Just out of curiosity: Can anyone give me the basis for the story about the war in heaven?
From what I've been able to tell, the story about Satan leading a third of the angels in rebellion in an attempt to supplant God makes a great Christian myth about hubris, but it is thoroughly extrabiblical. The notion of Satan being an adversary of God and not his underling doesn't even appear until some time after the Babylonian exile, when Jews came into contact with Zoroastrianism and its dualistic view of the world.
The actual passages describing the revolt appear to be taken grossly out of conquest. It wasn't until Jerome (I think) that Isaiah 14 was ever construed as referring to a fallen angel; prior to that, it generally was understood as referring to the actual king of Babylon. The passage incorporates elements of a well-known Babylonian myth about the morningstar Venus, and uses this myth to taunt the king of Babylon.
Similarly, when I read the passage about the "war in heaven" in the book of Revelation, I understand it refers to the spiritual events that took place at the Cross. I'm not aware of any sound reason for interpreting it as a pre-Creation event.
But of course, I may be wrong. I've read a lot, but I've never formally attended seminary, nor even Bible college.
And actually, now that I'm on a roll, there's the whole matter of all the angels that supposedly rebelled and fell at the same time. Again, it makes a terrific story, but there's nothing but tradition and supposition to identify the unclean spirits of the New Testament with fallen angels. Other interpretations I'm aware of claim that the unclean spirits were the souls of a pre-Adamic race of men (Gen. 1:2, "Now the earth became formless and void"), and that the term simply refers to a medical condition like epilepsy or a mental condition like schizophrenia.
For those who want to equate ha-Satan with the serpent and the Devil, though, there's still the interesting question of when Satan "fell from heaven like lightning" and why. Scripture places ha-Satan in the roll of a prosecutor or accuser, telling God that Job's piety isnt' all it's cracked up to be, and claiming that David relies more on the military might of Israel than on God's favor (or least that's how I'd interpret the parallel accounts of David's census in 2 Samuel and 1 Chronicles).
So did Satan get overzealous in his accusations and become more adversarial, did he fall for some other reason, or did something else happen?
Monday, May 14, 2007
Sunday, May 13, 2007
War is easier than peace. That doesn't make it just
I'm tired of hearing apologists for this war in Iraq. We're there, we're committed, but we cannot call it just.
This is not about the individual decision to serve during wartime. There are some who answer the government's call to take arms against another nation during wartime, and that's a matter of individual conscience. But war is such a fundamental abrogation of God's intent for the human race, that no war can be considered just. It is not in heaven.
Hitler invariably comes up in these discussion, with the question "What could you do to stop someone like him, that doesn't involve military force?" And my honest answer is, I don't know. I don't know what response makes sense against something as mindlessly evil as the Third Reich.
And yet, I can't see a way for the Romanians to overthrow a totalitarian government with all the firepower, and yet they did, in 1990.
I can't see a way for blacks, shoved to the margin of American society in the 1950s, to step forward and secure their right to vote, guarantee equal protection under the law, and thwarting a society built on racism and segregation, without resorting to violence,and yet they did.
I can't see a way for Mahatma Gandi to drive the British out of India without inspiring an armed uprising, and yet he did.
War is easier than peace. It allows the mighty to triumph and to get what they want. It forces the lesser party to acquiesce, swallow their pride (and even their dignity), and admit the superior claim of the other party.
The mindset that tells us "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God" is one that seeks peace by putting another's needs first, It calls for placing yourself in the position of weakness, and risking real and serious loss. It requires trying to understand enemies, listening to their needs, and putting them ahead of yourself and your own interests.
War is "just" only to the extent that bombing cities, killing civilians, and blowing up men and women because we disagree with their leaders can ever be said to be just. It always comes with the generational renewal of old injuries and grudges, and it takes its pound of our flesh from our souls. Even David, called a man after God's heart, was barred from building the Temple because his hands were stained with the blood of war,
War happens because we're willing to surrender the dictates of conscience to Caesar's rage and do his bidding.
It's our responsibility to say no more. The human conscience is not for sale. War is unjust, and we will not support it.
This is not about the individual decision to serve during wartime. There are some who answer the government's call to take arms against another nation during wartime, and that's a matter of individual conscience. But war is such a fundamental abrogation of God's intent for the human race, that no war can be considered just. It is not in heaven.
Hitler invariably comes up in these discussion, with the question "What could you do to stop someone like him, that doesn't involve military force?" And my honest answer is, I don't know. I don't know what response makes sense against something as mindlessly evil as the Third Reich.
And yet, I can't see a way for the Romanians to overthrow a totalitarian government with all the firepower, and yet they did, in 1990.
I can't see a way for blacks, shoved to the margin of American society in the 1950s, to step forward and secure their right to vote, guarantee equal protection under the law, and thwarting a society built on racism and segregation, without resorting to violence,and yet they did.
I can't see a way for Mahatma Gandi to drive the British out of India without inspiring an armed uprising, and yet he did.
War is easier than peace. It allows the mighty to triumph and to get what they want. It forces the lesser party to acquiesce, swallow their pride (and even their dignity), and admit the superior claim of the other party.
The mindset that tells us "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God" is one that seeks peace by putting another's needs first, It calls for placing yourself in the position of weakness, and risking real and serious loss. It requires trying to understand enemies, listening to their needs, and putting them ahead of yourself and your own interests.
War is "just" only to the extent that bombing cities, killing civilians, and blowing up men and women because we disagree with their leaders can ever be said to be just. It always comes with the generational renewal of old injuries and grudges, and it takes its pound of our flesh from our souls. Even David, called a man after God's heart, was barred from building the Temple because his hands were stained with the blood of war,
War happens because we're willing to surrender the dictates of conscience to Caesar's rage and do his bidding.
It's our responsibility to say no more. The human conscience is not for sale. War is unjust, and we will not support it.
Friday, May 11, 2007
'the secret message of jesus'
I highly recommend this book. Brian McLaren is one of the leaders in the "emerging church" movement, and the book was definitely groundbreaking in its interpretation and application of the Bible.
I don't know what the experience of others has been, but as an evangelical, I heard a lot of stuff that boiled the gospel down to "Believe in Jesus, and God will take away all your sins so that when you die, you can go to heaven and be with him forever; now go and tell everyone else about it too."
McLaren takes the Christus Victor understanding of the gospel, and argues that the Kingdom of God as seen by the prophets is not some distant, post-Armageddon experience, but a reality that arrived in the person of Jesus, and spreads from person to person as we choose to live in the reality of the Incarnation.
A quick example that set the first H-bomb off in my head: I've always been taught that Isaiah and Micah, when they saw a time when the nations would gather by the river, beat their swords into plowshares and study war no longer, were seeing a period after Christ had returned, established his kingdom on earth, and was ruling unopposed.
McLaren notes that when Jesus arrived, his message was not that the Kingdom of God was coming, but that it had arrived, in his person. If Isaiah and Micah, and the other prophets, saw a glorious kingdom off in the distance, Jesus was announcing that it could be found now, through faith, in him.
For me, it was a revolutionary thought. Back in college, I had called myself a pacifist mostly because I hated the idea of being called up to fight and risk getting killed if the government felt a need to draft Selective Service registrants. I eventually acknowledged that cowardice, rather than conviction, was driving my stand, and was willing to argue about whether a war was just or not. But if the Kingdom of God has arrived in the person of Christ, then the question of "just war" is no longer a valid one. War itself must be seen as a gross abrogation of the fundamental purposes that God created humanity for, and in direct conflict of the gospel, which seeks reconciliation between God and humanity, and between the different peoples of the earth.
Of course, it's always easier to make war than it is to zealously pursue peace, because war allows the stronger to impose their will upon the weaker, while peace requires becoming weaker and surrendering your will for the good of someone you might not even love. (This is not to say that a Christian cannot join the military and fight in the service of king and country; this is a matter of individual conscience.) As I was discussing with a friend, it's something you can see in how we view the different leaders we've had. FDR and Churchill are well regarded as wartime leaders, but the respect we have for them generally pales in comparison to the awe and reverence we have for Mahatma Gandhi and men like him who stood their ground with unbowed heads and unraised hands when much stronger forces came against them.
