As you've probably ascertained by now, I'm full of opinions and thoughts and scarcely lack the wherewithal to convey them. In moments of deep poignancy, however, I find myself without words. Beauty strikes me mute.
The above scene had such an effect, though not when I saw it initially. At first, I simply thought it was a tender, touching moment between Eleven and Clara. I had no idea what it stands for until God slammed me with it in church, the next morning.
WARNING
If you haven't seen series 7's "Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS," then you might want to wait to read this post. It contains spoilers to the episode's plot. Duly noted? Geronimo.
Saturday night
I watched the episode, came to this scene, and found it gorgeous. The Doctor and Clara make it to the "centre" of the TARDIS only to find it shattered beyond repair. The Doctor is overwhelmed and feeling like a helpless failure. His oldest companion, constant caretaker and true wife is on the verge of destruction and he is unable to save her. He stands in the wreckage, completely lost, when Clara grabs his hand. (That in itself is a blog post. There is often nothing so powerful as the ministry of presence, but I'll save that for later.) It takes him a second, but he notices she's injured somehow, so he investigates.
She has scars from the "big friendly button" on her palm. Scars in her "beautiful, fragile human skin." Scars that reveal to him the way to save Sexy and prevent everyone's deaths. Yay, Clara! Yay, Doctor! Yay, Sexy! Everyone goes home, and presumably the TARDIS is more friendly toward the new girl in the control room. What a great ending to a great story on Doctor Who Saturday.
Sunday morning
My church has been serving communion pretty much every week for the past couple months. We do the little grape juice cups and wafer squares. Sometimes, communion is taken individually, whenever you feel led to walk up and grab the elements for yourself. Sometimes, however, the whole church family takes communion at the same time, which means the pastor has to wait until every last person in the rather sizable sanctuary is ready. Which means that those of us who sit in the front wait a while with the little cup and bread square.
I'm a pretty tactile person and I tend to fidget when I'm holding things, so I ended up poking my hand with the sharp corners of the bread. After a few times, I realized it hurt a little, which I thought was appropriate, since Jesus' hands were pierced on the cross. And, you know, communion is about commemorating his sacrifice. Bread = body broken for me, wine = blood poured out to cover my sins. As I poked my hand and started to think about how much more his hands must have hurt, this exploded in my head and made me want to cry:
"Beautiful, fragile human skin."
Jesus was fully divine, but also fully human. (That's the hypostatic union.) He had beautiful, fragile human skin. He has scars on his hands. His scars signal the way for salvation, just like Clara's did. Only his scars don't undo time - they create a future.
Beautiful, fragile human skin
Saved the world.
The scars lead the way to salvation -
Beauty and hope in the pain.
Grab hold of the hand scarred for glory
and run when he calls out your name.
Until next time! May you remember your big friendly button.
No joke. I hear rules, run them through my autonomy filter and promptly disregard them. As far as I can tell, ignoring pretty much everything the Doctor says is par for the Team TARDIS course, so my anti-authority streak would fit in nicely with the pantheon of companions.
I've gotten better at respecting authority even when it doesn't deserve it. I still think most rules are arbitrary and promote a hypocritical kind of legalism (because, honestly, you only care about the speed limit when a cop's around, don't you?). However, some rules have merit in their own right, not just because someone with authority laid them down. Some rules are inherently good, and some are sorely necessary. I even have a favorite rule and, of course, it comes straight from the Doctor:
deviantart by SvetoFiltr
"Run, you clever boy..."
I've listened to sermons about peace and God's provision, I've read about the sparrows and lilies in Matthew, I've seen God work in my own life and in the lives of others, and I've even encouraged others to stay strong and have faith in light of whatever life might deliver. In spite of all this, I still fear confronting adulthood, responsibility, change and stasis. I look at what my life now requires of me and I want to hide in my bedroom with my fluffy pillow and pretend I'm still a carefree seven-year-old. I want to run from anything I can't tackle easily, can't understand or am too lazy to attempt. The thing is, I'm so very good at it, too.
People run in a variety of ways. For me, it's avoiding the situation entirely. I don't like making big decisions on my own, so I put them off until the last possible moment. Instead, I'll escape into fantasy via my own creative endeavors or those of others, distracting myself with other realities or other cares just so I don't have to face the big bad Life monster and slay it. Whether it's procrastination by Facebook, Doctor Who or laundry, I find some way of occupying my time so the fear of what the "real world" demands gets shoved back into the cesspool from whence it came.
My natural reaction is to run when I'm scared, not fight. And that's why I love Rule 7. Because I need it.
"...and remember."
As someone who grew up in the competitive sports world, I know the value of a good coach. Without my instructors (and my dad) spurring me on, telling me to jump higher, try harder, go faster, ignore the pain, I never would have done what it took to achieve anything of substance. Some people are naturally dedicated and self-motivated. I never was. I needed someone on the sidelines telling me to give it my all. I needed someone to expect me to work on my technique at home, to demand a workout regimen, to practice my least favorite things. Because, left to my own devices, I would do what I liked until I was uncomfortable and then I would stop.
