Jacob finally prepares to run the gauntlet and confront Esau, putting the "female servants and their children" first, then Leah and her brood, then Rachel and Joseph (verse 2). I'm reminded of Magneto's line in the third X-Men film: "In chess, the pawns go first." I guess it makes sense that Jacob wants to protect his favored wife, but he is using children as human shields to do so.
Of course, all of Jacob's fraught precautions are for naught, as Esau runs to him with open arms. I wrote before that I've always felt bad for Esau despite his boneheadedness, so you can probably guess that their reconciliation gives me that warm, fuzzy feeling. It's all good in the hood, as Mr. Rogers might say.
I will concede that sometimes, nasty situations come out of nowhere. Other times, we anticipate a distressing situation, and when it comes, it's just as bad as we thought it would be. But sometimes, I worry needlessly. I used to play the clarinet in elementary, middle, and high school, and I always dreaded seating auditions. In high school especially I didn't practice as much as I could have, but even when I did, my nerves were jittery with tension. Yet I never ended up squeaking (the bane of a reed instrumentalist's existence) and pretty much always managed to get the first part. (The clarinet section was split into two or three parts, with the first part often being the most interesting to play.) I guess a small amount of worry was healthy because it spurred me to actually practice, but my stress was definitely out of proportion to the result.
Jacob asks Esau to stop smothering him, presumably so he can have some breathing room. However, as we'll later learn, Jacob will not actually follow Esau all the way home. Does Jacob still feel guilty for what he's done, afraid that his brother will change his mind? Either way, he still doesn't seem to completely trust his brother's change of heart.
Going back to Esau--what a transformation. When Jacob left, Esau vowed to murder him. Now, he's welcoming him, shedding unrestrained tears when he could have very easily clung to his grudge the whole time. While I'm not one to hold grudges, that's probably because I've been blessed enough not to have been egregiously wronged by anybody yet. I'm sure it will happen someday, and when it does, I hope I'll be able to follow Queen Elsa of Arendelle's example without becoming a doormat. After all, if Esau had still wanted to kill Jacob, life would have been a bit more difficult for all parties involved. I've read in numerous places that if you forgive someone, it benefits you the most. In this case, however, Jacob was probably glad too that Esau decided to forgive him. Forgiveness… such a simple concept with no real drawbacks, yet so difficult at times to put into practice.
Friday, October 30, 2015
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Genesis 32
This chapter kicks off with an event that most would consider momentous: Jacob meets some of God's angels. No doubt some people today would immediately whip out their selfie sticks and take a picture to upload to Instagram or Twitter--making sure to add 30 irrelevant hashtags, thus simultaneously annoying normal human beings and evincing ignorance of how hashtags should actually be used. (I was about to facetiously write "Never," but thought better of it; I'm glad no one will ever know the grievous mistake I almost made.) And yet, this event only receives only a cursory, almost offhand mention from the author. Why? Maybe because Jacob is about to have an even more spiritually pivotal encounter in just a few short verses.
Before that encounter, though, Jacob frets about his reunion with Esau. He's so disquieted that he prays to God, asking Him for protection. OK, in verse 12, he does stick in a reminder of God's promise to him--as if God needed reminding. It could come across as an attempt to guilt trip God, but that's probably reading too much into it. Like many other Christians (I suspect), I cry out to God when something untoward happens--I had a bad cold recently (a few days ago by the time you read this post--or a 70 years ago if you're reading this in 2095) and I just felt like a miserable little wretch. The worst of it happened on my day off, so I was praying--rather querulously, I must admit--that I would get better by the time I had to go back to work the next day. Well, I wasn't quite 100%, but I was able to function. But when I think back, the last time I got a fever, it was also on one of my days off. God provides, even when He knows that I tend to pray to Him only when in dire need. I do know, however, that God doesn't always answer our prayers. Loved ones are taken from us, misfortunes befall us, tragedies leave us bereft of solace. You can probably guess what I'm going to write next: I don't have any answers.
Before meeting Esau, Jacob wrestles with God. Just as Jacob's getting the upper hand, God reminds him of who he's dealing with, incapacitating Jacob's hip. But Jacob has grown enough that he can recognize God and thus ask Him for a blessing. I don't know if I wrestle with God--as I mentioned before, I tend to ignore Him. But I suppose that's also a form of "fighting" with Him, keeping Him from working in and through me. As a result, I become more selfish and prideful. Now, if you've been kind enough to have been reading these prosy little posts, you probably know that I don't boast a whole lot. But I am prideful in thinking that I can live my life as a Christian without fully committing to a relationship with Christ. How hypocritical is that? At any point, God could metaphorically disable my hip. As always, I need to rely on God and remember to live completely for Him.
Before that encounter, though, Jacob frets about his reunion with Esau. He's so disquieted that he prays to God, asking Him for protection. OK, in verse 12, he does stick in a reminder of God's promise to him--as if God needed reminding. It could come across as an attempt to guilt trip God, but that's probably reading too much into it. Like many other Christians (I suspect), I cry out to God when something untoward happens--I had a bad cold recently (a few days ago by the time you read this post--or a 70 years ago if you're reading this in 2095) and I just felt like a miserable little wretch. The worst of it happened on my day off, so I was praying--rather querulously, I must admit--that I would get better by the time I had to go back to work the next day. Well, I wasn't quite 100%, but I was able to function. But when I think back, the last time I got a fever, it was also on one of my days off. God provides, even when He knows that I tend to pray to Him only when in dire need. I do know, however, that God doesn't always answer our prayers. Loved ones are taken from us, misfortunes befall us, tragedies leave us bereft of solace. You can probably guess what I'm going to write next: I don't have any answers.
Before meeting Esau, Jacob wrestles with God. Just as Jacob's getting the upper hand, God reminds him of who he's dealing with, incapacitating Jacob's hip. But Jacob has grown enough that he can recognize God and thus ask Him for a blessing. I don't know if I wrestle with God--as I mentioned before, I tend to ignore Him. But I suppose that's also a form of "fighting" with Him, keeping Him from working in and through me. As a result, I become more selfish and prideful. Now, if you've been kind enough to have been reading these prosy little posts, you probably know that I don't boast a whole lot. But I am prideful in thinking that I can live my life as a Christian without fully committing to a relationship with Christ. How hypocritical is that? At any point, God could metaphorically disable my hip. As always, I need to rely on God and remember to live completely for Him.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Genesis 31
Jacob has finally had enough of Laban's chicanery and decides to leave. I especially like how the author describes Laban's feelings toward his nephew in verse 2: "Laban's attitude toward him was not what it had been." Nice use of understatement (and a particular kind of understatement called litotes, for all you fellow English nuts). We get solid confirmation that God did have a hand in the rather unscientific breeding of the sheep and goats, creating more spotted and speckled specimens for Jacob's inheritance.
Before Jacob absconds with his two wives, Rachel takes Laban's household gods. Why? To piss him off? An act of revenge? Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men (or women)? Unfortunately, I'm not The Shadow (and if I were, I certainly wouldn't reveal it on a public blog), so I'm afraid I can't shed any light. Laban, who takes "all his relatives with him" (verse 23) somehow manages to catch up with Jacob. Well, Jacob, that's what you get for going at such a leisurely pace. Maybe he was afraid that if he went at a strenuous or grueling pace, all of his oxen would die and he wouldn't get to sail his wagon down the Columbia River. In all seriousness, though, Laban probably did know that land better than Jacob did. And Laban might not have cared as much if one of his relatives had died from dysentery.
Both Jacob and Laban were kind of at fault here. Laban was taking advantage of Jacob, but he did have a point that Jacob didn't let him say goodbye to his daughters. Even worse, Laban didn't get to listen to timbrels and harps at a farewell banquet. The horror. The story then enters the realm of farce when Laban goes looking for his precious household gods. Rachel decides to sit on them, saying she can't get up because she's having her period. I'm not a woman, so I'm going to refrain from making any comment; to do so would probably reveal my ignorance. (OK, I know I've done that plenty of times already.)
In the end (I know that's a lazy writing device, but I'm being lazy), Jacob and Laban part on amicable terms, though we never find out if Laban got to listen to his beloved timbrels and harps. But God did incite this goodwill, keeping Laban in verse 34 from saying anything "good or bad," thus probably staving off a potentially explosive confrontation, or even a prelude to war. Sometimes, I have to remember to listen to God; I'm not a confrontational person, but sometimes I find it all too easy to ignore Him, thus hiding the love He has placed within me instead of letting it shine. Even Laban, who obviously worshipped different gods, obeyed the one true God when He spoke. Laban never got his gods back, so I can certainly live without all the little distractions that serve as "gods" in my life.
Easier said than done, of course. Going back to The Oregon Trail, your goal is to get to Oregon (not, as is commonly believed, Trail), yet the real reason anyone plays the game is to go hunting. In what other school-sanctioned game can you shoot and kill cute widdle bunny rabbits, birdies, chipmunks, teddy bears, and buffalo with near-impunity? But at some point, hunting becomes a distraction from the main goal of the game. If you do it too much like I used to, you collect more meat than you can eat. So at some point on the trail, you're greeted by a litany of dire messages, coming approximately .084 seconds apart: "You have lost 576 pounds of perishable meat" "You have lost 139 pounds of perishable meat" "You have lost 48 pounds of perishable meat" "You have lost 2 pounds of perishable meat"--all very frustrating, because it interrupts you when you're trying to click the "Hunt" button again.
I've lost the thread now, so I might as well close with one final Oregon Trail anecdote. At one river, you can choose to have Indians help you cross in exchange for some changes of clothes. My brothers and I always thought that this meant that said Indians would run on the bottom of the river carrying your wagon above their heads.
Before Jacob absconds with his two wives, Rachel takes Laban's household gods. Why? To piss him off? An act of revenge? Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men (or women)? Unfortunately, I'm not The Shadow (and if I were, I certainly wouldn't reveal it on a public blog), so I'm afraid I can't shed any light. Laban, who takes "all his relatives with him" (verse 23) somehow manages to catch up with Jacob. Well, Jacob, that's what you get for going at such a leisurely pace. Maybe he was afraid that if he went at a strenuous or grueling pace, all of his oxen would die and he wouldn't get to sail his wagon down the Columbia River. In all seriousness, though, Laban probably did know that land better than Jacob did. And Laban might not have cared as much if one of his relatives had died from dysentery.
Both Jacob and Laban were kind of at fault here. Laban was taking advantage of Jacob, but he did have a point that Jacob didn't let him say goodbye to his daughters. Even worse, Laban didn't get to listen to timbrels and harps at a farewell banquet. The horror. The story then enters the realm of farce when Laban goes looking for his precious household gods. Rachel decides to sit on them, saying she can't get up because she's having her period. I'm not a woman, so I'm going to refrain from making any comment; to do so would probably reveal my ignorance. (OK, I know I've done that plenty of times already.)
In the end (I know that's a lazy writing device, but I'm being lazy), Jacob and Laban part on amicable terms, though we never find out if Laban got to listen to his beloved timbrels and harps. But God did incite this goodwill, keeping Laban in verse 34 from saying anything "good or bad," thus probably staving off a potentially explosive confrontation, or even a prelude to war. Sometimes, I have to remember to listen to God; I'm not a confrontational person, but sometimes I find it all too easy to ignore Him, thus hiding the love He has placed within me instead of letting it shine. Even Laban, who obviously worshipped different gods, obeyed the one true God when He spoke. Laban never got his gods back, so I can certainly live without all the little distractions that serve as "gods" in my life.
Easier said than done, of course. Going back to The Oregon Trail, your goal is to get to Oregon (not, as is commonly believed, Trail), yet the real reason anyone plays the game is to go hunting. In what other school-sanctioned game can you shoot and kill cute widdle bunny rabbits, birdies, chipmunks, teddy bears, and buffalo with near-impunity? But at some point, hunting becomes a distraction from the main goal of the game. If you do it too much like I used to, you collect more meat than you can eat. So at some point on the trail, you're greeted by a litany of dire messages, coming approximately .084 seconds apart: "You have lost 576 pounds of perishable meat" "You have lost 139 pounds of perishable meat" "You have lost 48 pounds of perishable meat" "You have lost 2 pounds of perishable meat"--all very frustrating, because it interrupts you when you're trying to click the "Hunt" button again.
I've lost the thread now, so I might as well close with one final Oregon Trail anecdote. At one river, you can choose to have Indians help you cross in exchange for some changes of clothes. My brothers and I always thought that this meant that said Indians would run on the bottom of the river carrying your wagon above their heads.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Genesis 30
Leah and Rachel, in their jealousy of each other, start off a baby war, to the point of dragging their servants into it. In verse 1, Rachel even says to Jacob, "Give me children, or I'll die!" Rather histrionic--plus, Rachel doesn't seem to understand the biology of conception. After all, Jacob conceived kids with Leah just fine, so the problem's not on his end.
Perhaps it's wrong to look at this from a modern, scientific viewpoint; I'm sure that, if humankind still exists thousands of years from now, they'll guffaw at our ignorance. "How could they have been so uncertain about quantum mechanics and cosmology? Even my kid understands the explanation for dark matter!" I mean, both Leah and Rachel still believe that mandrakes will magically get them pregnant. I love the pickup line Leah uses on Jacob in verse 16 to get him to sleep with her:
"I have hired you with my son's mandrakes."
Well, there's no way any red-blooded guy is going to say no to that titillating little line.
I won't ever find myself in the situation of having two wives (especially as I'm never going to convert to Mormonism), but I think we've all felt tinges of jealousy toward others. With the dissemination of social media, now we're even more exposed to the carefully crafted highlights of our friends' lives. Sure, Leah had more kids, but Rachel was the one who received more love from her husband. Or: Sure, Rachel received more love from her husband, but Leah had more kids. It's so easy now to forget or brush aside our blessings, triumphs, and moments of elation and instead wallow in our misfortunes, failures, and seasons of despondency. The nadirs of our lives will never match up to the acmes of others' lives, but many of us insist on making such comparisons.
Before Jacob decides to up sticks, Laban attempts to take advantage of him yet again. When Jacob asks for the speckled sheep and goats from Laban's flock, Laban dutifully agrees before surreptitiously removing said speckled animals. However, Jacob gets the last laugh by holding branches in front of the stronger animals when they're "in heat" (verse 41) so their offspring become speckled. That's not quite how things work in scientific terms; if I hold up a purple piece of paper in front of a couple getting busy, their baby won't come out with purple skin. God clearly had a hand in this.
