It's going to be a long night. There's a dog in the apartment above me whose owner leaves it alone for extended periods of time, leaving it to whine and cry for the entire complex to hear. I'm not the biggest fan of dogs, but I hate to hear or see any animal in pain. It tears me up inside, like some sort of Achilles' heel in my gut. I've left two messages with the apartment office, and I'm calling the Humane Society when they open in the morning.
This lonesome, tearful dog that no one hears led me to think of those among us who dismiss God because bad things happen and no one seems to care. (I'm not addressing those who say there's no God "because science"; I'm a high school dropout Creationist who takes a lot of psychiatric medication; any scientific diatribe on my part would be absurd; I already know that my baking soda volcano could not compete with Bill Nye's; mine would, at best, look like your mom's drunk boyfriend Randy - the one who listens to the Fabulous Thunderbirds, like a lot - helped me make it after a case of Keystone and a big fat joint; so, my surrender to the Richard Dawkinseses of the world is signed immediately.)
Anyway, I suppose it's a bit facetious and crude for me to describe them as "people who don't believe in God 'because bad things happen.'" It would be more apt to say: they don't believe in God because of centuries of barbaric wars that have left countless dead, mutilated, orphaned, and impoverished, because of millions of Jews gassed and incinerated at the orders of deluded madmen, because of teenage Armenian girls crucified in an attack on their race, because of atomic bombs dropped on Japan, because of children slain in cold blood at their schools, because of politicians void of conscience and full of Christian bunkum, because all these horrors go on day after day and no loving god stops it.
A friend of mine, a Christian indeed, expressed to me his temptation to ask "why bother believing in God?" and doing good when faced with all of this seemingly unchecked human carnage and gluttony. I likened it to shining light in a very dark place; a single candle is all the more strangely beautiful when it's the only one that flickers in a blackened room. Society, culture, are too far gone, too sick to someday give birth to peace and harmony. If there is intelligent life on planets other than our own, they've long ago made up their minds to stay far away from us, the only race who has an entire genre of jokes called "dead baby jokes."
My mother's favorite song was "What a Wonderful World." Whoever wrote that song was David Spade levels of sarcastic, because it's a horrible world, and it's a dirty lie to tell people anything different. But, although society is screwed, you and I have responsibilities as individuals to do good. As odd as it sounds, we can have wonderful lives in a horrible world. We have been given a duty to shine light for those who are in too much pain to give a toss about our existential crisis; people who are too hungry, their legs too ridden with Khe Sanh shrapnel, their tent cities taken down by heartless city ordinances, to give a second thought to Nietzsche vs. Lewis. They're too busy throwing up and struggling to breathe.
That's who you and I should be helping. The human race will never turn itself into a legion of light. So you and I have to be the tiny candles in the countless darkened rooms of the world.
It's easy for me to say that in an abstract and broad manner of speaking. But what about when those individuals, those children who could grow up to help just one person, become prey not to the twisted human race, but to one twisted human - who God did not stop?
I can give you the perfect example. This is a true story. It's the worst thing I've ever heard in my life. My head has been buried in books about serial killers, cannibals, wars, plagues, corruption, but somehow, this story tops them all. When I read it, I was completely numbed; I'd never heard anything like it before. Imagine a little girl in 1975. Her name was Suzanne. Her mother's new husband was Franklin Floyd, a career criminal who'd been convicted of child molestation. One day, Floyd disappeared with his four new step-children - Suzanne, her two younger sisters, and an infant brother named Philip. The two sisters were later found to have been dropped off at a church; the fate of the infant Philip remains unknown to this day. Their mother tried to file kidnapping charges, but officials told her that because he was their stepfather, Franklin Floyd had a legal right to take them.
