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| I Will Follow You Into the DarkI automatically put my hand down to secure the soft drink as my car halted abruptly at the stoplight. The smell of greasy fries made my stomach churn a little as it complained from hunger and dissatisfaction at the poor choice in food, but it wasn't my fault that every other restaurant was closed that day. On the drive over, the windows had been down and the wistful smell the barbecue pits and charcoal wafted in, but such was not my luck this July 4th.
The light changed and I drove down the road alongside a vast, wide open cemetery that belonged to the diocese of Metuchen. It was always verdant and well-tended, a rich and soft green that gently accentuated the slate-gray tombstones that remained perennially in season. I liked how the natural colors complemented the broad horizon and brilliant sunsets. The one at this twilight hour was particularly stunning, with fiery red and orange hues trickling over fields of clouds accented by dusky navy blues as they stretched into the distance.
I had to shift my attention back to the road as it suddenly became crowded with parked cars and a gathering crowd of people. At first I thought it was a funeral but then realized that there were too many picnic blankets on the periphery of the lush field for that to be the case. Families and friends ambled around leisurely, setting up lawn chairs and chatting easily with each other as they admired the same sunset and waited for the pending display of fireworks. There was a line of strollers on the sidewalk and I was struck by the strange irony of babies sitting and laughing on the grass covering the earthen, reserved vacancies of the local cemetery. I fast forwarded the CD player to a different track.
"And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time..."*
I parked my car at the medical school, less than half a mile away. I hoisted my satchel of books and the paper bag of cheap fast food, making my way across the concrete lot and into the building while sipping on my drink. I thought about what those families outside had been grilling, what stories and jokes they were telling the neighbors, what games and trouble their kids would get into and out of. I thought about how pleasant the weather was, how happy and carefree they all seemed to be, and I wondered if they saw the cemetery in the same way I did. I waited for a twinge of jealousy, a pang of sorts to strike as I settled into the cold, air-conditioned room by myself.
But it never came. The sense of appreciation for that sunset didn't fade as I had expected, despite the announcement of nighttime's arrival from the loud sizzles and bangs of the first fireworks that echoed and sounded through the concrete walls. I thought about how transient those fireworks were, carefully crafted for a moment of heat and light and excitement that would glitter and fade, gently, into darkness and wonder.
I smiled and sipped on my milkshake.
"No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark."**
*"What Sarah Said" and **"I Will Follow You Into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie
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| Christian CitizenshipO beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness
And every gain divine!
-America, the Beautiful
In all of our eagerness to defend the delicate separation between church and state, we often forget that it is also a Christian's duty to practice good citizenship, by which I mean supporting and hoping that our government operates by laws that are just, fair, and merciful. I've gotten some flak from people for saying this, as they argue that Christians pledge no allegiance to anyone but Christ and that nationalistic pride often only causes tension and divides within the Church. In response to this, I point out that people could say the same about ethnic or racial diversity.
Recall that the Revelation account of unity says, "From every nation, tribe, and tongue", not from the same of each. There is beauty where different national identities come together and pledge allegiance to Christ as King, but much of that beauty comes from the unification of diversity, not the elimination of it. While Paul does say, "In Christ, there is neither male nor female, Jew nor Greek," that doesn't mean we completely absolve our identity or interest in gender or race, pretending to no longer be those things at all; rather, we recognize that they do not alter our identity in Christ but that - in a radical twist - Christ defines our identity in them. As an example, look at Paul's exhortations to widows, slaves, masters, etc. where he explains how Christ's principles ought to transform our occupation of those positions/identities.
Some people point to America's own history (and continuation) of injustices and violence in the name of nationalism, to which I say that we see America as beautiful for what it is we pray to see it become: not for corruption and nepotistic rulers but for the pursuit of justice and liberty; not for self-indulgence and individualistic pride but for self-sacrifice in the defense of the weak. I will be the first to admit that America is flawed as a nation, but will also say that it should only strengthen our resolve to seek a just and peaceful society.
In fact, Paul writes in Timothy, "I urge, then, first of all, that requests, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone— for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness. This is good, and pleases God our Savior, who wants all men to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth. For there is one God and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all men—the testimony given in its proper time. And for this purpose I was appointed a herald and an apostle—I am telling the truth, I am not lying—and a teacher of the true faith to the Gentiles." This is the basis of my argument for good citizenship. We do not necessarily ask for a theocratic or Christian government, but for one that upholds justice and peace that permits believers to express and live their lives in godliness and holiness. While this does not express a necessary affection for a government or country, the text lends a measure of respect for governments that follow such principles. Note that Paul, though imprisoned by the authority Roman legal system, did not call for its abolition but instead sought his own acquittal through its judicial system. He used his Roman citizenship with respect and according to its laws (so far as they did not prevent him from speaking the Gospel. I consider that a decent model of citizenship and don't ask or expect more from our citizenry that.
