Boring as Hell

One of my coworkers described a task using the title phrase, “boring as hell.” I knew what he wanted to convey, namely, that his last hour of work had felt almost painfully worthless. Yet, I wondered, as only l can do, “Just how boring will hell be?”

I struggle to see the condition of boredom. My mind is almost always playing with ideas, toying with memories or practicing potential conversations, as introverts are wont to do. I assumed therefore that boredom might be described as a state where lack of input and lack of motivation team up to severely frustrate the people caught in their twin grip. I would suppose that a lack of sleep and/or nutrition would serve as the Petri dish for boredom’s growth from a microscopic irritant to a seething reality. If we are all mostly comfortable with this definition, let’s shift our gaze toward hell. 

The Bible’s original languages fog an easy understanding of the afterlife. We see through a glass dimly, if you will. I reject the temptation to wander around in lexicons. Jesus in the parable of “the rich man and Lazarus” imagines an existence of intense, parching heat separated from cool water by an uncrossable chasm. Jesus adds a place of outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. These three conditions would signify a roasting scorchy gathering where I know no one. None desire to name themselves out of shame (weeping) and/or frustration rage (gnashing of teeth). If this can serve us as an approximation of hell, let’s see if boredom is likely to lay around there. 

I don’t see boredom as a first response upon arrival in hell. An initial reaction might run along these lines, “What a terrible party! Everyone is so mean and self absorbed. I wonder if I know anyone here?” So you and I claw and push our way through this unseen crowd, listening for a familiar voice or story. No luck. After timeless work we find the chasm. The rich man snaps at us because our arrival has jarred him free from pursuing his tirade against The System and the unfairness of where he has found himself. With soaked and tingling skin, we sit on a smoldering and flaming surface. We plug against the roaring heat, the sobbing and cursing. No beers will pass among friends. Every word will be spoken from greed and pride. Every action will be motivated from intense self interest. 

So yes, hell will spill over with waves of frustration, inhabited by little people and unending heat. Hell will be boring to tears. 

Whenever an author considers “Hell” and describes the place, a question shoots to greet it, “Why would a good God create such an awful existence?” In Matthew 25, where Jesus describes hell with tears and frustration, he offers two parables to help explain it. 

In the first, a King entrusts subjects with resources and asks them to invest them wisely while he is gone. The first two people use the resources with wisdom and daring to make more. The focus of their time and energy is to maximize profit for the King. The third spends no time using what he was given. Instead, he buries the coins in the back yard and goes about his life. When the King returns, all three report. The first returned great profit. The King declares, “Well done.” The second returned a modest profit. Again the King declares, “Well done,” to the lesser sum. The third wipes the dirt from a moth eaten bag and returns exactly what he was given, no profit. This servant is cast into hell.

In the second, Jesus describes a Shepherd-King whose flock is all people. The sheep are praised first. They have no idea why the King offers them praise. The Son of Man explains that their good deeds for others, which have just become part of who they are, have the same effect as serving him. The Shepherd then turns to the goats. He passes judgment with a very personal condemnation. Like the sheep, they are flabbergasted at this result. “When did we see you in need?” The King declares when you refused to see the hurting around you, you refused to see me.

In the overlap of both stories I detect a self centered lifestyle. “I’ll just bury the talents and be done with it, so I can go on with my life.” “I really don’t know or care who is right around me or if they have needs.” 

I also notice that those rewarded have made serving others and using what they have been given their natural response to God’s love and trust. The two servants take seriously God’s investment with them and want to return even more. The sheep have become used to giving and caring for those around them. They are sharing the love God has lavished upon them.

I don’t know that this accurately describes the spiritual afterlife. Jesus was using physical examples to unpack spiritual realities. The gist of the parables would seem to be that we need to live in a trusting relationship with Jesus and we need to let that relationship motivate our lives wherever that may lead and whoever we need to serve.

2 Seeds

Shot from cold metal our seed bounces into clods of earth.

Sharp steel breaks the clods and plants the seeds deep.

“What an experience!” The seed begins to worry.

Rain drops explode around, on and almost through the seed.

“When will this end!” The seed screams.

“I know, Farmer must hate us.” Another seed complains. 

“Otherwise we wouldn’t be mistreated like this.” 

Thunder smashes into the earth. Lightning ascends from ground to clouds. Wind pushes water lower until some seeds start to float. 

One seed is silent through all this. A finger of green pushes out of her skin.

“What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know. This storm had me shaking too.” Minerals released from the soil ride the rainwater into the hearts of the seeds. “Hey you have a tail now too.”

The sun shoves the clouds from the sky and keeps them at bay for days and days. A new energy crowds the soil. This sweet heat is not universally loved. 

“When will this end!” The seed whines. “All this light! I can’t even sleep. And the heat, I can’t stand it. I’m starting to doubt that Farmer has anything to do with us. Why would he put us through such heavy, prickly heat?”

