The Internet Monk Archives

iMonk: The “Magic Book” Approach to the Bible

From the classic Michael Spencer post, Magic Books, Grocery Lists and Silent Messiahs: How rightly approaching the Bible shapes the entire Christian Life

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I believe most Christians use the word “inspiration” to mean “the Bible is a magic book, where God speaks to us in unusual ways.” By this they mean that the contents of the Bible–the verses–have unusual power when read or applied. So if we were to transfer this idea to another book, and treat it as we treat the Bible, it might be like this: If we considered “Walden” to be inspired in the typical evangelical way, we would not be looking for the big ideas or the main point in Thoreau’s book, but we would be examining particular sentences to see if they “spoke to us.” The actual text of “Walden” would be secondary to our use of verses.

So on, let’s say, the matter of changing jobs, we might find a sentence that says, “Most men live lives of quiet desperation,” and we would conclude that this verse is God telling us to change jobs. Or another sentence might say, “I left my job and moved to the woods.” This, we would say, is God speaking to us. Now we might be able to read the entire book and sustain that conclusion, or we might find–if we studied better–that the book didn’t sustain that particular use of an individual sentence. It wouldn’t really matter, however, to most of us, because God used the verse to speak to us, and that is the way we read the Bible.

Or, for further example, say someone is facing a troubled marriage. He reads and discovers a sentence in “Walden” that says, “I did not speak to another person for over a month.” From this, he concludes that God is telling him to not argue with his spouse. The fact that this is a universe away from what Thoreau meant with that sentence would be irrelevant. This is how we would be using “Walden” as a “magic book.” Recognize the method? I think we all do.

If we were committed to the “magic book” approach and someone were to teach “Walden” as a whole, telling us the main ideas and message in the book, we might not consider that particularly impressive. It is nice to know what the book says, we would say, but the use of the book as a “magic text” doesn’t depend at all on understanding the meaning of the overall book, or the message Thoreau was conveying. Introductions and analysis of the book as a whole would almost be a secondary, and mostly useless, exercise in comparison to the more exciting and personal “magic book” use of “Walden.” We might be confident, in fact, that the ordinary reader can handle the “inspired Walden” with far more relevance for his life than the educated scholar handles the same book, because the scholar doesn’t believe that the sentences contain the power. So ignorance is no barrier in the magic book approach. Recognize that, too? Uh-huh.

Which Story Is My Story?

Satan Tempting Christ to Change Stones into Bread (detail), Rembrandt

Rise up, O Lord, confront them, overthrow them!
By your sword deliver my life from the wicked,
from mortals—by your hand, O Lord—
from mortals whose portion in life is in this world.
May their bellies be filled with what you have stored up for them;
may their children have more than enough;
may they leave something over to their little ones.
As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness;
when I awake I shall be satisfied, beholding your likeness.

– Psalm 17:13-15, NRSV

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Which story is my story?

In the wilderness, Jesus took the time to figure that out.

At his baptism, Jesus heard his Father’s voice affirming him, reinforcing his identity and calling: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” He had publicly identified with the repentant in Israel by coming to John and receiving a washing in Jordan’s waters. Thus, Jesus joined those who lamented the exile of God’s people and were reenacting the crossing of Jordan to return to the land, return to the Lord. Marked by water, Spirit, and Word, Jesus took his place as the Leader of that return.

He had entered the Story.

What came immediately after was Jesus first test of that commitment. Was he sure? Was this the story in which he really wanted to live? Other possibilities were available — had he truly considered them and ruled them out?

So he submitted to the test, led by the Spirit.

Go into the wilderness — see if God is really enough in the midst of solitude and hiddenness and obscurity.
Set aside bread for awhile — see if you can really survive on bread from heaven.
Face the devil himself — see if you can answer those voices that suggest a better, easier way.

And when it’s over, it is not really over: “When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.” The testing is not a “one and done.” He found himself alone again. He got hungry again. He heard those voices again. Probably every day.

In the end, he stayed true to the Story, and the Story became Good News for you and me, for the world.

And so, here we are in Lent.

Our test.

Which story is my story?

