God's generosity

Today my thoughts are on the parable of the workers in the vineyard: 

"The kingdom of heaven is like a householder who went at daybreak to hire laborers for his vineyard. And when he had agreed with the laborers for a denarius a day, he sent them to his vineyard. He went out about the third hour [and hired more laborers without naming the price except in terms of fairness] ... Again he went out about the sixth and ninth hours, and did the same. ... Around the eleventh hour, he went out and found others ... When evening came [he paid them all the amount agreed for those who worked a full day. Some complained.] And he answered, "Friend, I do you no wrong. Did you not agree with me for the denarius? ... Are you envious because I am generous?" (Matthew 20:1-16 excerpts)

God is generous. From this parable I gather there is no second-rate heaven for those who were slow to enter the kingdom of heaven, or those who were slow to find their calling. All who answered that call are welcome: fully welcome. The kingdom of heaven is not a kingdom where we keep score against each other, and look down on some who started late or did less (and have others look down on us if they started earlier or did more). Heaven is not a place where there is status, or better-than, among those welcomed by God. Heaven is a place of fellowship, where we all enjoy God's generosity. 

The parable gets its element of surprise from being described as an earthly workplace. Whether we have a daily rate, an hourly rate, or an annual rate, we are paid for our time. Some people play that game by angling for a better rate for our time. Others play that game by angling for more time on the clock. Regardless of how a worker plays the game, the amount is in the control of the owner. The kingdom of heaven is not about being the hardest-working. It is about knowing the one in control is honest and generous. No one who sets foot in that vineyard has any risk of being treated as less than another -- at least not by the owner. May I set aside my tendency to count and account, when there is an opportunity to see someone enjoy God's generosity. 

Jewish context of Jesus' teachings: An allusion with layers of meaning

In the church year, this Sunday's focus is forgiveness: we read about Joseph forgiving his brothers, and we read Jesus' teaching on forgiveness. Peter asked him how many times he must forgive his brother: Should he forgive him seven times? As you may know: 

Jesus said to him, I say to you not seven times: but, seventy sevens. (Matthew 18:22)

There were symbolic numbers in play. I'm not convinced that Peter meant literally 7 when he asked; the number 7 is associated already in classical Jewish culture with completeness, with Sabbath, with forgiveness and rest. So Peter's question may not have been strictly about accounting. I have never heard a preacher suggest that Jesus' answer was about accounting. There is an agreement that it is a symbolic number indicating a bottomless well of forgiveness, as solidly supported by the parable which Jesus tells next. 

Today, I would like to pause and focus on the number itself. "Symbolic" is not the same as "meaningless", and to get the full weight of meaning, it is worthwhile to stop and unpack the symbolism. "Seventy sevens" is not without precedent. We find the number used prominently in another passage: 

Seventy sevens (weeks) are determined upon your people and upon your holy city, to finish the transgression, and to make an end of sins, and to make reconciliation for iniquity, and to bring in everlasting righteousness, and to seal up the vision and prophecy, and to anoint the most Holy. (Daniel 9:24) 

That prophecy is part of a series of prophecies touching on the restoration of the Temple and the timeline when the Messiah was expected. In those "seventy sevens" we would expect transgressions to end, reconciliation to be accomplished, righteousness to be restored, and the Most Holy to be anointed. The age of God's favor toward humanity is inaugurated. It is a discussion for another day about all the nuances of Daniel's prophecy; it enough for today that Jesus' words likely would have struck his hearers as an echo of Daniel's prophecy of forgiveness, restoration, and the coming of the Holy One. 

So yes, Jesus' "seventy sevens" were symbolic. Forgiveness is placed in a context of holiness, restoration, and the world to come. When we hear the echoes of Daniel's prophecy, we hear the call to forgive until the era of the Messiah, the age "to finish transgression, to make an end to sin, to make reconciliation for iniquity, to bring in everlasting righteousness, to seal up vision and prophecy, and to anoint the most Holy." 

If love fulfills the law ...

