Thankful to God for my Tammy

This has been a scary week at Knight Shift Headquarters.  Very scary.

On Monday, my miniature dachshund Tammy started yelping in pain at the least touch that I gave her.  Especially around her ears.  She's had ear infections before and they can be a real nuisance.  But she's never cried out before when I've tried to examine them.

Then came Tuesday.  And Tammy took a turn for the worst.

She had jumped up onto my bed that morning, and refused to move from her spot.  She hadn't eaten anything, she hadn't drank any water.  She didn't seem motivated by anything at all.

About noon Tammy laid down near my pillow.  Her breathing was labored.  And as the evening wore on it gradually became less pronounced.  She had this look in her eye, that I'd never seen before.  She looked... I don't know.  Tired.  Resigned.

I was really in fear of something.  That these were going to be Tammy's final hours.

I'm aware of things.  Next week she'll be thirteen and a half.  Tammy has been in great overall health, but dogs, like humans, don't live forever.  But I've made it a sacred mission of mine to give her a good long meaningful life, for as long as I can.  A few nights before Dad passed I promised him that I'd look after Tammy.  She was his dog too.  Indeed, she was more his dog than anyone else's.  He was the one who first had the idea of opening our home to a miniature dachshund puppy in 2012.  He was the one who named her.  She's always been her daddy's dog.  I'm just the guy who's taken care of her since Dad left us almost eleven years ago.

Two nights ago I really did find myself thinking that this might be it.  That she didn't have long.  I was bracing myself for the inevitable.  I knelt down by the bed and asked God for a miracle.  But I also told Him that if this was when Tammy and I had to be parted, I was thankful for all the years that He let us have.  They have been wonderful years.  Tammy and I have looked after each other all this time.  I've taken care of her and she's taken care of me.  We spent a year traveling across America together, and in that time she visited 18 states, played on the beaches of both the Atlantic and Pacific, has met so many people... I've tried my best to give her a good life, as full a one as a dog might have.

I really did come close to giving up.  I called one of my best friends and poured my heart out to him about what was going on.  And sometime during our conversation I did something that I haven't done in over ten years.  Something that I had thought was impossible to do, because I've come to think that the meds I take to manage my bipolar disorder had taken it away from me forever...

I started crying.  Real honest tears.  I cried for Tammy.  I couldn't imagine life without her.  It's just she and I in the area where we live.  We're half an hour from friends in Greenville, South Carolina.  If anything happened to either of us, the other would be left alone.

I didn't want to be left alone without her.

So I cried.  And it felt good.  It felt like a lot of things that I've carried pain about for over a decade came out.  I'm a grown man and I cried my heart out and some part of me was loving it.

I cried and I hoped somehow that God might see it.

The call ended.  I laid down next to Tammy.  And not for the first time that day, I prayed.

Then, about 8 p.m., Tammy suddenly jerked to life.

She came to, jumped up, stood on all four feet, walked around on the top of the bed, and then... she leapt off the bed and landed squarely on the bedroom floor.

Until the day that I die, it will be something that I will NEVER forget.

Tammy shot me a look.  If I were to translate what her eyes were telling me, it would be a single word: "Nope!"

She was telling me in her own way "Not now.  Not this night.  I'm not done yet."

Tammy walked around the room for a minute or so.  Then she went to my sleeping bag that's on the floor, she "nests" on it every now and then.  She curled up and laid her head down.

I called another friend, who I had been keeping informed all afternoon.  I told her about Tammy's leap.  And then in the midst of our phone call Tammy came to her feet again, got up and walked to her food dish where I had poured some food a few hours earlier.  She ate it all.  She then drank some water.  And then she walked out the door and into the hallway where I put her doggy pads.  She peed a lot and then went back to her nest.

That was two nights ago.

If anyone had told me 48 hours ago how Tammy would be tonight, I would not have believed it.  It really, truly is a miracle.  God reached down and touched Tammy.

It's now Thursday night.  Today Tammy has eaten a full meal, has also eaten some of her bacon-flavored dog treats as well as some of the chicken nuggets I made for dinner last night, is peeing and pooping normally, her breathing is regular, and earlier today she jumped up on the sofa as I was working on some stuff with my iPad.  I didn't even hear her come into the living room: she just suddenly appeared.  She's letting me rub her belly, which she likes.  She's yawning, in that very cute way that she yawns.  And she's smiling now, that patented Tammy-grin.

I am just totally shocked.  Bewildered.  In awe.  God has brought my dog from the edge of death and restored vibrant life to her.

She's still a little woozy.  I'm giving her half a tablet of Benadryl every six hours.  One of my best friends suggested that Tammy perhaps has had an allergic reaction to something.  It's possible.  Dogs, just like humans, have different reactions as they get older.  If that's the case then the Benadryl is likely addressing that.  It's making her a little drowsy.  She's snoozing atop a blanket on the living room floor as  I write these words, I gave her another half-tablet about an hour and a half ago.

My dog is alive, and recovering.  She's going to make it.  Two nights ago I thought she was gone.  I was desperately praying for a miracle.

And God sent one.

Our Lord spoke of the kingdom of Heaven being like the woman who loses a coin, and searches for it and cannot find it.  And then when she does, she tells all her friends and neighbors that she has found it and she praises God for it.

I almost lost my dog.  My sweetest little friend in this life.  Tammy gets a bit of space in the book I've written that will be published next week.  She's owed that.  She has kept me from making some horrible mistakes over the years.  I couldn't go through with them because well, who would take care of her if not me?  Like I said, we've taken care of each other.

I am compelled to praise God tonight.  And as I ask Him each night, I hope that He will give Tammy and me many more years together.

From now on, if anyone asks me if I have faith in God, I will absolutely say yes.  Because I've seen Him work. Tammy's leap from the bed the other night and recovery since then is testament to that.

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Power or Wisdom? Stop asking God to interfere with politics

In searching around for churches in this area, obviously I'm looking at their websites.  I'm studying a few things, particularly their various statements of belief.  In that regard I'll simply say this: there are already a number of places of worship which I regrettably cannot enter.  It would be like bringing a blowtorch aboard the Hindenburg.

No disrespect to those places is meant.  I believe they and I worship the same God.  We differ however in aspects of that which while ultimately meaningless, are as unavoidable in this carnal realm as they are indicative of the imperfect nature of the church as the body of Christ upon this earth.

As I was saying, I'm perusing the websites of places of worship.  Looking for certain qualities.  And with the advent of streaming video I'm now able to watch and listen to recent sermons.  Sort-of like the Esper machine: getting to search a place without actually being there.

(Wait, did I just make a Blade Runner reference...?!?)

So a few nights ago, with nothing else to do (because of tech issues keeping me from my AI work, grrrr...) I was back at ogling church websites.  I literally have told Google to search for "churches near me" and it produces a map with every place of worship and, if available, their website addresses.  How convenient!

There is one church a few miles away from here that I didn't know anything about, other than it's a Baptist congregation unaffiliated with any larger contingent of the faithful.  I read over the site, and didn't find anything that would be objectionable.  It went down on my list of possible places to visit.  And it would have likely stayed there until I got around to checking it out in person...

Then I watched this past Sunday's worship service and listened to the message being preached.

Folks, there are very few things that will have me more walking out, however impolite it may seem, than a sermon that turns blatantly political.

Especially as "conservative" as the message I listened to.  Because conscientious conservatives really ought to know better.

