Forgiveness . . . the Hard Questions, Which are Never Asked

(The book cover is just an icebreaker as I have not read that book nor do I know the content)

I started thinking about this issue of forgiveness this week and I wanted to revisit it from my typical, psychological, sociological as well as theological perspective. I'm not going to start with personal stories to illustrate the question, because that always comes across that I'm looking for guidance for my very specific situation. But I want to raise a much broader question about forgiveness in general.

Example 1, Extreme Forgiveness.

I knew about a man who was a full-time Christian worker and author. His 25 year old son was struggling to find some kind of work he could do. He eventually took up driving a taxi in a large US city.

Soon after taking the new job, one night a man pulled a gun on him and demanded his money. He only had about $30 on him and gave him all of it. The man then shot him in the back of the head (killing him) and tossed his body out of the cab and drove off with it. The police eventually found the cab later that night, had a shoot-out with the assailant, wounding him. The assailant was in the hospital.

In the midst of his grief, the father went to the hospital told the man that he completely forgave him for killing his son. He shared the gospel with the man and he immediately accepted Christ.

Now, this story was the cover story of the monthly journal for the magazine of the Christian organization, which the father worked with. It was an amazing story and became folklore and an example of Christian forgiveness.

I know I'm cynical at times, but I'm going to ask some honest questions . . . taking in consideration of the typical human psychological dynamics.

First I must ask, what is true Biblical forgiveness? Next time I want to look up some passages to cross examine.

Secondly, of course only this forementioned father and God knows the truth, but is there a chance that the father was acting out of extreme social pressure to be seen as the "godly man," rather than a heart-felt forgiveness? What I'm getting at, is that I've watch someone lose their son in an equally tragic way, and gave God praises because they wanted to live up to their concept of the Christian ideal.

Now, if someone killed one of my kids, I can imagine some day understanding the perpetrator's motives (say they did it out of a crack cocaine rage) and certainly not holding it against them. But I would always feel the anger of the loss. Is that what forgiveness really is . . . just giving up the right of wanting to punish them? Or is it "forgetting" the emotions of it?

I was told once (in error I believe) that true forgiveness is where you actually (supernaturally) forget what the other person had done, and end up completely trusting them in the same area where they hurt you.

Example 2, Moderate (but toxic) Forgiveness. I've heard this following story from several sources so it is an conglomeration of several examples.

A pastor spiritually abuses his wife for years. Puts her down. Criticizes her (in the name of God) all the time. He also controls her, using spiritual manipulation to get exactly what he wants from the family's money to getting out of chores and abuses in the bedroom. Finally it gets to physical abuse and he tells her in the privacy of the bedroom that if she ever tells he will kill her, in the name of God, because it would ruin him.

So finally, after sharing her private grief with a friend, she is given the courage to leave. The husband/pastor then starts horrible rumors about his wife, that she was sleeping around, abusing prescription drugs and etc. (all lies) and that she has turned her back on God. The pastor is so convincing that the entire church believes him and she looses virtually all her good friends, in-laws and even her only family doubts her. The pastor portrays himself (in a narcissistic way) that he is the real victim.

Her husband then excels in his work. The denomination promotes him to a bigger church. Eventually he marries the women (whom the wife suspected he was interested in even while they were married). He goes on to be a great Christian hero and even being a conference speaker and marriage enrichment seminar leader.

Since this crime against the wife is perpetual, how does she forgive him? Can the anger ever go away?

Any thoughts?

The Meaning of Christmas . . . A Psychological Shakedown

Nothing I say here is going to be theological. There is really nothing I can add to that discussion.Many Christian bloggers have written about true Christmas etc. until their font turns blue. I’ve been to three (and I may add, enjoyable) church services this week . . . all discussing something theological about Christmas.

But, I’ve had something in the back of my mind as I’ve observed my own life this holiday season. In my typical way, it is an attempt to deconstruct myself (and maybe others . . . if the shoe fits) in an honest and psychological way. I will start with my conclusion and then go back and describe my mental journey that has brought me to this point.

The essence is the real miracle of Christmas is in the eyes and experiences of the children. But then we spend the rest of our lives trying to recapture that magic . . . and are perpetually disappointed.

I'm not saying what I’m about to say, in a bah, humbug way. I’ve spoken before how I see childhood as the ideal human state. It is glorious. It is so wonderful, that I have a hunch that when God recreates this universes, He will bring us back as imaginative, courious and eternal children. I think this is what Sir James Matthew Barrie was trying to capture in his concept of Neverland (as was Michael Jackson).

