I guess you’ve heard by now. Time magazine has named me it’s “Person of the Year.” You too. I wonder how many conversations that one has generated.
Jay Leno quipped that Time should at least give all of us one free copy (which, looking back on it now, seems strangely and doubly ironic since it appears that all of the magazine’s content is free on the web).
I wondered if it was a scene where everyone on the committee was way behind on Christmas shopping and they all needed to get out of there. “You!” said someone recalling the ethos of those 1970s smiley faces. “The Person of the Year is ‘You’!”
Where was this idea coming from? So I read the editorial. Turns out, there’s a fair and reasoned explanation. According to Richard Stengel, the Time choice was based on the facts . . .
“that individuals are changing the nature of the information age, that the creators and consumers of user-generated content are transforming art and politics and commerce, that they are the engaged citizens of a new digital democracy. From user-generated images of Baghdad strife and the London Underground bombing to the macaca moment that might have altered the midterm elections to the hundreds of thousands of individual outpourings of hope and poetry and self-absorption, this new global nervous system is changing the way we perceive the world. And the consequences of it all are both hard to know and impossible to overestimate.”
Several months ago, I wondered in a post here if blogging was part of a real revolution, or if it was more like the CB radio of yesteryear. I’m much closer to a good answer now. But, then, what would you expect from Time’s “Person of the Year”?
I hope you have yourself a merry little Christmas.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Musical Movements
Music has always done things to me. For one thing, certain melodies and chord progressions have the ability to make me feel sad, undone even. Sometimes I cry, even if the lyrics that go along with the music aren’t all that sad.
I can still remember when I was very young, sometimes the congregation where my family worshipped would begin singing one of a handful of hymns that never failed to melt me. Before they’d sung the second or third line, I would burst into tears, stricken by the melodies or the harmonies or whatever it was that I heard.
What I’m describing has stayed with me through the years. But these days, it’s not so much the church songs. More often, it’s popular music and some classical pieces that blow me away.
For example, one of the most haunting songs I’ve ever heard is Pink Floyd's “Us and Them." If I happen to listen to it from beginning to end, the song never fails to send me into this glassy-eyed funk, with me loving it all the while. If I’m listening to it on the radio, and “Funkville” isn't where I want to go, then I have to switch stations. Immediately.
Ecstatic music also does things to me, like make me happily manic or manically happy. . . . Something like that. Some songs, especially when the volume’s cranked, make me sweat. When I’m having this sort of experience with music, I’m sure that my heart rate is much higher than normal. I could mention several songs here. But in the interests of not looking too much like a complete Philistine, I’ll simply say that most of those titles would be found in that section of your local record store labeled “Head Banging!”
When I was still in grade school I used to think that no one else had my sort of relationship with music. Who else was blubbering in church? I imagined that I was the only one who knew what I knew. As long as that illusion lasted, it was never a burden, like being the only kid who sees dead people. Instead, it was like a secret that I just kept to myself.
As time went on and my world got a little larger I realized, of course, that without it being exactly the same other people did know what I knew. Music did things to them too.
As I grew up spiritually, I came to recognize music as one the greatest things God ever gave us; both the capacity and all of the good reasons to sing and make music in our hearts. Isn’t is sweet?
And now, a few of my current favorites in sometimes-strange categories:
1. Favorite Traditional Christmas Song: “O Come, All Ye Faithful”
2. Favorite Traditional Hymn: “Love Divine” by Charles Wesley. The beginning of the stanza, “Finish then thy new creation . . .” is one of those tear jerkers for me.
3. Favorite Hymn I Really Don’t Know, but Have Heard a Time or Two: “Ancient Words” (by Michael W. Smith?) This one is something special. If a congregation sings it well right before the preacher stands up they’re guaranteed to get a better sermon.
4. Favorite Communion Song: “We Saw Thee Not” Tune by the Restoration Movement’s own “Singing Evangelist,” Knowles Shaw. My ears are older than the rest of me. Can you tell?
5. Favorite Movie Soundtrack: “The Sting.” Some of the best Ragtime ever.
6. Favorite Recorded Groove: Steely Dan’s, “Peg.” Exquisite guitar solo too. If you don’t feel five degrees cooler when you hear this song, check for a pulse.
7. Favorite Solo Album by Someone Who Previously Got Famous with a Band: Steely Dan front man Donald Fagen’s “The Night Fly.” (People who sell speakers for a living should be paying commissions for their use of this one).
8. Favorite Mostly-Unacknowledged Power Trio from Yesteryear: Triumph.
So, what does music do with you? Any favorite songs? Bands? Forgotten tunes? Memorable experiences with music? Let’s hear it.
I can still remember when I was very young, sometimes the congregation where my family worshipped would begin singing one of a handful of hymns that never failed to melt me. Before they’d sung the second or third line, I would burst into tears, stricken by the melodies or the harmonies or whatever it was that I heard.
What I’m describing has stayed with me through the years. But these days, it’s not so much the church songs. More often, it’s popular music and some classical pieces that blow me away.
For example, one of the most haunting songs I’ve ever heard is Pink Floyd's “Us and Them." If I happen to listen to it from beginning to end, the song never fails to send me into this glassy-eyed funk, with me loving it all the while. If I’m listening to it on the radio, and “Funkville” isn't where I want to go, then I have to switch stations. Immediately.
Ecstatic music also does things to me, like make me happily manic or manically happy. . . . Something like that. Some songs, especially when the volume’s cranked, make me sweat. When I’m having this sort of experience with music, I’m sure that my heart rate is much higher than normal. I could mention several songs here. But in the interests of not looking too much like a complete Philistine, I’ll simply say that most of those titles would be found in that section of your local record store labeled “Head Banging!”
