Seeing

I watched the movie Eclipse recently. I’m not a Twilight fan, but – well, we all have people in our lives, don’t we?

One moment in particular stood out to me. In the middle of the one of the most intense scenes, Jacob angrily says that if Edward had stayed away for six more months, Bella would have forgotten about him, falling completely in love with Jacob.

Twilight fans would no doubt argue the accuracy of that prediction, but I think it makes sense. I’ve seen many people (like Bella) in the middle of obsessive and unhealthy relationships, and without space to breath, they are never able to get enough separation to get a glimpse of the reality around them. They stay stuck in a world and a relationship collapsing in on itself, cutting off more and more people and possibilities as time goes on.

But given enough separation, the fog of that relationship is able to clear, and they begin to see things more clearly. Unfortunately, that’s rarely given the chance to happen.

In the movie, Bella’s friends and family feel her pulling away from them, sinking into the darkness of obsession – and they try to get her to get some space. But Bella can’t and won’t. She knows what she wants, and she won’t stop to consider any other possibilities. And so everyone – to varying degrees – loses her.

But what about those six months?

If things had turned out different, if she had been given another six months of separation from Edward, she might have begun to see things differently. Jacob, the character embodying light and life, would have probably finally drawn her attention, and her life would have veered in a very different direction.

Down one path, she ended up giving up most of her relationships, and even her very life, to pursue this ever-deepening obsession with Edward. Down the other path, she could have resurfaced in a vibrant relationship with Jacob that would draw her friends and family more fully into her life.

And the only difference was six months.

When I saw this played out in the movie, it struck me how much our decisions really matter. The things we say and do today have consequences and effects that spiral outward from us, toppling things we cherish, building up things we never expected. Marriage, divorce, life and death, obsession and distance, each are ultimately determined on tiny decisions and small moments.

It is frightening, but right now, you have the power to radically change the next 80 years of someone’s life. And you don’t even know how to control this power.

Don’t be scared. But think. And think hard.

In my previous posts (1, 2, 3), I’ve tried to be careful not to offer any speculation on the actual nature of resurrection or immortality. Instead, I’ve tried to follow the scriptures, and simply hold out trust and confidence in a God who is continually leading humanity to higher and higher levels of growth and progress, who cares for each one of us individually, and who never lets any of us go.

I think that is a secure and sound foundation for our hope.

But here, I want to offer a little in the way of speculation. Most people are unaware that science actually suggests a concrete and physically-real immortality. They are unaware because scientists are largely unsure what to do with it philosophically, and so simply choose to ignore it.

They are unsure how to handle it philosophically because philosophy is built on human intuition, and the areas of science that deal in issues of immortality are quite counter-intuitive. I’m talking, of course, about Quantum Mechanics.

Let me be clear here. Nothing in the scriptures suggest what I’m about to describe. I believe the scriptures are consistent with what I’m saying, but they do not tell us this information. We should not expect them to. The scriptures encourage a deep confidence in God’s care and protection of us, and leave discussion of the afterlife to exactly that. We must leave the rest of the details up to science.

So here is what science tells us.

According to the mathematics of Quantum Mechanics, the results of any event are probabilistic. Flip a coin, and there’s a 50% chance it will come up heads, and a 50% chance it will come up tails. Shoot a gun into the air, and there’s a large chance the bullet will fall harmlessly to the ground. But there is a small chance it will fall in precisely the right manner to kill someone else. This much seems straight-forward.

But Quantum Mechanics doesn’t actually say sometimes one thing happens, and sometimes another thing happens. It actually says that in all cases, both things happen. When you flip a coin, the math doesn’t specify that it might come down heads or tails, it specifies that the coin came down 50% heads and 50% tails. When you shoot a bullet into the air, it specifies that the bullet came down 99% harmless, and 1% fatal. Further, it specifies that your bullet-victim is not actually alive or dead, but 99% alive, and 1% dead.

There are two ways you can interpret this bizarre science. One – it doesn’t really have anything to do with reality. Two – it has everything to do with reality. In Quantum Mechanics, they call interpretation one the “Copenhagen Interpretation”. Interpretation two is called the “Many Worlds Interpretation”.

