making no sense of evil

We want to know where evil comes from. Why did God allow Satan to tempt Adam and Eve? And where did he come from? How did he become evil?

Chris Wright notes that asking questions in order to understand, to bring order and sense is a profound aspect of people being made in God's image and then makes these helpful observations:

Thus, true to form, when we encounter this phenomenon of evil, we struggle to apply to it all the rational skill - philosophical, practical and problem-solving - that we so profusely and successfully deploy on everything else. We are driven to try to understand and explain evil. But it doesn't work. Why not?

God with his infinite perspective, and for reasons known only to himself, knows that we finite human being cannot, indeed must not 'make sense' of evil. For the final truth is that evil does not make sense. 'Sense' is part of our rationality that in itself is part of God's good creation and God's image in us. So evil can have no sense, since sense itself is a good thing.

Evil has no place within creation. It has no validity, no truth, no integrity. It does not intrinsically belong to the creation as God originally made it nor will it belong to creation as God will ultimately redeem it. It cannot and must not be integrated into the universe as a rational, legitimated, justified part of reality. Evil is not there to be understood but to be resisted and ultimately expelled. Evil was and remains an intruder, an alien presence that has made itself almost (but not finally) inextricably 'at home'. Evil is beyond our understanding because it is not part of the ultimate reality that God in his perfect wisdom and utter truthfulness intends us to understand. So God has withheld its secrets from his own revelation and our research.
.......
Now this may seem a lame response to evil. Are we merely to gag our desperate questions, accept that it's a mystery and shut up? Surely we do far more than that? Yes indeed.
We grieve.
We weep.
We lament.
We protest.
We scream in pain and anger.
We cry out, 'How long must this kind of thing go on?'
And that brings us to our second major biblical response. For when we do such things, the Bible says to us, 'That's OK. Go right ahead. And here are some words you might like to use when you feel that way.'

chris wright, the god i don't understand, p.42

servant sufferers

In Housegroups this week we were looking at 1 Peter 4 and the various ways in which people who follow Jesus can suffer at the hands of those who don't. That kind of perpetual ridicule and opposition can be very wearing; it can also make us defensive and insular, people who are turned away and turned inwards by suffering.

But in verses 7-11 Peter exhorts his readers to be sufferers who serve - people who pray, who love, who share with others and who serve with all God's might.

How does that come about? Maybe verse 7 is a help, and not just with respect to praying: "The end of all things is near". Knowing suffering has an end, knowing there is glory beyond the suffering, knowing that soon the Saviour will be seen and every wrong righted - knowing such things seems to be Peter's recipe for serving others in the face of suffering.

They were good times at the Housegroups.

the great songs (xix) - light my fire

Light My Fire by The Doors just bursts open from the very first note and delivers in spades. For once, I'm not going to comment on the words, they mean very little to me in this case (and are far more direct than most Doors lyrics, not being written by Morrison).

What I will mention is the music - surely one of the greatest instrumental sections in all popular music (far too long to be called an interlude, lasting from just over a minute in, right through to the latter part of the 6th minute of the song). I love the organ and its almost hypnotic effect and the cool sweep of the guitar. Yes, Morrison's singing helps it along but, in truth, it isn't his best and isn't the decisive factor in the song's greatness. It's the playing that carries all before it.

To be played loud.

the great songs (xviii) - mother

I realise this is an extremely hard song to listen to, for all sorts of people and for all sorts of reasons. I'm not including it here because it entertains (it clearly doesn't) but because of its cathartic honesty.

Mother was the opening track to the first post-beatles album by John Lennon (John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band). Both John and Yoko had been exposed to Arthur Janov's primal therapy and the natural outcome was music that reflected their experiences (Yoko's response was the twin album, Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band).

The opening tolling of bells has been seen as signalling the passing of the Beatles-era for Lennon, a topic he addresses on the song God later on the album. Whether intentional or not, the effect is palpable. But even more they signal the sense of loss and rejection that the song goes on to handle, as indeed does the whole album in various ways.

A rewarding listen, but not an easy one.

chris wright: asking 'why?'

In introducing the section of his book, The God I Don't Understand, that deals with evil and suffering, Chris Wright makes this valuable observation:

Whereas we often ask "Why?" people in the Bible more often asked "How long?". Their tendency was not to demand that God give an explanation for the origin of evil but rather to plead with God to do something to bring about an end to evil. And that, we shall see, is exactly what God has promised to do.

(page 27)

the great songs (xvii) - the river

The River was among the first Bruce Springsteen tracks I remember hearing, along with Hungry Heart and Sherry Darling off the same album. I guess it must have been '81 and the album had a decidely lukewarm reception in NME (my reference point in those days).

It isn't necessarily the greatest individual song that the Boss ever recorded (although one of the finest on that album) but it's certainly representative of his expansive, storytelling style. And the lyrics inhabit familiar territory - the early death of idealism and the premature acceptance of an almost cynical realism, with the merest hints of a possible shot at redemption (the almost mythical river into which they'd dive) and the despairing realisation that the river is dry. It paints a stark picture of an ailing nation and of a failing humanity.

