For Whom The Bell Tolls

I've been engrossed in a paper this week examining the hermeneutics (interpretation strategies) of Rob Bell. Our assignment was to analyze the way someone reads the Bible and I chose him because I liked his first book but had postponed questions about it. So now I get to ask those questions.

It has been interesting. I had some of my concerns confirmed. For instance: Rob Bell loves to compare Jesus to rabbis and then learn things from that. This is fine, but there are some problems with that since the rabbis he compares him with wrote their stuff about 150 years later. So there is only so far you can take that comparision. But that's not what I wanted to blog about.

This past two weeks I've read his two books to death, watched several of his short films, and listened to three of his sermons (the last 12 weeks of his church are podcast online).

Quite frankly, and I'm sure he would take no offence at this, due to the overdose I must say that at times I have become quite tired of him. He does have a certain style to him, and you pick up on that after awhile, and he is much more "obviously hip" than I'll ever be, and he probably was the cool guy in high school that I was jealous of and therefore mocked---but at the same time, I've come to really appreciate the guy.

And here's the thing. God has been speaking to me through him. And some of you will know that I haven't really been hearing from God all that well this last while. Quick backstory: I've been in what they call a "dark night of the soul". Or at least I hope so. As I said on another blog, I hope so because it would be nice to know it is just a night and that day light is on its way. Anyway, at times like this you really notice when a shaft of light or two breaks through the doubt-stained-glass. So let me repeat that in Rob Bell style to emphasize its sincerity: God has been

speaking

to me

through him.

It started on Friday afternoon when I was reading Bell's new book, Sex God, which is actually much better than it sounds. Actually it started that morning with a couple guys praying for me (unprovoked and relentlessly understanding I might add, but that is another story). Then today I was listening to this sermon that he preached a month ago called "Leaving Control for Faith" and it was on Exodus 3; 4; 5:22-23; 13; 32 and Deut 34 (far as I can tell) and it really spoke to me. No, God really spoke to me. I know because I've heard Him before. Same God. Different thing he was saying. Different day. Different language even. But same God. Faithful. Still there.

And this verse, which Rob Bell said is the closest thing to a "life verse" (even though he enjoys mocking that expression) for him lately, really resonated with me:

"When Pharoah let the people go, God did not lead them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter" (Exod 13:17).

I've been wanting control of the faith. I've been wanting a certain journey, a certain ministry. I'm discovering faith again. At least I hope so. I'm a slow learner and I won't pretend the dark night is over.

But I'm thankful that even in the midst of a paper where I'm trying hard to rip a guy apart, God still speaks through him to me. An unpredictable, yet faithful, and good God. Makes me want to listen harder.

NT Wright on the Bible

Today I was reading a very interesting and invigorating article on the Scriptures. It is N.T. Wright's 1991 article (from Vox Evangelica) called "How Can the Bible be Authoritative?" Even though I have yet to read the rebuttals to his views, I am posting a couple excerpts because, well, I like them so much.

"Suppose there exists a Shakespeare play whose fifth act had been lost.... The first four acts, existing as they did, would be the undoubted 'authority' for [producing a fifth].

Anyone could properly object to the new improvisation on the grounds that this or that character was now behaving inconsistently .... This 'authority' of the first four acts would not consist in an implicit command that the actors should repeat the earlier parts over and over again. It would consist in the fact of an as yet unfinished drama, which contained its own impetus, its own forward movement ... [which would be put] into effect by speaking and acting with both innovation and consistency."

Wright goes on to suggest that in this illustration Christianity could see Creation, Fall, Israel, and Jesus as the first four acts and the current church age as the fifth, and the Bible's authority would be seen in much the same way as Shakespeare's hypothetical first four acts.

Interesting. I am sure this metaphor fails in some ways, but I like it. If this sounds intriguing to you at all I highly recommend that you check out the full article here.

Here's more:

"God does not ... want to put people into little boxes and keep them safe and sound. It is, after all, possible to be so sound that you're sound asleep. I am not in favour of unsoundness; but soundness means health, and health means growth, and growth means life and vigour and new directions. The little boxes in which you put people and keep them under control are called coffins.

We read scripture not in order to avoid life and growth. God forgive us that we have done that in some of our traditions. Nor do we read scripture in order to avoid thought and action, or to be crushed, or squeezed, or confined into a de-humanizing shape, but in order to die and rise again in our minds.

Because, again and again, we find that, as we submit to scripture, as we wrestle with the bits that don't make sense, and as we burst through to a new sense that we haven't thought of or seen before, God breathes into our nostrils his own breath -- the breath of life. And we become living beings -- a church recreated in his image, more fully human, thinking, alive beings."

Thank you NT Wright for honestly addressing good questions and for giving provocative and thoughtful answers.

This Side of Sunday

This month I'll be putting together my official thesis proposal. Right now I'm working with the title "This Side of Sunday: The Natural Theology of GK Chesterton in The Man Who Was Thursday". Part of this title might sound vaguely familiar, as well as familiarly vague! Maybe I'll explain briefly why it is the title of my thesis as well as of this blog.

