America needs a Reformation

Religion and politics have been wrapped around one another for thousands of years. From a purely political standpoint, religion was frequently used as a means to control the populace and consolidate power.This was true of the Egyptians, the Aztecs, the Romans and Jews. As Christianity spread throughout the world, first through the travels of the early Apostles, and later by the growing Catholic Church, the teachings of Christ were often subverted and forgotten. The masses did not understand the simplest tenets of their own beliefs, for services were held in a language they did not understand and read from Bibles they could not read.

When Martin Luther published his famous The Ninety-five theses in 1519, he sparked a reformation, and shook the world to its foundation. With the invention of the printing press, believers had access to translations of the Bible for the first time, and the Catholic Church lost its monopoly on the faithful. In many ways, the reformation was about returning to the past, rediscovering something  true and old, rather than finding something new.

The core of the reformation was the primacy of the cross,  placing faith above works, and Justification by grace, which is not earned, but rather comes from God himself. The reformation focused on the teachings of Jesus rather than the laws of men. This, too was later twisted for political ends, with the rise of nationalism throughout Europe.

Christianity in America needs a reformation

As the 2016 election looms, the Christian vote becomes crucial in determining who the next President of the United States will be. Once again, politics and religion are interwoven, and with consequences which will reverberate around the globe. Christians in the United States are not as homogeneous as the Catholic Church was, but over the last forty years the evangelical movement has morphed into a political beast which equates belief and faith with a clear political agenda. It’s an agenda that is often blatantly contradictory to what Jesus taught.

As the younger generation leave churches across the country in droves and membership dwindles,  prominent church leaders scratch their heads and bemoan the intrusion of humanism and secularism, point fingers at liberals, and grow more conservative. Rather than turning to the cross, they instead turn to politics.

Here are a few important ideas that seem to have vanished from the collective Christian mind in America:

Judge not

“You, therefore have no excuse, you who pass judgement upon someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgement do the same things.” (Romans 2:1)

With the absurd debate over transgender bathrooms and gay-rights all over the news, Christians seem oddly focused upon codifying their judgements, and howling insults and hate from the pulpit and the rooftop. This is not only contradictory to what the New Testament teaches, but it also serves to drive a wedge between believers. It is a terrible stumbling block for many. Hypocrisy and judgment will kill belief as surely as the plague, and the church in the U.S. is ravished by these things.

Humility

“For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.” (Luke 14:11)

Jesus taught much about humility. Not the kind of humility that we should take pride in and use as a weapon, but actual humility. Somehow, Christians still line up behind leaders, both religious and political, who exalt themselves every day. From the T.V. preachers with fleets of jets to Donald Trump, Christians get behind these clowns in spite of the obvious contradictions between what they profess, what they do, and what they actually believe.

“Woe unto you Pharisees, because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all the other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. You should have practiced the latter without leaving the former undone. Woe to you Pharisees, because you love the most important seats in the synagogues and greetings in the marketplaces.” (Luke 11:42-43)

By focusing on law, men turn from the truth. Laws are of man, while God is God. Yet here in America, we have reverted back to the same sort of legalistic thinking which led Jesus to revile the Pharisees. Law becomes subversive to faith, eroding it, undermining it, ultimately destroying it.

Jesus preached charity

“One thing you lack,” he said. “Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” (Mark 10:21)

“What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? (Matthew 16:26)

In the United States, where success is conflated with goodness, this idea of charity has been engulfed by the religion of capitalism. Prominent church leaders and politicians have made the claim that God invented capitalism, which has nothing to do with Christ. Worse, the poor are paid lip-service on Sunday morning, then demonized throughout the week, called lazy, freeloaders, and nastier things by talking heads on the news. Folks ought to re-read the Sermon on the Mount, and then the rest of the Gospels.

While there is nothing wrong with wanting a limited government, this demonization of the poor has taken on tones that would make Jesus weep, and many Christians speak this sort of hate with their own mouths.

Jesus taught love

At the heart of Christian belief is love. Love is the greatest commandment.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. ” (Matthew 22:37)

We have forgotten this, it seems, in America. We routinely see hateful speech coming from those who sit in pews every Sunday, from those who preach at the pulpit, and from leaders who sway voters because they make the claim that they are Christian.

