Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Pope Francis had a reason for his jeremiad

Right after all those no-nos I’ve just presented, Francis offers a “Yes!” It’s very simple: “Yes to the new relationships brought by Christ.”  He means in community and he is speaking to those of us who are online right now.
... some people want a purely spiritual Christ, without flesh and without the cross, they also want their interpersonal relationships provided by sophisticated equipment, by screens and systems which can be turned on and off on command. Meanwhile, the Gospel tells us constantly to run the risk of a face-to-face encounter with others, with their physical presence which challenges us, with their pain and their pleas, with their joy which infects us in our close and continuous interaction.
He knows we are afraid. Yet he insists:
The Christian ideal will always be a summons to overcome suspicion, habitual mistrust, fear of losing our privacy, all the defensive attitudes which today’s world imposes on us.
To Francis, true faith “is inseparable from self-giving, from membership in the community, from service, from reconciliation with others” and “the revolution of tenderness.”

Most meaningful to me, in addition to the well-worn advice to see Jesus in others (difficult to follow often enough), is the little gem advising “to suffer in the embrace of the crucified Jesus whenever we are unjustly attacked or meet with ingratitude, never tiring of our decision to live in fraternity.” How much better than anger, rancor and bad blood! Just envision Jesus on the cross saying he knows how that feels.

OK, so here comes the surprise. In that last post I skipped over a bit before getting to what the newspapers reported about the document I am analyzing.

The headlined stuff wasn’t the first thing in this document in any case, but I didn’t think the critique of the world by a man whose position is in many ways removed from it would make sense without first laying out Francis’ internal critique of the Church and the noes that have to begin being said internally.

Most importantly, he said those newsy things in the context of the joys of the gospel and its news of new possibilities for human relationship.

So here are his noes for society at large:
  • No to an economy of exclusion
  • No to the new idolatry of money
  • No to a financial system which rules rather than serves
  • No to the inequality which spawns violence
 Exclusion is meant in the sense of access to the essentials of life in dignity.
Just as the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” sets a clear limit in order to safeguard the value of human life, today we also have to say “thou shalt not” to an economy of exclusion and inequality. Such an economy kills. How can it be that it is not a news item when an elderly homeless person dies of exposure, but it is news when the stock market loses two points? This is a case of exclusion.
There is little that is new here to anyone with a cursory familiarity with the gospel or the last hundred years of papal social teaching.

Jorge Bergoglio knows something about walking the walk. After all, as a Jesuit he took vows of lifelong chastity, poverty and obedience. Those vows turn upside down the socially approved goals of sex, money and power.

Next: How Francis thinks of the Church ...

Sunday, December 29, 2013

No to selfishness and spiritual sloth, sterile pessimism, spiritual worldliness and warring among ourselves

The title summarizes some of the temptations Pope Francis sees affecting all believers engaged in the essential mission of the Christian Church, from bishops to “those who provide the most humble and hidden services.” For this item of his agenda, the pope takes off his miter, grows a beard and puts all of us with faith on the psychotherapist’s couch.

This includes you and me. Dr. Bergoglio diagnoses us in the following way:
At times our media culture and some intellectual circles convey a marked scepticism with regard to the Church’s message, along with a certain cynicism. As a consequence, many pastoral workers, although they pray, develop a sort of inferiority complex which leads them to relativize or conceal their Christian identity and convictions. This produces a vicious circle. They end up being unhappy with who they are and what they do; they do not identify with their mission of evangelization and this weakens their commitment. They end up stifling the joy of mission with a kind of obsession about being like everyone else and possessing what everyone else possesses. Their work of evangelization thus becomes forced, and they devote little energy and very limited time to it. (EG, 79)
For example, the pope complains, priest and laypeople alike “feel an overbearing need to guard their personal freedom, as though the task of evangelization was a dangerous poison rather than a joyful response to God’s love which summons us to mission and makes us fulfilled and productive.” The result is that they “end up in a state of paralysis and acedia.”

This word acedia is very important to this text. I looked at the Spanish version, which I am guessing is the one the pope penned, and instead of “No to selfishness and spiritual sloth” this section is called No a la acedia egoísta (No to selfish acedia).

Dictionary.com defines acedia as: 1. sloth and 2. laziness or indifference in religious matters. In a peculiarly un-dictionary way, the site reminds us also that it is one of the seven deadly sins: pride, covetousness, lust, anger, gluttony, envy and sloth. The list was first drawn up in Greek by a 4th century monk and in the 6th century put in its present order by Pope Gregory the Great, he of the chants and the mission to Christianize the Anglo-Saxons.

Importantly, the use of sloth instead of acedia in English is relatively recent. Sloth lacks the element of dejection of the original Greek term akedia. It is a sad laziness, drenched in melancholy.

Francis begs believers, instead, to experience and happily share the joy of the gospel.

“The evils of our world—and those of the Church—must not be excuses for diminishing our commitment and our fervour,” he bids the reader in paragraph 84. “With the eyes of faith, we can see the light which the Holy Spirit always radiates in the midst of darkness, never forgetting that ‘where sin increased, grace has abounded all the more’ (Rom 5:20).”

Again, I go to the Spanish version to note that “abounded” is given as sobreabundó (literally over-abounded), meaning that God has over-forgiven, or forgiven all and then some, as humanity has had an abundance of misbehavior. The English doesn’t seem to convey the sense of lavish divine forgiveness.

Next he takes on the modern “Pharisees,” meaning those who display “appearance of piety and even love for the Church” but really seek “human glory and personal well-being.” ’Nuff said.

In the same short and sweet way I will dispose of the obvious about warring among ourselves. Francis writes: “How many wars take place within the people of God and in our different communities! In our neighbourhoods and in the workplace, how many wars are caused by envy and jealousy, even among  Christians!”

Note that in all this list of temptations there is nothing about sex. Instead, there is a diagnosis that helps explain the boils and cankers of that turned the dulcet face of Christianity into that of hoary Roman whore (biblical rhetorical excess intended).

Still, Francis wants to put a welcoming smile on that face, one that may sweeten it once again. He wants Christianity to smile, as he does.

Next: a little surprise ...

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Jesus was not born and did not die on the cross to bore people on Sundays

Jesus was not born and did not die on the cross for mediocre men to raise money for buildings where people could be guaranteed boredom on Sundays for at least some part of an hour.

Church, to the extent that Jesus envisioned such a thing, was meant to be merely missionary: go tell them what you’ve seen and heard. Not to put up buildings for worship. Not to establish very nice (but tax-exempt, thus suspect) charities. Not to found schools with crucifixes in classrooms.

