in search of areté

(I wrote the following to a cyberfriend earlier today and am posting it for anyone who is interested.)

I did something a few days ago that I should have done months – or years – ago: I deleted all the blogs in the “Favorites” folder of my browser; I did this for essentially one reason: it was hurting my relationship with God.

For whatever reason or reasons, I just couldn’t take anymore. Everywhere I went I ran into blogs, posts, and comments where no one wanted to learn something “outside the box” – “the box” being their own preconceived notions, doctrines, biases, and theological categories/strangleholds. People were either like lap dogs drooling about what their “master” had just written or, conversely, like pit bulls attacking and defending themselves (or their masters) from those that didn’t see things exactly the same way. I can’t remember ever reading a blogger who responded to criticism by saying, “Wow, thanks! I never thought of that before. I’m going to have to think my way through this in light of what you just said and/or reminded me of. Praise God for the faithful wounds of friends!” Not once.

I also burnt out because it pained me to watch people flock to untrained, unqualified bloggers because (I don’t think I’m overstating this) they tickle their ears, i.e., they tell them what they want to hear. Definition of an Online Authority: someone who sees things the way I do. The Christian blogging community is like what Tolkien says of hobbits:

. . . they like to have [blogs] filled with things that they already knew, set out fair and square with no contradictions.”

At best, much of what I have encountered is little more than this sort of confirmation of biases; at worst, it’s the bickering and baiting befitting the Brandybucks, Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Burrowses, and – of course – the Sackville-Bagginses. It’s like having to eavesdrop at The Ivy Bush night after night after night and listening to them go on and on and on, ever reading and talking but never really learning anything. Has no one ever read Confucius? – “If one’s words are not better than silence, then one should keep silent.”

I’ve never been much of a hobbit nor have I ever wanted to be a hobbit. I’m far more a Ranger who seeks to protect those who do not know the danger just out of sight. Or, again citing Tolkien,

. . . [The hobbits] heeded less and less the world outside where dark things moved, until they came to think that peace and plenty were the rule of Middle-earth and the right of all sensible folk. They forgot or ignored what little they had ever known of the Guardians, and of the labours of those that made possible the long peace of the Shire. They were, in fact, sheltered, but they had ceased to remember it.”

(There is an obvious difference online, however, and it is this: there are already false sheep and false shepherds in the community. But they enjoy the popular support of the masses and will not be moved. Maybe this is part of the appeal of soft, shallow Christianity in the West these days. I really don’t know.)

It is probably not without significance that Rangers did not hang out with hobbits: the latter were not even aware of the existence of such Guardians and believed Gandalf – a premier Guardian – to be little more than someone who performed magic tricks. Gandalf did spend time with hobbits, of course, but Gandalf was an angel. I am not.

So I’m disappearing from this dreadful “cyber-Hobbiton” that has emerged online. I will, when I can, post at both my blogs but I don’t know that I’ll allow comments. I might allow some – such as you – to have authorial or even editorial access to the blogs: not everyone is bad for my spiritual health, after all – perhaps not even most. You, as always, are like a refreshing drink of cold water on a sweltering day. I must confess that I have kept a link in my Favorites to one blog only: yours. I’ll have to be careful even there, though, since you sometimes quote others who are terrible busybodies and who seem to enjoy stirring things up just for the sake of being different or driving traffic.

I hope this doesn’t sound judgmental. It isn’t supposed to be. It does, however, reveal who and where I am right now; I may be fooling myself and actually be quite arrogant, proud, and judgmental.

If so, so be it. I’ll let God deal with me on it.

Update: I have yielded ground, upon reflection, and allowed a total of six blogs to enter my Favorites folder. Three are composed by thoughtful, gentle, encouraging souls whose words are comforting; three are from individuals and groups who are often irritating or troubling, but to whom I listen because I need to: they are legitimate authorities in their fields (theology, philosophy, and sociology) and often poke me where I need to be poked. So I am not completely isolated or insulated after all.

Sorry, nothing profound or serious. It’s just that I think that my comments are finally fixed and working (thanks to Valerie, my tech savior!).

If you have a problem – with commenting, not me – let me know via email.

Then again, if you do have a problem with me, you can just leave a comment now!

Bag End, Hobbiton. April 13, Shire Year, 1418. – Gandalf’s news grows darker: the unwilling service of Gollum, Bilbo’s nemesis, has resulted in danger for the free people of the West. Hobbits, Frodo now knows, have of late come to the attention of Sauron the Great; worse, the Shire is likely known to the Lord of the Rings, but worst of all is the fact that the name of Baggins is now of interest in the land of Mordor.

