For Righteousness’ Sake

First it was Thomas Jefferson who felt that religion is a very personal matter—personal enough to separate it from “State”.

More recently, Barak Obama felt it better to observe National Prayer Day “privately” and failed to show up for occasions that have been tradition for The President of the United States to attend.


Okay, fine. Do what you want; I don’t believe God wants me to try to push Him on anyone anyway.


But then I’m really wondering why I have to have the beliefs of others forced upon me.


When I enrolled in college, I was told that I was required to take a philosophy course in order to receive my A.A. I’ve got to tell you that I really didn’t think there’d be any harm in that. I’d just listen to some Socrates wannabe drone on and on about, well, the Socratic (Dialectical) Method. I wasn’t wrong about what to expect there.


However, things changed a bit in that when I learned about the Allegory of the Cave. I thought that Plato’s philosophical views in this regard did not differ too terribly much from a few of my views as a Christian. And that’s when I believe my instructor (let’s refer to him as Mr. Tyrannical Pants) saw his opportunity to try to suck me in.


That and the fact that he caught on really quickly that I am a student who will totally break down and cry (for no longer than a day or two) if I don’t make the dean’s list.


Eventually he and I would debate outside of class (i.e. the school library, etc.). He in one fashion told me that he liked having a vocal Christian in his class—that it gave him an opponent, making things more interesting (while he was grandstanding). He verbally tore Catholicism apart and even used the name of the Lord in vain at least one time that I remember. At one point, I looked at a classmate who sat next to me and whispered, “This feels like such a God-less class.” My peer looked me in the eye and replied matter-of-factly, “That’s because it is.”


Well, when “circumstances” kept me from attending class a few too many times, Mr. Tyrannical Pants pulled me out of class and into his office (yes, he made sure to keep the door slightly ajar). He said something to the effect of noticing that I may be having some personal problems and then let me know that my grade would inevitably suffer if I continued to miss class. Yes, I surely was having some personal problems, ergo missing class—primarily because the majority of content in his course was scaring the life out of me. But I was pleasant and smiled as I said, “I’m fine. Why, what’s my grade in here now?” He showed me the grade book and pointed to my “B”. He then stated that he didn’t feel I was a “B” student and that he would like to give me the opportunity to turn it into the “A” he knew I deserved. (Perverts, you might as well check out now. There isn’t going to be anything to tickle your fancy here. Not sorry.)


He suggested that I take an “Incomplete” and that I finish up his course over the summer semester with a handful of essays (precisely five). He said he trusted my judgment as a writer to determine appropriate length, etc. He then signed off on the “Incomplete” form, handed me a few books from the school library, and told me he looked forward to hearing from me by the end of the summer. GOOD ENOUGH! I was so thankful!


Until I began turning in the essays via E-mail.


Let me tell you, these essays were far better than anything the majority of students in my class would’ve written (they actually didn’t have to write as many essays as I did . . . for starters). I thoroughly researched, diligently worked each philosophy/idea out in my head, and thoughtfully wrote about what I had learned. HOWEVER, Mr. Tyrannical Pants kept forwarding my essays back to me with “notes” (right, more like his own segmented essays) he’d inserted between my text. I took the bait and argued back. He loved it and seemed so pleased with my performances. I received great praise from him.


Toward mid-summer, I started to fizzle out at both ends. With our two-year-old, my ONLINE courses (yikes—tougher than land-based courses by far), and all of the extra work Mr. Tyrannical Pants had come to expect me to put into—not just my essays anymore—his debates, I started to crack under the pressure. He wanted me to wrap my head around the ideas of Descartes and Hume, to name a couple. I did the absolute best I could, investing hours upon hours into just thought alone (eventually, entire days were consumed with this insanity).


Ultimately, I had to take a break—with only one final essay to go. I remember my mom being so livid over this. She said, “Doesn’t he realize that you have a life outside of his get-off sessions?!” Yeah, no, he didn’t care. And, really, he had no idea that I was suffering—I don’t think he had anyway. Mom would beg to differ—she would say that of course he knew he was torturing me. At any rate, he never disclosed even the slightest innuendo that I would walk away from that course with anything less than an “A”. I mean, that was the whole point of taking the “Incomplete”, right?