When I was still in grade school I used to think that no one else had my sort of relationship with music. Who else was blubbering in church? I imagined that I was the only one who knew what I knew. As long as that illusion lasted, it was never a burden, like being the only kid who sees dead people. Instead, it was like a secret that I just kept to myself.
As time went on and my world got a little larger I realized, of course, that without it being exactly the same other people did know what I knew. Music did things to them too.
As I grew up spiritually, I came to recognize music as one the greatest things God ever gave us; both the capacity and all of the good reasons to sing and make music in our hearts. Isn’t is sweet?
And now, a few of my current favorites in sometimes-strange categories:
1. Favorite Traditional Christmas Song: “O Come, All Ye Faithful”
2. Favorite Traditional Hymn: “Love Divine” by Charles Wesley. The beginning of the stanza, “Finish then thy new creation . . .” is one of those tear jerkers for me.
3. Favorite Hymn I Really Don’t Know, but Have Heard a Time or Two: “Ancient Words” (by Michael W. Smith?) This one is something special. If a congregation sings it well right before the preacher stands up they’re guaranteed to get a better sermon.
4. Favorite Communion Song: “We Saw Thee Not” Tune by the Restoration Movement’s own “Singing Evangelist,” Knowles Shaw. My ears are older than the rest of me. Can you tell?
5. Favorite Movie Soundtrack: “The Sting.” Some of the best Ragtime ever.
6. Favorite Recorded Groove: Steely Dan’s, “Peg.” Exquisite guitar solo too. If you don’t feel five degrees cooler when you hear this song, check for a pulse.
7. Favorite Solo Album by Someone Who Previously Got Famous with a Band: Steely Dan front man Donald Fagen’s “The Night Fly.” (People who sell speakers for a living should be paying commissions for their use of this one).
8. Favorite Mostly-Unacknowledged Power Trio from Yesteryear: Triumph.
So, what does music do with you? Any favorite songs? Bands? Forgotten tunes? Memorable experiences with music? Let’s hear it.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Some Plans for Next Year
I’m making big plans for 2007. If all goes according to schedule, I’ll be taking trips to Connecticut (my daughter’s graduation), Colorado (family get-together) and California (professional meeting).
By virtue of my job, I get to visit and teach at a lot of churches in the Texas panhandle. If anything, I’ll be doing even more of that next year. One speaking gig I’m especially looking forward to is October’s “Friends Day” at the Comanche Trail Church of Christ here in Amarillo.
Starting in the fall, the Religion Department is hoping to offer two semesters of “Elementary Biblical Hebrew” at Amarillo College. I just hope my Hebrew holds up well till then.
And I’ll be reading. Here are some of the books, and a little bit about why:
Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson
I bought a copy of this book as soon as it came out. I heard about it on this radio talk show and was intrigued. It’s still sitting there on the shelf. Meanwhile, folks have been raving about it.
For me, reading fiction is sort of like waxing my car. I’m not drawn to it, and don’t do it very often. But once I get started, I like it and always feel like it was time well spent.
Michele’s constantly goofing on me because I rarely read fiction. She sees it the way I see non-fiction. Why would someone want to read the other? She’s been known to read some slightly-racy stories. So for those book debates that she usually wins, I’m fond of a standard retort in which I ask her about “Love’s Luscious Lust.” (Disclaimer: If there is such a title, Michele hasn’t read it. . . . I think).
A Greener Faith: Religious Environmentalism and Our Planet’s Future, by Roger S. Gottlieb
Several years ago, I got lost and found myself at the intersection of Christianity and conservation. Not that I’m much of an activist. I’m not. But I did use a little of my preaching-teaching time to put environmental issues in a theological frame (as opposed to a radicalized political frame). I want to read this book because it’s advertised as the “first comprehensive account of religious environmentalism.” Ooooh. (That other sound you hear is Michele scoffing in the background).
Evil and the Justice of God, by N. T. Wright.
I first met Tom Wright back in 1991. At a session on Romans during the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, the two people who sat down on either side of me were him and Gordon Fee. I felt like a dime between two silver dollars.
Anyway, when Wright delivered the Schaffer Lectures at Yale in 1996, the Divinity School and Religion Department were places where people like Wayne Meeks and Abe Malherbe would have had a lot more to say about Paul than Jesus. However, if others in New Haven had been lecturing about Jesus, I dare say it wouldn’t have been the sort of thing that Wright delivering.
On top of all that, he concluded his third and final lecture with something like an altar call for academicians. I thought I was dreaming and kept waiting for someone to stand up and say, “Hal-le-LU-jah!”
To his credit, and in his funny sort of way, Leander Keck followed Wright at the lectern and said, “Finally, someone who thinks that Jesus stood in a tradition.” (Remember the Jesus Seminar?) If ever there was an academic tour de force, Wright’s lectures at Yale were it, and I’ve been hooked ever since. Someone has said that Wright writes faster than most of us read. I’m doing my best to keep up.
The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life, by Parker J. Palmer
This one came out in the 1990s and established a good reputation for itself. Not long after it was first published, several of the faculty at a community college where I was an adjunct were reading the book and having regular get-togethers to discuss it. It was all the rage, and I’ve been interested in it ever since. It’s past time for me to read this one.
So where are you going next year? (If you get to go overseas, I’ll probably post your comment. But I don’t want to hear too much). Any gotta-read books?
By virtue of my job, I get to visit and teach at a lot of churches in the Texas panhandle. If anything, I’ll be doing even more of that next year. One speaking gig I’m especially looking forward to is October’s “Friends Day” at the Comanche Trail Church of Christ here in Amarillo.
Starting in the fall, the Religion Department is hoping to offer two semesters of “Elementary Biblical Hebrew” at Amarillo College. I just hope my Hebrew holds up well till then.
And I’ll be reading. Here are some of the books, and a little bit about why:
Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson
I bought a copy of this book as soon as it came out. I heard about it on this radio talk show and was intrigued. It’s still sitting there on the shelf. Meanwhile, folks have been raving about it.
