Ramblings and reflections on what I (don't) know about the Bible

from here

There’s a song on one of our Christian CDs for kids that says of the Bible (paraphrasing 2 Timothy 3:16):

[God] spoke it

they wrote it

and now we can read it.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, thanks to my Awful Jeremiah Essay Experience (as it shall henceforth be known). I know that there’s only so much theology one can (and should) fit into a ditty for young’uns, but this is such a painful oversimplification that I now skip the song each time it begins so that Moses won’t start to believe it. Here’s what Jeremiah taught me about how some of the books of the Bible actually came to be:

He wrote some,

his scribe wrote some too,

an editor came along later and reshaped their words, weaving a message of hope and encouragement where before there was only judgment,

a group of people way later decided that the work should be included in the canon,

another group of people translated this from Hebrew into English,

and now we can read it.

And God oversaw the entire process, of course, even using human mistakes to make the Bible what it is today (it’s likely, for example, that the book of Hebrews was only included because back when they were deciding what was in and what was out, everyone thought that it was written by Paul).

If studying the Bible at college has taught me anything, it’s that I know very little about the Bible. I’m wondering if that’s the main goal of Bible college, or if at least it should be, so that rather than spitting out bunches of people who have all the answers, it instead spits out people who are more ready to listen, more ready to acknowledge they might be wrong, more ready to admit they’re not entirely sure about lots of things, more ready to see greys where before they saw only blacks and whites. I liked having front-row seats to a display of this kind of humility while researching for my essay; one scholar may passionately disagree with another’s approach to a text or a book, but they seem so respectful of the godliness of the one proposing it, the study that’s gone into it, the opportunity for further theories to spring from new ideas. It made a sweet difference to those Christian blog posts and books and internet articles and reviews that proclaim that their view is what the Bible really says, as if they have special access to God’s true thoughts that’s somehow denied to those who disagree with them.

I remember my first huge epiphany at college happened during a theology class – I have absolutely no idea what we were talking about, but quite suddenly it was like a part of my brain was split open and light shone in for the first time, while angelic music played. I wrote on my notes, “The Bible does not contain everything God has to say about everything!!!” I’m still moved by its profundity; too often I assume that the Holy Spirit’s there for working out a Christ-like perspective on things like climate change or hobbies (along with other things not talked of in the Bible), but if there’s a mention of anything (women, church, whatever), I think “I guess that’s all of it, then.“

But it’s not all of it; the New Testament is made up mostly of letters, written to specific people in specific circumstances. They didn’t have televisions or internet, so Paul never has a need to figure out and share his thoughts on whether or how or how much to use these things. They hadn’t yet noticed that the world was getting hotter, and so Peter has no concept of global warming, let alone a desire to speak to his churches about carbon footprints. It was a very different culture to ours, as recorded and reflected in these letters. As Fee and Stuart put it in How to Read the Bible for all its Worth, reading the Bible today is “much like listening to one end of a telephone conversation and trying to figure out who is on the other end and what that unseen party is saying. Yet in many cases it is especially important for us to hear ‘the other end,’ so that we know what our passage is an answer to” (pages 45-46).

I had another, slightly less striking, moment realising for the first time that the early church didn’t have the Bible as we read it today. I knew that, but I didn’t really know it. You know? The Philippians may never have read the letters to the Corinthians or the Ephesians! There might have been many different ways of “doing” church back then as they all worked out how to live their new faith in their particular contexts, guided by the Spirit and encouraged by the leaders who dropped in and wrote when they could.

I know this has been a long post, but I want to stick this in while I’m on the subject. Since finishing A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans last weekend, I’ve been mulling over a quote she includes in the final pages (by Peter Rollins):

By acknowledging that all our readings [of Scripture] are located in a cultural context and have certain prejudices, we understand that engaging with the Bible can never mean that we simply extract meaning from it, but also that we read meaning into it. In being faithful to the text we must move away from the naïve attempt to read it from some neutral, heavenly height and we must attempt to read it as one who has been born of God and thus born of love: for that is the prejudice of God. Here the ideal of scripture reading as a type of scientific objectivity is replaced by an approach that creatively interprets with love.

Evans goes on to write that we find whatever we’re looking for in the Bible (“If you are looking for reasons to wage war, you will find them. If you are looking for reasons to promote peace, you will find them. If you are looking for an outdated and irrelevant ancient text, you will find it. If you are looking for truth, believe me, you will find it”), and there will therefore be times when “the most instructive question to bring to the text is not, what does it say? but what am I looking for?... If you want to do violence in this world, you will always find the weapons. If you want to heal, you will always find the balm.”** Did I mention that I loved this book?

