To Lie in Thought

In which our hero contemplates aloud for your amusement.


What is a lie?

It's a fairly straight forward question, at its root. It is a request for the definition of a term or word used exceptionally frequently in our common parlance. Webster stirs up a mote of dust and from the confines of its now digital storehouse of definitions of words historical, nonsensical, and fictional it drudges these phrases:

1. 1a :  an assertion of something known or believed by the speaker or writer to be untrue with intent to deceive -He told a lie to avoid punishment.b :  an untrue or inaccurate statement that may or may not be believed true by the speaker or writer -the lies we tell ourselves to feel better -historical records containing numerous lies
2. 2:  something that misleads or deceives -His show of remorse was a lie.
3. 3:  a charge of lying (see lie)
4. -Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary

So then, following these, and similar phrases to be found addressing the use of this word in our vernacular, we arrive at the stab of my thoughts:

Do lies exist?

I realize, having just defined the matter and even referring to it grants it at least a hypothetical existence. But what you can see in the definitions above, is that a lie finds its existence purely through intent or circumstance, a lie has no existence beyond that it is told. This has lead to the most profound of cultural and rhetorical debates: Do lies exist.

While it is not expressed in such forthright terms, that is what the debate often boils down to. Moral relativism, higher-criticism, aesthetics, and every anti-dogmatic mood swing of our culture all have this question at there core. If the truth, in any of its interpretations such as true art, theology, or morals is subject to the cultural mores and preferences, then it follows that the inverse of the truth, a lie, must be so also subject.

But then we have to return to those definitions, we know that mankind hasn't stopped acting in ways intended to deceive, or that a mis-recorded date, place-name, or event is somehow true now, even if it was false when recorded. So how is it that lies can be objective, recognized in their intent or ignorance, and subjective, constantly under  the influence of the pervading winds of society?

This, then, is where my own foibly thought process began.

Lies don't exist

But not for the reason people like to think.

It is not that lies can't exist because all things are relative and there is n absolute truth, for this defies our very existence. If indeed we think, therefore we are, then that is an objective truth. Similarly we are going to suffer a physical death.* Oh, we may postpone it indefinitely, but the universe is ending and I'm pretty sure it would take us with it.

*Barring the end of days and the return of Jesus

Anyone who argues for absolute relativism is arguing in a circle. To state that everything is relative insists that there are things in relation, which means they hold existence of some kind, which means they are objectively real.

However, if something is true does the inverse have to hold true that there are false things?

A falsehood is a paradox, the existence of something which finds its definition in not existing

The existence of lies is the only lie. Or rather, the only lie is that there is anything other than the truth. There are no alternative facts, no probable explanations, no half-truisms, only the truth and the lie. Every lie has to contain elements of the truth, even if only minuscule fragments, in order to have any existence. A lie does not have an independent, objective existence because it can only be rendered using things that are true.

Truth does not share this quality. When you open the box the cat will either be dead or alive regardless of whether or not you know the answer. The lie of the inverse of the Truth, the possibility that only exists because we base it off of the reality. The knowledge of Good and evil did not add to man's knowledge, it only removed his ability to always see the Truth, the Good. Mankind has always had freewill, but now he cannot determine which decision is of the Good, the True, and the Helpful, but rather his will is caught in a quagmire of confused and confounded reasoning.

Or perhaps, if you prefer, if Truth is not the only objective reality, then it is all in vain. There is no point to life, love, hope, or any emotion or thought.

You may prefer that, but I will premise my life on the Corner Stone that is rejected by the constructs of the logical and regarded as foolishness by the wise.

For that Corner Stone is the Way, the Truth, and the Light. In Him is found no deceit. He exists without contradiction, without admitting a lie into His existence. True God and True Man, the only True Man, bearing the image and likeness of God perfectly, not dividing the Godhead, nor confusing the substance, for to do such would be to create a contradiction within the Truth. 

