I need to remember what I cannot comprehend

Books 11-13 of Augustine's Confessions are a meditation on the nature of time and God's work of Creation, and are often left out of modern editions. In the preface to his 1983 translation, E.M. Blaiklock writes,

Book Ten seemed to provide a natural conclusion satisfying to a modern reader. ...The mystical ponderings of the last three books are... quite detachable, and it is even a little difficult to probe the writer's purpose in placing them thus. They seem laboured [sic] in their striving for linkage, and are rather the utterance of the Bishop of Hippo than of the embattled man striving Godwards. We have taken leave to omit them.

Still, Maria Boulding did not omit them in her 1997 translation, and so our congregation's reading group, being fastidious completists, chose her edition of the Confessions from the Vintage Spiritual Classics series. We've been working through those mystical ponderings, and I think I can respectfully disagree with Blaiklock. Throughout the autobiographical Books 1-10, Augustine (prefiguring Proust's Remembrance of Things Past) wrestles with the nature of memory and time before, and as created by, God. A Scripturally-saturated mind such as Augustine's would naturally end up with the days of creation and the text of Genesis 1-2.

Reading between Blaiklock's lines, he seems to be saying that Books 11-13 make rather tough sledding, and with that I can heartily agree. Nonetheless, I recognized myself in this sentence from Book 12.

On reading or hearing the scriptural words some people think of God in the guise of a man, or as some huge being possessed of immense power, who arrived at a sudden new decision to make heaven and earth outside himself, as though located at a distance from him, and made them like two vast solid structures, above and below, within which everything would be contained.

Unintentionally, I create mental images while reading Genesis 1-2, and those images render the events in terms which I can understand. Augustine chastises my hubris by reminding me that what I imagine is almost certainly not exactly what occurred.

I would be the first to argue that the Genesis 1-2 account of Creation is a straightforward historical narrative and is written to be as comprehensible as possible to the average reader or hearer. Nonetheless, I need to remember it records much I simply cannot comprehend, such as the existence of light without prior physical source, or an earth without form and void (once one realizes that a jumbled mass has a form, even if a chaotic one, and is certainly not void), or the relationship of the divine decrees to the simplicity of God's person. As chapter 1 of the Westminster Confession of Faith states, the Scriptures are clear, but sometimes they speak clearly of things which are incomprehensible to us poor creatures.

Augustine's mystical ponderings may be labored and overlong, but they form useful instruction in intellectual humility.

A Canticle for Leibowitz

A Canticle for Leibowitz is Walter Miller's 1960 retelling of Western history through the lens of the monastic movement, but set in the American West after an apocalyptic nuclear war in the late 20th century. I read it after my Hindu neighbor insisted on loaning me his copy after we got into a discussion of comic books and science fiction during a Diwali party his family was hosting; such is ordinary life for a conservative presbyterian pastor these days.

As the Wikipedia notes, Canticle is widely recognized as a literary masterpiece, even being the stuff of dissertations and such. It's categorized as science fiction (since it spans the 27th to the 38th centuries), but as I note above, it's not really science fiction so much as an attempt to dramatize the role of the Church and persons religious in the development of the West during the first two millennia of Christendom. Much of the plot, such as it is, of Canticle's three sections focuses on the preservation of books and, later, development of the learning contained therein. But if that were all Canticle is, it would be little more than a presaging of Thomas Cahill's lamentably oversimplified How the Irish Saved Civilization.

Instead, Miller shows how the Church laid the foundation for Western civilization by insisting on the doctrine of the imago dei, man made in the image of God. In Canticle's first section, "Fiat Homo," the Church insists that those grotesquely mutated by nuclear fallout nonetheless are fully human and must be treated as such. In its second section, "Fiat Lux," an all-too unpleasantly human abbot boldly declares abominable a secular philosopher's suggestion that the men of their day are some kind of lesser, man-created beings precisely because that would make them something other than a reflection of God himself. While the third section, "Fiat Voluntas Lux," builds to another nuclear war, its centerpiece conflict is a debate between an abbot and a government official over euthanasia for the those in horrible suffering. According to Miller, mankind perennially and perversely denies his own humanity by refusing to value actual human beings and their lives; the Church and her members must bear witness against this dehumanization and insist that learning be founded on a Christian humanism.

