Committed Critic

This is the transcript of a sermon I preached April 27 at Brookline Church of Christ in Brookline, MA. The text (which I read aloud before the sermon) is Acts 17:16-34.

OUR SOCIETY

Paul’s sermon in Athens is unique in Acts because of how far Paul goes to relate to his Greek audience. Paul is famous for saying (in 1 Cor 9:22) that he became all things to all people in order to save some, and today’s reading is the perfect example of that: Paul would ordinarily quote the OT, but here he’s in Athens, so he quotes a Greek writer instead, to try to tap into a tradition they would listen to. Paul needs to find a place for the God of Israel that’s somehow above the Greek pantheon (of Zeus, Hera, and Athena), so he turns to one of their own altars, which is inscribed, “to an unknown god.”

The word there for unknown is “agnostic,” which I think makes it very easy to connect the story with our society. Americans, on the whole, aren’t particularly atheists or polytheists—so most of us have something in us that insists there is a God, but we don’t tend to buy into stories about different Gods with different personalities. Instead, Americans are likely to sort of half-heartedly buy into the idea of an agnostic God that’s basically like the god the Athenians built the altar for.

I think even a lot of folks who attend church are basically agnostic, which is to say they aren’t particularly confident that God is any one way rather than some other way. My sense is, it’s pretty common for American Christians to stay in the tradition they were raised in, even if they stop believing that the Bible’s description of God is particularly more accurate or more true than any other religion. In others words, if you’re an agnostic who isn’t really sure who God is, but you still want to worship God, then whatever religion is comfortable is probably as good as any other. This actually makes a lot of sense: if you’re convinced that no one religion has a particular monopoly on divine revelation, then it’s not as if you could just keep looking until you found the right one. So you either stay where you are, or else you find a church where you feel comfortable, and you go with it.

PAUL IN ATHENS

But, turning back to Paul, we find that he’s not content to leave the agnostic god unknown. So he says to the Athenians: “What you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you.”

Paul gave his sermon in front of a group of philosophers in Athens—some of them were probably careful thinkers, and some of them were probably sloppy, but the important thing is that they wanted to think about who God is. So a big part of what I want to deal with today is the relationship between what we think about God, and what the Bible and the Christian tradition proclaim about God. Paul is going to use people’s ideas about God, and he’s going to say they have some truth, but he’s also going to say that human ideas about God aren’t enough if we don’t also have the proclamation—something that God reveals to us. So even though I can’t prove Christianity, I can say with confidence that Paul is claiming here that God can be known, that agnostic faith is insufficient—for us and for God. My goal here is to get at what that means for us.

If we look at Paul’s short sermon, about half of what he says about God is the things we can’t know, which leaves God still looking pretty agnostic: God doesn’t live in earthly temples, God is not like hand-made idols, and the nations are left groping in the dark trying to find him.

Most of the things that Paul does say about God are very general: God made the earth, made humanity, and appointed the times and places of the course of the nations. So we might say that God is (1) the beginning of all things, and (2) the sustainer of all things—which, interestingly, are two points that the philosophers in the crowd, the Stoics and Epicureans, would have fought over. These are also two points that lots of people in our world disagree about: Did God create the world, or did it come about by chance? Does God work in the world, or are our lives left up to chance? A lot of times, this breaks down to the argument between evangelical Christians and secular humanists, although I’d guess that most everyone has some opinion on the subject. This is a debate now, and it was a debate then, and Paul probably found a lot of allies in the crowd he was preaching to — at least as long as he stayed with the usual philosophical debates that the people in Athens were accustomed to.

But then Paul gets more specific and introduces the God of Israel. This is something the people of Athens weren’t so used to, and it came with a big catch: God wasn’t just an idea to be argued about, but Paul said that God was doing something new in their own time, and making a demand on the people who heard the sermon. God was calling everyone to repent, because soon the world would be judged by Christ. And Paul goes on: we have evidence, he says, that Christ is the one who will judge: because God raised him from the dead.

The Greeks tended to believe that the human soul was immortal, but they were happy to leave the body behind after death. So the Jewish idea of bodily resurrection from the dead — of dead corpses actually climbing up out of their graves — was not plausible or appealing. This may be why Paul says in 1 Corinthians that the cross is foolishness to the Greeks, and it’s certainly why Acts 17:32 says that some of Paul’s audience in Athens scoffed at his sermon. For most of them, the idea of God raising Christ from the dead was ridiculous — not just because of some skepticism about miracles, but because the resurrection didn’t really make sense to them.

