Books: a novel way to learn

 

“Libraries store the energy that fuels the imagination. They open up windows to the world and inspire us to explore and achieve, and contribute to improving our quality of life.” Sidney Sheldon

I read an article the other day that estimated a trip to another planet one single light-year away, using current technology, would take about 4,000 years. While there were road trips in my childhood that might have felt like forty centuries, that’s an unbelievably long time between pit stops. How many times would a child have to ask, “Are we there, yet?” before the Captain of the starship would jettison them into the deep, dark voids of space?

Fortunately, I have been to the far corners of the universe and beyond many times in my few decades on earth, courtesy of those rectangular blocks of wood commonly called books.

I was never a great reader in school, and often struggled to keep pace with reading assignments. I don’t suffer from dyslexia or other reading disorders. I’m simply a slow reader; I always have been. Admittedly, school textbooks are seldom written in a riveting style of prose. The calculus of algebra was unfathomable and incalculable to my gray matter. Social Studies stunted my capacity to socialize the way I’d hoped to, and science textbooks managed to do the impossible in that they made time, itself, stand still.

Nevertheless, there were some books that restored a sense of life and vitality that the vampiric codices required by the school system sucked out. They were located in a special section of the library; they were called novels. 

For me, Science Fiction latched onto a few of those brain cells that still had the cellular equivalence of pulse and respiration. I came, I looked, and I found titles that grabbed my attention; suddenly, a mad scientist somewhere cried out, “He’s alive. He’s alive!”

Sometimes people denigrate fiction as being unreal or fake. And sure, fiction may be untrue in the sense of it relaying events that haven’t happened. But fiction can still be true and brutally honest, like To Kill a Mockingbird. 

A novel is a story told through the imagination of its author. Now, I’ll admit that romance novels are a genre that almost gives the lie to what I just said. They may be great escapist fare for some folks and trash to me, and yet one person’s trash is another person’s treasure. 

Who am I to judge the story of a lady who falls in love with some dude with washboard abs, chiseled jawline, soft eyes and a long-flowing mane, while my protagonists explore strange new worlds and wrestle with extra-terrestrial baddies? 

The point is that stories invite us to see the world through the eyes of those who are not us, whose life experiences are different from our own. Good writers pour themselves into those stories; we experience their struggles, their questions, their dilemmas. As we read, we find our perspectives affirmed or challenged, and sometimes changed or even broken. 

Book clubs often help us find books we’d avoid if left to our own devices. 

Right now I am walking in the shoes of a black man who is writing a letter to his son (Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates). I am walking alongside Detective Inspector Konrad Sejer, investigating the murder of a mother and her toddler in a dumpy trailer in a small town in Norway (Hell Fire, Karin Fossum). I’m sitting beside a historian, leafing my way through ancient scrolls, deciphering inscriptions on tiny shards of pottery (Why the Bible Began, Jacob Wright). 

I have discovered that books, even those considered “escapist fare,” are a way to burst the bubbles into which we often wrap ourselves. Books allow us to stop and ponder what we’re reading. Unlike movies that whip along, or pundits that natter on endlessly on the telly, books allow us time to think, to process, and to discover a world that lies beyond our own line of sight. 

I find that critically important, especially in these days where so few are able to think beyond the depth of a meme about anything. Libraries are where the brains of the universe are stored. I commend reading to all of you here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Easter 3: The Kingdom of Heaven is like a Nurturing Momma

“See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called Children of God.” 1 John 3:1

How many of you know that today? How many of you know that God loves you, and that you are children of God, and that no matter what: no “one” and no “thing” can take that away from you now – or ever?

You and I are children of the most amazing God. We worship a God from whom it is impossible to escape his loving embrace.

With enough power, we can leave the earth. We proved that with the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo space missions. We can leave the earth; we can escape earth orbit. But we have NO power to escape God’s great love for us.

What does that mean?

In ACTS 3 we see the story of John and Peter. They went to the temple, as was their custom; they healed a man crippled from birth (Note: he was looking for a handout – as was HIS custom – what he received from the apostles was FAR greater); people are upset – Why? It seems to them that their world is being turned upside down. In their world-view, the man is crippled because of his sin or the sins of his parents. Peter: It doesn’t matter. The fact is, it was God who did this – not us.

It was by FAITH IN HIS NAME – the name JESUS – that made him whole.

The name “Jesus” means “Yah Saves, Yah Heals”.

It is the FAITH that is THROUGH Jesus that has restored him

And here is the kicker:

What we do is sometimes evil – whether out of ignorance or malice – but that doesn’t matter. The Bible tells us – the Gospel tells us: Turn to God, and God will restore you too; God will heal you, too; God will save you, too.

That’s what God does; that’s what God wants – more than anything.

What is your image of God? Is your god Vengeful? Angry? Demanding? 

I try to stay away from people who act like that.

I try to stay away from people who are dangerous to my well-being, who are toxic to be around.

But what if the God we worship isn’t mad, angry, vengeful, or just waiting for us to goof up so he can toss us into the fire?

What if God actually delights in us? What then?

When I have people who nurture me, who care for me, who take care of me, who embrace me when I need it, and give me space when I need space, and who energize me when I am feeling drained – do you think I run from those kind of people, or run towards them?

John says: “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called Children of God.”

As children, we have our DNA from our parents. 