Now and again, I do admit to going through elaborate contrivances as Laban did in order to get my way. Often, God says, "Oh yeah?" and arranges matters so that I end up having to face what I tried so hard to avoid. And you know what? Most of the time, it's not as bad as I thought. And even when it is that bad, I know God is building my character. Who knew that Calvin's dad could be right about something?
Perhaps it's wrong to look at this from a modern, scientific viewpoint; I'm sure that, if humankind still exists thousands of years from now, they'll guffaw at our ignorance. "How could they have been so uncertain about quantum mechanics and cosmology? Even my kid understands the explanation for dark matter!" I mean, both Leah and Rachel still believe that mandrakes will magically get them pregnant. I love the pickup line Leah uses on Jacob in verse 16 to get him to sleep with her:
"I have hired you with my son's mandrakes."
Well, there's no way any red-blooded guy is going to say no to that titillating little line.
I won't ever find myself in the situation of having two wives (especially as I'm never going to convert to Mormonism), but I think we've all felt tinges of jealousy toward others. With the dissemination of social media, now we're even more exposed to the carefully crafted highlights of our friends' lives. Sure, Leah had more kids, but Rachel was the one who received more love from her husband. Or: Sure, Rachel received more love from her husband, but Leah had more kids. It's so easy now to forget or brush aside our blessings, triumphs, and moments of elation and instead wallow in our misfortunes, failures, and seasons of despondency. The nadirs of our lives will never match up to the acmes of others' lives, but many of us insist on making such comparisons.
Before Jacob decides to up sticks, Laban attempts to take advantage of him yet again. When Jacob asks for the speckled sheep and goats from Laban's flock, Laban dutifully agrees before surreptitiously removing said speckled animals. However, Jacob gets the last laugh by holding branches in front of the stronger animals when they're "in heat" (verse 41) so their offspring become speckled. That's not quite how things work in scientific terms; if I hold up a purple piece of paper in front of a couple getting busy, their baby won't come out with purple skin. God clearly had a hand in this.
Now and again, I do admit to going through elaborate contrivances as Laban did in order to get my way. Often, God says, "Oh yeah?" and arranges matters so that I end up having to face what I tried so hard to avoid. And you know what? Most of the time, it's not as bad as I thought. And even when it is that bad, I know God is building my character. Who knew that Calvin's dad could be right about something?
Monday, October 26, 2015
Genesis 29
Jacob finally reaches his uncle Laban's ranch, immediately striking up an enthralling conversation about husbandry with a shepherd. He meets Laban and his comely daughter Rachel; all seems well at first, with much kissing, embracing, and tears. But events take an unsavory turn once Jacob expresses interest in taking Rachel as a wife. Laban does have an elder daughter named Rachel, but while the latter is apparently a ravishing beauty queen, the former has, as verse 17 puts it, "weak eyes."
Now, just what the heck does that mean?
Does that mean Leah needs glasses? Is the author implying that glasses make one unattractive? Were ancient people turned on by people with 20/20 vision? Were those with 20/10 vision the supermodels of the Canaanite realm? I'm being facetious here, but the author might be saying that, in addition to Leah's physical unattractiveness, she also has poor vision to add to her list of "faults." And in this time period, if you couldn't see well, there wasn't really anything you could do about it.
After Jacob expresses his desire to marry Rachel, Laban decides to deceive the deceiver, taking advantage of a loophole in verse 21 when Jacob says, "Give me my wife," instead of "Give me Rachel." After the celebration feast, Jacob wastes no time bedding Leah, who he thinks is Rachel. I just love how the Bible describes the morning after in verse 25: "When morning came, there was Leah!" Surprise!
Jacob has to repeat this whole rigmarole again in order to obtain Rachel, and of course ends up loving her more than Leah (verse 30). We don't really get an insight into either woman's personality, but isn't it sad how much value we put on physical appearance? I'm not much to look at myself, but I'm just as guilty as the next guy of being attracted to the more "beautiful" people. I am drawn to personality as well (which I suppose we all tell ourselves)--I just do not want to keep up with the Kardashians no matter how they look. You can develop your skills through practice, increase your knowledge through learning, strive to act magnanimously, but you can't really change your physical appearance that much. Why do we value something that's beyond out control, something determined by luck?
God feels for Leah, though, allowing her to have kids. She, and not Rachel, is the ancestor of Jesus, though that's probably small consolation for her now. Unfortunately, that does not cause Jacob to love her more. In addition, it seems like neither sister got any choice in the matter in regards to their marriage to Jacob. Looking back, we can see this whole story as a bit of comeuppance for Jacob--he deceived his father, and now he's reaping the bitter fruit. However, we can't forget that Leah and Rachel also got entangled in this imbroglio. Of course, God has a plan for everyone and all that, but I also have to do my part to remember that everyone whom I come across--the Leahs and Rachels as well as the Jacobs--has a life, has problems, has aspirations. I pray that I can treat others, even those on the fringes of my life, with respect and compassion.
Now, just what the heck does that mean?
Does that mean Leah needs glasses? Is the author implying that glasses make one unattractive? Were ancient people turned on by people with 20/20 vision? Were those with 20/10 vision the supermodels of the Canaanite realm? I'm being facetious here, but the author might be saying that, in addition to Leah's physical unattractiveness, she also has poor vision to add to her list of "faults." And in this time period, if you couldn't see well, there wasn't really anything you could do about it.
After Jacob expresses his desire to marry Rachel, Laban decides to deceive the deceiver, taking advantage of a loophole in verse 21 when Jacob says, "Give me my wife," instead of "Give me Rachel." After the celebration feast, Jacob wastes no time bedding Leah, who he thinks is Rachel. I just love how the Bible describes the morning after in verse 25: "When morning came, there was Leah!" Surprise!
Jacob has to repeat this whole rigmarole again in order to obtain Rachel, and of course ends up loving her more than Leah (verse 30). We don't really get an insight into either woman's personality, but isn't it sad how much value we put on physical appearance? I'm not much to look at myself, but I'm just as guilty as the next guy of being attracted to the more "beautiful" people. I am drawn to personality as well (which I suppose we all tell ourselves)--I just do not want to keep up with the Kardashians no matter how they look. You can develop your skills through practice, increase your knowledge through learning, strive to act magnanimously, but you can't really change your physical appearance that much. Why do we value something that's beyond out control, something determined by luck?
God feels for Leah, though, allowing her to have kids. She, and not Rachel, is the ancestor of Jesus, though that's probably small consolation for her now. Unfortunately, that does not cause Jacob to love her more. In addition, it seems like neither sister got any choice in the matter in regards to their marriage to Jacob. Looking back, we can see this whole story as a bit of comeuppance for Jacob--he deceived his father, and now he's reaping the bitter fruit. However, we can't forget that Leah and Rachel also got entangled in this imbroglio. Of course, God has a plan for everyone and all that, but I also have to do my part to remember that everyone whom I come across--the Leahs and Rachels as well as the Jacobs--has a life, has problems, has aspirations. I pray that I can treat others, even those on the fringes of my life, with respect and compassion.
Friday, October 23, 2015
Genesis 28
After Jacob flees his home, God gives him a vision of a stairway to heaven (not the Led Zeppelin version). Before that, though, Isaac reiterates his blessing to Jacob. Isaac apparently no longer has any misgivings about having been deceived, but then again, is he going to bless Esau now that the older son has vowed to kill the younger?
Esau hears of how both his parents despise Canaanite women, so, in what comes across as a bit of desperation to gain favor, he goes off and gets hitched to one of Ishmael's descendants. I do wonder if Isaac and Rebekah had told Esau about their preferences beforehand; if not, it's pretty sad that Esau had to find out secondhand. See, even the righteous Biblical families had their little problems.
After Jacob sees the manifestation of his eponymous ladder (though it was more like a stairway, if we believe the NIV scholars), he deems the location "awesome" and "the gate of heaven" (verse 17). I personally don't think there's a specific location in the physical realm that serves as THE gate of heaven. But as God says in verse 15, he will be with Jacob wherever he goes. That applies to us; it can be easy to forget that God isn't with us just when we pray or read the Bible or sing worship songs. He is with us every single moment--when we're celebrating a wedding, when we fall on our butts on the ice rink, when a loved one dies, when we're getting into shenanigans, when we witness our child take her first steps, when we're sitting on the porcelain throne…. Sometimes, God actively makes us pay attention to Him, but other times, we have to acknowledge that He is by our side.
Jacob makes a vow to follow God at the end of the chapter, but it's conditional. IF God provides for him and does so-and-so, only THEN will he recognize God. (Slightly unpleasant memories of geometry proofs creeping up here.) That's not how this works. I've tried--indeed, I still keep trying, even though I know it's wrong. As I wrote in another post, I don't make promises, but I do think, "God, if I can survive xxxx, I'll try to devote more time to developing my relationship with You." Doesn't always work out.
In the movie Kick-Ass, Dave Lizewski, a teenager with no superpowers, tries to be a superhero by dressing up in a wetsuit. After getting stabbed and hit by a car while trying to fight crime, he barely survives, promising never to do any crazy s*** again. Well, as this is only 20 minutes or so into the movie, we know how well he keeps that promise. He ends up surviving to the end of the movie anyway (not really a spoiler, as there's a Kick-Ass 2)--not on his own power (or lack thereof) but mostly because of help from another pair of vigilantes--an 11 year-old girl and her father--who actually know what they're doing.
Well, God definitely knows what He's doing. He does end up protecting Jacob, and He does still bestow me with so many blessings even though my own relationship with Him is probably conditional. If I truly respect God's grace, I have to stop taking advantage of it, following God not just when it's convenient but all the time. I know that no one can propitiate God with works alone, but I pray that I will continue to grow in my faith so that I will naturally perform acts of service for His kingdom.
Esau hears of how both his parents despise Canaanite women, so, in what comes across as a bit of desperation to gain favor, he goes off and gets hitched to one of Ishmael's descendants. I do wonder if Isaac and Rebekah had told Esau about their preferences beforehand; if not, it's pretty sad that Esau had to find out secondhand. See, even the righteous Biblical families had their little problems.
After Jacob sees the manifestation of his eponymous ladder (though it was more like a stairway, if we believe the NIV scholars), he deems the location "awesome" and "the gate of heaven" (verse 17). I personally don't think there's a specific location in the physical realm that serves as THE gate of heaven. But as God says in verse 15, he will be with Jacob wherever he goes. That applies to us; it can be easy to forget that God isn't with us just when we pray or read the Bible or sing worship songs. He is with us every single moment--when we're celebrating a wedding, when we fall on our butts on the ice rink, when a loved one dies, when we're getting into shenanigans, when we witness our child take her first steps, when we're sitting on the porcelain throne…. Sometimes, God actively makes us pay attention to Him, but other times, we have to acknowledge that He is by our side.
Jacob makes a vow to follow God at the end of the chapter, but it's conditional. IF God provides for him and does so-and-so, only THEN will he recognize God. (Slightly unpleasant memories of geometry proofs creeping up here.) That's not how this works. I've tried--indeed, I still keep trying, even though I know it's wrong. As I wrote in another post, I don't make promises, but I do think, "God, if I can survive xxxx, I'll try to devote more time to developing my relationship with You." Doesn't always work out.
In the movie Kick-Ass, Dave Lizewski, a teenager with no superpowers, tries to be a superhero by dressing up in a wetsuit. After getting stabbed and hit by a car while trying to fight crime, he barely survives, promising never to do any crazy s*** again. Well, as this is only 20 minutes or so into the movie, we know how well he keeps that promise. He ends up surviving to the end of the movie anyway (not really a spoiler, as there's a Kick-Ass 2)--not on his own power (or lack thereof) but mostly because of help from another pair of vigilantes--an 11 year-old girl and her father--who actually know what they're doing.
Well, God definitely knows what He's doing. He does end up protecting Jacob, and He does still bestow me with so many blessings even though my own relationship with Him is probably conditional. If I truly respect God's grace, I have to stop taking advantage of it, following God not just when it's convenient but all the time. I know that no one can propitiate God with works alone, but I pray that I will continue to grow in my faith so that I will naturally perform acts of service for His kingdom.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Genesis 27
Isaac, going blind, ends up getting snookered by Jacob and Rebekah into giving his blessing to the wrong son. Apparently, hairy arms are all that it takes to convince him that he's blessing Jacob instead of Esau. "Gee, my son, you sound an awful lot like Jacob. Oh, but you're hairy, so you must be Esau. Never mind!"
I'll be honest: Neither Jacob nor Esau rank very high on the list of Biblical people I admire. While Jacob's actions don't begin to approach the atrocities of, say, Jezebel or Haman, he pales in comparison to the other patriarchs of the Pentateuch. I feel that Jacob just squeezes by here because 1.) Esau witlessly gave up his birthright two chapters ago, and 2.) Esau vowed to kill Jacob after getting gypped out of his blessing. And these two reasons are because of Esau's folly, not anything good that Jacob himself did.
I've always felt bad for Esau. In fact, if it weren't for his two (admittedly grievous) blunders, I would be downright indignant about his unfair treatment. In this story (before he vows to avenge Jacob), he does nothing wrong. This epitome of masculinity gets reduced to tears in verse 38; I also truly feel his despair in verse 34 with his "loud and bitter cry." He ends up receiving a pretty crappy blessing--I mean, "away from the dew of heaven above" (verse 39)? How much worse can you get?
I admit that if I were in Esau's sandals, though I wouldn't want to kill Jacob, I would definitely be angry with God for being unfair. Are His blessings really so exclusive, reserved for one man per family--and never the women? Of course, we now know that Jesus accepts all who turn to Him, but even that leads to the question of why God waited so long to send His son down. I still wrestle with this issue, even though I have faith that God did this for a reason.
As we can see, deception hurts everyone involved. I've touched on this before in some of my earlier posts, so I'm too lazy to go over it again. This story, though, proves a little thornier: Jacob still received God's blessing (through Isaac), though he did end up receiving a taste of his own medicine from Laban. I guess it just runs in the family.
I'll be honest: Neither Jacob nor Esau rank very high on the list of Biblical people I admire. While Jacob's actions don't begin to approach the atrocities of, say, Jezebel or Haman, he pales in comparison to the other patriarchs of the Pentateuch. I feel that Jacob just squeezes by here because 1.) Esau witlessly gave up his birthright two chapters ago, and 2.) Esau vowed to kill Jacob after getting gypped out of his blessing. And these two reasons are because of Esau's folly, not anything good that Jacob himself did.