What I’m getting at is that there’s a big difference between talking in generalities about the kind of God that philosophers discuss, and talking specifically about the God who reveals himself. There is a big difference between describing how God tends to act, and describing something specific that God has done. And above all, there’s a big difference between describing the kinds of ethical demands that are consistent with a good God, and proclaiming the call for repentance that God is issuing to the world right now.

I want to start with a fairly general point Paul is making here in Acts 17, and then build on it from some of Paul’s letters and the rest of the New Testament. Paul doesn’t say much about Christ here — and in fact he doesn’t even mention him by name — but Jesus is still there at the climax of the message.

So looking at the sermon, Paul claims that he’s going to tell the Athenians who the unknown God is, and it seems to me that he makes three basic points, what we might call the beginning, the middle, and the end: God created the world, God directs the times and places of the nations, and God has appointed Christ to judge the world on the last day. So God is the beginning of all things, and God is the sustainer of all things, but Christ is the end of all things.

NEW TESTAMENT CHRISTOLOGY

This is where I want break away from Acts for awhile, and consider what it means for Christ to stand at the climax of Paul’s sermon. As a modern person trying to figure out who God is, this is what jumps out at me from the sermon: If Jews from Israel and at least some Greeks from Athens can agree that God created the world, and that God cares for creation, then Christ is the unique and surprising part of the sermon. The outline of the sermon matches Paul’s outline of history: the beginning, the middle, and the end, describe the three parts of God’s work in the world: creation, providence, and judgment. The beginning and the middle of the sermon are points that Paul could expect to find some of the philosophers in the crowd to generally agree with him about, but the mention of Christ at the end is the place where the sermon takes its own turn.

I want to expand a little bit here on who Christ is and what he teaches us, which means I’m going to spread out from our text in Acts, to Paul’s letters and the rest of the NT. One of the most important points of theology, in the NT, is that the God who was unknown to the people of Athens, makes himself known in Jesus Christ.

Some places this is very simple and explicit, like in John, when Jesus says, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” But it goes beyond that. Jesus’ ministry began and ended with the God of Israel, the things God had done for them, and the promises God had made to them.

Part of my goal here is to contrast the God of Israel with the God of the philosophers. But I also have to admit that the Jews who wrote the OT were thinkers too, even if they weren’t exactly philosophers like the Greeks. Depending on how you read it, the OT can look a lot like a book of ideas, written by people who were trying to figure out who God is, a lot like the Greeks were.

Yet at the end of the day, the prophets also have a lot of oracles which simply claim, “Thus says the Lord,” and that kind of revelation is something that goes beyond philosophical arguments. Then we come to the NT, which insists that those oracles and promises are ultimately fulfilled in Christ. That means that if we want to know the unknown God, we have to look at what God has revealed, in both the OT and the NT. The OT tells us how God revealed himself to Israel, and it also tells us the promises God gave to Israel—which are also promises for us. In the NT, we are told how Christ reveals the Father to us more fully, and also how he fulfills the promises God has already given to Israel.

I think the key to NT theology is something that Paul says in 2 Corinthians 1:20: “In Christ, every one of God’s promises is a ‘yes’” (NRSV). Paul doesn’t explain exactly what that means, but it becomes pretty clear when we start looking at the NT, and how it explains who Jesus was and what he did. As it turns out, you can pick virtually any major motif or figure from the OT, and there will be a passage somewhere in the NT that explains how it finds its fulfillment in Jesus. And just as before, this is true for beginning, middle, and end, past, present, and future. So looking at the OT, Jesus reenacts the major ways that God delivered Israel in the past, he fills every office of leader that the OT describes for the present, and he fulfills God’s promises to deliver Israel in the future.

