The Ochlophobist: against a "personal relationship with the Lord Jesus"
This is good and thought-provoking. Don't let the title scare you off.
Showing posts with label reflection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reflection. Show all posts
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Monday, December 21, 2009
reflection poem. written Friday, Dec 4th, 2009. 4:24pm. 1 Day Short of 1 Month. posted on Facebook Monday, December 7, 2009 at 9:00pm
No man chooses the hour of his going hence.
Only to a few saints is it given to know it
If we knew it, could we bear it?
We could not.
Many would choose the hour of their going hence,
To quit rather than be fired--
To retain their illusion of agency,
In charge of your little world.
But know--
What more than death serves to remind us
Who wish to control our little worlds,
That the world is out of our control?
Our vaunted technologies are all towers of Babel,
Vanities of vanities,
Futilities of futilities,
Chasing after the wind.
Have you caught it yet?
Sometimes, we can slow death, but not stop it;
And sometimes it cannot even be slowed.
There is more on heaven and on earth, Horatio,
Than you know, or are even able to know--
We can split the atom,
We cannot create life.
We cannot prevent the hurricane
From making its landfall,
And we often misguess where it will land.
We cannot still the earthquake,
For all our Richter scales.
Reinforce your architecture,
And your buildings still fall down.
We can hem in the forest fire,
But it will still eat its trees.
Man cannot prevent his going hence.
All his strength and all his science
Are ultimately laid low by it;
Try to defeat it all you want,
But you will overreach.
Lay siege to it all you desire,
It will force you to retreat.
Tell me, with your fishhooks, O man,
Have you yet caught Leviathan?
When the elderly die, it's a pity;
And sometimes it is a mercy,
If their dying is slow and painful;
A mercy, if you love and must watch it.
When the young die, it is tragedy,
Something past understanding.
Why would they die in their youth,
In their prime? When they have not yet
Had full measure of time?
When their life should still lie before them?
This we know: that you, man, are mortal,
And the hour will come for your going hence.
When the Bridegroom comes at midnight,
Will your lamp be found alight?
When the Son of Man comes like a thief in the night,
Will your soul be found watching?
Let us look to the parable
Of the rich man with all his storehouses.
He was not called a fool for his storehouses,
He was not called a fool in that he was rich.
For what then was he called a fool?
For assuming that all he had came from himself,
Assuming that forever he'd live with his wealth.
But the Lord said, You fool,
On this very night
Your life will be required of you.
God lays claim on you,
Whether you claim him or no.
And then James says, If you say
That today or tomorrow, we will go
To such-and-such a city, spend a year there,
Buy and sell, and make a profit--
This is foolish arrogance,
For you do not know
What will befall you tomorrow.
For what is your life? It's a vapor
That appears for a time
And then fades away.
So instead, say,
If the Lord wills, we shall live
and do this or that. Do not boast
Of tomorrow, for you do not know
What even today will bring forth.
Why is such boasting called evil?
We cannot claim tomorrow.
Yesterday, we cannot change.
We have only Today.
This is why Hebrews says,
While it is still called Today,
Do not harden your hearts
In the deceitfulness of sins.
We are become partakers of God
If we hold steadfast
Until the end.
And the day that God lays claim on us,
Will be called Today.
After that there will be no more tomorrows,
And all times will be now.
For with God, all times are Now.
Only to a few saints is it given to know it
If we knew it, could we bear it?
We could not.
Many would choose the hour of their going hence,
To quit rather than be fired--
To retain their illusion of agency,
In charge of your little world.
But know--
What more than death serves to remind us
Who wish to control our little worlds,
That the world is out of our control?
Our vaunted technologies are all towers of Babel,
Vanities of vanities,
Futilities of futilities,
Chasing after the wind.
Have you caught it yet?
Sometimes, we can slow death, but not stop it;
And sometimes it cannot even be slowed.
There is more on heaven and on earth, Horatio,
Than you know, or are even able to know--
We can split the atom,
We cannot create life.
We cannot prevent the hurricane
From making its landfall,
And we often misguess where it will land.
We cannot still the earthquake,
For all our Richter scales.
Reinforce your architecture,
And your buildings still fall down.
