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Sun - February 4, 2007
Speaking of John...
Ben
Witherington has an interesting article arguing that the Beloved
Disciple (and the author of John's Gospel) is actually
Lazarus.
Fascinating stuff.
Posted at 07:21 PM |
Thu - February 1, 2007
Everyone, Anyone, No one, Whoever
If you begin from the assumption that all these
statements are meant to be read as logically true (no x is b kind of statements)
then if one of them seems contradicted by the evidence (nobody who abides in
Jesus sins, yet everyone sins) then you must find some way that they are
true.
Anyone
who reads John's Gospel or his letters could easily be buried under an avalanche
of generalizations. Both John's Jesus (the words marked red, if you have a
red-letter edition) and John himself (the words in black) use the words
no one, everyone,
anyone, and
whoever
all the time. John talks this way because he wants us to understand this Jesus
stuff is BIG. Jesus is more than a prophet - he is the Son of the Living God.
Mere words fail to express all he is, so we have to grasp it through metaphor -
he is the Bread of Life, the Gate, the Road (Way), the Truth, the Life, the
Light, the Good Shepherd, the One Sent into the World, the Vine. And if it
sounds confusing, John says you either get it or you
don't:
John 14:6 - No one comes to the father except through me.
John 6:44 - No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day.
1 John 1:23 - No one who denies the Son has the Father; everyone who confesses the Son has the Father also.
1 John 3:6 - No one who abides in him sins; no one who sins has either seen him or known him.
John 3:3 - No one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above (or "again")
John 14:23 - Those who love me will keep my word and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. Whoever does not love me does not keep my words...
John 13:20 - ...whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me.
1 John 1:6 ...whoever says, "I abide in him," ought to walk just as he walked.
John 8:52 - Whoever keeps my word will never taste death.
3 John 11 - Whoever does good is from God; whoever does evil has not seen God.
John 6:45 - Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me
John 6:37 - Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.
John 6:54 - Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day
John 7:17 - Anyone who resolves to do the will of the God will know whether the teaching is from God or whether I am speaking on my own
Some of these sayings give me a sense of relief: everyone who confesses the Son has the Father also. Yippee, it's a two-for-one deal! Whoever does good comes from God. Good news for righteous unbelievers! Whoever receives one whom I send receives me. Excellent news for those of us who like to host parties for prophets! Other sayings fill me with dread: no one who sins has either seen him or known him. Ouch.
These sayings are not exhaustive. There are plenty of other everyone/anyone/whoever sayings in the Johannine writings. What I find interesting is which ones Christians have used to create maps of salvation. It seems a lot of our theological energy goes into creating Venn diagrams of who is in the Kingdom and who is out of it. We also spend a lot of worry about which circle we are in.
For example, the obvious one is John 14:6 - No one can come to the Father except through me. This seems to clinch it as far as the exculsivity of Christ for salvation - except that there are also a couple of other "no one" statements that seem to go along with it:
No one comes to me (Jesus) unless drawn by the Father
No one who abides in him (Jesus) sins.
These kinds of sayings make theologians go into apopleptic frenzies of rhetorical acrobatics. If you begin from the assumption that all these statements are meant to be read as logically true (no x is b kind of statements) then if one of them seems contradicted by the evidence (nobody who abides in Jesus sins, yet everyone sins) then you must find some other way that they are true (or figure that we are all damned). Perhaps, you will reason, John didn't mean that Christians don't sin. In fact, many Protestant theologians would argue (and have) that because Jesus "stands in" for the sinner, God does not hold our sins against us. Therefore "no one who abides in him sins" should properly be read as "in spite of all evidence to the contrary, no one who abides in him sins." As Luther says, we are simultaneously sinners and saints.
Now, it's pretty clear to me that John did not mean "in spite of all evidence to the contrary." John meant that Christians don't sin. I don't think he meant this sentence as a propositional truth. He was not establishing theological principles. He was intentionally holding the Christian community to a ridiculously high ideal. He goes on to lay out a simplistic religious worldview: those who go on sinning are children of the devil. Those who do what is right are children of God.
I've said that these statements are ridiculous and simplistic. I don't use these words disparagingly. They are overly simple and they invite ridicule: just try calling someone a child of the devil and see what happens! But the statement makes perfect sense to say to a community of moral libertines who say, "hey, Jesus takes away our sin - let's party!" To Christians who spiritualize the Gospel to the point of making it irrelevant to moral conduct, John's statements are a slap in the face. We can't go on selling drugs and worshiping fertility gods and call ourselves Christian just because we think Jesus takes away our sin.
John Wesley took the statement from 1 John 3:6 to mean that we could, through the process of sanctification, come to the point where we do not intentionally sin. Most Methodists back off of the extreme statements Wesley makes in A Plain Account of Christian Perfection. We modern Methodists say that perfection is a process, like maturation - that we approach perfection in love the way one approaches the speed of light. While I think this is true, I don't think Wesley would buy it. When folks objected that no one can achieve a sinless life, Wesley said, "you're only saying that because no one ever has!"
I think that we need to look at some of Saint John's other statements in his Gospel and letters the same way - by placing them in context. Part of the job of contemporary theology is to go back and critically examine our theological history, including the errors of some of our fathers and mothers in the faith - not out of sense of arrogant superiority, but out of humility and a deep regret for the damage bad theology has caused. Specifically, I think it would be more helpful to approach some of these statements not with the question, "how can we make these words logically resolve so that we preserve the propositional truth of scripture?" but instead with the question, "what does John want us to know and believe?"
(edited 2-3-07)
John 14:6 - No one comes to the father except through me.
John 6:44 - No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day.
1 John 1:23 - No one who denies the Son has the Father; everyone who confesses the Son has the Father also.
1 John 3:6 - No one who abides in him sins; no one who sins has either seen him or known him.
John 3:3 - No one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above (or "again")
John 14:23 - Those who love me will keep my word and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. Whoever does not love me does not keep my words...
John 13:20 - ...whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me.
1 John 1:6 ...whoever says, "I abide in him," ought to walk just as he walked.
John 8:52 - Whoever keeps my word will never taste death.
3 John 11 - Whoever does good is from God; whoever does evil has not seen God.
John 6:45 - Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me
John 6:37 - Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.
John 6:54 - Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day
John 7:17 - Anyone who resolves to do the will of the God will know whether the teaching is from God or whether I am speaking on my own
Some of these sayings give me a sense of relief: everyone who confesses the Son has the Father also. Yippee, it's a two-for-one deal! Whoever does good comes from God. Good news for righteous unbelievers! Whoever receives one whom I send receives me. Excellent news for those of us who like to host parties for prophets! Other sayings fill me with dread: no one who sins has either seen him or known him. Ouch.
These sayings are not exhaustive. There are plenty of other everyone/anyone/whoever sayings in the Johannine writings. What I find interesting is which ones Christians have used to create maps of salvation. It seems a lot of our theological energy goes into creating Venn diagrams of who is in the Kingdom and who is out of it. We also spend a lot of worry about which circle we are in.