In fact, you can basically walk through the OT looking for major themes, and each one of them has a matching NT passage that tells how Christ fulfills it:

• God creates the world? Paul tells us in Colossians that it was through Jesus that all things in heaven and on earth were created.
• Adam’s transgression brings death into the world? Paul tells us that Jesus became the New Adam, overcoming death for us.
• Abraham receives God promise to bless the world through his seed? Paul tells us that his seed was Christ, the blessing to the gentiles.
• God the Divine Warrior battles Pharaoh for the children of Israel? Revelation tells us that Christ will become the divine warrior, when he returns to bring vengeance on the wicked.
• For the first passover, the children of Israel sacrifice a lamb to protect their homes from the angel of death? Paul tells us that Christ is our Passover lamb, who has been sacrificed.
• Moses is sent by God to bring Israel out of Egypt and give them the law on Mount Sinai? In Matthew, Christ is the new Moses, who leads his people out of slavery, stands on the side of a mountain, and delivers a new law.
• In the wilderness, Israel endures 40 years of testing? The Gospels tell us that Jesus went into the wilderness for 40 days, where he overcame the tests that Satan put before him.
• God sent Manna, the bread of heaven, to feed Israel in the wilderness? In John, Jesus tells us that he is the bread that comes down from heaven to feed God’s people.
• Moses lifts up a bronze serpent in the wilderness to save the people from snakebites? In John, Jesus is the one who is lifted up to give salvation.
• In the tabernacle, the High Priest of Israel makes atonement for the people in the Holy of Holies? Hebrews says that Jesus is our High Priest, who makes atonement with his own blood.
• David served as the anointed king of Israel, whose descendant would be the Messiah who would deliver Israel from its enemies? Jesus is that Messiah, who delivers Israel from their sins.
• Proverbs describes Wisdom as the first creation of God, through which he created the world? John tells us that Christ is the divine word of wisdom, who was already there with God, and through whom the world was created.
• Elijah the great signs prophet uses God’s power to heal and do miracles? Jesus becomes that kind of prophet, also healing and doing miracles.
• Isaiah and the other great preaching prophets proclaim God’s demand for social justice in Israel? Jesus defends the widows, befriends the tax collectors, and preaches the good news to the poor.
• The Suffering servant in Isaiah will take the sins of the people upon himself? 1 Peter tells us how Jesus becomes the suffering servant and submits himself to the crucifixion.
• Jeremiah and Ezekiel describe a new covenant, where God will empower his people through the Holy Spirit? Jesus seals the new covenant with his own blood, and then sends the Spirit as a guide.
• Daniel describes how one like a Son of Man will rise up to rule the nations and bring justice to the earth? Jesus is that Son of Man, who will rule and judge the nations on the last day.
• And finally, the resurrection is described in Daniel, when the righteous people who die will be raised on the last day? Jesus is the Resurrection and the life, the firstfruits from among the dead.

We see a pretty obvious pattern start to show up: like Paul said, the promises of God are “yes” in Christ. These claims are not the arguments of philosophers, even though a lot of thought obviously went in to all these NT passages. These passages are more specific than the generalities that philosophers deal with, and this promise of salvation is more than a person could figure out just by looking at the world.

CONCLUSIONS

So as a theology student, I’m torn: the grad student in me feels most comfortable talking about the philosopher’s God — which I think includes a lot of truth about God, and in fact Paul preaches in Athens that their philosophers have things partly right. The philosopher’s God is very appealing to worship, because he makes sense, and he’s attractive to outsiders when we try to give a defense for the hope we have, like our 1 Peter reading says.

But Paul refuses to stop with the philosopher’s God — it’s too general. For Paul, and throughout the NT, you don’t really know God until you see him as revealed in Jesus Christ. Our groping in the darkness can show us that God created the world, and that he works for the good of humanity, but we must turn to the Old Testament to see how God has actually acted to save his people in the past, and how God has promised to save his people in the future. This kind of salvation is not designed to be inferred by philosophers; instead, it rests on God’s faithfulness to specific promises.

Christ, according to the New Testament, reenacts the saving deeds of God from the past, he takes on the role of the Savior sent from God in the present, and his resurrection gives us assurance of God’s ultimate salvation in the future. As much as we can use philosophy and academic language to describe Jesus—and in fact, that’s my job as a grad student—what’s really important about him is not the ideas about him, but the fact of his life and the reality of what he did, and the hope he offers for what he will do.

Resurrection, for Paul, is not an idea, but an historical event—both when Jesus was raised, and when we will be raised. Repentance is not just an ethical scheme based on theological arguments; instead, it’s a direct warning from God that the world will end at an appointed time, and that we will be judged by Jesus.