The entirety of the pastor's message was about the evils of liberalism.  I don't mean liberalism in the spiritual sense, which would have been fine and even expected to be touched upon at various times.  No, I mean liberalism as in the temporal notion.

It was using the authority of the pastor to abuse the name of God for the furtherance of a political ideology.  Something I have LONG believed is wrong.

So it is that this church gets a hard pass from me.

It's like this: I believe that each of us as citizens has the responsibility to choose our leaders in representative government.  But it is WRONG for those with spiritual responsibility to decree who it is that his congregants should vote for.  And that is what I saw in this message.

What should a pastor or other minister preach about politics, then?  I do not believe the issue is completely off the table.  I don't believe that the elders of yore would have thought so, either.

I also don't believe that it makes a difference to God as to who we ask Him to favor in our elections.  Asking Him to please let Donald Trump win in November is going to mean as much to God as is asking Him to let the Patriots win another Super Bowl.  Indeed it's even more ridiculous to ask Him to favor some candidates over others.  Doing so would violate the concepts of free will and choice.  God has given us choice all along.  He has also given those of us in the free world the right to choose our leaders.

For good or ill, the onus is upon us, and not God, to well pick our representatives and executives.

So, if a minister has some authority to expound upon political matters, what is left if the endorsement of candidates is wildly inappropriate?

How about this instead: rather than trying to sway his listeners to vote either this way or that, a minister instead leads his flock in seeking WISDOM toward making their choices at the ballot box.

Isn't that what we as Christians should be seeking in all of our matters?  That God might liberally (pun shamelessly intended) pour upon us the capacity to discern wisely and to act upon that wisdom with a resolute mind and determined will. 

Should not that be what we are to pray for, instead of for our favorite candidates winning at the polls?

We can choose to have wisdom.  Or we can choose to crave power.  We have been doing the latter for so long that we've practically forgotten about wisdom at all.  And we have suffered for that.

It is not God who has inflicted the metaphorical poxes upon our land.  He is merely letting us have what we vote for.  Free choice, remember?

I would posit that it has been a lack of lusting for wisdom which has brought America to the brink of calamity.  And it has been many if not most of her Christians who have greatly encouraged that folly.  It is the Christians of this land who should have been the very first to appeal to Heaven for wisdom and discernment.  That is the vessel of true power.  Not power itself, which we have deluded ourselves into believing we must wield.

Because in America at least, God has already granted her people all the power that they could possibly require.  But how to exercise that power?  That is something that we should have been petitioning God for all along.

Would it at all hurt us to start fervently oraying for change of hearts and minds instead of obsessively praying for change in Washington?

I know what is that I am praying for.  And it is not for a candidate to win.

I will pray, that the people of this land lay aside their appetites for force and power.  And instead that they would use the authority granted them with discernment and wisdom.

God WILL grant us those things, if we ask Him.

But He is not going to be moved when we ask Him to interfere directly with the politicks of these United States.

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A meditation upon Matthew 7:7

Every so often Matthew 7:7 comes to mind.  The verse reads (from the New International Version):

"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you."

 

 It comes to the fore of my thoughts when I think about my own salvation journey.  How it progressed from being a person very angry and bitter toward God, to realizing that He could not have been responsible for what happened to me, to appreciating His beautiful design of the universe, to believing that I could not possibly be reconciled with Him... on until I finally allowed him into my life as my Lord and Savior.

 

(Some people still don't think of my life in terms like that. I suppose they will always think of me as an "atheist" even though I never truly did not believe in God.  They want me to be what THEY expect me to be spiritually.  I guess that's on them.  I know where I stand with God, and it depends on no other person.)

 

I very much appreciate Matthew 7:7.  It could almost be my life verse, if I needed one.  But for the past several years I've pondered it a bit more.  And I've come to also appreciate the promise it holds.  One that I believe is of great import to us as believers.

 

"Seek and you will find."  To me those five words are a PROMISE.  That whoever is looking for God is going to find Him.  That's irrespective of "our" expectations.  We are told in scripture that there are some who will not believe that they served Christ when they did good for others... but God knows their hearts.  He knows when they were and even now are right in spirit and aligned with His will.

 

We can know when we ourselves have found His grace.  We should trust others that they also have His mercy.  But all too often we have no idea whatsoever how far along a person is in his or her own journey, or even if it's begun at all.

 

This verse tells me that we should trust God and His perfect will, that all who seek Him WILL find Him.  At the same time, we should orient ourselves toward His will that much more, so that His light and love shines in our own lives.  That might be the only witness for Christ that some, maybe many, will ever see.  Some will see the relationship with God that they have been looking for.  Others who don't know what exactly what they are looking for WILL recognize it and want the truth of Him.  They WILL find that. God has promised it.

 

We should live so that we have something pure and holy that cannot be evaded and ignored.  So that others might see that, and want it in their own lives.

 

God made us as believers to be a big reason why people seek Him in the first place.  We should embrace that role He has appointed for us.

(Image from Bible.com)

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God and mental illness: Why won't He heal my mind?

Obviously the notion entered my mind that maybe this could be an installment of the Being Bipolar series (which there may be much more material for coming soon).  But Being Bipolar is more about the disease itself, and is intended to be a resource for those looking for insight and information from someone who lives with that condition.

What I'm sharing now, on the other hand, has less to do with that aspect of my life than it does with others.  Although mental illness is certainly the precipitant.

It was twenty-four years ago this month that the symptoms of manic depression, or bipolar disorder, first began to manifest themselves in me.  At first it was wildly intoxicating, all the boundless energy and creativity that came seemingly out of nowhere.  I was still looking for a job post-college and failing in that but other opportunities were coming to the fore (like my time at Star Wars website TheForce.net, which gets a bit of interesting light shined upon it in the book I'm currently writing).  Long story short, I was bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm and optimism and sheer drive.  That those seemed to be peppered with moments of despair - like the horrible night that winter when I stripped off all my clothes and tried to freeze myself to death during a snowstorm with temperatures in the single digits - were inconsequential to how inflamed my uttermost being had become.

By early spring however, it was increasingly obvious that something was very, very wrong with me.

That was almost a quarter century ago.  But it seems like only yesterday.  In one way or another bipolar disorder has been in the background of everything that I have attempted or somehow accomplished despite the condition.  It has factored into my relationships (one of which ended in divorce), in my career history, in my choice to leave my old hometown... there has not been a single aspect not impacted by manic depression.

And all along, there has been one question that has been most on my mind: Why did God let this happen to me?

Two and a half decades later, I'm no closer to understanding the reason than I ever was.  But there has been a modicum of comfort to be drawn from scripture.  Second Corinthians 12:9 has the apostle Paul sharing with us that God told him "'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'"  Or as my Uncle Nub once told me: "Maybe God let you have it because He knew you could take it."

The verse continues: "Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me."  Which dovetails well, I think, with Romans 8:28, a verse that a colleague quoted to me yesterday:

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

It has taken many years to come to this place, where I am no longer angry at God for allowing mental illness - something that at various times I have described as a "hell" - to strike me.  I better understand now that this is still a fallen world, and not all the medication and counseling remotely possible is going to change that.  I believe that God is the master Healer, and that there is no disease which is not without His power to alleviate.

But even so, disease happens.  It can occur within anyone, with all its nefarious varieties.  I suppose that I should consider myself blessed.  In two months I turn fifty and at my last medical examination the doctor told me that I've the health of someone in his early thirties.  Obviously God has let my physical well-being be good.  That is more than a lot of guys in my demographics get to have.  The only real physical malady I have is anemia, something that prevents me from being a blood donor anymore.  Perhaps sooner than later we'll get to the bottom of what's causing it, because I hate being out of the running with my friends who contribute blood.  But I digress...