Hmm…Signs of the Times?

Hmm…

It has been quite a week. I wonder if we are seeing “signs of the times”?

A Roman Catholic Pope resigns for the first time in over 600 years.

G20 global finance leaders gather in Moscow (and a meteor explodes in Russian skies — coincidence?)

Another person in Great Britain has contracted a potentially fatal SARS-like virus which the World Health Organization says was unknown in humans until a few months ago.

On Valentine’s Day, the Illinois Senate voted to approve a bill legalizing same-sex marriage, which would make it the 10th state in the nation, along with the District of Columbia, to change its laws regarding traditional marriage.

Rob Bell released a video trailer and tour dates for his new book. Also, the Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason and Science announced a new movie titled “The Unbelievers” that will premiere in 2013.

North Korea defiantly conducted their latest nuclear test just hours before President Obama’s State of the Union address.

In a “cosmic coincidence,” a meteor entered the earth’s atmosphere, exploding near the Ural Mountain city of Chelyabinsk in Russia, injuring over a thousand people at the same time an asteroid came close to the earth.

As the U.S. government faces a huge deadline regarding sequestration budget cuts, President Obama is making ready to visit the Middle East in March.

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Make up your own “end-times” scenario.

Saturday Ramblings 2.16.13

Greetings, earthlings. Looks like we survived yet another brush with destiny. And asteroid with a name like DA14 drove by the neighborhood, but decided not to stop in to visit, unlike the meteorite that moved in like a loud-mouthed brother-in-law in Russia early yesterday morning. If we were going to be destroyed by an asteroid, you can bet you would have read about it here on Saturday Ramblings. As it is, we did have a relatively big story occur this week. What say we ramble together and find out what that bright light was?

If I had asked you last week, “Which is more likely to happen: A meteorite hitting the earth with enough power to shatter glass in an entire town, injuring more than a thousand people, or Pope Benedict XVI resigning?” how many of you would have said, “Rambler, you need to up your meds”? Well, iMonks, both happened. The times, they are a-changin’ …

And just how is that change at the Vatican going to occur? Here are some of the nitty-gritty details of how the next pope will be selected. Really disappointed that the process is not open to public. How great would that be? The inevitable what-did-they-know-and-when-did-they-know-it questions have begun. Look, did the pope just wake up Monday and say, “Hey! I think I’ll quit today”? Of course not. But never let a few facts get in the way of a good conspiracy. And the archbishop of Los Angeles is the first to use the “S” word when referring to Benedict. A bit early for that, don’t you think?

And the Synonymous Rambler wonders if Catholics and Baptists really can get along. Don’t you think that, for most Baptists, agreeing with Catholics would be more explosive than a meteorite?

Continue reading “Saturday Ramblings 2.16.13”

Who Prays the Psalms?

David flees Jerusalem after Absalom's conspiracy — David flees Jerusalem after Absalom’s conspiracy

Who prays the Psalms? David (Solomon, Asaph, etc.) prays, Christ prays, we pray.

– Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Psalms: The Prayer Book of the Bible

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The psalms are the prayers of Christ. This is the conclusion to which Dietrich Bonhoeffer came. When we pray them Bonhoeffer says, we enter into the prayers of our Lord, the One “who has borne every human weakness in his own flesh, who here pours out the heart of all humanity before God and who stands in our place and prays for us.”

How is it that we can call these human prayers, composed and used in Temple worship long before Jesus walked the earth, the “prayers of Christ?”

Let us trace a line of thinking that I think justifies this conclusion.

First of all, let us note that most of the psalms are the prayers of David the King and other representatives from those appointed to lead the Temple worship in Jerusalem. David may or may not have composed all of the psalms associated with his name (though other texts do testify that he wrote many — 2Sam. 23:1), but those that bear the designation “Of David” were marked that way because those who put the Book of Psalms together saw David in them and wanted readers to think of David when meditating upon them.

