February 16, 2014
The claim is “some people are born gay, some people are born straight.” I both agree and disagree, depending on specifics added to the statement.
I do not believe that anyone is genetically predisposed to be homosexual, but rather that some people are situationally predisposed. This is just the same as all mankind is situationally predisposed to have a sinful nature, and are redeemable only by the grace of God. This is our situation.
The hatred of the gay community in our society is ridiculous, and counterintuitive to our calling. There are the worst offenders (Westboro Baptist Church), but there are also those who are not typically recognized as radicals but are certainly not helping. These are the Christians who treat homosexuality like it’s a special brand of sin, and that it somehow needs specific negative attention. I understand that the fear is that the acceptance of homosexuality is destroying the traditional family structure. All I have to say to that is: Get over it. This is a fallen world. If you think that there was heaven on earth before some new development of our society cropped up, you’re dead wrong. This world is a battlefield being fought on by countless opposing armies, and I believe we as Christians are called not to be soldiers, but medics, for any army or individual willing to accept the love we bring, that of Christ.
For one thing, a believer should never hold a non-believer to a Christian standard. They have not claimed it. It’s like criticizing a european for not reciting our pledge of allegiance or a vegetarian calling others stupid for not joining them in abstaining from meat. The proper course of action would be to work towards having a country anyone would be proud to pledge allegiance to, or to positively display the health benefits of vegetarianism to the point that it makes carnivores question their eating habits. Unfortunately most Christians today seem to invite resistance, as if Christ had told us to “Go ye out into the world and make snooty Country-Clubs in my name.”
I am a Christian. I am saved by grace, and I will die someday. On that day, I will still be a sinful man. Hopefully I will be wiser and have spent my life bringing glory to God, but the fact is I will always fall short of his glory, and sin in a myriad of little ways unknown to me. The keyword here is unknown. Someone may tell me of my sin, but as perceptive as I like to think I am, I know that if it is told to me in an unloving way, I will not see love. I will not see God. I will never see God outside of that which is his real voice. Nor will anyone else.
December 30, 2013
Song Link: The Blood of Cuchulainn.
God created one thing that I find more beautiful than any person: Relationships. They are the pinnacle of art, expression, and despite our efforts to categorize them, they are infinitely mysterious as is their creator. All things that I find beautiful are only so because of their connections to a relationship. Music is one of these things.
I cannot remember a time before Benji, my brother. I was (am) the introvert, the artist. He was the extravert, the loudmouth, the life of the party. He was the great “other.” I looked at him and saw someone that had been through everything I had, thought the same thoughts, but in a different color or pattern. We’d have conversations in the dark about how something was different about us. We were so sure that we were set apart, that somehow we would rise up and do something magnificent someday, and be famous together. He’s been gone eight years.
If I set out to write a story, I know I’m going to quit before I really get started if all I have are “interesting” character profiles, and perhaps a good plot. What I need are the fictional conversations that play in my head when I lay down at night (and often during the day when the outer world expects me to focus on reality). The conversations are the essence of relationships, the colors, the notes, the rhythms interacting with each other to create something completely unique and wonderful.
What is man but just a big pile of his relationships? If God created but one person, and never spoke to him, even if he was self-aware, would he be any better than dust floating through the void of space?
The Blood of Cuchulainn. This song is one of a handful that drowns me in the colors of God’s great painting “Thomas and Benji.” Curiously, the images I see are not actual memories but of my brother and I as two princes of a great “Lord of the Rings-ish” type Kingdom, standing on a mountain, destined for magnificence. The song’s real power: the whistling chorus crashing into me like a wave full of hope and longing.
October 27, 2013
This is the first in hopefully several entries on filtering aspects of life through an eternal perspective. I intend to cover religious and political issues, and perhaps more. The purpose is to make my worldview clearer to my own eyes.
I have avoided this type of chiseling out my thoughts, because it is hard. However, I’ve found myself lost and afraid as of late. I wish to remedy that.
I’m also going to state here that I will resist the temptation to go back and edit posts when and if I come up with better ways to illustrate my thoughts, or if I should change my mind about something.
April 29, 2012
April 29, 2012
A man wearing a long black coat in July rode into Falcon Bluff.
He needed a drink. He leapt off as the stolen horse dropped dead of exhaustion. Without a backward glance, he began to trek towards the hazy image of the saloon at the end of the road. She’ll die slower than her horse, he promised himself.
It was a skittish town where most of the people were afraid of anyone. He walked the half mile between a dozen buildings alone. He stepped up onto the porch under a large sign that read Ritchey’s Place.
“I ain’t scared of you,” said a boy in a rocking chair.
The man stopped and turned towards him. He said nothing.
The boy looked at him with a determination that said I am scared of you, but my determination to look tough is stronger than my fear. The stranger removed his hat and bandana. He expected the boy’s stone face to melt at the site of his burned face.
The boy’s face flooded with horror and—concern?
“Uncle Ritchey! What happened?” he jumped and ran toward the man.
Click. His gun in the boy’s face. The boy nearly ran into it.
The bartender sauntered out onto the porch, rolled his eyes, leaned on a post, pulled a gun of his own. The man in black did not turn to face him.
“Barry—,” he said with a sigh, “who is this man?”
“I—,” Barry stammered, his eyes darting back and forth, “I thought he was you!”
Now the two men turned their faces to one another. There was a pregnant pause, and death was due. Neither man knew it, but the real man in black was looming with his scythe. While the twins stood paralyzed in wordless revelations about their childhood, an unseen bony hand sprung a delicate trap.