Category Archives: Religion

The city and the sea

Photo credit: Milad Fakurian. Unsplash license.

The city lies foursquare, its length the same as its width. And he measured the city with his rod, 12,000 stadia. Its length and width and height are equal. He also measured its wall, 144 cubits by human measurement, which is also an angel’s measurement. (Rev. 21:16-17, ESV)

Amateur theology tonight. (“I’ve had a thought,” he said, as readers sighed in disappointment and scrolled on.)

Way back in 2010, I blogged about how the Book of Revelation (21:1) says that in the Kingdom of God, the sea will be no more. That always troubled me, because I like having the sea around. I come from a long line of sailors and fishermen, and I find the ocean beautiful and romantic.

But I’d learned that for the ancient Hebrews, the sea symbolized chaos, the depths of despair, the place where there was no safety or certainty. The opposite of God’s order. The Old Testament uses the sea as a metaphor for death and Hell (as in the Book of Jonah). So there’s a strong case to be made that when St. John says in Revelation that the sea will be no more, he’s talking about chaos and disorder being wiped out.

And it occurred to me today that the image used in the passage from Revelation at the top of this post, about the “city foursquare,” is in fact a contrasting image. They complement each other. The chaos (sea) has been taken away, and instead we have this huge, perfectly square city. Now, even though I was born to be a city boy, and I moved to the city as soon as I decently could in my life, the idea of a great big square city never appealed to me much. Sounds kind of Bauhaus, kind of Brutalist. Not much scope for green spaces. Most of us would have interior apartments, and one assumes the view and the ventilation wouldn’t be great.

But it occurred to me that, if the deletion of the ocean is metaphorical, that cube of a city is just as likely to be metaphorical. It means everything’s going to be squared away, put right.

This brings us into the realm of mystery. I think it’s beyond question that we are promised that at the very end of God’s story, all things will be made right. Sin and evil will be swept away. Wrongs will fixed. Injustices will be balanced. Tears will be wiped away. Nobody will have any reason to complain about the raw deal they got.

How that will work out, I have no idea. I absolutely reject Universalism. It’s a snare. But I do believe there will be Big Surprises.

A twist ending. That’s what you want in a good story. And as I’ve written here before, I think it’s all a good – no, a great — story.

Sissel sings ‘Amazing Grace’

This is my favorite arrangement of John Newton’s “Amazing Grace.” The singer, of course, is Sissel. There are several videos of her doing this hymn on YouTube, but none of them have exactly this arrangement (Andrae Crouch wrote it, I believe), and not exactly in this quality.

Have a graceful weekend.

‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’

“Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” is the most fully theological of the popular Christmas hymns, and hence my favorite.

I prefer Sissel’s rendition, but her live performance with the Heretic Tabernacle Choir is truncated to two verses. So I looked for something with more.

This version from Celtic Woman is a tad glitzy for my taste, but they do several verses and do not “improve” the lyrics to suit our times. On that basis I share it with you.

Have a blessed Christmas.

Sissel sings ‘Glade Jul’ (Silent Night)

Tonight, like last night, I’m recycling old material. DON’T JUDGE ME! I’m coming down with a cold.

No, wait. Nowadays what we say is, “I’m coming down with a cold, I hope.

Feels like a cold, anyway. First time I’ve gotten sick in quite a while. I think I got through the whole pandemic thing without a day in bed.

Anyway, I know I’ve posted this before – sometime. But this is Sissel Kyrkjebø just as she was becoming a celebrity in Norway. About the time she released her Christmas album, also called “Glade Jul,” (the Norwegian version of “Silent Night”). Pretty much everybody in the country bought a copy. Plus at least one lovestruck American guy living in Florida at the time.

This really is a gem of a performance.

A Christmas hymn I love and hate

I’ve been writing for this blog so long that I think I can probably reanimate some of my old post topics. A search of our archives shows that it was in 2010 that I last wrote about the Christmas hymn, “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.” I’m not going to denounce it. In fact, I kind of love it. But it’s not really a Christmas hymn. It’s more of a Christmas song, like “The Christmas Song” (the Chestnuts one, you know) or “Silver Bells.” Because it’s not about Jesus, and was never intended to be.

