Nietzsche, Formation, and Reality

“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. 2 And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. 4 He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” 5 And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” 6 And he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment. 7 The one who conquers will have this heritage, and I will be his God and he will be my son.”

The Presence of Joy & Suffering

Today I am traveling from Washington, D.C. to Iowa to visit my dad. I make it a point to spend a week with him every few months. I get to hang out with him, go to some of his VA appointments, and take in his strong, love-filled, bear hugs. Sadly, this trip has a more urgent purpose.

I met my dad when I was 8 years old in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. My mom and I were recovering from her very abusive first marriage. Jerry was a young, ex-Marine, Vietnam veteran, with a tricked-out Chevy van. They married and built a new life. They had two new children and welcomed my brother, Tommy, and me into this new start at a better life.

My dad taught me how climb hay bales on his family farm, introduced me to Steely Dan, bought me my first bicycle, taught me to swim, and made it a priority to show up at my little league games. On special occasions, he would take us all to the drive-in.

In the early summer of 1979, when I was 12, after a day spent baling hay on his parent's farm, my dad collapsed from heat-stroke, hitting his head on the corner of a cement stair. It left him permanently disabled and put our family on welfare. Six months later, their daughter, and my infant sister, Kathy, died of crib death.  That year destroyed my family. But through everything my dad has remained true to the Marine motto: always faithful.

When I was spinning out of control emotionally in high school, he was always there, even though that often meant communicating through a memo pad because he hadn’t regained speech yet. When I distanced myself from him and my mother in my early twenties, he remained my dad, always ready with a smile and hug when I would re-engage.

In 1995, shortly before the birth of my first daughter, my mother succumbed to the vortex of pain and the effects of long-term over-medicating with drugs and alcohol and abandoned what remained of her family. She spent several years homeless.

Even when my mother was in hiding from the world, my dad was present for the birth of each of our four children. He’s been at every birthday and always calls on our anniversary.

True to his character, he attended my seminary graduation in 2007 with my mother (and by then ex-wife), who had recently returned, very frail, from her extended time of homelessness.

Even after my mother eventually passed away in 2010 from the damage those years did to her mind and body, my dad was always faithful, even comforting me at her bedside. My dad was seated as the grandfather at our oldest daughter’s wedding. In 2018, I had the privilege to accompany him in D.C. for his Honor Flight.

My dad’s love for me has never depended on what I would accomplish in high school, or by the time I was 20, or 30, or 40, or even 50. He has never judged me by where I’ve gone to school or where I’ve been able to vacation. He is never disappointed by how much money I make or what kind of car I drive. He just loves me because he chooses to do so. And his love for my wife, children, and grandchild is without equal.

He may not be my biological father, but he is the man who wanted the job. He has always been faithful and that makes him my dad!  In many ways, my dad has helped me to understand my true Father, the God of steadfast love and faithfulness. In December of 2019, my dad and I stood before a judge to finalize my legal adoption as his son.

So, today, I travel back to visit him out of love and thanksgiving.

But also, with a purpose. This afternoon, my brother Joshua and I will explain to my dad, who is hard of hearing and suffers from the rapidly advancing dementia and Parkinson’s, that it is time for him to transition into assisted living and memory care.

No child ever looks forward to explaining to a parent that their freedoms are being restricted or that they need supportive care beyond what you can provide. After all the suffering he has been through, this is a gut-wrenching conversation that I wish did not have to occur.

Nietzsche’s Fallacy

Which brings me to this morning’s Wall Street Journal. As I was flipping to the crossword at the back of Section A, I noticed the following headline for a book review on Mike Mariani’s book, “What Doesn’t Kill Us Makes Us: Who We Become After Tragedy and Trauma.” Based on the review, this is a book that I’ll definitely pick up.