With time has come understanding, and I hope a little wisdom.  And it has also brought with it an appreciation for my condition.  Had the economy not taken such a turn downward I might still be enjoying a career as a full-time peer support specialist with the state's department of mental health.  That is a job you literally must be crazy to have, I often tell those who don't know what peer support entails.  I was someone who made use of experiences and intensive training toward helping other people, who also have mental illness, and letting them have a chance at full and meaningful lives.  It was the most personally rewarding work that I have ever done and I would be doing it forever if that had been possible.  I got to be of assistance to a lot of good people.  Some of whom I still keep in touch with, just letting them know I still care about them.

Some people who God has placed in my path at times, have been close to giving it all up.  Have gotten too close to the line separating want-to-live from I-want-to-die.  I've been there too, more times than I can possibly count.  And ironically I got to be the one who convinced them that their lives are worth living.  I got to be someone who saw how precious their existences are, when they could not see it themselves.

It's possible that a lot of people wouldn't be with us still today, had it not been for God letting me have a mental illness that put me in their place first.  But I don't say that to boast.  God can be glorified in even our worst weaknesses.  If some are still alive today, that's His doing and not mine.  I'm just the instrument He chose to use.

And I can and will be thankful for that honor.

I guess the catalyst for this post is that, recently, I did something rather foolhardy and potentially very dangerous.  I attempted to move out of the way of God from healing me.  Or in other words: I tried to be made whole by faith only.

And so it is that I went a few days without my medication.

There wasn't any one agency that led me to attempt such a thing.  At various times across the decades I've earnestly wondered if my faith in God was not enough: that maybe He would heal me if only I had more trust in Him.

I went off the meds and instead I threw myself into prayer and fasting.  I turned toward immersing myself in scripture.  I asked for prayers from others: something which has become a regular occurrence for me and indeed I do not believe that I would be here today were it not for prayers from people dear to me.  I covet prayer now.  Which is another irony, since once upon a time I would have likely laughed at such a notion.

I tried relying entirely on having faith in God, that He would deliver my mind from the torment of mental illness.

And in the end, He did not do that.

After two days being without the meds my thoughts began racing out of control, again.  But I tried to endure.  Sought to increase my faith.  I want to think that my faith in Him is strong enough that it weathered the torture without ceasing to trust Him completely.

I went as far as could be tolerated before going back on the meds.  Blessed relief arrived a few hours later.

So, once again, God did not heal me from bipolar disorder.

Or, maybe He did.  Maybe He still is.

We are told that Luke, the writer of the eponymous gospel as well as the Book of Acts, was a physician.  Doubtless he of all people understood the wondrous qualities of human health and self-care.  I don't know what medications were available circa 60 A.D., apart from a form of aspirin known to the ancient Greeks.  But Luke was in all likelihood well versed in their array and uses.  God gave Luke a capable mind and adept hands to be a healer.  Perhaps God was not dealing out divine intervention toward the healing of those in Luke's care, but He certainly was the ultimate Author of betterment and recuperation.

I have to believe that God gave us a beautiful thing in medical science.  Something that can not so much replace God's place in healing as it does complement it.  In the employ of those dedicated and devoted to the healing arts, medicine is by its very existence a miracle of God.  In its purest form medicine is a thing wholly given over to the betterment of life.

I can't possibly contend that medical science is something God would not want us to make the most of, if it means having better and more purposeful life.

What about when medical science fails?  I have friends who in recent weeks have each lost a loved one to disease.  Is that a judgment against medicine when it could not prevent their respective passing?  No, it is not.  As I said before, it is a fallen world.  Injury and illness have been a part of that imperfection for a very long time and barring God's intervention that doesn't look to change anytime soon.  Nothing is guaranteed.  We can only trust in God and His will, that things are going to work out for the best in the end.  And that's the absolutely best answer that I can give.  But I've seen His will work out well before.  I have to believe that His will, will manifest itself as something that gives Him the glory and proves to be of benefit to us.  God operates on a vaster scale of time than we can comprehend.  And even the failures of the best of our schemes will serve to honor Him, in the end.

Personally, I believe that this lifetime isn't all that we get.  There is more past that.  What form that takes is up to the person living it.  God knows who are His.  For the one who loves God, this life and its afflictions are not the end.  There is something better waiting for us still.  I dream of having a mind that isn't plagued by mania or depression or sometimes both at once.  That is coming, in the fullness of His time.  And that is a great comfort.

I'm not going to willingly go off the medications again.  I've tried trusting God to take my condition away from me.  For whatever reason, He has not done that.  But He has provided knowledge and wisdom and tools that can make the condition much more better manageable than it would be without those things.  Here I am on the cusp of fifty, and with each passing day I feel more like what it is to not have a mind turned against itself.  I feel younger today than I ever have, and it's because of what God has provided many scientists, researchers, and engineers with over the course of the centuries and especially the past several decades.

But of course, it never hurts to pray too.

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God, sacrifice, and Yoda

The other week I shared on here that I had put my beloved Yoda puppet signed by "Weird Al" Yankovic up for auction on eBay.  It was something I had never, ever thought I would find myself doing.  I had outright declared that it would never happen.  When I asked Weird Al to sign this, it was always with the intention that it would be just for me, a real treasured prize for both my Star Wars and Yankovic collections.

 

But real-life circumstances had forced me to make some difficult decisions.  It was compelling me to betray myself and go back on what I had promised to never do.

 

Since posting about that, there have been a number of developments.  Some things transpired and, well... let's just say that for once, I have been seeing the hand of God at work and I am not doubting Him, that He provides even when all seems hopeless.

 

So yesterday I had my smart speaker set to the "Weird Al" Yankovic station.  And one of the first songs it played was "Yoda".

I took that as confirmation that I should de-list the auction for the Yoda puppet.

 

Maybe I merely needed to be ready to sacrifice it, like Abraham had to prepare to sacrifice his son (recorded in the Book of Genesis, chapter 22).  Now a forty-some year old toy signed by a musical artist is NOT the same thing as one's own child.  But I think God sometimes asks us to be ready to sacrifice something precious, so that He can make something wonderful of that.

 

In my case I learned a little bit more to trust in Him.  I think He knows what value this puppet has for me: it's something Mom bought for me when I was going on seven years old.  I like to think she was a Yoda fan too and delighted that I was crazy about the character.

 

But unfortunately that is one of the few truly happy memories that I have about my mother.  She and I had a very difficult relationship.  It was absolutely monstrous at times.  Along with the bipolar disorder, what happened between Mom and I is something that has demanded its own strategy in counseling.

 

This puppet is one of the few tangible reminders I have left that Mom could be a good person, too.  That she wasn't always consumed by the kernel of cruelty within her.  It took me a very long time to be able to forgive the memory I have of her.  That finally happened this past year.

 

I guess, maybe God knows that.  And knows that my faith in things isn't really based on anything a person can own.  But sometimes God winks at you, and maybe the provision He's made in so many ways is more appreciated because I was ready to give up something.

 

Just some thoughts I'm having this evening.

 

So, I've de-listed the puppet.  I'm confident now that things are going to work out in my circumstances.  And God has taught me some things from this particular side tale of the larger episode of late.  I can and will be thankful for that.

 

Besides, if I really did have to sell Yoda, I did NOT want him going to someone I didn't know.  I'm gonna try to "keep it in the family", with someone from among my many friends.

