I would bet money that you have heard this one:
Insanity Is Doing the Same Thing Over and Over Again and Expecting Different Results
I would bet money that you have heard this one:
Insanity Is Doing the Same Thing Over and Over Again and Expecting Different Results
A monster lives inside of me. It is ugly. It is powerful. It is a wall. A wall with claws and teeth. It protects me and hurts me at the same time. I have spent most of my life trying to tame, cage, or hide it.
Most of the time I see my sister in waking moments. But on September 30, 2014, I was getting ready for work when the dream I had the night before rushed into my awareness. It was one of the most vivid dreams I have ever had, and although it is rare for me to remember even pieces of a dream, I recalled this one in its entirety.
I had wandered off the streets of downtown Nashville into a sparsely occupied coffee shop. I sat down at a small table to the right of the door and wondered what to order. When the door opened again, I looked up and in she walked. Her bell bottom jeans brushed softly against the wooden floorboards. She was wearing a loose-fitting plaid shirt, untucked at the waist. The long dark brown hair that hung limply from her head was tucked back behind the ears. Her face was troubled. I stared for several seconds. A double-take later, I realized I was looking at my sister, circa 1977. “You cannot be here,” I thought, “you’re dead!” She did not look in my direction as she sat down at the large table next to mine. Her back was to me.
More people trickled in. I did not recognize any of them, but I somehow knew they were friends of hers from college days. They filled up the empty seats around the table she had chosen, and soon an animated conversation about life and God ensued. I was mesmerized by her presence and could not take my eyes off of her. I sat, watched, and listened, resisting the urge to get up and join the group. I wanted to interrupt, to tell her how much I miss her. But I had the distinct impression that she would not have heard me anyway.
The veracity of the New Testament was the subject of the discussion. Of all people, my sister was patiently explaining the texts regarding Jesus’ death and resurrection. The young man sitting nearest her commented, “You don’t really believe that stuff, do you?” She replied in a calm voice, “Of course I do.” I got the sense from her statement that she was talking about something more definitive than faith or belief, something more like knowing. It dawned on me that now she sees and knows clearly, even as she has always been seen and known. For her, there are no doubts or uncertainties, only truth and love – oh, so much love.
I wanted nothing more than to stay there in that room, watching her, listening to her voice. Having a dream like that helps heal the scar of loss. Waking from a dream like that leaves a brand new one.
On the drive home that night, I thought again about the movie, What Dreams May Come and Robin Williams’s dip in paint. My sister adored color. I have known since the day she left this world that she sees it now like never before. That sunset gave me a little preview. She has painted lots more sunsets for me since then – each of them a creative masterpiece. I know that one day we will swim in them together.
One time at the beach, I asked her to draw the ocean for me. She did it, but then kept insisting she had not gotten the waves or the light quite right. I always thought that the waves and the light in her beach drawing had been perfect, but in this life, my sister had never been able to appreciate her own brilliance. The splash of color across that twilit sky on New Year’s Eve told a different story, a story of artistic abandon transcending the need to get things ‘just right’.
~ ~ ~
For many years I have had a vision of a house sitting on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the ocean. A garden stretches out in front of it, filled with every kind of flower. Now that she is gone, I can see her there, tending to the plants, anticipating my arrival. I should have known all along it was her garden.
Hawks still visit me from time to time. Her way of watching over me, I suppose. Love you bunches & bunches and tons & tons, Ditty.
~ Your Little Sis
On July 22, 2015, I drove thirty minutes to a nearby beach to watch the sunrise.
Darkness shrouded my walk from the car. For all that I wanted to live near the beach, this would be my last day. I would not leave without seeing another sunrise. My phone! I thought. I stopped, turned back toward my car, then thought better of it. No pictures today. No interruptions. This is your chance to take it in, to live in the moment, to somehow find the strength to leave.
The concrete eventually transitioned to sand and I took off my flip flops. A cool dampness greeted my calloused soles. Now to keep the callouses off of my soul, I thought, half smiling to myself. I took my time. This was not a moment to rush. I reached the little bridge that stretched over the inter-coastal stream and stopped again. On my left, the sand grass tilted gently in the morning breeze. Their billowy tops formed feathery silhouettes against the faint light to the east. It was quiet. Even the sand gnats were still. A mercy considering how they had harrowed us the night before.