"The Secret Message of Jesus" is an excellent book. Bump it up to the top of your list.
I don't know what the experience of others has been, but as an evangelical, I heard a lot of stuff that boiled the gospel down to "Believe in Jesus, and God will take away all your sins so that when you die, you can go to heaven and be with him forever; now go and tell everyone else about it too."
McLaren takes the Christus Victor understanding of the gospel, and argues that the Kingdom of God as seen by the prophets is not some distant, post-Armageddon experience, but a reality that arrived in the person of Jesus, and spreads from person to person as we choose to live in the reality of the Incarnation.
A quick example that set the first H-bomb off in my head: I've always been taught that Isaiah and Micah, when they saw a time when the nations would gather by the river, beat their swords into plowshares and study war no longer, were seeing a period after Christ had returned, established his kingdom on earth, and was ruling unopposed.
McLaren notes that when Jesus arrived, his message was not that the Kingdom of God was coming, but that it had arrived, in his person. If Isaiah and Micah, and the other prophets, saw a glorious kingdom off in the distance, Jesus was announcing that it could be found now, through faith, in him.
For me, it was a revolutionary thought. Back in college, I had called myself a pacifist mostly because I hated the idea of being called up to fight and risk getting killed if the government felt a need to draft Selective Service registrants. I eventually acknowledged that cowardice, rather than conviction, was driving my stand, and was willing to argue about whether a war was just or not. But if the Kingdom of God has arrived in the person of Christ, then the question of "just war" is no longer a valid one. War itself must be seen as a gross abrogation of the fundamental purposes that God created humanity for, and in direct conflict of the gospel, which seeks reconciliation between God and humanity, and between the different peoples of the earth.
Of course, it's always easier to make war than it is to zealously pursue peace, because war allows the stronger to impose their will upon the weaker, while peace requires becoming weaker and surrendering your will for the good of someone you might not even love. (This is not to say that a Christian cannot join the military and fight in the service of king and country; this is a matter of individual conscience.) As I was discussing with a friend, it's something you can see in how we view the different leaders we've had. FDR and Churchill are well regarded as wartime leaders, but the respect we have for them generally pales in comparison to the awe and reverence we have for Mahatma Gandhi and men like him who stood their ground with unbowed heads and unraised hands when much stronger forces came against them.
"The Secret Message of Jesus" is an excellent book. Bump it up to the top of your list.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
the third option
A good friend of mine in Texas is struggling to define his identity. Born male, he is transgendered and believes he would be happier as a female.
I watch this mess unfold, and honestly, I think we're going about this all the wrong way. Maybe it's not meant to be an either/or choice, a mutually exclusive pair of options. Maybe Sisyphus really did have to struggle and sweat and contend with that damn boulder for all eternity in order to receive the reprieve of the Elysian Fields that the gods had promised him, once he got it to the top of the hill; but maybe there was another option, some other way to get it up there, but he never stopped to consider it because he got it stuck in his head that the only way to get the damn thing to the top of the hill was to fight and struggle against its determination to stay at the bottom of the hill.
I'm not saying that transitioning into life as a woman is necessarily the right thing to do, because it is, I think, silly to believe that the inner gendered self is truer or more important than the outward physical self; if God created the one, then surely he created the other. And perhaps the evangelicals and the fundamentalists would be right to say that gender dysphoria is simply part of the sinful nature and you need to nail it to the Cross every day, along with every other question about sexual identity ... but maybe there's an asset to it that we haven't discovered because we've been taught to see it strictly as a right-or-wrong moral issue.
I don't know what I think, honestly. I have to say that Christ is someone who brings life and freedom from shame, while the Church often delights in putting people under the yoke of expectation. Christianist sharia is such a bitch to live under.
That's not a license to disregard our obligations or to revel in self-indulgence, but surely feeling dead all the time isn't what Christ intends for us, is it? I don't see the freedom and life that Christ brings in choosing to be miserable all our lives, any more than I see it in the choice to destroy our lives in the name of self-expression.
I watch this mess unfold, and honestly, I think we're going about this all the wrong way. Maybe it's not meant to be an either/or choice, a mutually exclusive pair of options. Maybe Sisyphus really did have to struggle and sweat and contend with that damn boulder for all eternity in order to receive the reprieve of the Elysian Fields that the gods had promised him, once he got it to the top of the hill; but maybe there was another option, some other way to get it up there, but he never stopped to consider it because he got it stuck in his head that the only way to get the damn thing to the top of the hill was to fight and struggle against its determination to stay at the bottom of the hill.
I'm not saying that transitioning into life as a woman is necessarily the right thing to do, because it is, I think, silly to believe that the inner gendered self is truer or more important than the outward physical self; if God created the one, then surely he created the other. And perhaps the evangelicals and the fundamentalists would be right to say that gender dysphoria is simply part of the sinful nature and you need to nail it to the Cross every day, along with every other question about sexual identity ... but maybe there's an asset to it that we haven't discovered because we've been taught to see it strictly as a right-or-wrong moral issue.
I don't know what I think, honestly. I have to say that Christ is someone who brings life and freedom from shame, while the Church often delights in putting people under the yoke of expectation. Christianist sharia is such a bitch to live under.
That's not a license to disregard our obligations or to revel in self-indulgence, but surely feeling dead all the time isn't what Christ intends for us, is it? I don't see the freedom and life that Christ brings in choosing to be miserable all our lives, any more than I see it in the choice to destroy our lives in the name of self-expression.
divest for darfur
"Your mutual fund is paying for the genocide in Darfur."
That was my wife's sole statement concerning an effort by SaveDarfur.org to get people with Fidelity mutual funds to urge the company to begin divesting. Divesting in companies that do business in nations with severe human rights abuses is a technique with a proven track record. It worked in ending Apartheid in South America, and hopefully it will work to stop the genocide in Sudan as well.
I'm calling Fidelity Friday morning and asking them to divest immediately. If you have a mutual fund with Fidelity, I urge you to do the same as well. Their number is (800) 532-5340.
At least 400,000 people have been killed in the last three years in Darfur in conditions that the Bush administration has classified as a genocide. If you want more information SaveDarfur.org has a post called "Background" that's worth checking out.
Viewing Jonah as divine fiction
One of the common objections among evangelicals to viewing the book of Jonah is ahistorical, is that such a view is the first step down a long and treacherous slippery slope.
Ken Hamm, a major name in creationist circles, asks "If the Creation and the Deluge stories aren't actual events, as described, then at what point does God start meaning what he says?" If you can't believe in Jonah, how can you believe in Jesus coming back from the dead? Especially when he referred to "the sign of Jonah" as the only evidence his generation would receive that he was messiah!
How can I believe in the Resurrection but not in Jonah's misadventure with a marine animal? It's actually pretty easy. I believe the story of Jonah being swallowed by a great fish is a parable about God's love for all nations. I believe that the Resurrection is an actual historical event. (See? It's not hard at all.)
The Bible is a collection of multiple genres. It contains mythology, from Genesis 1-12; it contains folk stories and legends, from Genesis 13-50, the books of Judges and Ruth, and parts of Exodus; and it contains history, from Samuel through Kings and Chronicles, plus Ezra, Nehemiah, and Acts. It includes poetry in the Psalms and the Song of Songs; and wisdom literature, in Proverbs, Koheleth, and Job.
There is mysticism in the gospel of John; theology in most of the Pauline and lesser epistles; personal correspondence such as Philemon; lessons on Christian living, such as the book of James; apocalyptic writing in Daniel and Revelation; and so on. The synoptic gospels actually combine several of these types of writing.
The Bible isn't a history text, though it contains history. It isn't a math text, though it contains some math; and it isn't a science text, though it contains some science. (And some of it appallingly bad, like the way Jacob breeds Laban's flocks so that he can get all the best ones and leave Laban with the weak ones.)
We do the Scriptures needless violence when we insist that there is only one way to understand it, and that its every word has to be treated as definitive in terms of science, history. Its only claim about itself is that it's God-breathed and meant for instruction, encouragement, reproof, and revelation.
