This thought comes in part from responses to the previous post on suicide. I did not address my contempt for death in the post yet I know it lies hidden, a buried context that may infuse it’s feeling in unwanted places. Like John Donne, in every death I hear the bell tolling my own mortality, for I, a single piece of humanity, remain a part of the whole. This is even more true of those united through the Spirit to the body of Christ. A loss in part is and should be felt by the whole.

However, we vary so much in our feelings and attitudes toward death and loss. Time, place, pesonal history, and our world view, just a few of many mitigating things, give each of us a unique and sometimes conflcting attitude toward our losses. While some may work constructively toward acceptance and healing, many others, in my experience, continue on a lonely road of denial. I say lonely, not because they are alone in their denial…the road is crowded…but because the denial itself is a wall that forbids both entry and escape for the walking wounded. 

As a regular reader will also know, this blog, from the beginning was meant to centre in a theology of the cross, a paradoxical theology that says God is most revealed when he is hidden in suffering, particularly the suffering of Christ, the Son of God, on the cross. I do not have the time today to justify this theology for those who question it. You are free to search out my previous post in the archives or with the search box. I have written frequently on death, suffering, and the hiddenness of God, as well as the glorious life that is born out of Christ death. I hope my thoughts, at least some of them, have helped a few to move from spiritual death to life in Christ and to find comfort as God draws near in the darkness of grief.

It is a sensitive subject, the more so since the memorial service I attended was recent. His actual death was several months ago and I have hoped this has allowed time for me to reflect constructively. But since posting what follows I have received a thoughtful private response from someone I respect that questions the appropriateness, for one thing, of my remarks given the sensitive nature of not only the subject, but of the personal circumstances that inspired my reflection. It could be painful if have personal experience with the subject, the person in question, or the event. For the time being I’ll leave the post, along with this cautionary preface. As you know if you are a regular reader, I can write with feeling, too much at times. I hope you will forgive me if I have caused you or anyone else unnecessary pain. 

With respect to this, in response to a friend’s critique, I’ve edited the initial post, removing some remarks that have merit for my argument yet are inappropriate here.

_______________________________________________________________

Yesterday’s memorial service for a colleague who, several months ago, took his own life while suffering from depression and acute physical pain, has given me cause for more reflection on my own beliefs about the morality of suicide. I also have renewed reason to reflect on how our grief and desire for comfort effect, not only our beliefs, but the way we express those beliefs when we are traumatized by loss.

My colleague ( I knew him, but not well ) is one of at least five people I have known personally who have taken their own life. One was a relative, not a Christian, who died violently while intoxicated, full of anger and grief, ten years to the day of his own sisters tragic death in an auto accident. We know his condition because he was not alone at the time. The second, another relative, also shot himself, this in a cemetery, presumably unable to reconcile his life after his wife’s death from cancer. A third man, a friend from my teenage years, shot himself after confessing, in a note, to the grisly murder of another friend after a dispute over a robbery and drug deal gone bad. The fourth was a much-loved Christian friend suffering from schizophrenia who, six months after her diagnosis, stepped onto the tracks and faced the oncoming train. She left a husband and two young children. He has since remarried, but continues suffering the practical consequences of her death.

I give these brief stories to tell you why I and others have more than a passing interest in understanding the morality of suicide and it’s consequences for those left behind.

I also want to make it clear that I have felt the sharp sting of loss, remorse, shame, helplessness, and anger over their actions. I have also felt the numbness and confusion that can stay with a person for days, with some for years, after a friend or relative chooses to leave the rest of us, often without discussion, suddenly, and perhaps violently. Questions about why they would abandon loved ones, why they lost hope, why belief in God was not enough, or even why God did not some how, some way stop them can be ignored but at a deep psychological risk to those still living. A death by suicide demands our attention without asking permission. It intrudes on our minds, on our emotions without the smallest ‘pardon me’.

