My usual "discipline" is to get up at around 5am, to read the bible, contemplate, and pray. This, of course, sounds very good... and often it is indeed a precious time. However, there are times when I wake up feeling so sleepy that I don't remember what I read in the bible and my prayer is something along the lines of... "Lord bless me today. In Jesus' name. Amen."
I developed this routine after I realised that I simply couldn't count on having enough time and energy in the evening to do this. Often, in the evening, if I want to study I won't have time to study the bible, if I want to read the bible to my satisfaction then I won't have time to do anything else. As spiritual discipline is important, I decided that 5am is a good time to get up.
It hasn't worked so well in the past few days, because I let my habits lax a little during my week break from clinical placements. There didn't seem any point in getting up at 5am if you're not actually going out during the day, and if you have all day to spare. So, this week, now I'm back in the hospital, I've tried to go back to my old routine, not without some issues.
This morning, after I slept through my alarm and woke up groggily at about 5:45am, I dragged myself out of bed (it's dark in winter, too), and fumbled clumsily through my bible. I read, but I'm pretty sure nothing was absorbed. Not only that, I kept my eye on the clock, making sure I don't have to rush off to eat and get ready for the day. Then, as I bent my head and closed my eyes to pray, suddenly something within me asked a question: "is this really what you think God wants? Only a single cell in your brain is active, you mechanically go through the motions of reading and praying - is this your spiritual act of worship?"
It was almost like a rhetorical question, so I'll not bother to answer it here. But it does point out to me that I need to reconsider what I regard as discipline, and how to worship with discipline. What exactly does Christian Discipline look like?
I'm very tired today (because I slept late last night and got up early today), and am very tired... but I will contemplate this, read something about it, and there'll probably something posted here soon about this topic. Suggestions welcome.
I've just realised that there is actually so much that I want to write about... and so much that I want to research... but time, unfortunately, is limited. One of these days I will retire from medicine, spend my days on an armchair, and write the most unreadably long blog posts ever seen.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Problem of Pain, as told by me
I'm not altogether sure why I'm embarking upon this topic. For such an unseasoned writer as I, this is probably the most challenging thing I've written. Tonight is Saturday night; tomorrow is a full and challenging day, and I should be spending my time preparing. But my mood is all askew and I'm having difficulty concentrating on doing what I ought to. Instead, a chance e-mail from a friend (and an unrelated conversation with another friend) has set me off thinking about the problem of pain.
The problem of pain is simply this: if there is a God, if God is good and loving, and if God is also omnipotent, then why is there still suffering in this world? This question has been mused by almost everyone, a question that remains poignant across generations, a question that has been asked by theists as well as atheists, saints as well as sinners. It is also a question that is asked by academic thinkers like theologists and philosophers, as a purely intellectual exercise... as well as a deeply personal question asked by mothers, fathers, friends and lovers, anyone who has ever suffered or watched the suffering of a loved one.
Firstly, let me say that the explanation that I am about to give is a very personal one. It will by no means answer the question that has been asked for centuries by the wise and foolish alike. My explanation is not likely to satisfy the philosophers of the world, it is not even necessarily 100% theologically correct. My explanation might not satisfy a person who is experiencing suffering. However, it is my hope that what I am about to share is, in some way, of some help to someone out there. I must here confess that I write out of sheer desire to write, I really have no high and mighty altruistic motives.
Let us first, as with all problems, define the question at hand. The question is, how can a just, loving, merciful and powerful God allow suffering in the world? Personally, the question can be narrowed down to a single word: why? The Black Death killed around 100 million people. Why? The World War I killed 15 million. 15 million individual lives, each with hopes and dreams and fears. Each with family members hoping and praying for their safety. That's 15 million funerals, 15 million families mourning a loss. How can a just, loving, merciful and powerful God allow this to happen?
