Why Don't You Go Outside or Something?

A light sweat drips down my cheeks as I head down into the trees from the mountain peak. I've just spent a satisfying hour picking my way up the rocky slopes of Mount Finlayson, clambering over boulders, the hot afternoon sun beating down on me, lighting the surrounding environment ablaze in all its brilliant beauty. The world is beautiful. A sculpture of God's magnificence. He paints the world in broad strokes of green and brown, a dash of yellow and purple, a streak of blue. All around us He molds such unique beauty, every stone or leaf its own singular expression of His creativity, as if to shout, "Here I am, look what I've done for you." That He should allow us to live in this world, experience it, touch it, see it, smell it, feel ourselves and it in perfect interaction, a perfection far greater than our narrow and selfishly defined ideas of "imperfection," is one of His greatest gifts to us. My feet step heavily, my body tired and thirsty, the heat and the rough trail a hindrance, a challenge: the perfect God experience of the imperfect human experience. My mind is elsewhere.

It's on my approaching exam. The one I haven't studied for. Not the one tomorrow, I've done plenty of studying for that one. My philosophy of mind exam on Saturday night (I've been thinking about becoming a Seventh Day Adventist just so I can get out of writing exams scheduled on Saturday by claiming Religious discrimination). I really should be studying for it rather than being out here. If I don't I'll probably only end up with a B (or worse), rather than an A- or better to keep myself up to that oh so wondrous A average that's oh so important to me. Then it hits me.

I don't care.

Really, I don't care. It's my last exam of my entire undergraduate career, in a course that has no bearing on my career. Who cares if I don't get that A on this one? I don't. I doubt an employer would. The exam is going to happen whether or not I'm prepared for it, and then it will be over. Is it really worth my time to put my life on hold just for two hours of writing and a stupid letter?

That's not to say I don't find the material interesting or engaging. But spending the whole day holed up in my room, reading and re-writing notes till my eyes and brain are dry is hardly what I would call, "engaging." Sure I could spend hours pouring over the opinions of a bunch of self important (though admittedly very intelligent) guys who decided that their definition of the way the world works is the right one (because it makes sense... wait... isn't that what faith is about... but I digress). I could learn all the pretentious and needlessly complex terms created by a bunch of folks who wanted to make their "science" exclusive. I could spend hours reading about how no one knows how to physically define the conscious experience (yet don't want to throw it out because "they experience it," so it must be real... sound familiar?) Or, I could simply enjoy HAVING a conscious experience.

So often we're more concerned with defining experiences: recalling them, recording them. We spend our moments trying to keep the important bits in our head, to recall or retell them later, rather than just experiencing and appreciating those moments for what they give us at that very moment. Through science and mathematics we can develop the most intricate and accurate models of the word's complex workings: weather systems, particle interaction, the physical interplay between light and matter in a sunset, all are definable and quantifiably describable. A team of engineers may design the perfect race car, performing thousands of design calculations and creating hundreds of computer models. Within all that they can obtain the specifications, every minute detail, for building the perfect race car. Yet they've no more (and less so) made a race car than a father and son have on a Saturday afternoon using some plywood and and an old lawnmower.

Often, I think, we forget to simply have experiences, to feel things. Who cares why or how we experience it, or what it is? Just be content that it exists and that we get to experience it. We are too content, even obsessed with, representations of the world. A set of ideas and characters are useless if not written down in a book. A set of notes alone does not make a song, or we would have no need for singers or instruments. A script alone does not make a movie, or we would have no need for directors, actors, cinematographers or special effects wizes. These are all experiences that must be... ahem... experienced. What good is a book that is never written nor read, a song that is never sung nor heard, a movie that is never filmed nor watched?

So I say good riddance to this incessant pursuit of "knowledge." Sure there is an important need for a deeper understanding of the workings of God's world. There is awe to be found there too. But I'd much rather feel it than just read about it. Besides, what good are watching the DVD extras if you haven't first seen the movie itself?

Walk of Faith or Survival of the Selfish?

I finished reading Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (are novels italicised or underlined?) a couple days ago. In it, a father and son slowly make their way across the ashen remains of the United States of America, heading toward the sea, “carrying the fire,” as the father tells his son. They are the “good guys,” and everyone else is held up to suspicion as a “bad guy,” and most are—horrific suggestions of cannibalism and accounts of mankind at its worst abound in the book. A clear sense of hope drives the two forward, each sustained by the other, fellowship, friendship, father and son ship (ships seem like the place to be for community these days). They pick their way across the land—lightless and lifeless—with the simple hope that something better lies ahead. Their journey is an inspired illustration of hope and love in uncertain times, when the world around them has collapsed into a selfish bid for survival, human dignity be damned.

Yet, ever so often they come across other “good guys:” A shuffling victim of a lightning strike, his flesh burnt; a blind old man; a desperate thief. Maybe they’re “lost guys?” There is reluctance on the part of the father to help these people. They ignore the man struck by lightning, and strip the thief not only of what he stole from them, but the clothes off his back. Even the old man, whom they feed and spend the night with at the behest of the boy, is left to fend for himself, too slow to keep up with them. Why should they help them? In such desperate times, it’s every man for himself, right? Their provisions are nearly non-existent, why waste them on another sole, especially one who is sure to die?

I wonder how often we as Christians act like this. We push on through this life of troubles with the hope and faith that beyond God has prepared something much greater for us. We carry the fire of God’s torch, proclaiming to be the “good guys.” Yet, when we come across the lost ones, we ignore them. Why should we let them hinder our Journey? It’s easier just to pass them by—maybe drop them a Bible or a few encouraging, or worse, reproachful, Scripture passages.

I wonder how often on my Journey to draw closer to God, do I come across those who are lost on their way (as if I too am not always lost), and ignore them, even strip them down in my mind, because I won’t let anyone or anything stop me from achieving full righteousness in the eyes of God; anyone or anything but myself of course, I’m happy to cease that Journey if I think I can survive off a nice distraction for a while (The father and son spend days stopped at an underground bunker, feeding on the abundant, preserved food they find there).

In the end, how am I any better than the “bad guys?” They commit terrible acts in a selfish bid for survival, but so do I. I selfishly ignore those I might give aid to, just so I can make it to where I believe God wants me to be, afraid I might not survive the Journey otherwise. As a self ascribed “good guy,” my Destination and Journey may be right, but my conduct is just as reproachful. But then who am I to suppose God wants me to be somewhere else on this Journey? Should I be closer to, or even at the end? Is there an end? Maybe I’m right where God wants me to be. If my faith is true, God will ensure the safe end to my Journey. Maybe He wants me to stop and water the roses.