Stumbling through the dark

I recently read a book a dear friend sent me: Evolving in Monkey Town: How a girl who knew all the answers learned to ask the questions. It's a coming-of-age faith journey that is part To Kill a Mockingbird--in the way the author delightfully weaves Scout-like stories of her childhood into the narrative--and part Christian Living. Author Rachel Held Evans grew up in Birmingham, Alabama, until her family moved to Dayton, Tennessee, when she was thirteen. Dayton is famous for the 1925 Scopes Monkey Trial, which, for-better-or-for-worse, put Dayton on the map. This was exactly the intention of those who decided to stage this trial and essentially pitted evolution against Christianity. The defendant was a local schoolteacher by the name of Scopes, who admitted to breaking state law by teaching evolution in his classroom. The defense was taken up by agnostic Clarence Darrow, while the prosecution was heralded by fundamentalist William Jennings Bryan. The trial became a spectacle--boasting thousands of spectators--and while Scopes was found guilty, it was the Christian faith that really took a beating.

Evans frames her book with the thesis that faith must evolve in order to survive. She asserts, "Evolution means letting go of our false fundamentals so that God can get into those shadowy places we're not sure we want him to be" (23). While I agree that faith can and should evolve, truth does not. Truth is truth, however "inconvenient" (to filch a phrase from Al Gore). In the history of the Church, truth has not evolved, but our understanding of truth has. The fact that the Church came to reconcile Copernican theory with faith is not because truth changed--the earth had always revolved around the sun--but because the Bible was interpreted in light of this new understanding. Rather than declaring Scriptures that seem to support a Geocentric view of the world irrelevant (after all, don't we still use unscientific words such as sunrise and sunset?), they should be viewed as historical accounts that reflect the scientific understanding of the time. There are those that might suggest that if the Bible is the inspired Word of God, then He should have directed the writers to get their facts straight, but perhaps that misses the point. Our limited understanding of truth does not affect its "trueness." Either something is true, or it isn't; either God is real, or He isn't. The fact that we might hold erroneous beliefs about God or haven't "figured Him out" yet does not negate His existence.

At the same time, sometimes I become incredibly frustrated with my limited understanding or the things in the Bible that appear unclear. I mean, if God wanted us to do something--or not do something else--wouldn't He make it blatantly clear (the Ten Commandments come to mind) so that there could be no argument about it? How are we supposed to sift through moral and sundry laws thousands of years later--now that eating pork is not so iffy--and know which we are supposed to keep and which are to be abandoned? People are protesting at the funerals of gay military with "God hates fags" signs because they think the Bible makes this perfectly clear, yet the aforementioned sundry laws that don't necessarily apply in light of current Board of Health standards. So how are we to know what is wheat and what is chaff?

While I firmly believe that if Christianity is true, it can stand in the face of doubt, reading this book has certainly muddied the waters for me. Evans writes, "Sometimes God uses change in the environment to pry idols from our grip and teach us something new" (22). At times like these, I can stand on one thing that I know to be true: when Jesus was asked about fundamentals, he said, "Love the Lord your God...and love your neighbor as yourself" (Luke 10:27). I'm pretty sure advancements in science and improvements in food handling will never make that one mute.

Why my choice is celibacy

"I remember the cool girls when I was growing up. Everyone started to have sex. But it's not really cool any more to have sex all the time. It's cooler to be strong and independent." --Lady Gaga

I am sick and tired of people telling me I ought to have sex. What happened to the "live and let live" that they otherwise seem to herald? If they have the right to make their own choices, I should have the right to make mine--without commentary from the peanut gallery. I don't repeatedly tell them that they shouldn't have sex!

I am sick and tired of people telling me that I need to have sex to fully experience life (which is why I am so annoyed with that movie, "Becoming Jane." Jane Austen has to have had an illicit love affair in order to be a great writer? What an insult to her talent!). If a person must experience "all that life has to offer" in order to live fully, then is any missed opportunity to be considered a less than full life? What if I never get to [insert experience here]? That's life. Is sex suddenly in the same category along with air, food, and water? Or does having sexual intercourse suddenly make me a better person? While it is obvious that the human race needs sex to continue, the human individual does not need sex to survive (despite what some "The Real Housewives of New Jersey" husbands might claim).