The Copenhagen Interpretation was the prevailing interpretation for many years, simply because the alternatives were unthinkable. But the Copenhagen Interpretation doesn’t come without costs. In order to deal with the discrepancy between the math and the observed reality, they had to invent a new effect – an effect in which the person who observes the flipping coin mysteriously “decides” which result actually happens. This is as bothersome as the alternatives they were trying to avoid, and has resulted in a slew of pseudo-scientific quantum mysticism. More importantly, it doesn’t actually explain anything. It doesn’t suggest a way in which this phenomenon works, and it simply assumes this phenomenon into existence.

In contrast, the Many Worlds Interpretation doesn’t assume anything other than what the mathematics already tell us. It simply takes the mathematics at their word, and accepts the troublesome fact: our universe consists of an infinity of different histories.

When the coin is flipped, the mathematics tell us the truth: history splits into two streams, one in which the coin lands heads-up, and the other in which it lands tails-up. When the bullet is shot, history splits into a stream in which it comes down harmlessly, signaling the start of a race, and a stream in which it comes down fatally, killing an innocent bystander, causing scandal, grief, and possibly revenge. Every decision we make, every event that happens, results in a splitting of history into two or more streams of results.

Many people find this picture appalling. But to me, it makes a deep sense. It gives a deep meaning to the concept of free will – rather than constrain us to a single history in which every move is predetermined, it gives us the vast expanse of possibility in which to truly and actually flex our decision-making capability. Only in this picture are the various alternatives presented to us actually real.

I mentioned that the Copenhagen Interpretation has been the prevailing interpretation for many years. For many people, this is still true. But among the physicists most involved with the relevant areas of science (Stephen Hawking, etc), the Many Worlds Interpretation now (rightly) prevails. The math is simply too convincing, and the alternative is not just another interpretation, but actually requires inventing a new effect to make it fit our preferred view of the world. That’s not how science is supposed to work.

So the Many Worlds Interpretation appears to be correct, and the consequence is that we now have to adjust our view of reality to deal with living in a multiverse instead of a universe. As with all scientific discoveries, this will require a lot of rethinking. But that is exactly why we value science – it shows us the world as it really is, not as we expect it to be.

There are a lot of significant consequences to this understanding, but I only want to deal with one at the moment. That is, of course, immortality.

A moment’s thought will show why the Many Worlds Interpretation is relevant to mortality. Most people’s deaths are highly dependent on random probability – whether one leaves their house a minute earlier or later, which cells get exposed to the sun, how the blood clots flow through the bloodstream. Without too much effort, we can probably all think of times when, if something went a little differently, we would be dead now. According to the Many Worlds Interpretation, those situations actually went both ways, and in one history, you died, and in this history, you lived.

If you can contemplate that for a minute, you may begin to ask yourself why you are the one alive right now. And science’s answer is that you are actually a stream of branching histories, spreading out through the multiverse, trying out every experience in the realm of possibility.

At the moment of potential death, there are always at least two paths forward – one in which you die, another in which by the slightest chance, you survive. But it should be obvious that you will never experience the path in which you are dead. Instead, as you come to the moment of death, you will see only the path forward in which you survive.

And naturally, there are histories in which you die. But on the scale of the multiverse, these histories are not dead ends, they are rocks in the stream, diverting the flow.

Your death is then never the end. It is, instead, the diversion of your life into other paths through the multiverse. You will never notice this diversion – instead, your life will continue on in more and more interesting histories.

For those of us who experience your death, this will naturally and rightly be a sad thing. We will miss your presence with us in our history. But for you, history never ends. Without skipping a beat – you continue on, living your life on the same earth, with many of the same people – but in a different history than we are left to experience.

And so tonight, you can step out on your porch, look up at the stars, and know that you have billions and billions of years in which to explore and experience this magnificent, unfathomable universe.

As I’ve hinted in my previous posts (1, 2), I think “God” means that there is progress and growth for infinity, that our efforts and actions reverberate down through eternity, and that there are always new things to learn and achieve. To me, this is what it means to believe in a personal, theistic God. Certainly other theologies suggest different scenarios – scenarios where in the end, everything we’ve done simply dissolves back into the emptiness from which it came. Those theologies are legitimate, but I would question whether they are theistic.