While Jesus spent most of his time with outcasts, criminals, and prostitutes, in churches all across this country there is the spirit of judgement, exclusion and hate, rather than that of acceptance and love.

Conclusion

Since the rise of the “Moral Majority” in 1979, the Christian Right has become a potent political force in the United States, with the majority of Christians identifying with the Republican Party.

Now that Donald Trump is the presumptive GOP nominee, it’s time for Christians to re-examine their faith as it pertains to politics. Because Trump’s entire existence on this planet has been defined by greed, hate, infidelity, arrogance, and lies.

Regardless of the outcome of this Presidential election, the church across America needs to solve the problem at its core. The only way to do that is to turn back to the words of Christ.

 

 

Where Was God?

A twisted gunman burst into a church and murdered Christians in an act of hate and cowardice. My heart aches for the fallen, and weeps for my country which seems broken. Where was God when the bullets tore through believers in His house? How is it that darkness appears to be defeating light?

The struggle that I’ve been through the last few years, the problems that I’ve faced, pale in comparison to those of others. I’m not looking at imminent death. Still, it’s been a brutal road for me and my family, with poverty looming, the loss of a job, and emotional battles raging. I have found myself asking, more than I’d care to admit, where was God?

In my novels, this is a central theme, the ongoing erosion of faith in the face of evil and despair. For the Fox family, there are epic battles and catastrophic losses, and still William and Crystal are never truly destroyed. Their faith is stronger than my own has been, the sort of belief I long for and which I see in some of the strong Christians I know. I’m praying, learning, trying to guild myself with the Armor of God.

Often, the hardships we face make us question the beliefs we hold most dear. I believe that God uses times of tragedy, loss, and inexplicable pain to draw us closer to Him, to bring us to a better understanding of His nature. Jesus says in John 16:33, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

It’s easy to blame God when terrible things happen. I know, because I’m guilty of this arrogant, human act. The truth is, evil in this world is committed by man. God did not cause that crazed, racist nutcase to enter a church and kill people. That was a decision that kid came to all on his own, one of free will. Our actions have consequences, for good or for bad.

God is alive and at work, and I’ve seen miracles with my own eyes. I’ve witnessed it in my life, and the lives of those that I love. Too often, I forget, for my faith is not as strong as it should be. In a world of seven billion people, there are tragedies every day, and the news will focus on the ten worst things and beat it into our brains, giving the impression that the world itself is bleeding and slipping into madness, that evil and peril lurk around every corner. We hear the bad but not the good, and this creates a pervasive, ongoing illusion, a destructive one, a lens through which we view the world shaded by darkness, one that filters out truth and light.

For the ten stories of accidents, shootings, disasters, and fires (the media is obsessed with fire of all sorts, from bombs to brush fires) there are a hundred stories we never get to hear. Lives saved, random acts of kindness, hope restored, faith found, and illness cured.

Where was God? He never left. He didn’t move, I did. Sometimes I forget.

“For you were once in darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light.” Ephesians: 5:8

God and Post-Apocalyptic Fiction

 

When the world is smashed and burning, I believe people will question why God abandoned us, while many who are not religious will turn to religion as a way of coping with the pain and destruction around us. Two of my favorite Post-Apocalyptic novels deal directly with faith: The Stand, by Stephen King, and A Canticle For Leibowitz, written by Walter M. Miller.  These novels both had a direct influence on my writing.

I’ve had a few reviewers attack the religious elements of my work, although the overwhelming majority of readers, both religious and agnostic, are not troubled by the way .the characters respond to the end of the world as we know it. While I wrote these novels from a Christian perspective, the books are by no means intended to be an extended sermon. Man has an innate need to connect to our creator, to find a way to explain our existence. Indeed, the idea of the apocalypse itself appears in Roman and Greek myths. The stories of the Biblical Flood and Armageddon go back thousands of years, and are a part of our collective human psyche.

There is a reluctance now, it seems, for post-apocalyptic fiction to address religion. I wonder why that is? Are authors fearful of alienating readers? (This was certainly very much on my mind when I wrote Objects of Wrath.) Whether it’s zombies, a virus, an asteroid, or a war, the majority of PA novels delve into the questions of faith in a cursory manner. I’m not implying there is anything wrong with this approach, and certainly many survivors would not ask larger questions, being more concerned with finding food or fleeing the approaching hoarde.