I crested a little knoll and the path gave way to a wide expanse of sand. Looking around, my first thought was how empty the beach was compared to the last time I had come here to witness the dawn breaking. Had it been only ten days? I approached the water’s edge and felt a sudden rush of sadness. I will not pass this way again, I thought. The magnitude of that truth pounded through me like the waves crashing onto the sand. It was a familiar feeling accumulated over the past twenty-eight years. Had I really moved twenty-seven times? Was I seriously volunteering to make number twenty-eight a mere six or so weeks after the last one? And this time alone?
I set my toes into the warm water knowing I would have to wade out knee deep to discover even a hint of coolness. Despite days of rain and milder nights, the water still felt more like a bath than an ocean. I was used to Virginia waters, so cold that only the Northerners braved it before the pounding mid-July heat had settled in. Even in August, a dip in the water off the Virginia coast was refreshing. But not here. Not in June, July, August, or maybe even September. I wouldn’t be here to confirm my assumption.
I walked then. Following the shoreline, I stepped slowly in the direction of the lightening sky. My purpose was nothing more than just to enjoy – one more time – a stroll through shallow surf at sunrise.
The sky grew almost imperceptibly lighter. I glanced out over the water searching for the birds I had seen hunting just a few days ago. I stopped walking to scan the horizon as well as I could in the near darkness, but my eyes found only empty crests in the choppy, predawn sea. Where are they? I wondered, futilely. I didn’t even know what species of bird they were, Tern, Osprey, or Frigate. It was fascinating to watch their gray forms skim over the water in pairs, threesomes, and more, one straight line of outstretched wings that occasionally beat in no discernible rhythm. Then one or two would break from the flock, rise higher, and plunge headlong into the surf. I was too far away to see the prize held in its beak. I could only watch it rise from beneath the crest to float on the surface of the water. I was struck by the bird’s willingness to abandon itself to the sea in order to survive. In more ways than I could count, I had abandoned myself again and again to the whims of a capricious ocean. Like those mysterious birds, I had no roots, but had flown endlessly over a barren sea looking for life below the surface. Mercifully, I had found it in the most unexpected swells. Now exhaustion dragged at my wings. I could no longer maintain flight. It was finally time to land, but first I would have to leave.
I turned my attention to the water splashing over my feet. As I watched tiny waves form to crash onto the sand in uneven bursts, I noticed how they all began as individual crests, only to merge into one shallow wash of water that moved in an almost circular motion. Pushing forward, the water strained against an inexorable pull back into the unplumbed depths from which it came, only to begin the cycle all over again. The constancy of the syncopated rhythm of the ocean continues to mesmerize me. The simplicity of wave after wave merging into the complex ebb and flow of tides in and out, day after day, year after year, millennia after millennia only makes me and my decisions feel small. That one section of beach and my narrow vision of those few waves represented less than a drop in the bucket of uncounted miles of shoreline around the globe. My mind can barely grasp the enormity of so many coasts, much less the vastness or depth of the sea itself. But even as I feel smaller, as I watch myself shrink in the face of the sheer magnitude before me, I understand that like my tunnel vision of this small stretch of beach, my everyday decisions – small in themselves – when put together, made up an entire life. And there is more to a person than their decisions, their actions, or even their thoughts. As I pondered all of this, I caught a glimpse of the vastness within myself I still had yet to explore.
The sky slowly began to change color. Deep blue gave way to paler shades overlaid with oranges, purples, and hints of pink. There would be no blazing ball today, at least, not for me; only colorful clouds whose outlines continually transformed in the early morning breeze. Every blink revealed a subtle shift of color in the jagged edges of cloud cover overhead.
Around me camera lenses began opening and snapping shut. That had been me a few days back – working hard to capture a memory on the canvas of a photo lens. Somehow I knew that today needed no lens; the memory of this sunrise would live on in me for as long as I could remember. Forgetting would be harder. My failure to stay the course, my inability to love in the end, the hurtful words that had left implacable scars on the soft places left in my heart – these would be much more difficult to forget than the skies’ colors, even my camera, I knew, could not faithfully capture. But forget I must. What bird would ever dare to dive back into the deep dark if it did not forget the promise of a waiting predator below the silent surface? The bird’s only chance is hope – hope that the shadow spied below is nothing more or less than its morning meal.