And have I mentioned that I love the Bible? I love that I love it more now that it is alive and active in a way I never fully understood until my assumptions about this book (these books! These poems and genealogies and letters and stories and records and glimpses into my Christian heritage and gospels!) were chipped away and I was forced to realise that it was much, much bigger and harder and less solvable than I’d wanted it to be before. May I never think I’ve understood it once and for all. May I always strive to know it better, so that I may be continually reminded of how very little I know. And may all future essay questions be far easier now that I’m actually paying attention to the importance of this lesson.

///

* found on pages 295-296 of Evans’ book

** all of these quotes are on page 296

The Journey: Part Two

from here

A couple of Sundays ago I was chatting to our pastor about the journey I spoke about yesterday, and he kept challenging me to apply this to my time rather than my money. I’d bring the conversation back to money and he’d say, “Yes, money’s important, but what about your time?” It wasn’t until I got home that I wondered if perhaps the Holy Spirit wasn’t pushing him to think about money stuff, in the same way that I wasn’t feeling pushed to think about time stuff; God works in each of us in different ways, which means that my passions – Spirit-led as they may be – don’t have to be yours. What follows, therefore, applies completely to me and my circumstances flowing from my convictions. Please bear that in mind as you read.

I was wondering if I should even write these posts, but decided to for reasons including (but not limited to) the fact that I am happy and alive and excited about God in a way I don’t remember being ever, and if my passion can somehow shine through these words and be used by God to nudge you towards the same kind of joy, I want that. I’m praying for that. I also know myself well enough to be fearful of this fire subsiding as time passes, and I want to be kept accountable. Watch me when we’re together, read my posts, call out hypocrisy and pride where you see it and challenge me to dig further into my selfish heart and weed out the parts that so often try to convince me that my life is about me. I’ll probably cry, but I promise I’ll thank you for it later. Disclaimers aside...

As we were reading through James in one of my Bible study groups, we were talking about what “Love your neighbour as yourself” (which pops up in 2:8) really looks like. We remembered that someone had asked Jesus something along these lines, and he’d responded with the parable of the Good Samaritan – a man is attacked by robbers and left by the side of the road, half dead. A couple of the “good” guys don’t stop – they see the man but cross to the other side of the road and walk on. And then along comes a Samaritan man – of all people, he’s the one who takes pity on the beaten man, bandaging his wounds and pouring oil and wine on them. He then puts the man on his donkey and takes him to an inn where he continues to care for him. He pays the innkeeper 2 days’ wages to keep the man there, and promises to return and pay more if necessary. His act of love was unexpected, and it cost him a lot. Jesus finishes his parable by saying, “Go and do likewise” (Luke 10:37).

It struck me that my giving and loving costs me nothing. If loving like Jesus means giving ourselves up for the sake of others, I haven’t been doing a great job. If I’m completely honest, I’ve been doing a terrible job – I don’t even notice money going out of our account for the organisations and ministries we support; until two weeks ago I sacrificed absolutely nothing in my efforts to fulfil Jesus’ command to love my neighbour. Our generosity started after all of our needs (and then even our desires) were met; we lived our comfortable life and made our comfortable plans and we thought God was okay with that because we’d confessed with our lips that Jesus was Lord – in faith alone, right?! But James says that faith without deeds is dead, and, though I’d called it “sleeping,” I knew from recent experience that this was true.

I love Weezer. I discovered their Buddy Holly video back in the days when Windows 95 was hip and new, and they’ve held a special place in the ‘Bands’ corner of my heart ever since. I especially love The Blue Album: Holiday! No One Else! The Sweater Song! Say It Ain’t So! It’s pure gold. I also like leg waxes. I like watching movies. I like eating chocolate and cake and biscuits. But after Crazy Love, I started asking, “Would my brothers and sisters in Africa be disgusted that I’m thinking of spending money on [insert potential purchase here],” and found that I could no longer bear the thought of paying $90 to sit and listen to a band play live what I could hear them play for free on my stereo at home. The nut bars that I bought for a snack while at the shops cost more than some people survived on FOR A WHOLE DAY.