It is this demand on us, unexpected, uninvited, and unwanted that gives suicide it’s melodic dirge of selfishness.  We cannot help the convincing feeling that they were only thinking of themselves. Such a selfishness, whether we justify it with a knowledge of what they must have been suffering or not, raises profound moral issues, especially for those who professed and seemingly revealed an abiding trust in the God of all hope.

Suicide, as evidenced once again by the unanimous remarks heard yesterday, is inextricably linked, for Christians, to our belief about how God atones for our sins. Taking ones life hardly leaves room for repentance, a thing normally seen as a condition, though given by God as gift, for the forgiveness of sin. Yes, we believe Christ died for the sins of all, but unless we have a universalist theology which says all men will finally be saved in the kingdom of God, regardless of their works, we must give an account of how we understand our personal responsibility for the moral choices we make. I heard no pratical theology on this level yesterday.

Much was made in yesterday’s sermon of the Christian assurance of salvation, of the passage that says a Christian’s works, good works, follow them into judgment, that God does not forget these. I would agree. Jesus said, “By their fruits you will know them”. Scripture clearly teaches this, though it does not say such works justify us, a thing not made clear at all in the sermon. Nor was it made clear just what fruit the tree of suicide reveals. Perhaps, as is often the case, the doctrine of justification was merely assumed among those who themselves stand just before God. As I sat alone with my thoughts, listening among hundreds of others, a wondered how this last ‘work’ of a person, the work of taking ones own life that is made in the image of God, will be considered in the judgment when no room was left for repentance. Or were they, possibly contrary to their thoughts and clearly to their actions, abiding in a state of repentance and acceptance granted them by God? Or as some believe, does God refuse to break his covenant promise of eternal life with the Christian no matter what they do, i.e. ‘once saved, always saved’? I hope I’m forgiven for drawing that conclusion from yesterday’s strictly Calvinist sermon offered by a prominent leader of my Arminian-thinking church.

I wondered too how the speaker’s remarks fit with the doctrine of the indwelling Spirit of Christ as given in Romans 8. Can we commit suicide while filled with the Spirit of God? What then do we do with Paul’s statement that those who do not have the Spirit of Christ do not belong to him? If I make the assumption that suicide is the ultimate, irreversible act of the flesh, in opposition to rather than the leading of the Spirit of God, then how can one stand free of the condemnation given to those who have the Spirit of life? My current understanding is that an act of autonomous will made apart from submission to the Spirit of God, no matter what the context, is of itself the essence of sin and rebellion against God. Should the presence of pain and suffering, a reason offered in my colleagues case, be a justification for renouncing the will of God, a will that ask us in Scripture to suffer for his sake, then how will we interpret the life of martyrs as anything but a pitiful waste of humanity? Is the apostle Paul’s life of suffering for Christ and the thought of facing his final beheading less cause for suicide than the suffering of a painful, chronic illness? How far will we push this reasoning while we know God explicitly asks us to bear suffering with patience for his sake? If this is the teaching of the Spirit revealed in the Word, and the two are one, how can one filled with Spirit take their own life?

It is true we don’t know just how to account for acts of the will made by the mentally ill. That is a large question in itself. Certainly our legal statues take issues of diminished responsibility into account in accessing culpability for our actions. God does as well. But that is not the same as asking questions of those in deeply emotional distress who, nonetheless, are very rational, in full possession of moral awareness. Our laws, rooted in morality, also take this into account and tell us merely being upset, even to the extreme, is not an excuse of killing another. Whether or not you class emotional distress or disruption as a disease, especially when it is chronic, merely giving it such a label cannot describe the nuances between cognitive function and emotional disorder.  Personal pain does not, of itself, necessitate moral dysfunction or dismiss our culpability.

Another aspect of our attitudes toward suicide, one that troubled me yesterday, and has for some time, has to do with how much we are willingly to deny reality in order to seek comfort, either for ourselves or for loved ones. For example, we face this problem in ourselves when questioning how much to tell a terminally ill patient. Should we prevaricate with truth when that truth is painful in in itself or will cause more pain?

