If you’re around Christianity for any amount of time, you’ll notice that Christians love to try to prove how God exists. So much so that there’s a name for it–“apologetics”– and there are books and training courses on it. It never sat too well with me, and now I think I know why.
Feeling the need to prove God exists assumes that you can’t see him clearly in the day to day. That he’s up there somewhere and you have to use logical arguments to get to him.
But what we miss is that the power lies not in arguments, but in definition. God is life itself. He’s fate. He’s order. Everything that exists came from him and is sustained by him. If he were to somehow retreat from our universe, it would shrivel and disintegrate into nothingness because doing so would literally remove all life and substance from everything.
So, how do I know God exists? By the very fact that I’m alive, that that apple tree outside my window is alive, and that the cat sitting on my bed looking for birds is alive.
Truth is, no one knows what it looks like to live apart from God.
The biggest problem in Christian theology is the question of suffering. If God is so merciful, why is the Bible full of stories of him destroying countless countries–including his own people–over and over again?
I’ve always seen God as the source of all things and a personification of the life force itself. But I’m only just now starting to understand what that actually means.
To quote a magnificent anime, “the world is beautiful and cruel.” Consequences are impassive and properly harsh, no matter who they happen to. That’s the definition of justice. God is justice. He’s the balance in nature and that balance can be extremely cruel if you’re on the wrong side of it.
But God isn’t only the personified impartial substance of the world. He’s also an entity himself with thoughts and feelings and a deep, pervasive, heart-aching love for other beings. He wants to bend the rules for his friends.
He wants to take care of the consequences himself and find another way to keep balance. He wants to give second, third, fourth, and fifth chances to those who are trying, even when they keep failing. Because he’s not only justice, he’s also love, and love overlooks mistakes.
I often find myself wishing that we could just have the loving part without the justice, but what kind of world would that be? We need both. We need balance in order to thrive. Reality works in yin and yang, and I believe God does too.
I had an experience I haven’t had for a very very long time; I had a chance encounter with someone who shared my faith.
Now, being a Christian in America, that doesn’t sound like it would be such a rare thing, but it is. To meet a stranger who is on their own unique dialect of the intentional journey you’re on, seeking God and spiritual formation passionately and honestly, not doing it for recognition or favors or obligation… what a privilege to meet someone like that.
He came in the form of an old man walking into my shop to ask me if I knew anything about the little church next door. One moment later, we were swapping church in the area recommendations and I was telling him about the best church I’ve ever attended. Two moments later, we parted as friends, as brother and sister, with a “God’s blessings on you.”
It was such a small thing, but it moved me. In a time where sarcasm is praised and authenticity is condemned as naivety, camaraderie is truly precious.
I hope he comes back to my shop someday.
I’ve been trying to manage God.
I want enlightenment so badly. I want to merge and disappear into the Holy Spirit so much it’s almost a physical ache. So I had been trying to plan out how to achieve that, keeping a strict eye on the horizon to make sure that I’m staying on course and that I’m progressing fast enough. As though developing a relationship was as simple and linear as reading a book. But it isn’t.
The only way to achieve intimacy and enlightenment is to do as that old Christian song says and let Jesus/the Holy Spirit drive the car.
The only way to take the next step is to let go. We are finite and we don’t know the path to enlightenment. God does, and he wants us to reach it even more than we want to reach it ourselves.
So do what you know is good for you (ex. pray, meditate, learn, practice), but do it without keeping an eye on your progress.
Trust that if you go where God leads, he will lead you where you are meant to go.
I’ve been going to a new church with my friends and it is unlike any church I’ve been to.
We lovingly call it “hipster church,” but jokes aside, seeing a church thriving that holds different cultural views than the ones typically associated with church is refreshing. It’s nice to see a church that is quite liberal and still just as serious about seeking and knowing the truth as the conservative ones.
When it’s come to Christianity, I’ve been disheartened by how pervasively sticky culture becomes, how it saturates what we call truth and is then spread around with it as universal, objective truth.
It has been a mission of mine, by spending times outside my culture, to see what in Christianity is purely cultural, and what is true no matter where you go. The two are very different.
