“Every happening, great and small, is a parable whereby God speaks to us, and the art of life is to get the message.” Malcolm Muggeridge
As I watch in disbelief from my part of the world at the events that unfolded at Sandy Hook Elementary school I cannot but wonder if all of this is a symptom of the madness that was foretold by the German philosopher Nietzsche who said in THE MADMAN:
Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market place, and cried incessantly: "I seek God! I seek God!" -- As many of those who did not believe in God were standing around just then, he provoked much laughter. Has he got lost? asked one. Did he lose his way like a child? asked another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? emigrated? -- Thus they yelled and laughed.
The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. "Whither is God?" he cried; "I will tell you. We have killed him -- you and I. All of us are his murderers. But how did we do this? How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying, as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us? Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning? Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.
"How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whoever is born after us -- for the sake of this deed he will belong to a higher history than all history hitherto."
Here the madman fell silent and looked again at his listeners; and they, too, were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern on the ground, and it broke into pieces and went out. "I have come too early," he said then; "my time is not yet. This tremendous event is still on its way, still wandering; it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time; the light of the stars requires time; deeds, though done, still require time to be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than most distant stars -- and yet they have done it themselves.
It has been related further that on the same day the madman forced his way into several churches and there struck up his requiem aeternam deo. Led out and called to account, he is said always to have replied nothing but: "What after all are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of God?"
Jill Carattini of Ravi Zacharias International MInistries wrote on October 24, 2012: Russian author Fyodor Dostoyevsky once observed that when God is dead anything is possible. It is a most potent statement, sadly confirmed throughout history and the present. When God is dead, the fences of the good, the true, and the beautiful are merely suggestions, easily plowed over by a new suggestion.
A haunting book comes to mind, written about the Holocaust and the men who carried out its murderous plan. Suggestively titled Ordinary Men, the book conveys that these men were not the psychologically crazed bullies that we would like to imagine, but average, everyday, ordinary people. They were ordinary men, yet they were men who committed murder for Hitler. When God is dead anything is possible.
Ravi Zacharias tells a story about a man who approached him after he finished speaking. The man said bluntly, “If I told you all the horrible things I have done in my life you wouldn’t even want to be seen standing next to me. There is almost nothing I haven’t done. I am not sure even God can forgive me.” Ravi comments that at the time he had to wonder what all was couched between those words. Still, the words that came to his mind in response were those spoken by the prophet Isaiah long before him:
“Seek the Lord while he may be found,
call upon him while he is near;
let the wicked forsake their way,
and the unrighteous their thoughts;
let them return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on them,
and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon” (Isaiah 55:6-7).
When God is dead, the possibilities are unfathomable. This man’s life had been guided by the whims of that certainty. Fyodor Dostoyevsky was likewise one who saw the devastating reality of that truth lived out. But it was the reverse of this truth that changed his life forever. Dostoyevsky’s story is one which reminds us to wonder with all the depth of imagination. If anything is possible when God is dead, what then is possible when God is alive?
In prison and facing death, Dostoyevsky discovered the parable of the prodigal son. In that story of homecoming, God was resurrected in his mind. The parable of the prodigal son transformed Dostoyevsky’s mind, soul, and body. Having the parable read to him was the last request on his deathbed, and it was the story that touched every story that brilliant author ever wrote. He was sublimely aware that the story of this homecoming is our own.
In fact, his awareness would reach another soul who eventually saw the beauty of the prodigal son worked out in his own life. Describing his own quite reluctant conversion, C.S. Lewis exclaimed, “Who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance to escape? The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation.” (C.S. Lewis "Surprised by Joy")
Carattini finishes with:"We live in a world where liberation is often thought of as the absence of any fence that might hold us back from wherever we would like to go. Ordinary men and women of history suggest the need for a far better liberation. If anything is possible when God is dead, what is possible when God is alive?"
