Sometimes, I wish I had a mentor, someone to school me. I worry about my tendency to get committed to ideas I like, notwithstanding whether they are actually in the text I am reading.
That said, I'm getting really excited about how to oriented the God-love I read all over Genesis with the gospel story. I think the thing that is so interesting about this chapter, and, in particular, Lot and his family's experience in Sodom, is the contrast between that experience and the experience of Christians in the Gospel and in Acts.
Things are totally dangerous here: you can see that in how the story is set up. Lot is on the edge of the city, looking out. He could be thinking about any number of things: wishing he hadn't insisted on this land, maybe, or wondering how to avoid anal rape. But when he sees these foreign guys show up, he's not wasting any time wanting to usher them out of sight, into his house. It's like a zombie movie, but with rapists.
Reading this, I understand how destruction can be an act of compassion. After all, what is motivating God to destroy Sodom here? It's the outcry of the people. Since Cain and Abel, God has been showing Himself to be wholly attuned to the voices of His people -- even the voices of those who have been silenced. And while I believe He grieved for the people of Sodom -- after all, if any of them had been righteous, He would have spared the entire city -- I think He was outraged by the pain and disaster they were causing everyone else.
People compare the world, now, to Sodom and Gomorrah. But I don't know; I think that's an excuse. To me, I think Christ really reworked the terms of how we can engage the world, because you don't see the disciples or the early church or even the martyrs rushing each other inside to get away from the cities they live in. They are going to them, because ultimately Christ offers a way of dealing with the sin and evil in the world -- the things we cry out over -- that is so much bigger. We're not called to flee this world, but to bring God here. We're not in the business of hiding away or offering up peace offerings to try and hold off the world. We don't need to do that any more.
That, I think, is how the Gospels changed things, how Christ changed things. And it is so critical -- because the feelings in Genesis 19 are terrible. Lot is skulking outside, desperately offering up his children to hold off this mob out the door. Escaping the world he knows with the clothes on his back, gutted because he doesn't yet know what God knows: that this, Sodom, is not the world. Is not His kingdom. That the point of the world is the establishment of a kingdom that the inhabitants of Sodom, Lot included, probably couldn't understand -- a kingdom in which you can respond to threats with courage and love, and where things can be fixed without fire and brimstone. That world exists -- only no one in Sodom would believe it.
Lot and his family cannot even imagine a life that is not terrible, a life where they are not afraid. They know so little of the world that they would stay in Sodom if they could. So God, in the middle of fixing things for the people who are suffering in Sodom, has His angels lead Lot out of the city by hand.
The most awesome thing about God that I'm thinking about today is the way that the story, since Lot, has become more nuanced, more elaborate, and our role in it more significant than just fleeing. I really believe -- my Second Coming schooling aside -- that God's fixing the world in a more power and less destructive way, preparing us, and has a role for me in that. And the fact that He has planned a place for me in that world and that vision is more than good management: it's the best kind of love. It's love that sees the possibilities in the most flawed people. It's love that sees where we can be and will take our hands and pull us there if it needs to.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Not Even One: Genesis 18:16-33
So, a few things I am thinking about today as I drag my feet through Genesis 18:
1. The nature of blessing. Z and I were discussing this at length yesterday after reading an except from this awesome book The idea, I think, is that a blessing is something in which you participate. Awesomely, my new pastor said it best: from opportunity comes joy. I think blessings are those things that allow you to come closer to God -- which really expands the nature of blessing.
2. Marriage being a blessing. I have to say, I married Z. without thinking much about it. we didn't go to counseling; I didn't make a lists of pros and cons. I prayed, but I think I felt sure it was the right thing to do before I prayed, so that prayer may have been more one sided than one would hope. And my feeling sometimes is that it was a misstep, because Z and I have so little in common.
But it is probably the very best thing God could have done for me. I have grown so much (and still have so much room to grow. He pushes me -- without even realizing it, I think -- so that even though his experience of God and faith feels incoherent to me, sometimes, it also challenges mine. Most of all, he is an un-self-conscious advocate of the basic and fundamental reality that I have struggled with so much in my life: the world is good.
And this is so deeply entrenched in the Bible that I am appalled that I could have missed it so entirely, could still have to say it and, like, reflect on it, and come to it again, as a new conclusion, almost every day. Praising God is good, yes. Christian fellowship is good, yes. But so many other things are good, too! Sex is good. Eating a meal is good. Taking a walk and going grocery shopping and reading a novel -- not just the Bible -- and, heck, watching a movie -- those are good, too. Having a beer with friends: good! Gardening with mom: good! Listening to people, not as a service, but as a means of connection to them: good!
The world is worth working to save, to help, because it is good. Not because I am good -- which is my temptation, to simultaneously believe that working a fifty hour week for my kids is absolutely critical, but then to not enjoy or truly value a single child because I Am Too Busy.