The sunrise complete, I returned the way I had come. With the light of day behind me, I chose hope and gratitude. The past twenty-eight years had by no means been wasted – rather, they had shaped me into who I was that day, just as that day would shape who I was the next, and the next, and the next. This was not the end of a story, but the definitive close of a very long chapter (that now felt strangely short). In any story, from chapter to chapter, the characters may change, the scenes may shift, the plot may take an unexpected turn, but the storyline continues, and so would I.
Taking one final look over my shoulder, I glanced sidelong at the sun, still hidden in brilliant cloud, and said farewell to broken dreams, hopes unfulfilled, and the shadow of a bleak future. As I crossed back over the inter-coastal, I knew that I was doing the only thing I could do in leaving these shores; and, with my back to the rising sun, I walked straight into the arms of a bright, new day.
September 27, 2014, three Saturdays before my eldest daughter’s wedding, I sat on my side porch enjoying breakfast and a hot cup of black coffee, while pondering my very long to-do list. It was a windy morning, windier than usual, and looking up, I saw a hawk soaring just above my head. With no need to flap its wings, the hawk simply glided back and forth between the gusty currents. I could almost feel the bird’s joy at its ability to float effortlessly, borne up by a greater power than itself, wings stretched out full-width, relaxed and at peace. I knew it was her. Ever since she flew back from VA with me this past summer, I know she’s always flying now – doing what she was too afraid to do before. The fear has left her entirely.
The hawk’s wings finally started beating as it veered off to my right to join three companions who I named my now-dead cousins. The four of them had such fun! A couple of days later I told my parents the story, that she visited me on Saturday as a hawk. Mom’s response: “I can’t believe you said that. The other day a hawk landed on the bush in front of our kitchen window and just sat there. I told your Dad, ‘Look, she’s here.'” I was not surprised.
I started thinking about how much I would miss her come wedding day, especially her ability to put together amazing decorations for the event. It occurred to me, then, that had she lived, she would not have been able to design or assemble decorations for, attend, or – even if she could come – enjoy, my daughter’s wedding. After seeing the hawk, I felt certain she would be there celebrating with us – whole and fully alive, truly herself.
I thought, Well, Dit, I would save you a seat, but I know you’ll be too busy soaring. Enjoy the view!
As it turns out, wedding day was overcast and drizzly. We were forced to move the ceremony inside. There was just enough rain to keep me from looking for her overhead the few times I walked back and forth from the cottage to the venue.
But I missed her. I missed watching her arrange the table decorations as only she could. You should have seen the elegance and grace her decorations brought to my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary! I missed seeing her smile, and hearing her chat and laugh with the guests (she laughed often, and it was contagious), and cutting her big eyes over at me to communicate some inside joke only I would understand. I missed quipping back and forth with her about inane things as we always did. Most of all, I missed watching her dance. She would have been first on the floor and last to leave, and perhaps she was, unseen by those who love and miss her so much.
And while I had no tangible sense of her presence at the wedding, I believe somehow she was there …
… guiding my daughter’s hands to braid her sister’s hair
… helping me dress the Bride for her big day
… crying with me when the Bride’s father choked up in the middle of his toast
… laughing with us at the song her nieces and nephew shared
… smiling knowingly at me when two young bridesmaids made eyes at my handsome, 15-yr. old son
Ditty, words are not enough to express how much it hurt not having you there. Can you feel the pain in my heart or taste my tears? I have to say, I was proud of myself this weekend. I managed to put aside the grief until after the festivities were over. I truly enjoyed my daughter’s wedding, just as you would have wanted me to. But the ‘putting aside’ was a conscious effort made necessary by memories and thoughts of you in that environment, that at times, threatened to overwhelm. I am glad that I did not see you flying about overhead – it would have meant you were not inside with us, and that would have truly broken my heart. Instead, my heart is full and whole, knowing you walked through such a special day with us.
Your li’l Sis,
The Matticus Kingdom just keeps finding a gauntlet to throw. Here is the latest.
Gently rubbing throbbing temples provided the illusion of relief without actually carrying through with the promise. Another futile second and the hands dropped, defeated, and eyes flared open again. Angry red lines coursed away from pools of deep blue that framed anguished black pupils. Creases above eyebrows and worry lines appeared in the recently vacated spaces.