God gave His only Son, born of the Virgin, born under the Law to redeem those who were under the Law, those who cannot hold the truth in ourselves of our own will. He sent His Helper, the Spirit of Truth to guide us into all Truth. Without this Paraclete there would be no knowledge of the Truth in our world of relative truths and half-truisms. To us, who by rights belong to out father the Devil, the father of lies; with whom we joined in willful rebellion when we first allowed for anything other than the express Truth, when we decided to make for ourselves a truth. 

Every sin is the perversion of good things, the taking of something we have not been given but that has been given. There are no victimless crimes, no innocuous lies, no happy mediums for peace. Compromise is premised on disagreement and all it does is deny inconvenient truths.

Thanks be to God that he does not treat us as our falsehoods merit. That even as we tell lies to ourselves, suppressing our consciences to hide from our own guilt, the Truth within us, God's Law written on our hearts, God still clothes and feeds us. He provides us with whatever it is that we require, even though we cannot always and fully understand the good that they do us.

So, that's where those thoughts wound around to end up plastered on the screen before you. I hope you enjoyed perusing them.

Peace in our time

“Would that you, even you, had known the things that make for peace!”

These words were uttered by Our Lord as he gazed on Jerusalem, the City of Peace; the hope of a long estranged people, the harbor of faith, and the place of the mercy seat: the Temple.

Would that we, even we, should know the things that make for peace.

But we don’t.

Jesus words ring not only as a lament for His Kingdom’s namesake city, but also for all cities. Who has known the things that made for peace?

The philosophers of countless ages have sought through political, rhetorical, spiritual, and scientific inquiry to establish what made for peace. They have held up moderation, good habits (ethics), political structure, moralism, relativism, fascism, communism, democracy, republics, monarchies, empires, tribes, clans, families, and egoism, amongst any number of other ideas and tactics to achieve peace.

The substantial instigating plot element of the Avengers movie series has been a simple little mantra, perhaps only explicitly voiced in Ultron by Tony Stark: “Peace in our time”. The promise of the end of war, political prosperity; universal health, wealth, and justice for all. The films then play out the consequence of that hope, and beg audiences to debate over whose version of achieving piece, or at least pursuing the good of mankind, is more soundly premised in “Civil War”.

But I digress; this isn’t about the Avengers, but good storytelling does stab to the heart of human worries and cares.

What then can make for peace? In recent memory the internet has been flooded with news stories of violence. Whether incited by terrorists, madmen, gangs, crusaders, or those we trust to protect us, there doesn’t seem to be a time when we are not regaled with the tales of the atrocities our race can commit.

At every turn the internet rises up to combat these crises; whether it does so with despair, anger, vengeance, calls for change, or with self-righteousness depends mostly on whether or not the atrocity has the right tags or threads to incite a given group. We are informed more and more vehemently that it is not acceptable that such violence occurs, and that something must change or we will face increasing peril.

The cry rings out ‘Peace!’ and the silence echoes back ‘how?’

We all sit in consternated fury, knitting our brow and reveling in how wrong everyone is about what is wrong with our country, the world, and everyone else; all the while begging the same answer as those we disagree with. We yell, ‘No! Peace!’ and the silence greets us with a low demonic ‘ha, how?’

We, because of our ready access to a panoply of humankind and a wealth of its news and stories, see the death wreaking havoc on every hand. All of our plans and schema fall away and we see the one abiding law of this world: All things are dying.

It’s a dominant theory, expressed in the law of thermodynamics. Many renowned physicists project an inevitable end to all life in the universe, although we can’t pinpoint when. Entropy defines every creature. We want law, but we ignore the one abiding law of man: he dies. We cry for peace, but we always strive for it with swords and barbs against our own brothers. We want change, but we, given time, revert back to the same systems and corruptions, across human history.

We look to the actions of a few foolish, scared, deceived, or evil men and say “see! We can no longer trust them, one of them killed someone!” As if we expected to find a human being capable of not sowing the seeds of his own destruction. We want to make the whole only as strong as its weakest link but we fail to recognize our complicity in expecting anything more than weakness.

