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And if the astringent rain would ever give way, Elijah Sinclair could not tell; yet as he surveyed the maligned scene outside of his enclosure, he was reminded that what lay beneath the facade of sensibly ordered events, was merely the animus of indomitable folly. Indeed grand folly. Within and without the experiences colouring the spectrum of existence, there lay a certain irrationality which frustrated any modicum of reason.

Nevertheless, safe behind the clear bay window and the comfort of a well-heated kitchen, his view of the happenings was relatively unobstructed, aside from the procession of tears that quickly flowed down in pursuit of the windowsill.

Men ran into their cars in order to head home, left their cars to enter their homes, and subsequently emerged out of their homes to reembark their cars once again. This, all while those clear algid drops—ubiquitous in sphere—gravitated downwards towards the ever-yielding earth. Red, green, yellow, blue, black cars slid their way towards the assurance of engaging engagements, towards memorable moments, towards the warmth of hearth and home or, perhaps driven onwards on the part of sheer tiredness. Onwards by the guarantee of well-deserved relaxation and rest. Onwards, because maybe when it rained, driving onwards was the most natural thing to do. No matter. Onwards they drove; forward towards whatsoever invigorated them with the daring to brace such offensive weather.

Indeed standing by the window and viewing the slow erosion of all else by the vehemence of rain and the thick grey of sky, he was perhaps somewhat too thankful at the sound of the footsteps preceding her down the stairs. As she came into view, she spoke the whispers of an apology for having left and in reply, he told her that she needn’t worry about it. There was a prolonged moment of silence while the rain beat like a thousand frantic drums outside.

“Would you like something to drink?”
He lightly shook his head as he told her that he was fine.
“Really? It wouldn’t trouble me at all to prepare some tea, or perhaps some hot chocolate.” She conferred up a broken smile.  It was small, weak, and heavy with worry, but a smile nonetheless.

Her comment had taken him two, three, four years back in time. To what, perhaps, may have been the last of his halcyon days. He thanked her for the thought but again told her that he’d manage without. She nodded and neither one of them spoke while they waited for her pot of tea to brew. He pretended to be engrossed with the exquisitely ordinary pattern printed on the far wall, while she took exaggerated care in the brewing of her tea. To the both of them, the sombre mood was fairly distasteful.

“Is she?” Elijah began to ask. She paused from spooning her tea and set the cup to her side as she fought for the words with which to make the faintest echo of a reply.

“Yes she is.” She said quite tentatively. Both looked up at the ceiling as though it were transparent and they could see the figure in the darkened room, lying on her bed, the sheets tightly enveloping her form, crying.

“I’m sorry for asking you to come, it’s just I thought that maybe…perhaps if you’re here….”
He let her know that he would do whatever he could to help.

Throughout it all, the rain hadn’t relented one bit. Or perhaps it had softened and they simply couldn’t tell, or perhaps it had ceased altogether and heard was simply the resonance of a performance long since brought to an end. Drop, drip, drop, drop; the familiar rhythm carried itself with an allegretto grazioso tempo that by this time had taken on an almost calming air.

“Should I, go see her?”
“Please,” she answered.

The words had slipped by his lips before he could understand what he was actually saying.

“What was there to gain from having me meet with her? I couldn’t possibly trigger a suitable reaction in her—no, the very thought was completely foolish. Please don’t make me to be the bearer of your hope Ms. Perrineau,” this, he thought in a flurry of uncertainty and consternation.

Now the corridor had seemed to have grown in size, twice, thrice, maybe four times. Its path seemed to stretch farther, the grim walls appeared to reach higher and its tenebrific ambience happened to be the sum of collective doubts faltering his every step.

The traverse down the darkened hall culminated in climbing a sequence of stairs headed for the second floor. Steps which knew the size of his person and were accustomed to the measure of his weight, now creaked and groaned liberally from under his two feet. Or they had always groaned but he simply hadn’t been aware of this proclivity until now, and perhaps the creaking had likewise always been there, or, neither the creaking nor groaning were at all present outside the realm of his imagination.

He stood outside of her room, waiting. His knuckles grated against the skin of her door, he had called out her name, asked if she would let him in, if they could perhaps talk for a moment.
She never replied.

“It’s alright, I expected as much.” She answered him solemnly behind a dry façade of composure and strength.

He nodded in agreement yet took care to apologize once again.