In broad form, here is what I perceive as the theistic view. There is a reality which underlies the world we see. That reality is firm and solid, and has consequences. Through history, that reality continues to be brought more fully into view, and the forces which stand against that reality (violence, oppression, slavery, hatred) ultimately collapse, either slowly and peacefully, or quickly and dramatically. And so, as each obstacle is overcome, we grow unendingly upwards and onwards toward unification with that ultimate reality.

This identifies both the cause and the direction of change.

Here’s why this is important. For hope to be real, it must be the case that things will get better. But this can’t be an immutable progress that happens with or without us, leading to laziness and resignation. Instead, it must be a progress that is built with our efforts, upon the work of countless others before us – a participatory growth. It must, in fact, be in participation with the underlying nature of the universe itself – co-creation with God. Without that, our obstacles will begin to seem insurmountable. But if indeed things are getting better, there are only three ultimate endings: things eventually revert back to decay, things finally reach a utopia, or growth continues forever. And I would argue that only the last one offers an ultimately real hope.

For many of us, the idea of society progressing without end is only comforting if we get to be part of it. But very few philosophies offer us any real chance of being involved – either we die and are gone, or we get resurrected into a changeless heaven. A third alternative being proposed recently in books such as “Surprised by Hope” by NT Wright, is that we are eventually physically resurrected and the earth is transformed.

This third alternative has the benefit of having us back involved in the progression of human society. But, at least in the way it is being imagined, it leaves a lot to be desired. It foresees an eternity of existence in a still-limited body. It requires God to step in and recreate the earth. It relies on a misreading of the New Testament, seeing it primarily concerned with changing the physical universe, rather than a more audience-relevant transition between covenants.

I think we need to do what the New Testament seems to: strike a very delicate position. The way I read it, the New Testament is almost entirely focused on the horizon of the first century. Jesus affirms the resurrection, but does so in an unusual way. In Luke 20:38, Jesus says, “[God] is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for to him all are alive.”

Jesus seems to connect resurrection, not to a specific event, nor to an immortal soul, but to the all-knowledge of God.

This, to me, is pretty profound, and needs to be the basis for a re-thinking of the ideas of immortality and resurrection.

Interestingly, the book of Revelation mentions very little about resurrection – focusing instead on the vindication of the oppressed, and the downfall of the oppressors. The only real mentions seem to be an intriguing statement about deeds following the dead, and the scene often called “the final judgment”.

First, Revelation 14:13:

Then I heard a voice from heaven say, “Write: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.”
“Yes,” says the Spirit, “they will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them.”

My initial interpretation is that this is describing a “before”, during which people’s deeds are a barrier between themselves and God (going before them), and an “after”, during which people’s deeds no longer separate them from God (trailing behind them).

Second, Revelation 20:12-15:

And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life. The dead were judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books. The sea gave up the dead that were in it, and death and Hades gave up the dead that were in them, and each person was judged according to what he had done. Then death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire. The lake of fire is the second death. If anyone’s name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire.

The focus here is on judgment, on the one hand, and on the abolishment of death, on the other. While we have the wicked being dismissed, we do not have a similarly concrete statement about those in the book of life. Whereas in Jesus’ parable of the sheep and the goats, he invited the sheep to enter in, there is no such invitation here. All that is really said is that death and Hades are burned up.

To me, these passages seem to leave a lot of questions about the afterlife and resurrection. Revelation seems to be telling us that barriers between man and God are being removed (“death and Hades”, and whatever was letting deeds proceed people), not describing the actual ramifications and effects of that removal.

If we triangulate with a third scripture, then we end up with an interesting picture. In 1 Corinthians 15:54-57, Paul says:

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

He seems to be saying that the physical body does not need to be removed in order to become immortal, but instead will be “clothed” in immortality. And the way in which this happens is that death is overcome by the removal of sin, and sin is overcome by the removal of the Law, and the Law is overcome through Jesus.

If we can assume that these passages are talking about connected things, then it seems like Paul says death is overcome when the Law is removed, and Revelation points to the victory over death and Hades as the removal of the separation between God and man (one’s deeds no longer precede them, getting in the way). And Jesus points to immortality as being known, having a certain relationship with, God.

So it seems like the focus of these scriptures is on a resurrection event as the removal of certain relational barriers, not specifics of the timing or nature of personal immortality. It seems like the scriptures are not telling us about immortality or the afterlife, but telling us that we can rely on our confidence in the power and knowledge of God.