I asked myself such similar questions just about the propriety of writing this piece in relation to a specific death rather than taking a more academic, abstract approach. You can see from this and from my method of approach to theology and life as revealed in this blog what choice I made. But it is not without understanding, not in ignorance of the fact that it may cause pain. I act with a qualification, a belief that some pain is necessary in life and in the life of thought, that avoiding pain at all cost is as wrong-head and morally suspect as pursuing pleasure at the expense of others.

But back to the question of denial. Some thinkers, e.g. Ernest Becker, have interpreted the struggle of life (our existential angst caused by the freedom of choice and a knowledge of death) as coming from a denial of death. I wondered about this as person after person yesterday refused to acknowledge anything but the most positive aspects of our friend’s life. What that created was a sense within me that if we lived a good life, enjoying the unqualified approval of friends and family, but then faced what to us was an unbearable aspect of life, then suicide, though not such a good thing, was a reasonably good choice under the circumstances. It could not have been read from the remarks as anything other than an acceptable, certainly by God, choice made by a very decent man in distress.

Such a theology of God and death, such a theology of atonement, and such an understanding of the nature of man trouble me. They cause me distress. I know from my own horror’s of clinical depression and suicidal thinking that if I carried this message in my heart during those times, I would not be with you today. I wonder how I would be eulogized, should I decide just now to take my own life rather than face what for me is often a disturbing reality in the face of evil? Would everyone be as quick and assured to place me by the throne of God or would they prefer me outside, near the gates of hell? I can tell you without doubt that some I know would at least prefer me dead. (I remain unforgiven for my sins against them). On what grounds, on what suppositions would you judge me? All I heard speak yesterday felt free in taking judgment to themselves and deciding the case of our friend on what some might suppose as superficial knowledge of his soul. I wondered if any thought it was just such presumptions about him that made life harder than it need be. Perhaps he could no longer be the ever positive, helpful, generous, humorous, loving, intelligent, casually dressed soul everyone had come to expect. How long had self-doubt eaten away at his heart? I remain curious about the easy presumptions made yesterday and those I know others make about myself. Are you so sure you know who I am? Or are you willing to live by faith? Really, when did God make you my judge, for good or for evil?

I can also tell you that more than once I rejected suicide for the sole reason that I believed it was a sin of which I would have no excuse and no atonement, not before man but before my Creator and Redeemer. The cross of Christ was an answer from God that took away the excuses I offered. He had made a way, no matter how painful, that I was capable of following. The way of the cross was a way of dependence on him, not a freedom for autonomous rebellion. That doesn’t mean my theology was, for that reason, correct. I’m just saying it kept me from killing myself.

I hope you can see why I would have a personal stake in a theology of death and atonement. I even hope you care. It concerns me, even pains me, that so much focus is put on deciding a man’s salvation when so many other lives remain in the balance. This, to me, reflects the dynamic and sinful control a suicide continues to exert on those left behind. We read in the notes of the ignored, and now dead, that they believed their death would give them the love or attention they could not find while alive. They knew we could not ignore them. How many suicide notes, especially those written in the blood of teenage angst, must we read before we get the point that we ignore the horror of suicide and it’s moral repugnance at the risk of feeding death itself? The demand to come to terms, to understand, to explain, seem irresistible but is that demand itself, the demand they are responsible for creating a sin that can no longer be reconciled and in fact, by it’s very nature refuses reconciliation with the living?  True, we cannot and should not ignore this voice from the grave, but when we speak back with our answer, has it been for them or for us? Has it been for God’s glory or the comfort of our self-protecting pride? Have we embraced death in embracing the cross of Christ or have we created an image of the cross fashioned according to our nature and not his?

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We baptised four adults in Newport (Wales) this morning and had an anointing service for three members this afternoon. In the picture above you see Nick and Dawn Ryall, who have been attending for about two years. They have the support of their two married sons and younger daughter.