We can hem in the forest fire,
But it will still eat its trees.
Man cannot prevent his going hence.
All his strength and all his science
Are ultimately laid low by it;
Try to defeat it all you want,
But you will overreach.
Lay siege to it all you desire,
It will force you to retreat.
Tell me, with your fishhooks, O man,
Have you yet caught Leviathan?
When the elderly die, it's a pity;
And sometimes it is a mercy,
If their dying is slow and painful;
A mercy, if you love and must watch it.
When the young die, it is tragedy,
Something past understanding.
Why would they die in their youth,
In their prime? When they have not yet
Had full measure of time?
When their life should still lie before them?
This we know: that you, man, are mortal,
And the hour will come for your going hence.
When the Bridegroom comes at midnight,
Will your lamp be found alight?
When the Son of Man comes like a thief in the night,
Will your soul be found watching?
Let us look to the parable
Of the rich man with all his storehouses.
He was not called a fool for his storehouses,
He was not called a fool in that he was rich.
For what then was he called a fool?
For assuming that all he had came from himself,
Assuming that forever he'd live with his wealth.
But the Lord said, You fool,
On this very night
Your life will be required of you.
God lays claim on you,
Whether you claim him or no.
And then James says, If you say
That today or tomorrow, we will go
To such-and-such a city, spend a year there,
Buy and sell, and make a profit--
This is foolish arrogance,
For you do not know
What will befall you tomorrow.
For what is your life? It's a vapor
That appears for a time
And then fades away.
So instead, say,
If the Lord wills, we shall live
and do this or that. Do not boast
Of tomorrow, for you do not know
What even today will bring forth.
Why is such boasting called evil?
We cannot claim tomorrow.
Yesterday, we cannot change.
We have only Today.
This is why Hebrews says,
While it is still called Today,
Do not harden your hearts
In the deceitfulness of sins.
We are become partakers of God
If we hold steadfast
Until the end.
And the day that God lays claim on us,
Will be called Today.
After that there will be no more tomorrows,
And all times will be now.
For with God, all times are Now.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Reflection. written December 3, 2009, 4:30pm. Two weeks, 5 days. Share
I am reminded of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which CS Lewis was unashamed to call allegory...well if it was good enough for St Gregory of Nyssa, why not CS Lewis? It is clear who Aslan represents...he is the Christ figure in the story.
What was never clear to me until recently--but let me backtrack.
What struck me, when saying goodbye to Nelson in the flesh, was how like a statue he looked and felt. It was still my Nelson, only turned to stne. I'd never had such a reaction to a dead person before. They had always looked different to me from their live selves, sometimes enough as to seem like another person...or like a wax figure. Not so with my Nelson. Maybe because I'd memorized every line and pore of his face and his hands. I'd caressed that same face a thousand times. For the first time it did not relax at my touch, nor did he get that little smile that he would get...turned to stone. He was familiar to me, so even dead, he still looked like himself. And the makeup was an obscenity. (I could just picture him sputtering, "I'm a man! I don't wear makeup!")
It was still my Nelson, only turned to stone. His face still looked like his face, still felt like his face. The shape of it, all the pores, all its character, they were all the same...Still my Nelson, only turned to stone.
Back to CS Lewis. Lewis fought in the First World War, and grew up in an age without penicillin. He must have seen a lot of people he loved die. I'm sure they didn't use makeup on the dead then either...so they would have looked like white marble-like statues.
So back to The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. What is the first thing Aslan does after he rises from the dead, breaking the stone table? With "Deeper Magic from Before the Dawn of Time"--I always loved that wording--which overruled the "Deep Magic from the Dawn of Time" that he had submitted to voluntarily, that had put him there.) What is the first thing Aslan (Christ) does after rising from the dead? He storms the White Witch's castle. What has the White Witch been doing throughout the book? She's been zapping people with her wand, turning people into stone, and using them to decorate her castle. Into statues. Statues, made of stone, cold, unfeeling, unmoving, resembling who they had been but unresponsive...stone statues.
Again, the first thing Aslan does after rising from the dead is storm the White Witch's castle, which he does effortlessly. Immediately, once inside, he goes from statue to statue, breathing on them and bringing them back to life.