And here, I think, is where Genesis 18 gets so splendid. Because you see here so clearly that God loves Sodom. He loves it so much that if there were a single good person there, He would spare it. He loves it so much that He would save everything to help a single group of people. He will tolerate so much ugliness to preserve such a small goodness. He wants the world. Even when it is detestable, He wants it. Even when it goes against what is fundamental to Him, He wants it.
The second, more comfortable truth in this story, of course, is the reality that the concessions He has made are still not enough. There aren't ten good people in Sodom; I suspect that, if this story played out to its logical conclusion, what is left unsaid is that there isn't one. The tendency, I think, is to see Lot and his family as the good people -- I remember counting them up as a project to show that they fell short of ten -- but I also remember that Lot, the best the city had to offer, was still offering up his daughters for gang-rape. His wife ends up turned to salt for her lack of commitment; his daughters rape him in his sleep. I would not say these people are righteous. He saves them -- though not the whole city -- because God has to do more than meet us halfway. God offers to meet us halfway, then a quarter, then a single step ahead of where we are -- and when we fail completely, He pulls out Plan B.
This is the nature of God, and it is enough that it should more than quell the anxiety I feel about myself and my life. What a small satisfaction, you know, in feeling like I've done a Good Enough job in my career. Of course that doesn't satisfy: in the best case scenario, I've succeeded in something so ephemeral, so limited, that I still go home needing to binge and purge, needing something I will never, never have or accomplish on my own. The best I have to offer: not enough.
More gloriously, it doesn't have to be. God loves me despite the reality that in myself I have nothing worth loving. Which, you know, would be a pretty shitty feeling, except: I am not in myself. I can isolate myself from God in an effort to be valuable apart from Him -- which won't work -- or I can stay connected to Him and be justified through Him. It comes down to: would I rather be lovable in and of myself, so I can feel proud? Or would I rather be humbled -- and recognize the love that God is willing to pour down on me.
That's a serious question. Some part of me would rather have the terrible things I "deserve" than the wonderful things I can't earn, the things that are all about God's goodness, not mine.
But I believe I can let go of this quixotic mission to Be Enough. And I believe, more solidly, that when I do, God will do everything else. That He wants to.
1. The nature of blessing. Z and I were discussing this at length yesterday after reading an except from this awesome book The idea, I think, is that a blessing is something in which you participate. Awesomely, my new pastor said it best: from opportunity comes joy. I think blessings are those things that allow you to come closer to God -- which really expands the nature of blessing.
2. Marriage being a blessing. I have to say, I married Z. without thinking much about it. we didn't go to counseling; I didn't make a lists of pros and cons. I prayed, but I think I felt sure it was the right thing to do before I prayed, so that prayer may have been more one sided than one would hope. And my feeling sometimes is that it was a misstep, because Z and I have so little in common.
But it is probably the very best thing God could have done for me. I have grown so much (and still have so much room to grow. He pushes me -- without even realizing it, I think -- so that even though his experience of God and faith feels incoherent to me, sometimes, it also challenges mine. Most of all, he is an un-self-conscious advocate of the basic and fundamental reality that I have struggled with so much in my life: the world is good.
And this is so deeply entrenched in the Bible that I am appalled that I could have missed it so entirely, could still have to say it and, like, reflect on it, and come to it again, as a new conclusion, almost every day. Praising God is good, yes. Christian fellowship is good, yes. But so many other things are good, too! Sex is good. Eating a meal is good. Taking a walk and going grocery shopping and reading a novel -- not just the Bible -- and, heck, watching a movie -- those are good, too. Having a beer with friends: good! Gardening with mom: good! Listening to people, not as a service, but as a means of connection to them: good!
The world is worth working to save, to help, because it is good. Not because I am good -- which is my temptation, to simultaneously believe that working a fifty hour week for my kids is absolutely critical, but then to not enjoy or truly value a single child because I Am Too Busy.
And here, I think, is where Genesis 18 gets so splendid. Because you see here so clearly that God loves Sodom. He loves it so much that if there were a single good person there, He would spare it. He loves it so much that He would save everything to help a single group of people. He will tolerate so much ugliness to preserve such a small goodness. He wants the world. Even when it is detestable, He wants it. Even when it goes against what is fundamental to Him, He wants it.
The second, more comfortable truth in this story, of course, is the reality that the concessions He has made are still not enough. There aren't ten good people in Sodom; I suspect that, if this story played out to its logical conclusion, what is left unsaid is that there isn't one. The tendency, I think, is to see Lot and his family as the good people -- I remember counting them up as a project to show that they fell short of ten -- but I also remember that Lot, the best the city had to offer, was still offering up his daughters for gang-rape. His wife ends up turned to salt for her lack of commitment; his daughters rape him in his sleep. I would not say these people are righteous. He saves them -- though not the whole city -- because God has to do more than meet us halfway. God offers to meet us halfway, then a quarter, then a single step ahead of where we are -- and when we fail completely, He pulls out Plan B.