It was the wry wit of Malcolm Muggeridge who said:
“So the final conclusion would surely be that whereas other civilizations have been brought down by attacks of barbarians from without, ours had the unique distinction of training its own destroyers at its own educational institutions, and then providing them with facilities for propagating their destructive ideology far and wide, all at the public expense. Thus did Western Man decide to abolish himself, creating his own boredom out of his own affluence, his own vulnerability out of his own strength, his own impotence out of his own erotomania, himself blowing the trumpet that brought the walls of his own city tumbling down, and having convinced himself that he was too numerous, labored with pill and scalpel and syringe to make himself fewer. Until at last, having educated himself into imbecility, and polluted and drugged himself into stupefaction, he keeled over--a weary, battered old brontosaurus--and became extinct.”
The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. "Whither is God?" he cried; "I will tell you. We have killed him -- you and I. All of us are his murderers. But how did we do this? How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying, as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us? Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning? Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.
"How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whoever is born after us -- for the sake of this deed he will belong to a higher history than all history hitherto."
Here the madman fell silent and looked again at his listeners; and they, too, were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern on the ground, and it broke into pieces and went out. "I have come too early," he said then; "my time is not yet. This tremendous event is still on its way, still wandering; it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time; the light of the stars requires time; deeds, though done, still require time to be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than most distant stars -- and yet they have done it themselves.
It has been related further that on the same day the madman forced his way into several churches and there struck up his requiem aeternam deo. Led out and called to account, he is said always to have replied nothing but: "What after all are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of God?"
Jill Carattini of Ravi Zacharias International MInistries wrote on October 24, 2012: Russian author Fyodor Dostoyevsky once observed that when God is dead anything is possible. It is a most potent statement, sadly confirmed throughout history and the present. When God is dead, the fences of the good, the true, and the beautiful are merely suggestions, easily plowed over by a new suggestion.
A haunting book comes to mind, written about the Holocaust and the men who carried out its murderous plan. Suggestively titled Ordinary Men, the book conveys that these men were not the psychologically crazed bullies that we would like to imagine, but average, everyday, ordinary people. They were ordinary men, yet they were men who committed murder for Hitler. When God is dead anything is possible.
Ravi Zacharias tells a story about a man who approached him after he finished speaking. The man said bluntly, “If I told you all the horrible things I have done in my life you wouldn’t even want to be seen standing next to me. There is almost nothing I haven’t done. I am not sure even God can forgive me.” Ravi comments that at the time he had to wonder what all was couched between those words. Still, the words that came to his mind in response were those spoken by the prophet Isaiah long before him:
“Seek the Lord while he may be found,
call upon him while he is near;
let the wicked forsake their way,
and the unrighteous their thoughts;
let them return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on them,
and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon” (Isaiah 55:6-7).
When God is dead, the possibilities are unfathomable. This man’s life had been guided by the whims of that certainty. Fyodor Dostoyevsky was likewise one who saw the devastating reality of that truth lived out. But it was the reverse of this truth that changed his life forever. Dostoyevsky’s story is one which reminds us to wonder with all the depth of imagination. If anything is possible when God is dead, what then is possible when God is alive?
In prison and facing death, Dostoyevsky discovered the parable of the prodigal son. In that story of homecoming, God was resurrected in his mind. The parable of the prodigal son transformed Dostoyevsky’s mind, soul, and body. Having the parable read to him was the last request on his deathbed, and it was the story that touched every story that brilliant author ever wrote. He was sublimely aware that the story of this homecoming is our own.
In fact, his awareness would reach another soul who eventually saw the beauty of the prodigal son worked out in his own life. Describing his own quite reluctant conversion, C.S. Lewis exclaimed, “Who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance to escape? The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation.” (C.S. Lewis "Surprised by Joy")
Carattini finishes with:"We live in a world where liberation is often thought of as the absence of any fence that might hold us back from wherever we would like to go. Ordinary men and women of history suggest the need for a far better liberation. If anything is possible when God is dead, what is possible when God is alive?"
It was the wry wit of Malcolm Muggeridge who said:
“So the final conclusion would surely be that whereas other civilizations have been brought down by attacks of barbarians from without, ours had the unique distinction of training its own destroyers at its own educational institutions, and then providing them with facilities for propagating their destructive ideology far and wide, all at the public expense. Thus did Western Man decide to abolish himself, creating his own boredom out of his own affluence, his own vulnerability out of his own strength, his own impotence out of his own erotomania, himself blowing the trumpet that brought the walls of his own city tumbling down, and having convinced himself that he was too numerous, labored with pill and scalpel and syringe to make himself fewer. Until at last, having educated himself into imbecility, and polluted and drugged himself into stupefaction, he keeled over--a weary, battered old brontosaurus--and became extinct.”