The White Witch's castle, clearly, is Hades (Hell/Death). The statues are the dead, whom Aslan (Christ)breathes on and brings back to life. It is Christ storming Hades, destroying death by his death...Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs, bestowing life...
Funny how I never caught that metaphor before...I must have read that book a thousand times as a child and never picked up on it.
What was never clear to me until recently--but let me backtrack.
What struck me, when saying goodbye to Nelson in the flesh, was how like a statue he looked and felt. It was still my Nelson, only turned to stne. I'd never had such a reaction to a dead person before. They had always looked different to me from their live selves, sometimes enough as to seem like another person...or like a wax figure. Not so with my Nelson. Maybe because I'd memorized every line and pore of his face and his hands. I'd caressed that same face a thousand times. For the first time it did not relax at my touch, nor did he get that little smile that he would get...turned to stone. He was familiar to me, so even dead, he still looked like himself. And the makeup was an obscenity. (I could just picture him sputtering, "I'm a man! I don't wear makeup!")
It was still my Nelson, only turned to stone. His face still looked like his face, still felt like his face. The shape of it, all the pores, all its character, they were all the same...Still my Nelson, only turned to stone.
Back to CS Lewis. Lewis fought in the First World War, and grew up in an age without penicillin. He must have seen a lot of people he loved die. I'm sure they didn't use makeup on the dead then either...so they would have looked like white marble-like statues.
So back to The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. What is the first thing Aslan does after he rises from the dead, breaking the stone table? With "Deeper Magic from Before the Dawn of Time"--I always loved that wording--which overruled the "Deep Magic from the Dawn of Time" that he had submitted to voluntarily, that had put him there.) What is the first thing Aslan (Christ) does after rising from the dead? He storms the White Witch's castle. What has the White Witch been doing throughout the book? She's been zapping people with her wand, turning people into stone, and using them to decorate her castle. Into statues. Statues, made of stone, cold, unfeeling, unmoving, resembling who they had been but unresponsive...stone statues.
Again, the first thing Aslan does after rising from the dead is storm the White Witch's castle, which he does effortlessly. Immediately, once inside, he goes from statue to statue, breathing on them and bringing them back to life.
The White Witch's castle, clearly, is Hades (Hell/Death). The statues are the dead, whom Aslan (Christ)breathes on and brings back to life. It is Christ storming Hades, destroying death by his death...Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs, bestowing life...
Funny how I never caught that metaphor before...I must have read that book a thousand times as a child and never picked up on it.
I wrote this on a scrap of paper last Tuesday, Nov. 24, 2009, at 4:42pm...
First posted on Facebook on Tuesday, December 1, 2009 at 10:36pm:
I dozed off at work this morning.
Probably because I'd gotten about 2 hours of sleep.
I'd had a particularly wretched morning.
I was missing Nelson acutely.
I dozed off, but my eyes were still half-open--it was that weird state between asleep and awake.
As I dozed off, I could hear Nelson whispering in my ear,
"Shh, baby. I love you, baby.
It'll be alright, baby. You'll be alright."
Just like he used to soothe me when he was holding me, in life.
I think he knew I was missing him.
Sometimes I feel like he's very near...
I dozed off at work this morning.
Probably because I'd gotten about 2 hours of sleep.
I'd had a particularly wretched morning.
I was missing Nelson acutely.
I dozed off, but my eyes were still half-open--it was that weird state between asleep and awake.
As I dozed off, I could hear Nelson whispering in my ear,
"Shh, baby. I love you, baby.
It'll be alright, baby. You'll be alright."
Just like he used to soothe me when he was holding me, in life.
I think he knew I was missing him.
Sometimes I feel like he's very near...
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Helpful Suggestions: Things Not To Say
1) Don't tell me we might have/would have broken up. Our mutual love is one of the things I've still got.
2) Don't tell me I'll find someone new. It's not a breakup. We loved each other deeply. When he passed, we were planning on soon being engaged. See above. Our mutual love--and the memory of that-- is one of the few things I've still got.