I've always felt bad for Esau. In fact, if it weren't for his two (admittedly grievous) blunders, I would be downright indignant about his unfair treatment. In this story (before he vows to avenge Jacob), he does nothing wrong. This epitome of masculinity gets reduced to tears in verse 38; I also truly feel his despair in verse 34 with his "loud and bitter cry." He ends up receiving a pretty crappy blessing--I mean, "away from the dew of heaven above" (verse 39)? How much worse can you get?
I admit that if I were in Esau's sandals, though I wouldn't want to kill Jacob, I would definitely be angry with God for being unfair. Are His blessings really so exclusive, reserved for one man per family--and never the women? Of course, we now know that Jesus accepts all who turn to Him, but even that leads to the question of why God waited so long to send His son down. I still wrestle with this issue, even though I have faith that God did this for a reason.
As we can see, deception hurts everyone involved. I've touched on this before in some of my earlier posts, so I'm too lazy to go over it again. This story, though, proves a little thornier: Jacob still received God's blessing (through Isaac), though he did end up receiving a taste of his own medicine from Laban. I guess it just runs in the family.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Genesis 26
Genesis 26 gives us the only story in which we see Isaac as a main player instead of just context to either his father or his sons. Like his father, he meets a king named Abimelek. (Apparently, Canaanites aren't quite as creative with their names as Hebrews.) And, proving that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, he also lies to Abimelek 2.0 about his wife Rebekah. This time, though, Abimelek actually catches Isaac in the act, "caressing" Rebekah, as verse 8 colorfully puts it. Instead of thinking, "Boy, what a screwed up pair of siblings," Abimelek draws the correct conclusion and gives Isaac a sound scolding.
We all know that old chestnut, "Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it," but I wonder if Abraham had told Isaac about the two occasions when he lied about Sarah being his sister. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't; that's not the kind of feat you want to brag about to your children. Do we have an obligation to let our children know every unsavory detail and gaffe of our lives--even if we wait until they're adults to do so? Probably not absolutely everything, but then again, I'm not yet a parent and thus cannot provide any insight on this issue. (Though if you're looking for deep insights, you're probably reading the wrong blog.)
The Philistines under Abimelek become jealous of Isaac's success, even going so far as to fill up the wells dug by Abraham. Seriously, in an area where water is such a disputed resource, why didn't the Philistines just steal the water instead of filling up the whole well? That's like cutting of their noses to spite their faces. (Have we had enough idioms yet?)
In verse 16, Abimelek finally asks Isaac and his posse to leave because they "have become too powerful." Because Isaac has remained faithful to God, his family has received His blessings and provisions. But today, does anyone think, "Oh, I'm so jealous of Christians. They're doing so well"? Sadly, it's the opposite. Even disregarding faux-Christian hate groups such as the Westboro Baptist Church using the facade of "God" to conceal their thoroughly un-Christlike nature, many people today disdain Christians. We should be shining Christ's light, spurring others to ask about Jesus's love as seen through us. Of course, that doesn't mean we should accept the idea of subjective morality, but I would propound the idea that Christians should love others first. Once one has accepted Christ, then the work of spiritual improvement, through God as well as fellow Christians serving as His hands and feet, can start.
I realize this post has taken a turn toward the somewhat pompous, but I do think that others should be able to see Christ working in our lives. I'd be the first to acknowledge that I need a lot of work in this area myself, so I pray that God will make it so.
We all know that old chestnut, "Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it," but I wonder if Abraham had told Isaac about the two occasions when he lied about Sarah being his sister. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't; that's not the kind of feat you want to brag about to your children. Do we have an obligation to let our children know every unsavory detail and gaffe of our lives--even if we wait until they're adults to do so? Probably not absolutely everything, but then again, I'm not yet a parent and thus cannot provide any insight on this issue. (Though if you're looking for deep insights, you're probably reading the wrong blog.)
The Philistines under Abimelek become jealous of Isaac's success, even going so far as to fill up the wells dug by Abraham. Seriously, in an area where water is such a disputed resource, why didn't the Philistines just steal the water instead of filling up the whole well? That's like cutting of their noses to spite their faces. (Have we had enough idioms yet?)
In verse 16, Abimelek finally asks Isaac and his posse to leave because they "have become too powerful." Because Isaac has remained faithful to God, his family has received His blessings and provisions. But today, does anyone think, "Oh, I'm so jealous of Christians. They're doing so well"? Sadly, it's the opposite. Even disregarding faux-Christian hate groups such as the Westboro Baptist Church using the facade of "God" to conceal their thoroughly un-Christlike nature, many people today disdain Christians. We should be shining Christ's light, spurring others to ask about Jesus's love as seen through us. Of course, that doesn't mean we should accept the idea of subjective morality, but I would propound the idea that Christians should love others first. Once one has accepted Christ, then the work of spiritual improvement, through God as well as fellow Christians serving as His hands and feet, can start.
I realize this post has taken a turn toward the somewhat pompous, but I do think that others should be able to see Christ working in our lives. I'd be the first to acknowledge that I need a lot of work in this area myself, so I pray that God will make it so.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Genesis 25
After some brief accounts of the additional offspring of Abraham and Ishmael, Genesis turns to Jacob and Esau. Typically, some see Esau as bit of a dolt and Jacob as an astute, enterprising angel, but Jacob does have some traits that I frankly wouldn't want in any of my kids. He's still immeasurably greater than that other Jacob who inexplicably falls for Kristin Stewart, of all people, yet he's still not some untouchable paragon of virtue.
Jacob and Esau act contentiously before they're even born, wrestling in Rebekah's womb (much to her dismay). When she gives birth, what should come out but a baby grasping the heel of a scarlet throw rug. The rug grows up to be a man's man; he probably served as the first model for Brawny paper towels. Jacob, on the other hand, prefers to assist his mom with her DIY crafts, helping her run her Etsy account. Dad favors one son and mom favors the other: a perfect situation for fostering familial harmony.
Esau rashly gives up his birthright in exchange for some beans. These beans, however, don't grow into a beanstalk, rendering this a rather one-sided trade indeed. Although this was a pretty pea-brained move on Esau's part, Jacob is culpable as well. He didn't say, "OK, you can have some stew, but you have to give me a portion of all the game you catch from now on." He asked for Esau's right to inherit the first fruits of his father, including the promises of the covenant God made with Abraham. And he probably knew his brother well enough to foresee that Esau would end up giving that birthright.
As a firstborn son myself, I thought, "Gee, Esau, how idiotic can you get?" when I first heard this story. I'm nowhere near the man's man that Esau apparently was, though I do like good action movies more than chick flicks and I never wanted to play with Barbies. (As an aside, I respect and appreciate those whose hobbies and pastimes go against the traditional, socially constructed gender norms. I mean, I've recently gotten into Japanese dramas, so who am I to judge?) And though I used to quarrel with my siblings now and again, our relationship is far from rancorous.
However, I do relate with Esau's desire for instant gratification (bean stew) over long-term, eternal blessings. I know Jesus died for my sins, but I can find it so easy to spurn God's grace in favor of temporary satisfaction. Not to say that I should totally cease reading books for pleasure, watching movies, listening to film scores, or surfing the Internet, but when they start to take away from time I could have spent with God, that's when those activities become inimical to my spiritual growth. And surfing the Internet doesn't give me a whole lot of pleasure anyway, so why do I still do it so much?
I don't want to become Esau, regretting a foolishly impetuous decision. May God keep reminding me that the pleasures of Earth are temporary, but the blessings of Heaven are eternal.
Jacob and Esau act contentiously before they're even born, wrestling in Rebekah's womb (much to her dismay). When she gives birth, what should come out but a baby grasping the heel of a scarlet throw rug. The rug grows up to be a man's man; he probably served as the first model for Brawny paper towels. Jacob, on the other hand, prefers to assist his mom with her DIY crafts, helping her run her Etsy account. Dad favors one son and mom favors the other: a perfect situation for fostering familial harmony.
Esau rashly gives up his birthright in exchange for some beans. These beans, however, don't grow into a beanstalk, rendering this a rather one-sided trade indeed. Although this was a pretty pea-brained move on Esau's part, Jacob is culpable as well. He didn't say, "OK, you can have some stew, but you have to give me a portion of all the game you catch from now on." He asked for Esau's right to inherit the first fruits of his father, including the promises of the covenant God made with Abraham. And he probably knew his brother well enough to foresee that Esau would end up giving that birthright.
As a firstborn son myself, I thought, "Gee, Esau, how idiotic can you get?" when I first heard this story. I'm nowhere near the man's man that Esau apparently was, though I do like good action movies more than chick flicks and I never wanted to play with Barbies. (As an aside, I respect and appreciate those whose hobbies and pastimes go against the traditional, socially constructed gender norms. I mean, I've recently gotten into Japanese dramas, so who am I to judge?) And though I used to quarrel with my siblings now and again, our relationship is far from rancorous.
However, I do relate with Esau's desire for instant gratification (bean stew) over long-term, eternal blessings. I know Jesus died for my sins, but I can find it so easy to spurn God's grace in favor of temporary satisfaction. Not to say that I should totally cease reading books for pleasure, watching movies, listening to film scores, or surfing the Internet, but when they start to take away from time I could have spent with God, that's when those activities become inimical to my spiritual growth. And surfing the Internet doesn't give me a whole lot of pleasure anyway, so why do I still do it so much?
I don't want to become Esau, regretting a foolishly impetuous decision. May God keep reminding me that the pleasures of Earth are temporary, but the blessings of Heaven are eternal.
Monday, October 19, 2015
Genesis 24
In this whopper of a chapter (67 verses), Abraham sends out one of his lackeys to find a suitable mate for his son because apparently Isaac can't be ar*ed to do it himself. Said lackey comes back with--surprise!--Abraham's grandniece, a fetching lass named Rebekah. Along the way, he briefly makes contact with Rebekah's brother Laban, who will later end up as Jacob's hemorrhoid. (I have no idea why "Jacob's hemorrhoid" isn't as widespread a phrase as "Jacob's ladder.")
As you can see, I still possess traces of juvenile humor, so I also want to point out that, in verse 2, when the servant puts his hand under Abraham's thigh, "thigh" is a euphemism for the nether organ of a male. Thanks to my church small group for teaching me that little tidbit.
When Abraham's servant meets Rebekah, he makes her put on a nose ring. Can't say that's a style I would want to try out for myself, but if you have a kid who wants to make his or her face resemble a bull's, at least you know that this fashion has been in vogue since Old Testament times.
One of the reasons for this chapter's gargantuan length is that, in verses 34-49, the servant basically tells the whole story again up to that point. Useful for oral storytelling purposes, but perhaps just a little redundant when written down. I'm half surprised that the author didn't write down the whole thing again in verse 66, when "[t]he servant told Isaac all that he had done," thus creating an infinite loop akin to "Jack's Story" in John Scieszka and Lane Smith's brilliantly subversive book The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales.
Rebekah is a go-getter, her proactive nature admirable in such a patriarchal society. Yes, it gets her into a bit of trouble with Jacob and Esau later on, but there was plenty of blame to go around for that debacle. She doesn't just fetch the camels water; she actively runs to go get it. (Verse 21 says that Abraham's servant watches Rebekah closely "to learn whether or not the LORD had made his journey successful." Watching Rebekah run off, I wonder if the servant, being a guy and all, thought to himself that the journey was successful in more ways than one.)
Anyway, I'm definitely not a proactive or enterprising person. I have dreams, but lack the motivation to actively pursue many of them. Some people seem to naturally strive for great heights; I'm always amazed and somewhat inspired when I meet a kid who has remarkable confidence and drive. I know that, if supported and encouraged, she or he will go on to accomplish great feats as an adult. I was the polar opposite as a kid (as I'm sure I wrote about before). I'm still not the most self-assured person on Earth, certainly not the most charismatic or charming, and I know I'll never be so. I don't feel envious of such poised people---indeed, I marvel at others' skills. God gives us all different gifts and abilities, but (to repeat what's becoming a recurring theme) I must develop the faith to rely on Him in the areas in which I am weak.
As you can see, I still possess traces of juvenile humor, so I also want to point out that, in verse 2, when the servant puts his hand under Abraham's thigh, "thigh" is a euphemism for the nether organ of a male. Thanks to my church small group for teaching me that little tidbit.
When Abraham's servant meets Rebekah, he makes her put on a nose ring. Can't say that's a style I would want to try out for myself, but if you have a kid who wants to make his or her face resemble a bull's, at least you know that this fashion has been in vogue since Old Testament times.
One of the reasons for this chapter's gargantuan length is that, in verses 34-49, the servant basically tells the whole story again up to that point. Useful for oral storytelling purposes, but perhaps just a little redundant when written down. I'm half surprised that the author didn't write down the whole thing again in verse 66, when "[t]he servant told Isaac all that he had done," thus creating an infinite loop akin to "Jack's Story" in John Scieszka and Lane Smith's brilliantly subversive book The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales.
Rebekah is a go-getter, her proactive nature admirable in such a patriarchal society. Yes, it gets her into a bit of trouble with Jacob and Esau later on, but there was plenty of blame to go around for that debacle. She doesn't just fetch the camels water; she actively runs to go get it. (Verse 21 says that Abraham's servant watches Rebekah closely "to learn whether or not the LORD had made his journey successful." Watching Rebekah run off, I wonder if the servant, being a guy and all, thought to himself that the journey was successful in more ways than one.)
Anyway, I'm definitely not a proactive or enterprising person. I have dreams, but lack the motivation to actively pursue many of them. Some people seem to naturally strive for great heights; I'm always amazed and somewhat inspired when I meet a kid who has remarkable confidence and drive. I know that, if supported and encouraged, she or he will go on to accomplish great feats as an adult. I was the polar opposite as a kid (as I'm sure I wrote about before). I'm still not the most self-assured person on Earth, certainly not the most charismatic or charming, and I know I'll never be so. I don't feel envious of such poised people---indeed, I marvel at others' skills. God gives us all different gifts and abilities, but (to repeat what's becoming a recurring theme) I must develop the faith to rely on Him in the areas in which I am weak.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Genesis 23
When Sarah dies, Abraham dutifully looks for a place in Canaan to bury her. On the surface, his interaction with the Hittites to buy a suitable plot of burial ground seems rather, well, Japanese. The Hittites basically say, "You can bury your wife in the best of our tombs for free, your royal Highness. Oh, you want your own cave? No problem; in fact, we're so generous that we'll let you have the adjoining field as well. You insist on paying? Well, it's worth 400 shekels of silver, if you must know."
