Another boring conference . . .

Drove down to Minnesota last week for a regional SBL (Society of Biblical Literature) conference. I know what a complete and utter shock this will be to many of you, but I find those conferences so . . . deadly . . . boring. Somehow us post-Enlightenment North American professional, "objective," "academic" folks have actually managed to make the Bible boring. You'd think that would be impossible: how could take something like that Bible and make it boring? It would take no small amount of skill to make Handel's Messiah boring; but we've done it to something even greater. I don't quite know how, except that secondary literature--theories and interpretations and reconstructions about the biblical text--have somehow become the primary literature of many biblical scholars, and the primary text--the Bible--has become secondary, merely a launching point for modern obsessions with the pre-history of the text or whatever.

I mean, I sympathize. As a scholar, I've got to publish and find ways to interact meaningfully with the text. But I frequently find scholars to pursue this (laudable) goal by making modern biblical scholarship the focus, so that interacting with other scholars and books is the main goal of scholarship; and you get involved articles which quote the Bible a handful of times, incidentally. I'm interested in something else: an attentive, delighted fascination with the text itself, with books about the text staying secondary, off to one side, important but not all-consuming. There are treasure there in Deuteronomy and Job 9-10 and Isaiah 15-16 and the last chapter of Amos that are just waiting to be found--and that's my method. Learn and drink deeply from the text, and write about that limitless depth; and subdue unruly human verbiage so that it stays secondary, ancilliary to the real thing. I'm not there yet, of course, but I hope (by God's grace) I'm on my way.

Part of the reason for going was to see my Grandparents Giles, who have not met their great-grandchildren, and to see my aunt and uncle, who pastor in the BGC in Alexandria. So it was wonderful to see them, and my mother flew up as well. Unfortunately, though, it took us three days to get through N. Dakota because of snow; and we went into a ditch on the first day, had to spend the night in Minot, and get towed out of the ditch. All things considered, we were really lucky - we hit some ice, spun around, and landed (back-first) in a big snow drift in the median. It was the safest way to lose control of the car, in other words; and as soon as we went into the ditch, a Minot resident stopped, let us use his cell phone, and drove us to a hotel. Say what you like about small towns, people really do help each other out. So I'm very thankful for God for his protection . . . and determined not to be a normal scholar.

Grace and the Committee

I wrote the following letter to a dear friend last summer; it may be of interest to some of you. There is a larger context to all this, but hopefully the letter still makes sense on its own. I wrote:

I think the Lord helped me to understand something in prayer the other day, and it reminded me of several conversations I've had with you before. I thought I might share it with you.
I was going through the morning ritual of getting the kids dressed and fed, and it happened to be an unusually stressful morning. Finally, before I was about to leave, Kate was chattering at me about princesses or something, and . . . well, I didn't snap at her, but I asked her really strongly not to talk at me any more. So I went out the door and left, and I just felt terrible, but I didn't know why. I was praying about it and thinking about it, and - well, this is hard to explain, but you know how other people talk at you inside your head sometimes? Well, I heard another friend's voice inside my head making a sarcastic and rude comment (I don't remember the words). And I blew up inside, having one of those abrasive internal arguments which never seem to end or be resolved. But I continued to pray about it, and I think the Lord helped me to understand something. You remember that blog post you did a while back about a committee of selves? Well, I think that's just a brilliant analogy to the fractured nature of our selves under the curse, and my committee can be extremely rancorous. And a lot of the members of the committe are wearing masks, and not a few of them are sitting in pools of darkness, so that I can't see them clearly.
And I think what the Lord helped me to see was that that wasn't really my friend criticizing me inside my head, but a member of my own committee wearing that friend's mask. It was that deeply Pharisaical, religious part of me that brooks with absolutely no weakness or failing before my duties. And I think the reason why the Pharisee on my committee - whose name is the same as my own - interrupted my prayers with a sarcastic and hurtful comment was that the Pharisee was angry that I had told my daughter to be quiet that morning, and I was angry with myself that I was not unfailingly energetic in relating to her, always ready to listen to whatever she had to say. I was angry with myself for not being an energizer bunny, for having limits.
And so, in prayer before God, I said, "Well, Eric, you may be angry with the slightest failing, but God loves you anyway and has sacrificed his son to render you acceptable to himself. And I accept God's just verdict on me as "righteous," and I extend God's love and acceptance to you." And the deepest, riches feeling of peace began to trickle down past my stomach into my deep places; I walked into my office feeling like a well-watered garden.
The whole experience really brought home to me the horrible, vile nature of religious Pharisaical evil - and that part of me which is deeply religious and deeply evil, and that lashes out at anything that isn't perfect. How much more that resembles the regions of Hell than the sweetness of Heaven!

