Posts
I hear from everyone that New Year's Eve is a very festive, very loud occasion in the Philippines. A student told me last evening, in fact, that I'll be hearing fireworks explode throughout the day today (and indeed I have been hearing them steadily for over a week), but between 11:30 PM and 1:30 AM on New Year's Day, she said it will sound like we're in the middle of a battle. I'm actually looking forward to it. I'll be off in the mountains with a great view of the displays around the area, and then I'll get a ride back to the seminary after everything is over. It's too bad I don't have a camera to record it as best I can.
On the camera: I have ordered a replacement and it should hopefully get to my colleague in Kansas in time for her to bring it back in her luggage. If not, the husband of the one who described the battle (himself also a student) is going back to the States for some meetings in January and he'll be able to bring it back. So I'll be cameraless for as little as two weeks or as long as six weeks. No big deal. I'm really thankful for loving supporters (i.e., family).
I looked at my own travel plans to come to the States in March. It looks like I can get a great deal for a flight to Nashville in the end of February, returning the first week of March. I'm still hoping and praying for support for my friend to come along. I've sent out a couple of appeals, but we'll see how that goes. Of course, we don't even know if he'd be granted a visa, since the US has seemed to tighten its controls on persons coming from the Philippines, even with American sponsors and for short-term trips. We'll see. Keep praying.
I'm going to try in the next few weeks to set up links to show people how they can help, but I haven't figured that out with Blogger yet. I'm sort of treating this blog like the standard "missionary newsletter," and so this is one of the things that goes into that kind of document. Anyhow, prayer is the most important means of support. Partnering is, of course, another. But that's all I'll say. I promise.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
The First Sunday after Christmas: The persistence of memory and the vicissitudes of tradition
Isaiah 61:10-62:3; Psalm 148; Galatians 4:4-7; Luke 2:22-40
It has become something of a standard line for me to complain about how all of the decorations go up earlier and earlier every year and then seem to be torn down as soon as possible after the Christmas holiday. In certain ways, this is even more pronounced in the Philippines than it is in the States, if such can even be conceived considering how grossly materialistic the majority of Americans are and have been for the entirety of their history of relative prosperity. But beyond this standard critique of the misuse (in an active sense) or the misunderstanding (in a passive sense) of the concept of time, the relationship between memory and anticipation seems to me to be an important one.
I need to air out a pet peeve. In my tradition, it has become something of a emotionally-driven practice to translate the Aramaic term Abba as used by/attributed to Jesus in the Gospels (and in our text from Galatians today) as "Daddy." This is designed to indicate something of the closeness and familiarity with which God the Son is said to have approached God the Father. True enough, "Father and Son," or, in view of the community, "Father and children" is a more intimate relationship than "King and subjects," one of the principal ways in which the relationship been God and Israel was metaphorized in the Old Testament. It is certainly not as initimate as "husband and wife," though that in itself and for separate reasons is subject to the vicissitudes of tradition, for the ways in which husbands treated wives in the Old and New Testaments--and in later Christian tradition and practice--is something of an embarrasment for Christianity.
But Abba is not--NOT!--"Daddy." This is used in my tradition to suggest that we can come running to God when we have skinned our knees or something and say "Daddy daddy daddy," or when God has come home from work we can go running through the house and jump up into his waiting arms and squeal, happily, "Daddy daddy daddy!" Aside from the oddity indeed of a thirty-year-old upper-middle class skilled laborer calling anyone--much less his heavenly Father--"Daddy," translating Abba as "Daddy" makes absolutely no connection to my own piety. The name of God is much too exalted for that, and turning this into "Daddy" comes, I fear, dangerously close to breaking the Third Commandment. Those who preach this, further, link it up--in a grotesque sort of textual patch-work--with the injunctions to become like little children and thus be fit for the kingdom of heaven (a works-righteousness sort of thing in its own right whose setting aside must be set aside for another time). But, to my knowledge, I have never called my father "Daddy." Once I did when I was fifteen, just to kid him, and he got very offended and angry. This is a word that makes absolutely no sense to me. And I surely would not approach God would this word. Now, there is an intimacy and a closeness that defines the relationship of the Christian community with God, and for that matter of individual Christian believers with God, but this is not to be expressed through the milquetoast sort of emotionalism that lies crouching at the door of translating Abba as "Daddy." We can go running to God when we've skinned our knees or whatever, and we can go running into his waiting arms for his embrace. But the closeness of the relationship that we can have does not mean that we need become blubbering fools.
On a recent shopping trip, I saw a most interesting painting. It was obviously intended to recall Salvador Dali's The persistence of memory (1931)--you know, the one with the melting clocks. I cannot remember now what the title of this send-up was, but the striking feature was melting computer accouterments--floppy disks, CD-ROMs, keyboards, mice, and so on. I told myself I should remember that, but of course I did not. I know the title had something to do with memory, and the fact that I cannot remember this title that has to do with memory illustrates well the point that I am trying to make in this devotion.
Memory, in order for it to be persistent, must be continually worked at, like the muscles of an athlete must be continually worked in order to avoid atrophication. The great sociologist Pierre Bourdieu (d. 2002) maintained that the things taken for granted, especially within "primitive" societies, the things that did not need explanation, were where the real life of a community lay. He labeled this ideas with the curiously-chosen Greek term doxa, necessarily adding the notion of assumedness to this word's semantic domain. "Excellence," said Bourdieu, "ceases to exist when one asks whether it can be taught." What he meant by this was that once systematization of tradition enters in, then tradition will of necessity become traditionalism, and it will then be open to the negotiations and vicissitudes of changing traditions.
The readings for today can be somewhat shoved under this particular lens. In the story of the purification of Jesus and Mary "according to the law of Moses," they came to the temple and offered the proper sacrifices. The time of uncleanness for a woman bearing a male child was much shorter than the time of uncleanness for a woman bearing a female child, according to the Old Testament law. This has been reinterpreted in some feminist and womanist scholarship to give greater pride of place to the birth of females, for why should it be in the doxa of our society that a greater period of inaction is to be equated with a greater degree of uncleanness, and therefore less value for the girl that has been born (and borne)? This is something that has been subjected to the negotiations of changing traditions, and this is part of the evolution of societies as they grow out of old, once-but-no-longer-useful traditions and embrace new and different ways of looking at life and the world.
So Mary and Jesus are doing what is necessary in order to continue on into the future, while at the same time old Simeon has come to the end of his life, and now can be released in peace because his eyes have seen the Savior, a light to enlighten the Gentiles, and the glory of God's people Israel. By having developed this story, the Lukan community showed that while Mary and Jesus were good, pious Jews, fulfilling the commandments of the law, at the same time this baby represented a new initiative on the part of God. The coming of Jesus was an innovation, was subject to the negotiations and vicissitudes of what was then a well-established tradition of rapport between this particular God and this particular people. But then again, it was also very much in line with this tradition.
But what of the persistence of memory? Mary and Jesus remembered the commandments of the law, for Jesus was born of a woman, born under the law, so that he might redeem all those who are born under the law. We remember the traditions of Christmas even amongst all the gloppy emotionalism that is tied into it in our modern consumer societies. We remember the closeness of the relationship that existed between Father and Son and that we by extension can have through him. And while, assumedly, just about everything we teach and say and think and do is subject to the negotiations and vicissitudes of changing traditions, let this remain in our doxa, our excellence that will not cease to exist even if we ask whether it can be taught: we will "praise the name of Yahweh, for his name alone is exalted, his glory is above earth and heaven. He has raised up a horn for his people, praise for all his faithful, for the people of Israel who are close to him. Praise Yahweh" (Psalm 148:13-14). Amen.
It has become something of a standard line for me to complain about how all of the decorations go up earlier and earlier every year and then seem to be torn down as soon as possible after the Christmas holiday. In certain ways, this is even more pronounced in the Philippines than it is in the States, if such can even be conceived considering how grossly materialistic the majority of Americans are and have been for the entirety of their history of relative prosperity. But beyond this standard critique of the misuse (in an active sense) or the misunderstanding (in a passive sense) of the concept of time, the relationship between memory and anticipation seems to me to be an important one.
I need to air out a pet peeve. In my tradition, it has become something of a emotionally-driven practice to translate the Aramaic term Abba as used by/attributed to Jesus in the Gospels (and in our text from Galatians today) as "Daddy." This is designed to indicate something of the closeness and familiarity with which God the Son is said to have approached God the Father. True enough, "Father and Son," or, in view of the community, "Father and children" is a more intimate relationship than "King and subjects," one of the principal ways in which the relationship been God and Israel was metaphorized in the Old Testament. It is certainly not as initimate as "husband and wife," though that in itself and for separate reasons is subject to the vicissitudes of tradition, for the ways in which husbands treated wives in the Old and New Testaments--and in later Christian tradition and practice--is something of an embarrasment for Christianity.
But Abba is not--NOT!--"Daddy." This is used in my tradition to suggest that we can come running to God when we have skinned our knees or something and say "Daddy daddy daddy," or when God has come home from work we can go running through the house and jump up into his waiting arms and squeal, happily, "Daddy daddy daddy!" Aside from the oddity indeed of a thirty-year-old upper-middle class skilled laborer calling anyone--much less his heavenly Father--"Daddy," translating Abba as "Daddy" makes absolutely no connection to my own piety. The name of God is much too exalted for that, and turning this into "Daddy" comes, I fear, dangerously close to breaking the Third Commandment. Those who preach this, further, link it up--in a grotesque sort of textual patch-work--with the injunctions to become like little children and thus be fit for the kingdom of heaven (a works-righteousness sort of thing in its own right whose setting aside must be set aside for another time). But, to my knowledge, I have never called my father "Daddy." Once I did when I was fifteen, just to kid him, and he got very offended and angry. This is a word that makes absolutely no sense to me. And I surely would not approach God would this word. Now, there is an intimacy and a closeness that defines the relationship of the Christian community with God, and for that matter of individual Christian believers with God, but this is not to be expressed through the milquetoast sort of emotionalism that lies crouching at the door of translating Abba as "Daddy." We can go running to God when we've skinned our knees or whatever, and we can go running into his waiting arms for his embrace. But the closeness of the relationship that we can have does not mean that we need become blubbering fools.
On a recent shopping trip, I saw a most interesting painting. It was obviously intended to recall Salvador Dali's The persistence of memory (1931)--you know, the one with the melting clocks. I cannot remember now what the title of this send-up was, but the striking feature was melting computer accouterments--floppy disks, CD-ROMs, keyboards, mice, and so on. I told myself I should remember that, but of course I did not. I know the title had something to do with memory, and the fact that I cannot remember this title that has to do with memory illustrates well the point that I am trying to make in this devotion.
Memory, in order for it to be persistent, must be continually worked at, like the muscles of an athlete must be continually worked in order to avoid atrophication. The great sociologist Pierre Bourdieu (d. 2002) maintained that the things taken for granted, especially within "primitive" societies, the things that did not need explanation, were where the real life of a community lay. He labeled this ideas with the curiously-chosen Greek term doxa, necessarily adding the notion of assumedness to this word's semantic domain. "Excellence," said Bourdieu, "ceases to exist when one asks whether it can be taught." What he meant by this was that once systematization of tradition enters in, then tradition will of necessity become traditionalism, and it will then be open to the negotiations and vicissitudes of changing traditions.