For example, the obvious one is John 14:6 - No one can come to the Father except through me. This seems to clinch it as far as the exculsivity of Christ for salvation - except that there are also a couple of other "no one" statements that seem to go along with it:
No one comes to me (Jesus) unless drawn by the Father
No one who abides in him (Jesus) sins.
These kinds of sayings make theologians go into apopleptic frenzies of rhetorical acrobatics. If you begin from the assumption that all these statements are meant to be read as logically true (no x is b kind of statements) then if one of them seems contradicted by the evidence (nobody who abides in Jesus sins, yet everyone sins) then you must find some other way that they are true (or figure that we are all damned). Perhaps, you will reason, John didn't mean that Christians don't sin. In fact, many Protestant theologians would argue (and have) that because Jesus "stands in" for the sinner, God does not hold our sins against us. Therefore "no one who abides in him sins" should properly be read as "in spite of all evidence to the contrary, no one who abides in him sins." As Luther says, we are simultaneously sinners and saints.
Now, it's pretty clear to me that John did not mean "in spite of all evidence to the contrary." John meant that Christians don't sin. I don't think he meant this sentence as a propositional truth. He was not establishing theological principles. He was intentionally holding the Christian community to a ridiculously high ideal. He goes on to lay out a simplistic religious worldview: those who go on sinning are children of the devil. Those who do what is right are children of God.
I've said that these statements are ridiculous and simplistic. I don't use these words disparagingly. They are overly simple and they invite ridicule: just try calling someone a child of the devil and see what happens! But the statement makes perfect sense to say to a community of moral libertines who say, "hey, Jesus takes away our sin - let's party!" To Christians who spiritualize the Gospel to the point of making it irrelevant to moral conduct, John's statements are a slap in the face. We can't go on selling drugs and worshiping fertility gods and call ourselves Christian just because we think Jesus takes away our sin.
John Wesley took the statement from 1 John 3:6 to mean that we could, through the process of sanctification, come to the point where we do not intentionally sin. Most Methodists back off of the extreme statements Wesley makes in A Plain Account of Christian Perfection. We modern Methodists say that perfection is a process, like maturation - that we approach perfection in love the way one approaches the speed of light. While I think this is true, I don't think Wesley would buy it. When folks objected that no one can achieve a sinless life, Wesley said, "you're only saying that because no one ever has!"
I think that we need to look at some of Saint John's other statements in his Gospel and letters the same way - by placing them in context. Part of the job of contemporary theology is to go back and critically examine our theological history, including the errors of some of our fathers and mothers in the faith - not out of sense of arrogant superiority, but out of humility and a deep regret for the damage bad theology has caused. Specifically, I think it would be more helpful to approach some of these statements not with the question, "how can we make these words logically resolve so that we preserve the propositional truth of scripture?" but instead with the question, "what does John want us to know and believe?"
(edited 2-3-07)
Posted at 10:26 PM |
Wed - January 17, 2007
Except Through Me - A Parable
There's the Father, unapproachable in blinding
light, the Holy Spirit blazing forth like a refining fire, and the Son, standing
there transfigured as he must have looked on the mountain top.
Again with the whole "is Jesus the only way to
salvation" thing! I'm starting to think that people who use this
verse don't have a clue what it means.
A story:
A Christian and a Muslim die in a car wreck and find themselves before the throne of God. There's the Father, unapproachable in blinding light, the Holy Spirit blazing forth like a refining fire, and the Son, standing there transfigured as he must have looked on the mountain top. It's judgment time, and both Christian and Muslim tremble and fall on their faces. They await sentence.
Jesus walks up to the Muslim. "Stand up," he says. Then he weeps as he throws his arms around the guy. "As-salaam alaykum!" he says. And then: "Thank you so much for loving me. You fed me when I was hungry. You visited me in prison. You stood up for my rights when I was poor, fatherless, widowed. I no longer call you servant. I call you friend. Enter into your Father's glory." Then he turns to the Father, the Ultimate Judge, and he says, "Hey Dad! I know this guy! We can let him in!"
The Christian sees this whole thing take place, and he's relieved. After all, he's been washed in the Blood of the Lamb, and he's known all the right doctrines for years. He's had his heart strangely warmed as he sang Kum By Yah and Marching to Zion, and so he comes up to Jesus with his hand extended. "Put 'er there, pal!" He says.
Jesus looks at the hand as if he had just been offered a dead rodent. "Who are you? Depart from me, for I never knew you. You didn't visit me in prison or in the hospital, you looked the other way while I was violated by your government, you ignored me when I was poor and broken. Why should I let you in? Don't you know that I am the way, the truth, the life, and no one comes to the Father except through me?"
Stunned, the guy, searches for words. "But... but Jesus! I love you."
And Jesus says, "anyone who says they love God, yet hates his brother, is a liar. What part of except through me did you not understand?"
Sorry. Game over. Better luck next time.
Duh.
A story:
A Christian and a Muslim die in a car wreck and find themselves before the throne of God. There's the Father, unapproachable in blinding light, the Holy Spirit blazing forth like a refining fire, and the Son, standing there transfigured as he must have looked on the mountain top. It's judgment time, and both Christian and Muslim tremble and fall on their faces. They await sentence.
Jesus walks up to the Muslim. "Stand up," he says. Then he weeps as he throws his arms around the guy. "As-salaam alaykum!" he says. And then: "Thank you so much for loving me. You fed me when I was hungry. You visited me in prison. You stood up for my rights when I was poor, fatherless, widowed. I no longer call you servant. I call you friend. Enter into your Father's glory." Then he turns to the Father, the Ultimate Judge, and he says, "Hey Dad! I know this guy! We can let him in!"
The Christian sees this whole thing take place, and he's relieved. After all, he's been washed in the Blood of the Lamb, and he's known all the right doctrines for years. He's had his heart strangely warmed as he sang Kum By Yah and Marching to Zion, and so he comes up to Jesus with his hand extended. "Put 'er there, pal!" He says.
Jesus looks at the hand as if he had just been offered a dead rodent. "Who are you? Depart from me, for I never knew you. You didn't visit me in prison or in the hospital, you looked the other way while I was violated by your government, you ignored me when I was poor and broken. Why should I let you in? Don't you know that I am the way, the truth, the life, and no one comes to the Father except through me?"
Stunned, the guy, searches for words. "But... but Jesus! I love you."
And Jesus says, "anyone who says they love God, yet hates his brother, is a liar. What part of except through me did you not understand?"
Sorry. Game over. Better luck next time.
Duh.
Posted at 10:25 PM |
Wed - December 20, 2006
The Violent Bear it Away
For people like herself, for people of gumption,
it was a social occasion providing the opportunity to sing; but if she had ever
given it much thought, she would have considered the devil the head of it and
God the hanger-on.
I've been on a Flannery O'Connor binge this
month. The past few days I've been hamstrung by a sinus infection, but I did
manage to finish reading this
book. I just completed The
Violent Bear it Away, which I think of as a
prequel to her short story A Good Man
is Hard to Find.
Flannery understood religion better than most theologians. Some of these lines are priceless [spoilers!]:
She could never be a saint, but she thought she could be a martyr if they killed her quick. - A Temple of the Holy Ghost (189).