As Christians, God replaces our DNA with God’s own spiritual DNA. God is converting/transforming our junky old DNA – the kind that leads to war, strife, greed, gluttony, etc. – to godly, holy DNA – the kind that leads to love, joy, peace, and grace: that produces the fruits of the Spirit.

In his Epistle, the Apostle John says, “we don’t look like God yet, but we’re getting there.” We are the evidence the world is looking for that there is a God who loves them THIS MUCH.

So, how do we do that? How do we make that “love” more visible?

First of all, we become a nurturing community – we become a people who are known as people who don’t just nurture one another – even the heathens do that – but who nurture the world.

It sounds like a big job, but God has faith in us. How do I know?

Jesus says: I am not a ghost. Feed me.

In Matthew (25) Jesus says: As you feed, clothe, visit others, you do so to me.

We take care of Jesus – even the risen Jesus – one person at a time. 

We don’t have the resources to take care of 7 billion people, but we do have resources to provide friendship to those who are lonely – here. 

We provide food to those who are hungry – here. 

We provide shelter to those who are cold – here. 

We visit those who are ill – here. 

We do what no one else in the world will do because that is what God has called us to do; that’s who God has called us to be: people who look and act like Jesus, because that’s what it means to be a child of God – and God knows we can do it through FAITH IN HIS NAME. 

“See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called Children of God.” 1 John 3:1

Secondly, we open our eyes and see what love God has given us; how God comes running to us when we are hurt, lonely, or afraid.

We pray, “Our Father …” That is a term of endearment. We pray “Our Father …” because we know that everything is his – and he lavishes us with good gifts. I remember that old tune we sometimes sang at the offertory in some of my early churches: 

“All things are thine, no gift have we, Lord of all gifts, to offer thee, and hence with grateful hearts today, Thine own before thy feet we lay.”

We pray “Our Father” because we have a God who cares for us every bit as deeply, every bit as lavishly, every bit as passionately as Mother, Father, Brother, or Sister ever has – and more. We just have to look up, like the man at the gate.

That’s both a challenge and a promise, and it’s ours for good. AMEN

When Your Pants Ride High

“Those who guard their mouth and tongue Guard themselves from trouble.” Proverbs 21:23

I am usually a mild-mannered sort of dude. There’s not a lot that ruffles my feathers. I don’t mind when traffic is heavy and slow; I know I’ll get to where I’m going. I don’t mind when there is a wait to get a seat at a restaurant on a Friday night; I know they’ll seat me as soon as they can. I don’t mind when people bump into me when they pass me by down the bread aisle at the grocer’s; I know I tend to loaf. 

I’m a patient guy. But I’ll confess that every now and then I find my dander getting up for one reason or another, and when that happens, I put on grumpy pants. I inherited them from my father. On those rare occasions when he would get angry, he needed trousers that would stretch and cling at the same time, as he was wont to jump right out of those britches if he got all truly riled up over something.

One day, for instance, our toilet took to overflowing, but not always. It was unpredictable. It would flush fine one time, and the next it wouldn’t, causing the water to pour out onto the floor. He checked but couldn’t find a blockage, so finally, exasperated, he removed the toilet, took it out back, snaked it from the bottom with the garden hose and, voila, out popped my sister’s china toy tea cup. Dad became a human jackhammer, stomping on that cup until it was reduced to atomic bits. 

This past week found me needing to put on my own grumpy pants. It wasn’t anything major, just a lot of little things that were getting my proverbial goat. Becoming something of an old goat, it struck me more personally than it probably needed to.

First, there was a delivery scheduled to arrive the day before Easter. I had ordered the item ten days earlier, and it was coming by way of an express delivery service, but without a need to rush. I was excited; it was a gift for the missus and was to be a surprise for Easter dinner. On delivery-date Saturday, the Express truck pulled up in front of the house and sat there for about five minutes, then drove off. Apparently the driver had forgotten to load the package onto the truck that morning; the tracker system reset delivery to Monday. I absolutely positively will NOT trust that outfit for my shipping needs. Thus, I donned my grumpy pants.

Then early this week I needed to conduct some financial business online. I logged on, went to the page created for that purpose, and was directed to call a toll-free number. I called it and followed the automatic messages down the rabbit hole until finally the phone system sent me a link back to the web page from which I had embarked. The cell and web systems put me into an infinite loop. Not only was I wearing my grumpy pants; I’d pulled them up above my belly button!

Last night I wanted to visit one of our streaming services. I directed my voice activated remote to send us to the service which, for some reason, had forgotten who I am or was. It asked me to sign up or sign in. Actually, it didn't ask. It told me to. Unsurprisingly, that pushed one of my buttons. Televisions and cable boxes apparently have never heard of memorizing information, so I had to manually scroll across the fake keyboard punching in my email address and a password that contains a complex mix of numbers, letters alternating between upper and lower cases, and symbols (none of which was a gesture I really wanted to use). By the time I was readmitted to my streaming service, I was both steaming mad, and had pulled my grouchy pants up to my armpits.

Today, I have taken deep breaths; I have recited the Serenity Prayer; I have traded my grumpy pants, once again, for comfort clothes. If things happen in threes, I should be fine for a while. Meanwhile, my grumpy pants are available whenever I need them here in this, our valley. They still fit.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)