One Cold Morning: Into the Darkness...

Into the Darkness, Into the Light…

Yesterday morning I woke up before dawn and prepared for my trek to work. It was yet very early in the morning and, therefore, also very dark outside. As I stepped out of the door, closed it behind me, and stepped out into the cold darkness, I had a striking experience. It took my eyes a little bit longer than normal to adjust from the light of the house to the darkness of the morning. I took three unsteady, blind steps out into the darkness. Suddenly I knew what it was like to have no bearings, no sense of direction or surroundings….
… and then I looked up. Oh, how the celestial dancers that twinkled and winked above lifted my soul! Those bright lights from deep in the unfathomable depths of the universe called to me and drew me out from the confusion. I was awe-struck.

St. Gregory of Nyssa, in The Life of Moses, wrote,
What does it mean that Moses entered the darkness and then saw God in it? […] For leaving behind everything that is observed, not only what sense comprehends but also what the intelligence thinks it sees, it keeps on penetrating deeper until by the intelligence’s yearning for understanding it gains access to the invisible and incomprehensible, and there sees God. This is the true knowledge of what is sought; this is the seeing that consists in not seeing, because that which is sought transcends all knowledge, being separated on all sides by incomprehensibility as by a kind of darkness.

It is often difficult for those of us who deal in the realm of ideas, concepts, and intellectual abstractions to remember that God is infinitely greater than the mind can grasp, that all our intellectual strivings are meant merely to be preparation for approaching the inexpressible Being of God. As St. Gregory well knew, God is so far beyond our mind and senses that we often must be thrown into darkness and uncertainty – we must lose our bearings, leave our familiar signposts behind, and let go of our spiritual safety blankets (whatever they might be) – in order to approach him.

Yes, it is unnerving to have no sense of security; but I would willingly enter that darkness – blind and lost – for the sake of glimpsing the majesty that shone down on my soul that cold morning. So it is also with the unspeakable divine majesty of God. And thus I pray that I might stumble into the blinding darkness that I might find Him whom I seek…

A Strange Nocturnal Sojourn: how do we pass the hours?

Most evenings after dinner my lovely wife and I go for an evening stroll. It's a chance to spend time together and share our thoughts or events of the day with each other. Last night we ended up going for the walk a little later than normal. The sun was already down by the time we headed out for our stroll through the neighbourhood. As it was later than normal the walk was a little different than otherwise. The first difference was the flashing light that my wife clipped to the back of my jacket. I felt a little like that dog with the silly cone on his head who has to endure the other dogs looking and silently snickering (you have to know that they do). The other difference was how quiet it was out: not much traffic either vehicular or pedestrian to speak of. As we strolled the quiet streets we became keenly aware of where everyone else was. The vast majority the houses we passed had this strange flickering bluish light radiating from behind the window blinds. From those houses with their blinds open (and with huge HD screens) we realized what the source of this alien light was: a magic motion picture box! Yes, the overwhelming majority of the homes had this strange box. We even crept up to a couple houses to see what was taking place inside: people of all shapes, sizes, and ages were huddled around this box (or in the case of the huge ones they were back against the opposite wall) mesmorized, spellbound by the hypnotizing light. At one point I actually had to physically pull my entranced wife away from the sight.

All joking aside, it was quite the surprising experience for us both. Yes, we do have a television, but we don't have cable (if that's what the kids are still calling it nowadays). I had forgotten how TV tended to dominate the evenings in most households. Removed as we were from the 'activity' that was transpiring in these homes throughout our neighbourhood, it did seem a strange sight to see individuals and families kneeling before their high-definition altars.

When we returned home from our walk, I made some vanilla rooibos tea for us (and chocolate for my wife to dip), she did some homework, I put on some quiet music (Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata - it seemed somehow appropriate), did the dishes and read a little. We had a nice quiet evening at home.

What did people do before television conquered the evening hours?

Fall: The trees are alive with the sound of music?

A change has been steadily coming over me during the past few years. I notice things that I would have otherwise not have noticed in the past. This year I've begun to notice fall.

This past week, my walks have been incredibly vivid. Well, maybe not the walks themselves (still just two feet and a heartbeat) but the scenery is something else. Daily I have found myself in awe of my arboreal neighbours. Almost every street I look down seems to resound back with all the effect of an orchestral symphony for the eyes. All the different participants play their role - the deep purple basses and red tenors harmonize with the orange altos and the bright yellow sopranos. I've even begun to name some of the trees. They are generally not very original names, but they do seem to fit ('deep purple' is just a bit down the road, 'tequila sunrise' is right across the street from our place, 'Mr. Crantastic'... - well, you get the idea).

Already their colours are fading as the leaves fall to the ground. I suppose I will miss them when they are soon gone; but there will be other colours and shades to occupy my vision and my mind as I stroll through the ocularly alluring streets of life. Until then, I shall listen with both eyes to the manifold depth and variety that is before me. Sing on my friends, sing on...