Pope Francis even goes on to say, “There are ecclesial structures which can hamper efforts at evangelization.” He doesn’t name them: he’s a glass half-full kind of guy.

Anyone expecting Francis to rejigger the organizational chart or to rewrite the rules of the Catholic Church, or of Christianity, had better be warned. He won’t.

He says the parish is OK. The bishops are OK. And yet … here and there he sprinkles some ideas of how they could be better. Some of them are quite radical.

He tells bishops, “In the mission of fostering a dynamic, open and missionary communion, [the bishop] will have to encourage and develop the means of participation proposed in the Code of Canon Law.” Then he footnotes a whole rafter of articles of the Code of Canon law (specifically, canons 460-468; 492-502; 511-514; 536-537).

Watch those footnotes! Once you read the particular ones I have just cited it is clear that he is telling bishops: Guys, use synods and councils and other bodies we already have to ... listen to people!

Still, he sticks to his topic: “Yet the principal aim of these participatory processes should not be ecclesiastical organization but rather the missionary aspiration of reaching everyone. ”

Translation: Forget the brick-and-mortar issues, guys; start and end with evangelizing. If you must, sure, get together to plan out your strategy (with a healthy dose of listening), but don’t dwell on who wears what uniform or has which title. Go out and spread the word, for crying out loud.

He starts at home, saying “It is my duty, as the Bishop of Rome, to be open to suggestions which can help make the exercise of my ministry more faithful to the meaning which Jesus Christ wished to give it and to the present needs of evangelization. ” Then he goes on to criticize the current centralization of ecclesiastical decisionmaking in Rome and to suggest some rearrangements.

In the end, the spirit of the thing is what counts:
Pastoral ministry in a missionary key seeks to abandon the complacent attitude that says: “We have always done it this way.” I invite everyone to be bold and creative in this task of rethinking the goals, structures, style and methods of evangelization in their respective communities.
I’ll leave you with that thought today.

Next: temptations … they’re not what you think!

Sunday, December 15, 2013

There’s a twinkle in Francis’ eyes

“An evangelizer must never look like someone who has just come back from a funeral!” Pope Francis knows that the gospel is not going to be shared persuasively by a bunch of gloomy complainers who are “dejected, discouraged, impatient or anxious.”

Enough already with the bad news! Give them the good news. Show them how happy it makes you.

That’s why Francis began his essay with “la alegría del evangelio,” knowing full well that as his Spanish was rendered into the official Latin, then translated to other languages, it would come out starting with the “the joy of the gospel.” Joy first.

The evangelists he wants his fellow Christians to have had the encounter with Christ, experienced “a profound liberation” that has made him or her “more sensitive to the needs of others” and acquire a generous spirit open to the newness that God imbues in an old message.

Here’s where Francis sets me up to tell a modestly irreverent old joke.

You see, there was an old priest who at the community dinner table said grace with everybody, then exclaimed, “Hebrews 13:8!” The first time he heard it, the new young priest went to look up the verse (“Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and today, and forever”) but remained puzzled.

An older colleague told him to insert an exclamation mark after the second word, capitalize the third, then add another exclamation mark at the end of the sentence. Then the new priest got it: calling out the verse citation was a “biblical way to complain about the same old, same old meals.

I’m sure the pope has heard of this one. Indeed, to those who might be puzzled at finding new ways to preach the same old message Francis offers the following:
Though it is true that this mission demands great generosity on our part, it would be wrong to see it as a heroic individual undertaking, for it is first and foremost the Lord’s work, surpassing anything which we can see and understand.
Then he gilds the lily with, you guessed, Hebrews 13:8. So get ready for surprises and laughter around Francis.

Next: Francis’ first agenda item.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

What's it all about, Francis?


Pope Francis is not writing just for so. Very little he does is accidental. Perhaps that is because his very papacy, as his coat of arms’ motto miserando atque eligendo (lowly but chosen) acknowledges, is an unexpected paradox.

This is his very first major papal document that is completely his own.

The encyclical released in June, Lumen Fidei (The Light of the Faith), took up a draft of a document his predecessor had left unfinished. Similarly, the various speeches and motu propios have been addressed to visitors on particular occasions or to Vatican officials for administrative purposes.

This is a message to the universal Church and to the world announcing his agenda.

An apostolic exhortation is one of the newest forms of papal documents (first used in 1939). It’s an essay in which the pope thinks out loud. Unlike constitutions, bulls and sometimes encyclicals, an apostolic exhortation does not set out to define doctrine, state policies or rule on some aspect of canon law.

To exhort is to urge or advise a course of action earnestly. Think of Francis as standing by the side of a road urging and calling out to his students, “come on, let’s go!”

Indeed, just as a outings sometimes fulfill education aims unmet in the classroom, Francis has seized upon a recent extracurricular event, in this case the XIIIth Ordinary General Assembly of the Synod of Bishops held in Rome in October 2012, as the teachable moment to address his class.

“I was happy to take up the request of the Fathers of the Synod ,” he writes, winking a little at the reader, to think about the meeting’s official topic: the new evangelization for the transmission of the Christian faith.

No sighing. Keep in mind that such phrases come from Latin, still the official language of the Catholic Church. Put into simpler terms it was a meeting about: spreading the gospel in a new way, to make sure it gets passed on.

Francis is not an iconoclastic firebrand by any means. He takes the traditional means to pour in some new life, some new wine, into the vessels that carry the faith.

Since the business of the Church is to spread the gospel, a meeting about that is an especially good springboard to start “pointing out new paths for the Church’s journey in years to come.”

Next: what a real evangelist looks like to Pope Francis.

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Papa Bergoglio invites us to feel better

An experiential and emotional response to the “good news” (or gospel) of Jesus Christ provides the opening for Pope Francis’ first document addressed to the whole world that is entirely his. From what follows I surmise that Papa Bergoglio is not merely following form; he is sharing his experience and his feelings with us, and assuming that he feels as every Christian does.

“The joy of the gospel fills the hearts and lives of all who encounter Jesus,” is the first sentence, so very un-papally reader friendly, without stern finger wagging. To Francis the encounter and its consequences are not something you must and should do, but rather something entirely voluntary, a matter of becoming one of “those who accept his offer of salvation.”

Jesus offers, you accept. Or not.

But, hey, if you do you are “set free from sin, sorrow, inner emptiness and loneliness.” Not a bad deal, but it’s not one to be hoarded as if it were a cache of Black Friday purchases. Instead, it’s something he wants all those who take advantage of the salvation “sale” to tell everyone else how and where to get it.