Of course, as the NIV Study Bible notes, the Hittites are, under a cloak of sycophancy, actually hornswoggling Abraham in his time of grief. All Abraham wants is a lousy cave--what's important is that it's in Canaan, where God promised Abraham's people would live--but they make him buy the whole field, overcharging him to boot.
At this point in my life, I've been lucky enough not to have had anyone take advantage of me in a time of bereavement, so I'm afraid I can't offer any musings along those lines. But I do wonder if it's "better" to be blunt about your dishonorable intentions. Of course, it's best not to act dishonorably at all, but adding that veneer of fawning verbosity adds the additional layer of deceit.
I'm guessing that Abraham knew that the Hittites were snookering him, yet he still acted respectful and truly deferential. I'm not going to reveal the details of my work, but I've definitely had to deal with people who try to take advantage of our policies. While I don't treat such people rudely, I admit that I wish I could sometimes stick a sarcastic little barb in somewhere. Even though I don't actually follow through, such thoughts betray my own selfish mindset. I think I've learned how to respond firmly enough to prevent transforming into a doormat--after all, policies exist for a reason. And yet God knows all my thoughts--the good, the bad, and the bizarre.
But Abraham didn't just have to deal with a bunch of hagglers. He had to do so just after the death of his wife. If I had been in Abraham's shoes, I'd have thought, "The love of my life just died. I just cannot handle any of your insensitive BS right now." I admire Abraham's forbearance and pray that, when the inevitable comes and someone I love passes away, I will allow God to instill within me the same grace and respect for any inconsiderate individuals I may come across. Of course, I pray for those qualities anyway, but I suspect I will need them in even greater quantities when bereaving the loss of a loved one. That's a rather doleful note to end on, but…well, it's a doleful note to end on.
Of course, as the NIV Study Bible notes, the Hittites are, under a cloak of sycophancy, actually hornswoggling Abraham in his time of grief. All Abraham wants is a lousy cave--what's important is that it's in Canaan, where God promised Abraham's people would live--but they make him buy the whole field, overcharging him to boot.
At this point in my life, I've been lucky enough not to have had anyone take advantage of me in a time of bereavement, so I'm afraid I can't offer any musings along those lines. But I do wonder if it's "better" to be blunt about your dishonorable intentions. Of course, it's best not to act dishonorably at all, but adding that veneer of fawning verbosity adds the additional layer of deceit.
I'm guessing that Abraham knew that the Hittites were snookering him, yet he still acted respectful and truly deferential. I'm not going to reveal the details of my work, but I've definitely had to deal with people who try to take advantage of our policies. While I don't treat such people rudely, I admit that I wish I could sometimes stick a sarcastic little barb in somewhere. Even though I don't actually follow through, such thoughts betray my own selfish mindset. I think I've learned how to respond firmly enough to prevent transforming into a doormat--after all, policies exist for a reason. And yet God knows all my thoughts--the good, the bad, and the bizarre.
But Abraham didn't just have to deal with a bunch of hagglers. He had to do so just after the death of his wife. If I had been in Abraham's shoes, I'd have thought, "The love of my life just died. I just cannot handle any of your insensitive BS right now." I admire Abraham's forbearance and pray that, when the inevitable comes and someone I love passes away, I will allow God to instill within me the same grace and respect for any inconsiderate individuals I may come across. Of course, I pray for those qualities anyway, but I suspect I will need them in even greater quantities when bereaving the loss of a loved one. That's a rather doleful note to end on, but…well, it's a doleful note to end on.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Genesis 22
This chapter contains a minor little story--just a footnote, really--about how God tells Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac, revealing just before Abraham skewers his son that it's just a test. The real attraction of this chapter is the scintillating account of Nahor's sons (Nahor is Abraham's brother). All kidding aside, I do find one point of interest in Nahor's account. The author's use of the passive voice in verse 20--"Abraham was told"--makes me wonder just who did the telling. We are always taught to avoid the passive voice (a form of "be" plus a past participle for you grammar fiends) unless we're writing a lab report, and here we see one of the reasons why: It can make your writing vague. Of course, whenever I use the passive voice, it's because I'm intentionally being vague. In my writing, passive voice is never used for any other purpose. Ever.
Abraham's near-sacrifice of his only son of course demonstrates his deep faith. Yes, he told a half-truth about Sarah because he didn't trust God to work matters out, but here, the patriarch really comes through. As I've mentioned before, few of us hear audible commands from God. Yet I don't know if I'd be eager to follow God's command if he told me to do something out of my comfort zone, much less kill my child. We know now that God never asks anyone to offer human sacrifices, and we know that God is just testing Abraham. But if I really have deep faith in God, I suspect I'll have to make decisions that will cause me anguish (or, at the very least, distress). And yet God is the only balm through which we can find true and eternal succor.
Nowadays, this "God told me" business is more the domain of those who should belong in the loony bin. God told me to kill my family. God told me to disrespect these people. God told me that Jurassic World deserves to be the top-grossing film of all time. People can "pray" or "hear God," but the concept of "prayer" is not exclusive to Christianity. People can "pray" to their ancestors' corpses, Roger Rabbit, their fecal matter, or--you guessed it--Frank Stallone.
I'm no apologetics expert, but I do think we need a balance of prayer, Scripture, fellowship, and service to develop our relationship with the one true God. Only then can we truly discern whether it is God is speaking to us or our own neurosis. And I do want to acknowledge that even in Scripture, we do not literally follow everything it says. We are not sinning if we're wearing something woven out of two types of material (Leviticus 19:19) or if we clip the edges of our beards (Leviticus 19:27). Determining what Biblical precepts we should or should not follow opens up the proverbial can of worms, but the teachings of Jesus serve as a light that can illuminate the rest of Scripture. I'm about 1.85% through the Bible so far, so, slowly but surely, I'm getting there.
Abraham's near-sacrifice of his only son of course demonstrates his deep faith. Yes, he told a half-truth about Sarah because he didn't trust God to work matters out, but here, the patriarch really comes through. As I've mentioned before, few of us hear audible commands from God. Yet I don't know if I'd be eager to follow God's command if he told me to do something out of my comfort zone, much less kill my child. We know now that God never asks anyone to offer human sacrifices, and we know that God is just testing Abraham. But if I really have deep faith in God, I suspect I'll have to make decisions that will cause me anguish (or, at the very least, distress). And yet God is the only balm through which we can find true and eternal succor.
Nowadays, this "God told me" business is more the domain of those who should belong in the loony bin. God told me to kill my family. God told me to disrespect these people. God told me that Jurassic World deserves to be the top-grossing film of all time. People can "pray" or "hear God," but the concept of "prayer" is not exclusive to Christianity. People can "pray" to their ancestors' corpses, Roger Rabbit, their fecal matter, or--you guessed it--Frank Stallone.
I'm no apologetics expert, but I do think we need a balance of prayer, Scripture, fellowship, and service to develop our relationship with the one true God. Only then can we truly discern whether it is God is speaking to us or our own neurosis. And I do want to acknowledge that even in Scripture, we do not literally follow everything it says. We are not sinning if we're wearing something woven out of two types of material (Leviticus 19:19) or if we clip the edges of our beards (Leviticus 19:27). Determining what Biblical precepts we should or should not follow opens up the proverbial can of worms, but the teachings of Jesus serve as a light that can illuminate the rest of Scripture. I'm about 1.85% through the Bible so far, so, slowly but surely, I'm getting there.
Friday, October 16, 2015
Genesis 21
I have to start out by acknowledging that this chapter ends with Abraham interacting with his old pal Abimelek from chapter 20. However, I admit I don't really know what to make of it; several culture-specific logical leaps seem to be going on which I'm not quite grasping. At any rate, what I can glean from the relationship between Abraham and Abimelek is already discussed in the post for chapter 20.
After waiting decades, Abraham finally sees his promise from God fulfilled with the birth of his first son, Isaac. (Or, as Hiro from Heroes would say it, "Mr. E-Sock.") Sarah rather disingenuously asks in verse 7, "Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children?" Well, Sarah, you know perfectly well who, but you just didn't believe Him.
My discernment is not yet refined enough for me to hear concrete promises from God. And yet when I (kind of) prayed for a job, God gave me one right when I needed to start paying off my student loans. Just after high school, when I started wondering if it might benefit me to form a social circle outside my family, God sent me a wonderful, understanding, slightly eccentric group of friends from my church to fellowship with (though I'm probably the most bizarre of them all.) Like most humans, I have multifarious desires: increased motivation, the ability to be more orally articulate, a significant other, the strength to open a Gatorade bottle, the ability to simultaneously play the bagpipes and ride a unicycle while juggling six live meerkats…the list goes on and on. Yet God knows which one of my desires (if any) I need to grow in my relationship with Him and fulfill His plans for me. I'm banking on the bagpipes/unicycle/meerkat juggling.
Despite Abraham and Sarah's joy at their son's birth, a shadow soon creeps in: There's the little matter of Hagar and Ishmael to deal with. This time, God does give His approval for Abraham to send the two off as He will provide for them. Sometimes, I have to be careful not to be too prideful and think that only I can "save" someone or am his or her only path to God. That may be true in some cases, but God has so many people other than me that He can use. Maybe we're only meant to play a small--but still crucial--part in people's lives, but I know it can be difficult for me to eschew the perspective of a self-centric universe.
Abraham's situation is a little different because I get the sense that he kind of wanted to get Hagar and Ishmael out of his hair. I also realize I'm reaching with this connection, but hey, this is what's coming to my mind. But say you have a girlfriend/boyfriend whom you're absolutely enamored with--but then they find someone else. It can sometimes be difficult to admit that they may be better off with that person. (There's no shortage of books or movies with this general trope.) Likewise, if we truly care about someone's spiritual well-being, sometimes we have to acknowledge that we might not be the final conduits through which the good news will reach her or him. Obviously, that doesn't mean that we should just say, "Screw it, God will just use someone else." But if we're really walking with God, then we should be willing to let Him work through us in ways big and (from our perspectives) small. I'm human; although public approbation makes me feel uncomfortable, private commendation sure makes me feel swell. Thus, I do grant that I have to put these words into practice myself and realize that not all (or even any) the work I do for God (little as it may currently be) will elicit approval or perceptible change. Not all of us can be Billy Graham, but if it is God's plan for us to work in "small" ways out of the public eye, then that makes our work no less important.
After waiting decades, Abraham finally sees his promise from God fulfilled with the birth of his first son, Isaac. (Or, as Hiro from Heroes would say it, "Mr. E-Sock.") Sarah rather disingenuously asks in verse 7, "Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children?" Well, Sarah, you know perfectly well who, but you just didn't believe Him.
My discernment is not yet refined enough for me to hear concrete promises from God. And yet when I (kind of) prayed for a job, God gave me one right when I needed to start paying off my student loans. Just after high school, when I started wondering if it might benefit me to form a social circle outside my family, God sent me a wonderful, understanding, slightly eccentric group of friends from my church to fellowship with (though I'm probably the most bizarre of them all.) Like most humans, I have multifarious desires: increased motivation, the ability to be more orally articulate, a significant other, the strength to open a Gatorade bottle, the ability to simultaneously play the bagpipes and ride a unicycle while juggling six live meerkats…the list goes on and on. Yet God knows which one of my desires (if any) I need to grow in my relationship with Him and fulfill His plans for me. I'm banking on the bagpipes/unicycle/meerkat juggling.
Despite Abraham and Sarah's joy at their son's birth, a shadow soon creeps in: There's the little matter of Hagar and Ishmael to deal with. This time, God does give His approval for Abraham to send the two off as He will provide for them. Sometimes, I have to be careful not to be too prideful and think that only I can "save" someone or am his or her only path to God. That may be true in some cases, but God has so many people other than me that He can use. Maybe we're only meant to play a small--but still crucial--part in people's lives, but I know it can be difficult for me to eschew the perspective of a self-centric universe.
Abraham's situation is a little different because I get the sense that he kind of wanted to get Hagar and Ishmael out of his hair. I also realize I'm reaching with this connection, but hey, this is what's coming to my mind. But say you have a girlfriend/boyfriend whom you're absolutely enamored with--but then they find someone else. It can sometimes be difficult to admit that they may be better off with that person. (There's no shortage of books or movies with this general trope.) Likewise, if we truly care about someone's spiritual well-being, sometimes we have to acknowledge that we might not be the final conduits through which the good news will reach her or him. Obviously, that doesn't mean that we should just say, "Screw it, God will just use someone else." But if we're really walking with God, then we should be willing to let Him work through us in ways big and (from our perspectives) small. I'm human; although public approbation makes me feel uncomfortable, private commendation sure makes me feel swell. Thus, I do grant that I have to put these words into practice myself and realize that not all (or even any) the work I do for God (little as it may currently be) will elicit approval or perceptible change. Not all of us can be Billy Graham, but if it is God's plan for us to work in "small" ways out of the public eye, then that makes our work no less important.
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Genesis 20
Remember in chapter 12 when Abraham told a ruler that Sarah was his sister in order to stave off any hanky-panky? Well, now he does it again, this time with a fellow named Abimelek. This time, though, God directly communicates with Abimelek through a dream, telling him the truth.
Abimelek rightly chastises Abraham for fooling him and putting him in a dangerous position with God. Yes, Abraham is God's prophet, the progenitor of His chosen people. But in his fear and refusal to allow God to handle the situation, Abraham jeopardizes the life of the unwitting Abimelek. In verse 11, Abraham even says, "I thought to myself, 'There is surely no fear of God in this place.'"
In today's society, a similar statement would be, "Surely that person will never come to know Christ, so why bother trying?" I admit that I feel that way about some people I know. Now, I don't treat them like crap because of this, but the very fact that I don't even try to share the good news with them proves how much more I need to grow in my own relationship with Christ. I'm a shy person in general, so I really need to gird up my practically nonexistent loins to even hold a half-decent conversation with someone. I'm practically Porky Pig. And yet, why do I think it would be so much harder to share my faith when it's based on the one constant in this world? Of course, I don't want to cram the Bible or a "You're going to hell" message down people's throats unbidden--a surefire way as any to instill in someone an aversion to Christianity. But it is in my very weaknesses--talking one of them--that God is strong.
Unlike the Pharaoh of chapter 12, who just lets Abraham go, Abimelek showers Abraham with freebies and invites him to pitch his tent anywhere he wishes. He does end up fearing God, even if it was just momentary. I don't know if Abimelek became a full-on convert, but his magnanimity contrasts with Abraham's deception borne from insecurity. Followers of Christ--including me, in case you had any doubts--still screw up.
