Monday, October 26, 2020

The Truth Possesses Us





In my last post, "It's Not the Answer Book", I pondered aloud what the Bible is and isn't. After posting it, I thought, "Why did I feel the need to give my resume with regard to Biblical scholarship?" I've realized there are a couple of reasons. One is that I sometimes see the Bible being misappropriated in its use on social media these days by people who, I think, are aware they have little idea what they're talking about. If I'm going to talk about the Bible, I'd at least like to give people enough evidence to decide whether I'm a comparatively credible source of information. Another is that I love the Bible, and have always considered it worthy of a major investment of my time. So when I call into question its usefulness as an "answer book", I want you to know that it's not because I have a low view of scripture. It is, in fact, because I have a high view of scripture as extremely useful for pointing us towards God and showing us what he is like. I think that going to the Bible to validate our views is exactly backwards, and I am prone to do this just like anyone else. But I guard myself from that by engaging the Bible with people and sources whom I trust to challenge my biases. I try to remember to investigate the matters of immediate importance, rather than seeking validation. So that is the framework from which I write about the Bible, and the God it has inspired me to love.



What if two people were given a photo to look at and asked to describe what they saw? One describes a lonely rock beach with a solitary figure, perhaps searching for something. The other describes a lively sandy beach, perhaps a vacation spot, with people in the water, other sunbathing, and a colorful wall behind. What kind of conversation ensues? Could they possibly be talking about the same thing?  



They could if they were looking at different halves of the same picture. But they would never know it.  What they thought was an "either/or" dichotomy was a "both/and" reality. Their separate perspectives clouded the whole truth. It's not that one of them had the truth and the other didn't. It's not that they each had their own truth. It's that both of them had a limited perspective on the truth. Here, the photographer (my brother) seems to have captured the full truth. But I wish I had been behind him, because I might have incorporated him into my own version of the photograph.

One of the things I love about God, as I have learned through the lens of scripture to see him, is that he is not only the source of all truth, he IS the Truth. I believe there is objective truth--the reality of all that has ever been and will ever be, material and immaterial, and I believe it originates with God and is contained within the parameters of who he is. He has a complete perspective on every detail--he can see what it looks like from up close and far away, from above and below, from before, during and after. He knows every thought and intention, every atom that moves, every beginning and ending. How he embodies all of this is an absolute mystery, because it is way beyond the scope of human understanding. If I could understand it, he would not be worthy of my devotion and worship. The Bible is one of the ways he peels back the layers and lets me see more of who he is. 

When we wield the Bible as a weapon to fight our battles of issue and intellect against others, we take on the role of possessor of truth. I believe Truth exists. I don't possess it. You don't possess it. The Truth possesses us. And that is a call to humility. Each perspective helps inform the others.

There are more thoughts percolating on what the Bible actually is, so stay tuned.

Photo Credit: Dave Decker on Instagram @dsdecker82 

Sunday, October 18, 2020

It's Not the Answer Book


This is my Bible.  



It has a 1996 copyright, so I guess it’s a little over twenty years old.  That’s about half the total years I’ve been studying the Bible in earnest.



I won’t claim to be a daily Bible reader.  I’m a regular Bible reader and studier.  I like to have an hour or two if I’m going to dig in.  I do that once or twice a week on my own, sometimes more.  Then I let it percolate.  I think about it a lot while I’m in the midst of whatever else I’m doing, and talk to God about it.  I make sure that I have conversations about it with other believers—plus every chance I get with people who don’t believe. 



I’ve studied it under real scholars, and I’ve stepped out with trepidation to facilitate groups that study and discuss.  I read other books and commentaries and resources by a variety of experts (including those who challenge my theological biases) who help me understand what it meant in its original historical/cultural context and languages.  The Bible constantly amazes me as it speaks to the soul of every person of every time and place.  And I am always aware that I’m in danger of trying to make it say what I want it to say.



Lately I’ve observed that a lot of people want to talk about what the Bible says and what Jesus teaches, especially pertaining to issues that are hot political topics.  The thing is, it’s perplexing the way that apparently Jesus and the Bible validate so many conflicting views.  



If you go to the Bible looking for something to validate your position in opposition to someone else, you will probably manage to pick and choose verses out of context to bolster your own defense.  But if you go to the Bible looking for God, you are likely to find that He validates your worth (and the worth of the person who disagrees with you) as opposed to your opinion. He will send you back into the world transformed and freed to embrace and engage, rather than armed to attack.  



