Church Voices

This Sunday morning in class, (exposing my slight aversion in referring to it as “Sunday school”) we talked a lot about death, dying, and the intrigue of one’s last words. With a healthy suggestion of charismatic postmortem insights, it brought me back to something I had written not too long ago in the midst of my depression, geared toward the same topic.

Having thought much into the deep fissures of death, the concept still eludes me at times. But, given the reassurance of life from the One who “gives it more abundantly” through Himself, after having conquered death, it has altogether become an even more fascinating meditation; one that excites in me a compelling desire to speak God’s truths.

I’ve made use of this meditation by revising an old journal entry I wrote on July 12, 2004. The revision turned out with shocking and cool contrast between the assurance of faith and the lewdness of skepticism. To illustrate the differences, I’ve paired the two juxtapose with italicized words in the revised version in which the main contrast is focused. The premise is obviously built off of Descartes’ famous presuppositional punch line from Discourse on Method, “I think, therefore I am,” classical reference. Anyway, I just thought that was worth making mark of this day’s philosophizing.

Written July 12, 2004:

If I were to commit suicide, my last words on a bloodstained shard of paper would say this:

It is said, “I think, therefore I am.” But I say to you, “I am, therefore I love.” And because I love, I’ve critically made the choice to take my life due to the improbability of finding love within it. I’m venturing into a world where I’ll either find the love in which I so desperately yearn, or not. These odds far surpass those of that in this world. As you read this, know that I’ll either have found something new or lost something old. Regardless, I think, therefore I am. I am, therefore I love. I love, therefore I seek.

Revised January 16, 2005:

When I am to die, my last words written on a carefully folded note found hidden behind the cover of my first Bible would say this:

“It is said, “I think, therefore I am.” But I say to you, “I am, therefore I love.” And because I love, I’ve critically made the choice to give my life due to the probability of finding love outside of it. I’m venturing into a world where I will meet the love in which I’ve so desperately yearned. This assurance far surpasses the doubts of that in this world. As you read this, know that I’ve immersed with that which makes all things new, having restored all things old. Regardless, I think, therefore I am. I am, therefore I love. I love, therefore I sought.