‘But this is terrible!’ cried Frodo. ‘Far worse than the worst that I imagined from your hints and warnings . . . For now I am really afraid. What am I to do? What a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had a chance.’

“‘Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been well rewarded, Frodo. Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity . . .

‘I can’t understand you. Do you mean to say that you, and the Elves, have let him live on after all those horrible deeds? Now at any rate he is as bad as an Orc, and just an enemy. He deserves death.’

‘Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it. And he is bound up with the fate of the Ring. My heart tells me that he has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before the end; and when that comes, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many – yours not least.’” – LOTR, p. 59

It is a difficult and contrary attribute, this God-like and God-given capacity for mercy. There is within us a competing disposition and desire, no less a part of the image of God, that yearns for justice and judgment. Such are the logical and natural outcomes of sin: consequences of some sort needs follow, appropriate to the offense, but warranted still.

Who has not wanted to seek justice when wronged? Whether it be the loss suffered through the trivial theft of property or the more serious violation of our being or the final destruction of our bodies, the scales of justice in our souls await balancing. Crime and consequence; offense and restitution; sin and judgment. Are these not desirable to and attainable for us?

Yet the message of the Testaments is clear. “A jealous and avenging God is the LORD; the LORD is avenging and wrathful,” declares Nahum (1.1). “The LORD takes vengeance on His adversaries, and He reserves wrath for His enemies.” It is not for us, say the authors of the Old Testament, to implement judgment and revenge when we have suffered some loss or indignity. Governments have the responsibility to maintain a semblance of justice but we, as individual Christians, are told by the Lord Jesus to turn the other cheek and to go the extra mile, regardless of our rights under law.

James, the half-brother of Jesus, supports the principle of restraint while adding the positive quality of mercy. “For judgment will be merciless to one who has shown no mercy,” he states. “Mercy triumphs over judgment” (2.13). It may be against our nature – our sinful nature – to extend mercy to those who deserve judgment but it is to mercy that we are called.

It means we must overlook insults, forgive thoughtless actions, accept sufferings though being innocent, let go of our inclinations and cravings for personal justice. Positively, it requires us to exhibit “kindness or good will towards the miserable and the afflicted, joined with a desire to help them” (Thayer’s G-ELNT). It corresponds to the OT word hesed, and,

hesed means proper covenant behaviour, the solidarity which the partners in the covenant owe one another. The covenant may be between equals, or it may be made by one who is stronger than his partner in it. In either case it may result in one giving help to the other in his need. So the connotations of eleos meaning hesed may stretch from loyalty to a covenant to kindliness, mercy, pity.”

There is more to mercy than adopting or achieving a particular attitude: biblical mercy means action on the behalf of the other person. We have been recipients of Christ’s mercy, who, being without sin, died for us so that we might be spared the judgment of God upon our sin. We deserved death; our own death would have paid the penalty for our own sins but left us with no righteousness or merit to save us. Our own death is but a punishment, not a sacrifice.

Having received such mercy, how can we withhold it from others who are ultimately no different than us? They need that which they do not deserve, even as we have been granted that which we have not deserved. They need mercy, for God only knows what the end of the matter will be. Our part is to obey His command to love and to leave the outcome entirely up to him.

To extend mercy is superior to exercising judgment.

The words of Portia in The Merchant of Venice will provide us with a concluding thought:

The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show like God’s
When mercy seasons justice.” – William Shakespeare

Bag End, Hobbiton. April 13, Shire Year, 1418. – Gandalf continues Frodo’s education concerning the One Ring, Gollum, and various other interconnected people, places, and events. The young hobbit is quite repulsed by Gandalf’s suggestion that Gollum might be a distant relative or ancestor of modern hobbits, although he reluctantly admits of some possibility.

‘Yes,’ said Frodo. ‘Though other folks besides hobbits ask riddles, and of much the same sort. And hobbits don’t cheat. Gollum meant to cheat all the time. He was just trying to put poor Bilbo off his guard. And I daresay it amused his wickedness to start a game which might end in providing him with an easy victim, but if he lost would not hurt him.’

“‘Only too true, I fear,’ said Gandalf. ‘But there was something else in it, I think, which you don’t see yet. Even Gollum was not wholly ruined . . . There was a little corner of his mind that was still his own, and light came through it, as through a chink in the dark: light out of the past . . .

“‘But that, of course, would only make the evil part of him angrier in the end – unless it could be conquered. Unless it could be cured.’ Gandalf sighed. “Alas! there is little hope of that for him. Yet not no hope . . . ‘”
- LOTR, p. 55

Before discussing the good news of Gollum’s condition, I will turn briefly to a theological term that needs clarification. It is important always to keep in mind the critical distinction between depravity and ruin. While the latter encompasses the former, the former is not equivalent to the latter.

