Genesis 11 as interpreted by Acts 17

The other day, I was struck by this statement of Paul’s in his address to the Areopagus: “He made from one blood every nation of men to dwell on all the surface of the earth, having determined appointed seasons, and the boundaries of their dwellings, that they should seek the Lord, if perhaps they might reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us.” (Acts 17:26-27) That is, the Lord placed each nation in its particular place, within its particular borders, for the purpose (amongst others, no doubt) of encouraging them to seek him out.

The Lord did this back in Genesis 11. There we read of how all mankind spoke one language and lived in one place. In their vanity, they worked together to build a tower up to the sky so that they might make a permanent name for themselves. The Lord chose to frustrate their vanity and reserve the heavens for himself. “Therefore the name of it was called Babel, because Yahweh confused the language of all the earth, there. From there, Yahweh scattered them abroad on the surface of all the earth.” (Genesis 11:9)

I had seen Babel as punishment, but Paul sees it as grace. The Lord prevented mankind from competing with him, from trying to contest his ownership of the heavens. He took away their common language and flattened their tower by spreading them over the face of the earth. The Lord took away their vanity and pride so that they would stop trying to take over the heavens. He humbled them so they might become humble. In their humility, they might realize they were not the Lord’s competitors, but his creatures. Perhaps they would realize they were sinners whose only hope before this clearly Almighty God would be to appeal to his mercy. Perhaps they would stop gazing covetously at the heavens and look for an almighty and merciful Lord around themselves. After all, he is not far from each one of us.

A prooftext for God’s omnipresence, surely. But also a reminder that God did not reserve the heavens for himself. Instead, he left the heavens to dwell not far from us, to dwell with and amongst us, to suffer and die for us, and in his good time and good pleasure to raise us up with him so that, just as he ascended back up to the heavens after his crucifixion and resurrection, we might rise up to greet him, and dwell with him, in the glorious heavens to come.

And still, he is not far from each one of us.

Farewell to the double-space

I had read that, in this post-typewriter era, one is no longer to place two spaces after periods, semicolons, and colons. This has something to do with the right-hand justification done automatically by word-processing programs; apparently, this makes double-spacing unnecessary, although I’ve never understood why. At a glance, it’s obvious to all but the most text-messaging-addled amongst us that a single space after sentences does not allow time for reflection, or even room to breathe.

Nonetheless, I’ve joined the ranks of the single-spacers. Recently, a magazine asked me to expand a previously written piece, and since their style sheet requires submissions be single-spaced, I spent an inordinate amount of time peering intently at my computer screen looking for the superfluous space in my essay. (Believe me, no matter how cleverly you set the parameters, no global change will convert every double-space into a single.) Since I don’t wish to repeat that experience, I’ve turned my back on the training drilled into me in my high school typing class and (almost successfully) converted myself into a single-spacer.

I can’t help feel, though, that I have given up some inessential but elegant adornment, something which kept us at a remove from the barbarians. Paper napkins may do the job just as well as cloth, but unless one is at a picnic, why? What is gained, and what is lost, by this economy?

I write this, dear reader, not because I expect you to care about the double-space, but so you might understand how a curmudgeon is made. Again and again, they take away from us some thing, some rule, trivial in itself but which gave order to our chaotic lives. This is why we curmudgeons end up sitting in our corners, muttering to ourselves except for the moments when we arise, grasp you by the lapels, and tell you about the way things used to be.

Some sympathy, and just a bit of indulgence, please.

Presbyterian preachers are jazz musicians

The most common form of jazz heard today is often called “straight-ahead jazz.” Whatever the piece, the basic structure is simple: the melody is stated, it is improvised upon, and then a restatement of the melody is played in closing. Improvisation is jazz’s hallmark, and the directions in which the various members of a particular combo might go in a certain piece can become so dizzying and complex that one loses track of the original melody. Nonetheless, the melody is always there; the musician is commenting upon it and finding unimagined corners and depths within it. This is why the restatement of the melody at the close of piece is rarely a flat return to something already heard. Instead, this moment is often exultant and joyful, and the hearer usually realizes he has discovered something profound in what he thought was mundane.

This is, of course, the pattern followed in classic presbyterian preaching. From the pulpit, the text is read. Then, the preacher explores and comments on the text, bringing out its truths which are so obvious, yet to which we all have been blinded in our previous reading. In the best sermons, there are moments which are intensely interesting, yet seem to bear little relation to the text at hand; soon, however, we realize the text speaks directly of those matters, and our paltry imaginations have been futilely limiting the scope and reach of Scripture, just as we have vainly thought to live by our own lights, outside the control of our God. Then the preacher brings us back to the words of the text itself, and we rise for the hymn knowing we can never hear it in the same way again.

