On one hand I'm fine. On the other hand,I'm uneasy and disappointed in me.
I seem to have a case of "foot in the mouth" or perhaps it is better described as "can't you just listen, Joan"
I've been blowing it left and right. I was asked to lead a group in a Presbyterian Ladies Circle in a "bible study (notice the small "b").
The subject was "water" ..creation was the opener.
I thought it would be interesting to include a discussion of "how big is this creation". The local newspaper had just published a discussion about an unmanned rocket that landed on a comet many million miles from earth; and I included it as an opener ("how big is the creation we have to consider"). That went over pretty well.
But then (at the next meeting) I opened with a newspaper clipping from a fly-by rocket of Pluto that was even further out.
I never got to include the findings of water on Mars (which followed the first two articles). The leader effectively complained that they were not interested in my "education". I was dismissed..
I still think it's interesting to contemplate the size and significance of God's creation. But I'm fired.
Next I was asked to join an evening bible study. If anyone had a bible with them, it was invisible. The leader talked about himself and ("graciously") included me in tales of his earlier service to the Lord.
I should have hidden under the chair or something because it went on and on and on...and was of no interest to anyone (including me). The second week it picked up where the first week paused and I allowed myself to be entangled again. No one is gaining anything except contempt ..I need a place to hide.
I not only feel like a jerk; I'm sure I am one...and old one. Lord help me to honor you somehow.
Showing posts with label creation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creation. Show all posts
Friday, October 9, 2015
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
What if There is No God!
He was about twelve years old; the freckles on his face gave him a Tom Sawyer appearance. A week at the beach had tanned his face and reddened his nose. When he saw our church banner, he strode across the boardwalk and paused in front of a pile of children’s books. Deliberately pointing his small finger at a colorful book titled “God loves you” he loudly proclaimed, “There is no God!!! It’s all a Big Bang.”
I was admittedly taken back; such authoritative misinformation from such a small person. I countered as pleasantly as I could, “Who started the Big Bang?” But it was no use. He became angry and shouted, “It’s all a Big Bang,” again and left.
An hour later he was back, walking with adults along the boardwalk. I turned to a companion and said, “There’s my friend.” The boy overheard and shouted back, “You’re not my friend,” and hastened to catch up with his companions.
And he was right! I had not been his friend. I had fenced with him on a childish level; but his faith was well established in the anti-God world of pseudo-wisdom. What should I have done? What should I have said?
How I longed to hug him, to point to the sky above, to show him the size of the universe. I wanted to talk to him about the complexity and value of his own mind and body. But someone got to him before I did; and they had taught him that the whole world was without any purpose . . . that he was without value, without hope.
He was angry. Who could blame him! He wore his disbelief like a protective shield and shot his words like bullets. But he was the victim of his own words, and the repeated words of others. Where had that anger come from? There was no amusement, no challenge allowed, no room for intellectual discussion.
I thought of other children far across the world whose families strap them with bombs and send them into public places to do as much damage as they can do as they die. They sacrifice the young lives on an altar of anger; for what? So that they can live in a world controlled by fear and hate?
Our country has become a nation of frustration. We have locked God and godly argument out of our schools and educational institutions. Now we are in the grips of drugs, disenchantment, frustration, and hopelessness.
Over the years we had been welcome at our booth near the beach. The town chief of police supported our effort to give out smiles, hope, and encouragement. But this year there had been trouble. We had been shouted at; our quiet music drowned out by loud speakers pointed in our direction carrying music with words that caused my mind to despair. We had to get a lawyer there to allow us to continue. Policemen stood across the boardwalk to make sure that I didn’t pass a book or flyer to anyone. What has happened to my country, to the freedom I knew. Why did a little boy make me so sad. Why couldn’t I give him hope?
I was admittedly taken back; such authoritative misinformation from such a small person. I countered as pleasantly as I could, “Who started the Big Bang?” But it was no use. He became angry and shouted, “It’s all a Big Bang,” again and left.
An hour later he was back, walking with adults along the boardwalk. I turned to a companion and said, “There’s my friend.” The boy overheard and shouted back, “You’re not my friend,” and hastened to catch up with his companions.
And he was right! I had not been his friend. I had fenced with him on a childish level; but his faith was well established in the anti-God world of pseudo-wisdom. What should I have done? What should I have said?
How I longed to hug him, to point to the sky above, to show him the size of the universe. I wanted to talk to him about the complexity and value of his own mind and body. But someone got to him before I did; and they had taught him that the whole world was without any purpose . . . that he was without value, without hope.
He was angry. Who could blame him! He wore his disbelief like a protective shield and shot his words like bullets. But he was the victim of his own words, and the repeated words of others. Where had that anger come from? There was no amusement, no challenge allowed, no room for intellectual discussion.
I thought of other children far across the world whose families strap them with bombs and send them into public places to do as much damage as they can do as they die. They sacrifice the young lives on an altar of anger; for what? So that they can live in a world controlled by fear and hate?
Our country has become a nation of frustration. We have locked God and godly argument out of our schools and educational institutions. Now we are in the grips of drugs, disenchantment, frustration, and hopelessness.
Over the years we had been welcome at our booth near the beach. The town chief of police supported our effort to give out smiles, hope, and encouragement. But this year there had been trouble. We had been shouted at; our quiet music drowned out by loud speakers pointed in our direction carrying music with words that caused my mind to despair. We had to get a lawyer there to allow us to continue. Policemen stood across the boardwalk to make sure that I didn’t pass a book or flyer to anyone. What has happened to my country, to the freedom I knew. Why did a little boy make me so sad. Why couldn’t I give him hope?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)