On Personal Illusions and a Chisel

Five days had passed since my daughter was born, and her guts still hung out of her body like tangled rope from a spool. All of Chloe’s intestines were suspended above her in a plastic silo the size of a tube sock. Her four-pound frame lay naked under a heat lamp – aware, hungry, scared. Her infant face had the peculiar look of an older child and not a baby, because (I presume) it lacked the pudginess common to babies. Perhaps also, her trauma contributed to her mature-looking countenance. Her face was marked with what looked like years of hardship. It was stoic.

When my wife was fourteen weeks pregnant, the doctors told us what was wrong with Chloe. Our daughter had a condition called gastroschisis: a birth defect where the fetus’s skin fails to completely form over the bowel. One out of every 5,000 babies is born with gastroschisis, and Chloe won that lottery. “The good news,” said the surgeon “is that it is correctable. This surgery has a high success rate and most children born with gastroschisis recover and grow up like normal.” That was reassuring.

My wife and I spent the next few months learning all about this condition. We read about the surgical procedures, looked up success statistics, and viewed images and diagrams. We watched personal testimonies on YouTube from other families who experienced gastroschisis and we studied papers the doctors gave us. Since nearly all of the information suggested a low fatality rate and complications, we felt we were prepared for the challenge.

But nothing prepared us for what I was now struggling with: a personal, intimate witness of my own child’s suffering. For hours and days, I watched her bony hips writhe in discomfort and her hands expand and contract with tension. Her voice was faint, but the miserable squeaks she produced always raked my heart to ribbons. We were unable to console, comfort or even explain to her what was happening. Her suffering was great, and consequently, so was ours. All the favorable statistics, testimonies and pictures meant little to me as I watched my daughter struggle through her first five weeks of life. I thought I knew what gastroschisis was before she was born, but none of the facts or data could have taught me the experience I was enduring. For days I watched her twitch and recoil from human touch, gag over a tube that emptied bile from her stomach, and live off intravenous feedings. All this while her intestines were gradually pushed back in like toothpaste from a tube.

I was ungraceful in how I dealt with this. I became argumentative with my wife and my moods were always changing and extreme. One moment I was crimson with anger, the next I was despondent and depressed. It was the most I’d ever suffered.

I remember when I was a teenager having an acute fear of dying. At the age of 19, I became a Christian and quite suddenly, I no longer feared death. But whenever I became anxious about a circumstance or problem, fellow Christians would try to console me with a trite reminder. They would say, “We have nothing to worry about. We know how it all ends.” For a few years I grumbled a half-hearted response to this and felt guilty about my anxiety. As I became more honest with myself, I admitted openly there was little comfort in that promise – especially when there seemed to be a stretch of misery to endure until then. In defiance I let no one comfort me when I felt this way. “There are” I said, “no easy answers to suffering, and I resent all attempts to explain it.” Incidentally the issues I was dealing with then seem quite shallow to me now.

In my mid twenties I began to see a different angle of suffering, thanks to C. S. Lewis. In one of his books Lewis recorded his struggle over the death of his wife. He explained that his anger at God for his wife’s death was a painful realization that his prior convictions were merely a house of cards. In his reasoning he wrote, “I had been warned – I had warned myself – not to reckon on worldly happiness. We were even promised sufferings […] I’ve got nothing I hadn’t bargained for” (36). He admitted that his wife’s death didn’t change any of the universe’s current problems; worse things happened daily. Therefore, that foreknowledge begged the question: Why is my reaction to this tragedy a contrast to the rest of the world’s tragedies? His conclusion was that his convictions were like an imaginary rope he never had to trust with his life. The thing that would bring him to his senses was a situation that would force him to test out his supposed rope. He said, under the trial, he realized his rope didn’t bear his full weight.

This was my first step in realizing suffering just might have a beneficial purpose. Lewis wrote, “Nothing less will shake a man – or at any rate a man like me – out of his merely verbal thinking and his merely notional beliefs. He has to be knocked silly before he comes to his senses” (38). In other words, one can’t correct faulty thinking without first realizing it is has faults. After pondering these thoughts I still avoided suffering whenever possible (I still do). But perhaps there is something to be learned, particularly about oneself, in suffering. Even before Chloe was born I had the facts on gastroschisis. But those facts couldn’t reveal my own disagreeable temperaments. It doesn’t make suffering easier to know it may draw out my own vices, but I think the honest person will value progress and enlightenment more than comfort and illusion. Nothing, in fact, brings to light better what is truly in one’s heart than a trial. It seems people don’t even know themselves until they are tried and found wanting – and suddenly their own illusions about who they are must be faced.