Realising that my husband and I are incredibly rich despite the fact that we earn comparatively little has been an adjustment. But I was reading about the Sahel food crisis and conflict on UNHCR’s website a couple of weeks ago and I saw this: “More than 16 million people are facing food insecurity and more than 1 million children under the age of five are at risk of severe acute malnutrition.” I’d never even heard of “food insecurity,” let alone experienced it. There are pets in this country who have no idea what “food insecurity” looks like. I’ve never had to send my son to bed without dinner because we’ve had absolutely no food – his potbelly is matched by chubby arms and bright eyes; he eats when he’s hungry, and sometimes even when he’s not (the boy will not say no to sweet food, ever). I treat as ordinary things that many would count as luxuries: biscuits, snacks, spare change. If loving others like I love myself means doing what I can to provide for others what I’d expect for myself – food, clothes and shelter at a minimum – what the hell am I doing paying someone $40 or more to pull hairs out of my legs?!

These are obviously my startling expenses, though I’m not used to being startled by them so saying no to these things hurts! Especially when I’m sauntering past a wall of band posters in Burwood for the first time in months and notice that one of them is advertising the fact that Weezer are coming to Australia to play through their Blue Album. Weezer! The Blue Album! So mean, God! For the first time my husband and I are having to question things we’d previously ignored, such as “If Jesus returned next week, what would he think of our savings account?“ and “Where is our local Franklins supermarket?” Ethical shopping is inconvenient. Thinking about giving away chunks of money that were intended to one day go towards the purchase of a house is scary. Giving ourselves only $10 for pocket money per week after years of unlimited small purchases (mostly snacks and lunches, but also books, music and toys) feels surprisingly restrictive. Loving your neighbour as you love yourself requires sacrifice.

It also puts things in perspective, though. For too long I’ve subconsciously compared myself with the owners of mansions I’ve driven by rather than with refugees who’ve had to flee their homes with nothing but the clothes they’re wearing. Advertisements constantly tell me I don’t have enough, and for too long I’ve believed their lies; I’ve let greed rather than love dictate how I spend my money. In 1 Timothy 6:7-8, Paul says this: “For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that.” It’s not a bad motto. I have food! Good food! Varied food! Healthy food! I have clothes! Too many clothes! Not only that, I live in a safe suburb! Our house is enormous! Drinking water runs in abundance from the taps! If I need a doctor, I don’t have to pay to see her! I’m not dependent on my husband and son to survive! I feel at home in this country! With all my heart: Thank you, God. Now let me be someone who uses her resources to bring basics like these to those who don’t yet enjoy them.

In Velvet Elvis, Rob Bell says this (on pages 165-166):

The church doesn’t exist for itself; it exists to serve the world. It is not ultimately about the church, it’s about all the people God wants to bless through the church. When the church loses sight of this, it loses its heart. This is especially true today in the world we live in where so many people are hostile to the church, many for good reason. We reclaim the church as a blessing machine not only because that is what Jesus intended from the beginning but also because serving people is the only way their perceptions of church are going to change. This is why it is so toxic for the gospel when Christians picket and boycott and complain about how bad the world is. This behaviour doesn’t help. It makes it worse. Why blame the dark for being dark? It is far more helpful to ask why the light isn’t as bright as it should be.

I wonder what light we Christians could bring to this world if we were all driven by our love for Jesus to live like he did. I’m a tad embarrassed by the ways I applied submission to daily life in this recent post – they seem so petty now! Surely by now I should have moved far beyond simple acts of kindness to a life dedicated to serving at every opportunity? How much does it really cost to get someone a cup of tea? If Jesus was only willing to offer that little of himself – if he thought that was hard – we’d all be in a hopeless situation right now. Imagine if Christians were known for their campaigns against injustice rather than gay people. Imagine if our meeting together actually spurred us on to love and good deeds! Imagine if every one of us acknowledged that our lives are not our own – our money is not our own, our time is not our own, our gifts are not our own – and looked out for little pieces of hell on this earth that God could make a little more like heaven through us. And so I pray, as St. Francis of Assisi did,

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not
so much seek to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

The Journey: Part One

from here

I like all things practical. My now-husband obviously realised this quite early on in our dating life, giving me a battery charger and a packet of batteries for one of those just-because-I-think-you’re special occasions; somewhere along the way I must have made it clear that flowers would elicit a thankful but calm response, but a present that would keep my remote controls operating for at least seven years into the future would definitely count towards me eventually saying yes to his proposal of marriage. If you’re going to give me stuff, make it do something. It was the minister at my old church who first tried the ‘pragmatist’ label on me, and I found it fit comfortably.

