Learned a new song at church

Our church has just started a sermon series in Mark's gospel beginning from 8:27. 

We learned this song today. The lyrics are good, the melody too - simple and hymnic. 

I especially like the closing four lines of the second stanza: 

See the King who made the sun
And the moon and shining stars
Let the soldiers hold and nail Him down
So that He could save them. 

The irony in those lines is extremely evocative. First we are presented with a picture of Christ's role in creation; we are taken in flight to consider the beauty and majesty of the cosmos - then suddenly we are brought back to the dirt and grime the cross. And those hands submits to the weakness of men - all in order to save those who would have him killed. I think it is simply astounding.

Cheers for good gospel songs!

Some thoughts on confusing Bible passages - Matthew 27: 51-53

     I believe in the perspicuity (clarity) of the Bible. And though there are passages (or maybe even books) whereby Evangelicals might defer with regards to interpretation, Evangelicals largely agree on core Gospel issues. Nevertheless, I would like to spend some time considering (what I would regard as) ‘confusing’ Bible passages and offer some thoughts about them. Here I discuss Matthew 27: 51-53.

     Here are vv.51b-53: “And the earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened. And many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many.”

     This description is unique to Matthew’s Gospel, and I have thought it very strange. And yet, I have yet to come across a satisfactory explanation as to why ‘the bodies of the saints … were raised.’ This could not be some kind of pre-Easter resurrection, yet the text is clear and unambiguous. Then I came across Ezekiel 37:12-14. I quote snippets from it: “Thus says the Lord GOD: Behold, I will open your graves and raise you from your graves, O my people… And you shall know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves, and raise you from your graves, O my people.” (Please also read the passage in full.) I think the language is similar, so perhaps Matthew is making reference to this passage in Ezekiel, saying that Jesus’ crucifixion is the fulfilment – or the moment – that God fulfils His promises stated in Ezekiel 37 and its larger context. Generally speaking, the promise is that God will restore the nation of Israel and make a new covenant with them.

     This opens up the possibility that what Matthew wrote did not ‘literally’ happen (this is controversial, I know, but bear with me). It could be that when Matthew looked at the events surrounding Jesus’ death and resurrection, and looked back at the Scriptures, he found that Jesus fulfilled the promises, or inaugurated their fulfilment. Thus, he applies Ezekiel’s vision to Jesus’ death, showing to his (likely) Jewish audience that Jesus is the answer to the vision God gave to Ezekiel.

     But our Bible reading should never be for dry theological knowledge, and so I’d like to consider some implications of reading this passage this way. Firstly, I think that would help us think more deeply about the significance of the cross. I think too often in Evangelical, gospel-centred circles, we read books or sermons about the death of Jesus and think that it’s only about penal substitution. I understand the emphasis, but there is so much more there that I think we will discover if we allow ourselves to dig deeper and ask more questions. This, I think would help us appreciate Jesus’ crucifixion more and increase our wonder at our God who works out all of His promises through His Son – allowing us to rejoice even more greatly in the salvation He has graciously given.  

     Secondly, this might encourage us to read our Old Testament even more closely. Over the past few years I’ve been introduced to Biblical Theology, and I’ve come to see the richness of the Old Testament as part of God’s redemptive revelation. I believe we cannot properly understand the Old Testament without the New, and vice versa. And rooting the New Testament in the Old is grounding it in the overall sweep of redemptive history, avoiding an ‘a-temporal, philosophical’ Christianity that I find to be quite prevalent.

     However, there are many more issues to consider, like the context of this passage – especially how Matthew reads and uses the Old Testament. Another potentially problematic are would be the question of whether things happened exactly as Matthew writes it. Another legitimate worry is that I am making things up and going too far with how I use the Bible. Regarding the third concern, I hope to gradually consider more passages and write about the Biblical Theological methods that I’m employing, so that people can read and judge for themselves. I’m no Bible scholar, but I firmly believe a layperson can understand Scripture and I believe that we don’t need to get a certificate in theology before we can read our Bibles well. I’m embarking on a journey of discovery, so join me if you are interested.  

     Also, if anyone reading this has thoughts, do feel free to share them in the comments. 