In the review, it is noted that the book takes the approach that our suffering and trauma forms us in ways that are essential to the core of our being. As the review points out, the author is interacting with Nietzsche’s declaration that “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.” Mariani also engages another of Nietzsche’s ponderings on trauma, “What would you do if a demon offered you the opportunity to live life over, with all the same traumas.”

Not surprisingly, many of the subjects in the book said something along the lines of, “Yes, because it made me who I am and also brought great blessings.”  I get that and have even written to the same effect in a previous post.

However, like the reviewer points out, this viewpoint ignores something important. This is not the way it is supposed to be!

Yes, the suffering and trauma has left me with a push-through and overcome mentality that has led to two churches being planted and the launch of a ministry in Washington to those serving and leading in government. Despite my weaker moments, my history has left me with a deep capacity for empathy with those who are marginalized or suffering. Without these events, I probably would not have met my wife, or had four children and the grandson who makes me laugh just by smiling.

But, if given the chance to go back, I would absolutely opt for a childhood without beatings, without a brain-damaged father, without a sister who died of crib death, without a mother who attempted to drown her pain in drugs and alcohol and died at 64, and certainly without having to participate in the long goodbye of my dad’s cognitive decline.

But here’s the thing, I cannot go back, and neither can any of us. This is a thought exercise that is futile. This is the way is it.

My dad has dementia and Parkinson’s. Over the course of the next few years, it will rob him of his memory of me, his other children, his daughter, and his former wife. Perhaps that will alleviate some of his suffering, but it will introduce new suffering into the lives of those who love him. And, eventually, it will overtake his body’s ability to sustain life.

The Hard Reality

We live in a broken world awaiting its full restoration. All of us will experience varied joys throughout our journey through however many years God gives us on this earth. Conversely, all of us will endure suffering. Some of that suffering will be unimaginable and perhaps lifelong.  There is no escaping it.

That joy and suffering will shape us. God’s word says that he uses these joys and suffering to conform us into the image of His Son but that does not assuage the pain or grief associated with telling your dad it’s time for assisted living.

What Nietzsche’s philosophy really says is, “What doesn’t kill you is only a reprieve from your eventual death.” And, that is reality. But it is not the fullness of reality. If Nietzsche could have gone back and lived his life having grasped the gospel and the grand narrative of redemption, perhaps he would have said, “What doesn’t kill you will impact your life, and the life of others, in ways beyond comprehension, that are only given hope through the promises of God.”

An Application for Washington

Let’s apply this to life in Washington. Those serving and leading in this city on The Hill bring all of their personal histories of suffering with them. Without a doubt it is what drives many of them to life in the public arena. Washington is a place where people come to “Make America Great Again” and “Build Back Better.” This is the place where every president says, “ Do not underestimate our resilience. America will overcome!”

This is also the country where people have lived in slavery, shivered while sleeping on the street, been shot in drive-by shootings, been told to sit at the back of the bus, gone to school hungry, endured unspeakable bullying because of their sexuality, and tried to learn in classrooms that were beyond chaotic, and spent years trying to get government services. This is also the land where people still have miscarriages, get cancer, dementia, and Parkinson’s.

In Washington, there is a reason why wise candidates for office avoid saying to people who have experienced any of those situations, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you…” And, this is where we realize the incomprehensible shallowness of this statement. This is not the way it is supposed to be!

Thank you to everyone who comes to Washington working to with the intention of encouraging what is good, fixing what is broken, creating what is missing, and opposing what is evil. Thank you for doing your best to lessen the prevalence of horrible events like the ones above and for your efforts to bring support and care to those who experienced them. Keep up the good work, knowing that your work is not futile but a proclamation of Christ’s mission of making all things new – even for children going to visit their dad today.

An Application for Everyone

The passage at the opening of this article is from the last book of the Bible and perhaps is well known to you. It is written to people of the first century who were facing increasing levels of persecution and suffering. It comes at the end of the Bible’s grand narrative of His redemption of His people from their suffering. It was written to pastorally remind His people that this is not the way it is supposed to be and this is not the way it will remain.