Lest we become too focused on Abraham's blemishes, we're reminded of his faithfulness in verse 17--after this messy fiasco, he prays to God. I've become more consistent with my Bible reading (duh), but prayer is still an area I don't devote as much time and effort to as I should. When I write fiction, nothing thrills me more than crafting rich, meaningful conversations between characters. Writing characters who banter and josh with each other fills me with zest. Prayer is, in essence, a conversation with God, the wittiest and most profound being of all--and the Creator of the universe to boot. Interacting with God thus should be an activity I perform with unfettered euphoria.
Abimelek rightly chastises Abraham for fooling him and putting him in a dangerous position with God. Yes, Abraham is God's prophet, the progenitor of His chosen people. But in his fear and refusal to allow God to handle the situation, Abraham jeopardizes the life of the unwitting Abimelek. In verse 11, Abraham even says, "I thought to myself, 'There is surely no fear of God in this place.'"
In today's society, a similar statement would be, "Surely that person will never come to know Christ, so why bother trying?" I admit that I feel that way about some people I know. Now, I don't treat them like crap because of this, but the very fact that I don't even try to share the good news with them proves how much more I need to grow in my own relationship with Christ. I'm a shy person in general, so I really need to gird up my practically nonexistent loins to even hold a half-decent conversation with someone. I'm practically Porky Pig. And yet, why do I think it would be so much harder to share my faith when it's based on the one constant in this world? Of course, I don't want to cram the Bible or a "You're going to hell" message down people's throats unbidden--a surefire way as any to instill in someone an aversion to Christianity. But it is in my very weaknesses--talking one of them--that God is strong.
Unlike the Pharaoh of chapter 12, who just lets Abraham go, Abimelek showers Abraham with freebies and invites him to pitch his tent anywhere he wishes. He does end up fearing God, even if it was just momentary. I don't know if Abimelek became a full-on convert, but his magnanimity contrasts with Abraham's deception borne from insecurity. Followers of Christ--including me, in case you had any doubts--still screw up.
Lest we become too focused on Abraham's blemishes, we're reminded of his faithfulness in verse 17--after this messy fiasco, he prays to God. I've become more consistent with my Bible reading (duh), but prayer is still an area I don't devote as much time and effort to as I should. When I write fiction, nothing thrills me more than crafting rich, meaningful conversations between characters. Writing characters who banter and josh with each other fills me with zest. Prayer is, in essence, a conversation with God, the wittiest and most profound being of all--and the Creator of the universe to boot. Interacting with God thus should be an activity I perform with unfettered euphoria.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Genesis 19
Genesis 19 comprises not just one but two rather
lurid stories that one might expect to find in some Canaanite pulp magazine.
While not exactly salacious, they're also not exactly Sunday school material.
The first story is more well-known; Lot invites two Heavenly messengers into
his house in Sodom. A group of concupiscent men knock on Lot's door, wanting
to, appropriately enough, sodomize the visitors. What a lovely city. Lot tells
them to shoo (good), but then offers his daughters instead (not so good).
I understand that Lot wanted to protect his guests,
but using his daughters as substitutes? I may not be a father (yet), but even I
know that that's horrific parenting. Perhaps that leads to the rather odious
events between him and his daughters later in the chapter. Even when the angels
urge Lot and his family to leave to avoid Sodom's impending annihilation, Lot
hangs back and even haggles a bit, asking to flee to the nearby city of Zoar (a
site of more potential temptation and possibly lecherous men) instead of going
to the mountains. His wife is not so lucky, transfigured into a mineral fit for
sprinkling on French fries.
Despite showing hospitality to his guests, Lot
makes at least three mistakes in this story, ranging from the morally dubious
to the outright atrocious. And yet, as verse 16 says, God still mercifully
spares him. I can disdain Lot for betraying his daughters, but I'm also similar
to him in that I sometimes hesitate to do the right thing if it's inconvenient
or uncomfortable. And though I'm still working on spiritual discernment, I can
foresee myself haggling with God when I'm better able to perceive His voice.
"Can I do it later?" Or, "Well, that's too hard. Can I do it
halfway?" God does let Lot go to Zoar, but he ironically gets spooked and
ends up going to the mountains anyway. If God wants us to do something, He'll
end up getting His way. (Just ask Jonah.) Given my shy and introverted nature,
I'd have never imagined that I'd have a job in which I basically have to talk
for hours at a time. Yet God has a reason for placing me where He has, even if
I don't know what that reason is yet (other than forcing me to develop my oral
communication skills).
Then, we're treated to the unsavory story in which
Lot's daughters get him as drunk as a skunk so they can know him in the
Biblical sense. They want to "preserve their family line," but I do
wonder if that's a pretense and that they're actually getting revenge on Lot
for offering them to the dogs. That may be too modern a way of interpreting it,
though; maybe in that society, daughters (sadly) thought it expected to be
subservient to such a degree.
Anyway, this incident does raise a few questions. I
admit I've never been drunk, but if Lot didn't know what was happening until it
was a fait accompli, he must have been pretty hammered. And if he was so out of
it, how was he able to…well, I'm sorely tempted to get a little colorful here,
but suffice to say that his daughters ended up pregnant. Surely Lot would've
noticed something was up.
So yes, Lot was spared, but he lost his wife and ended up performing an unspeakable act with both his daughters. It's a rather distasteful and inconclusive note to end on, but it's a reflection of the fallen world we live in. Beauty and horror both exist in this world, sometimes side by side. But, to paraphrase James 1:17, every good gift comes from God.
So yes, Lot was spared, but he lost his wife and ended up performing an unspeakable act with both his daughters. It's a rather distasteful and inconclusive note to end on, but it's a reflection of the fallen world we live in. Beauty and horror both exist in this world, sometimes side by side. But, to paraphrase James 1:17, every good gift comes from God.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Genesis 18
Abraham welcomes three visitors to his tent; said visitors turn out to be God and two of His angels. After partaking in a scrumptious feast of bread, milk, cheese, and veal (verse 7 of the NIV uses the euphemism "prepare" to describe the slaying of the calf), the visitors once again remind Abraham of the promise to him. This time, though, they give a specific time frame: Sarah will bear a son within the next year.
I don't know whether Abraham knew who the three visitors were beforehand, but it's a reminder that we must strive to be hospitable to everyone. They might not literally be God in disguise, but as Matthew 25:40 reminds us, showing compassion towards God's children reveals our love for God. I can be curt with those who get on my nerves, but I know I have to show them God's love.
When Sarah hears the news about her child in the offing, she laughs in disbelief. God confronts her about this, she repudiates His allegation, and He in turn smacks her down. On the one hand, I'm tempted to wonder why you would lie to God. Think about it: When you lie to a human who knows the truth, you're just digging your own grave deeper and deeper in their eyes. Well, God, unlike us, always knows the truth and, as the one perfect being, He can't abide sin. Although I do probably lie to God, I more often try to ignore Him--but isn't evasion a kind of lie as well? That's also one of the reasons it can be so tempting to distance myself from God: If I'm not close to Him, then I don't have to deal with his disappointment when I screw up or don't act in a Christ-like manner. But that's just so incredibly selfish, and it's something I'm trying (with God's help, of course) to change.
God decides He's going to smite Sodom and Gomorrah in the best Old Testament tradition, but Abraham starts bargaining with Him. He asks God (with the proper deference) to not destroy the cities if there are 50 righteous people, then whittle it down to 10. Spoiler alert: Sodom and Gomorrah end up getting barbecued, so it's likely that Lot and his family members were the only righteous people in Sodom. Did Abraham need to do this to remind God that He is fair in His judgment? Probably not, but God may have wanted Abraham to develop his own sense of judgment through his arguments. That would sound remarkably patronizing of God if He were human, but He's not. And, of course, there was no reason for Him to send Jesus down to die for our sins.
In a world where (and this is not the intro to a movie trailer) some virtuous people get murdered or stricken with awful diseases and some evildoers get away unscathed, it can be hard to believe that God doesn't punish the righteous along with the wicked. Yes, this world is temporary, and the ultimate judgment will occur once our earthly bodies die, but that can seem so abstract and irrelevant while we're mired here in this world. I myself often get caught up in the distractions and troubles of this world. Needless to say, we shouldn't ignore everything in this world, but since our time here is temporary, we need to do what we can while we have the opportunity. Everyone needs to hear the good news of Christ, and I pray that God will light a fire within me, giving me the impetus to carry out whatever He has planned for me.
I don't know whether Abraham knew who the three visitors were beforehand, but it's a reminder that we must strive to be hospitable to everyone. They might not literally be God in disguise, but as Matthew 25:40 reminds us, showing compassion towards God's children reveals our love for God. I can be curt with those who get on my nerves, but I know I have to show them God's love.
When Sarah hears the news about her child in the offing, she laughs in disbelief. God confronts her about this, she repudiates His allegation, and He in turn smacks her down. On the one hand, I'm tempted to wonder why you would lie to God. Think about it: When you lie to a human who knows the truth, you're just digging your own grave deeper and deeper in their eyes. Well, God, unlike us, always knows the truth and, as the one perfect being, He can't abide sin. Although I do probably lie to God, I more often try to ignore Him--but isn't evasion a kind of lie as well? That's also one of the reasons it can be so tempting to distance myself from God: If I'm not close to Him, then I don't have to deal with his disappointment when I screw up or don't act in a Christ-like manner. But that's just so incredibly selfish, and it's something I'm trying (with God's help, of course) to change.
God decides He's going to smite Sodom and Gomorrah in the best Old Testament tradition, but Abraham starts bargaining with Him. He asks God (with the proper deference) to not destroy the cities if there are 50 righteous people, then whittle it down to 10. Spoiler alert: Sodom and Gomorrah end up getting barbecued, so it's likely that Lot and his family members were the only righteous people in Sodom. Did Abraham need to do this to remind God that He is fair in His judgment? Probably not, but God may have wanted Abraham to develop his own sense of judgment through his arguments. That would sound remarkably patronizing of God if He were human, but He's not. And, of course, there was no reason for Him to send Jesus down to die for our sins.
In a world where (and this is not the intro to a movie trailer) some virtuous people get murdered or stricken with awful diseases and some evildoers get away unscathed, it can be hard to believe that God doesn't punish the righteous along with the wicked. Yes, this world is temporary, and the ultimate judgment will occur once our earthly bodies die, but that can seem so abstract and irrelevant while we're mired here in this world. I myself often get caught up in the distractions and troubles of this world. Needless to say, we shouldn't ignore everything in this world, but since our time here is temporary, we need to do what we can while we have the opportunity. Everyone needs to hear the good news of Christ, and I pray that God will light a fire within me, giving me the impetus to carry out whatever He has planned for me.
Monday, October 12, 2015
Genesis 17
Following the Hagar/Ishmael debacle, God reiterates His covenant with Abram, perhaps thinking that this time it'll get through the man's thick skull. Not only that, but, just as a lowly Magikarp evolves into a formidable Gyarados, Abram becomes Abraham. His wife receives a similar upgrade, becoming Sarah.
However, God's blessings for Abraham don't come without their conditions. There's a nasty little snip--the unkindest cut of all--that he and the other males of his clan must endure as a sign of their faithfulness. In Western culture, most guys who are circumcised have the process done soon after birth, so they probably don't remember the trauma. But Abraham, Ishmael, and the other members of the household will probably remember it...for the rest of their lives.
Why did God choose such a harrowing procedure as a demonstration of one's faith? Although there are some possible health benefits to circumcision, I (as you'd expect) don't have the answer. There's another possible hypothesis, for which I'll make an analogy. When musical artists perform, they provide the venue with a "rider" that lists their requirements, such as technical equipment, instruments, transportation, booze, In-N-Out burgers, etc. Van Halen used to specifically ask for a bowl of M&M's with the brown ones taken out. It's not that the band members were eccentrically finicky (at least in this regard); it was a test to see how carefully the venue paid attention to the rider's specifications. Well, perhaps circumcision was like God's version of the brown M&M's--it proved how serious people were about their faith and that they were paying attention to the genuinely important matters. Many of the laws in Leviticus might have served this purpose as well. Or maybe not; the moment I think I know God's mind is the moment he pulls the rug out from under my sorry feet.
Abraham must also be "blameless" and walk "faithfully" with God. While I suppose Abraham does end up meeting the latter requirement, he doesn't end up being entirely blameless--he'll make at least one more mistake before he kicks the bucket. Yet God, in His unfailing grace, ends up giving Abraham the blessings anyway. (Or maybe the word "blameless" has a different connotation in Hebrew and I'm totally off base.)
How often do I make promises to God and end up breaking them? Not very often, technically. Because I know I probably won't end up keeping my word, I don't make promises in the first place. I cop out, thinking, "Well, God, I'll try, but I'm not making any promises"--which, of course, just as bad, and probably worse in some ways. If I know with such certainty that I won't be able to keep a promise to God, are any of my words to Him worth anything? I can't just keep taking advantage of His grace, because that's not how this works. If I truly value God, I should trust Him enough to let Him work through my strengths and support me in my weaknesses.
However, God's blessings for Abraham don't come without their conditions. There's a nasty little snip--the unkindest cut of all--that he and the other males of his clan must endure as a sign of their faithfulness. In Western culture, most guys who are circumcised have the process done soon after birth, so they probably don't remember the trauma. But Abraham, Ishmael, and the other members of the household will probably remember it...for the rest of their lives.
Why did God choose such a harrowing procedure as a demonstration of one's faith? Although there are some possible health benefits to circumcision, I (as you'd expect) don't have the answer. There's another possible hypothesis, for which I'll make an analogy. When musical artists perform, they provide the venue with a "rider" that lists their requirements, such as technical equipment, instruments, transportation, booze, In-N-Out burgers, etc. Van Halen used to specifically ask for a bowl of M&M's with the brown ones taken out. It's not that the band members were eccentrically finicky (at least in this regard); it was a test to see how carefully the venue paid attention to the rider's specifications. Well, perhaps circumcision was like God's version of the brown M&M's--it proved how serious people were about their faith and that they were paying attention to the genuinely important matters. Many of the laws in Leviticus might have served this purpose as well. Or maybe not; the moment I think I know God's mind is the moment he pulls the rug out from under my sorry feet.
Abraham must also be "blameless" and walk "faithfully" with God. While I suppose Abraham does end up meeting the latter requirement, he doesn't end up being entirely blameless--he'll make at least one more mistake before he kicks the bucket. Yet God, in His unfailing grace, ends up giving Abraham the blessings anyway. (Or maybe the word "blameless" has a different connotation in Hebrew and I'm totally off base.)
