It looks like I'm done with blogging. It looks like I'm done, but I'm not.
What's happened is I've been horrifically busy these past three months. Working 12-hour days. Buying and maintaining a car. Planning my future.
More than that, I've been in a writing slump for some time now. I attribute this partially to my ever-rising editorial standards - my posts are generally shorter than they were when I began but take much longer to write, and many never get published. The other difficulty is that I've been coming to some conclusions.
You might think that having decided a few things would make it easier to write, but this seems not to be the case. I've always found it easier express confusion or disagreement than to put forth my own position. When presenting my own views I feel like I should be some kind of expert - if not on the subjects of my opinions, then at least on my opinions themselves. If I think something, I should be able to express it, right? Well, it's hard.
But I think the time is right to try. This blog has always been about my search for a spiritual je ne sais quoi - the god or truth or purpose without which I felt alone or lost or unfulfilled. The loneliness and lostness and unfulfillment has diminished over the past four years, to the point that I am no longer searching in the way that I was then, and so I think it is time to bring this blog to a proper close. Despite the fact that the object of my search remains (and I think will always remain) somewhat unknowable and inexpressible.
I should have said that it's almost time to conclude this blog. Time continues to be a scarcity. I'm rushing off to camp for the remainder of the summer, but I will make a determined effort to return in the fall, and then I will tell you what there is to tell.
[+/-] The Once and Future Blogger |
[+/-] Prophecy and Inerrancy |
I apologize for the lack of posting of late. I have plenty to write about, but school's been taking up a lot of my time. They're making me write essays, if you can believe it.
I'm taking a Religious Studies course on Jesus, and I've been doing a little research on the infant narratives in Matthew and Luke. Here's what my textbook (Howard Clark Kee: Jesus in History) has to say about Matthew's version of events:
Each of these "historical" moves was ultimately dictated... by the divine plan laid down in Scripture. The return from Egypt is said to be the fulfillment of Hosea 11:1. The grief of the mothers whose children were slain by Herod is seen as predicted in Jeremiah 31:15. The move to Nazareth is said to accord with "what was spoken by the prophets": "He shall be called a Nazarene" (Matt. 2:23). There is no text corresponding to this declaration, but it is likely a reference to Isaiah 11:1, as noted below.(Links and paragraphs added.)
Matthew has no interest in the actual historical events in biblical times out of which the prophets spoke these words, nor does he make any attempt to show a direct correlation between the historical events in biblical times and the situation in the time of Jesus. Hosea was describing the Exodus from Egypt, when God delivered his people ("my son") and led them into the land of Palestine. Jeremiah's words probably refer to the fall of the northern kingdom of Israel in 722 B.C.E., some 100 years before his own time. Jeremiah's prophecies come from the last quarter of the seventh century B.C.E., shortly before Judah, the southern kingdom, likewise fell.
The word Nazarene does not occur in the Hebrew Bible, but is probably traced to Isaiah 11:1, where the shoot (nester) from the stump of Jesse is mentioned as God's agent in establishing his just rule on earth. The metaphor in Isaiah is that of a tree cut down, which signifies the end of the Davidic dynasty. The prophet foresees the appearance, from the seemingly lifeless stump, of a shoot that will both signal and effect the reestablishment of the Kingdom. Conceivably, Mathew could have found in this prophetic word a prediction pointing to the kingly role that was assigned by Christians to Jesus. Instead, Matthew used the Isaiah 11 passage to prove that it was ordained in Scripture that Jesus' residence should be in Nazareth. (The Hebrew letters would be n-ts-r; the language was written in consonants, and the reader supplied the vowels; hence, Na-TSa-Rene.)
The writer of Matthew did not ask what Isaiah intended by his words; he was interested in finding what they might mean to him and his readers. Since the Bible was held to be divinely inspired, its sacred letters were subject to multiple interpretations, limited only by the talent and ingenuity of the interpreter. The discovery of obscure meanings in Scripture was regarded as a tribute to its divine origin, not a falsification of the intention of the biblical writer. The question of the Old Testament writers' intentions was for Matthew as well as for Jewish interpreters of his age an irrelevant one, because they believed that the God who had spoken through the prophets in the past was still in control of human affairs and was shaping them in accord with his own purpose, which the skillful interpreter of scripture could discern in the present and correlate with the writings from the ancient past. What was significant was continuity of divine purpose, not precision of historical knowledge.
I noticed years ago that Matthew's Old Testament "prophecies" often don't say what he claims they do. (The famous "virgin" birth prophecy is another good example.) At first I though Matthew is simply lying. From a modern western perspective, Matthew's creative exegesis looks like an effort to dupe ill-informed readers into the conviction that Jesus fulfilled Messianic credentials laid down centuries before.
