Philosophy class

Spring semester brings a new delight into my life: teaching Philosophy to ready-to-graduate high school seniors. I teach them 20th Century History in the fall, in which I greatly enjoy imparting to them my love for the past. But there's something about pushing these kids out of their comfort zone to think about their life from another angle and preparing them for the college world that really exhilarates me. 

We're about ready to finish up Unit I, a short intro to the subject of Philosophy. Now, I have to follow a boring government outline, but aside from that, I can do whatever I want. I try to draw out their natural hunger for meaning, which is especially keen as a blossoming young 17 year old. Asking the question, "What is life all about anyway?" is natural for them (or at least should be) at this stage or perhaps a little bit later in life. So I take advantage of this life-questioning and try to make them think for themselves about understanding reality in and around them. 

But as a teacher, I want to always submit myself to the probing question that Paul asks in Romans 2:21 - You then who teach others, do you not teach yourself?. That is, am I practicing the same kind of self-examination and brain-stretching that I ask from my students? Or am I contenting myself to an unreflective, tossed-by-the-wind-and-waves kind of life?

It's easier to reflect this way here, in a foreign country, where I see all the exposed cracks of Mexican culture and liberally point out its failures, starting with ranchero music and ending with its corrupt police system. I see how much better off I am as an educated, spiritualized, organized gringo. I see the values of my reflective and informed life, and I shake my head at this backwards society that knows no such thing and is governed by its sensual, materialistic passions. 

And then Paul hits me again: If I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

This keeps me running to Christ. I love reflectivity, pondering the mysteries of life, but if I haven't any love, these mysteries are empty. Even if I do understand this culture, my own, or even grasp a full understanding on truth itself, it does me no good unless I love and am loved. I'll arrive at the end of all things and stand before Eternity Himself with empty hands and a forfeited soul. 

Jesus is still in the boat.

The summer before I came to Mexico the first time, I went sailing several times with my family on Lake Michigan. One of the most memorable sails was on a cloudy Sunday afternoon with a few friends from church. The wind and waves were technically safe, but the gusts and swells we encountered rocked the sturdy 27-footer in a manner that told my greenhorn sailing sense to be glad I was not at the helm. I trusted my dad through the trip, knowing that he wouldn't venture out into what he couldn't handle. But I found a new respect for the sailors of old, braving wild seas with limited technology far from shore. 

I'm sure that Peter and the rest of his maritime fishing partners knew the capricious seas on which they sailed, and that the storm in which they found themselves in Matthew 8 was no joking matter. Matthew records that the boat was being swamped by the waves. That makes my little Lake Michigan adventure sound like a pleasant day trip compared to having waves twice my height crash into the boat and threaten to send her to the bottom. 

And Jesus was sleeping. 

No doubt he was tired from his long day of teaching, healing, and casting out demons, but seriously...he was sleeping?

You know the story - they wake him up, thinking they'll be dead in a few minutes and he's their only chance out of this mess (they were right). He reprimands them for their lack of faith and then directs his attention to the tempest, saying, Peace! Be still! 

I like how the Eugene Peterson puts it in the Message: The sea became smooth as glass. The men rubbed their eyes, astonished. "What's going on here? Wind and sea come to heel at his command!"

I imagine myself in the disciples' place, and I would flipping out and wanting to wake up Jesus thinking he'd drown too, if he didn't wake up and do something fast. You know, Jesus would have been caught off guard, he wouldn't have...known what...to do.

He was in control the whole time, asleep and awake.

I'm trying to believe this is true. I wouldn't say life is a tempest right now, perhaps somewhere between a Lake Michigan rumble-tumble and a Galilee gale, but life and all its noise is making me lose sight of peace. I feel like Jesus is sleeping and thus isn't in control or doesn't really care. 

Father, give us: eyes to see that Jesus is indeed with us in the boat, an understanding of your desire for your glory and our good, and the faith necessary to trust in your sovereign promises.