The putative hymn was written by Edmund H. Sears, a sensitive-minded Unitarian minister who worked in Toledo for a while, before suffering a breakdown (perfectly understandable, under the circumstances). In time he ended up serving a church in Wayland, Massachusetts. He wrote “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear” in 1849, and it was published with a tune by Richard Storrs Willis in 1850. His motivation seems to have been his depression over the Mexican War, which raised considerable opposition in the country (Lincoln famously voted against the war, and lost his seat in Congress because of it).

The hymn goes:

It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold;
"Peace on the earth, good will to men
From heaven's all-gracious King" –
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats
O'er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever o'er its Babel-sounds
The blessed angels sing.

But with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring; –
Oh hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!

And ye, beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing; –
Oh, rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing!

For lo! the days are hastening on
By prophet bards foretold,
When with the ever circling years
Comes round the age of gold;
When Peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world give back the song
Which now the angels sing.

Do you notice something missing in this so-called “Christmas Hymn?” It says nothing about Jesus. Not a word. You’ve got angels and peace, which hearken back to Luke’s account of the Nativity (verses 8-14):

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

So you’ve got the angels and you’ve got the peace, demonstrating that the poet had Christ’s birth in mind. So why didn’t he mention Christ Himself?

Because he was a Universalist. He didn’t really think Jesus was that important. He believed Jesus simply represented a universal principle of peace and love, which gives us hope for a coming time (“the age of gold”) when Mankind will have evolved to the point of outgrowing war.

In many more orthodox hymnbooks, the words have been altered a little. The changed lyrics substitute “the time foretold” for “the age of gold.” And they say “the new Heaven and earth shall own the Prince of Peace their King,” instead of “when Peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendors fling.” I don’t generally care for meddling with original texts, but I like those changes just fine.

Still, the hymn still leaves me a little melancholy.

Beautiful, though.

I looked for a good video of the hymn/song to embed above. But everybody had to get cute with it one way or another (worst are the English, who use the wrong tune!). So I had to settle (yet again) for the Heretic Tabernacle Choir. Which is kind of appropriate, I guess.

It’s all music

I may be achieving a breakthrough. Or possibly I’m losing my mind. Or it could be the new medication I just started taking…

I got up this morning to put in my two hours of writing (okay, it’s more like an hour and a half when I deduct bathroom and tea-making time). Then I went to the gym, as usual. And while I was driving there, I had this epiphany. It rose, I’m pretty sure, partly from the lingering effects of reading Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything. And from Mark Helprin’s Paris In the Present Tense, which I’m re-reading. It’s a novel about a musician, with all kinds of metaphysical implications.

Anyway, it occurred to me that (as best I understand physics, which is probably not as well as I think) the universe is made up of atoms, which are made up of particles and charges and empty space and stuff. Every solid thing is actually just energy in motion. What makes things exist is movement and attraction and repulsion and waves and so on.

In other words, the universe is music.

Which works just fine with my theology. The Bible says that God said, “Let there be light.” The light – energy – was spoken by God. Light is energy in a pattern. That’s pretty much like music.

Tolkien used this metaphor in The Silmarillion.

After I thought, “The Fall introduced discord into the music,” I found myself shouting out loud (in my car): “CHRIST RESOLVED THE CHORD!”

Well, it seemed profound to me at the time.

Of course I used this space not long ago to explicate a theory that the universe is a Story.

So which is it, Walker?

Maybe the universe is a ballad. No metaphor is every perfect.

Above, a little music from that most theological of composers, the Lutheran J. S. Bach.

Sankta Lucia and Christian beauty

It’s been a few years, I think, since I’ve mentioned the Sankta Lucia celebration. “Sankta Lucia” is Saint Lucy of Syracuse, a virgin martyr of the early church. A Sicilian legend says that once when there was famine, ships appeared in the Syracuse harbor on St. Lucia’s Day, loaded with grain. Thus there came to be a tradition of eating whole grains on December 13. Somehow this tradition evolved in Scandinavia (especially in Sweden) into eating a particular kind of bun on that day. The girls of a household would rise early, prepare the buns, and then march in procession, led by one girl portraying Lucia, wearing a crown of candles (Lucia means light, after all), and wearing a red sash to symbolize martyrdom. They would sing a version of the Italian Santa Lucia song (as above) and serve the buns for breakfast, to general celebration.

