That Phony Death -- Second Addendum
Shortly after I wrote my last blog post, we left for my sister-in-law's for Thanksgiving. Driving our van on the way there, I had a thought that I'd had before in some form, one I'm certain that others have also had.
Here's Thanksgiving, the time when we are supposed to give thanks. The question is, to whom are you giving thanks? I mean, really, what do atheists do when they give thanks? What do Eastern mysticists or even devout Catholicists do? Who exactly do they give thanks to?
Atheists may say that they are "thankful." I'm sorry but that is completely meaningless. Thankfulness implies that you are feeling good about something and you are appreciative in some sense for that. But why would you have anything good to begin with? From where did it come?!
The Eastern mysticist is what many today would call a "New Ager." Convinced all is illusion, or that we are all just part of the Great Cosmic Oneness, who exactly does one address when saying thank you? Do you thank your God-self for, say, your ability to repair automobiles for a living? Ahem, how can that be when you yourself had absolutely nothing to do with getting you even a breath in your lungs to begin with in order to turn a socket wrench?
The devout Catholicist has his straw-man Jesus he thanks. What is it exactly is he thanking him for? That could be whatever it is he conceives, after all, an idol is really a projection of whatever it is the worshipper forms in his mind. How pointless is that.
I only introduce this because after speaking about the heartwrenching situation with my stepbrother Randy, I read a front-page story in the Thanksgiving day edition of the Los Angeles Times titled "Hope is the one antidote."
It was written by a Times staff writer about his struggles with Parkinson's. It was just a personal testimony containing narrative about his ordeal, and scattered about were all the predictable considerations about life, its meaning, and coping through it all.
But the thing I wanted to point out here was the writer's definition of hope:
"Hope, for me, is a state of mind, not focused on a particular prospect but rather attached to something more amorphous, less definable. [He quotes his neurologist here:] Hope gets us out of bed in the morning: hope that we'll accomplish something great at work, hope that we'll see our kids do something cute or clever, hope that we won't get into a car crash."
At the risk of being a bit insensitive, this is utter nonsense. And yet, I can bet the farm that millions of people read this and think, "Wow, what strength." They believe, "Wow, how profound."
Such is the Catholicist Nation.
Think about it if you dare. Hope is a state of mind? So then the best thing to do when hoping is to lie to yourself. Even when you have nothing at all, really, in which to trust to save your from your looming excruciating death, just pretend. Something amorphous, less definable? When you're drowning in the farthest reaches of the ocean, you want a very definable non-amorphous helicopter with dropped rescue basket to pluck you from the consuming swells.
Hope we'll accomplish something great? Says who? What could possibly be more futile than working your butt off, and then expiring and sent six feet under to be eaten by worms? Seeing our kids do something cute or clever? What exactly is something that is "cute" or "clever"? Couldn't I just as easily hear them eagerly tell me a splendid knock-knock joke and then cruelly punch them in the teeth? After all, isn't it all just a state of mind?
And finally there's this gem, hope that we won't get into a car crash. So what?! Here this guy laments the agony of Parkinson's but then favors a definition of hope that condemns him to a lifetime of agony. I'm not for a second making a case for terminal patient suicide. The point should be easy to see:
What difference does any of it make without the One Who Loves? Yes yes yes the fact that this guy is writing about things that matter, that are meaningful, that do bring great abundant enchantment, means that things in life matter.
But how do you have LIFE?
It just doesn't come from your state of mind or something amorphous and undefinable!
It comes from the very real and very defined Son of God.
Some familiar with the Times piece may say that later the guy writes of prayer and its power. Hey, I have here spoken of praying for Randy. There is a critical difference, however, in praying for prayer's sake and praying to speak with the One who has the power to heal. This guy's approach to prayer is completely along the lines of "Hey, praying helps because it convinces you there is something that can help you when there really isn't." This is not prayer at all, but a psychosomatically effective deceit. Quite a way to spit in the face of a God who would do miracles if we'd just let Him.
Yes, I've written a note to Randy. Yes, I tell him in no uncertain terms about Jesus, and that He is life. That He is his one true-- and very real hope. My hope is that I've done it with the greatest of grace. That I've at least opened the cage for the Lion just a bit. We'll see what happens.
I can't help but still be sad when I see foolishness like that I read about in this newspaper story. And that I see all over the place. It breaks my heart.
