and will ever do is so small. So small in fact, that it would be more accurate to call it 0.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sometimes when I think about all the lives that have happened and which are currently happening I don’t feel real. I feel like I’m a character in The Truman show or a small piece of a big machine. If nothing is original, is anything real. If nothing is real is there any purpose.
Wind is real.
Wind happens and I can feel it. It touches my skin and hair in the winter and I feel pain. But O how blessed are we that we can FEEL pain. Just to feel proves life. It dances from across the railroad tracks to suburbia and from the mosque to the church and from the mountains to the oceans and from the person next to me to me…and me and strangers get to feel something together…wind is everywhere at once. Wind was there forever ago, and for that matter it was the same wind…and it appears as though it will be there, forever, and I like that. It feels good to see that something can exist apart from time. But my favorite part about wind is that though it’s existence can’t be denied, the only place we can see it is in the reaction of the world to its presence.
And he calmed the wind…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