The readings for today can be somewhat shoved under this particular lens. In the story of the purification of Jesus and Mary "according to the law of Moses," they came to the temple and offered the proper sacrifices. The time of uncleanness for a woman bearing a male child was much shorter than the time of uncleanness for a woman bearing a female child, according to the Old Testament law. This has been reinterpreted in some feminist and womanist scholarship to give greater pride of place to the birth of females, for why should it be in the doxa of our society that a greater period of inaction is to be equated with a greater degree of uncleanness, and therefore less value for the girl that has been born (and borne)? This is something that has been subjected to the negotiations of changing traditions, and this is part of the evolution of societies as they grow out of old, once-but-no-longer-useful traditions and embrace new and different ways of looking at life and the world.
So Mary and Jesus are doing what is necessary in order to continue on into the future, while at the same time old Simeon has come to the end of his life, and now can be released in peace because his eyes have seen the Savior, a light to enlighten the Gentiles, and the glory of God's people Israel. By having developed this story, the Lukan community showed that while Mary and Jesus were good, pious Jews, fulfilling the commandments of the law, at the same time this baby represented a new initiative on the part of God. The coming of Jesus was an innovation, was subject to the negotiations and vicissitudes of what was then a well-established tradition of rapport between this particular God and this particular people. But then again, it was also very much in line with this tradition.
But what of the persistence of memory? Mary and Jesus remembered the commandments of the law, for Jesus was born of a woman, born under the law, so that he might redeem all those who are born under the law. We remember the traditions of Christmas even amongst all the gloppy emotionalism that is tied into it in our modern consumer societies. We remember the closeness of the relationship that existed between Father and Son and that we by extension can have through him. And while, assumedly, just about everything we teach and say and think and do is subject to the negotiations and vicissitudes of changing traditions, let this remain in our doxa, our excellence that will not cease to exist even if we ask whether it can be taught: we will "praise the name of Yahweh, for his name alone is exalted, his glory is above earth and heaven. He has raised up a horn for his people, praise for all his faithful, for the people of Israel who are close to him. Praise Yahweh" (Psalm 148:13-14). Amen.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Prayer
Manalangin tayo!
Panginoon, maraming salamat po sa araw na ito.
Maraming salamat din po sa Anak ninyo.
Maraming salamat din po sa Biblya ninyo.
Maraming salamat din po sa simbahan ninyo.
Maraming salamat din po sa buhay ko.
Maraming salamat din po sa pamilya ko.
Maraming salamat din po sa mga kaibigan ko.
Maraming salamat din po sa trabaho ko.
Maraming salamat din po sa mga estudyante ko.
Maraming salamat din po sa mga titser ko.
At maraming salamat din po sa lahat ng ibinigay ninyo sa akin. Amen.
Panginoon, maraming salamat po sa araw na ito.
Maraming salamat din po sa Anak ninyo.
Maraming salamat din po sa Biblya ninyo.
Maraming salamat din po sa simbahan ninyo.
Maraming salamat din po sa buhay ko.
Maraming salamat din po sa pamilya ko.
Maraming salamat din po sa mga kaibigan ko.
Maraming salamat din po sa trabaho ko.
Maraming salamat din po sa mga estudyante ko.
Maraming salamat din po sa mga titser ko.
At maraming salamat din po sa lahat ng ibinigay ninyo sa akin. Amen.
Corregidor Island
Took a day-trip out to Corregidor Island at the mouth of Manila Bay yesterday. Corregidor has been one of the principal fortified places protecting the capital city from attack by sea for hundreds of years. One of the many things we learned on the tour was that the Washington Naval Treaty of 1922--signed by the United States, the British Empire, the Empire of Japan, the French Third Republic, and the Kingdom of Italy--specifically prevented the United States from improving the fortifications on the island, which would indirectly lead to the island falling to the Japanese, after a five-month battle, in May 1942. Against an attack from the sea Corregidor was well prepared, including the so-called "invisible guns of Corregidor," batteries that raised up to fire at approaching ships then were lowered again away from counterattack for reloading. However, against an attack from the air, such as that executed first by the Japanese and then by the Americans retaking the island in 1945, Corregidor was largely defenseless.
I am a history buff. Even though history as such is not in my academic interests, nevertheless my field is--in a manner of speaking--about history, and so it is natural, I think, that I should be enraptured by discussions of historical kinds of things. I am particularly fascinated by military history, which I think is unusual because there is not much in my family history in the way of proud military tradition. True enough, my father served in Vietnam, but you would be hard-pressed to find any significant heroics on the battlefield coming from the Modines. Perhaps this is because we ultimately come from the neutral country of Sweden, which seems more interested in fortifying its countryside with saunas and ski lodges than artillery installations and foxholes.
Anyhow, Corregidor was the site of Gen. Douglas MacArthur's famous line "I shall return!" The General was ordered to Australia by President Roosevelt, and beginning in the summer of 1944 he was in charge of a campaign that came west and north from a base in Australia to sytematically retake the lands conquered by Japan, achieving ultimate victory in September 1945. I said to my girlfriend that it would have been very interesting indeed to have taken this tour with some of my Japanese students, of which there are currently four at the seminary. The tour guide was obviously slanted in his presentation in favor of the American and Filipino side of the story, but this was not in any respect a weakness. A quite knowledgeable guide, he did have a couple of funny lines, including asking after the difference between the Filipino and American soldiers depicted, arms around each other's shoulders, helping each other, in front of the Pacific War Memorial. When no one gave the "right answer," he said it was simple, really: "The Filipino is the more handsome one!"
The memorial itself is so constructed that the sun on May 6 at noon is to shine directly on the "memorial altar" inside the structure. Futher, on that day the sun rises and sets exactly through the openings in the side of the building. This is one of several features designed to remember May 6, 1942, the day Corregidor fell to the forces of Imperial Japan. Some others are meant to recall February 26, 1945, the date of the final liberation of Corregidor; and March 7, 1945, the date Gen. MacArthur finally made good on his promise that he would return.
One of the most interesting things our guide said was to quote from memory the announcement of the fall of Bataan Peninsula (April 9, 1942) on the Voice of Freedom, as well as the communique' issued by Gen. John Wainwright to President Roosevelt the day before the official surrender of Corregidor and the rest of the Philippines to Japan. The fall of Bataan was also the beginning of the infamous "Death March," which was designed not only for brutality, but also to provide a long line of human shields as cover for the Japanese refortification of Bataan in order to continue their fight for the Philippines. The commanding general of Japan had promised the emperor to deliver the Philippines in 50 days' time, but the "Battling Bastards of Bataan" and the guns of Corregidor held out for an amazing five months against overwhelming odds. Corregidor did not hold as much strategic importance for the Japanese in terms of defending the Philippines as it had for the Americans and Filipinos, but it was still important enough--for military as well as sentimental reasons--to warrant a separate attack when the Americans came back to retake the Philippines. Today it is one of the prided tourist locations in the islands.
Next I want to see Bataan...
I am a history buff. Even though history as such is not in my academic interests, nevertheless my field is--in a manner of speaking--about history, and so it is natural, I think, that I should be enraptured by discussions of historical kinds of things. I am particularly fascinated by military history, which I think is unusual because there is not much in my family history in the way of proud military tradition. True enough, my father served in Vietnam, but you would be hard-pressed to find any significant heroics on the battlefield coming from the Modines. Perhaps this is because we ultimately come from the neutral country of Sweden, which seems more interested in fortifying its countryside with saunas and ski lodges than artillery installations and foxholes.
Anyhow, Corregidor was the site of Gen. Douglas MacArthur's famous line "I shall return!" The General was ordered to Australia by President Roosevelt, and beginning in the summer of 1944 he was in charge of a campaign that came west and north from a base in Australia to sytematically retake the lands conquered by Japan, achieving ultimate victory in September 1945. I said to my girlfriend that it would have been very interesting indeed to have taken this tour with some of my Japanese students, of which there are currently four at the seminary. The tour guide was obviously slanted in his presentation in favor of the American and Filipino side of the story, but this was not in any respect a weakness. A quite knowledgeable guide, he did have a couple of funny lines, including asking after the difference between the Filipino and American soldiers depicted, arms around each other's shoulders, helping each other, in front of the Pacific War Memorial. When no one gave the "right answer," he said it was simple, really: "The Filipino is the more handsome one!"
The memorial itself is so constructed that the sun on May 6 at noon is to shine directly on the "memorial altar" inside the structure. Futher, on that day the sun rises and sets exactly through the openings in the side of the building. This is one of several features designed to remember May 6, 1942, the day Corregidor fell to the forces of Imperial Japan. Some others are meant to recall February 26, 1945, the date of the final liberation of Corregidor; and March 7, 1945, the date Gen. MacArthur finally made good on his promise that he would return.
One of the most interesting things our guide said was to quote from memory the announcement of the fall of Bataan Peninsula (April 9, 1942) on the Voice of Freedom, as well as the communique' issued by Gen. John Wainwright to President Roosevelt the day before the official surrender of Corregidor and the rest of the Philippines to Japan. The fall of Bataan was also the beginning of the infamous "Death March," which was designed not only for brutality, but also to provide a long line of human shields as cover for the Japanese refortification of Bataan in order to continue their fight for the Philippines. The commanding general of Japan had promised the emperor to deliver the Philippines in 50 days' time, but the "Battling Bastards of Bataan" and the guns of Corregidor held out for an amazing five months against overwhelming odds. Corregidor did not hold as much strategic importance for the Japanese in terms of defending the Philippines as it had for the Americans and Filipinos, but it was still important enough--for military as well as sentimental reasons--to warrant a separate attack when the Americans came back to retake the Philippines. Today it is one of the prided tourist locations in the islands.
Next I want to see Bataan...
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Christmas Day, Proper 3: Head of the class
Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98; Hebrews 1:1-4(5-12); John 1:1-14
The final set of texts for the Nativity departs from the Mark texts generally used throughout Year B and goes to the quasi-philosophical Gospel opening, John's discourse about the Word being made flesh and dwelling among humans. I once preached on this text, describing how the author(s) of the Fourth Gospel used a word from philosophical Greek to explain how a new world had come about through this odd, upper-middle class itinerant preacher from Galilee. A note, though, on "upper-middle class." While at first this sounds like an anachronism, it is much better to describe Jesus the Nazareth carpenter as an upwardly mobile member of society than with the term "peasant," which in today's English conjures up the image of a laborer working solely for the benefit of a superior, without any hope of advancement beyond meager, subsistence conditions--and sometimes even worse conditions than that. In earlier usage, "peasant" simply meant "country dweller," or one who did not live in the larger cities or in and around the castle or manor house. Such persons could be very wealthy indeed, in relative terms at least, and especially someone in skilled profession such as scribe, blacksmith, tanner, vintner...or carpenter.
I can illustrate this difference with reference to my own situation. Compared to my country of origin, the salary I am paid is nothing near what I should expect to earn in a similar position, even coming in with no experience. However, in comparison to the average salary in the Philippines, I am near the top, though certainly not at it. Nevertheless, I am a "peasant" in the old sense of the term; although I live near Manila, I am definitely not involved in the centers of power. And I am a worker whose job requires a specialized skill and set of knowledge, just like a vulcanizing shop, an auto mechanic, an information technology person...or a carpenter. It is a matter of perspective. Something has been lost in the equation of "peasant" with unskilled, subsistence labor. And while Jesus was not at the center of power, he was definitely familiar with it. He was of course quite versed in the ways of the Pharisees--again, people who had a specialized skill, and who were thus "upper-middle class" type of people, but not necessarily involved in the central operation of things. If Jesus was not himself a Pharisee (which argument I believe can be made) then he knew enough about how they operated, or the Gospel writers knew enough about how they operated at any rate, to be able to criticize them exactly at the point where they had gotten off the track: emphasizing the smallest points of the law and thereby, in the American idiom, missing the forest for the trees.