For me, reading fiction is sort of like waxing my car. I’m not drawn to it, and don’t do it very often. But once I get started, I like it and always feel like it was time well spent.
Michele’s constantly goofing on me because I rarely read fiction. She sees it the way I see non-fiction. Why would someone want to read the other? She’s been known to read some slightly-racy stories. So for those book debates that she usually wins, I’m fond of a standard retort in which I ask her about “Love’s Luscious Lust.” (Disclaimer: If there is such a title, Michele hasn’t read it. . . . I think).
A Greener Faith: Religious Environmentalism and Our Planet’s Future, by Roger S. Gottlieb
Several years ago, I got lost and found myself at the intersection of Christianity and conservation. Not that I’m much of an activist. I’m not. But I did use a little of my preaching-teaching time to put environmental issues in a theological frame (as opposed to a radicalized political frame). I want to read this book because it’s advertised as the “first comprehensive account of religious environmentalism.” Ooooh. (That other sound you hear is Michele scoffing in the background).
Evil and the Justice of God, by N. T. Wright.
I first met Tom Wright back in 1991. At a session on Romans during the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, the two people who sat down on either side of me were him and Gordon Fee. I felt like a dime between two silver dollars.
Anyway, when Wright delivered the Schaffer Lectures at Yale in 1996, the Divinity School and Religion Department were places where people like Wayne Meeks and Abe Malherbe would have had a lot more to say about Paul than Jesus. However, if others in New Haven had been lecturing about Jesus, I dare say it wouldn’t have been the sort of thing that Wright delivering.
On top of all that, he concluded his third and final lecture with something like an altar call for academicians. I thought I was dreaming and kept waiting for someone to stand up and say, “Hal-le-LU-jah!”
To his credit, and in his funny sort of way, Leander Keck followed Wright at the lectern and said, “Finally, someone who thinks that Jesus stood in a tradition.” (Remember the Jesus Seminar?) If ever there was an academic tour de force, Wright’s lectures at Yale were it, and I’ve been hooked ever since. Someone has said that Wright writes faster than most of us read. I’m doing my best to keep up.
The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life, by Parker J. Palmer
This one came out in the 1990s and established a good reputation for itself. Not long after it was first published, several of the faculty at a community college where I was an adjunct were reading the book and having regular get-togethers to discuss it. It was all the rage, and I’ve been interested in it ever since. It’s past time for me to read this one.
So where are you going next year? (If you get to go overseas, I’ll probably post your comment. But I don’t want to hear too much). Any gotta-read books?
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Making the Grade
We’re nearing the end of finals week at Amarillo College. That’s right. Between now and the beginning of 2007, I have no more classes to teach, no more papers to read, no more tests to give, etc.
On the other hand, I do have final grades to figure and turn in, syllabi to revise (and, in some cases, produce), a bunch of administrative chores to do, a report to write, etc. So don’t be too jealous.
Speaking of grades, one of the hardest things for me to do is to finally give that “F” to the student who deserves nothing better. When I had to face that for the first time, I was lamenting about it to one of my mentors, Jerry Klein. He’s one of the former directors of this Bible Chair, and he always has a good response to my questions.
So there I was, fretting over assigning Fs, when Jerry said: “Frank, years ago I concluded that for some students making an F is part of the educational process.” Since then, I’ve repeated that one more than once. But I’m still thankful that a huge majority of my students score anywhere from A to C. It’s hard to see someone stumbling through the school of hard knocks.
So, if you had to give yourself a grade for 2006, what would it be? What was your last F in life? Did it serve an educational purpose for you? Any recent As?
On the other hand, I do have final grades to figure and turn in, syllabi to revise (and, in some cases, produce), a bunch of administrative chores to do, a report to write, etc. So don’t be too jealous.
Speaking of grades, one of the hardest things for me to do is to finally give that “F” to the student who deserves nothing better. When I had to face that for the first time, I was lamenting about it to one of my mentors, Jerry Klein. He’s one of the former directors of this Bible Chair, and he always has a good response to my questions.
So there I was, fretting over assigning Fs, when Jerry said: “Frank, years ago I concluded that for some students making an F is part of the educational process.” Since then, I’ve repeated that one more than once. But I’m still thankful that a huge majority of my students score anywhere from A to C. It’s hard to see someone stumbling through the school of hard knocks.
So, if you had to give yourself a grade for 2006, what would it be? What was your last F in life? Did it serve an educational purpose for you? Any recent As?
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Introduction to Hinduism, 2
7. The essence of every person is no different from the essence of the universe. Hindus call the substratum of all reality Brahman. When identifying Brahman as the essential human nature, they call it Atman. To understand this better, consider the analogy: a wave on the surface of the ocean is distinguishable, but is still “ocean.” In the same way, the individual, indeed all things, though distinct, are expressions of the one absolute essence, Brahman.
8. However, to understand the nature of the Self at the level of intellect, merely from the neck up, is not enough. What humans need is to experience their essence. This experience is called “enlightenment” (alternately called bodhi, nirvana, jivanmukti, paravidya, etc.). When an individual has this, only then is he released from the cycle of rebirth called samsara.
9. To enliven consciousness so that Atman might be experienced, Hindus practice one or more yogas. These are methods of awakening, means to generating greater consciousness.
10. Among Westerners, the best-known yoga is Hatha. This yoga involves body positions called asanas and breathing exercises called pranayama.
11. The Bhagavad-Gita, “The Divine Song of God,” often called “the Gita,” is one of the most recent (3rd century B.C.) and best-known and loved parts of the wide array of Hindu Scripture. In the Gita, Lord Krishna tells the warrior prince Arjuna that there are three main paths to enlightenment:
8. However, to understand the nature of the Self at the level of intellect, merely from the neck up, is not enough. What humans need is to experience their essence. This experience is called “enlightenment” (alternately called bodhi, nirvana, jivanmukti, paravidya, etc.). When an individual has this, only then is he released from the cycle of rebirth called samsara.