Franklin Floyd and young Suzanne wound up in Oklahoma, Texas, Georgia, and Florida, with Floyd raising her and passing her off as his daughter "Sharon," and sexually abusing her the entire time, even documenting it with photos that were found later. By 1990, Suzanne was going by the alias "Tonya" and, once again relocated, was now being passed off as Floyd's wife, and working as a stripper. She gave birth to a son named Michael. Not long after, she decided to run away with a young man she'd been seeing. But before she could, she was killed, just 21 years old, the victim of an apparent hit-and-run. Floyd was the main suspect; he was also the main suspect in the murder of a coworker of Suzanne's a year earlier.
After Suzanne's murder, Floyd put her son Michael into foster care and fled again. During one family's adoption process, it was determined that Michael was not Floyd's biological son with his stepdaughter. This prevented Floyd from legally reclaiming custody of the child in 1994. So he kidnapped Michael at gunpoint from his school and disappeared with him. The boy's whereabouts, or remains, have never been determined. Floyd has given many different statements as to what happened to the child, though as recently as 2015, he admitted to killing him.
God did not rescue Suzanne, Michael, or Philip.
Franklin Floyd, now 74, is currently on death row in Florida.
If there was ever a story that could make someone question God, to ask Him why, to even demand an answer and accuse God of wrong, as Job did, that's the one.
But first, my question to those whose disbelief and disdain for God is based on the suffering in the world, is: on what are you basing your criteria?
Why is God obligated to rescue from hardship? To whom has He made that promise? Why does the genuineness of His love depend on how much or how little pain He allows you to experience?
If one's perception or idea of God is not based on any specific text or doctrine, then those expectations of God are arbitrary and self-concocted - they mean nothing. They're an incomplete contract, written and agreed upon by only one party. If I decided that you are, because I say so, obligated to give me half of your weekly earnings, and you have not agreed to this, what wrong do you do by withholding money from me? What contract have you broken? What hate have you shown me? What right have I to call you evil, let alone declare you to be non-existent because of rules devised by me and me alone?
But, let's suppose one's ideas of God have been built on the Christian Bible. (I don't speak for any other God - there are a wealth of deities, spirits, constellations, trees, goats, fairies, and dictators worshiped in the world, and they're none of my business. But I do speak for the one true God. "What blithering madman is this who claims to be a spokesman for God?"
"the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy." -Revelation 19:10.
Christians are called to be about our Father's business.)
From the Bible, one can gather no other portrait of life on Earth than that of an ugly, uncaring, unfeeling world where murderers and thieves are rampant, liars who aid them are abundant, and the cries of those who have been hurt by them seem to fall on deaf ears. The very authors of this Book we came to call the Holy Scriptures complained in howls of bone-chilling agony of the very same things of which we complain - we, who declare God to be a myth because none of us is placed in cosmic bubble wrap.
Even if one uses the Bible as evidence against the God it proclaims, our accusations come to nothing and our own words become a snare to our case, for in it we'll not find that God has promised deliverance for every person from every trial; He has not even reserved special exceptions for the most wonderful people from the most gut-wrenching trials.
God has promised us nothing as it relates to deliverance from the never-ending suffering on this planet. He promises us strength and bravery and the guts to love in the midst of such ugliness, but not deliverance. (Though, being that some would attribute faith and hope and love to mere madness and "viruses of the mind," as Dawkins coined, insanity is a deliverance to some extent.)
What kind of pitiful, pathetic existence we would live if we were exempt and immune from the violence and the slander of this world. Life would be an episode of the Teletubbies and God would be an absentee landlord who couldn't care less about the unfolding of the story of His people and His creation. It wouldn't be a story worth telling.
I'd rather be in danger in a real world than catatonic in a fairy tale world. I have more peace knowing I'm prone to murder, to a tire iron striking the back of my skull for the $17 in my wallet, a menial and unimpressive end, than in a life where I don't have to choose love, to choose to do right. What miserable deeds would our "good deeds" be if they were robotic and compulsive, rather than borne of the choice and the struggle to love and overcome hate and the spewing of venom so that light may prevail.