As Miller tells the tale, it seems the Church is always on the losing side of the argument, but nonetheless her humanistic values work their way into civilization's warp and woof. I think he's right, and it's a fact worth remembering in these dark days for the citizens of the former American Republic. The Great State of Colorado, in which I consider it a privilege to live, just ratified a measure allowing for "assisted suicide" (one of the currently favored euphemisms for "euthanasia"). Our nation's misbegotten electoral college has permitted election to the office of President a man who aggressively dehumanizes all, individually and collectively, with the temerity to displease him. Humanism itself has fallen upon such hard times that the very notion is associated primarily with aggressive secularity, not the imago dei, and Christians shut down at its very mention. From my vantage point, all signs are that we have lost the argument.

In these dark days, A Canticle for Leibowitz helpfully reminds us that the Church's simple duty is to bear witness to the truth of God's Word, which against all common sense teaches us that man is made in the image of God to such an extent that God himself could become a man. Church history teaches us that we will lose many, many arguments, but because of God's grace and Spirit the Church will continue to bear humanity through the ashes of the destruction mankind repetitively and continually wreaks upon himself.

Regarding the clownpocalypse

So yesterday there was this news story regarding Ronald McDonald's decision to forego public appearances for a while lest he inadvertently traumatize youngsters sensitized to the ongoing "creepy clown" epidemic. Then I read in this morning's paper how several Colorado school districts are banning clown costumes this Halloween. 

Brighton 27J has also decided to ban clown costumes. “We believe it is the best way to avoid perpetuating any clown fear or paranoia in our schools,” superintendent Dr. Chris Fielder wrote in a letter to parents in the district.

Right. Because how better to tamp down paranoia over creepy clowns than by FORBIDDING SMALL  CHILDREN TO WEAR CLOWN COSTUMES FOR HALLOWEEN?

Good call, educators.

And now, Batman

I'm trying to remember 1989 and the excitement generated by Tim Burton's Batman. The character had more or less been permanently redefined by Frank Miller's unmatched (even by himself, when he tried with The Dark Knight Strikes Again) The Dark Knight Returns, and that masterpiece, along with Alan Moore's nightmare-inducing The Killing Joke, had seized my imagination. (In my not-so-humble opinion, these three works continue to stand the test of time, and I find myself regularly re-reading the two graphic novels.) Given my age and that late-eighties explosion of high-powered artistic genius focused on an archetypal character, it would have been nearly impossible not to have become obsessed with Batman.

But as I said, I'm trying to remember what it was to be 19 years old and seeing Batman on its opening weekend, and I'm trying to remember because he no longer means nearly as much to me. I think that's because Batman is an extremely difficult tightrope to walk. Push the darkness even a little too hard, and the result is pointless nihilism. Back up an inch too much, and he's just a clever dude figuring stuff out while being in super-good shape. You don't have to be Tim Burton or Alan Moore or Frank Miller to get it right: Jeph Loeb and Keith Giffen nailed it in The Long Halloween and Justice League International, respectively; Christopher Nolan and Christian Bale turned in admirable work with their own Dark Knight trilogy. While it may be difficult, it's not impossible.

For me, then, there's something more going on in my turn away from Batman, and that's my turn toward Superman and Captain America. My ongoing Superman obsession can perhaps be understood by an explanation of what makes the Zack Snyder/Henry Cavil "Superman" of Man of Steel and Batman v Superman so abysmal. By the second of those films, it became obvious that their Superman has no existential reason to fight for the good other than the possession of superpowers and not being bad. Meanwhile, his elevation of Lois Lane above the rest of humanity makes him just as self-centered as Lex Luthor. Contrariwise, the archetypal Superman's greatest power is his innate decency. Like Captain America, he is a Boy Scout and an American in the best possible sense of both terms: someone who lives in service of an ideal, and therefore of humanity.

In adolescence, I thought I had come to terms with the world's darkness, and so embraced the Batman who dwells in the liminal penumbras of shadow. With age, I've realized the best response to the darkness is a turn toward the light.

Learning from the priests & Levites

The priests and Levites who come to John the Baptist in John 1:19-28 are not interrogators, but inquirers. As servants of the Temple, they are experts in Biblical worship, and in John's practice of baptism, they recognize a new ritual. Notice that they don't challenge baptism's propriety or John's right to perform it; in fact, they seem to implicitly grant it. Instead, they want to understand what this ritual reveals about John's identity.

John the Baptist could be Elijah, who they thought would inaugurate the eschatological Day of the Lord (Malachi 4:5-6). He could be the Christ, who would defeat the enemies of God and his people and establish a reign of eternal peace (Psalms 2 & 45). He could be the Prophet like Moses who will bring a new, perfect and final Law (Deuteronomy 18:15-18). In other words, John the Baptist appears to be a, if not the, subject of prophecy who will inaugurate the eschaton precisely because he has introduced an new ritual which signifies citizenship in a kingdom and entrance into a new age.

