A sense of wonder

Cynicism is unchristian.

[Yet another author’s note] How’s that for a cheery opening? I’ve been having trouble lately coming up with decent ways to broach topics, so I’ve decided that I’m going to take the direct approach until I regain what little tack I had. [End of yet another author’s note]

The reason that cynicism is unchristian is simple: true cynics are completely incapable of a sense of wonder, a sense of awe. After all, there must be some sort of trick to it, some simple explanation behind the grandeur. My mental image of cynics is best visualized as a well dressed man sneering at the world with smug superiority.

Have I offended any cynics yet? Before you (and I’m talking to any cynics who read this) stop reading and start writing me hate mail, I have this to say:

Hello, my name is Tom, and I used to be a cynic.

Don’t believe me? When I was in high school, my two best friends were asked to describe me in one word. They picked “cynic” without the decency of pausing to think about it. Padre and Ice Man* could have at least lied and said something nice. But I wouldn’t have believed them. I was a cynic, you know.

That cynicism of mine directly hindered my relationship with Christ for most of my life. Because I was cynical, I couldn’t look at anything and go, “Man, that’s absolutely amazing.” And, for most of life, I didn’t need to. But you cannot, absolutely cannot, approach the Divine Creator of heaven and earth with the attitude that He can’t impress you.

A quick clarification before I go on: It is my firm belief that my cynicism did not affect my salvation. I believed then as I do now that Jesus died on the cross as a sacrifice for my sins so that I might not die but have eternal life. But salvation isn’t the be all end all of Christianity. Salvation is the beginning. There’s so very much more life to be lived afterward. And that’s the part that I was killing with my cynicism.

In the last post, I said that the great Christian writers always wrote from a position of humility. They also always wrote with a sense of awe, a sense of wonder at the divine. To read the Bible is, in part, to read a collection of stories of people absolutely amazed by God. Not a single one of them approached God with the attitude that they knew it all, or knew enough of it to see behind the smoke and mirrors.

I know there are plenty of reasons to be jaded in this world. There’s death, violence, and pain. There’s so much cruelty that it seems sometimes like the world is made of nothing but injustice. But to end there, to refuse to look beyond the tattered landscape of humanity, is to do yourself a grave injustice. It is to allow hope to die.

If we truly hope in Christ, than we’ll be able to look past all that’s wrong and see all that’s beautiful, all that’s inspiring, all that’s Good.

This post is in serious danger of becoming muddled, so I have one example I want to share, and then I’m done.

My roommate and I rode our motorcycles back from Idaho a few weeks ago. We rolled across the Idaho-Washington boarder under black, rainy skies. It was in the low fifties, and we were traveling slightly above the posted freeway speed limit of 70 MPH. Hunched over my handlebars, rain streaking off the visor of my helmet, I had trouble concentrating on just about anything other than speed and direction. I don’t know how many of you ride motorcycles, but riding in the cold at high speeds chills you to your core. Your fingers go numb. Then the feeling slinks its way up your arms and legs until it wraps around your chest. It’s a miserable experience that only the insane would do for fun.

As we rode west, the clouds began to break in the distance. The black sky gave way to gray which gave way to small patches of blue. Miles and miles slipped beneath our wheels as those patches of blue opened up and streaks of gold cut through the air. Rolling farmland filled the horizon, but we were surrounded by a forest of light. And then the clouds broke entirely. We rode out from beneath that gray-black ceiling and into a world of crystal blue skies.

The rain dried on my jacket. The feeling came back to my fingers. I felt lighter, more alive. In short, my spirit soared. That feeling is close to what it felt like when I gave up my cynicism. A cynic would have seen the rain, would have felt the sun, but wouldn't have felt awe at the contrast between the two.


* I just decided that my friend who lives in Virginia will be referred to as Ice Man on this site. That has nothing to do with his personality (he’s actually a very friendly guy). Mainly, he wants to be a pilot and, with blond hair and blue eyes, looks kinda sorta almost a little bit like Ice Man from Top Gun. That's my dated reference for the day.