Week One Session Two

While studying the concept of grace and responsibility, I have been comparing it to the idea of Moralistic Therapeutic Deism previously addressed in class. The fact that grace comes hand-in-hand with responsibility is in stark contrast to the "theology" of Moralistic Therapeutic Deism, which would seem to suggest that grace is ours to use when we need it, but responsibility is outdated and unnecessary due to God's grace. The grace and responsibility "package" is evidenced throughout the Bible in both testaments. It is first presented in the story of the creation of humans, who are given dominion over all other living creatures. This implies responsibility, as any position of authority or dominion does, to care for and tend to those over whom dominion is held, not to use that power for selfish purposes. Of course, Adam and Eve also had the responsibility to serve God and obey God's commandments to them, which were seemingly few and simple.
Turning to the New Testament, where the picture of grace is made clearer than ever by Jesus's life among humans and his sacrifice for us, our responsibilities are in turn outlined. Jesus had his own responsibility in saving us through his sacrifice--it was his "cup" to drink. If he had not met this responsibility, God's grace could not have been bestowed upon us. In accepting the grace afforded us by God through Jesus, we are also accepting the responsibility to strive for the kingdom by living in a Christ-like way, serving God and serving others as ourselves. We are not to take advantage of grace; rather, we are to seek to live up to it, even though we know that as humans this is impossible. Obviously, we can strive for the kingdom but we cannot reach it without God's guiding grace.
I relate to this idea because I have always struggled with feeling like I should do more in the service of God, yet not knowing how, or, at times, letting my humanity get in the way of that service. I have never separated grace and responsibility in my heart and mind, but in my actions it would seem as though I have often failed in being responsible. If God were to ask me why I have committed my sins, the answer for almost all of them would be due to selfishness--in a sense, taking advantage of forgiveness.
My best friend has sometimes said jokingly, in reference to his parents, that "it is easier to ask forgiveness than ask permission." I find such truth in this, however, relating it to our relationship with God. How often do we consult God before sinning and decide that we can proceed with God's blessing? I would venture a guess that if we did consult God with a true heart and listen for the answer, sins would be a much rarer occurance. But they occur because when I sin, I do not look to God, for I know it is wrong--but I want to anyway, so I avoid prayer until it is forgiveness I am seeking. In doing so I am shirking my responsibility to God, and admitting so ashames me. This is not the "use" for which grace was intended.
The fact is that there cannot be grace without responsibility. The comforting ally to that fact is that neither can there be responsibility without grace.

Blog 4

The last few conversations in class have sparked me to think further about God's will and how differently it is interpreted by people. I tend to agree that if you are truly seeking to serve God and strive for God's kingdom, that you will, for the most part, do God's will. However, it is interesting to examine the kinds of things that people do with the belief that it is God's will, some of which many of us would doubt actually were God's will. I am thinking specifically of suicide bombers and other martyrs for their religion--those who commit these acts do so because they believe they are serving God, and they may have the utmost intent in doing so. How do we draw the line as to what is and is not, and how can we determine whether what someone else does is following the will of God or not? Obviously, this is a very dramatic example, but if one carried out this logic to its extreme, it would be one that would require examination. Can people be confused about what God's will is, even if they are trying with the deepest of sincerity to uphold or fulfill it?
I am reminded of the story of the last book in the series by C.S. Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia. The last book is entitled The Last Battle, and it centers around a battle based, for the most part, on great misunderstanding. The Narnian people, whose God is Aslan, fight against the Kalorman people, whose God is Tash. These Gods are supposedly very different--Aslan a fair and kind God, and Tash an angry and harsh God. At the end of the book, the world of Narnia is defeated, or comes to an end, and the book follows its heroines as they "ascend" into "Narnian Heaven." A surprising twist comes when they encounter a Kalorman soldier who served the God Tash. This soldier tells the story of his meeting with Aslan upon "entering heaven." He explains that all his life, he served the God Tash with all his heart, and wanted nothing more than to meet Him and prove his dedication and faith. He served him, not out of selfishness, but out of faith and the desire to do Tash's will. He was, of course, very confused when he encountered Aslan instead of Tash in heaven. Aslan explained to him that in serving Tash in such a way, he was actually serving Aslan--just as those who served Aslan with malintent or selfish motives were in reality serving Tash.
While this is a much abbreviated version of the story, I just wanted to think about the implications that C.S. Lewis makes in this book. It ties in to the idea of God's will and relates it, I think, to religions even outside of Christianity. This is the sort of thought process that, as we discussed in class, makes my head hurt, and I don't know where to even begin in writing down the ideas that spawn from thinking about God's will and who follows it, and who might follow it that we don't expect, and in what different forms it is manifested. However, I wanted to at least express this food for thought and in doing so further encourage my headache.