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To father a child: do I have that right?

I am not a wise person.

There are many who possess far greater wisdom than I can ever contain in the few cubic inches of mind absent depression or mania.  And those who admit to knowing me will testify, Dear Reader: I have shared many matters I wrestle with on Facebook, hoping that among beloved friends some can lend a measure of that wisdom.

At first, that's where this was meant to be: posted on Facebook.  But maybe this time I should cast a wider net.  Perhaps some of you who read this blog can provide the answers I seek.

Here it is: Should I want to have children?  Why should I want to have children?

Do I have the right to bring a child into this world?

It is no secret that for the vast majority of my life I have wanted to be a father.  To be entrusted with a child or children who can be born and live and grow and find their purpose and see that their father and mother love each other very much and most of all find their own relationship with God.  To be the parent who goes looking for presents to be found under the tree on Christmas morning.  To explore the world and see it anew through the eyes of my children.  To watch them learn and laugh, just as I will discover again for the first time what it is to learn and laugh.  To do my very best so that they have a better life than I ever did, and to never doubt that they are loved and cherished.  To have that home filled with love and joy and thoughtfulness.

And increasingly I wonder if I should want that at all.  If I was wrong to have wanted that and if I have wasted time in chasing after it.

It comes down to four reasons why I am haunted to ask those questions.  And maybe some of you can give comfort and encouragement.  And the truth.  Especially the truth.  No matter how painful it might be to hear it.

First of all, let us be frank: The world is a cruel place.

And with each passing day it becomes even more cruel.  I see in my own country how it is that anger and hatred, and craving power over others, and hypocrisy and corruption are becoming like virtues.  How much of what made our culture great is becoming eroded for sake of carnal pursuits and perversities.  How it seems that only those who give in and compromise on their convictions and principles have a chance of "making it" and being successful.

Why should I want to subject a new human life to that?  How will I answer him or her, if they ask why did I bring them into existence in such a place?  To have a life where they will be hurt by others over, and over, and over again.  Where they will be used and abused and exploited and betrayed and bitterly disappointed by the boundless visions of man's inhumanity to man.

Second, and this is a big one: How do I or can I tell a child that he or she is going to one day die?

Once upon a time, the fear of death immobilized me.  Almost literally.  That was when the depression first began and after losing a number of loved ones in the span of a few months.  I became obsessed with staving off death.  Even forever, if it was possible.  And that was the mania part of bipolar disorder working its malevolent magic: casting a spell of delusion over my rational understanding of how things must be in this realm held captive to entropy.

The thought of dying doesn't disturb me anymore.  Indeed, there are some days when I think I would rather welcome death.  To be free of the memories of griefs and hurts and abuses: those inflicted on me but mostly those I have inflicted upon others.  Which has oddly made wanting to be a father even more tantalizing.  It would be a chance to fill up my life with good memories instead.  And be driven to give my sons or daughters a happy and fulfilling childhood that they will never someday look back upon with regret and anguish.

And that must be selfishness on my part.  To use having children as a rationale for escaping the ravages upon my own mind and spirit.

What do I tell a child when he or she asks if they will die someday?  How do I respond when they ask why did they have to be born, just to one day perish?  And if they are endowed with any of the inquisitive nature I had in my own childhood, they will eventually ask that.

How do I tell a son or daughter that they are going to die and there is nothing I can do to stop it but I was going to make them live and die anyway?

Third: Dare I possibly condemn a child to have a mental illness?

Bipolar disorder is a funny thing.  We know there is a genetic component but when it comes to getting expressed there is quite a lot of dancing about.  I am now persuaded after research that my great-grandfather on my paternal side had severe mental illness.  So did his daughter, my grandmother.  Grandma Knight definitely demonstrated significant periods of depression.  Dad never showed any signs whatsoever of mental illness: indeed, he might have been the most "normal" of our family.  Grandma Knight had four grandchildren and when her genes and those of my grandfather are diagrammed out, there was a 25% chance that one of those grandchildren would have mental illness.

Looks like it skipped over Dad, from my grandmother and her father, and landed on me.  None of the other three grandchildren have had indicators of mental illness.

With a one hundred percent confidence that I carry the gene for bipolar disorder and having long known that it is an active part of my life, well...

Dare I risk passing that condition on to my children?

Their odds of developing it might be less for them than they were for me.  But even so, to have any mental illness is to jeopardize the chance of a normal and productive life as most people enjoy.  It's certainly something I've never gotten to know.  More than a decade and a half of my life has been spent on medication and deep counseling and some involuntary hospitalizations.  All while trying to grasp and claw at some semblance of enduring happiness.

Don't my potential children have a right to that happiness?  How dare I risk taking that away from them?

And then, fourth, the harshest consideration of all:

How can I give life to a child who will have doubts about God?

When I mentioned "hypocrisy" earlier, I must count myself the worst of the lot.  Because for all of my belief in God, and doing my best to serve Christ with what talents He has given me...

For the most part, I believe God is there.  But I also confess that I doubt God has ever heard my prayers, that He ever will hear my prayers.  I confess that to me, God is not the all-loving, all-caring Father.  And I am very jealous of those who find joy in His love and grace, when it is that I cannot have that.  

Because to my utter shame God to me is a cruel, manipulative and indifferent bastard (yes, I am trying to hold back the anger toward Him).  And I am exhausted of seeing Him bless others with love and families and purpose and joy.  When the only consistent elements throughout my life since childhood have been a mind turned against me, a mother who was more abusive than I realized until recently and only now have I begun to address those wounds, hopes of a future with purpose and satisfaction falling to ashes in my hands...

(And if I as a parent carry on the cruelty and manipulation of a previous generation?  But that is something I'm not yet ready to delve into.  Maybe it's better that remain buried.  As a character in a recent movie said: "Let the past die.  Kill it if you have to.  That's the only way to become what you were meant to be.")

Ever more so, I am losing my faith in God.  Because God has never had enough faith in me.  Certainly not enough to extend the shot at a fraction of the life that seemingly everyone around me has to one degree or another.

And if this is "life" to be thankful and joyful to Him for, then I would rather that He never have created me in the first place.  He can banish me to Hell for all eternity, if this is the only existence that He will ever grant me.  I can't even trust that He would give me a new and whole mind if I go to Heaven.  An eternity with a mental illness?  Where is the joy in that?

To doubt that God is there or worse, to be unable to escape believing that God is deaf and indifferent to our prayers, is a kind of Hell all its own.  And there are some who are going to tell me "Oh Chris, you should be thankful and joyful all the same!  God gave you life and forgiveness of your sins.  You were made for God's pleasure and to Him you are perfect.  You are the clay, not the Potter and not even the Potter's wheel!  Who do you think you are to tell God that He messed up?  You have Christ and isn't that enough?"

No.  It's not enough.  Because despite all that scripture teaches, the God I have seen and come to know is a God who does play favorites.  He blesses some and curses others and if you're on His sh-t-list, there is nothing you can do about it.  And I'm not only referring to the jealousies of my own life.  Too many in this world suffer while others have seemingly have... okay, not everything but certainly the things that matter most.  Innocent people get thrashed and stomped upon and denied even an iota of something to be thankful for.  So what reason do they have to be thankful to God?

Once, I could be and was thankful to God.  I could pray to Him.  Not with requests or for something "good", but merely to thank Him and to praise Him for what I did have.  Now I recognize that, maybe it was being hopeful when I had no reason to be hopeful.  Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Is that all God is?  Merely "wishful thinking" on our part?  Is there even a God at all?  Or are we deluding ourselves?  Have I been deluding myself for twenty years and more?

