belief

I was listening to a conversation last night that has stirred some thoughts about belief. To some this may not seem connected to the primary topic of my blog, but I think it has everything to do with it.

The two primary participants were discussing the existence of God. Both of these guys are very intelligent (both by my estimation and their IQ scores), and I know them both well enough to say that neither of them is flippant about their viewpoints on important issues. One is a devout Christian and leader in his local church (henceforth referred to as J); the other is a devout agnostic (B).

I was reminded in their discussion how much a worldview is changed when God is added or subtracted from the equation.

B believes that, if God exists, He set things in motion and sits back watching with curiosity, wondering what we’ll do next, hoping someday we’ll get it right and straighten the world out.

J responds that, no, we won’t get it right. We aren’t really capable of getting it right, not without divine intervention.

B thinks that is a very pessimistic viewpoint. I didn’t understand why at first, but then I thought about his worldview. If God does not exist, or is a disinterested third party, it would be distressing to think that we are limited and incapable.

But from a viewpoint of belief, I recognize that I am a child of a loving God who wants what is best for me. It makes more sense to me now as a father than it ever did when I was childless. I don’t want to give my children everything; I want them to grow and learn, which doesn’t happen if they just sit on their rear all day and never live. I am very careful to make sure they have what they need, but that is a far cry from just handing over everything they want.

Then there’s the issue of our place in the unverse. J mentioned that his brother had just sent him some pictures from the Hubbel telescope, including captions estimating the distances of the objects from earth in terms of light years. My brain isn’t capable of keeping track of the number of zeroes involved, but it is, as we say in the South, “a fur piece.”

B says that makes him feel all the less significant, that he is a fortunate accident among millions of other fortunate accidents, spinning around on another unfortunate accident, feeling feelings that are an amazingly fortunate accident, looking out at galaxies upon galaxies of similarly fortunate accidents…and that increases his feeling that he is insignificant. That decreases the odds, in his view, that he is especially designed for a purpose. I should mention that he didn’t keep inserting “fortunate accident” in that dialog. J was doing that, and it was really beginning to annoy B.

J didn’t have a chance to respond; B took the conversation in a different direction.

I’m not a mathmatician, nor am I an odds-maker. But I really do wonder about those numbers. If no design, and therefor no Designer, what are the odds of planetary placement in favor of life? What are the odds in favor of a planet stable enough to support ongoing life for hundreds, thousands of years? What are the odds of life developing at all, and what evolutionary purpose do emotions serve? For that matter, why conscious thought? Why not simple instinct? Why would we ever place ourselves under the burden of organized society, and why would we ever have such altruistic ideals as love, honor, patience, kindness, hope?

I know none of those things prove a loving Creator, or even a creator at all; but there is so much that makes no sense if we are indeed fortunate accidents existing strictly for the propogation and survival of the species.

What has this to do with addiction?

If we are not an incredible series of fortunate accidents, if there is some plan, if there is a Planner, than I believe the plan would not be for me to be enslaved by my behaviors. Oh, I know, that requires the assumption that the Planner is interested – a step of faith B finds quite troubling – and even compassionate. I suppose my predisposition toward that is based in the idea that God is a father.

I don’t want evil to happen to my kids. I want them to grow to their greatest potential, and I’m smart enough to recognize that this sometimes requires some bumps and bruises (not at my hand; only those that result from their unwise choices). I believe the best parental instincts I have are a reflection of how my Father sees (and treats) me.

I want good for my kids. I don’t want them to suffer the consequences of slavery to alcohol, drugs, sex, food, whatever substance gets between them and really relating to others and to me.I hope they will allow me to give them guidance, to suggest how they can avoid some of the traps that lie ahead on a perilous road.

I know my connection to God was the first victim of my addiction, and meaningful relationships with those around me soon followed. As I have found some respite from my addictions, I am discovering those connections again.

That just makes more sense to me than a series of fortunate accidents.

party on, prodigal father?

Prodigal can be defined as lavish. It is in that context that Louie Giglio presented a twist on the story of the ‘prodigal son.’

I’ve heard the story since I was a baby. A son tells his father he wants his inheritance, and wastes it. When he gets so far down there’s nowhere to look but up, he returns to the father to ask for a job as a servant. The Father has a different plan.

The way this story is normally told is as a warning about wasteful living, and with a certain air of deprecation towards the prodigal. We know that we are the wayward son in the story, but we are a little better than him, right?