(To a haughty atheist): "You ain't so smart! I been believing in nothing ever since I was born!" - Good Country People (261).
She had never given much thought to the devil for she felt that religion was essentially for those people who didn't have the brains to avoid evil without it. For people like herself, for people of gumption, it was a social occasion providing the opportunity to sing; but if she had ever given it much thought, she would have considered the devil the head of it and God the hanger-on. - The Displaced Person (270).
"She would of been a good woman," The Misfit said, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life." - A Good Man is Hard to Find (143).
In the darkest, most private part of his soul, hanging upsidedown like a sleeping bat, was the certain knowledge that he was not hungry for the bread of life. Had the bush flamed for Moses, the sun stood still for Joshua, the lions turned aside before Daniel only to prophesy the bread of life? Jesus? He felt a terrible disappointment in that conclusion, a dread that it was true. - The Violent Bear it Away (315).
The last one, The Violent Bear it Away, is so packed with pithy goodness that it is difficult to tell where one gem ends and another begins. Take this bit of wonderful dialogue on religion:
The way I see it, you can do one of two things. One of them, not both. Nobody can do both of two things without straining themselves. You can do one thing or you can do the oppposite.
Jesus or the devil, the boy said.
No no no, the stranger said. there ain't no such thing as a devil. I can tell you that from my own self-experience. I know that for a fact. It ain't Jesus or the devil. It's Jesus or you (326).
The crazy thing is, I feel like I've met some of these characters Flannery wrote about. I've heard dialogue from hospital waiting rooms - people wondering, if they donate their dead mother's eyes to someone who needs them, will she be able to see in heaven? I've met the charismatic prophet who crept into the back of the sanctuary to hear my sermon so he could accost me on the steps to "correct" my theology - just trying to be helpful, you understand. I've met the determined young man who claims to be an atheist but what he really means is that he is super-angry at God for letting his stepfather molest him. She writes about faith and real life. And if she's writing fiction, and the people she describes are not real, how come I meet them so often?
Flannery understood religion better than most theologians. Some of these lines are priceless [spoilers!]:
She could never be a saint, but she thought she could be a martyr if they killed her quick. - A Temple of the Holy Ghost (189).
(To a haughty atheist): "You ain't so smart! I been believing in nothing ever since I was born!" - Good Country People (261).
She had never given much thought to the devil for she felt that religion was essentially for those people who didn't have the brains to avoid evil without it. For people like herself, for people of gumption, it was a social occasion providing the opportunity to sing; but if she had ever given it much thought, she would have considered the devil the head of it and God the hanger-on. - The Displaced Person (270).
"She would of been a good woman," The Misfit said, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life." - A Good Man is Hard to Find (143).
In the darkest, most private part of his soul, hanging upsidedown like a sleeping bat, was the certain knowledge that he was not hungry for the bread of life. Had the bush flamed for Moses, the sun stood still for Joshua, the lions turned aside before Daniel only to prophesy the bread of life? Jesus? He felt a terrible disappointment in that conclusion, a dread that it was true. - The Violent Bear it Away (315).
The last one, The Violent Bear it Away, is so packed with pithy goodness that it is difficult to tell where one gem ends and another begins. Take this bit of wonderful dialogue on religion:
The way I see it, you can do one of two things. One of them, not both. Nobody can do both of two things without straining themselves. You can do one thing or you can do the oppposite.
Jesus or the devil, the boy said.
No no no, the stranger said. there ain't no such thing as a devil. I can tell you that from my own self-experience. I know that for a fact. It ain't Jesus or the devil. It's Jesus or you (326).
The crazy thing is, I feel like I've met some of these characters Flannery wrote about. I've heard dialogue from hospital waiting rooms - people wondering, if they donate their dead mother's eyes to someone who needs them, will she be able to see in heaven? I've met the charismatic prophet who crept into the back of the sanctuary to hear my sermon so he could accost me on the steps to "correct" my theology - just trying to be helpful, you understand. I've met the determined young man who claims to be an atheist but what he really means is that he is super-angry at God for letting his stepfather molest him. She writes about faith and real life. And if she's writing fiction, and the people she describes are not real, how come I meet them so often?
Posted at 10:08 AM |
Tue - December 19, 2006
Creation Theology
The ancients talked about the muse - a
personification of the idea that creative inspirations comes from somewhere else
- not from inside of us. The music, the story, the painting - they seem to
create themselves.
I sit down to write a story. I have in my mind a
plot - a street punk becomes a powerful criminal boss with the help of his
lieutenant. I have in mind the kind of characters the boss and the lieutenant
will be. But after writing about 50 pages, I realize something isn't working.
The story just doesn't sound true. I have to put the manuscript aside and start
over. Again it feels flat. I seek out an experienced
writer. I describe to him my problem. He says, "let the characters
tell
you
what the plot should be. Don't force them to do something that isn't true." But,
I protest, I'm writing
fiction.
It isn't supposed to be true. "Ah," he says, "that's your problem. Even in
fiction, your characters have to be true."
Isn't this strange? I'm the author. The book comes out of my head. My neurons have to fire to make this thing happen. But in order to be truly creative, I have to let the characters have their own lives. I even start thinking about them as other - real - people.
The same thing happens with music. People who compose music have to let the music happen to them. If they try to force the music into some pattern because they know that's how it is supposed to sound, it will sound uninspired and two-dimensional. They have to let the music tell them how it should sound. The same thing happens in playing music. You can play a series of notes accurately, and it will still sound like mere noise.
The same thing happens in sermon-writing. In painting. In just about every creative enterprise in which human beings participate. The ancients talked about the muse - a personification of the idea that creative inspirations comes from somewhere else - not from inside of us. The music, the story, the painting - they seem to create themselves. When an artist is really rockin', they don't so much create as they let the creation happen. "Let there be art!"
There are times when I lose patience with God questions. For example, one of the classic theological quandaries is how to reconcile God's sovereignty and our own free will. If everything is part of God's plan, are we all following a script? Are people predestined or is the future somehow open? I really enjoy these kinds of theological problems. I even think they are valuable. But there are times that I wonder how we manage to ignore things like actual human experience in our theologizing.
Now, I'm not saying that these aren't valuable questions. How we discuss them says a lot about who we are and who we believe God is. But at some point I think it's important to ask the people arguing between Calvinism and Arminianism this question: have you ever actually written a script?
Given what I know about my own creative process, I think it's pretty wild that we describe our God as a God who creates. Do we mean that God gives God's self over to the creation? That God abandons some measure of rigid control? Do we mean that, like a great artist, God somehow leaves a piece of God's own self - blood and sweat and spirit - in the creation? That God loves the creation so much that God enters into it? Given what we know about Jesus, how could this not be true?
Yes, I know - I'm not God, and it's quite a leap from my feeble artistic attempts to speculation on the creative process of God. But I believe at least part of the message of the incarnation - of Christmas - is that God is closer than we think.
Isn't this strange? I'm the author. The book comes out of my head. My neurons have to fire to make this thing happen. But in order to be truly creative, I have to let the characters have their own lives. I even start thinking about them as other - real - people.
