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When Certainty Ceases to Make Sense

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Talking Serpents, Flaming Chariots

June 11, 2014 By admin Leave a Comment

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A little over a week ago, I found myself pushing the couches together in response to a last-minute request from my kids for “the boat,” a term that originally referred to the formation of the couches themselves, but that has since taken on its own meaning as a complete overnight experience with dad, the kids, and the dog.  We climbed in and had a blast being silly, eating lots of caramel corn, and watching Finding Nemo.

The film had us all in stitches.  It had been many years since I’d seen it and, although I remembered the humor, I was struck by some of its themes: namely the need to trust, surrender, and stop living in the safety of our constructed worlds for fear of what lies on the outside.

These things were far more relevant than when I’d previously seen the movie and they resonated deeply as I reflected on the recent years of my life.  Never once did I minimize the power of the messages because Nemo, Dory, and Marlin are characters in a fictional story.

It got me reflecting on a conversation I had a few years ago.  I was wrestling with some things in my spiritual life and the “God said it. I believe it. That settles it.” bumper-sticker approach to a life of faith had long ceased making sense to me.

I was discussing some of the odd stories in the Bible with an extremely well-educated and successful man and he made a peculiar comment.  He said “If there wasn’t an actual talking snake in an actual garden, we may as well throw the whole Bible out the window, because what good is it?”

Really?  Okay, I realize to consider that any given story in the Bible didn’t really happen may bring about some serious uncertainty, but come on.  Throw the whole Bible out the window if the snake didn’t actually talk?  At the time, I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I just didn’t say anything.

This man’s attitude reflects a fairly common theme that I’ve been all too familiar with in the evangelical Christian community.  It’s as though somehow the quest to know God and to experience spirituality must be tied to approaching the scriptures as “literal” representations of things that really happened.  But do we ever stop to ask why that is?

Why does the truth of the Adam and Eve story hinge on the fact that there was a talking snake or a flaming sword suspended in the sky?

Does the thought-provoking narrative of Job lose its power if it turns out that God didn’t really give Satan permission to go unleash holy terror on Job’s peaceful existence?

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And if Jonah didn’t actually spend three days in the belly of a fish, does that somehow cheapen the author’s message that God’s love and acceptance extend beyond the boundaries of tribal thinking?  Beyond the mindset of “We’re in and they’re out”?

Stories have incredible power to touch, shape, teach, and even transform us, whether or not they ever “actually happened.”  It’s the case for us today – as I witnessed while lounging in the boat watching as Dory implored Marlin to let go and fall into the scary, unknown depths of the whale’s throat – and I’m sure it was equally the case for the ancients, if not more so.

Myths and fanciful tales were how ancient people probed big questions, explained circumstances, and pondered the meaning of things.  That’s simply how it was.  A casual glance at the ancient creation and flood stories that pre-date the biblical accounts – which unfortunately many Christians don’t even know exist – make it pretty clear that those authors weren’t attempting to document literal history.

And before we write those stories off because they’re not “scripture,” we should acknowledge that the similarities with the later biblical stories make it clear that the biblical authors incorporated elements from these tales.  In other words, the authors of the creation and flood accounts found in Genesis took established stories from surrounding cultures and molded them as they saw fit.

The poetic 7-day creation account wasn’t meant to offer scientific explanations or teach dogma to a nation of people.  In part, it was to provide these ancients with an understanding of God that was different from what they had been exposed to.  “Creation wasn’t the result of their deities warring in the heavens like that other story says; it was the result of our God speaking it into existence.”  That kind of thing.  God being said to rest on the seventh day doesn’t mean God got tired and needed a nap; it was a symbolic way of legitimating the nation’s existing Sabbath-day practices.

The idea that stories in the Bible are intentionally symbolic or rooted in myth doesn’t have to be scandalous, nor does it have to wage war against our faith.  It actually stands to reason.  It would be irresponsible to assume the biblical authors wrote in a manner inconsistent with what was common at the time.  We may expect modern biographies, history books, and news sources to report “just the facts” – even though we acknowledge that they often don’t – but we shouldn’t approach ancient writings this way, because such expectations would’ve been simply foreign to the people of the day.

But it gets a bit tricky.  On the one hand, we have no problem acknowledging the fictional elements in other ancient stories.  Heck, often times, we shamelessly point them out and scoff in the process.  Yet when it comes to the Bible, things are different.  We’re more protective.  It becomes oddly uncomfortable – perhaps even scary or threatening – to consider that the story of Jonah didn’t really happen.  Because the natural question is where do we draw the line?

Photo credit: bobosh_t cc
Photo credit: bobosh_t cc

If a flaming chariot didn’t descend from the heavens to whisk Elijah away, or the sun didn’t really stand still in the sky until Joshua’s army was done decimating its enemies, does that open the door to the possibility that Jesus wasn’t actually born of a virgin?  Of course it does.  We don’t have to automatically make that leap, but there is a slippery slope that needs to be navigated.