This is the nature of God, and it is enough that it should more than quell the anxiety I feel about myself and my life. What a small satisfaction, you know, in feeling like I've done a Good Enough job in my career. Of course that doesn't satisfy: in the best case scenario, I've succeeded in something so ephemeral, so limited, that I still go home needing to binge and purge, needing something I will never, never have or accomplish on my own. The best I have to offer: not enough.
More gloriously, it doesn't have to be. God loves me despite the reality that in myself I have nothing worth loving. Which, you know, would be a pretty shitty feeling, except: I am not in myself. I can isolate myself from God in an effort to be valuable apart from Him -- which won't work -- or I can stay connected to Him and be justified through Him. It comes down to: would I rather be lovable in and of myself, so I can feel proud? Or would I rather be humbled -- and recognize the love that God is willing to pour down on me.
That's a serious question. Some part of me would rather have the terrible things I "deserve" than the wonderful things I can't earn, the things that are all about God's goodness, not mine.
But I believe I can let go of this quixotic mission to Be Enough. And I believe, more solidly, that when I do, God will do everything else. That He wants to.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
These things matter: Genesis 18:1-15
Historically, I have been the kind of Christian who is ready to set aside or dispense with the Old Testament entirely. The faith in which I grew up was very focused on the literal resurrection and Second Coming, and on the Good News -- which, as I understood it, was always: you get to live forever. The relationship with God was basically a means to an end, I think -- and, moreover, the details of life didn't matter. All that matter was this one thing, this Kingdom of God, but it was a signifier. No one ever fleshed it out, like, what is God like, besides the part where He gives you stuff?
The thing I love about Genesis right now is the fact that God's not promising an alternative or an extension: He promises Himself. He will be Abraham's God. Abraham will have a role, here, on Earth, in His plan. As a promise, even though it's a long time coming in one sense, in another, it happens here, on Earth, using things we understand: land, babies, blessings. The world around Abraham 1. is full of God and 2. is significant because of that presence. God's not waiting around up in Heaven; He is here, and His work is happening here, with the people and things that already make up our lives.
The three visitors are a great example of this. The story is vivid and specific: the day is hot, Abraham is outside the tent, with God; there are three visitors. And Abraham understands that things matter, down to their details: not just meat, bu a fatted calf. Not just bread, but bread from the finest flour. Not just a place to rest, but the seat he was just in.
For me, who really struggles with this here/There kind of dichotomy -- who struggles to attend to the world around me, and to feel okay about it when I do -- this is so important. These things matter: if you give someone a quarter or a dirty look on the street, if you go to your husband's show or not, if you grab a beer with friends or go off alone on a Friday. When visitors show up, what do you do with them?
I ask God for meaning, for direction, and I feel like if I could listen, when I do listen, He's saying: open your eyes. There is meaning and direction all around you. You are living a life that has meaning; it's only a matter of if you can see it, of if you are willing to truly participate in it. Stop trying to figure out eternity and feed your guests, sit in your tent (stoop?) in the afternoon. Stop wondering what I'm going to give you next, when I am going to make the things I have promised come about, and what it will look like when they do. Pay attention to what I have given you already. It's when Abraham does this -- when he can sit with God and stop asking about That Thing and stop trying to take over -- that God says, it's time.
The thing I love about Genesis right now is the fact that God's not promising an alternative or an extension: He promises Himself. He will be Abraham's God. Abraham will have a role, here, on Earth, in His plan. As a promise, even though it's a long time coming in one sense, in another, it happens here, on Earth, using things we understand: land, babies, blessings. The world around Abraham 1. is full of God and 2. is significant because of that presence. God's not waiting around up in Heaven; He is here, and His work is happening here, with the people and things that already make up our lives.
The three visitors are a great example of this. The story is vivid and specific: the day is hot, Abraham is outside the tent, with God; there are three visitors. And Abraham understands that things matter, down to their details: not just meat, bu a fatted calf. Not just bread, but bread from the finest flour. Not just a place to rest, but the seat he was just in.
For me, who really struggles with this here/There kind of dichotomy -- who struggles to attend to the world around me, and to feel okay about it when I do -- this is so important. These things matter: if you give someone a quarter or a dirty look on the street, if you go to your husband's show or not, if you grab a beer with friends or go off alone on a Friday. When visitors show up, what do you do with them?
I ask God for meaning, for direction, and I feel like if I could listen, when I do listen, He's saying: open your eyes. There is meaning and direction all around you. You are living a life that has meaning; it's only a matter of if you can see it, of if you are willing to truly participate in it. Stop trying to figure out eternity and feed your guests, sit in your tent (stoop?) in the afternoon. Stop wondering what I'm going to give you next, when I am going to make the things I have promised come about, and what it will look like when they do. Pay attention to what I have given you already. It's when Abraham does this -- when he can sit with God and stop asking about That Thing and stop trying to take over -- that God says, it's time.
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