The word for that in Catholicspeak is evangelization, or speading the gospel (from the Anglo-Saxon “good spell,” meaning good story).

Francis next provides an example, himself addressing those in the reading stadium, as if he were Billy Graham: step right up, right now and pray to Jesus. He even gives us the words to use:

Lord, I have let myself be deceived; 
in a thousand ways I have shunned your love, 
yet here I am once more, 
to renew my covenant with you. 
I need you. 
Save me once again, Lord, 
take me once more into your redeeming embrace.

That’s what I did; I prayed and felt a lot better. 

Francis is right: it feels good, we don’t have to accept a life of grasping consumption and a “feverish pursuit of frivolous pleasures” that keeps out concern for the poor and others and leaves us “resentful, angry and listless.”

Next: the document’s context and significance beyond this very personal opening to the reader.

Monday, September 16, 2013

Sex became "bad" when Christian Jews met Greco-Roman patriarchy and eroticism

That's the simple answer to a question posed to me by a friend. In brief, she was asking how and when sex became “bad” in Christianity. She asked it in the terms of a Frenchwoman brought up Catholic by nuns, but now lapsed.

(This is part of the interlude in the Story of the Faith series, which I will resume soon.)

There is no magical moment when ideas and new thinking suddenly appear. Trumpeteers did not appear at the gates of Rome on 476 to proclaim “Hear ye, hear ye, the Dark Ages have begun!”

The 18th century French did not invent human rights, there were several versions of the combustion engine before Diesel’s became accepted and several experimenters in long distance communication before Bell hit upon a particular approach and made money off it.

Ideas become accepted when a majority of people are ready to accept them. This happens slowly and once it does, everybody thinks it was always so or so obvious that everybody before them should have known.

The notion of separate and distinct spiritual and material things is from ancient Greece, which is the social culture that, as Nietzsche wisely put it, is the archetype of all European thought. The atom, democracy and homosexuality were all Greek. (They may have gotten it from someone else, but not that we know.)

The Jews thought differently. They did not separate the abstract from the concrete, spirit and matter, emotions from sex, etc. They saw them as all wrapped up together and saw no conflict among them.

This is why ancient Hebrew did not develop words for things that were not concrete and physically evident. The word for “spirit” in the Hebrew texts of the Bible is ruach (the transliterated ch pronounced as the Spanish j), meaning wind. People who were alive had wind inside them and breathed; people who were dead did not. If you separated spirit from matter, there was no person, only a corpse.

Jewish rules concerning sexuality were derived from Sumerian property law and a food etiquette whose origins are disputed.

Whose woman is this and who may sexually penetrate her at the risk of impregnating her and producing heirs? Keep in mind that no one knew the ovum existed until 1836. A woman was thought of as a hollow vessel into which a man inserted the seed of a human being.

Masturbation (onanism) was a sin in the Bible because it spilled seed, which a very small and besieged nation needed desperately to grow in numbers and to be able to survive.

This was not a sex morality of the purity and sanctity of virginity or chastity, but a social order imposed by survival, based on what was known at the time. It only was when Jews who followed the Nazarene preacher encountered Greeks head-on that sex became a moral issue.

Greek ideas about sex were pretty much this: have as much as you can in as great a variation as possible (if you are a free—or non-slave—man). Sexual passion and orgasm was come from the goddess Eros. In her temples priest-prostitutes, not always female, engaged in sexual worship.

The Greek attitude completely shocked the strictly monogamous, family-centered, reproduction-minded Jews. Paul writes no, no, no, no, no to the Greeks, outlawing it all.

But this was not Paul alone. This was surely the attitude of the majority of Christians, at the time Jewish. (There is evidence that, initially, the Romans could not tell Christians and Jews apart; they were all Jews to them.)

In part, this was caused by Greek misinterpretations of the Christian gospel. There was a very early heresy, I forget its name, that as part of the Eucharist included masturbation and the consumption of semen. Obviously, you can see why the apostles were just a little shocked.

When the Christian Jews who were missionaries got to Rome, a different reaction occurred among the wives of the householders who offered them a place to meet and celebrate.

“Aha! This Paul (and his friends) talk about it being better to marry than burn,” they thought. “He understands our slavery as Roman daughters and wives. We will oppose our fathers and our husbands and refuse sex in the name of this new god, Chrestus [an actual historical misspelling].”

Thus chastity was launched as a Christian virtue. Most notable is the case of St. Cecilia, who gouged her eyes out to be repulsive to the young man her father had groomed to be her husband. She lived the life of a virgin thereafter, a model to many; there were many others like her.

Priestly celibacy, which is not about sex but about marriage, came later. Around the year 1000, to end medieval nepotism in the Church at a time in which the clergy were the either the learned men at the nascent universities or, as bishops, feudal lords. They naturally helped their sons along in their clerical careers. Celibacy put an end to it.

Chastity, poverty and obedience were introduced as monastic vows in the 6th century by the Rule of St. Benedict, which attempted to bring order to the freelance and anarchic asceticism of the Desert Fathers.

My French friend was probably taught about virginity, celibacy and the monastic vows as one package handed down in special secret tablets by Jesus. Her teachers were women living under those vows and didn't really know any better. The good nuns were also suffering sexual repression (the true stories of wanton sex by former nuns are legion!).

Moreover, to women sex is often of overarching importance, as it can affect their social station in life and pregnancy can tether them. To men, free from pregnancy and long the socioeconomic patriarchs, sex is merely one more fun thing to do. Hence young girls were cautioned against sex by older women from time immemorial.

All that is how sex became “bad,” especially for pious Christian women. It's up to us to rescue both sex and real Christianity from the mix up.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

The Tribes of Israel

The foundational story of the people who came to be known as Israel begins with the story of Abraham’s family. His only son Isaac (“he who laughs”) was the father of Jacob, who in turn was the father of twelve sons whose names became the identifying names of the twelve tribes of Israel:  Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher, Issachar, Zebulun, Joseph and Benjamin.

Of course, we are omitting two things.

First, Isaac’s other son, Esau, the twin brother who sold his birthright to Jacob for a bowl of pottage (Gen. 25:29–34). Again, a patriarch must connive to succeed, he must have in mind his destiny. One of the meanings of Jacob’s name is “leg puller.”

Second, Jacob had two wives at the same time; in fact, they were sisters. One was Leah, who had tender eyes, the other the younger sister Rachel, who was “lovely in form and beautiful” (the full story is in Genesis 29); and at least one daughter. Leah gave him the first six patriarchs, Rachel the second six, plus the only daughter mentioned, Dinah, who is not deemed a matriarch of a tribe. Indeed, Dinah is raped and her brothers avenged her by the sword.