I find that my attitude toward being an athlete and my attitude toward life are no different. Without someone taking me by the shoulders and encouraging me (or challenging me) to get in there and fight, I will hang back where I am comfortable, safe and secure. I need to be reminded that life requires bravery, otherwise it's mere existence. I need someone to tell me not to run when I'm scared.
I love Rule 7 because it's both an exhortation and a demand. When Eleven says it to River in "Let's Kill Hitler," he's being very kind. He's showing her that she can be strong enough to face the situation and overcome urge to flee. He's also telling her that he isn't running, and that she has no right to go anywhere, either. She's better than that.
"Never run when you're scared," is absolute. He could have said "don't run," but he said "never." This means that, no matter how terrifying, how impossible, how dangerous things get, she must square off against them and prevail. There is no option for retreat.
"Have I not commanded you?"
It's funny how God can tell you something a million times in plain English, and you don't get the message until you see it elsewhere. You see, nothing about Rule 7 is groundbreaking, because all of it and more is in Joshua 1:9:
"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord will be with you wherever you go."
Moses, the great patriarch and leader of Israel, has just died and Joshua is his successor. He's young and he's terrified, because God expects him to go to war to take control of land inhabited by giants - land that was promised to the children of Israel. Three times in the first nine verses of the book, God commands Joshua to be brave. Yet, he gives him the reason why: "As I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will never leave you or forsake you." God tells Joshua to have courage because of what he will do and because of what he's done before. One of my favorite professors asks this rhetorical question every time we see an answered promise in Scripture: "What good are the promises of God?" Answer: Very. The record of kept promises in the Bible not only shows us who God is and what he's done, but also sets a precedent for our confidence that he will act in our lives in the future. He's commanded us to be strong and courageous, to go and fight, no matter how scared we are. And we know that we can do it, we can face the big bad Life monster, because we remember who is with us and what he's done.
Believe it or not, but seminary can lead to contemplation about the character of God. (Who knew, right?) Of all the things I've learned over my first semester, the concept of grace has been the most moving, transformational and powerful. I can't say I fully appreciate God's grace, but even a slightly better perspective of what it means and what holiness is has brought an incredible sense of humility and gratitude into my life. Lately, my prayers have been centered upon or entirely composed of the plea, "Lord, be gracious with me for your name's sake." This kind of request is repeated throughout scripture, and especially in the Psalms. (Go to Bible Gateway, sometime, do a search for "gracious" and see just how many times and in what contexts it comes up. It's pretty amazing.) Grace is extraordinary, to me, because it's even better than mercy. Mercy is when you don't get what you deserve. It's a softening of justice, in a way. Grace is when you do get what you don't deserve. The beauty of the concept blows my mind, and the Doctor paints a marvelous picture of this beauty.
In this post, I'll give three examples of the Doctor's graciousness in the form of forgiveness. I hope with these illustrations that you'll get a small taste of how profound and wonderful grace is, and how stunning it is that God should choose to offer us forgiveness for the offensive and egregious thing that is sin.
Nine
For the record, I love the Ninth Doctor. He was my first Doctor, and his time was far too short. (Aside: please, Mr. Moffat, ask him to be involved with the 50th anniversary! And please, Mr. Eccleston, agree to come back!) Nine was kinda hardcore, what with the leather jacket, the survivor's guilt, the ruthlessness toward his enemies and the general dislike of humans - aka "stupid apes" - other than special ones like Rose. However, he had moments of touching grace that made you think, "Yes, the Doctor is wonderful."
One of my favorite Eccleston episodes is Father's Day, in which he and Rose travel back to the day her father was killed. Rose ends up interfering with established events by saving her father's life, which in turn rips reality apart and summons creatures called Reapers whose purpose is to sterilize wounds in time by removing things from existence. Basically, Rose brings about the destruction of all of space and time. And at first she doesn't care, because she saved her dad. (To be fair, she had no idea the implications of her actions until creepy flying creatures started inhaling people...but isn't that so human? We can't comprehend the consequences of our sins, and we might not really care that we break God's laws until we start seeing the devastation and scarring that it leaves. Food for thought.)
Nine is understandably upset with her, especially as she refuses to admit that what she did was wrong. But then we have these scenes. The video is ten minutes long, so if you don't feel like watching all of it, check out the first minute, then 6:38-8:45:
I love the last bit because all Nine asks for is a simple apology, then he forgives her. No shaming, no berating - just a touch, a smile and a hug, and he lets go of all of Rose's selfishness, pride and destructive actions. Completely forgiven, despite the fact that the world is collapsing outside the church and it's entirely her fault.
God deals with us in the same sort of manner. He asks for repentance, then he forgives and lets it go. (Psalm 103:12) Only through Christ's sacrificial atonement is this possible, but because Jesus died and was resurrected, all we need to be forgiven is merely to be sorry and seek pardon. It was by grace that we were saved, through faith (Ephesians 2:8), and it is by God's mercy that we don't have to endure eternal punishment.
Ten Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.
In the series 3 finale, the Tenth Doctor goes up against his old rival, the Master, played by the endearingly insane John Simm. I could write about what happens in the three-part story with the Master at first being the kindly, Time Lord-turned-human Professor Yana, the Doctor showing up on the scene and the Master re-emerging to wreak his typical mayhem, then the ensuing struggle between good and evil. I could do that, or I could let Chameleon Circuit do it for me. The following is called The Sound of Drums, and it's off the album Still Got Legs. You're welcome.