Is personal progress then the meaning of suffering? I don’t presume to suggest such an easy answer to such a difficult enigma. But I don’t think it unreasonable to believe suffering might sometimes be a tool God uses on His people like a chisel. Most of us would admit there are some parts of our character that needs to go. Physical amputations and surgeries hurt – there’s no reason to doubt a spiritual parallel to amputation would feel any better.

Cited: C. S. Lewis. A Grief Observed.

Suffering in the Kingdom

Rejoicing and celebration are often thoughts that go along with the idea of the Kingdom of Heaven. There are devout Christians, however, who through their experiences have found God’s Kingdom to be the antithesis of jubilation. For example, C. S. Lewis argued, “If God’s goodness is inconsistent with hurting us, then either God is not good or there is no God … If it is consistent with hurting us, then He may hurt us after death as unendurably as before it” (27-28).

In order to make sense of this, the biblical idea of human nature must be taken into consideration. And that is all people, every man, woman and child, are inclined toward evil and in resistance of God (Eph. 2:3). So then, the natural state of man is to resist God. If left alone, we would naturally want nothing to do with Him. In our rebellious state, God can offer us nothing we desire. Heaven would be of no value to us because the natural order of business there involves something other than the self as the center. Since true joy is found outside the self, the nature of a person needs an overhaul before it can desire Heaven. And, just as no plant can uproot itself, no person can change the self in this way. This overhaul requires God’s intervention.

But, just as most theologians would argue, this intervention does not happen at death; it happens while we occupy this husk, this body of dust. And just like any surgery on the body (that is, something outside cutting in), there is a fair amount of pain and grief involved in the soul with the spiritual equivalent of surgery. This correction is painful. It is required becaue our hearts are out of order.

This suffering for having a heart out of order, though unpleasant, is actually desirable for the regenerated Christian. Though Christians still experience sinful inclinations, their chief (new) desire is supernatural; that is, to be in relationship with their King. It isn’t heaven that a Christian yearns for. It is a person, a relationship, namely Jesus. A good example comes from the Antebellum Puritan Anne Bradstreet. She wrote, “I have thought if the Lord would but lift up the light of His countenance upon me, although he ground me to powder, it would be but light to me, it would be heaven.” So I submit it is better to have oneself derailed and suffering, than to continue in ignorant bliss down a track that ultimately leads a person from his true Love.

Christian thinkers often argue it is the presence of the Creator that makes heaven a desired place, and not the riches there. That is, were Jesus absent, a soul would feel the misery of hell. This is what Bradstreet explicitly claimed when she wrote, “could I have been in heaven without the love of God, it would have been a hell to me, for in truth it is the absence and presence of God that makes heaven or hell.” This seems accurate when considering the chief aim of the regenerated Christian is not a location, but Jesus himself. Everyone experiences this in their relationships. It is often relationships that make material objects and places enjoyable and meaningful. It is one’s relationships with other people that make certain geographic places vibrant and heavenly, and not those places in and of themselves. When I think back on a place in this world with nostalgia, it is usually a place where I shared a special time with another person, my mother, my friends, and my wife. To go back to that place, by myself, would not bring back the joy. The place represents the joy of the relationships.

This mindset, then, when followed to its logical end will conclude that heaven is not the chief desire of the Christian. Heaven is certainly not limited to the New Creation state, foreseen in the Bible, that lacks pain, sorrow and tears, (Revelation 21). If heaven is truly defined for the Christian as the presence of God, then one surely can have attained heaven in this life, amidst trials, suffering and death. That is because Jesus claims to be with his people on earth, and more literally, the Holy Spirit is in them. Jesus implicitly claimed wherever he is, there is the kingdom of heaven, (Matt. 10:7). And, as long as a Christian is in his present condition, (that is, with imperfection, sinful impulses and wanton desires,) being in the kingdom will result in suffering. That is because imperfections result in conflicts with God and He will work on a person until all imperfections are chiseled out. Or, as Lewis put it, a person must be “knocked silly before he comes to his senses” (38). And even then, no person reaches perfection before death; every person is a work in progress.