Owe no man any thing, but to love one another: for he who loves others has fulfilled the law. For this: "You shall not commit adultery, You shall not kill, You shall not steal, You shall not bear false witness, You shall not covet"; and any other commandment, it is briefly comprehended in this saying, namely, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." Love works no ill to the neighbor: therefore love is the fulfillment of the law." Romans 13:8-10 

Paul comments on Jesus' teaching that love fulfills the law. When Paul is so clear, when the Bible is so clear, when Jesus himself is so clear -- if love fulfills the law, where is all the love? 

I look at myself and I know that I struggle. I can easily recognize that I owe to my neighbor -- even to my enemy -- that I do not lie about them or steal from them or kill, obviously. But love? I often act as if I could reduce my obligation to my enemy to that (not lying, not stealing, not killing). In theory, not-doing-this and not-doing-that, I don't need to interact with unpleasant people at all and can count it as a win, if my obligation is simply not to do a specific list of unkind or dishonest things. Do I actually owe an unpleasant person more than that? 

I'm tired of the hostile environment in which we live. (Is there a single group anywhere that is not the target of someone's hostility?) So my tendency is to try to sit it out and hope the storm will blow over. I've been trying to sit out a rising tide of hostility for a long time now; it's getting worse instead of better. 

Do we owe our neighbor kindness? Jesus described the Good Samaritan as an example: "Go and do likewise." If we can see that our neighbor is hurting, kindness is our calling. And who isn't hurting? 

Looking for the humility to recognize my neighbors. They're right in front of me. 

When C.S. Lewis reads St Augustine ...

It is not often that I take my topic from Pastor Weedon's blog, but one of his recent posts definitely caught my attention, quoting C.S. Lewis: 

I am saying only that the highest good of a creature must be creaturely—that is, derivative or reflective—good. In other words, as St. Augustine makes plain [De Civ. Dei, xii, cap. I], pride does not only go before a fall but is a fall—a fall of the creature’s attention from what is better, God, to what is worse, itself.—Business of Heaven, pp. 217, 218.

That could benefit from a little unpacking. 

It seems to start with the premise that our human nature is based on God's nature, which is grounded in the belief that we are "in God's image" -- that our best and highest comes from God. He calls this "creaturely good": it is derived from God's goodness so it is "derivative" good. It reflects God's goodness so it is "reflective good." If our best and highest comes from God, derives from God, reflects God -- then becoming over-impressed with ourselves (or anything else) constitutes a fall: we turn our attention from the better (God) to the lesser. 

I would add a few thoughts. First, that turning away from God to ourselves is a loss of grace. The "loss of grace" is not some other thing that God does to us as a consequence of falling away; the "loss of grace" is another way of describing the thing we are doing to ourselves when we turn away from God: we lose that connection. If we agree that our "best and highest" comes from God, we might also agree that our whole being comes from God, that our true nature comes from God. So that in turning away from God we lose our true nature. 

"I've been selling my soul ..."

I usually take a pass on whatever is currently trending in pop culture*. It's generally not of much interest to me, and often feels marketed, contrived, manipulated. And for purposes of this blog, I don't expect much spiritual relevance to the latest thing. So when the current viral song "Rich Men North of Richmond" came out, I took a pass. Based on the thumbnail view, I had no expectations that I would like it; it looked like I lived in a different world than he did. (I didn't notice that my attitude there was part of the problem.) But after some time as the view statistics ramped up high enough, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to give it a listen. As many reviewers of the song have said, "I did not expect that ... "

From the first line ("I've been selling my soul ...") I heard someone being honest about his struggles at a depth that is rare. I've heard all those Faust stories about someone who sells their soul, and it sounds like a crazy-outlandish premise but anyway who would ever do that? He calls himself out from the very first measure: he does it every day, and doesn't see a better choice. It's something we don't often admit to ourselves in private, much less say out loud. So the singer launches his song by voicing his own doubts and fears about whether he is selling his soul and wasting his life (with a nod to his own previous tendency to numb out with alcohol after a day like that). I watched many reactions to the song where once-skeptical listeners found themselves relating, pausing to say that was their own life too, and continuing to nod along, on the chorus even sing along. I have never seen so many people of so many different backgrounds relate to a single song. In reaction videos, as the singer continues I have seen rappers drying their eyes and metal-heads with tears streaming down their cheeks, all deeply moved that someone would honestly discuss struggles that they share. The singer's own "clearly country" appearance strengthens his point: the dawning realization of how many different people from how many different backgrounds share that struggle, that we're more alike than we are different. It's been a rare unifying moment, not just in the U.S. about around the world for the working class. As testament to its broad appeal, various fans have now made subtitles available in Spanish, French, German, and Korean. There are reaction videos available from all over the English-speaking world -- not just the usual suspects (Canada, Australia, UK) but the Caribbean and even the English-capable world with some reactions from India. 