When you have children of your own, and when you have a lot of them like we did, that magic endures for a while. After all, you can re-live so many things through the experiences of your own offspring. But when THEY grow up, then the perpetual disappointment starts to ensue. But not to continue on a sour note, I think I did learn something this year, about priorities and I think that’s going to help me in the future to be more realistic about the holidays.

Another thing about Christmas is that it brings out the widest chiasm in married couples' culture . . . of course if that culture is different, as Denise and mine is. I’m not talking about “meta-culture” such as would exist between a person from West Virginia and someone from Pakistan. I’m talking about the more subtle forms, such as between one American family and another, which is exaggerated when you are from different areas of the country.

Denise’s Christmas heritage was about as Rockwellian as it gets. She grew up on a farm in the Midwest with five siblings and a grand ma just across the drive way. Having a Scandinavian heritage brought in many more traditions that defined that experience. Lutheran church life was also key to their holidays.

On the other hand, I had never even heard of Advent, until I was in college. My earliest childhood memories of Christmas were no less glorious than Denise’s but very different. I’m sure she wouldn't trade her Christmas history for mine (for a second) . . . nor would I for hers.

My earliest Christmas memories were very close to the movie A Christmas Story. Indeed, I begged for a BB gun every year, and like the movie, I was always told by my mom that I would shoot my eye out with one.

But as the youngest child, I saw Christmas disintegrate faster than most. When I was twelve, I became the only child at home. My siblings, and other relatives, would come to mom and dad’s for the celebration but there was a dysfunctionality in the air. It seemed that every Christmas one of my siblings was in some kind of crisis, such as a marriage falling apart. We additionally had the odd relatives coming who made the entire week seem like the movie National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

There was uncle Hartsel, who was a TV evangelists with the Church of God. He spoke incessantly about his ministry, the End Times, and his sexual accomplishments as a young man (“bagging” the ten prettiest girls in town) . . . in that order. He also could not keep his hands off the young girls in the family, keeping at least one on his lap at all times as he rubbed his hands over their butt and thighs. Then there was my narcissistic Baptist aunt Marry. She saw herself as a cross between the Virgin Mary and the Queen of England. She had to be waited on hand and foot. She would also steal your kidneys if she could make a buck on them, but continuously look down her nose at us “little people” not meaning children but my entire side of the family.

But I digress.

This year, I saw the disappointment in Denise first and then thought through it for myself. She worked very, very hard this year . . . trying to capture that childhood Christmas. I think she was more determined than ever because she just lost her dad, who was always the center-piece of that memory. There are the decorations. This year’s tree . . . although late due to being out of the town for the funeral . . . looked like the cover of a Home and Garden magazine. She baked and cooked nonstop for the past two weeks. I could see in her the drive for normalacy . . . at least the normalacy of those Christmases past.

This year, however, I think her greatest disappoint was in me. I’m telling this from my perspective of course and if she would visit here she might disagree. But her ideal Christmas has all her adult children, well dressed and behaved, sitting on the same pew in church (her church) for Christmas Eve service. This is where the trouble began.

Between Denise’s busy work week and Christmas chores, we had only talked briefly about Christmas Eve service. I know that I was really looking forward to going to my new church’s service (and I haven’t looked forward to a Christmas Eve service in years). I also knew that it would very difficult for me to go to her church. As I mentioned in a previous post, it would be gut wrenching for me to be led by a spiritual guide who, the last time we had an encounter, he came to a very private family party (saying goodbye to my son who was leaving for college) and gave full vent to his rage, screaming at me while Denise and kids were cowering in the other room. It was very traumatic for me.

So I thought the choices were all of us going to my church, or Denise, and whoever wanted to, would go to her church.

Finally the time of decision came. I announced that I was going to my church’s 5:30 service, if anyone wanted to come to me. Denise expressed her great disappointment and anger, but she would not call it anger. She really expected that we would all go to her church.

I told her, “Denise, I’m willing to go to your church, but it would be a horrible experience for me.”

She said, “I’m not going to church alone as that would be a horrible for me?”

“Okay,” I said, “You take all the kids, who want to go, with you and I will go alone to my church.”

She did come to my church and I asked all the kids to come . . . for her, but I could tell that it was the crowning disappointment for her.

To me, I don’t care if the kids come or not. They are 18 to 24 years old now. I care deeply what they believe in their hearts. I would rather for them to honestly know God, and to never go to church or never dress up.