The same thing happens with music. People who compose music have to let the music happen to them. If they try to force the music into some pattern because they know that's how it is supposed to sound, it will sound uninspired and two-dimensional. They have to let the music tell them how it should sound. The same thing happens in playing music. You can play a series of notes accurately, and it will still sound like mere noise.
The same thing happens in sermon-writing. In painting. In just about every creative enterprise in which human beings participate. The ancients talked about the muse - a personification of the idea that creative inspirations comes from somewhere else - not from inside of us. The music, the story, the painting - they seem to create themselves. When an artist is really rockin', they don't so much create as they let the creation happen. "Let there be art!"
There are times when I lose patience with God questions. For example, one of the classic theological quandaries is how to reconcile God's sovereignty and our own free will. If everything is part of God's plan, are we all following a script? Are people predestined or is the future somehow open? I really enjoy these kinds of theological problems. I even think they are valuable. But there are times that I wonder how we manage to ignore things like actual human experience in our theologizing.
Now, I'm not saying that these aren't valuable questions. How we discuss them says a lot about who we are and who we believe God is. But at some point I think it's important to ask the people arguing between Calvinism and Arminianism this question: have you ever actually written a script?
Given what I know about my own creative process, I think it's pretty wild that we describe our God as a God who creates. Do we mean that God gives God's self over to the creation? That God abandons some measure of rigid control? Do we mean that, like a great artist, God somehow leaves a piece of God's own self - blood and sweat and spirit - in the creation? That God loves the creation so much that God enters into it? Given what we know about Jesus, how could this not be true?
Yes, I know - I'm not God, and it's quite a leap from my feeble artistic attempts to speculation on the creative process of God. But I believe at least part of the message of the incarnation - of Christmas - is that God is closer than we think.
Posted at 10:41 AM |
Wed - October 11, 2006
Just Because It's a Metaphor Doesn't Mean It Won't Hurt...
Maybe it's simply the realization at the end of
your life that you've wasted it, the experience that all you've accomplished and
valued and loved and worshiped - everything you are - is burned up.
I heard a good preacher Tuesday morning. His name
was Steve Ayers and he had lots of good stuff to say regarding evangelism.
One thing that jumped out at me was his understanding of hell (since I've been preaching on it lately). He mocked the idea that hell is a "metaphor, a socio-symbolic construction blah blah blah..." He said something along the lines of "No! It's hell and it burns!" I've gotta say, I'm pretty sympathetic to the idea that hell is a real place that burns. But I get tired of people's shallow understanding of what "metaphor" means.
Nothing is ever "just a metaphor." We understand the world through metaphor. "Hell" is a metaphor. It's a Germanic word that means "hole." You can go to heaven or hell, the sky or the hole. Jesus called it "gehenna," the city dump. Does that mean you want to go the dump? Does that mean "hell" is no worse than the local landfill? Does that mean cutting off your hand so you don't get "thrown in" is no big deal? Please.
Just because hell is a metaphor doesn't mean hell doesn't suck. We say that a table has "legs." A table leg is a metaphor. But if someone beats me in the head with a table leg, it will still hurt like hell. Just because a table leg is a metaphor doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. What is so hard to understand here?
Does anyone with two neurons to rub together think that hell is a fiery place under the earth? Whatever it is, whether it is a "place" we "go" after we die is beside the point. The point is it sucks, and you do not want visit. Maybe it's simply the realization at the end of your life that you've wasted it, the experience that all you've accomplished and valued and loved and worshiped - everything you are - is burned up. Is that something anyone wants to experience?
I had two revelations about hell while I preached on this sermon series. Here is the first revelation. Before I became a father, my nightmares used to be about stuff that happened to me: someone chasing me with a chainsaw, strange noises in the house, people looking in the window, that kind of stuff. At some point after I became a father, I took steroids to help with an injury. The steroids caused anxiety and I dreamed terrible dreams. I dreamed I lost my boy in a bus terminal. I ran, screaming, from person to person, asking if they had seen my son. I woke up feeling like someone had excavated my chest. I could not catch my breath. What a nightmare! Even more painful is to realize that some parents go through real pain like that, and worse. A man accidentally left his child to bake in a hot car for several hours. I cannot begin to imagine the kind of pain and guilt that goes along with that mistake. Compared to that, what are flames? Bring them on! Bring the thumbscrews, the rack, the iron maiden, the waterboard, whatever. Torture would be a pleasant distraction to take my mind off losing something - someone - so precious. Weeping and gnashing of teeth, indeed! Talk about being in a hole. In hell.
Second, not only is that feeling of loss a revelation of hell - it's a revelation of what God feels all the time. Jesus said God is like a woman madly sweeping her house, looking for a coin. Like a shepherd looking for a lost sheep. Like a father running to embrace his lost son. We twist these parables to make them about stuff we do, but it's all about God. You are the pearl of great price for which the merchant sells all he has. We are the coin of dubious value that the sweeping woman desperately wants to find. I am the lost sheep, the prodigal (or arrogant) son, the treasure in a field. God goes through ridiculous lengths to find us because for some reason losing us hurts God like hell. I think about the feeling I had in that nightmare, my face contorted by desperation, the tears on my cheeks, the aching hole in my chest. God feels that way all the time about someone. We put God through hell.
Just because hell is a metaphor doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.
One thing that jumped out at me was his understanding of hell (since I've been preaching on it lately). He mocked the idea that hell is a "metaphor, a socio-symbolic construction blah blah blah..." He said something along the lines of "No! It's hell and it burns!" I've gotta say, I'm pretty sympathetic to the idea that hell is a real place that burns. But I get tired of people's shallow understanding of what "metaphor" means.
Nothing is ever "just a metaphor." We understand the world through metaphor. "Hell" is a metaphor. It's a Germanic word that means "hole." You can go to heaven or hell, the sky or the hole. Jesus called it "gehenna," the city dump. Does that mean you want to go the dump? Does that mean "hell" is no worse than the local landfill? Does that mean cutting off your hand so you don't get "thrown in" is no big deal? Please.
Just because hell is a metaphor doesn't mean hell doesn't suck. We say that a table has "legs." A table leg is a metaphor. But if someone beats me in the head with a table leg, it will still hurt like hell. Just because a table leg is a metaphor doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. What is so hard to understand here?
Does anyone with two neurons to rub together think that hell is a fiery place under the earth? Whatever it is, whether it is a "place" we "go" after we die is beside the point. The point is it sucks, and you do not want visit. Maybe it's simply the realization at the end of your life that you've wasted it, the experience that all you've accomplished and valued and loved and worshiped - everything you are - is burned up. Is that something anyone wants to experience?
