In my last year of high school, I distinctly losing the Nearness of God. There was no singular event that heralded His departure, but instead a feeling of overwhelming dread overtook me as I discovered I could no longer feel His presence. Have you read Ellen White's Early Writings? There's a passage I think of whenever I try to sort this stuff out in my head.
"Dear Reader: A sense of duty to my brethren and sisters and a desire that the blood of souls might not be found on my garments have governed me in writing this little work. I am aware of the unbelief that exists in the minds of the multitude relative to visions, also that many who profess to be looking for Christ and teach that we are in the "last days" call them all of Satan. I expect much opposition from such, and had I not felt that the Lord required it of me, I should not have made my views thus public, as they will probably call forth the hatred and derision of some. But I fear God more than man.
The dreadful frown of God. That's the closest thing I can compare it to. But it wasn't a frown, it was an absence. Alarmed, I checked myself. I had not fallen into sinful ways (please forgive my use of this antiquated terminology, but such was the way I saw the world at that time). I thought to myself "Perhaps I have strayed," and so I went back to the places where I had known God before. I went to Bible study, participated in church, volunteered outreach activities, increased my own reading of scripture, and spent time in prayer and meditation. And still, the Halls of Heaven were vacant.
"Dear Reader: A sense of duty to my brethren and sisters and a desire that the blood of souls might not be found on my garments have governed me in writing this little work. I am aware of the unbelief that exists in the minds of the multitude relative to visions, also that many who profess to be looking for Christ and teach that we are in the "last days" call them all of Satan. I expect much opposition from such, and had I not felt that the Lord required it of me, I should not have made my views thus public, as they will probably call forth the hatred and derision of some. But I fear God more than man.
When the Lord first gave me messages to deliver to His people, it was hard for me to declare them, and I often softened them down and made them as mild as possible for fear of grieving some. It was a great trial to declare the messages as the Lord gave them to me. I did not realize that I was so unfaithful and did not see the sin and danger of such a course until in vision I was taken into the presence of Jesus. He looked upon me with a frown and turned His face from me. It is not possible to describe the terror and agony I then felt. I fell upon my face before Him, but had no power to utter a word. Oh, how I longed to be covered and hid from that dreadful frown! Then could I realize, in some degree, what the feeling of the lost will be when they cry, 'Mountains and rocks, fall on us, and hide us from the face of Him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb.' "
The dreadful frown of God. That's the closest thing I can compare it to. But it wasn't a frown, it was an absence. Alarmed, I checked myself. I had not fallen into sinful ways (please forgive my use of this antiquated terminology, but such was the way I saw the world at that time). I thought to myself "Perhaps I have strayed," and so I went back to the places where I had known God before. I went to Bible study, participated in church, volunteered outreach activities, increased my own reading of scripture, and spent time in prayer and meditation. And still, the Halls of Heaven were vacant.
My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?
He trusted in God that He would deliver him; let Him deliver him, if He delight in him.
I am not given to trust feelings very often, but occasionally I experience profound, wholly overpowering moments of insight and clarity. The logician in me scoffs at these instances, but ultimately his objections fall on deaf ears. It makes me sound like a crazy person (this {along with many other things} does in fact make me a crazy person), but it's true. I don't argue with it, I don't advertise it, I just go with it. The results are rarely disappointing. So when I say I trust my instincts, this is what I mean. I'm a beep-ing lunatic.
I was a little lost at this point in time. Not to outward appearances. I did well in class, had plenty of musical commitments to keep me busy, taught lab, tutored, and wrote for the school paper. I didn't go completely to pieces (maybe I should have). I ran away to Hong Kong for a year. Maybe I'll talk about that some other time. But it doesn't factor prominently into this story arc.
I read in college. Not a lot, not prolifically. But enough to get my feet wet and my mind working. My senior year, I read The Sacred Canopy by Peter Berger. It's a fascinating book about the social construction of religion. It's rather convincing. Had I felt rebellious at that point in time, that would have been enough for me to get rid of religion entirely.
I maybe was an existentialist. It's kind of a dirty word, or at least old enough to be irrelevant, but I had that phase of Kierkegaard and Camus and Sartre and Kafka (oh even now, if asked, I'd say my favorite authors are Dostoevsky, Salinger, and Hemingway. and for all the Murakami I've read lately...), or I'd like to say it was just a phase. I'm sure some things remain from it.
Do you know who Kurt Gödel is? You can read all about him somewhere, but he's important to me because of his incompleteness theorems. Tom Thompson spent two days on this, starting with Cantor and his countable and uncountable infinities and power sets and somehow winding his way around to Gödel.
Any effectively generated theory capable of expressing elementary arithmetic cannot be both consistent and complete. In particular, for any consistent, effectively generated formal theory that proves certain basic arithmetic truths, there is an arithmetical statement that is true, but not provable in the theory.