Given the polyphany of voices in Scripture, it's reasonable to regard Jonah as divinely inspired fiction. In what way does that diminish its meaning or message? Either way, its inclusion in the canon shows that God's love abounds even to our enemies, and that his desire is for a broken heart and contrite spirit, rather than to leave a smoldering ruin where a great city once stood.
Copyright © 2007 by David Learn. Used with permission.
Ken Hamm, a major name in creationist circles, asks "If the Creation and the Deluge stories aren't actual events, as described, then at what point does God start meaning what he says?" If you can't believe in Jonah, how can you believe in Jesus coming back from the dead? Especially when he referred to "the sign of Jonah" as the only evidence his generation would receive that he was messiah!
How can I believe in the Resurrection but not in Jonah's misadventure with a marine animal? It's actually pretty easy. I believe the story of Jonah being swallowed by a great fish is a parable about God's love for all nations. I believe that the Resurrection is an actual historical event. (See? It's not hard at all.)
The Bible is a collection of multiple genres. It contains mythology, from Genesis 1-12; it contains folk stories and legends, from Genesis 13-50, the books of Judges and Ruth, and parts of Exodus; and it contains history, from Samuel through Kings and Chronicles, plus Ezra, Nehemiah, and Acts. It includes poetry in the Psalms and the Song of Songs; and wisdom literature, in Proverbs, Koheleth, and Job.
There is mysticism in the gospel of John; theology in most of the Pauline and lesser epistles; personal correspondence such as Philemon; lessons on Christian living, such as the book of James; apocalyptic writing in Daniel and Revelation; and so on. The synoptic gospels actually combine several of these types of writing.
The Bible isn't a history text, though it contains history. It isn't a math text, though it contains some math; and it isn't a science text, though it contains some science. (And some of it appallingly bad, like the way Jacob breeds Laban's flocks so that he can get all the best ones and leave Laban with the weak ones.)
We do the Scriptures needless violence when we insist that there is only one way to understand it, and that its every word has to be treated as definitive in terms of science, history. Its only claim about itself is that it's God-breathed and meant for instruction, encouragement, reproof, and revelation.
Given the polyphany of voices in Scripture, it's reasonable to regard Jonah as divinely inspired fiction. In what way does that diminish its meaning or message? Either way, its inclusion in the canon shows that God's love abounds even to our enemies, and that his desire is for a broken heart and contrite spirit, rather than to leave a smoldering ruin where a great city once stood.
Copyright © 2007 by David Learn. Used with permission.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Thursday, May 03, 2007
sourdough buns
We've been invited to a friend's house for a cookout to celebrate her 25th birthday. Since there's a huge crowd coming, and if it's not too tacky, I thought I could defray some of the burden on our host by providing some homemade hamburger buns. So I found a recipe that calls for sourdough, and thought I would give it a shot.
Just to be sporting, I'm going to use Coma, Rachel's pet sourdough starter. We last used her about a week ago, to make pancakes, and I figure it wouldn't hurt to put her to use again. It gives Rachel a sense of ownership in the project anyway, and it gives me an excuse to clean out Coma's container too. (Nothing was growing it except Coma, but I don't see a reason to take the risk.)
We need to use Coma more often. There was a lot of hooch in her container, though thankfully she didn't seem to be any worse the wear for it.
Coma hamburger buns
2 cups sourdough starter
1 cup water
½ cup sugar
¼ cup oil
1 egg
½ teaspoon salt
2½ cups all-purpose flour
2 cups sourdough starter
1 cup water
½ cup sugar
¼ cup oil
1 egg
½ teaspoon salt
2½ cups all-purpose flour
2½ cups whole wheat flour
Mix starter with water, sugar, oil, egg and salt. Stir in 2½ cups of all-purpose flour. Once the flour has been stirred in thoroughly, add 2 cups of whole wheat flour and mix thoroughly. When the flour becomes too stiff to stir, knead the dough for 10 minutes on a lightly floured surface, gradually working in another ½ cup of whole wheat flour. Remember that flour amounts are approximate, and depend on the wetness of the starter. If the dough remains sticky, continue to add more all-purpose flour, in small amounts, until the dough is smooth.
Mix starter with water, sugar, oil, egg and salt. Stir in 2½ cups of all-purpose flour. Once the flour has been stirred in thoroughly, add 2 cups of whole wheat flour and mix thoroughly. When the flour becomes too stiff to stir, knead the dough for 10 minutes on a lightly floured surface, gradually working in another ½ cup of whole wheat flour. Remember that flour amounts are approximate, and depend on the wetness of the starter. If the dough remains sticky, continue to add more all-purpose flour, in small amounts, until the dough is smooth.
Place the dough in a greased bowl, turning the dough over. Cover the bowl loosely with plastic wrap and let sit about an hour. Once the dough has doubled in size, punch it down and then let it rest 15 minutes.
Divide dough into 20 pieces, roughly the size of a lemon, rolling each piece into a smooth ball. Flatten pieces to ¾ inch thick. Place pieces two inches apart on greased cookie sheets, and let them rise until they are almost the desired size.
Bake 15 to 20 minutes at 375 degrees. Makes about 20 buns.
For hot dog buns, pinch off pieces the size of an egg. Shape to the length of a hot dog, and roll to about ¾ inch thick. Place buns one inch apart on greased cookie sheets. Makes about 24.
school funding
A letter I sent to my governor and state legislators. I wrote it tonight, based on a newspaper column I ghost-wrote for a friend, based on a speech she gave to our state officials at a public budget hearing. For the op-ed piece, I was trying to keep her voice. Here, it's mine.
Dear Gov. Culver:
I am writing to you as my governor to ask that you seek a more appropriate level of funding for the state's charter schools. A resident of Nova Bastille, I have a daughter who is attending second grade at Gary Barker Charter School, and as both a parent and a trustee of the school, I am deeply concerned about the current funding inequities, which seriously dampen the school's ability to perform its mission.
As I'm sure you're aware, the Iowa Charter School Program Act of 1996 stipulates that charter schools are supposed to receive 90 percent of the per-pupil spending of the sending school district. Unfortunately, that's not what is happening. In 2005-06, Gary Barker spent $6,102 for each student, compared to the $12,203 that Nova Bastille spends. That's not even close to 90 percent. It's barely 50 percent, even though three-quarters of the students at Gary Barker come from the city. Apparently the state funding regulations do not consider Gary Barker to be an Abbott district, even though most of our students come from one and we're located in one.
The state's proposed budget promises to increase funding for non-Abbott districts with large numbers of poor students. Since we're not eligible to receive Abbott aid, but half our students do qualify for free or reduced lunch, you would think that this aid is perfect for us. Instead we've been told we are ineligible, because the school is located in an Abbott district.
I get a headache just trying to figure that one out. How on earth can we be both Abbott and non-Abbott and yet neither one, all at the same time?
The whole point of the funding arrangement created by the Charter School Program Act is for funding to follow the child. Why isn't that happening? Why are my daughter and her classmates being denied the money for their education that would be spent on them if they attended Nova Bastille's other public schools? I don't get it. Either Gary Barker qualifies as an Abbott school because of its location and should receive Abbott aid, or it's not an Abbott school and it's entitled to the new at-risk aid because its student population meets the criteria.
My wife and I have lived in Nova Bastille since shortly before our first daughter was born, in 1999. In no small part because of Gary Barker and the tremendous education program it offers, we have stayed in our "starter home" for nearly eight years now, long enough to have a second daughter who is now finishing preschool and gearing up for kindergarten. We've built relationships with other families in the school, and we've grown deep roots in the city. We've discovered for ourselves the cultural treasures Nova Bastille has to offer, and we have become involved in other organizations working to make the city an even better place to live. We love our city, and we love our school.
I'm asking you to help guarantee that Gary Barker gets the funding it needs and its students deserve, so that it can continue to be an asset to the community. As the Legislature finishes its work on the 2008 state fiscal budget, please remember to give all the students in New Jersey's public school system the best chance at success. Remember to provide qualifying charter schools with either Abbott aid or the newly allocated "at-risk" aid.