The text from Isaiah 52 is written to those who are about to come back from exile, indicating that Yahweh is returning to Zion. It is natural to see this as a Messianic text, though that was perhaps not part of the original intent. In the Christian confession, Jesus is the son of Yahweh, and indeed Yahweh himself in the flesh (John 1:1, 14). So Yahweh, the LORD, has indeed returned to Zion--but not in the way people would expect. Part of the reason why Jesus angered so many people, as should be well known by now, is that he quite simply failed to live up to the expectations of a Davidic/militaristic Messiah, ridding the nation of the presence of the pagan Romans and reestablishing the Kingdom of David as it should be. It was all very post-colonial, this Messianic expectation, even though I realize that applying a term from late-twentieth century political philosophy and cultural criticism is a rather large anachronism. But for all his familiarity with the skills necessary for the work of a carpenter, for all his familiarity with the ways and means of the Pharisees, for all his better-than-prescient understanding of his earthly mission (and I think that at least some of this is historically probable), Jesus was at the head of the class. He was not JUST a carpenter, even though being just a carpenter was quite an honorable and lucrative position. He was not JUST a preacher and interpreter of the law, although being just a preacher and interpreter of the law also garnered a person a rather well-thought-of place in the society of 1st century CE Jewry; this is in spite of Jesus' rather persistent disclamations of his own authority and position. Near the end of his life, he again says to Pontius Pilate that his kingdom is not of this world, for if it were, his followers would be conducting a military operation not only to free the boss from the clutches of the Roman procurator, but also establish the kingdom by force with Jesus himself taking his rightful place. The Triumphal Entry was not triumphant at all; but, if Jesus' kingdom were of this world, then it would be. The Entry would then be every bit as pompous (in the positive sense of that word) as the entry of the victorious, newly crowned Caesars into Rome. But it was not this way, not for this King.
For this king, as the author of the book of Hebrews maintains, represented a new initiative on the part of God toward the people of the earth. In many and various ways God spoke to the ancestors by the prophets, but now he has spoken to us by a Son. The word has become flesh, and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory of an only begotten Son, full of grace and truth. This is something new. Yahweh has demonstrated his victory over sin in the sight of all the nations. Whereas Psalm 98 is talking specifically about a military type of victory, as it stands in the context of these other readings for Christmas Day it is given a new kind of meaning, an explicitly Christological one at that. Jesus was just a carpenter, of which there were many. Jesus was just a preacher, of which there were many. Jesus was just an interpreter of the law, of which there were many. Jesus was just a prophet, of which there were many. Jesus was just a messianic claimant, of which there were many. Jesus was just a man, of which there were many. But he was more, so much more. He is the exact reflection of God's very being (the Greek word in Heb 1:3 is character). And, Phil 2 tells us, he did not consider equality with God something to be exploited, or even though he had the very nature of God at his disposal, nevertheless he humbled himself--not divesting himself entirely of his divinity, as if he were even able to do such a thing--and identified himself with us in our weakness. Jesus took on our class, living as an upper-middle class, skilled laborer, preaching, teaching, interpreting the law, healing the sick...and showing us how to live in a way that was not merely subsistence, that was not merely turning over all the gains of our labor to a superior and then walking away with nothing. This was a new way to live, and we are still today figuring out the implications of this message. I shouldn't think we will ever master it. Amen.
The final set of texts for the Nativity departs from the Mark texts generally used throughout Year B and goes to the quasi-philosophical Gospel opening, John's discourse about the Word being made flesh and dwelling among humans. I once preached on this text, describing how the author(s) of the Fourth Gospel used a word from philosophical Greek to explain how a new world had come about through this odd, upper-middle class itinerant preacher from Galilee. A note, though, on "upper-middle class." While at first this sounds like an anachronism, it is much better to describe Jesus the Nazareth carpenter as an upwardly mobile member of society than with the term "peasant," which in today's English conjures up the image of a laborer working solely for the benefit of a superior, without any hope of advancement beyond meager, subsistence conditions--and sometimes even worse conditions than that. In earlier usage, "peasant" simply meant "country dweller," or one who did not live in the larger cities or in and around the castle or manor house. Such persons could be very wealthy indeed, in relative terms at least, and especially someone in skilled profession such as scribe, blacksmith, tanner, vintner...or carpenter.
I can illustrate this difference with reference to my own situation. Compared to my country of origin, the salary I am paid is nothing near what I should expect to earn in a similar position, even coming in with no experience. However, in comparison to the average salary in the Philippines, I am near the top, though certainly not at it. Nevertheless, I am a "peasant" in the old sense of the term; although I live near Manila, I am definitely not involved in the centers of power. And I am a worker whose job requires a specialized skill and set of knowledge, just like a vulcanizing shop, an auto mechanic, an information technology person...or a carpenter. It is a matter of perspective. Something has been lost in the equation of "peasant" with unskilled, subsistence labor. And while Jesus was not at the center of power, he was definitely familiar with it. He was of course quite versed in the ways of the Pharisees--again, people who had a specialized skill, and who were thus "upper-middle class" type of people, but not necessarily involved in the central operation of things. If Jesus was not himself a Pharisee (which argument I believe can be made) then he knew enough about how they operated, or the Gospel writers knew enough about how they operated at any rate, to be able to criticize them exactly at the point where they had gotten off the track: emphasizing the smallest points of the law and thereby, in the American idiom, missing the forest for the trees.
The text from Isaiah 52 is written to those who are about to come back from exile, indicating that Yahweh is returning to Zion. It is natural to see this as a Messianic text, though that was perhaps not part of the original intent. In the Christian confession, Jesus is the son of Yahweh, and indeed Yahweh himself in the flesh (John 1:1, 14). So Yahweh, the LORD, has indeed returned to Zion--but not in the way people would expect. Part of the reason why Jesus angered so many people, as should be well known by now, is that he quite simply failed to live up to the expectations of a Davidic/militaristic Messiah, ridding the nation of the presence of the pagan Romans and reestablishing the Kingdom of David as it should be. It was all very post-colonial, this Messianic expectation, even though I realize that applying a term from late-twentieth century political philosophy and cultural criticism is a rather large anachronism. But for all his familiarity with the skills necessary for the work of a carpenter, for all his familiarity with the ways and means of the Pharisees, for all his better-than-prescient understanding of his earthly mission (and I think that at least some of this is historically probable), Jesus was at the head of the class. He was not JUST a carpenter, even though being just a carpenter was quite an honorable and lucrative position. He was not JUST a preacher and interpreter of the law, although being just a preacher and interpreter of the law also garnered a person a rather well-thought-of place in the society of 1st century CE Jewry; this is in spite of Jesus' rather persistent disclamations of his own authority and position. Near the end of his life, he again says to Pontius Pilate that his kingdom is not of this world, for if it were, his followers would be conducting a military operation not only to free the boss from the clutches of the Roman procurator, but also establish the kingdom by force with Jesus himself taking his rightful place. The Triumphal Entry was not triumphant at all; but, if Jesus' kingdom were of this world, then it would be. The Entry would then be every bit as pompous (in the positive sense of that word) as the entry of the victorious, newly crowned Caesars into Rome. But it was not this way, not for this King.
For this king, as the author of the book of Hebrews maintains, represented a new initiative on the part of God toward the people of the earth. In many and various ways God spoke to the ancestors by the prophets, but now he has spoken to us by a Son. The word has become flesh, and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory of an only begotten Son, full of grace and truth. This is something new. Yahweh has demonstrated his victory over sin in the sight of all the nations. Whereas Psalm 98 is talking specifically about a military type of victory, as it stands in the context of these other readings for Christmas Day it is given a new kind of meaning, an explicitly Christological one at that. Jesus was just a carpenter, of which there were many. Jesus was just a preacher, of which there were many. Jesus was just an interpreter of the law, of which there were many. Jesus was just a prophet, of which there were many. Jesus was just a messianic claimant, of which there were many. Jesus was just a man, of which there were many. But he was more, so much more. He is the exact reflection of God's very being (the Greek word in Heb 1:3 is character). And, Phil 2 tells us, he did not consider equality with God something to be exploited, or even though he had the very nature of God at his disposal, nevertheless he humbled himself--not divesting himself entirely of his divinity, as if he were even able to do such a thing--and identified himself with us in our weakness. Jesus took on our class, living as an upper-middle class, skilled laborer, preaching, teaching, interpreting the law, healing the sick...and showing us how to live in a way that was not merely subsistence, that was not merely turning over all the gains of our labor to a superior and then walking away with nothing. This was a new way to live, and we are still today figuring out the implications of this message. I shouldn't think we will ever master it. Amen.
Christmas Day, Proper 2: Don't stop believing
Isaiah 62:6-12; Psalm 97; Titus 3:4-7; Luke 2:(1-7)8-20
It is no surprise at all that the first two Propers for Christmas Day have the same chapter from Luke as the Gospel reading. The nativity scene from Luke is well-known, with no room at the inn, the stable, the manger, the shepherds, the angels, and all the rest. "Nativity scenes" of course get it all wrong, because we're not talking about a wooden barn, and the wizards/magicians/sages/astrologers/whatever they were were not present in the manger, but only showed up later, as recorded in Matthew. But the incorrectness/anachronism of manger scenes aside, the point of Luke's infancy narratives seems to be all about the humble beginnings of this one who seemed to know a lot about what he was doing even at an early age. After all, it is Luke that later records that Jesus said he had to be about his father's business when he was twelve. How would a kid realistically know that? But, so far as the Gospel of Luke is concerned, there is something special about this boy, who otherwise would have been written off as yet another precocious kid of whom the world is filled with abundant examples.
Speaking of precociousness, the Isaiah passage seems to indicate that the worshippers are called on to keep bugging Yahweh until he does what he has promised to do. In this specific case, it is establish[ing] Jerusalem and mak[ing] it renowed through all the earth." This insistence that Yahweh do something is not asking him to do something innovative, but rather to complete a promise given long ago to Abraham, even though the children of Israel broke the covenant repeatedly. The God of the Bible is never one finally to give up on his creatures. Might we not extend this willingness to save as far as possible, and even beyond the limits of what we might think is possible? This is a point to ponder, and if God is a God of love--as we confess--then there might be much more here than meets the eye. But the persistence in asking God, in "reminding" God of something he has promised, in the language of Isa 62, carries the same sentiment, so it seems to me, of the final line of the book of Revelation: "Amen, come Lord Jesus." The Aramaic word there is the somewhat enigmatic Maran atha. This word can also be written Marana tha. The former means "Our Lord, come," while the latter means, "The Lord has come." Both ideas are captured by the single word and, as texts from the first century did not have spaces, owing to the expense of papyrus roles and the need to use up as much of the available space as possible. So we pray that our Lord will soon come, will make good on the promises he has made to us and to our ancestors. And we also bear witness to the fact that our Lord has come, and it is this first coming that we celebrate in particular today.
Psalm 97 is a remnant of the old polytheistic systems out of which the faith of Israel arose; this is in particular reflected in v 9; if Yahweh is exalted above all other gods, this is not the same thing as saying, in accordance with the language of the latter prophets, and especially Third Isaiah from which the Old Testament lesson comes, that Yahweh is the only God over all the earth. Even though this remant is there, however, and even though the final victory of monotheism was not achieved until the Maccabean revolt in the second century BCE (reflected in the book of Daniel), the movement toward monotheism is an inexorable one, and indeed a monotheistic lacquer, so to speak, has been brushed back over the earlier materials to give at least the appearance that this theological idea was in place from the first days of Israel.