It’s a lovely tradition (I’ve observed recreations a few times) and seems to be gaining in popularity even in these secular times.

One thing I love about it is the fact that it’s a revival of tradition. In spite of the growing hostility to Christianity in our culture, genuine beauty still appeals. That’s worth remembering, even if we Protestants are forced to do some borrowing from the Catholics (that’s less a problem for me as a Lutheran than for some). But maybe we need to question the emphasis on stark simplicity in our worship. We seem to have won the argument over pomp and ceremony so well that many churches have proceeded to embrace pure ugliness. And ugliness ages poorly.

I’ve been thinking about art recently, for reasons I won’t go into here. It seems to me that – though there are many ways to divide up the world – one way we can categorize people today is by whether they are pro-beauty or anti-beauty. As far as I can observe, the Progressive movement has turned aggressively anti-beauty. Our side isn’t necessarily pro-beauty, but I think we ought to make that an issue.

Because I think beauty will win, hands down.

Are We or Will We Ever Be Free at Last?

Time has vindicated Dr. King. Ultimately it is not Black versus White. It is justice versus injustice, haves versus have-nots. As long as Dr. King talked only about African-Americans he was relatively safe, but when he began to pull poor Whites and poor Blacks together he became a threat to the power and wealth elite. If he had been allowed to live, he might have even been able to articulate the frustrations of today’s shrinking middle class. Thus Brother Martin could have been a prophet of a sizable slice of America. This would have been a formidable challenge, but it was never allowed to materialize.

One of Jesus’s points in the Sermon on the Mount was to seek the kingdom of God first and allow all other worries and legitimate concerns to follow it. Such a kingdom-focus doesn’t sit well with us. We would rather have seeking the kingdom as a consumer spending habit or path to political goals. We would rather settle on being in the best church, denomination, or path (Me against the World) in contrast to others of the same type, even if our path is the one constantly thumping how everyone should just get along. A Christianized humanism may be more comfortable to us than the gospel of Christ’s kingdom.

That’s where this book, Free at Last? The Gospel in the African American Experience, stands. It’s too biblical, too focused on Christ’s kingdom to light the torches of those looking to build a kingdom of their own.

In 1983, Dr. Carl Ellis wrote a book for an African American audience on the state of the church, the history of various Black movements, and how we can move forward. He revised and republished it in 1996 and it was republished as a special edition classic in 2020, which is the edition I read.

Ellis spends most of the book on overviews of different movements and cultural arguments Black leaders have made, both within and without the church, to recognize and defend the honor of African Americans. It offers a high-level framework for understanding decades of history. He gives the most attention to Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, who disagreed on how to raise the dignity of Black families in a country that wants to either melt away their distinctions or marginalize them.

No one escape Ellis’s criticism because mistakes and bad actors have cropped up on all sides. Some Black leaders have painted Christianity as a White man’s religion, but Ellis separates civil religion and White-centered humanism from the biblical faith and traces these sinful influences through to today. White humanism he defines as a belief that White people and standards are the ultimate references for truth and values, White people being generally unaffected by sin. Many African Americans have adapted this view into a Black humanism, which again, for the churched and unchurched, is not Christianity.

Anything can become an idol, even, perhaps especially, good things. “Afrocentrism is truly magnificent, but it is not magnificent as an absolute. As an absolute, it will infect us with the kind of bigotry we’ve struggled against in others for centuries.”

Ellis notes a point in history when the solution to gaining dignity in American life was the melting pot, everyone blending into the surrounding culture, but the dominant culture rejected African Americans subtly and overtly. If they were to blend in, they would have to be subservient to Whites. That actually didn’t sit well with anyone but the abusers. America isn’t a country that can tolerate a permanent servant class for long. We tell ourselves we are the land of the free and the brave, created equal by the Almighty. Americans of any color won’t be content to stand in the alleyways and watch others parade by.