When I first became a Christian, I read the entire Bible from Genesis to Revelation, underlining in yellow pencil anything that jumped out at me as something I needed to change, things I needed to do, in order to live out my spanking-new faith. The New Testament ended up far more golden-coloured than the Old, and the book of James in my Bible almost glowed in the dark it was so bright from highlighting. But then I found a church family and started looking at other Christians rather than to my Bible to figure out the directions, and thus life chugged on for the next 6 or so years. Over that time I’ve caught myself wondering, “Is this all Christian living is? Is it just church and Bible study and telling others about Jesus whenever the moments arise while we wait for heaven? What’s the point of right now?” Looking back, I can pinpoint times where these questions have nudged me closer to where I now stand. 

Mid 2011

Prompted by an unsatisfying Bible study (in which the application for Isaiah 1:17 - “Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow” – was something along the lines of, “We’re justified by faith alone!”), I decided to scour the New Testament and mark down every time Christians were told to do something. After the book of Matthew I powered on through Galatians and most of Mark, but it had really only taken that first book for me to realise that Jesus was pretty down with the idea of doing. Holidays came, my reading routine slipped, life moved on, months passed.

March 2012

I read this article and then wrote this blog post. We made the changes to our menu (we’re now on around one meat meal a week, sometimes less), but I never followed the conviction about our wealth through to its conclusion by working out how it applied to life beyond our carnivorous diet. 

August 2012

As you know, I recently read a couple of books which made me realise that all was not okay in my faith and started me urgently searching for answers to questions like, “Why was my soul sleeping in the first place?!” and “What is day-to-day Christian living actually supposed to involve?!” The Scot McKnight book argued that the gospel many evangelicals preach is a limited one which tends to create Christians who never move from salvation to a life of discipleship (I realised that this described the Christian culture I’d been raised in, and that I had no idea what a life of discipleship even looked like in order to work towards it). The Rob Bell book said this (on page 148):

When people use the word hell, what do they mean? They mean a place, an event, a situation absent of how God desires things to be. Famine, debt, oppression, loneliness, death, slaughter – they are all hell on earth. Jesus’ desire for his followers is that they live in such a way that they bring heaven to earth...For Jesus, this new kind of life in him is not about escaping this world but about making it a better place, here and now. The goal for Jesus isn’t to get into heaven. The goal is to get heaven here.

Slightly later in August

I was reading through Isaiah for college, and this verse (29:13) cut me to my heart:

The Lord says: These people come near to me with their mouth and honour me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. Their worship of me is based on merely human rules they have been taught.

And then our church started studying James (1:22 - “Do not merely listen to the word...do what it says”). By now, I’m fully alert; it’s clear God wants me to listen up, so I’m waiting with a pen and paper ready for note-taking and a heart open to be challenged and changed. While looking at chapter 2, a guy in our group read verse 24 from the ESV, which says: “You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone,” which immediately blew my strongly-Lutheran-influenced little mind, but also started to make far more sense of the tension in Ephesians 2:8-10:

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

The proverbial straw came (I’m stubborn and slow, okay?!) in the form of a book called Crazy Love, in which Francis Chan points out that too many Christians are lukewarm these days when we’re called to be really, really hot. This book is a long and firm sermon that repeatedly drove me to my knees in repentance at lines like this one:  “Lukewarm people don’t really want to be saved from their sin; they want to be saved from the penalty of their sin.” Or this one: “Lukewarm people do not live by faith; their lives are structured so they never have to. They don’t have to trust God if something unexpected happens – they have their savings account...They don’t depend on God on a daily basis – their refrigerators are full and, for the most part, they are in good health. The truth is, their lives wouldn’t look much different if they suddenly stopped believing in God.” Lukewarm people assume that when Jesus talks about Pharisees, bad soil and rich people, he’s not talking about us. You must read this book.  

So by the end of August, I’m finally ready to convert all of my conviction into action. My husband listens patiently to my impassioned spiel and then starts asking questions (“So what about the trip overseas to see family?” Me: “Not happening! How could we justify spending such an obscene amount of money on holidaying when there are people dying of starvation in the world?!” Him: “Riiiiiight... Now tell me again what you want to do with our life savings?!”), so I throw a pile of books at him and quiz him daily about what he thinks (“I’m reading as fast as I can!” cries he, exasperated).

And then we started doing, and praying and looking out for opportunities to do. More on that tomorrow.