Then I reflected back on my past two Christmases and how disappointed I was. Last year, I thought what would be the best Christmas present I could think of for Denise. In my Christmas tradition it was all about presents. I got a car when I was 16, even though my mom and dad could not afford it. You might call it "present grandstanding." I guess I thought I could reproduce that feeling.

So, I figured that Denise would love a greenhouse. I started pouring the foundation around Thanksgiving. I cut all the support beams and laid them out in the shed. Then Christmas morning, as Denise was at work, the kids and I went out in the pouring rain and started assembling it. To make a long story short, I spent every waking second last Christmas season working on that greenhouse. As a matter of fact, I continued working on it for the subsequent three months . . . before it was finished. But I was so disappointed. I could not reproduce the same experience, which I had as a child. However, when I was out in the field building the thing I was away from my kids. Instead Iwas standing out in the rain and mud, building walls and putting up glass. Denise didn’t jump up and down over it like I had hoped. She told me that she had never asked for one, therefore all that energy was spent on myself.

The year before that wasn’t much better. We had a big snowstorm the week before Christmas (which is unusual for here). Our entire region was shut down. Then our water went out for ten days. I became obsessed with fixing it. It was a sad Christmas for me because I spent my days out digging ditches in the mud. Denise was very let down because so many of her plans were spoiled by the plumbing drought.

But this year, I think I have seen the light. You can not reproduce those memories. From now on my highlight is sitting around the table at the coffee shop and talking to my kids, getting deeper in conversation than I think I will for another twelve months. That's all that matters to me.

A Lesson from Julian

(Pictured: Julian Assange, founder of Wikileaks)

I hesitated before I waded into the water on this hot issue. But in many ways I still am not. I'm only using the broad implications in a very tangential way. I've had many facebook Christian friends, especially those who mix extreme patriotism with their brand of Christianity, blasting Wikileaks as very, very evil. I'm not here to say it is all good nor all bad. I'm certainly not foolish enough to say that the charges in Sweden are real (where real women were violated) or made up. I would have no idea because I wasn't there.

But the whole story does bring up valid points and to me, a little bit reminiscent.

I think it would take both hands and feet to count the times that I've been in the situation, which I'm about to describe. I saw it play out in the Christian circles I was in as well as the business world. It is where you notice something that isn't right in a situation. You speak to others (like other church members) and they agree. Then you are put into the situation where you are asked about the situation by the person who is responsible for it, and you answer very honestly. Next thing you know, all those who were in agreement with you, now have their heads in the sand, and you stand out a lone as the bad guy. The person who was in charge of the bad situation now targets you as the lone complainer and grumbler and no one comes to your defense.

You see, while Julian has an agenda and it is worthy to debate the merits and ills of such an agenda, it is hard to blame him for the content of what was leaked. Sure, there's some embarrassing cables and e-mails in the release. But he didn't write them. People in the State Department wrote them. So, rather than standing red faced and discussing their mistakes, lack of honesty, they focus on the whistle blower.

I knew I would get back to church on this. But take your typical church. The Evangelical versions boast of being true and Biblical. Yet, they, of all human institutions, are most insulated from self-criticism or self-monitoring. Therefore, thats why so much crazy stuff goes on inside them.

I dream of the possibility of going back to the developing world to work in health care. I would love it if some Christians were with me . . . but I would never go with a Christian organization again. The reason is, they are more vulnerable to mischief because of this wall of insulation. If you attempt to challenge the master-minds in control, they, very easily, start to use the standard guilt manipulation. "Looks like we have a complainer." or "Why are you so negative?" or "You must have some issues that make you so unhappy." Then you feel like a worm . . . a worm on his knees . . . and back away. The others, all who recognized the same problem, will side with the mastermind as you are raked through the coals.

I remember being in a Navigator training center. We were all required (as part of our spiritual training) to work for the nav leader. We cleaned his house, did his yard work, changed the oil in his car etc. I made the comment once that it is odd, that here is a guy who does not have a job, who sits at home all day doing Bible study, and meeting with people, and we, who were in demanding graduate school programs were doing all his chores. In the privacy of our house, every one agreed with me. But then once, I let it slip to the leader himself, and he made it into a spiritual issue. "This man's heart isn't right with God," he said. He told me to stop working on his yard and go home. Only those who really did it out of a servant heart should stay. Everyone else stayed but me.