In other words, the scriptures seem to be about the removal of fear. And the way that is portrayed in the New Testament is a two-fold process, through the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, and then through the removal of the Law and the institutions of condemnation that surrounded it.

So then, we should be really hesitant about looking to the scriptures to understand the nature of resurrection. We should instead look to the scriptures for the kind of confidence Jesus demonstrated on the cross, trusting himself to God and his love.

Jesus’ confidence was rewarded in an extremely unusual way – a bodily resurrection less than three days later. This isn’t what we expect for ourselves, but it should push us in the direction of thinking that whatever happens, it may be unexpected and unusual, but always flows from the love and power of God.

As society moves forward, finding itself more and more in touch with the reality that lies beneath it, we should expect to see the glory and power of God more and more. And as that happens, we can be confident that in ways surprising and unexpected, God will be protecting, preserving, and restoring us, never letting us go, because to him, nothing is lost.

Though we do not know in what way things are being preserved, we can know that they are safe. And though we do not know in what way they may re-appear to us, we can know that we will indeed see them again…

…because to God, and increasingly to us, all are alive.

In my previous post, I outlined what I think reality must be like in order for human hope to persist.

Now I want to examine how that looked in the first century.

The New Testament scriptures begin with a declaration that change was coming. “The kingdom of God is near!” is one of the first lines in the gospels.

The change that was coming was in contrast to the world that then existed. While the first century world was based on divisions between ethnicities and social classes, and centered around institutions like the temple, the government, and the priesthood, the new world that was beginning would be based on equality and human relationships. This contrast could not have been more intense.

One world-view was built on illusion and pretension, another was built on a deep awareness of reality. The way the early Jesus-movement saw it, their cause was bound to win, because reality was behind them. And since their cause was going to win, their opponents either needed to become aware of reality, or they were going to receive a painful wakeup call.

They declared this fact to the powers and authorities in their world. And they described that coming wakeup call in colorful apocalyptic language. This is the biblical judgment day – the day when your bigotry and delusion finally catch up with you. Jesus described that event as having to experience “crying and anger”, and the shame of being outcast – of feeling the deepest darkness.

Where did that put Jesus’ followers?

Based on the writings we have, they lived in hope of vindication. In that confidence, they faced death and persecution, knowing that their efforts would ultimately pay off, that in the end, their cause would triumph.

They did not look beyond the horizon of their vindication. In fact, they described the coming experience of vindication as having the tears wiped from their eyes, as having no more sorrow or pain.

We need to understand those statements in context. There is a definite sense in which these things become true at a spiritual level. But there is more. In the Jewish scriptures, these same terms were used to describe things like the return of prisoners from captivity. You can imagine why – the relief of becoming free from slavery would be a drastic release from suffering.

It’s important to realize that this is not an absolute release. After freedom, ex-slaves still experience suffering and tears. But they have moved to a new life, a new level of existence.

The same is true of the first Jesus-followers. Though they didn’t look beyond the end of the first century, they did recognize that even after their vindication, there would be work to be done.

The end of the book of Revelation is a highly poetic description of what their vindication would look like. The old Jerusalem is tragically burning, but a “new” Jerusalem is descending from heaven to earth. This Jerusalem is identified as the group of Jesus-followers, and in them, the presence of God has been brought more fully.

But this picture, though grand, is no utopia. There are still opponents outside. And there is still work to be done. From the center of this metaphorical city, a river of life flows outward, watering the rest of the world. Trees in the city produce leaves that are healing the nations. The outside world has neither been fully dealt with, nor is it being ignored, nor is it being written off. Instead, the process of healing and growth continues.

It would be a mistake to see progress and growth as all done with. It would also be a mistake to try to re-create the struggle that these people went through. Their struggle has been completed, and we will not engage in the same conflict again. Instead, we have our own obstacles to overcome, and our own change to create.

In the picture of Revelation, the city has been established, and begins its work of healing the world. The gates are open, inviting everyone in. And as they come in, the city grows and becomes more glorious, on and on and on.

The book of Daniel has a similar image. In it, a rock begins rolling, picking up speed until it smashes the forces of violence and oppression in the world. That rock becomes a mountain, and grows until it fills the whole earth.

