To buy a book.

Today, I said no.

I am not going to buy a book on the mechanics of faith. That is, I will not buy another book on the mechanics of faith. My intellect is strong, and that is, and will be, important, but a book will not get me to where I am going.

I don't know where that is, by the way. I just sense that another scholar's explanation of atonement is no longer what's needed.

I was listening to the music this morning at JRA, and singing, and trying to think, and I kept saying to myself..."Ugh, man, just turn it down so I can think this through." I have thought that a lot over the past few days. "Just turn all of this noise down, so that I can think this thing through."

When I first started going to James River, I compared it to Vegas, because it felt as though the music and lights were designed just as they are in the casino--to dominate your senses and dull your mind; to force decisions you wouldn't otherwise make.

Maybe that is so. I'm sure I'm not the first person to make that accusation. I think there's another explanation for the noise, though, because as I ponder that, I hear my little voice say to my little mind, "Ashley! Wake up! There has always been noise for you. There's noise in the darkest, most silent room! When you were a child with no knowledge of Christ, there was noise. When you first joined the church at 14, and were so involved you barely had time to sleep, there was noise. When you claimed to be an atheist, there was still noise! That noise is not the worship music, friend. It's God!"

What if our noise is not meant as a deterrent to thought, but as a propellant towards faith? As a means of pushing one over into the unknown?

I don't mean to say that we should check our brains at the door. Not at all. If we are to make a world that truly shows Christ's love in every crack, crevice, and cranny we will need our brains. We will need every bit of intellect, every bit of heart, every bit of courage, strength, soul, and spirit that we have. Hard problems require creative solutions. Creativity requires intellect.

What I mean to say is that it occurred to me as I stood there cursing the noise, that God's noise isn't meant to dull the senses, but to heighten them in anticipation. As I'm saying, "Just turn it down so I can think," He is saying, "Daughter, you have thought, and now it is time to act. Now, take that pretty little brain of yours, and know that I AM GOD."

See, God's noise is not to meant to confuse, or to mask, to steal the senses, or to force decisions normally not made. It is meant to push one to the very edges of understanding, where a decision can be made: to continue to sit in the noise, trying desperately to control the flow of knowledge, OR to recognize His sovereignty, and open oneself to the possibility that you are not God. You are not meant to know everything, nor will you ever. You're not meant to understand everything, and you won't ever.

I have said that I love C.S. Lewis, but that I am disappointed that even he, as one of our greatest Christian thinkers, gets to the dynamics of atonement and throws up his hands. How arrogant of me! To assume that C.S. Lewis just wasn't smart enough to make the summit is embarrassing arrogance. I now wonder if Lewis didn't throw up his hands out of desperation, but out of trust! He, too, heard the noise. And he, too, knelt in the Presence.

I have been greatly offended by Christians who tell me that I'm "thinking too much," or "muddying the waters" with too many books, and ideas. Rightly so, in one sense, because as I said, God gave me a brain, and such times as this require that I use it. In another sense, those Christians are right. My intellect can take me many places. And then there are a few whose passkeys are the heart. We already recognize this in popular society. When we listen to a favorite song, we don't say, "That progression of notes, and the way that they activate my neural systems is effective," we say "I love that song." When we look at our husband, wife, or child, we don't say "It's just the neurotransmitters making me feel this way," we say, "I love that man, and I would lay down my life to protect him."

So we already know that there are things we don't understand, things we cannot rationalize. Or, at the very least, feelings that we know are not rational. We accept this.

How much more accepting should we be when the object of our attention is not a song, or a man, but a source of life, a promise, a wholeness, the Creator Himself? To say such things, I don't suspend my reasoning. I respect that there are things that fall outside of that reasoning. There are things that I do not know. And trust me, I want to know them. In the midst of the noise, I want to grab on to them, and believe that I can shake sense into them, I can make silence. Because I'm an intellectual, damnit. And I want to figure this all out.

I think I'll take the second path. To kneel in the Presence. To relinquish control. To continue to learn, but recognize that all true knowledge comes through the Lord who sustains me.

So, no, I'm not going to buy another book. Not right now.