struck down, but not destroyed

From 2 Corinthian 4:7-12 (NASB):

"But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body. For we who live are constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death works in us, but life in you. "

.:.


Late night ramblings and spiritual musings.

A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to be the scripture reader during the Sunday morning 3rd service, and the above passage was the one given to me to read. It's an interesting passage, maybe because it goes straight to the ugly facts that followers of God sometimes seem gloss over about life in this world: that we too sometimes cannot avoid suffering, confusion, abandonment, or being wounded.

In eyes of an amoral and atheistic modern world, it would seem to be ultimate foolishness to choose to subscribe to a divine being and set of spiritual beliefs that promise the inevitability of pain rather than the total relief of pain. Since the earliest histories of humanity's search for an authentic spirituality, people have sought the perfect relief /protection from pain - we have desired an easy-to-don spiritual aegis that renders us completely focused on our own happiness.

...

For myself, I'd like to think my stomach for pain and disappointment would have strengthened over the years, but I find that still, the seeds of doubt that lurk about in my mind have already sprouted thorns. I find I worry already about a lot of things, but especially about re-applying to grad school, teaching again, and being put back in typical elementary school ecosystem, with unabashed lack of men, and even a more unabashed lack of men of color. A year ago, my dream of going into education had seemed so bright and attainable, the final convergence of something I felt I had a small amount of ability to do along with my own spiritual, moral, and social views. Now, even with another opportunity just a few months away, there's a small anxiety festering as a result of the failure of previous efforts... I've already been struck down plenty of times before, will it happen again?

I ponder.

struck down, but not destroyed.

At the center of the gospel story is the memory of Christ's death and resurrection. The faith holds his unjust death and glorious return to life as an underlying theme for all things, for it is a lesson that even in the gravest of circumstances, hope survives and can even thrive... but for every heart warming story of salvation that is popularized and repeated, I can't help but think of the stories that are less clean-cut and occupy the realms of ugly reality, like those of a kidnapped girl held for over 8 years in windowless, soundproofed, cell. I don't begin to even presume that I can imagine how she survived, but on some level, the feeling of being simultaneously frustrated, trapped, angry, and helpless resonates deeply with me.

struck down, but not destroyed.

.:.

If you've ever been playing a sport or sparring, there's the occasional moment when you get knocked down. Most of the time the falls are light, but the hard falls, the ones that really hurt, have a way of pounding themselves into your body and your memory.

Once upon a time (long ago), as a young student in high school, I remember a particularly intense sparring session during kendo practice. Several students including myself had been invited to visit another dojo and during a sparring session run as a mock tournament match, I got matched up with an older man, a middle-aged white guy who was a good foot taller than me, heavier by at least 80lbs, and also outranked me.

The sparring match started off normally at first, but after my opponent failed to intimidate or score a point on me during the first couple of minutes, I noticed his technique switching to a much more dirty style of fighting - things that technically aren't illegal in kendo, but are considered in bad taste (excessive shoving, especially to gain a force out; intentional stepping / kicking the opponents' feet; hitting with an excessive amount of force; intentionally making sloppy attacks to bruise an opponent rather than score a point). Despite the armor worn in kendo, it's still quite possible to sustain injuries... the guy was clearly trying to rough me up, and the sempai watching the match didn't intervene.

At some point during the middle of match, I was again given a hard shove by my opponent, but because of the angle of his attack, I failed to notice his feet tripping me at the same time. I fell backwards, still raising my sword to parry (during a tournament-style match, it's perfectly legal to attack a falling opponent unless the referee pauses the match), but unfortunately, since both hands were gripping my sword in a position to parry, there was nothing to help ease my backward fall and I hit the ground with a loud thud as my upper back, my head, and my backside (in that order) made contact with the gym's hardwood floor.

It hurt like hell. Really hurt.

I heard the sempai referee'n the match yell, "YAME" (stop), signaling a stop to the match, and for a few split seconds, I lay there on the floor in full armor, clutching my sword in my left hand and holding the back of my head in my right hand. I was tired, I was bruised, and I was sick of fighting this big, dumb, obnoxious idiot who seemed to not know any other technique than trying to shove around a kid less than half his age. In those seconds, my mind had already reasoned, It's OK to ask to stop the match. People can you see you're hurt. It's not a real tournament match, it's just sparring. Nothing's on the line. Nobody will give it a thought or even care if you decide to quit. Just quit.

just quit.
QUIT.

I froze and instantly, I could feel something well up in my soul that just loathed the idea of quitting. My body was still hurt from the bruising of the fall, and I could feel a lump on the back of my head beginning to throb with pain... but something deeper compelled me to get back up and keep fighting, even if it was against an opponent that was bigger, older, stronger, and supposedly more skilled than me.

struck down, but not destroyed.

Fueled by something, I got back up and finished the sparring match - the next time that my opponent came lumbering through with his predictable, yet clumsy attack, I stood my ground and took just a second to smoothly roll off to my left side in clockwise pivot, like a matador letting a bull pass, while I delivered a (satisfying) strike to his head. Point scored, sparring match over... no thunderous applause, no trophies given, no riches won, nor groupies gained. Just the satisfaction of knowing that I hadn't let someone break me down. It's all I wanted, really.

Part of me always wants to keep fighting. Is it instinct? Stubborn pride? God prompting me? I have to keep conscious of that impetus to not give up or surrender. Gotta remember that.

Time to sleep.
posted by G at 2:11 AM   |

in?scrip?tion (n-skrip-shun)n.
1. The act or an instance of inscribing.
2. Something, such as the wording on a coin, medal, monument, or seal, that is inscribed.
3. A short, signed message in a book or on a photograph given as a gift.
4. The usually informal dedication of an artistic work.
5. Jeremiah 31:33