Of course, John is merely the herald of that figure. But as he does not challenge the priests' & Levites' assumptions, he effectively affirms them. By so doing, he lets us know that we all could learn a lot from the liturgical expertise of the priests and Levites.

Because America

I visited Graceland when I was 19 years old, and that experience was so monumental, so mind-blowing, that I no longer felt the need to make pilgrimage anywhere else. (It took another 15 years and the careful study of Peter Guralnick's hefty two-volume Elvis Presley biography before I was able to let go of my obsession with the magnetic charms of the King.) Honestly, once you've gazed upon the Jungle Room, all the antiquities of the Ancient Near East have nothing to offer.

Despite my enduring dedication to Abraham Lincoln, that disinterest applies to Civil War sites as well. Maybe coming of age in Virginia, where you can't turn around without running into a battlefield marker, has something to do with that. However, I now have a reason, nay, a need, to journey to Gettysburg: the Civil Wars Tails at the Homestead Diorama Museum.

I know other nations have their fair share of quirky, obsessive personalities, but I am absolutely confident that none of them have a pair of sisters who create exquisitely detailed and perfectly scaled dioramas of Civil War battles in which all the combatants (wearing accurate uniforms) are cats. Cats.

Because America, people. Because America.

Youth ministry is its own reward

Yes, that is a pair of rubber-ducky underpants, discovered by a ministerial colleague between two boys' cabins, being immolated on the campfire just prior to the nightly preaching of the Word.

I love, love, love Bible camp. I think we should put this picture on all our advertising.

[UPDATE: View a video of the immolation here.]

Father Curmudgeon's Day

Thing 2 decided to make a play for "favorite curmudgeling" by suggesting a beer tasting for Father's Day this year. Mrs. Curmudgeon did the bulk of the legwork and preparation, of course, pairing each selection with cheeses and sausages (yum). Credit where credit is due: Thing 2 did put together a video presentation on the history of beer. The kid has potential.

That puts me in mind of a Father's Day project he did back in first grade, for which, for reasons I don't entirely understand, he was asked to describe the paterfamilias. Even several years later, his description remains accurate (although I have put on a few pounds since).

duh

According to the latest entry in the category "studies made necessary by the profound conviction that anything which makes people happy must be bad," coffee probably doesn't cause cancer. I've long know this. In fact, because colorful fruits are antioxidants, and because coffee is made from colorful beans, it's full of antioxidants. I can science too, people.

While we're on the subject, I love, love, love my pod coffeemaker, the most useful office supply in my study. Don't give anyone else this tip, but if you go to Starbucks the day after Christmas, you can get the Christmas blend coffee pods for half-price. Whilst doing this back in December, a store manager gave me, for free, a couple boxes of Thanksgiving blend pods. According to my daily afternoon coffee consumption rate, I calculate I'm set until August.

Coffee. Life is good.

Administrative & Substantial

The most eagerly anticipated item on the docket of the 83rd General Assembly of the OPC was the report of a special committee to study republication. “Republication” is the suggestion that, in some sense, the covenant God made with Israel at Sinai (Exodus) repeats the conditions of the covenant God made with Adam in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 2). (Yes, OPC officers tend to have their attention piqued by somewhat unusual things.) 

As the attentive reader might guess, everything hangs on that “in some sense.” Through a close reading of Westminster Confession of Faith 7.5-6, the committee suggested that various views on the matter be classified as either “substantial” or “administrative.” “Substantial” would mean that the Sinaitic covenant, in its essential terms, promised reward in return for obedience. (Usually, Israel holding on to the Promised Land of Canaan as reward for keeping the Mosaic Law in its fullness.) “Administrative” would mean that the Sinaitic covenant had elements which illustrate and point back to the Covenant of Works with Adam while simultaneously pointing forward to Jesus Christ’s work which fulfilled the Covenant of Works, but for that very reason is, in its essential term, an administration of the Covenant of Grace by which God’s people are saved from their sins.

As a long-time student of covenant theology, I find these categories helpful for classifying the various views propounded on the subject of republication. However, they are relatively new, and so will have to be widely taught before they can be relied upon as a tool when preparing candidates for ministry. This suspicion of mine was confirmed when I heard the same from a more senior and august member of the Assembly than I at the supper break.

I recommend the report, although some basic familiarity with the republication “discussion” and, more importantly, the Confessional doctrine of the covenants will help. Also, an ability to wade through novel and creatively hyphenated theological terminology.