I'm sure this has some mathematical relevance, but to me, the implications were metaphysical. It allowed me to free myself of Reason as a ruling body, just as Berger had allowed me to free myself of Faith. No. It wasn't a freedom. It was a betrayal. The systems I had in place to organize my life had abandoned me.
The most important thing that happened in college was the death of Brandon Moor. I admired Brandon wholeheartedly. We were precisely the same age (day, month, year), and maybe that's why I felt a connection. Though not just that; we were both in the same Honors classes, we both played brass instruments, and I think we both liked the same girl. But he was handsome and charming and personable and spiritual. I wanted my God back the way Brandon seemed to have Him. I often saw Brandon as a better version of myself. I wasn't so much jealous as inspired.
Brandon took a year off to be an assistant chaplain at Georgia Cumberland Academy, and while there was in a fatal car accident on January 31, 2005. I celebrate that as the day I died. I felt I should have. Brandon was capable of far more than I would ever be. Why would God (no, it was "god" then) allow such a thing, or if it has to happen, at least be smart about it. Take the loser, not the golden boy. Why ruin something so beautiful? Huh? Tell me. I'm listening. I'm all ears. You've got my full undivided attention.
So Much Unfairness of Things. But in this story, Father and son have a complete falling out.
I didn't handle it very well. There was a memorial service for him at college. I couldn't go. I felt nauseated. I don't really know how I made it through that week, or the rest of the year. Probably because I was plenty busy with all my other activities. I should have fallen apart. That probably would have been the smart thing to do. I was the fool with a house on the sand, but I continued to live there, because there was no rock to be found.
I was a little lost at this point in time. Not to outward appearances. I did well in class, had plenty of musical commitments to keep me busy, taught lab, tutored, and wrote for the school paper. I didn't go completely to pieces (maybe I should have). I ran away to Hong Kong for a year. Maybe I'll talk about that some other time. But it doesn't factor prominently into this story arc.
I read in college. Not a lot, not prolifically. But enough to get my feet wet and my mind working. My senior year, I read The Sacred Canopy by Peter Berger. It's a fascinating book about the social construction of religion. It's rather convincing. Had I felt rebellious at that point in time, that would have been enough for me to get rid of religion entirely.
I maybe was an existentialist. It's kind of a dirty word, or at least old enough to be irrelevant, but I had that phase of Kierkegaard and Camus and Sartre and Kafka (oh even now, if asked, I'd say my favorite authors are Dostoevsky, Salinger, and Hemingway. and for all the Murakami I've read lately...), or I'd like to say it was just a phase. I'm sure some things remain from it.
Do you know who Kurt Gödel is? You can read all about him somewhere, but he's important to me because of his incompleteness theorems. Tom Thompson spent two days on this, starting with Cantor and his countable and uncountable infinities and power sets and somehow winding his way around to Gödel.
Any effectively generated theory capable of expressing elementary arithmetic cannot be both consistent and complete. In particular, for any consistent, effectively generated formal theory that proves certain basic arithmetic truths, there is an arithmetical statement that is true, but not provable in the theory.
I'm sure this has some mathematical relevance, but to me, the implications were metaphysical. It allowed me to free myself of Reason as a ruling body, just as Berger had allowed me to free myself of Faith. No. It wasn't a freedom. It was a betrayal. The systems I had in place to organize my life had abandoned me.
The most important thing that happened in college was the death of Brandon Moor. I admired Brandon wholeheartedly. We were precisely the same age (day, month, year), and maybe that's why I felt a connection. Though not just that; we were both in the same Honors classes, we both played brass instruments, and I think we both liked the same girl. But he was handsome and charming and personable and spiritual. I wanted my God back the way Brandon seemed to have Him. I often saw Brandon as a better version of myself. I wasn't so much jealous as inspired.
Brandon took a year off to be an assistant chaplain at Georgia Cumberland Academy, and while there was in a fatal car accident on January 31, 2005. I celebrate that as the day I died. I felt I should have. Brandon was capable of far more than I would ever be. Why would God (no, it was "god" then) allow such a thing, or if it has to happen, at least be smart about it. Take the loser, not the golden boy. Why ruin something so beautiful? Huh? Tell me. I'm listening. I'm all ears. You've got my full undivided attention.
So Much Unfairness of Things. But in this story, Father and son have a complete falling out.
I didn't handle it very well. There was a memorial service for him at college. I couldn't go. I felt nauseated. I don't really know how I made it through that week, or the rest of the year. Probably because I was plenty busy with all my other activities. I should have fallen apart. That probably would have been the smart thing to do. I was the fool with a house on the sand, but I continued to live there, because there was no rock to be found.