Second, David is presented in the Book of Psalms as the suffering King. The vast majority of the “David” psalms are found in the first two books or sections of the Psalms, and most of them are laments. David is portrayed as the righteous one who is persecuted by his enemies, and who finds consolation and deliverance through trusting in God. The stories about David in Samuel fill in the imaginative background when we read these prayers. We see him fleeing King Saul, hiding in the rocks and caves, seeking a smooth and straight path for his feet, fighting against other enemies and waiting for the time when he would take the throne. We see him later in his life, exiled from that throne, betrayed and opposed by members of his own household. Most of David’s life was a life in danger, under threat, a life on the edge, either threatened by or in exile.

Third, the people who put the Book of Psalms together were the exiles in Babylon. They themselves had seen the overthrow of their kingdom and had been cast into exile, subject to their enemies, without Temple, land, or king. In the midst of this sad setting, they found solace in remembering King David and how God brought him through his trials. It sparked a growing hope in their hearts that another King might arise to lead them, that their kingdom would be restored, that they would return home and once more establish their lives, their Temple worship, their future. David was the model for this King. The King to come would share their sufferings, model trust in God, and lead them to victory over their enemies.

Finally, Christians have come to believe that Jesus is this King. The Gospels and other NT books designate him the “Son of David,” the suffering Savior who trusted God and overcame death, being exalted to his throne through his resurrection and ascension. He both prayed and embodied the psalms in his life and ministry.

When we pray the psalms, therefore, we enter the story of Jesus our King and pray with him as he endures the attacks and reproaches of his enemies, as he prays for God to be his rock, his refuge, his deliverer.

For you do not give me up to Sheol,
or let your faithful one see the Pit.
You show me the path of life.
In your presence there is fullness of joy;
in your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

(Psalm 16:10-11)

As Dietrich Bonhoeffer affirms: “To be sure, the one who prays his Psalms remains himself. But in him and through him it is Christ who prays.” Praying the psalms is, therefore, one of the most excellent ways God has given us to “to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death” (Phil. 3:10).

Quo Vadis?

Because of the announcement by Pope Benedict XVI that he is resigning from the office of Bishop of Rome and successor of St. Peter, Jeff has asked me for my view of his theology, how that has affected the Church, and how the next pope’s theology might affect the Church. There are very short answers to those questions:

(1) Pope Benedict’s theology: Love God and then do what you will.

(2) How has it affected the Church? We’re still digesting this. Check back with us in a decade or two. Maybe a century would be better. We’re still trying to wrap our heads around that “Love the Lord your God and love your neighbour as yourself” thing.

(3) How will the theology of the next pope affect the Church? Hey, if I knew for sure who the next pope would be, I would absolutely clean up at the bookies; Paddy Power is giving 7/2 on Cardinal Ouellet of Canada, but I can’t see a Canadian getting selected. You could always have a punt on one of the Italians. What I will stick my neck out and predict is that the next pope is very likely to be a Catholic. I know – crazy, wild speculation on my part, but some serious newspapers agree with me! Everyone is going to be reading the tealeaves to pick the next pope, but the one sure thing is today’s papabile is tomorrow’s still-a-cardinal.

If I left it there, this would be a very short piece (“Thank the Lord!” I hear you all cry). I may expand on the above a little, but basically that’s what it boils down to, in my opinion. First, however, a snippet of background on the title of this post. It refers to the pious legend that St. Peter, while fleeing Rome to avoid his likely execution by the authorities, met Christ on the road outside the city. He asked Him “Domine, quo vadis?” (Lord, where are you going?) to which Jesus replied “To Rome, to be crucified again”. Then Peter turned back, to meet his fate.

This, then, is the question we are all asking: where are we going from here? Where is he going? Where is the Church likely to go, under the new pope, whomever he may be? That’s the one that will be most thrashed out over the next few weeks or however long it will take for the conclave to elect a new pope to be held. The answer, if I can quote myself from what I wrote about Lent, has to be “We are going toward Calvary and on past that, toward the Resurrected Lord”. There will be a lot of media conjecture along the lines of is this time for a pope from the Global South, a more liberal pope, will we see the ending of clerical celibacy, do they need someone with management skills, what would best appeal to the young unchurched Europeans or should they concentrate on the thriving but traditionally-minded African and South American churches, what about this, what about that: ignore it. If we are going anywhere else other than towards Easter, then we are not going anywhere, we are wandering in the desert like the Israelites who went astray seeking the Promised Land. God spare us, the Papacy is NOT about “management skills”!