What do I tell a child?  That God is there and that He is listening to him or her?  When my own heart harbors even a sliver of doubt?

How do I tell a child that God is good, when he or she keeps praying and in return hears only silence from a Father who is aloof and removed from our cares and concerns save for a select few?  What if that child believes that God loves some but He has to have a reason to hate others... and they are it?  Because that's what it has been like for me all too often.

How do I tell with a sincere and faithful and thankful heart that God is there for my children?  What do I say when they tell me that God isn't there for them?

How do I dare consign a child to that kind of anguish and torment?  Because if that is all that there ever was for me, I would rather have died in the delivery room.  And there would come a day when my children will tell me the same thing.

My doubts about God are not dispelled.  And I'm not going to pretend anymore, for the sake of my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, that "everything is fine" between He and I.

Perhaps God might grant an infinitely deeper grace to my children than He has to me.  Perhaps they might know a love and joy from Him than I ever have.  I would hope that He would.

And then again, He may not.  There is no guarantee that He would do that either.

If I were to have children, I would have to be brutally honest with them in all things.  Including about God.  And though I do believe He is there, the faith in Him being all-loving and all-caring is practically absent.  There will be no lies or delusions or distractions from either my faith or my lack of faith... and I do want to have faith.  A real, abiding and enduring faith in God.  But if there is not...

To lie to my children like that would be the cruelest thing I could do to anyone.

So, with all of that being said:

Should I trust God?  Should I dare to plot something so irrevocable as giving existence to a human soul in this wicked and evil world?

Do I have any right at all to be a father?

Whoever is reading this and thinks they have something to share, please do so.  The comments are wide open on this post.  Feel free to use your own name or an alias or to be anonymous.  Maybe some among you have answers that have eluded me in spite of all searching out my heart and mind and soul.

If you do, I would very much appreciate it.

(And very special thanks to "N.G." for having a listening ear and proofreading this post at least three or four times before I hit the "Publish" button on it.)

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Taking Dad to the edge of the Jordan

Yesterday was supposed to have be one of the saddest days of my entire life. Yet here I am after Dad's funeral and I cannot help but feel like the most blessed, most overwhelmed with joy, most hopeful man in the world.

Mom and Dad's grave site,
the morning after Dad's funeral

This entire time, I believe Dad would have felt honored by every aspect of it. Anita and I had Dad dressed in his denim bib overalls, with a red plaid flannel workshirt beneath and in his right hand, just as it was often poised in life, his smoking pipe. He had often told Anita that if she had him wearing a tie he would come back to haunt her, LOL. Last night during the visitation we had a table set up displaying some of the many knives that he hand-made over the years. That was my aunt's idea, and it was a good one. A lot of people got to see some really amazing examples of his handiwork.

The service was, well... spot-on perfect. It was a time rife with tales from the life of Robert Rankin Knight. One of the officiating ministers was particularly fond of the time two and a half years ago when Dad (during his and Uncle Frank's epic/crazy cross-country drive to Arizona) was pulled over for speeding in west Texas. We still don't know what he was clocked doing, except that the speed limit was 80 MPH. Somehow Dad got off with a warning after chatting with the patrolman about his knifemaking. That was Dad awright: a peaceful demeanor and cheerful talking can go far.

As I said, the service could not have been better. Everything about it was a true testament to his memory. Something about having two Methodist ministers and a Holiness-turned-Baptist-turned-Presbyterian pastor officiating made it so right, somehow. Dad always said he wanted "Go Rest High On That Mountain" by Vince Gill played at his funeral, and Anita's two friends from her church did an amazing rendition of that song. I'm also glad that before the service, those who came got to see the memorial video that Wilkerson Funeral assembled. So many moments from such a beautifully-lived life.

But it was what came after the service, as we were on the way to the graveside ceremony, that impressed my heart with how much God blessed our lives with Dad, and how He is continuing to bless our lives, and my own especially. Even when I spoke a few words about Dad during the service, somehow I didn't see ALL of the people who were packed inside the church. That came later, when our family was in the limo and watching everyone file out of the church, and then as we met in the fellowship hall following the interment.  Words fail to convey how much my heart jumped to see Melody Hallman Daniel - AKA "Frannie Filks" from our movie Forcery - and her mother.  Denise, I am so very moved that you and Nick could come and join the celebration of Dad's life.  Ed Woody and Chad Austin: my brothers... Dad loved you as if you were his own sons.

To each of you and more who came to the funeral, who came to the visitation, who came to visit with us at the home during the past few days, who kept my family in their prayers thank you for honoring him with your presence: on behalf of my family, you haven no idea how exceedingly grateful we are for taking the time to be with us.

I will confess something: I am scared. I don't know what I'm doing, it seems like. But in the past several days God has been showing me that just as much as He blessed me with the greatest father that anyone could ever have, He has also blessed me... and is STILL blessing me... with the most wonderful friends and family that anyone could have in this world. We are told to lean not on our own understanding, to trust God with all our heart instead. We are also told that we don't have to see the entire road ahead: that His word is a light unto our feet and a lamp unto our path. In these past three weeks and in the last several days, God has demonstrated in too many ways to count that He IS with us. That He is with me, no matter how far I have felt from Him. He has brought me this far. Maybe He will bring me a little further still.

Yesterday, we said farewell to Dad. But this was not goodbye, not really. This was a celebration of his life. Indeed, this was a celebration of what it means to HAVE life, and life abundantly. I am always going to miss Dad. As I sit in this house that is now suddenly my own, only now is his absence beginning to impress itself upon me. But I also know that Dad would want me to keep moving forward, to always be thankful for what God has given me, to "think positive" (as he often told me), and to cherish those who God has placed into my life.

Just as Dad was all of those things and more.

To all of those who have held up my family in their thoughts and prayers during these very trying past 19 days, to those who offered words of encouragement and edification, to those who have consoled our family and helped us in so many ways for the past three days, to those who came to honor the memory of Dad last night and this afternoon, to all of those and many, many more...

Thank you.

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Father Dowling, mystery no more: Priest of Missouri accident comes forward

I could not resist having fun with that title.  It was just too punny!

One of the more intriguing stories last week was that of the mysterious priest who arrived on the scene of a vehicular accident in Missouri.  19-year old Katie Lentz was on her way to church when a drunk-driver smashed her car.  Emergency workers tried for more than an hour to get Lentz clear of the wreck and it looked like she wasn't going to make it.  Just then a Catholic priest appeared, anointed Lentz with oil and prayed with her.  It was very soon after that firefighters and EMTs got Lentz out and flown to a hospital.  And the priest?  He vanished before anyone had a chance to thank him for being there.

Curiously, he didn't turn up in any of 90-some photos that were made of the crash site.  Between that and the effect he seemed to have on everyone involved, many have wondered if it was an angel who came to Katie Lentz's assistance.

Father Patrick Dowling

Father Patrick Dowling (right) of the Diocese of Jefferson City came forward today, identifying himself as the priest who attended to Lentz.  Father Dowling spoke with Catholic News Agency about the incident, and elaborated on the part that he ended up playing...

Though the highway was blocked off, “I did not leave with the other cars,” Fr. Dowling commented. He parked as close as he could, “and walked the remaining 150 yards. I asked the Sheriff if a priest might be needed … on checking, he permitted me to approach.”

