Rumors of My Demise...

…have been greatly exaggerated. Again. I'm still here, I've just been very busy on a web development project. I'm hoping to find time to blog on some theological topics soon. Particularly, “mystery,” the term “practical theology” and other odds and ends. One of these days, I need to return to my attempt to define what the word literature means too.

Joining the Local Chapter

Well, as long as Jason is doing it, I might as well too.

Hi, I'm Tim. And I'm a Calvinist.

I think Jason makes an astute observation about the inconsistencies that can occur in theology when one rejects total depravity. It strikes me that every theologian that comes to my mind that has actually created a systematic, consistent understanding of the Christian faith has generally had to accept the basic understandings of the state of humans and election that the Reformed faith eventually claimed as its own. I myself struggle at times with parts of TULIP, and have only in recent years accepted that I am clearly unable to will my own way out of Calvinism (that's a joke, folks), but in the end, the things I cannot explain in Reformed doctrine are not nearly as difficult as those things I would need to deal with should I reject this stream of theology.

Total depravity is probably the easiest of the five points to accept for me. It may be that humans are capable of mortal good, or the appearance thereof, but I thoroughly believe that humanity is capable of absolutely no spiritual good without the inner working of the Holy Spirit.

So, Jason, did you bring the donuts for the meeting?

Hopefully, I'll Be Around Tomorrow

I feel rather bad — I've not had time for much blog reading lately. I'm hoping to maybe spend some time catching up with y'all tomorrow. It just seems like time flies really fast at the moment. Tonight, though, I think it is time for bed.

Wittenberg, Part 2

Continuing from Part I.

It was so quiet that even the proverbial church mouse was not stirring around St. Francis of Assisi Chapel. Father Thomas, who had just plodded through the passageway that connected the church with the parsonage mused about the simple blessing of a warm passageway between his office and home. Though he had initially resented when the bishop had placed him in the little country parish, it did have its perks.

He gazed out the window of his home and looked down the hill where the moonlight danced on the water of small pond that the church owned. A smile crossed his face — it would only be a few months before parish children were once again playing in the pond, seeking a short respite from the heat. Life was good here.

His reflection caught his attention in the windowpane. His hair was almost entirely gray now, and the light silver rims of his glasses twinkled back at him. He sighed. He was growing old; he had originally intended much more exciting adventures for his life, but now he was known as the kindly, quiet cleric whose big secret was that he would sometimes sneak down to the pond to fish for a little while when he needed a break from the problems of the parish.

He shuffled over to his small kitchen and pulled an old coffee filter out of his Mr. Coffee. He opened open a small box that held filters and put a new one in, then took a few tablespoons of decaf coffee and placed it in the filter. A little coffee would be nice before heading to bed. Thomas then filled the coffee pot with water and started pouring it into the coffee maker. It was only then that he heard the peculiar sound coming from the chapel. It sounded like a chain saw.

Not usually a particularly brave man, the recollection of the simple enjoyment he received from the parish apparently had instilled a momentary protectiveness of his parish and he dashed over to the door that led to the passageway he had just passed through and unbolted the lock. The sound seemed to be coming from the front of the nave. He passed quickly from the apse and glanced down the aisles of pews. No, the sound was coming from the narthex. He rushed down the center aisle and pushed hard against the old, wooden doors that led to the entryway. The sound had ceased, and that's when he realized what it had been. As he stood in a stupor of a particularly confused form of shock, he heard the squeal of a car not far off. A cold breeze caused him to shiver. By the time he came back to his senses, the vehicle was long gone.

His hands trembled as he turned around and retraced his steps, trying to figure out precisely how he'd explain the situation to the police.