So then, the Gospel of Christ is not designed just to be something we find interesting, or something we may wish to hear more about at some point in the future. The people in Athens who say this, that they want to hear more, but not right now, are missing the point if they think that Paul’s ideas are merely something new and interesting that they can think about. At least the ones who scoff show that they’ve understood Paul’s message, and they know they want to reject it. For the rest of us, we might not be convinced at the first hearing, but that shouldn’t lull us into being content in our agnosticism. Hearing the Gospel is meant to push us toward responding.

We can doubt whether the Gospel is true or not — whether or not God really did raise Jesus Christ from the dead — but the NT does everything it can to confute anyone who would claim that the time for repentance simply hasn’t come yet. If there’s one thing we are meant to learn from the New Testament, and all those examples that I listed earlier, it’s that salvation is now, present in Christ. This is why the NT tells us that Jesus is the embodiment of virtually every kind of salvation you can find in the OT and in the Jewish tradition: Salvation belongs to the Lord, and it is revealed in Christ. If you were waiting for salvation — any kind of salvation — there’s nothing else that you’ve been waiting for.

There’s a Rich Mullins song that says, “To say the time is short, just means the time is now.” The Christian claim is that all salvation is present in Jesus Christ, and the implication is that God will no longer overlook ignorance of who God really is. It’s as if God is saying, “If you don’t find salvation in Christ, then you don’t really want what I have to offer anyway.”

So philosophers can spend their time thinking, and create ideas about immortal souls if they want to, but there’s really nothing in our experience that tells us we should expect that. People might see ghosts, or they might have experiences of communicating with the dead — so it’s easy to see why people assume there is something after death, but a lot of us aren’t completely convinced those stories are true, and even if they are, they’re difficult to nail down or understand exactly — they’re not exactly the kind of thing you want to base your hope on. People might have general ideas about spirituality and morality, but those aren’t real reasons for hope. Our experience of the world is ultimately that everyone dies.

The only salvation there is to be had beyond the grave is resurrection in Christ, and we have a real reason to believe it: the tomb was empty, and witnesses saw Jesus show up, talk with them, and eat food. We still might doubt whether those stories is true, or whether something else could have happened to Jesus’ body, but at the end of the day, the Christian Gospel is more than just a philosophical argument — and for me, at least, that makes all the difference. Salvation is not an idea or an inference, but rather a gift that will be given on some real last day, to those who withstand judgment before Christ. This, Paul proclaims, is simply what will happen.

So what we’re faced with is fundamentally different than a set of ideas we need to consider. It’s certainly more than just a theological scheme for us to find interesting, even though the NT is full of fascinating theological ideas. But what we’re faced with is the reality of a judgment, and Paul’s sermon is not just calling us to understand or agree — it’s calling us to act, which means to repent and prepare for a real day that will come, whether we believe it or not.

Most of us here today are already Christians, but I think Paul’s sermon can challenge us to consider whether we’re still worshipping the unknown God they worshipped in Athens, or whether we’re preparing ourselves for a meeting with the living, revealed God of Israel, who we see in Jesus Christ. And as interesting as all this might be, the interesting ideas aren’t really the point. What we’re being called to should probably be the same thing that Paul was calling the Athenians to: not just to understand or believe, but to repent.

Ten years ago today, Rich Mullins died in a car wreck at the age of forty-one.

Some might remember that my first post when I started this blog last year quoted a Rich Mullins song, and I’ve mentioned him often enough that Matt has even poked a little fun for it.

I have a lot of reasons for loving Mullins. The poetry of his songs moves me in a way unlike the work of any other musician, and as a theologian I find him to be a kindred spirit. I believe the values he embodied reflect the way of Jesus unlike anyone I know personally, and I aspire (perhaps unrealistically) to model my life after his. He’s my hero.

Stories about Mullins’ life have grown into legend, but really they’re plausible enough. They’re just not common.

His hero was Saint Francis of Assisi, who started a religious order known for its vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Mullins and his best friend Beaker started a sort of religious order of their own that they called the Kid Brothers of St. Frank. Their first goal was to follow Francis’ vow of poverty, which they interpreted as a life of simplicity, and a practice of sharing, almost indiscriminately.

As a result, Mullins redirected all his money through his accountant, who paid him an annual allowance of $24,000. The rest went to Mullins’ church, to the other Kid Brothers of St. Frank, or to people he encountered in need.

He also decided that God would have him use his musical gifts for something more than the Christian music industry, so in the middle of his recording career, he went back to college as a 34-year-old to earn a degree in music education. In the last years of his life, Mullins moved to a Navajo reservation in New Mexico to teach music to the kids there.