It is true about my most recent church experience (not my present one). Everyone agrees that the Pastor is a dictator. Now I told him to his face and I stand alone. I'm evil. I'm the bad guy.

Honestly, if I had a blind spot in my life (and I think I have many) I would be most appreciative if someone would tell me, in a loving way. Like telling me I have a bugger hanging from my nose. I see it as a positive thing.

Maybe our government should say to Julian, "Thanks for pointing out all our hypocrisy. We're going to clean up our act from now on."

Peace on Earth . . . the Practical Side

It is always a surprise . . . and yet the expected, how this time of year brings out the good, the bad . . . and the concealed.

What I mean by "concealed," are the family, and other secrets, which raise their ugly heads this time of year. I've had patient after patient that tell of family pain. Usually it is a estranged son, or daughter who is noticeably absent. During the rest of the year, you can bury the pain with the distractions of every day life but no so at Christmas.

What my patients share as even more stressful, is where the aliened son, daughter . . . (or more typical, son or daughter in-law), do make the mandated Christmas appearance and all hell breaks loose.

It is a stressful time of year . . . in the midst of real peace and comfort. It is like Sweet and Sour Pork, a little tangy a little sugary.

I am thankful that I have peace with all my kids. I don't deserved that kind of peace. But their Christmas homecoming only brings insomnia for myself. They want to stay up until 1 AM. Me? Well I have to get up to go to work. But that's the only lack of peace we have in our family.

I am faced with another area where I sense the tension and that is with my old pastor. It is incredible but the two of us do live on the same island. I was confident that we would have run into each other on the street by now . . . but we have not. So this brings me to the Christmas tension.

The kids are home and Denise wants church celebration to be part of that. She wanted us to go to her church. I said, "That's okay, you go to yours and I will go to mine."

Then she said she really wanted us to go together. I said, okay, come to my Church's Christmas Eve celebration. I'm actually looking forward to it. "Okay," she says. Let's compromise. "We will go to both since they are at different times."

Here's my problem. The last image I have of my pastor is three months ago and him screaming at me in rage, describing the long list of moral failures I had done to him and his church. Then, a couple of days later, when he tried to act like nothing had happened, I shouted back at him that he owed me and my family an apology. I still think he does.

But now that brings us back to Christmas. It should be a time of peace. I wish I could I visit his church, enjoy the service and give him a big hug in the end. Some day I hope that I can. But to attend the service now, I know that I would feel very uncomfortable and strained, and for me it would drain all the joy out of the experience. I'm just not a very good actor.

I still hope that I can run into him, at a coffee shop, in a store . . . somewhere . . . but not initially as the spiritual authority of a Church service I've come to partake in.

The Future of The Church

I've noticed that every blog I visit is on a Christmas theme. Certainly there's nothing wrong with that and it is a no-brainer but to expect that this time of year. But I've decided to think about other big issues during this season just to avoid another blog about the meaning of Christmas.

I think about this issue a lot. The future. I think it is tied to my own sense of mortality. It came up again most recently with the lost of Denise's father. It is only natural that when one is surrounded with the emotions of death, that death becomes paramount in one's thinking for a while.

Denise and I had this conversation soon after we got back from the funeral. She brought it up. She asked me if I thought Jesus was coming back soon. I know what she was thinking at the time. This life on earth was too painful for her at that moment and she wanted it to end.

I personally lean in the post-mil direction when it comes to eschatology. My belief in this view is so fragile that I would never promote it here (and I'm not doing that now) or argue with anyone about it. But basically (if you have forgotten what this implies) I believe that the Church will eventually prevail . . . making a major impact in rolling back all that is bad here on this earth. Not totally of course. But that the Church will be God's tool of redemption of all societies on earth. That the gospel will spread to the ends of the earth, not brining a wacky form of Evangelicalism (which would not render the "heathen" in a better position) but a good, pure gospel. Then, when this peace is established, there will be a very long "millennium" (not necessarily meaning 1000 years but a very long time) of beauty on earth, and then Christ returns here to earth to rule. The earth will be cleansed and fixed (renewed) and those living, and those of us who have died, will be brought back to enjoy this new earth forever. Eternity spent here in this fixed physical world.

So I reminded Denise of my views. So, since we are nowhere near this point, of the Church redeeming the world, I don't think Jesus is coming back within a few hundred years . . . if not a few thousand.

I do understand that most American Christians are pre-mil post-trib leaning (or dogmatic on). I respect that position as well. The truth is that none of us know. The best we can do is make some educated guesses. So, it not an essential.

