This thing that happened to my wife and to me is an actual, real, true thing.
Relief, is what we gained, as the consequence of our letting ourselves be swept along by the religious river.
It happened right here, in our world, right now, in our time. What happened is not a metaphor. It is not an intellectual caprice. It arose neither from a crochet nor from a mood.
Though I felt it was poetical, it is not poetry; it is prose.
We didn’t control it. When it came upon us, instead we gave in to it.
The thing that happened to us is a thing that has happened to legions of humans, down the ages. It having happened to us, it changed us as it changed them.
The thing we live now was there for us, in potential, before we encountered the religious river and gave ourselves up to its flow. It is there for everyone. For example, it is there for the Jews. The back story of the Jews is stuffed full of predictions of its arrival just as an eggshell is stuffed full of egg.
It is there, in potential, for believers in the religion of atheism, and for agnostics, and for seekers, and for followers of other religious traditions in the east and the west.
Had it convinced Channa and me only intellectually, we would have enjoyed our study about it—which had lasted during an interesting year—but we would have waded back to where we left our backpacks on the former shore. We would have shouldered our packs, smiled at one another, said “That was fun,” and returned to our trudge.
However, we are different now. As I have said, we inhabit the other shore.
We live a thing we did not live before--
Furthermore—thank you very much—the Almighty’s very gloriousness, His creation and purpose, has existed in a world of skeptical skepticism since His glory, itself, began.
Skeptics today have invented nothing new.
The skeptics are the emperor-worshippers of Rome long ago. They recite the requisite party line. Nevertheless, they are astounded (although they are offended, too) by Christianity’s bent to succor those insignificant disposable ones—the poor, the downtrodden, the ill, the widows, the slaves, the children.
They’re the go-along-to-get-along, Roman emperor-worshippers of old. But when they bring themselves to notice it, they are baffled (but only in private, of course) by the lyricism with which the martyrs meet the lions.
They’re the Roman emperor-worshippers of old. Thinking themselves wise, they congratulate themselves about their superiority (neglecting to remember that the emperor rarely forgives, and he keeps his knives very sharp).
Still, when the skeptics encounter this new Christian concept of a transcendent, a universal, and a forgiving redemptive God, they feel compelled to climb up into His lap, and to…
…to punch Him in the nose.
“You are not the boss of me!” they shout at Him.
Goodness, what a tantrum.
I’m sorry, but God’s purpose is.
Be our time A.D. 100 or A.D. 2000, it can’t be gotten rid of.
End of story.