Side elements of the story support the modern scholarly speculation that, contrary to the worst of European prejudices, the people of Israel were a multiethnic nation from almost the very beginning. Dinah’s rapists were men who wish to join the tribe and the brothers set upon them when they are recovering from circumcision.

The story, of course, anticipates many lurid stories of rape and abuse against women, who were essentially chattel. Jacob had to work for Rachel’s father to be able to effectively buy her and marry her. This is, of course, the pre-Mosaic faith before the Ten Commandments.

These are sometimes shocking stories. My own grandmother exclaimed that the Bible was far too lurid a book for a child of 11, the age at which I first received a copy of my own. However, the stories have a common theme found in the name Israel, which means “persevere with God.”

Friday, August 9, 2013

Abraham

Any summary of the story of the Chosen People has to begin, necessarily, in the Chaldean city of Ur, located in the Mesopotamia (or land between two rivers) in what today is Iraq. In that city lived a man named Abram who struck God’s fancy, so to speak.

At the time he was chosen to be the father of a great people, his wife was beyond childbearing age. One of the great wonders sealing the pledge, the “testament” or pact, between Abram and God, was the birth of Isaac to Sarah. The story is prototypical of many of the great “patriarchs,” or fatherly leaders in the Hebrew Bible.

Abram is renamed Abraham, in consonance with the importance of naming as a sign of power and submission. Parents name children. God names Abraham when the patriarch is chosen for his singular mission.

The power of naming is why the name of God—the Tetragrammaton or four-letter word (transliterated from Hebrew as YHWH)—was held to be sacred, unwritable, unspeakable unless absolutely necessary. To use it would be to assume undue power and familiarity with God, according to the rabbis.

Beyond the naming, there were a set of singular signs of the special relationship. For example, the command to circumcise all males.

There’s also the moral test: Do you obey God so thoroughly that if God tells you to do something unthinkably painful and repulsive you will do it anyway? God asks Abraham to kill his only son, Isaac, the beloved child of his old age. Abraham gets to the point of complying when God stops him.

The story is about obedience, but it had an additional message for the people who first heard it and retold it. They were, after all, people familiar with human sacrifice in the religions and cults around them. In the Genesis story of Abraham, the Bible teaches that the one true God does not demand human sacrifice; God ends them with the order to Abraham to put down his sword.

Leonard Cohen composed a beautiful song about it, “The Story of Isaac.” Click here to hear and see a video of it performed by Cohen himself.

God promises Abraham that he will be the father of a nation more numerous than the stars. Then God takes up a plan Abraham had been hatching with his father-in-law, to move to a new place, and transforms it into the quintessential journey to what would become the Jewish ancestral home.

Friday, August 2, 2013

History of the Chosen People

The next large body of biblical writings are the historical books. These are, with variations according to the collection: Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 1 Samuel, 2 Samuel, 1 Kings, 2 Kings, 1 Chronicles, 2 Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, Tobit, Judith, Esther, 1-4  Maccabees.

These books of the Bible tell the ancient history of the Chosen People, the Jews, as collected by scribes and editors through the second century BCE.1

You may ask what any of this has to do with thee and me. To the Jewish faith it enshrines key elements in the history of the collective relationship of Jews with God. To modern Gentile Christians it provides historical context to what the Galilean carpenter was talking about; he wasn't talking about our modern culture, he was talking about the received faith story of his hearers and his people.

Biblical faith stands out in that it is mostly a story with implications. In the next few posts, I'll try to summarize it, to provide an overview that you are invited to explore on your own.


1. BCE (before the common era) and CE (common era) are the modern and tolerant form of BC (Before Christ) and AD (Anno Domini, or year of the Lord), that is least offensive to any religion. Oddly enough, modern biblical studies tend to place the actual birth of Jesus of Nazareth in the summer of the year 6 before our era, which makes BCE a more reasonable nomenclature.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

The Law

Aside from the ten commandments, you won’t find much divine lawmaking in the books of Genesis, Exodus or Numbers.

There’s the occasional suggestion (be fruitful and multiply) and the odd prohibition (don’t eat from that there tree) and stage directions (go tell him, “Let my People, go”). There are, of course, the grand cosmological explanations and an easy banter between the Patriarchs and God. Of course, there is the implied good behavior (faithfulness), but not much real law as such.

The real law begins with Leviticus, which is the largely ritual law, addressed to the Levites. These folks were members of the tribe of Levi, a priestly tribe assigned to care for the Tabernacle, discussed later.

It continues with Deuteronomy (or second law), which contains a series of discourses ascribed to Moses.

These two books form the core of the Law referred to by the Jews. Not all of it applied to everyone.

The Law covers nearly every aspect of life. Initiation of males into the community (circumcision), dietary rules (no pork, no mixing of dairy and meats, etc.), prayer, marriage, business and so on.

Modern Judaism does not literally demand the observance of all of the Law, although certain Orthodox strands of the religion attempt it. In fact, Judaism became a religion of another collection of writings, the Talmud. This very complex collection, written between the second and fifth centuries of our era, contains a wide range of rabbinical teachings, rulings and interpretations of the original, biblical Law.

Much like court rulings on the U.S. Constitution form the body of constitutional law, the Talmud’s interpretation and application of the Law is also regarded as the Law by extension.

Christianity stopped regarding most of the ordinances, particular those having to do with ritual and dietary rules, as normative for Gentiles at the urging of Paul of Tarsus, and later relieved all Christians—including Jewish followers of Jesus—from their observance.

There remain some very literal-minded Protestant readers who take some, but not all, ordinances very seriously. For example, many Evangelical Christians regard Hebrew Bible injunctions against homosexuality as in effect; however, they have no problem having bacon with their eggs in the morning.

The Law is important if you are Jewish or interested in Judaism. It is also important for Christians who wish to understand the New Testament better. It is what Jesus, and later Paul, were talking about.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

The Hebrew Bible

The Bible is not one book. Indeed, the Greek word byblos, from which we get Bible, means simply “books.” The Christian collection of books is divided into the Old and New Testaments. The Old Testament is roughly what Judaism today calls the Tanak, also often called the Hebrew Bible.

Jews and Christians disagree on the number and order of the books that belong in the Hebrew Bible, as do Christians among themselves. The differences affect only small portions of the collection, which as a whole can be broken up into three groups.