The question asked by the narrator, 'Is a dream a lie if it don't come true or is it something worse?' is worth pondering as a prime example of Springsteen's lyrical gift. But the lyrics deserve to be seen in full, so here they are:

I come from down in the valley, where mister when you're young
They bring you up to do like your daddy done
Me and Mary we met in high school, when she was just seventeen
We'd ride out of that valley down to where the fields were green

We'd go down to the river
And into the river we'd dive
Oh down to the river we'd ride

Then I got Mary pregnant, and man that was all she wrote
And for my nineteenth birthday I got a union card and a wedding coat
We went down to the courthouse
And the judge put it all to rest
No wedding day smiles no walk down the aisle
No flowers no wedding dress

That night we went down to the river
And into the river we'd dive
Oh down to the river we did ride

I got a job working construction for the Johnstown Company
But lately there ain't been much work on account of the economy
Now all them things that seemed so important
Well mister they vanished right into the air
Now I just act like I don't remember, Mary acts like she don't care

But I remember us riding in my brother's car
Her body tan and wet down at the reservoir
At night on them banks I'd lie awake
And pull her close just to feel each breath she'd take
Now those memories come back to haunt me, they haunt me like a curse
Is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is it something worse
That sends me down to the river, though I know the river is dry
That sends me down to the river tonight
Down to the river, my baby and I
Oh down to the river we ride

twitter & morality (wsj extract)

Ever worry that the ever-increasing barrage of status updates from Facebook, Twitter and every other real-time, hey-look-what-I’m-doing and look-what-happened-just-this-very-second service may be outstripping your brain’s capacity to process them?
You’re probably right, says a new study from a University of Southern California neuroscience group. Physorg.com:

“‘For some kinds of thought, especially moral decision-making about other people’s social and psychological situations, we need to allow for adequate time and reflection,’ said first author Mary Helen Immordino-Yang.

‘Humans can sort information very quickly and can respond in fractions of seconds to signs of physical pain in others.
Admiration and compassion–two of the social emotions that define humanity–take much longer….’”

Too many words? Want to cut to the chase? OK:

“The study raises questions about the emotional cost–particularly for the developing brain–of heavy reliance on a rapid stream of news snippets obtained through television, online feeds or social networks such as Twitter.

‘If things are happening too fast, you may not ever fully experience emotions about other people’s psychological states and that would have implications for your morality,’ Immordino-Yang said.”

(from the Wall Street Journal)

indicative power

Willpower is a notoriously sputtery engine on which to rely for internal energy, but a right image silently and inexorably pulls us into its field of reality, which is also a field of energy.

Eugene H. Peterson, Under The Unpredicatable Plant, p.6

edward shillito: jesus of the scars

If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;
Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;
We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow,
We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.

The heavens frighten us; they are too calm;
In all the universe we have no place.
Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?
Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars we claim Thy grace.

If, when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near,
Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;
We know today what wounds are, have no fear;
Show us Thy Scars, we know the countersign.

The other gods were strong, but Thou wast weak;
They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne;
But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,
And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.

the great songs (xvi) - the scientist

I know Coldplay come in for a lot of (sometimes deserved) criticism - taking themselves too seriously, overblown and underwhelming. But when they get it right, musically and lyrically, they get it well right.

The Scientist doesn't need much explanation, nor commendation; it's qualities shine through from first hearing onwards. It's simple, yet not simplistic. It is heartfelt, yet without angst. And the singing is probably Chris Martin's best.

Questions of science
Science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart

So: enjoy.

the great songs (xv) - i want you to be my love

This song is deceptively simple and potentially inconsequential. It doesn't mean to deceive; it isn't a set-up or a falsification. But it will only really make its presence deeply felt in the light of what preceded it: the breaking-point marital tension of Ohio. You can read about the trauma here but you'll only feel it by listening (without company) to Ohio.

And then coming to I Want You To Be My Love becomes what it always was for its makers: fresh, vibrant satisfaction in the solidarity of tested love.

the great songs (xiv) - and i love her

Well, who would have thought this would have been the first Beatles track to feature on these lists? Many others could have been chosen (Hey Jude is almost without peer). But a choice is made and it is this. You could do yourself a favour and buy A Hard Day's Night; then you'll not only get this superb McCartney love song but more fab songs than you can shake one of Ringo's drumsticks at.

And I Love Her is a simple enough song but that's probably its greatest asset. As simple as, say, Here, There & Everywhere (on Revolver) but this has something extra. Being in love can be a hugely difficult thing; songs like this are what blokes like me have always needed in traversing those choppy seas.

One particular memory is stirred by this song: lying awake in my room at college, late at night, early months of 1982, listening in the dark to Radio 2 (probably dear old Brian Matthews) and they played this song. In the stillness of the night, its simple purity struck me for the first time. But not the last.

the great songs (xiii) - the winner takes it all

There was a time when I would never have admitted to having a song like this in amongst my favourite tracks...but no longer. August 1980 was a halcyon month in the charts - ABBA and David Bowie vying for the number 1 slot with this song and Ashes to Ashes respectively before The Jam took over in early September with Start! Heady days, if we had but known it.