I had two revelations about hell while I preached on this sermon series. Here is the first revelation. Before I became a father, my nightmares used to be about stuff that happened to me: someone chasing me with a chainsaw, strange noises in the house, people looking in the window, that kind of stuff. At some point after I became a father, I took steroids to help with an injury. The steroids caused anxiety and I dreamed terrible dreams. I dreamed I lost my boy in a bus terminal. I ran, screaming, from person to person, asking if they had seen my son. I woke up feeling like someone had excavated my chest. I could not catch my breath. What a nightmare! Even more painful is to realize that some parents go through real pain like that, and worse. A man accidentally left his child to bake in a hot car for several hours. I cannot begin to imagine the kind of pain and guilt that goes along with that mistake. Compared to that, what are flames? Bring them on! Bring the thumbscrews, the rack, the iron maiden, the waterboard, whatever. Torture would be a pleasant distraction to take my mind off losing something - someone - so precious. Weeping and gnashing of teeth, indeed! Talk about being in a hole. In hell.
Second, not only is that feeling of loss a revelation of hell - it's a revelation of what God feels all the time. Jesus said God is like a woman madly sweeping her house, looking for a coin. Like a shepherd looking for a lost sheep. Like a father running to embrace his lost son. We twist these parables to make them about stuff we do, but it's all about God. You are the pearl of great price for which the merchant sells all he has. We are the coin of dubious value that the sweeping woman desperately wants to find. I am the lost sheep, the prodigal (or arrogant) son, the treasure in a field. God goes through ridiculous lengths to find us because for some reason losing us hurts God like hell. I think about the feeling I had in that nightmare, my face contorted by desperation, the tears on my cheeks, the aching hole in my chest. God feels that way all the time about someone. We put God through hell.
Just because hell is a metaphor doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.
Posted at 08:38 PM |
Sun - August 27, 2006
How I Read the Bible
Jesus, knowing that in five minutes time Lazarus
would be up and walking and singing and playing checkers, knowing that he was
about to bring Lazarus back from the dead, knowing whatever lies on the other
side of the grave, knowing about the coming Kingdom of God, knowing all this -
cries.
Nathan replied, "The LORD has taken away your sin. You are not going to die. But because by doing this you have made the enemies of the LORD show utter contempt, the son born to you will die." (NIV)
I titled this post "How I Read the Bible" and not "How to Read the Bible," because I feel a need to approach this subject with some humility. The Bible is a special book. I have said that I read the Bible like some people read cheap romance novels, but that's only partially true. What I really mean is that I read it like a book, not a monologue. I keep an eye out for things like foreshadowing, irony, and symbolism. And though it's usually thought to be only a contemporary and postmodern approach, I also sometimes question the reliability of the narrator! Or, at least, the assumed narrator.
Here's an example from the David and Bathsheba story. David and Bathsheba have an affair, Bathsheba gets pregnant, and David has Uriah terminated with extreme prejudice. God sends Nathan to deliver judgment and sentence: "the son born to you will die." The baby gets sick, during which time David mourns, or at least gives the appearance of mourning. When the child dies, David gets up, washes his face, and stops mourning. When people question his behavior he says, "hey, when the kid was sick, there was reason to be sad. Now he's dead and I can't do anything about it. Time to get on with life." Then he goes and "comforts" Bathsheba, who apparently doesn't have such a stoic disposition.
Every time I've heard this preached, the preacher praises David's attitude. He (it's almost always a he) says that we should have David's outlook on life and death. After all, when we die, we go to a better place. Therefore we shouldn't be sad when people, even children, die. The preacher holds up David as an ideal. Confronted with mortality, with suffering, David simply becomes philosophically detached.
I have three problems with these sermons.
First, I don't think God kills children. I know, you can show me a hundred different places in the Bible where God smites someone dead. Fine. Maybe I'm wrong. But I've heard the kinds of things people say to parents whose children have died: "She's in the Lord's hands now," or "God called him home," or "Jesus needed another angel in heaven." If someone ever says such a thing to me in a time of grief... heaven help me. I may serve up a can of smiting of my own. I may send another angel up to heaven myself.
Others have been able to speak better about our understanding of God's will - breaking it down into ultimate and provisional or situational will. We can go back and forth on what is God's will in any given situation. It provides some interesting theological parlor conversation. I do know that when directly asked about God's smiting activity, even Jesus was reluctant to say outright, except to call all who live to repentance. I don't know why preachers presume to speak where Jesus remains silent. But I don't believe God kills children. Feel free to disagree.
Second, I don't think God expects us to be stoic and philosophically detached when someone dies. Again, look at Jesus. When his friend died, he wept. Jesus, knowing that in five minutes time Lazarus would be up and walking and singing and playing checkers, knowing that he was about to bring Lazarus back from the dead, knowing whatever lies on the other side of the grave, knowing about the coming Kingdom of God, knowing all this - cries. If Jesus is our model, then I sure as heck don't expect people to be stoic and detached about the death of a loved one. Especially the death of a child.
Lastly - and here's the part that brings me back to reading the Bible as a book instead of as a monologue where every story is read in a monotone with an implied "go and do likewise" - David is a liar. A poser. He's a big phony. He tries to pull off being stoic and philosophical, but let's look at how he behaves when someone he really loves dies:
He went up to the room over the gateway and wept. As he went, he said: "O my son Absalom! My son, my son Absalom! If only I had died instead of you—O Absalom, my son, my son!"
Oh wait! What happened to that whole "I can't bring him back by crying" schtick? Where's the stoic philosophical detachment now? Notice, while David doesn't weep for his unnamed baby, he does weep for his sons Amnon and Absalom. I'm left with the most obvious conclusion - David didn't really love Bathsheba's baby. I know that may sound harsh, and maybe I'm wrong, but in looking at David's character (and he doesn't come off well most of the time), it seems to fit. He felt that he had gotten off easy. He didn't die. He still had his kingdom. He thought even after being judged by God he had pretty much gotten away with murder. So he shrugged it off.
See? This is about the trustworthiness of the (supposed) narrator. If you take David's words at face value, and if you read the Bible as a book with little or no ambiguity, you never get to the point of actually questioning what David says. But David is not trustworthy, as he shows time and time again. He doesn't mourn because the child's death doesn't mean much him. The full import of his sin doesn't hit home until he loses the other son born to him - Absalom.
This story is a Shakespearian tragedy. You've got irony, foreshadowing, symbolism, misunderstood prophecies, pathos, a fall from grace - all the marks of great literature. And yet we keep reading it as if it were simply "God's Little Instruction Book." I do not remember which composer said, "people have been taught to respect classical music, when they should have been taught to love it." The same is true for the Bible.
So, that's how I read the Bible. Like a cheap romance novel with sweat-stained, dog-eared pages.
Posted at 07:30 AM |
Thu - August 24, 2006
Wesley - and Universal Salvation?
The benefit of the death of Christ is
not only extended to such as have the distinct knowledge of his death and
suffereings, but even unto those who are invevitably excluded from this
knowledge.
I found this little piece interesting. It's out
of context, but still...
All mankind is fallen and dead, deprived of the sensation of this inward testimony of God, and subject to the power and nature of the devil, while they abide in their natural state. And hence not only their words and deeds, but all their imaginations, are evil perpetually in the sight of God.
God out of his infinte love hath so loved the world that he gave his only son, to the end that whosoever believeth in him might have everlasting life. And he enlighteneth every man that cometh into the world, as he tasteth death for every man.