Our effort is neither done, nor will it be completely done in the future. Instead, after victory comes growth, and then more victory and growth forever. Our efforts achieve real and lasting results, and we build upon those results as we ascend upward and outward into an ever more glorious future.

There are many philosophies of the future, many perspectives on how society progresses, and many thoughts on what gives us hope.

It seems by now to have been well-established that humans need hope in order to survive. When hope fails, people die shortly thereafter. Unfortunately, many of the philosophies that have flourished in the last 100 years have seemed intent on offering nothing but despair.

There are good reasons for that, and many of these philosophies are based on a straight-forward reading of science. Alternative philosophies offer us hope – but only through the expensive move of escapism, leaving us feeling like our efforts in the world are pointless.

Frankly, I don’t have the space to deal with these issues. Instead, I want to offer what I see as the only viewpoint that is capable of giving us hope and confidence, and simultaneously keeping us engaged with the world. That viewpoint will allow us to engage in a radical way, speaking prophetically to corruption and oppression, never once giving in to despair.

First, we must view the world and the universe as deeply good – as filled with wonder and glory. We must view ourselves as intimately connected with everyone on earth. We must see ourselves as interconnected and intertwined in society as a whole. This will allow us to empathize, to understand, and to approach issues systemically, rather than through finger-pointing.

At the same time, we will not minimize the issues there are. Many people and institutions live in complete denial of the reality they find themselves in. As such, they oppress others, they shrug off responsibility, they destroy people’s lives and efforts.

And this brings us to the main dynamic: there is a reality that WILL persist, regardless of what currently stands against it. The reality of unity, of empathy, of equality, will ultimately and always prevail. And since this is so, we can confidently stand against forces of oppression and injustice, knowing that their time is short.

This is not blind optimism, leading to laziness. The downfall of oppression will happen through our efforts, not independent of real-world work. But this also does not rely entirely on our own abilities. As we work to resist oppression, to undo the forces of violence, we have a powerful weapon on our side…and that weapon is reality. Because we are working to bring the world in to conformity to the glorious reality the lies beneath it, we can and should expect amazing and miraculous things to happen. It is as if we are chipping away at a block of ice, until we suddenly find an avalanche breaking free, spontaneously multiplying our efforts thousands upon thousands of times.

We can see that the world is good, that reality is wondrous, that oppression is real, that our work matters, that we are not alone in our efforts, and that change and justice will come.

But it is also important to realize something else. The setting-to-right of an issue in the world does not bring about the end of our work. There is no utopia. There is only ever-increasing growth and realization, as each achievement and victory brings us to higher and higher planes.

We should be glad for this. If utopia was achieved, we would soon settle into complacency, and then turn again to despair. But if there was no movement and no progress, we would have little hope or inspiration, and would again be left with only despair. Only perpetual movement and progress can give us meaning.

Again, this progress is not straight and uniform. There are abrupt changes, hurdles to overcome, and dramatic reversals. But we can know that our work is building, that the things we do today truly change the world, and that the results of our efforts will last forever.

Which brings us to the big-picture view. Eschatology often presents us with one, final end, in which utopia is achieved. But for the reasons given above, this view is not realistic. If we achieved a utopian heaven, we would soon despair of doing nothing, and our heaven would become a hell. In any view of the future, we must look for an ever-growing, ever-changing existence – or existence becomes meaningless.

So I believe in this: Society must continually grow and progress, upwards to infinity. So must each individual. Time is infinite. Growth is infinite. And together, as societies and individuals, we will grow upwards and outwards into the infinite fullness of reality.

This, alone, seems to me a real basis of human hope.

Tonight I looked up at the clouds, and the sky beyond them, and the stars beyond that. And I thought that people were not meant to live only under the clouds, but that one day, we might climb up a little higher, and reach above them. I might reach above them.

There are places above the sky that I need to be. There are parts of this universe that seem meant for us to explore.

And I think that we will, that our lives will stretch out in front of us, and we will continue outward and upward into the vastness.

I wrote this on October 8, 2008, 10:51pm. It has been here waiting ever since. It has been long enough. -micah

—

Today I set out to understand myself. My peculiar mix of emotions and thoughts and attitudes – where does it come from? Whatever I am, it must be rooted in how I was when I was young.

