My Arch-Nemesis; Why We Tell Stories

WHERE IS MY ARCH-NEMESIS?

Where is sin?

Does it only appear when I commit a visible transgression? Or before that, the moment I am tempted?

Sin is in me. It is a law at work. Present tense.

So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members.
(Romans 7:21-23)

Even in my wariness toward my sin, I could find sin embedded. Even as a take another step back to examine my precautions against sin, I might be found guilty. In every move I make, the sin that dwells within me, dwells. How can one ever be sure of his genuineness? How can I ever be sure that when I tell myself that I will do what is right, I will do it?

In all of this despair, I find my only hope in Christ, who intercedes for me at the right hand of God.

Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us.
(Romans 8:34)

Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.
(Hebrews 7:25)


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WHY WE TELL STORIES

We tell stories because of the beauty of all the little bits and pieces coming together to form something meaningful. Each part of a story matters, and thus, is meaningful. We find beauty in purpose.

Because of this, memories usually seem better than the moment itself. During the moment itself, we do not always fully see the beauty of it, because the story isn't complete; we see it even more beautifully in retrospect when we come to an understanding of how much it meant for us.

Perhaps this is why music brings about a special feeling, a certain aesthetic. Music speaks, wordlessly, of purpose, of why's that might be too deep to be expressed in words. From my perspective, music always seems to express a sense of purpose, or at least a lack of it.

Perhaps other arts have such effects on people for the same reason. They satisfy, even temporarily, a deep longing within the soul of mankind, one that is tended to pursuing purpose, chasing meaning. Some people, so desperate and pained with emptiness, even try to rid themselves of this desire, denying it, only to find that they couldn't ever really do so.

And finally, perhaps, I infer, the origin of this is the very glory of God.

He is infinitely beautiful because he has all purpose within Himself.

For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.
(Colossians 1:16-20)