When I read a novel or watch a movie, one of the things that keeps me interested are the questions, “what would I do? How would I react? How would that feel?” Whether it’s watching an epic battle from Braveheart and putting myself into the shoes of the men waiting for a thundering charge from heavy cavalry or reading the heart-wrenching scenes in The Road, where the father tells his son how to shoot himself. I contemplate the emotional impact, try to see and feel what the characters would be going through. In Saving Private Ryan, when the soldiers are coming toward the beach, rounds zipping through the water, bombs falling, what would that feel like, to have been one of those men? What would I do?

I’m certain that I’d pray. I’d question my faith, but I’d be simultaneously clinging to it. I think that’s how most people would behave. There are atheists in foxholes, but not many.

One of the  things about post-apocalyptic fiction which appeals to me is that it offers an unflinching examination of the human condition, a window into our essential being. When laws have disappeared and civilization is absent, what sort of people are we? Philosophers like Locke, Rousseau and Hobbs talk about our “state of nature” before the social contract. I love books that take a look at this question. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy The Walking Dead. While some novels offer a very dark outlook on humanity, in which most men are truly evil by nature, others are more hopeful. I think most people are decent and good, although evil is hungry and seductive. Can good defeat evil, even when it looks as though darkness has already won?

Religion can be a force for good or great evil. In my second novel, Children of Wrath, this is the central theme. Faith in and of itself is not always a good thing. There are atrocities being committed around the world even as I write, killing carried out in the name of religion. Whether or not one believes in any sort of God, there is no denying the way that religion has shaped our world. After the world as we know it ceases to be, people will still turn to the heavens, sometimes shaking their fists, other times begging for help.

A Life, Well Written…Heroes, Villians, Lies and Truth. One Draft.

I used to scoff at regrets, probably because they hadn’t yet accumulated enough mass. I was confidant and convinced, in the way young men are, that regrets are for for fools. I believed I could fight my way through life without the deep wounds and scars born of mistakes, and I charged with unswerving abandon and careless faith and speed straight into middle age. The truth hurts when it comes crashing. I’m an author, but I haven’t written my own life the way I should have, the way I would if I were a character in one of my own books.

“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show,”
Charles Dickens opens David Copperfield with that poetry, my favorite first sentence in literature.  Not only would I like to write like that, I’d like to succeed in living that great commission. Heroes fall and fail and triumph in the end because they learn from their mistakes, because they are able to feel the sting of regret and overcome great obstacles and great odds. There is always adversity, the thing is to defeat it.

I write heroes in my books that would despise me if they knew me, because they’re better, these characters and constructs who are more brave and good than I am. I’m just a writer, not a hero.  I’ve been writing and dreaming and lost in words and acting as though I had an editor for my life. Someone to excise the mistakes, cut the fat, correct the regrets. I’ve got just one draft, though, here and now, which is my life here on this earth. No auto correct, no edits, no way to change the character arc or tweak the ending. One draft, all the way through, is what I’ve got, and if it sucks, then it does. It’s a lowsy story.

I think there’s a bit more to it, though, than that. I’m far from figuring it out, and I’ve got my scars and regrets. I’m writing this interactive video game, where the characters make choices that impact the ending, and I think the universe is like that. Sometimes there are no good endings, no matter what, not here in this mean world. Mostly, though there are endings which could be satisfying when we, the actors in the play, the characters in the story of our lives, listen to the wrong things. I know I do.

Paul says in Hebrews 12:2 “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.”   I’m an author, but I haven’t been the author of my fate, not in the way I’d like to believe I’ve been. I certainly haven’t kept my eyes where they were supposed to be looking. One draft, one chance to get it right, and my choices make a difference, and I’m still hoping that my life will be written well, both by me and THE author.

What Things Here Lie Broken?

Broken

What things here lie broken?

God, where do I begin

A window, the couch, the roof on this house

Beyond my means to mend

Discarded and forgotten

falling sad apart

A toy, her phone, the car, our home

four aching hearts

What here lies broken?

lives and hopes and dreams

my smile and faith and promises made

The broken thing is me

Sean T. Smith

2015

Easy Faith?