The Winner Takes It All famously documents the marriage breakdowns within the band (although they denied it was quite so explicit). In doing so, they crafted the perfect pop song: great melodies (as ever), perfect singing, lyrics that resonate with people like us, a video that laid bare the emotional traumas being sung and the final, desperate vulnerability in the singing of the lines,

I apologise if it makes you feel bad,
seeing me so tense, no self-confidence
but, you see, the winner takes it all.

ABBA were a great gift in the 70s and early days of the 80s.

the great songs (xii) - raise the roof

I could have populated this list with a number of songs by Everything But The Girl (possibly Apron Strings or maybe Mirrorball or Flipside) but I'm going to go for one of Tracey Thorn's solo offerings, Raise The Roof (off her 2007 album Out Of The Woods). Again, she could have featured more than once on this list - I have an intense love for Too Happy, the song that closed her short-but-sweet debut solo 1982 album A Distant Shore.

But I've chosen this one because of its instantaneous impact, the infectious beat and the (as always) gorgeous singing - it's got it all really. A song that guarantees I'll be dancing round the kitchen. Play it loud!

Put the music on
put the music on
put the music on
they all wanna dance....

And you do it with love!

I guess I ought to apologise to the kitchen.

Mary Oliver: Ocean

I am in love with Ocean
lifting her thousands of white hats
in the chop of the storm,
or lying smooth and blue, the
loveliest bed in the world.
In the personal life, there is

always grief more than enough,
a heart-load for each one of us
on the dusty road. I suppose
there is a reason for this, so I will be
patient, acquiescent. But I will live
nowhere except here, by Ocean, trusting
equally in all the blast and welcome
of her sorrowless, salt self.


(from Red Bird, p.15)

dilemma

if a poem
is a
work
of art

and i write
a poem
but don't
work

on it,
shaping, sieving, splicing;

does that mean
it is simply

art?

the great songs (xi) - tears in heaven

It's only recently that I've come to appreciate Eric Clapton - in particular, his albums Slowhand and 461 Ocean Boulevard are hugely enjoyable and full of class. This song is not his usual milieu but is worthy of any list.

The background to the song is well-known (the death of his young son in an accident) and it may well be that such a harrowing genesis puts the listener in a difficult position: to dismiss the song could be thought heartless, and to enjoy it, macabre. In that way it bears some resemblance to Yoko Ono's work Season Of Glass.

Well, it isn't enjoyable and it ought not to be dismissed. It is harrowing and painful. It asks profoundly difficult questions. Isn't that what music ought to do, if it is being honest? This is not art as artifice; it is the expression of life on fetid ground, within a stained cosmos and in search of genuine hope.

The question, 'Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?' is heavy with pathos; how could a parent bear an answer that was negative? And his observation, 'I know I don't belong here in heaven', is searing. Why not? Because your life is not yet ended? Or because it is a place of innocence and innocents and you know you're neither? It is a comment that ought to compell all gospel servants to stand alongside the broken and lost.

Too profound for a list like this.

Too important not to be on it.

two new books

I know, this seems to go against what I blogged a few weeks back - I'd only buy a new book when I'd finished three old ones. But who's to say I haven't just finished six books that were already on my shelf? Prove me wrong if you can....

Anyway, I'm 'fessin up to the following new books and will try to write mini-reviews in due course.

Darkness is my only companion - Kathryn Greene-McCreight (subtitled: A Christian Response To Mental Illness)

The God I Don't Understand - Christopher J h Wright

Worth checking out, methinks.

thhe great songs (x) - thrasher

Agricultural mechanisation as metaphor for the challenge of time and change in personal relationships? It could only be Neil Young.

His 1979 offering, Rust Never Sleeps, marries one side of acoustic material with one side of full-out rock. It opens and closes with the same track, giving the album its thematic cohesion but the two tracks that ultimately define the album and corral its essence are Thrasher (acoustic) and Powderfinger (electric). Both are worthy of appearing in this list (and checking-out on Spotify) but the former will have to suffice.

Many have seen references in the song to Young's relationship with the other members of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and it's hard not to see their shadows in its lines:

I searched out my companions
who were lost in crystal canyons,
when the aimless blade of science
slashed the pearly gates.
It was then that I knew I'd had enough
burned my credit card for fuel;
headed-out to where the pavement turns to sand.
With a one-way ticket to the land of truth
and my suitcase in my hand
how I lost my friends
I still don't understand.
They had the best selection;
they were poisoned with protection.
There was nothing that they needed,
nothing left to find.
They were lost in rock formations
or became park bench mutations;
on the sidewalks and in the stations
they were waiting, waiting.
So I got bored and left them there;
they were just dead weight to me.
Bbetter down the road
without that load.

And yet the song is not merely personal; the metaphors work well and burrow deep. Time works ravages - for persons and societies. Not all progress is really so. And a day will come when hands will be raised, no longer in resistance and yet not in surrender; rather, they will be raised one final time to herald the end with dignity:

And when the thrasher comes
I'll be stuck in the sun,
like the dinosaurs in shrines.
But I'll know the time has come
to give what's mine.

A long, rambling song, fit for a long and rambling life. Long may you run, Neil.

again: Mam