Richard Tarnas: The Passion of the Western Mind
"His private experience of personhood a psychological fiction."
Are we living in an age when more and more we believe less and less in the reality of our own personhood?Are we being systematically dehumanized?
This piece is strongly reminiscent of C.S. Lewis in The Abolition of Man-
“Mans conquest of Nature turns out, in the moment of consummation, to be Nature’s conquest of Man”
“…as soon as we take the final step of reducing our own species to the level of mere nature, the whole process is stultified, for this time the being who stood to gain and the being who has has been sacrificed are one and the same. This is one of the many instances where to carry a principle to what seems its logical conclusion produces absurdity. It is like the famous Irishman who found that a certain kind of stove reduced his fuel bill by half and thence concluded that two stoves of the same kind would enable him to warm his house with no fuel at all, it is the magician’s bargain: give up our soul, get power in return, But once our souls, that is, ourselves, have been given up, the power thus conferred will not belong to us. We shall in fact be the slaves and puppets of that to which we have given our souls.”
“Mans conquest of Nature turns out, in the moment of consummation, to be Nature’s conquest of Man”
“…as soon as we take the final step of reducing our own species to the level of mere nature, the whole process is stultified, for this time the being who stood to gain and the being who has has been sacrificed are one and the same. This is one of the many instances where to carry a principle to what seems its logical conclusion produces absurdity. It is like the famous Irishman who found that a certain kind of stove reduced his fuel bill by half and thence concluded that two stoves of the same kind would enable him to warm his house with no fuel at all, it is the magician’s bargain: give up our soul, get power in return, But once our souls, that is, ourselves, have been given up, the power thus conferred will not belong to us. We shall in fact be the slaves and puppets of that to which we have given our souls.”
The more we acquiesced with the whole gamut of secularism, that is the more we listened to the voices telling us that we were no more than highly developed organisms dancing to our DNA the less human we became, is it any wonder?
Even now this message has no doubt come too soon for the people of Newtown, Connecticut, it is just too raw... however for those further afield who already have begun the soul searching that invariably follows please give some consideration to the thoughts represented here...
Our thoughts and prayers are with the people of Newtown, Connecticut.
A LETTER FROM RAVI ZACHARIAS
Our thoughts and prayers are with the people of Newtown, Connecticut.
A LETTER FROM RAVI ZACHARIAS
The tragedy that shook Newtown, Connecticut, and indeed the entire nation, defies analysis. What must have gone on in the mind of this young man for him to walk into a school of little children and wreak such devastating carnage numbs the soul. At the same time this was happening, I was under the surgeon’s blade for minor surgery. When I left the recovery room and returned home, among the first pieces of news on my phone was the news of this mass killing. Something within me hoped that I was still not clear-headed, but I knew deep inside that I was reading an unfolding story of horror and tragedy. What does one say? What is even appropriate without violating somebody’s sacred space and their right to scream in protest?
I am a father and a grandfather. I simply cannot fathom the unbearable weight within a parent’s or grandparent’s heart at such a personal loss. It has often been said that the loss of a child is the heaviest loss to bear. I have no doubt that those parents and grandparents must wonder if this is real or simply a terrifying nightmare. My heart and my prayers are for them and, indeed, for the family of the assassin. How his father will navigate through this will be a lifelong journey.
When a mass-killer like this ends by taking his own life, there is an even deeper sense of loss. Everyone wants to know, “Why?” Not that the answer would soften the blow but it would at least give some clue, some release to speak, to hear, to try to work through. But all we are left with is twenty-eight funerals and lifelong grief. To all of those who have suffered such loss, may the Lord carry you in His strength and bear you in your grief. You will be in our thoughts and prayers.