3) Don't tell me I'll eventually be ready to find someone new, find new love, etc. I really don't care. I found the real thing, I found the man I wanted to get married to, and he died. Whether I get married now, ever, or not, I don't care--indefinitely.
4) Don't tell me I need to move on. It hasn't even been a month yet since his death. From all accounts, the first year is very hard, especially for widows, which I might as well be (albeit not legally).
5) Don't be afraid of mentioning him. I want you to mention him and tell me your memories. They are all precious to me.
6) Don't tell me I need to take, or increase, my psychopharmaceuticals. I can manage that myself.
7) I am coping as best as I can. Please spare me your advice on how I need to cope better. I can walk, I can drive, I can see without double vision. I'm doing much better. Right now I am focusing on getting through one day at a time.
8) Don't tell me it was God's will as if that will make me feel better. I wrote my thesis on the subject. I've probably pondered the issue more deeply than you have. God's will governs all things. Telling me so isn't really going to be helpful.
9) Don't tell me you understand because you lost your mother/father/sister/brother/friend/etc. It's not the same. Or at least, if you do, don't use that as your excuse to give me advice about it. If you use your experience to empathetically listen, though--that's good.
10) The Biblical saying that we are not to grieve as those without hope (1 Thess 4:13) does NOT mean that we are not supposed to grieve. Got that? If you want to get into an exegetical argument with me on that passage, bring it.
11) I believe he is in heaven. I believe he is praying for me. I pray for him. I talk to him. That mitigates the agony. But telling me, "At least he's in heaven now" is not going to make it go away. It's grief. It hurts.
12) Don't tell me I need to a) move on, b) move on faster, c) get over it, c) get over it faster, or ask me, at any point in the indefinite future, if I'm still grieving. I'm on grief's timetable, not yours--not even on mine. “Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to gird yourself and walk wherever you wished; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else will gird you, and bring you where you do not wish to go.” (John 21:18) I am being brought where I did not wish to go. Any assertions as to the slowness of grief's timetable, or questions thereunto, are manifestly unhelpful.
13) Don't assume that because I laugh, or smile at something, that it means I'm not grieving. It just relieves the pressure for a second. It's always there.
14) Don't tell me that, because I'm suffering, I need to see a doctor, or a psychiatrist, or a psychologist, or any other such professional, or ask me when I'm going to do so. Please assume I've got that covered.
15) Don't extrapolate your experience with grief, or your friend's, or your family's, onto my own. You may have handled your grief by a) throwing yourself into work, b) retreating into a little cave and shutting yourself off from everyone, c) needing antidepressants or sedatives, or needing the doses raised, d) or buying a farm and raising llamas. Everybody grieves differently. Don't assume that because I'm not grieving your way, I'm not grieving right.
16) Don't assume that because I'm grieving, I want to be left alone. Apparently that's not how I roll. Please call me. Please come over. It's hard to make calls, and it's hard to reach out to people, but when people reach out to me, I really appreciate it. The love and support of my friends and family is helping me get through/survive this.
2) Don't tell me I'll find someone new. It's not a breakup. We loved each other deeply. When he passed, we were planning on soon being engaged. See above. Our mutual love--and the memory of that-- is one of the few things I've still got.
3) Don't tell me I'll eventually be ready to find someone new, find new love, etc. I really don't care. I found the real thing, I found the man I wanted to get married to, and he died. Whether I get married now, ever, or not, I don't care--indefinitely.
4) Don't tell me I need to move on. It hasn't even been a month yet since his death. From all accounts, the first year is very hard, especially for widows, which I might as well be (albeit not legally).
5) Don't be afraid of mentioning him. I want you to mention him and tell me your memories. They are all precious to me.
6) Don't tell me I need to take, or increase, my psychopharmaceuticals. I can manage that myself.
7) I am coping as best as I can. Please spare me your advice on how I need to cope better. I can walk, I can drive, I can see without double vision. I'm doing much better. Right now I am focusing on getting through one day at a time.
8) Don't tell me it was God's will as if that will make me feel better. I wrote my thesis on the subject. I've probably pondered the issue more deeply than you have. God's will governs all things. Telling me so isn't really going to be helpful.