On Christmas day I had a lively, though-provoking theological discussion with one of my best friends, a man who possesses a keen intellect and a good heart. He is an agnostic, I am a Christian, and this difference in belief leads to many late night debates. We respect one another, so there is no hint of rancor or accusation.

We discussed the nature of free will, which is something that always makes my head hurt. If all things work for God’s good, then how does sin affect outcomes?  How does evil work for good? Mankind is doomed to sin because it is inherent to our nature. God knows we will sin, when we will do so, and how that works out for us in the end. In my extensive experience with sin, short term bliss leads to pain at some point. How does this serve the greater plan? I have no idea.

I told my friend “Everything happens for a reason, and sometimes the reason is that we make dumb choices.Yet even these bad decisions transform into good in the end. Maybe not for us, though. There are infinite choices, and a myriad of outcomes… some are better than others within our own lifetimes.”

My friend wasn’t buying it. “What about a greater scale, then? Let’s take Hitler, for example. How does Hitler’s existence work for the greater good? The death of six million of God’s chosen people, along with Americans, Russians, English, French, Japanese and Germans? Explain that to me, please.”

“Well,” I replied, stalling, “Hitler chose to be evil. He murdered millions, which was clearly contrary to the will of God. The suffering Hitler unleashed will reverberate for centuries. But on a grander scale than that, perhaps there was a reason we cannot perceive.”

“Nonsense.”

“Sometimes we miss the forest for the trees. We are too close to a thing to see the truth in it.”

“We’re not talking about trees. We’re talking about living, breathing people. Women and children. The truth is they died.”

“There were better possible outcomes,” I said, feeling the hollowness of the answer. “But in the end…”

“I wish I had your easy faith,” said my good friend.

“Easy faith?”

“It looks that way to me. You retreat into your faith when logic fails.” True.

Hebrews 11:1 says “faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”  Faith is the cornerstone of Christianity. Without it, nothing else matters. We trust because we must. Because without that leap of faith, the world feels gray and mean, drained of color and life. Faith itself defies logical thinking. Yet our propensity for faith is as great as our vulnerability to evil.

We are the race of Mozart, Shakespeare, Rembrandt and Einstein. Creativity flows through our veins, itself a kind of faith, a force which propels us to seek the truth beyond what we see before us. Faith is a reward in itself, for it makes the world a brighter place.

Faith is not easy.

Clashes of faith have been a bane of mankind’s existence, and I think God’s least favorite words are “Holy War.”  Faith should not be a weapon, and when it is used as such, it makes the world darker and harder for those of us who cling to our beliefs in the face of hardship and doubt and the rampant evil in this place.

My friend is right, though. I do retreat into my faith. I remember the connection I have felt with the creator, moments that I cannot explain in any other way. I’ve seen miracles. I’ve watched the sun rise over the Rocky Mountains, felt the kiss of joy on an endless blue ocean, and witnessed my sons born into this world.  Faith is a singing feeling in my chest, a smile in my soul, and when it is strong, it is glorious.

I stumble  and fall too often and my steps are not sure, my path unclear, and I lose my way in the forest. The truth surrounds me though, and just because I cannot see a thing does not make it less real. When the darkness presses in upon me, it is then I need my faith the most. Perhaps for me, having faith is indeed easier than living bereft of hope.

Prayers from the cave…

I recently spent two weeks in Nashville, where I spent time with old friends, played music, and caught up on the years we’ve missed. I attended a function hosted by my publisher, and got to meet many fellow authors, and I made some new friends. It was a wonderful time, a period of self reflection, hope, and sentimentality all at once, and I learned a tremendous amount. The most important part of the trip, though, happened on the way home, somewhere between Valdosta Georgia and the Florida state line.

I’ve struggled for the last year or so with my faith. It’s almost funny, because one of the central conflicts in my first two books revolves around the battle between faith and doubt as darkness closes in. My own internal war ended up mirroring some of the strife I’ve put my characters through; my characters dealt with this better than I did personally, and when I wrote those books, I believed I’d put that particular struggle behind me. I was wrong. I’ve been embattled on a variety of fronts for the last year, and it took a hard toll upon my soul until it reached a point where I began to question that which I knew to be true. I wondered where God was, and I went so far as to question the validity of His promises, to wonder about His goodness. Heresy, I know, and wrong-headed, but I don’t think I’m alone in this kind of battlefield. Somehow, I’d managed to succumb to a sense of hopelessness, and I’d put myself in a cave.