Neighbors cast furtive glances, some of concern, some of blame, and some of boredom, and they were all ignored. There was no time or energy to deal with their intrigue, there was only pain. Constant. Intense. It burrowed further in, disrupting the normal flow of tissues and synapses. Eyes closed once more for balance but the bursts of light cascading in synchronized waves against eyelids required hands to go fumbling in search of something solid to cling to.
Balance restored, slowly. Achingly slowly. The throbbing headache remained.
Dark thoughts, twisted and writhing with mischief, found a way to surface when no others would or could: quick ways to end the suffering, names of those at fault for the current agony and how best to serve a fitting revenge, and the long road to recovery hidden in shadows and chains. The abused heart lurched haltingly as it became wrapped in despair. Knees grew weak. Eyes, still hidden protectively behind their lids, rolled upwards. Gravity did the rest and cooling air rushed passed falling limbs…
Hours, or only an instant, passed by in a blur. Eyelids opened to the blue and white foam fast approaching. Time crystallized and stopped. Birds mid-flight, their wings stretched to full span, seemed frozen on the wind, like a stop-action photo. Trees stood still, holding their breath, while the waters of the fall below ceased their downward plunge, the roar deadened into deafening silence. It seemed to last an eternity, until the seconds began ticking again, first in slow succession like hours, then quickening their pace into minutes, then screaming past until – SNAP!
The taut bungee cord wrenched Dave’s body back up towards the old railway bridge. The pain was gone now, for the moment. He knew it would return once the rush was over. Adrenaline provided the only relief he could find these days for the pounding behind his eyeballs. He began to perceive the shouts of his fellow thrill-seekers, but he could truly hear the disapproving silence of the other onlookers.
Too far below to read the signs the disgruntled protestors still carried, he didn’t need to see them to know their message. The town had been in an uproar all winter over the decision to open the historic bridge to a local company intent on using it as a launch site for bungee jumpers. Dave was all for it – his now-empty savings account attested to his determination to find any way possible to rid himself of the relentless pain he now suffered.
Flinging his arms wide as if he planned to embrace the rocks before him, he let out a shout of delight as the cord released him downwards once more. This time there was no familiar SNAP of a rebound. Instead there was a tearing sound as the cord unraveled and broke into two ragged pieces.
Dave had time for one thought as he rushed towards the rocky waterfall below: “Well, at least the headaches will be over,” and he smiled in anticipation of that end.
I hate New Year’s Resolutions. Always have, always will. I heard on the news the other day that most people abandon their Resolutions by January 17 or something like that (only 10 days to go!). Let’s just say that human beings have little staying power when it comes to resolutions … sounds a lot like law-making/breaking to me. For these and many other reasons (maybe my penchant for rebelliousness?) I never make them. But today I read an amazing guest blog over at The Waiting and it got me thinking that a “2014 Remembrance List” might not be a bad idea.
You may wonder why I feel the need to make a list of things I want to remember this year. If you read my last post or connect with me on FB, you know how much the end of 2013 devastated me, decimated me, even. I haven’t been able to write anything since the account of my last days with my Sister back on the Friday after Thanksgiving. I’ve been stymied by loss, heartache, and grief to the point where I began to doubt even my own thoughts! Gathering them together in one place has been almost impossible. I realized today that recent circumstances have robbed me of some things that are crucial for me to remember.
It’s time to banish forgetfulness. It’s time to say, “enough!” to the painful distractions which have weakened my ability to remember important, life-giving things I’m learning along the way. It’s time SOMEONE (and since no one else is going to do it for me, that someone has got to be ME) reminded me of some things I have allowed pain and loss to steal.
This process called grief is completely new to me (despite losing a close cousin 4 years ago). I remember thinking in early December that it’s odd someone my age has not lost at least one parent, but instead is first grieving a Sister. I have found myself floundering in uncertainty, wondering if I’m grieving “right” or some such nonsense. It’s been very difficult letting go of the better half of my family’s female self. I have not come to the place where I can imagine half a lifetime without my Sister beside me.