9. To enliven consciousness so that Atman might be experienced, Hindus practice one or more yogas. These are methods of awakening, means to generating greater consciousness.
10. Among Westerners, the best-known yoga is Hatha. This yoga involves body positions called asanas and breathing exercises called pranayama.
11. The Bhagavad-Gita, “The Divine Song of God,” often called “the Gita,” is one of the most recent (3rd century B.C.) and best-known and loved parts of the wide array of Hindu Scripture. In the Gita, Lord Krishna tells the warrior prince Arjuna that there are three main paths to enlightenment:
- Jnana Yoga, the “path of wisdom” (which involves the study of sacred texts, meditation, and an ascetic lifestyle).
- Karma Yoga, the “path of action” (which involves close attention to ethics, compassion towards all living things, and service to others).
- Bhakti Yoga, the “path of devotion” (which involves pilgrimages, ceremonies, ritual offerings, visits to temples, etc.).
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Introduction to Hinduism, 1
I’m reworking an “Introduction to Hinduism” handout, the kind of material that can be used in the World Religions class, but also in a church class setting. What follows is the first half of an outline. Most of this material comes from Dr. Dana Sawyer, Professor of Religion at the Maine College of Art, Portland, ME. The other source is the chapter on Hinduism in Warren Matthews, World Religions.
- - - - - -
1. Unlike Buddhism and Christianity, Hinduism has no particular founder.
2. The origins of Hinduism disappear into pre-history. According to prevailing theory, what came to be called Hinduism began sometime around 1800 B.C. Aryans migrating to modern- day NW India brought with them their religion, which is reflected in ancient Vedic texts. They met the spirituality indigenous to the Indus Valley Civilization. The blending of these two viewpoints was, evidently, the beginning of Hinduism.
3. For Hindus, the purpose of life is to find out the true nature of the self. That is, in Hinduism the big question is, “Who are you?”
4. Hindus believe that we reincarnate lifetime after lifetime because we are in ignorance (avidya) of our true nature. Knowledge of who we are will bring moksha, liberation.
5. Hinduism postulates two levels of the self: (a) There is the transitory self, bound by time and space and made up of the body, the mind, emotions, thoughts, and memories. (b) Underlying and implicit to the relative, transient self is an infinite, unbounded, eternal and unchanging self called Atman. The Atman, or higher self, was never more and never dies. It does not change because it is absolute according to its very nature.
6. The Atman is the essence of every human being. But this differs markedly from, say, the Islamic concept of the soul. For Hindus there is not a multiplicity of infinite Atmans. (In Islam, there are as many souls as there are people). Instead, there is one world soul at the base of all individual consciousness.
- - - - - -
1. Unlike Buddhism and Christianity, Hinduism has no particular founder.
2. The origins of Hinduism disappear into pre-history. According to prevailing theory, what came to be called Hinduism began sometime around 1800 B.C. Aryans migrating to modern- day NW India brought with them their religion, which is reflected in ancient Vedic texts. They met the spirituality indigenous to the Indus Valley Civilization. The blending of these two viewpoints was, evidently, the beginning of Hinduism.
3. For Hindus, the purpose of life is to find out the true nature of the self. That is, in Hinduism the big question is, “Who are you?”
4. Hindus believe that we reincarnate lifetime after lifetime because we are in ignorance (avidya) of our true nature. Knowledge of who we are will bring moksha, liberation.
5. Hinduism postulates two levels of the self: (a) There is the transitory self, bound by time and space and made up of the body, the mind, emotions, thoughts, and memories. (b) Underlying and implicit to the relative, transient self is an infinite, unbounded, eternal and unchanging self called Atman. The Atman, or higher self, was never more and never dies. It does not change because it is absolute according to its very nature.
6. The Atman is the essence of every human being. But this differs markedly from, say, the Islamic concept of the soul. For Hindus there is not a multiplicity of infinite Atmans. (In Islam, there are as many souls as there are people). Instead, there is one world soul at the base of all individual consciousness.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Surprised by Tears
Tears and the whole business of crying are odd. Aren’t they?
Sometimes you expect tears, but don’t get them. Several years ago, a great and wonderful elder’s wife who meant so much to me died. Not long after I got the call, I was traveling from Connecticut to Arkansas for her funeral.
From the moment I got the news, to that first time that I saw her husband and family again, to “calling hours” and seeing her body, to the funeral, and finally the cemetery, I never cried. Not even a little bit. I can still remember how it bothered and embarrassed me, the absence of tears. To this day I can’t explain it.
There are other times when tears come from nowhere. Well, that’s stretching it. They come from somewhere, just not the place you expected and can identify. It happened just this morning.
The course outline for the New Testament class said we were supposed to be covering the Letter to the Hebrews today. After I returned the third exam (over Paul and his letters) and reviewed it with the students, I had about an hour left. An hour. . . . To introduce and overview Hebrews. . . . Survey courses are so frustrating.
Anyway, after discussing how odd Hebrews is, and some of what’s going on behind the words of this letter, we started looking closely at the text itself. I was eager to get to those parts where the speaker offers a theological interpretation (God’s view) of people suffering for the sake of Christ. I was reading from chapter 2,
“In bringing many sons to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the author of their salvation perfect through suffering. Both the one who makes men holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers.”
That’s when and where it hit me. I caught myself and within a second or two was able to go on. But I never once expected such emotion. And I still don’t know exactly how that happened.
Of course I can say that I love how this prose, even in translation, seems much closer to poetry. I might mention how Jesus owning up to me as his kid brother is such a tender image. I can say how much it means to think that I’ve been miraculously born into the best family ever. I guess it’s all of that and more.
