Monday, September 28, 2015

On a Scale of Nicodemus to the Woman at the Well

It Doesn’t Matter Where We Are

In John, chapters 3 and 4 offer a juxtaposition of two conversion stories. The first is about a rich man. John 3:1 “There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews:” and the second is about a Samaritan woman. In the course of these two stories, we see that these people come from polar opposite places in society. Nicodemus is at the top of his society while the Samaritan woman is at the bottom, yet Jesus treats them the same. It is also interesting to note that the conversion of the Samaritan woman is much quicker than that of Nicodemus. You can see this in how she addresses Christ through their conversation, first she calls him Jew, then sir, then prophet, and then as soon as she learns he is the Messiah, she leaves her waterpot and tells everyone in her town.

The woman at the well strikes a chord with me, because I’ve sometimes felt as wretched and unclean as she is.  
John 4:27 And upon this came his disciples, and marvelled that he talked with the woman: yet no man said, What seekest thou? or, Why talkest thou with her?
These internal judgements aren’t unwarranted, she’s had five husbands and the man she is with isn’t even her husband. She is such an outcast that she comes to the well a noon, while the other women go at the cooler times of dawn and dusk. Christ knows of her sins, but he does not revile against her.

So, it doesn’t matter where we are on the scale of Nicodemus to the Woman at the Well. We even change which role we identify more with as we go through life, but Christ teaches the same Truth to everyone and offers us all that Living Water, or Eternal Life, through his Atonement.

Friday, September 18, 2015

Details (in the New Testiment): It’s all Greek to Me

This week in my religion class, my professor emphasized that we can be biblical scholars (keep in mind that the bible has been through so many translations, and some things are muddied) and gave us a couple cool websites that show you the Greek verse and the individual definitions of the Greek words. Also, he goes into the symbolism of things and is really knowledgable. He is really helping me be interested in the New Testament, even though I know most of the stories recounted in it, specifically the four gospels, which are our focus this semester.


We discussed John 1:1 (KJB means King James Bible)
KJB “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
Greek:  Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁλόγος  
sounds: en arche in ho logos kai ho logos in pros ton Theos kai theos in Logos.


There are many meanings for a few of the Greek words in this verse, and a few other noteworthy things.
So “ho” is basically “the.” Notice, in the Greek, there is not “ho” in front of the second word “arche.” Not The Beginning, but in beginning. Means there have been multiple beginnings, not just one.
Also, the word “arche” itself has five definitions, which boil down to: beginning, leader/first person in a sequence/ person who caused, origin/cause, furthest point/limit, in the first place/ authority.
I love things like this, I hope this is making sense to you. But substitute these meanings in the verse one at a time. see how cool it is? (also, the first word can mean in, by, with, etc. so you can make it grammatically correct)
And then there’s the word Logos. It has like a million definitions. Basically it’s anything Godly, or anything that sets humans above animals (reason, language, intelligence, etc.) the Greeks really loved it, like it was the epitome of awesome.
Anyway, John uses “ho” in front of Logos, meaning there is only one. Christ. The Word of God is Christ (in this verse at least)


And, I used the websites he recommended in my personal study and found something rather cool. After Christ tells the parable of the sowers in Mark 4, he says  in verse 12,
“That seeing they may see, and not perceive; and hearing they may hear, and not understand; lest at anytime they should be converted, and their sins should be forgiven them.”


It sounds like he doesn’t want them to convert and repent. That does not sound like something He would say. The Greek word here is ἀφίημι, which means cry, forgive, forsake, lay aside, leave, let (alone, be, go, have), omit, put (send) away, remit, suffer, yield up. The KJV translates it as leave (52x), forgive (47x), suffer (14x),let (8x), forsake (6x), let alone (6x), misc (13x). So this changes the meaning for me. I think what this verse is actually saying is that the reason they won’t listen is because they don’t want to forsake their sins. The people don’t want to repent, it is hard. We see this in many scriptural stories, that the people revile the prophets who preach repentance.


2 Nephi 9:40 in the Book of Mormon says something very similiar:

"O, my beloved brethren, give ear to my words.Remember the greatness of the Holy One of Israel. Do not say that I have spoken hard things against you; for if ye do, ye will revile against the truth; for I have spoken the words of your Maker. I know that the words of truth are hard against all uncleanness; but the righteous fear them not, for they love the truth and are not shaken."