“When the young lady asked that I pray her leg stop hurting, I did so. She asked me to pray aloud and I did briefly … the rescue workers needed space, and would not have appreciated distraction. I stepped to one side and said my rosary silently until the lady was taken from the car.”

Once Lentz was removed from her vehicle, he explained, “I then shook hands with the Sheriff, and thanked him, as I left. I have to admire the calmness of everybody involved.”

Something I couldn't help but appreciate: Father Dowling reported that he administered the Catholic sacraments of Anointing of the Sick and Absolution to Katie Lentz.  Which would be routine for a priest "except that there was something extraordinary it sounds like, in the sequence of events that coincided in time with the Anointing.  You must remember, there were many people praying there, many, many people... and they were all praying obviously for healing and for her safety.”

The thing is, according to news articles from the past week, Lentz worships at an Assemblies of God congregation.  She isn't Roman Catholic.  Neither does it sound like the denominational background of anyone involved was ever questioned or commented upon.  It was one person who happened to be a follower of Christ being at the scene to minister to another follower of Christ when she needed it most.

There are no doubt some who are going to be disheartened to discover that it wasn't a real angel who came to the side of Katie Lentz and those working to save her life, but rather a very human priest.  But that doesn't mean that it wasn't a miracle.

Miracles don't have to be shimmering demonstrations of supernatural wonder and glory.  Do I believe that God allows miracles to happen?  I absolutely do.  Even today.  And some of them are of the sort that one can't readily explain away.  Believe me, I've tried.

But that isn't what most miracles are.  A miracle is God letting things "click" into place, at precisely the right time.  And Father Dowling's being on the highway that close to the accident is as much a miracle as any miracle out of the New Testament.

Personally, I take great comfort in knowing that it was Father Patrick Dowling who came to Katie Lentz's aid.  Because if God can use one of His mortal flock to work a miracle through, He can do the same with any other.  Including you.  Perhaps even me...

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Who was that priest? Miracle and mystery on a Missouri highway

He was there.

Everybody at the scene, from firefighters to police paramedics to the victim herself, saw him and heard him.

His calming words and peaceful demeanor are being credited with saving the life of a 19-year old young woman.

But he is nowhere to be found in any of the nearly 70 photographs taken at the site of the accident.

Neither can anyone figure out how he could have been there to begin with, since the road was blocked for two miles by police on both sides of the wreck.  There were no parked cars.  There were no pedestrians seen approaching the site, either walking along the road or coming across the fields along Highway 19 near Center, Missouri.

He disappeared before anyone could thank him.

And yet he was there.  His presence is being called a miracle.  And many are wondering if the person - who seemed to be a black-garbed silver-haired Catholic priest in his fifties or sixties - might have been an angel.

Katie Lentz: Attended by an angel?

Katie Lentz (right), a student at Tulane University, was on her way to church this past Sunday morning when her car was hit head-on by a drunk driver.  Lentz's Mercedes was a mangled heap and by the time help arrived, the situation was bleak for a happy ending.

Firefighters and paramedics struggled to free Lentz from the twisted metal.  Despite her circumstance, Lentz spoke with her rescuers about her church and her plans to study dentistry.  But after an hour and a half of desperately trying to get Lentz out, it was clear that her vital signs were rapidly fading and that there was very little that could be done.  It did not appear that she would survive.

That is when Katie Lentz asked the emergency workers around her for a moment of prayer.  And that's when he appeared.  Out of nowhere.  Literally.

The priest approached Lentz and anointed her with oil he was carrying.  He prayed with her and with the emergency workers and apparently anointed at least two of them as well. Chief Raymond Reed of the New London, Missouri Fire Department later said that "a sense of calmness came over her, and it did us as well.  I can't be for certain how it was said, but myself and another firefighter, we very plainly heard that we should remain calm, that our tools would now work and that we would get her out of that vehicle."

Lentz was soon afterward finally extracted and evacuated by helicopter to a hospital.  She has suffered several broken ribs, a broken wrist, and both legs have multiple fractures.  But she is alive and poised to make a strong recovery.

And the priest?  He vanished.  No one saw him leave, just as no one saw how he could have possibly arrived.

Of all the photographs taken at the site of the crash, the priest is found in none of them.  Neither have inquiries with the Catholic churches in the area turned up anything about who he could have been.  Lentz's family and the rescuers at the scene would like to find him and thank him for his prayer and encouragement.  But whoever he is, he has not stepped forward.

It is an absolutely fascinating and beautiful story and there is plenty more at the Mail Online's article about it.

So... could it be that an angel came to the aid of Katie Lentz and those attempting to free her from the wreck?  Hebrews 13:2 tells us that we have sometimes "entertained angels unawares".

Perhaps it was a messenger of God who brought divine assistance to Highway 19.

Personally, it wouldn't surprise me in the least.  I've seen more than a few things along the way that I can't possibly explain.  Things which defy all notion of a rational basis.  And I've had to learn - some would add "the hard way" and not without merit - to stop looking for a rationale behind any of them.  "There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy," the Bard observed.

There are some things which one has to stand back and accept them for what they are, without any expectation of answers or understanding.  This mysterious priest, I would remark, is one of those.

And no matter one's faith or even lack of one, it has to be said: our lives are all the more rich because of them.

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A pledge against allegiance to man

I can no longer, in good conscience and in keeping to my faith in God, recite the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America.

This is a choice which I have abided for nearly a year.  At various times I have felt led to articulate my reasons for doing so.  Indeed, this past fall a friend helped me to record a video about my decision to never again say the Pledge of Allegiance (we filmed it at Guilford Courthouse Battleground, in front of the statue of General Nathaniel Greene, for what it’s worth).

Recent events have brought me to a place where at last I am compelled to write about why I’m not only refraining from the Pledge of Allegiance, but have come to see it as representing too much of what is wrong with America, and even in dire opposition to the vision of the Founders.

I first learned the Pledge of Allegiance in elementary school.  At that age, one absorbs and trusts everything the teachers expects one to learn.  For years, decades even, I spoke the words without really knowing what they meant, much less where they came from.  In fact, how many Americans do know where the Pledge came from?

I didn’t know until about ten years ago, and that was the beginning of my questioning the Pledge and whether, as a follower of Christ and a citizen of this country, it was something I should invoke.

The Pledge of Allegiance was written in 1892 by Francis Bellamy: a socialist, and arguably a racist and anti-Catholic.  But none of those are germane to my individual illumination about the Pledge.  Neither is it that Bellamy wrote the Pledge of Allegiance as part of a marketing scheme for Youth’s Companion magazine to sell thousands of American flags to schools throughout the country.

No, what aroused my conscience most was that Bellamy – a Baptist minister by trade, incidentally – wanted the Pledge to convey and instill the concept that obedience to country and government is a “virtue”.

I do not believe that.  I do not believe that at all.  Because that runs fully against the meaning of the Constitution of the United States: a contract which establishes a government of the people, by the people and for the people.

Bellamy – as too many Christians do today – interpreted Jesus’ instruction to “Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s” (Matthew 22:15-22, Mark 12:13-17, Luke 20:20-26) to mean that Christians must be completely subservient to temporal government.  I have heard many insist that to disobey government in any way is to disobey, disparage and disrespect God.  So ingrained and unquestioned is this position that I have even heard of a minister who said he must allow his wife to be raped within his own house by federal agents, if they were to so intrude upon his home.

