“In recent years, some Benedictine houses, particularly women’s communities, have begun censoring the harshest of the psalms, often called the ‘cursing psalms,’ from their public worship.”
–Kathleen Norris
The church, across most of the centuries of its history, has acquired quite a reputation for censoring literature. Most unchurched people would be quite surprised to learn that the church, in its actual practice, censors the Christian Bible rather thoroughly. Thomas Jefferson is reputed to have taken his pen knife and cut out of his Bible every reference to anything miraculous, anything supernatural. It is still possible to buy copies of The Jefferson Bible. Christians decry Jefferson’s truncation, but themselves routinely do much the same.
If the Bible were made into a Hollywood movie, and if the movie were faithful to the text, much of it could not receive a “G” rating. Rather much of it would have to be rated either “PG-13,” or “R,” both for sex and violence. See in particular much of Joshua and Judges or the entire story of the rape of Dinah in Genesis 34 or the visit of Judah, from whom the Jews get their name, and his visit with a “prostitute.” Read the entire story of David. When we tell these stories in Sunday School classes, we edit out those parts that would not be “in good taste” to read in polite company.
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In our Bible study groups and in Sunday sermons, we get uneasy with parts of the Bible not only for sex and violence, but also because it is also comfortable with bathroom language, and with strong language of rebuke, bitterness and hatred. We don’t talk that language, or about those things in church, although we do everywhere else.
Darkness and ugliness are part of human reality and therefore a part of biblical reality. But because we see ourselves as clean, respectable, and nice people, we find that there is much in the Bible that it just would not be right to read publicly in church.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Not What But How
"A movie is not what it is about. It is about how it is about." --Roger Ebert
We walked into the church house--building complex--in Seoul, South Korea and were ushered to a balcony pew. A membership of several hundred thousand made this the largest church in the world. I estimated ten thousand worshipers filling the sanctuary in this one service.
We were early. On a raised platform in the main auditorium, I saw a large orchestra: in the strings section I counted six cellos. After the service, we were taken to the church cafeteria, the largest I’ve ever seen. We didn’t go to the bookstore.
When we had first been ushered in for the main service, I noticed a set of headphones hanging on the back of the pew in front of me. On the control knob, by a turn of the dial, we could choose among five or six languages. The service was conducted, of course, in the Korean language, but translators provided audio access to Chinese, Japanese, English, German, Spanish, or French. They sang the same hymns we had sung in Oklahoma churches in the 1930s and 1940s.
So far, so good. It felt good to worship with this many fellow Christians. Then, however, the preacher began. In a meanspirited tone of voice, he ranted a harsh fundamentalist sermon. As Roger Ebert noted about movies, he sermon was not what it was about, it was about how it was about. Somewhere, I had once read: "When the truth is told in a hateful manner, it is no longer the truth." As I left, I was confident the church had not grown to such enormous size based on this man’s preaching.
A few days later, we flew to Taipei, Taiwan. As our bus neared the Fortuna Hotel, where we would stay for a week or two, I noticed a small Baptist church, just three blocks from the hotel. Saturday I walked to the church house, found the door open, and walked in. I’ve been in church since I was a one-year-old, so I was quite comfortable walking in. Two secretaries were at work in the office.
Before we came to Taiwan I had been told that many Taiwanese were conversant in English, so I asked the ladies what time the Sunday morning service would take place. It quickly became apparent that these church workers were not among the "conversant in English" numbers.
On the wall I saw a clock, and on the desk, a calendar. An idea came do me. I walked over and pointed to the date of Sunday, the next day, then stepped to the desk and pointed at the clock. It took about three repetitions of my gestural question before one of them caught on. She smiled, wrote a note, and graciously handed it to me. I looked at the note. It read: 10:00.
The previous Sunday in the largest church in the world, I had heard it all in my own language; for me, the sermon had killed the service. The little Baptist church in Taipei had about sixty in attendance. As I came in, and then as others came in, everyone greeted me with a warm smile. Several extended their hand for me to take.