Thank you for your time.
David Learn
Dear Gov. Culver:
I am writing to you as my governor to ask that you seek a more appropriate level of funding for the state's charter schools. A resident of Nova Bastille, I have a daughter who is attending second grade at Gary Barker Charter School, and as both a parent and a trustee of the school, I am deeply concerned about the current funding inequities, which seriously dampen the school's ability to perform its mission.
The state's proposed budget promises to increase funding for non-Abbott districts with large numbers of poor students. Since we're not eligible to receive Abbott aid, but half our students do qualify for free or reduced lunch, you would think that this aid is perfect for us. Instead we've been told we are ineligible, because the school is located in an Abbott district.
I get a headache just trying to figure that one out. How on earth can we be both Abbott and non-Abbott and yet neither one, all at the same time?
The whole point of the funding arrangement created by the Charter School Program Act is for funding to follow the child. Why isn't that happening? Why are my daughter and her classmates being denied the money for their education that would be spent on them if they attended Nova Bastille's other public schools? I don't get it. Either Gary Barker qualifies as an Abbott school because of its location and should receive Abbott aid, or it's not an Abbott school and it's entitled to the new at-risk aid because its student population meets the criteria.
My wife and I have lived in Nova Bastille since shortly before our first daughter was born, in 1999. In no small part because of Gary Barker and the tremendous education program it offers, we have stayed in our "starter home" for nearly eight years now, long enough to have a second daughter who is now finishing preschool and gearing up for kindergarten. We've built relationships with other families in the school, and we've grown deep roots in the city. We've discovered for ourselves the cultural treasures Nova Bastille has to offer, and we have become involved in other organizations working to make the city an even better place to live. We love our city, and we love our school.
I'm asking you to help guarantee that Gary Barker gets the funding it needs and its students deserve, so that it can continue to be an asset to the community. As the Legislature finishes its work on the 2008 state fiscal budget, please remember to give all the students in New Jersey's public school system the best chance at success. Remember to provide qualifying charter schools with either Abbott aid or the newly allocated "at-risk" aid.
Thank you for your time.
David Learn
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
'real' christianity and miracles
"Real Christianity" has nothing to do with whether Elijah miraculously provided enough oil for the widow at Zarephath to make it through the famine. "Real Christianity" has nothing do with whether the sun went backward 10 steps for Hezekiah. "Real Christianity" has nothing to do with whether God created the world in six days, flooded it in 40, and scattered everyone across the earth when they built the first skyscraper.
Being a real Christian does not require believing that God turned the Nile to actual blood and that the moon one day will turn to actual blood; nor does it mean believing that the author of Exodus was describing a periodic saturation of the Nile with red algae that would drive all the frogs out of the river, or that Revelation is describing a lunar eclipse.
All believers -- mainline, Catholic, evangelical, Coptic, fundamentalist, Orthodox, Pentecostal and other -- make up a bunch of junk, hang it on the Cross, and say "This is real Christianity. Believe it or go to hell." We're all guilty of that, because not one of us has understood. But thankfully, God isn't nearly as narrow as the people who follow him.
Paul gave the church its first creed -- "By this gospel, you are saved: that Christ died for your sins, according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, and on the third day he rose again." And James unequivocally spells out what true religion is: caring for the needy and the oppressed. Everything else is just straw, and maybe if we as a church stopped worrying about the straw, both church and society would be a lot healthier.
I gotta admit, I'm puzzled by the reaction some people have had to my comments of late, off-blog. The contention appears to be that my faith is diminished by being less literal than theirs, and that I require being rescued both from it and the very serious doubts I'm having about the faith in general. Isn't doubt good, because it motivates us to seek a more definitive Truth? I've always thought so.
It's best to remember that the Hebrew Bible comes from a Hebraic storytelling tradition that we lack the cultural context to properly understand in the West. Still, we can draw a parallel between that storytelling tradition and the one we have here in America, which includes stuff like George Washington either willfully engaging in deforestation or chopping down invasive species to safeguard America's native woodlands, depending on your political bent; it includes tales of Casey Jones and John Henry, Pecos Bill and Paul Bunyan; and it includes other stories about people from a wide sampling of America's ethnic traditions.
In the long run, to us as a nation, it doesn't matter that George Washington never chopped down a cherry tree and then owned up to it, because it's more important to our culture to believe that Washington was a virtuous man who never told a lie. It also is unimportant that while Casey Jones was a real train engineer who died in a train wreck, John Henry probably didn't tunnel into a mountain faster than a steam drill and then die of a heart attack, because both Casey Jones and John Henry say something about our progress as an industrialized nation and the power of the human spirit.
And of course, while children might believe these stories, by adulthood, most of us come to accept that folklore has historical value even if the stories themselves aren't historical, because of the details they preserve about our nation's past, the nuggets they pass on about the conflicts and struggles of those bygone eras, and because of the richness they add to our language. If I say George Washington was a regular Paul Bunyan in that cherry tree episode, it doesn't mean I believe Bunyan ever walked the frozen lands of Minnesota.
As for the miracles, they have never been the point of faith. Would Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego be any less the heroes of the faith if they had been consumed by the fire of Nebuchadnezzar's furnace? Would Daniel, had the lions eaten him?
Would Elijah's authority to confront Ahab have been any less if he hadn't brought a dead boy back to life, or if he took up a part time job to keep the widow from running out of flour?
Would Moses have been less a deliverer for Israel if he had helped them dig a well to get water instead of striking a rock?
Of course not. The goal of faith isn't (or shouldn't be) to see miracles, or even to see prayer "answered" (though we always pray with the expectation that it will be). The goal of faith is simply this: to know God better. He is the reward we seek, not the gifts he litters our way with.
Nor does viewing some or all of the biblical accounts as nonhistorical constitute believing that God is incapable of performing or unwilling to perform them. Anyway, our belief in miracles in any event is a prerequisite for them only when dealing with the Force and while learning at the feet of Master Yoda. Where God is concerned, it is willingness to to do what he asks of us that leads to miracles happening.
Resurrection lies at the heart of faith
You know, it's the Resurrection more than anything else that keeps me from walking away.
It's not apologetics. A lot of apologetics involves either violence to the text, such as the rather involved, complicated, and beside-the-point efforts to justify scientifically the Deluge and a six-day creation, instead of just letting the stories be what they are; or they involve trying to convince ourselves that square pegs are round.
It's not experience, because experience can go be interpreted at least two ways. Do we sense God's presence during worship, or does something about music stimulate a part of our brains that we mistake for God's presence? Those who have gone to both have remarked that attending a Grateful Dead concert is like attending a Pentecostal worship service.
Those who attend churches with loud worship, heavy on guitars and drums, feel excited in the presence of God -- just as they would at a secular rock concert, because the volume triggers an adrenaline rush and makes those who listen feel excited.
And those who attend somber, serious-minded services with organ worship probably feel the same sort of sober response as concert-goers listening to Bach or Mendelsohn.
It's not the transformation, because I don't see much evidence of that. I've known absolutely saintly people of just about every religion, and even with no religion, and I've known some real jerks who claim to have been born again. Frederick Douglass in his autobiography noted that the cruelest slave owners were also the most devout.
Keep in mind that many Christians see nothing wrong with imposing Christian morality or views as the law of the land if we can build a large enough lobby for it. If that doesn't seem so bad, just ask a gay friend how much compassion they get from the church crowd for happening to be gay.
Think about the way Christians so lovingly rip to shreds spouses who file for divorce.
Consider the paranoid thinking that often comes from our evangelical leaders about the various agendas supposedly at work to destroy all that is decent in America, and the cavalier arrogance that marks the ways we discount as foolish those whom we disagree with.
Recall the ways we so carelessly classify one another as "real Christians," "cultural Christians," "counterfeit Christians" and "Christians who don't get it as well as I do" based on petty stuff like baptism, eschatology, doctrines of Scriptural inspiration, ethics and sexual morals, abortion, capital punishment, and so on.
And that doesn't even touch the Christians who shoot abortionists, bomb clinics, or tacitly support those who do.