Personally, I must make one thing clear: I do not believe that God intends for bad things to happen. In fact, I find it slightly offensive when I hear people say: "God intended for it to get this bad, for the building of your faith and the maturation of your character." (Miserable comforters, I always think to myself.) In the old testament, we see Joseph suffering a number of grievous misfortunes under the hands of his brothers and his master. However, by the hand of divine providence, Joseph was able to turn the defeat into victory, and through these hardships, became able to save the lives of many. (This story is told in Genesis 37 to 50). At the end of the story, Joseph says this to his brothers, who caused his suffering and unfair treatment: "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives." Joseph makes this clear: the harm, and the intention for harm, came from his brothers. God turned it around for good. Similarly, we get through some troublesome times despite not knowing quite how we managed to survive. We find ourselves stronger than before - our character more resilient, our understanding deepened, our faith more grounded. By the grace of God, we say, we came through. But can we say that God intended for all the tragedy and devastation, merely for the sake of a character-building exercise? Just because God was at the right place, at the right time, and did the right things, it does not make God the culprit.
Of course, one cannot write a discourse on the problem of pain without talking about Job - a whole book of the bible, some 42 chapters mostly devoted to the pain and misery of one man. The story of Job is really too great a complexity to expound here, it's not a story that can be summarised in a few sentences. It is a story of a good man, to whom God allowed the devil to inflict terrible suffering. He spends most of the book lamenting his pain, asking the question: how can I have a hearing with Him, the Almighty? How can I make him answer my question of why? At the end of the book, God appears in a storm. God makes no attempt to answer the question of pain. God offers no explanation to Job why He allowed the suffering to occur (although the reader is shown this at the beginning of the book). Instead, He simply pointed to the great natural phenomena of the world, and effectively said: "Where you here when the heavens and earth was created? Who, then, are you to question me, to want to have a hearing with me? To, indeed, put me on trial?"
There are, of course, many lessons that can be learnt from Job, and I can by no means pretend to be able to list them all here. Firstly, we see that God does sometimes allow suffering. It is God's perogative to decide why, it is God's perogative to decide whether He tells us His reasons. In Job's case, we could see the reasons from the beginning, but God didn't tell him, even at the end. Instead, God basically said, "I am God, need you know more?", and Job was satisfied. Secondly, we see how easily we attempt to judge God. Who indeed are we to accuse God of being unloving, unmerciful, unjust, or weak? Who are we to question Him, to put Him on trial, to suppose that we can decide whether His actions (or lack thereof) have been justified? As C. S. Lewis so precisely pointed out, "How can we face to Gods, til we have faces.?"
No discussion about pain and suffering is complete without some mention of the freedom of choice - since it is by that choice that the forbidden fruit was eaten, and pain and suffering came into the world. Because of our tendency to sin, if we want a just, loving, merciful and powerful God, He can not be any other than the way He is now. If there is to be justice for all sinners, then none of us will receive mercy. If He used His power to right all wrongs and to punish all misdeeds, then none of us will survive. Perhaps if God used His power to prevent all sins, then humans would resemble robots, finely tuned to do what is precisely right. No, God used His power to do none of these things. Instead, He has allowed us freedom... and, because He knew that with freedom comes sin and with sin comes death, He decided to die for us. In doing so, he became both just as well as merciful, both relenting as well as relentless.
Lastly, I just wanted to share a personal experience in this area... one time when I met a young boy who had been sexually molested, and who now struggled with fear, anxiety, and learning and social difficulties. As I heard his story I found myself feeling increasingly angry and upset. You always read about tragedies like that, of course. But meeting one, and witnessing its aftermath, makes it so much more real - and the idea that such things happen under our crisp blue skies hit me like a cement wall. I was angry and affronted to the point of tears. Then, I heard God whisper to me: "I love him more than you. What makes you think I'm not also incredibly upset that this happens to my children? It hurts you to see children like this; don't you think it hurts me infinitely more? That's why I had to redeem my children; that's why I had to come down myself and die for you." When we are crushed, God also feels crushed (Jeremiah 8:21). God is certainly not an impassive master, rather, a passionate father.
I know that what I write today will not satisfy the questions of many. In fact I don't even know if I've really answered the question. But I have learnt, as did Job, that the question doesn't have to be answered - it's the beauty of being human. We are limited, and as long as we admit that we are limited and we can't have all the answers, we can, if nothing else, stop the ceaseless, fruitless search. I think, in the end, that is the answer to the problem of pain - that we are human, God is God, and His mind is a great and unsearchable mystery.