So, while I sometimes struggle with depression, and frequently (okay, always) struggle with anxiety . . . I am an eternal optimist. Different form my post trib, pre mil friends, I don't believe that this world is in the process of going down the toilet. I don't think we are far worse off than we where in the 60s. When you take the world as a whole (rather than our little, ole American corner) I think you can make strong arguments that we are better off. Atrocities have always been part of the human race . . . since Cain and Abel. There are far fewer now than ever before. Thanks to world wide, instant communication . . . it is much harder to abuse people as it was in the past. Sure, we still hear about terrible things . . . but, in my opinion, it is becoming more and more difficult to hide them. Even here in the US, I think that incest is far less common now than in the darkness of the "perfect," Christian utopia of the 50s. You could say the same about a lot of other sins. Now they are just more out in the open. That's my point.

So, after this very long introduction, the question becomes . . . what will the Church look like in, say, a hundred years? What bout a thousand?

In my view, because the Church is run by people, and people are fallen . . . and messed up, it is under constant need for reformation. Of course the Catholic Church of the Middle Ages had some hideous aspects, but the protestants didn't "fix" things. They improved things, and then the Catholic Church went through its own repentance and fix some of their things internally.

Like our dear, late friend, Michael Spencer believed, I think the age of the Evangelicals is over . . . hopefully. I sense we are in this phase of transition and the dust is still settling.

In my previous church, the pastor often voiced his opinion that all the forms of the emerging church, the house church movement, and of course the Catholics and other Orthodox Churches were not the "real Church." Of course he was wrong. But I've carried this on too long already. But I have this great optimist that the next phase of church life will be much better than those forms which have come before . . . at least one can hope.

Maybe I'll be back to talk about this more . . . maybe not.

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions . . . and the Mythology of Good Choices

I'm on the threshold of making one of the biggest decisions I've ever made. That is to quit my job and open my own clinic. It has been a very complicated process over the past five years getting to this point. It is too complicated to discuss here, but I do want to share some thoughts once more about this cottage industry around Christian decision making.

First of all, if it isn't obvious, there's a lot at stake . . . mainly, total financial ruin. Right now is not a good time to go completely broke as I have 3 1/2 kids in college.

But on to my point.

You see, the last decision of this magnitude was quiting my job at Mayo Clinic, and coming to a place 2,000 miles away, where I wasn't really wanted. Over all, that decision has turned out well (despite all the warning signs that it would fail). I think all my kids and maybe even my wife would agree that moving here seven years ago was a positive thing. However, it was the decision before that one, which was a complete disaster. In that decision process, I quit my job, moved one hundred miles and built a house. The job was the job from hell (where the physicians I was working with were heavily involved with illegal billing practices) and the house building was a complete failure . . . could not have gone worse . . . unless one of us had been killed.

So this brings me back to this concept of how Christians can follow steps 1, 2, and 3 . . . and always end up in the "middle of God's will" where life is bliss. Or that's how the mythology goes. I know I've talked about this concept many times and from many directions, such as the Prince Charming piece.

Yesterday I was standing at my dream clinic site with a Realtor, contractor, interior designer friend and my wife. After everyone had left, it was just the contractor and me. He is a good friend. Really nice guy. He is an evangelical and a card carrying Promise Keepers man. As I discussed the risk involved, he asked me if I had "prayed about it."

"Sure have," I honestly said. I pray about it almost continuously. But then he added the line that is cliche. "Well then, if it is the right thing all the doors will open and if not, they won't."

If life could only be that easy! But it is not. Remember that decision, two decisions ago, which turned into a disaster? Well I certainly do remember it and remember it well. All the doors opened. I didn't have to force any open. I prayed about that decision until I was blue in the face (and continued praying about it for the subsequent decade as we had a 1/2 built house that we couldn't sell). I remember when I made that decision how my Christian friends lined up to tell me it was the right thing to do.

One of those friends, a pastor, was all thumbs up about it. Partially because it meant that I would be moving to his town and joining his church. He was the one who put me in touch with a pastor friend of his who had a contracting business on the side. It was a freaking nightmare. The contractor may have been a wonderful pastor, but he was a contracting idiot. He messed the house up so badly that it couldn't be sold. Then, he declared bankruptcy (after a relative of his, an employee of his company, ran off with the money) and I couldn't sue him. The real kicker, while we were living in a mess (the house was an unheated shed in the middle of the winter in norther Michigan) the pastor who told me that the decision was the right one and who set me up with the terrible contractor, now told me that the failure was all my fault because I had not trusted God correctly.