Utopia/The Sound of Drums/Last of the Time Lords is possibly my favorite season finale in Ten's reign. Mostly it's because John Simm plays a hilarious Master. But it's also because I absolutely adore the way the Doctor acts in all three episodes. For those unfamiliar with Classic Who, the Master is not only an evil Time Lord enemy from way back, but he also rivals the Doctor in the brilliance department. He is a foil to our beloved hero, as he's what the Doctor could be, were he narcissistic instead of selfless.What's sad about the Master is that he and the Doctor were friends as children on Gallifrey. Then the former went mad and turned into the villain bent on ruling the universe before watching it burn. The centuries of enmity and struggle between the Doctor and the Master unfold in various stories throughout Classic Who, all of which result in devastation, pain and death at the Master's maleficence. He's even responsible for the death of the Doctor's fourth incarnation. Everything about the Master earns him swift and final judgment. So at the end of Last of the Time Lords, when the Doctor thwarts the Master's evil plan, we're expecting the good old Doc to bring the boom. And he does, like this:
Forgiveness. The Doctor offers forgiveness. Completely undeserved and unrequested. How amazingly Christlike is that? And then he goes and wants to take care of him for the rest of his life! And then he weeps when the Master dies! THE FEELS!
Eleven
Series 6 had a ridiculously complicated plot. I don't even think it's possible to summarize, except perhaps like this:
Anyway, we eventually find out (SPOILERS) that the astronaut who kills/almost kills the Doctor at Lake Silencio was actually River Song, the mysterious woman who loves Eleven more than anyone in the universe. (I'm going to assume you either know the events that transpire or will look them up, because rehashing it will take me days.) The scene we get in The Wedding of River Song, just before River messes with time and causes reality to implode, is beyond touching:
The Doctor knows River will kill him, that she can't control the space suit, that she loves him and hates herself for being what she is, that time will disintegrate if she doesn't do her job and that the time to die has come. In the moment of her betrayal, albeit unwitting, the Doctor submits to his fate and never once blames her. In the face of death, he has nothing but compassion for his murderer. Anticipating her self-loathing, he makes it perfectly clear that, no matter what, she is always forgiven. In every timeline, for every offense, in any state of mind, he loves her anyway and gives her the grace she doesn't believe she deserves.
On the cross, Jesus prayed for the Jews and Romans who mocked him and put him there, saying "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." (Luke 23:34) In the face of his death, in the midst of his agony, he had compassion and extended forgiveness to the treacherous and faithless crowd. He knew they would call for his crucifixion, he knew he had to die in order that we might be saved, and he never once cast blame. In every moment, for every offense, for every person present who did not realize he was Messiah, he loved anyway and offered the grace they didn't deserve. Then he died and rose again so that we may be always and completely forgiven.
Bless the Lord, oh my soul. Psalm 103.
Until next time! May you remember the gauntlets when handling the...wait, what was I writing?
Katya
Sometimes, it's hard to look at the world and find anything but darkness. The news is one uninterrupted stream of tragedy and frustration, leading some to believe that this world is beyond saving. When children are shot and stabbed at school and national heroes fall from grace, it is so terribly simple to slip into negativity and cynicism. In moments of pain and despair, fighting the good fight seems both useless and futile. That's when Doctor Who shines the brightest, with its almost petulant stand for optimism against the backdrop of a jaded world. It never, for one instant, lets you give up on hope. It always reminds you that good exists and is worth fighting for.
Good things and bad things.
The following scene is from series 5's "Vincent and the Doctor." In this episode, Eleven and Amy have an adventure with Vincent Van Gogh in the final months of his life. We see just how much Vincent struggles with depressive episodes as well as feelings of worthlessness and alienation. Amy is particularly moved to help him, somehow, as he is her favorite artist; she hurts to see him so distraught. She and the Doctor manage to give him joy and purpose as they battle a monster together, and finally (SPOILERS) they take him to the future to show him just how beloved a painter he becomes. Vincent is overwhelmed and starts to cry, and they drop him off in 19th century Paris, leaving him encouraged and energized about life. Amy wants to go back to the museum to see if their interaction with him has resulted in new paintings, but when they arrive, she learns Vincent killed himself anyway without painting anything else after they left. She laments that they didn't make a difference at all. The dialogue that follows is simply beautiful:
I love every bit about this clip. I'll break it down line by line.
"Every life is a pile of good things and bad things."
This is so true - experientially and biblically. No one makes it out of this world without tasting the bitterness of sin's effects and the sweetness of the gift of living. No one is promised only good (see my favorite verse, John 16:33), and no one receives only bad (Matthew 7:9-11). Really, it's how the individual chooses to see and act toward each experience, each pile, that determines his outlook on life as a whole. The sum of an individual, ultimately, is how he allows each pile to affect him.
"The good things don't always soften the bad things."
I appreciate this remark, because through it Eleven validates the pain that comes with the bad things. Reading between the lines a bit, the Doctor is saying that bad things are, well, bad. They hurt. They affect you deeply and negatively. They have the capacity to steal your joy. In this line, he normalizes the sting of bad things without condemning the natural emotions that accompany them.