One way to remember the groups is using the word Hebrew word Tanak, which is an acrostic of three groups of books in the Hebrew Bible. Since ancient Hebrew had no written vowels, the word is TNK, from Torah (the law), Nevyim (prophets) and Ketuvim (“writings”). In the Christian usage, which draws the names of the books from the Greek translation known as the Septuagint, the groups are commonly referred to as the Pentateuch (literally, “five books“), the histories and the third group, composed of wisdom books and the prophets.

The Pentateuch is the foundational collection, offering in narrative form answers to how everything we know came to be, the origins and basic bond of the Chosen People with God, and sprinkled throughout with what rabbis count as 613 divine laws, ordinances or commands.

The histories at some points retell some of the earlier story, then proceed with the long tale of the Hebrew people, from their return to the Promised Land led by Moses to their rebellion against Greek conquerors just a few centuries before Jesus.

The wisdom books include collections of wise sayings, a long romantic poem, a collection of 150 hymns called psalms and little treatises about essentials, marriage and other topics.

Finally, come the stories and preaching of certain men called prophets. Prophecy in biblical terms does not mean fortune telling, but rather a way of telling forth, retrospectively as well as prospectively, key events in the history of the Chosen People as seen from the divine perspective, but revealed by the prophets. They interpret history, if you will.

Anyone new to the Hebrew Bible needs to know at least two basic things about the Bible, before cracking the spine of a modern book-form edition.

First, the books of the Hebrew Bible were not written as we compose books today.

Almost all the contents composed from about 1800 BCE (before the common era) to about 1000 BCE were either in the oral tradition of the Hebrew people or in the oral and written traditions of neighbors who lived between the Asian Mesopotamia (modern Iraq) or in the Nile River basin in Egypt. Between 1000 BCE and about the 5th century BCE, the oral traditions began to be written down. At that point, upon returning from the Babylonian exile, rabbis and scribes began to assemble most of the books much as we know them today.

These texts were written in various forms of ancient Hebrew, on papyrus scrolls. In the absence printing and word-processing technology, they were copied repeatedly over and over and over, for  many years, by hand.

We do not have any likely original text written in the hand of the original human author; although, as just noted, most of the books were not originally written but transmitted orally. Thus, ancient copying errors explain some, but not all, problems of consistency that arise in reading the Bible.

It was not until well after the expulsion of the Jews from Roman Palestine in 70 CE that anyone thought to put together a precise list and order of the books that belonged in the collection—known as a canon. This process yielded the rabbinical, Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant canons.

The earliest texts that survive today are mostly in Greek or Hebrew. The organization of the books into chapters and verses did not occur until the Middle Ages, which is when the Masoretes, or rabbinical school of Moses Maimonides in Spain, inserted vowels into the Hebrew text.

Second, the modern understanding of authorship and fact were unknown to the people who composed, transmitted and wrote down the books of the Hebrew Bible.

Most books are known as linked to a particular human being. The Pentateuch, for example, are given as books “of Moses.”

That does not mean that Moses sat down and wrote them in the evenings of wandering through the desert. Rather, it means that the people who repeated, wrote down and copied the books, as well as the people who edited and collected them, thought that they represented the teachings and stories that represented Moses’ school of thought, so to speak.

To confuse the modern reader even more, much of the Hebrew Bible contains narration about events that occurred long before even the storytellers and writers of the texts. The editors, most of them around the fifth century before our era, held a rabbinical understanding that each version of the same event that had survived represented a received truth that had something important to teach. They refrained from eliminating versions, but rather melded them and sometimes the results were awkward or confusing (why two creation and flood stories, for example?).

The modern idea of fact comes from a scientific understanding of the Latin term factum, meaning roughly something that has been done or has occurred. Scientific facts are verifiable, conform to experience and can be reproduced in demonstration.

Modern science was completely unknown to the ancients associated with the Hebrew Bible. Instead, they knew of truth, which was shown to them by direct experience, perception or imagination. Lacking a scientific explanation for rain, for example, they thought some unseen living force decided to make it rain from time to time.

They treated all stories, factually true or not, much the way we treat novels, not the way we treat newspapers or news bulletins. Whoever wrote the creation story obviously was not there, for example; no one believed this came from an eyewitness, much less that the detail was accurate to a microscopic or astronomic level.

Although I will attempt to provide an overview of the contents of the Hebrew Bible, anyone wishing to go into more detail could start with the Wikipedia's article on the Hebrew Bible. Perhaps the best contemporary scholarly introduction by a Christian (a Methodist in this case) is Understanding the Old Testament by Bernhard Anderson, long used in many seminaries, divinity schools and the best universities.

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Yeshua’s People

Most likely, as I have noted, the famous young woodworker from Nazareth at the heart of the Christian faith was known as Yeshua ben Yosif (Joshua son of Joseph). I repeat this to emphasize that one cannot even begin to understand the Christian “good news” without reference to the pre-Christian story of the Jews.

These summaries cannot possibly substitute for reading the stories of the Hebrew Bible, which Jesus, the apostles and their hearers knew as the context for what was said among them. Instead, perhaps it would be helpful to begin with a few main themes.

Faithfulness

The story of the relationship between the descendants of Abraham (variously called the Jews, the Hebrews or Israel) and their God is narrated poetically by prophets and psalmists as the tale of a marriage between of an often wayward and unfaithful wife (Israel) to a reliable, faithful and ever-forgiving husband (Jehovah or Yahweh, as God is called), who has chosen her for all time.

Many of the principal figures of the Hebrew Bible are unsavory and rebellious. Some slay entire towns upon receiving what they perceive as a divine command. Others try to deceive God. Some get drunk and commit incest. But they are heroes and heroines because they keep coming home to faith and are ultimately faithful to God.

Law

From Moses’ Ten Commandments on, the Hebrews are bound by a set of ordinances of divine origin—613 in the modern rabbinical count. These are found in the first five books of the Bible known as the Pentateuch, or Torah. They encompass every aspect of the “good life” a Jew must lead.

The rabbis did not write the law; none would dare usurp the divine prerogative. However, rabbis, teachers and erudite students of the law, often were called upon to apply the law to circumstances; sometimes they disagreed. They wrote endlessly, attempting to help the God-fearing Jew. Some were inspired in teachings of pre-Christian rabbis such as Hillel, whose sayings are found in Jesus’ teachings. All of the principal rabbinical writings are collected in the

Talmud, a book that is not in the Bible, compiled or written between the second and fifth centuries of our era.

Prophecy

In the course of roughly two millennia before Christ, God sent certain individuals (they are mostly men but a few women stand out, too) who discern the divine will for the Chosen People at critical times. Some of these are formally known as prophets, although some stood as judges and kings over the blessed nation.