After all, in that culture, to ask for your inheritance and leave home was like saying, “Father, you are dead to me. And I am dead to you.”

Pretty harsh, dude.

But when Louie offered his interpretation this last Sunday at NorthPoint Community Church, he focused very little on the riotous lifestyle of the son; instead, he focused on the return home, and the father.

I saw myself more clearly in the son this last Sunday than ever. The son was desparate, and he had a plan. He knew that he had offended his father in the worst possible way, and he had no right to be called a son anymore; but he also knew that his father’s servants ate (and probably smelled) better than he did. He was at the end of himself, and ready to approach his father in what seemed like a humble way.

He practiced his speech.

17 But when he came to himself he said, How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish here with hunger! 18 I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight: 19 I am no more worthy to be called your son: make me as one of thy hired servants. – Luke 15:17-19, American Standard Version

I can picture him walking along practicing his three-point plan. “Mr. Abramson, uh,…no, too formal. Dad! Might be pushing it after wishing him dead. Um, sir… OK, sir. That works. I’ve sinned against you and heaven. Good. Simple, clear, and definitely true. I’m not worthy to be called your son…man, that hurts, but I made my choices. Okay, the money line – Let me be one of your servants.”

He had to have a few doubts. “What if he says, ‘get lost, you big dope!’ I have done some really offensive stuff. Maybe I could work on cleaning up my name, my image…meh, I smell like pigs and I’ve been eating like them too. Maybe he’ll have a sinus infection and won’t notice.”

“Best I can hope for is a laundry list of things I need to do to measure up. Yep, ‘here are your chores for today’ says the foreman as he hands me a couple of scrolls of dummy-dos. Okay, practice the speech again….”

He is working out his plan. He has it all figured out. “I’m coming home, on my terms.”

He might oughta have checked with the father first.

He approaches. His father is sitting on the porch, maybe even standing at his gate, watching, hoping the son will come home. The father spots the son coming over the rise in the road and begins running. This dignified man, a man of means, hikes up his robe and sprints toward his son. He is overcome with joy that the one who was dead to him is returning.

The son sees the father coming, and is suddnely scared. “Omigosh – what if he’s coming out here to brain me with that staff he’s carying? Okay, get the speech out…here he comes… father…”

He is knocked to the ground as his father smothers him with a bear hug and a series of kisses.

“Um, dad…I have sinned against you, and heaven; I don’t deserve to be called your son anymore…”

“Talk to the hand!” interrupts the father. Then he turns back toward the house and shouts a series of instructions – a ring, a bath, some new clothes, and slaughter that cow we’ve been saving.

“But father, I need to say…”

“Hush, son. You’ve said what you needed to say. “

Here’s where we get messed up. We think God is waiting to whack us on the head (or the knuckles, if you went to Catholic school) for the things we’ve done wrong. We think we can somehow work our way back into his good graces by doing things right for a while and then holding that up for his approval.

But we’re missing the point. Grace, as Louie said it, is God in action. He has already extended us grace. He already sees us as sons and daughters, and there ain’t no pleasing or displeasing that will change that. The best we can do is never up to His standard, but He says, “I love you in spite of that. I am madly, crazily in love with you, and you matter so much more than the little messes you make.”

Are there still consequences? Potentially. But those aren’t punishments. They are the natural result of our choices. There is no gaurantee, or even hint, that we’ll be spared that.

But the Father isn’t waiting to club us or weigh us down with a never-ending list of tasks or set of hoops to jump through. If you see any of that in your version of Christianity, you’re reading in stuff that isn’t there.

Easy grace? Wasn’t for the one who sealed the deal.

Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us, and sent His Son to be the propitiation* for our sins. – 1 John 4:10, ASV

Propitiation – an atoning sacrifice; that which satisfies a debt

entropy

Though it is oft stated differently, entropy is seen in physics as the amount of energy no longer available in a usable form to do work. Once an ice cube melts, the energy that was in the atoms of the ice cubes has been dispersed throughout the warmer air surrounding. And unless you have some device capable of trapping the energy used in that process, that energy is essentially lost.

One of the byproducts of addiction is a kind of entropy.

There is within us a great deal of potential energy, just waiting to be applied to the world around us. Each episode of acting out reduces that by some measure. And without some kind of intervention from some outside force, that energy is lost.

The laws of physics apply to addiction – who knew?