So my final essay was to be on a chapter out of the book Sophie’s World. What a messed up compilation of ink on paper, man. I’m telling you. But I did my best. Eventually, I saw so many inconsistencies in Mr. Tyrannical Pants’ beloved novel, that I reached my wit’s end. A scripture that contained the word of Paul was paraphrased and not properly cited. What does that equal? Manipulation? Lack of ethics (yeah, locate the humor in that one)? Exploitation? A BIG, FAT LIE?


So I revolved my essay, not around that particular chapter per se, but around the misrepresentation of a Source in that chapter (I mean, how else I could justly comment on a faulty chapter— or author, for that matter?). I thought that Mr. Tyrannical Pants would love that I had started the debate of all debates as far as we two had been concerned thus far.

But . . . no.

He sent me a final E-mail that tore me apart—not just my feelings, but also my work on my paper (and ultimately the entire two semesters’ worth of work), and did I feel the trappings of a character attack as well? I mean, I could hear him yelling over the Net— I could all but smell the rage-induced sweat that trickled over his protruding veins. By the time I got to the end of his E-mail, my body was wracked with sobs.


He failed me on that paper. I received a “C” for a final grade in that class. My GPA plummeted.


I called my student advisor regarding this. She said that Mr. Tyrannical Pants had received numerous other complaints for favoring incidents that semester (big surprise: from other Christian students), and did I want to file a formal complaint. I said that I did not, for I knew my tears were stored up in God’s bottle.


So, President Obama, as you demand that Christians (and Jews apparently) stop forcing their practices down your throat, certainly you’ll ensure that Christians and Jews will be cushioned with an equal amount of safety. No? Well, in GOD we trust.


I’d now like to share with you the text of a link I was hooked into via Facebook (Thank you, Mandy). It was delivered to me in the midst of all of this turmoil:


“This is a true story of something that happened just a few years ago at U.S.C.


“There was a philosophy teacher there who was a deeply committed atheist. His primary goal for one required class was to spend the entire semester trying to prove that God couldn’t exist. His students were always afraid to argue with him because of his impeccable logic. Sure, some had argued in class at times, but no one had ever really gone against him because of his reputation.


“At the end of every semester on the last day, he would say to his class of 300 students: ‘If there is anyone here who still believes in Jesus, stand up!’ In twenty years, no one ever stood up. They knew what he was going to do next. He would say, ‘Because anyone who believes in God is a fool. If God existed, He could stop this piece of chalk from hitting the ground and breaking. Such a simple task to prove He is God, and yet, He can’t do it.’ And every year, he would drop the chalk onto the tile floor of the classroom, and it would shatter into a hundred pieces. All of the students would do nothing but stop and stare. Most of the students thought that God couldn’t exist. Certainly, a number of Christians had slipped through, but for twenty years, they had been too afraid to stand up.


“Well, a few years ago, there was a freshman who happened to enroll. He was a Christian and had heard stories about this professor. He was required to take the class for his major, and he was afraid. But for three months that semester, he prayed every morning that he would have the courage to stand up no matter what the professor did or what the class thought. Nothing they said could ever shatter his faith . . . he hoped.


“Finally the day came. The professor said, ‘If there is anyone here who still believes in God, stand up!’ The professor and the class of 300 people looked at the young man, shocked, as he stood up at the back of the classroom. The professor shouted, ‘You FOOL! If God existed, He would keep this piece of chalk from breaking when it hits the ground!’


“He proceeded to drop the chalk; but as he did, it slipped out of his fingers, rolled off his shirt cuff, onto the pleat of his pants, down his leg, and off his shoe. As it hit the ground, it simply rolled away unbroken.


“The professor’s jaw dropped as he stared at the chalk. He looked up at the young man and then ran out of the lecture hall.


“The young man, who stood, walked to the front of the room and shared his faith in Jesus for the next half an hour. 300 students stayed and listened as he told of God’s love for them and of His power through Jesus.”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wTOUbgbWAzA


God bless.




Quotation of the Day:


“If the world hates you, know that it hated Me before it hated you. If you belonged to the world, the world would treat you with affection and would love you as its own. But because you are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, the world hates you.” ~Jesus Christ~ 
John 15: 17-19