Poor Ghosts

It’s obvious that there’s a problem. We are screwed up. When I talk to non-believers it’s something they very quickly acknowledge. They might use this fact to proclaim there is no God, or, perhaps, if there were a God, He is not a nice one at all. But I suppose if my circumstances had been different I might think so as well, take a look at the world: genocide in Dar Fur, starvation in Indonesia, the communistic regime in China, corporate-driven greed in America, the Holocaust, slavery, and the Crusades. The world is, quite clearly, an evil, evil place: one day we are walking in the garden with God and the next we are waterboarding each other for information.

Jonathan Edwards, one of America’s most influential and brilliant theologians, once said, “the nature of human beings is to be inactive unless influenced by some affection: love or hatred, desire, hope, fear, etc.” But where do these affections come from? Why are they there? And what are we supposed to do with them?

Every Christian has heard the phrase, “made in God’s image.” But when you sit down and contemplate it, things change. By being made in His image we take on His attributes. By being made in His image we are, whether we desire it or not, a mirror of the Divine. By being made in God’s image we face the reality that we are sinless. But something happened.

One day we were walking around in the garden flaunting our inner-hippy self and we decided that we are better than God. God told us one thing: DO NOT eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. So what did Adam and Eve do—they ate. For a second I look back and think, really? I mean even I can follow one little rule. But what Adam and Eve did in the garden is what we do every day, or so I believe (very firmly I might add). The scariest part of the fall to me is that, if I were Adam, I would eat that darned fruit. We fall every day.

But I digress, because what my thesis focuses on is the earth post-fall, the nasty, greedy earth: the disastrous effects of the fall touched all creation and broke the union of God and man. These “affections” that move our soul all have something in common—they are the longing of the perfect union with God that was lost in the garden. Everything man does seeks to fill this void that was lost, and the longings we have are reflected through literature, music, relationships, murders, rapes, prostitutions, and every act of our lives. Humans have broken themselves away from God.

In his Pensees, Blaise Pascal claims that “All men seek happiness. There are no exceptions.” Pascal goes on to say that “What else does this craving, and this helplessness, proclaim but that there was once in man a true happiness, of which all that now remains is the empty print and trace?” Every man, woman, and child on this earth has the “trace” of “true happiness” Pascal speaks of. And our actions seek this true happiness.

When I talk to people, anybody really, I sometimes catch myself (quite often actually) directing the conversation wholly around me. And I see this in other people to. Just the other day I was in the back seat of a red car and two of my friends were talking to each other about something that had happened at school that day, and what followed was actually an accurate sketch on human nature. Girl A began her story until, suddenly, Girl B interrupted and told a story about herself that had been sparked by some word or phrase Girl A said. They both laughed. The crumbs of the thin mint Girl Scout cookies falling from my mouth became pieces of an incomplete man. Girl B ushered Girl A to continue her story. Girl A continued, finished, and they both laughed again. Little tidbits like this bring out the selfishness and desperation in humans, and in me. I realized how often I neglect others. We have such a need to be validated, to be cherished and loved and even paid attention to. We want to know that we matter. We want to be loved by something or someone. And, because of this, we decide to revolve the world around us, what Adam and Eve did, what I do every day.

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby is, and forever will be, my favorite book in the universe. In fact the title of this thesis comes from the passage in the book where Gatsby shoulders his mattress and symbolically marches to his death and discovers “a new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about . . . like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees.” It was not until his death that Gatsby understood the failure of the American Dream and the truth of his incomplete brokenness, and the fact that this brokenness cannot be healed on this earth. Sometimes I feel like Gatsby. I see a green light in the distance and I tell myself if I get there I will be happy. I think everybody has the same green light. We all want God. But somehow in the midst of the search we arrive at different destinations.

I love tragedy because it leaves the hope for me. Comedy is the most complete work in and of itself, but when I read tragedy and see the tragic hero fail I see something I can do different. Gatsby followed the American Dream. Gatsby followed his natural inclination to feel loved and cherished. I don’t blame Gatsby. There are so many lights in this dense fog of a life; it can be so hard to discern which one is God and which one is me.

It’s so funny to me to realize some of the things we make our own green lights. I was driving today in the car listening to the Counting Crows, my favorite band, and, as I was screaming the words to the song Los Angeles (a ballad on our ability to live how we want), God told me that I have told more people about the Counting Crows then I have told about Him. It’s true. I should probably be getting a paycheck from the band within the next week or so. I’m a walking commercial.

The first thought that came to mind was, “No God it’s completely different. People have entirely biased opinions about You and if I told them about You I might be dismissed.” Stop. Really? Really Hunter? You think that YOUR dismissal is more important than allowing the God of the universe to use you to alter the eternal destinations of people’s souls? Looking back it’s rather sickening.

But God was right it turned out. I do tell more people about the Counting Crows than I tell about God. And I do know more Counting Crows lyrics than I know Bible verses. In fact I’m listening to the Counting Crows right now.

A band became my green light. A band is very often my green light. Now I don’t think it’s evil or wrong to be passionate about music or a band, but when it becomes my green right I think God becomes jealous because, the amazing thing is, He is pursuing me, not the Counting Crows. God wants me to pursue these “affections” Edwards speaks about. But He wants me to pursue them in Him, not the Counting Crows.