I just pray Randy sees Him. In whatever way that is, that'd be awesome.
But that he sees Him.
Here's Thanksgiving, the time when we are supposed to give thanks. The question is, to whom are you giving thanks? I mean, really, what do atheists do when they give thanks? What do Eastern mysticists or even devout Catholicists do? Who exactly do they give thanks to?
Atheists may say that they are "thankful." I'm sorry but that is completely meaningless. Thankfulness implies that you are feeling good about something and you are appreciative in some sense for that. But why would you have anything good to begin with? From where did it come?!
The Eastern mysticist is what many today would call a "New Ager." Convinced all is illusion, or that we are all just part of the Great Cosmic Oneness, who exactly does one address when saying thank you? Do you thank your God-self for, say, your ability to repair automobiles for a living? Ahem, how can that be when you yourself had absolutely nothing to do with getting you even a breath in your lungs to begin with in order to turn a socket wrench?
The devout Catholicist has his straw-man Jesus he thanks. What is it exactly is he thanking him for? That could be whatever it is he conceives, after all, an idol is really a projection of whatever it is the worshipper forms in his mind. How pointless is that.
I only introduce this because after speaking about the heartwrenching situation with my stepbrother Randy, I read a front-page story in the Thanksgiving day edition of the Los Angeles Times titled "Hope is the one antidote."
It was written by a Times staff writer about his struggles with Parkinson's. It was just a personal testimony containing narrative about his ordeal, and scattered about were all the predictable considerations about life, its meaning, and coping through it all.
But the thing I wanted to point out here was the writer's definition of hope:
"Hope, for me, is a state of mind, not focused on a particular prospect but rather attached to something more amorphous, less definable. [He quotes his neurologist here:] Hope gets us out of bed in the morning: hope that we'll accomplish something great at work, hope that we'll see our kids do something cute or clever, hope that we won't get into a car crash."
At the risk of being a bit insensitive, this is utter nonsense. And yet, I can bet the farm that millions of people read this and think, "Wow, what strength." They believe, "Wow, how profound."
Such is the Catholicist Nation.
Think about it if you dare. Hope is a state of mind? So then the best thing to do when hoping is to lie to yourself. Even when you have nothing at all, really, in which to trust to save your from your looming excruciating death, just pretend. Something amorphous, less definable? When you're drowning in the farthest reaches of the ocean, you want a very definable non-amorphous helicopter with dropped rescue basket to pluck you from the consuming swells.
Hope we'll accomplish something great? Says who? What could possibly be more futile than working your butt off, and then expiring and sent six feet under to be eaten by worms? Seeing our kids do something cute or clever? What exactly is something that is "cute" or "clever"? Couldn't I just as easily hear them eagerly tell me a splendid knock-knock joke and then cruelly punch them in the teeth? After all, isn't it all just a state of mind?
And finally there's this gem, hope that we won't get into a car crash. So what?! Here this guy laments the agony of Parkinson's but then favors a definition of hope that condemns him to a lifetime of agony. I'm not for a second making a case for terminal patient suicide. The point should be easy to see:
What difference does any of it make without the One Who Loves? Yes yes yes the fact that this guy is writing about things that matter, that are meaningful, that do bring great abundant enchantment, means that things in life matter.
But how do you have LIFE?
It just doesn't come from your state of mind or something amorphous and undefinable!
It comes from the very real and very defined Son of God.
Some familiar with the Times piece may say that later the guy writes of prayer and its power. Hey, I have here spoken of praying for Randy. There is a critical difference, however, in praying for prayer's sake and praying to speak with the One who has the power to heal. This guy's approach to prayer is completely along the lines of "Hey, praying helps because it convinces you there is something that can help you when there really isn't." This is not prayer at all, but a psychosomatically effective deceit. Quite a way to spit in the face of a God who would do miracles if we'd just let Him.
Yes, I've written a note to Randy. Yes, I tell him in no uncertain terms about Jesus, and that He is life. That He is his one true-- and very real hope. My hope is that I've done it with the greatest of grace. That I've at least opened the cage for the Lion just a bit. We'll see what happens.
I can't help but still be sad when I see foolishness like that I read about in this newspaper story. And that I see all over the place. It breaks my heart.
I just pray Randy sees Him. In whatever way that is, that'd be awesome.
But that he sees Him.
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