Beauty Redefined

My family is currently preparing for its newest addition: a new baby brother who will be born via C-section on March 30. Grandparents start arriving tomorrow; and by this weekend, we'll have a houseful of family members anxiously waiting for the arrival of the first Barbarick boy of this generation. It's exciting and intimidating. What am I going to do with a boy?

Preparing for his arrival has led to following reflection on the last four years with my little girls.

I'm not sure what served as my paradigm for feminine beauty the first twenty years of my life. It was undoubtedly a mixture of my mother, my sister, the "ideal" woman projected by movies, TV, and advertisements, and the opinions of my friends. Regardless of the paradigm's origins, I've recently noticed it's slow erosion. It started about eight years ago, no doubt, when I started dating the woman who would become my wife; but the slow erosion has progressed into a full-scale crumbling collapse over the last four years. And in its place I find a new pattern.

I've heard fathers say that their girls are the most beautiful women in the world, and I've often thought they must be faking such sentimental drivel. Surely they're saying it just because they know they should. That's what you're supposed to say. That's what you're supposed to believe. But now I'm starting to understand . . .

The most moving scene (for me) in the recent film The Bucket List is when Jack Nicholson's character finally scratches off the last item on his list of things to do before his dies: "Kiss the most beautiful woman in the world." He marks it off after giving his toddler granddaughter—whom he has just met for the first time—a peck on the cheek. I'm not afraid to admit that I balled. Because now I'm starting to get it. It's not mere sentimental hyperbole. To their daddies (and maybe even more so to their granddaddies), little daughters are the most beautiful creatures in the world. I can look at each of my little girls, who are unique in their own ways, and declare with straight-faced honesty: "God has achieved perfection. Here is beauty embodied!" Hence the heart-melting power of their sparkling eyes, intoxicating smiles, and irresistible pouts.

My little girls are now my paradigm for beauty. They are the standard by which all others are judged (and left wanting!).

I'm excited to experience the joys of raising a boy (it's amazing to feel the pride swelling even after the first sonogram!). But how can it compare to raising little girls?

Hymns are Hip

Based on some recent reading, I'm prepared to announce that hymns are hip again.

Check out the Page CXVI for some free downloads of recently recorded hymns. The artists' purpose is to make the rich meaning and beauty of older hymns accessible to a new generation.

See also the the interview in the Winter 2009 edition of Leadership with Keith and Kristyn Getty. They are resisting the drift toward "praise and worship" music, choosing instead to write "hymns." And they're being well received! The interview includes the following introduction to the song-writing couple:

"At just around 30 years old, Keith and Kristyn Getty are both fashionable and energetic. They look as if they could be the next big thing in pop music. But they are committed to a higher calling: writing modern hymns in a contemporary idiom that teach the faith and bring the generations together in worship." I like it.

Finally, check out this article published in Time (Jan 2008). It describes a growing movement among the young and hip who gather to sing the four-part a cappella hymns in the Sacred Harp songbook. (The article warmed my Church-of-Christ, a capella-loving heart when I read it.)

So, little church, don't abandon the hymns to ape the latest trends in pop music! Our musical tradition has something valuable to offer to our culture, both theologically and artistically.

Teaching as Sharing

I planned for today's post to be the second part of what I started yesterday, but I came across a quote today that I felt compelled to share.

Seneca was a first century Roman philosopher who is known to us by his essays, plays, and copious letters. I'm currently reading through some of his 124 published letters as I research the relationship between precepts and examples, and this morning I read a short letter (Ep. 6) written to a friend who had requested Seneca to share some of the things he had been reading. "Give me also a share in these gifts which you have found so helpful," his friend implores. Your life is changing for the better, in other words, and I want to join you.

Seneca responds in his letter that he is anxious to "heap these privileges upon you" because:

"I am glad to learn in order that I might teach. Nothing will ever please me, no matter how excellent or beneficial, if I must retain the knowledge of it to myself. And if wisdom were given me under the express condition that it must be kept hidden and not uttered, I should refuse it. No good thing is pleasant to possess, without friends to share it."

As someone who aspires to teach for a living (or better yet, who feels called to teaching as a vocation), I resonated with Seneca's words.

He's not advocating, I'm confident, a type of utilitarian learning in which I learn only so that I have something to teach. (Preachers know this temptation: I study scripture only so that I have something to preach.) Seneca's writings clearly reveal that he loves learning; it is a great joy for him, but he doesn't want to keep that joy to himself. He wants to share it. Only then will the joy of learning fully bloom.

Seneca's attitude also protects him from the insidious elitism that can easily ensnare professional learners. If knowledge is power, as some have said, then we must beware of the temptation to hoard that power in an attempt to inflate the self. In this way, teaching is self-denying. I share freely (or for the modest price of tuition) what otherwise I could keep to myself. I heap on others the privileges which I could otherwise greedily amass for myself. I take the knowledge that would make me unique or special if I kept it to myself, and I give it to others. And I don't do so begrudgingly: I do so anxiously because no good thing is pleasant to possess without friends to share it.

Teaching is sharing. Teaching is selfless generosity. At its best, teaching heals the learner from a dropsy of the intellect: rather than greedily swelling with retained knowledge, the teacher denies his claim to the knowledge, releases it, and experiences the joy and freedom of sharing. In this way, teaching is a cross-shaped activity.

(Or course, the immediate gratification of students' adulation can lead teachers into another trap of self-aggrandizement, but I'll leave that subject for another day.)

