Genealogies (in Scripture and elsewhere)

When I was a child, my grandparents would try to interest me in the family tree. They would tell me the names of generations who had died before I was born. And at the time I had no interest, much to my regret now. Because time has changed my perspective on that, and more strongly as I have recently sorted through old family photos trying to identify who was who, and how to view old 35mm slides, and how to figure who was the photographer of various scenes. 

As I child I used to see that kind of thing as belonging to an irrelevant past, what I now think of as lost treasure. My grandparents weren't telling me of irrelevancies, they were telling me about their own parents and grandparents and before. I began to feel it more strongly when my father died: that he had become one of the names on a list, memories that lived only in certain people. And it grew on me that all those names from before were my people, my family that I had never met. They are a missing piece of my puzzle. And I am a vital link in their future, as they were for the generations before them. 

The cultures that value genealogy -- such as the Hebrews -- may resonate more strongly than I do with seeing the endless lists of people. And as the years go by, the lists of names even in Scripture become more meaningful to me. The lives, the eras, the stories of how they managed, are a treasure. 

When we forget or devalue the past, we lose part of ourselves. But it can be found again. 

Love hopes all things

When I was a child I spoke as a child. I understood as a child. I reasoned as a child. When I was grown, I put away childish things. Now we see as through a glass darkly, but then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know even as I am known. And faith, hope, and love remain, these three. But the greatest of these is love. (Paul, 1 Cor 13:11-13)

In Paul's much-quoted passage about spiritual gifts and spiritual maturity, I do not always credit that faith, hope, and love are seen as having the most potential for maturity in our spirituality. When it comes to hope, it's easy for me to get caught up in what I see: it's not necessarily cause for hope. But "we see as through a glass, darkly." I don't see everything there is to see, and what I do see isn't always seen clearly. And I get caught up in what I know. "I know in part," and tend to forget how much can be missed. 

Earlier, Paul had mentioned some characteristics of love. It included: "Love hopes all things." I can become resigned or even cynical, in a distrust of hope. I can tell myself that the lack of hope is realism. If so, it's a kind of "realism" which overlooks the reality that a situation might be transformed. I can assume that "what we see now" and "what we know now" is the final word, forgetting the limits of what we see and what we know. If "love hopes all things", then it is right that I allow myself to hope the best for all people, even if hope seems like a longshot. 

Forgiveness and Restored Fellowship

Lately I have heard more than one person proudly announce forgiveness by saying something along these lines: "I'll forgive so that I am not burdened," without any plans to reconcile. They may also mention that harboring a grudge is like drinking a poison and hoping the other person dies, and so they stop drinking the poison. (From the tone of voice, they may still wish the other person dies.) 

And yet forgiveness, as we know it from God, is a forgiveness that does not write off the relationship. God's forgiveness always hoped we would not die ("takes no pleasure in the death of the sinner"). God's forgiveness is not for personal peace-of-mind, to get away from the uncomfortable feeling of being mindful of a wrong toward him. God's forgiveness is not a detachment but a reconciliation. So forgiveness from God is not merely the end of resentment, but the renewal of the relationship. 

Of course it takes two to reconcile. That said: a mere detachment cannot lead to reconciliation; it never sought it in the first place. In that way, detachment can resemble condemnation more than it resembles forgiveness in the Christian sense. 

With detachment alone, the natural outcome is that people become more and more disconnected, more isolated. To build fellowship and community, it's necessary to reconnect. It's harder work, but it is how God forgives us. 

Whatever is worthy of praise, think on these things

In this world, there is an element of wonder and awe, the sense of possibility, an invitation to playfulness. One of my most-cherished artists is a street artist named David Zinn. For the most part, he's a street artist / chalk artist who specializes in adding a touch of fun to public spaces. Here is a piece he did that is part street art and part homage to M.C. Escher: 

If anyone could use a moment of delight in the goodness of the world, thinking on things that are worthy of praise, I find David Zinn's art to be worthy of consideration. 

James 3: how different section headings would lead to a different understanding

In many Bibles, there are section headings which are not in the original text. They are added by the publisher as an aid to study and understanding. I find those headings helpful when I am scanning a hardcopy for a particular passage. But the section headings can hide connections. (Chapter breaks, likewise added after the original text was written, share the same risk.)  

While studying the book of James, in Chapter 3 in my hardcopy there are 2 sections: "Taming the Tongue" (3:1-3:12), and "Two Kinds of Wisdom" (3:13-3:18). And yet, there is a chance that the chapter is meant as single unit. Consider that 3:1 may set forward the topic for the whole chapter: Cautions for teachers. That first verse says plainly, "Not many should be teachers, knowing that we shall be judged more strictly." From that point of view, "taming the tongue" and "two kinds of wisdom" can be understood as topics specially applicable to teachers, who spend so much time speaking, striving for wisdom, and hoping to communicate something useful. In "taming the tongue" there are warnings against speech that is incendiary or inflammatory, against speech that curses others. In "two kinds of wisdom" there is a contrast between worldly wisdom -- where someone might boast or use their smarts in service of selfish ambition -- and wisdom from above which is more focused on peace and, through peace, cultivating a harvest of righteousness. The wisdom from above employs the teacher's humility to help the learners and beyond. 

And so when we open our mouths to teach, all of those warnings and instructions may have been meant for just that moment. 

Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed. Alleluia! 

Blessing to all on your celebrations of Jesus' resurrection: God's promise to us that our own lives are not in vain. 

Grappling with Christ's sacrifice

The ancient sacrificial system makes little sense to me. I cannot relate to the idea of bringing goats or pigeons as an act of atonement. 

But I can relate to the idea of being in deep regret or shame, and wanting to bargain my way out of it, make some kind of substitution, any kind of substitution. What about one of those moments in life that I'd give anything to take it back? I can imagine myself bargaining ... "Anything, I see how wrong it is but there's no way to take it back. Just don't let that ruin everything!" Some people say that bargaining like that is futile, but is it? What if God said "Okay"? What if God took the deal with one condition: He would pay the price instead. 

In some ways, the question of "How could a good God allow evil?" is the question how a good God could allow agency to people who are so flawed. I've heard skeptics and scoffers list their reasons to disbelieve in God, and they are often lists of things that humans do to each other. Even on that level, God bears the shame of any wrong I've done. 

May I consider, in those moments where I feel that urge to bargain away my regrets, that God accepted.