The benefit of the death of Christ is not only extended to such as have the distinct knowledge of his death and suffereings, but even unto those who are invevitably excluded from this knowledge. Even these may be partakers of the benefit of his death, though ignorant of the history, if they suffer his grace to take place in their hearts, so as of wicked men to become holy.
In these points there is no difference between Quakerism and Christianity
Wesley's Letters, Vol. II, 117-18
Tags:
John Wesley, sanctification, salvation
All mankind is fallen and dead, deprived of the sensation of this inward testimony of God, and subject to the power and nature of the devil, while they abide in their natural state. And hence not only their words and deeds, but all their imaginations, are evil perpetually in the sight of God.
God out of his infinte love hath so loved the world that he gave his only son, to the end that whosoever believeth in him might have everlasting life. And he enlighteneth every man that cometh into the world, as he tasteth death for every man.
The benefit of the death of Christ is not only extended to such as have the distinct knowledge of his death and suffereings, but even unto those who are invevitably excluded from this knowledge. Even these may be partakers of the benefit of his death, though ignorant of the history, if they suffer his grace to take place in their hearts, so as of wicked men to become holy.
In these points there is no difference between Quakerism and Christianity
Wesley's Letters, Vol. II, 117-18
Tags:
John Wesley, sanctification, salvation
Posted at 02:35 AM |
Fri - August 18, 2006
Cure Thy Children's Warring Madness, Pt. 2
This is a follow-up to my cryptic
post a couple of months ago:
This is a follow-up to my cryptic
post a couple of months
ago:
At the North Alabama Annual Conference, a group submitted a proposed resolution that called on President Bush to immediately pull troops out of Iraq. Though I sympathized with their theological convictions, I did not think the resolution was practical. But the response from the Conference was vitriolic. Someone immediately drew up an alternative resolution. It began "whereas Jesus predicted wars and rumors of wars before his return..." This was not a hopeful beginning. It concluded by calling on President Bush to "fulfill the objectives of the mission." I turned to my friend and asked, "what are the objectives of the mission again?"
One delegate stood and said that he wanted to propose that the Conference no longer consider any more seditious proposals. Seditious? Another delegate stood and said that, while he believed what Jesus said about praying for our enemies (not loving, as Matthew reported), that "if you say anything against my God, my country, or my family, I'm coming after you." Yes, of course - isn't that what got Jesus in trouble? Saying things against God, country, and family? I wanted to stand and shout "we have no king but Caesar!"
It is popular right now for religious people to eschew politics, as though politics itself were somehow responsible for the world's evils. I've even heard myself do it. This is similar reasoning to the kind used by Dawkins et al, who blame religion for many of the world's evils. Often we look at one area of human activity and blame it for wars, poverty, bureaucracy, famine, and so on. We can blame politics, or religion, or economics, or science. It's a lot easier than thinking.
It's also dishonest. I heard several people stand up during our Annual Conference and say that passing a resolution supporting the war in Iraq was "neither a Republican thing or a Democrat thing, not a conservative thing or a liberal thing," but was instead "the right thing." It was about "supporting our troops." Interesting, then, that the supposedly neutral resolution we passed sounds as though it could have been drafted by the White House! This is something like politicians standing up and accusing each other of "playing politics." Um... that's what we elected you to do.
At the Conference, one after another, delegates stood and voiced their support for the alternative resolution. It quickly became an unspoken rhetorical rule that after you identified yourself and your church, you must also make reference to either yourself or a family member who had served or currently served in the military: "I'm Joe Smith, from First United Methodist Church in Lickskillet, and my son is currently serving in Afghanistan." It was as if being related to a soldier automatically makes someone an authority on both foreign policy and theology. The rhetorical strategy was clear - failure to support the alternative resolution was also failure to support the speaker's family member. The speaker could therefore feel justified in making ad hominem attacks on the opposition.
The vitriolic debate that went on for the better part of an hour is one of the things that makes sincerely religious people want to "rise above" politics, to make sure their spiritual faith doesn't get entangled in political stuff.
I think voting is one of the least Christian things we do. The only Biblical example I can find of voting is when Israel stands on the threshold of the Promised Land, God tells them to go in, and instead they say "wait! Let's vote on it!" If a vote is 401 for to 399 against, can anyone maintain that we are really listening to the Holy Spirit? If the debate lasts for an hour, and emotions are hot, does it not make more sense to not vote - maybe to take an hour, pray, and revisit the issue later? With the amount of bitterness in that auditorium, we should not have passed any resolution. That would have been the Holy Spirit at work.
I do think we are called to be involved in politics. Politics is about power, and our war is with powers and principalities, is it not? I have begun rolling my eyes when I hear good religious people saying "neither conservative, nor liberal." It is true that these labels are often meaningless, and they don't capture the full range of moral or political responsibilities. But let's be honest! Has the religious left dominated the religious dialogue in this country for the last 70 years? Who is more likely to wrap Jesus in an American flag? Who is more likely to use Jesus to support unChristian policies? Who, in short, is more likely to co-opt Jesus for a political agenda?
There is a Christian left, but it hasn't been in danger of taking over anything since the 1930's and the social gospel movement.
There were a couple of excellent moments in the debate. Once, a woman stood and asked, "what will the outcome of this vote be? What happens to this resolution?" The Bish said, "It will be entered in the Conference Journal." She replied, "but what else? Where does the resolution go?" And he said, "It will go into the Conference Journal." The entire auditorium laughed.
But overall, the Conference demonstrated that it often thinks and acts as a small, rural, conservative church. I could mean that in a nice way, but in this case - I don't.
Tags:
United Methodist, politics, Iraq, annual conference, Alabama
At the North Alabama Annual Conference, a group submitted a proposed resolution that called on President Bush to immediately pull troops out of Iraq. Though I sympathized with their theological convictions, I did not think the resolution was practical. But the response from the Conference was vitriolic. Someone immediately drew up an alternative resolution. It began "whereas Jesus predicted wars and rumors of wars before his return..." This was not a hopeful beginning. It concluded by calling on President Bush to "fulfill the objectives of the mission." I turned to my friend and asked, "what are the objectives of the mission again?"
One delegate stood and said that he wanted to propose that the Conference no longer consider any more seditious proposals. Seditious? Another delegate stood and said that, while he believed what Jesus said about praying for our enemies (not loving, as Matthew reported), that "if you say anything against my God, my country, or my family, I'm coming after you." Yes, of course - isn't that what got Jesus in trouble? Saying things against God, country, and family? I wanted to stand and shout "we have no king but Caesar!"
It is popular right now for religious people to eschew politics, as though politics itself were somehow responsible for the world's evils. I've even heard myself do it. This is similar reasoning to the kind used by Dawkins et al, who blame religion for many of the world's evils. Often we look at one area of human activity and blame it for wars, poverty, bureaucracy, famine, and so on. We can blame politics, or religion, or economics, or science. It's a lot easier than thinking.