Therefore, to be a child of God means to suffer, because the sinful condition has corrupted the soul. And, since a state of corruption is disagreeable to one who yearns for righteousness, the painful discipline of God becomes an asset. It makes a person better, even in this life. In another book, Lewis argued the same point from personal experience: “most real good that has been done me in this life has involved [suffering].”

And, since Jesus is the one directly involved in the sinner’s purification, being in the Kingdom of Heaven (albeit, in a pre-New Creation state) involves abundant suffering – it, in fact, demands it.

Note: C. S. Lewis quotations came from Letters to Malcom and A Grief Observed.

Good News

This is still the best news we could ever hope for.

Although each person’s idea of proper behavior may vary a little, we all share two things in common. 1) All reasonable people agree good attributes include selflessness, love, humility, justice and courage – all agree their antonyms, such as selfishness, prejudice, arrogance, injustice and cowardice are bad; and 2) on a regular basis every person fails at certain points to live up to the standards they intuitively know to be right. In other words, no reasonable person claims to be perfect – even by their own standards.

Now, there is a God who made the universe and all creatures, including us. In Him we live and move and have our being – and this is where our intuition of morality and right and wrong come from. But in the course of human events we have developed in ourselves the instinct to rebel and seek our independence from Him. We are designed to be with Him, but perfection is a prerequisite.

However, because God loves us, and because he knows our happiness can only be in Him, he seeks each of us out. He pursues us. Being God’s offspring, he calls all people everywhere to stop where they are, and turn back on a path toward Him, and away from self. In fact, He has set a day on which he will call everyone into account for their conduct, judging fairly and impartially.

He will do this with a man who He has appointed – and this man is unmistakable because, as a sign to humanity, God raised him from the dead. There is convincing historical evidence of this.

This man is Jesus the first-century Jew. His life, death and resurrection were foretold hundreds of years before it happened in numerous ways and places.

Those who look into these things, and – based on their findings – put their trust in Jesus, will not be held accountable for their offenses. Jesus’ suffering and death is sufficient propitiation to win us back, because he was without fault, but willingly paid our debt by enduring God’s wrath.

An open door back to our creator is certainly good news – especially when we realize it is we who shut the door. But Jesus opened it back up.

These things are worth looking into. The claims of Jesus are too bold to ignore: “I am perfect.” – “I am God’s only son.” – “I am your only hope.” – “I have swallowed up death.” – “I AM The Way, The Truth, The Life.”

If he was wrong, it is worth debunking, and his words are those of a lunatic. But, if he is right – it changes your life.

(Image: photo of a portion of Jerusalem's Western Wall of the first-century Temple mount. It is the place where Jesus came to teach. It still stands today. In the cracks of the stones are letters, written to God.)

Standard of Cleanliness in a Personal Anecdote

Projectile vomiting is not a sport.

But if it were, my infant daughter would be among the elite.

Chloe suffers from chronic stomach pain because of a repairable condition she had called gastroschisis. She was born with her intestines outside her body, resulting in her noteworthy ability to propel stomach content at great distances. It is extraordinary to behold.

This is why my wife, Kyoung, and I call Chloe a two-person baby. Feeding her can be a complicated event for us, and a painful affair for her. So, when I’m home, I try to be as helpful as I can when it comes to her feedings. Recently after breastfeeding Chloe, Kyoung handed her to me for burping. It was during this time the following scene unfolded.

After 20 minutes of back-patting, (and without warning,) Chloe’s mouth erupted with jiggling curds of sour milk. She apparently wanted to share her meal. It soiled my arms and legs, as well as the folds of her neck, her chest, her shirt and blanket. Kyoung was almost hit from across the room.

This time the volume of milk was impressive. I estimated she tapped as far back as nine feet into her small intestine. The mess would take a while to clean up, so I quickly wiped her down and gave her back to Kyoung to feed again. I worked on the carpet. Cleaning Chloe herself had to wait until she was full, because a hungry baby is difficult to deal with. I planned to change her shirt and blanket and wipe her down with a warm rag, (she just had a bath).