The problem of pain is simply this: if there is a God, if God is good and loving, and if God is also omnipotent, then why is there still suffering in this world? This question has been mused by almost everyone, a question that remains poignant across generations, a question that has been asked by theists as well as atheists, saints as well as sinners. It is also a question that is asked by academic thinkers like theologists and philosophers, as a purely intellectual exercise... as well as a deeply personal question asked by mothers, fathers, friends and lovers, anyone who has ever suffered or watched the suffering of a loved one.
Firstly, let me say that the explanation that I am about to give is a very personal one. It will by no means answer the question that has been asked for centuries by the wise and foolish alike. My explanation is not likely to satisfy the philosophers of the world, it is not even necessarily 100% theologically correct. My explanation might not satisfy a person who is experiencing suffering. However, it is my hope that what I am about to share is, in some way, of some help to someone out there. I must here confess that I write out of sheer desire to write, I really have no high and mighty altruistic motives.
Let us first, as with all problems, define the question at hand. The question is, how can a just, loving, merciful and powerful God allow suffering in the world? Personally, the question can be narrowed down to a single word: why? The Black Death killed around 100 million people. Why? The World War I killed 15 million. 15 million individual lives, each with hopes and dreams and fears. Each with family members hoping and praying for their safety. That's 15 million funerals, 15 million families mourning a loss. How can a just, loving, merciful and powerful God allow this to happen?
Personally, I must make one thing clear: I do not believe that God intends for bad things to happen. In fact, I find it slightly offensive when I hear people say: "God intended for it to get this bad, for the building of your faith and the maturation of your character." (Miserable comforters, I always think to myself.) In the old testament, we see Joseph suffering a number of grievous misfortunes under the hands of his brothers and his master. However, by the hand of divine providence, Joseph was able to turn the defeat into victory, and through these hardships, became able to save the lives of many. (This story is told in Genesis 37 to 50). At the end of the story, Joseph says this to his brothers, who caused his suffering and unfair treatment: "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives." Joseph makes this clear: the harm, and the intention for harm, came from his brothers. God turned it around for good. Similarly, we get through some troublesome times despite not knowing quite how we managed to survive. We find ourselves stronger than before - our character more resilient, our understanding deepened, our faith more grounded. By the grace of God, we say, we came through. But can we say that God intended for all the tragedy and devastation, merely for the sake of a character-building exercise? Just because God was at the right place, at the right time, and did the right things, it does not make God the culprit.
Of course, one cannot write a discourse on the problem of pain without talking about Job - a whole book of the bible, some 42 chapters mostly devoted to the pain and misery of one man. The story of Job is really too great a complexity to expound here, it's not a story that can be summarised in a few sentences. It is a story of a good man, to whom God allowed the devil to inflict terrible suffering. He spends most of the book lamenting his pain, asking the question: how can I have a hearing with Him, the Almighty? How can I make him answer my question of why? At the end of the book, God appears in a storm. God makes no attempt to answer the question of pain. God offers no explanation to Job why He allowed the suffering to occur (although the reader is shown this at the beginning of the book). Instead, He simply pointed to the great natural phenomena of the world, and effectively said: "Where you here when the heavens and earth was created? Who, then, are you to question me, to want to have a hearing with me? To, indeed, put me on trial?"
There are, of course, many lessons that can be learnt from Job, and I can by no means pretend to be able to list them all here. Firstly, we see that God does sometimes allow suffering. It is God's perogative to decide why, it is God's perogative to decide whether He tells us His reasons. In Job's case, we could see the reasons from the beginning, but God didn't tell him, even at the end. Instead, God basically said, "I am God, need you know more?", and Job was satisfied. Secondly, we see how easily we attempt to judge God. Who indeed are we to accuse God of being unloving, unmerciful, unjust, or weak? Who are we to question Him, to put Him on trial, to suppose that we can decide whether His actions (or lack thereof) have been justified? As C. S. Lewis so precisely pointed out, "How can we face to Gods, til we have faces.?"