9) Don't tell me you understand because you lost your mother/father/sister/brother/friend/etc. It's not the same. Or at least, if you do, don't use that as your excuse to give me advice about it. If you use your experience to empathetically listen, though--that's good.
10) The Biblical saying that we are not to grieve as those without hope (1 Thess 4:13) does NOT mean that we are not supposed to grieve. Got that? If you want to get into an exegetical argument with me on that passage, bring it.
11) I believe he is in heaven. I believe he is praying for me. I pray for him. I talk to him. That mitigates the agony. But telling me, "At least he's in heaven now" is not going to make it go away. It's grief. It hurts.
12) Don't tell me I need to a) move on, b) move on faster, c) get over it, c) get over it faster, or ask me, at any point in the indefinite future, if I'm still grieving. I'm on grief's timetable, not yours--not even on mine. “Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to gird yourself and walk wherever you wished; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else will gird you, and bring you where you do not wish to go.” (John 21:18) I am being brought where I did not wish to go. Any assertions as to the slowness of grief's timetable, or questions thereunto, are manifestly unhelpful.
13) Don't assume that because I laugh, or smile at something, that it means I'm not grieving. It just relieves the pressure for a second. It's always there.
14) Don't tell me that, because I'm suffering, I need to see a doctor, or a psychiatrist, or a psychologist, or any other such professional, or ask me when I'm going to do so. Please assume I've got that covered.
15) Don't extrapolate your experience with grief, or your friend's, or your family's, onto my own. You may have handled your grief by a) throwing yourself into work, b) retreating into a little cave and shutting yourself off from everyone, c) needing antidepressants or sedatives, or needing the doses raised, d) or buying a farm and raising llamas. Everybody grieves differently. Don't assume that because I'm not grieving your way, I'm not grieving right.
16) Don't assume that because I'm grieving, I want to be left alone. Apparently that's not how I roll. Please call me. Please come over. It's hard to make calls, and it's hard to reach out to people, but when people reach out to me, I really appreciate it. The love and support of my friends and family is helping me get through/survive this.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Grief Manifesto (posted as "Reflections" on Facebook)
I did my thesis on the value of suffering--actually the paper in the library is one I consider unfinished--and in my research I concluded these things:
1.) These things happen for a reason. A Reason Exists.
2.) Even death can be the provision of God. Yes, that sounds crazy. It also feels crazy. It's one of those God paradoxes, like the incarnation, the crucifixion, the resurrection--which, of course, are all tied in with this.
3.) Basil the Great's homily goes down such a long laundry list of possible reasons for why the bad things in this world could be, my conclusion was that it could be caused by any number of those things, so why speculate? Only God knows; I won't understand it til the hereafter.
4.) Even if I knew what the reason were, I wouldn't like it. Especially now. If you try to guess it, you'll probably guess wrong anyway. Even if you're right in your speculation, it would probably only make things worse. Perhaps that is why we are bewildered and confused by it, and why the future is hidden from us. If we knew it, could we bear it?
4) The only evil that is evil in and of itself is sin, which originates from man, not God; other things we perceive as evil (like physical suffering) might actually have some purpose for good. And that evil itself is a parasite, a corruption of that which was good from the beginning. Only that which is good truly exists, and that not in and of itself, but because God sustains it. All that is created depends on the provision of the Creator to exist; only God exists in and of himself, and He is the ultimate Good.
5) It's enough for me to know that A Reason Exists. I actually don't want to know it.
6) If suffering is good for anything, it's to train you in virtue. Of course, that's what the fathers say everything is for.
But nevertheless. I am reminded of Joseph's words to his brothers, "You meant it for evil, but the Lord meant it for good." Also of Romans 8:28: "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose."
It is no accident that those words come right after the passage that begins, "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body. For we were saved in this hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance." (Romans 8:18-25)
The whole creation--and, Paul goes on to say, we ourselves--groan like a woman in labor. I have never been in labor, but I have it on good authority that it is a painful experience. But Paul is analogizing this to all the sufferings of this life. And all the ills of the world are likewise like labor pains. As the pregnant woman endures the pain of labor in the hope of holding a newborn babe, so we endure the pains that come with living in hope of the resurrection, of being delivered from corruption. We are like women in labor, but it is we who are being born. Which is, of course, a paradox; but so it most of the really true stuff in theology. That's why we call it a mystery. And of course, Paul speaks of perseverance--perseverance through the agony of this world, which longs to be delivered from corruption.