How often do I make promises to God and end up breaking them? Not very often, technically. Because I know I probably won't end up keeping my word, I don't make promises in the first place. I cop out, thinking, "Well, God, I'll try, but I'm not making any promises"--which, of course, just as bad, and probably worse in some ways. If I know with such certainty that I won't be able to keep a promise to God, are any of my words to Him worth anything? I can't just keep taking advantage of His grace, because that's not how this works. If I truly value God, I should trust Him enough to let Him work through my strengths and support me in my weaknesses.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Genesis 16
We saw a hint of Abram's disbelief regarding God's promise that he will have more descendants than there are stars in the sky (about 8,000, according to a somewhat pedantic NIV study note), but Abram's dubiousness has now festered, manifesting itself in his actions. Sarai tells Abram that, since it looks like she won't be bearing kids, he should get it on with one of his slaves, Hagar. "Well, if you absolutely insist," Abram replies, probably rushing off to the sack to get busy before Sarai can have second thoughts.
A Mutual Antipathy Society develops between Sarai and Hagar, to the point where Sarai blames Abram for her misery. Abram, in an action eerily echoed by Pontius Pilate's hand ablutions thousands of years later, tells his wife to do with Hagar what she likes. Driven into the desert, Hagar is told by a messenger from God that her son, Ishmael, will be a wild man who won't get along with basically anyone. And, according to tradition, he became the ancestor of the Arabs (including Muhammed--the Islam one, not Ali).
This whole story illustrates how poor decisions, made without God's guidance, often spiral into maelstroms of malice and regret. It all started with an innocuous desire--to have children. It ended with accusation, shirking of responsibility, abuse, and suffering. Abram/Abraham is probably better known for his faithful qualities, but his mistakes remind us of humankind's sinful nature. Now, I'm not going to launch into a fire and brimstone sermon about we are doomed and America is going to hell--I don't know about you, but if I were an atheist or agnostic, a message like that would drive me away from the real good news of Christ's sacrifice for us. But I am, in fact, a Christian, and I need constant reminders of how I need God in my life.
I'm not going to relate some juicy story about how one of my attempts to take matters into my own hands led to an imbroglio because this is not my private Dear Diary. (I think a fellow named George Kaplan stole my diary.) But there have been times when my selfish actions have inconvenienced or frustrated others. Of course, I feel like a miserable wretch afterwards--again, perhaps that's God nudging me. I can write all this, but changing my attitude so my actions reflect God will require me to put my trust in Christ, allowing Him to work in and through me.
A Mutual Antipathy Society develops between Sarai and Hagar, to the point where Sarai blames Abram for her misery. Abram, in an action eerily echoed by Pontius Pilate's hand ablutions thousands of years later, tells his wife to do with Hagar what she likes. Driven into the desert, Hagar is told by a messenger from God that her son, Ishmael, will be a wild man who won't get along with basically anyone. And, according to tradition, he became the ancestor of the Arabs (including Muhammed--the Islam one, not Ali).
This whole story illustrates how poor decisions, made without God's guidance, often spiral into maelstroms of malice and regret. It all started with an innocuous desire--to have children. It ended with accusation, shirking of responsibility, abuse, and suffering. Abram/Abraham is probably better known for his faithful qualities, but his mistakes remind us of humankind's sinful nature. Now, I'm not going to launch into a fire and brimstone sermon about we are doomed and America is going to hell--I don't know about you, but if I were an atheist or agnostic, a message like that would drive me away from the real good news of Christ's sacrifice for us. But I am, in fact, a Christian, and I need constant reminders of how I need God in my life.
I'm not going to relate some juicy story about how one of my attempts to take matters into my own hands led to an imbroglio because this is not my private Dear Diary. (I think a fellow named George Kaplan stole my diary.) But there have been times when my selfish actions have inconvenienced or frustrated others. Of course, I feel like a miserable wretch afterwards--again, perhaps that's God nudging me. I can write all this, but changing my attitude so my actions reflect God will require me to put my trust in Christ, allowing Him to work in and through me.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Genesis 15
The Lord formalizes his covenant with Noah, promising him the land and descendants He had mentioned earlier. In verse 1, God states in a concise, tweet-length poem that He is Abram's "shield" (or sovereign) and "very great reward." Such blessed assurance from the benevolent Creator of the universe should be all that one needs, right? But even Abram has his misgivings, noting the lack of little Abrams and Sarais running around. Later on, he will propound his own solution to this little dilemma, but at this point, we can tell that Abram is well on his way down this thorny road.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, few of us hear audible commands from God, but we do know that, if we accept His son as our Savior, He will be our shield and sovereign as well. I have yet to hear God give me any specific promises or fortunes ("Tomorrow, you will slip on a banana peel discarded by Tom Hanks"), yet I suspect I would respond as Abram did, doubting and trying to take matters into my own hands. Though I pray for spiritual discernment, part of me is frightened that God might tell me to do something that I won't like. In fact, in order to make me grow, it's almost guaranteed that He'll tell me to do something way outside my comfort zone. Writing these posts has been a leap of faith, but it's not a major life change. I'm not wasting as much time as I used to, but that's about it. Am I willing to endure the ordeals that will spur my spiritual growth? It's like that moldy chestnut of a lightbulb joke: How many psychiatrists does it take to change a lightbulb? Just one, but it has to really want to change. (If you don't like that little witticism, at least it's not mine.)
Abram bisects some animals (but not the birds) at God's behest. The author, for whatever reason, thought it really important to include the little detail in verse 11 about how Abram drove away the carrion birds who wanted to make a repast out of the carcasses.
But before God sends His Back to the Future Delorean fire trail through the halves of the animals, He sends Abram a prophecy of the Israelites' future bondage in Egypt and the subsequent Exodus. In addition, He promises that the wicked Amorites will get what's coming to them. (A short drop and a sudden stop?) I wonder if Abram, who will be long gone by the time his descendant Charlton Heston leads the Israelites out of the land of Yul Brynner, managed to pass this information down to his offspring, or if it ended up like a generations-long game of telephone. Maybe by the time Moses got the message, "Our people will be enslaved by Egypt for a while but will be set free," turned into "Our street will be paved by eagles and crocodiles but we'll get a pizza tree."
Just as few of us receive audible commands from God, not everyone has the gift of prophecy. But I do think God gives us information or guides our actions that will benefit others--and we'll never know it. In films or books, we get a sense of narrative satisfaction from such acts because the director or author can show us different characters' points of view. In reality, we're not omniscient--but God is. I hope this doesn't come across as too sententious, but when we let God guide our actions, there may be times when we don't think we're making a difference. But perhaps we are, and we'll never know the fruits of our actions until we arrive at our eternal home.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, few of us hear audible commands from God, but we do know that, if we accept His son as our Savior, He will be our shield and sovereign as well. I have yet to hear God give me any specific promises or fortunes ("Tomorrow, you will slip on a banana peel discarded by Tom Hanks"), yet I suspect I would respond as Abram did, doubting and trying to take matters into my own hands. Though I pray for spiritual discernment, part of me is frightened that God might tell me to do something that I won't like. In fact, in order to make me grow, it's almost guaranteed that He'll tell me to do something way outside my comfort zone. Writing these posts has been a leap of faith, but it's not a major life change. I'm not wasting as much time as I used to, but that's about it. Am I willing to endure the ordeals that will spur my spiritual growth? It's like that moldy chestnut of a lightbulb joke: How many psychiatrists does it take to change a lightbulb? Just one, but it has to really want to change. (If you don't like that little witticism, at least it's not mine.)
Abram bisects some animals (but not the birds) at God's behest. The author, for whatever reason, thought it really important to include the little detail in verse 11 about how Abram drove away the carrion birds who wanted to make a repast out of the carcasses.
But before God sends His Back to the Future Delorean fire trail through the halves of the animals, He sends Abram a prophecy of the Israelites' future bondage in Egypt and the subsequent Exodus. In addition, He promises that the wicked Amorites will get what's coming to them. (A short drop and a sudden stop?) I wonder if Abram, who will be long gone by the time his descendant Charlton Heston leads the Israelites out of the land of Yul Brynner, managed to pass this information down to his offspring, or if it ended up like a generations-long game of telephone. Maybe by the time Moses got the message, "Our people will be enslaved by Egypt for a while but will be set free," turned into "Our street will be paved by eagles and crocodiles but we'll get a pizza tree."
Just as few of us receive audible commands from God, not everyone has the gift of prophecy. But I do think God gives us information or guides our actions that will benefit others--and we'll never know it. In films or books, we get a sense of narrative satisfaction from such acts because the director or author can show us different characters' points of view. In reality, we're not omniscient--but God is. I hope this doesn't come across as too sententious, but when we let God guide our actions, there may be times when we don't think we're making a difference. But perhaps we are, and we'll never know the fruits of our actions until we arrive at our eternal home.
Friday, October 9, 2015
Genesis 14
Lot finds himself caught in the crossfire in a battle between kings with funny names (although one of the kings is the ruler of a region called Goyim), spurring Abram to come to his rescue. I suppose it had been kind of a long time since Adam and Eve, but it's still disturbing how quickly human society started squabbling for land and power.
I admit I find a morbidly humorous quality to the image in verse 10 of people fleeing, only to run straight into tar pits. I know I certainly wouldn't be laughing if I were in that situation, but unless the battle took place at night, there is kind of a Looney Tunes, Wile E. Coyote quality to someone walking into a tar pit because they're not watching where they're going. (Just watch; that's going to end up happening to me some day.) In any case, it's an oddly specific detail to include in an otherwise vaguely described battle.
Lot's decision to pitch his tent (so to speak) near Sodom, a bustling city with a facade of opportunity, had led him to become embroiled in a political situation. Kidnapped by four kings, he probably momentarily regrets his decision. (I say "momentarily" because he ends up going right back.) Abram, who has put his faith in God, has enough people under his command to not only pluck Lot out of his quandary, but also to rout the opposing kings. Not to say that God will always provide you with wealth beyond your imagination if you have faith in Him, but He will provide what He knows you need at just the right moment--and Abram did need all those resources to rescue his nephew and make his mark in the area, letting his neighbors know of the God he served.
I know that God provided me with my jobs just when I needed them. Even more miraculous in this economy is that I got these jobs without knowing anybody at the companies beforehand. And this was all when I just had a tenuous connection with Him--how much more will He stimulate my growth and development when I actively start living for Him (as I'm attempting to do now)?
As a final note, in my freshman year of high school, our band played a musical piece based on this Biblical event called "Abram's Pursuit," composed by David R. Holsinger. One of my favorite pieces I played in my years of band, you can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_h4tiFNS-qg
Another rousing piece by the same composer is "To Tame the Perilous Skies" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnmSWfSlZTg This particular performance isn't the greatest, especially during the finale, but I couldn't find the recording I have on Youtube. (Not my uploads)
I admit I find a morbidly humorous quality to the image in verse 10 of people fleeing, only to run straight into tar pits. I know I certainly wouldn't be laughing if I were in that situation, but unless the battle took place at night, there is kind of a Looney Tunes, Wile E. Coyote quality to someone walking into a tar pit because they're not watching where they're going. (Just watch; that's going to end up happening to me some day.) In any case, it's an oddly specific detail to include in an otherwise vaguely described battle.
Lot's decision to pitch his tent (so to speak) near Sodom, a bustling city with a facade of opportunity, had led him to become embroiled in a political situation. Kidnapped by four kings, he probably momentarily regrets his decision. (I say "momentarily" because he ends up going right back.) Abram, who has put his faith in God, has enough people under his command to not only pluck Lot out of his quandary, but also to rout the opposing kings. Not to say that God will always provide you with wealth beyond your imagination if you have faith in Him, but He will provide what He knows you need at just the right moment--and Abram did need all those resources to rescue his nephew and make his mark in the area, letting his neighbors know of the God he served.
I know that God provided me with my jobs just when I needed them. Even more miraculous in this economy is that I got these jobs without knowing anybody at the companies beforehand. And this was all when I just had a tenuous connection with Him--how much more will He stimulate my growth and development when I actively start living for Him (as I'm attempting to do now)?
As a final note, in my freshman year of high school, our band played a musical piece based on this Biblical event called "Abram's Pursuit," composed by David R. Holsinger. One of my favorite pieces I played in my years of band, you can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_h4tiFNS-qg
Another rousing piece by the same composer is "To Tame the Perilous Skies" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnmSWfSlZTg This particular performance isn't the greatest, especially during the finale, but I couldn't find the recording I have on Youtube. (Not my uploads)
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Genesis 13
We saw in the last chapter that, even though Abram was faithful, he could still make goofs. In this chapter, we see another one of Abram's imperfections, this one very human: He squabbles with his relatives. After trekking miles and miles from Ur to Egypt and back to Canaan in close proximity with Lot, Abram apparently can't stand his nephew anymore--and the feeling is mutual.
We all know people we can't stand, though I'm lucky enough not to have to spend much time with said people. And although Abram and Lot agree to go their separate ways, Abram is magnanimous enough to let Lot pick where to go. As the elder, Abram probably could've said, "I'm going over here to this awesome oasis. Good luck trying to survive in the Jundland Wastes!" When I'm in positions of privilege, do I take the high road, allowing others to pick their preference? When I'm driving and have the right of way, it irks me whenever someone who, apparently not valuing their own life, makes an unsafe or illegal maneuver. Of course, one should always drive defensively lest one become a doormat, and I myself have gone through many a yellow light. If one is too obsequious, that can also create a lack of respect from those whom one interacts with. But (and I think I've touched on this before) making selfish decisions gets me nowhere. Well, it does get me somewhere--it pushes me away from God.
In verse 10, Lot looks around and just happens to be able to see the features of the land around him. I can only assume that he and Abram are on the top of some conveniently located mountain. Or maybe he's using a jetpack.
Although most of us have positions of influence over certain other people, we also sometimes receive the benefits of mentors in positions above us. Lot, allowed by Abram to pick his territory, chooses the land that looks the most promising and beneficial--near Sodom, a choice that will eventually leave his wife in a pillar-shaped state of dismay. Abram, on the other hand, puts his trust in God and in turn is promised a permanent land for his people (what is now Israel) and multitudinous descendants.
I ashamedly tend to take the Lot route when I make decisions. Though I haven't undergone the horrors (to put it mildly) that Lot faced, trying to make decisions based on my own pleasure leads to temporary satisfaction, but tends to give me a bad attitude when confronted with difficult situations. And yet I keep doing it! We can all laugh at Biblical characters making the same mistakes over and over, yet I act similarly. I'm going to sound like a broken record, albeit one that God probably broke intentionally: I need to rely on God and not on my own strength.