It's also dishonest. I heard several people stand up during our Annual Conference and say that passing a resolution supporting the war in Iraq was "neither a Republican thing or a Democrat thing, not a conservative thing or a liberal thing," but was instead "the right thing." It was about "supporting our troops." Interesting, then, that the supposedly neutral resolution we passed sounds as though it could have been drafted by the White House! This is something like politicians standing up and accusing each other of "playing politics." Um... that's what we elected you to do.
At the Conference, one after another, delegates stood and voiced their support for the alternative resolution. It quickly became an unspoken rhetorical rule that after you identified yourself and your church, you must also make reference to either yourself or a family member who had served or currently served in the military: "I'm Joe Smith, from First United Methodist Church in Lickskillet, and my son is currently serving in Afghanistan." It was as if being related to a soldier automatically makes someone an authority on both foreign policy and theology. The rhetorical strategy was clear - failure to support the alternative resolution was also failure to support the speaker's family member. The speaker could therefore feel justified in making ad hominem attacks on the opposition.
The vitriolic debate that went on for the better part of an hour is one of the things that makes sincerely religious people want to "rise above" politics, to make sure their spiritual faith doesn't get entangled in political stuff.
I think voting is one of the least Christian things we do. The only Biblical example I can find of voting is when Israel stands on the threshold of the Promised Land, God tells them to go in, and instead they say "wait! Let's vote on it!" If a vote is 401 for to 399 against, can anyone maintain that we are really listening to the Holy Spirit? If the debate lasts for an hour, and emotions are hot, does it not make more sense to not vote - maybe to take an hour, pray, and revisit the issue later? With the amount of bitterness in that auditorium, we should not have passed any resolution. That would have been the Holy Spirit at work.
I do think we are called to be involved in politics. Politics is about power, and our war is with powers and principalities, is it not? I have begun rolling my eyes when I hear good religious people saying "neither conservative, nor liberal." It is true that these labels are often meaningless, and they don't capture the full range of moral or political responsibilities. But let's be honest! Has the religious left dominated the religious dialogue in this country for the last 70 years? Who is more likely to wrap Jesus in an American flag? Who is more likely to use Jesus to support unChristian policies? Who, in short, is more likely to co-opt Jesus for a political agenda?
There is a Christian left, but it hasn't been in danger of taking over anything since the 1930's and the social gospel movement.
There were a couple of excellent moments in the debate. Once, a woman stood and asked, "what will the outcome of this vote be? What happens to this resolution?" The Bish said, "It will be entered in the Conference Journal." She replied, "but what else? Where does the resolution go?" And he said, "It will go into the Conference Journal." The entire auditorium laughed.
But overall, the Conference demonstrated that it often thinks and acts as a small, rural, conservative church. I could mean that in a nice way, but in this case - I don't.
Tags:
United Methodist, politics, Iraq, annual conference, Alabama
Posted at 01:43 PM |
Fri - August 4, 2006
Sanctification
This life, therefore, is not godliness by the
process of becoming godly, not health but getting well, not being but becoming,
not rest but exercise.
I've been working on an essay on sanctification, and I ran across this gem today:
This life, therefore, is not godliness by the process of becoming godly, not health but getting well, not being but becoming, not rest but exercise. We are not now what we shall be, but we are on the way. The process is not yet finished, but it is actively going on. This is not the goal but it is the right road. At present, everything does not gleam and sparkle, but everything is being cleansed.
-Martin Luther
from A Guide to Prayer for All God's People, The Upper Room, 1990.
Tags:
Martin Luther, sanctification
Posted at 08:20 AM |
Mon - June 26, 2006
Wasting Eternity
I spent a few moments feeling vaguely irritated
at Christians who seem to believe the whole point of the Gospel is to get your
Get Out of Hell Free card, and it suddenly hit me - how does one "spend"
something infinite?
I saw a billboard recently that asked, "Where
will you spend eternity?" I
spent
a few moments feeling vaguely irritated, but it suddenly hit me - how does one
"spend"
something infinite?
Spend
apparently comes from the same Latin root
expend,
and also from
dispense.
You can spend time or money, because you only have a limited amount of them.
Spending implies using up, as when someone who feels tired says, "I'm spent." So
you can spend money or time, because eventually you will run out. But how do you
measure out eternity? In coffee spoons? How do you use it up or waste
it?
Then it occurred to me that "spend" may be an appropriate verb. Because eternity can be wasted. And there are plenty of Christians who, right now, waste eternity by waiting until they die to live in it.
I also like the idea of eternity as a commodity, one that can be bought and sold, and one that apparently needs lots of marketing in the form of large billboards.
Then it occurred to me that "spend" may be an appropriate verb. Because eternity can be wasted. And there are plenty of Christians who, right now, waste eternity by waiting until they die to live in it.
I also like the idea of eternity as a commodity, one that can be bought and sold, and one that apparently needs lots of marketing in the form of large billboards.
Posted at 09:39 PM |
Sat - June 3, 2006
Cure Thy children's warring madness...
Cure Thy children's warring madness Bend our will
to Thy control Shame our wanton selfish gladness Rich in things but poor in
soul. Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, Lest we miss Thy kingdom's
goal.
Cure Thy children's warring
madness
Bend our will to Thy control
Shame our wanton selfish gladness
Rich in things but poor in soul.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
Lest we miss Thy kingdom's goal.
Lest we miss Thy kingdom's goal!
Harry Emerson Fosdick, 1930
Today our Annual Conference passed a resolution of which I am ashamed. I am very bitter, and there is not much room in me for grace or love right now.
It is very, very hard to love your enemies.
Bend our will to Thy control
Shame our wanton selfish gladness
Rich in things but poor in soul.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
Lest we miss Thy kingdom's goal.
Lest we miss Thy kingdom's goal!
Harry Emerson Fosdick, 1930
Today our Annual Conference passed a resolution of which I am ashamed. I am very bitter, and there is not much room in me for grace or love right now.
It is very, very hard to love your enemies.
Posted at 08:44 PM |
Sat - April 8, 2006
Prayer and Magic
The thing that strikes me about the prayer
experiment is that it is, essentially, an attempt to know God and prove God
apart from the revealed story of God's interaction with human beings through
history.
Image from Hermanoleon.org
Ah, Easter - the time of year when you can expect numerous articles on various religious topics, ranging from "The REALLY REAL Jesus" to "Why Prayer Doesn't Work," to "Explaining Miracle #435"
There is certainly a lot of crowing from scoffers and skeptics about the findings of recent research on prayer. The results, I am sure, will hurt some people's faith. But I wonder what the reaction would have been if there had been some sort of healing effect in this empirical study on prayer?
I would be lying if I said I didn't find the results disappointing. But the thing that keeps nagging me is this story about Elijah and prophets of Baal. The point of the story is that there is one true God who is revealed to God's chosen prophets and to certain people at certain times. It does not attempt to validate the notion that we all worship the same God, or that prayer and petitions are effectual. The rhetoric of the story says that it is entirely possible to worship the wrong God, and that human effort, worship, and prayer are not effectual apart from that revelation.
The thing that strikes me about the prayer experiment is that it is, essentially, an attempt to know God and prove God apart from the revealed story of God's interaction with human beings through history. While the Bible tells plenty of stories about God doing stuff beyond the scope of Israel (in Ninevah, for example), it consistently mocks human efforts to know God apart from this story.
