Esse quam videri

Facebook. And now the writer’s block hits me like a brick -- thick as a brick and twenty minutes long like the song by Jethro Tull. I joined facebook early in my second semester at school. I was so scared I immediately deactivated it, waiting for the repercussions. They never came; so I reactivated it, assured by my new friends that I would soon loose touch with them after graduation if I didn’t get an account and friend them (to make our relationship official). I used it some before graduating to keep up with friends and catch up with old ones. I managed to avoid drama. At home on my island it became my portal to the outside world, one through which I spent way too much time staring. I deactivated it. Three people continued to email me. Email is archaic.

Now I am contemplating another foray into the world online. I will be back at school, presumably with something to do besides stare at my screen into a world of images.

Two things besides its voracious appetite for time bother me about facebook. It allows me to project the personality I desire people to perceive, and it takes every physical sense out of communication. From my picture to my interests, I tell you who I want you to think I am. My picture tells you that I am somewhat detached, amused and rather bored by people. My profile tells you that I am adventurous, compassionate (an attribute belied by the picture), well read, and fond of flogging myself with quotes that inspire me not to waste my life. I am safe behind that picture. You are safe behind yours. As I chat or write a post on your wall, I am carefully crafting what I want you to hear. Sometimes it doesn’t work. You can’t read my face. You can’t feel my touch. You can’t even hear my voice. As I hit post and send my words through space to your screen, the one that divides you from me, I turn from you to another screen, or to homework, or maybe to a real person sitting beside me. I change the subject. But I don’t want to talk to them. It's too hard.

But there are people I love on facebook. Perhaps those who really care for me will email or call; but then I am leaving the maintenance of our relationship to them, forcing them to meet me where I am. I should go to them. I want to be with them, and they are on facebook. Maybe I should join them.

Live

There are many things that I would like to write about: the changes that God has wrought in my life over the past few months have given me many ideas. I would like to write about our freedom to LIVE. Not just exist, but to live. To choose how we will live: to put the past behind, to let go of bitterness, to sweep away clutter, to put aside anxiety and live with radical trust in our sovereign God. To be filled with Him and satisfied in His love, free to focus on others, to take joy in life, to risk everything for Christ. At peace with God, we can be at peace with others, demanding nothing of them and letting go of injuries. Forgiven, we can forgive and never remember again. We can love without reserve. We can choose to put aside malice and be free from its mastery, its debilitating, wasting oppression. We can choose joy and peace, because we have both in Christ. We can choose meaning, because God is not an impersonal ultimate: He has spoken into space and time, proclaiming truth. To believe in a sovereign God is not to be a deistic nihilist. Life matters. Pain matters. Joy matters. To live intentionally is to be exposed to sorrow, but it is also to embrace joy. To be optimistic is to be exposed to disappointment, but it is also to practice trust. Pessimism is like layers of brittle protective lacquer precluding pain and embarrassment, but choking hope and joy. We can protect and conserve, or we can expose and serve. We can hold on and fear, or we can let go and trust. We can live purely in the temporal -- bound by physical clutter and mental debris, disabled, our energy spent in worry, unable to break free and savor life; or we can live in the light of eternity -- unencumbered by possessions, bitterness, and anxiety; free to give, forgive, and be at peace. We can choose to maintain comfortable existence, safe, unused, reserved, and wasted, or we can choose a vibrant life of purpose. In the end we can die in the peace of comfort or the peace of God. We can leave this life preserved, unused, safe, dead within our lacquer; or we can leave poured out, used up, rejoicing in a life truly spent.

John Newton on Romans 7

I would, but cannot sing,
Guilt has untuned my voice;
The serpent sin's envenomed sting
Has poisoned all my joys.

I know the Lord is nigh,
And would, but cannot, pray;
For Satan meets me when I try,
And frights my soul away.

I would but can't repent
Though I endeavor oft;
This stony heart can ne'er relent
Till JESUS make it soft.

I would but cannot love,
Though wooed by love divine;
No arguments have pow'r to move
A soul so base as mine.

I would, but cannot rest
In GOD'S most holy will;
I know what he appoints is best,
Yet murmur at it sill!

Oh could I but believe!
Then all would easy be;
I would, but cannot, LORD relieve,
My help must come from thee!

But if indeed I would,
Though I can nothing do,
Yet the desire is something good,
For which my praise is due.

By nature prone to ill,
Till thine appointed hour
I was as destitute of will,
As now I am of pow'r.

Wilt thou not crown, at length,
The work thou has begun?
And with a will, afford me strength
In all thy ways to run.

John Newton
Olney Hymns #126

John Newton: Prayer Answered by Crosses

I ask'd the Lord, that I might grow
In faith, and Love, and ev'ry grace,
Might more of his salvation know,
and seek more earnestly his face.

Twas he who taught me thus to pray,
And he, I trust has answer'd pray'r;
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair.

I hop'd that in some favour'd hour,
At once he'd answer my request:
And by his love's constraining pow'r,
Aubdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, he made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart;
and let the angry pow'rs of hell
Assault my soul in ev'ry part.

Yea more, with his own hand he seem'd
Intent to aggravate my woe;
Cross'd all the fair designs I schem'd,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

Lord, why is this, I trembling cry'd,
Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?
"'Tis in this way," the Lord reply'd,
"I answer pray'r for grace and faith.

"These inward trials I employ,
"From self and pride to set thee free;
"And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
"That thou mayst seek thy all in me."

John Newton

Isaac Watts on Psalm 13

How long, O Lord, shall I complain,
Like one that seeks his God in vain?
Canst thou thy face for ever hide,
And I still pray, and be denied?

Shall I for ever be forgot,
As one whom thou regardest not
Still shall my soul thine absence mourn,
And still despair of thy return?

How long shall my poor troubled breast
Be with these anxious thoughts oppressed?
And Satan, my malicious foe,
Rejoice to see me sunk so low?

Hear, Lord, and grant me quick relief,
Before my death conclude my grief:
If thou withhold thy heav'nly light,
I sleep in everlasting night.

How will the powers of darkness boast,
If but one praying soul be lost!
But I have trusted in thy grace,
and shall again behold thy face.

Whate'er my fears or foes suggest,
Thou art my hope, my joy, my rest;
My heart shall feel thy love, and raise
My cheerful voice to songs of praise.

Isaac Watts
Psalms and Hymns of Isaac Watts, Stephen Hutcheson, Editor