Will there be solitaire in the world to come?

I’m already assuming that there is a new world to come. I’m certain of it. What I’m not so sure about is what it will look like, what the scent of grass will evoke, or the touch of other human beings. Will the woman who’s been abused all her life by men be finally able to embrace her brothers in Christ without any tremors or doubts about their intentions? How will the formerly hungry react to the tree of life, which yields its fruit regularly and banishes even the thought of starvation? And how will we be towards others when all traces of our selfishness and pettiness are taken away? The formerly rich toward the formerly poor? I can’t even imagine.
A little while ago I posted something on Facebook, asking people if there would be solitaire in this perfect world Jesus is going to bring about. Perhaps it was a silly question, phrased simply, but I did have a very serious thought behind it. One of the things about us is that we are broken relationally. In terms of how we relate to God (we’re not at peace with Him), ourselves (our thoughts are sometimes unbearable even to ourselves, hence the big business that is mp3 players and such), and other people (we just don’t trust ‘em). It is within this context of existential unease with everything and everyone that we have created the game called solitaire. Hours of endless, mindless fun. Alone. Well, mindless in the sense that there is no tangible good that comes of the exercise, as far as I can see.
Don’t get me wrong- I love solitaire, in all its manifestations. I can play it for hours on end. And don’t think I’m one of those people that think that whatever we have made in this world post-Genesis 3 is of necessity bad. No. I just wonder if in a world of perfect relationships, solitude and its accompaniments will have a place. Again, not knocking being alone. Those who know me know I love my alone time, more so than most people. But many of my reasons for wanting to be alone stem from wanting to run away from people or from God, and sometimes even myself. I’m asking the question of solitude since that is my default posture, but the same question can be asked of those who party to rid themselves of the chance of spending time with themselves. Will such people learn how to party in a sanctified fashion, a way which doesn’t work to silence their thoughts that may be accusing them, but in a way that glorifies God, realises their own humanity and that of others around them? So I ask, “Can solitude and solitaire be sanctified, or are some things beyond all redemption?”

The horror and the wonder of the cross


“When I survey the wondrous cross, on which the prince of glory died…” so the song goes. It puzzles me how someone of royal lineage would die in such a crude way, and that by choice. My experience of power and those who have power is that it is meant to insulate you from discomfort, grief and pain. Who discards power and chooses to be killed by peasants in an utterly humiliating fashion?
The conundrum gets more interesting when you pause a moment longer to consider the One who died. The prince of glory. God himself. How could God die? It feels like we’re standing on the precipice of a chasm of wonder and fathomless depths. He surrendered Himself to death, even death on a cross. How though? The mechanics elude me, but like Lewis said, understanding precisely how the thing works isn’t the be all and end all- it just works. So, here is a God who has all power, yet He casts/sets aside His life, power, majesty and subjects Himself to death and humiliation. It says a lot about Him. It also says a lot about us. I wouldn’t do such a thing. The reason I know is that in everyday interactions with people I tend not to relinquish power. I want the upper hand. I want to be the smartest in the room. I don’t want to be belittled, or ignored, or treated in a way less than my rank deserves (whatever that may be- it varies depending on whose company I’m in). Maybe I grab onto power because I have too little? Perhaps, but that’s arguing contrary to the facts as they are- I can only speak from what I am and have done.
 The humility I see quite clearly evinced by Jesus in His life and death is something I don’t have by nature. And I suspect I’m not alone in this. I’ve been pondering the various ‘revolutions’ going on in North Africa at the moment. On my continent, leaders seem quite reluctant to step down from power, to become plain citizens again after having graced the halls of power. Would they ever bear a cross, public humiliation? In many cases, leaders fear prosecution for crimes that they perpetrated- would this not be a just cross to bear though? Unlike Jesus who allowed himself to be punished unjustly, they would be suffering a humiliation that has been earned. The wonder of the cross is that God would subject Himself to us, allow us to kill Him. That is awesome, in the traditional sense of that word. The horror it reveals is us- our desperate wickedness, desire to hold onto power by any means, our lack of humility. It shows us as we truly are- people that would rather kill God than yield to Him; in other words, power hungry little despots, rebels holed up in trench warfare against the King of the universe. Oh, the horror. The horror.