Are citizenship and Christianity necessarily mutually exclusive? Does pledging allegiance to God necessarily mean that we are not permitted to pledge allegiance to a particular country or nationality? There are times when the two become contradictory, in which case a Christian's obligation is clear, but I don't believe that there is any difficulty with national identity as a secondary identity. Perhaps in the context of a church service or an official function it may be less appropriate, as we gather at church to express our devotion to God, but here, in this personal space, I will hold up this song as an intercessory appeal for this country, which I love very much. I last remember hearing it sung on September 11, 2001, at a candlelight vigil in Princeton.
America, the Beautiful
O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassioned stress
A thoroughfare of freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!
O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness
And every gain divine!
O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
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| The artistry of loveIn the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU), the doors are nothing more than large, sliding windows. They're designed that way to let people on the outside see what's happening in a glance, but it's easy to forget that the voyeurism goes both ways. I found myself staring into the room, only half listening to the clustered group of attendings and nurses gathered outside the door who talked and gestured to one another animatedly. They were catching up on the patient's condition overnight but the thread of the conversation skipped around, so my attention wandered through those window/doors and to the daughter who lay limply in the hospital bed, a corrugated tube running out of her throat and to a breathing machine nearby. Her eyes were unfixed but her lips moved purposefully, mouthing silent words of... what? Pain? Fear? Was she suffering from "ICU psychosis"? Did her words have any meaning at all?
Her mother hovered over the bed, gently stroking her hair and whispering something in her ear that remained inaudible and secret to me. Mom brushed her cheek lightly and smiled at her. It wasn't the smile of false security given by parents to frightened children, the forced expression of strength and courage from scared adults. It was genuine and warm and inexplicably robust, the sort of incontainable emotion in the space between a child reunited with a lost pet, between lovers in bed, between mother and daughter.
"Last night we spent half an hour trying to figure out what she was saying," said a nurse. "It took a while, but we figured out that Mom had said, 'I love you', and that she was just trying to say, 'I love you too.'"
And suddenly, my eyes locked onto her face, swollen from the abrasive trauma of surgery and pudgy from the high dose steroids used for chemotherapy. I looked at those wide, unseeing eyes and suddenly thought, "She is beautiful." I was thunderstruck, surprised by the precision and strength of that thought. There was no cognitive evaluation of her aesthetic or philosophic deliberation over the mechanisms of affection. There was no adequate logic in my mind to explain the authority of the perception. I was simply overwhelmed by the impression of beauty, moved in my gut in the rare way that a brilliantly nuanced sunset or an evocative strain of music can do. I was undone by an encounter with the artistry of love.
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| It was one of those moments where I wondered "what possessed me to say something like that." Everyone else stared at me in surprise and with some horror.
It began with the breaking news of Michael Jackson's death. Among our idle group of medical students, there were some comments here and there about, "He was so young," and "How sad." The prevailing sentiment appeared to be, "What a shame. How regrettable."
And so, without much thinking, I blurted out, "I'm sorry, but I don't have much pity for child molesters."
Everyone stared and became deathly quiet. Some brave soul said, "Well, he was never convicted of it."
I snorted and shot back, "Neither was OJ." People laughed nervously.
Then someone else said, "I thought you were a Christian."
As someone who is terribly insecure about his identity, I had to ruminate on that conversation and whether I should have said something different (or not at all). After all, we were working in a medical clinic, serving people who had been in jail, who were chronic drug users, who were victims of abuse or perpetrators themselves. Perhaps I should have been expected to speak more kindly of him, with more grace and compassion for an untimely death and a career overshadowed by allegations that may have been false.
But deep down inside, I can't. This is solely because I do believe that he was guilty for child molestation and it feels wrong to pity such a death; if I was convinced that he were innocent, I would certainly feel differently. The fact that bothers me is that people hardly tried to defend his claim to innocence; instead, they were surprised that a Christian would struggle with feelings of antipathy or anger towards an alleged perpetrator of a terrible crime.
Do Christians really have such a weak expression of justice and anger towards things truly abhorrent? Scripture has no kind words to say about those who plot and perform evil. True, Christians hope for repentance and the forgiveness of wrongdoing, but the public perception seems to be that the love of Christ should somehow make it easier to forgive grave sins.
I think that's totally bogus. If anything, our love for the sacred and the fullness of the life that was violated should make it harder. Christ's forgiveness does nothing to mitigate the severity or disgust of sin. Instead, the degree of that repulsion is used to reflect the magnitude of God's love.
So I have no apologies for my low regard for child molesters, only my lack of love. Please, forgive me that.
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| What will happen to him?And so the first question that the priest asked -- the first question that the Levite asked was, "If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?" But then the Good Samaritan came by. And he reversed the question: "If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?-Excerpt from "I've been to the Mountaintop", the last speech by Martin Luther King Jr. given the night before his assassination.
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