What is neglected or forgotten or ignored is what Jesus was teaching about responsibility to God.  Jesus wasn’t telling His followers to obey man’s government without question.  That would have put Him falling into the trap set by the Pharisees.  His reply was something that hurt far more.  He reminded the Pharisees and those of the law that because they had not rendered unto God first, they had to render unto Rome.  The people of Israel were under the yoke of a foreign power when they could have instead been a free nation under the God of their forefathers.

Some Christians in this nation don’t want to understand that.  But it’s true: there is no “Caesar” in America.  If there was, We the People murdered him and took his place, with the blessings of Providence

How is it that we have resurrected Caesar?  Are we now like the children of Israel, who cried at Moses to lead them back into the “safety” of bondage to Pharaoh?  Trusting not in God but in a government wrought with corruption?

I don’t mean “imperfection”.  No government under this sun is going to be perfect, and it would be the height of arrogance to think otherwise.  I’m talking corruption.  Power without restraint.   Power for sake of power, eager and willing to waste and devour and murder to maintain that power.  To remain in control.

Read the words of the Pledge of Allegiance:

“I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

I can’t speak those words anymore, because those are the words of a colossal lie.

The United States is not a republic.  It hasn’t been for a very long time.  The citizens of America haven’t been in control of their own destinies for decades.   It is now a government grown too big, too powerful, too corrupt.  And corruption looks after itself.  The professional politicians.  The “journalists” lusting to be within the spheres of influence more than the pursuit of truth.   The “academics” who sacrifice education to indoctrination.  The unethical among corporations and banks who exploit the system entrusted them to steal billions of dollars... and when found out, use their pull to create new exploits, still.

This is a country whose laws now protect the corrupt from the innocent, and not the innocent from the corrupt.

It is insanity that a free people could ever give such as these, and far too many more, their absolute trust and loyalty.  And yet, we have. We have witnessed it and witness it anew every day.   And it matters not in the slightest which “party” is in control of this or that branch of government. The American people have suffered at least... at least... twenty years and counting of the most incompetent, the most selfish, the most freedom-loathing, and the most destructive executive leadership in United States history.  From the Oval Office on down, we have come to be “represented” by the self-serving, the narcissistic, the soulless and the mad.

Don’t believe me?  Read the headlines of the past few months.  The Internal Revenue Service is revealed to be a weapon against those who would challenge the status quo.  Our private communications, our finances and even our medical records are now being monitored by people we will never know and will never see.  Searches now happen on a “hunch”, not with a warrant.  We are now forced to have our DNA testify against ourselves in court of law.  Pointing a finger and making “bang-bang” sounds has become grounds to arrest a kindergartner.  Our borders are allowed to be overrun by the very officials who swore to defend and maintain them.  And now, judges and justices have taken it upon themselves to redefine an institution held sacred throughout six thousand years and more of human history and tradition.

For all of these things and more, there will be consequences.  If not in our own lifetime then in that of our children, and their children’s children.  “Liberty and justice for all” doesn’t exist anymore.  And if not for us now, then how can we look our offspring in the eye and still promise them these things?

That is what our government across this land has become: a force unto itself, bereft of restraint from its people.  And that is something that I will not now and will never again pledge allegiance to.  My allegiance must ever be to God, and to then serve others as He would lead me to do.   If that requires violating the rulings and legislations of mere men, then I will do so and suffer the consequences.

I can respect and appreciate what the Flag of the United States is supposed to represent.  But I will not yield my morals and my conscience to those who would wield that same flag against myself, my family and my posterity.

If I am to have a pledge, it will be a pledge which I make according to the dictates of my conscience, of what was intended by those who came before, and of the necessity of a law higher than that of man.

If I am to pledge to something, it will be toward that which was once part of what made America good, and could make it good again.

And this is now my pledge...

 Pledge of Adherence

"I pledge adherence to the Constitution of the United States of America, to steward authority (God) entrusted the people from whom the Republic derives its consent, and to uphold the blessings of liberty for all."

Whether one chooses to use the word "God", I left as a matter of personal preference.  In my own case, I believe that God did give the authority of this nation to its people, and not to its government, and so I do include "God" when I have said this pledge.  But regardless of preference, the Constitution has made clear in no uncertain terms that it is the people from whom authority stems in the United States.

There it is.  I don't care what anybody else thinks of it, or thinks of me for composing it or what led me to write it to begin with.  Neither could I think any less of any person who choose to still use the Pledge of Allegiance, if that is how his or her own conscience leads them.

All I ask is that each of you reading this not take what this world presents you at face value.  That, and to never cease in applying your mind, your spirit, and your body toward the vigilance that our freedom... which too many fought and died for us to enjoy... is due.

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"Who are we to You?"

Ever since I first saw this movie in February, it has lingered on the edges of my consciousness like no film before has.

And of all the wonder that is to be found in Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life, this is the scene that has most entranced and enchanted me.

As I wrote after watching it then, this is a movie that dares to ask God "Why?", before providing the same reply that God gave to Job.

Now that the thought occurs to me, I might even suggest watching The Tree of Life after studying the Book of Job from the Old Testament. Yeah: read everything from the beginning, on through Job losing all but his life and then to the monologues by his friends (some help they were!) and exactly before hitting the point where God comes in to answer Job, go to this scene in The Tree of Life and let that paraphrase what God says.

What God has said to Job and to every one of us who has demanded of Him, "Answer me."

The music is "Lacrimosa" by composer Zbigniew Preisner. And as soon as I find the CD of it I am absolutely putting it on my iPod.

Just felt like posting something beautiful at this late hour...

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Guilty as charged

What had been a terrific and fun-filled Saturday night with my girlfriend and two close friends ended up crashing hard with an e-mail I received shortly after returning home...

Chris, just wanted to let you know that I am de-friending you because basically you are not a friend. Like most other "christians" I know, you seem to be two-faced and unreliable... my "christian" friends seem to be about the most worthless and unreliable of any that I have. I have atheist and agnostic friends who I trust implicitly. At least you've shown me that "christians" truly are a lying, two-face bunch of hypocrits.

That was written by someone who I have known for over thirty years. I cannot be responsible for the choice that this person has made in severing our relationship.

But it is true: I am a hypocrite.

So is every other Christian. Every Christian who sincerely lives and strives to put God first and foremost in his or her life will admit to it, at least. And I would dare say that every Christian who ever lived has been a hypocrite in one way or another. Sometimes in plenty of ways... and I'll admit to being more guilty than most on that charge, too.

Yes, Christians are hypocrites. We are sometimes two-faced and we can be especially unreliable! We even lie sometimes. In short: we are every bit as stupid, scurillous and scoundrelous as any other human being. That we dare to be so ridden with faults while yet claiming to follow One who lived perfectly makes us out in the eyes of many as being the worst of low-life scum.

I know that I am a hypocrite. In more ways than I want to share here.

But neither am I afraid to admit that I am a hypocrite. And so long as I find myself convicted of hypocrisy... which will be until the final breath leaves my lungs in this fallen world... I will continue to confess that flaw in my character.

I am a hypocrite. But it is not what I want to be. And the only hope I have of being sanctified is to continually surrender that frailty to God.

Yes, those who seek mercy from God will be granted mercy. I have no reason to doubt that those who are secured in Him will remain secure forevermore. But rather than being reason to rest from our nature, to orient one's heart toward Christ entails the life-long process of sanctification... and as I have discovered during my own faith journey, that becomes the most difficult and painful part of all in this path we have chosen.

