Character matters, but intimacy with God matters more. It is better to know God as sovereign and gracious amidst one’s brokenness than to have a strong ethical character that might tempt one to neglect God all together. In this instance the person of good character will have exalted his character to the point that he cannot see God at the root of his good character. Moreover, such a person will not be able to readily discern his own defects of character, as being distant from God would impair his ability to see how good Goodness actually is.

At the root of genuinely good character is humility, which quite simply is the ability of the soul to see clearly. Knowing this is critical, because in apparent contradiction to what I said above, the ability to worship God is intimately wedded to the goodness of one’s character, but such a character, without humility is like the whitewash on the tomb of dead men’s bones. A person who has been endowed by God with a strong will, the ability to discipline oneself, and deny oneself for the sake of a higher cause, and yet who does not acknowledge God at the root of his strong character is blind. Instead, such a one is likely to view himself as the product of his own doing, and will assert himself as a standard against which he will inevitably judge others. The irony of this is that such a good person could never be good in the fullest sense of the word, for good is defined by the qualities we see in God, and God is compassionate, and redeeming.   Such a person could never function as an agent of redemption, for redemption requires healing at the roots, and such a person is cut off from the root.

So, perhaps the crux of the matter is that a proud person with good character is at risk of having his good character undermined by his pride. His pride, being essentially a distorted vision of himself, others, and God, functions to bar himself from reality. Such a person is living on borrowed time, because he relates to his good character as something which  at root is his own, and in his failure to acknowledge God he will cut himself off from the source of his own goodness, and be left with the only thing that is his own: pride. In saying this, I am reminded of Lewis’s words, “of all bad men, religious bad men are the worst.”

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Blessed Father, May the dislocation come to pass that I may lean hard upon the staff you have given me.

Catachumen: How do I get in, as it’s far too tall to climb, its foundation is far too deep, and it stretches in both directions as far as the eye can see?

Theocratus: ——-

Catachumen: Where’s that?

Theocratus: I’m not going to tell you.

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In silence I am confronted with two questions: “To what am I looking to cover me? What am I hoping will fill me to overflowing?” As I drop a plumb line I see that beneath these questions, and beneath my manifold impulses and desires, I am seeking to cover a primordial poverty, a poverty  that is exacerbated by my sin and brokenness. Deeper still, however, as deep as the gracious hand of God can reach, I see that God has emptied himself to make it his own. He has owned this poverty, paid for it through his own emptiness, so that he might fill it with his own fullness. And so it is that as I acknowledge this poverty within myself, and see the gracious hand of God upon it, I find a sure but paradoxical path into the riches of God.

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Johnny Cash – Hurt from Hans Blom on Vimeo.

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This is a link to a nice performance of “Hurt” by Reznor

Thomas Mann once said that a writer is simply someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people. I wonder if this insight could also be extended into theology. Theologians are people for whom the Christian faith is especially difficult, incomprehensible, infuriating. As a rule they are not especially talented or spiritually adept individuals. They are people whose minds have been hurt by God, and they are restlessly searching for – what? Healing perhaps, or catharsis? To expect so much from the study of theology would be futile or even dangerous.

My  connection with this post is twofold. In the first, writing is difficult for me, and yet it is something that I cannot leave alone, for it is with me as it is with Joan Didion, who once said, “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means.” Through the labor and play of writing, by attending to ideas, as well as the manifold ways I can express ideas, that which is inchoate in my brain begins to develop and often take a life of its own. Through this I come to understand what I vaguely intuit about life, God, and the human condition.

In the second, the Christian faith is difficult for me. I am haunted and shaken by the reality of God, and who I am in the darkness of his brilliant light. I am a theologian by existential impulse, because my cocoon skin has been peeled back by the lacerating word of God revealing the jangling nerves of my soul, and I know, though I do not completely understand, that the healing I desperately need is found in the wounded and resurrected God revealed in Jesus Christ. It is wanting to more fully understand, and thereby more fully enter into this healing and redemption, but at the same time being confronted by antinomies, that has put me on the theological path, and made me a theologian.

Why do I share all this? I am not entirely sure, except maybe to declare my solidarity with others whose minds (and hearts) have been hurt by God. Or, perhaps this post is just an expression of relief, the kind that comes from commiseration, the kind that comes from knowing you’re not alone.

Whatever the case may be, I resonated with Mr. Meyers’ post, and I want to thank him, and I want to direct those who read my blog to his, and so I say to you, “get thee to Faith and Theology.”