Enlarging the Story
It’s a problem that I’ve been seeing more and more of lately. It’s everywhere. I first encountered it when reading a book called “How to Read the Bible for All Its Worth.” The authors divide the bible into the various genres of writing - historical, poetic, apocalyptic, prophetic and so on. Each genre has to be interpreted according to its own unique quality - we can’t read the psalms in the same way we read the book of Acts. Okay, fair enough. But I soon discovered that this way of reading the bible divorced the Psalms from Acts and the connections between the two were lost. If there’s a narrative arc to the bible - if what Paul says in Romans is connected to what Adam did in Eden, and it is, then dividing the book into genres serves to break that arc and, in so doing, the story God is telling is lost. Instead we get, as the authors suggest, a book of rules and regulations, a book that is to “be read, understood and obeyed.” (their phrase).
Dividing the bible into an Old and New Testament, or even chapters and verses might do exactly the same thing. But we also have this incredibly common - some would say essential - part of our church life called a ’sermon’. In a sermon the preacher studies a passage of scripture and then makes a speech, from which the rest of us download information. In this process, however, we isolate a text and, as a result, draw conclusions that often simply aren’t supported by the larger context. I used to read the story of the three servants and their talents as a call to evangelism - we must not hide our faith, we must enlarge the Master’s Kingdom. The parable of the 10 virgins was an eschatological admonition to be ready for the return of Jesus. The story of the servants who worked in the vineyard for a day getting paid the same as those who worked for an hour was about all of us sharing in our heavenly reward equally. But in reading through Matthew this year I’ve come to recognize that these stories are connected to the sheep and the goats judgment of Matthew 25. When seen as a whole, and when connected to the sheep and goats Judgment it becomes immediately apparent that these stories are about economic justice. Why did the virgins not share their oil? Why couldn’t they share one or two lamps and make sure there was enough oil to last the night? Instead, they sent the others, selfishly, away. Why did the two wise, confident servants not help the frightened one with his investments? Why did they not pool their resources? Clearly, this is a case of the rich getting richer while the poor get poorer. And in the story of the vineyard workers it appears that in the Kingdom of God the community is larger than the self, that we understand economic justice as what benefits us while God desires to distribute prosperity equally throughout the community. When we start connecting to the sheep and goats judgment the Sermon on the Mount becomes a document new and alien to our world; the house on the rock and the house on the sand take on a whole new meaning as well. Yes, as we travel through the book of Matthew we see a dozen other things going on as well. That’s pretty much my point.
Every devotional, every bible study, every commentary I’ve ever read does exactly the same thing - subdivides the bible and thus, necessarily, fails us. But here’s the thing: every sermon we’ve ever heard, and every sermon I’ve ever preached, has done exactly the same thing. The limitations of the form require it. And there’s an awful, terrible, frightening truth in that. Maybe we’ve been going at this all wrong - and some of us have dedicated our entire lives to this pursuit.
We need a new way to teach the bible. A way that allows for a long, long time to be spent dwelling in the text. Years, decades. A way that allows for long discussions and digressions. A way that places it within the hands of the community instead of a priestly caste of pastors and theologians so that the Holy Spirit may speak among us, and through us, without the filter that is one person at the front of the room. And my fear is that none of this can be done within the frame of church as we know it. In fact, this single belief - that the scripture must dwell within the community, and the community within the scripture - challenges everything we know and understand about the role of a pastor, the nature and organization of church, our way of being the body of Christ together. The fear this engenders is enormous. And this new way has not yet come to be in our evangelical tradition. It may never come to be. But I think somewhere, somehow, someone should at least try, someone should begin.
Ancient Prayer
BLESSED Lord, who hast caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant that we may in such wise hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that by patience and comfort of thy holy Word, we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which thou hast given us in our Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.
This was the prayer read from the Book of Common Prayer on Sunday morning as the second Advent candle was lit. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy hearing these prayers read. They go by in an instant - the page is turned, the words are read, the candle is lit and we move on. Our little ceremony each week seems so ordinary, so unimpressive - and yet it is so rich and full with meaning and value and purpose.
It’s a pearl of great price, a vacant lot with buried treasure.
Hearing and reading the scriptures read seems straightforward enough - these ‘collects’ we read each week are part of an entire calendar of bible reading and prayer the Christian church has practiced for centuries. But that word ‘mark’ is an interesting one, isn’t it? As a verb without an object the word means ‘to take notice, give attention, consider’. And, as a verb without object the recognition that this - the scripture - is something of particular worth, value or meaning falls exactly between ‘read’ and ‘learn’. It is the necessary work of faith in order to grow into a resemblance of Christ and it is nothing more - and nothing less - than simply thinking about what we are hearing and reading, what the bible is saying to us today.
In much of contemporary, evangelical Christianity there is the notion that the bible fell from the sky, fully formed, perfect and without error in any way. I’m not sure the text itself supports this notion. But I do believe there is something unique in the history of the world about this particular collection of ancient documents we call ‘The Bible’. Pay attention, this old prayer of the church tells us. Look. Listen. Be fully present. God is about something in particular here - and it may not be obvious, plain, on the surface. ‘Grant us…’ the prayer begins - let our awareness and presence in this spoken Word be a work of your Spirit awakening us, enlivening us, making us fully present so that - for these few sacred moments - the busy-ness and stress and noise and haste of our lives might be replaced with the placid calm of loving you, the beauty of your Spirit returning us to yourself from all those strange gods we have been chasing after.
‘…and inwardly digest…’ the prayer continues. To be attentive and present in the reading of the word of God is where the power of God is made plain in our life. This is where transformation happens. At some point, as we wrestle, wander, struggle, sojourn, saunter through or carefully and meticulously study the bible we find ourselves engaging the text with something other than moving eyes and pursed lips. Eventually we will find ourselves asking, “what does that mean, why did that happen, what’s going on here’ and, eventually, what does this mean for me? if we have the courage to remain in solitude with the text we discover that the bible has been reading us, that God is indeed speaking to us - singularly, specifically, personally - about what’s happening in our hearts and our lives today. This is, I think, where the ‘inspiration’ of the Holy Spirit is found. As we ‘inwardly digest’ this unique writing we come face to face with the Holy Spirit of God, and we are changed.
These prayers that Andrea has chosen for our Advent ceremony are almost too rich and full to really grasp. We take them for granted, gloss over them, let them slip by. They use words like ‘patience and comfort’, and ‘blessed hope’, and ‘everlasting life’, all of them as full and pregnant as Mary, standing at the inn-keeper’s door. Perhaps the real power and glory, the real wonder and beauty of Advent is the way in which it asks us to slow down, to pause, to consider - to be present with and in - the coming of Jesus to our world. And maybe this is exactly the right prayer. Maybe we can’t just make the world stop, can’t just snap our fingers and make a time of quiet reflection in our lives. Perhaps this too must be a work of God that we are willing to be present in, and willing to accept, even willing to desire.
“Blessed Lord …grant that we may…”