My husband says, “The Bible isn’t the answer book.  It’s the ‘You need God’ book.”  I love that.  It’s a book that doesn’t offer itself as ammunition to shoot down other political stances, nor as bricks and mortar to fortify my own.  It doesn’t offer itself as a scientific journal, a comprehensive history, nor even a socio-political commentary.  It offers itself as a mirror, to show me my need for the God who made me, who knows me thoroughly and loves me deeply and unconditionally.  It shows me that nothing surprises God and that what’s old is always new again.  It shows me that if I really dare to look into it with an open heart looking to know what Jesus has to say to me, I can’t go away unaffected by his compassionate heart.  It shows me that only and always in partnership with him can I become all that he created me to be, and fulfill his purposes for me.  Ultimately, the Bible is the book that points to a God who alone knows and is the Truth that leaves any “truth” of mine undone.  It reminds me He's the one worthy of my worship and trust, the one who, if I choose to follow him, will not lead me astray.


So go ahead.  If you actually want to know what the Bible says, read it.  Read it with an open heart instead of an agenda.  Ask God to teach you about himself through it.  But be prepared to have your mind renewed and your life transformed.

Friday, October 16, 2020

It always snows in October


Dismal foreboding.


I popped onto my Facebook feed this morning, and it was everywhere.


Well not everywhere, it was from my local friends, the metro-area Minnesotans, announcing the arrival of snow that would soon reach my neighborhood.



Two years ago on October 14, a photo session had me driving through the countryside, where I witnessed the most magical snow-on-colored leaves scene, knowing it would be melted by the time I met my client.  I recorded the video in my mind, knowing there would be other October snows.  Last year?  First flakes, October 13.  Same story.

Today?  Clear schedule.  When I heard the communal moan, I had a few minutes to get my stuff together, choose a location, and dash out the door feeling like one who dances on graves.  But not sorry.



People seem surprised and appalled every year when October snow comes.  Why?  Because it's melted by noon, and they forget it's even a thing, so by the next year it seems impossibly early and ominous.



We seem a little more testy yet this year, like if one more thing happens we didn't foresee, that will be the one that puts us over the edge.


We have had life this summer.  Gatherings outside, dinner on patios, "safely distanced" time with friends.  If ever we were not ready for winter, this is the year.  We feel like it might leave us undone and alone.


When I heard the Facebook outcry, I also heard the voice of God (well not audibly, but experientially) saying, "I'm about to do some serious showing off if you'd care to join me for it."



It's a voice I've heard in the Bible--
"Do not be afraid."
"I am with you always."
"Be still and know that I am God."


It's one I've experienced as reliably as snow in October.



These are times of foreboding around us.  I wonder if maybe God has some ideas up his sleeve that we haven't thought of.  



Honestly, I'm counting on it.  Remind us, Lord, that you have always delighted to show up between rocks and hard places.  Though it's something we never seek, when October snow comes, it's breathtaking.


We believe, Lord.  Help our unbelief.



 

Sunday, September 20, 2020

Unfinished Stories


I recently spent some time unpacking an old family story. You know the kind in boxes, waiting to be "dealt with". This one was handed down to me because I was the girl with a girl. It was a story I really didn't want to own.


When my sister and I were young, our Great Aunt Molly made us a "dollhouse". Much ado was made about this gift while it was in the works, and Aunt Molly would tell us about it with delight. I was never much of a doll person, but hearing her animated descriptions, I was more than a little intrigued.


Aunt Molly was an artist with an eye for detail. She had a grandiose vision for this "house". It was to be a mansion with ornate furnishings that were mostly handmade, and filled in with sweet little miniatures she acquired from her sources, most of which were mail order catalogs. She loved announcing items newly arrived from New York.


When this "house" finally reached a point of adequate completion to be shipped to us, it came in large cartons. I can only imagine the anticipation that had built up over some years of hearing its stories, and the excitement when they arrived.


It turned out that the "house" was actually three large plywood boxes, all separate and unfinished on the outside, each representing a room in this home. Not quite what I envisioned. There was a kitchen, a living room and a bedroom, each with elaborate decor, and a letter telling the story of what was and what was yet to come. 


With the house were two handmade dolls, a mother and a daughter. ("The man", would be a future addition, newspaper in hand, but he never showed up.) The daughter was, per her letter, "an invalid child" (did she realize the word said in-valid?), who could "sit and lolligag on the chaise". The expressions on each of their faces looked angry. I wanted nothing to do with them. I rejected their narrative. Over the years, I forgot why it was that Aunt Molly's dollhouse was not a source of warm fuzzies for me, I just put it out of my mind.


You can imagine how thrilled I was when, decades later, the boxes eventually found their way to my house so I could share them with my then teenaged daughter. I knew she'd be as impressed as I had been. So they've been sitting awhile, waiting for me to deal with them as I'm trying to reclaim space and uncover treasures. My real intent was to get rid of them, but I thought I might photograph some of the details, like her tiny paintings, to remember and enjoy with my siblings. I was unprepared for the sense of dialogue I would have with Aunt Molly herself as I paused for a closer look at her handiwork.