Pride: Is it necessarily bad?

I experienced an emotion yesterday that I am not very familiar with: pride. Maybe its the residual vestiges of my Evangelical Christian training, maybe it's something else; whatever it is, I find that pride in something I've done is a foreign thing to me. Sure, I find pride in its other, more insidious, forms creeping up in my heart from time to time: self-righteousness and condemnation of others, etc. But I don't often feel much pride in my accomplishments.

Many Evangelical Christians will rail against the evils of pride. The Scriptures also speak against pride; but I find the difference to be that in the Scriptures the pride that is being censured is more akin to arrogance or haughtiness of the kind that puts others down in an attempt to raise oneself up. It is not the nebulous 'pride' that results in false humility, the kind that does not allow for congratulations or the acceptance of compliments, even when justified.

I think that perhaps I have suffered from the Evangelical approach to pride. It seems to me that I have failed to accept congratulations and praise even when deserved. I have failed to pat myself on the back from time to time and say, 'good job Tyler'. Of course, there is still the danger of the 'bad pride' creeping in; but I see this as more of a danger in my relationships with others and how I treat them rather in how I treat myself. Likely, the 'bad pride' stems from low self-esteem and self-worth, not from proper recognition of one's accomplishments.

Yesterday I received a paper back from a professor of mine and found myself with a foreign emotion upon reading through it. The paper was for my 'Advanced Greek Readings' course last spring and was titled "Lost in Translation?: An exploration into the LXX as a translation with specific focus on lexicological, syntactical and exegetical issues in Genesis 2.4-3.6". My professor had thoroughly engaged with my paper and there were prolific notes, comments, and suggestions filling the margins throughout. But on the last page he had written:

Thanks Tyler,
This represents a good piece of wrestling with the primary data, that any supervisor would be proud of.
A+

You know what? It felt damn good to read that comment. I worked hard on that paper. The whole time I felt like I was in over my head and in an area in which I was an amateur. It wasn't so much the grade that felt good (although it did); it was the sense of accomplishment and his recognition of my efforts. He didn't tell me that I had written a magnus opus of phenomenal proportions; he simply recognized the work I put in. I was tempted to feel bad about my pride, but then I made a conscious effort not to. I have no reason to feel guilty: if my professor gives me a complement, I'm going to accept it graciously and feel good about it. I've never felt this proud about a paper in my six years of studies; I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.

I think that if someone deserves a compliment, I ought to give it to them. Likewise, if someone feels that I deserve a compliment, and gives me one, I ought to take them seriously and accept it. Just as I can feel pride in the accomplishments of those people in my life about whom I care, I can justifiably feel pride in my own accomplishments... without shame or fear. I'm going to work on that.

I ought to avoid false pride; I also ought to avoid false humility. Both are equally false. Is pride bad... not necessarily.

Comfort, O comfort my people...

I’ve often wondered about giving comfort to those who are in some sort of distress or pain. I’m not the sort of person who is naturally gifted with the ability to comfort others. I realized this quickly in my position as a outreach worker to street youth. This may sound strange coming from a Youth Outreach Worker who spent four plus years with drug-affected, street-entrenched youth, but I really don’t know how to provide comfort to people. I have had many talks with youth over the years in which they would share their various struggles and hardships with me. My natural response would often be something to the effect of, “yeah, that sucks” or “man, that must be tough”. When I first began, I had all sorts of illusions of give such wise, sage advise that the youth would immediately see how they might properly respond to their difficulties and recognize that God would help them through. I soon realized that such wonderfully sage advice would not be forthcoming from me. I had to learn to work within my limits. The solution that I eventually came to was to offer what I had, not what I didn’t have (i.e. sage, life-changing wisdom). What I often did have was an ear to listen with and the time to do just that. These I would give as freely as my many tasks would allow. I eventually became comfortable with responses like, “seriously? I can’t imagine what that’s like”. I think I just became more okay with just being me. I couldn’t pretend to understand what these kids have been through… so I didn’t. Usually we’d talk, I’d ask question, and I would just let them be in a safe place where they could share. Sometimes I’d pray for them, sometimes I’d share my thoughts or experiences, but always, I would do my best to provide a context where two broken human beings could be broken together (even if just for a moment). The worst thing when suffering is to feel alone and that no one cares (and when you’re on the streets, you must often wonder if anyone actually does).

I don’t work downtown anymore. I don’t spend my days with street youth. There was something refreshing about some of the kids I would meet down there: they know they’re messed-up, they know they have serious problems. Now I spend my days with well-to-do, clean, employed people, who have full stomachs and full wallets. They don’t come to me with their pain and their struggles. What does it look like to provide comfort to these people? I know they have pain, I know they have struggles. I know this because I’m one of them and I have pain, I have struggles. I often ask myself what it would look like to comfort these people. Maybe I should start by asking myself what it would look like for me to ask for comfort, to share my struggles, my pain. How can I expect such people to overcome the social norms when I am little able to myself?

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.