Depravity, understood biblically, means that mankind, individually and corporately, is unable to do anything to gain favor with God or to achieve righteousness independently. (If you would like more information, go to this page: Theologians on Depravity.)

This is seen to be the case with Gollum, who is not totally evil in the same fashion as Morgoth or Sauron, but who is unable to do anything to save himself from his desperate situation. He is depraved but not completely ruined or beyond hope. Like Saruman (who is also given an opportunity to repent and “save himself,” i.e., be saved), Gollum needs for someone or Someone to save him from himself. Gandalf extends such an offer to Saruman and Frodo will later repeatedly offer opportunities for Gollum to change his mind.

Though ultimately unsuccessful with either Gollum or Saruman, it is nevertheless tremendously good news to know that Gollum – who stands in the place of fallen mankind at this point – is not “wholly ruined”: there may be “little hope” for him but “not no hope.”

The hope Gandalf had for Gollum is a real and living hope for every individual: salvation is availabe to all who repent and call upon the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of their sins. Regardless of how deep or damaging past sins may have been, no one is ever rendered without hope in this lifetime. The saving arm of a gracious God is just a whispered prayer away, for “whoever will call upon the name of the Lord will be saved” (Rom 10:13; cf Joel 2:32, Acts 2:21).

Bag End, Hobbiton. April 13, Shire Year, 1418. - Gandalf is continuing his morning briefing of Frodo, having just mentioned the recent rise of the Shadow, his move from Mirkwood to Mordor, and his relentless search for the Ring. The conversation continues:

‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo.

“‘So do I,’ said Gandalf, ‘and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.’”

Throughout my life I periodically have indulged in wishful-thinking: I have dreamed of having been born a century earlier, or perhaps several hundreds of years before, when the world (in my imagination) was much simpler and more to my liking than these days in which I find myself. Many of us long, I suspect, for days that never really were as we want to believe they were.

But God did not fall asleep on his watch, only to waken and discover that he was late in tossing me into life. I am where I belong. I do not get to choose the state of the church of my time, or the cultural battles that rage, or the theological slide that I perceive.

My – our – only decision is what Gandalf lays out: “what to do with the time that is given us.” Paul said as much, too, exhorting us to be always “making the most of your time, because the days are evil” (Eph 5:15-17). This means I must choose wisely and I must be diligent: I cannot live either in the past or the future; I can only live today and do what I may as long as it is called today.

These days may seem black and dark, but all days are so to those engaged in spiritual warfare. There is glorious light to behold one day, but not yet – not while the Enemy still opposes our King and his purposes. My job is to do as I’m told and not wish it were otherwise.

(Originally posted June 6, Sixth Age, 2006)

Bag End, Hobbiton. April 13, Shire Year, 1418. – It is early in the telling of The Lord of the Rings.

Bilbo’s famous party and sudden disappearance are now seventeen years past and Gandalf, having been ominously absent for a corresponding length of time, has finally returned to The Shire and is enjoying breakfast with Frodo, the unsuspecting steward of the Ring of Power. Over breakfast, Gandalf resumes his telling of a tale begun the previous evening but one he thought best be completed in the clarity of day rather than the blindness of night. His news to Frodo is a brief history of the return of Sauron the Great and his growing power. Disturbed by the wizard’s solemn and dark news, the hobbit remarks,

‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo.

“‘So do I,’ said Gandalf, ‘and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the the time that is given us.’” – p 51

All of us, certainly, have felt Frodo’s sense of dread and regret. Regardless of our age, there have been things happen that leave us reflecting on why it happened during our lifetime, or perhaps wishing that we lived at some time in the past or future when such horrific things did not occur. Whether it is a tsunami that kills 300,000 people, a war that kills millions, dictatorships that slaughter tens of millions of their own citizens, or the ravages of famine, disease, or any of the various evils we inflict upon one another, there is a sharing of Frodo’s sentiments: we wish it need not have happened in our time.

But such things do happen in our times, even as they occur in the lives of every generation to have lived on this fallen earth during these fallen times. It is inevitable: sin has infected every corner of the earth, every second of the day, every person who takes breath. The image of God within us causes us to wish that it were not so; the acknowledgement of the reality of Sin in and around us compels us to accept that it is so.

There is wisdom, as usual, in Gandalf’s reply to the still-naïve Frodo. The wizard’s wisdom, however, has application beyond the hobbit’s immediate misery.