Ruth Manyela (on the left) and Saphra Ross (on the right) also gave their lives to Christ and his church today. Perhaps I’ll have more pictures to share as they come in.

We also said our goodbyes to Judy and Davis Gachuba. They and their two children will be returning soon to Nairobi. Sharon and I hope to visit them, perhaps next year. I youth trip planned for Kenya was canceled this year due to the political violence there, but a new trip may come in the future.

it was a good day, full of God’s grace. The church was full of believers and those seeking something more in their lives. I continue to pray for us all, that we will know more of his grace and peace as we wait for the return of Christ

My friend and fellow pastor, Mike Logan, died yesterday evening, eight months after being diagnosed with a brain tumor. I don’t know what else to say.

My thoughts have led me to reconsider my beliefs about who God is and what he means to me.

I know from experience that everything else in my life, all the good I desire for myself and others, comes out of my relationship with God. When I remember his goodness, love, mercy, and grace toward me, when I think on him as he truly is, as he has revealed himself from the beginning of creation, I feel satisfied and secure in his love for me. I then pass his love on to others as he leads me by his Spirit.

But sadly, this isn’t how I always live. When I forget, neglect, or doubt his true intentions toward me, when I distrust his love or try to satisfy my deepest needs in some other way, I become more and more like his enemy, the devil, and less like Christ who is the truest revelation of our heavenly Father.

I wish I could tell you this is rare in my life, but that would be a lie. Even today I am doing what I can to renew my love for him by taking in all I can of his love for me. I need to do this because I have neglected him the past several days. Though I spoke in the last post of a blessing on Sabbath, since then I have been taken up with selfishness, a self-centeredness that I recognized but did not resist. I have wasted many hours in meaningless things, even with some things that are often a blessing to me but have been done without the company of his Spirit. I have not cherished his presence and am the worse for missing him.

When I treat the people around me  with the same neglect I have shown Christ, when I have tested the limits of their patience and love for me, I have found only a very few who respond as Christ has done. This isn’t to blame them for not meeting my demands, but to say I cannot depend on them alone for the daily spiritual food that will give me the life I need. They too are dependent on God for what they can pass on to me. They too sin, failing God and failing me. Yet each of us are called to repentance through his grace so that we, as sinful as we have been, may be restored in his love. 

The hardest thing for me in life is to receive the love of God and love others in return. However, the best things in life come when I see and trust his love for me and then pass that love on to others.

I know, again from experience, that I need cherish every revelation of his love, from his work in creating us and our world, to the great sacrifice he has made in redeeming us through the work of his Son.

It is up to me how I spend the rest of this day. What will I do when I finish writing to you? I know that I need to spend more time contemplating his character, learning and correcting my distorted views of him. I need to take time to pray, to talk all of this over with him, pouring out my heart and letting him heal, once again, the things that I have broken.

“At no time is man viewed as ‘neutral’ or isolated, but always in relationship to God….When the Bible speaks about man it is not expressing some subjective estimate of man, but is speaking about the real actual nature of man, ‘who can simply not be thought of without God.’…That is what the theological approach demands; it asks for the ospposite of an abstract view ofman which treats man as an isolated and self-enclosed unity, which can exist and which can be understood by itself.” 

- G.C. Berkouwer, Man, the Image of God (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1962), pp. 32,33.

I spent last evening at Talybont Reservoir, staying until sundown. Early in the afternoon I walked along the dam, watching at least three House Martins feeding their last broods of the year in their mud nests under the ledges of the dam’s stone valve tower.  Later, after munching on an oat flapjack by the spillway, I drove the mile or so down to the marsh end of the resevoir, where it’s fed by the Caerfanell river.

For thirty mintues I watched a Barn Owl hunt over the marsh, while a Pochard fed with the Tufted Ducks, as they do. A pair of Mute Swans floated near the shore, just down and across from the bird hide, the only hide I know of at the Reservoir. Several Great Blue Herons were faithful at their post and all this in the midst of more Coots than I had seen in one place all year. 