Why am I emphasizing this? Too often, people (Christians especially) have a mindset that you should never give into sadness or grief or even anger when life catapults unripe lemons at your face. As if you don't have a right to be upset when you lose your job, when a loved one dies, or you suffer from disease. As if keeping your chin up and always smiling is the only acceptable, "holy" reaction to life. This mentality frustrates me to no end. Yes, I agree that one shouldn't wallow in self-pity, but God gave us emotions and they are the truest things about us. When you have to bury a child, it is perfectly acceptable to be heartbroken and angry. Why? Because it's a bad thing!
Nowhere in the Bible does it say that followers of God aren't allowed to have negative emotions. In fact, Ecclesiastes says, in chapter 3, that there is an appropriate time to mourn. Telling someone who is suffering that he or she must be happy is both insensitive and wrong. Spiritualizing it doesn't help, either. Romans 12:15 says to "mourn with those who mourn," not to correct the attitude of those who mourn. Empathy, or at least sympathy, goes a long way, and I wish more Christians would exercise it. But I'll get off my counseling philosophy soapbox, now.
"The bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things..."
Preach it, Doctor! When a dump truck unloads on the bad things pile, it is so easy to forget that another pile exists. But the thing about piles is that they're plural; there are two distinct heaps. Bad things go in the bad things pile - they don't ooze over to the good things and dissolve them like acid. At the end of the day, each life will have two piles, and it's not the size that matters. It's the quality.
At this point in the episode, Amy is looking at the bad pile and has her back to the good. But the Doctor, like the great friend he is, gently reminds her that it's there. He says yes, I see the same bad pile as you do, Amelia Pond, and I'm upset about it, too. But it doesn't diminish the good pile. Don't despair too much or you'll miss it.
The key thing the Doctor does is remind her gently. She's in a fragile state, so he embraces her, validates her pain and sweetly but firmly tells her the truth. Fortunately, she is ready to hear it. Unfortunately, that's not always the case. But it doesn't mean we hold back; it merely means we try to understand where the other person is and meet them there with as much grace, love, tenderness, empathy and truth as we can muster.
"...or make them unimportant."
Here, the Doctor reminds us that, while striving to make a positive difference doesn't always end the way we want, the fight itself is never futile or worthless. The fight itself is good. It's hard and definitely painful, but it is good.
At the end of his life, the apostle Paul was writing to his protege and child in the faith, Timothy. Paul was under house arrest, ill and abandoned by all except for the faithful physician, Luke. The life he lived was full of suffering (imagine being beaten, whipped, left for dead and shipwrecked multiple times, all for a "crazy, heretical" belief and then, as a reward at the end of your days, stuck in prison and awaiting sentencing from Rome). In all that, Paul's final words to Timothy are of encouragement and conviction. On the topic of his impending death, Paul writes, "But you, be sober in all things, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry. For I am being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith;in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved his appearing." (2 Timothy 4:5-8, NASB)
Finishing your days of preaching the gospel in the confines of your own home may seem like a failure, but Paul shows no signs of allowing the bad things to invalidate the good things he's experienced. I see a measure of healthy pride in his self-reflection - not that he's bragging about how faithful he's been, but that he's pleased with the steps he has taken in his life and isn't allowing his current circumstances to counterbalance or spoil that. Paul's fight was long and strenuous and difficult and sad, but in spite of everything that befell him, he looked back on it all and called it good. Would that we do the same in our own lives.
"We definitely added to his pile of good things."
The Doctor brings it home for Amy and claims the victory. She wanted to make a difference in Vincent's life, and Eleven says she did, by adding to his good things pile. I think that's beautiful in its simplicity. Humans are funny in that we have so much and so little power. We can tear down and build up others with words and deeds, but our contributions are so fleeting and limited in comparison with the true, omnipotent power of God. Really, the best we can possibly be is pitiful in comparison with the majesty that God is and what he can do. It's humbling, but it's also uplifting to think that even our small contributions to life on this planet matter. We just need to invest in what counts - loving others and adding to their pile of good things.
Where good things come from
Again, it's funny, but we can't even contribute the smallest bit of good to the pile without getting it from a source outside ourselves. James 1:17-18 says, "Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.In the exercise of his will he brought us forth by the word of truth, so that we would be a kind of first fruits among his creatures."
Since good comes from God and we as "Christ-bearers" (and remember that humans are unique in that we bear the image of God - Gen 1) are to reflect who he is to the world as ambassadors of his character, then we are to add to people's good piles. How? "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength." (Deut. 6:5, quoted in Luke 10) Why? "Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks." (Luke 6:45). Basically, the state of your heart affects how you live, so loving God with all you have leads to loving others. That's why, when asked what the greatest commandment is, Jesus linked loving God with the Golden Rule. When you honor, respect, obey and submit to God, you find yourself treating others with a similar respect and honor and love. So adding good things to people's piles isn't about taking personal action, but about allowing the love of God to flow through you and into other people's hearts. You, then, are a conduit for love and good things, not the wellspring.
Kinda nice. Less pressure, and we're certain of the quality.