And since most of us prefer the certainty of a sure footing, we try desperately to avoid the slope altogether (I’ve been there).

This is probably why some Christians believe that the devil planted fossils in order to trick us into believing evolution.  Because for some people, if the earth is more than 6,000 years old, they’ve suddenly been shoved out onto the slippery slope.  And if Adam and Eve weren’t two historical people who started the entire human race, what does that do to our worldview?

And so we become bent on proving the Bible is true (meaning that it all really happened).  Or proving the Bible isn’t true, as some do.  But people on both sides are barking up the wrong tree.

I’ve come to believe that “Did it really happen?” is simply the wrong question.  Approaching the Bible in such a way is the wrong approach.  And trying to prove or disprove it is futile and misses the point.

There’s much more to be said about all of this and I’ll explore it more later, but I’m pretty sure the original audience of the Adam and Eve story would never have considered throwing the scroll out the window if there wasn’t really a talking snake.

After all, if there wasn’t a talking snake – in fact, if none of the aforementioned stories actually happened – would God cease to be God?

And if so, perhaps the more pressing question is what kind of God are we talking about?

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Bible, Fundamentalism, Mythology, Symbolism

Sincerely Wrong?

June 5, 2014 By admin Leave a Comment

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In a recent post in the context of giving too much weight to the apostle Paul’s views on homosexuality, I mentioned that Paul didn’t always know what he was talking about.  I wanted to take time to expand on that, not to belabor the point of homosexuality, but because I realize that such a comment could be seen as completely inflammatory.  After all, it’s not a stretch to say that Paul has had more of an impact on the shaping of Christianity throughout history than anyone else.  Perhaps even more so than Jesus, which is an interesting consideration.

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If all we had were the red-letter words of Jesus from the gospels, there’s a good chance that issues like slavery, the role of women, and homosexuality would’ve played out much differently in the church.  Not to mention the fact that pop culture probably would’ve also had to do without the massively popular Left Behind series and anything else that has its roots in rapture theology.

For starters, it’s good to firmly acknowledge that Paul’s world was starkly different than the one we live in.  I think it’s easy to imagine ourselves back then, listening to one of Paul’s letters, having no concept of just how different it was – save for minor cultural things having to do with women’s hair.  I’m not going to attempt a deep dive here, but I’ll touch on just a couple of things.

Paul’s was a world that held all kinds of beliefs about deities.  Mystery religions were flourishing and temple cult practices were rampant.  And although there’s debate over just how prevalent it was, temple prostitution was also a thing.  Gods were thought to walk among men – at least to some extent.  Rulers were often worshiped as divine saviors, sometimes during their lives and sometimes after they had died.

Recall in Acts 14 where the author says that Paul and Barnabas were mistaken as gods (“The gods have come down to us in human form!” Acts 14:11).  I can’t imagine walking down the street today and mistaking someone for a god.  I don’t even know what that means, but I don’t think it matters, except to point out that the world back then was crazy different from ours today.

Also, many Jewish people had been living with the expectation that, any day now, God was going to break through in a mighty cosmic intervention that would overthrow all corruption and establish a proper reign in the land.  This was largely born out of the continual domination that the Jewish people had been experiencing.

Suffice it to say, this expected intervention looked nothing like the spiritual kingdom that Christians today generally accept as the kingdom that God did establish.  And keep in mind that Christianity wasn’t its own religion at the time.  It lived largely within Judaism and, as such, many of those we’d call Christians were also living with the expectation of a great cosmic intervention.

It’d be unreasonable to think these things wouldn’t have shaped Paul’s thinking or that they don’t provide context and framework to some of Paul’s words.

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Perhaps the biggest of these things was Paul’s expectation that God was about to bring things to a close in a major way – and very soon.  This certainly puts a degree of context around some of the intensity we see in his writings.  Paul fully expected Jesus to descend from the sky above in a grand entrance, at which point Paul himself – along with others who happened to be alive at the time – would float up into the sky to meet Jesus.  And he expected this to happen in his lifetime.

This acutely imminent expectation was so widespread among the believers that they were surprised that people were actually dying before this event took place, resulting in questions about what would happen to the recently deceased.

And Paul preached this expectation, instructing people to live their lives accordingly.  He went so far as to tell married men to live as though they weren’t married, because the end of all things was near (1 Corinthians 7:29).  That’s interesting direction to give.  I’m not sure exactly what it would even look like in practice, but it probably wouldn’t do much to enhance anyone’s marriage by today’s standards.  Not surprisingly, I’ve never heard this passage preached from the pulpit.

Another curious belief of Paul’s was that people who had taken the Lord’s Supper in an improper manner had gotten weak and sick and that some had actually died.  This interesting tidbit is in 1 Corinthians 11:30 (“falling asleep” is a euphemism for death).