No discussion about pain and suffering is complete without some mention of the freedom of choice - since it is by that choice that the forbidden fruit was eaten, and pain and suffering came into the world. Because of our tendency to sin, if we want a just, loving, merciful and powerful God, He can not be any other than the way He is now. If there is to be justice for all sinners, then none of us will receive mercy. If He used His power to right all wrongs and to punish all misdeeds, then none of us will survive. Perhaps if God used His power to prevent all sins, then humans would resemble robots, finely tuned to do what is precisely right. No, God used His power to do none of these things. Instead, He has allowed us freedom... and, because He knew that with freedom comes sin and with sin comes death, He decided to die for us. In doing so, he became both just as well as merciful, both relenting as well as relentless.
Lastly, I just wanted to share a personal experience in this area... one time when I met a young boy who had been sexually molested, and who now struggled with fear, anxiety, and learning and social difficulties. As I heard his story I found myself feeling increasingly angry and upset. You always read about tragedies like that, of course. But meeting one, and witnessing its aftermath, makes it so much more real - and the idea that such things happen under our crisp blue skies hit me like a cement wall. I was angry and affronted to the point of tears. Then, I heard God whisper to me: "I love him more than you. What makes you think I'm not also incredibly upset that this happens to my children? It hurts you to see children like this; don't you think it hurts me infinitely more? That's why I had to redeem my children; that's why I had to come down myself and die for you." When we are crushed, God also feels crushed (Jeremiah 8:21). God is certainly not an impassive master, rather, a passionate father.
I know that what I write today will not satisfy the questions of many. In fact I don't even know if I've really answered the question. But I have learnt, as did Job, that the question doesn't have to be answered - it's the beauty of being human. We are limited, and as long as we admit that we are limited and we can't have all the answers, we can, if nothing else, stop the ceaseless, fruitless search. I think, in the end, that is the answer to the problem of pain - that we are human, God is God, and His mind is a great and unsearchable mystery.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Good news, God is sovereign
A couple of years ago, I saw a snippet of a Billy Graham speech. I think it was part of a larger program, probably honoring his life, and all I recall were the words he uttered with conviction: "Good news! God is sovereign!"
I was sitting on my friend's carpet at the time, during a rather difficult and dry period in my life. Somehow that message resounded through my brain, shaking its foundations. And yet, it was such a simple message. "Good news, God is sovereign!". So simple that it's laughable - after all, God, by definition, is sovereign. Even an atheist knows that. Despite its simplicity, the short sentence pronounced with vigor moved me almost to tears.
What an easy thing for us to forget, that God is sovereign. His dominion stretches infinitely; His kingdom covers you, everything you are, and everything you see. When troubles come our way, it's easy to forget that God is sovereign, that the future is in His hands. When God doesn't respond to our requests the way we want him to, it's easy to forget that God is sovereign, not us. And when everything that can go wrong does go wrong, when our hurdles look like mountains, it's easy to forget that God is sovereign over all these things. Lastly, when everything goes against us, it's easy to forget that God is on our side. If you've ever asked yourself: "God is sovereign, so what?", tell yourself that this is good news!
I don't know what the original context of Billy Graham's sermon was. Quite possibly, the phrase was used in the wider context of a different message. Whatever the case, the phrase "Good news, God is sovereign" (though it is laughably simple) should be kept away like weaponry, to be brought out whenever the devil attacks.
I was sitting on my friend's carpet at the time, during a rather difficult and dry period in my life. Somehow that message resounded through my brain, shaking its foundations. And yet, it was such a simple message. "Good news, God is sovereign!". So simple that it's laughable - after all, God, by definition, is sovereign. Even an atheist knows that. Despite its simplicity, the short sentence pronounced with vigor moved me almost to tears.
What an easy thing for us to forget, that God is sovereign. His dominion stretches infinitely; His kingdom covers you, everything you are, and everything you see. When troubles come our way, it's easy to forget that God is sovereign, that the future is in His hands. When God doesn't respond to our requests the way we want him to, it's easy to forget that God is sovereign, not us. And when everything that can go wrong does go wrong, when our hurdles look like mountains, it's easy to forget that God is sovereign over all these things. Lastly, when everything goes against us, it's easy to forget that God is on our side. If you've ever asked yourself: "God is sovereign, so what?", tell yourself that this is good news!
I don't know what the original context of Billy Graham's sermon was. Quite possibly, the phrase was used in the wider context of a different message. Whatever the case, the phrase "Good news, God is sovereign" (though it is laughably simple) should be kept away like weaponry, to be brought out whenever the devil attacks.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)