Until next time! May you see the beauty that Vincent saw in the world.
Also, sorry. "That which holds the image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel."
We're all doomed.
"Don't blink. Blink and you're dead. They're fast - faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away and don't blink. Good luck."
"Blink" is one of the seminal, timeless episodes of New Who that has the ability to turn ordinary geeks into Whovians. "Don't blink" is possibly the most famous catchphrase of any episode, and rightly so. The nefarious Steven Moffat did what he does best: took something we take for granted and turned it into a nightmare. (See "Mummy," shadows, cracks...) The reason the Weeping Angels are so frightening (other than being STATUES that MOVE and KILL YOU nicely) is that only those with incredible self-restraint and forewarning can avoid their deadly touch.
According to the most credible source of information online, Wikipedia, the average human blinks ten times a minute in laboratory settings, and the rate varies depending upon conditions of the eye. Blinking is involuntary and something we don't often notice, especially since it happens so quickly. So the notion that a psychopath can zap you into the past and let you live to death in the span of the time it takes you to blink...it explains why the Weeping Angels are one of the most beloved and feared monsters of the rebooted show. They're uniquely dangerous because they can ruin your life in one instant of seemingly innocuous, natural inattention.
If you think about it, this is a great picture of what can happen when we take our eyes off God:
"Therefore, since we also have such a large cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us set aside every weight and sin which so easily ensnares us. Let us run with endurance the race that lies before us, keeping our eyes on Jesus, the source and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that lay before him endured a cross and despised the shame and sat down at the right hand of God's throne. For consider Him who endured such hostility from sinners against Himself, so that you won't grow weary and lose heart." Hebrews 12:1-3 (HCSB).
"The eyes are not the windows of the soul. They are the doors."
The above quote is one of my favorites spoken by the Eleventh Doctor in "Time of Angels" because it's essentially a cooler, more ominous version of "be careful little eyes what you see." What your eyes soak in often manifests in your behavior, and if you aren't careful, it can change you for the worse. For example, if all a child knows is violence and anger in the home, his pattern of behavior toward others will probably follow the template with which he's familiar. That's why the Bible tells us over and over to keep our eyes on God and his commandments so that what we focus on will translate to our character and behavior.
And it's funny, because there really isn't anything else of even remotely similar value to set our sights on, anyway. The Bible says that God is more beautiful, wonderful, delightful and awe-inspiring than we can comprehend, yet we are content to turn our gazes to the ugly, vile, deformed and malicious. It's sad, truly sad, that we allow putrescence to step through the doors of our eyes, hearts and minds - willingly and unwillingly - in light of what we're giving up. Deuteronomy 4:24 says "the LORD your God is a jealous God," and can you blame him? What heartbreak he must experience every time we shove him out of the doorframe. "You're turning me away...for this? And you think it'll satisfy you more than the me? I know you perfectly and completely, and I love you perfectly and completely. Will he? Will that?"
The old hymn says "turn your eyes upon Jesus/look full in his wonderful face/and the things of earth will grow strangely dim/in the light of his glory and grace." Now, while the song's context is trusting Christ in times of trouble, I think the quoted refrain is true all the time. If you focus on the mud and muck of life, you will find yourself stuck there and miss life's beauty. If your ultimate perspective and gaze is on God and eternal truth, you will find yourself behaving in a way consistent with getting there.
Realtalk
I'm going to level with you: I've been doing a very bad job of this, lately. It's ironic, since I'm both a full-time seminary student and an employee at a church whose leaders are genuine and passionate followers of Christ. You would think that, being surrounded by the message of the gospel and the picture of Christianity practically 24/7, I would be enjoying the deepest and most fulfilling relationship with the Creator God I've ever had. My situation is evidence that being around truth doesn't mean you live it.
My problem? I have dry eyes. I blink a lot.
Have you ever tried to stare at something without blinking? (Like the angel at the top of this post? Don't worry, someone in cyberspace has to be watching it...) Your eyes require refreshment, and if you don't blink, they start to feel uncomfortable. If they don't get the nourishment they need, they will eventually be damaged.
In a way, I feel that I've been staring at something (theological stimulus in the form of schoolwork and church responsibilities) for so long that my eyes are dry. The answer, however, is not to blink. Blinking (shutting out, even briefly, the truths I'm learning and the relationships I'm building) is dangerous. Blinking can send me back in time and prevent the days I would have had. Or, to use a less nerdy and esoteric phrasing, set my walk with Christ back in its development, stunting it in a way - making me start over.
Blinking can take many forms. It can mean I ignore my daily prayer and devotional time (which I have). Or it can mean I devote an unhealthy amount of time and energy in other things like interests and relationships, making them more important to me than God is. (Done that, too.) Like physical blinking, my spiritual blinks result from my depriving myself of nourishment and are brief but repeated. The problem is that my eyes, like yours, get dry and I need to refresh them. Closing my eyes, looking away, is a natural reflex that I don't even notice I engage in. In a spiritual sense, it's the work of the flesh - something involuntary and essential to my being. It's natural for me to want to look away for a bit, to blink when I look at God. And that's the problem.