In The Man Who Was Thursday there is a character who goes by the code name Sunday. Sunday typically refers (in my tradition) to that especially holy day of the week, loosely associated with Sabbath and therefore the Peace of God. When I wrote about life and spirituality for our college newspaper (some of you will remember it as the notoriously badly titled "Phat Papyrii") I used this title to signify that this was church-talk outside of church.

When I use it as a thesis title I am alluding more to the cosmic scope of things as addressed in Chesterton's book. If Sunday is the Peace of God, well, we are currently on the wrong side of it. I mean, we can have the Peace of God, but only a shadow of that reality which we await in the coming of God's Kingdom, the Year of Jubilee, the Sabbath to come. We wait, this side of Sunday.

But Sunday is also a day where we celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. A past event. And we are past that, looking back. We remember, we try to live in light of, this side of Sunday.

Who knew I meant all that eh? And if you read the book you'll see I mean more. Just say it, I'm crazy aren't I?

Anyway, I kind of like it and I hope I get to keep it. However, who knows how much this thesis will change between now and next March (when it is due).

Incidentally, since my thesis is basically a critical literary-theological reading of Chesterton's best novel, check out this quote I found from GKC himself about the act of literary criticism:

The function of criticism, if it has a legitimate function at all, can only
be one function - that of dealing with the subconscious part of the author's
mind which only the critic can express, and not with the conscious part of the
author's mind, which the author himself can express. Either criticism is no good
at all (a very defensible position) or else criticism means saying about an
author the very things that would have made him jump out of his boots.

If I could make him jump out of his boots I'd be mighty pleased.

Han

Looking back it seems my last several posts have been fairly negative. Well, we aren't out of the woods yet. Thanks for reading along.

At a used book sale the other day a title caught my eye and for a couple bucks I bought The Wounded Heart of God: The Asian Concept of Han and the Christiain Doctrine of Sin by Andrew Sung Park.

This han thing is pretty interesting.

Han is a Korean word and it is better explained by stories than by definitions. The first chapter of this book is full of stories of the oppressed, the abused, the victimized, and the distraught---all of whom are experiencing han in some way. But Park defines han loosely as "frustrated hope, the collapsed feeling of pain, letting go, resentful bitterness, and the wounded heart." It can be aggressive or passive, conscious or unconscious, individual or collective. It is an almost inexpressible ache.

The crazy thing is that I think I have han.

But I haven't been oppressed. I haven't been abused. I have no good reason to lump myself in with the people of Auschwitz, Hiroshima, or Tiananmen Square and it even feels sort of offensive to them if I pretend to even feel half of what they feel.

I won't downplay the severity of the trauma and repressed anger and frustration which oppressed people must feel. It is unimaginable. But maybe we all have han to some degree. Maybe some of us are more in touch with it than others. Maybe we can even feel han for other people.

Thing is, I feel frustrated hope too. Big time. That's the part of the definition that really resonates with me. Part of me feels like it is part and parcel of being a Christian in the "already but not yet" of the Kingdom of God which we believe in, are trying to live, and long for so much.

Some people are able to live more in the "already", and maybe I'll be one of them some day. I'm sort of jealous of those people.

But I feel like I live in the "not yet". And I'm sort of comfortable there. It is easy to live there. No matter how happy I am and how well I'm doing there is always something going wrong out there that I can think about to bring me down to earth.

But it is hard living there too.

I'm only in chapter two, but I'm resonating at least in part with the stories told in this book and I am somewhat curious, and even a little bit hopeful, of where it is going to take me, based partly upon the title of the book.

I'll let you know.

Detestable Worship

Thanks to those who commented on the last post. If you still want to, go ahead. Not trying to shut it down or anything.

I'm doing a paper right now on "Social Justic and Worship in Isaiah" and I am having trouble writing it because it would just make a lot of sense to type out a couple chapters of Isaiah and hand that in without much extra comment besides an "Amen, so be it, may God have mercy on our souls."

Here are some of those verses. God says:

Stop bringing meaningless offerings! Your incense is detestable to me. New Moons, Sabbaths and convocations—I cannot bear your evil assemblies. Your New Moon feasts and your appointed festivals I hate with all my being. They have become a burden to me; I am weary of bearing them. When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood; wash and make yourselves clean. Take your evil deeds out of my sight! Stop doing wrong, learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow. (Isaiah 1)

Day after day they seek me out; they seem eager to know my ways, as if they were a nation that does what is right and has not forsaken the commands of its God. They ask me for just decisions and seem eager for God to come near them. ‘Why have we fasted,’ they say, ‘and you have not seen it? Why have we humbled ourselves, and you have not noticed?’ Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please and exploit all your workers.

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own fleshand blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness a will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard. (Isaiah 58)

I guess the only qualification to add is that we aren't a theocracy anymore. We are a church in a society which would be difficult to reform through religious channels the same way that ancient Israel might have been. However, we are responsible for our worship, and I fear for us when we are all words and no action. Not all churches are that way, but we have to ask ourselves, "What about us?"