He was the best kind of idealist: he structured his entire life so that he would live out his ideals rather than just talking about them.

Ragamuffins

Mullins took the word Ragamuffin (from a book by Brennan Manning) as the name of his band, and their performances suited their name. While Mullins’ studio albums are polished enough, recordings of the Ragamuffins’ live performances reflect a mismatched group of musicians for whom community appears to have been more important than precision.

Mullins would even say in concert that he disliked anything that was too perfect, and that instead the mess of life (and, to a degree, music) is what makes it interesting.

In the end, I think he was just too passionate about his music and his message to care much for precision. He was shamelessly sentimental at times, both about life and about God, but that just reflected who he was at his core: a poet.

Maybe the thing that makes Mullins unique among popular Christian musicians is that his lyrics are so relentlessly human. He may be sentimental when he talks about God, but he is rarely simply pious. His music is compelling for me because he was utterly genuine: his non-conformity was grounded in his passion, not in a bid to attract listeners.

The lyrics I want to quote are from a song that hardly mentions God at all. Mullins died single, but at one point he was engaged to be married, before the relationship apparently fell apart.

He recounts his pain with striking passion:

Another hour deeper in the night,
Another mile farther down the road.
A man can drive as hard as he can drive
And never get as far as his heart was meant to go…

Another tune forms in my head
More harmonies, more empty words.
Oh, I could play these songs ’til I was dead
And never approach the sound that I once heard.

I remember when I was just a kid,
Listening in the sky,
Believing that the wind would stir…

Maybe she could come to Wichita
And maybe we could borrow Beaker’s bike,
Let the road-wind tie our hair in knots
And let the speed and the freedom untangle the lies

Maybe fear can vanish before love
Oh God, don’t let this love be denied––

’Cause I know the river is deep,
I found out that the currents are tricky.
And I know the river is wide,
And the currents are strong.

And I could lose every dream
I dreamt that I could carry with me.
But I will reach the other side.

Please don’t let me have to wait too long.

While I love including long quotations like this (hopefully you all will humor me), this has been a difficult post for me to write. It’s not that I’m particularly emotional about the anniversary–I didn’t really even know who Mullins was until a couple of years after he died. But even though I’ve been planning on writing this post for at least a couple of weeks, I can’t seem to capture who he was, and that’s frustrating.

I recently bought a book about Mullins called An Arrow Pointing to Heaven: A Devotional Biography; it has a lot of great material, but it is poorly written and also frustrating. (The author uses lots of quotations from Mullins, but then he explains them all with what amount to tedious paraphrases of the quotations that were clear enough already.)

It makes sense that a book (or a blog post) would only poorly capture the work of a musician, and frustration is a fitting emotion for describing Mullins’ legacy: he lived a life of pain wrapped up in a desperate desire to serve God, and the rest of us are left frustrated by his early death, wishing he could have gone on writing and recording.

I wish I could convince everyone reading this to appreciate Mullins’ music the way I do, but I know I can’t, so I won’t bother with any links. You can type his name into youtube and watch some concert clips, but he can be off-putting at times, and in any event no one of the clips will do justice to the complexity of his person and his music.

Still, this is a man who is worthy of being remembered and honored, so I’ve done what I can.

Before I go on to the other theological texts that use the Genesis 1 creation story, I want to tabernacle, so to speak, among the readers of John 1 for a time. In particular, I want to quote excerpts from a pair of songs by contemporary Christian musicians that take John 1 as their starting point. (I have to say at the outset that most CCM artists are awful, but these two have real substance, in my opinion.)

The first is a song by Michael Card, called “The Final Word” (Card, above left, also wrote “El Shaddai”):

You and me we use
so very many clumsy words.
The noise of what we often say
is not worth being heard.
When the Father’s Wisdom wanted
to communicate His love,
He spoke it in one final perfect Word.He spoke the Incarnation
and then so was born the Son.
His final word was Jesus,
He needed no other one.
Spoke flesh and blood so He could bleed
and make a way Divine.
And so was born the baby
who would die to make it mine.

And so the Father’s fondest thought
took on flesh and bone.
He spoke the living luminous Word,
at once His will was done.
And so the transformation
that in man had been unheard
Took place in God the Father
as He spoke that final Word.