But, again, like the reasons why I shed no tears at the death of a loved one, I’m far from certain why I got all choked up this morning.
What about you? Ever wished you could cry and expected to, but didn’t? Ever been completely surprised by the arrival of sudden tears?
Sometimes you expect tears, but don’t get them. Several years ago, a great and wonderful elder’s wife who meant so much to me died. Not long after I got the call, I was traveling from Connecticut to Arkansas for her funeral.
From the moment I got the news, to that first time that I saw her husband and family again, to “calling hours” and seeing her body, to the funeral, and finally the cemetery, I never cried. Not even a little bit. I can still remember how it bothered and embarrassed me, the absence of tears. To this day I can’t explain it.
There are other times when tears come from nowhere. Well, that’s stretching it. They come from somewhere, just not the place you expected and can identify. It happened just this morning.
The course outline for the New Testament class said we were supposed to be covering the Letter to the Hebrews today. After I returned the third exam (over Paul and his letters) and reviewed it with the students, I had about an hour left. An hour. . . . To introduce and overview Hebrews. . . . Survey courses are so frustrating.
Anyway, after discussing how odd Hebrews is, and some of what’s going on behind the words of this letter, we started looking closely at the text itself. I was eager to get to those parts where the speaker offers a theological interpretation (God’s view) of people suffering for the sake of Christ. I was reading from chapter 2,
“In bringing many sons to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the author of their salvation perfect through suffering. Both the one who makes men holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers.”
That’s when and where it hit me. I caught myself and within a second or two was able to go on. But I never once expected such emotion. And I still don’t know exactly how that happened.
Of course I can say that I love how this prose, even in translation, seems much closer to poetry. I might mention how Jesus owning up to me as his kid brother is such a tender image. I can say how much it means to think that I’ve been miraculously born into the best family ever. I guess it’s all of that and more.
But, again, like the reasons why I shed no tears at the death of a loved one, I’m far from certain why I got all choked up this morning.
What about you? Ever wished you could cry and expected to, but didn’t? Ever been completely surprised by the arrival of sudden tears?
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Here and There
As a follow-up to yesterday’s post, you might check out last Friday’s prayer for Ted Haggard composed by Fred Peatross.
_ _ _ _ _ _
A few days ago, I was reading a post by Larry James about his conversations with some folks from Azerbaijan, once a part of the former Soviet Union. Almost all of the people in the delegation were Muslims.
It just so happened that the day before I read Larry’s post, I had heard a piece on National Public Radio about American politics and the Arabic term “jihad.” Here was the gist of the report:
“Jihad” simply means “struggle (for the sake of God).” As some Muslims see it, jihad should be external, against non-Muslims, and violent. Thankfully, only a small percentage understands it that way. For many Muslims, jihad is internal, a struggle against sin. In that sense, it corresponds to a Christian’s battle with the flesh, wrestling with the old man of sin.
So one obvious question is, Should American politicians denounce violent, extremist Muslims as “jihadists”? To someone fluent in Arabic, such a statement sounds like, “We oppose anyone who, in any way, struggles in behalf of God.” Is that really the message we want to send?
It would be similar to someone overhearing an abuse of prayer in the name of Jesus and then concluding, “I oppose anyone who prays to God through Christ.” In the same way that not all “Christian prayer” truly represents Jesus and his Way, not all “jihad” is external and violent. Shouldn’t such an important distinction be recognized and acknowledged in political speech and commentary?
_ _ _ _ _ _
Wade Tannehill is currently telling the truth about “full-time ministry” in the Churches of Christ. . . . . which is not to say he was lying before.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Perhaps because he lives in Wisconsin, Bobby Valentine has been thinking about Christmas. He has some book recommendations for the readers on your list.
_ _ _ _ _ _
A few days ago, I was reading a post by Larry James about his conversations with some folks from Azerbaijan, once a part of the former Soviet Union. Almost all of the people in the delegation were Muslims.
It just so happened that the day before I read Larry’s post, I had heard a piece on National Public Radio about American politics and the Arabic term “jihad.” Here was the gist of the report:
“Jihad” simply means “struggle (for the sake of God).” As some Muslims see it, jihad should be external, against non-Muslims, and violent. Thankfully, only a small percentage understands it that way. For many Muslims, jihad is internal, a struggle against sin. In that sense, it corresponds to a Christian’s battle with the flesh, wrestling with the old man of sin.
So one obvious question is, Should American politicians denounce violent, extremist Muslims as “jihadists”? To someone fluent in Arabic, such a statement sounds like, “We oppose anyone who, in any way, struggles in behalf of God.” Is that really the message we want to send?
It would be similar to someone overhearing an abuse of prayer in the name of Jesus and then concluding, “I oppose anyone who prays to God through Christ.” In the same way that not all “Christian prayer” truly represents Jesus and his Way, not all “jihad” is external and violent. Shouldn’t such an important distinction be recognized and acknowledged in political speech and commentary?
_ _ _ _ _ _
Wade Tannehill is currently telling the truth about “full-time ministry” in the Churches of Christ. . . . . which is not to say he was lying before.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Perhaps because he lives in Wisconsin, Bobby Valentine has been thinking about Christmas. He has some book recommendations for the readers on your list.
Monday, November 06, 2006
The Sad Saga of Ted Haggard
Ted Haggard’s letter to New Life Church can be seen here. I came across it over at Mike Cope’s blog. Someone there remarked about how ironic and sad it was that, in this case, a homosexual prostitute has evidently been more truthful than a Christian preacher.
What bothers me as much as anything is that Haggard’s confessions have apparently been one step slower than the evidence against him. Your thoughts and reactions to this bombshell in the Evangelical community? To Haggard’s letter? To the amount and kind of attention this story has received in the media?
