Limits
When I was a sophomore, I remember that Dr. Noe had us translate a passage from Epicurus. I post here a Wikipedia translation for convenience, not having my own--far inferior one--handy.
A Greek [Epicurus] it was who first opposing dared
Raise mortal eyes that terror to withstand,
Whom nor the fame of Gods nor lightning's stroke
Nor threatening thunder of the ominous sky
Abashed; but rather chafed to angry zest
His dauntless heart to be the first to rend
The crossbars at the gates of Nature old.
And thus his will and hardy wisdom won;
And forward thus he fared afar, beyond
The flaming ramparts of the world, until
He wandered the unmeasurable All.
Whence he to us, a conqueror, reports
What things can rise to being, what cannot,
And by what law to each its scope prescribed,
Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time.
Wherefore Religion now is under foot,
And us his victory now exalts to heaven. (I, 62-79)
At first glance, all I can think is "That's wicked---blasphemous!" Moreover, I can't relate. As a child, adolescent, and college student, I have never been one of those people who longs to outreach earth, to unravel all mysteries and all knowledge. It just hasn't been the tendency of my particular sin-habits.
But sometimes, nowadays, I wonder whether my lack of what the tragedians call "overweening pride" was simple unawareness. I haven't known that I have limits, at least, not important ones. I was never much good at math, but then I never much cared for math. I enjoy the blessings of a mens sana in corpore sano--a sound mind in a healthy (actually, an extraordinarily healthy) body, with the result that there have been relatively few things that I cannot do. Growing up, I achieved a reasonable degree of skill, a degree consistent with my own effort, in ballet, tennis, swimming, horseback-riding, archery, volleyball, culinary arts, sewing, music (flute seriously, piano by jump-and-guess), Latin, history, literature, grammar, geometry, composition, and political and philosophical studies. In point of artistic writing my sucesses were to a higher degree, even--they tell me, and I have no wish to appear falsely modest--an extraordinary one.
I offer this detailed list in order to demonstrate that, so far, my circumstances gave me the impression that there was nothing I wanted very badly which I could not have.
Until college. Let me list for you a few of the things that I found I could not there do perfectly, nor have completely, no matter how badly I wanted them:
1. An A on a Cicero exam.
2. To be left alone (in my first year I wanted this very badly).
3. A romantic relationship with a guy who would worship me (this desire, thankfully, passed away during the first semester of my first senior year).
4. To want to love people (in my first two years)
5. To be kind.
6. To know how to comfort and hearten with true hope (not false hope) a girl whose parent just died, or who was raped in high school, or who has decided to become a lesbian, or who slept with her boyfriend before coming to school and is living with a guilty, bitter conscience, or who has been cutting her wrists over a lost boyfriend, or who has a problem with alcohol, or a problem with her mother, or with her roommate, or with a guy, or with schoolwork, or with crippling health problems, or with financial uncertainty, or with her own daily sin. All these I have encountered, and all these leave me feeling so terribly limited.
7. To love well, with both wisdom and passion, knowing how to value others in the right way and for the right reasons, knowing how to channel all the enormous energy of my affections into conduits that will truly serve, truly build up, truly love. For I am a creature, I find, of great passions, and great passions are deadly unless they can be guided by wisdom.
8. To obey.
9. To humble myself.
10. To trust another human being at all.
In addition, I find that my body also has limits. This week, because of unprecedented deadlines, I have been trying to accomplish four times my normal amount of work. The deadlines came from nowhere, and are no one's fault. But the fact remains that I must try to cram a month's worth of study and writing into a week. I began Monday, but at the same time caught the cold that has been going around our office. By Friday afternoon, after 4 days of 10 AM to 12 PM (with a two-hour break for dinner) writing, exhaustion caught up with me.
I dissolved into tears. I cried as I have not cried in many months. I cried for the ache in my head and the phlegm in my throat and the cough in my chest, but most of all I cried for sheer weariness and loneliness. I cried for all the days since April 6th, when I began an extreme pace of writing and working that has not really let up from then to now, and is now so severe that I begin to feel deranged, unreal, as if I left a girl I used to know somewhere behind, and have become less than a human being: an automaton for the production of written words.