When you get down to it, I see very little difference between Christians and the rest of the world as far as spiritual renewal goes. As someone once observed, I'd find it easier to believe in the Savior if I knew more people who had been saved by him.
But the person of Christ is someone I can't let go of, and the Resurrection is something I just can't shake.
It's not apologetics. A lot of apologetics involves either violence to the text, such as the rather involved, complicated, and beside-the-point efforts to justify scientifically the Deluge and a six-day creation, instead of just letting the stories be what they are; or they involve trying to convince ourselves that square pegs are round.
It's not experience, because experience can go be interpreted at least two ways. Do we sense God's presence during worship, or does something about music stimulate a part of our brains that we mistake for God's presence? Those who have gone to both have remarked that attending a Grateful Dead concert is like attending a Pentecostal worship service.
Those who attend churches with loud worship, heavy on guitars and drums, feel excited in the presence of God -- just as they would at a secular rock concert, because the volume triggers an adrenaline rush and makes those who listen feel excited.
And those who attend somber, serious-minded services with organ worship probably feel the same sort of sober response as concert-goers listening to Bach or Mendelsohn.
It's not the transformation, because I don't see much evidence of that. I've known absolutely saintly people of just about every religion, and even with no religion, and I've known some real jerks who claim to have been born again. Frederick Douglass in his autobiography noted that the cruelest slave owners were also the most devout.
Keep in mind that many Christians see nothing wrong with imposing Christian morality or views as the law of the land if we can build a large enough lobby for it. If that doesn't seem so bad, just ask a gay friend how much compassion they get from the church crowd for happening to be gay.
Think about the way Christians so lovingly rip to shreds spouses who file for divorce.
Consider the paranoid thinking that often comes from our evangelical leaders about the various agendas supposedly at work to destroy all that is decent in America, and the cavalier arrogance that marks the ways we discount as foolish those whom we disagree with.
Recall the ways we so carelessly classify one another as "real Christians," "cultural Christians," "counterfeit Christians" and "Christians who don't get it as well as I do" based on petty stuff like baptism, eschatology, doctrines of Scriptural inspiration, ethics and sexual morals, abortion, capital punishment, and so on.
And that doesn't even touch the Christians who shoot abortionists, bomb clinics, or tacitly support those who do.
When you get down to it, I see very little difference between Christians and the rest of the world as far as spiritual renewal goes. As someone once observed, I'd find it easier to believe in the Savior if I knew more people who had been saved by him.
But the person of Christ is someone I can't let go of, and the Resurrection is something I just can't shake.
Monday, April 30, 2007
jonah
C.S. Lewis once pointed out -- I think it was in his book "Miracles" -- that once we acknowledge a belief in God, particularly the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation, then anything else possible.
And therefore, a friend argues, we should accept the biblical account of Jonah, that he was swallowed by a giant fish, stayed in its belly for three days and then was spit out to preach repentance to Nineveh. It's a great story, but I have a hard time accepting its historicity.
With all due respect to Lewis, I don't completely buy his argument. By that reasoning, we could assert that the sun is a giant marshmallow that provides us light and heat through some incredibly miraculous provision of the Almighty. Or we could believe that that the sky is a dome on the other side of which is a giant reservoir of water (Genesis 1), and that God makes it rain by opening floodgates (Genesis 7). We also should accept that the solar system is geocentric (Joshua 10:12-13), that the sea is contained by doors (Job 38:8), or that God has warehouses full of snow and hail (Job 38:22).
But of course we don't. God gave us eyes, ears, and hands, and minds to study the world that he created, and our study of the world has shown us that the solar system is heliocentric, and that snow, hail, and rain are formed by natural, observable processes that involve an endless recycling of the water on the earth.
And in all the cataloging we have done of the creatures of the sea, we've yet to find a fish (or other large sea creature that falls under the Hebrew term for "animal that lives in water") with a gullet large enough to swallow a man and keep him alive for three days so that he can be coughed up on dry land. Maybe there's something out there we haven't found yet, but I doubt it. Not on that scale.
And given the Hebraic love for storytelling to communicate great truths, and given that the notion of taking Scripture at face value in the manner under discussion is a relatively recent phenomenon -- i.e., early 20th century Christian -- I don't have any qualms in saying it's a work of divinely inspired fiction.
occam's toilet paper
Bad news for fundamentalists of both theistic and atheistic stripes: God's existence is something that lies beyond the realm of proof, because everything can be interpreted two ways.
If we consider that God may be an intellectual construct unconsciously created for our comfort and inspiration, then we also must consider the reverse. If we consider that Christian theism is manmade, then we also must consider that non-Christian atheism also could be manmade. And therein lies the problem of wanting some sort of certainty on the God question. The solid ground does not exist for either side. No matter how you cut it you're having faith in something.
The experience we have during during worship -- whether excitement, emotion or sobriety -- could be a reflection of a legitimate encounter with God. Or it could just as easily be a natural reaction to the music itself, which is why people who have been to both have said that attending a Grateful Dead concert is like attending a Pentecostal worship service. Is God behind the music, or does music trigger a part of our brains that makes us think of God
And since you can see a substantial development in the understanding of God just in the Tanakh, from an arguably moral but still decidedly tribal deity who kicks Gentile butt because the Gentiles are picking on his people, to a deity who transcends national boundaries and desires all the nations to live by love, there is some credence to the notion that we've been making it up as we go along. Or maybe God's been revealing himself steadily by degrees all along, and Christ is just the final and ultimate expression of that revelation. (But then even there, there've been some pretty striking developments in how we understand, interpret and incorporate Christ into our lives over the last 2,000 years.)
Occam's razor suggests the simpler, more obvious explanation is probably the true one. Unfortunately, that bastard Occam has shaving cream too, and that makes it so it's impossible to say which explanation really is simpler and more obvious, except by personal bias, and so once again we see an eponymous philosophical principle walking around with bits of Occam's toilet paper stuck to its face.
assorted thoughts
Someone asked me this evening at church how I was doing. I said, "Got an hour to go for a walk? I can tell you then."
We didn't, but as I explained to him, I'm at a point in my faith where I've stopped putting off questions I've had for years. Some people enjoy the certainty of knowing and they see doubt as an evil to be avoided or as a monster to be silenced; I see faith and doubt as walking hand in hand, and I've lived for years at the point where the two mix uneasily like masses of cold and warm air.
The storm has been brewing for a long time, and the wind is starting to blow something fierce.
During the service, we had a period where people were supposed to call out something descriptive of God as an act of worship. Back in college, we would do this and say things like, "Lord, you are wonderful" or "Lord, you are gracious." Tonight, I wrote:
It's curious, really. I've been a believer for 18 years, almost 19. I spent two years on the missions field, and though I've had moments where I've questioned God's goodness and moments where I've wondered if he even exists, I think this past week or so has been the first time in those almost 19 years that I've seriously considered the possibility for a rather extended period that it's likely -- not possible, but likely -- that God is an extrapolation by humanity from the nontangibles of our world, such as love and truth, to identify an external Prime Mover from which they come. I feel like all around me, and not just in church, that people are claiming to have all the answers, and no one's even bothering to ask any questions.
Am I making sense?
So tonight, I didn't take Communion when it was offered, and I didn't join in the prayer groups, and I didn't even really sing any of the worship songs. Instead, I wrote on the back and the inside of my bulletin and complimentary visitor's card, and when I filled those, I took one from the vacant seat beside me. Here's what I wrote, somewhat disjointed yet still an honest reflection of my thought processes at the time:
You know, some people feel tremendous relief when they walk away from the Christian faith, and I can understand that. The unholy pressure of the church to be match its standard of righteousness and to live a certain way, and the petty vindictiveness the church crowd can have for people who fail to match up, is so far outside the nature of Christ, that it would be a relief to leave it behind, to stop pretending to be something I'm not, and to plunge headlong into the fountain of honest self-expression.
I'm having a hard time right now seeing validity to the Christianity, not just as it's practiced in church but in what I understand its foundations to be as well. And I find no relief in that assessment.
