Theology and my job

Here's a post that talks someone's writing about what Martin Luther said about the "theology of glory" versus the "theology of the cross." (Yes, I'm writing about someone who wrote about someone who wrote about what someone else wrote. Quit your complaining. I sometimes write stuff without links to other stuff.)

Internet Monk: Glorious Ruin

(If that doesn't give enough background info, read up on "Theology of the cross" on Google or Wikipedia.)

Something kind of funny that I noticed: "The theology of glory is the natural default setting for human beings addicted to control and measurement." My title at work is "Process Control Engineer." My job revolves around control and automation. That includes designing computerized controls that will keep pressures, temperatures, flow rates, etc. fairly constant in an industrial plant. And you can't control what you can't measure. Therefore, my job is all about control and measurement.

I'm sure this isn't what this author is talking about, but it's kind of a funny connection. At least to this nerd.

But more seriously, who doesn't prefer "work to suffering, glory to the cross, strength to weakness, wisdom to folly, and, in general, good to evil" like Martin Luther's "theologian of glory"? It's so easy to run from suffering even if it seems to be for something worthwhile. And years of being a Christian still leave me with a weak grasp on what it means to follow Jesus and do good things without trying to earn God's favour, without that sense of obligation rather than simply out of love.

Looking back on Black Friday

The song "Tornado '87" by The Rural Alberta Advantage has been popular on the radio lately. It's about the tornado that hit Edmonton on July 31, 1987, known locally as Black Friday. It's the 24th anniversary of the tornado and that song got me thinking back to that day...

I was five years old at the time. My family had recently moved from north-central Edmonton to the Mill Woods area in south Edmonton. I was fairly young at the time so I'm sure some of my memories of that day have become exaggerated or fuzzy, but I'll try to recount it.

My mom took my brother and sister and I to the playground that morning. It was a hot day, and the clouds looked yellowish. I don't remember this, but my parents told me this part.

Later at home, storm clouds rolled in. They got so dark, it looked like night outside. I think I had to be reminded that it was still the afternoon. There was a thunderstorm, and somehow (either by radio, phone, or TV) we heard that a tornado had touched down. I had never heard of a tornado before. My parents explained what it was and what to do if one came near the house--go to the basement. I remember being scared. After all, I was a five-year-old kid who just learned that wind can get so strong it can destroy a house and kill people. (I'd probably heard the story of the Wizard of Oz by that time, but maybe the story didn't make me realize how bad tornadoes really are.)

The tornado didn't come anywhere near our house but it did hit the other end of Mill Woods. After the storm let up, my dad went out for a drive. He may have been bringing some things to donate to victims of the tornado, or maybe he just wanted to survey the damage, but if that's the case I'm pretty sure he made some donations later. The rest of us stayed inside. I was scared to go outside, and I think I was scared for my dad too, but by then I'm sure he knew the tornado was nowhere near our house. I remember him coming back in the house with a hailstone he found in the yard. I think it was close to the size of a baseball, but maybe my memory is exaggerated. (Everything seems bigger to young kids.)

Another day my family went for a drive to see some of the damage near the edge of the city. All I remember was seeing one of those large metal power poles lying in a crumpled heap. That tornado was powerful.

According to Wikipedia, mayor Laurence Decore said the city's response to the tornado showed that we are a "city of champions." Later, that became Edmonton's official slogan. (That same year the Oilers won the Stanley Cup and the Eskimos won the Grey Cup, so the slogan may have also referred to those champions, and that seems to be what most people think of now.)

My family was fortunate. The worst thing that happened to us was damaged shingles, and insurance covered that. Some people lost their lives or the lives of loved ones. But tragedies like these can bring out the best in a community. This photo (with a rainbow in the background--the colouring is kind of weird) shows a sculpture in Hermitage Park in east Edmonton, called "Pillar of Love," made in memory of that tornado. It shows five people linked together, all supporting each other, but the base doesn't consist of their legs. Instead, their bodies all merge into one pillar, "unmovable and steadfast," in the words of the sculptor.

Maybe we are a threat

For several years, I've subscribed to the Persecution and Prayer Alert from Voice of the Martyrs. Every week, they send news about persecuted Christians, and sometimes they urge their readers to write letters or emails to governments in defense of these persecuted Christians. Once in a while, I've written letters (but I guess it's been a while).

The Voice of the Martyrs website has some letter writing tips and I think they used to have some examples to follow, but I can't find any right now. In an email to a foreign government, I seem to remember saying something like, "The Bible teaches us to submit to our governments and obey the law, so Christians in your country are not a threat to your government," based on a sample letter I'd read. While it's true that as Christians, we are supposed to obey the law when it doesn't mean disobeying God, something about what I said didn't sit right with me, even as I wrote it. Maybe I'd already heard about how the church had been involved in bringing down communism, mostly peacefully, in Poland. Or maybe I realized that when people have a higher loyalty than their own government, that can non-violently undermine a government.

The more time that passes, the less I believe that Christianity is not a threat to oppressive governments. Sometimes I'm not even sure how it works, but when we serve a God who "opposes the proud and gives grace to the humble" (James 4:6), oppressive people and institutions can't stand forever. And if God can conquer death by dying, maybe Christians can conquer oppressors by submitting to them while being loyal to God above all. (But that's easy for me to say, sitting here, experiencing relatively little persecution.)

Ironically, I'm probably less sure of God's existence than I was when I wrote the letter I mentioned.

Fear is my strategy

I got together with some friends for some paintball today. The weather was great (not too hot, not too cold), and it's an exhilarating sport (and apparently it's safer than bowling--who knew?). I think it had been three years since the last time I played.

There is one problem for me going to paintball: I fear pain. When I experience pain, I can usually handle it, although it sometimes slows me down and makes me more cautious until it goes away. But I think the anticipation is the worst part. And it hurts to get hit by a paintball.

Most of the games today were team elimination games--two teams trying to wipe each other out. The teams start at opposite ends of the field. I usually stayed somewhere near the back while some others went forward further where they were more exposed to enemy fire. I'm sure this was partially because I didn't want pain. I got hit a few times anyway. After a few quick exits, I sometimes survived until near the end of the game and helped a lot in getting the enemies' last people eliminated.

The first time this happened, we were in a field with towers on each end. We sent two people up onto the tower where they could spy on the enemy and tell us where they were. It was pretty hard for the enemy to hit the guys in the tower without actually getting to the stairs and going up there (which was also pretty hard), but someone managed to hit one of them. Anyway, I ended up being the last person left on my team aside from one or two people in the tower. The other team only had one person left, and if there had been anyone in their tower, they'd abandoned it. With the help of the people up in the tower, I eliminated their last person. And I owe it all (partially) to my fear of pain.