If only, we say, we knew the things that make for peace!

We have chosen our bed, and are laid to rest thereupon. The first death amongst mankind came not to the first man Adam, but to his son, Abel. Our race marked our path in the curse with the blood of our brothers, and we have spilled that blood ever since. The blood of our brothers screams from the ground, begging the heavens for justice.

We stagger under the weight of the guilt of tragedies of our world. Any man’s death diminishes us, because we are involved in mankind. The bell has always tolled for us and every knell calls us to our own funeral. We are dead and lost with all the world, caught up in our nature with the Devil and all his band.

But, why would Jesus even ask this of Jerusalem? Why weep for this sad and depraved creation fallen so far from His divine command?

“Would that you, even you, had known the things that make for peace!” Jesus says, standing on a hill outside the city. This is the beginning of Passiontide, and Jesus is entering the city knowing the bloodthirsty rabble waits inside for him. Knowing that they, even they who beg for deliverance from oppression, will turn on their True Brother, shedding His precious blood all the way from the Praetorium, through the streets, onto the bloody hill of Golgotha.

Jesus knows the things that make for peace. He mourns the city that would not know her God, and then enters to be the Prince of Peace. Not by bringing about a restored glorious kingdom of Israel, not by preaching a message of defiance against evil, but by offering a sprinkling of Blood that would speak better things than that of Abel. The city named peace rises up in furor and strikes the Masters heel. The hill of the temple, where people no longer sought peace, was traded for the blood-stained place of the skull.

Our Peace was suspended between earth and heaven, outside the city gates. He was forcibly removed from the place of peace; ejected from the temple mount, the very presence of God’s abiding mercy, and was left to suffer all of Hell’s torments.

Peace died on the cross, surrounded by vagabonds, scoundrels and foes, amid the deriding jeering of his enemies.

But Peace, our Peace, did not stay dead.

Our Lord, Jesus Christ, having laid down His life as a perfect peace offering, takes it back up again to reign forever as our King. Christ knew the cost of peace. It was not a brilliant philosophy; or a great war to end all wars; or even a team of supercharged altruists ready to save the day. What made, makes, and will make for our peace, is His Sacrifice. Our homes were plagued with Death, but Christ has marked the door with his Blood. Our Paschal Lamb was sacrificed for us, not so that we could strive to perfect creation, but so that we would have strength for our Exodus. This world is not our home, and these trials are fleeting.

We do not mourn as those who have no hope. We do not offer the condolences of dying men. Our death is only the gateway into life immortal.

And so we pray. Do not mock those whose only response to tragedy is prayer. They do more in their love and hope than any planning and scheming for policy or revenge. We call out for love, but the only love to bring us lasting peace is the love of Christ. It is in His Love that we trust. He knows the things that make for peace, and He offers them to us openly: Be washed, renewed and named; Hear His word; Speak the words He has given you; Take, eat and drink. Receive a meal without price, which no sower sowed and for which no laborer labored. His cup runneth over and all of the world is invited into the wedding hall, all is made ready. Here, at last, is Peace.

Knowing

In which our hero no doubt will butcher many great thoughts by many thinkers far his superiors as well as his own half baked contemplations......

I realize I have been about as regular about blogging as the Cubs have been about winning baseball games, I seldom have ideas that form themselves completely enough to put into words, and even less often do I have time to commend them to type.

Nonetheless, as I sit here, likely trapped by a cataclysmic *cough*typicalmidwest*cough* snowstorm, I find myself with necessary homework defeated and time before bed. I heard tell there was a ball game on tonight but I am not a Pathawks fan. Therefore I will strive with the dual demons of procrastination and consternation to blog, hopefully for your reading pleasure.