And again to Titus, this time from chapter 3. Verse 7 in especially striking. Salvation from sin is clearly not the only story, or not entirely the story. We have also become heirs of eternal life through what Jesus has done, coming to earth as a human, dying, and being raised by the power of God. We also walk in newness of life, says Paul in Romans 6, "dead to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus" (v 11). But what Titus 3:7 says is that we have become heirs "according to the hope of eternal life." This is why we are to keep on asking, keep on insisting, that God live up to God's word and deliver us from the law of sin and death (Rom 7). It is possible to live free from sin in this life. This is the hope of eternal life, that God will finally deliver on his promises in this life, in this present evil age, and the gates of Hell will not be able to stand against the church that he builds on the rock, the foundation stone, of our confession, with Peter, that he is the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. And we wait for the fulfilling of the promise, but we do not wait in vain. For as we continue to ask, continue to demand, continue to insist, the promise comes through in ways we cannot even imagine. Amen.
It is no surprise at all that the first two Propers for Christmas Day have the same chapter from Luke as the Gospel reading. The nativity scene from Luke is well-known, with no room at the inn, the stable, the manger, the shepherds, the angels, and all the rest. "Nativity scenes" of course get it all wrong, because we're not talking about a wooden barn, and the wizards/magicians/sages/astrologers/whatever they were were not present in the manger, but only showed up later, as recorded in Matthew. But the incorrectness/anachronism of manger scenes aside, the point of Luke's infancy narratives seems to be all about the humble beginnings of this one who seemed to know a lot about what he was doing even at an early age. After all, it is Luke that later records that Jesus said he had to be about his father's business when he was twelve. How would a kid realistically know that? But, so far as the Gospel of Luke is concerned, there is something special about this boy, who otherwise would have been written off as yet another precocious kid of whom the world is filled with abundant examples.
Speaking of precociousness, the Isaiah passage seems to indicate that the worshippers are called on to keep bugging Yahweh until he does what he has promised to do. In this specific case, it is establish[ing] Jerusalem and mak[ing] it renowed through all the earth." This insistence that Yahweh do something is not asking him to do something innovative, but rather to complete a promise given long ago to Abraham, even though the children of Israel broke the covenant repeatedly. The God of the Bible is never one finally to give up on his creatures. Might we not extend this willingness to save as far as possible, and even beyond the limits of what we might think is possible? This is a point to ponder, and if God is a God of love--as we confess--then there might be much more here than meets the eye. But the persistence in asking God, in "reminding" God of something he has promised, in the language of Isa 62, carries the same sentiment, so it seems to me, of the final line of the book of Revelation: "Amen, come Lord Jesus." The Aramaic word there is the somewhat enigmatic Maran atha. This word can also be written Marana tha. The former means "Our Lord, come," while the latter means, "The Lord has come." Both ideas are captured by the single word and, as texts from the first century did not have spaces, owing to the expense of papyrus roles and the need to use up as much of the available space as possible. So we pray that our Lord will soon come, will make good on the promises he has made to us and to our ancestors. And we also bear witness to the fact that our Lord has come, and it is this first coming that we celebrate in particular today.
Psalm 97 is a remnant of the old polytheistic systems out of which the faith of Israel arose; this is in particular reflected in v 9; if Yahweh is exalted above all other gods, this is not the same thing as saying, in accordance with the language of the latter prophets, and especially Third Isaiah from which the Old Testament lesson comes, that Yahweh is the only God over all the earth. Even though this remant is there, however, and even though the final victory of monotheism was not achieved until the Maccabean revolt in the second century BCE (reflected in the book of Daniel), the movement toward monotheism is an inexorable one, and indeed a monotheistic lacquer, so to speak, has been brushed back over the earlier materials to give at least the appearance that this theological idea was in place from the first days of Israel.
And again to Titus, this time from chapter 3. Verse 7 in especially striking. Salvation from sin is clearly not the only story, or not entirely the story. We have also become heirs of eternal life through what Jesus has done, coming to earth as a human, dying, and being raised by the power of God. We also walk in newness of life, says Paul in Romans 6, "dead to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus" (v 11). But what Titus 3:7 says is that we have become heirs "according to the hope of eternal life." This is why we are to keep on asking, keep on insisting, that God live up to God's word and deliver us from the law of sin and death (Rom 7). It is possible to live free from sin in this life. This is the hope of eternal life, that God will finally deliver on his promises in this life, in this present evil age, and the gates of Hell will not be able to stand against the church that he builds on the rock, the foundation stone, of our confession, with Peter, that he is the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. And we wait for the fulfilling of the promise, but we do not wait in vain. For as we continue to ask, continue to demand, continue to insist, the promise comes through in ways we cannot even imagine. Amen.
"Maranatha!" is a cry of the heart,
that's hopeful yet weary of waiting.
While it may be joyful with the burdens it bears,
it's sick with anticpating!
To long for the Promised One day after day,
and the promise that soon he'd return;
it's certain that waiting's the most bitter lesson
a believing heart has to learn.
"Maranatha!"
How many more moments must this waiting last?
"Maranatha!"
We long for the time when all time is past.
A commotion, a call, then that will be all;
though it's not yet the hour
the minutes are ticking away!
"Maranatha" is the shout of the few
who so long in history've been hiding,
who truly believe that the sound of that call
might actually hasten his coming!
For no eye has seen and no ear has yet heard,
and no mind has ever conceived,
the joy of the moment when he will appear
to the wonder of all who believe!
"Maranatha!"
How many more moments must this waiting last?
"Maranatha!"
We long for the time when all time is past.
A commotion, a call, then that will be all;
though it's not yet the hour
the minutes are ticking away!
"Maranatha!"
How hungry we are just to see your face!
"Parousia!"
To finally fall in one long embrace!
A commotion, a call, then that will be all;
though it's not yet the hour
the minutes are ticking away!--Michael Card, "Marantha"
Old traditions with new people II
I did not realize it until the game was about 3/4 over, but I did participate in another Modine family ritual last night. This time it was playing Monopoly on Christmas Eve, starting late at night and ending early on Christmas morning. My opponents were the two oldest children--one girl and one boy--of one of my faculty colleagues, who had never played Monopoly before. So I was teaching them how to do it as they went along.
My brother's strategy of collecting the railroads and the utilities ultimately paid off for the girl, the eventual winner of the game. I had bought and/or traded for three of the railroads and I had both utilities. I was offering the earth, the sun, the moon, and the stars to the girl for the fourth railroad, but she was very stubborn. Eventually I made a blunder and offered her the three railroads and both utilities for the two properties I needed to completely own Second Street, except of course for the Electric Company. She accepted this, and then both I and her brother immediately began landing on the railroads and the utilities every time we went around the board. Of course, she also always missed the magentas and the oranges on Second Street, usually taking a ride on her own Pennsylvania Railroad or visiting the power substation, if she did not fly past the street all together with boxcars on the dice. Her brother, initially out into a commanding lead with both sets of blue properties (though he never improved Boardwalk and Park Place), soon had to demolish the houses he had on First Street since he kept landing on the railroads owned by his sister.
I kept advising her when to build on Third Street, which she owned entirely except for the Chance square in between Indiana and Kentucky Avenues. I kept saying, "Well, here we come around the corner and you probably will miss my orange guys over here. Even if you hit them, it won't cost you much money." For I never had more than two houses on either the orange or the magenta properties on Second Street. I avoided a usual mistake in building too quickly, but I fell victim to another usual blunder, like I said, and made a devastatingly bad trade. I do not think she ever landed on the oranges, though she did hit the magentas a few times.
Soon enough, and mainly because I was getting tired, I conceded, tore down the houses I had left, gave the unimproved properties to the boy, and encouraged him to quit as well. By this time he had mortgaged the greens, the dark blues, and all of the light blues except Connecticut Avenue. But he refused to concede. Then I advised the girl to shell out $900 and put hotels all along Third Street. I kept calling it the Valley of the Shadow of Death, but she insisted on the much prettier name of Marigold Street. Anyhow, I instituted a lightning round, because I wanted it to be over so I could go home and go to bed, since I was due to talk to the family at 8:00 AM and it was already past midnight. The seminary president came along a couple of times to observe the carnage, and I said again that it shouldn't be long before the boy was bankrupt. During the lightning round, he hit the Free Parking lottery (not in the official rules, but whatever), but he landed on one of the reds the next turn, and then Ventor Avenue the turn after that. And that was it.
All told, the girl owned the purples (which her brother hit a couple of times), the utilities, the railroads, the reds, and the yellows. She even gave him some grace a couple of times when he hit her stuff. She never offered this grace to me, and I wouldn't have accepted it anyway, because I wanted to lose and get it over already. It truly was a dominating performance, especially since she came back from a cash-poor position early on. It was a stroke of luck that she landed on Atlantic Avenue (the last unclaimed lot to be purchased), and it was my error to trade everything away for Second Street.
Maybe someday I'll learn how to play Monopoly.
My brother's strategy of collecting the railroads and the utilities ultimately paid off for the girl, the eventual winner of the game. I had bought and/or traded for three of the railroads and I had both utilities. I was offering the earth, the sun, the moon, and the stars to the girl for the fourth railroad, but she was very stubborn. Eventually I made a blunder and offered her the three railroads and both utilities for the two properties I needed to completely own Second Street, except of course for the Electric Company. She accepted this, and then both I and her brother immediately began landing on the railroads and the utilities every time we went around the board. Of course, she also always missed the magentas and the oranges on Second Street, usually taking a ride on her own Pennsylvania Railroad or visiting the power substation, if she did not fly past the street all together with boxcars on the dice. Her brother, initially out into a commanding lead with both sets of blue properties (though he never improved Boardwalk and Park Place), soon had to demolish the houses he had on First Street since he kept landing on the railroads owned by his sister.
I kept advising her when to build on Third Street, which she owned entirely except for the Chance square in between Indiana and Kentucky Avenues. I kept saying, "Well, here we come around the corner and you probably will miss my orange guys over here. Even if you hit them, it won't cost you much money." For I never had more than two houses on either the orange or the magenta properties on Second Street. I avoided a usual mistake in building too quickly, but I fell victim to another usual blunder, like I said, and made a devastatingly bad trade. I do not think she ever landed on the oranges, though she did hit the magentas a few times.
Soon enough, and mainly because I was getting tired, I conceded, tore down the houses I had left, gave the unimproved properties to the boy, and encouraged him to quit as well. By this time he had mortgaged the greens, the dark blues, and all of the light blues except Connecticut Avenue. But he refused to concede. Then I advised the girl to shell out $900 and put hotels all along Third Street. I kept calling it the Valley of the Shadow of Death, but she insisted on the much prettier name of Marigold Street. Anyhow, I instituted a lightning round, because I wanted it to be over so I could go home and go to bed, since I was due to talk to the family at 8:00 AM and it was already past midnight. The seminary president came along a couple of times to observe the carnage, and I said again that it shouldn't be long before the boy was bankrupt. During the lightning round, he hit the Free Parking lottery (not in the official rules, but whatever), but he landed on one of the reds the next turn, and then Ventor Avenue the turn after that. And that was it.
All told, the girl owned the purples (which her brother hit a couple of times), the utilities, the railroads, the reds, and the yellows. She even gave him some grace a couple of times when he hit her stuff. She never offered this grace to me, and I wouldn't have accepted it anyway, because I wanted to lose and get it over already. It truly was a dominating performance, especially since she came back from a cash-poor position early on. It was a stroke of luck that she landed on Atlantic Avenue (the last unclaimed lot to be purchased), and it was my error to trade everything away for Second Street.
Maybe someday I'll learn how to play Monopoly.