There are many ideas holding us back. In one chapter, Ellis describes “four prisons of paganism” found in many corners of the world:

  1. Suicidal religion, which attempts to deny reality or numb ourselves to it through various means (sometimes with a “militant shallowness”);
  2. God-bribing religion, which is any manner of attempting to curry favor with the Almighty;
  3. Peekaboo religion, which hides God behind other people or things so our allegiance and obedience can be focused on the other thing and not the Almighty;
  4. Theicidal religion, which includes all attempts to reject God’s existence.

Ellis states Peekaboo religion is a dangerous trend in the Black church for its tendency to revere the pastor (and his wife) more than they should. I’d say many independent White churches do the same thing, but the percentage would be smaller.

To rise above these errors, Ellis calls for creative preaching and church practices. He calls it being a jazz theologian, one who improvises on melodies in performing the truth for contemporary congregations and find new ways to reach our increasingly secular neighbors. His call might have more resonance if he pointed to a new application of truth and history that is working, but he may have wanted to avoid that specifically because he isn’t trying to start a new thing for others to copy. He wants us to know the Lord and His Word and look for ways the people in our area will hear them.

It’s not in the book, but I know Ellis is the head of The Makazi Institute in Virginia, a type of L’Abri fellowship for cultural understanding and engagement. That would be his take as a jazz theologian, not something just anyone could do.

One value of Free at Last? is a 60-page glossary covering many topics referred to in the book as well as many contextual topics not mentioned. I wrote a post about content from this section before.

Photo by Samuel Martins on Unsplash

Being a captive ring

The video above is one I found in my aimless wanderings on YouTube. The thing to bear in mind, if you watch it through (it’s not long) is that while I was watching it the first time, I had no idea what the artisan’s intention was. I thought at first the goal was a kind of Chippendale chair rail, and I simply found it visually engrossing, the same way I used to watch my Windows computer defrag.

And then it became “captive rings” (something I’d never heard of before), and I was astonished. What a wonderful thing, I thought.

And then it came into my mind –

[Let me just break in here with a disclaimer. I think I’ve made it clear before that I don’t believe in extra-biblical revelations, in the sense of treating them as the words of God. If I, or an angel from Heaven, tell you, “I have a new revelation from God for you,” run away.

On the other hand, I don’t doubt that God sometimes speaks to us personally, to encourage or even guide us. This may be a case of that. Or not. Remains to be seen. But I like it enough to share it here.]

So it came into my mind that maybe I’m like that piece of wood.

I’ve probably mentioned, in one or more of my too frequent navel-gazing posts, that the personality I possess now is not the one I was born with. I have it on good authority, from uncles and aunts, that when I was a little boy I was outgoing and friendly. These traits were knocked out of me in my upbringing, leaving me desperately shy and socially awkward.

To make it worse, all my life I’ve been informed by a series of employers (often while they were firing me) that it was precisely those personality traits (the ones I lost) that they wanted and didn’t get from me.

But looking at that woodturning video, it occurred to me, “Maybe I’m like that piece of wood. It didn’t start out to be a set of captive rings. It started out as a perfectly good, useful tree branch. First it was cut off, then it was dried in a kiln, then it was put in a lathe and subjected to a series of cuts and gouges which I can’t help anthropomorphizing as extremely painful.

But the result is something that delighted me. The captive ring piece is, to me, for want of a better word, wonderful.

Just possibly (I thought) I was put through all the stuff I’ve been through to make something wonderful out of me. (My guess would be my books, but who knows? Maybe I said the right words to somebody thirty years ago, and I’ve been riding on that one good act ever since.) I’m reminded of the potter in Jeremiah 18.

Of course, being me, I can’t resist looking at the question from the other side too. One should never forget the wisdom of this old internet meme:

Hubristic musings on Story

Photo credit: Infralist.com. Unsplash license.