Only after speaking of suffering, labor pains, and perseverance does he say, "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose." All things. Not just the good things, not just the happy things, not just the things that our senses would call good, or our human understanding, which is finite, but ALL things. We hope for what we do not see--and one of those things which we hope for, which is given us in the life of the age to come, is the understanding of the why of all this.
We were not created for a world stained by sin and suffering and death; therefore our human understanding rebels at this. Death in particular. But the hope of us Christians is that death has already been defeated and made finite, by the paradox of the cross: that God took on himself all that goes with being human, even suffering, torture, and death--and by doing so broke their power forever. Death is horrible--death is beyond all human understanding--but death is not permanent! This is the hope of us Christians. This was Nelson's hope. The suffering of separation that I endure by his death is the suffering of labor pains, but it is I who am being born. He, however, is already there.
1.) These things happen for a reason. A Reason Exists.
2.) Even death can be the provision of God. Yes, that sounds crazy. It also feels crazy. It's one of those God paradoxes, like the incarnation, the crucifixion, the resurrection--which, of course, are all tied in with this.
3.) Basil the Great's homily goes down such a long laundry list of possible reasons for why the bad things in this world could be, my conclusion was that it could be caused by any number of those things, so why speculate? Only God knows; I won't understand it til the hereafter.
4.) Even if I knew what the reason were, I wouldn't like it. Especially now. If you try to guess it, you'll probably guess wrong anyway. Even if you're right in your speculation, it would probably only make things worse. Perhaps that is why we are bewildered and confused by it, and why the future is hidden from us. If we knew it, could we bear it?
4) The only evil that is evil in and of itself is sin, which originates from man, not God; other things we perceive as evil (like physical suffering) might actually have some purpose for good. And that evil itself is a parasite, a corruption of that which was good from the beginning. Only that which is good truly exists, and that not in and of itself, but because God sustains it. All that is created depends on the provision of the Creator to exist; only God exists in and of himself, and He is the ultimate Good.
5) It's enough for me to know that A Reason Exists. I actually don't want to know it.
6) If suffering is good for anything, it's to train you in virtue. Of course, that's what the fathers say everything is for.
But nevertheless. I am reminded of Joseph's words to his brothers, "You meant it for evil, but the Lord meant it for good." Also of Romans 8:28: "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose."
It is no accident that those words come right after the passage that begins, "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body. For we were saved in this hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance." (Romans 8:18-25)
The whole creation--and, Paul goes on to say, we ourselves--groan like a woman in labor. I have never been in labor, but I have it on good authority that it is a painful experience. But Paul is analogizing this to all the sufferings of this life. And all the ills of the world are likewise like labor pains. As the pregnant woman endures the pain of labor in the hope of holding a newborn babe, so we endure the pains that come with living in hope of the resurrection, of being delivered from corruption. We are like women in labor, but it is we who are being born. Which is, of course, a paradox; but so it most of the really true stuff in theology. That's why we call it a mystery. And of course, Paul speaks of perseverance--perseverance through the agony of this world, which longs to be delivered from corruption.
Only after speaking of suffering, labor pains, and perseverance does he say, "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose." All things. Not just the good things, not just the happy things, not just the things that our senses would call good, or our human understanding, which is finite, but ALL things. We hope for what we do not see--and one of those things which we hope for, which is given us in the life of the age to come, is the understanding of the why of all this.
We were not created for a world stained by sin and suffering and death; therefore our human understanding rebels at this. Death in particular. But the hope of us Christians is that death has already been defeated and made finite, by the paradox of the cross: that God took on himself all that goes with being human, even suffering, torture, and death--and by doing so broke their power forever. Death is horrible--death is beyond all human understanding--but death is not permanent! This is the hope of us Christians. This was Nelson's hope. The suffering of separation that I endure by his death is the suffering of labor pains, but it is I who am being born. He, however, is already there.
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