Between Mercy and Justice

Mercy and justice are not opposites, but they often find themselves at odds, particularly in the justice system. The tension between the two, between gracious love and rigid law, is a core conflict in so many stories. Recently, I’ve developed a penchant for legal dramas (by which, I mean Suits and The Good Wife) and I can’t help but notice this theme replaying itself. Suits has a spectacular ensemble cast, and I’ve grown to love each of the characters: their quirks, wit, heroics and vulnerabilities. I cheer when they win, when they beat their enemies, when they have their moments of glory. I ache when they ache. (And yes, I realize I may be overly emotionally invested.) But let’s be honest – all of my favorite characters are basically crooks. By the law, they deserve to be thrown into prison.

Good storytellers know how to play on our sympathies. Call it manipulative, but you have to admit, it takes skill to do. A well-executed emotional appeal strikes our heartstrings harder than impartial justice. Storytellers know that. The justice system knows that: attorneys would not be so bent on picking impartial jurors if most people could not be swayed by compassion, personal experiences, or anything other than cold, hard facts. We find ourselves rooting for “good” protagonists even if they aren’t completely by the book, even if they’re rule-breakers, because of something redeeming in their motives or heart. We empathize because we’ve been in their shoes, or simply because we understand their dilemma as fellow humans. We’re not robots, we don’t see the world in binary, and there’s no algorithm to our emotions.

But there you find the tension. The other day, I was watching an episode of The Good Wife where Alicia defends a middle-aged Indian woman facing deportation. She entered the U.S. illegally 27 years ago, but built her entire life in the States: two children, a job, and a home. In desperation, she tells Alicia, “I have nothing in India.” Her situation and her plea tugged at my feelings. I was totally rooting for Alicia to kick the opposing counsel’s behind on the case and save the poor woman. But as the other side put it, the truth is, she entered the country illegally. In the eyes of the law, she should be deported. It is mercy that cries for an alternative. So, what’s the right thing to do? The courts weren’t created for charity, and if every case like that was granted an exception, all sorts of chaos would break out. And yet … I felt compassion, and out of pity, I wanted an exception for her case. (I promise, I haven’t forgotten this is all fiction. I just get this way about stories.)

Where is the perfect meeting place of mercy and justice? Where is the sweet spot? Sorry. I don’t know. Sometimes, the two seem to be in direct opposition to one another, and we can all empathize with both sides at different times, depending on our natural bent and personal experiences. The only good answer I have isn’t my own: the cross of Christ is the only place I see the two come together in perfect, agonizing union. A picture of perfect justice and a picture of perfect love. The fair and full punishment for the wickedness of sin, and a love so unfathomable it embraces the worst of us unconditionally. It is something we cannot hope to emulate as broken sinners in a broken world, with our imperfect love and laws.

Personally, I love stories that deal with the tension well. Not in a cookie-cutter approach, where everything gets simplified and squared away. We are messy and complicated, tarnished by sin. Yet at the same time, we see a reflection of the image of God, the Imago Dei, imprinted on our souls – a God who is holy and just, yet also compassionate and slow to anger. One day, He will set all things right.

[pc]

Dear 21st Century

Nietzsche said, “God is dead.”
So you build castles in the sand,
play god in this godforsaken land,
and create a hollow eternity
within the shackles of mortality.

Darling, eternity reaches
beyond light and earth,
and the infinite has
neither end nor birth.

Hawking said, “It’s a fairy story.”
Heaven’s a poor man’s wish
and a rich man’s myth.
So feast, dance, drink your gin,
‘cause tomorrow, Death will win.

Darling, shades of gray
prove the black and white,
altars may seem antiquated
but Truth transcends time.

Shakespeare said, “Love is blind.”
It’s just sweet words and lies,
all good things have to die.
So chase the dream, chase the girl
everyone wants to gain the world.

Darling, the life we live
will echo in forever,
and you’ll find your heart
where you find your treasure.