Let’s see. Where am I? I did a Zoom interview with a student from the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay this morning. Some kind of history class assignment. She was supposed to speak with a more impressive Viking reenactor, but had to settle for me due to a glitch in the system. It was nice. She was an intelligent young person. Gave me hope.

I’m trying to figure out Adobe Indesign (not Light Desk, as I erroneously termed it last night; I saw the I and D logo in my mind, and they looked like an L and a D, so I vamped). I was referred to a YouTube video for an introduction, but that created as much confusion as it cleared up for me. I bought a book, which I shall try out this evening. I intend to learn this irrational, user-unfriendly mouse maze of an app, or die in the attempt.

Packed for my trip to Brainerd tomorrow. Paid my bills a day early, because I’m flexible that way. Walked to the post office for stamps.

But what shall I blog about? I think, on consideration, that I still have things to say about Story as a key to the universe, as if I didn’t overtalk my intelligence in my previous post on the subject.

Dale Nelson, in commenting on that post, noted that our Lord, when He came to earth, did not come as a philosopher, but as a storyteller. This is an excellent point, one I wish I’d thought of.

So I’ll double down. When God chose to reveal Himself to us in written form, He did not give us a book of systematic theology (I’ve often wished He had, but oddly He did not consult me). Instead, He told us a story.

Wouldn’t it have been a relief if the Bible had begun with The Book of Epistemology? We could have a Book of Trinitarian Doctrine, and a Book of Soteriology, and it would all end up with a Book of Eschatology.

The Quran is kind of like that, as best I understand it, based on my limited examination of the book, though it’s not very organized. The Quran is essentially a book of doctrines and commands. It’s not what you’d call a gripping narrative.

The Bible we’ve been given, however, is a narrative. God chose to tell what is essentially a story. There’s other elements in there – poetry, and law, and wisdom literature, etc. But it’s all set within an epic dramatic narrative. The world is created, Man is created, Man falls, Man runs berserk, God begins calling out a series of individuals, then a family, then a nation, through whom He will – gradually – reveal His purposes for redemption. Finally the Hero – God Himself in human form – appears and – through great sacrifice – undoes the Fall, conquers death and the devil. Finally, we’re given a glimpse of Christ’s ultimate triumph and the eucatastrophe.

A lot of church schism and religious war could have been avoided if we’d had a divine book of unambiguous theology instead of the Bible we got. But God hasn’t chosen to reveal Himself that way, either in His written Word or in His incarnate Word. He seems to prefer stories. And stories tend to be so… ambivalent. The better the story, the harder it is to explain.

During my recent long road trips, I decided to splurge on a couple audio books. Both were by Andrew Klavan – books I’d read before but wanted to revisit. My Minot book was The Truth and the Beauty, Klavan’s manifesto of art-oriented theology. My Green Bay book was The Great Good Thing, his spiritual autobiography.

I found The Great Good Thing easier to grasp. It’s a straight memoir, with its lessons fairly obvious. Great story, too.

But The Truth and Beauty, though fascinating and inspiring, eludes me at some points. Even after two readings, I still have a hard time articulating what the point of the book is. It’s mostly about how the Romantic poets followed their perceptions of beauty, which led them (in some cases not very far) towards the truth of Christianity in a world gone apostate.

But I can’t grasp the nub. I can’t tell you what Klavan is trying to say we need to learn from the Romantic poets.

And it occurs to me that’s the whole mystery of the thing.

Great art generally can’t be reduced to a formula or a moral. It leads you to a place where you confront an idea that is a Person. And persons can’t be defined – not within the limits of human reason. (God can define it all, I have no doubt.)

It’s a little like Zen, where you sit around and meditate until you “get” some irrational concept. I reject Zen, and I reject the irrational too. But the Buddhists have an inkling of some truth there.

Stories can lead us to an encounter with God. Reason can too. But neither the story nor reason automatically produce faith. The faith comes from an encounter with Jesus Christ. That encounter is a miracle; St. Paul knew, and the theologians have agreed, that it’s nothing either our imagination or our reason can produce. It comes from outside. It’s something you receive.

And you can’t always put it into words. You can only tell stories about it.