Had there been some clear link between prayer and healing, what would the effects have been? People flocking to churches, synagogues, and mosques? I doubt it. More likely there would be further experiments in an attempt to narrow down the best effects of prayer for the least amount of effort. "Spirituality" without organized religion.
Healing in the Bible is usually part of a larger vision of the Kingdom of God. It is not an aspirin that you take in order to get rid of a stress-induced headache. Healing is part of a contextual call for peace with justice. In the Elijah story, it is important to remember what political and cultural structure Elijah was standing up against. How would such an idea fit within the American medical establishment? I can see the commercials now: "Are you unable to consider the lillies? Do you find yourself worrying more than once a week? Ask your doctor about Prayerexa, the spiritual booster for the politically oppressed and religiously jaded. Side-effects include irrational euphoria, magical thinking, delusions of immortality, and child-like belief in the afterlife."
No, what you have here is classic Baal-worship: the human desire to know God apart from God's revelation in human history.
Prayer is part of a larger context of human religious activity. There are plenty of studies linking longevity and happiness with religious behavior. And, empirical evidence notwithstanding, I've seen what happens in those contexts. God changes lives. God heals people. I often feel like Steve Martin's character in Leap of Faith. Throughout my day-to-day life, I don't think much about miracles, the power of prayer, and whatnot. But occasionally I see the real thing, and then I know how phony my own life is.
God does not have to part the sea every time a person stretches out their hands in prayer. God only has to do it once.
Posted at 10:45 AM |
Tue - February 14, 2006
More Vulgarity from 1 Kings 12:10-15
It seems to me that the only reasonable
translation question should be: are Rehoboam's friends suggesting that he say
that his John Thomas is bigger than his father's body, or that his little finger
is bigger than his father's John Thomas?
Here's another interesting translation test. Look up 1 Kings 12:10-15. The line I'm interested in here is "my little [finger] is thicker than my father's [loins]."
A little background: Solomon taxed the heck out of the people to build the Temple and his sumptuous palace. He solidified the monarchy over the tribes of Israel. But they were worn out. So after Solomon dies, they ask his son, Rehoboam, to lighten their tax burden. Rehoboam first consults with his Dad's advisors, who tell him "yeah, give the people a break." Then he consults with his peers, who see tax breaks as a sign of weakness. So they advise him to say the line above - "my little finger is thicker than my father's loins."
Now, I realize I'm approaching this from a Western 21st century perspective, but I think the metaphor is pretty obvious. This is classic male preoccupation with genital size, and its supposed relation to manliness and power. Rehoboam is confusing machismo with political power. He is saying that his Dad, known far and wide for his lusty appetites, was not half the man Rehoboam is, and he will prove it by being twice the tyrant his father ever was. It is, in colloquial parlance, a pissing contest.
As I have said before, I have no competence in Hebrew. I understand that there are textual ambiguities here: both "finger" and "loins" can be debated. First, what is typically translated as "little finger" is simply "my little one." I think it's pretty clear what Rehoboam is talking about. We have similar idioms ("say hello to my little friend"). It's almost as if Rehoboam had referred to his "John Thomas," and the Bible translators tried to spare gentle Christian souls the trauma of hearing such vulgar talk, so they posited there must be two more people in the story: John and Thomas. You know, the disciples.
The word for "loins" can be translated, apparently, as "thighs," "hips," and "waist." But it seems to me pretty clear that Rehoboam is not talking about the size of his father's belt. Nor is he, in fact, talking about his finger. So why does the NIV, the Message, the NKJV, and many others translate this idiom as "waist?" The ESV says "thighs," which, in the context of thickness, might explain why Solomon's grade school nickname was "chicken legs." The Contemporary English Version goes ahead and omits the metaphor all together: "compared to me, my father was weak." Is this how people translate the idiom into "contemporary English?"
It seems to me that the only reasonable translation question should be: are Rehoboam's friends suggesting that he say that his John Thomas is bigger than his father's body, or that his little finger is bigger than his father's John Thomas?
I've posted about related issues before, but let me reiterate why I think this is an important theological point, and not just a puerile obsession of mine. I believe the Bible is inspired by the Holy Spirit. It is the Word of God that relates the history of a God who works in and through history. It is a patchwork quilt that testifies to the diversity of human experiences of God. It tells those of the covenant community "who we are and whose we are." Even in its ambiguities and paradoxes it points to a God who is bigger than the words we write or say about God.
The Biblical authors were making a point about the immaturity of Rehoboam's preferred counselors. He chose to listen to his peers rather than his elders. The young men were more concerned with their machismo than with either religion or statecraft. The language is supposed to be shocking. They represent a phallocentric view of the world, a view which still holds powerful sway in the world and in the church.
You might even think there would be a lesson here about learning from your elders versus learning from your peers. Or maybe a lesson about leaders who think they are macho cowboys trying to do better than their fathers. Or maybe about surrounding yourself with cronies and yes-men. We don't fully get those lessons if the Bible is censored to protect our delicate ears.
I find it interesting that Rehoboam himself left out that bit about the size of his or his father's genitalia. When he actually had to speak to the crowd, that was too much even for him. He wimped out. I guess he didn't have the balls to say it after all?
Posted at 09:41 PM |
Sat - February 11, 2006
Excerpt from Anansi Boys (Potential Spoiler)
Maybe Anansi's just some guy from a story, made
up back in Africa in the dawn days of the world by some boy with blackfly on his
leg, pushing his crutch in the dirt, making up some goofy story about a man made
of tar.
"Does that change things?" asked the old man.
"Maybe Anansi's just some guy from a story, made up back in Africa in the dawn
days of the world by some boy with blackfly on his leg, pushing his crutch in
the dirt, making up some goofy story about a man made of tar. Does that change
anything? People respond to the stories. They tell them themselves. The stories
spread, and as people tell them, the stories change the tellers. Because now the
folk who never had any thought in their head but how to run from lions and keep
far enough away from rivers that the crocodiles don't get an easy meal, now
they're starting to dream about a whole new place to live. The world may be the
same, but the wallpaper's changed. Yes? People still have the same story, the
one where they get born and they do stuff and they dire, but now the story means
something different to what it meant before."
Neil Gaiman. Anansi Boys. Harper-Collins: New York, 2005. p. 253.
The spousal unit says (and I agree) that it would be cool to do this book in a reading group with Life of Pi. You've got the theme of stories and storytelling. You've also got tigers in both books. And the role of the trickster. And God (or at least whispers of God).
Good stuff.
Tags: Anansi Gaiman storytelling
Neil Gaiman. Anansi Boys. Harper-Collins: New York, 2005. p. 253.
The spousal unit says (and I agree) that it would be cool to do this book in a reading group with Life of Pi. You've got the theme of stories and storytelling. You've also got tigers in both books. And the role of the trickster. And God (or at least whispers of God).
Good stuff.
Tags: Anansi Gaiman storytelling
Posted at 10:43 AM |
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Published On: Feb 04, 2007 07:22 PM
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