Aunt Molly was a single career woman in a man's world.  I heard her called a "spinster" and an "old maid", because in those days those words were used interchangeably with "single woman". Beyond that, Aunt Molly was more than a little eccentric. She would come stay with us for several days at a time, being from out of state. She was a chain smoker--you could see it on her fingers and her teeth, and hear it in her constant cough, especially whenever she laughed uproariously at her own jokes that always ended in a coughing fit. I never really knew what to make of her.


As I began to put the pieces of the dollhouse together, I gained a new appreciation for Aunt Molly, and found myself wondering about her. Why on earth did she decide this little girl doll was an invalid? Had she ever felt in-valid for being who she was? Had anyone dear to her had polio and ended up unable to walk? What was the rest of her story? It was clear that, though she thought we'd be as delighted about the house as she was, it gave her a way to spend a lot of time and creative energy that gave her joy.  


It occurred to me--Aunt Molly started the story, and though I rejected the narrative, it was now mine to shape as I liked. What if the girl in her bathrobe was home because it was a snow day? What if she was happy to stay in her jammies and drink hot chocolate? What if she and her mom embraced the extra time by making a big breakfast together?



After that, maybe they'd work a puzzle together? What if their faces weren't angry, but intent on finding the right pieces? Aunt Molly would be ok with that, wouldn't she?


I got to thinking about the way our family stories come to us, and how we affect where they go next. Much has been said lately about the way we deal with our history, especially the inconvenient or unconscionable parts of it. Is it disrespectful to want to change the narrative? Is it dismissive of those who came before us? Is it arrogant?


I honestly don't think so. In fact, I think it's often necessary.


No one meant any harm by calling Aunt Molly a "spinster" or an "old maid", and if she ever overheard it, she knew that.  They were accepted terms.  But when I was single until I was 35, and had a career and purchased my own home, can I just tell you how glad I am no one called me that? I'd call that progress.  Aunt Molly made a life for herself and was a valued part of a community and our family. She was loved.  I prefer the way I was able to thrive as a single woman a couple of generations later. We are all products of our time.  


When we have the privilege of growing older, we can see that perspectives change and we can learn new ways that fit our time better. It's still hard for me to imagine the day when generations after me will stop to ponder who I was. When they do, I hope they'll feel free to be honest about my shortcomings, and those of my generation and do better as they write the next chapter in the narrative. I hope they'll also be generous with me, realizing I did the best I could with what I had, in ways that made sense here and now. Maybe, they'll appreciate the value of the gifts I've offered--even if they have to be reframed.


Ultimately, our story is a "choose your own adventure", and each generation steps aside to cheer on the next. But our stories continue on. We honor those who've written the chapters ahead of ours by writing--and living--with intentionality and integrity in our own time and place.


Thanks, Aunt Molly, for delighting in making us something that truly is beautiful. I receive it as the gift that it is (even if I'm not keeping the physical gift). It only took me fifty years.

Friday, September 18, 2020

A Place Like Home

On the second (and last) day of our mini-vacation, we went to a place that I've loved forever.

I wrote about it years ago, and it remains true--

I somehow get reunited with part of my heart whenever I visit Gooseberry Falls.

Not only the falls, but just as importantly, the path down to the lake and beyond. 
Oh my, we have some good memories there.







I figured we would be ahead of the peak of fall leaf color, 


but I didn't realize how amazing the wildflowers would be.


As I always say, here's to the late bloomers!





Lee wanted a photo of me in my happy place.





We zipped through Duluth, 
a place that actually was home for me, once upon a time.
Now it's mostly all under construction.



The seagulls don't care.  Thankfully some things never change.


Last stop was Enger Tower, the place to really see the harbor and the rest of the world.




This is just the tiniest taste of the views.  The grounds around the tower are also stunning.


This year 2020 has thrown all of us a lot of curve balls.

I'm so thankful that when it began, 
when the anticipation of the grandest adventure (the one we didn't go on) was beginning to build,
I wasn't wishing away my year thinking this one dream trip would make my whole year worth living.

 I'm quite capable of doing that. But I didn't.

Many years ago I realized this verse wasn't a get rich quick scheme.
It's a promise from God,
 a promise that he can actually satisfy me regardless of my circumstances.
He can enable me to want his presence more than anything--
so that in disappointments, I'm not coming away empty-handed, but hand-held.
He frees me to find him in every kind of moment,
and know that he is what my heart really wants, above all.