While part of the song is a lament, the song comes with a strong voice for justice for the forgotten, the marginalized. (Had I really judged the singer before I heard him, just because of his looks and my preconceptions about someone "like that"? Yep, to be honest, I had.) The singer picks up steam as he pivots from his struggles to the system at the root of those struggles, starting with what it's like to go to a low-paying job and watch helplessly as political and corporate manipulators take away or devalue those earnings or savings. For a three-minute song it has a surprisingly wide range. He places his own despair in the context of politicians' indifference to the workers, of how the rich can get away with anything, of how the homeless are overlooked while tax money he can scarcely afford is funding excesses which he resents, to the epidemic of deaths of despair, to the totalitarian ambitions of the ruling class and the accompanying surveillance state, to the insulting condescension of those managing the system (the "rich men north of Richmond", which is to say D.C.). It's surprising that he can fit so much into such a short and relatable song; I expect that's part of why people watch it again and again. 

As I watched a good collection of reaction videos, a few things stood out. The first was how many people shared the same journey I had: at first skeptical that this fellow could say anything that I could relate to, then my breath taken away at the raw honesty with his struggles and how accurately he was articulating some of my own private thoughts, then stunned again at how fearlessly he called out the greed and corruption which put "people like me, people like you" in a situation like this. Another element was disturbingly common in the reactions: a voiced fear of saying something that would bring down the cens0rs. Apparently YouTubers can't say certain things or they will be dem0netized, losing their income for speaking their minds. It could not have been clearer to me that their lives were lived under the constant surveillance mentioned in the song's chorus. 

For my own part, if the song were mine I'd have left out the part about welfare abuse, that "taxes ought not to pay" for things that are unnecessary and make health problems worse. To be clear, I'm not ok with welfare abuse, but that topic is easily misconstrued by the well-practiced on that point. I recognize the injustice in taking someone who is struggling and coercing them to pay for someone else, particularly when we can see the system being abused. Still, the main beneficiaries of the political system are in a certain wealthy district just north of Virginia. 

The song ends where it began: back to the singer's line about selling his soul (etc, with saltier language than I use on this blog). It's a well-crafted song which makes its point that we're still back where we started. But we're less alone. We've gotten so used to staying within insulated camps, distrusting each other; this song took tens of millions of people past that. I took one look at the thumbnail for that video, thought "he's not like me", and decided not to listen to him. I was part of the problem. Once I got curious enough it turns out he is like me, and I'm glad he gave me a voice too. The divisions between us don't belong there, and accepting those divisions is a problem in itself. 

If there is anyone who hasn't seen reactions to the song yet, I'm linking a video someone has made which is a mash-up of various different reaction videos, edited to show a single play-through of the song (3 minutes 17 seconds). 

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* On usually taking a pass on pop culture: I've made occasional exceptions for Harry Potter, Twilight, etc when I see pop culture striking a relevant note. I think this also deserves one of those rare exceptions for something that is clearly resonating with a lot of people. 

Sowing faith, hope, and love: St Francis' prayer

St Francis is among my most-cherished of the Catholic-recognized saints. His well-known prayer has its roots firmly in Scripture: 

Where there is hatred, let me sow love

Where there is doubt, faith

Where there is despair, hope

St Francis' prayer names the three imperishable virtues in quick succession: first love in the place of honor, then faith and hope. St Francis' prayer here shapes itself after St Paul's teaching on the enduring virtues of faith, hope, and love. Paul's reasoning follows Jesus' teaching that love has the place of honor as the first and greatest calling, and his many encouragements to faith. St Francis' prayer also corresponds with St Peter's teachings on the reason for hope, which St Peter anchored in Christ's resurrection. 