A man bereft of hope is like body without bones; there is nothing to hold him upright and together. I’d become that guy, without really knowing it, without seeing a way out. And when that happens, the instinct is to retreat, to become defensive and withdrawn, to cast blame and doubt around with careless abandon. We isolate ourselves, which only makes things worse.I felt very much like an Object of Wrath, ignoring in my own mind the second part of that very important verse in Ephesians.

So, driving through the hills of Alabama, the long stretches of construction south of Atlanta along I-75, I had plenty of time to think. Mostly, I listened to music on Spotify, and I reflected on the new friends I’d made and the old friends I’d reconnected with. Right around Valdosta, my phone died, and the music ended. I couldn’t find anything to listen to, so I hit the “seek” button on the truck radio, and I heard Dr. David Jerimiah begin to speak.

It was a sermon titled Praying From the Cave, based around Psalm 142. David (the king, not the preacher)  was in a cave, running from Saul. He was depressed, isolated to the point that other men did not care if he lived or died. Yet within that dark place, David cried out to God, thanking him and praising him, laying his burdens at God’s feet, recognizing his own pain, and turning to God for refuge.

About ten minutes into the sermon, something happened.

I’ve had times where I felt God’s presence, singing in church with hand held high, a joyful noise on my lips and a connection to the Creator, like an electric thrum of peace and rightness. I’ve been touched by a sermon or a verse, and felt convicted, nudged, and I’ve had verses jump out at me as though they were highlighted in bright yellow.

This thing that happened somewhere in Georgia was different; God hit me in the head with a ball bat. I was driving down the road with tears on my face, broken. Facing myself and my doubt, my mistakes and delusions and bitterness. God slayed me, and I was shattered. I prayed then, and I could almost see a darkness, like ashes swirling in the wind, leaving from my chest. It sounds nuts, but there was a palpable, physical sensation of great weight being lifted, immediately followed by hope and joy.

I thought I’d cried out to God before, and I’ve been on my knees. But there was something in me left then, some element of reserve or doubt  or perhaps pride which prevented the profound kind of healing I so desperately craved. I understood that God had been right there with me all along. That no matter what happens, I’m still a part of his plan, and that even though it may not seem so at the time, in the end, all things do work for His good. I’d forgotten that my hope lies with Jesus, and everything else is really the small stuff.  I’d neglected certain things and ignored certain truths. These things were made clear to me in an instant. I’ve got some work to do, but I’m not alone, and I never was.

Somewhere in Georgia, I reconnected with my best friend, the most important friend I’ll ever have; he was beside me all along.

Ephesians 2:3-5

“We were by nature objects of wrath. Because of his great love for us, but God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive in Christ even when we were dead in transgressions. It is by grace you have been saved.”

Psalm 142:6-8

“Listen to my cry, for I am in desperate need; rescue me from those who pursue me, for they are too strong for me. Set me free from my prison, that I may raise your name. Then the righteous will gather around me because of your goodness to me.”

To Simply Be… A writer looks at fifty

 

I’ve struggled for decades to be happy. It’s a character flaw, and while sometimes I believe this makes me a better writer, I think at the end of the day, at the end of a lifetime, it means I’ve missed much, moments of contentment when I could simply be. I’ve been poor, and raged against the poverty, and let chances slip away. I’ve been fairly well off, and then there was always something else… the desire to have children, the yearning for recognition and success at another level. Always living with the feeling I’m missing some vital piece, which if I could obtain, would make me whole at last, make me smile down deep in my soul.

Maybe with the recognition of it, I can change on a fundamental level, but this flaw runs deep. I am blessed with wonderful children, and when I walked home alone from the bus stop a few minutes ago, the sun bright and the air cool, missing my boys already, I began to reflect on this thing within me. How it will feel in the not so distant future to be me.

When the swing set is silent and rusted and I am grey, when the patter of little feet no longer graces my life and the light in my eyes grows dim and I have those memories and pictures, what is it I will recall? How will I feel on those mornings, drinking a cup of coffee at my desk and staring at a computer screen and bleeding onto the page, remembering the things I should have paid better attention to in those fleeting moments, the things that matter. Trying to get the memory right.