I cried also for the pain of a dear friend who just lost her mother, for the pain of my housemate Juli, who is suffering under migraine headaches and a bad case of poison ivy, for the pain of a friend whose young student was raped--was it only two days ago?--and for the pain of my younger sister, who is struggling to recover from Lyme's Disease.
I cried for the whole colossal, wretched, ugly, anguished tragedy that is human existence. I cried because in that moment it overwhelmed me, and there was no light, no stars, no sun, no morning---only night, night, night! I cried, too, because I can do nothing. I am not a conquerer. I cannot tell anybody "What things can rise to being, what cannot, And by what law to each its scope prescribed, Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time."
If religion is indeed trampled underfoot, then we of all races are most to be pitied, for assuredly we cannot trascend our torturing limits. The Helper whom Jesus promised us, the Holy Spirit, is so much more than just a piece of doctrine when you confront these walls of human sin, both yours and others. In such circumstances, He is my only hope for transcendance, not of the fiery ramparts of the heavens, but of the despair and weight of pain and guilt, whether my own or that which I experience vicariously (but oh, so vividly!).
Truly man is born for sorrow. If it were not also true that he is reborn for joy, I think I may have committed suicide by now. For I am a creature of great passions, and unchanneled passions can be deadly. But thanks be to God, I have not been led to so great a sin---instead I think of the wisdom of the Count of Monte Cristo: "Wait, and hope." Four words become more beautiful, more precious, more fragile, more powerful, in my sight, every day. They are: "Hope, Obedience, Service, Peace." And one word, one other word, has a power and exquisite beauty that passes all others, inspires hope, makes possible faith, upholds trust, beautifies life, arouses gratitude, compels devotion, humbles my soul into the ground and at the same time inexplicably exalts it beyond all the flaming ramparts of this world or any world. I mean the Word--the Christ-logos--of Love.
A Greek [Epicurus] it was who first opposing dared
Raise mortal eyes that terror to withstand,
Whom nor the fame of Gods nor lightning's stroke
Nor threatening thunder of the ominous sky
Abashed; but rather chafed to angry zest
His dauntless heart to be the first to rend
The crossbars at the gates of Nature old.
And thus his will and hardy wisdom won;
And forward thus he fared afar, beyond
The flaming ramparts of the world, until
He wandered the unmeasurable All.
Whence he to us, a conqueror, reports
What things can rise to being, what cannot,
And by what law to each its scope prescribed,
Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time.
Wherefore Religion now is under foot,
And us his victory now exalts to heaven. (I, 62-79)
At first glance, all I can think is "That's wicked---blasphemous!" Moreover, I can't relate. As a child, adolescent, and college student, I have never been one of those people who longs to outreach earth, to unravel all mysteries and all knowledge. It just hasn't been the tendency of my particular sin-habits.
But sometimes, nowadays, I wonder whether my lack of what the tragedians call "overweening pride" was simple unawareness. I haven't known that I have limits, at least, not important ones. I was never much good at math, but then I never much cared for math. I enjoy the blessings of a mens sana in corpore sano--a sound mind in a healthy (actually, an extraordinarily healthy) body, with the result that there have been relatively few things that I cannot do. Growing up, I achieved a reasonable degree of skill, a degree consistent with my own effort, in ballet, tennis, swimming, horseback-riding, archery, volleyball, culinary arts, sewing, music (flute seriously, piano by jump-and-guess), Latin, history, literature, grammar, geometry, composition, and political and philosophical studies. In point of artistic writing my sucesses were to a higher degree, even--they tell me, and I have no wish to appear falsely modest--an extraordinary one.
I offer this detailed list in order to demonstrate that, so far, my circumstances gave me the impression that there was nothing I wanted very badly which I could not have.