“No, really, it’s not your fault.” She broke off to look at the flow of rainwater dripping down the window adjacent to him and he in turn looked down at his hands. This continued on for the space of a moment or two before she lifted the cup of tea to her lips and, with marvellous frailty, sipped of the contents thereof. The thought struck him that she had aged so much, so suddenly. Regrettably, it would seem that in the end a person could only elude time for so long. As is the manner of things, time may perhaps be slow, but time does not forget.

The forbearers of wrinkles lined her hands and the contours of her face, tracing acute worries onto the visage of her person. Her golden brown hair had lost much of its luster, and she seemed so very small, incredibly small in fact. As she sat across from Elijah, managing her tea, he was unable to expunge the thought that there remained little of that youthful vitality, which used to be so visible an imprint in all her dealings with them. This occurrence greatly perplexed him as it hadn’t seemed at all a waning quality that through the years experienced a gradual reduction in potency but rather, that it had abruptly ceased to give vibrancy to her being.

Noting that they had once more regained eye contact, he began, “Still, I came all this way; I wish that there was something I could do. Do you need my help with anything else?”

“I’m not,” she began rather brusquely, “I’m not a bad mother.” Deeply lost within her own fears, Mrs. Perrineau had failed to take note of Elijah’s question.

He remained silent.

“I did everything that I could.” Elijah could not tell whether he was being addressed. It had seemed to be more of a statement than a question and yet she looked at him as if she were expecting a response.
He assured her that she had.

“I’m not a bad mother.”

He assured her that she was not.

It took moments for her to recollect herself. Adjusting herself in her seat, smoothing the wrinkles of her pale grey cardigan, picking up, then setting back down her cup of tea, caressing its handle, tracing a finger around the rim, drying her eyes. Then, mere stillness.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

He gave no answer. How could he speak when the silence had already said so much more than it should? Words simply failed to convey the weight of emotions felt that evening and the mass of unbridled trepidation which so gave pause to their tongues could in no way be measured—merely felt. There was an unspoken worry between them, a shared hurt. The pain thereof kindled a most repugnant understanding rooted in the obscene comforts of realizing that someone else was damned to identify with their grief. That another was condemned to partake in this fellowship of suffering and this, in its own surreptitious manner, was horridly consoling. In the face of this shared frailty, Elijah Sinclair came to discern that theirs, was a communion of misery and disgust.

“Still, I wonder.” They had sat in complete silence until then and thus her breaking of it found him fairly off-guard. All the same she continued, “I wish to know what exactly happened.”

And as Elijah dredged his way home, he would find himself contemplating the very same thought. The rain had ceased yet the day remained bleak. The streets had recovered from the hour of their inundation and what little remained of that ferocious shower consoled itself in the cool embrace of verdure. The flood had ceased and the earth—immaculate as she was—could in no way contain her excitement. Nevertheless, Elijah remained certain that it would rain to no end.

Arriving home, the house was iridescent, resplendent in warm auburn yet the pleasantries thereof had little bearing on Elijah Sinclair as he forced the door to a close behind him and quickly leapt the set of stairs to settle himself in his room. He scarcely took notice of his mother as he failed to greet her in the process of going about his course and she, in turn, him. As he lay in bed his mind couldn’t escape the questioning of Ms. Perrineau, he was a captive to her sentiments. With his thoughts undimmed by sleep for merely a span longer, he considered how best to answer his questioner as all sounds took their leave and he found himself untangled from circumstance and retiring passively to slumber.

I have a peculiar fascination with Captain Chesley Sullenberger.  You might remember him as the the American Airline pilot who set his failing plane down gently in the Hudson River in January of 2009, coolly saving the lives of all 155 people on board.  I’m not sure why his story struck me so, but everyone in the house had to be quiet when the nightly news reported anything related to this event, and my kids made fun of me for about a year for my … Read More

via finewithme

Not too far from where I live.

As the caption reads, the above isn’t too far from where I live and before you arrive at the misunderstanding that I–for some reason!–stepped out of my home, dear reader, I’ll duly note that I took this picture some time ago yet the scenery has remained unchanged, the snow is still here and the cold seems to have an incessant grip on this part of Canada (though I suppose that it holds sway over Canada at large). That aside, doesn’t the scenery seem incredibly pleasant or is that just me still on an emotional high due to the fact that glasses make the world go round? Who knows, who cares; I certainly don’t.