Continue reading “Quo Vadis?”

Ash Wednesday with Pancho and Lefty

Sometimes I don’t know where this dirty road is taking me
Sometimes I can’t even see the reason why
I guess I’ll keep on a-gamblin’, lots of booze and lots of ramblin’
It’s easier than just a-waitin’ ’round to die

– Townes Van Zandt

Our good friend Matt Redmond just wrote a poignant piece about how the late songwriter Townes Van Zandt has been a voice for him in the wilderness of disappointment Matt’s been walking through lately.

Townes was once asked about his sad songs and he said, “Well, many of the songs aren’t sad, they’re hopeless.”

Maybe that’s why I can’t stop listening to them in this stretch of wondering what I’m gonna do. For some reason all these stark sad…hopeless songs help me along. The music is otherworldly, the words altogether worldly. They are full to spilling of hurt and pain and all the hell there is here on earth.

“Disappointment, Townes, and the Kingdom of Heaven”

Today is Ash Wednesday, and thanks to Matt’s prompting I’ve been led think of Townes and his brief life, which was even sadder than his music. Marked as he was by mental illness, alcohol and drug addiction, broken relationships, squandered opportunities, and an often reclusive, eccentric lifestyle, some of us might be tempted to shake our heads and turn away, admiring his talent but dismissing him as unworthy of further personal consideration.

In my opinion, that would be a mistake.

I have heard many people, including some I admire, lament that today we in America live in a “culture of death.” Spokespersons at various places along the cultural and political spectrum point to legalized abortion and other areas of medical practice where certain ethics are being challenged, portrayals of graphic violence in our entertainment media, capital punishment, the pollution of our environment, and so on. To listen to some, you’d think we’ve sunk to levels of death-dealing that rival barbarian societies.

For the most part, I think this betrays a hubris of thinking that we live in a unique time and place. As though the “culture of death” today is something altogether different and more serious than in the past. More likely, this is an overheated political case. Do we really believe that those with whom we disagree pose an unprecedented threat to our well being and future by promoting the most deadly practices ever known to humankind? Nonsense. “This world is ruled by violence; but that’s better left unsaid” (Bob Dylan) — and thus it has ever been and ever will be. If you want to talk high points of the “culture of death,” let’s go back and examine, for example, the days when Native Americans were targeted for genocide or when blacks had to endure the bitter fruits of slavery and segregation.

Of course we live in a culture of death — because we are human, and human beings die, and human beings often choose ways that lead to death rather than life. My question is how we deal with this fact.

If anything, our modern society continues to be one that avoids the reality of death. Our government knows how powerful the images of real death are, so they don’t allow television networks to show the flag-draped caskets of our soldiers coming home. Our armed forces rely more and more on tactics like drone aircraft that keep our hands clean when dealing death. We the people will watch violence and death on our TV screens and computer monitors, but we continue to hide our dying ones away in hospitals and nursing homes. We spend the vast majority of our Medicare dollars on futile care in the final days of life because we just can’t face the fact that life will, at some point, end. We’ve turned funeral services for the mourning into “celebrations of life.” Businesses give their employees three days off for bereavement leave and then expect them to be back working at full strength.

We’re not just a culture of death, we’re a culture of death-deniers, a people that tries to hide and avoid the fact that death is real.

Continue reading “Ash Wednesday with Pancho and Lefty”

A Companion in Shipwreck

The following is from a remarkable piece by Rod Dreher called, “Ecumenism And Life’s Shipwreck” at The American Conservative. In it he writes about how the Roman Catholic sex scandal “broke [his] spiritual and intellectual pride as a Christian.”

The passage reproduced here today quotes Tolkien on the subject of having a “chivalrous” view of true love and then applies that thought to his former infatuation with the Church.

