John, what a power of intellect and depth of wisdom you display above.
If God does not appease the “wants” and “needs” that human beings see as their “rights” and “privileges”, then God is not a good and powerful God but an uncaring and weak God.
This is the depth of “wisdom” you are imparting to the human race on this January day in 2012?
Of course, you could not be thinking as lowly as “man thinks” and not as lofty as “God thinks”.
Of course, you could not be ignorant of the knowledge and understanding that the will (even God’s will) does two things—acts and permits.
Of course, reality (if you were in charge) would have a light without a dark, a good without a bad, a yin without a yang, and on and on.
Of course, creation is not a creation and only a part of reality and only a beginning to our existence, but the end all and be all.
Of course, our sufferings and struggles are not human experiences that can mold us into more profound and better human beings, but meaningless horrors and atrocities.
Listen, oh wise one, to a children’s story:
There was once a man who dug up a large block of iron ore from the ground. This block of iron ore was shaped amazingly like a young sitting child. The man placed this sitting child of iron ore on a fallen tree and looked at it. After a time, he said out loud, “because I am alone and do not have any children of my own, I will bring this child of iron ore home and sit it before my fireplace. And so he did. He even built a beautiful chair for his child of iron ore to sit upon.
After many years, a group of soldiers came by the man’s house and told him that an army of barbarians was approaching, and he should flee into the mountains. He thanked the soldiers for their warning and counsel. And, he fed them before they went off to join their comrades for the coming battle.
The man sat before his fireplace and thought about putting his child of iron ore in the wagon and escaping into the mountains, like the soldiers had told him to do. But this was his home and he wasn’t a coward.
He turned toward his child of iron ore and loudly proclaimed, “No. I will stay and fight!”.
His child of iron ore sat glowing in the light of the fire.
“But what would I fight with? he asked his child of iron ore. “The barbarians have maces and war-hammers. All I have is a pick-axe. What weapon can I use to fight these barbarians?”
The man looked at his glowing child of iron ore, almost expecting a response. His child of iron ore appeared to him for the first time to be alive. His child of iron ore wavered in the glow from the blazing fire before them. His child of iron ore leaned forward towards the blazing fire, then leaned back. Over and over, the man watched this dance.
The man turned and looked into the blazing fire.
Then he looked back at his child of iron ore.
Suddenly, it came to him what he must do. His whole being ached with sorrow and dread. But, despite these feelings, the man courageously sat up, walked over to his child of iron ore, picked it up, and threw it into the fire.
The man then sat back down and looked at his child of iron ore sitting in the fire, until he fell asleep.
The next morning the man woke up and went over to the fireplace. He sifted through the ashes and took out the formless mass of iron that was once his child of iron ore. He then took this formless mass of iron to the blacksmith in town.
The blacksmith looked at the formless mass of iron and asked the man, “This is a good quality iron you have here, what would you have me do with it?”
“Make me a sword,” the man replied, as he placed a bag of coins before the blacksmith. “And inscribe on the blade—child of iron ore.”
The blacksmith agreed. And worked through the day and through the night.
The next day the man went to the blacksmith and was handed a gleaming sword of exceptional quality. He thanked the blacksmith and went off toward the approaching barbarians.
Bravely the man fought for many months. And, the barbarians were then defeated.
The man went back home, battle-weary and battle-scarred. He carefully placed his sword over the fireplace. He made a blazing fire, sat down before his sword, and read the glowing words, child of iron ore. Then he died.