Though pleasant, this doesn’t mean that I have any intention of going outside, some things are better appreciated at a distance, especially when you’re on a break from school and feeling perpetually sleepy and the confines of your home (and bed) are just so enchantingly warm. I’m surprised I’m even blogging given that I’m anything but a regular blogger and usually only average 1 post per month but hey, miracles happen. Nevermind that I have yet to reply to any of my text messages but as I said yesterday, “this is winter break and things need’t quite make any sense at all”.

Speaking of miracles, small miracles at that, I was reading from Isaiah yesterday and I’m not a regular Bible reader. I can’t find anything or anyone to blame and so I’ll just come out with it: I’m a lazy person, especially in regards to what God expects and wants. Not that reading it is boring or anything–far from it. It’s just that in the course of my week I tend to forget to read God’s word. I know, I know, woe is me. Now, getting back to Isaiah:

¹¹ “I, even I, am the LORD,
and apart from me there is no savior.
¹² I have revealed and saved and proclaimed—
I, and not some foreign god among you.
You are my witnesses,” declares the LORD, “that I am God.”

— Isaiah 43:11-12 NIV

There’s not much that I really want to say about the above save to say that it did make me consider Unitarianism and its belief that Jesus is the Saviour (there’s Canadian spelling for you) without himself being God. This passage and the many like it (the above is just a small portion of the material that I read) parceled throughout this book and the Bible are quite clear that God is the only saviour. In fact, I don’t believe that anyone else in the Bible is referred to as the saviour, not Moses, David, Elijah etc. only the LORD and so how would the individual who is a Unitarian reconcile the above with something like Titus 1:4.

Anyway this is beginning to sound too much like a God Omnipotent post (shameless plug) and so I’ll stop here. I’m tired and sleepy and so I guess I’ll go to bed. I’m on winter break, about to fall asleep and life seems rather fine.

That said, the day seems pleasant yet I’m cooped up at home because aside from being on winter break, I know that no matter how blue the sky is, or how deceptively fair the iridescent sun portrays the world outside my enclosure to be, the fact of the matter is that it’s horridly cold and I for one have had enough of winter for another year or so. So no, Mr. Sun, I know quite better (thank you very much). Having mentioned winter break, I guess I should mention that school is going extremely well and if I were to mention what my marks were it would seem too much like I’m bragging–and that would be unbecoming (let us just say that my lowest mark was a 90 percent and whether that constitutes as bragging is between me and the good Lord). So yes, school is fine but rather stressful at times. By ‘fine’ I mean ‘long and difficult’ and by ‘stressful’ I mean ‘oh so unbearable’ and by ‘at times’ I mean ‘practically all the time’; though I suppose, hence winter break.

I should think that heaven is similar to a long, unending, winter break and more importantly I should think that it’s citizens aren’t prone to such wonderful understatements. At this point, you might begin to suspect, dear reader, that I have nothing useful to say and that we are in actuality engaged in a performance of futility wherein the sole task is to see for how long I can keep writing and, perhaps more importantly, for how long you can keep reading. “Yet does this make sense”, you should ask and quite clearly it doesn’t and yet this is winter break and things need’t quite make any sense at all (says the Mad Hatter to Alice).

On a slightly more serious note (and there crop up those pesky understatements again) I have been thinking about why I maintain my blog, not this one (I quite well know why I have this one: something along the lines of a dirty habit to write for almost no other soul in the world. sometimes.) but rather my other one. Not that I dislike or choose to recant anything I have written there, not that there should even be anything to recant either way, but it’s just that at one point I was driven in part because there once was someone I had in mind when I wrote (not that I was ever able to show them the blog but we did mostly talk concerning the same things) and now I have largely lost this reason. The fact is that rarely, if ever, do people change and while I never thought that this individual had so large a bearing on God Omnipotent, it has become quite clear that they do, all three of them. I’d like to think that I do this for God and in some respect I suppose that this is true but to be perfectly honest, at times even this reason does not seem enough. It is said that Noah preached for 100 years and reached no soul, but I’m not Noah, neither do I have 100 years.