A Mother Decides To Try Out Silence

Fascinating article in Maclean's (Canada's version of Time) about a writer and mother who remains completely silent for two days every month. The benefits she experience were numerous--among others, her writing flowed effortlessly after remaining silent all day. But she also talks about how others resented her silence, as if it was something she had to apologize for!

I was struck by the following paragraph:

"The practice also helped correct her tendency to be critical of others. Once, at an artist's retreat, she listened as the others introduced themselves. 'I slipped into critical mind. One was boastful. Another authoritative. Still another boring. And a fourth dominated the conversation. I was not speaking but my mind was busy--impatient, disapproving. Once again, I was so busy judging, I was unable to hear. I was separated from my fellow artists not only by my silence but by my own insecurities, which had engendered a need to be superior, so very often the place out of which judgment is born.'"

And silence helped her realize that. May God deliver me from endless, wearying chatter into such clear stillness of soul.

Exaggerate!

So I've been playing ping-pong with my priest, Allen Doerksen, for the past couple Fridays. I am a respectable ping-pong player, but his shaolin style totally beats my monkey style--he just spanks me every time. I think I've beaten him maybe twice (although we probably just got the score wrong). The funny this is, the last time I was driving to play, I was thinking for some reasons about something I had heard an Arabic professor say when I was at Edinburgh: that English is a bit of a strange language because you can practically speak it without moving your mouth. She talked about how, when she was an undergraduate, she was studying French--and she knew the language competently, but could not make herself understood, because she was speaking it with an "English" approach. It was only when she started to pronounce the vowels in what felt to her as an exaggerated way that she started to make herself understood.

Probably most languages are like that. Heck, Arabic has about eight extra sounds in it's alphabet: three "h" sounds, three "t/th" sounds, three "s" sounds (of varying intensity: for one of them, you have to push your tongue against the roof of your mouth so that it is really hard for the air to get out, so that you almost get a "ts" sound), and even two gutturals, in which you have to constrict your throat so that the air can't get out at all. It's the same motion as gargling mouthwash or getting strangled. And Arabic has two of them! It's a workout for my mouth just trying to get the right sounds out: and, again, exaggerating the sounds actually helps.

So this is all running through my poor excuse for a brain while I'm driving through Moose Jaw. Then I'm getting spanked again by Allen, and he tells me I'm standing still too much--I need to move around more. So I started trying to shuck and dive, dance around a little more--and exaggerte my own movements, so that move my arms more and try to be super quick about everything. And, what do you know, I started returning the ball more. It helped me play better, even though I looked a little silly.

There's a parable in there somewhere.

Kate Ortlund, Lenten Theologian

Dad: "Do you know what Lent is about?"
Kate: "Um . . . is that when you run out of money?"
Dad: "No, it's the time before Easter when we give something up so that we can get closer to God."
Kate: "Oh. Are you giving something up?"
Dad: "Yup. I want to get closer to God."
Kate: "And to spend more time with me, right, Dad?"
Dad: "That's right, Kate."
Kate: "Because God doesn't like it when you don't spend a lot of time with me, Dad. He doesn't think that's very loving."
Dad: "Well, I think God can speak for himself, sweetie."
Kate: "OK. Can we talk about holidays that aren't about Jesus now?"

I'm gonna try this in class real soon . . .

http://boulders2bits.com/archives/2009/03/04/learning-hebrew-with-monty-python/

What Courage Looks Like

You get a perfect picture right at the 6:32 mark. Look at that dude's face. I would not want to face that guy in battle.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8jrQjDpJ1k

Busy Month

Friends - I've been trying to think what to post lately and have just been feeling pretty dry. Some days I get three ideas; some weeks none. (I know you all wake up every morning thinking, "Maybe today Eric will post again! Oh blessed hope!") It's a pretty frantic month: lots of OCEs at the seminary (Outcome Assessment Exams) for graduating students; a masters thesis to examine at the end of the week; grading from a class on the first week of March; and a conference to read a paper at in Minnesota at the end of the month. I'm praying a lot about the 9 hour car ride there - I think we'll bring lots of M&Ms, and hand them out for spotting cows along the way. Or crows. Or lions (Will's favorite thing to look for).

That's pretty much it. Slow and steady. Life ain't no fifty yard dash.

In the meantime, let me direct your attention to a very nice video by Sigur Ros, a--get ready--rock band from Iceland. (No, I'm not making that up.) They write very lush, slow, orchestral sort of songs; this particular song is called Hoppipolla, which apparently in Icelandic means "hopping in puddles." The narrative of video is self-explanatory. I don't know why I find this guy's voice so soothing, but I do. "Beautiful" is not the first word I'd use to describe rock music I like, but Sigur Ros really is beautiful. See here:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_EyI4p0yjDQ

Teaching Pentateuch This Week

Prayers appreciated. In the meantime, I've been relishing Rachmaninoff's Vespers, especially the second track, which you can listen to here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCgIswP7jPY. The delayed resolution in the bass line at about the 5:00 mark is just lovely.