But of course, Matthew was neither modern nor western, and he wrote according to the the literary and scholarly conventions of his own time and culture. As strange as it seems to us, his complete disregard for the intended meaning of the texts he quotes would have been quite legitimate in the eyes of his Jewish contemporaries.
Part of the problem is that Matthew's understanding of words like "prophecy" and "fulfill" are somewhat different from our own. His account of Jesus' birth and early years is designed to recall that of the nation of Israel (a dreamer named Joseph, the journey to Egypt and back again, escape from a fearful king who kills baby boys) and establish Jesus as both the Messianic King and a sort of new Moses. Matthew quotes from the scriptures in order to underline these similarities, and would have understood them more as prefigurations of Jesus than as predictions.
This is why I think the doctrine of inerrancy (at least in its popular form) misses the point: it assumes that the Bible conforms to modern logic and literary conventions that were completely unfamiliar to its authors and intended readers. If we want to assess (or assert) the truth of an ancient document, we must consider the way it was intended to be true, not the way we would like it to be true.
Of course, this isn't easy to determine. Like anything thousands of years old, we don't have a precise understanding of ancient Hebrew culture, logic, or literary genres. It's unclear exactly what sort of apparent errors or untruths (from a modern perspective) might have been acceptable to the various intended readers of the scriptures. Chronological adjustments? Misleading prophecies? Historical inaccuracies? Embellishments and extrapolations? Theological discrepancies? (I may deal with some of these points in subsequent posts.) Whatever conclusions we may reach, it's clear that a good dose of humility is required.
But whether or not the Bible is true in the ways that the authors intended it to be, or (still more difficult to discern) in the ways that God intended it to be, this much is clear: it was not written with our modern assumptions and expectations in mind.
[+/-] The Things He Reads |
I figured it's time I plugged my friend Raskolnikov's blog, which is comprised almost entirely of excerpts from books he reads. This appeals to me on three levels.
First of all, the blog is a good resource. Sometimes a passage gives you a better feel for a book than a dust jacket blurb or endorsement. If you're an avid reader, I'm sure some of it will pique your interest. And if you're not the sort who's likely to pick up something by, say, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, you may still be interested in reading a snippet of his writing that someone else found interesting.
Raskolnikov's project is also interesting to me because it's a kind of an anti-blog. It seems the blogosphere (and indeed, a fair chunk of the internet in general) is primarily a mechanism for broadcasting the thoughts, opinions and experiences of anyone with enough free time and self-importance to proclaim them.* In such a culture a mysterious, apparently Russian bookworm, a man (woman?) who resists entirely the urge to rant, ramble or pontificate on whatever strikes his fancy, who presents instead the thoughts of better thinkers, the words of better writers, is something of an anti-hero. A rascal, if you will.
And sometimes when I read this blog I feel a little of what I've felt in the presence of a Torah scroll. I sense a kind of holiness in copied words that is lost in printing presses and electronic databases. I'm not sure how well I can articulate this, but I feel like there's inherent value in copying out a text - value beyond whatever readers may get out of it. I guess I see it as a way of identifying oneself with the words, something like repeating liturgy or submitting to religious rules. Maybe I'm making too much of this - in my experience, actually copying texts is pretty mundane. But I guess most spiritual disciplines, in practice, feel mundane to me.
*My opinion of we bloggers is not so bleak as this paragraph might suggest. There are two sides to the coin. But it's refreshing to me to read a blog so free of the (often unwarrented) self-interest that seems to be inherent in the medium.
[+/-] The Word made Flesh |
From Come Be My Light, part of a poem by Mother Teresa in response to Jesus' question, "Who do you say that I am?" (Mt 16:15):
Jesus is the Word made Flesh.
Jesus is the Bread of Life.
Jesus is the Victim offered for our sins on the Cross.
Jesus is the Sacrifice offered at the Holy Mass
for the sins of the world and mine.
Jesus is the Word--to be spoken.
Jesus is the Truth--to be told.
Jesus is the Way--to be walked.
Jesus is the Light--to be lit.
Jesus is the Life--to be lived.
Jesus is the Love--to be loved.
Jesus is the Joy--to be shared.
Jesus is the Peace--to be given.
Jesus is the Bread of Life--to be eaten.
Jesus is the Hungry--to be fed
Jesus is the Thirsty--to be satiated.
Jesus is the Naked--to be clothed.
Jesus is the Homeless--to be taken in.
Jesus is the Sick--to be healed.
Jesus is the Lonely--to be loved.
Jesus is the Unwanted--to be wanted.
Jesus is the Leper--to wash his wounds.
Jesus is the Beggar--to give him a smile.
Jesus is the Drunkard--to listen to him.
Jesus is the Retarded--to protect him.
Jesus is the Little One--to embrace him.
Jesus is the Blind--to lead him.
Jesus is the Dumb--to speak for him.
Jesus is the Crippled--to walk with him.