Ever since her passing, I have experienced an almost uncontrollable urge to go into seclusion. Maybe it’s because when I’m with other people, I can’t stop myself from rehashing the entire painful ordeal over and over again. I end up feeling bad for the folks listening to me as they quietly say, “I am so sorry for your loss. I don’t know what to say.” Don’t worry, I already said it all – and more. And it’s okay. For a person who almost exclusively processes thoughts aloud, there is no other sane way for me to grieve. It’s who I am. It’s where I am. And. It’s. O. K. I cannot grieve alone. Thankfully, I don’t have to. Which brings me to my next point.
No doubt, the biggest obstacle to gratitude of late was the barrage of painful circumstances inundating the last half of 2013, beginning with my father’s face-crushing fall in June, culminating with my mother’s femur-shattering misstep on the day of my sister’s funeral in December, and all of the heartache in between! Sometimes when I think back on the overwhelming sorrows of the last 6 months I lose the ability to breathe. But what would really cripple me would be an inability to give thanks! So here is today’s short list of thankfulness:
– In August of 2013 my eldest Daughter was set free from a 5-year-long devastating relationship!
As incredible as it may sound, by the end of 2013, so much “bad” had happened that I was finding it hard to remember that a nightmare relationship of control, manipulation, fear, and pain had ended for my precious daughter! Now she stands FREE and in relationship with a wonderful, loving, person who has no need to control or wound her. The magnitude of my gratitude for this one blessing cannot be expressed – but it ABSOLUTELY must not be forgotten!
– My Parents and 2 Brothers are still with me … grieving with me.
They knew my Sister like I did and together we know her better. We have the shared experience of her life and, now, her death. I am thankful that we can grieve side-by-side.
– My Sister gave me so many wonderful gifts that live on beyond her life here on earth.
Precious memories of a deep friendship, beautiful examples of what love looks like, parenting insights, a commitment to excellence and beauty in everything she did filled with the power to inspire, artistic ideals along with encouragement to explore my own untapped depths, laughter and songs, never mind the countless pieces of art in my house (and out) bearing her signature. I will grieve losing you … in my grief I promise not to forget the gifts you have given.
– My life is filled to overflowing with wonderful people who love me …
… who listen to me, put up with me, eat and drink with me, laugh with me … WITH me. And yes, even grieve with me. I am not alone. Not by a long shot.
– One of my favorite Bible verses: “It came to pass …”
Almost 50 years into this gig, I have figured out that everything comes to pass, even grief. I have this hope.
– Finally, a heart that feels pain.
This may sound odd to you, but the ability to feel pain is a blessing. I spent a lot of years shut off from my own feelings, unable to connect to my heart. Maybe the feelings were too overwhelming, maybe it was a mechanism of self-protection; no matter the reason, I was good at shutting down – too good. And I learned (the hard way) that severing the connection with one’s emotions is indiscriminate: You either feel or you don’t. Shutting out pain = shutting out joy. Unfortunately, it’s an addiction (connected to control) with a long road home. That’s a road I hope to never travel again. So I will embrace the pain and walk through it with gratitude to new joys.
And the final thing I need to remember at this juncture of my life:
In fact, trust your instincts and don’t listen to the ‘press’ from any corner. When I read the above-mentioned blog post, The Waiting it turns out is Indeed the Hardest Part, one of the lines jolted me into wakefulness. It felt like coming out of a nightmare.
I can’t speak to being a father; so I’ll stick to what I know best: I am a mother, a good mother.
My first thought was, “I’m not.” Huh? What was that? I’m not a good mother?? Wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute, hold the phone, stop the presses, rewind even! Who says I’m not a good mother? Oh, right, lots of people. Let’s see, some of my Christian friends think that because I don’t drag my kids to Sunday school anymore, that makes me a bad mother. My Atheist friends condemn me for telling my children that Jesus loves them so much He’d rather die than live without them – and I actually believe it, too. The media tells me I’m spending too much time at work; those same talking heads then turn around and tell me I’m not focusing enough on my own actualization through a rewarding career (the-kids-be-damned!). My 14-yr. old thinks I’m out of touch with today’s pop culture (AMEN to that, Buddy!) and my 22-yr. old thinks my zeal for archaic moral ideals means I’m judging her = unloving mother.
Bad press. All untrue. I continue to dedicate the majority of my time, resources, thoughts, energy, love, frustration, determination, and actions to raising my children. I have been available at any and every hour of the day or night to bandage, listen, teach, scold, feed, clean up after, laugh with, and love my kids for the past 24+ years. This will never change.