Christmas Day, Proper 1: Building the cross with the wood from the manger
Isaiah 9:2-7; Psalm 96; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14 (15-20)
I should probably have posted this one yesterday, so that I could have gotten something in for Christmas Eve as well, but that's ok. My original intent was to post this just after midnight so that I could have written a meditation for "Midnight Mass" or whatever. But then after I left the noche buena party last night, I was exhausted, mainly from having been trounced in Monopoly by a little girl who had never played before...more on that in the next entry. So I will try to post something after I get home from the faculty luncheon today for Proper 2, then this evening for the Proper 3, so that I can get in all the Christmas texts in the Revised Common Lectionary.
Today, I notice an odd contrast in Isa 9:3. The people, in giving thanks to the deliverance of Yahweh, "rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder." On the one hand, this crams together domestic and military imagery. Now, unlike a good number of my friends in the scholarly circles, I am certainly no pacifist, but this juxtaposition strikes me as very odd indeed. This is not to mention that other peoples "not from around here" can rejoice along with us in a bountiful harvest, though probably not in our dividing of plunder--most likely since their having been defeated by us is the reason why we can divide plunder in the first place. On the other hand, however, this confluence of argicultural and military metaphors reminds me of ways in which the Christmas and the Easter stories have been merged in quite powerful ways in reflecting on the life of Jesus. Though Jesus was all human, crying even at the last possible moment for his Father to take away the cup of punishment from him, it seems that throughout his life he was always living with a view toward his death. "Didn't you know that I had to be about the things of my Father," said the twelve-year-old Jesus to Mary. This little bit of pre-teen backsass is probably a later insertion of the post-Easter community, but it gives an important insight into what they believed about Jesus, that he knew what he was doing all along.
I really want to talk about the passage from Titus. The most relevant verse for what I'm talking about is v 14: "He it is who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify for himself a people of his own who are zealous for good deeds." Back before my understanding of my calling changed away from parish ministry and toward teaching, I always loved to preach from obscure passages like this one. Actually, I still do like to preach from obscure passages, like the chapel message I delivered last month on the entrance of Elihu into the dialogues of Job (Job 32:1-5). But really, this little verse in Titus has a lot of punch. It really packs the entirety of the Christian message all together: Jesus gave himself in order to deliver us from sin. Once delivered from sin, we were purified to live a holy life before him (this has great relevance for holiness theology). Having had these two works of grace, we become zealous for doing the good deeds that are the proper response to the grace that has come to our lives. Never, never, never, never should anyone ever say that we earn God's favor, that there is something God requires of us before he is graceful and merciful. God's action is always first. But there is a response of faith required. But, further, the command of God is not something that we are unable to maintain or fulfill--which would make God a tyrant. Instead, God's grace is even given to empower us to respond properly in faith for what he has done for us. Amen.
I should probably have posted this one yesterday, so that I could have gotten something in for Christmas Eve as well, but that's ok. My original intent was to post this just after midnight so that I could have written a meditation for "Midnight Mass" or whatever. But then after I left the noche buena party last night, I was exhausted, mainly from having been trounced in Monopoly by a little girl who had never played before...more on that in the next entry. So I will try to post something after I get home from the faculty luncheon today for Proper 2, then this evening for the Proper 3, so that I can get in all the Christmas texts in the Revised Common Lectionary.
Today, I notice an odd contrast in Isa 9:3. The people, in giving thanks to the deliverance of Yahweh, "rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder." On the one hand, this crams together domestic and military imagery. Now, unlike a good number of my friends in the scholarly circles, I am certainly no pacifist, but this juxtaposition strikes me as very odd indeed. This is not to mention that other peoples "not from around here" can rejoice along with us in a bountiful harvest, though probably not in our dividing of plunder--most likely since their having been defeated by us is the reason why we can divide plunder in the first place. On the other hand, however, this confluence of argicultural and military metaphors reminds me of ways in which the Christmas and the Easter stories have been merged in quite powerful ways in reflecting on the life of Jesus. Though Jesus was all human, crying even at the last possible moment for his Father to take away the cup of punishment from him, it seems that throughout his life he was always living with a view toward his death. "Didn't you know that I had to be about the things of my Father," said the twelve-year-old Jesus to Mary. This little bit of pre-teen backsass is probably a later insertion of the post-Easter community, but it gives an important insight into what they believed about Jesus, that he knew what he was doing all along.
I really want to talk about the passage from Titus. The most relevant verse for what I'm talking about is v 14: "He it is who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify for himself a people of his own who are zealous for good deeds." Back before my understanding of my calling changed away from parish ministry and toward teaching, I always loved to preach from obscure passages like this one. Actually, I still do like to preach from obscure passages, like the chapel message I delivered last month on the entrance of Elihu into the dialogues of Job (Job 32:1-5). But really, this little verse in Titus has a lot of punch. It really packs the entirety of the Christian message all together: Jesus gave himself in order to deliver us from sin. Once delivered from sin, we were purified to live a holy life before him (this has great relevance for holiness theology). Having had these two works of grace, we become zealous for doing the good deeds that are the proper response to the grace that has come to our lives. Never, never, never, never should anyone ever say that we earn God's favor, that there is something God requires of us before he is graceful and merciful. God's action is always first. But there is a response of faith required. But, further, the command of God is not something that we are unable to maintain or fulfill--which would make God a tyrant. Instead, God's grace is even given to empower us to respond properly in faith for what he has done for us. Amen.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Old traditions with new people
My first Christmas in another country than my family is hard. I have been apart from my family over the holidays before, so it's not that so much. But this is the first time I have been 15,000 miles and thirteen time zones away. But, unlike people in the past who have gone on missionary service, I am blessed to have the Internet for connection back to the homeland. I chatted with the fam yesterday, and we've got it planned to connect at 8 AM Christmas Day (which, for them, is 6 PM Christmas Eve), so at least I'll get to see them and hear them as they open gifts and enjoy the time together, even if I am not there to be able to physically touch them.
Part of my therapy this season has been to share some of my old family traditions with new friends here in this place. One of these is the Modine Waffle Supper. This is perhaps the first time anyone has ever written about this with all capital letters. But it is a tradition in my family to eat waffles for dinner on Christmas Eve. I didn't do this on Christmas Eve, nor did I do it for dinner, but I still shared it with new friends. I invited my girlfriend and the ladies from her office to enjoy the Modine Waffle Lunch with me yesterday, December 23. Part of the Waffle Supper (or Lunch) is to have a wide array of waffle topping choices. There is the usual maple syrup, but we like to have apple butter, strawberry jam, etc., along with chokecherry syrup (an Idaho staple). Yesterday we had maple syup, blueberry preserves, peanut butter, and chocolate sauce. The point of this, for the heartiest waffle eaters, is to enjoy one waffle square with each of the topping offerings. So I had one with maple syrup, one with blueberry jam, one with chocolate sauce, and one with peanut butter--then another one with maple syrup just for fun. One of the ladies topped all her waffles with salt and pepper. I'm not sure what to do with that one, but like I told her, if that's what she likes then go for it.
I was blessed to have friends share this time with me, even if I didn't get to do this with family. And they were homemade waffles, as opposed to the greasy spoon ones I had in New Jersey the last time I was separated from my family over the holidays. No good. Having these friends has gone a long way toward battling against and ultimately triumphing over the depression that could very well have attached on to me this season, especially since I am so far away from the ones I love. And I also have people I love here. That makes a huge difference.
Part of my therapy this season has been to share some of my old family traditions with new friends here in this place. One of these is the Modine Waffle Supper. This is perhaps the first time anyone has ever written about this with all capital letters. But it is a tradition in my family to eat waffles for dinner on Christmas Eve. I didn't do this on Christmas Eve, nor did I do it for dinner, but I still shared it with new friends. I invited my girlfriend and the ladies from her office to enjoy the Modine Waffle Lunch with me yesterday, December 23. Part of the Waffle Supper (or Lunch) is to have a wide array of waffle topping choices. There is the usual maple syrup, but we like to have apple butter, strawberry jam, etc., along with chokecherry syrup (an Idaho staple). Yesterday we had maple syup, blueberry preserves, peanut butter, and chocolate sauce. The point of this, for the heartiest waffle eaters, is to enjoy one waffle square with each of the topping offerings. So I had one with maple syrup, one with blueberry jam, one with chocolate sauce, and one with peanut butter--then another one with maple syrup just for fun. One of the ladies topped all her waffles with salt and pepper. I'm not sure what to do with that one, but like I told her, if that's what she likes then go for it.
I was blessed to have friends share this time with me, even if I didn't get to do this with family. And they were homemade waffles, as opposed to the greasy spoon ones I had in New Jersey the last time I was separated from my family over the holidays. No good. Having these friends has gone a long way toward battling against and ultimately triumphing over the depression that could very well have attached on to me this season, especially since I am so far away from the ones I love. And I also have people I love here. That makes a huge difference.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Christmas gifts
I was able through a faculty colleague to send gifts for my family members home for Christmas. We will connect over webcam on the evening of their Christmas Eve. Incidentally, I wonder if that is Christmas Eve eve. :-)
But I have not yet gotten a gift for that special someone. She'll read this later and I suppose that's ok, but I have to be careful in what I say. The biggest problem is that I am never out to any potential gift-buying place without her. I asked one of my American friends to come along this morning, and also to lend a little female perspective, but it doesn't look like that's going to be able to happen. Everyone's busy, see, and so I'm pretty much in a bind. S.O. says it's okay not to come bearing gifts, but we all know what that means, don't we kids? I may have to break my general rule and just go down to the mall myself later today. With my major piece of electronic equipment already stolen I think the risk is minimized. Haha.
So I'm just going to go and find something. I cannot come empty-handed. Cannot!
But I have not yet gotten a gift for that special someone. She'll read this later and I suppose that's ok, but I have to be careful in what I say. The biggest problem is that I am never out to any potential gift-buying place without her. I asked one of my American friends to come along this morning, and also to lend a little female perspective, but it doesn't look like that's going to be able to happen. Everyone's busy, see, and so I'm pretty much in a bind. S.O. says it's okay not to come bearing gifts, but we all know what that means, don't we kids? I may have to break my general rule and just go down to the mall myself later today. With my major piece of electronic equipment already stolen I think the risk is minimized. Haha.
So I'm just going to go and find something. I cannot come empty-handed. Cannot!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Fourth Sunday of Advent: Delusions of grandeur?
2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16; Luke 1:46b-55 OR Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26; Romans 16:25-27; Luke 1:26-38
I thought about titling this blogpost/meditation on the lines of something like "making the impossible possible" or "the glorious impossible" or something like that. But I fear that the emphasis on the impossibility of the Incarnation are quickly becoming trite. So I am searching for a different metaphor, a different way of talking about this in order to keep it fresh in my own mind. That is, admittedly, part of my goal in writing meditations on the Revised Common Lectionary texts for this year: to increase my own creativity and thinking about the mysteries of the Christian faith.
Recently I watched on YouTube videos related to the heretic Catholic sect the Palmarian Church. I had been looking at various of the "Habemus Papum!" videos relating to the last few popes and this stuff was in the "Related Videos" section. I am of course not endorsing anything related to this sect, but it was interesting. For the present purposes, one of these videos was a five-minute-long (claimed, unprovably, to be "unedited") video of the former head of the sect, the Anti-Pope Gregory XVII apparently having a vision of the risen Christ in the Palmarian Cathedral at Seville.
Many of the comments on this video are, typically, the kind of vulgar trash one expects from comments on the Internet. But one I found suggested that all Anti-Pope Gregory would need to do is kneel, cross himself, and look up toward the ceiling a few times and then say later that he had seen a vision of Christ. No one else, of course, later said they had seen the same thing the Anti-Pope had, but none of them denied the authenticity of the vision later. Orthodox Christians are in general agreement that it was a hoax and a delusion of grandeur, but the Palmarians are in similar general agreement of the opposite.