The File Room: January, Vol. 1

Yes, it’s one of Those Things every guy and his brother does: the daily / weekly / monthly roundups, or highlights. With the new year and all, I thought I’d jump on the bandwagon before it wheeled away into the horizon. Who knows what this will evolve into, but you can probably expect linkups to all things literature & writing, Christian pieces, tech articles, and delicious food recipes. “These are a few of my favorite things…”

Without further adieu, I present the first volume of The File Room.

Al Mohler gives an insightful analysis on worldviews and extremism in light of Charlie Hebdo.

An older post on stewardship, but I bookmarked it as an excellent reference and refresher, especially for a new year.

Remember the aching beauty of art.

Rachel offers some helpful tips for reading, particular when life is huffing full-steam ahead.

If you’re tired of eating lunch out, I’ve found some awesome inspiration with Project Lunch Box.

Also, best banana bread recipe I’ve come across thus far.

If you’re a T. Swift fan (or a closet fan, which I know covers you ALL. kidding), I loved this artsy mash-up.

What doesn’t kill us gives us something new to write about. – Julie Wright

[photo cred]

Where’s the Silver Bullet?

I think we are all secretly in search of the silver bullet. The cure-all, magical solution that makes us masters of our field, victors over our habitual struggles, at the snap of our fingers. We laugh at the idea publicly, but we still can’t resist those articles – “Do this 1 thing and transform…” or “The foolproof 3 step process to…” Oh, how those deceptively small numbers win us over. Unfortunately, nothing truly rewarding has a quick and easy fix, just hiding in a corner we haven’t searched yet. The same goes for writing. Hard work, sweat, and discipline lie at the core of the craft. Unpopular traits for lazy humans.

I considered the things that helped me grow most as a writer, and the two standouts are both lifelong disciplines. Sure, you can run a thorough grammar and spellcheck on your work, or attend a class or conference, or listen to a talk by a successful author. All of these can help. But the two unparalleled “teachers” I find the most value in and draw the most inspiration from are:

  • Life experiences. I don’t go out into the world in search of thrills, but living in a God-made world, loving and clashing with other beautifully complicated people, adventure inevitably knocks on the door. We see more of the world and more of our own human nature the longer we live and the more we experience triumphs and trials. Five years ago, I read enough books and heard enough stories that I could write heartbreak convincingly enough. (“Oh, your heart literally hurts and food has no taste and you are certain you will wither and die.”) Today, I can write it better. I haven’t compared the technicalities and descriptions from a previous and current work, but life experiences arm us with an arsenal of literary weaponry to come out firing. Five years ago, I could bluff onto the page. Now, I can bleed onto the page.
  • Books. Reading inspired me to write, and books teach me how. Read widely, and see what separates the bad from the good, and the good from the great. Just as we live more nobly when we surround ourselves with good company, we write more splendidly when we soak our minds in good books. In school, we all complain that we don’t truly understand the abstract material until someone walks us through a concrete example. Learning the rules of writing and classroom technicalities alone will never accomplish what the simple act of picking up a book can.

Speaking of examples, I think of Khaled Hosseini as one case study. He wrote The Kite Runner, A Thousand Splendid Suns, and And the Mountains Echoed. He’s a doctor, not an English major, but he published three stellar novels. I love his work, and I think he’s a talented writer for a few simple reasons – he has a natural killer prose, his life experiences give him the ammunition for rich cultural tales, and he loves stories.

So don’t chase the silver bullet. Just live and read, then go and write.

[photo cred]

Resolved to Read

I don’t go about New Year resolutions in any orthodox way, and I write them more to inspire than to formulate a checklist. I ignore all the advice to make resolutions that are “achievable” and “measurable”. Psh. But to each his own, and there’s certainly wisdom in being realistic. I may be neither wise nor realistic – which would explain a lot.

For the first time in (I think) ever, I put together a reading list for 2015 as an addendum to one of my resolutions. Every reader says their book list is far too long to finish in a lifetime. I concur, though I’ve never actually had any sort of list. I picked up books to read haphazardly, often on impulse, and occasionally on recommendation, since everyone’s taste is so distinct. In December, I started thinking of ways I could live more intentionally in the coming year, and since books are a significant part of my life, it struck me that I could read more intentionally too.