Longing is the only word that I can think of. When I am at home or in the car when the stereo isn’t working or talking to my friends or sitting in an airport, all I can describe myself as is a person who wants something, and he looks but never finds. I have these “affections”, but I fear that, because of me, I am so lost in the fog that I chase blue or pink or yellow lights.

The name of the Counting Crows’ lead singer is Adam Duritz. Adam is like Gatsby. Adam is like me. Adam knows we are broken and he knows that he is broken also, just as much as the world. In the song “Perfect Blue Buildings” Adam repeats the phrase “How’m I gonna get myself away from me?” over and over and over again. He does this because, him not being a Christian, there is nothing he can place himself in that provides the peace and love that I can find in God (even if it is so very fleeting).

Adam longs also, just like me: “It’s been a long December, and there’s reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last.” These words from “A Long December” hurt me. I don’t know if that sounds sappy, it might, but it’s true, they hurt me. They hurt because every day feels like the December of another bad year. Every day feels like a December where I can look back and be disappointed in me.

I bring up Adam because he is such a vivid image of the fall, and of our desire to be in love with something or somebody. In February of this year my parents flew me to New York where my dad and I waited three hours for a show we didn’t have tickets to. The weather wasn’t bad at first—mid 20’s—but after the first hour and a half it dropped slightly—into the teens—and then the snow began to fall. We got the tickets and ended up touching the microphones of the lead guitarists. Adam came out completely drunk. It was funny at first. Drunk people can be funny. But the haunting piano started to sound. And the people in Bowry Ballroom got quiet. “I am colorblind, coffee black and egg white, pull me out from inside, I am ready, I am ready I am ready, I am.” The room was serene, there might have been people screaming for Adam, but I don’t know. I watched as he grabbed his shirt and threw his hands at the crowd. We were torturing him. “I am covered in skin, no one gets to come in.” He wanted something, and he was telling us. And all we wanted was a show.

Truth is truth. And Jesus says that He is the truth in John 14. Christians bother me because so many of them label things “Christian.” When people say that things are “Christian” it bothers me because it comes across as if that said “Christian” thing is better and more truthful than anything else. That is so stupid. It’s ridiculous. I can’t use the proper vocabulary to describe my feelings towards this.

At Chili’s, where I work, there is a guy named Dennis. Dennis is not a Christian. Dennis has a bunch of tattoos and Dennis is really strong. I love Dennis because he is one of the brightest images of Christ I have seen in my life. If you look like you are in the weeds or need some help, he asks if you need help. And then, what’s even better, he sometimes doesn’t even ask you, he just does something for you. He is one of the most selfless people I know. And if somebody (a Christian) were to tell me that it doesn’t matter because he isn’t Christian I would explode in their face.

We need to make our green lights truth. We need to act because we are seeking God, because we are seeking truth. Dennis, who is not a Christian, redirected me to the correct green light.

You’ve already seen my sappy side so I don’t feel embarrassed to show it again. When I was at Barnes and Noble one day I decided it would be nice to pick up a copy of Emily Dickinson’s collected poems, so I did. I didn’t start at the beginning. A table of contents listed the various topics the poems were on: life, nature, love, time and eternity, and the single hound. I turned straight to the section on love.

I read through the poems and was bewildered at the brilliance and depth of her nostalgic writing. I came to a poem that I really liked, and it opens with the following lines: “If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush summer by with half a smile and half a spurn, as housewives do a fly.” At first it made me think of newly weds who were apart and desperately wanted to see each other. Then it opened my mind up to women waiting for their soldiers in war, or perhaps someone awaiting a loved one from a very long trip. And then I thought of God. Now I know that God is outside of time, but it occurred to me however much these people are in love in this poem God is that much more in love with us, despite the nasty little creatures we are.

God loves us. And God wants us to pursue Him. He is the green light we should all run after like Gatsby. I admire Gatsby because he ran after the green light and he died. I admire people with passion who live for something because it stands out and I want their passion. That’s why I thank God for Jesus; otherwise I would probably be following Zach de la Rocha of Rage Against the Machine.

I’ve always thought it would be cool to sum up life in one idea or concept. When I began this thought process I first thought of relationships, because we are in a relationship with the greatest being in existence, and that is a wonderful opportunity. But then it occurred to me that there are things outside of the concept of relationships, so I thought of bringing glory to God. I think that is the point of life, to bear fruit, but it still didn’t do it for me. And then God allowed me to see the thing that now seems so obvious, and that is truth. There is nothing outside of truth, nothing. God is not outside of truth because God IS truth.

Humans are spurred by the “affections” Edwards talks about. These “affections” exist because we fell, because we fall. We constantly pursue the Divine, in every little thing we do. But, like Gatsby, we often arrive at the wrong place.
I like it when speakers or writers have a call to action at the end of their speech or book, but I have no call to action. I have no plan. I have no proposal to point you or me to the correct green light. All I know is that I am broken and I do things because I long for truth, because I long for God.

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch our arms out further. . . . And one fine morning—
“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”