So, she ate again and Kyoung gave her back to me for re-burping. After a few minutes she produced a dry (thankless) burp and I began the laborious process of changing her shirt and diaper. I say “laborious” because she has a low tolerance for being touched in any way unrelated to affection, (an unfortunate result of five weeks of pokes, prods, surgeries and shots). So, changing her clothes makes her cry, and this time was no exception. But the true lamenting didn't occur until I began wiping her face, neck and chest with a warm, wet cloth. (I had to; she smelled like sour milk and stomach bile.)

Despite her protesting with what I call her propeller arms and piston legs, I finally got a clean shirt back on and wrapped her in a fresh blanket to warm her up. At this point I was not in her favor. No sooner did I get her calmed down did she make a calculated statement about how she felt about me. She looked right at me with a sort of infant defiance, and calmly vomited again, in a controlled and measured manner. It was as if she was saying, "Take this dad. This is for rubbing me with that awful wet rag."

So I had to go through the whole ordeal of changing and cleaning her again. She protested and gasped, and lathered herself up in a furious little mood. That is the thanks I get for maintaining a standard of cleanliness.

She's going to hear all about this when she is older.

The Forsaken Jesus: What does he mean when asking God why?

At the moment before Jesus' death he asks a troubling question: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matt. 27:46, Mark 15:34). When Jesus makes a peculiar statement like this, he just might be saying much more than we first realize.

Did God forsake Jesus? Or is Jesus calling our attention to Psalm 22? His Jewish contemporaries would likely have had it memorized:

The Enemy: Parable or Personal?

Is Satan real, or only a fable?

In some Christian circles people will argue Satan is a fable, or merely an abstract force of evil personified in the imaginations of people who need someone to blame (other than God).

Some people reject the idea of Satan because the way he’s been caricatured in the West. Believing in a red-tailed, hoofed and horned boogieman, such as Gary Larson, portrays Satan as, is beneath most adults. And for good reason. But dismissing the caricature should not lead to dismissing the real thing.

Since Satan makes very few appearances in the Old Testament, some people argue the Jews adopted the idea of Satan through Persian and Greek influences over time. They will say that by the first century the erroneous idea of Satan had snuck its way in among the Jews. But this is no sound evidence to dismiss Satan as real. There are multiple possibilities explaining his few cameos in the OT – I’ll list three: 



1) The role of Satan had little to do with the communication goal of the OT – that is the rebellion of humanity (where he is mentioned in Gen. 3), the establishment of Israel as a theocracy, the need of an established sacrificial system to shadow the mission of Jesus and Israel’s rebellion (representing Adam and all of humanity). 



2) The reality of Satan may have been gradually revealed by God to the Jews. We get a very narrow picture of Satan in Eden from Genesis 3 and not much after that in the OT. But as time went by, God could have revealed more and more through the Holy Spirit to the Jews. This wouldn’t be the only time God gradually gave the Jews more knowledge about spiritual things as centuries passed. C. S. Lewis (in his book Surprised By Joy) pointed out that God gradually introduced the idea of an afterlife and heaven to Jews. He revealed only Himself first. Until a certain time the Jews believed only in earthly existence and had an idea of retributive justice (do good, you will prosper; do evil, you will suffer). The Sadducees took this line. He may have gradually revealed Satan’s role as well.



and



3) God could have introduced an accurate idea of Satan through pagan influences and revelation. God is known in the Bible to reveal special knowledge to Gentiles too. Melchizedek, Pharaoh, the Persian king, the wise men of Matthew and Cornelius are examples.

Christians who think Jews and early Christians erroneously adopted the idea of Satan must be prepared to accuse all the authors of the New Testament (plus Jesus), of this error. They all describe (or imply) Satan as a personal being who is leading an insurrection against God. (A few examples include all accounts of Jesus temptation, Mark 3:26, Acts 26:18, Rom. 16:20, 2 Cor. 2:11, 1 Pet. 5:8, and 1 John 5:19.) If God really is omnipotent, (and Satan a fable) God would have found a way to accurately communicate the truth in His inspired Word. Plus, NT authors were closer to Jewish antiquity than any of us are and had access to better historical documents that we do. Additionally, Luke and Paul were highly educated men and they along with all NT authors were capable thinkers. To assume they got it wrong and we got it right is an example of what C. S. Lewis calls chronological snobbery; that the philosophy, ideas or worldview of an earlier time are inherently inferior when compared to that of contemporary thinkers.



