"Since reason already convinces me that I should abstain from the belief in things which are not entirely certain and indubitable no less carefully than from those which appear to me to be manifestly false, it will be enough to make me reject them all if I can find in each some ground for doubt." -Rene Descartes
His bright and focused eyes surveyed the classroom before him as he spoke. I don't think any of us were really comfortable. Three weeks earlier, I met this man for the first time, and spotted on a shelf in his office a copy of Die Heileger Schrift, --the German Bible. Something else about him that had caught my eye--he'd that living spark-- that life behind the eyes that reveals a vivacious mind, sharp and pugnacious. I noticed it again now. Bearing a Ph.d. in the study of the history and literature of ancient Israel was part of his title, and this did not come as a surprise. As a class, we were discussing a book on biblical scholarship, a controversial reading assignment given the week before.
The energy level in the room rose, and I was clearly not the only one who had felt displaced by our reading. Discussion progressed: "You cannot prove God," the professor said in seriousness, but with what seemed to me to be a bit of a sparkle in his eye. Students asked tense questions, ending successively further and further away from the answers they had hoped for. Ordinarily, the opinions of a professor matter little to me...unless of course the individual happens to have a sound (and valid) case.
He did.
I struggled inside... the intensity of the last week combined with unanswered questions which plagued my mind. The class was restless; I sat still in my chair intently and hung on his words. More questions erupted; I remained quiet. I began to pray. My prayer was a proud one, and also fairly stupid, but it was honest. My vision began to blur as I silently asked without words, "God, oh God please... help me not to cry."
After class, I walked to the student center, mostly deserted that time of day. Finding a seat as far away as I could from the few students who were there, I sat down, and the light from the eastern window at my side poured over me. The morning sun unleashed the auburn in my hair, and for a few minutes I sat still, taking in the color and the scene. The best thing I have found about having long hair is the way it can drape beside my face, concealing it from view. A curtain, it did so now, and in this privacy, suppressed tears began to form, large and spherical, running smoothly down my face. In the silence, I picked up my pen and began to write.
My prayer the last week had been to find something real, some reason that was sure of, that I might still "believe." I was resolved not deny my God, not after the way He has transformed me, not after what He has done to give me life. But my mind insisted upon reasons ruthlessly, and I was forced to suspend my disbelief. For those of you who have experienced this, you already know that the pull between these conflicting realities feels strong enough to tear apart a soul. Reason has always been paramount to my faith journey--I became a Christian at age fifteen. The study of cosmology and a layman's introduction to astrophysics were instrumental in softening my aversion to the idea of God's existence. Issues concerning the validity of the Bible (the account by which we know of God's interaction with the people of Israel and the life and death of Christ, teachings of the early church, etc.) are of life litterally of life and death importance to me.
I thought of this as I wrote. And so I began to write a history, my history. And therein the description of the last three and a half years of my life, without "vain philosophies," and away from lengthly unstable proofs, I found an evidence to me far more compelling than any dried idea. In that process of examination, what I was searching for was unveiled.
Alles klar, Gott. Danke, alles klar.
Solio Deo Gloria.
Glory be to God.
His bright and focused eyes surveyed the classroom before him as he spoke. I don't think any of us were really comfortable. Three weeks earlier, I met this man for the first time, and spotted on a shelf in his office a copy of Die Heileger Schrift, --the German Bible. Something else about him that had caught my eye--he'd that living spark-- that life behind the eyes that reveals a vivacious mind, sharp and pugnacious. I noticed it again now. Bearing a Ph.d. in the study of the history and literature of ancient Israel was part of his title, and this did not come as a surprise. As a class, we were discussing a book on biblical scholarship, a controversial reading assignment given the week before.
The energy level in the room rose, and I was clearly not the only one who had felt displaced by our reading. Discussion progressed: "You cannot prove God," the professor said in seriousness, but with what seemed to me to be a bit of a sparkle in his eye. Students asked tense questions, ending successively further and further away from the answers they had hoped for. Ordinarily, the opinions of a professor matter little to me...unless of course the individual happens to have a sound (and valid) case.
He did.
I struggled inside... the intensity of the last week combined with unanswered questions which plagued my mind. The class was restless; I sat still in my chair intently and hung on his words. More questions erupted; I remained quiet. I began to pray. My prayer was a proud one, and also fairly stupid, but it was honest. My vision began to blur as I silently asked without words, "God, oh God please... help me not to cry."
After class, I walked to the student center, mostly deserted that time of day. Finding a seat as far away as I could from the few students who were there, I sat down, and the light from the eastern window at my side poured over me. The morning sun unleashed the auburn in my hair, and for a few minutes I sat still, taking in the color and the scene. The best thing I have found about having long hair is the way it can drape beside my face, concealing it from view. A curtain, it did so now, and in this privacy, suppressed tears began to form, large and spherical, running smoothly down my face. In the silence, I picked up my pen and began to write.
My prayer the last week had been to find something real, some reason that was sure of, that I might still "believe." I was resolved not deny my God, not after the way He has transformed me, not after what He has done to give me life. But my mind insisted upon reasons ruthlessly, and I was forced to suspend my disbelief. For those of you who have experienced this, you already know that the pull between these conflicting realities feels strong enough to tear apart a soul. Reason has always been paramount to my faith journey--I became a Christian at age fifteen. The study of cosmology and a layman's introduction to astrophysics were instrumental in softening my aversion to the idea of God's existence. Issues concerning the validity of the Bible (the account by which we know of God's interaction with the people of Israel and the life and death of Christ, teachings of the early church, etc.) are of life litterally of life and death importance to me.
I thought of this as I wrote. And so I began to write a history, my history. And therein the description of the last three and a half years of my life, without "vain philosophies," and away from lengthly unstable proofs, I found an evidence to me far more compelling than any dried idea. In that process of examination, what I was searching for was unveiled.
Alles klar, Gott. Danke, alles klar.
Solio Deo Gloria.
Glory be to God.
posted by melissa at 21:23
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