Why must it be so? I have thought about that much over the years. And nothing else makes as much sense as this:

That knowing how frail and fallen we are, we as Christians are not to persuade others to become Christians. We are however meant to persuade others of Christ. And there is no greater way than to show His work - that which is finished and that which He is still accomplishing - in our lives.

If evidence is demanded for conviction, then I will gladly plead guilty every time.

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So be nice y'all!

The family of God is much like any other: you don't get to choose your relatives.

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A response to a challenge on baptism

A few days ago the following e-mail arrived...

"Chris you are WRONG. Baptism is required for salvation! Acts 2:38 has Peter commanding that we be baptized FOR THE REMISSION OF SINS. Mark 16:16 commands baptism and without it we are damned."

There was more to it but that's the heartmeat of this individual's contention. I don't know what precipitated this correspondence. Maybe it was the "Meditation on Baptism" post nearly three years ago. Maybe it was one of the numerous posts I've had to make about a certain cult operating in this area: a group that has among other things harassed others who have met to worship in peace.

Okay, fine. I'll respond to it.

Here is Acts 2:38, as translated in the 1611 Authorized Version (AKA the King James Bible):

Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.

For all the beauty of the King James Version, it is rife with problems. Those stem from two primary factors: that the Authorized Version was a project that King James used to placate the Puritan faction of the Church of England (i.e. it was a political stunt, plain and simple) and the fact that the primary source material of Greek manuscript for the Authorized Version was apparently the Textus Receptus of Desiderius Erasmus. Now, Erasmus was otherwise a brilliant scholar, no doubt about it. But the Textus Receptus was hands-down his sloppiest piece of work ever (he was rushing to win a contest... and he didn't have that many manuscripts to draw from to begin with). Combined with the aforementioned purpose of affirming in approved canon the doctrines and ordinances of the Church of England over all others and you get the idea of what is wrong with the King James Version (though I still love the overall beauty of its language).

But anyhoo, let's look at the passage that this reader (and others) have attempted to use to insist that water baptism is necessary for salvation: "Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins..." I emphasized the word "for" because in the Greek the original word is "eis". And "eis" does NOT easily translate into "in order to receive..." Rather, the more accurate rendition is "because of".

So let's translate Peter's statement again, this time with "eis" correctly translated...

"Then Peter said unto them: Repent, and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ because your sins have been remitted."

That makes much more sense. It also reconciles that bit of scripture with the story of Cornelius, the first Gentile to become a Christian (recorded in Acts 10) who along with his household had already believed in Christ. That Peter baptized them was outward affirmation that Christ came for all nations, and not merely the Jewish people (per the vision that he received as recorded earlier in the chapter). Here also, we find that baptism is not for salvation, but is rather for all of those who are already in Christ and His church.

That might seem a small matter today, but in those heated days of the early church the issue of non-Jewish converts to the Way (as Christianity was called in the beginning) was a serious controversy. Peter baptizing Cornelius and his family was a threshold moment for Christianity. They were baptized because they had faith in Christ and because of that faith, their sins were already forgiven. Hence, they were fully entitled to baptism, without any regard whatsoever for their nationality.

So that takes care of Acts 2:38. But what about Mark 16:16? Here is what that passage has Jesus telling His followers...

Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned.

Y'all want the "nice" reason first why this verse doesn't mean that baptism is a requisite for salvation, or do you want the "nasty" reason?

Fine. I'll start off polite. Here it is: this verse does not say at all that the absence of baptism equals damnation. It only states that "whoever does not believe will be condemned". Downright obvious, actually.

But here's the biggest reason why Mark 16:16 can not be used to claim that baptism is a requirement for salvation...

Mark 16:16 doesn't belong in the Bible to begin with.

Feel free to read that again after you've come down from the initial shock.

The Gospel of Mark is apparently the oldest of the four gospels, perhaps composed only about 35 years or so after General Titus and his boys laid waste to Jerusalem and the Temple there. But of all the oldest manuscripts that we have for Mark's book, none of them contain verses 9 through 20 of Chapter 16! The last thing that can credibly be ascribed to the Gospel of Mark is that "...the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid." And if you only have the King James Version to go on, it jumps from there to a sudden re-introduction of Jesus and an ending that is wildly different from the context of the rest of Mark's writing.

Long story short: Mark 16:16 and everything else from 16:9 onward is a later addition. Much later. Perhaps by a century or so. I've tried to find anything that demands why these verses do belong in Mark but as of yet, such justification has eluded me. If anyone has something that I might have missed, leave a comment here or shoot me an e-mail at theknightshift@gmail.com.

Does that mean that your friend and humble blogger is committing sacrilege by ignoring part of the Bible? Nope, not at all. Indeed it is quite the opposite: I am striving for nothing more and nothing less than to understand what the Word of God does teach, in spite of all that man has inevitably attempted to do with it during these two millenia out of either well-meaning or malicious intent.

And however one chooses to adhere to the matter of baptism, it must be acknowledged by all that the endurance of the Word of God - the Truth of God, of which the verbiage of scripture can be but a rough covering - is in and of itself nothing short of a miracle.

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Christopher Hitchens has passed away. And some words for more than a few fellow Christians...

The sad news broke early this morning that Christopher Hitchens, the celebrated, provocative and brilliant journalist/essayist, has passed away at the age of 62 following a battle for the past year and a half with cancer of the esophagus.

Even when I disagreed with Hitchens - and those times were numerous - I had to have grudging respect for the man, because it can't be said that he lacked consistency. He was one of the rare writers in this day and age who strove in his craft not for sake of political or ideological favor, but instead for nothing more or less than understanding of the human condition and its derivative culture.

Here is Hitchens' final essay for Vanity Fair, appearing in next month's issue. In it he wrestles with thoughts of his own mortality and determination of spirit.

And now, there is something that I feel led to say to too many of those who, like myself, profess to follow Jesus Christ...

To be blunt: I am very disappointed with a lot of you.

Yes, Christopher Hitchens was an avowed atheist. But even so: I'm not going to judge the man. And neither should anyone else. Yeah that means YOU too!

What is it about Christianity that seems to bring out the smugness and arrogance in some people? Especially when the choice to follow Christ at all is supposed to stem from an acknowledgement that we ourselves are not worthy of being in His kingdom... nay, of being anywhere within His sight, even!

Yet God loves us so and through Christ has adopted us into His realm. That should be cause enough for joy unceasing. And yet there are far too many Christians for whom that is not enough. For them, Heaven isn't sweet unless they know with absolute certainty that there is at least one poor miserable soul roasting in Hell for eternity. Based on what I've been seeing around the Intertubes since this morning, that particular soul of the day is Christopher Hitchens.

I honestly don't know who to feel more sorry for: a man who wrote that he did not believe in God, or a person who claims belief in God while literally gloating that someone else chose to be separated from that very God for all time.

I am in no position to judge the soul of Christopher Hitchens. But I can assert that based on what I have read of him and found in his writings, that he was an individual who not only struggled with the idea of God, but perhaps had more reasons than most to endure that struggle at all. That he chose to be open and even brazen about it does not befit one who is necessarily comfortable with the notion of there being no God. Rather it seems more that Hitchens was searching for a rationale for God's existence. And indeed, in recent months he had even begun to question his atheism within his essays.

I can't believe that God can't honor that. As our Lord Himself declared...

"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you."

-- Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 7, Verse 7

And we should be thankful that the matter of our own salvation is not dependent upon the understanding of other men!

Because in the end, Christopher Hitchens was a frail man who did not possess fulness of wisdom and understanding. He was a person who was imperfect and had fallen short of the glory of God.

Aren't we all?

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