So, once again I stand at a crossroads. Yes, decisions making is a science, where you do put your ducks in a row, do your research and try to make the best decision that you can. But this mythology that if you pray about it and the doors open that it will be bliss is very, very wrong. This time around the doors are opening. I could easily make the case that this is clearly God's will . . . but many of us now know better. My summary is that life has real risks. There is no fairy tale where the happy ending always comes. It doesn't. But, we must be faithful to live with the consequences and not blame God for promises He never made.

The last reason this came to mind was a man I met at this week's prayer group. He too felt God had led him to start a business. But he has had incredible set backs. Two vital pieces of machinery for his business, which he bought new, and were top-of-the -line, are seriously defective. He was expressing so much frustration as he prayed. I could tell that he was in that same mental cul-de-sac that many of us have found ourselves in. "God, are you there? Didn't I do this right?" It is a shame. I approached him after the prayer meeting to tell him, basically, shit happens. It wasn't his fault and certainly wasn't God's fault. No-where in scriptures (unless you bend them to the breaking point) did God promise if you follow steps 1, 2 and 3 in your decision making the he would protect you from the laws of Murphy.

In the Praise of Fine Music

(photo is of some of the original handiwork of Handel in writing his Messiah)

I am actually grateful that I did not come from a musical family. My exposure to music was limited to the role of the superficial radio consumer. I never play an instrument seriously (but a little guitar). I never sang in any choir . . . not even at church or in high school. I did do a solo performance once at a college retreat . . . but that was truly an anomaly.

Now the reason I make such a statement isn't because I don't like music, but because I do. But I the fortunate position of coming to music as a novice, like a babe to milk.

I remember when I was required to take music appreciation to fulfill my undergrad requirements. The class was considered as boring and an easy "A." I chose the 8 AM class, where I thought I could sleep in the large music hall with its soft theater seats. But the professor took us on a philharmonic journey trough places and times. We sat and listen to the high fidelity recordings on the giant speakers in the acoustically correct auditorium. I became consumed with it. As an Appalachian hillbilly, I had never been exposed to opera, save the Grand Ole one. I had never listened to jazz, show tunes nor classical. But the classical possessed my soul like an intrusive spirit.

I briefly started to collect classical LPs until, unfortunately, a fellow Christian told me how bad "non-Christan music" was for me. You know,the heathen's like Bach, Pachelbel, Chopin and of course Handel. So I turned my back on music . . . in exchange for Larry Newman and music from the Maranatha label.

Then there was yesterday. I took my lunch hour, drove down the hill from our little hospital and parked at the marina. In front of my little jeep were a fleet of fishing vessels mixed in with yachts with beautiful lines and shapes. Denise spotted me and pulled up beside me. I jumped into her car. She had a CD of Handel's Messiah playing. I put back my seat, turned up the volume and looked out over the blue water with the snow capped back drop. It was extremely powerful.

The most powerful thing about the Messiah, wasn't necessarily the glorious words, but the complex interactions of he violin strings, the French horns, cello, oboe and harpsichord. What I'm talking about is what was expressed by Beethoven when he said he had to write out the music of the Handel's work for himself so he could get the "feeling of its intricacies and to unravel its complexities." There is something deep within music like that that resonates with something deep within your soul. It is in the same thought that Pythagoras had when he said, "There is geometry in the humming of the strings, music in the spacing of the spheres." From that point, he drew the conclusion that we were not of only material things . . . but of that which supersedes creation. Plato followed his thought and developed it further.

So, what I'm trying to say, is that I consider myself most fortunate to come to music as an outsider. I believe (and many would argue this point) that a castaway rescued from a decade-long imprisonment on a deserted island would have a greater appreciation of fine food than a famous chief, who is in his kitchen every day. I am that castaway.

Once again I must draw from something that Francis Schaeffer has said. He once visited an art museum in Amsterdam (I believe). It was an exhibit of some sort of contemporary (1970s) irrational art. It spoke loudly to a belief that all was chaos and that life had no real meaning. He said by the time he got out and by the time anyone would get out, their faith in a creator would be shaken to some degree.

When I hear the complexities of fine music, resonating in my soul . . . I know that there is something there. There is a piece of a personal universe which can not be explained by time, impersonal mechanics or simple electrons down an axon. That's why listening to fine music, even without words, brings me closer to God.