Gloria Copeland (bluh) was in the news recently for claiming, "If you have Jesus, you don't need a flu shot." Mrs. Copeland does not speak a Biblical truth. Contrary to the prosperity peddling of the Joel Osteens of the world, Jesus did not die to keep you free from ailments; He died to give you eternal life that outlasts a fallen world's mortality, to be a Light in you that outshines the darkness that does not comprehend Him. His blood was shed so that we could be made anew and forgiven for the wretched things we do, things that make the world such a dark place, ugly things we choose to do, just like the killers and politicians, and blame them on an absence of God.
God does not promise us carefree or pain-free lives (if that can be called living). Rather, God promises us eternal life through His Son Jesus, who was abandoned on the cross by the same God we accuse of apathy, all to give us life - not mere existence - peace and joy in His life, His suffering, and in His resurrection. And that life outshines all of the darkness of mere existence.
Life hurts, but it's worth it. Existence is fleeting. Life is eternal.
If all of that truth meets your ire and disgust, then maybe this God isn't the God for you. I know that sounds pessimistic on my part, and I'd give anything for just one person to believe, but what else can I say? Should I blaspheme and make false promises to you on God's behalf of a life of sunsets and puppies? Should I burst out in tears and beg you to believe in Him? Should I stay up nights highlighting the best Ravi Zacharias quotes? Believe me, if I thought it would bring you to Jesus Christ, I'd carve my prayers for you in the skin of my forearms. But I know it wouldn't lead you to believe. Nothing I can do or say can make a believer in Christ. To think such would be vanity and idolatry. That's a matter between you and the Holy Spirit. My raving about darkness and light is to you like Samson dancing blind before the Philistines. God didn't put me here to serve apologetic theology.
Why, then, did He put me here? To glorify Him, surely, but what else? Who knows? Maybe to be murdered. As grim as that sounds, it is not absurd to think that maybe God has pre-ordained that someday I'll be murdered. Maybe He's used my suffering in the years leading up to my death to soften my heart for the moments after I'm struck, so that I can gasp to my killer that I forgive him as I collapse in a pool of blood. Even if my dying forgiveness did nothing for the killer's repentance and rehabilitation, but fell on a stony heart.
If that's the case, so be it - God owes me no explanation. He owes me no deliverance. He owes me no eternal life, but in His love and grace, and in His own unimaginable suffering on the cross, eternal life has been given to me. And He's given me the audacity, the nerve, the guts to believe.
But before I meet my end by blunt force trauma to the head during a petty robbery, I've got a dog to help.
-with love and anger,
Bud.
"But for him who is joined to all the living there is hope, for a living dog is better than a dead lion." -Ecclesiastes 9:4
Anyway, I suppose it's a bit facetious and crude for me to describe them as "people who don't believe in God 'because bad things happen.'" It would be more apt to say: they don't believe in God because of centuries of barbaric wars that have left countless dead, mutilated, orphaned, and impoverished, because of millions of Jews gassed and incinerated at the orders of deluded madmen, because of teenage Armenian girls crucified in an attack on their race, because of atomic bombs dropped on Japan, because of children slain in cold blood at their schools, because of politicians void of conscience and full of Christian bunkum, because all these horrors go on day after day and no loving god stops it.
A friend of mine, a Christian indeed, expressed to me his temptation to ask "why bother believing in God?" and doing good when faced with all of this seemingly unchecked human carnage and gluttony. I likened it to shining light in a very dark place; a single candle is all the more strangely beautiful when it's the only one that flickers in a blackened room. Society, culture, are too far gone, too sick to someday give birth to peace and harmony. If there is intelligent life on planets other than our own, they've long ago made up their minds to stay far away from us, the only race who has an entire genre of jokes called "dead baby jokes."
My mother's favorite song was "What a Wonderful World." Whoever wrote that song was David Spade levels of sarcastic, because it's a horrible world, and it's a dirty lie to tell people anything different. But, although society is screwed, you and I have responsibilities as individuals to do good. As odd as it sounds, we can have wonderful lives in a horrible world. We have been given a duty to shine light for those who are in too much pain to give a toss about our existential crisis; people who are too hungry, their legs too ridden with Khe Sanh shrapnel, their tent cities taken down by heartless city ordinances, to give a second thought to Nietzsche vs. Lewis. They're too busy throwing up and struggling to breathe.