A possibility which must be admitted, particularly in the current climate among the biblical studies guild, is that the assurance King David receives of the permanence of his dynasty is just this sort of posturing. In other words, especially since no one but Nathan the prophet sees or hears this promise of God to the king, there may be some unreality to it. Come to think of it, the vision of 2 Sam 7 is one step further removed from the YouTube video of Anti-Pope Gregory. In the latter case, the one having the vision of success is the leader himself, whereas in 2 Sam 7 the promise is given as a command to the prophet to promise these things to the king. All this is to say that I have begun to pay more and more attention to the details behind dialogues--and especially divine promises--as they appear in the Old Testament. Lots of people have already done this, so it's not like I'm blazing any new trails here. But it is at least possible that the writers of 2 Sam have some sort of ideological interest in the preservation of the Davidic dynasty, which in view of later events comes to frustration anyway.
The easy thing to do here is to draw a contrast between David as the powerful ruler and Mary as the humble servant of the Lord. For Mary in the Gospel lesson is given a great promise as well. In fact, her promise is even greater than the one commanded of Nathan to give to David--she will bear the Son of God. And she is not of a high position to begin with as opposed to the king, such that the greater promise is given to the one who begins with a lower position. There is something to be said there about Jesus' oft-repeated dictum that in the Kingdom of God the last will be first and the first will be last. But, more still, there is no mediation of a prophet here. Mary's conversation with God has a mediator, sure, the angel Gabriel, but at least we have a direct report of the conversation, rather than, like 1 Sam 7, a command to go have a conversation. And Mary is in no position to have delusions of grandeur; in fact, in the tradition of OT prophets, she initially resists the divine word, only to have reassurance that God will be with her (see Jer 1, Exod 3, Isa 6, Judg 6, among many others).
Am I approaching something like a veneration of Mary here? Well, yes and no. Along the same lines that I suggested above, namely that the story of God's promise of a forever-enduring line to David could have been a later insertion for the purposes of theological propaganda, so also could the calling of Mary (and this language should in fact be used here) be seen as a later insertion by someone interested in giving theological justification for the veneration of Mary. But, like a lot of scholarly investigation, this kind of thing also teeters on the edge of sophistry. How far do you push the argument that just about everything in Scripture was put into Scripture to serve certain theological and ideological interests?
Of course, the opposite argument can be made, namely that the experience of Mary (leaving David aside for the moment) was genuine, which does not make necessary any sort of veneration of Mary. Mary may rather be considered as an example of how one ought to act in the presence and in the promise of God. In that way, she is a prophet, one who has been admitted, at least after a fashion, into the counsels of the Most High and given a special task through that experience. By reaching out to the lowly, the humble servant of God, the foundations of the revolution that would be accomplished through Jesus were laid. Even if I do not agree with the position of some that this puts Mary into a privileged position in our devotion, it does say something significant about how God acts in the world.
King David may have had delusions of grandeur. Anti-Pope Gregory may have had delusions of grandeur. But Mary had no grandeur with which to delude herself. And that is precisely how she as a prophet brings us to God. "With what shall I approach the LORD?" asked Micah. "Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly before God," is the answer. God does not command things that cannot be fulfilled, only to punish people for failing to keep his commands. If he did so, then he would be a tyrant, unworthy of worship.
In the calling of Mary to bear the Son of God, and so to change the world, God reached out to the lowly and lifted her--and them, and us--up to himself. And this is the glorious impossible. Amen.
I thought about titling this blogpost/meditation on the lines of something like "making the impossible possible" or "the glorious impossible" or something like that. But I fear that the emphasis on the impossibility of the Incarnation are quickly becoming trite. So I am searching for a different metaphor, a different way of talking about this in order to keep it fresh in my own mind. That is, admittedly, part of my goal in writing meditations on the Revised Common Lectionary texts for this year: to increase my own creativity and thinking about the mysteries of the Christian faith.
Recently I watched on YouTube videos related to the heretic Catholic sect the Palmarian Church. I had been looking at various of the "Habemus Papum!" videos relating to the last few popes and this stuff was in the "Related Videos" section. I am of course not endorsing anything related to this sect, but it was interesting. For the present purposes, one of these videos was a five-minute-long (claimed, unprovably, to be "unedited") video of the former head of the sect, the Anti-Pope Gregory XVII apparently having a vision of the risen Christ in the Palmarian Cathedral at Seville.
Many of the comments on this video are, typically, the kind of vulgar trash one expects from comments on the Internet. But one I found suggested that all Anti-Pope Gregory would need to do is kneel, cross himself, and look up toward the ceiling a few times and then say later that he had seen a vision of Christ. No one else, of course, later said they had seen the same thing the Anti-Pope had, but none of them denied the authenticity of the vision later. Orthodox Christians are in general agreement that it was a hoax and a delusion of grandeur, but the Palmarians are in similar general agreement of the opposite.
A possibility which must be admitted, particularly in the current climate among the biblical studies guild, is that the assurance King David receives of the permanence of his dynasty is just this sort of posturing. In other words, especially since no one but Nathan the prophet sees or hears this promise of God to the king, there may be some unreality to it. Come to think of it, the vision of 2 Sam 7 is one step further removed from the YouTube video of Anti-Pope Gregory. In the latter case, the one having the vision of success is the leader himself, whereas in 2 Sam 7 the promise is given as a command to the prophet to promise these things to the king. All this is to say that I have begun to pay more and more attention to the details behind dialogues--and especially divine promises--as they appear in the Old Testament. Lots of people have already done this, so it's not like I'm blazing any new trails here. But it is at least possible that the writers of 2 Sam have some sort of ideological interest in the preservation of the Davidic dynasty, which in view of later events comes to frustration anyway.
The easy thing to do here is to draw a contrast between David as the powerful ruler and Mary as the humble servant of the Lord. For Mary in the Gospel lesson is given a great promise as well. In fact, her promise is even greater than the one commanded of Nathan to give to David--she will bear the Son of God. And she is not of a high position to begin with as opposed to the king, such that the greater promise is given to the one who begins with a lower position. There is something to be said there about Jesus' oft-repeated dictum that in the Kingdom of God the last will be first and the first will be last. But, more still, there is no mediation of a prophet here. Mary's conversation with God has a mediator, sure, the angel Gabriel, but at least we have a direct report of the conversation, rather than, like 1 Sam 7, a command to go have a conversation. And Mary is in no position to have delusions of grandeur; in fact, in the tradition of OT prophets, she initially resists the divine word, only to have reassurance that God will be with her (see Jer 1, Exod 3, Isa 6, Judg 6, among many others).
Am I approaching something like a veneration of Mary here? Well, yes and no. Along the same lines that I suggested above, namely that the story of God's promise of a forever-enduring line to David could have been a later insertion for the purposes of theological propaganda, so also could the calling of Mary (and this language should in fact be used here) be seen as a later insertion by someone interested in giving theological justification for the veneration of Mary. But, like a lot of scholarly investigation, this kind of thing also teeters on the edge of sophistry. How far do you push the argument that just about everything in Scripture was put into Scripture to serve certain theological and ideological interests?
Of course, the opposite argument can be made, namely that the experience of Mary (leaving David aside for the moment) was genuine, which does not make necessary any sort of veneration of Mary. Mary may rather be considered as an example of how one ought to act in the presence and in the promise of God. In that way, she is a prophet, one who has been admitted, at least after a fashion, into the counsels of the Most High and given a special task through that experience. By reaching out to the lowly, the humble servant of God, the foundations of the revolution that would be accomplished through Jesus were laid. Even if I do not agree with the position of some that this puts Mary into a privileged position in our devotion, it does say something significant about how God acts in the world.
King David may have had delusions of grandeur. Anti-Pope Gregory may have had delusions of grandeur. But Mary had no grandeur with which to delude herself. And that is precisely how she as a prophet brings us to God. "With what shall I approach the LORD?" asked Micah. "Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly before God," is the answer. God does not command things that cannot be fulfilled, only to punish people for failing to keep his commands. If he did so, then he would be a tyrant, unworthy of worship.
In the calling of Mary to bear the Son of God, and so to change the world, God reached out to the lowly and lifted her--and them, and us--up to himself. And this is the glorious impossible. Amen.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Sixth emberary
Today, December 17, 2008, marks six months since I achieved "wheels down" in the Philippines. I can't really call it an "anniversary," because that word implies marking the passage of years, hence "anni-." But I could not find a definition for "emberary" on reference.com--suggestions for alternate spelling included:
embracery: an attempt to influence a judge or jury by corrupt means
embry- (variant of embyro-): before a vowel [hmmm]
ambery: of the color of amber
embarras: I do this enough to myself to know what it means.
Anyway, so it seems I have invented a word. Or maybe reference.com just is not aware of its use. I do not have much time to blog this morning, because responsibilities continue even on this day which probably only has significance for me. After all, it is just Wednesday, and Doctrine of Holiness class convenes in 50 minutes. This means I should sign off the computer and get ready for the day. But for some reason I don't want to. And I just spilled coffee on my shirt--another indication that this is a day like any other.
Till next time...
embracery: an attempt to influence a judge or jury by corrupt means
embry- (variant of embyro-): before a vowel [hmmm]
ambery: of the color of amber
embarras: I do this enough to myself to know what it means.
Anyway, so it seems I have invented a word. Or maybe reference.com just is not aware of its use. I do not have much time to blog this morning, because responsibilities continue even on this day which probably only has significance for me. After all, it is just Wednesday, and Doctrine of Holiness class convenes in 50 minutes. This means I should sign off the computer and get ready for the day. But for some reason I don't want to. And I just spilled coffee on my shirt--another indication that this is a day like any other.
Till next time...
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Third Sunday of Advent: Lifting up the lowly
Is 61:1-4, 8-11; Psalm 126 OR Luke 1:47-55; 1 Thess 5:16-24; John 1:6-8, 19-28
I think it's more than a little ironic that I'm posting about lifting up the lowly on the morning after someone lowly lifted from my pocket something that belonged to me and made it something that belonged to her. I suppose there is a bit of a perverse sort of Robin Hood thing going on there, robbing from the rich to give to the poor, or whatever. I can insert all the standard denials that I am certainly not rich by American standards, that I give to worthy causes all the time, that I don't act like other people are beneath me because they get paid less, blah blah blah. But there is something interesting in that experience. For it was coupled with an earlier experience of literally being followed around a store with expensive fare--mainly trendy organizational type stuff for the home: space savers, cutlery sets, flatware, dishes, etc.
I know we were followed around because my girlfriend had a large bag on her shoulder, and on a certain level I do not mind being followed at all, for I am surely not going to steal anything, and those who watch me to make sure I don't are only wasting their time. But I first wondered, then immediately felt guilty and sought God's forgiveness for wondering, if we fit the "profile" of people who would steal things from a trendy household items store. I began to feel uncomfortable not just at the fact that a certain guy, and later a lady, worker was following us around, but at the obvious way he was doing it. As I continued to reflect on the experience even as it was happening, I supposed this is how certain ethnic groups in the States--particularly African-Americans, but this experience certainly is not limited to them--feel at expensive stores when they get hounded like that. Now, I have no illusions that one experience in a trendy store in the Philippines is anything like the unjust and immoral behavior effected on African-Americans or any similarly oppressed group in the States, but I have to think it was at least analogous. Workers in this situation are not eager to make a sale, like most Filipino store workers I have come across--almost so eager to help that I want to yell at them to go away--but they are watching over the things like hawks, just certain that those who fall under their scrutiny will justify it by their action. My girlfriend, as we were leaving, rather defiantly showed our main observer the bag with the book I had purchased earlier, in order, she said, to prove that they had no business watching us like that.