WEEK 3

Throughout our discussions in class this week, I began to have a new perception of God, which I was surprised I had not thought of before. On Wednesday, we touched on the "dust to divinity" concept and the fact that we are dependent on God to guide us through our struggles of the flesh. We delved a little deeper into questions of why God gave man dominion, why God favors us over all other beasts. Why did God create us? A question of this nature was proposed, and I was immediately struck with a strange answer--he was lonely, I thought. Now, this could be all wrong, but I had this feeling, partially because I have felt very lonely for the last week, struggling with my relationship with my boyfriend and feeling isolated from my friends. But the lonelier I get, sometimes, I feel like the closer my relationship is with God, in the Father sense--he is my Abba, and I just feel like a little child who needs her father to hold and comfort her. This connection is enhanced further by the fact that my parents divorced when I was in 1st grade and I hardly see my Dad but am deeply saddened to not have grown up with that figure in my life. When I am lonely, my Father makes me feel better. I just wonder, to be whatever God was in the universe or in nothingness, why would he bother? I think that God needs us, but he has given us free will, so that if we choose him, it will be truly special. That is why faith is such a challenge and such a mystery. If it was God-determined and given, it would be nothing special. It is the fact that we choose God over evil that makes our relationship with God so amazing. God did not just create puppets; God created free-willed people that could go in any direction they pleased. This is not to say that God does not lead us, but I do not think that God forces people to be one way or another.
Going back to the idea that God was lonely, I can't help but feel like we have some power to comfort God as well. Just as a father is deeply touched when his child displays great love for him, or depends on him for safety, comfort, and guidance, our Father must feel some sort of something. I don't have any idea what emotions are transferable, as God is God and we are merely humans, but we are made in God's image, which provides the capacity for understanding. Of course, God knows and understands human emotions through Jesus, and has felt them through Jesus. We just don't entirely understand God--but we do know that he feels for us--God's sympathy, even empathy as provided through God's experience in the flesh, may be what allows grace, our forgiveness.

September 4-8 blog

This week’s scripture readings and lecture topics have made me think a lot about my worldview in relationship to the worldview of "Moralistic Therapeutic Deism (MTD)" introduced on Wednesday. While I have a much "stricter" Christian belief than what is set forth in the MTD perspective, it is difficult to balance that belief with my sinful nature and avoid hypocrisy. I have been forced, in the reflections of what it means to be a Christian and how I have grown, or should be growing, in my faith, to bow my head in recognition of my many failures.
The last week has been a rough one in my personal life, which has given me extra "food for thought." Of course, as struggles arise in my relationships with loved ones and I feel exceptionally lonely, an interesting pattern arises as I work through my sadness. At first, I usually resist prayer or Bible study as a "solution" to my troubles, mostly out of stubborn exhaustion and the overwhelming confusion of not knowing where to even begin my prayers. However, it never fails that when I feel like I have nothing to say to God, I am reminded that I do not need to use words. In Romans 8, one of my favorite Bible chapters, verse 26, Paul writes, "likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words." I have often turned to this for comfort, for it reminds me that I do not have to articulate my feelings—God can sense my inner groaning and read my heart. It is here where discussions of communication with God begin to apply—we all ask for answers in our prayers, but I struggle with actually listening to those answers and discerning what is from God and what I am inventing or mistakenly interpreting. It seems that the moment one begins trying to listen to God, one begins hearing all sorts of things and not knowing what to do with them.
To return to the idea of worldview and the MTD perspective, it frustrates me that I so easily get out of the habit of making my faith the top priority in my life, and it is when I need God that I finally turn to Him. It is not that I forget Him, it is that I get lazy and selfish, and just don’t feel like spending "quality time" with Him. And I take for granted my blessings, for which I should be praising Him all the time. Despite the fact that I so heartily disagree with the idea that God should stay out of our lives except for when we need Him, I do a terrible job of inviting Him to be present during the times when things are going just fine. This is a discouraging point of weakness, because it means I also rely on my own ability to recognize when "I need God," as though I am the one in control. The reality is that I need Him all the time, and I need constant communion with Him, and if I had that, I probably would have less times of really needing him because my despair would likely be avoided. Additionally, if I want to grow in my faith, as I desperately want to and know that I am expected to, turning to him during the bad times is not going to do the trick. Contrary to what the MTD viewpoint suggests, it is not enough to "be a good person." I believe that true faith is naturally followed by goodness, knowledge, self-control, endurance, godliness, mutual affection, and love, but it is that faith itself that is a constant struggle. The disciples, who lived among Jesus, living proof of the validation of Christian faith, had "little faith." Jesus told them that if they had even a little, they could move mountains. It is the most difficult endeavor as a Christian, to have steadfast faith, which is also what makes it so miraculous. Faith is a verb—it translates into the above qualities and into works. It is that which I strive for as a Christian, and the lens through which I choose to view the world, but if I don’t constantly hold that lens up, I find myself moving in the opposite direction of growth.