So I wrote down a rather rough and vague resolution.

Read widely. Read all the works of one author. Read classics. Read Christian books that deepen my understanding of God and help me live for His glory. Read for the thrill of it.

And I put together a list of books to go along with this. Looking at it holistically, it’s actually a very random mix. Oh well. Variety is the spice of life.

 

C.S. Lewis

The Four Loves
The Abolition of Man
A Grief Observed
The Great Divorce
Surprised by Joy

* Yes, I’m trying to read all his (major) books. He’s written bucket loads, so the plus is that I’ve already read a good number. But I also picked him because the blend of his life journey, profession, faith and storytelling make for a fascinating thinker. I’ve already seen bits and pieces of how his theology and worldview weave in and out of his fiction and nonfiction alike, and how the trajectory of his perspective morphs over his lifetime.

 

Classics

The Brothers Karamazov (Dostoyevsky)
Anna Karenina (Tolstoy)

 

Christian

The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment (Burroughs)
Assurance of Our Salvation (Lloyd-Jones)
The Promises of God (R.C. Sproul)
Jesus the Evangelist (Richard Phillips)
Surprised by Suffering (R.C. Sproul)
Orthodoxy (Chesterton)
One Perfect Life (MacArthur)
Alone with God (MacArthur)

* Confession: I snagged a lot of these from free Kindle book deals and they’ve been collecting digital dust. In case you were wondering how I decided on this list.

 

Fiction Fun

The Way of Kings (Brandon Sanderson)
Dune (Herbert)
Scarlet / Cress; Lunar Chronicles (Meyer)
The Sign of the Beaver (Speare)
Calico Captive (Speare)
From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler (Konigsburg)
Flipped (Draanen)
I Am the Messenger (Zusak)
Fahrenheit 451 (Bradbury)

As many new year resolutions go, they begin petering out towards the end of January. I admit, I’m slogging through Dostoyevsky right now. At my current rate, I may not get to a single other book in 2015. But now that I’ve posted this … I hope the public accountability kicks me into powering through. After all, murder and the meaning of life and all that good stuff – shouldn’t this be the sort of book that keeps you up at night?

(I know, who am I kidding?)

[photo cred]

Our Hearts Are Restless

How I wish the heavens would thunder for you. But I wait, as the world spins on and years peel away, for God to melt the heart of stone. I can wait a lifetime; God knows I will not see a better day than that one, when the Light, slowly bleeding in now, tears across your skies like a scorched gold sunrise. Yet I live between the teeth of fear and hope. Fear that sovereign goodness and justice will cross my poor, imperfect love for you. Though I have no standing before Righteousness, no counsel to give Wisdom, no sorrow that outdoes the hell of the cross and divine desertion, I fear His glorious design will shatter me. But I hope. Hope that His Kingdom will storm into yours and raise the blood-colored Gospel flag. Hope is a small, fragile thing but we are black holes without it. When will you tear this veil, O God? As long as He gives me breath, I will plead before His gates. Like the Psalmists of old, I will hammer the halls of heaven with every appeal my weak heart can muster. Then I will sit, and wait upon the Lord. And pray. That God may splinter the shadows before your eyes. That His words—I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life—which have prodded against the steel ramparts of your mind for so long may charge through spirit and soul with holy conviction.

We are dust, yet eternity presses on our hearts. We are feeble, yet our stories glisten with splendor. They say there is no meaning, or we cannot know it, or the pervasiveness of evil denies it—but why, why, why do our very bones tremble at grace and our blood thrum for glory?

Surely, surely, there is a God whose love is better than life.

“You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” – Augustine

The Circus

They juggle ideology and guns like grim-faced jokers at a circus. Believe or die. Money can’t buy men like that, with murder strapped to their chest and convictions running red. So you’ll fight fire with fire till the whole world burns. Like slaves squabbling backstage for land and life. Like dust grasping for immortality. But eternity has no birth. Truth is a Word, and He says I AM.  Cast your knives and walk the wire, but He’s written the last act. Truth is a Word, and He became flesh. It is finished. He bled,

to cut the cord of death.