A Haunting Past and A Deceptive Conscience

           I should say that what comes next is kind of a rant, but I needed to articulate what I’m thinking. Please don’t read if you are not interested in those kind of things and do bear with me if you do continue reading. 

I had to deal with a human relationship issue and it wasn’t easy because I was confronted with failings in my past and a possibly (and likely) dishonest conscience. It seems I might have done things a bit too secretly, but then again, I’ve never been one keen to announce the things I do. I’ve realised that not telling people about what I do is enticing because there is room for irresponsibility and failure. After all, if nobody ‘outside’ knows about a mistake, it doesn’t really hurt right? Come to think of it, this is pretty scary: that I prefer to ‘work in darkness.’ Maybe that’s where my conscience is being deceitful, and I’ve been tricked – brainwashed - by my own self to think I’m doing what’s right. How brilliantly ironic.  

          Should I then divulge everything that I do to everybody? Must I report each activity to everyone around me? Would this not seem like drawing attention to myself? Perhaps I need an accountability partner, but it seems difficult to find someone in Durham to be that. In any case, I think I need to trust myself less, doubt my heart a bit more – after all, is it not ‘deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?’ (Jeremiah 17:9)

          Can I escape my past? Am I able to no longer slink in the shadows and hide behind verbal subterfuge when questioned about my motivation for doing things? I know forgiveness and truth can only be found in Christ, but sometimes I think I prefer covering things up and pretentiously accepting acknowledgement from others. This reminds me of John’s Gospel where he write ‘the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their deeds were evil’ (John 3:19).

          It is painful to meet the spectres of my past shortcomings because I am ashamed, terribly ashamed. If I couple that with a deceptive conscience, I think I have the right ingredients for making headway into destruction-land where I not only hurt myself but the people around me, because I’m always running away from confronting the truth. That means I’m running away from God.

          Maybe I should lay my cards bare, be man enough to face up to the consequences of my past (mis)deeds, and stop pretending I’ve got things sorted. I don’t really know how that would look like, but I think it entails not closeting aspects of my past that should be open to scrutiny. It also means that I will have to tread really carefully and constantly place my conscience on the witness dock under intense cross-examination – perhaps even to others’ gaze - when I involve myself in certain activities.

          I guess it’s time to admit that I’m wrong, and cleave ever more desperately to the cross of Christ. When times are turbulent, when I want to rectify things but am misunderstood and circumstances are exacerbated, and my carefully constructed castle of cards comes crashing, then perhaps I can learn to understand these lines ‘Nothing in my hand I bring, / Simply to Thy cross I cling.’ 

Poetry as Perceiving

          I was in a seminar and we were reading Elizabeth Bishop’s “The Fish.” It is a great poem about perceiving, about the difficulty of knowing something accurately and poetically. In this sense, we could say that it captures the poetic angst that language fails to completely describe a scene; and to extend it, emotions. I have realised that when I read poetry, I carry a lot of baggage, I want it to teach me something: maybe about grappling with life, or how poets deal with life – because I think that they are oftentimes the most acute observers of it; maybe about social ills, how poets challenge – or even promote – the ‘ideologies’ we are enslaved to. I want it to be didactic, similar to how liberal humanists approached literature.

          Yet going through this seminar, I’ve realised that my mind needs to be trained to see, not recognise. But perhaps more than see, I need to perceive. I need to be sensitive to sound, to syntax, to diction and the ways words on a page relate to one another. I think poetry is poetry because it is unfamiliar, there is an element of ‘enstrangement’ (to borrow from Shklovsky) so that we are led ‘to a knowledge of a thing through the organ of sight instead of recognition’ (Art as Device).

          However, to be attentive to words is, I think, at the same time to be aware of its inadequacy to fully convey meaning. Bishop’s poem certainly does suggest that. It is a picture of perception, showing us its difficulties but also the ‘rainbow’ moments when we finally see. I think that kind of epiphany is akin to the ‘road to Emmaus’ seen where after Jesus shows how all Scripture points and is fulfilled in him, Cleopas and his friend said to each other, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?” (Luke 24:32).