I’ve heard a lot of things from the pulpit over the years that I don’t necessarily agree with, but I’ve never heard anyone claim that someone’s sickness might’ve been due to taking communion improperly.  Let alone someone’s death.  If I did ever hear someone make such an assertion, I’d have no problem saying “You’re out of your mind.”

To be clear, I don’t think Paul was out of his mind.  Not at all.  In my opinion, some of the most powerful passages in the Bible come from his hand.  But what this does mean – to me anyway – is that Paul was a product of his time.  The product of a society and worldview that on so many levels we can’t possibly even begin to fathom.  A man whose revelations from God gave him passion and zeal and a drive that shaped his mission.

Now for the elephant in the room.

Paul was wrong.  In fact, this would fall nicely into the “sincerity doesn’t equal truth” mantra that I’d grown so accustomed to touting.  In other words, “You may have been sincere, Paul, but you were sincerely wrong.”  As we’re deciding how to interpret and apply the things he wrote about, we should acknowledge this, no matter how awkward or uncomfortable it may be to do so.

Paul is emphatic in his writings that the message he’s preaching was received by revelation – it wasn’t a teaching of Jesus that was handed down to him by the apostles.  There’s a lot to unpack there and it’s way beyond the scope of this article.

But couple that with the fact that his revelations somehow led him to incorrectly assert something as major as the imminent end of all things and people ascending into the sky and, in my opinion, there are implications.  Namely implications regarding how we should approach his writings.  Because regardless of what kind of inspiration Paul had, he clearly didn’t have a direct pipeline to the divine.

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So in the midst of the hot buttons of marriage equality and whether gay people can be Christians, to be dogmatic about the issue of homosexuality because Paul seems to have indicated it’s against the order of nature (Romans 1:26-27) and that homosexuals won’t inherit the kingdom (1 Corinthians 6:9) simply no longer makes sense to me.

It did at one time, but I was also quite accustomed to glossing over the fact that Paul had some ideas that were just plain weird and he was also way, way off base when it came to some pretty major things (not to mention that there’s a lot of responsible discussion around these two passages in particular, so merely taking them “at face value” – as with many things in the Bible – can be quite problematic).

Because of how Paul is revered within the Christian faith, it can be hard to objectively consider these things.  But we can wrestle through the obvious without vilifying him or writing him off.  There’s plenty to embrace and live out without making theological leaps or clinging to beliefs largely influenced by a man who said that people had died from taking communion improperly.

Many people see this as dangerous territory, because it effectively boils down to picking and choosing what scriptures to accept as relevant.  But let’s face it; everyone’s already doing that to one extent or another.  I don’t see anyone being dogmatic about the end of all things being near, the need to greet each other with a kiss, or married men living as though they’re not married.

So we’re already picking and choosing.  How else do we explain the fact that Paul’s understanding of the order of nature is treated as somehow authoritative regarding sexual orientation (Romans 1:26-27), but completely irrelevant regarding men’s hair (1 Cor 11:14)?

It’s because, at least to some extent, we’re projecting our beliefs and understandings onto the scriptures.  Beliefs that have been shaped by numerous factors, many of which we may not even realize. No one wants to admit to doing this, of course.  And in most cases, we’re probably not even aware we’re doing it.

In this example, one such factor influencing our beliefs may be polarizing translations of the same Greek word atimia in the two different passages.  In Romans 1:26, where the context is lust or passion, the word is translated most commonly as vile, degrading, or shameful.  But in 1 Corinthians 11:14, where the context is the length of men’s hair, the word is most commonly rendered as disgrace or dishonor.

So although Paul used the same word in both places, well-intended Bible translators have made a stark distinction.  This can affect how we interpret the passages and, in turn, how much weight we tend to give each one.  If the Bible says that something is vile, we’re likely to think that’s worse than something that’s merely disgraceful.

But it bears repeating: Paul didn’t make such a distinction.  To Paul, physis (the Greek word meaning the nature of things) shows us that long hair on men and the desires for a member of the same sex are both atimia (the Greek word meaning disgrace).  This is one example of why it can be extremely problematic to simply take passages at face value, particularly if the intent is to use them authoritatively.

So just to reiterate: we are picking and choosing what scriptures to give weight to.  And when we go on to use terms like “culturally relevant,” “disputable matters,” or “salvation issues,” it can either make it seem like we’re not really picking and choosing or it adds to the certainty that we just happen to be picking and choosing properly and responsibly.

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I get the discomfort factor with acknowledging the elephant in the room and rethinking things accordingly.  This certainly wasn’t an overnight conclusion for me, especially after years of being certain that I was one of the ones who happened to be picking and choosing properly.

And the specific issue of homosexuality isn’t something I deliberately set out to reconsider.  Not by a long shot.

But sometimes we find ourselves on unexpected paths that lead to unexpected places.  And it may very well take a level of faith we’re not familiar with to trust that the path is okay and we’re actually meant to be on it.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Bible, LGBT

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