My five year old coming to me with a Bernstein Bears book for his bed time story, happy and shining with pure love for me, a love I can never deserve because it is so true. Holding my baby, his head in the palm of my had because he is no longer than my forearm, dancing around the living room at three o’clock in the morning with him to sooth him back to sleep while Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons plays on the radio, and I am sleep deprived and worried about getting to work on time the next morning, but still dancing, still infused with a sense of wonder at this life I hold in my hands. My boys, the oldest ten now, decked out in army gear, complete with helmets, load bearing vests, holsters and assault rifles, running around the house shooting the attacking Russian zombie horde. In a year or two, he’ll be too old for that, and I miss it already.

Walking through the woods as a family, a tiny hand in mine, questions about the trees and wildlife, and the sunlight filtering through the canopy of Live Oaks and Spanish Moss and the air fresh and cool and golden. Such joy, such fleeting perfection.

Christmas morning, together with grandparents, all still with us now, the excitement electric in the air to see what Santa brought, toys and paper flying all over the floor beneath the tree, laughter sweet music. But was exhausted, stressed about money, tired of long days working in the cold and the rain, and I did not let that music in me the way I should have, not in a way that fills the soul. Looking back on it, it fills me and brings tears to my eyes, but when it was happening, I did not appreciate it enough.

There will always be another thing. A better job, a nicer car, keeping the lights on, selling more books, writing a masterpiece, drama with jerks, stormy weather, and bad traffic. Somewhere along the way, even the joy of writing itself has been dampened by the need to promote, to sell, to succeed. I resolve to do my part, but I am sure I can’t do it alone.

I’ve got a God-shaped hole, and the only way to find true, lasting happiness is to fill that with Him. Unless I do that, the world will forever be bereft of its proper color, faded and less vibrant.

When I look back years from now, I want to remember things as they were, not as I wish they had been. I’ve still got a chance at happiness, and it’s time I start living.

 

 

 

The End of Times… War and Rumors of War

 

Mankind has always possessed a morbid fascination with the apocalypse. From the Biblical Flood and Mayan calendar to modern day science fiction, civilizations have been aware and intrigued, sometimes terrified, by their impending doom. In fiction, this is entertaining, but the reality is more chilling. Societal collapse has been a recurrent theme in our history, and perhaps this is one of the reasons we are drawn to books like The Stand  and television shows like The Walking Dead.
For many Christians, the End of Times means the rise of the Anti Christ, Armageddon, and the return of Jesus. Christians have been looking toward the heavens for about two thousand years now, wondering if this is it.

Sad ruins remain to remind us that the world as we know it is far from eternal. Entire cultures in the Pacific rose and fell, and disappeared. The mighty Mayans are gone, the Roman Empire fell, sacked and destroyed from within. Yet, even those breakdowns did not lead to the destruction of the human race. Life went on.

Only in the last sixty years, the blink of an eye in terms of history, has mankind developed the ability to cause its own extinction. While in the past, a meteor strike, super-volcano, or a blast from a star light years away could have erased us from the planet, we now can do it ourselves with the push of a button.

A global nuclear war is one obvious way this could happen. To put this in perspective, consider that Russia and the United States possess thousands of nuclear weapons. Russian weapons are dirtier and their largest nukes are more powerful than those in the United States’ arsenal, but it’s irrelevant. The tipping point for a nuclear winter is roughly one hundred explosions, according to the most recent science. There has been debate over the years on this topic, with some estimates coming in at only thirty or forty simultaneous explosions causing the planet to go cold. If thousands of these weapons were launched, that’s the end of us. The atmosphere is choked with radioactive ash, obstructing sunlight, the temperature falls, plants die, and there is no more food. The animals die, and homo sapiens  perish right along with the rest of them.

In the last sixty years, we have also decided to come up with other, creative weapons of extinction. Biological weapons could do the job just as well as nuclear bombs. Our scientists tinker with viruses, which actually alter DNA, finding ways to make these things more deadly. A genetically altered virus could end our species. We’re looking at the worst outbreak of Ebola, a virus as scary as its name, which according to Dr. Tom Frieden, the Director for the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, “is the world’s first Ebola epidemic, and it’s spiraling out of control. It’s bad now, and it’s going to get worse in the very near future. There is still a window of opportunity to tamp it down, but that window is closing. We really have to act now.”

