As I was sitting with my friend Manny having coffee, a random guy
pulled up a chair as he was overhearing our conversation. He asked for a
cigarette, and then proceeded to ask questions related to our
conversation.
Manny and I were talking about God, or, our conceptions of God.
The main point centered around this reality that both of us have experienced, this reality of having no hope, living in misery and depression and fear, and waiting to die.
Then, as if the gates of hell had broken free, we were somehow lifted out of a state of hopelessness and planted firmly on our feet again, as if some invisible, life-giving force had given us a new lease on life - a life that we were blind to before.
As the guy was listening, Manny began listing off the characteristics of his old life - shot seven times, suicide attempts, stabbed, beaten, a deep-seeded antagonism toward anyone who even mentioned the word God, addiction to alcohol and drugs, drug dealer . . .
and then . . .
inside of the jail cell, at the end of his rope, something happened. Something came over him. Something awakened his soul, his heart, his mind.
As Manny and I sat there, I listened and goosebumps jumped about my flesh as I related and looked back over my own story of life, and death, and resurrection.
He had been pronounced dead on several occasions, until modern medical equipment revived him. I had the same experience. In a hospital. Blood soaked with alcohol. Pleading for dear life.
In both of our experiences, we were done. We had dug our own graves. We had used all of our time, effort, and stamina to create for ourselves hell on earth. Yet, this unseen power, this force, this God, wasn't done with us yet.
Now, as I tell you this story, I'm telling it to you secondhand. I've missed some major points. I haven't captured the reality, the depth and the weight, of what my friend experienced. I'm merely summarizing what I heard that day at the coffee shop.
And, you have a choice now. You can throw it out as nonsense. You can take what I've told you and narrow it down into your own meaning. You can disregard the things that are hard to swallow.
But, there's also a minor problem. Since I am translating this story, you don't have the facts because I wasn't present for any of these events that I am translating. Why? Because I'm telling you what I heard.
I didn't see any of it. I didn't experience any of it.
Here's the catch though. I had to believe the story myself in order to tell you about it. Even though I wasn't there to experience what my friend told me, I believed it enough to think that it would be good for someone else to hear. Perhaps the ears that this story fell upon would hear it, and let it soak in, and it would surface to consciousness at some point in time when it needed to be rehashed.
At the bare minimum, I translate this story because I believe it. Why? Because I've had similar experiences to what I heard, which fueled my ability to believe it. In fact, I didn't even consider its validity - whether it was actually true or not.
And that's what I'm getting at.
Every day, we hear stories. And, for the most part, we don't spend time considering whether they're true or not. The norm is to hear something, then believe it.
We hear there's this thing called ObamaCare. We hear that global warming is happening. We heard at some point in time that some "fathers" came together and drafted a constitution. We hear about wars in Syria. Yet, we readily believe these things unquestioningly.
We don't worry about if these news events get lost in translation. We don't consider the validity of the stories.
If we spend so little time questioning our beliefs in the events that led to us, as citizens of this country, living in this nation, then why do we spend so much time beating our heads against the wall, reluctant to believe the stories we find in scriptures about Jesus?
Is belief not the faith in things that can't be seen or heard or touched?
Just like our own national histories, can we touch the people who took part in the intricate details of its formation? Can we talk to them? Can we hear them?
What has happened with the scriptures over time is, the message has lost its beauty, its creativity, its narrative genius.
What was originally a secondhand description of real events, real peeople, and real time, has had its life sucked out. The beauty of belief has been hijacked by people who want you to accept as true things that can't possibly be accepted as true.
Belief is what inspires us to test, to examine, to search.
But, when people who teach about the scriptures do it in a way that sucks every bit of belief and curiosity and creativity and doubt and question out of the text, and replace it with an infallible, black and white, this-is-the-right-way-to-think-about-this sort of literalism, the audience gets
turned off,
and discouraged,
and less hopeful,
and more doubtful,
and loses trust in the ability of the scriptures to do what they're supposed to do,
which is inspire . . . and instill hope . . . and open our eyes and hearts and minds to something we've never seen before.
It's impossible to skip out on the part of our wiring that invokes us to question, and believe, and doubt, and jump straight to black-and-white thinking.
That is why I believe Jesus is believable. It was written by someone, handed down, talked about, conversed about, and it's still being
talked about, and discussed, and questioned.