The solution
I wear contacts, and the one thing that never leaves my side is my contact solution. It's saline drops that refreshes my eyes when they're starved of natural airflow and nourishment due to the lens covering my pupil. Without my precious solution, I deal with irritable, dry eyes and my vision gets cloudy because my contacts aren't being washed properly by my natural tears. Blinking a lot never helps this situation, because I can't produce enough liquid in my tear ducts to do the job right. I need to infuse my eyes with external nourishment to see clearly, again.
Similarly, staring at Christ without doing anything gives me dry spiritual eyes. Blinking doesn't help. Taking action and actually walking with him provides the nourishment I need and is my spiritual contact solution. What does that look like, practically? For me, it means reading my Bible, spending time praying, journaling, singing/writing praise songs, participating in a community of believers, having quiet times of reflection and listening, and getting involved in the "work of the kingdom" as some like to put it (e.g. demonstrating Christian love via service, missions and encouragement of believers). Without this, I dry up. I blink. I stop progressing in my relationship with God and in fact set my relationship back, or at least let it stagnate.
Is spiritual nourishment easy? Of course not. We're fighting the powerful and natural tendency to blink. But it's worth it, especially when the alternative is so dangerous. Paul talks about this in Romans:
"For although they knew God, they neither glorified him nor gave thanks to him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened. Although they claimed to be wise, the became fools, and exchanged the glory of immortal God for images made to look like a mortal human being and birds and animals and reptiles. Therefore, God gave them over to in the sinful desires of their hearts to sexual impurity for the degrading of their bodies with one another. They exchanged the truth about God for a lie, and worshipped and served created things rather than the Creator who is forever praised. Amen." (Romans 1:21-25, NIV)
"Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice - this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the power of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is - his good, pleasing and perfect will." (Romans 12:1-2, NIV)
Conforming to the world is blinking, and finally looking away from God. But looking away means we can only look to ourselves, and we are deeply depraved. Looking away means we accept the Weeping Angel's touch, and all we could have been in Christ goes away in an instant. So don't blink. Nourish yourself and stay brave.
Caveat
My analogy is not watertight or perfectly consistent, namely because the person from whom we shouldn't look away isn't a psychopathic killer, but rather the holy and loving Creator God. (Although, there is an element of healthy fear I think is appropriate and makes the correlation stronger. The fear of God is another blog post topic, however.) In addition, the wonderful thing about our spiritual blinks is that we can get back to where we belong, by God's incredible mercy and grace. While this is true, we don't know where we could have been had we not looked away, which is where the emphasis of my point lies.
We don't deserve second and third and umpteenth chances when we do stray, but God gives them anyway. My point with the blinking analogy is to say that even little lapses in keeping our eyes on the author and perfecter of our faith is more dangerous and damaging than we think. They are also hard for us to notice, since it's a reflex of being human to strive for independence and self-sufficiency. Fighting those impulses is the struggle we have every second of every day, and something only the Holy Spirit can help us overcome.
Until next time! May your statues remain stone.
Katya
As far as quotable episodes go,A Town Called Mercy is the clear winner from series 7, so far. The above statement, delivered by the Marshall, made a particular impact on me, especially in light of the conversations we've been having in class regarding the Christian's salvation from the tyranny of sin. This post will take a look at two quotes that refer to the Doctor and how they fit with the concepts Paul talks about in Romans.
"You're both good men. You just forget it sometimes."
I won't discuss the context of this quote. If you want it, watch the episode. However, from what we've seen of the Doctor (particularly when he gets a little dark as the Oncoming Storm or the Time Lord Victorious), we can all recall scenarios in which he forgot himself and made decisions that were contrary to his staunchly good and peace-loving nature. (One that immediately comes to mind is his treatment of the Racnoss in The Runaway Bride.) In those instances, he often has his companions to remind him of who he really is and how he should be acting. He's capable of being so much more than vindictive and even a little terrible, and his personality and character lends itself to typical good guy actions, making moments of darkness almost frighteningly out of place.
We all know that the Doctor is supposed to be a godlike figure, and the show even acknowledges the parallel with epithets like "the lonely god." Watching the "ageless god who insists on the face of a 12-year-old" make some pretty harsh and, frankly, wrong decisions causes consternation for us viewers. The Doctor always has the answers. He's always fighting for humanity and he's the one everyone looks to for salvation. When he stops being that paragon of goodness, we're disappointed and saddened to watch the results. Why? Because we're totally obsessed with a fictional character we'd love to be real. Because it's not necessarily the fall that pains us, but the distance traveled.
Watching messed up people make messes is unfortunate, but something we seem to be able to accept. When our heroes make mistakes, however, our bubbles burst as we realize the only reason they stood above the shrapnel was thanks to the pedestal we put them on. We want to believe that people can be better than the rest of us are, and stay innocent of the worst that humanity can produce. We even manage to convince ourselves of this. Then we watch them act just like we do and are saddened as they fall down to our level. The truth is, everyone is on the same level. We're all broken and messed up people. (Romans 3:23, "For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.") The good news is, there's hope.