There’s nothing wrong with the cultural aspects to religion, but they shouldn’t be welded irremovably to each other. When they are, churches start creating oddly specific sins, saying things like “Real Christians will boycott Disney for this or that reason.” They end up making the price to enter too steep, so eventually people stop entering.
Never mind that God has already invited everyone to know him deeply, even those who like Disney.
It seems to me that, while religion and spirituality go hand in hand, they are not the same thing.
Spirituality, in the broadest term, is the conscious recognition that things exist in this world. Whether you believe in a spiritual realm or whether you believe that the physical is all that exists, everyone has their own spirituality. Everyone understands that the world has many facets and that these facets work in a specific way.
Religion, then, is the practical application of this understanding. What do we do with this knowledge? What is the healthiest way to live, taking all of reality into consideration? What is the balance of discipline and relaxation that best allows a person to live to the fullest?
That is the real question. There are probably a few objectively right answers in there, but not nearly as many as people think.
I’m starting to get burnt out on church again.
I’ve been going to church every week for the past two months: compared to my previous record of once or twice a month. It was great for a while, but the last few weeks I’ve just felt stagnant. And I don’t know if it’s a stagnancy I need to wade through or one I need to change.
When it comes to Christianity, I’m devoted, but I’m not loyal. I believe that, if God/the Universe/the Life Stream is everything–is the beginning, middle, and end of all that exists–no religion, and definitely no church, owns him. Therefore, if a method of connecting to him isn’t working, there’s no shame in leaving and trying something else.
Before I returned to church, my Sundays were spent quietly with coffee and toast, listening to a sermon or other spiritual teaching while playing video games. On mornings when the weather was nice, or when God had something particularly pressing to speak with me about, I would go on a walk or go to the woods to meditate.
I miss those mornings. But at the same time, when I had those mornings, I missed meeting with other Christians and the spiritual stability that church brings.
I need to find a balance.
For now, I think I will continue going to the church I found in Tokyo because I do have good friends there. I’m only here for four more weeks and I want to make the most of the time I have left.
My best friends’ dad died today. He left a wife and four children, two of them in middle school.
As I was trying to get ready for the day, weeping, I heard God speak. “This is why you are going back (to America),” he said, “to be there for them. Improve your empathy, because they will need it.”
I like finding out what my next step is, but not like this. Not like this.
Reality works like a mirror. Whether you take this as literal truth or just a helpful metaphor, it still holds true.
This is why some people seem to have good luck and some bad, and why people who like themselves often end up being liked by others (and vice versa). There are endless applications of this on every conceivable topic from relationships to health.
For me, now, it has been showing up with regards to my self-image. The more I learn to accept and enjoy myself, the easier it is for me to accept and enjoy other people.
I used to be very prideful and very cynical. I disliked people, as a species in general. (I still do a little, if I’m honest.) And the fact that I was part of this species felt like a dirty secret to me. I always wanted to tack on a qualifier in my mind. “Yeah, I’m part of humanity, but…”, or “Yeah, I’m a girl, but…”
Qualifiers do more harm than good, I think. It’s only in taking them away and accepting what and who I am that I have been able to see more clearly what my true potential is. And by extension, that of other people.
Some of the best advice I’ve heard about getting better at prayer and meditation was from a speaker at a conference I went to in high school. He advised us to create a “sanctuary in our room.” In other words, create a nook you can go to that is only used for prayer or meditation. In that way, you will be better able to focus and hopefully spend less time playing “tie down the monkeys” with your stray thoughts.
There used to be this tree a short walk from my house that bordered a wheat field. It had long, drooping branches and in the summer, its thick leafy branches touched the top of the wheat, creating a secret little spot in the shade. I went there to meditate as often as I could manage.
When I couldn’t manage, I took all the pictures off of one of the walls in my room and set a chair there, facing the corner.
These days, I find sitting on the floor in the dark, or with a candle or incense, more effective than the chair in the corner. But I still prefer to meditate outside when possible, if I can find somewhere I won’t be disturbed.