We didn't, but as I explained to him, I'm at a point in my faith where I've stopped putting off questions I've had for years. Some people enjoy the certainty of knowing and they see doubt as an evil to be avoided or as a monster to be silenced; I see faith and doubt as walking hand in hand, and I've lived for years at the point where the two mix uneasily like masses of cold and warm air.
The storm has been brewing for a long time, and the wind is starting to blow something fierce.
During the service, we had a period where people were supposed to call out something descriptive of God as an act of worship. Back in college, we would do this and say things like, "Lord, you are wonderful" or "Lord, you are gracious." Tonight, I wrote:
Lord, you are inscrutableunknowableincomprehensiblebewilderingdifficultan escapist fantasy?the personification of our hopes, our fears, and our metaphysical aspirations?Are you the source of our meandering concepts of Truth, Beauty, Grace and Love, or our explanation of them?
It's curious, really. I've been a believer for 18 years, almost 19. I spent two years on the missions field, and though I've had moments where I've questioned God's goodness and moments where I've wondered if he even exists, I think this past week or so has been the first time in those almost 19 years that I've seriously considered the possibility for a rather extended period that it's likely -- not possible, but likely -- that God is an extrapolation by humanity from the nontangibles of our world, such as love and truth, to identify an external Prime Mover from which they come. I feel like all around me, and not just in church, that people are claiming to have all the answers, and no one's even bothering to ask any questions.
Am I making sense?
So tonight, I didn't take Communion when it was offered, and I didn't join in the prayer groups, and I didn't even really sing any of the worship songs. Instead, I wrote on the back and the inside of my bulletin and complimentary visitor's card, and when I filled those, I took one from the vacant seat beside me. Here's what I wrote, somewhat disjointed yet still an honest reflection of my thought processes at the time:
God is dead.
Was he ever alive?
Did God create us, or did we create him to inspire ourselves to be better?
Ordinary stuff happens, and we credit it to miracles or blame it on God, when it's completely ordinary in nature and easily traceable to natural causes. The credit is due to timing, good or ill, and yet we attach it to God.
What reason is there to believe? What gain? In committing to follow an inscrutable god whose very existence lies beyond the realm of proof, we bind ourselves into a lifetime of servitude to the expectations of others who claim to be following that same god. In exchange for this supreme act of self-abasement, we're promised something no one reasonably can assure us of, and yet when we break from this conformance to others' expectations, we're reprimanded, shunned or even worse. All we have to do is believe an impossibility, leap beyond any source of logic.
The canon is a fascinating collection of stories, but half are fiction and the rest differ, disagree and carry the pathologies of a score or more different authors. And that's our basis for faith?
Is this all a crock? In our hearts, do we know that we toss our prayers into an empty sky beneath an indifferent sun, yet tell ourselves otherwise to give ourselves hope and comfort?
Is the struggle between Christ and Satan nothing more than being caught between the inner burning of our personal beast and the celestial light of our aspirations to be better people and to build a better society for our children?
I do not believe in God
I do not believe in God
I do not believe in God
I do not believe in God
I see no evidence that Christ transforms us in ways that other religions or gods do not.
You know, some people feel tremendous relief when they walk away from the Christian faith, and I can understand that. The unholy pressure of the church to be match its standard of righteousness and to live a certain way, and the petty vindictiveness the church crowd can have for people who fail to match up, is so far outside the nature of Christ, that it would be a relief to leave it behind, to stop pretending to be something I'm not, and to plunge headlong into the fountain of honest self-expression.
I'm having a hard time right now seeing validity to the Christianity, not just as it's practiced in church but in what I understand its foundations to be as well. And I find no relief in that assessment.
still at mount carmel
A common defense of the belief in God among Pentecostal Christians, is to point to some of the miracles that God has performed in our midst. That would be great if I saw hard evidence of miracles even close to the scale the Bible reports: lepers being healed, the lame jumping for joy, and the blind seeing without the benefit of glaucoma surgery.
Alas, the only people I'm aware of regularly to make claims of healings are snake-oil salesmen like B-nny H. A few years ago, I understand Paul Croch (on air) "healed" Oral Roberts of chest pains he was having; four hours later, Roberts was at the hospital after suffering a major heart attack. Wow. Some healing. It's almost as impressive as the kids who report that their mouth stopped hurting 30 or 40 minutes after the pastor prayed for it.
A friend of mine, reading my recent post of assorted thoughts, focused on the ones pertaining to God and his nature, and asks, "Sounds like it's time for Mount Carmel again, isn't it? If YHWH is God, follow him, but if Baal is God, follow him."
Mount Carmel is where the prophet Elijah faced 400 prophets of Baal before an assembly of Israelites and made just that challenge. The Bible recounts Elijah and the prophets of Baal agreed that whichever God answered by fire and consumed the offered sacrifice would be considered the winner of the contest.
When Baal failed to answer, Elijah poured water all over the altar he had set up, offered a prayer, and then stood back as fire consumed the offering, the wood, and the stones. It's a great story.
Anyway, my response:
- Sounds great. Pile up stones with a high potassium content to make an altar, pour water on them, and explain how your superior knowledge of chemistry proves anything.
- I'm not interested in following Baal, really. What I've read about his cult is pretty icky.
- One of the names of Shechem was Jobaal, which literally means "Yahweh is Baal." I suspect there was more overlap between the cults of Baal and Yahweh than the Yahwish and Elohist writers wanted their readers to suspect. Because of the close proximity the Israelites had with the Canaanites, a lot of beliefs about their deity El and their worship styles ended up being incorporated into Yahweh worship as well. It's similar, I suspect, to the way Christians in predominantly Muslim lands might not play musical instruments in church, will enter church barefoot, and so on.
mount carmel
When Kurt Vonnegut died a week or two ago, the book I thought of wasn't "Slaughterhouse Five." It was "Cat's Cradle."
"Cat's Cradle" gave us Bokononism, a satirical religion whose adherents knew that it was a satire and were in on the joke. Its founding prophet, Bokonon, acknowledges that everything about the religion is foma, lies that serve a good purpose; and views God with a sort of bemused contempt. His message: God is useful if he gives your life and purpose, but don't take the old bugger too seriously.
I read "Cat's Cradle" back in 1990, as part of James Woolley's class "Satire and the Comic Absurd." My eventual conclusion was that Vonnegut looked into the void, saw nothing there, and walked away with a bitter laugh and a view much like his prophet's. If it makes you a better person, knock yourself out and believe, but keep it real.
There are times I feel I have a lot in common with Vonnegut. I also looked into the void, saw nothing there, laughed, and have decided to believe anyway. Navigating between the two poles is impossible; the only solution is to grasp both of them at the same time.
"Cat's Cradle" gave us Bokononism, a satirical religion whose adherents knew that it was a satire and were in on the joke. Its founding prophet, Bokonon, acknowledges that everything about the religion is foma, lies that serve a good purpose; and views God with a sort of bemused contempt. His message: God is useful if he gives your life and purpose, but don't take the old bugger too seriously.
I read "Cat's Cradle" back in 1990, as part of James Woolley's class "Satire and the Comic Absurd." My eventual conclusion was that Vonnegut looked into the void, saw nothing there, and walked away with a bitter laugh and a view much like his prophet's. If it makes you a better person, knock yourself out and believe, but keep it real.
There are times I feel I have a lot in common with Vonnegut. I also looked into the void, saw nothing there, laughed, and have decided to believe anyway. Navigating between the two poles is impossible; the only solution is to grasp both of them at the same time.
Welcome to my world; this is where my faith lives, and here it is in this realm of shadow that I have followed for years.
Alas, where to turn for illumination, the Bible? Perhaps if we view the Bible as having talismanic qualities. But if you've studied its history and how it may have been compiled, the Bible only illustrates what I'm talking about.
Several months ago, my older daughter asked me why God doesn't speak as clearly and audibly to her when she prays as he did to men like Moses or Job. As I once noted, Job never got a direct answer to his complaint, but he did get some tremendous poetry out of the deal.