I have just finished reading the "Republic" by Plato. I must confess to knowing much of the content before hand, having had many a prolonged and Whimmish conversation on the material. The reading itself brought me a much stronger appreciation for the essence of the text. As well, I have been aided in the reading with the guidance of a wizened teacher who is quite adamant that he is no professor of philosophy, such a thing being, frankly, impossible.

In Plato's other writings, Socrates insists that the only thing he knows is that he knows nothing. This is a powerful statement, and defines the Socratic method of philosophy. One cannot have thesis, or antithesis, only hypothesis. Everything is a shadow of greater things. The cave, often misinterpreted in modern education as an allegory about perceptions, is all about knowledge. The life of the philosopher is to be the discovery of shapes each more startling than the last, and light sources each more striking and blinding. But at the end of the allegory,  Socrates points out that the Sun, the ultimate source of light for humanity, is still not the root source of light.

The light, which is both itself and a symbol of truth or goodness, has some other source, and philosophy then is to delve and contemplate the attributes of this source. Socrates, however, has bad news for all of us knowledge seekers: there is no finding this source. Knowledge of anything, is immortal, and like our understanding of dimensions, nothing mortal can grasp that which is immortal.

Socrates does have more to say about knowledge, however. Socrates knows the things of the flesh. He knows of erotic things, desires, hungers, fears. These things he knows. Men are intimately acquainted with the knowledge of the flesh.

It is for this reason then that he establishes all of his regimes under precepts which restrain the flesh, all of which, he says, are doomed to failure and can never succeed. He describes a healthy city, full of just men who mind their own labors and don't meddle in the labors of others, and immediately the young man say it is a boring city, without relish or comfort. They want lavishness, luxuries, and extravagances. They want the feverish city, doomed to self slavery, oligarchy, democratic license,  and finally tyranny. No amount of Music, Gymnastic, Culture, or Mathematics can prevent this slow death of the city by humanity. Socrates could not give the young men a logical reason for why they should be just. He finishes his narrative with a myth about Hades, in which Odysseus says he would rather live the life of a quiet just man. Socrates doesn't have their answer, there is no answer to their question.

Men know, they know their impulses, and more importantly, we know that we are dying. We know we shouldn't, we aren't made for it. We fight it, we strive all our lives for immortality, whether in our children, our work, or in our sciences. We seek after a life that will outlast this feeble frame that could not know anything other than the desires which we so often let rule it.

But I know this, I know that my Redeemer lives.

Man cannot grasp the immortal, he cannot reach it in his mortal weakness, but the Immortal reached down and joined humanity. He bound Himself to our desire ridden flesh, but was not subject to it.

This is the knowledge that brings immortality. There are no Socratic Christian Philosophers, because you can't start with the question 'what is justice?' when you confess the Sacrificed King. When the demands of justice were fulfilled by the only Man who has ever done His duty, and not that of any other man. For just as doctors are to be consulted for sicknesses, only the Son of God, and Him crucified could redeem His fallen world.

Christ is Risen, and there is no other knowledge, of things above the earth or things under the earth, by which men are saved.

I hope you enjoyed reading my rambles. Thanks for making it to the end.

Lawyers And Ditches

In which our hero contemplates today's Gospel reading....


A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way, he fell among thieves and was left, beaten, bloodied, naked and dying in a ditch. He lay in the ditch, and while he lay there, a Levite came down the road, but he passed by. Later on, a priest also came near, but he passed by. The man continued dying, trapped in the ditch and unable to help himself. But then a Man came near, a Samaritan, despised of the Jews, a wayfarer and outcast in His time, He was journeying on that same road between Jerusalem and Jericho, and, seeing the man in the ditch, He had compassion for the man. He stepped into the ditch, miring Himself in the filth of that place, carrying the dying man out of there, binding his wounds and setting him on His own animal. The Man walked leading the animal with its cargo to the Place of Recovery. Therein He offered the price for the continuing care of the injured man and promised to pay for any expense he might incur. He left, continuing on His journey, leaving behind Him a promise of return.