So I thought back to what it was like to be 5 years old – running around like I was superman, in a world of simplicity and brightness. But even there, I recognized a theme. I distinctly remember feeling a sadness, an empathy for others, and for what I would now call the injury of innocence.

I had dreams when I was 5. In one of them, my mom had a flower in a clay pot, and she loved that flower dearly. My dad decided to do something nice for her, and sent it away to a place where they turned it into a mush, a kind of potpourri. He was trying to do something nice, but it broke her heart. She cried and cried.

I remember waking up and feeling so sad. I didn’t know whether it was real, but I was afraid of my dad. Not because of anything he had done, but because he caused such sadness.

Later on I would have dreams during which a young girl would get her hopes up that I would do something nice or fun for her, and she would be so thrilled. Then, when I wasn’t able to do what she was anticipation, she would cry. I would wake up sad.

In an earlier dream, I had a pet duck. And this duck had an outfit that matched mine. And when I was younger (so I dreamed), we had gone to church together in our matching outfits. We had been together since we were young. This duck had a nice environment to live in, but we would occasionally take him out of his cage, and let him walk outside. And in my dream, he flew away.

I was 5 years old. I cried for 5 days afterwards.

Where, I wondered, did this come from? My intense empathy, my bitter-sweet sense of other’s longings, my sadness at other’s innocent expectations disappointed?

I thought farther back. Several incidents occurred to me. My dad and I had been walking on the beach in Oregon one day (I would have been 3), and found a unique rock, full of holes. The holes went all the way through it, like a network of tunnels. In a special indentation, like a puzzle, a shell was fitted. I loved that rock. It was mine and dad’s, from a time I knew about, but couldn’t even remember.

One day, my brother climbed through my window, and knocked it to the ground, smashing it to pieces. I was heart-broken. I wanted to pick up the pieces and put it together again. I sketched a picture, trying to figure out how to get it back together.

Even earlier, I remember two incidences that were strangely similar. In one, my grandparents were visiting me in Oregon, and we were at a stream or river, playing in the water. Something floated by that caught my attention, and my grandparents told me to swim to get it. I tried, but the more I swam, the farther away it got. Finally, it drifted around the bend, and was gone.

I’m sure the sadness of a three-year-old boy paddling madly after something that is constantly slipping farther away is hard to grasp. Perhaps it will help to explain that somehow I perceived that object as special and beautiful just because my grandparents had sent me to get it.

The other event was at the ocean. Dad and I were walking along the beach, and throwing things into the waves. We saw a unique board floating in the water – and in some way it was special. Dad told me to swim after it, so I did. But the harder I swam, the farther away the board got, being carried over the crest of each wave farther out to sea. I wanted it, I longed for it, but my fear and powerlessness towards the ocean held me back. And so I swam, watching it drift farther from me, until it finally vanished.

Somehow, that memory has stuck with me, and the feeling of it has permeated me from top to bottom, coloring everything else I’ve ever done. When I look at the world, I see it through the shades of that longing. Every relationship is tinged with the sadness of my heavy touch on their light innocence.

Somehow, I think I will aways be that boy paddling desperately into the waves, watching as the thing he longs for slips farther and farther away.

There is a lot of confusion about what exactly Jesus teaches us to be. Many people on TV would suggest that Jesus came to teach us how to be happy. There is a lot of validity to that thought, but somehow it seems a little shallow.

Other people suggest Jesus came to teach us how to be rich. Like Job’s friends, they suggest that your riches (or lack thereof) are a measure of your spiritual success. Some people would frame Jesus as offering us an “out” from this life, with the promise of something much better after we die. Still others would say Jesus teaches us to suffer.

To me, all of these ring hollow, or come off a bit masochistic. I would like to suggest another way of framing what Jesus teaches.

History consists of kings and heroes. The kings amass power, conquer enemies, build kingdoms, and enslave their rivals. They usually die at the hands of their power-hungry family members, or manage to survive into old age by killing off those who are perceived as threats. Heroes, on the other hand, usually revel in life. They hold onto things lightly, and pass freely between the comforts of luxury and the open fields. They make tough decisions, they sacrifice, they suffer excruciating pain so that the life of their family, their people, or their world will be changed. Heroes change, and they change the world around them. Heroes usually die in rescuing others, or live to old age, surrounded by the people they sacrificed for.