My own attempt at saying something here is feeble but carries a hope that somebody listening will make this world a better place. My heart goes back to Angola Prison in Baton Rouge where I met such people whose savagery took them to that destination. It was interesting to see a Bible in every cell and to hear many talk of how it had become their only means of life and hope. Someone with me said, “If we had more Bibles in our schools maybe we would need less of them here.” To the skeptic and the despiser of belief in God, I know what they will respond. I am quite convinced that the one who argues against this ends up playing God and is ultimately unable to defend any absolutes. Hate is the opposite of love and while one breathes death, the other breathes life. That is what we need to be addressing here. The seeds of hate sooner or later bear fruit in murder and destruction. Killers are not born in a moment. Deep beneath brews thinking and the animus that in a moment is uncorked. We are living in a society that nurtures hate on many sides with the result that lawlessness triumphs.
Even in ideal settings, killing can take place. Murder began in the first family when a brother could not stand the success of his sibling. The entire history of the Middle East–five millennia–is a tale of two brothers. Centuries of killing has not settled the score. Maybe in Adam Lanza’s case we will find a deep psychological reason behind what he did. But that does not diminish the reality that there lurks many a killer whose moment will come and the nation will be brought to tears again. We can almost be certain of that. Yes, we can discuss all the symptomatic issues—security, gun control, early detection signs, and so on. These are all worthy of discussion. But it’s always easier to deal with the symptoms rather than with the cause.
I wish to share what I think we must address or we head down the slope to a precipitous edge of brutality. The fiscal cliff is tame by comparison to the moral devastation ahead if we do not recognize the malady for what it is. Hate is the precursor to murder. Jesus made that very clear. Playing God is the dangerous second step where we feel we are the ultimate judge of all things and that we have the right to level the score.
Here, I would like to address our political leaders and media elite: You may personally have the moral strength to restrict your ideas to mere words but many who listen to you do not. To take the most sacred privilege of democracy and transform it into the language of aggression plays right into the hands of hate-mongers. This is not the language of a civil society or of wise leadership. It is not the ethos of a culture of co-existence. It is not the verbal coinage with which we can spend our way into the future. Our political rhetoric is fraught with division, hate, blame, and verbal murder. Our young are listening. Remember that what you win them with is what you win them to.
As for the entertainment world, what does one even say at a time like this? Calling for gun control and then entertaining the masses with bloodshed is only shifting the locus from law to entertainment. Do our entertainers ever pause to ask what debased values emerge from their stories? The death of decency is audible and visible in what passes as movie entertainment and political speech. This is the same culture that wishes to take away Nativity scenes and Christmas carols from our children. God is evicted from our culture and then He is blamed for our carnages. America is lost on the high seas of time, without chart or compass. The storms that await us will sink this nation beyond recognition if we do not awaken to the rapid repudiation of the values that shaped this nation. The handwriting is on the wall. Freedom is not just destroyed by its retraction. It is destroyed even more painfully by its abuse.
There is one more thing. It is so obvious but is seldom ever addressed. All these recent mass murders have been done by men. Many of them young men, yes, even mere boys. Jonesboro, Columbine, Virginia Tech, now Newtown. Is there something within our culture that doesn’t know how to raise strength with dignity and respect? Is this how boys are meant to be? From bloodletting in hockey games while thousands cheer to savagery in school shootings while thousands weep, we must ask ourselves what has gone wrong with us men? Where are the role models in the home? Is knocking somebody down the only test left for strength? Is there no demonstration now of kindness, gentleness, courtesy, and respect for our fellow human beings? One young man on death row in Angola Prison told me that he started his carnage as a teenager. Now in his thirties with the end of the road in sight, he reached his hand out to me and asked me to pray with him. Life was lost at the altar of power and strength.
The Bible only speaks of one remedy for this: the transformation of the heart by making Christ the center. Those who mock the simplicity of the remedy have made evil more complex and unexplainable. Every heart has the potential for murder. Every heart needs a redeemer. That is the message of Christmas. The world took that child and crucified Him. But by his triumph over death He brings life to our dead souls and begins the transformation within. Unto us a child is born and He shall save us from our sins.
Before the first murder was committed, the Lord said to Cain, “If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at the door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.” To gain mastery over sin there is only one way. Just as Victoria Soto put herself in the way so that the children in her class might live, Jesus Christ put himself in the way that we all might live. That is the beginning of the cure for us as individuals and as a nation. All the laws in the world will never change the heart. Only God is big enough for that.
No comments:
Post a Comment