While the power of human sexuality is inarguable, it doesn't mean that celibacy is impossible. People who argue that those who save sex for marriage often get married just to have sex, are having sex just to have sex--so who is better off? Is it better to "try out" sexual partners without the pressure of marriage (and risk disease and unwanted pregnancy) or to marry someone (with the desire to have sex looming large) that might not be your perfect match? People have sex before marriage, get married, and still get divorced; who is to say that waiting until marriage is worse? I can hear it now: At least they had fun along the way...

I am sick and tired of people telling me that I am repressed. How do they know what I am? Can they read my mind? Just because I exercise self-control in this area does not mean that I have some unhealthy storm growing inside of me. I might have the urge to hit someone, curse, or overeat, but the fact that I choose not to does not mean that I am frustrated (v. [made] worthless or of no avail; defeat[ed]; nullif[ied]). Do I wish I could have sex? Sure. Do I want to apart from a committed relationship? No. Why not, you might ask? Because sex is intimate. Because my soul is connected to my body, and giving my body to another person in that way--for me--is tantamount to letting someone open my skull and touch my brain. Not only could such a thing be very painful if done without loving care, but it could potentially invite infection. ;p

I have chosen not to have sex until I am married. Some might say that marriage is a human construct, but the reality is, that it is an "institution" that most people recognize to represent a committed relationship. Can you have a committed relationship without "a piece of paper"? Sure. But I would ask, "Why do you need to have a committed relationship without marriage? Is it because you do not really want to commit?"


Can a monogamous relationship include loving sex? Of course. But if I have no guarantee that the relationship is going to last, the sex (with or without intercourse) would have reservations. I have told guys that I have dated--and I have loved--"I just want you to know, [that I could have sex with you, and] you could have me, but you wouldn't really have me." Why? Because I would always hold something back.

Of course there are no guarantees. We live in a fallen world. I could get married to a wonderful man in a glorious ceremony and something could happen beyond my control. He could die. He could cheat. He could decide he doesn't want to be married anymore. All these things certainly make sex uncertain no matter how you slice it. But that doesn't make me want to share my soul with just anyone; it makes me want to protect it all the more.

And I will.

"Us" Against "Them"

Rolling Stone has a political feature in each issue called, “Threat Assessment: The Good, The Bad, and The Scary,” in which they place news stories on a sort of sliding scale where then rank items as either “With Us” (Good) or “Against Us" (Bad/Scary). Interestingly enough, the good, “With Us” items are on the left side, which is shaded blue, and the bad, scary, “Against Us” points are on the right, which is colored, appropriately, red.

Who exactly is the “Us” in this scenario? Is it fair that the compilers of the sidebar assume that their readers are both leftward leaning and Democrats?

The following are some examples that all readers of Rolling Stone are supposed to herald or abhor (although many are undeniably funny):

With us: “Bedbugs infest Fox News Studio”; “Taliban mortar fire disrupts Toby Keith concert in Afghanistan”; “Ecuador signs constitution giving nature inalienable rights.”

Against Us: “Obama chooses Bud Light for 'Beer Summit'"; “Legal name of candidate running to replace Sen. Larry Craig: 'Pro-Life.'”

What if I like Bud Light? Or Toby Keith? Does that make me a bad person? I had no idea Rolling Stone was so snobby.

It would be one thing if they simply wrote about their opinion, but to assume that their readers all fall within the “with us” end of the spectrum is insulting. Perhaps the column’s creators are believers in absolute truth?

The anatomy of donating a kidney (aka @!$# Genes!)

The other day I heard a program on NPR about George Price. Not only was he the geneticist who discovered the mathematical equation for altruism (the Price Equation), but he was a man who worked to prove his own formula wrong.

This theorem can be observed in ants--among other critters--that work to protect the lives of their relatives over the lives of those that don't share some of their genetic code. Apparently, the reason for such selflessness is selfishly motivated by the desire to preserve their genes.