There was a certain lawyer who had fallen among demons and sought to put the Christ to the test. He asked, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" The Christ answered, "What is written in the Law, how do you read it?" The lawyer said, "Love God and man perfectly." The Christ answered, "Correct, do this, and you will live." The lawyer became desperate, he was bleeding, laying in a ditch, robbed of his confidence, naked before the law. He had to find a loophole, "Who, in specific, must I love perfectly?" The Christ tells him a parable about a man in a ditch, trapped unable to be helped, and then he tells of the one who did help. Christ changes the question, "Who proved neighbor to the man?" "The one who showed mercy" and then Christ says, "Go, and do likewise."

The parable Christ tells is describing the very state of the lawyer, he is on the road to Jerusalem, and he falls into a great sin. The man in the parable has left the city of peace, he has left the presence of the temple, even while the Levite and the Priest are traveling thence, likely on their way to the temple to make their sacrifices. The lawyer asks his question, the answer is too true, too close to home. The Law walks past on the other side of the road, unable to help him, lest it be rendered unclean: unlawful. The lawyer had received a just answer, if he wanted the Law, that is what he would have.

But Christ, the Samaritan comes, an outcast and despised of the people. He has compassion on the lawyer, He changes the question, He changes the actor. He tells the lawyer what the lawyer can trust in when he is in the ditch: the Man, journeying to Jerusalem, a Man who descends into the filth the lawyer lives in and pulls him out, binds his gaping wounds and provides for his well being until He returns. He gives the lawyer the promise, the Law can't save him, only the compassion of the Merciful Samaritan can save him.

Then Christ asks, who was neighbor to the man? The one who showed him mercy. Who, in all of history, has ever proven neighbor to His fellow man? Who has loved His neighbor as Himself, withheld nothing, offered up everything for the sake of love? Only He that hung naked on the cross, who, though He were King, owned nothing, and in the fullness of time, gave up even His own life for sinful men, though He was despised and rejected by the world.

Why then, why does the Christ say "Go and do likewise"?

The answer, I believe is clear. "For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice; and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings." (Hosea 6:6) It is an exhortation to good works. Christ does not require the lawyer to make His sacrifice. But now that the lawyer knows what he has been given, he knows how he should respond. 

The lawyer has been invited by Christ to be a Christian, to follow Him. The lawyer will stumble, fall into sin and never follow His example perfectly. But Christ will be there, there to pull him out of the ditch, there to take him to the Inn of Recovery, where He offers the lawyer His Body and His Blood, promising that whatever the lawyer's soul, He has paid it. And more, for he promises to return for the lawyer.

Blessed are they, who have seen what we have seen, the risen Lord, coming with the clouds of heaven, under the Bread and the Wine given for Christians to eat and to drink until He returns.

Blessed are we, for Jesus Christ is our neighbor and our Merciful Samaritan.


Thanks for reading.

Times Gone By

In which our hero admits weeping brokenly over the sorrows of fictional characters....



Or, perhaps, weeping brokenly over the not so fictional circumstances of coincidentally fictional characters.

The musical 'Les Miserables' is an in depth study in fictional characters facing not so fictional circumstances. I love the musical. It is my favorite large scale dramatic work. I have been listening to it since I was small enough to not understand the lyrics. I knew the songs belonged to the specific characters and had, therefore, developed strong attachments to them before I started to learn that they almost all died tragic deaths....

That was a bit of a shock.

As time has passed, I have not lost these strong connections. I identify with Javert in many ways, but I am relieved by Valjean's version of the story, repentance, forgiveness. The end always makes me cry, the beautiful words accompanied by the triumphant music, in which the characters, having died, have rebelled against death and now live eternally.

Yeah, good stuff, I just teared up.

