In the past few days, I have seen, read, and heard all sorts of broken theology. Broken theology is all a bunch of lies. Some are told that you can follow Jesus without sacrifice. Some say that you sacrifice for things that are not worth it. Some say it’s okay to be selfish, especially if it makes you happy. Imagine if you spent all that time, money, or effort that you sacrifice for others for yourself, what kinds of fun could you be having or what new toys could you own by now? All a bunch of pretty, sugar-coated lies. And we love them.
Science. We hear the word tossed around today when people attempt to justify certain decisions that they themselves can only defend with weak explanations: ‘Science says it’s natural,’ or ‘Science says it’s possible,’ or ‘Science says it doesn’t exist’. Humans have this tendency to believe anything that they can sense with their traditional five senses; to claim that we have any more is basically saying that Aristotle, the guy who practically invented the science of ‘smartness’, was wrong. I am kidding, but do you see the point I am trying to make? Science, while a wonderful thing, has learned much since the days of the Greeks and their togas.
While I am no physicist or chemist, most objective science has to do with the measurement, calculation and repetition of things to prove that something follows this or that law. And such things are often times considered to be real. If something cannot be measured, calculated, and subjected to repetition, should science still be used to gauge the reality of such a thing? Some may be familiar with the story of a young boy who questioned the existence of his teacher’s brain because it could neither be felt, seen, tasted, nor smelt. And yet, the teacher insists that the brain exists, despite the fact that it could not be handed over to the boy to be subjected to experimentation. How does this then relate to other things that occur inside our bodies?
Throughout our lives, every now and again, life will manage to figure out a magnificent way of punching us in the stomach, sending us reeling into a vicious cycle of self-pity and mourning. And we call that ‘failure’. Failure is not something that stems from the lack of success in our endeavours, or from a lack of bravado. Failure comes when our goals do not meet reality.
The world has multiple definitions of failure; when your grades do not meet the cut, when you do not meet your quota, when you do not meet your obligations for one reason or another, when you lose someone you love, when friendships fall apart. Anything that does not go according to plan can be written off as a failure.
I begin again with a statement regarding the last few weeks. In the last few weeks, eight persons within two degrees of relationship of myself have died: six of them I spoke with at least once, two of them related to a friend. Not once did I not feel this tightness in my chest that reminded me of what it is to be alive, to feel pain in the loss of life.
When I say pain, I do not mean physical pain. Physical pain is less common and easy to bear; instead, I refer to mental pain, or what people enjoy calling emotional pain. This sort of pain is far less dramatic than physical pain, and is far more common far more difficult to bear. Humans are prone to attempts to conceal such pain, with the dismissive "I'm fine, thank you" or the "I'm okay." Concealing such pain increases the burden, and yet it is easier to say "My back hurts" or "my head hurts" than it is to say 'my heart is broken.'
The Writer. A fancy title that he granted himself to justify making a blog on whatever it is he thinks of.