Christians are taught to revere the word of God. After all it's "living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart" (Heb 4:12). It's "God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work" (2Tim 3:16-17). The scriptures are "more precious than gold, than much pure gold; they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the comb" (Psalm 19:10).
We love the Bible. But we still struggle to read it.
It's fitting that we commemorate the birth of Christ, in the northern hemisphere, during the darkest time of the year. We don't know the actual date, but it was a very dark time on earth. Cruelty, oppression, and wickedness seemed to have won the war. The faithful were tempted to believe God would never keep his promise. Then God acted.
I'm getting rather tired of me. I grow weary of the same temptations, the same struggles, the same excuses. I ask the man in the mirror, "Is this really the best you can do?" I'm not convinced by his answers.
I hate the pain and suffering in this world. I hate the evil that men do. But I'm most tempted to despair over the evil that I do.
Let me tell you about "Bill." If you know Bill, he's the best guy you know. He's honest, generous, and hardworking. He helps everyone, even people he doesn't particularly like. If you're lucky enough to have him as your neighbor, he's the best neighbor ever. Bill's a better person than most of the "church people" he knows. Because of that, he has no interest in the gospel. He doesn't need Jesus. Christians have taught him that.
I managed to grow up basically untouched by the problem of evil. Whether I was blessed or just blinkered may be up for debate, but even into my young adulthood, pain and suffering was something that, in my experience, mostly just happened as you got old.
That illusion was ripped apart one day.