But more and more recently, I have cried more and more for 'I Dreamed a Dream' and 'On My Own'.
Both, of course, are powerful songs driven by terrible sadness. 'Little Fall of Rain' falls into the category as well, but not quite to same level. Les Miz, on the whole, is a very depressing musical. The only happy aspect, the marriage of Cosette and Marius, is mired in the sorrows surrounding it.

So then, that's the end right? Les Miz is sad, it makes poor pathetic-vocalist-blogger-person cry.
Zee end.

Not quite.

I don't know why I have thought this of late, perhaps my experiences of recent, and not so recent, times have created this ticking time bomb of thought in my head. Whatever it is, I am going to write about it and try to do it the justice it deserves... probably won't happen.

We live, in a time of 'times gone by.' The modern attitude towards women, on the part of both men and women, has chewed up our dreams, mocked our romances, and left us alone with no love, left to the shameful prostitution of fifty shades of black despair. We have been wooed by promises of enjoyment and freedom, license in licentiousness. It has left us bereft, weeping for dreams of times gone by, when men were kind, when the world was a song and the song was exciting. We were wooed by the devil, and he gave us what we wanted, freedom from romance. We gladly sing 'Pretty Ladies' with no sense of disgust or revulsion. It is the standard of the culture.

But then a Man comes, and even though the law stands and tells Him of how often we make excuses, how we are liars, deserving of death within the prison, He reaches out His hand, pulls us out of the ditch, takes us away from the docks. We still die, we are doomed to it, but we do not die in the despair of death, we die, Him at our side, promising us life for us and our children.

But I am speaking of Christ and the Church.

Thanks for reading.

Emergency Pressure Release

In which our hero opens some his consciousness overflow release valves....

I'm feeling restless tonight. Not in a manner that I cannot sleep, or even relax, but in the manner that my mind will not stop whirring. It spins in cycles chewing up, processing, and regurgitating information. But there is nowhere for these fancies and fascinations to fasten, and they quickly return to my mind to find safe haven and refuge from the prying eyes of wandering wrackspurts.

I feel, rather, like a spinning top, hung from a string being twisted into cat's cradles, suspended from a pendulum swinging against the wind. My mind is mincing its meat pies, mixing its metaphors, mashing its M-n-Ms, and meandering in a meaningfully menacing montage of mental menagerie.
Thoughts. They hum about my ears and make sounds, sometimes of a seamless symphony of sympathetic synonyms....

But I digress, I carried that on in order to exorcize my brain. I hope it made some sense, it makes sense to me.

On to actual topics which can be taken for what they are, or are not.

I feel behind; behind schedule as concerns school; behind on my reading; behind on my devotions; behind on life. I feel like I am moving forward, perhaps even quickly, but that the ground is moving faster than my feet and the objects in my rear view mirrors are closer than they appear. I feel that I am making progress, improving and learning, but oh so slowly, and sometimes too late. I am plowing forward, trekking, ever trekking, towards... what? I don't know. I have always felt that I had clear goals. Long term plans for my life. Now I only consider my future in definite terms as concerns my requirements for school. I suppose this has to do with having been assigned goals for the first time.

I was told something, by several different people recently; that, as a professional, and esp. as a performer, I have to define myself. I have to know who I am, and establish that for myself, and for other people. So then, how to go about that? Or do I do it already? Do people have a specific idea of who I am? Do I? If someone had to describe my personality to someone else, how would they do it. I hear people talk about other people they know, and I ask myself'; how do you talk about me when I am not there? I am not so foolish to not care what other people think, I try not to let it define me, but how people perceive you matters.

Ironic, I now have "Who Am I?" from Les Miserables stuck in my head.

When I took the SAT, the essay I had to write was based off of a question about whether we should let other people influence our ideas. Like all SAT questions, it was a low-ball pitch made to be struck with the full force of any highschooler's lofty opinions. I despise questions like this. They always ask for absolutes concerning things which have more touch-of-gray than silver lining.
My answer was that influence was inevitable. We cannot interact with anyone, or anything, and not have it influence our perspective. There is no avoiding influence, we are sponges, we absorb everything and assume it into who and what we are. Whether by adoption or repulsion, or even apathy, all things touch us and make us include them in our reality.