The stories surrounding this Jesus are still churning on in real time and real space, being talked about by real people.
I can believe something that creates so much attention and tension.
Manny and I were talking about God, or, our conceptions of God.
The main point centered around this reality that both of us have experienced, this reality of having no hope, living in misery and depression and fear, and waiting to die.
Then, as if the gates of hell had broken free, we were somehow lifted out of a state of hopelessness and planted firmly on our feet again, as if some invisible, life-giving force had given us a new lease on life - a life that we were blind to before.
As the guy was listening, Manny began listing off the characteristics of his old life - shot seven times, suicide attempts, stabbed, beaten, a deep-seeded antagonism toward anyone who even mentioned the word God, addiction to alcohol and drugs, drug dealer . . .
and then . . .
inside of the jail cell, at the end of his rope, something happened. Something came over him. Something awakened his soul, his heart, his mind.
As Manny and I sat there, I listened and goosebumps jumped about my flesh as I related and looked back over my own story of life, and death, and resurrection.
He had been pronounced dead on several occasions, until modern medical equipment revived him. I had the same experience. In a hospital. Blood soaked with alcohol. Pleading for dear life.
In both of our experiences, we were done. We had dug our own graves. We had used all of our time, effort, and stamina to create for ourselves hell on earth. Yet, this unseen power, this force, this God, wasn't done with us yet.
Now, as I tell you this story, I'm telling it to you secondhand. I've missed some major points. I haven't captured the reality, the depth and the weight, of what my friend experienced. I'm merely summarizing what I heard that day at the coffee shop.
And, you have a choice now. You can throw it out as nonsense. You can take what I've told you and narrow it down into your own meaning. You can disregard the things that are hard to swallow.
But, there's also a minor problem. Since I am translating this story, you don't have the facts because I wasn't present for any of these events that I am translating. Why? Because I'm telling you what I heard.
I didn't see any of it. I didn't experience any of it.
Here's the catch though. I had to believe the story myself in order to tell you about it. Even though I wasn't there to experience what my friend told me, I believed it enough to think that it would be good for someone else to hear. Perhaps the ears that this story fell upon would hear it, and let it soak in, and it would surface to consciousness at some point in time when it needed to be rehashed.
At the bare minimum, I translate this story because I believe it. Why? Because I've had similar experiences to what I heard, which fueled my ability to believe it. In fact, I didn't even consider its validity - whether it was actually true or not.
And that's what I'm getting at.
Every day, we hear stories. And, for the most part, we don't spend time considering whether they're true or not. The norm is to hear something, then believe it.
We hear there's this thing called ObamaCare. We hear that global warming is happening. We heard at some point in time that some "fathers" came together and drafted a constitution. We hear about wars in Syria. Yet, we readily believe these things unquestioningly.
We don't worry about if these news events get lost in translation. We don't consider the validity of the stories.
If we spend so little time questioning our beliefs in the events that led to us, as citizens of this country, living in this nation, then why do we spend so much time beating our heads against the wall, reluctant to believe the stories we find in scriptures about Jesus?
Is belief not the faith in things that can't be seen or heard or touched?
Just like our own national histories, can we touch the people who took part in the intricate details of its formation? Can we talk to them? Can we hear them?
What has happened with the scriptures over time is, the message has lost its beauty, its creativity, its narrative genius.
What was originally a secondhand description of real events, real peeople, and real time, has had its life sucked out. The beauty of belief has been hijacked by people who want you to accept as true things that can't possibly be accepted as true.
Belief is what inspires us to test, to examine, to search.
But, when people who teach about the scriptures do it in a way that sucks every bit of belief and curiosity and creativity and doubt and question out of the text, and replace it with an infallible, black and white, this-is-the-right-way-to-think-about-this sort of literalism, the audience gets
turned off,
and discouraged,
and less hopeful,
and more doubtful,
and loses trust in the ability of the scriptures to do what they're supposed to do,
which is inspire . . . and instill hope . . . and open our eyes and hearts and minds to something we've never seen before.
It's impossible to skip out on the part of our wiring that invokes us to question, and believe, and doubt, and jump straight to black-and-white thinking.
That is why I believe Jesus is believable. It was written by someone, handed down, talked about, conversed about, and it's still being
talked about, and discussed, and questioned.
The stories surrounding this Jesus are still churning on in real time and real space, being talked about by real people.
I can believe something that creates so much attention and tension.
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