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…I find myself thinking of one of the books that has meant the most to me in my life, a birthday gift in 1995 from my friend Tom Sullivan: The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. One letter in particular changed the way I thought of women, and courtship — and, I think, helped me see through a kind of self-deception that prolonged my own immaturity and unhappiness. It was a missive Tolkien sent to his son Michael, in 1941, warning him that as he pursues women, not to be deceived by the false ideals of medieval chivalry. Excerpt:

It is not wholly true, and it is not perfectly ‘theocentric’. It takes, or at any rate has in the past taken, the young man’s eye off women as they are, as companions in shipwreck not guiding stars. (One result is for observation of the actual to make the young man turn cynical.) To forget their desires, needs and temptations. It inculcates exaggerated notions of ‘true love’, as a fire from without, a permanent exaltation, unrelated to age, childbearing, and plain life, and unrelated to will and purpose. (One result of that is to make young folk look for a ‘love’ that will keep them always nice and warm in a cold world, without any effort of theirs; and the incurably romantic go on looking even in the squalor of the divorce courts).

This is true about the Church, as I now see (and by “the Church,” I don’t mean the Roman Catholic Church only, but the church universal). I had what you might call a chivalrous view (in the sense Tolkien means) of the Church, and built an entire faith around this ideal. Had I been wiser, I would have seen the Church as a companion in shipwreck. As it was, I reacted as if I had learned that my Fair Lady was a whore. It was an honest reaction, but not a mature one.

I hope I am a more mature Christian now. I am no longer a Catholic, of course, but I can never see the Orthodox Church, or any church, with the same eyes that I once viewed the Roman Catholic Church. This is good, because it is truthful, and more realistic. I passed through — at least I hope I passed through — a period of cynicism that Tolkien mentions above, with reference to the disillusioned romantic. I no longer look for the ecclesiastical ‘love that will always keep me warm in a cold world.’ I used to, but I think to do so is to set oneself up for disillusionment that will end in bitterness.

…Life is a shipwreck, and we’re all staggering around on the beach, trying to help each other make sense of it all, and get through this catastrophe and find our way back home.

Martha on Lent

Lent is coming! When I was young, I was confident in what Lent was and what it meant. Now I’m older, it gets more mysterious and complex. This week marks the start of the forty-day (plus Sundays) period which is one of the two seasons in the liturgical year where the purple of penitence is the colour adopted. But Lent starts not so much with the fasting of Ash Wednesday as it does with the feasting of Shrove Tuesday. You might know it as Pancake Tuesday, or Carnivale, or Mardi Gras.

Nowadays, Shrove Tuesday is more about cooking pancakes and the tourist trap excesses in New Orleans than a primarily religious festival, but its roots lie in the practices for Lent. “Shrove” comes from “shrive”, meaning to go to confession and be “shriven” of your sins. Since the practice of the laity regularly receiving the Eucharist had reached its lowest ebb during the Middle Ages, the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 found it necessary to compel people, under pain of excommunication, to receive at the minimum once a year. The Six Laws of the Church, which still bind Catholics even today, require the following:

III. To confess our sins to a priest, at least once a year.

IV. To receive Our Lord Jesus Christ in the Holy Eucharist at least once a year during the Easter Season.

‘Christmas and Easter’ Christians have a long pedigree, since the mediaeval laity adopted the norm of making the required annual communion at Easter, and so in preparation everyone would make the effort to go to confession before Lent started. Up to recent times, this was known as “making your Easter Duty” and you were supposed to go to confession and receive communion at least once during the period between Ash Wednesday and the Sunday after Easter Sunday.

That’s one part of the tradition; the second part comes from the fact that fasting and abstinence used to be much more severe in the Western Church (and still is, in the Eastern Church). Meat, eggs and dairy products were generally forbidden for consumption during Lent, so Shrove Tuesday or Mardi Gras or Carnivale meant that this was your last chance to use up all your eggs and butter and milk and meat products, and your last chance to enjoy these foods, before Lent began with Ash Wednesday. So the “farewell to the flesh” took place in one last splurge of indulgence, then repentance and a sort of Spring Cleaning for the Soul (to go with your Chicken Soup, as it were).