So, when I read Seneca's words this morning, I couldn't keep them to myself. I've been blessed with the time to read Seneca, and I'm anxious to share his wisdom with you.

(The icon of Christ the Teacher)

Must I Be Impotent to be Empowered? (1)

One of my chief research interests involves New Testament soteriology and ethics, specifically in the Pauline writings and in 1 Peter. The following post addresses one of the persistent problems in soteriology and ethics: the relationship between divine and human agency. In other words, if God is the one who saves and empowers, am I left powerless in the whole process? Or maybe we work together (synergism)? I'm quite positive that my own power can't accomplish my salvation and right living (legalism), but I do sense that my choices and actions are free and that doing good requires a fair bit of my own will power. How does it all fit together?

I'll set the stage by recounting an important movement in biblical criticism, and I'll pick up the story in the year of my birth.

In 1979, E. P. Sanders redefined the "pattern of religion" typical of first-century Judaism. His important work challenged the gross caricature of Judaism as a legalistic religion. Instead, Judaism fit into what he called "covenantal nomism," a pattern of religion in which one "gets in" to the people of God by grace, but "stays in" by obedience to the law (to oversimplify his thesis). His findings had an immediate impact on Pauline studies. In Galatians, for example, whom is Paul battling? The letter had traditionally been understood as his strong rejection of Jewish legalism (righteousness from works of the law); but if Judaism isn't legalistic, then what's going on? Has Paul misunderstood his Jewish opponents? Or is legalism not the issue? Sanders' new understanding of Judaism demanded a reassessment of Paul's letters and his own pattern of religion.

Some argued that Paul himself adhered to a type of "covenantal nomism." He is a Jew, and his "conversion" to Christianity did not result in a major shift in his pattern of religion. Some important details may have changed, but the pattern remains the same. One still "gets in" to the people of God by grace (Gentiles included!), and one "stays in" by obedience to the law (which does not include Jewish identity markers like circumcision or food laws).

Others maintained that Paul's thought does not fit within the "covenantal nomism" pattern. Charles Talbert, my dissertation advisor, outlined a pattern of religion based on Pauline theology that he called "New Covenant Piety." In this pattern, one "gets in" by grace and "stays in" by grace. Obedience to the law of Christ is a requirement of staying among the people of God, but that obedience is empowered by the Spirit of God. God saves, and that involves both calling and empowering.

Talbert's proposal rings true to me and seems to best summarize Paul's theology (see Gal 2:20-21, my favorite verse in the NT if forced to pick one). And yet, almost every time I articulate "New Covenant Piety" to someone, I sense resistance. My interlocutors seem to balk because they sense NCP paints humans as completely passive agents, and that doesn't jive with their theology or their experience.

They're both right and wrong. Humans are not impotent in matters of soteriology and ethics, but we don't have to be impotent to be empowered. And I'm not advocating a kind of synergism in which I do my part, God does his part, and it all works out. God saves and empowers completely. And yet I'm not left a passive agent in the process.

Our misunderstanding of power confuses the issue. People chafe against the New Covenant Piety pattern of religion because they have (unconsciously) bought into the Competitive Power Rule (to borrow a phrase from another of my teachers, Ron Highfield). But more on that tomorrow. . . .

Singing Comfort

Below is the introduction to a sermon on Isaiah 40 that I gave at the Robinson Church of Christ this morning. I'd share the rest, but, based on the drooping eyelids in the congregation this morning, it got worse after this.

* * *

I want to start with a quiz. I'll start a verse, and let's see if you can complete it.

“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will . . . ."

That’s right! They will “soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” This may be one of the best-known passages in scripture. You can find it on t-shirts, car bumpers, and blogs. I dare say it may be underlined or highlighted in a fair number of Bibles here this morning. It may even rank as your favorite verse; I’ve certainly heard it named as such before. And for good reason! It’s poetic and uplifting; it speaks of the renewal we all need. We read it and can almost feel the wind beneath our wings lifting us to soar, the very Spirit of God renewing and re-energizing our weary bodies and souls.

If you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know me too well. But I don’t want to disrupt your love for this verse this morning—it’s certainly worthy of regular reading and meditation. I just worry that sometimes, we take this verse out of its larger context.

First, we can be guilty of neglecting the shadows that give relief and beauty to the painting’s bright colors; we ignore the dark coldness that makes the fire so warm and bright. While Isaiah 40 is certainly an encouraging chapter, it’s not all good news! The people of Israel are compared to more than soaring eagles in Isaiah 40. The prophet also likens them to (among other things) flowers, dust, and insects—none of which has a particularly positive connotation. We can’t ignore those less favorable comparisons in Isaiah 40 and fully grasp its last verse.

Second, by taking 40:31 out of its context, we can take the message of comfort and apply it to any-old-place we need to be comforted. I’m physically exhausted this week or I’m fatigued by a difficult co-worker or I’m feeling a touch of the doldrums; so, I turn to Isaiah 40:31 for a pick-me-up. God can certainly provide healing in those situations, and he may even do so through this verse, but I don’t think that’s the thrust of Isaiah 40. This morning we’re going to take a quick flyover of Isaiah 40 and hopefully see why Isaiah is comforting his hearers and thus where he can be a comfort for us.

At the risk of deflating the swelling drama of my sermon, I’m going to go ahead and reveal my take from the beginning: in chapter 40 Isaiah isn’t comforting a people who are physically tired or exasperated by annoying acquaintances or beleaguered by the blues. He’s singing comfort to a people who have been exposed, judged, and punished. When we’re ready to identify with that group, then we can hear his words at their most assuring and uplifting.