Prophecy is not a matter of magic, not foretelling but forth telling. The person chosen to speak the divine command decisively to the people often warns about the future. Often the stories told about them in this regard are retrojections of after-the-fact biblical writers who no doubt realized the truth of the sages’ dire words: they warned us we would be conquered if we didn’t change our ways and we were!

The person sent to lead and speak is often an unlikely candidate. Moses grew up a comfortable Egyptian prince in the royal household. Jeremiah complained to God that he was to young, no one would listen to him. David was a king and an adulterer before he penned many, but probably not all, of the psalms.

In sum, the biblical story depicts a Chosen People, the ancestors of Jesus, as ultimately and courageously steadfast, obedient and prophetic. The gospels constantly insist that Jesus came to fulfill the law.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Burning Bushes

Somewhere in the created, humanly miscued world, there arose people who somehow managed to hear the voice of God. Abraham, Moses, Jeremiah, the patriarchs and prophets, Jesus, the apostles and various people deemed to be in the presence of God after their deaths.

I seize on the image of the burning bush from which Moses heard a voice that said it was that of God because, to me, it offers a fitting metaphor of what hearing and talking to God is all about.

Yes, I know the joke: talking to God is prayer and hearing God is a symptom of schizophrenia. I am a modern man and do not disdain science; I only propose that science does not yet know everything. Scientifically, God is profoundly unobservable and as a result nothing pertaining to the divine can be the subject of empirical analysis.

Thus, I welcome you, as Rod Serling might have, to the twilight zone of faith. I find it difficult to grasp that Abraham, Moses, Jesus and their pals heard the voice of God like you and I hear the voice of a friend on the telephone. Note that none of them even knew what a telephone was.

Parascientists such as Erich von Daniken have proposed pseudo-explanations that sound like science fiction: for example, the Tabernacle of the ancient Hebrews, from which the supposed voice of God was heard, but only by priests and rabbis, was really a radio left behind by extraterrestrials.

Let us consider something different.

Abraham, Moses, Jesus and company, like Gautama Buddha, Muhammad, Zoroaster, Lao-Tse and so forth, all ancient men in robes who spoke with wisdom that seemed divine, were men of prayer and deep, deep meditation. Men who were somehow distinctive for seeking an intuitive path to truth at a time of great empirical ignorance.

Is it impossible to imagine a spiritual search (yes, a clash of created chemicals in their created minds) resulting in an ineffable experience that communicated a goal, a command, a feeling of peace, a certainty that defied explanation (other than it was God speaking)?

God came to Samuel and Daniel in dreams, to Moses in a burning bush, to Jesus at his baptism as a voice heard only by those who were listening for it, to saints and apostles as apparitions. Elijah discovers that God is in the quiet hush of wind. Jeremiah cannot dissuade God that he is too young and awkward to be a prophet.

The consistent thread is an ineffable, life-transforming communication that is recognized as divine and beyond appeal. When God speaks, you can only follow or disobey. You cannot see God's face and you must only believe through God's wonders (or even without them).

God speaks in riddles sometimes, makes absurd and curious demands (or maybe the human hearing is off).

God often speaks what is already in the person's mind, almost confirming a chosen path. Abraham’s father is the first to come up with the idea that he and Lot and their wives are to go to Canaan. Then God calls upon Abraham to do so and makes his covenant. (See Genesis at the end of chapter 11 and beginning of 12.)

It is not magic. It is not delusion. It is the voice of God.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Out of Eden

Whenever the subject of the moral significance of Eden pops up, I am drawn to a poem by James Joyce that, in part, says
    Of the dark past
    A child is born;
    With joy and grief
    My heart is torn.
Isn’t that the truth of all births? We don’t begin as blank slates, “innocent” as popular lore has it. Babies are profoundly selfish, by necessity some would argue—but there you have it.

The second part of the creation story in Genesis attempts to explain why things around us are a moral mess, especially given that when all was created “God saw that it was good” (Genesis 1:10).

The problem of evil haunts all faith. How can there be X evil if there is a good God? “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” God demands of Job in response (Job 38:4).

St. Augustine (354-430), bishop of Hippo, North Africa, and the first major Christian philosopher, described our personal problem of evil with the word “concupiscence,” from the Latin for “with desire.” This is what came to be known by the hoary traditional term of “original sin” (please check out a humorous take in Tom Lehrer’s song “Vatican Rag”).

The idea is really roughly similar to the view of Siddartha Gautama, known as the Buddha (ca. fourth century BCE) concerning life and enlightenment. Put simply, in the earthly life we know we are caught in Samsara, a perpetual and cyclical wandering that, in the Hinduist roots of Buddhism, goes through death and rebirth. We are trapped in this cycle because of desire. Bingo! Concupiscence!

Although neither the kin religions of Islam and Judaism have a teaching of original sin, both share with the Christian faith the notion of a human status quo ante, before evil, in the story of Eden. Hinduism has a more complicated, more spiritual, version.

The point, alluded to by St. Ireneaus (130-202), bishop of Lyons, in disputes concerning this teaching, is pretty much what the Joyce poem puts forth: we start out with ancestral or inherited wrongs.

Some of us are born in mansions, built and maintained by the accumulated sweat and suffering of others, transmuted into profits and money. Some of us are born in hovels, like Jesus, without a sou to our name. Some are born from married ladies who primp for church every Sunday, others fight our way out of drug-addicted whores in alleyways.

This is not the divine order: this is the human injustice and error we have wrought by deceiving ourselves into thinking we are moral arbiters as powerful as the Creator.

Sunday, May 5, 2013

God Created

The words of Genesis 1:1—“In the beginning God created heaven and earth”—did not quite mean to the unknown biblical writers several thousand years ago what we argue about today.

When I say “biblical writers,” I am referring to the people of faith who developed an unproven, unprovable understanding of Someone they believed, in the words of Paul Tillich, to be the grounding of their being.

There’s lightning? That comes from God. There are plains and mountains and rivers as far as the eye can see? God’s gift.

God is mentioned but never described in the Bible. No one has seen the face of God, the Bible states repeatedly.

Philosophers have various versions of God: creator, prime mover or nonexistent.

People of faith have had gods and eventually God, whom they have not known, but whom their intuition told them was always there. In some ancient religious stories, the world is a dream of the Godhead, in others a secretion, in yet others dismembered parts of God dispersed in an early Big Bang-like event.

In our Judeo-Christian tradition, God is the eternal necessary being, indeed the only one whose essence is existence. God is. Period. God is the One who caused everything and everyone else to exist. Without God, nothing.