A friend of mine who's a pastor, when I told him about this, groaned and started rattling off some of the big theological explanations. I told him I had a simpler answer: the biblical authors were writing in a story their perception of what God's statement had been, much like we will say today things like "I prayed about this for a long time, and God has told me not to buy the stereo" even though we never actually, literally heard God say any such thing.
We believe instead that he speaks into our hearts, and we translate that into speech we can share with other people. It wouldn't surprise me if some of the fantastic miracles in the Bible are of the same sort; literary devices used to convey an important lesson about God's authority, his purposes, and his plan for his people.
I'd lump the story of Jonah into this category. It's a story about God's love for the Gentile nations as well, even vicious ones like Assyria, a story that was included in the canon not for its historicity but for the divine truth it carries. The same principle would apply to the book of Esther, although there aren't any miracles per se in the story it tells.
The Truth of a story (as opposed to its truthiness) belongs more to the author of the story than to the reader. Authorial intent is key.
We don't have much in the way of biographical information about the biblical authors, but we do know that the Hebrew culture that produced the biblical texts was big on storytelling as a means of teaching. It's also evident from other stories that they told that it was not a requirement for the stories to be real (i.e., actually to have happened) in order to be true (i.e., to communicate something important).
Sometimes a rabbi would use a familiar story to make a point, as Jesus did when he used the story of the anscension of Herod Archelaus to the throne to illustrate something about the Kingdom of God, or when he took the familiar story of the wounded man on the road to Jericho and surprised everyone by making the hero of the story a Samaritan instead of a Pharisee.
And sometimes they just made stories up, as Jotham did when he told a story against his brother Abimelech, about the trees of the forest looking for a king.
Given the far-fetched nature of the story of Jonah -- a man is swallowed by a fish, stays in its belly for three days, and then is spit out, alive? -- I have a hard time believing it's describing an actual event. (So do serious Bible scholars.)
I also am hard-pressed to believe that the book of Esther describes actual events either. There is no extrabiblical record of King Ahasuerus of the book of Esther, to begin with, nor of a minister of Persia named Haman, nor even of a Jewish queen of Persia for that matter.
As Esther is the Aramaic name of the Babylonian goddess Ishtar, and Mordecai means "worshiper of Marduk," a pagan deity of order who created the world by defeating the chaos goddess Tiamat, the book of Esther likely represents a fusion of a couple pagan myths, retold and assimilated into the culture of the Babylonian exiles.
It's evident from the texts themselves that the authors of the texts knew they were writing "Scripture"; that is, they were writing about God and about their history, and they intended to communicate certain truths about him in their writing.
Some, like the book of Esther, wanted to communicate the special place that the Israelites had in God's plans, and so their stories are all about Israel kicking Gentile butt. Others, like the book of Jonah, depict God not as a tribal deity who delights in kicking Gentile butt but as a transcendent deity who is too big for Israel alone and who wants all peoples to know him.
So does that mean the people were growing in their understanding of God and his nature, or does it mean that they're simply filling an existential void in their lives in a more enlightened way?
Given the number of other things that have evolved in some really unusual ways -- the growth of ha-Satan from an agent of God, his prosecutor, so to speak, who helps to sift the hearts of men, into a decidedly evil being with an entire extrabiblical mythology about how he fell from heaven -- well, it does give the "made it up as they went along" view some credence, doesn't it?
Alas, where to turn for illumination, the Bible? Perhaps if we view the Bible as having talismanic qualities. But if you've studied its history and how it may have been compiled, the Bible only illustrates what I'm talking about.
Several months ago, my older daughter asked me why God doesn't speak as clearly and audibly to her when she prays as he did to men like Moses or Job. As I once noted, Job never got a direct answer to his complaint, but he did get some tremendous poetry out of the deal.
A friend of mine who's a pastor, when I told him about this, groaned and started rattling off some of the big theological explanations. I told him I had a simpler answer: the biblical authors were writing in a story their perception of what God's statement had been, much like we will say today things like "I prayed about this for a long time, and God has told me not to buy the stereo" even though we never actually, literally heard God say any such thing.
We believe instead that he speaks into our hearts, and we translate that into speech we can share with other people. It wouldn't surprise me if some of the fantastic miracles in the Bible are of the same sort; literary devices used to convey an important lesson about God's authority, his purposes, and his plan for his people.
I'd lump the story of Jonah into this category. It's a story about God's love for the Gentile nations as well, even vicious ones like Assyria, a story that was included in the canon not for its historicity but for the divine truth it carries. The same principle would apply to the book of Esther, although there aren't any miracles per se in the story it tells.
The Truth of a story (as opposed to its truthiness) belongs more to the author of the story than to the reader. Authorial intent is key.
We don't have much in the way of biographical information about the biblical authors, but we do know that the Hebrew culture that produced the biblical texts was big on storytelling as a means of teaching. It's also evident from other stories that they told that it was not a requirement for the stories to be real (i.e., actually to have happened) in order to be true (i.e., to communicate something important).
Sometimes a rabbi would use a familiar story to make a point, as Jesus did when he used the story of the anscension of Herod Archelaus to the throne to illustrate something about the Kingdom of God, or when he took the familiar story of the wounded man on the road to Jericho and surprised everyone by making the hero of the story a Samaritan instead of a Pharisee.
And sometimes they just made stories up, as Jotham did when he told a story against his brother Abimelech, about the trees of the forest looking for a king.
Given the far-fetched nature of the story of Jonah -- a man is swallowed by a fish, stays in its belly for three days, and then is spit out, alive? -- I have a hard time believing it's describing an actual event. (So do serious Bible scholars.)
I also am hard-pressed to believe that the book of Esther describes actual events either. There is no extrabiblical record of King Ahasuerus of the book of Esther, to begin with, nor of a minister of Persia named Haman, nor even of a Jewish queen of Persia for that matter.
As Esther is the Aramaic name of the Babylonian goddess Ishtar, and Mordecai means "worshiper of Marduk," a pagan deity of order who created the world by defeating the chaos goddess Tiamat, the book of Esther likely represents a fusion of a couple pagan myths, retold and assimilated into the culture of the Babylonian exiles.
It's evident from the texts themselves that the authors of the texts knew they were writing "Scripture"; that is, they were writing about God and about their history, and they intended to communicate certain truths about him in their writing.
Some, like the book of Esther, wanted to communicate the special place that the Israelites had in God's plans, and so their stories are all about Israel kicking Gentile butt. Others, like the book of Jonah, depict God not as a tribal deity who delights in kicking Gentile butt but as a transcendent deity who is too big for Israel alone and who wants all peoples to know him.
So does that mean the people were growing in their understanding of God and his nature, or does it mean that they're simply filling an existential void in their lives in a more enlightened way?
Given the number of other things that have evolved in some really unusual ways -- the growth of ha-Satan from an agent of God, his prosecutor, so to speak, who helps to sift the hearts of men, into a decidedly evil being with an entire extrabiblical mythology about how he fell from heaven -- well, it does give the "made it up as they went along" view some credence, doesn't it?
Where does this leave me?
interstellar neighbors
I'm sure by now everyone's heard about the Earth-size planet that's been discovered, only 20 light years away, within the habitable range of its sun. Like everyone else who's ever read sci-fi, I was thrilled by the discovery.
Unfortunately, I've learned that closer surveillance has revealed that the planet is only partially habitable, and already has been colonized by humans from the twelve lost colonies of man. Worse, even now they are engaged in a bitter and protracted war with Cylons.
It's best if we keep our distance.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
kryptonite discovered
I don't know about anyone else, but I've heard from a few people now about the recent discovery of kryptonite, specifically the chemical sodium lithium boron silicate hydroxide," which is how it was identified in the 2006 movie "Superman Returns." Disappointly, it is not a green mineral, and it emits no measurable radiation.
That is, it emits no radiation that is harmful to humans. Lone survivors of the doomed planet Krypton may be another story, however.
But please recall that in addition to green kryptonite, which weakens Superman and effectively gives him radiation poisoning; pre-Crisis there was also blue kryptonite, which would produce random side effects on him, such as causing him to grow to gigantic heights or to grow extra arms; and gold kryptonite, which would take away his powers completely. If you've ever read Alan Moore's "Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?" you'll remember that Superman on Earth-2 (a pre-Crisis Superman) exposed himself to gold kryptonite after a tremendous struggle with oldtime supervillains at his Fortress of Solitude, and became an ordinary human under the name Jordan Elliot.