The second song, by Rich Mullins, is called “It Don’t Do” (Mullins, above right, also wrote “Awesome God”):

It don’t do to preach the gospel
If you don’t live the Christian life
It don’t do to dream about heaven
If you never look up and see the skyIt don’t do to preach on Matthew
If you have not yet read Mark
It don’t do to scream about the judgment
If there is no love in your heart

It don’t do to preach on Moses
If you bow down to the golden calf
It don’t do to think about glory
If you never dare to laugh

Word became flesh and He dwelt among men
He let us see Him with our eyes
He let us hold Him in our hands
And before you say whatever you will
I think you better do the best that you can
Or it won’t do

Now, as far as these two artists go, I should note up front that Michael Card is probably the squarest musician I’ve ever heard, and (the late) Rich Mullins could push mushy sentimentality to its very limits. However, both know the Bible, both exhibit thoughtful theology in their lyrics, and both (as far as I can tell) lack the kind of pretension that makes Christian rock music look so silly sometimes. Card approaches John 1 as a theologian, Mullins as a preacher.

Card, though he perhaps conflates John with the other gospels, does a pretty straightforward interpretation of the text; his language is fresh enough to help us see the text as we may not have seen it, and yet the point his song makes is essentially the same as the point of John’s gospel.

Card often uses his music to teach, and in this case he presents a clear explanation of a theological truth in terms of the scriptural text it comes from. For my tastes, his language is too obvious to be good art, but then his audience is the generation before mine, and his prioritization of clarity above art seems intentional. In any event, I appreciate the clarity with which he communicates one of the messages of John 1 here.

Mullins does something more interesting in my opinion, first of all by bringing in 1 John 1, a passage closely related to John 1:

That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have handled, concerning the word of life –– indeed, life was revealed, and we have seen and we (now) testify and proclaim to you the eternal life which was with the Father and which was revealed to us. That which we have seen and heard, we (now) are proclaiming also to you, so that you, too, may have fellowship with us.

It isn’t entirely clear if 1 John intended for the “word” to refer to Jesus in the same way the Gospel of John did, but it is a reasonable interpretation, and so Mullins pulls them together to make his point.

The point, which Mullins of course makes more effectively with his lyrics than I can with my words here, is that God did not remain in heaven and speak words only at a distance. Rather, in Jesus Christ, God’s word became flesh (John 1) so that we could see it up close and handle it (1 John 1). So in a sense, God put his money where his mouth was, not asking anything of humanity that he would not do himself.

But Mullins does not stop with that theological claim; instead, he suggests that God’s action in the incarnation puts a claim on us as Christians. Because God’s word became flesh, our own words (of testimony, see 1 John 1) must become flesh too, in our actions.

Mullins plays (as John did) off the multiple meanings of “word,” linking it to our common experience of knowing (and being) Christians who speak far too many words with far too few actions. But instead of repeating, say, the cliché that we should practice what we preach, Mullins couches the plea in the terms of a pair of unexpected scriptural texts. This catches our attention with an unexpected challenge coming from a familiar text, and at the same time it enriches our reading of Scripture by suggesting connections we may not have seen before.

Scripture and Song as Theology

One reason I’m writing on these two songs is that good Christian music (whether CCM or church hymns) often does the same thing that Scripture does: it uses accepted traditions in creative ways to move us and motivate us, and in many cases it builds new theological truths that either were not present, or else were not apparent, in the originals.

To put it plainly, Michael Card and Rich Mullins are doing roughly the same thing John did. While Christians typically believe John’s text is inspired in a more profound sense than the works of modern musicians, nevertheless there should be a certain consistency in the way we listen to both kinds of “texts.” In both cases, we not only should learn from what we hear; we also should enjoy it. Scripture is not only revelation but also art.

It is my impression that God intends for us, at the same time that we believe in and obey Scripture, to appreciate it as something beautiful he has given us through the creativity of people created in his image.

I’ll open my first post with my favorite song lyrics:

We are frail, we are fearfully and wonderfully made,
Forged in the fires of human passion,
Choking on the fumes of selfish rage.
And with these, our hells and our heavens, so few inches apart,
We must be awfully small
And not as strong as we think we are.

With all due respect to Rich’s insight, right now I think there is perhaps no greater indication of how small and weak humans really are than how much our perception of a situation can change based on a little stress or a single night’s sleep. Maybe I’ll post again in the morning.