As the sun went down, a bit early since I was in the valley, surrounded by steep Welsh hills, I thought this was one of the most beautiful moments I could remember.

(I took these pics with my phone’s camera, so I can only apologize for the quality, but at least they give some idea of the place. Google *Talybont Reservoir* for better ones. Flickr has some under *Talybont*).

A Song of Ascents. Of David.

O LORD, my heart is not
lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my
soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child is my soul
within me.

O Israel, hope in the LORD
from this time forth and
forevermore.

Psalm 131

For example, my daughter recently married. I did not attend the wedding, which was in America, for several reasons, some practical and some personal. Just that bit of information can easily lead to gossip or be misconstrued by idle minds. Or because I’ve been married before (twice) and with my prodigal history, much of what fills my thoughts and feelings cannot be expressed here without unnecessarily causing pain to others, including things which should be a reason for celebration. I could freely write of my experiences— my divorces, my step-children, my depressions, my drug addiction, my poverty— possibly in ways that others would find helpful, but how can I when it would expose things some have a right to keep hidden? Perhaps I’ll find a way someday.

Such things cause me to question the real value of online journals. What lasting value do they have in a world like ours? In the past personal diaries or journals, whatever you want to call them, had historical value if only because they were rare. They were a source of information not easily found elsewhere. They gave insights into the less public corners of life, with cultural details, revealing prevelent attitudes, world views, and even arcane details that make up the story of humanity. They also helped explain the actions of public figures, political or otherwise, and give us insights into the mistakes and the successes behind great events in history. We learned something about ourselves through this recorded lives of others. And we still read biographies and autobiographies for the same reasons. But with millions of such journals online now, how much of what we share publicly has meaning or purpose behind the interest of a voyeur? With the glut of personal disclosure, can any real sense be made of it all? Who can sort the lies from the truth in such a mass of electronic bytes?

I restrict my more personal communications to email and phone calls, those that are ‘long distance’. I seldom write a letter with pen and paper. If someone doesn’t have a phone or computer, they are not likely to hear from me until I can make a personal visit. For family, that’s about once a year.

I know they find the more mundane things of my life here, as will the random visitor and more regular reader. But if it has any value at all, I would like it to be for the insights the blog gives to my spiritual life, be it good, bad, or somewhere in between. I also want to share my faith in Christ, to say why I am a Christian, remain a Christian, and what I think all of that means. I also want to offer the results of my study and that of others into the revelations God has given in the Bible. It is a significant part of my calling and I can use this space to partially fulfill that calling from God. Such are some reasons for starting this blog and for keeping it. I would hope I could glorify God with the truth.

As you can see, I keep thinking about what I’m doing here from time to time, wondering about why I want to make my thoughts public and what I expect for it all. I’m not always sure of my motives or of the meaning it has for the reader. I still wonder about who I am and what I am doing. Sometimes I am deeply disappointed with what I find. From time to time I think it is just vanity and that I should give it up. But about then someone will write to say how they have been helped by something I’ve said. Then I think I’ll give it a bit more time. And so, that’s what you have here, me giving it a bit more time while I wonder what it means.

In the past week I’ve also purchased, used through Amazon, three more commentaries on the book of Galatians, so you can expect a few thoughts in that vein over the coming months.

The gospel of Christ not only remains the ‘power of God unto salvation’ for my own life, but I believe it is daily supplanted in the Church with false theories about how we are reconciled to God, to ourselves, to others, and to the world as a whole. It is this supplanting of the gospel that I argue against, resist, and sometimes fall to in my ministry. It is for these two reasons, the meaning of Christ death and resurrection for my own life and the attack on him within and without the church, that I am motivated to work each day in Christ’ service. I find no other hope than in his ‘work’ of bearing my sin, yours, and that of the whole world. So, if I will work in hope I must hope in his work. Amen (let it be).