So perhaps this is a hitherto undiscovered "white kryptonite," whose properties have not been discovered, because the radiation it emits is on wavelengths beyond our ability to measure.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Stream of consciousness
Why did Jack jump over the candlestick? I wonder if he knocked it over and inadvertently started the Great Chicago Fire. And all this time poor Mrs. O'Leary's cow got blamed.
I wonder if God is dead.
No, actually, I wonder how we can claim to know anything about God, really. Many of the self-evident characteristics of God are self-evident only because we are accustomed to seeing them, from a particular vantage point of faith. A skeptic, or even a believer with a different perspective of faith, will see other self-evident truths.
Even a person of faith has to admit that there is a progression of revelation about God's nature and personality in the Bible. Although there are psalms and passages in the prophets that bear out the same transcendent qualities of God that Paul writes about in his epistles, there's no denying that by the time of Christ, Judaism (and Christianity, its offshoot) have arrived at a very different understanding of the nature of God than was held by the ancient Hebrews at Mount Sinai. God had a moral quality even then, but he was far more nationalist and comes across as far more vindictive than he does by the time of later writers, such as 2 Isaiah.
Was God drawing us to a greater understanding of himself all along, or have we been making it up as we go along and feeling ourselves drawn toward a "higher consciousness" or some such other popular psychological bullshit?
Why is "Peter Peter Pumpkineater" such a morbid tale? It sounds like "Boxing Helena" or something else just twisted and sick, where Peter keeps his wife locked up in a pumpkin shell. Did he kill her and hide the body, or is he doing this because he's a small man who suspects his wife of infidelity and therefore asserts total control over her?
I think my oven is seriously messed up. This bread was supposed to be done in 45 minutes. I just checked ten minutes ago, close to the 8-minute mark, and the crust is only just starting to brown.
I love sourdough baking. So does my daughter Rachel, apparently. Yesterday she asked to start her own sourdough "pet," so we poured a little of the main starter into an empty peanut butter jar, fed it some flour, and let it sit in the fridge. Last night I added about half a cup of flour and some water, left it out all night, and this morning we made sourdough pancakes. She loves her pet, and named it Coma. She even wants to give her pet a birthday card when Coma turns 2.
My Uncle Dick died about a week ago. I'm going to his funeral tomorrow. Today, actually. Friday morning. I'm making that loaf of bread for his widow, my Aunt Barb.
Why doesn't anyone read nursery rhymes any more? I tried reading Mother Goose to Rachel last year, and they sucked. Maybe I should wonder why anyone ever read them.
I hate it when my computer crashes. I had a great, funny piece yesterday on how stupid it is to buy topsoil, and I lost the whole thing when the computer crashed.
Damn you, Bill Gates.
My brother complained that he doesn't like political jokes. I said, "Don't blame me. I voted for Kerry."
I wonder if God is dead.
No, actually, I wonder how we can claim to know anything about God, really. Many of the self-evident characteristics of God are self-evident only because we are accustomed to seeing them, from a particular vantage point of faith. A skeptic, or even a believer with a different perspective of faith, will see other self-evident truths.
Even a person of faith has to admit that there is a progression of revelation about God's nature and personality in the Bible. Although there are psalms and passages in the prophets that bear out the same transcendent qualities of God that Paul writes about in his epistles, there's no denying that by the time of Christ, Judaism (and Christianity, its offshoot) have arrived at a very different understanding of the nature of God than was held by the ancient Hebrews at Mount Sinai. God had a moral quality even then, but he was far more nationalist and comes across as far more vindictive than he does by the time of later writers, such as 2 Isaiah.
Was God drawing us to a greater understanding of himself all along, or have we been making it up as we go along and feeling ourselves drawn toward a "higher consciousness" or some such other popular psychological bullshit?
Why is "Peter Peter Pumpkineater" such a morbid tale? It sounds like "Boxing Helena" or something else just twisted and sick, where Peter keeps his wife locked up in a pumpkin shell. Did he kill her and hide the body, or is he doing this because he's a small man who suspects his wife of infidelity and therefore asserts total control over her?
I think my oven is seriously messed up. This bread was supposed to be done in 45 minutes. I just checked ten minutes ago, close to the 8-minute mark, and the crust is only just starting to brown.
I love sourdough baking. So does my daughter Rachel, apparently. Yesterday she asked to start her own sourdough "pet," so we poured a little of the main starter into an empty peanut butter jar, fed it some flour, and let it sit in the fridge. Last night I added about half a cup of flour and some water, left it out all night, and this morning we made sourdough pancakes. She loves her pet, and named it Coma. She even wants to give her pet a birthday card when Coma turns 2.
My Uncle Dick died about a week ago. I'm going to his funeral tomorrow. Today, actually. Friday morning. I'm making that loaf of bread for his widow, my Aunt Barb.
Why doesn't anyone read nursery rhymes any more? I tried reading Mother Goose to Rachel last year, and they sucked. Maybe I should wonder why anyone ever read them.
I hate it when my computer crashes. I had a great, funny piece yesterday on how stupid it is to buy topsoil, and I lost the whole thing when the computer crashed.
Damn you, Bill Gates.
My brother complained that he doesn't like political jokes. I said, "Don't blame me. I voted for Kerry."
kids
I was downstairs this evening around 9 p.m. We had put the kids to bed and I was trying to get started on making some sourdough bread for my aunt when I see her Friday afternoon. I was just pulling up the recipe when I heard Natasha scream bloody murder and the entire house shook as she slammed the girls' bedroom door.
She came downstairs, so livid that she was still shaking, and ready to scream about the disrespect the girls were showing her. She had stayed upstairs a few moments longer to say goodnight to Evangeline, and when she told the girls it was time to go to sleep and to stop talking, they started chatting even louder. Rachel even started laughing at her.
I started to go upstairs to deal with it, and heard Evangeline screaming -- not in pain, just that sort of shrill, whole-hearted scream kids make when they're mindlessly excited -- and of course Rachel was echoing her right back. This was past the sort of quiet chitchat you allow and even expect when it's time to settle down for the night. They were having a grand old time after they were supposed to be in bed. I opened the door in time to hear Evangeline telling Rachel's fortune: "You're going to die of a terrible disease."
(I don't know where they got that particular line, but even though you just busted out laughing when you read that, you have to agree it's a pretty ugly thing to say to your sister. Natasha's told them not to say it any more, but of course that just adds fuel to the fire and makes it that much easier for them to remember to say it.)
I ended up yanking Evangeline out of her top bunk, and took her into my bedroom, where we talked for about ten or fifteen minutes about how she was being incredibly disrespectful to her mother by not listening to her, and how upset her mother was by the bad choice Evangeline had made, about things we shouldn't say, and ... well, you know the drill.
I was fairly pleased with how well I handled it. I don't want to micromanage Evangeline so that she can't talk a little as she and Rachel power down at bedtime, but they've both been getting wild and rambunctious at bedtime a lot lately, and they're not making the connection between that and how tired they feel in the morning. (Evangeline actually asked me yesterday if she could take a break and rest on the couch after she walked downstairs.) And I think I was able to stress that it's her poor bedtime choices we're having issues with, not with her, because she's a good kid, and we know she knows better than she's been showing lately.
She definitely knows she crossed a few lines too. Natasha had come up and was sitting there with us, and when I asked Evangeline to repeat for her mother what she had told her sister, she was too ashamed to do it. So she knows it's wrong, and that's good. Now it's just a matter of getting that moral awareness to translate into a little more self-restraint.
Afterward, I let Evangeline get back into her bed, I tried to have a similar, age-appropriate chat with Rachel. She, predictably, turned her head away whenever I broached the subject of her own poor choices and how they had made Natasha feel -- which I see as evidence that she's aware that she was in the wrong, but doesn't want to have to face up to that yet. It's a start, at least.
Now the next thing is to make some inroads with Evangeline on her sarcasm.
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