One of the blogs I have been frequenting of late is written by an entertaining former (? I think…) pastor who has just had his first Christian Horror novel published. It’s always an interesting read. The blog, that is. I haven’t yet read his book as it isn’t to be released as an ebook for awhile. I am intrigued by the idea of Christian Horror and hope it is better than Frank Peretti. (“And the sins of the town form this giant monster…”)
Awhile back, Mike wrote a treatise against Calvinism which was better than my treatises against Calvinism. And then he mentioned “Armenianism”. Here is where I must add that people who say “Armenian” when they mean “Arminian” are like people who say “PIN number” and “ATM machine”. My grandmother was Armenian in that she emigrated from Armenia. But she was a Calvinist, mostly, I think. So I’m pickier about the distinction than most people.
I’m also realizing, as I do more reading and recall what some of the more staunch Calvinists have explained to me, that Calvinism has some ok points when you look at it a certain way. It is fashionable to take up against it as a whole, though, so the debates about the central merits of Calvinism get pretty heated.
Just like debates about health care and Iraq.
So I’ve decided to put this particular battle aside, just as I’ve stepped away from much wrangling about politics. After all, God is both superior and unchanging. And God already told me what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m supposed to go into all the world and share the good news of Grace, to treat everyone with kindness and respect. I’m supposed to give freely and cheerfully of what I have to those in need. I am to take up my cross daily and follow Jesus. Really, when considering all that I have a full list of things to do. Deciding whether or not everybody else is going to heaven or is meant to go to heaven is not my business. My point of view changes nothing.
I took my pills this morning with crackers and grape soda, and that reminded me of communion. Kroger packages its generic club crackers as a perforated square, and the holes reminded me of the piercing in matzoh. “This is my body, broken for you” I thought, as I broke the cracker. It struck me as poetic, to take pills for my own broken body and realize yet again the sacrifice of pain that Jesus endured. I do everything I can to limit my own pain–to know that God took pain on willingly is staggering. Arguing about the soterics seems to be largely inessential in light of the basics.