          Sadly, I think those moments are hard to come by, because we are swamped with the automatising and desensitising effects of the media empire. We as people don’t see anymore, because everything happens so quickly, there is no time to stop and stare and be amazed – amazed at how beautiful and ugly this world we live in is. Words and images do not make us think anymore, because to stop is to be left behind.

          So then I should be more attentive to words, and because words do not exist in a vacuum, to the people who say them or write them. Perhaps this will grant me a greater awareness of what others are thinking and feeling. Because I believe reading poetry is a process of training the mind’s eyes to see rather than recognise, then I hope I will be trained to see people rather than recognise them.

          There is probably an unspoken criterion that good poetry has to meet: universality. And on Calvary, the living Word who became flesh perceived human existence in all its glory and horror; he is both the particular and the universal. He is the light that gives people the ability to perceive. In other words, He is the perfect poetry. 

Poem: There is a Terror - Greater

I wrote a poem in response to the news of the Paris terror attacks, knowing that Paris gets coverage because it is an ‘important Western city.’

I didn’t spend much time on it and it’s not a good poem, and I must admit that reading Emily Dickinson has caused me to uses lots of dashes and to capitalise certain nouns. As I was writing, I realised that these two elements did help me in my attempt to articulate my thoughts. And I’m beginning to understand Dickinson a bit better.

But anyway, here’s what I wrote:

There is a Terror - Greater

There is a Terror – greater

Than the carnage in Syria, Beirut or Paris.

It’ll be a day of reckoning

Where none pleads innocence –

For we all like sheep have gone astray.

There is a Comfort – greater

Than the hashtags and profile picture changes can provide.

It’s news that justice will – nay – has been served

On all the evil of this world –

Meted out on a perfect man.

Let’s pray for Syria, Beirut and Paris –

And for all the suffering there is.

But will our hands and feet be equally as earnest

To bring murderers – of which we all are - 

The good news of Tree and Tomb. 

Demons

I was listening to Imagine Dragons’ song ‘Demons’ and the lyrics struck me as being very true. The chorus goes

                    When you feel my heat

                    Look into my eyes

                    It’s where my demons hide

                    It’s where my demons hide

                    Don’t get too close

                    It’s dark inside

                    It’s where my demons hide

                    It’s where my demons hide

I think it is true that naturally we are very protective about who we really are. We never really consciously reveal our true selves to other people; because we know that it’s ugly and it’s messy and we are afraid that others cannot accept us for who we are. I know that’s very true of me.

But I think what is hardest for me to do is to let the people we are closest to see who we really are. Perhaps it’s because I don’t yet know if they will accept or reject me. I don’t want to disappoint, but I am often a disappointment to myself. I think it’s really tough trying to figure out the best way to be real to other people.

So yeah, there are demons that I hide, afraid of revealing them to the world. But often they haunt me; when I am alone, or when tired, when I’m faced with pressure or disappointment. This sounds bleak, but yes, I do think life is such – we often create illusions and consider them our reality; and we trick ourselves to believe in the stories we write: getting a good career, being a kind person, taking care of the planet – delusions really to feed the human ego.

But I’ve found one story that I think makes sense. It’s the story of the Bible – not the stories we find in the Bible - but how the whole Bible depicts and describes reality: that there are demons hiding in us, and that God Himself has come to deal with that problem through Jesus’ death on the cross and resurrection 3 days later. Colossians 2: 13-15 goes

And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by cancelling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he sat aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him.

So my demons have been dealt with, they have been defeated and forgiven; and I am no longer a slave to them, though I am still prone to heed their seductive calls. But when that happens, I guess I need to remember that what’s real is not the show I put on, but that I have been saved from my demons, and I no longer need to hide them – at least not from my Saviour.

But not hiding them from the world? I know I’ll still struggle to do that. Will people accept me when they see those defeated demons desperately try to regain a position they will never again attain? Maybe not. But that’s alright. I am reminded of a hymn I really like that says

                    When Satan tempts me to despair,

                    And tells me of the guilt within;

                    Upward I look and see Him there,

                    Who made an end of all my sin.

So even if everyone in the world despises me; even if those I hold dear rejects me, I know that Him who created me, and in whom I live and move and have my being, will not.