Betsy said it and we laughed.
I can’t remember what we
were talking about. I just
remember how we laughed
and remarked that that was
a good one when she said,
“God isn’t who He used to be.”
I kind of want to tell you more,
you know, the context of our
conversation or to expound on
the implications, the irony which
instantly brought laughter.
But whatever more I could tell
you is already there for you to see.
It is in the remark itself:
“God isn’t who He used to be.”
It’s about us.
I stood on the peak amidst the expanse of the moonlit, starry night, with the resplendent glory of the Sierra Nevada, windswept and cold, lungs filling full with exquisitely pure air after the hard climb.
Weakened by the long survival trek, body seeking food, the soul freedom, suddenly I was at peace in the profound beauty of the night.
No window light or human voice or face, or road or sound of sufferings’ groan was near or real in this ineffable place of truth. How odd, I thought, that such a place—cathedral of grace—lives, exists while humanity struggles to grin in the cruel grip of its inescapable pain.
Come here, I thought, come here with me now – see what I see, feel what I feel, know what I know in this moment and place. Come in to the hallowed beauty of this night.
But the night said they must come in their own time, urged me to push on to Freedom Road, to food and water—to avoid the aggressors.
It gifted me and sent me on my way to learn what I may before my inevitable return home — to the beauty of the night.
Note: This was an experience I had as a twenty year old Air Force Pilot. I had just finished the two week “Starvation Trek” in the Sierra Nevada mountains that was the second phase of the Air Force Survival School. The third and final phase was the Escape and Evasion Exercise. Earlier that night, our crew of eleven was loaded into a truck and driven to an isolated location in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada range where we were dropped off in pairs. Each pair was given a small map and a compass. Our challenge was to negotiate about 25 miles of difficult terrain while locating four partisan (friendly) checkpoints and avoiding the Aggressors (the enemy). The objective was Freedom Road, located at Stead Air Force Base near Reno, Nevada. If we managed to evade the Aggressors and cross over Freedom Road, we would have completed survival school without any further requirements. If we were captured, we would likely endure some very aggressive interrogation and notoriously rough treatment in the “POW” Camp.
A Sierra Nevada Night takes place as I and my companion reached the peak of a third or fourth high ridge at about midnight. We had been weakened by the Starvation Trek so we were physically exhausted. In case you’re wondering, we successfully crossed Freedom Road the next day.
We're pre-assembled, is what I think,
by Gods who had too much to drink.
We couldn't have done worse, I submit,
with our own do-it-yourself kit.
We are the arrogant animals, the out-of-step ones—the ego-driven, tantrum-throwing destructive ones. We are the prideful animals and the delusional animals all at once.
While a deer is busy being its noninvasive self, we are busy invading other humans or defending ourselves from human invaders. At this moment, as I write, somewhere a lion is killing another animal in order to feed itself and its family while we compose beautiful music and kill other humans in order to … I’m sorry, why do we kill other humans?
Of course the Book says that the first son of man murdered the second son of man. So what did we expect?
Some among us believe we are the guardians of this planet. They tell us they know what is best for us all—that they know what fish should live where, and what grass should grow where, and which humans should live where, and I suspect that soon when they "evolve" a little more, they will denounce God for allowing volcanoes to erupt and they will attempt to prevent Him from doing any more of His great and diverse mischief.
We have had hundreds of thousands of years to improve—to modify our violent natures—and we have failed miserably to do so. Yet because we are the delusional animals, we don’t really think about things like that too often.
Instead, we imagine ourselves to be a species apart—a non-animal species of an infinitely superior nature. As proof we direct each other to consider the wonders of our truly magnificent deeds and accomplishments. We enshrine our DaVincis and Einsteins in order to reassure ourselves that we are the intelligent species, the evolved species, far removed from the animals.
Of course, as needs be, we fail to earnestly consider the all-too-human contradictions inherent in our DaVincis and Einsteins. While we loudly and repeatedly laud the remarkable accomplishments of these icons of human superiority, we quietly and easily demote their other contributions—DaVinci’s advanced weaponry designs and the first most urgent consequence of Einstein’s e = mc2 — apocalyptic death and destruction, which proved beyond any doubt that we are far more efficient killers than all other creatures on this planet.
Yet, in our fleeting moments of unadorned self-appraisal we wise and superior guardians of the planet are obliged to accept the unspoiled truth that we can't even make a leaf.