Think about this one, Newton’s First Law:

A body in motion tends to stay in motion

Having a little trouble breaking the cycle of your addiction? Newton tells us why. And with each cycle, we have less energy available to affect a change.

That’s why I find it difficult to understand those who try to break out of addiction without some serious Higher Power.

Consider this; if you had it within you to make the change, to break the cycles, on your own – wouldn’t you have already done it?

Or do you like living with the constant threat of losing the people you hold dear?

Or of hurting those who love you?

But you don’t have it within you to change yourself.

I go back to the man who sought healing from Christ – “You have the power; I know it. All that is required is that You would be willing.”

A body in motion tends to stay in motion … unless acted on by an outside force.

You need a force greater than your own to provide the energy you lack. You aren’t getting free of that repetitive motion otherwise.

It has been said that gravity is not just a good idea – it’s the Law!

Don’t think yourself to be the exception. You need a Higher Power. One with limitless energy. One that is above the Law.

are you lonely tonight?

We both had done the math. Kelly added it all up and… knew she had to let me go. I added it up, and knew that I had… lost her. ‘cos I was never gonna get off that island. I was gonna die there, totally alone. I was gonna get sick, or get injured or something. The only choice I had, the only thing I could control was when, and how, and where it was going to happen. So… I made a rope and I went up to the summit, to hang myself. I had to test it, you know? Of course. You know me. And the weight of the log, snapped the limb of the tree, so I-I – , I couldn’t even kill myself the way I wanted to. I had power over *nothing*. And that’s when this feeling came over me like a warm blanket. I knew, somehow, that I had to stay alive. Somehow. I had to keep breathing. Even though there was no reason to hope. And all my logic said that I would never see this place again. So that’s what I did. I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am. I’m back. In Memphis, talking to you. I have ice in my glass… And I’ve lost her all over again. I’m so sad that I don’t have Kelly. But I’m so grateful that she was with me on that island. And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?
- Castaway (2000)

I caught an episode of Inside the Actors’ Studio, the often-lampooned show where James Lipton conducts in-depth interviews with actors (I know, seems like that would be an oxymoron, depth and actor); this particular installment featured Tom Hanks, who had just wrapped the filming of Castaway. Hanks was talking about his acting coaches, and said the best advice he had ever received was this:

The best roles are always about loneliness.

I believe that is true when it comes to movies. I also think it is true, in a different way, when it comes to real life.

I read an essay about one man’s recovery from pornography. I don’t agree with every word of what he wrote, but there was a lot of good truth and a few “aha” moments for me while reading it. One of those was when he wrote of loneliness as being a normal part of the human condition. That got me to thinking about how I would try to smother loneliness with some form of acting out. Another weekend with no date? A pint of ice cream. Another rejection by some girl who was no prize herself? Another trip to the store for a magazine they put in a little brown bag.

For a short time, I wasn’t alone anymore. My two best buddies, Ben and Jerry, were keeping me company. Or Miss February. And they were fabulous company while they lasted.

But then I had to hide the evidence.

I was so ashamed of my eating habits that I would drive around looking for a dumpster where I could anonymously leave the candy bar wrappers and ice cream cartons. Makes me wonder how many times the Cincinnati narcotics unit went dumpster diving after a shady character was seen nervously throwing in a bag, only to be rewarded with junk food leftovers.

I was so ashamed of my porn habit that I would frequently buy material and dispose of it within just a few hours.

There’s a huge trash disposal site in Northwest Cincinnati locals call Mt. Rumpke. Several thousand dollars of my sordid past lie buried in its decaying, fermenting mass.

It is only in the last couple of years that I’ve become aware that I have better options for dealing with loneliness.

The best one is the hardest: just be lonely. Seems unnatural, I know; but stay with me here for a minute.

Think for a second about apples. I like the texture, the sweetness – but most red apples don’t do so well when you put them in the oven. The best for baking (I can’t believe I’m writing this on this blog) are Granny Smith apples. Most people wouldn’t think of shining up a Granny Smith and munching away; they are tart, very acidic. They aren’t most children’s first choice for their lunchbox. But they have their place. And when used in the right context, they are pretty durn good.

I’m not trying to trivialize loneliness. I’m trying to say that it has its place. Like most things in life, loneliness is neither good nor evil; the issue is settled by what we do with it.