Conventional thinking attributes the greatness of society and civilization to the acts of kings. But when we look a little deeper, almost every great change in history has come from lone figures, moving against the grain of their society, changing the world around them as they went. Kings rewrite history to take the credit, but they never originate change. Change is the poison of kings.

Solomon can teach you to be a king, but he can’t teach you to be a hero. And while the rest of the world might envy being Solomon, Jesus told his followers that someone even greater than Solomon was among them. Someone who could enact real change in the world, someone who reveled in life, who could make the difficult decisions and sacrifices necessary to reshape the world.

He was a hero, and he taught them to be heroes.

Every moment is valuable all by itself. But sometimes other moments help us see that.

At one point in my life I was extremely distressed. I walked out into the darkness, and eventually laid down behind an old log. And I wailed.

I couldn’t fathom why life was so terrible.

Years later, I wrote songs about that night. Those emotions were available to me, allowing me to create things that were new and amazing.

The funny thing about a song is that (if it’s a good one) there is nothing you would trade it for. Once that song exists, you would never want to go back and undo the experiences that lead up to it. No matter how bad those experiences were.

I feel the same way about that night. There is something there that I wouldn’t give up. Not because it turned into something positive – though that helps us see its value – but because in that moment itself, there was something worth its existence.

I think there’s a deeper beauty underneath the pain we encounter. I think it permeates our lives. And I think we can always see it if we look. Positive things may happen, but those things really only highlight what was there to begin with: the deep, underlying beauty in even our most painful moments.

Ever since I was 15, I’ve identified myself primarily as a songwriter. It is what I do, and who I am.

And ever since I began performing, I’ve begun segmenting myself. There is the side of me that performs and travels, and does ridiculous things in random midwestern states. There is the side of me that is introspective, that writes about the things I see, and tries to see the world differently. And there is the side of me that is all logic and precision and theology and politics and economics all blended together.

And it’s always a difficult thing to decide how much of each one I should share with the world.

As a musician, I’m expected to do things. Play big concerts, tour around the world, meet famous people, and maybe even cause a few international incidents along the way. Since I’m also a musician who writes songs, I’m perhaps expected to see things a little differently. But I don’t really think there’s any true cultural precedent for a musician who thinks critically about things.

This makes sense. We don’t turn to Bill O’Reilly to find music that stirs our souls, and we don’t turn to Fergie to learn about international politics. By and large, we want our public figures segmented into careful categories.

But I don’t think I’m really able to segment myself like that anymore. For me, thinking bold and interesting new thoughts, analyzing the political and religious and cultural messages I hear, having new insights about the world, writing music, and performing for others, all came meshed together. There is some kind of organic symbiotic relationship between all these aspects of my life. And every time I’ve tried to carefully box each segment up, they begin bleeding together, overrunning their barriers, and meeting in a confusing mess on the floor.

My main resolution this year is to do nothing I’m not passionate about. I think that means taking down some of the walls I’ve built. I think it means letting things converge.

I believe in convergence. Progress in technology is almost always about the convergence of previously unrelated things; lately, many people’s phones have become their computers. Blending styles has always been the way music has progressed; despite radio’s failures, we are the heirs of a broad and rich spectrum of musical influences, stretching back through centuries. The convergence of different ethnicities helped to make America great, and the convergence of science, art, philosophy, and religion sparked what came to be known as the Renaissance.

Convergence isn’t just a way to kick off new creative movements. It’s also the reality of humankind. We live in a rapidly converging world, where the actions of tribal people in remote parts of the earth deeply impact the lives of urban citizens in first-world countries. In the past, many would disregard the needs of strangers, expecting never to see those people again. Now, it is increasingly likely that the people who are strangers today will encounter you again and again, as neighbors, coworkers, or people you meet online. For humanity, all of our individual paths are converging.

There is something deep about reality, I think, that works to take all of its far-flung pieces, and bring them back together. Even as we diverge and diversify, our worlds collide. Even as the universe spreads outward, it becomes more interconnected.

So I am going to try to stop fighting. I’m going to try to let go of my struggle against gravity, and let all the pieces of my life turn and plummet back together. And we’ll see what happens.