So the reading from Isaiah, which is the reading Jesus is said to have expounded upon in his first sermon at the Nazareth synagogue, is all about proclaiming liberation for captives and healing for the oppressed. The Philippines is nothing if not oppressed, as was demonstrated by our experience last evening in the two malls--overbearing scrutiny in one and coordinated, clearly desperate, theft in the other. Humanity has a long way to go in repairing relationships between people, and particularly between people groups: whether the Us vs. Them is Filipinos vs. Americans; "Whites" vs. African Americans (the former term being itself a racist epithet used of the oppressors--who come from many ethnic backgrounds--by the oppressed; "Islam" vs. the "West" (again, both terms being illogically comprehensive); or even the Hatfields and the McCoys.
Yahweh loves justice much more than burnt offering, so much so that it could be said that Yahweh hates burnt offering, hates ritual, even hates people coming to Church on Sunday morning.
Another item from last night. I just looked at my receipt from the bookstore at which I had bought the book shown so defiantly to the worker at the kitschy store (a biography of Pontius Pilate). The cashier's name was "Mary Grace." The alternative Psalm for today's lections comes from the Song of Mary in Luke 1, probably consciously designed to mirror the song of Hannah in 1 Samuel, as they pick up on many of the same themes, and in particular the exaltation of the lowly and the concomitant bringing down of the lofty. That Mary Grace was my cashier last night is one of those serendipitous kinds of things. I am very upset about what happened to me last night, both the scrutiny and the theft, but I rely upon the grace of God, as communicated through his servant Mary, who proclaimed to the angel that she would have it be according to his word. There is something quite powerful in that. Momentary injustice stings, but the sting fades after a while--provided the momentary injustice does not become systemic as it unfortunately too often has. When momentary injustice does become systemic, then it is incumbent upon all of us, and in particular those who find themselves a part of the dominant group, to set themselves and their interests aside, to work for justice and mercy instead of gain. This is a lesson that I needed to learn, even though I say that I am not rich by American standards, that I give to worthy causes all the time, that I don't act like other people are beneath me because they get paid less, blah blah blah.
For it is even in moments of experiencing momentary discomfort analogous to, but certainly not on the same level as, the systemic injustice experienced by other people that elements of grace shine through. Especially when Mary Grace sells you a book about Pontius Pilate. Amen.
I think it's more than a little ironic that I'm posting about lifting up the lowly on the morning after someone lowly lifted from my pocket something that belonged to me and made it something that belonged to her. I suppose there is a bit of a perverse sort of Robin Hood thing going on there, robbing from the rich to give to the poor, or whatever. I can insert all the standard denials that I am certainly not rich by American standards, that I give to worthy causes all the time, that I don't act like other people are beneath me because they get paid less, blah blah blah. But there is something interesting in that experience. For it was coupled with an earlier experience of literally being followed around a store with expensive fare--mainly trendy organizational type stuff for the home: space savers, cutlery sets, flatware, dishes, etc.
I know we were followed around because my girlfriend had a large bag on her shoulder, and on a certain level I do not mind being followed at all, for I am surely not going to steal anything, and those who watch me to make sure I don't are only wasting their time. But I first wondered, then immediately felt guilty and sought God's forgiveness for wondering, if we fit the "profile" of people who would steal things from a trendy household items store. I began to feel uncomfortable not just at the fact that a certain guy, and later a lady, worker was following us around, but at the obvious way he was doing it. As I continued to reflect on the experience even as it was happening, I supposed this is how certain ethnic groups in the States--particularly African-Americans, but this experience certainly is not limited to them--feel at expensive stores when they get hounded like that. Now, I have no illusions that one experience in a trendy store in the Philippines is anything like the unjust and immoral behavior effected on African-Americans or any similarly oppressed group in the States, but I have to think it was at least analogous. Workers in this situation are not eager to make a sale, like most Filipino store workers I have come across--almost so eager to help that I want to yell at them to go away--but they are watching over the things like hawks, just certain that those who fall under their scrutiny will justify it by their action. My girlfriend, as we were leaving, rather defiantly showed our main observer the bag with the book I had purchased earlier, in order, she said, to prove that they had no business watching us like that.
So the reading from Isaiah, which is the reading Jesus is said to have expounded upon in his first sermon at the Nazareth synagogue, is all about proclaiming liberation for captives and healing for the oppressed. The Philippines is nothing if not oppressed, as was demonstrated by our experience last evening in the two malls--overbearing scrutiny in one and coordinated, clearly desperate, theft in the other. Humanity has a long way to go in repairing relationships between people, and particularly between people groups: whether the Us vs. Them is Filipinos vs. Americans; "Whites" vs. African Americans (the former term being itself a racist epithet used of the oppressors--who come from many ethnic backgrounds--by the oppressed; "Islam" vs. the "West" (again, both terms being illogically comprehensive); or even the Hatfields and the McCoys.
Yahweh loves justice much more than burnt offering, so much so that it could be said that Yahweh hates burnt offering, hates ritual, even hates people coming to Church on Sunday morning.
Another item from last night. I just looked at my receipt from the bookstore at which I had bought the book shown so defiantly to the worker at the kitschy store (a biography of Pontius Pilate). The cashier's name was "Mary Grace." The alternative Psalm for today's lections comes from the Song of Mary in Luke 1, probably consciously designed to mirror the song of Hannah in 1 Samuel, as they pick up on many of the same themes, and in particular the exaltation of the lowly and the concomitant bringing down of the lofty. That Mary Grace was my cashier last night is one of those serendipitous kinds of things. I am very upset about what happened to me last night, both the scrutiny and the theft, but I rely upon the grace of God, as communicated through his servant Mary, who proclaimed to the angel that she would have it be according to his word. There is something quite powerful in that. Momentary injustice stings, but the sting fades after a while--provided the momentary injustice does not become systemic as it unfortunately too often has. When momentary injustice does become systemic, then it is incumbent upon all of us, and in particular those who find themselves a part of the dominant group, to set themselves and their interests aside, to work for justice and mercy instead of gain. This is a lesson that I needed to learn, even though I say that I am not rich by American standards, that I give to worthy causes all the time, that I don't act like other people are beneath me because they get paid less, blah blah blah.
For it is even in moments of experiencing momentary discomfort analogous to, but certainly not on the same level as, the systemic injustice experienced by other people that elements of grace shine through. Especially when Mary Grace sells you a book about Pontius Pilate. Amen.
Well, it was bound to happen
I became the victim of a pickpocket ring last night. Neither I nor my girlfriend were hurt--thanks be to God--but I did lose my digital camera, an important piece of my connection back home during this foreign assignment.
I had gone to SM Megamall--for those of my readers familiar with Manila landmarks--to look for a stand to elevate my laptop so as to correct the problems I have been having with posture and my arms hurting over the last few weeks. Refer to "My arm hurts" for more information. Anyhow, the malls in the Philippines are always very crowded, but the definition of "very crowded" takes on an entirely different level in the holiday season. I was already a bit cranky from having maneuvered my way around all eleven million citizens of Manila--or so it seemed to my hyperbole-prone imagination--when we got to the escalator.
Typically what happens with theft in Manila is that it will be a non-confrontational act with several people working in collusion. Once the mark is identified, a coordinated effort will ensue to direct him or her into a less-open space, at which time one or more members of the gang will create a distraction or an obstruction. When the mark is sufficiently hindered or distracted, one or more other members of the gang will hit the loot. In my case, I wear an over-the-shoulder-and-neck satchel (what some Americans derisively call a "man purse" or, shortened, a "murse") in which I carry my important things, precisely to combat the persistent threat of pickpockets. Generally the only thing I carry in my pockets is a handkerchief and, as far as I'm concerned, they can have a square foot of fabric saturated with my sweat. Maybe they can sell it on eBay when I become famous. Haha.
A few steps ahead of me on the escalator was a slightly obese Filipino wearing a pink polo shirt. He was carrying one of the ubiquitous cell phones and texting, which it seems that many Filipinos, like many Americans, have gotten very adept at doing. There had already been some jostling with some of the others on the escalator. When we got to the top, Pink Polo decided the metal landing was a perfect place to stop and concentrate on the message he was tapping out. This caused a tremendous crush of people as the escalator continued to deliver its charges. I believe that, in the few seconds it took to extricate ourselves from the sea of people--including my physically shoving Pink Polo and yelling at him briefly over my shoulder for causing the traffic jam--one of the other members of the gang, and probably the young girl with whom I had jostled as we boarded the escalator and who had given me a dirty look as we did so, quickly and quietly unzipped the top pocket of my murse, took the camera in its protective case, reclosed the bag, and departed. When I was demonstrating this possibility later--after I had discovered the theft--it was taking me five seconds or so to complete the entire motion. This was still ample time to have done so in the commotion on the escalator, but I am sure these professional thieves could do this in two or three seconds.
I was, and still am, heartsick, because this is, as I have said, the principal way for me to keep people back home informed of what I do and see. However, it was only a thing. We were not hurt, as was a colleague of mine who has been robbed and beaten twice--uncharacteristically for the Philippines, which is generally not a violent country. I have been told it is not a matter of "if" you will be robbed here, but "when." Well, my "when" was about 7:45 on Saturday, December 13, 2008. When was yours?
I had gone to SM Megamall--for those of my readers familiar with Manila landmarks--to look for a stand to elevate my laptop so as to correct the problems I have been having with posture and my arms hurting over the last few weeks. Refer to "My arm hurts" for more information. Anyhow, the malls in the Philippines are always very crowded, but the definition of "very crowded" takes on an entirely different level in the holiday season. I was already a bit cranky from having maneuvered my way around all eleven million citizens of Manila--or so it seemed to my hyperbole-prone imagination--when we got to the escalator.
Typically what happens with theft in Manila is that it will be a non-confrontational act with several people working in collusion. Once the mark is identified, a coordinated effort will ensue to direct him or her into a less-open space, at which time one or more members of the gang will create a distraction or an obstruction. When the mark is sufficiently hindered or distracted, one or more other members of the gang will hit the loot. In my case, I wear an over-the-shoulder-and-neck satchel (what some Americans derisively call a "man purse" or, shortened, a "murse") in which I carry my important things, precisely to combat the persistent threat of pickpockets. Generally the only thing I carry in my pockets is a handkerchief and, as far as I'm concerned, they can have a square foot of fabric saturated with my sweat. Maybe they can sell it on eBay when I become famous. Haha.
A few steps ahead of me on the escalator was a slightly obese Filipino wearing a pink polo shirt. He was carrying one of the ubiquitous cell phones and texting, which it seems that many Filipinos, like many Americans, have gotten very adept at doing. There had already been some jostling with some of the others on the escalator. When we got to the top, Pink Polo decided the metal landing was a perfect place to stop and concentrate on the message he was tapping out. This caused a tremendous crush of people as the escalator continued to deliver its charges. I believe that, in the few seconds it took to extricate ourselves from the sea of people--including my physically shoving Pink Polo and yelling at him briefly over my shoulder for causing the traffic jam--one of the other members of the gang, and probably the young girl with whom I had jostled as we boarded the escalator and who had given me a dirty look as we did so, quickly and quietly unzipped the top pocket of my murse, took the camera in its protective case, reclosed the bag, and departed. When I was demonstrating this possibility later--after I had discovered the theft--it was taking me five seconds or so to complete the entire motion. This was still ample time to have done so in the commotion on the escalator, but I am sure these professional thieves could do this in two or three seconds.
I was, and still am, heartsick, because this is, as I have said, the principal way for me to keep people back home informed of what I do and see. However, it was only a thing. We were not hurt, as was a colleague of mine who has been robbed and beaten twice--uncharacteristically for the Philippines, which is generally not a violent country. I have been told it is not a matter of "if" you will be robbed here, but "when." Well, my "when" was about 7:45 on Saturday, December 13, 2008. When was yours?
