I really hope that this doesn't come across as TMI, but I am struggling with a real case of impotency these days. Not the physical kind, but rather a spiritual case of an inability to perform. In the short term this may be preferable for a man versus the impedance to marital bliss that the anatomical variety may provide, but this must be viewed in the long term. Life rattles down the track far too quickly for one to waste time drinking toasts in the bar car, if you know what I mean. These days I have been spending time in the observation car, and the endless sky above has filled my thoughts.
It can be so easy to distill things down to the moments that pass by us like the debris of an autumn afternoon drifting across the face of a gentle stream, or even the panicked rush of the occasional rapids. These fleeting incidents run like a seamless, endless, meandering movie. There is no intermission from it either, unless we choose to get up from our seat in the middle of the row, stumble past the other perturbed moviegoers, and make our way to the lobby for a respite. C.S. Lewis referred to this in his timeless classic "The Screwtape Letters" where the junior charge of Screwtape is admonished to keep his human from leaving the 'theatre', because if he did then God would find a perfect opportunity to speak into the lost soul. It is in the jarring light of day that we realize that it was all just a distraction.
These days we have taken it to an even deeper level with our ability to fast forward, record, rewind, and even edit, so that the illusion roots itself ever further into the strata of our thoughts. When we step outside of the theater we come back to the reality of our mortal existence, and the creeping fear of its sudden climax washes over us anew. The fear of death that Jesus came to free us from. The eject button at the door of the empty tomb.
From the observation car it can become almost numbing to see it all passing by. To step back from the micro, like an actor walking off the stage while the show rambles on. You look around and wonder why it didn't suddenly freeze frame. Why didn't the other cast members notice? The sense of impotency subtly inches its way into the place that virile confidence once held, because you see the limited effect you have on the production at hand. As your eyes flash from face to face, and set to set you finally notice that the director is looking your way. He knows something. He knows that you don't. Perhaps He will let you in on the secret.
It can be so easy to distill things down to the moments that pass by us like the debris of an autumn afternoon drifting across the face of a gentle stream, or even the panicked rush of the occasional rapids. These fleeting incidents run like a seamless, endless, meandering movie. There is no intermission from it either, unless we choose to get up from our seat in the middle of the row, stumble past the other perturbed moviegoers, and make our way to the lobby for a respite. C.S. Lewis referred to this in his timeless classic "The Screwtape Letters" where the junior charge of Screwtape is admonished to keep his human from leaving the 'theatre', because if he did then God would find a perfect opportunity to speak into the lost soul. It is in the jarring light of day that we realize that it was all just a distraction.
These days we have taken it to an even deeper level with our ability to fast forward, record, rewind, and even edit, so that the illusion roots itself ever further into the strata of our thoughts. When we step outside of the theater we come back to the reality of our mortal existence, and the creeping fear of its sudden climax washes over us anew. The fear of death that Jesus came to free us from. The eject button at the door of the empty tomb.
From the observation car it can become almost numbing to see it all passing by. To step back from the micro, like an actor walking off the stage while the show rambles on. You look around and wonder why it didn't suddenly freeze frame. Why didn't the other cast members notice? The sense of impotency subtly inches its way into the place that virile confidence once held, because you see the limited effect you have on the production at hand. As your eyes flash from face to face, and set to set you finally notice that the director is looking your way. He knows something. He knows that you don't. Perhaps He will let you in on the secret.
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