Christians who accept Satan as fictitious will have a hard time accepting the Bible as the inspired word of God (verbal plenary inspiration), as it claims itself to be. If Christians suppose the authors of the Bible were wrong on this account, how can they be sure NT authors are credible in other areas? If I were to be convinced Satan himself were merely a fable, (and I was honest about it), I could no longer call myself a Christian; the Bible would be nothing more than a set of errant historical documents. 



I suggest if we take away the belief of a powerful, personal, corrupt being who rebelled against God and has an agenda to influence and deceive mankind, we are putting people in a very dangerous position. The Bible commits a moderate amount of text to warning people about Satan and his schemes. If we dismiss Satan, we are not likely to take these warnings seriously – and the warnings are there for a reason.

Introspection: A convincing apologetic

A Christian need not be a well-read scholar to justify his faith. Although there is plenty of evidence supporting theism, the Bible, and historicity of Jesus, one need not be familiar with that evidence to honestly and rightly conclude Christianity is The Way.

Take the following example:

The most targeted area of attack on Christianity is the creation account in the book of Genesis. As many Christians will agree, it seems too elementary and mythological. How could the heavens and earth and all its creatures have been created in seven days? Why does modern archeology suggest the earth is so much older than what the Bible seems to suggest? What of the dinosaurs? Where did they come in? If the Bible is truly God’s inspired Word (Verbal Plenary Inspiration) why does it seem to contradict what modern science has hypothesized?

First, allow me to propose there are many scholarly and Biblical answers to these questions – that’s where good Christian apologetics come it. But one need not look at all the external and scholarly sources to draw a logical conclusion in favor of Christianity. There are plenty of theories in harmony with Genesis 1-2 that explain reasonable possibilities. For example, it is important to know that the thesis of Genesis is not to provide a scientific answer to man’s origins. This was not God’s purpose in providing the Genesis account. God did not aim to scratch the intellectual itch of all the skeptics by answering how the universe was made, and how long it took. Were this His purpose, I suppose we would have gotten way more than what we bargain for. Instead, His purpose was two-fold: (a) to introduce himself as the One supreme creator, and (b) to wake up humanity to its spiritual ruin based on the fall of its first parents. Details and time of creation are not the point of Genesis or the Bible. The point is our redemption.

But knowing things like this isn’t what inclined me to trust the Bible. When I came to believe, I did not first look at all the academic evidence before believing, (and there is sufficient evidence). I did not consider things like the dinosaurs. But even if I had looked at all the arguments against the truth of Christianity without knowing favorable arguments, it would not have altered my course (1). I did not need the secondary source of authority when I had the primary source of experience. And this experience I’m talking about is accessible to every person – namely, the fact that something is obviously wrong in oneself and the world.

Here’s what I mean. All of us (at an early age) come to find the world is not always a just and morally fair place. We find there are people who will steal from others; there are those who hate and murder based on ethnicity; spouses commit adultery; women, and even men are raped; and we find genocide in our history books, (and many find themselves the victim of these things). So we all come to the simple conclusion, based on first-hand experience, that something is not right, not just. As many apologists will point out, we get this idea of justice and morality from an authority above man, namely God. Were naturalism true, Christians argue there would be no moral instinct and no impulse to label some things as honorable (such as charity) and other things as despicable (such as avariciousness). After all, aren’t we all appealing to a higher standard when we say, “that’s not fair”? Who determines what is right and wrong if not God? And where did we get the instinct if he did not put it in our hearts? If this realization were enough to convince a person to believe in God (and ultimately Jesus,) then nearly everyone would be a theist. It took a step further to convince me. It took self-examination.