That blog was a resounding”Aha” moment in my journey right here, right now. Dawn showed me that my 2 youngest kids have an interpretation of their growing up years which I was unprepared for; but their reinterpretation of events will never nullify the truth: that God gave me to them as a Mom and them to me as my Kids; in the end, I always only sought to raise them with nurturing love and support, and will continue to do so even as I am challenged to find new ways to walk in relationship with them as (almost) adults.
This is my 2014 Remembrance List. May it be etched on my soul in such a way that my future is transformed into loving community, acceptance of what is, and the strength to move forward with confidence.
The other day I read this Facebook post:
May you truly know that you are loved and salvation is being saved from God by God Himself.
Really? The first word that came to mind when I read that was “schizophrenic.” The second was “split personality.” I don’t think the Scripture supports the idea that God has to save us from Himself. Somehow I don’t think that Scripture portrays God as conflicted toward His creation. I also don’t think I could interpret this kind of dichotomous behavior as anything close to love. How could I “know I was loved” by a God who has to save me from Himself? Who’s to say the angry side of God won’t trump the love side at my first slip-up?
If God never changes, and God is love … if the primary goal of God is the praise of the glory of His grace … how has anger and wrath become the focus of our belief system? Sounds more like the way men behave than God to me.
Baxter Kruger once quoted another teacher:
On the sixth day God created man in His own image … and we have been returning the favor ever since.
Have you driven on an interstate highway lately? Road rage is rampant. Have you read the news this week? More and more teens are running away from abusive homes. War is everywhere – people rising up and killing one another all over the world out of racial and religious hatred. People are angry. Our mental institutions are chock full of split personalities and our homes are rife with divorced parents raising confused children. This is us, not God.
How about this one:
I read a post on a friend’s wall about a dad in the middle east somewhere who killed his three daughters under sharia law and said he would do it again. It sickens me that he believes that is what his god requires.
It sickens me that my friend believes this is what Jesus requires. My friend doesn’t see the inconsistency. They believe that their heavenly Father will kill His children for failure to obey His laws – only God plans to do this for all of eternity. (In my friend’s mind the opposite of eternal life is eternal death.) To me, the Evangelical assertion that hell is eternal makes our God much worse than these Middle-Eastern fathers. At the very least, these men don’t know any better than what they have been taught by their misguided forefathers (and I realize this to be my friend’s plight as well), whereas God is all-wise and all knowing; and in their case, the pain they caused their daughters had an end, whereas God plans to punish His children without end.
It amazes me how people cannot see the illogical nature of vilifying people who kill their fellow men while glorifying a God who kills (punishes in tortuous fire) people for all of eternity after a mere 80 years of sin. They call this justice? If it’s wrong for an earthly father to kill his daughters for disobeying the Law, then it is infinitely more wrong for an infinite God to kill the children He created for disobeying His law … for all eternity – without even the hope of an end. In other words, it was horribly wrong for Hitler to torture and experiment on hundreds, maybe millions of Jews, but at least there was an end to their suffering – death. Has it ever occurred to you that most Christians believe God is punishing Hitler in hell alongside all those Jews Hitler tortured and murdered who didn’t believe in Jesus as their Messiah? Sure. Makes perfect sense to me… IN WHAT UNIVERSE COULD THIS POSSIBLY MAKE SENSE?
You are probably saying to yourself what I used to tell myself: “But God’s Law is different. God is holy, so He has to punish sin. Anyway, God is different. He’s God. He can do what He wants.” Really? You don’t believe that. Your God is too small. This is what God wants:
2 Corinthians 5: 18 Now all these things are from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation, 19 namely, that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and He has committed to us the word of reconciliation.
Romans 5: 8 But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. 9 Much more then, having now been justified by His blood [not our belief], we shall be saved from the wrath of God through Him. 10 For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son [not our belief], much more, having been reconciled, we shall be saved by His life [not our belief]. 11 And not only this, but we also exult in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received the reconciliation … 18 So then as through one transgression [Adam] there resulted condemnation to all men, even so through one act of righteousness [Jesus] there resulted justification of life to all men. (Don’t tell anyone, but all means all.)