This is not to say that I won’t keep up with God Omnipotent, it is merely a change of perspective, and perhaps a plea for a new raison d’être. Furthermore, I wonder in what spirit I write my posts, whether it is because I want to defend the good news of the gospel or whether I want to defend the notion that my beliefs couldn’t possibly be wrong? How do I judge other Christians who hold, what are to my eyes, heterodox opinions and how do I try to engage them or try to illicit a response from them (when I know quite well that in doing so they will entangle themselves in many contradictions and so forth) without seeming belligerent and merely looking for an argument? Now, I don’t mean to suppose that I am at all guilty of the above (and isn’t it quite ironic to claim to such innocence when one can never be perfectly certain of their own heart?) but these are just things I think about when the sunlight and the blue sky make the outside look so fraudulently beautiful, and I am afraid of the cold, while cooped up at home enjoying a well-received winter break.

Now, I have never had a conversion experience but this affair made me wonder if this was perhaps how such an event should feel like. The occurrence of having ones eyes opened to the beauty that is so very much within their reach and to realize that—to steal from Shakespeare—there are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in our philosophy. There is much to be learnt from nature and this isn’t the first time that I was privy to such a lesson. Back then as indeed now, I felt as if I beheld the very seat of beauty. As if I teetered on the edge of my world, and “the place where all the beauty came from” lay only a horizon’s crossing away. More than I could know and more than you could imagine, I wished firmly that this moment could last forever. That I could stay there forever to live in “the place where I ought to have been born.”

As wonderful as the event was, it did end in heartbreak—if only for a season—and the memory thereof will for a long time be accompanied by a deep-seated longing. A pain. A sharp pain that is obtrusive yet not entirely unpleasant for the fact that in the degree that it hurts, such also is the degree of my love for beauty. Though, since pain is a hurt nonetheless, as a Christian I am not left without some comfort. To my bewilderment, the nature which I have seen and which has mesmerized me is but a shadow of the True, the Good, and the Beautiful. And this perfection has imparted me with promises he can’t help but keep, promises which can’t but come to fruition.

He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away [...] They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever [...] These words are trustworthy and true.

– Revelation 21:3-4; 22:4-6 ESV

And thinking. Mulling over this and that; the start of the new semester, the day’s activities, religion—love. Indeed love. The most wonderful thing about Christianity and certainly one of the most frightening, is the love of God. It’s so very fascinating, as mesmerizing as it is so unequivocally downright terrifying—incontestably, it’s altogether ridiculous in scope. That a being could love so ferociously, rather, that anyone could be loved with such passion—much less myself—is just so astounding. Of course I’m not the first to have stood in wonder at the prospect of divine love (and surely I won’t be the last) but as vast a sea as is his love for us, so too is our awe in the contemplation thereof. And if we are indeed in awe, then we are struck, and in being struck, propelled to dwell in and contemplate on this very love that the experience of which far outmatches anything I could ever put into words.

Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you, I give men in return for you, peoples in exchange for your life. – Isaiah 43:4 ESV

It is the love of God which I find to be the supreme argument for Christianity in the realm of comparative religion. All other faith systems fall short in that they espouse a vague impersonal force or a deity that is so completely bankrupt and so greatly outstripped by Yahweh in love. God’s love is in itself the embodiment of all the great love stories we have been told since childhood. Once there was the lover and the beloved, then there was loss and thus the lover must literally displace heaven and hell, to draw his beloved once more to him and as is echoed in the most fascinating of tales, in every promise, in the most loving embrace, they are reunited, paradise is regained, they are to live happily forever after. All these shadows of what could and should be, find their realization in the love of God for his children which is woven throughout the pages of the Bible. The tale is an epic, a romance, wherein all obstacles give way, even death itself is overcome—the lover gives his life for the beloved yet–behold!–death cannot hold him captive!

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. ³⁸For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, ³⁹nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. – Romans 8:37-39 ESV

And if something more wonderful could ever be said, I know not what.

Certainly the above goes a long way in putting into words what I feel in my heart.

but those who hope in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint. – Isaiah 40:31 NIV

But then why do I feel so tired? Not only physically but spiritually as well. So tired I don’t want to get up, tired enough to wish that I was asleep and not awake enough to think—certainly not think about life.

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” - Matthew 6:34 ESV

Jesus, I have words for you and they aren’t nice.

