Sola Scriptura

Exodus 20:5 states that God, being jealous, would "visit the sins of the fathers on the children." To modern sensibilities, this seems like an arbitrary and cruel governance. But, as a Christian, I think there is a divine, albeit counter-intuitive, logic to it:

This verse is a description of reality. It describes the perpetuation of generational cycles, spelled out in mystical terms appropriate for the people to whom it was written. Furthermore, it is not an unjust declaration, but a merciful one: By making it explicitly clear that sinning could affect one's descendants, it extinguishes the idea that any person, or any decision, exists in a vacuum. Thus, people had a greater impetus to act in accordance with God's Word--in turn protecting them, their community, and their lineage. And, it laid clear an indispensable truth about the nature of legacy and family that we, now living in the post-crucifixion dispensation of mercy, can weigh against our actions.

As a Christian who believes Christ came not to do away with the law, but magnify it, I've wondered how that concept applies to me. My thesis: sins of the father are generational cycles, and they are visited upon the sons by being perpetuated by the sons.

The Butterfly Effect

I don't know if my thesis has any merit. But I have behaved, subconsciously, like it's truth. I've found myself fearing that I am slated for the same vices and trials as my father, and scripted to react the same way, because we were so alike. Being his son has surely all but prophesied it. Would not the same synapses fire in my brain, making the same decisions and treading the same paths, a butterfly effect rewinding its wings?

I'd say the results of acting like this interpretation is true have been a net positive in my life and health. For instance, I do not drink, as my dad had an addictive personality and I might have inherited that trait. I make an effort to remain social and practice vulnerability, as I naturally slide into isolation just like my father did. I am intensely cautious around finances, as my parents weren't particularly financially literate. I strive for ambition, whereas my dad was something of a wandering soul.

I'm trying to swing the pendulum back the other way, because if I don't, it will knock me off my feet.

Birthright

Admittedly, sometimes I feel bitter about the circumstances I was raised in. Why must things have been so hard for my family? Why didn't we have any money? Why wasn't I offered the same opportunities and head starts as it seems my peers had? Why did these cycles burn through my birthright?

Inevitably, these feelings are followed by shame for daring to entertain such entitlement. Even if we didn't have much money, and even if we were dysfunctional at times (what family isn't?),  I have many reasons to be proud of where I come from. My family is one of charity, hard work, creativity, and open-mindedness. We enjoy each other's company more often than not, and I'd like to believe that other people enjoy our company just as much. Who could ever ask for more?

A God Complex

Besides the shame I've felt for that entitlement, I've felt an even greater shame at the black temptation to revel in the circumstances I grew up in. Maybe I am the only person on Earth narcissistic enough to find something romantic in the idea of being born under the banner of hardship, solely so it gives me a dragon to slay in view of all others so that they might see that I am, in some fundamental and comparative sense, "good."

Conveniently, I forget Isaiah 64:6. My righteousness is as filthy rags.

So much for sola Scriptura.