What bothers me as much as anything is that Haggard’s confessions have apparently been one step slower than the evidence against him. Your thoughts and reactions to this bombshell in the Evangelical community? To Haggard’s letter? To the amount and kind of attention this story has received in the media?
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Did Paul Say, "Don't help widows under 60"?
My previous post is the beginning of a short project that I’m continuing here. What follows will make more sense if you’ve read the entry from Wednesday first.
Getting started, it’s probably best to explain that I’m a set-it-all-up, ducks-in-a-row kind of thinker. I do intend to explain my view of 1 Timothy 5:9. But in order to do that, I want to back up and take a run at it from the first part of the chapter. If you don’t have a Bible nearby, you can consult the NIV translation of 1 Timothy 5 here.
- - - - - - - - -
In 1 Timothy 5:3-16, Paul discusses the church’s duty to Christian widows. Verses 3-8 teach that the church should honor those who are “widows indeed” (or “real widows”). According to Paul, “widows indeed” are those who have not only lost their husbands, but who stand in real financial need; that is, they have no living children who can care for them.
What should the church do for such women? “Honor” them. From the context it’s clear that Paul is not talking about a mere show of respect for destitute Christian widows. Instead, “honor” means “material support, financial help.” We would only dishonor widows if they received nothing but kinds words in response to their real needs. The Torah curses anyone who holds back what is owed to widows (for example, Deuteronomy 27:19; see also Exodus 22:22-24). James says,
“Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?” (James 2:15-16).
But what if a widow has children or grandchildren? Paul says that in that case, those people should learn to practice real religion by returning something to their parents. I love what David Lipscomb wrote in his commentary on this passage:
“None can ever know the intensity of a mother’s love for her child, her constant self-denying life to help the child she has borne. Now a child should remember this and return it in kindness, when the mother grows old. . . . What we render in kindness and love to our parents, God accepts as service to him.”
The description of the “true widow” does not end with this one point. Beginning with verse 5, Paul describes her as a praying woman who trusts in God (like Anna in Luke 2:36-37). On the other hand is the widow who chases after only pleasure (verse 6). A widow who lives like that has no claim to on-going support from the church. Paul closes this section by saying that if any one does not provide for his own, he has denied the Christian faith and is actually worse than an unbeliever.
It’s my belief that in verses 9-16 Paul is not talking about any and all true widows in the church. Instead, he’s talking about a special class or distinct order of widows. Notice that Paul does not say, “Don’t help a widow who is less than sixty . . .” Instead, he says, “Do not enroll (or, put on the list) a widow who is less than sixty . . .” It’s a vast difference.
In all probability, the group Paul refers to beginning with verse 9 was responsible for taking care of certain tasks in the church. Notice that there is a character sketch of the kind of widow the church allows to be enrolled. It’s no accident that at other points in this letter where Paul provides a character sketch (for elders, 1 Timothy 3:1-7; for deacons, 3:8-10, 12-14; and for “the women” who may be female deacons, 3:11), the description pertains to someone who will be in a position of responsibility in the church.
My main reason for taking this view, which draws a line between the end of verse 8 and the beginning of verse 9, is simple. It makes no sense to think that only widows who matched the description in verses 9 and 10 (including “the rule of sixty”) would have received support from the church.
No doubt there were many near-helpless Christian widows, much younger than sixty, who could and did receive support from the church (Galatians 6:10; James 1:27). Not to mention it’s inconceivable that Paul, a Christian rabbi, could have issued instructions to the contrary. A self-described “Hebrew of Hebrews,” Paul knew that the Jewish Scriptures spoke up for “the orphan, the widow, and the stranger in your midst” more than fifty times; and he likely knew a tradition that says the more often a teaching is repeated, the more important it is. No right-thinking person believes that a young, godly, but destitute widow suddenly becomes worthy of the church’s support upon turning sixty years old.
For these reasons, it is better to understand verse 9 as the beginning of a new section which speaks of a different group. According to this view, a “true widow” is a Christian woman of any age who has no family to care for her. But beginning with verse 9, Paul is not speaking about “true widows” in general, but about a unique group of widows who were placed on a list, enrolled. That is, past the common age for remarriage, they were qualified for and committed to what most of us would call full-time ministry.
If this view is on target, then no one should say, “There was a time when Paul said, ‘Be sure not to help a widow unless she’s at least sixty years old'.” Again, not only is that inconceivable, it also ignores the fact that the verb in 1 Timothy 5:9 is not “help” but rather “enroll.”
Getting started, it’s probably best to explain that I’m a set-it-all-up, ducks-in-a-row kind of thinker. I do intend to explain my view of 1 Timothy 5:9. But in order to do that, I want to back up and take a run at it from the first part of the chapter. If you don’t have a Bible nearby, you can consult the NIV translation of 1 Timothy 5 here.
- - - - - - - - -
In 1 Timothy 5:3-16, Paul discusses the church’s duty to Christian widows. Verses 3-8 teach that the church should honor those who are “widows indeed” (or “real widows”). According to Paul, “widows indeed” are those who have not only lost their husbands, but who stand in real financial need; that is, they have no living children who can care for them.
What should the church do for such women? “Honor” them. From the context it’s clear that Paul is not talking about a mere show of respect for destitute Christian widows. Instead, “honor” means “material support, financial help.” We would only dishonor widows if they received nothing but kinds words in response to their real needs. The Torah curses anyone who holds back what is owed to widows (for example, Deuteronomy 27:19; see also Exodus 22:22-24). James says,
“Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?” (James 2:15-16).
But what if a widow has children or grandchildren? Paul says that in that case, those people should learn to practice real religion by returning something to their parents. I love what David Lipscomb wrote in his commentary on this passage:
“None can ever know the intensity of a mother’s love for her child, her constant self-denying life to help the child she has borne. Now a child should remember this and return it in kindness, when the mother grows old. . . . What we render in kindness and love to our parents, God accepts as service to him.”