Thursday, December 11, 2008
My arm hurts
Went to see the campus nurse the other day. I have been having intermittent (both in occurrence and in severity) pain in my right arm. I discovered that it is likely not the dreaded carpal tunnel syndrome, since the pain is down the ulnar nerve and not the medial nerve where that particular problem usually surfaces. However, it probably is related to my posture while typing on the computer, an activity I do often as a teacher and writer. It has resulted in the immediate term in a general absence of lecture notes from class or, if I bring them, they are material from old classes or very sketchy, more-outline-than-text PowerPoint presentations. But for the longer term something needs to be done, and quickly. I have gotten recommendations for devices that will help angle the laptop when I'm in my office, or the external keyboard when I am at home, that should help to lessen this. Like I say, it's not serious at this point, and my belief that it's not serious is evidenced by the fact that I'm talking about it on a blog post. But it is something to pray about. I'm going on Saturday to one of the larger malls in the area, at whose computer store I should be able to find a lightweight, rubber laptop stand like the one used by a friend of mine. Stay tuned and stay praying...
Monday, December 8, 2008
Faculty devotions and meeting
I have just a few minutes before faculty devotions begin. Today is the first non-holiday Monday of the month, so we will have our monthly faculty meeting this morning. As the most junior member of the faculty, secretarial duties fall to me. It's a low-face-on-the-totem-pole sort of thing. Which is okay, I guess. But I'm really praying for the potential new faculty members we may have coming next hear...haha. I suppose it's selfish of me to be praying like that. Just for the record, I'm not; I just thought it would sound funny if I said I was. Anyway, this cannot be a long post because it is now 7:58 and everything gets started at 8:00. I don't really want to be late since my office is right next door to the room where we have our devotions so it would look kind of bad if I were the last one to arrive...
Sunday, December 7, 2008
The Second Sunday of Advent: The new becomes old and the old becomes new
I was admonished in a friendly, though motherly (mainly because of the one doing the admonishing) sort of way to keep up better with my blog, because there are a lot of people who depend on this forum to keep up with my life and experiences in the Philippines. So I am starting to follow those instructions with my Sundays of the Christian year devotionals/reflections.
Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13; 2 Peter 3:8-15a; Mark 1:1-8
I said to my mother yesterday morning that the subtitle of the blog is, after all, "experiences and reflections teaching Old Testament in the Philippines." The reflections part I get down just fine. And I was very good in the first weeks and months with posting about the experiences, because everything was new and different to me.
But now I have ridden jeepneys more than a hundred times. The experiences that were, back in June and July, new and exciting, are now old hat. The lectionary texts for today, the Second Sunday in Advent, seem to emphasize in different sorts of ways the turning over the old into the new. The American expression most apt is "turning over a new leaf," and though one might rightly wonder why a new leaf being turned over is supposed to mean that one is correcting one's life, that is the expression that we use. Advent is a time of preparation, yes, but it is also a time of renewal. Many of my friends and family in the States are complaining of snow getting in the way and the cold settling in. But others are contemplating the beauty of the snowfall.
And old commercial I suddenly remembered praised snow as "the cold pack pressed over nature's boo-boo," which, although it was meant to sound funny, is actually rather profound. The winter is a time of dormancy and expectation, but also renewal--just like Advent. This is probably why Advent was put in the Christian year in the winter. I know that Christmas is a Christianization of the pagan rites surrounding the winter solstice, okay, but that doesn't make Christmas a holiday that should be avoided. Typically, the "have you thought about this???" emails and blog posts are making their way around the internet this season, and one in particular I noted said that Christmas was not a Christian holiday at all because of its original pagan connotations. I shook my head in surprise at the ignorance of this idea. The same thing happens when otherwise well-meaning Christians and churches substitute "fall festival" for Halloween, a holiday that they think has some kind of odd pagan connotations, sacrificing cats and whatnot. but Halloween is a Christianization of the old pagan celebrations of the autumnal equinox. One of the principal things connected with that was the festival of Samhain (pronounced, so I have read, "SAU-win"), which was a harvest festival, a fall festival. Do you see the problem here?
Well, this meditation went rather far afield of its original intent. Things that I write often do that. Let's see if I can reconnect it. The promises of restoration in Isaiah 40 and Psalm 85 clearly go together. But the Psalm has a very interesting element: verse 8 reads that God "will speak peace to his people, to his godly ones, / but let them not turn back to folly." Salvation is from death, from sin, from pride, from egocentricity, from mistreatment of other people and exploitation of the natural world...and it is from hell, but the point is not to cry out for salvation to God, then simply return to doing all the things from which you needed saving in the first place (Jer 7:10).
I am teaching Historical Books this semester, and the dominant theme of the book of Judges, to which we have not yet come in our discussion, is the people of Israel continually returning to the same folly and error after the death of whatever judge whose exploits had just been described in the book. The ultimate pessimistic conclusion of the book of Judges is that "in those days there was no king in Israel, and all the people did what was right in their own eyes" (Judg 21:25). But the texts for today indicate rather an optimism, a firm confidence that we may indeed "lay aside every weight, and the sin which clings so closely, and run the race that is marked out for us, looking to Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God" (Heb 12:1b-2).
I am also teaching Doctrine of Holiness this semester, and through the lectures so far in that class I have been emphasizing the positive, the optimistic aspects of holiness theology. Too often, the doctrine of holiness has been lost in a maze of rules laid out by well-meaning people in order to distinguish the holy ones from the non-holy ones. I think this is not the way we should go, for it tends in the way of a suffocating legalism. Life should indeed be about optimism, the optimism of grace. Sin can be set aside in this life.
Let me say that again. Sin can be set aside in this life. Sin can be set aside. In this life. Sin. Can. Be. Set. Aside. In. This. Life. We need not pray that we "confess to [God] all the sins we have committed, in thought, word, and deed, against [his] divine majesty." This is far too pessimistic, far too limiting of the human potential to rise above doing merely what is right in our own eyes. God does not wish that anyone would perish, as the reading from 2 Peter maintains, but that all should come to repentance. This is the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, as Mark 1 claims for itself. We do not need to live in the situation where "sin is crouching at your door, and its desire will be for you, but you must master it" (Gen 4:7b).
So, far from being a time that should be avoided by Christians because of its pagan connotations, Advent and Christmas represent a cold pack pressed against an old boo-boo, the stain of sin, the broken down and marred image of God in our lives. It is broken down, it is marred...but it is not lost. It can be restored. And it has been restored. Comfort, comfort, my people, says your God. Amen.
Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13; 2 Peter 3:8-15a; Mark 1:1-8
I said to my mother yesterday morning that the subtitle of the blog is, after all, "experiences and reflections teaching Old Testament in the Philippines." The reflections part I get down just fine. And I was very good in the first weeks and months with posting about the experiences, because everything was new and different to me.
But now I have ridden jeepneys more than a hundred times. The experiences that were, back in June and July, new and exciting, are now old hat. The lectionary texts for today, the Second Sunday in Advent, seem to emphasize in different sorts of ways the turning over the old into the new. The American expression most apt is "turning over a new leaf," and though one might rightly wonder why a new leaf being turned over is supposed to mean that one is correcting one's life, that is the expression that we use. Advent is a time of preparation, yes, but it is also a time of renewal. Many of my friends and family in the States are complaining of snow getting in the way and the cold settling in. But others are contemplating the beauty of the snowfall.
And old commercial I suddenly remembered praised snow as "the cold pack pressed over nature's boo-boo," which, although it was meant to sound funny, is actually rather profound. The winter is a time of dormancy and expectation, but also renewal--just like Advent. This is probably why Advent was put in the Christian year in the winter. I know that Christmas is a Christianization of the pagan rites surrounding the winter solstice, okay, but that doesn't make Christmas a holiday that should be avoided. Typically, the "have you thought about this???" emails and blog posts are making their way around the internet this season, and one in particular I noted said that Christmas was not a Christian holiday at all because of its original pagan connotations. I shook my head in surprise at the ignorance of this idea. The same thing happens when otherwise well-meaning Christians and churches substitute "fall festival" for Halloween, a holiday that they think has some kind of odd pagan connotations, sacrificing cats and whatnot. but Halloween is a Christianization of the old pagan celebrations of the autumnal equinox. One of the principal things connected with that was the festival of Samhain (pronounced, so I have read, "SAU-win"), which was a harvest festival, a fall festival. Do you see the problem here?
Well, this meditation went rather far afield of its original intent. Things that I write often do that. Let's see if I can reconnect it. The promises of restoration in Isaiah 40 and Psalm 85 clearly go together. But the Psalm has a very interesting element: verse 8 reads that God "will speak peace to his people, to his godly ones, / but let them not turn back to folly." Salvation is from death, from sin, from pride, from egocentricity, from mistreatment of other people and exploitation of the natural world...and it is from hell, but the point is not to cry out for salvation to God, then simply return to doing all the things from which you needed saving in the first place (Jer 7:10).
I am teaching Historical Books this semester, and the dominant theme of the book of Judges, to which we have not yet come in our discussion, is the people of Israel continually returning to the same folly and error after the death of whatever judge whose exploits had just been described in the book. The ultimate pessimistic conclusion of the book of Judges is that "in those days there was no king in Israel, and all the people did what was right in their own eyes" (Judg 21:25). But the texts for today indicate rather an optimism, a firm confidence that we may indeed "lay aside every weight, and the sin which clings so closely, and run the race that is marked out for us, looking to Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God" (Heb 12:1b-2).
I am also teaching Doctrine of Holiness this semester, and through the lectures so far in that class I have been emphasizing the positive, the optimistic aspects of holiness theology. Too often, the doctrine of holiness has been lost in a maze of rules laid out by well-meaning people in order to distinguish the holy ones from the non-holy ones. I think this is not the way we should go, for it tends in the way of a suffocating legalism. Life should indeed be about optimism, the optimism of grace. Sin can be set aside in this life.
Let me say that again. Sin can be set aside in this life. Sin can be set aside. In this life. Sin. Can. Be. Set. Aside. In. This. Life. We need not pray that we "confess to [God] all the sins we have committed, in thought, word, and deed, against [his] divine majesty." This is far too pessimistic, far too limiting of the human potential to rise above doing merely what is right in our own eyes. God does not wish that anyone would perish, as the reading from 2 Peter maintains, but that all should come to repentance. This is the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, as Mark 1 claims for itself. We do not need to live in the situation where "sin is crouching at your door, and its desire will be for you, but you must master it" (Gen 4:7b).
So, far from being a time that should be avoided by Christians because of its pagan connotations, Advent and Christmas represent a cold pack pressed against an old boo-boo, the stain of sin, the broken down and marred image of God in our lives. It is broken down, it is marred...but it is not lost. It can be restored. And it has been restored. Comfort, comfort, my people, says your God. Amen.
O come, Divine Messiah,
The world in silence waits the day
When hope shall sing its triumph,
And sadness flee away.Dear Savior haste!
Come, come to earth.
Dispel the night and show Thy face,
And bid us hail the dawn of grace.
O come, Divine Messiah,
The world in silence waits the day
When hope shall sing its triumph,
And sadness flee away.O Thou whom nations sighed for,
Whom priest and prophet long foretold,
Wilt break the captive fetters,
Redeem the long lost fold.Dear Savior haste!
Come, come to earth.
Dispel the night and show Thy face,
And bid us hail the dawn of grace.
O come, Divine Messiah,
The world in silence waits the day
When hope shall sing its triumph,
And sadness flee away.
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