Romans 10:9 says if you confess that Jesus is Lord and believe he was resurrected, you'll be saved from the consequences of your sins. Earlier in the passage (verse 4), Paul talks about how there is righteousness (purity, perfection) for those who believe because of Christ. In the eyes of God, you are clean because when he looks at you, all he sees is what his son did on the cross. A big fancy word seminarians like to use to describe this is "justification." You might have heard the concise ditty that explains justification this way: "It's just as if I'd never sinned." That's nice, but wrong. Justification doesn't mean your sins are ignored; it means the price was paid by someone else. Accepting Christ brings freedom from having sin dictate your actions - it doesn't stop you from sinning, though. A problem Paul likes to call "the flesh" nudges us to keep making choices contrary to God's word. (I'll explain the flesh in a minute.) However, becoming a follower of God makes us subject to God rather than sin, which means God's our boss, not sin. Which means we have the ability, by the grace of God through Holy Spirit, to say no to sin. Which means we can choose to be good men.
As followers of Christ, our identity is in Jesus - he tells us who we are and is the example we model our lives after. Although it's hard, we have the strength to say no to sin and live like Jesus did. This isn't something God hopes we do; it's commanded. It's expected. Since God's our boss, we need to obey. Thus, when we fall off the wagon due to selfishness or deference to temptation, we have indeed forgotten the good (aka righteous) people we can and should be.
"Demons run when a good man goes to war."
The moment you accepted Christ, God gave you all the tools you need to "just say no" to sin when it tempts you as a Christian. We often think that we need the Holy Spirit's help to remove temptations from our lives or free us from sinful patterns. The problem isn't sin itself, since it has nothing to do with you anymore - it can't boss you around because Christ replaced its role in your life. The problem is the flesh. What is the flesh? Basically, it's your self-awareness, your free will and your desire to get what you want. It's what makes you human and not a robot - your independent thought. It's a part of you and your body that doesn't go away until you die. It's what you metaphorically have to kill every day as you strive to follow Christ.
The life of a Christian isn't peaceful. If you bought into that, you've clearly never read the bit about the armor of God in Ephesians 6. Placing Christ at the center of your life will draw fire from every angle because not only is it counter-cultural, but it is also counter to your instincts. You want to serve yourself and keep yourself happy. The Bible says your purpose in life is to serve God and make him happy. The flesh in you rebels against that because it wants to be independent, and you're left fighting a war with yourself and your demons in order to do what is right and pleasing to God.
If we submit to our flesh's desires, we inevitably do wrong and fall back into sinful patterns. We forget that we're now good men, bought at a terrible blood-price and set apart (holy). But when we fight back, when that good man or woman goes to war with him/herself every day and chooses to stop trying to control a life that isn't theirs (it was gift and bought by Christ), then sin and demons have to run. Why? Because of the name of the one that claimed you as his own. Christian, you are not only an ambassador for Jesus in a world that doesn't yet know him, but you are indelibly and inextricably tied with Christ - his life, death and resurrection. (Romans 6:4-10) You are in him, he is in you and he pounded the power of sin and death to a pulp on the cross. So if you fight, you have victory, because Christ had victory.
Demons run because the only truly good man who ever lived went to war on behalf of us who could not fight for ourselves.
Go to war. Because that Son of Man has made you good, even though you forget it, sometimes.
In case you were living under a rock (or you believed you hadn't seen enough episodes of Doctor Who to tune in), series 7 premiered on September 1st with the highly anticipated "Asylum of the Daleks," written by the Feels-Breaker-in-Chief himself, Steven Moffat. The point of this post is not to write a review of the episode - though the desire to unleash my opinions is hard to curb, I admit - but rather to speak on one point that bothered me significantly (SPOILERS!!): the circumstances surrounding Amy and Rory's divorce.
If you've seen any of Matt Smith's episodes, you know that the Ponds are inseparable and quite devoted to one another. Amy: The Girl Who Waited. Rory: The Last Centurion, who stood guard for his wife for 2,000 years while she was in the Pandorica. In series 6, we saw just how strong their relationship is and how far they are willing to go for each other. But in series 7, the Ponds are splitting up.
The instant I watched that scene, I knew I was not experiencing it the way Moffat intended. It was supposed to be a picture of how much Amy is willing to sacrifice for Rory, and I was supposed to feel my heart breaking as I understood her reasons for sending Rory away. All of my feels (the internet's cutesy way of saying "emotions," for those not in the know) were going the way of Oswin's souffle when I came to a grinding halt as Amy's rationale clashed horrendously with my understanding of the biblical take on marriage. Strap yourself in for a rare post about how Doctor Who and Christian theology don't harmonize.
Point 1: "I gave you up."
Call me old-fashioned, but I believe marriage is a lifelong commitment. "For better or for worse...till death do us part." I support my belief with the verse in Genesis 2 (and Matthew 19 and Ephesians 5) that talks about how man and wife are to be "one flesh" (ripping apart one flesh means you kill the one...not that you suddenly have two) and the numerous instructions throughout the old and new testaments that discourage divorce for pretty much any reason except adultery. So when Amy said that her "kicking Rory out" was actually "giving him up," I had to frown and scratch my head.