The service was entirely in Mandarin. I understood not a word, but I knew the music, so I joined their singing from a Baptist Hymnal, published in Nashville and translated into Mandarin Chinese. I knew I was at home. We were part of the same family, at worship. The white-headed pastor began his sermon with a warm smile and a loving tone of voice. I don’t know a thing he said, but his smile and loving tone and expression was mirrored in the people’s faces.
I left, knowing I had been in the presence of God and God’s people.
A sermon is not what it is about. It is about how it is about.
We walked into the church house--building complex--in Seoul, South Korea and were ushered to a balcony pew. A membership of several hundred thousand made this the largest church in the world. I estimated ten thousand worshipers filling the sanctuary in this one service.
We were early. On a raised platform in the main auditorium, I saw a large orchestra: in the strings section I counted six cellos. After the service, we were taken to the church cafeteria, the largest I’ve ever seen. We didn’t go to the bookstore.
When we had first been ushered in for the main service, I noticed a set of headphones hanging on the back of the pew in front of me. On the control knob, by a turn of the dial, we could choose among five or six languages. The service was conducted, of course, in the Korean language, but translators provided audio access to Chinese, Japanese, English, German, Spanish, or French. They sang the same hymns we had sung in Oklahoma churches in the 1930s and 1940s.
So far, so good. It felt good to worship with this many fellow Christians. Then, however, the preacher began. In a meanspirited tone of voice, he ranted a harsh fundamentalist sermon. As Roger Ebert noted about movies, he sermon was not what it was about, it was about how it was about. Somewhere, I had once read: "When the truth is told in a hateful manner, it is no longer the truth." As I left, I was confident the church had not grown to such enormous size based on this man’s preaching.
A few days later, we flew to Taipei, Taiwan. As our bus neared the Fortuna Hotel, where we would stay for a week or two, I noticed a small Baptist church, just three blocks from the hotel. Saturday I walked to the church house, found the door open, and walked in. I’ve been in church since I was a one-year-old, so I was quite comfortable walking in. Two secretaries were at work in the office.
Before we came to Taiwan I had been told that many Taiwanese were conversant in English, so I asked the ladies what time the Sunday morning service would take place. It quickly became apparent that these church workers were not among the "conversant in English" numbers.
On the wall I saw a clock, and on the desk, a calendar. An idea came do me. I walked over and pointed to the date of Sunday, the next day, then stepped to the desk and pointed at the clock. It took about three repetitions of my gestural question before one of them caught on. She smiled, wrote a note, and graciously handed it to me. I looked at the note. It read: 10:00.
The previous Sunday in the largest church in the world, I had heard it all in my own language; for me, the sermon had killed the service. The little Baptist church in Taipei had about sixty in attendance. As I came in, and then as others came in, everyone greeted me with a warm smile. Several extended their hand for me to take.
The service was entirely in Mandarin. I understood not a word, but I knew the music, so I joined their singing from a Baptist Hymnal, published in Nashville and translated into Mandarin Chinese. I knew I was at home. We were part of the same family, at worship. The white-headed pastor began his sermon with a warm smile and a loving tone of voice. I don’t know a thing he said, but his smile and loving tone and expression was mirrored in the people’s faces.
I left, knowing I had been in the presence of God and God’s people.
A sermon is not what it is about. It is about how it is about.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Does the Mirror Lie?
"A very beautiful woman who looks at her reflection in the mirror can very well believe that she is that. An ugly woman knows she is not that.”
--Simone Weil
For more than forty years I have been observing what, for long, I considered an oddity: good-looking and intelligent married to a spouse who, if not ugly, certainly was near the border of that territory. But for the last thirty years, I have begun observing these relationships, but also the ugly-ugly and the beautiful-handsome marriages and also the individual spouses.
I remember only one or two instances when the handsome and intelligent man divorced the wife because they found they couldn't live with that ugly exterior around them and associated with them by society.
On the other hand, I've spent enough time in enough homes that were good-looking/ugly, to come to appreciate what Simone Weil says about the ugly woman before the mirror. She knows that the exterior surface does not show who she really is. I, with a very happy marriage of fifty-some years, have fallen in love--almost--with several "ugly" women who had almost everything except looks.