Any person who will look honestly at his own heart will find there is something seriously wrong on the inside. Any honest man will admit he has frequently violated the standard of conduct he expects from other people. The alcoholic knows his drinking is harmful, but continues to do it; the thief will protest when he himself is stolen from; the unfaithful husband does not like to find his wife being had by another man; the liar wants the truth from others. These are simple examples, but the human heart is very complicated and every person is guilty of failing to be what they themselves believe is right and good. C. S. Lewis put it best: “All men alike stand condemned, not by alien codes of ethics, but by their own, and all men therefore are conscious of guilt” (2).

This is what brought me to my knees in horror and disgust. After wondering for years why there is so much madness, pain and injustice in this world, a look inside at my own heart revealed the very problem was inside me. I could no longer smugly point out the evils of this world without introspection revealing myself to be one of the culprits. When one looks in the mirror and sees a loathsome mess, despair is a common reaction. Who wants to be foul? An even further discouragement was a realization I was helpless to change. Many a religious person has attempted, through personal effort, to bring about an internal change only to make a devil of himself with hypocrisy. You can clean the junk out of a river, but if that junk is welling up from the source, it will ever be dirty.

But I looked into my heart and found ugliness and corruption there; and further, I found no effort of my own would change it. So what if behavior can be altered – when the source is contaminated, no man (save One) can change it, because it would require a new source. A plant cannot uproot itself – something outside the plant must do the uprooting. When I realized this about myself, I found no other religion offered a satisfactory answer to the problem. Hinduism claims sin comes from ignorance and we must simply become enlightened. Buddhism claims the problem is desire, and we must starve our desire to be happy. Islam agrees with Christianity about sin, but in Islam, one must do penance – no substitute or regeneration is offered. These three major religions basically expect the plant to uproot and replant itself in “good” soil – and this is impossible. Only the Judeo-Christian position provides a way for a person to be properly reunited with its creator; because we need something on the outside to come in and wrench the source of evil (our hearts) out of us. Only the heart’s maker can change the heart. Only something higher and uncreated can suck the poison out of a man’s heart, and even then, the act is a thing that kills. Ripping the root of evil from a heart tears it asunder and kills the man. That is why only God can do it – because it requires one to be brought back to life again to make it through the ordeal. Thus, it is a miserable affair, but a necessary one. As Tozer put it, “The ancient curse … must be extracted in agony and blood like a tooth from a jaw. … There must be a work of God in destruction before we are free. We must invite the cross to do its deadly work within us” (3)

This is why no amount of rhetoric and evidence will convince a man to follow Christ. If God doesn’t do the calling (John 6:44), all one can do is alter a little behavior, but the heart continues to produce rubbish. This is also why a man (like myself) can come to trust and believe without studying all the academic and historical evidence and theories. Although sufficient evidence to believe is there, that is not what causes people to trust. The heart is “deceitful above all things and desperately sick” (Jer. 17:9, ESV). A deceitful heart can and does tamper with evidence and draws convenient conclusions.

Redemption begins when the man recognizes the wretched condition of his heart and becomes undone by it. From the man’s perspective, to see the world as twisted and corrupt is troubling and discouraging; but, to see oneself as twisted and corrupt, this is unacceptable. He laments, “Something must be done!” This bad news is what makes the Good News of salvation so appealing. Jesus, the God Man, is the only person or thing that offers what we need. No other religious figure claimed to be without sin, and offered himself for the debt. No other religious figure literally resurrected from the dead in accordance with historical records. No other religion provides a thorough cleansing as a free and unearned gift.

When a man sees the corruption in his own heart, he needs no other proof that something has gone wrong. He sees himself as he knows he ought not be – as he want not be. The foul condition suggests a deviation from a proper condition – and only one Man offers a realistic restoration. When a person comes to this realization, Jesus is standing – waiting for the invitation to come in and do the deadly work – to crucify the heart. Only then will the painful process of regeneration begin. Although it is done for us (we don’t lift a finger,) it is frightening. It is so painful, I find myself praying, “God be gentle,” but the desire to be free from the filth is cause for the deeper petition, “but be thorough.”

1. Jesus is powerful and unrelenting when he calls someone. In John 12:32 he says he draws men to himself. One friend of mine who is an accomplished scholar told me the Greek word used for “draw” in that verse could also be translated “drag.”

2. Lewis, C. S. (1980). Mere Christianity.

3. Tozer, A. W. (1982). The pursuit of God. pp 29 & 43.