Until college. Let me list for you a few of the things that I found I could not there do perfectly, nor have completely, no matter how badly I wanted them:
1. An A on a Cicero exam.
2. To be left alone (in my first year I wanted this very badly).
3. A romantic relationship with a guy who would worship me (this desire, thankfully, passed away during the first semester of my first senior year).
4. To want to love people (in my first two years)
5. To be kind.
6. To know how to comfort and hearten with true hope (not false hope) a girl whose parent just died, or who was raped in high school, or who has decided to become a lesbian, or who slept with her boyfriend before coming to school and is living with a guilty, bitter conscience, or who has been cutting her wrists over a lost boyfriend, or who has a problem with alcohol, or a problem with her mother, or with her roommate, or with a guy, or with schoolwork, or with crippling health problems, or with financial uncertainty, or with her own daily sin. All these I have encountered, and all these leave me feeling so terribly limited.
7. To love well, with both wisdom and passion, knowing how to value others in the right way and for the right reasons, knowing how to channel all the enormous energy of my affections into conduits that will truly serve, truly build up, truly love. For I am a creature, I find, of great passions, and great passions are deadly unless they can be guided by wisdom.
8. To obey.
9. To humble myself.
10. To trust another human being at all.
In addition, I find that my body also has limits. This week, because of unprecedented deadlines, I have been trying to accomplish four times my normal amount of work. The deadlines came from nowhere, and are no one's fault. But the fact remains that I must try to cram a month's worth of study and writing into a week. I began Monday, but at the same time caught the cold that has been going around our office. By Friday afternoon, after 4 days of 10 AM to 12 PM (with a two-hour break for dinner) writing, exhaustion caught up with me.
I dissolved into tears. I cried as I have not cried in many months. I cried for the ache in my head and the phlegm in my throat and the cough in my chest, but most of all I cried for sheer weariness and loneliness. I cried for all the days since April 6th, when I began an extreme pace of writing and working that has not really let up from then to now, and is now so severe that I begin to feel deranged, unreal, as if I left a girl I used to know somewhere behind, and have become less than a human being: an automaton for the production of written words.
I cried also for the pain of a dear friend who just lost her mother, for the pain of my housemate Juli, who is suffering under migraine headaches and a bad case of poison ivy, for the pain of a friend whose young student was raped--was it only two days ago?--and for the pain of my younger sister, who is struggling to recover from Lyme's Disease.
I cried for the whole colossal, wretched, ugly, anguished tragedy that is human existence. I cried because in that moment it overwhelmed me, and there was no light, no stars, no sun, no morning---only night, night, night! I cried, too, because I can do nothing. I am not a conquerer. I cannot tell anybody "What things can rise to being, what cannot, And by what law to each its scope prescribed, Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time."
If religion is indeed trampled underfoot, then we of all races are most to be pitied, for assuredly we cannot trascend our torturing limits. The Helper whom Jesus promised us, the Holy Spirit, is so much more than just a piece of doctrine when you confront these walls of human sin, both yours and others. In such circumstances, He is my only hope for transcendance, not of the fiery ramparts of the heavens, but of the despair and weight of pain and guilt, whether my own or that which I experience vicariously (but oh, so vividly!).
Truly man is born for sorrow. If it were not also true that he is reborn for joy, I think I may have committed suicide by now. For I am a creature of great passions, and unchanneled passions can be deadly. But thanks be to God, I have not been led to so great a sin---instead I think of the wisdom of the Count of Monte Cristo: "Wait, and hope." Four words become more beautiful, more precious, more fragile, more powerful, in my sight, every day. They are: "Hope, Obedience, Service, Peace." And one word, one other word, has a power and exquisite beauty that passes all others, inspires hope, makes possible faith, upholds trust, beautifies life, arouses gratitude, compels devotion, humbles my soul into the ground and at the same time inexplicably exalts it beyond all the flaming ramparts of this world or any world. I mean the Word--the Christ-logos--of Love.
posted by Praelucor at 8:35 AM
2 Comments:
He is so kind. He gives us tears. He gives even suffering a kind of choking beauty, crowned with the beauty of everlasting joy, in the morning.