Colossians 1: 15 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. 16 For by Him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things have been created through Him and for Him. 17 He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. 18 He is also head of the body, the church; and He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that He Himself will come to have first place in everything. 19 For it was the Father’s good pleasure for all the fullness to dwell in Him, 20 and through Him to reconcile all things to Himself, having made peace through the blood of His cross; through Him, I say, whether things on earth or things in heaven.
Romans 11: 32 For God has shut up all in disobedience so that He may show mercy to all.
Philippians 2: 9 For this reason also, God highly exalted Him, and bestowed on Him the name which is above every name, 10 so that at the name of Jesus EVERY KNEE WILL BOW, of those who are in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 11 and that every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.
Romans 10: 9 that if you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved; 10 for with the heart a person believes, resulting in righteousness, and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation.
1 Timothy 4: 10 For it is for this we labor and strive, because we have fixed our hope on the living God, who is the Savior of all men, especially of believers.
Over and over again in a hundred different ways the New Testament writers talk about a great reversal – a reconciliation of all things back to God’s way, back to peace, wholeness, and righteousness. There cannot be complete reconciliation where anyone remains unreconciled. There is no end to sadness or any hope of fullness of joy as long as God is determined to vent His wrath rather than to heal. There is no glory in a God who must be appeased for the shortcomings of His creation. The maintaining of a ‘place’ or condition we call hell simply is not in the Bible, and beyond that, it does not portray justice.
I heard a great story recently about this. The speaker told about a girl who died as a teenager. Just before her death a friend invited her to church. After the service the friend asked her if she had accepted Jesus as her personal savior. The girl replied no, that she didn’t believe in God – she claimed to be an atheist. Her friend proceeded to share the Gospel with the girl, telling her that Jesus had died for her sins and she must accept this or God would punish her in hell forever. The girl continued to refuse God. The next day she was raped and murdered.
When the police caught the murderer, he was convicted and sentenced to death. During the trial the judge asked him if he was sorry for what he had done. Far from it. He reveled in his sin and bragged about the girl’s screams to her devastated parents. Throughout his life he railed against God and his fellow inmates. He was one of the most hated and feared men in the prison, and he spent most of his time in solitary confinement due to his violent behavior.
Three nights before his execution he received a visit from a pastor. He heard the truth about Jesus and the forgiveness God offers us for the very first time. Overcome by grief for what he had done, he fell to his knees and prayed to God for forgiveness. Two days later he was executed. Imagine his surprise when he woke up in God’s presence while the young teenage girl he tortured and murdered continued to suffer in hell because she didn’t pray the sinner’s prayer before she met her untimely death. How can anyone interpret this as justice? Where is justice for this girl whose life was literally taken from her? How can it be justice for a rapist to suffer a few years in prison and die a humane death by execution when she not only suffered a violent death in this life, but continues to suffer for all of eternity in fire? How can this even come close to what John promised:
Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the [cosmos].
… puts to right all wrongs in all of creation. What else could this mean?
The creation, the ‘cosmos’ doesn’t sin. People sin. The cosmos – world – is inanimate – it can only be affected by peoples’ sin. Maybe if John had used the Greek word ‘Anthropos’ or ‘Ethnos’ I would suspect he was talking about taking away peoples’ sins (as in not counting their sins against them). But no, he makes the work of Christ much bigger than just forgiving the sins of individual people. John promises a great reversal to the world-wide effects of sin. When he talks about taking away the sin of the Cosmos, he promises that Jesus is going to turn the world upside down – make everything right.
But wait. Wasn’t this young teen’s sin (unbelief) part of the cosmos? Then why do we think Jesus didn’t take it away with the sins of the man who murdered her? Because the killer said a few words in prayer before the end of his life? Seriously?
I believe that it’s time we start taking God at His word and recognize when we have made God into our own image. Just because I may want to punish (murder) someone out of anger (and retribution), that doesn’t mean God is this way. Just because I respond to my environment with violence doesn’t mean that God does too. Jesus on the cross showed us the way of God – nonviolence. Jesus’ behavior was the very opposite of the people who murdered Him – Jesus was never schizophrenic, He consistently loved, even His killers. By His eternal Word, I believe He still prays,
“Father, forgive them, they do not know what they are doing.”
… believing … teaching … saying.
Isn’t it time we stop returning the favor?
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