In Genesis we find one answer to the question of how God made something out of nothing, which is the correct and original English meaning of “create.”

We forget that. We pleasantly engage in a romantic poetry of thinking of ourselves as little gods, going about creating things, especially in art, music and literature. At best, if we are lucky or gifted, we reassemble things and ideas we have seen or heard of in an original way.

As to heaven and earth, to the ancients they were pretty a much a snow globe, or perhaps a water globe. There were the waters of the sea and by them the earth and the waters of the dome of the sky, from which hung stars, heavenly twinkling ornaments at night.
“And God said: Let there be a firmament made amidst the waters: and let it divide the waters from the waters. And God made a firmament, and divided the waters that were under the firmament, from those that were above the firmament, and it was so.  And God called the firmament, Heaven; and the evening and morning were the second day. God also said: Let the waters that are under the heaven, be gathered together into one place: and let the dry land appear. And it was so done. And God called the dry land, Earth; and the gathering together of the waters, he called Seas. And God saw that it was good.” (Gen. 1:6-10)

Let’s not impose centuries of philosophies or 21st century science on authors who did not know either. Belief in divine creation need not be literal acceptance of the precise words of Genesis, whatever the original said.

The creation story is a myth. This does not mean it is false, but that it uses literary tools to convey beliefs that the storyteller holds dear for reasons that, at heart, can't be explained. That's why it's called faith.

Sunday, April 21, 2013

The Story of the Christian Faith

A friend who is preparing for confirmation as an adult wanted to hear the outline of the Christian story in order, so that the stated Christian beliefs, morals and rituals become clear. It’s a tall order and it will take some time, but here’s a beginning.

The Christian story begins with a Galilean woodworker who preached certain things, did certain things and died in a certain way, only to—surprise!—rise from the dead. What we know most unquestionably about this man and his followers is that they were Jews and they assumed their hearers were Jews.

This is why the gospel of Matthew begins with a genealogy of Jesus (Matt.1.1-16). To Matthew (and, yes, his committee of scribes and redactors associated with the church at Antioch) the important thing is to show that Jesus (Yeshua? Yehoshua?) was as Jewish as Jews come.

The evangelist therefore traces forward from Abraham, father of the Jewish people, and unquestionably still held out to be a real actual historical figure (whether or not his paternity applies to all present day Jews). Abraham begot Isaac, who begot Jacob, who begot Judas (not Jesus’ Judas), who begot Phares ... all the way to Jacob (not Isaac’s Jacob), who begot Joseph the husband of Mary, “of whom was born Jesus, who is called Christ.”

Christ is simply Greek for the Hebrew Messiah, or Savior—not Jesus’ last name. Jesus may have been called Yeshua ben Yosif, Jesus son of Joseph.

The evangelist Luke, thought to be one of Paul of Tarsus’ converts to the faith, and also a doctor, takes a different tack. Luke, a Gentile, wants to convey Jesus’ humanity so he goes back all the way to Seth and Adam.

Both Matthew and Luke, although they differ in parts, go through David to Abraham. Jesus has to claim not only Jewish roots, but a royal ancestry.

The gospel of Mark picks up the story much later, when John the Baptist and Jesus are grown up men going about saying unusual things in public.

John, the last canonical gospel, that is, the last one traditionally accepted as reflecting the teaching of the original followers of Jesus, skips much further back than even Luke to the beginning of everything: “In the beginning was the Word.”

John, the youngest of Jesus’ close disciples, who probably declaimed his version to church scribes in the island of Patmos decades after the events, was cutting to the chase, to the very beginning, Genesis 1:1, the first sentence of the entire Bible: “In the beginning God created heaven, and earth.”

John makes the point of telling us that Jesus, as the Word, was there.

Saturday, March 30, 2013

It's not all hymns and praises here

Sometimes there’s all kinds of muck in this vale of tears. This valley is haunted by what traditionally we have come to call “sin”—envy, anger, sloth and, of course, pride are common around here.

“... I know my inquity, and my sin is ever before me ...” says Psalm 51 (Douay, NRSV chapters).

Today, Holy Saturday, is perhaps an appropriate moment to contemplate just why redemption was necessary.

The Apostle's Creed says that Jesus κατελθόντα εἰς τὰ κατώτατα (“descended into the abode of the dead,” often translated as “hell”). The harrowing of hell refers to the time between Jesus' death on the cross and his resurrection.

By very ancient tradition Jesus brought salvation to all the faithful people—folks such as Abraham, Moses and the prophets, plus many more—who had died before the sacrifice of the cross. Perhaps this is the meaning of the antique Spanish moniker Sábado de Gloria (Glory Saturday) by which my mother referred to this day: the Saturday in which Jesus brought the righteous dead to the glory of the presence of God.

That same tradition also holds that Jesus expressly did not bring salvation to those who were already damned. On this matter, I happen to take a view that is thinly orthodox, just this side of what would get me arrested by the Doctrinal Police: hell exists, but I just don't know if anyone is there. So maybe Jesus didn't exclude anyone because there was no one to exclude.

Let the angels-on-pins folks debate the question.

The teaching is that we are born into a befouled, corrupt and unjust world and, from time to time, we assent to joining in the orgy of wrongdoing. Maybe we do wrong that wouldn't get rated more than R or PG, but we do.

Maybe none of my good readers sin, but I certainly sin, have sinned and probably will sin again. Despite my best intentions.

I admit to all and sundry, especially some readers of this blog whom I have injured at one point or another (you know who you are), that I have sinned against others, against myself and against God.

Sin exists. I know it exists because I have committed it and it is ever before me.

But you know what? The psalm from which I quote above hints at an ending to this movie that is not hell. Let's read the idea in whole:
Have mercy on me, O God, according to thy great mercy. And according to the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my iniquity. Wash me yet more from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I know my iniquity, and my sin is always before me. (Ps 51:1-5)
 And? What did the Psalmist expect to happen in response to this repentance?
O Lord, thou wilt open my lips: and my mouth shall declare thy praise. For if thou hadst desired sacrifice, I would indeed have given it: with burnt offerings thou wilt not be delighted. A sacrifice to God is an afflicted spirit: a contrite and humbled heart, O God, thou wilt not despise. Deal favourably, O Lord, in thy good will with Sion; that the walls of Jerusalem may be built up. Then shalt thou accept the sacrifice of justice, oblations and whole burnt offerings: then shall they lay calves upon thy altar. (Ps 51:17-21)
The crucified Lamb of God has been laid upon the altar in our stead. Rejoice!