I have long looked for ideas on how to sow those light-giving virtues either in myself or beyond. One thing I've considered is that in Scriptural roots, St Francis used the language of Jesus' parables: sowing faith, hope, and love as if they are seeds. In those parables, Jesus speaks of the word of God as the seed that is planted and takes root as new life. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus uses words to speak a series of blessings -- words that build faith and convey hope. Scripture also shows evil working in the world through words. In the account of Eden, the evil one works through words of doubt instead of faith ("Did God really say ...").  

It's a common saying that "words are cheap" when they are a substitute for action. But so often words are the only available package in which to send kindness -- or faith, or hope, or love. I believe I've under-valued them. 

A field guide to belief systems -- and the narrative that involves us

In his new book, Joseph Hinman lays out a simple chart to demonstrate his analysis that New Atheism is a belief system: 

Many people have noted that atheism and Marxism set themselves up as a replacement for religion. Hinman's chart appeals to the analytic mind by laying it out cleanly for easy analysis. While Hinman notes there is some over-simplification involved in that brief chart, he makes a case that the basic features of a belief system are filled by New Atheism in the same way that they are for Christianity (or for Marxism). I find myself tempted to adjust words here or there; still, Hinman's point stands that these systems share many of the same features and functions. Hinman worked through three examples, but it's easy enough to find more. For my own part, I tend to think of partisan politics along those lines, but the reader may have other things that are volunteering to be placed on that "belief system" spectrum. 

Do you see, on the chart, the first column with the criteria for belief systems? From another viewpoint, those same things are the criteria for dramas. It would be simple to re-label the rows in dramatic terms: conflict, victim, villain, hero, resolution, action (though in a drama we'd have saved the resolution for last). On a related point, those systems also meet the criteria for Karpman's Drama Triangle that deals with the psychological analysis of conflict: in addition to the victim we have the "villain" as the perpetrator and the "hero" as the rescuer. The fit onto Karpman's drama triangle comes with the classic warning of Karpman's triangles: often and easily the victim or rescuer slides into the persecutor / villain role before the end, in real-life examples.

One of the observable lessons of 20th Century communism was that as the old regime falls, the "rescuer" generally replaces the perpetrator at the top of another scheme as corrupt and oppressive as the one before it. The power propping up the oppressive system changed, but the oppression remained. Systems obey what I think of as the Law of Pyramids: the bigger the system, the more people are on the lowest tier and the less they are considered by those at the top. And there actually is such a thing as a class difference: it's just that it resides in the pyramid itself, and so isn't fixed by changing who is at the top.

This problem isn't unique to communism, but comes with the large scale of the system. Because of this Law of Pyramids, globalism is inherently dangerous to almost all of the population, who can never be relevant to the decision-makers. However, also because of the Law of Pyramids, the influence and decision-making will be in the hands of people who benefit from this system. 

The next point I'd like to add to the conversation is that these narratives make a claim upon our actions. To follow Hinman's chart: Those who believe the great struggle is to eliminate class differences (and that the solution is to put the party in power) then would seek to advance a certain party line. Those who believe the great struggle is to eradicate belief in God then seek to mock and ridicule religious belief. Those who believe the great struggle is against the corruption in the human heart seek to spread the message of forgiveness and renewal in Christ. In each case what we believe isn't a story outside us, but a story that involves us -- and as such, calls us to action.

I briefly mentioned globalism as the ultimate example of the Law of Pyramids: the bigger the system, the more people are on the lowest tier and the less they are considered by those at the top. What globalism has lacked has been that narrative about why people should join its cause, in fact why they should consider themselves as already caught up in its cause. In our day we can see global health and environmentalism both vying for the key spot in that narrative. They both speak of a dramatic and existential threat. Those who believe the great struggle is to eliminate global problems (and that the solution is to take away local power) then would seek to advance a certain party line. 

My thanks to Joseph Hinman for a thought-provoking look at belief systems.