One of the things that has been the hardest about school has been the separation from my family. Nothing makes my day like meeting my brother on campus, whether for coffee or just to walk around talking. For my entire life, my family has been my first resort for advice and for conversation, and my classmates and friends, as excellent and interesting as they may be, do not make for very strong substitutes.

But now it is Lent, a season of prayer, fasting, and solemn meditation. It is strange to consider the fact that, in this world, I will only experience a limited number of Lenten-tides. Statistically, I have already been through twenty percent of them. My days are as an hand-breadth... I find that more and more, my favorite book of the Bible to sit down and read is Ecclesiastes. There is such a strong sense of perspective, of not just knowledge, but wisdom.

And that ultimately, I guess, will be what can help me in finding the answers to all of my problems: Perspective. To know who I am, and to know who He Is. A stark contrast to be sure. A sign upon my forehead and my heart. For, in this one of many Lents, even with the Golgotha of my sins looming in the horizon, I know that my Redeemer lives. And the neither the prince of this world, nor its principalities, nor my own foolish pride, can separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus my Lord.

And that, was an explosion of thought. The last section is the only part that keeps me sane through the rest of it. Perspective for the day, eh?

Thanks for reading.

A Not at All Spontaneous Rant

In which our hero reflects on a week, a Wednesday, and weeping....

There are no words to express certain frustrations. My peers attempt, through vain repetition of powerful and vulgar words, to express that which their vocabulary cannot grasp. I pride myself, perhaps foolishly, on being able to exhibit frustrations with eloquent verbiage. I am usually successful, having a wide and varied enough base of verbose vestiges to vanquish vile vehemency.

But in some situations my words fail. Syllables trip and fall out of my mouth forming incoherent babble as I grasp at straws, searching for the words. Anger and grief, clouding my thoughts in a morass of anguish and wrathful hatred. I try to think, speak, reason, but I can't, and so I cry.

And in the end, that is all that can be done. You can prevent, or forestall, greater evils, but in the end the infection festers through humankind. In this world that would not know its God, evil prevails, men harm the weak and defenseless, people don't tell the Police, the bad guy gets away, and Entropy drags everything to its inevitable doom.
The world is breaking, broken, lost in Adam's original fall, filled with the descendants of Cain, who in wrath and jealousy murder their brothers.

To cry, that is all that I can do.

I, however, am not the hero of the story. If I were it would be a Greek tragedy, meant to forewarn future heroes from inevitable failure. The Hero comes, not like a knight, in shining armor, but as a servant, wearing the robes of a servant and a crown of thorns. Through Him, I more than conquer.

I said it was a rant didn't I?
Thank you for reading.

Time to SOAR... Like a Rock.

In which our Hero contemplates the various ways in which he is deeply, eternally grateful to his gracious and loving parents....

Last Wednesday, I attended SOAR. (Student orientation and registration)

In my preparations for the day, I thought it would be fairly straight forward; as a music major I have only two electives my entire college career so my registration would only consist of filling in the blanks of required classes. As well as anticipating a fairly simple registration process, I was somewhat looking forward to being 'oriented' to the campus. I expected a fairly long day largely consisting of explanations of important locations and activities in campus life....

I was, sorely mistaken concerning SOAR.

The day began at 8:30 am with the obvious beginning of checking in. From there things went fairly smoothly; I had my picture taken for student ID; I wandered around observing various booths, no feast, just booths; My mother and I grabbed some of the complimentary local roaster coffee, the good stuff, and we went to sit down.

We picked a random table and sat down, it was towards the back and we had specifically selected it because it had a convenient set of seats in which my mother would not have to turn her head to watch the presentations. We quickly learned, from a student council member, that the tables were sorted according to what school you were in. When we learned this, we packed up and moved for the small group of tables in the far back corner that were marked with red balloons for the arts department.