The silent seed’s skin was peeling back, her innards expanding. Worrying seed studied his neighbor. “Are you OK, Silent? You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t know. This energy coursing through me seems enough to tear me apart. It hurts, I won’t kid you, especially when I fight it or wish it to stop. . .. You know your skin is starting to peel a bit Worrying.” He hasn’t noticed. As he reclines into the sun, the pain subsides.

One morning the sunshine is broken by a purring steel tractor tugging a wagon full of crap. Blades fling the sloppy, smelly cargo all over the seeds. Some of them give up. This load of dung is too much. 

Worrying Seed moans, “When will this end?” Yet even as he whimpers these words, he turns to Silent Seed. Large scary arms descend from what is left of her, while one shoot scrambles out of her toward the surface. Worrying Seed is finished and struggles to be free of its place. Something holds him fast.

“What are those things coming out of you?” Worrying Seed yells.

“I’m growing roots. I think its because I’m going to become huge.”

“So what about that, that thing snaking out of your head?”

“Part of me is drawn up and away. It’s where my life is headed, I guess. You are putting out some roots as well, Worrying.”

Day after day this cycle of water, sun and fertilizer frames the seeds’ weeks. The pair appears less and less like their planted selves. Worrying seed still frets, but less and less out loud. Eventually they both are gone, standing unrecognizable. 

And Farmer welcomes them into the world above.

Bildad's Logic

Job 8:20 New International Version (NIV)

20 “Surely God does not reject one who is blameless
    or strengthen the hands of evildoers.

New International Version (NIV)

Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

I have been listening to J. Vernon McGee on my commute to work. He brought up this verse as he takes us through the book of Job. His thoughts on the content spurred my own. Bildad's logic seems irrefutable. As the source of goodness and rightness, God surely welcomes the blameless and weakens evildoers.

God's logic rose past this reasoning to a cross. There evildoers tried and convicted the perfect man. There wicked men hung THE blameless man to die. In fact, while in death throes he uttered,

Matthew 27:46 New International Version (NIV)

46 About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli,[a] lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).[b]

New International Version (NIV)

Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

God not only opened the door for evil, but the Lord also turned away from the perfectly innocent man. Creator God did these things because Bildad's logic left out love.

The Generations in my family

I'm amazed at the blistering pace of technological change. Back in the late 90's I tried one of the best dictation programs. After installing the data from a CD, which took almost an hour, I sat and "trained" the program to understand my voice by reading a couple of paragraphs into the tiny external computer mike several times, another 20 minutes invested. I tried the program out. The software interpreted me correctly about 80% of the time. Now my household routinely dictates questions, movie selections and more into various devices without a hitch.

Even between children, the changes are amazing. My oldest was born in 1997. Here are some "pages" from the World Wide Web in that year.

These pages use bulleted text lists and underlined word links by and large. These pages were accessed through a 33K baud modem that would send handshake tones to the local ISP. Hearing these tones through the computer speaker meant every piece was working.

My youngest was born in 2002. Here are Yahoo and Alta Vista of that year. Bulleted lists have been replaced by style pages with many more links and graphics. We accessed these pages through a 56K baud modem. My youngest doesn't remember the handshaking sounds, while my oldest does.

In 2007 we signed up for Netflix streaming. We still used a 56K modem and waited overnight for a movie to download, but NO late fees. Kate remembers waiting for movies, Emily not so much. We also used a local video rental store that had 100s of DVDs on hand and late fees. We watched one go out of business thanks to Netflix.

Fish, Fowl and Faith

(Inspired by Second Corinthians 5:17)

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”

Once upon a time, there was a fish. From just a guppy, this fish had only known swimming in water. In fact, Bubbly Fish was known to swim in the deepest and darkest parts of the lake. One day Bubbly stroked higher and closer to the surface than he had ever swum before. After his buggy eyes adjusted to the extra light, he rather liked swimming in warmer water where he could see. He joined one of the schools who hung out there. One day, as he was swimming along with his friends when one of the fish darted for the surface, burst through, and never returned.

The rest of the school swam in stunned silence that their friend was gone. Our friend Bubbly decided to go after his buddyfish. He swam toward the surface, swishing his way past fear into determination. Bubbly picked up speed. Faster and faster Bubbly traveled until he dared the surface of the lake, rocketing into the air. 

As he fell toward the surface, the fish became a duck. He was still an aquatic animal, yet he was a very different creation. He swam through the water, yet he stayed above. Actually, he had a bit of trouble staying above the surface. The world was so different. So Quacky duck stuck his head under the water.

“That’s more like it.” Quacky could see under the water but when he looked for his other fishy friends, they were scurrying away from him as fast as they could swim. He soon ran out of air, and threw his head above the surface to breathe. He tried again and again to make contact with his old school.  He felt a tapping on his hind parts. 

When he stuck his head up, another duck was using her bill to get his attention. Soon our friend Quackie was surrounded by other ducks. They swam together. They ate together. Suddenly, another duck swooped over his gaggle.

“ We can do that?!“ Quackie exclaimed. The other ducks smiled, stretch their wings, flapped and ran on the surface of the water, before jumping into the air themselves. He had to try that. He stretched his wings out and extended them some more, then began to beat them. Up, down, up, down, Quackie developed his rhythm. Soon his body was feeling light in the water. He lowered his head flat, sprinted along the surface until he rose into the sky. the sky felt so free! Quackie soared over all the lake. 