Since when did giving up on someone who is good to you and loves you become a good thing? Doesn't the media preach that love overcomes all obstacles? Amy couldn't give Rory what he wanted, so she backed out of the marriage entirely, thinking that was a better option. (Soapbox-Aside: Does the term "adoption" mean anything to you, Ponds? Seriously. I never understood why people would rule out or ignore adoption simply because it wouldn't be "their" child. How much can you want kids, then?) Rather than inspiring and mature, I think the decision to get a divorce over not being able to give your husband children is one of the dumbest, extreme and most immature decisions possible. You're willing to cast off years of a totally unique and unsurpassingly deep relationship because you can't get preggo? Sounds more like a juvenile's thought process rather than an adult's, to me.
Not that I'm especially opinionated, or anything.
Point 2: Total lack of communication
The revelation of Amy's reason for divorce was a shock to the viewers, but it was also a shock to Rory. In my opinion, this was the most frustrating part of the entire scene. This issue has all but destroyed the Ponds' marriage and poor Rory had no idea it was underneath the rubble...because Amy never said word one.
In light of everything we know about Rory, and bolstered by the restoration of their relationship at the end of the episode, we can imagine how things might have turned out had Amy simply been forthright. Had she told him why she wanted to give him up (that is, to enable him a chance to have kids with someone else), he would have said that she mattered more to him than kids because he loves her and that they would work through it, somehow. End of drama. Back to the TARDIS. Instead, she didn't let him in on her struggle and chose to push him away. Which led to severe heartache and divorce, not to mention a huge mess for the Doctor to clean up as a side-project while saving the Daleks.
If marriage is the union of two people into a symbolic one, then all neurons must be firing and communicating at all times. The left side of the body can't hide things from the right. Similarly, one member of a married couple can't hide anything from the other, especially not something this important. It destroys the relationship because it's akin to saying, "I don't trust you enough." No healthy relationship can thrive without mutual trust, and no trust can form without vulnerability. Amy didn't give Rory the chance to carry her burden; she automatically assumed he couldn't, or wouldn't react the way she wanted. I find that sad. Forget the fact that he's Rory flipping Williams and has proved himself to be totally awesome...
...but how little faith does a she have in her husband? I'm sorry, Moffat, but having Amy "give up" the man who has combed the stars to find and rescue her is not beautiful screenwriting. There is nothing beautiful about giving up on your spouse - neither emotionally nor poetically.
When marriage is beautiful
If you ask me, the most inspiring couples are the ones that fight to love each other in spite of everything that comes their way - be it infertility, racism, dementia or poverty. Marriage is beautiful when it manages to work when all the rules of the world say that it shouldn't. When society would advise ending the game and parting ways. When it hurts to stay together, but it would kill to separate. That's real beauty, in my book. It's easy to be with someone when life is rosy and your world fits into a neat little box. When that box is upturned, its contents spilled and life plays hardball, however, true character shines through and heroes can emerge.
I think the notion of Amy being unable to have kids because of Demon's Run is a fantastic subplot because it shows the price of running with the Doctor. I would have loved to see the Ponds struggle with that and their emotions associated with both the infertility itself, as well as the Doctor's role in it all. I think a scene at the Pond home with them trying to make sense of the news would have been terribly dramatic. It might have added a darker tone to their relationship with the Doctor and given them a chance to wrestle with complex emotions. It would have given more realistic weight to why the Doctor only picks them up occasionally, now. We might have seen Amy's love for Rory as she explained her desire to sacrifice herself for his wishes, and we might have seen Rory prove once again that he is as devoted and true a man as anyone could dream up. We could have peeked into their souls, scraped the foundations of their marriage and exposed their worldview. Instead, we got a sudden divorce on a silly pretext and a convenient reconciliation. Dramatic, yes, but inorganic and ultimately disheartening.
Divine romance, ultimate beauty
I couldn't finish this post without bringing God directly into the picture. I think I've made it clear that I believe marriage is sacred and shouldn't be ended for almost any reason. The question you might be asking is, "Why? So, the bible says man and wife should be 'one flesh,' big deal." Well, it's more than that.
Ephesians 5:22-33 reveals that marriage is supposed to be an illustration of Christ's relationship with his followers, the Church (referred to in the new testament as the "bride of Christ"). Thus, a woman is to honor, respect and obey her husband as the church honors, respects and obeys Jesus. Similarly, a man is to love his wife sacrificially, lead her in righteousness, protect her and provide for her, like Jesus does for his church. Marriage, then, shows the world a little peek at how God loves us and how we should respond. Marriage is a witness, a testimony, of God himself. As Christians - those who are "ambassadors" of Christ (2 Corinthians 5:20) - we have to be extremely careful to represent God accurately to others. If marriage is God's way of demonstrating how he loves, then anything short of a fully devoted relationship impugns God's character. Divorce for reasons not outlined in the bible is a false witness that God can't hack it when things get tough, or that his love is somehow dependent upon our behavior. (It's not. Nothing you do could increase or decrease his love for you. In case you missed it the first time: nothing you could possibly do could alter how much he loves you right now. His love is perfect, selfless and overwhelming.) In fact, God's love is fearsome in its relentlessness.
So, please, fight for that witness of beauty. Marriage isn't always pretty, but it's based on the unsurpassing splendor of the perfect loving Groom, and it's the best portrait we can paint of him until he returns.
Until next time! May you add to someone's pile of good things.