We all know people we can't stand, though I'm lucky enough not to have to spend much time with said people. And although Abram and Lot agree to go their separate ways, Abram is magnanimous enough to let Lot pick where to go. As the elder, Abram probably could've said, "I'm going over here to this awesome oasis. Good luck trying to survive in the Jundland Wastes!" When I'm in positions of privilege, do I take the high road, allowing others to pick their preference? When I'm driving and have the right of way, it irks me whenever someone who, apparently not valuing their own life, makes an unsafe or illegal maneuver. Of course, one should always drive defensively lest one become a doormat, and I myself have gone through many a yellow light. If one is too obsequious, that can also create a lack of respect from those whom one interacts with. But (and I think I've touched on this before) making selfish decisions gets me nowhere. Well, it does get me somewhere--it pushes me away from God.
In verse 10, Lot looks around and just happens to be able to see the features of the land around him. I can only assume that he and Abram are on the top of some conveniently located mountain. Or maybe he's using a jetpack.
Although most of us have positions of influence over certain other people, we also sometimes receive the benefits of mentors in positions above us. Lot, allowed by Abram to pick his territory, chooses the land that looks the most promising and beneficial--near Sodom, a choice that will eventually leave his wife in a pillar-shaped state of dismay. Abram, on the other hand, puts his trust in God and in turn is promised a permanent land for his people (what is now Israel) and multitudinous descendants.
I ashamedly tend to take the Lot route when I make decisions. Though I haven't undergone the horrors (to put it mildly) that Lot faced, trying to make decisions based on my own pleasure leads to temporary satisfaction, but tends to give me a bad attitude when confronted with difficult situations. And yet I keep doing it! We can all laugh at Biblical characters making the same mistakes over and over, yet I act similarly. I'm going to sound like a broken record, albeit one that God probably broke intentionally: I need to rely on God and not on my own strength.
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
Genesis 12
As Abram enters the scene, Genesis settles down for a more intimate (though no less enthralling) account of a single family line for its remaining 39 steps chapters. Like Noah, Abram obeys God's directive; he has to up sticks and move to Canaan. If he does so, not only will he be blessed, but so too will all of humankind. In verse 5, I like the use of the phrase "all the possessions they had accumulated." It evokes an image of Abram as a pack rat, perhaps needing several U-Haul trucks to drag his stuff along with him. I know I'm probably reading too much into that, but I know I still have lots of school papers and other various sundries that I will likely never look at again--until I have to clean the garage, and I think, "I can't get rid of this. I'll miss it!"
On the way, Abram takes a sojourn to Egypt because of a famine that apparently doesn't affect the Nile's flood cycle. There, he makes a mistake that he will repeat almost verbatim in chapter 20: To prevent his foxy wife, Sarai, from getting roped into Pharaoh's harem (which would lead to Abram's death), Abram fibs and says that she's his sister. Which is really a half-truth, as she's his half-sister.
Such a tactic elicits a wry shake of the head, but I know I sometimes prevaricate in order to avoid having to deal with anything bothersome. Equivocations, half-truths, white lies--it doesn't matter which kind I use; they're all schemes to selfishly make my life easier. Not that I commit outright fraud, but to God, I may as well have done so. And even when it doesn't come back to bite me in the butt, I'm still disparaging God by not putting complete faith in Him.
Abram lives the high life off his half-truth (which essentially means it's a lie), receiving Pharaoh's acclaim, some livestock, and even flunkies to do his bidding. Of course, it can't last, as God strikes Pharoah's household with a malady that also has the astounding effect of informing Pharaoh that Sarai is actually Abram's wife. In all seriousness, who did rat Abram out? God, I assume? It's not as though some sudden ailment will, by itself, allow Pharaoh to suddenly make the leap and realize that that toothsome sexagenarian is actually that Hebrew dude's wife, not his sister. In his sickness, Pharaoh is probably feeling too wretched to give Abram even a slap on the wrist, letting him go virtually scot-free. But having his lie exposed was probably enough to gnaw at Abram's soul.
When I try to deceive someone or hide a possibly unseemly truth, I admit that it also gnaws at my soul. I suppose that's good because it means that I'm still receptive to God's prodding, which is probably one of his ways of saying that I'm doing something wrong. Without opening the can of worms of whether one should be 100% honest 100% of the time, I do know I have to stop equivocating when it's merely for my own benefit. Once again, I will need to have faith that God will bring me through, even if it makes my earthly life more difficult in the process.
On the way, Abram takes a sojourn to Egypt because of a famine that apparently doesn't affect the Nile's flood cycle. There, he makes a mistake that he will repeat almost verbatim in chapter 20: To prevent his foxy wife, Sarai, from getting roped into Pharaoh's harem (which would lead to Abram's death), Abram fibs and says that she's his sister. Which is really a half-truth, as she's his half-sister.
Such a tactic elicits a wry shake of the head, but I know I sometimes prevaricate in order to avoid having to deal with anything bothersome. Equivocations, half-truths, white lies--it doesn't matter which kind I use; they're all schemes to selfishly make my life easier. Not that I commit outright fraud, but to God, I may as well have done so. And even when it doesn't come back to bite me in the butt, I'm still disparaging God by not putting complete faith in Him.
Abram lives the high life off his half-truth (which essentially means it's a lie), receiving Pharaoh's acclaim, some livestock, and even flunkies to do his bidding. Of course, it can't last, as God strikes Pharoah's household with a malady that also has the astounding effect of informing Pharaoh that Sarai is actually Abram's wife. In all seriousness, who did rat Abram out? God, I assume? It's not as though some sudden ailment will, by itself, allow Pharaoh to suddenly make the leap and realize that that toothsome sexagenarian is actually that Hebrew dude's wife, not his sister. In his sickness, Pharaoh is probably feeling too wretched to give Abram even a slap on the wrist, letting him go virtually scot-free. But having his lie exposed was probably enough to gnaw at Abram's soul.
When I try to deceive someone or hide a possibly unseemly truth, I admit that it also gnaws at my soul. I suppose that's good because it means that I'm still receptive to God's prodding, which is probably one of his ways of saying that I'm doing something wrong. Without opening the can of worms of whether one should be 100% honest 100% of the time, I do know I have to stop equivocating when it's merely for my own benefit. Once again, I will need to have faith that God will bring me through, even if it makes my earthly life more difficult in the process.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Genesis 11
When I first heard the story of Babel as a youngling, I thought that the people wanted to build the tower so high that it literally went all the way to Heaven. Well, first, Heaven isn't physically located above us, at the top of the universe, as it were. They'd end up either building to infinity or, if the universe is bounded…well, ask Stephen Hawking because I have no clue. Second, and most obvious, they'd die from lack of oxygen once they exited the atmosphere.
These Babel folks are attempting something physically impossible, so why does God stop them? They'd probably have given up on their own, as did the builders of every other pyramid and ziggurat on Earth; the highest of those doesn't come close to the boundary between the troposphere and the stratosphere. Was this an act of mercy, God nipping this little construction project in the bud before the people of Babel wasted too much time?
In verse 6, God says that nothing will be impossible for people if they spoke the same language. That's not literally true--most Americans speak English, yet our country can't figure out how to disentangle itself from so many of its domestic predicaments. The NIV Study Bible clarifies this point: if the people had remained united in their attempt to build this tower and rely on their own ambition, nothing would have stopped them from living lives in complete defiance to God.
God is in fact nipping something in the bud--our reliance on ourselves. The story of Babel crystallizes the notion that human effort without God will lead to spiritual failure. Sure, many momentous achievements in human history have been secular in origin and intent, adding to our understanding of the universe and increasing our earthly quality of life. But spiritually, we cannot attain perfection through our own efforts.
Let me change gears just a bit. (But this is still relevant. I promise!) I've always loved to write; in second grade, my teacher had us work on creative writing every Friday. (I remember it with such fondness that I can even recall the day of the week.) I started my first "serial,"writing about a chapter a week. I called my masterpiece "The King Chapter Book," about--you guessed it--a king. It was about as puerile as the name suggested, but I still remember the sense of elation and accomplishment I had when I finished it. Now, I know I'm no Mark Twain or Samuel Johnson, but my writing skill exceeds just about every other "skill" I possess. (So if you hate my writing, I'm afraid I have nothing else to offer in terms of talent.)
The point (finally) is that I'm trying to use my writing "skill" to somehow glorify God, but I have to be careful not to make if my tower of Babel. I don't want to crow over what I've written, marveling at my own pithy prose and delicious turn of phrase. (I more often cringe at what I've written--perhaps that's God keeping me humble.) I'm a bit of a worrier (a whole other topic), but I have to learn to trust in God, having faith that He will mold me--sometimes harshly--into the person He wants me to be. Writing, for me, is invigorating (though time-consuming and often arduous), but I can't rely on it to bring me close to God.
These Babel folks are attempting something physically impossible, so why does God stop them? They'd probably have given up on their own, as did the builders of every other pyramid and ziggurat on Earth; the highest of those doesn't come close to the boundary between the troposphere and the stratosphere. Was this an act of mercy, God nipping this little construction project in the bud before the people of Babel wasted too much time?
In verse 6, God says that nothing will be impossible for people if they spoke the same language. That's not literally true--most Americans speak English, yet our country can't figure out how to disentangle itself from so many of its domestic predicaments. The NIV Study Bible clarifies this point: if the people had remained united in their attempt to build this tower and rely on their own ambition, nothing would have stopped them from living lives in complete defiance to God.
God is in fact nipping something in the bud--our reliance on ourselves. The story of Babel crystallizes the notion that human effort without God will lead to spiritual failure. Sure, many momentous achievements in human history have been secular in origin and intent, adding to our understanding of the universe and increasing our earthly quality of life. But spiritually, we cannot attain perfection through our own efforts.
Let me change gears just a bit. (But this is still relevant. I promise!) I've always loved to write; in second grade, my teacher had us work on creative writing every Friday. (I remember it with such fondness that I can even recall the day of the week.) I started my first "serial,"writing about a chapter a week. I called my masterpiece "The King Chapter Book," about--you guessed it--a king. It was about as puerile as the name suggested, but I still remember the sense of elation and accomplishment I had when I finished it. Now, I know I'm no Mark Twain or Samuel Johnson, but my writing skill exceeds just about every other "skill" I possess. (So if you hate my writing, I'm afraid I have nothing else to offer in terms of talent.)
The point (finally) is that I'm trying to use my writing "skill" to somehow glorify God, but I have to be careful not to make if my tower of Babel. I don't want to crow over what I've written, marveling at my own pithy prose and delicious turn of phrase. (I more often cringe at what I've written--perhaps that's God keeping me humble.) I'm a bit of a worrier (a whole other topic), but I have to learn to trust in God, having faith that He will mold me--sometimes harshly--into the person He wants me to be. Writing, for me, is invigorating (though time-consuming and often arduous), but I can't rely on it to bring me close to God.
Monday, October 5, 2015
Genesis 10
This chapter provides plenty of meat for folks fascinated with the dispersal of humankind to the various parts of the world. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those folks.
I'm not going to copy Louis Sachar's brilliant Sideways Stories from Wayside School and write an essentially empty chapter. (Basically, he wrote that there was no 19th chapter because the school had no 19th story. And of course, in the sequel, he wrote three chapter 19s.) So I guess I'll wring what I can from this chapter without regurgitating the extensive archaeological footnotes from the NIV Study Bible.
Many of the people mentioned (Egypt, Cush, Canaan) apparently established or played a part in the regions or countries for which their names are generally more well known. Gomer, mentioned in verse 2, is interesting because there's another Gomer in the book of Hosea--but in the latter book, the name refers to a woman, not a man. I suppose it's analogous to Chris or Taylor as a unisex name. Verse 5 also mentions people starting to sail the seas in search of new territories to lord over.
The author devotes a whopping five verses (8-12) to a fellow named Nimrod, a great non-white hunter who ended up founding Ninevah. Nowadays, though, when we call someone a "nimrod," we're basically questioning their mental capacity. We don't get quite enough of Nimrod to determine whether he was an idiot; from the way the Bible mentions him, he seems like a pretty ambitious, competent guy. Imagine learning that, in several thousand years, your name will eventually degrade into an insult.
I'm struggling to think of some half-decent way to end this, and I'm too tired to conflate this post with chapter 11's. So I guess I'll just say that Noah obviously had to be the ancestor of the remaining peoples on Earth, but it's still cool to be reminded that so many variegated cultures--all of them, in fact--stemmed from a man who had faith in God.
I'm not going to copy Louis Sachar's brilliant Sideways Stories from Wayside School and write an essentially empty chapter. (Basically, he wrote that there was no 19th chapter because the school had no 19th story. And of course, in the sequel, he wrote three chapter 19s.) So I guess I'll wring what I can from this chapter without regurgitating the extensive archaeological footnotes from the NIV Study Bible.
Many of the people mentioned (Egypt, Cush, Canaan) apparently established or played a part in the regions or countries for which their names are generally more well known. Gomer, mentioned in verse 2, is interesting because there's another Gomer in the book of Hosea--but in the latter book, the name refers to a woman, not a man. I suppose it's analogous to Chris or Taylor as a unisex name. Verse 5 also mentions people starting to sail the seas in search of new territories to lord over.
The author devotes a whopping five verses (8-12) to a fellow named Nimrod, a great non-white hunter who ended up founding Ninevah. Nowadays, though, when we call someone a "nimrod," we're basically questioning their mental capacity. We don't get quite enough of Nimrod to determine whether he was an idiot; from the way the Bible mentions him, he seems like a pretty ambitious, competent guy. Imagine learning that, in several thousand years, your name will eventually degrade into an insult.
I'm struggling to think of some half-decent way to end this, and I'm too tired to conflate this post with chapter 11's. So I guess I'll just say that Noah obviously had to be the ancestor of the remaining peoples on Earth, but it's still cool to be reminded that so many variegated cultures--all of them, in fact--stemmed from a man who had faith in God.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Genesis 9
God promises to Noah--and all of humankind--that He will never destroy all living creatures on Earth ever again--via water, at least. Interestingly, God also sanctions the use of meat as food and thus anticipates the formation of PETA (People Eating Tasty Animals). In (almost) the same breath, he creates a sanction (isn't that such a wonderfully versatile word?) against the drinking of blood, much to the consternation of Kristen Stewart and whatever her Twilight boyfriend's name is. Oh, and vampires probably aren't too happy about that decree either.