That's who you and I should be helping. The human race will never turn itself into a legion of light. So you and I have to be the tiny candles in the countless darkened rooms of the world.
It's easy for me to say that in an abstract and broad manner of speaking. But what about when those individuals, those children who could grow up to help just one person, become prey not to the twisted human race, but to one twisted human - who God did not stop?
I can give you the perfect example. This is a true story. It's the worst thing I've ever heard in my life. My head has been buried in books about serial killers, cannibals, wars, plagues, corruption, but somehow, this story tops them all. When I read it, I was completely numbed; I'd never heard anything like it before. Imagine a little girl in 1975. Her name was Suzanne. Her mother's new husband was Franklin Floyd, a career criminal who'd been convicted of child molestation. One day, Floyd disappeared with his four new step-children - Suzanne, her two younger sisters, and an infant brother named Philip. The two sisters were later found to have been dropped off at a church; the fate of the infant Philip remains unknown to this day. Their mother tried to file kidnapping charges, but officials told her that because he was their stepfather, Franklin Floyd had a legal right to take them.
Franklin Floyd and young Suzanne wound up in Oklahoma, Texas, Georgia, and Florida, with Floyd raising her and passing her off as his daughter "Sharon," and sexually abusing her the entire time, even documenting it with photos that were found later. By 1990, Suzanne was going by the alias "Tonya" and, once again relocated, was now being passed off as Floyd's wife, and working as a stripper. She gave birth to a son named Michael. Not long after, she decided to run away with a young man she'd been seeing. But before she could, she was killed, just 21 years old, the victim of an apparent hit-and-run. Floyd was the main suspect; he was also the main suspect in the murder of a coworker of Suzanne's a year earlier.
After Suzanne's murder, Floyd put her son Michael into foster care and fled again. During one family's adoption process, it was determined that Michael was not Floyd's biological son with his stepdaughter. This prevented Floyd from legally reclaiming custody of the child in 1994. So he kidnapped Michael at gunpoint from his school and disappeared with him. The boy's whereabouts, or remains, have never been determined. Floyd has given many different statements as to what happened to the child, though as recently as 2015, he admitted to killing him.
God did not rescue Suzanne, Michael, or Philip.
Franklin Floyd, now 74, is currently on death row in Florida.
If there was ever a story that could make someone question God, to ask Him why, to even demand an answer and accuse God of wrong, as Job did, that's the one.
But first, my question to those whose disbelief and disdain for God is based on the suffering in the world, is: on what are you basing your criteria?
Why is God obligated to rescue from hardship? To whom has He made that promise? Why does the genuineness of His love depend on how much or how little pain He allows you to experience?
If one's perception or idea of God is not based on any specific text or doctrine, then those expectations of God are arbitrary and self-concocted - they mean nothing. They're an incomplete contract, written and agreed upon by only one party. If I decided that you are, because I say so, obligated to give me half of your weekly earnings, and you have not agreed to this, what wrong do you do by withholding money from me? What contract have you broken? What hate have you shown me? What right have I to call you evil, let alone declare you to be non-existent because of rules devised by me and me alone?
But, let's suppose one's ideas of God have been built on the Christian Bible. (I don't speak for any other God - there are a wealth of deities, spirits, constellations, trees, goats, fairies, and dictators worshiped in the world, and they're none of my business. But I do speak for the one true God. "What blithering madman is this who claims to be a spokesman for God?"
"the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy." -Revelation 19:10.
Christians are called to be about our Father's business.)
From the Bible, one can gather no other portrait of life on Earth than that of an ugly, uncaring, unfeeling world where murderers and thieves are rampant, liars who aid them are abundant, and the cries of those who have been hurt by them seem to fall on deaf ears. The very authors of this Book we came to call the Holy Scriptures complained in howls of bone-chilling agony of the very same things of which we complain - we, who declare God to be a myth because none of us is placed in cosmic bubble wrap.