After the merriment and excesses of Shrove, Lent officially begins with Ash Wednesday. The ashes of repentance, the ashes from the burned triumphal palms of the entry into Jerusalem, mark us as the ones formed from the dust of the earth whose fate is to return to that dust. Ash Wednesday is our mortality – for those of all religions and none, the one great, inescapable truth remains, the one thing we all know for absolute certain: we will all die. Cryonics and transhumanism may be the modern dreams of attaining the elixir of immortality, but no matter how excellent our medical sciences or how healthy our lifestyles, we all must one day die.

Ash Wednesday is the acknowledgement, acceptance, and proclamation of that fact.

Continue reading “Martha on Lent”

LCMS President Apologizes

Note: this is a follow up to last week’s post, Ridiculous Religiosity.

Below is an excerpt from a pastoral letter and apology from President Harrison of the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod regarding the Newtown, Connecticut affair. Pastor Rob Morris, an LCMS pastor in Newtown, had been asked by Pres. Harrison to apologize for participating in an interfaith vigil for the children who died in the recent tragic shootings. He confesses that he took his action of asking Pastor Morris for an apology as a measure to “avoid deeper internal controversy and division in the Missouri Synod.” He also admits that his actions “increased the pain of a hurting community.”

These were precisely the issues that came out in our discussion here at Internet Monk, and I commend Pastor Harrison for his sensitivity to the Spirit and willingness to speak up in this manner.

I, along with New England District President Yeadon, asked Pastor Morris for an apology for participation in the Newtown prayer service, hoping to avoid deeper internal controversy and division in the Missouri Synod, which, in the past, has struggled with this issue to the very breaking point. I naively thought an apology for offense in the church would allow us to move quickly beyond internal controversy and toward a less emotional process of working through our differences, well out of the public spotlight. That plan failed miserably. Pastor Morris graciously apologized where offense was taken as a humble act to help maintain our often fragile unity in the church (1 Corinthians 8). He did not apologize for participating, even as he carefully provided his reasoning for participating due to deep concern for his flock and the people of his horrified community. I immediately accepted his apology, looking forward to continued conversation toward greater unity in the church. I had hoped to veil him and his congregation from unhealthy criticism within the church. I urged and still urge that anyone contemplating action in the church courts not do so. I desire nothing more than to keep our church body from deeper division so we can continue to work through our challenges with less heat and more light. Unfortunately, only a small portion of the two letters that we each provided to the church was picked up by the media, who distorted the facts of an admittedly nuanced situation that is very difficult for most people, even within the Missouri Synod, to understand. I kindly refer you to my letter and Pastor Morris’ letter for further clarification.

As president of The Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod, I take responsibility for this debacle. I handled it poorly, multiplying the challenges. I increased the pain of a hurting community. I humbly offer my apologies to the congregation, Christ the King Lutheran Church, Newtown, Conn.; to Pastor Morris; and to the Newtown community. I also apologize to the membership of our great church body for embarrassment due to the media coverage. I know that despite my own weakness and failings, God “works all things for good, for those who are called according to His purpose” (Rom. 8:28). My interaction with Pastor Morris and President Yeadon has never been anything but cordial and appropriate for brothers in Christ. Speculation that has implied anything else is false.

The day I was elected two-and-a-half years ago, I noted that the Synod had kept its perfect record of electing sinners as presidents. I also noted that I would fail at times. I am a sinner. I have failed. To members of the Missouri Synod, I plead for your forgiveness and patience as we try again to work toward resolution, faithful to Christ and His Gospel, in times that challenge us all.

Rev. Dr. Matthew C. Harrison
President, The Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod

First of all, I thank all of you for a conversation here on IM that enabled me to think and talk through this issue with people who contributed a variety of perspectives. Second, I accept and echo the challenge set forth by another ELCA pastor on his blog:

So leaders in a denomination I consider to be our siblings, even while I struggle mightily with some of their faith commitments, has decided to go on record, publicly and clearly, in favor of apologizing. Do all of us, regardless of where we come down on the side of interfaith worship and community chaplaincy, have the grace to accept their apologies?

– Clint Schnekloth, Lutheran Confessions