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Two Psalms, Two Meditations (Part II)

Continuing backward in my reading of Psalms, we hit 135 (136).

My Father, My Mother

This psalm is a hymn of praise, one of those lengthy ones that even monks recite wearily in the morning. Praise for this and that and, yes, that other thing over there. Someone, please, get me a cup of coffee!

As secondary school classmate used to say that God is an egotist, always wanting people’s worship and praise. Or someone with an insecurity complex, I myself occasionally pondered.

I don't take to praises and hallelujahs. Even in Charismatic meetings, when the folks went wild, I simply watched. It was a beautiful performance of sorts. But I wasn’t gonna; no, sir.

In this psalm I'm supposed to praise God for great wonders, the heavens and the Earth. My capitalization. The Psalmist is still stuck in the pre-Ptolemaic cosmology of a flat earth sitting in a bubble of waters, light blue heavens above, dark blue oceans below and underground. Please!

Praise God who stilled the hand of the Pharaoh, who freed Israel. Long ago, God, what have you done lately? Praise God who was mindful of us in our affliction. Mindful, of my affliction, when? When you didn't bring my father back?

Then I begin to catch the refrain. Praise God ...  for his mercy endureth for ever. That sounds more like my mother, forever bearing the wrongs done her, always willing to forgive me (after slapping me silly), enduring at my side.

That's why God seems a she to me! God the Mother. God the abiding one, the one who can be relied to love unconditionally. The one who always forgives, whose mercy is eternal.

Reminds me of a theology class in which we tackled the problem of the crucifixion. Why was such a sacrifice necessary? Textbook answer: because God is merciful, but also just. That's a discussion for another day. Right now I want to fasten on to justice tempered by mercy. We haven't suffered the punishment deserved.

God the Father, God the Mother, they're one and the same. I see God as Mother more than Father.

Friday, March 15, 2013

Two Psalms, Two Meditations (Part I)

I have been reading the Psalms backward in recent days; I mean, starting from Psalm 150. It’s a not-quite-daily effort to use the Psalmist’s words to pray, that is, to let the Holy Spirit utter the words I need to speak with God.

Of course, I’m not always in the Psalmist’s frame of mind—certainly not in the subway—and this gives rise to little meditations.

On Exile

Psalm 136 (Protestant editions 137) summons two musical evocations.

The first verse takes me to Don McLean’s Waters of Babylon, which he sings in rounds (click here for this beautiful performance). As McLean explains the sadness of loss is partly recovered in the end by the remembrance of the object lost, in this case, Zion. Anyone who knows me well enough, knows during my sojourn from 1961 to 1970 in Argentina I came to call my life there an “exile” from the United States—to me, a familial Promised Land of sorts—and that is what the song I first heard in 1973 evoked.

Verses 2-4 bring back another sad religious song, On the Willows, from the musical Godspell (click here). My friend Matt P (hi, Matt, wherever you are) took me to see the show circa 1972 in Ford’s Theater, where Lincoln was shot, during a period of faith enthusiasm inspired by the Catholic Charismatic movement. With this plaintive song, the apostles foreshadow bereavement after the arrest of Jesus. As with the previous one, it harkens to the Babylonian exile, from which it echoes a terrible sense of loss.

Then comes the fifth verse and the spell is broken: “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand be forgotten.”

Hold on, there, Psalmist! When did I know Jerusalem to be able to forget her? Life has taught me that the United States is no Zion, much less Argentina, not even polite Canada. No matter where you are, it's the same old story of love, hope and glory—broken, dashed, snatched.

Yet aren’t we all in exile from the Godhead, in whose mind Augustine tells us we were envisioned long before we were born? Aren’t we all hoping to abide in that Yeru Shalom, or mount of peace, as the Passover song has it: “Next year in Jerusalem”?

Clearly, it’s not the ancient Jerusalem, whose temple’s antechambers were rife with seedy vendors. Nor is it the modern Jerusalem, the epicenter of an endless war between cousins.

I don’t know the Jerusalem I yearn for.

In Mordechai Richler’s Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz, the protagonist’s zeyda (grandfather), sits in his Montreal shtetl (or ghettoized Jewish village), talking about the ideal of a farm he will never own. Duddy gets it into his head that he has to get hold of land to make that dream come true only to discover a misunderstanding. Read the novel, or rent the movie, for details.

As with the zeyda, the idealized other place tells me there is something more out there than the dreary day in, day out. To dream, perchance to fly, to arise from this condition as the exiled children of Adam and Even in this vale of tears.

Like the Psalmist, I will always remember that hoped-for dream. May my body wither if I forget!

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Hour by hour

It's a classic English hymn in which tune and lyric resolve themselves to a precise and unremarkable meter, yet it has stuck with me since last Sunday as a statement of faith that I want to share. A video link is available at the bottom, but I'd like to meditate on the words a bit.

The second verse strikes me the most, starting with "Pride of [hu]mans and earthly glory,/sword and crown betray [human] trust."

Indeed, this is all I feel after decades watching the policy circus here in Washington. I have at last forgiven John F. Kennedy for not living up to the posthumous pedestal in which I placed him; Barack Obama is at last showing his adroitness, yet I know that he oversold an idealism to me that he didn't, and perhaps even I didn't, hold. I went to both their inaugurations, 1961 and 2009.

The corollary, "what with care and toil [we do] build,/ tower and temple fall to dust," is inevitable. The twin towers of New York City, precisely, " fell to dust," as did the temple of Jerusalem, as will one day the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul here in Washington.

Frankly, the World Trade Center in my aesthetic evaluation was the ugliest marring of the Manhattan skyline in my lifetime and good riddance ... albeit a peaceful wrecking ball that didn't hurt a fly would have done the job much better. That's the point: the hubris of building a monument to U.S. globally rapacious greed was begging, like the Tower of Babel, to be brought down.

In the next lines "But God's power,/hour by hour,/is my temple and my tower," I could use without the word "power," but of course, it must rhyme with hour and tower. I would put love, creation or simply being (ah, the old teachers who tried to drill into our heads that God's essence is existence). God is the temple and tower, in any case.

I also love the lack of dogmatic pretension in the first verse: "God unknown." God remains unknown, rather than in and as justification for our creedal, political or economic theories.

Yet, still, the author is confident at the end, "Christ doth call/one and all:/ye who follow shall not fall." The Messiah, the saving force of God, does call. Clearly, I lack that hope that all will be well for those who answer; yet I admire it.

To hear and see the lyrics of "All my hope on God is founded," words by Robert Bridges (1844-1930) based on the German on Joachim Neander (1650-1680), tune simply known as "Michael," click here.