In verse 6, God also writes a nifty little poem expressing His disapproval of murder. He reminds us that humans are created in His image; we are all precious to Him. This, to murder someone is to abase God. (And notice that the word is "murder," not "kill.") I freely admit that I've never murdered or even killed anybody, nor have I ever thought of doing so. Yet I've had my own nasty little thoughts. When some rat fink cuts me off on the freeway, I momentarily wish that a big rig could decimate his car while leaving him free from bodily injury. Or I wish that an annoying person would just leave me alone and go annoy someone else. Yet if I treat one of God's creations like crap, I'm also showing disrespect to God as well. (I think I wrote something very similar to this in a previous post. As a writer, if I see a chance to recycle material, I'll take it.)
But even Noah, the one righteous man on Earth who faithfully follows God's directions and spends a year in a floating crate, eventually screws up. After drinking like a fish, he ends up on the floor of his tent in the altogether. Ham, like a typical adolescent, shouts to the rafters that dear old Dad found his birthday suit and is trying it out for size.
That Noah should make a mistake is disheartening on one hand, but it's a reminder that, no matter how good I try to act, I'll end up making mistakes if I rely on my own power. But I also have to remember not to act like Ham. Now, I'm not one to naturally publicize someone's blunders, but I also don't really help build people up. Oh, it's easy for me to encourage people I like. But to paraphrase genius fantasy author Brandon Sanderson, you're not a hero if you only help people you like, because even villains do that. Another easy maxim to write, but again, I need much prayer so I can actually apply it in my life.
In verse 6, God also writes a nifty little poem expressing His disapproval of murder. He reminds us that humans are created in His image; we are all precious to Him. This, to murder someone is to abase God. (And notice that the word is "murder," not "kill.") I freely admit that I've never murdered or even killed anybody, nor have I ever thought of doing so. Yet I've had my own nasty little thoughts. When some rat fink cuts me off on the freeway, I momentarily wish that a big rig could decimate his car while leaving him free from bodily injury. Or I wish that an annoying person would just leave me alone and go annoy someone else. Yet if I treat one of God's creations like crap, I'm also showing disrespect to God as well. (I think I wrote something very similar to this in a previous post. As a writer, if I see a chance to recycle material, I'll take it.)
But even Noah, the one righteous man on Earth who faithfully follows God's directions and spends a year in a floating crate, eventually screws up. After drinking like a fish, he ends up on the floor of his tent in the altogether. Ham, like a typical adolescent, shouts to the rafters that dear old Dad found his birthday suit and is trying it out for size.
That Noah should make a mistake is disheartening on one hand, but it's a reminder that, no matter how good I try to act, I'll end up making mistakes if I rely on my own power. But I also have to remember not to act like Ham. Now, I'm not one to naturally publicize someone's blunders, but I also don't really help build people up. Oh, it's easy for me to encourage people I like. But to paraphrase genius fantasy author Brandon Sanderson, you're not a hero if you only help people you like, because even villains do that. Another easy maxim to write, but again, I need much prayer so I can actually apply it in my life.
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Genesis 8
It's been more than a year, but Noah and his family are finally allowed to get out of their gigantic, floating menagerie. Notably, before Noah sends out his famous dove slave to find out if things have dried out yet, he sends a raven. When the raven fails to find anything, Noah decides to send the dove instead. Why did Noah give up on the raven? Did it do something to miff him, like release some treasure from the sky onto an unfortunate, Noah-shaped target? After all, the dove also failed to find evidence of land the first time it went out; Noah didn't subsequently decide to use a turkey for the next expedition.
The animals come out of the ark, "one kind after another" (verse 19). They probably all had cabin fever, raring to get out, so I wonder how Noah and Company decided what the order was.
The first thing Noah does when he gets out--no, he doesn't kiss the ground, or unceremoniously fall onto it because he hasn't gotten his land legs yet--is to sacrifice an offering to God. On one hand, he's been through the wringer for more than a year in close proximity with a variety of beasts. Oh, and then there were all the animals too. But on the other hand, he knows that his family is the only one that has been kept alive, so yes, he has much to be thankful for.
God rather fancies the fetching smell wafting from the burnt sacrifice (and yes, I know it's symbolic, but it's still a cool image), so he makes a covenant with Noah. He expands on it in the next chapter, so I'll go more into it in the next post. For now, I'll note that God will extend His grace to humanity "even though every inclination of the human heart is evil from childhood" (verse 21). We are born with sin, even if it doesn't literally manifest itself until we grow past infancy. Only through God's grace can I overcome my sinful nature. Not to say that I become utterly depraved when I ignore Him, but I definitely tend to make more unwise decisions when I do.
Throughout the whole flood, we don't get an indication that God spoke with Noah. Did Noah wonder during that long year whether God was jerking his chain? Christians go through times in their lives when they feel that God isn't there or has outright abandoned them. I've just gone through a long stretch of my life in which I haven't felt God's presence--even now, I'm still struggling with that feeling. Then again, I haven't really been doing my part, slacking in my spiritual life. What about those who pray earnestly and selflessly, going through hardships or privations I can't imagine, but who still feel that God has stopped caring for them? I can't offer words of false hope as that would be hypocritical. The only real hope, other than God Himself, comes from Scripture. Even Jesus cried out during His final moments that His Father has forsaken Him. But His undeserved death led to our salvation.
One could argue that God hasn't really been explicit on a large scale since He gave John the revelation of the end times. I can't fathom why God has decided to do this, but it is undoubtedly for a purpose far more glorious than we could ever imagine.
Friday, October 2, 2015
Genesis 7
As the great flood finally unleashes its torrents, Noah, with the help of Donald Duck and to the tune of music more fit for a graduation ceremony, boards the ark, settling in for forty days and forty nights of rain. (Just in case you forget that each day is followed by a night.)
One of the striking literary features of this chapter is its repetition. A prominent trait of the couplets in Hebrew poetry, its presence here creates a loose "prose poem." This repetition also makes sense if this account was oral in origin; I know I often forget what's just been said to me even when I'm focusing intently. (I process information quicker by reading than by listening; a few people have said to me, "You're a good listener." Well, it appears that way because 1.) I don't talk much, and 2.) I have to concentrate lest I miss what's being said.)
Notably, God tells Moses to bring one pair of every unclean animal, but seven pears of every clean animal and bird. The NIV explains that some of the clean animals were going to be used for food and as sacrificial offerings, but what's with the extra birds? Maybe they were fragile, so God told Noah to bring extra as an insurance policy?
Noah was cooped up the ark for a heck of along time. The forty days was just when it was raining. There were an extra 150 days when the earth was still flooded, plus, as we'll learn in the next chapter, even more days as the floodwaters receded. Noah was a sprightly 600 when the flood started, but an ancient 601 by the time he could leave his wooden box, which was by this time probably rank with the noisome odor of refuse and detritus. I can't imagine leaving for nearly a year on a primitive boat lacking modern facilities, probably getting to know your seven other companions all too well. And if you had some sort of domestic squabble, guess what--there was nowhere to flee if you wanted to get away from them!
Such a trial required not only remarkable faith on Noah's part, but also extraordinary forbearance. I know I let petty little peeves exasperate me, even if I rarely evince my irritation externally. I find it very easy to banter with some people--they just light up my day, lifting my spirits. But some people I find difficult to deal with (and no, none of these difficult people are immediate family members, co-workers, or folks who go to my church/small group). Yet they have their own concerns, interests, joys, and trials as well, so what good does it do to have a bad attitude toward them? I can write this, of course, but it's something else entirely to put it into practice. And, unlike Noah, I don't have to deal with these people 24/7 in an enclosed space for nearly a year. I pray that God will give me the patience and empathy to follow the golden rule. (No, not, as Jafar put it, "He who has the gold makes the rules," but treating others as I would want to be treated.)
One of the striking literary features of this chapter is its repetition. A prominent trait of the couplets in Hebrew poetry, its presence here creates a loose "prose poem." This repetition also makes sense if this account was oral in origin; I know I often forget what's just been said to me even when I'm focusing intently. (I process information quicker by reading than by listening; a few people have said to me, "You're a good listener." Well, it appears that way because 1.) I don't talk much, and 2.) I have to concentrate lest I miss what's being said.)
Notably, God tells Moses to bring one pair of every unclean animal, but seven pears of every clean animal and bird. The NIV explains that some of the clean animals were going to be used for food and as sacrificial offerings, but what's with the extra birds? Maybe they were fragile, so God told Noah to bring extra as an insurance policy?
Noah was cooped up the ark for a heck of along time. The forty days was just when it was raining. There were an extra 150 days when the earth was still flooded, plus, as we'll learn in the next chapter, even more days as the floodwaters receded. Noah was a sprightly 600 when the flood started, but an ancient 601 by the time he could leave his wooden box, which was by this time probably rank with the noisome odor of refuse and detritus. I can't imagine leaving for nearly a year on a primitive boat lacking modern facilities, probably getting to know your seven other companions all too well. And if you had some sort of domestic squabble, guess what--there was nowhere to flee if you wanted to get away from them!
Such a trial required not only remarkable faith on Noah's part, but also extraordinary forbearance. I know I let petty little peeves exasperate me, even if I rarely evince my irritation externally. I find it very easy to banter with some people--they just light up my day, lifting my spirits. But some people I find difficult to deal with (and no, none of these difficult people are immediate family members, co-workers, or folks who go to my church/small group). Yet they have their own concerns, interests, joys, and trials as well, so what good does it do to have a bad attitude toward them? I can write this, of course, but it's something else entirely to put it into practice. And, unlike Noah, I don't have to deal with these people 24/7 in an enclosed space for nearly a year. I pray that God will give me the patience and empathy to follow the golden rule. (No, not, as Jafar put it, "He who has the gold makes the rules," but treating others as I would want to be treated.)
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Genesis 6
The well-known story of Noah and the ark begins in this chapter, but before we get there, we're treated to one of those classic Biblical oddities that causes dissent even among scholars. The "sons of God," apparently unable to control their raging hormones, become smitten with the "daughters of humans," which pisses God off, to put it lightly. The NIV Study Bible briefly mentions several possible interpretations: The sons of God could be angels, kings, or men from the righteous line of Seth marrying the women from the fallen line of Cain. The main point is that mankind has become incorrigibly corrupted, sin becoming so pervasive that every thought of man is evil.
Sounds like a terrific time to have been living.
But think about how heartbroken God must have felt. His beloved creation, created in His own image to have fellowship with Him, has turned away from Him. And not only that, but they are making each others' lives wretched and miserable, liberally sowing wickedness left and right. I can think to myself, "OK, I mess up, but at least my every thought is not disposed toward evil." But the nasty little thoughts and actions I do have and take are downright malodorous to God. And yet, in His infinite grace, he sent His son to die for all my imbecilic offenses.
Then there are the mysterious Nephilim, gargantuan offspring of the "sons of God" and "daughters of humans." I remember them being in the Madeline L'Engle book Many Waters; although that's a work of fiction, I recall the Nephilim didn't come across so hot. (As an aside, didn't that Wrinkle in Time series just get weirder and weirder with each entry?)
Mankind has become so depraved that God decides to wipe out the earth, save for Noah's family. (Although the NIV Study Bible notes that flood could have possibly been just regional as opposed to a true worldwide deluge.) Seems like a rather drastic action to take, but if humankind's every thought had indeed become dissolute, it would make sense to wipe the slate clean.
The Sunday school point to take away from this first part of the flood account is that Noah had the unquestioning faith that God would see Him through the soggy cataclysm to come. In this story, as with most of these Biblical stories, God seems to speak directly to people. Not a whole lot of that going on nowadays, but should that be an excuse? I've always struggled with spiritual discernment--still do, in fact. Is that inner voice God speaking to me, or is it just my own synapses firing off in scattershot directions? I hope and pray to develop that sense of discernment, but when I do, will I be like Noah and follow God's instructions without waffling about?
I can be indecisive, much to the chagrin of those around me. Which ice cream should I buy--Vanilla, Extra Creamy Vanilla, or French Vanilla? Where do you want to eat dinner? Which Blu-ray should we see tonight? For the love of Pete--these are first world problems if I ever saw them. It's like an endless loop of those barbershop-Beatles vultures in The Jungle Book.
Stepping out in faith can be terrifying; I expect as much when I reach such junctures in my life. I pray that as I continue to grow more intimate with God, I will feel secure enough in his providence to take those risks, fulfilling His perfect plan for me.
Sounds like a terrific time to have been living.
But think about how heartbroken God must have felt. His beloved creation, created in His own image to have fellowship with Him, has turned away from Him. And not only that, but they are making each others' lives wretched and miserable, liberally sowing wickedness left and right. I can think to myself, "OK, I mess up, but at least my every thought is not disposed toward evil." But the nasty little thoughts and actions I do have and take are downright malodorous to God. And yet, in His infinite grace, he sent His son to die for all my imbecilic offenses.
Then there are the mysterious Nephilim, gargantuan offspring of the "sons of God" and "daughters of humans." I remember them being in the Madeline L'Engle book Many Waters; although that's a work of fiction, I recall the Nephilim didn't come across so hot. (As an aside, didn't that Wrinkle in Time series just get weirder and weirder with each entry?)
Mankind has become so depraved that God decides to wipe out the earth, save for Noah's family. (Although the NIV Study Bible notes that flood could have possibly been just regional as opposed to a true worldwide deluge.) Seems like a rather drastic action to take, but if humankind's every thought had indeed become dissolute, it would make sense to wipe the slate clean.
The Sunday school point to take away from this first part of the flood account is that Noah had the unquestioning faith that God would see Him through the soggy cataclysm to come. In this story, as with most of these Biblical stories, God seems to speak directly to people. Not a whole lot of that going on nowadays, but should that be an excuse? I've always struggled with spiritual discernment--still do, in fact. Is that inner voice God speaking to me, or is it just my own synapses firing off in scattershot directions? I hope and pray to develop that sense of discernment, but when I do, will I be like Noah and follow God's instructions without waffling about?
I can be indecisive, much to the chagrin of those around me. Which ice cream should I buy--Vanilla, Extra Creamy Vanilla, or French Vanilla? Where do you want to eat dinner? Which Blu-ray should we see tonight? For the love of Pete--these are first world problems if I ever saw them. It's like an endless loop of those barbershop-Beatles vultures in The Jungle Book.
Stepping out in faith can be terrifying; I expect as much when I reach such junctures in my life. I pray that as I continue to grow more intimate with God, I will feel secure enough in his providence to take those risks, fulfilling His perfect plan for me.
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