Even if one uses the Bible as evidence against the God it proclaims, our accusations come to nothing and our own words become a snare to our case, for in it we'll not find that God has promised deliverance for every person from every trial; He has not even reserved special exceptions for the most wonderful people from the most gut-wrenching trials.
God has promised us nothing as it relates to deliverance from the never-ending suffering on this planet. He promises us strength and bravery and the guts to love in the midst of such ugliness, but not deliverance. (Though, being that some would attribute faith and hope and love to mere madness and "viruses of the mind," as Dawkins coined, insanity is a deliverance to some extent.)
What kind of pitiful, pathetic existence we would live if we were exempt and immune from the violence and the slander of this world. Life would be an episode of the Teletubbies and God would be an absentee landlord who couldn't care less about the unfolding of the story of His people and His creation. It wouldn't be a story worth telling.
I'd rather be in danger in a real world than catatonic in a fairy tale world. I have more peace knowing I'm prone to murder, to a tire iron striking the back of my skull for the $17 in my wallet, a menial and unimpressive end, than in a life where I don't have to choose love, to choose to do right. What miserable deeds would our "good deeds" be if they were robotic and compulsive, rather than borne of the choice and the struggle to love and overcome hate and the spewing of venom so that light may prevail.
Gloria Copeland (bluh) was in the news recently for claiming, "If you have Jesus, you don't need a flu shot." Mrs. Copeland does not speak a Biblical truth. Contrary to the prosperity peddling of the Joel Osteens of the world, Jesus did not die to keep you free from ailments; He died to give you eternal life that outlasts a fallen world's mortality, to be a Light in you that outshines the darkness that does not comprehend Him. His blood was shed so that we could be made anew and forgiven for the wretched things we do, things that make the world such a dark place, ugly things we choose to do, just like the killers and politicians, and blame them on an absence of God.
God does not promise us carefree or pain-free lives (if that can be called living). Rather, God promises us eternal life through His Son Jesus, who was abandoned on the cross by the same God we accuse of apathy, all to give us life - not mere existence - peace and joy in His life, His suffering, and in His resurrection. And that life outshines all of the darkness of mere existence.
Life hurts, but it's worth it. Existence is fleeting. Life is eternal.
If all of that truth meets your ire and disgust, then maybe this God isn't the God for you. I know that sounds pessimistic on my part, and I'd give anything for just one person to believe, but what else can I say? Should I blaspheme and make false promises to you on God's behalf of a life of sunsets and puppies? Should I burst out in tears and beg you to believe in Him? Should I stay up nights highlighting the best Ravi Zacharias quotes? Believe me, if I thought it would bring you to Jesus Christ, I'd carve my prayers for you in the skin of my forearms. But I know it wouldn't lead you to believe. Nothing I can do or say can make a believer in Christ. To think such would be vanity and idolatry. That's a matter between you and the Holy Spirit. My raving about darkness and light is to you like Samson dancing blind before the Philistines. God didn't put me here to serve apologetic theology.
Why, then, did He put me here? To glorify Him, surely, but what else? Who knows? Maybe to be murdered. As grim as that sounds, it is not absurd to think that maybe God has pre-ordained that someday I'll be murdered. Maybe He's used my suffering in the years leading up to my death to soften my heart for the moments after I'm struck, so that I can gasp to my killer that I forgive him as I collapse in a pool of blood. Even if my dying forgiveness did nothing for the killer's repentance and rehabilitation, but fell on a stony heart.
If that's the case, so be it - God owes me no explanation. He owes me no deliverance. He owes me no eternal life, but in His love and grace, and in His own unimaginable suffering on the cross, eternal life has been given to me. And He's given me the audacity, the nerve, the guts to believe.
But before I meet my end by blunt force trauma to the head during a petty robbery, I've got a dog to help.
-with love and anger,
Bud.
"But for him who is joined to all the living there is hope, for a living dog is better than a dead lion." -Ecclesiastes 9:4
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