Mirror, Mirror, in the Scripture

SENTIMENTS OF JUNE 2014: PART 2

It is in the Reformed tradition to say that men only come to understand depravity when they learn of holiness. It is God's moral standards that shed light on the darkness that plagues human hearts. In part 1, I wrote about a painful discovery of how terrible I am as a human being. Several lessons I learned led to that. 

Flashback! I completed my home school curriculum in March, and began to devote much time to theology. I was trying to read eight chapters of the Bible every day and was having online theology classes every Wednesday morning. It was especially these that set the stage for the big discovery.

As a result of those studies, these are the great lessons I've learned in the previous months:

Moral excellence is God's main concern
This is possibly the greatest truth that I learned from Edwards's Religious Affections. The idea was, for me, absolutely revolutionary. God is glorious in many ways, but the greatest way that He is glorious is in His moral perfection. Anyone can come to love God's immense power or infinite knowledge, but only the regenerate learn to love God's holiness and righteousness.
What I mean by moral perfection is God's perfection with regards to the attributes He exercises as a moral agent. Natural perfection refers to those attributes that primarily have to do with God's great power. No dichotomy is intended here, but a distinction is obvious.
When Christ came to earth, He restricted His omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence, but He did not relinquish His perfect holiness and righteousness. By this, we can easily tell what truly matters to God. God's moral perfection is the center of all His glories.
Edwards wrote that natural excellencies are indeed good things, but they are only good as far as they are guided by moral excellence. For example, power is good in the hands of a good leader, but is terrible in the hands of evil. Wealth is good when it belongs to a generous spirit, but despicable if it belongs to someone selfish. Abundant knowledge is good when used for the benefit of others, but bad if used to deceive people. Beauty is lovely, but becomes bitter if it turns out to be a mask for a wicked heart.
Thus, we have a clear guidance to what exactly should we find attractive about God. It is this truth that keeps us from both the extremes of idolizing God's blessings and despising them altogether, because we know that the blessings (natural excellence) serve to give shape and form to God's love (moral excellence), which is the main thing.
Also, this teaches us to prioritize holy living, because by this we should realize that our greatest way of glorifying God is by faithfulness, not health or wealth or knowledge or influence or beauty. By this, the focus of a saint's life is firmly set.

Love is selfless giving
Several months ago, I was contemplating on the nature of the Gospel. This led to my asking of the timeless question, "What is love?"
Through my Scripture reading, I came to conclude that love was seeking the benefit of others. This is indeed the standard and traditional answer, but I could not really believe it. Because if love was to seek the benefit of others, then a perfect love would be a complete devotion of oneself to others. In other words, perfect love would be an utter selflessness. I, of course, thought it was impossible to completely empty myself to care for others, because... well, I simply could not imagine what could motivate one to do such a thing.
The natural mode of thinking is to do something only if it pleases me. But what the Biblical virtue of love seems to suggest is that one does something for the pleasure of another even if it means displeasure for himself, where his only pleasure is that his object of love is pleased. In other words, Biblical love seems to be a love that would unconditionally give away all its pleasure in exchange for all the displeasure of someone else. That doesn't make sense to the natural man.
But it occurred to me that what is impossible with man is possible with God. God's love is a real, existing miracle. It is an ethical miracle. It is a moral miracle. It transcends earthly notions of justice. It really, truly seeks the benefit of others, even at the expense of self. And what makes me so sure that this is the nature of God's love is, of course, His Word. Jesus noted that we would be just like the tax collectors and Gentiles if we only loved those who loved us in return.
Even if we say that God does all things for His own glory, He does it not as a selfish thing. As I mentioned in a previous post, the Father seeks the glory of the Son and of the Spirit, the Son seeks the glory of the Father and of the Spirit, and the Spirit seeks the glory of the Father and of the Son. It is all selfless. And God also seeks His own glory for our sake, because His glory is the greatest benefit we can have. And God wants us to seek his glory selflessly because in doing so, we become like Him, and are glorified.
Jonathan Edwards confirms this in Religious Affections when he wrote of the love that is required of us. He wrote that a true love for God is not merely motivated by the fact that God loves that person personally. Saints should love God because God is morally excellent, period. A saint must have a deep conviction that God is worthy of loving even if He cast him into hell. Our love of God is not motivated by our selfishness. True saints do not come to love God simply because they are aware that it would be a "fair transaction". True saints love God because they see the greatness of God's infinite love and admire it and imitate it.
All this gives a deeper meaning to the famous statement, "God is love." And with it, one can paint a beautiful picture of a perfect world where everyone does his utmost for God and for others, everyone showering blessings on everyone, for the simple reason that everyone is endowed with God's love in his heart.

God is most glorified through weakness
I first noticed a pattern in the Bible where God honors the meek and humbles the proud. Early on, I couldn't really understand why this was so significant. And I was a little displeased with this because I felt that I was in the category of the proud. I could not see the glory of it.
Then, one day I came across a life-changing sermon by Charles Leiter, "The Weakness and Foolishness of God." I'll just repeat what I've written about the sermon in an earlier post:
It finally taught me the nature of that glory that I have been seeking for such a long time, that God is not as glorified in great displays of abundance, knowledge, strength, and beauty as He is in the use of weak and lowly means.
This is because it is only natural for the strong to defeat the weak. But for the weak to defeat the strong, God must be involved. Thus, in the end, no one can boast of himself, but of God. That is how God is glorified, not by human impressiveness, but by human weakness.
This truth has given me much steadfastness and courage. Because now I'm sure that it's okay to seem like scum in the eyes of the world. The world's mockery of God and His church is but for a moment. We can be assured that when things seem to be going really downhill, it's simply God making the time ripe for His miracles, and not that God has lost control of things.
Our lives, then, are not measured in achievements, but in faithfulness, for it is not the work of man that is most glorious, but the supernatural work of God that brings about faith, hope, and love. (Again, it is moral excellence that truly counts!)