I think I fall into this sometimes too. We all do. We make mistakes and sin, but the idea of giving up that sin and going through the process of repentance just seems like it's too hard. For whatever reason, it's easy to think that it is better just to pretend nothing is wrong than to face a problem head on. But then the problem never truly gets solved. Until we firmly forsake our sins, which often involves suffering and tears, until we let the Lord in and offer up our broken heart and contrite spirit, we are like the Pharisees and Sadducees and many other groups who continued in sin. I hope I have the strength to seek repentance even when it seems hard.  

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Sometimes, I'm Wishy-Washy

There’s a first time for everything, even bad things. Especially bad things. The trick, I think, is making sure there isn’t a repeat. Mistakes are mistakes, but making the same one over and over is discouraging. Many people, including myself, tell themselves predisposition is to blame. The list of excuses is long and essentially useless. Until we accept the blame for our actions, when we do not accept that we caused these problems, we cannot change anything. We can feel as guilty as possible, but without taking responsibility, it’s moot.

Yesterday, I had a serious discussion with one of my best friends about an issue that had been bugging me. Keeping the fact that everyone has different perceptions of reality all equally biased, I tried my best to share what my frustrations were and her actions that had prompted them. It didn’t make me feel any better and i’m sure she doesn’t feel any better either.
Everyone has arguments at some point in a friendship, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. To top it off, although I am still experiencing the same frustrations, they feel less justified. Trying to explain why I was hurt was hard enough, but when she asked what I wanted her to start or stop doing, I couldn’t come up with any reasonable suggestions. So, nothing has changed, except that I’ve probably antagonized and hurt her. Even as I was uttering the albeit softened accusations, my logic undermined many of my own supporting arguments. Many of the things I was complaining about were not within her control and I knew it. I know it.

So why am I still irritated? She can’t change the situation, she’s tried.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Modern Pillow Book

This was an assignment for a class that I enjoyed very much.  It is basically an imitation and modernization of the Pillow Book by Sei Shonagun, a courtlady in 11th century Heian Japan. THe original work is basically a journal and contains lists, musings, and observations about daily life and culture. Here is my imitation. It was exeptionally entertaining to write.

Musings of a College Freshman

1.       Things That Are Awkward or Annoying

The afternoon nap that sneaks up on you, causing you to miss choir.

When someone says hello to you and their friends titter as if it was an insult.

When a friend brings up a touchy subject and is offended when you seem frustrated.

You can’t remove someone from your heart as easily as you can delete their number off your phone. No matter how much you would like to.

A friend gets jealous when you interact with her crush. You have to assure her that he does indeed seem to be interested in her, and that you yourself wish them all the best. 

When you have to ask a person’s name after a week or two of friendship because you failed to pay enough attention when they first introduced themselves and had heretofore been too embarrassed to admit it.

While helping a friend with math homework, she refuses to listen to you. Your work doesn’t match her teacher’s step-by-step instructions that confused her in the first place, and despite the fact that you know your numbers are right, she is angry. You want to help her and yet all that has occurred is the start of a feud.

Your date pulls out his I.D. to purchase your dinner, but the establishment does not accept Dining Dollars. The young suitor is a bit ruffled and stutters as he pulls out an alternate form of payment. It is very uncomfortable to be the cause of another’s embarrassment, and you wish this date had never happened.

When other people have rented a puppy and you must resist joining them in fawning over it. You know they paid for the small, furry, ball of energy and joy and you have no right to play with it. Yet, the urge is hard to ignore. After greeting the animal you restrain yourself from further usurping its attention.

When the website that you need to purchase course materials from fails to authorize your valid Debit card and you fall behind in the class. Once you finally alleviate that problem by asking your mother to use her credit card, the website still says you don’t have any course materials, despite the fact that you have an email saying that the payment has been processed.

2.
Dinner with my friends is always an interesting affair. We gather around a table and sometimes two. There are too many of us often for one. This always occurs at about six in the evening, but more and more of us continue to file into the Cannon Center until about an hour later.
                Each night, the conversations are heated and lively. Although the girls out-number the boys, there is still plenty of flirtation. Tonight, the group decided to get what rise they could from Emily by stealing her phone. Of course they meant no harm and would give it back to her as soon as the game ceased to entertain, but it took a long time. Emily reacted in such a pleasing way, searching each member of the group, while never suspecting the one that was holding on to it.
                I came in halfway through this situation, and my confusion was abated only when someone explained. “Natalie has Emily’s phone, and everyone but Emily knows,” Tahoe said with a kind hearted glint of mischief in his eyes. It is nothing less of what I have come to expect from this group of adolescents. After a few more laughs, Natalie returned the phone.
                I think it is interesting that at the young age of 18 or 19, people are supposed to be adults. We still hold on to many childlike behaviors. We play games to establish an odd sort of hierarchy and are practically incapable of any mature thought. Strange and petty arguments are daily occurrences.  Yet, we can vote; we have a say in the government. We are expected to live without the ever-present support or supervision of parents. Responsibility, new and strange, weighs us down and sometimes we crumble under the pressure rather than rising to the challenge. 
                Although this organization of society may seem counterproductive and counter intuitive, it is not. This university is a testing ground. We can fail here without drastic and long lasting effects. The support we get from old and new friends, family, and others gives a unique stability. When we fall, there are many hands reaching for us. We just have to look around to see them.