The description of the “true widow” does not end with this one point. Beginning with verse 5, Paul describes her as a praying woman who trusts in God (like Anna in Luke 2:36-37). On the other hand is the widow who chases after only pleasure (verse 6). A widow who lives like that has no claim to on-going support from the church. Paul closes this section by saying that if any one does not provide for his own, he has denied the Christian faith and is actually worse than an unbeliever.
It’s my belief that in verses 9-16 Paul is not talking about any and all true widows in the church. Instead, he’s talking about a special class or distinct order of widows. Notice that Paul does not say, “Don’t help a widow who is less than sixty . . .” Instead, he says, “Do not enroll (or, put on the list) a widow who is less than sixty . . .” It’s a vast difference.
In all probability, the group Paul refers to beginning with verse 9 was responsible for taking care of certain tasks in the church. Notice that there is a character sketch of the kind of widow the church allows to be enrolled. It’s no accident that at other points in this letter where Paul provides a character sketch (for elders, 1 Timothy 3:1-7; for deacons, 3:8-10, 12-14; and for “the women” who may be female deacons, 3:11), the description pertains to someone who will be in a position of responsibility in the church.
My main reason for taking this view, which draws a line between the end of verse 8 and the beginning of verse 9, is simple. It makes no sense to think that only widows who matched the description in verses 9 and 10 (including “the rule of sixty”) would have received support from the church.
No doubt there were many near-helpless Christian widows, much younger than sixty, who could and did receive support from the church (Galatians 6:10; James 1:27). Not to mention it’s inconceivable that Paul, a Christian rabbi, could have issued instructions to the contrary. A self-described “Hebrew of Hebrews,” Paul knew that the Jewish Scriptures spoke up for “the orphan, the widow, and the stranger in your midst” more than fifty times; and he likely knew a tradition that says the more often a teaching is repeated, the more important it is. No right-thinking person believes that a young, godly, but destitute widow suddenly becomes worthy of the church’s support upon turning sixty years old.
For these reasons, it is better to understand verse 9 as the beginning of a new section which speaks of a different group. According to this view, a “true widow” is a Christian woman of any age who has no family to care for her. But beginning with verse 9, Paul is not speaking about “true widows” in general, but about a unique group of widows who were placed on a list, enrolled. That is, past the common age for remarriage, they were qualified for and committed to what most of us would call full-time ministry.
If this view is on target, then no one should say, “There was a time when Paul said, ‘Be sure not to help a widow unless she’s at least sixty years old'.” Again, not only is that inconceivable, it also ignores the fact that the verb in 1 Timothy 5:9 is not “help” but rather “enroll.”
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
1 Timothy 5:9
Over the last couple of years, 1 Timothy 5:9 has become a popular verse among some folks in the Churches of Christ. Strange.
In the New International Version, it reads as follows: “No widow may be put on the list of widows unless she is over sixty, has been faithful to her husband,” . . . The character sketch of the widow who may be placed on the list obviously continues. But verse 9 is enough for those who want to make a point. And their point goes like this:
What group of elders would want to say, “We’ve decided that, as a church, we’re no longer going to help any widow of the congregation unless she is--in the words of 1 Timothy 5:9-- over sixty.”? What church would stand for a decision like that? Wouldn’t we think it was foreign to the Spirit of Christ for a group of elders to announce a policy like that? And yet, there it is in black-and-white in your Bibles! If a widow is only 59, don’t help her.
That’s a near verbatim statement from a recently-preached, wide-distributed sermon which, of course, has a larger point to make. And that larger point goes like this:
When we come across a passage that says “I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent” (1 Timothy 2:12), maybe we should treat that statement the same way we treat the one in 1 Timothy 5:9. Paul didn’t intend for it to be applied in every church in every time. Because if he did, then in order to be consistent, we would have to cut off all widows 60 and under from services and assistance provided by the church. So, again, this means that twenty centuries later we have the same right, even responsibility, to look at 1 Timothy 2:12 in a different way, just as we look at 1 Timothy 5:9 in a different way.
I’d like to suggest that 1 Timothy 5:9 says no such thing. As the week goes on, I'll explain why.
In the New International Version, it reads as follows: “No widow may be put on the list of widows unless she is over sixty, has been faithful to her husband,” . . . The character sketch of the widow who may be placed on the list obviously continues. But verse 9 is enough for those who want to make a point. And their point goes like this:
What group of elders would want to say, “We’ve decided that, as a church, we’re no longer going to help any widow of the congregation unless she is--in the words of 1 Timothy 5:9-- over sixty.”? What church would stand for a decision like that? Wouldn’t we think it was foreign to the Spirit of Christ for a group of elders to announce a policy like that? And yet, there it is in black-and-white in your Bibles! If a widow is only 59, don’t help her.
That’s a near verbatim statement from a recently-preached, wide-distributed sermon which, of course, has a larger point to make. And that larger point goes like this:
When we come across a passage that says “I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent” (1 Timothy 2:12), maybe we should treat that statement the same way we treat the one in 1 Timothy 5:9. Paul didn’t intend for it to be applied in every church in every time. Because if he did, then in order to be consistent, we would have to cut off all widows 60 and under from services and assistance provided by the church. So, again, this means that twenty centuries later we have the same right, even responsibility, to look at 1 Timothy 2:12 in a different way, just as we look at 1 Timothy 5:9 in a different way.
I’d like to suggest that 1 Timothy 5:9 says no such thing. As the week goes on, I'll explain why.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
A Tonic for Tired Preachers
One of the things I remember about preaching Sunday in, Sunday out was the grind. Not that I ever would have talked about it much, because preachers are supposed to love the fact and the act of preaching.