We waited the remaining fifteen to twenty minutes until the first presentation, we were in pleasant company, sitting at the the table, making smalltalk, with the only Theater Major attending SOAR on that day. At last it came time for what was slated as three presentations concerning campus life and preparing for entering college.

Here is where the disappointment lies.

For two and a half hours I listened to three different people give the same lecture about responsibility. About how I now had to make my own decisions, determine my own course, find myself, feed myself -I thought that one especially pathetic- and in the midst of all of this, I was informed that, I was actually at college to learn things....

....... uh, yeah.

Those hours were, thankfully, not the most important part of SOAR. After having felt my time wasted, my life slowly oozing out of me as those valuable minutes were spent, I got down to some real orientation. The Arts group walked over to the Fine Arts building and we were given a nice forty minute introduction to the atmosphere of the Arts program. I was grateful for it, and it doesn't hurt when you personally know the faculty member presenting.

After that relevant bit was over, my mother and I headed for lunch. It was a decent lunch, catered fast food being what it is.
My mother and I separated, she to listen to a bunch of concerned parents talk about their 18-year-olds as children, and me, to my class advisory with the head of the music faculty. (Who I also know)

My advising session went well. It largely consisted of finding what time slot for each of the required classes would fit with the others the best. Until, by the end, my total schedule has me one campus from 9 to 5 every weekday.

On the whole, I was very glad to be registered for classes and even more glad to leave as soon as that was finished.

I look forward to starting classes in the Fall, taking classes from professors who expect things of me, and being able to return to them, hopefully, more than they expect. That's my goal anyway, vain as it is.


But now, I must divert my attention to this newly and wonderfully made Pizza... My Mama is awesome.

Thank you for reading.

Laying Down the Law

Earlier this morning my brother and I taught a Biblical Greek class. We have been doing this regularly on Thursdays, and sometimes Mondays, for about four months. We are actually more like TAs; we teach so that the primary teacher, our Pastor, can continue the teaching of the students while still having flexibility with his schedule. We are competent readers of Greek but much less competent teachers. But we do our best and the students are learning Greek slowly but surely.

Today, we had a "Law Moment" Recently the students had been falling behind on their homework; not doing translations, laboring over some of the more basic grammar concepts and they were falling behind on vocabulary. Today we assigned them a vocab quiz. All vocab, about an hundred and some words; they were given thirty-five minutes to fill it out and afterwards we walked through it and marked anything that they got wrong or missed in red crayon, crayon 'cause we're cool like that, and between now and next class, they need to have their parents sign every page of the test to show that they know how much they need to work on it. Pastor hated to have to assign this, but it's the best way to get them to work. He knows from experience...

How about a little story, hmm? Once upon a time, there was a homeschool Greek class taught by a generous Pastor. The Pastor was a good teacher and well loved by all his students. Time passed and the class grew smaller, people moved, people decided they would rather spend their time doing other things; some just wanted to learn Latin instead. And eventually there were only two students. These two students, despite the fact that they were the only ones left, were not the most studious pair. They had always had bad study habits, not memorizing their vocab and not learning their grammar.
One day, the Pastor decided to give his two remaining students a full comprehensive test; including a large vocab test, grammar, and direct translations. The two students did terribly. In less than an hour the Pastor learned that they retained very little of what he had taught them. He decided that he had to lay down the law. Starting from the beginning of the book, he walked the students through everything again, sending assignments with them every week that they would have to do and then have signed by their parents.
The Pastor's plan worked! It was not long before the students were back up to speed and studying new concepts. In fact, they did so well that a couple years after these events, the Pastor had them start assisting with the teaching of a new crop of students...

And so, by the grace of God and the dedicated perseverance of his servant, I have a greater appreciation not only for Ancient Greek, but also for the written word.
I look forward to my continued study of the language as my brother and I slowly move towards almost complete independence from lexicons.