Rather than try to cover loneliness with either acting out or with business, I’m finding that lonely times are some of my best times to think about what a gift life is, and to thank God for every day that He leaves me here to enjoy it. I think loneliness can be a potent force in helping us to see something about the Creator we would otherwise miss, the thing that traditional religion often misses about our God – He wants a relationship with us. For me, the only thing that really fills the loneliness in a satisfying way is to focus in those moments on my relationship with God.

Anything else I do is a bit like drinking salty water to try to quench my thirst.

ain’t nobody that strong

Step 2 of the original twelve steps:

Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity

For many in modern society, the idea of someThing or someOne that is a greater power than we is foreign and smacks of superstition.

But I don’t have that problem. There is an old saying that “there are no atheists in a foxhole.” While the saying is not accurate, the sentiment usually applies to people who seek recovery in a group setting.

If the idea of a real God is unpalatable to you, fear not. I know several people who decided their “higher power” would be the group itself. Not that I would trust my sanity to a bunch of sex addicts, but hey, whatever works, right?

See, if you’ve figured out that you have made a mess, and that you are powerless to get out of it, you have a simple choice:

• Give up
• Find someone strong enough to help

I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I don’t see a third option.

So what does that “Power” do? That depends on you.

If you are still stuck on the idea that you have it within you to slay your dragon, you will likely not see much evidence of that Power.

Power reveals itself in your surrender to it. I once thought if I said some magic words each morning, I would be free. I may need to explain – my “magic words” were in the form of a prayer. I call them “magic words” because I talked to someone who had moved much further down the road to recovery than where I was, and he told me he started every day with a simple prayer. I’ll not quote it here, for fear you might try those magic words expecting a result. And don’t misunderstand – I’m not sure one should expect much in terms of recovery without starting the day relinquishing your own will to that of God.

But the greatest threats to my “sobriety” (term used in all 12-step programs, despite the specific issue/behavior) didn’t usually come along at 7:00 a.m. They came after work, especially when I was travelling. That morning prayer was a long way away, and mostly forgotten.

And it wasn’t an honest prayer to begin with.

I prayed that God would remove from me the desires that led me to blow thousands of dollars, and risk my marriage. I asked Him to reach down with a giant pair of tweezers and just pluck out the evil within me. I kinda wanted that, but I also wasn’t really ready to do without my crutch. Also, that pretty much flies in the face of something some dude wrote a while back:

7 And by reason of the exceeding greatness of the revelations, that I should not be exalted overmuch, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to buffet me, that I should not be exalted overmuch. 8 Concerning this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. 9 And he hath said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my power is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 Wherefore I take pleasure in weaknesses, in injuries, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong. 2 Corinthians 12

I’m not sure I should be seeking a “cure”; it may be that this is an area where I will need to continue to rest on God and ask for His strength, His grace, His mercy to keep my head on straight and my eyes fixed where they should be.

In any case, I eventually came to realize that my pithy A.M. prayer was not really unleashing much power.

It was then I remembered a prayer by St. Patrick (you know, the Irish guy that makes people get drunk each March):

God be with me, God before me, God behind me,
God in me, God beneath me, God above me,
God on my right, God on my left,
God where I lie, God where I sit, God where I arise,
God in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
God in the mouth of every one who speaks to me,
God in every eye that sees me,
God in every ear that hears me.
Salvation is of the Light
May your salvation, Lord, be ever with us.

I tried to relegate God to five minutes during my morning commute, and expected Him to shield me all day. In fact, I needed to take Him on as a cloak, to invite Him continually throughout the day to be with me. I need Thee, oh, I need Thee; every hour I need Thee says the old hymn. And the old me was thinking, I kinda want Thee, pretty much so; just not when You’re an inconvenience.

Pop Quiz: The Three Gorges Dam project in central China is estimated to provide, when at full capacity, the same amount of power as 18 nuclear power plants. How much power did it produce in September of 2006?

The anwer is “none.” The dam was not operational until late October of that year.

Tremendous potential; no application.

There is a Power that might not “heal you” from the desires that drive your addictive behavior.

But as you dig a little deeper, as you submit yourself, as you relinquish your desire to slay the beast on your own, you will find peace in the struggle. Whatever the poisoned picture of God you might have been handed by your past, He isn’t about making you into a mindless robot; He’s about helping you come to terms with reality, and knowing that you aren’t alone. He’s also about much more, but that’s what applies to where we are today, here.