Jesus is the Drug Addict--to befriend him.
Jesus is the Prostitute--to remove from danger and befriend.
Jesus is the Prisoner--to be visited.
Jesus is the Old--to be served.
It reminds me of that story from Matthew 25 (the implications of which struck me a few years ago).
If you're aware of the central theme of this book - Mother Teresa's spiritual darkness - you would probably assume that the title is her plea to God. In fact, the opposite is true. "Come, be My light" were the words by which Christ called Mother Teresa to Calcutta.
I think the call can be understood in two ways. The obvious meaning is that Mother Teresa was to be a conduit of Christ's light to the poor, through her compassion and service. As she says above, "Jesus is the Light--to be lit."
But the latter part of the poem reveals a second meaning: Jesus is not only the source of the light but also, in some sense, the one to whom we bring light. When we feed and clothe and love other people, in a very real sense we are feeding and clothing and loving Christ.
This is something I need to work on - seeing Jesus in the people around me, and especially those in need. There is no need for me to discern who is deserving of my love. Every day I see Christ, as Mother Teresa said, in many "distressing disguises". My highest calling is to love him with all my heart, soul, mind and strength, however he may present himself to me.
I pray that my eyes may be opened, to see the Word made Flesh.
[+/-] Come Be My Light |
I've been reading Come Be My Light - a sort of spiritual biography of Mother Teresa, based on her personal letters. These letters reveal that despite a dramatic call from God to ministry in Calcutta, Mother Teresa abruptly ceased to feel his presence when she arrived, and conducted the rest of her life in spiritual darkness and sorrow. (An article in Time offers more details. Via Michigan.)
I found the book less challenging and inspiring than I'd hoped - I am so unlike Mother Teresa that I scarcely believe we're of the same species, and I could no more love like her than write like Shakespeare. And while she and I have both experienced disappointment with God, hers was vastly different in content, degree and duration. The book is interesting (if a bit slow-moving) and has certainly increased my respect - nay, awe - of Mother Teresa, but at the expense of any hope I had of relating or empathizing with her.
More than ever I understand the impulse to pray to saints. Mother Teresa reached a peace about her inner darkness and saw her suffering as a means for God to bring others to salvation. On the back cover is this quote: "If I ever become a Saint--I will surely be one of 'darkness.' I will continually be absent from Heaven--to light the light of those in darkness on earth."
It reminded me of the Buddhist idea of a Bodhisattva: a person who achieves enlightenment (Buddhahood) but who refrains from entering Nirvana indefinitely in order to free others from suffering. (It also reminds me of the first verses of Romans 9, my least favorite chapter in the Bible, in which Paul makes a statement so powerful and so beautiful that I almost forgive him the rest.) Greater love, I contend, has no one than this.
I said earlier that I can hardly believe I'm of the same species as Mother Teresa. But I am, and that's the whole point. She was no angel-messenger come down from heaven. No god among mortals, no Word-made-flesh. She was a woman. A mortal like myself, and a sinner. However different she was in her character, experiences and actions, we are somehow of the same essence, and I feel a kinship with her that I could have with no higher being. Transcendent in love and holiness, she is near to me yet in her frailty and finitude.
Pray for me, Mother. Saint of Darkness, be my light.
[+/-] Community |
Well, I'm back. I don't know if I'm going to keep doing this or what. I've got things to write about, but I don't know if I have the time or the motivation. We'll see how it goes.
What I've been thinking about most recently is community, as it pertains to Christian life. Winter Camp, as usual, was amazing. I seem to be at my best when I'm at camp. I don't think this is unusual.
It seems like we tend to separate community from the rest of life. We go on retreats or whatever and we have these great experiences of intimacy and commonality and it's refreshing and inspiring. And then we go back to our real world and try to live our lives the way we wanted to or thought we were going to when we were at camp.
Why do we live like this? I know that I can't live at home the way I can at camp. Maybe that's a failure on my part. Maybe I'm supposed to be able to be able to transcend my circumstances and feelings and be loving and purposeful all the time. But I think it's easier to change my environment than to stop being affected by it.
I know its not always possible to create an ideal environment. I know things get in the way, or things fall apart, and I can't just hide from the world at camp or somewhere. But I don't think I should have to choose between being in community and being in the world.
I want to live in a community. A focused, structured, missional community. I want to have people around me who are committed to the same goal, and committed to me. I want people to serve, and to serve with. I want people to guide me and encourage me and touch me and share their lives with me.
I don't think I'm being greedy or unrealistic. I think this is the way I'm meant to live. And I think I can do it.
I don't know how all the details will work, but I'm trying to figure it out. Maybe I'll join a monastery. I hear there are Franciscans in town. Maybe I'll hook up with the New Monastics. Maybe I'll run away to L'abri for a bit. Maybe I could start my own thing. I don't know.
I'm open to ideas.
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