Having watched the video over and over again, I really don’t know what to say–I’m at a complete loss. What can one even say when faced with such a reality. Here we have a man who’s dying and in the face of it all, he maintains such faith and steadfast love for God as he spills his heart out for us and quite frankly bleeds for our edification. His words are so trenchant and heavy with meaning and quite honestly serve as a burden for us to bear. I know that I personally neglect to carry my cross as I should and in hearing Zachary Smith speak I was reminded over and over of how little I had done and how much more it was in my ability to do.

here is the video:

The video is a much needed wake up call–quite literally a message from the dead and if that thought sounds a tad morbid and creepy it’s only because I meant it to be. Watching Zac bleed on-screen for us is not to make us feel comfortable, or to avoid ruffling our sensibilities but rather, it is to forcefully shake us awake. In a way this is a task that only a dying man can undertake. Only he who can see his impending death with his own eyes, can speak so poignantly about the futility of living life as the world does. Yet this isn’t the first time a dying man has helped us reclaim life. Thousands of years ago, 1st century Palestine knew of such a man as well–in fact he was the quintessential man, the archetype for all who would follow. As he travelled the streets of his homeland he could be heard teaching the masses and in one such sermon he was known to have said,

“The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, chief priests and teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.” ²³Then he said to them all: “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. ²⁴For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. ²⁵What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit his very self? – Luke 9:21-25 NIV

The question then becomes, can we love and trust God enough to pursue him when he says, “then come, follow me” or like the rich young man, be saddened by what the prospect of what a life lived solely for God would entail?

Troublesome isn’t it? I do not like the doctrine of hell and in my heart I oftentimes wish that it were not part of the gospel. Of all that which Christianity teaches, I would be more than happy to be rid of this tenet whose very thought pains me and the recollections thereof trouble my soul. They do. I don’t at all wish to come off as if I simply pretend to be hurt by this doctrine. I am—how could anyone be perfectly fine with the belief that the majority of the people that have existed or will ever exist, have only an eternity of suffering to look forward to? Can my smile truly be genuine when my faith leads me to believe that the elderly woman in front of me, who looks so sweet walking with her two little children, will most likely be damned forever because she wears a hijab? No, this doctrine of hell just seems so diametrically opposed to everything I know, and love, and hold dear.

And yet this doctrine is taught so plainly in scripture that one has to willfully usurp the authority of the bible in order to remain a type of Christian and yet not hold a belief in the reality of hell. I do not perfectly understand the need for hell but I am careful not to place myself in a position to judge God. As Abraham said:

Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right? – Genesis 18:25

That said other than the many places in scripture which attest to eternal punishment for some, I cannot believe in universal reconciliation because it removes the weight of our choices from us. If whatever I do has no ultimate impact than what were my choices worth anyway? Why would the bible place such an emphasis on faith in God when ultimately, whether one believed God’s revelation or deemed it to be a lie, it didn’t really matter? To save us from being punished perhaps? That doesn’t really match up to the picture of God in the bible where he is not primarily worried about physical punishment but rather eternal separation from him. How could the retribution for sinning against a being of infinite worth not be in itself infinite in scope? If there is no ultimate punishment for evil then there would be no such thing as ultimate values. Values such as morality, goodness, and justice would all be contrived and ultimately meaningless.

Worse still is the belief that unbelievers are simply annihilated at death or in hell. That would mean that ultimately, these people were worthless. Their lives would have no ultimate meaning and their existence itself would be absurd. If they came from nothing, and would return to nothing, what ultimate meaning was there in their existence? This is precisely the problem that Camus, Sartre and even Nietzsche expounded in their writings. The underlying theme in their writings was one of terror—complete loneliness and the absurdity of a life that comes from nothing and must ultimately end in nothing. The thought of ceasing to exist after death is not one which elevates man—on the contrary—it reduces him to an infraction of nature, a cosmic mistake. A worthless absurdity without reason nor purpose for his existence, a problem that can only be put to right by the administration of that final dose of death and nonexistence. By this logic, could our lives have any ultimate relevance? What then could it have meant to have been created in the Imago Dei? Truly, the thought of simply being annihilated at death is rather nice until one works through the logical implications of such a belief. Namely, that everyone who would cease to exist (at some point) after death would be acknowledged to have been completely worthless by God. How could it at all be better to have God, the most loving being in existence, acknowledge an individual to be ultimately worthless? On that note, what would that say about the love of God itself?

As unpleasant as the doctrine of hell is, it does set man in his place of ultimate worth in the eyes of God. It does affirm the true meaningfulness of justice, love, goodness etc. It does set to right all injustice and affirm the undeniable value of all our choices. As much as we may want to deny it, the belief in an eternal hell and therefore ultimate punishment, is indispensable in affirming the worth of human beings and the objective truth and importance of all the values that we as humans hold dear.