100 words. 

Dwindling Scenes

Where does history go—yours
and mine? Those days when we tangled
limbs and lives. No one told me, love
is a bleeding dream: as we recklessly
whispered forever into the night.
Where does history go—with
your one-line jokes and sideway smiles?
I’m afraid I’ll find it, in this crowded room,
fading from your coffee-stained eyes.

 

Featured in Germ Magazine February 2016.

40,000 feet High: Countdown to Landing

It’s the most wonderful time of the year…for lists. I was on a particularly long flight last week, and some of my musings in the air just happened to fit with the Weekly Writing Challenge. Thoughts?

5. Mortality

The odds of dying in a plane crash are 1 in 11 million, but mortality thunders a little louder when you’re hurtling over the Pacific. It’s in the sloshing water glass beside me, rattling in the teeth of air turbulence. It’s in the engine roaring, the constant hum of a tin can tearing through the clouds. Perhaps the odds are for us, but I remember again my frailty.

4. Sovereignty

Martin Luther said, “Every man must do two things alone; he must do his own believing and his own dying.” This is peace: knowing He holds life and death, same as the stars bound up in the heavens.

3. Scars

Far from shore, in the quiet space between heartbeats, old scars resurface. Between dusk and sunrise, dead dreams and ghosts whisper, tauntingly.

2. Grace

Forgetting what is behind, and straining toward what is ahead.

1. Home

Where I’m from? Where my family is? Where I live? There are outposts, places of belonging, scattered across the globe. But Home—

Well, I’m not there yet.

 

A Bucket List for One

Travel, AustraliaWe don’t get a lot of time to shut out the world completely these days, do we? We stumble, bleary-eyed, to work or school after scarfing down a questionable breakfast, spend the day sitting with or talking to people, and often enough, social plans run a road straight through our evenings. We all crave social contact but we need personal time to recharge and rejuvenate. Yet, there are all these things we are averse to doing alone, because they seem socially and culturally awkward. Or we fear it makes us look pathetic. But I think there are a few things that are worth doing alone once, for the experience and for the unexpected ways we learn and grow from them. I wouldn’t call any of these profound – but perhaps they are not effortless.

Go see a movie alone. I know some people do this, but most tend to rally up at least one other person to go with. Admittedly, I’ve loved going to the movie for years, but I’ve only ever gone alone once. I don’t think it’s an opportunity you have to look particularly hard for: you’re bound to want to see some flick one day that no one around you does. So just go. Theaters aren’t great for socializing anyway, and watching a film is a perfect solitary activity. (We all do it at home; are we just afraid to look lame in public?) When I went by myself, I loved it. I felt oddly independent, and it forced me to get over wondering what the strangers nearby thought of me (which was probably nothing).

Spend a birthday alone. Not like hide-in-a-mountain-cave sort of alone, but don’t throw any kind of celebration. Try to free up your evening and just spend time reflecting on your year. I think it’s a humbling experience, because even if we don’t like to puff it up, we’re used to a culture of big cakes and party hats, and getting a pass on selfishness for one day. Spending your “special day” alone can be a bit of a jarring but necessary reminder that the Earth will keep spinning even without your big bash. No red alerts will go off.

Travel alone. I think this one, more than the others, can give us a dose of real loneliness. Not necessarily in a bad way. Maybe in a semi-scary but thrilling way, when you step onto a plane alone and step off in an unfamiliar city where no one is waiting for you. It magnifies your senses. When we travel with others, we’re usually wrapped up in each other’s conversations and concerns. But by ourselves, we perceive so much more. We get snatches of conversations, pieces of other people’s lives. The smell of Auntie Anne’s. The flickering lights of planes in descent, mingling with the stars. The world is suddenly so big, and we are so small.

Being alone, doing things alone, humbles us. It reminds us that the world will go on just fine without us, and in these few hours (or days or weeks), no one really needs us. It’s good for our souls.

Oh, and one more thought. Dance to Taylor Swift alone. Around your kitchen in the refrigerator light. But I bet you all do that already.