Looking down, he could see The tops of his old school. A spontaneous plan hatched. “I could dive deep enough from here to speak with my old friends and let them know what happens when you Dare to break the surface.” And so our friend the duck turned his beak toward the Lake of Life and plummeted straight.

How to fiddle while Rome burns: A Primer for the 21st Century

We don’t have to be a despotic emperor to enjoy self-produced melody while the capital of our civilization is threatened by fire. Here a couple of steps into the 21st century we have more reach for our tunes than old Nero could ever have imagined.

So how does its work you ask?

One, we get out our violins. Yours might be pink and eschewing the traditional wasp-waist shape. Mine might emit a gentle glow of polished wood as I lift it from its case. My violinny looking instrument may cause some to laugh. Your wacky colored electro fiddle may cause others to scoff. No matter. 

Some, of course, will continue to follow the conventional approach bow on strings to etch out their melody. Others may beat their instrument drum-like until they hold only strung together pieces clattering through the air. Still, others will find strange and wonderful new ways to make their fiddle “sing.”

Recently, a young man garbed his violin in only a coat and plucked the strings like a trigger before some Philistine in the audience grabbed the instrument and ended the concert. That’s what he deserved for playing in a Waffle House.

Another unfortunate venue for music these days has been found in public restrooms. I admit the acoustics ring sharp and long in such a place. Parents play songs of protection for their children. Those of shifting genders stridently respond with angry counterpoint. The musical battle rises to such levels that I just wait until I get home.

Our corporate leaders live as detached foot tappers, who have to get in on the strings, so they raise melodies that the cacophony of the halls of government (another venue of marvelous acoustics) can’t get together. Instead, the players of the government string section emit mews like lost kittens. They live just as herdable as those tiny felines, queuing up for the benefits and forgetting any notes from the second before.

Meanwhile, the violin smashers are feeling ignored. They cast their pieces into a huge pile, take up gasoline and match. The blaze begins from their strengthened hands. The flames crackle as if laughing at any tone but its own. As the energy spreads to more dashed fiddles the melody broadens to a roar as lacquer and polish and paint goes up in a flash eating away wood hundreds of years old right beside wood harvested humanely just yesterday.

Bonfires can radiate such heat that we have to back away or melt in sweat. This conflagration drives scores to their corners. If a fire could be said to live, this one seems bent on consuming every scrap of wood its waving tongues can wrap up.

A maestro steps forward, undaunted by it all. Soon several surround the party, their faces quavering in shadows and heat waves as the rest of us look on. These few take up their instruments. And for a lonely minute, we hear a high and noble melody rise with equally brave harmonies. Sweating and smoking these few continue to play as their hair begins to smolder. The flames penetrate their hearts as the final chord of their song swims through the shimmering air to us.

Love and hate can't cohabitate.

"Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen." 1 John 4:20 

Why not? I have people in my life who get me and I'm on their wavelength. I have warm feelings for them and they for me. Others don't understand me nor I them. Neither of us desire to change that relationship. In fact, we harbor the chill of misunderstanding and hate between us. What does this lack of relationship have to do with the fire of our passion for God?
Hate keeps me focusing on me. Every perceived spiteful act of that other person drills me deeper into myself. Soon many of my relationships become tainted by selfishness. When folks don't respond as I desire, a frostbite of selfishness cuts in between. The frost of hate leads the way through my life for the dead cold of bitterness. Slicing emotional winds of hate tear apart God's passion in me, reducing our love to coals and smoking ruins.

Social Media and Me

Social media posts feel like my best friend. I can share my feelings, thoughts, and opinions without the frustration of someone interrupting me. Furthermore, I can mull over and play with and refine my thoughts before sending them out. Social media comes across as a slice of heaven for an introvert who has lots of thoughts and feelings roiling around inside.

As United States citizens we have never seen such one way, uninterrupted and mass communication. As us introverts stretch out in this freedom, we, I, can overdo it. Interruption and instant response are key components to a conversation. Reading the other's facial cues, body language and tone are life skills that allow us to function as a society. When you or I see the pain, confusion, humor or anger we are inciting on someone else's body I believe we feel some level of empathy. When we hear the hurt tone in another's voice, we remember when we felt the same. Emojis just don't carry the same energy.

So now that the email has been sent can we reel it back? I wish I knew. I think we will know when we make understanding and using social media responsibly significant priorities. We can do empathy when we access the sites of those opposed to us and try our best to read with unbiased eyes. We need to stay away from loud, angry sites with click bait headlines. We need to travel to a coffee shop to listen and respond, practice our social skills. We need to eat meals together media free. We need to relearn how to put on another's pair of shoes and walk around for awhile.

Our use of social media is smashing away at our social skills and the fabric our ancestors have created and maintained over the years. This bag of skills forms a large part of what keeps us from reverting to days before civilization. Social skills are basic to cultural survival as breathing is for all animals.