So for the last twenty years I have recommended to young people that they consider who their intended is, rather than what they look like. I don't know whether any of those of tender years and narrow interests have paid much attention to my suggestion.
I have become leary of beautiful women in general. Their beauty too often becomes cold and hard, their eyes and mouth contradicting their conventional wisdom beauty.
Exceptions to all of this? Yes. I know some of them well. But they are exceptions.
--Simone Weil
For more than forty years I have been observing what, for long, I considered an oddity: good-looking and intelligent married to a spouse who, if not ugly, certainly was near the border of that territory. But for the last thirty years, I have begun observing these relationships, but also the ugly-ugly and the beautiful-handsome marriages and also the individual spouses.
I remember only one or two instances when the handsome and intelligent man divorced the wife because they found they couldn't live with that ugly exterior around them and associated with them by society.
On the other hand, I've spent enough time in enough homes that were good-looking/ugly, to come to appreciate what Simone Weil says about the ugly woman before the mirror. She knows that the exterior surface does not show who she really is. I, with a very happy marriage of fifty-some years, have fallen in love--almost--with several "ugly" women who had almost everything except looks.
So for the last twenty years I have recommended to young people that they consider who their intended is, rather than what they look like. I don't know whether any of those of tender years and narrow interests have paid much attention to my suggestion.
I have become leary of beautiful women in general. Their beauty too often becomes cold and hard, their eyes and mouth contradicting their conventional wisdom beauty.
Exceptions to all of this? Yes. I know some of them well. But they are exceptions.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Is Change Possible?
"I remember my old Fuller Brush man telling me once, ‘Men change, but seldom do they’."
--J. A. Jance
Somewhere about forty-five, most men have life figured out good enough for themselves, they’ve learned all they think they need to know, and their mind locks down. They never think again unless they have to, and they never entertain new thoughts. Though they make money, acquire admiration and fame, and have great influence, they are already dead. They are just awaiting burial.
A core secret of successful living is the ability to adapt, to change yourself as everything else changes.
"Intelligent behaviour has been defined as ‘behaviour that is adaptively variable within the lifetime of the individual’."
–Anthony Storr
Intelligent behavior can be observed every day if we are alert, but it not the norm.
Yes, "men change, but seldom do they" because change is not at all easy. However, it is possible. History is replete with examples.
"Throughout the nineteenth and well into the twentieth century, it was assumed that Britain would continue to rule India indefinitely; that a single determined Indian could lead his fellow citizens to independence was unthinkable."
--[Another of my misplaced sources. If I come across it, I'll fill you in.]
Gandhi is not the only one in history to have the moral certainty to, almost single-handedly, initiate unbelievable change. Often at great cost. Sometimes they had to pay the ultimate price, and often did not live to see the change take place.
--J. A. Jance
Somewhere about forty-five, most men have life figured out good enough for themselves, they’ve learned all they think they need to know, and their mind locks down. They never think again unless they have to, and they never entertain new thoughts. Though they make money, acquire admiration and fame, and have great influence, they are already dead. They are just awaiting burial.
A core secret of successful living is the ability to adapt, to change yourself as everything else changes.
"Intelligent behaviour has been defined as ‘behaviour that is adaptively variable within the lifetime of the individual’."
–Anthony Storr
Intelligent behavior can be observed every day if we are alert, but it not the norm.
Yes, "men change, but seldom do they" because change is not at all easy. However, it is possible. History is replete with examples.
"Throughout the nineteenth and well into the twentieth century, it was assumed that Britain would continue to rule India indefinitely; that a single determined Indian could lead his fellow citizens to independence was unthinkable."
--[Another of my misplaced sources. If I come across it, I'll fill you in.]
Gandhi is not the only one in history to have the moral certainty to, almost single-handedly, initiate unbelievable change. Often at great cost. Sometimes they had to pay the ultimate price, and often did not live to see the change take place.
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