And I did, . . . . whenever it felt good to me, or when people said genuinely-nice things about my preaching. But anytime my sermons felt like big, fat zeros, or whenever it seemed like I was disconnected from everything and everyone important to me, it was natural to wonder if preaching was what I was supposed to be doing. Most weeks, I didn’t have much opportunity to dwell on those kinds of questions; I had to start working on my next two sermons.
(I know, I know, dubious assumptions, failure to acknowledge the biblical preachers who had it much rougher, etc., etc. But it still happens. Just ask your preacher in private).
I think it was my teacher Phil Slate who told me that the great Batsell Barrett Baxter used to say, “The tyranny of preaching is that Sunday comes every seven days.” I always took some comfort in knowing I wasn’t the only one.
Now, if you’re a preacher and any of this is sounding familiar to you, I have a book recommendation. And, no, this isn’t one of those books that you’re supposed to read because you’re supposed to have read it, and you won’t be considered a real preacher by the hot shots until you do. Instead, this is one of those books that will send you right back into the Word and will change the perspective from which you see it. J. I. Packer called it “A powerful tonic for tired preachers—a book that digs deep into the theology, strategy, and spirituality of pulpit preaching.” Years ago, I discovered it to be all that and more.
The book is The Supremacy of God in Preaching, by John Piper. It’s out in a revised edition now. Mine’s a copy of the original which, after I had first discovered it--I don’t remember how or when--I would pull it off the shelf about twice each year. It never failed to lift my eyes so that I could see again the center of the universe and source of my help. A few snippets:
On the job of the preacher:
“It is not the job of the Christian preacher to give people moral or psychological pep talks about how to get along in the world; someone else can do that. But most of our people have no one in the world to tell them, week in and week out, about the supreme beauty and majesty of God” (p. 12).
On the goal of preaching:
“The wonder of the gospel and the most freeing discovery this sinner has ever made is that God’s deepest commitment to be glorified and my deepest longing to be satisfied are not in conflict but in fact find simultaneous consummation in his display of and my delight in the glory of God. Therefore the goal of preaching is the glory of God reflected in the glad submission of the human heart. And the supremacy of God in preaching is secured by this fact: The one who satisfies gets the glory; the one who gives the pleasure is the treasure” (p. 26).
On sappy sermons :
“He [Charles Spurgeon] said to his students: ‘We must conquer—some of us especially—our tendency to levity. A great distinction exists between holy cheerfulness, which is a virtue, and that general levity, which is a vice. There is a levity that has not enough heart to laugh, but trifles in everything; it is flippant, hollow, unreal. A hearty laugh is no more levity than a hearty cry’.” (p. 58).
So preachers, once you know what you’re going to preach next Sunday, and have spent some time with the text, I think you’d be wise to spend, say, a Thursday afternoon with Piper’s book. Trust me on this one.
Oh, if you want to get a free sample of where Piper’s coming from and what the book is like, read his sermon by the same title here. Good stuff!
And I did, . . . . whenever it felt good to me, or when people said genuinely-nice things about my preaching. But anytime my sermons felt like big, fat zeros, or whenever it seemed like I was disconnected from everything and everyone important to me, it was natural to wonder if preaching was what I was supposed to be doing. Most weeks, I didn’t have much opportunity to dwell on those kinds of questions; I had to start working on my next two sermons.
(I know, I know, dubious assumptions, failure to acknowledge the biblical preachers who had it much rougher, etc., etc. But it still happens. Just ask your preacher in private).
I think it was my teacher Phil Slate who told me that the great Batsell Barrett Baxter used to say, “The tyranny of preaching is that Sunday comes every seven days.” I always took some comfort in knowing I wasn’t the only one.
Now, if you’re a preacher and any of this is sounding familiar to you, I have a book recommendation. And, no, this isn’t one of those books that you’re supposed to read because you’re supposed to have read it, and you won’t be considered a real preacher by the hot shots until you do. Instead, this is one of those books that will send you right back into the Word and will change the perspective from which you see it. J. I. Packer called it “A powerful tonic for tired preachers—a book that digs deep into the theology, strategy, and spirituality of pulpit preaching.” Years ago, I discovered it to be all that and more.
The book is The Supremacy of God in Preaching, by John Piper. It’s out in a revised edition now. Mine’s a copy of the original which, after I had first discovered it--I don’t remember how or when--I would pull it off the shelf about twice each year. It never failed to lift my eyes so that I could see again the center of the universe and source of my help. A few snippets:
On the job of the preacher:
“It is not the job of the Christian preacher to give people moral or psychological pep talks about how to get along in the world; someone else can do that. But most of our people have no one in the world to tell them, week in and week out, about the supreme beauty and majesty of God” (p. 12).
On the goal of preaching:
“The wonder of the gospel and the most freeing discovery this sinner has ever made is that God’s deepest commitment to be glorified and my deepest longing to be satisfied are not in conflict but in fact find simultaneous consummation in his display of and my delight in the glory of God. Therefore the goal of preaching is the glory of God reflected in the glad submission of the human heart. And the supremacy of God in preaching is secured by this fact: The one who satisfies gets the glory; the one who gives the pleasure is the treasure” (p. 26).
On sappy sermons :
“He [Charles Spurgeon] said to his students: ‘We must conquer—some of us especially—our tendency to levity. A great distinction exists between holy cheerfulness, which is a virtue, and that general levity, which is a vice. There is a levity that has not enough heart to laugh, but trifles in everything; it is flippant, hollow, unreal. A hearty laugh is no more levity than a hearty cry’.” (p. 58).
So preachers, once you know what you’re going to preach next Sunday, and have spent some time with the text, I think you’d be wise to spend, say, a Thursday afternoon with Piper’s book. Trust me on this one.
Oh, if you want to get a free sample of where Piper’s coming from and what the book is like, read his sermon by the same title here. Good stuff!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