These three lessons worked together to break me. I realized how very little love I have. All the knowledge I gained is made null without a true knowledge of love. In God's eyes, a head full of information is nothing compared to a heart full of love.

And I realized that God's greatest concern isn't for how far I can extend my influence in my lifetime, it's for how much I obey Him in loving Him and loving people, according to the portion He has given me. I might not become a great man, but I certainly am obliged to be a faithful man.

Finally, I realized how much I neglected Christ and His cross, the most vivid expression of God's moral excellence, of selfless love, of divine power and wisdom shown in God weakness and foolishness. I found out I needed to love Christ. Like, really love Him.

My heart is heavy, but I know that the weights are for strengthening me. This pressure is necessary if I am to become a man able bear all things in love. No more running away. I'm scared as hell, but no more running.

What exactly are the practical steps I am to take in loving God and men? I'm still working that out. But I find that my directions are becoming clearer, and there seems to be some clear actions I can take in giving myself up for others.

I came across a passage in the Gospel of John yesterday, about Jesus telling people to eat His flesh and drink His blood. Multitudes were offended by this gory image, and left Him. But I realize that, although Jesus was speaking figuratively, the bloodiness was intended to evoke a sort of repulsion. It was intended because it was meaningful. When animals are eaten for food, they die so that the eater could live. Jesus, in His death, was like a man cannibalized, torn limb from limb, flesh stripped from bone, all dignity lost. And yet Jesus came willingly from heaven, like a man coming to a group of hungry cannibals, saying, "Come, come, eat and live."

That is amazing. And while the sinful part of me cries out in protest, "I don't want that pain, that suffering!", something deeper inside of me quietly but surely confesses, "I want to be like that man."

And thanks be to God that it is granted me to suffer for His sake.

Thank God for an incredibly, tremendously rich six months.

The Fourth Book

SENTIMENTS OF JUNE 2014: PART 1

Once again, the stinging, smoky smell drifts through Malaysia. Anything beyond a 500-meter radius is completely hidden from the human eye. The haze is back, and for me, it's rather timely. My spiritual sight is shrouded as well.

Here I am, wondering what on earth I'm supposed to write about. About two weeks ago, I felt that my life was coming to a point of stabilization. I had completed my Jonathan Edwards theology class, and was days away from sitting for SAT. Then I would go to Taiwan for a week, and perhaps take the time to reflect on what I've learned these months.

The actual overseas visit radically changed such expectations.

It's not that going to an unfamiliar geographical location was problematic for me per se. The issue was that I was traveling with people, namely, my family. Neither they nor I truly realized how abnormal I was until I was forced to be somewhere unfamiliar for a considerable length of time.

I live in my own head, I really do. I didn't know how true this was until I went somewhere else. Normally, people in a new environment would engage themselves with it. I didn't. I started off continuing to think about topics I usually committed myself to thinking about. Gradually, my family became more and more appalled at how little I care for geographical information (where we were, where we are, where we're going) and how badly I communicate with people (my parents had to constantly respond to people on my behalf, as my replies were mostly short, uninformed, and uncertain).

As the week went by, I became increasingly confused about myself, and increasingly certain that the week was not going to turn out the way I expected it to. I brought three books with me, and I barely read any one of them. I came to realize, through frequent rebukes regarding my abnormality, that there was a fourth book, titled "Experience". And man, did I read it with the utmost frustration. Both the language and the structure of this particular book was completely cryptic to me. It was so hard to follow, to understand.

I felt completely shaken by the time I returned. I did not realize that my defects were so numerous, various, and serious. I did not truly realize that, when it came down to it, I really don't know how to communicate normally. I don't know how to speak to people. And at the heart of that is the fact that I just don't consider other people. I don't consider what others think, or what they don't know.

What's worse is that such elements of personhood are basic. The fourth book is kindergarten-level (in a way). I quite fancied myself a mature person, but what rubbish such thoughts now seem.

All of that having been said, the point is that I'm finding it hard to know in what direction I'm actually heading in life right now. I feel very helpless, very amateur and unskilled. Thus, I'm not quite sure what to write, what to think. The haze really is timely.

The confounding factor is the moral standard of love, I suppose. These few months, I thought I was making some great bounds in learning about love. Suddenly, I'm faced with a vision of myself as a cold, detached, self-absorbed, ambitious, cowardly, condescending, and skeptical—in short, disgustingly awkward—human being. I'm like what on earth, I don't know anything, at all.

The vigor with which I was poring into books is gone. I came back feeling so depressed I didn't feel like reading any more books. That fourth book has left me feeling haunted. It informed me that, despite my rather unusual ability to construct sturdy systems of thought, it's all in vain if I could not share it. Without love I am nothing. I hesitate when I try to come up with reading plans, because I don't want to become so absorbed in my own thoughts again that coming out of it would be awkward and painful.

There's much more to write about, more to reflect upon. I need to organize my thoughts and get an idea of what's going on. And my thought system has to be communicable. But it's late, and I need rest. I will continue tomorrow.