Frodo is wishing that he would not have to be aware of such perilous times, let alone be called upon to deal with the problems. This is the overall attitude of those who dwell in The Shire: to focus on their own, relatively minor struggles and to remain oblivious to what is going on in the larger world. The Shire, it seems, is not so unlike a vast number of churches that isolate themselves from the tragedy that is life in the world and focus instead on life inside the fortress they have constructed.

But this post is not about the failures or problems of the church; rather, it is about the practical resolution to a couple of unanswerable questions that confront those of us who call ourselves Christians. Specifically, it is about the dilemma of election and human responsibility, about the apparent conflict of God’s eternal purposes and the choices we make during our lives.

If I may be allowed to make specific application of a general biblical truth, “Of the writing of books on election and human responsibility there is no end” (with apologies to Koheleth). Gandalf’s wisdom is a valuable – albeit intellectually unsatisfying and/or unacceptable – guide to such paradoxes. He says, “But that is not for them to decide,” i.e., there are some things that are beyond our ability to determine or even understand.

It should not be surprising to any Christian that there are aspects of God’s nature and character that are incomprehensible to us. Simply because God is at times incomprehensible does not mean that He is contradictory or inconsistent. It merely means that we have not the capacity for comprehending Him whose thoughts are not our thoughts, whose ways are not our ways, and whose ways and thoughts are beyond finding out (Is 55.8-9).

Gandalf’s continued advice – which, I believe, is God’s command to us, too – is simple and practical: “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” It is not for us to spend too much – if any – time trying to figure out why God wants us to do something, how it is that He is not thwarted in His purposes and yet holds us accountable for our choices, and how even our imperfect choices nevertheless accomplish the perfect plan of God.

Our responsibility, as stewards entrusted by God with a temporal and eternal mission, is “decide what to do with the time that is given us.” God does not owe us an explanation before requiring a response; He does not need to justify his ways prior to telling us what to do.

Our speculations regarding why and how God does what He does are just that: speculations. What is beyond speculation is what is required of us: to make choices – choices whether to obey or not – during the time we have to bring about the purposes God has for us and for the world.

It is not for us to know the thoughts and ways of God, but only to decide what to do with the time and opportunity He has entrusted to us. The former are not granted to us; the latter clearly are.

Bag End, Hobbiton. April 13, Shire Year, 1401. – Almost seventeen years after Bilbo’s party and (in)famous disappearance, Gandalf returns to the home of Frodo with news about the Ring in his possession. It is morning in the Shire and the two are engaged in a post-breakfast conversation. Gandalf cautions his dear friend:

A mortal, Frodo, who keeps one of the Great Rings, does not die, but he does not grow or obtain more life, he merely continues, until at last every minute is a weariness. And if he often uses the Ring to make himself invisible, he fades: he becomes in the end invisible permanently, and walks in the twilight under the eye of the dark power that rules the Rings.” – LOTR, p. 47

There are tragic and terrifying illustrations of this truth in Middle-earth. Most apparent, as you know, is Gollum; Bilbo, too, had begun to feel such effects, reflected in his comment to Gandalf: “I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread.” Only slightly less obvious but much more revealing are the Ringwraiths: each having possessed one of the nine rings for mortal men, they now exist rather than live. Theirs is a shadowy continuance without hope.

So it is with any who seek to add to themselves by following their own path. They “merely continue” in an existence that is increasing devoid of satisfaction and purpose, or at least lacking any sense of being that is meaningful beyond the moment or to themselves. Such people are haunted deep within by an empty awareness of something missing, a destiny or path out of sight over the horizon or lost in a fog of furious activity and distraction.

It is the image of God in them, of course, that disturbs their soul like an empty stomach grumbling for food.

Christians are not free from following such a course for their lives. Hoping to have more and to expand ourselves, we end up with less and without a sense of self or identity at all. Seeking to possess we become possessed. Common sense tells us that more power means more freedom, but only too late do we realize that it is not common sense but nonsense that directs us.

This is not the same as “losing one’s self” for the glory of God. As we draw nearer in fellowship with God, we are filled with him more than we are emptied of ourselves. Those who seek their own glory and advancement, however, are increasingly empty and never filled.

No one, perhaps, embodies this more than the Mouth of Sauron who meets the Captains of the West at the Black Gate in Mordor. He has no name or has forgotten it; his identity is totally dependent on someone other than himself, a mere extension of his lord and master. His is not a selfless existence but a selfish one, having believed the lie that Sauron will meet his needs and satisfy his desires. But Sauron serves only himself; all his minions serve him as well.

We have a choice who it is that we will serve. Will our Lord be the Savior who alone can save and satisfy? Or will the Enemy pull our strings while we, like blind and foolish puppets, imagine ourselves to have found a better path than the one which is set before us?