I read this morning Revelation 7:17-
"For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd,
and he will guide them to springs of living water,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes."
I miss you.
From J. Vernon MeGees 'Thru the Bible' series...
"And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter: therefore the name of it was called Marah.
And the people murmured against Moses, saying, What shall we drink?
And he cried unto the Lord: and the Lord shewed him a tree, which when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made sweet: there he made for them a statute and an ordinance, and there he proved them. [Exod. 15:23-25]
Their second experience on the other side of the sea is the bitter water of Marah. They have gone three days’ journey into the wilderness and are thirsty. When they finally come to water, it is bitter and unfit to drink. And remember that the children of Israel are now redeemed people. Marah was on the path where God led them. He had marked it out for them.
You may not realize it, but the oasis of Marah is a normal Christian experience. When a bitter experience comes to a Christian, it is a puzzling and perplexing thing. Some people say, “Why does God let this happen to me?” I cannot tell you why certain things befall Christians, but I do know that God is not punishing them. He is educating them and preparing then for something. The Lord said, “In the world ye shall have tribulation.” Right on your pathway there is a Marah. In the pathway of every believer is a Marah. God has arranged it all. Someone has said, “Disappointments are God’s appointments.” I have found this to be true.
Once a young person said to me, “I wanted to go to school. I wanted to prepare for the mission field, but my father died and I had to help support my mother, so I could not go to school.” When I was a pastor in Nashville, the superintendent of our junior department was a beautiful, sweet, uncomplaining, young woman. She was prematurely grey, and one day I inquired why. I was told that at one time she was engaged to one of the finest young men in the church. They were to be married, but he was called away to war and was killed. It caused her hair to turn grey. That was the “Marah” in her life.
Friend, there are many frustrations, disappointments, and sorrows in life. Your plans can be torn up like a jigsaw puzzle. You may have a little grave on a hillside somewhere. I have. May I say that we all have our Marahs. You will not bypass them. You cannot detour around them, skip over them, or tunnel under them.
God uses a branding iron. I remember West Texas, in the spring of the year when the calves were branded. As a boy I would see the branding iron put down on a little fellow. Oh, how he bellowed! It made me feel sort of sad to hear him cry. But from then on everyone knew to whom he belonged. After a calf was branded it would not get lost. Goes does that for us today.
What was it that made the bitter water of Marah sweet? We are told that a tree cast into the water made it sweet. Deuteronomy 21:23 says, “he that is hanged is accursed of God…” and in Galatians 3:13 it says, “… Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree.” Jesus Christ died on a tree, and it is that cross that makes the experience of Life sweet. He tasted death for every man, and took the sting out of death. “O death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory?” says 1 Corinthians 15:55. It is the cross of Christ that makes sweet the Marah experiences of life.
And they came to Elim, where were twelve wells of water, and threescore and ten palm trees: and they encamped there by the waters [Exod. 15:27]
Elim was a place of abundant blessing and fruitfulness. There were seventy palm trees and twelve wells. After the bitterness of Marah, God brought His people to Elim. “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” Simon Peter may be locked in the inner prison, but the angel is going to open the door, Paul and Silas may be beaten at midnight, but an earthquake will free them. There is a Marah along the pilgrim pathway today; but friend, there is also an Elim. God’s plan for usefulness always leads to Marah and to Elim. Joseph, you remember, had that experience. Moses did, Elijah did, David did, Adoniram Judson did, John G. Paton did. And I am sure you and I will have that also. Beyond every Marah there is an Elim. Beyond every shadow is an Elim. Beyond every cloud, there is the sun. Beyond every shadow, there is the light. Beyond every trial, there is a triumph, and beyond every storm there is a rainbow. George Matheson wrote, “I trace the rainbow through the rain.” This is the ways God leads us. All of these things happened to Israel for examples to us."
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