| | Envy the elderly, but only the evangelical old conservatives. They believe that truth is found in Christ alone, and that anybody who rejects this is wrong. They believe they are right, and that they have the answer. No longer troubled by life, they look forward to the blessing that is to come. To all those who have rejected the gospel, it is their loss. The old evangelicals have accepted, and so life will never be a waste.
To die without ever having wrestled with subjectivity, this is such bliss. To live 70 years and never feel the torment of knowing, there is no greater blessing. Inner turmoil to them is something to simply “get over.” Your grandfather believed that life was about going to work. He believed that as long as you have a job, life goes on. He didn’t care about your individuality; he didn’t even know what that word meant.
Your grandmother believed that Rush Limbaugh was a Christian, because he was a conservative. She never went to college, and didn’t know who Descartes was. There was so much storage space, never used. She never needed to find herself, because she was obviously just sitting right here in the chair.
They enjoyed Norman Rockwell and television, casserole and carpeting. They had more than two children. They dressed nicely for church on Sunday, and never missed a service in 50 years.
The things to dread are those things known. If you know the devil, rebuke him and raise your hands. If you know existentialism, live your life tormented and write ambiguous essays.
“Do not go gentle into that good night.”
As people grow older, they think about death. The grandparents look forward to heaven, and they have hope. But what about the young intellectual?. He has seen that not everyone is simply in a constant state of accepting or rejecting Jesus, but is trying his or her's hardest to find personal happiness and peace. The young intellectual is never in a hurry to get to heaven, he is not even interested in answers. But the old evangelicals are in a hurry, and have all of the answers.
“If you were to die today, do you know where you would go?” How can such a profound question have so much meaning for those that know nothing of philosophy and yet mean so little to the student of Martin Buber? The evangelical urgency of getting saved now...
And once the words have been said, you can forget about everything else. You’re safe. And the old evangelicals have peace in this. They are at peace, knowing that there is nothing more to know.
This peace of the old evangelicals is what the young intellectual simultaneously despises and desires. He knows that there is more to life than a prayer. He knows that there is profound mystery, and that no one solves it. He is troubled by the inherent mystery, but he refuses to give up. He is scared of suicide, even though he finds no meaning in the day. He is not scared of hell, however. The reason he continues is not clear to him, but in a murky world, it’s a fitting response. If the world doesn’t make sense, why should he?
When he grows older, does he abandon his intellect? Or does it abandon him? The cruelest death would be to hold the dread of meaningless existence for 70 years and never know a moment of peace. The peace that the old evangelicals have, they keep with them until their last breath and die with dignity.
He says, “but in all their urgency to get saved, they lose the urgency to live life in the present.” He is unaware that both urgencies are one in the same. In both cases, now is primary. Now is now.
Look at our tornadoes; they are beautiful women, curves of sex and death, dancing for our delight. In the middle, there is the most mystery and danger. This is where we cannot go, but we take the risk anyway. And we are killed.
The grandparents are in the basement, wondering why we take chances. They are avoiding the possibility of death. Were they not young before? Did they not ever hear of subjective truth? What about self-awareness? What about questions?
We have been children. We should remember this. We grew older and started asking questions, until we were so frightened by the questions that we burned all of our writings and cried out to God for mercy. When none came, we pretended that it did. We accepted Christ and told others about him. We watched sports and talked politics. We knew about hopelessness, and decided to call it Satan. We rebuked it. We ignored it. In the name of Jesus, we ignored. And when we died, it was the saddest day of our lives. We remembered playing in the forest when we were six, picking up frogs out of ponds, running away from the biggest spider in the world, falling in the dirt and crying over a bruised knee. Sit for a while, then run home where mom is there with a band-aid. Eventually, crying stops, and go back into the forest with clean clothes.
We thought of our first kiss. Of the high school friends that drove downtown in a car too small. Of the girl that sat so close to you in the back seat and the way she smelled. The conversation you had with her at the Chinese restaurant while the other guys made jokes. Spending the night with her when the night was over. And holding her hand in the morning.
We thought of the fourth of july. The firecrackers that cost too much but were worth it anyway. The blankets on the lawn. The night air. The stars.
We were sad as we remembered these things, because when we experienced them they were pure. Purity was lost when we started asking questions, and now we lay here dying, trying not to cry so as to make it worse for the family members surrounding us. But they know just as well as we do that this is a horrible moment, a moment worth crying about. We were once pure, but have become human.
All that gives me hope anymore is believing that my grandmother never thought the thoughts I think. She lived a simpler life, she lived in the suburbs and liked it. She played hymns on her piano and loved her grandchildren. She didn’t second-guess herself, she didn't doubt. I have to believe that she died happy. She believed in love, and wanted me to believe in it too. When she was proud of me, she actually was. She believed that I was accomplishing something. Her purity was never lost.
I have abandoned simplicity. The fence around me is made of holes. I will die by tornado. Nothing protects me anymore.
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| | Posted 3/20/2009 3:13 PM - 20 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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