The Problem With Mercy

As a child in Catechism class, there were lessons that always proved to be very difficult to understand. The idea that one could not change the mind of God, no matter how much one pleaded with him always stuck me has hard-hearted and cold for example, or that God could be everywhere all the time, yet care about each one of us individually with a love greater than a parent for his or her child. One problem that proved especially difficulty was the story of the prodigal son.[1] I remember in grade seven catechism class, watching a video on this story. I wondered how the younger son of that story could be forgiven, or why he should get a great big party after falling away while the son that worked hard all his life with his father should seem to get nothing at all. The words of the older son seemed to speak directly to my objection to the outcome of the story.

Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.[2]

These questions I thought were too improper to ask. I thought that the problem was with me, that I might have been too hard-hearted to understand the story. Other kids asked about it indirectly, and the answers the teachers gave always seemed adequate to them while I found them wanting or deficient. I came to think the problem was with me, that I never fully understood what they were saying, or what the story was about.

Other ideas in catechism class posed similar problems, and always left an itch within my mind. I was told for example, that a man, who had done evil things for most of his life, would be saved if he turned to God at the end of it. Alternatively, a man who did good things all his life, if he turned away from God toward the end, would be lost. ‘How could this be?’ I would ask myself, ‘How could a good life ever lead to damnation, and a bad life lead to glorification?’ How is this possible?

Learn to Love the Past

I heard this true story once on the radio, and always found it fascinating, and one which I thought many of us might be able to relate to.

There once was this woman that had a hard time connecting to her father. When she was younger, she always felt the need to be told that she was loved directly. However her father would never oblige her. She would walk up to him as a little girl and ask him,

 ’Daddy, do you love me?’ and her father would smile at her, reach into his pocket and say,

 ’Here is a nickel for you, don’t tell your mother.’ However that never satisfied her, and as she was stubborn, she kept on asking her father

 ’Daddy do you love me?’ and he would respond in the same way,

The Keystone

In my room, I have a poster of a famous fresco known nowadays as the ‘School of Athens.’ Commissioned by the Vatican during the Renaissance, it depicts a large gathering of people, in this case some of the greatest non-Christian minds of the Western Tradition. Plato, Aristotle, Socrates and others are all depicted there, discussing issues with one another. They are all gathered in a large and open building around a grand staircase. Near the bottom of the fresco there is a large stone block interrupting the flow of the stairs. Placed there later on in the history of the fresco, its meaning has been suggested by some to be a reference to Jesus Christ as the stone abandoned and made into a cornerstone.

Therefore, its [the stone's] value is for you who have faith, but for those without faith: ‘The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone’ and ‘A stone that will make people stumble, and a rock that will make them fall.’ They stumble by disobeying the word, as is their destiny. (1 Peter 2: 7-8)

Jesus Christ as represented by this stone is something to be tripped over, something out of place, that seems unnecessary and unwelcome. Yet neither they nor anyone can get rid of this stone.

Our Church, a Hospital for the Soul

There was a story I once heard when I was younger. My first impression of it was that it was utterly foolish, but then I began to wonder if there was a deeper meaning behind it. There was something that always struck me as wrong about this story, and I began to hate it more and more, till today I would go so far as to say that it is an immoral story hidden behind a mistaken view of righteousness.

On one Sunday there was a Christian church full of people. Some were listening to the priest, some were not, barely paying attention at all. Suddenly, a masked gunman walked through the doors and into the church with a gun almost half his own height. Pointing the gun up in the air, he shouted out, “Whoever is willing to die for God remain where you are!” At that point,