3.       Disagreeable Sights
People blatantly disregarding the Honor Code.

Empty ice cream cartons at the Cannon Center.

A suit that still has tacks on its vents the third week of wear. Even more disagreeable is the fact that you cannot bring this problem up with the owner. It is not that you aren’t close to him both physically and mentally, but somehow you suspect he will be more embarrassed by your notice than the entire ward’s unspoken disapproval. I wish I could sneak up behind him and rectify the situation.

The large zit on your face that wasn’t there a week ago.

A past romantic interest talking to another girl. It is especially displeasing at a club activity that I enjoy attending. I will not miss out simply because I do not wish to see him flirt. But, I must witness it and bear it, even when he holds her close while dancing.

A couple grossly enamored with one another in the lobby snuggling.

A gray sky without any definite clouds. It all merges together, one mass of vapor weighing down on the world.

          The clock pronouncing that it is time for something unpleasant.
Unread messages building up on LearningSuite. It is annoying to see the Icon with an ever increasing number, and yet, they remain. I could fix this by simply clicking through them all, but that is also excessively irritating.

  
Such fun. Jan. 2015              

               
 


Musings

It's nearly 2 in the morning. I am wide awake. My brain is hyperactive rather than resting. Thoughts are a jumble, a confusing tornado that rushes through me. Sleep is like a tempermental friend, sometimes too clingy, other times illusive. Usually clingy though. This night finds me in an unusual state. And in other ways, a state that I have been in since you called the last time.

Little reminders that ought not to be reminders at all.

Songs that reflect my feelings on exactness. In the choir concert tonight, we performed one. It is a beautiful piece. The words, "How can I hold onto my soul so that it does not touch yours?" reflect the fear that is paired with attachment. Next, "everything that touches us, you an me, together. Like a single bow drawing out from two strings but one voice" emphasize the way we are the same. But, the fear is not conquered by this. " I'd tuck it away" I wish I could tuck my affetion for you away, become indifferent.

Maybe then we could truely be friends.

But right now, I am to afraid of more pain. Even such a small connection can break. Even such a small break can cause terrible pain. I turn away from you, and yet am drawn to you. You've pushed me away, gently as you could, but with a harsh honesty. Yet, I hover, orbit, and seek you out. I see you when I get the chance, even though there is enevitably the agony of a reminder of what could of been but that isn't, and presumably will never be.

I sang that song for you, knowing you could not know. There's a chance you might have heard, waiting backstage. False hope that you could have heard and listened. Hope that you felt it. Banishing you from my mind so that I could more properly sing was hard, but I could not accept the tightness in my throat. Still, I sang for you, even if by doing so made it more difficult than ever.

I saw you afterwards, in the gallery. Without meaning to, I found you in the crowd. Turning away, I found the friend I had been scanning for, but less happily for the sight. So near but unreachable. We shared a wave. A meaningless wave, really. What does a wave mean anyway? If it means goodbye, you already said that. If it means hello, I have tried to say that to no avail.

The easy flow of discourse has been stopped as if by a government funded dam the public wishes gone, and the blockage is similairly insurmountable. Yet, I will continue to sing for you. Maybe that is the only form of communication I will ever have with you. It's not enough, but it's there. Because, I cannot hold on to my soul. It reaches out for you at every turn, at every breath.

Perhaps, when I waved back, I meant I haven't given up. I don't know why.



Sunday, February 8, 2015

Wishes

I wish I were a poet and could write my feelings into beautiful verse. It would give a purpose to it. To the pain. If I could transform it into something, anything other than what it is. If I could express it effectively, maybe, I could free myself of it.
I wish I could see. I wish you could understand. I wish I could communicate. I wish it wasn’t so hard. I wish I could shake my terror.
But, these things seem impossible. I know that they are unattainable.
It doesn’t matter. The wish is still there.
I wish we could be the way we once were.
I wish if I told you, it would make sense. I wish you would respond to me well and not with disgust.

But, wishes are not reality.