While I can relate to the fact that I would be more willing to donate a kidney to my brother than a stranger, I balk at the notion that it's because I am instinctively preserving my genes for future generations. I mean, first of all, my brother has already been fruitful and multiplied, so saving him really has nothing to do with saving our family genetics--if my brother or I were adopted, and I happened to be a match, I would be willing to give my brother a kidney because he is my brother, not due to some evolutionary predisposition.

Price's mental state nonwitstanding, I'm pretty sure he would too.

Do, do, do; lo, lo, lo...

Friends, what kind of car do you drive?

Because I'm thinking if I have a list of "friends cars" in my head (please be specific: color/make/model/bumper stickers/state of registration), instead of being mad at a driver (in a red/Honda/Civic/with a Red Sox bumper sticker/and Massachusetts plates) who cuts me off on the highway (we're in a construction area for crying out loud!), I can wave and say, "After you, my friend!"

This would replace my terribly bad habit of calling the driver of such a car one of my preferred names such as douche or loser. For a time, I would try to interrupt myself and say, "Do---" or "Lo--". It wasn't long before I began singing the syllables to the melody of the Sting song: "Do, do, do; lo, lo, lo..."


Can you help me sing a new song?

Do hard things...

I just watched the movie, Eat, Pray, Love. I certainly had an affinity for the beauty and cultures (read: food!) that she experienced, but I found her answer to life's great question far too easy: "God is within you, as you." How convenient. If God is in me, then all I need to is love myself. Perhaps the case could be made that if God is in me, then I am also obligated to love others, but if I am God, cannot I do whatever I like?

The Scriptures would say, "No," to a degree. God is love, therefore He must love. I, however, am a selfish, weak human who can barely muster the strength to love people that get under my skin. Sure, I may not be mean outright, but if the world could hear the words that my spirit mutters, all would be made plain. If I congratulate myself on an act of charity, honesty prods me to acknowledge that even when I do something loving, there are times when I hold back. I hold back because true selfless love costs me too much. It is inconvenient. Do I clean up after dinner for my 80-year-old mother even if I haven't eaten? Not today. What about the annoying family friend that drops in unexpectedly? Do I listen to them as attentively as I ought? Do I truly love them when they are present? Oftentimes not.

Even as I fail at doing what I ought to do, I am drawn to things that challenge me. I don't like easy answers. I mean, I like 'em, but not really. Easy is easy, so where is the satisfaction in that? I prefer things like, "Turn the other cheek..." or "love your neighbor..." which includes those who aren't so "easy" to love. See a pattern here?

Perhaps the beauty of a title like Eat, Pray, Love is that each one is progressively harder than the last. Eat? Easy. Pray? Possibly. Love? God help me.

My Non-Fiction Life

    I am currently reading two books simultaneously: Timothy Keller’s The Reason for God and Radical: Taking Back Your Faith from the American Dream by David Platt. Yes, I love non-fiction, and it is only in recent years that I have come to enjoy fiction as much. Perhaps it is because non-fiction books are so helpful and practical and full of good advice, yet very rarely do I find the life and actions of a fictional character worthy of repeating. Jane Eyre, Anne of Green Gables, maybe, but while I love Louise Erdrich’s prose, I wouldn’t say that many of her characters are worth imitating. Non-fiction, on the other hand, I can count on—to enrich my life and challenge me to be a better person; fiction often feels merely like an escape. This begs the question, Who doesn’t like to escape? But it is precisely because life frequently demands escaping that I feel compelled to stay—face it head on—fight the good fight. I would much rather spend my time improving this life than trying to get out of it—that is, until I die.
    The piece of non-fiction that has impacted my life most profoundly is Elisabeth Elliot’s autobiographical book, Loneliness: It can be a Wilderness. It can be a Pathway to God (more recently titled, The Path of Loneliness: Finding Your Way Through the Wilderness to God). I was seventeen years old when my first love decided upon his sophomore year in college that he wanted to date other people. I retreated to this book and found deep consolation in the words of a woman—twice widowed—who was still able to declare amidst all the suffering, “the Lord himself goes at your head; he will be with you; he will not fail you or forsake you. Do not be discouraged or afraid” (Deut. 31:8). Now, that I can dig.