Against this backdrop, we now have the greatest level of danger in the world we’ve seen since World War II, with Russia poised to trigger a global war over the Ukraine, and Vladimir Putin on the throne and his finger on the button, not the kind of man to face in the ultimate game of chicken. Because, he’s the guy that doesn’t swerve at the last minute. Then of course, there is the militant, insane, ISIS movement which is spreading like the black plague, a tide of evil which is consuming countries torn by war. The radicals are willing to stop at nothing, bereft of the slightest shred of morality or human decency, killing innocents without remorse or hesitation, and seeming to relish every shot  Shia, every cut throat.

In Gaza, Israel sends in armored vehicles to stop rocket attacks on civilians, and levels schools, homes, and lives. Israel is defending itself against attack, against those who use children as human shields in order to gain support from around the world. Hamas WANTS to provoke Israel into these attacks. It’s Terror 101. Israel becomes more isolated from the rest of the world, increasingly vulnerable to attack from neighbors who have invaded time and time again. Israel also has nuclear weapons, and while they will never confirm this, everybody knows. If Israel is attacked, and it’s really just a matter of time, they will use these weapons if it looks like the war is lost. It’s called the Sampson Option, and it is chilling.

The Old and New Testament in the Bible lay out some things which have come to pass that are irrefutable, though seemed highly unlikely. Israel, it was foretold, would cease to exist, and it’s people would be scattered. That happened more than once. The temple would be torn down. The Romans did that. Israel would become a nation again. This seemed impossible, yet in 1948 Israel was again a nation. One of the last important pieces of scriptural prophecy is the rebuilding of the Temple. There are plans underway now in Jerusalem to do just that.

Whether one believes in the prophecy or not, those things did happen. The book or Revelation, the last and scariest book of the Bible, is rife with images and verses open to debate, with the scrolls and seals being opened, the four horsemen of the apocalypse coming, and death on a pale horse riding to doom mankind.

These may not be the end of times, and perhaps humanity will figure out a way to become better, alter its essential warlike nature and selfishness and transcend the hatred we wield like a sword. At no time in all of human history, though, has the end seemed quite so imminent or possible.

 

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Angry with God….

One of my favorite movie scenes is from Forest Gump, when Lt. Dan rages from the crow’s nest of his shrimp boat in the middle of a hurricane, shaking his fist at the heavens. Feeling betrayed by God, the universe, and life comes naturally to us, I think. It certainly does for me.

A central tenet of Christianity is the acceptance of God’s supremacy, and that in the end “all things work according to the good.” When looking at hurricanes, genocides,  and war, it is impossible for me to understand how these can be good. I can’t wrap my head around it, because it seems unjust. I grapple with these things on an intellectual level, but in the end I retreat into a leap of faith, admitting that a power as vast as God must be, there is no possible way I can understand the infinite permutations of destiny, the colorful threads connecting a universe larger than my puny mind can comprehend. When it’s personal, though, is when it becomes dangerous for me. My faith is not strong enough.

I recognize the futility of it. I understand there is no arguing with God, and that nothing good can possibly come of the attempt. And still I’m guilty of it. I look around at things, and I say to myself, “that’s not fair. Why?” It is ultimately a selfish emotion, at its root, even if it is couched in compassion. What I’m truly saying is “Why Me?” Which is absurd, human, and a bit pathetic.

I had a discussion recently with a Godly man, a much wiser one than I. I told him I was feeling rankled with God. ” Yes, I’ve made some big mistakes, made some dumb decisions, I said. I’m trying hard to rely on God, and I’m not seeing any improvements. In fact, things are getting worse.”

“I see,” he said, nodding his head. “So you’re angry with God because of things you did, and now you’re upset because He’s not fixing things as quickly as you like? Did I get that right.”

I had to sheepishly agree with him, and recognizing that made me feel a bit better. There are consequences. Perhaps it’s not God’s role to make those go away.

I’m working at focusing on the good, seeking out the light, and infusing my life with a greater sense of gratitude, for anger is a poison in our veins, a killing toxin. A life bereft of hope is tragic and lonely. I’m lowering my fist.