Jazz and preaching, then, are kindred art forms. In one sense, they are parasites on the work of others. In a more true sense, jazz and preaching express the fullest and deepest devotion to their texts, displaying their riches and demanding their hearers and the world pay heed.

Miles Davis and me: birds of a feather, baby.

What's going on at fast food restaurants

An explanation of the cheaply priced and enormous quantities of cheese and meats available on nearly every street corner comes this week from Brewster Rockit, one of the most consistently funny comic strips around: http://www.gocomics.com/brewsterrockit/.

The Elements of Style

You must read this book. Even if you're not mildly obsessive about English grammar and usage (and if so, what's wrong with you, exactly?), it's hysterical. A couple examples from chapter 4, "Words and Expressions Commonly Misused":

"Personalize. A pretentious word, often carrying bad advice."

"Prestigious. Often an adjective of last resort. It's in the dictionary, but that doesn't mean you have to use it."

Strunk & White are heroes.

Lipstick

Geoff Nunberg concludes remarks on the recent vice-presidential lipstick controversy thusly: "What's remarkable is how naturally the idiom came to [Republicans], as if they had been speaking it all their lives. For all the ridicule that has been heaped on the language of political correctness and identity politics -- and the right has no monopoly here -- there's no group that hasn't learned to work it to its advantage. Whether or not you ultimately persuade people that your grievance is justified, you can count on owning the discussion for the next few news cycles."

You can listen to his essay, broadcast on NPR's Fresh Air, here:http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=94665918.
A transcript is posted at http://people.ischool.berkeley.edu/~nunberg/lipstick.html.

Daughters of the ostrich

In all the English versions of the Bible (including the self-proclaimed "literal" translations) I've consulted, Isaiah 34:13 says ostriches, along with other wild animals, will take over the palaces of Edom after the Lord has removed all its inhabitants. This is curious, since the Hebrew says these will be the "daughters of the ostrich."

Obviously, the daughters of the ostrich are ostriches themselves, so one could argue that no meaningful content is lost by the omission. But no doubt Isaiah, and the Holy Spirit who inspired his prophecy, knew that as well. One could argue this is merely poetic language, and the meaning is accurately conveyed by the more prosaic choice of the translators. But again, the original was written as poetry; therefore, a prosaic choice is not be a faithful translation.

What we have, then, is an interpretation of Isaiah 34:13. While it is an entirely legitimate interpretation, it cannot be honestly called a translation.

A rather lovely essay on editing, online at the Kenyon Review: http://www.kenyonreview.org/issues/spring08/doyle.php.

"Sojourn" in Isaiah 33:14

Most English translations of the Bible have the godless and profane asking who can "dwell" or "live" with the consuming fire who is the Lord. However, the verb they use is more usually translated "sojourn," which connotes a temporary stay in a particular location while traveling, or traveling as a way of life. In this instance, the idea seems to be traveling through life with the Lord as one's companion.

It's an odd and unexpected choice of verb, but it may be determined by the imagery found in Isaiah 33:20, part of the same passage. There, Zion/Jerusalem is described as a tent which has been staked in a permanent location. This is a picture of the Tabernacle, which was the precursor to the Temple later built on Mt. Zion in Jerusalem. During Israel's Exodus wanderings, the Tabernacle was carried around with them from place to place. Isaiah 33:20 implies, therefore, that the pilgrimage of God's people has come to an end.

This is rather strange, given that Isaiah did not prophesy during the Exodus, but in Jerusalem and well after Israel had been settled in the land for centuries. But all this makes sense within the context of Isaiah 33:13-24, which can be applied to both the Church's experience during the Messianic Age (i.e., today) and in eschatological glory. This life is a time of wandering and pilgrimage, for here we have no permanent home and simultaneously live and sojourn with our Lord (see Hebrews 11-12). And yet, we already have a city with foundations, heavenly Zion, which we will experience in fullness and perfection when our Lord returns in glory and establishes the new heavens and earth.

My father ate this

In Switzerland: bread with gruyere cheese, ham, tomatoes, and a fried egg.

I am jealous.

An omelet

A spinach, bacon, and avocado omelet I had at the Le Peep at Alameda and Chambers in Aurora, Colorado. I thought it was presented particularly well on the plate.

That is all.

Liturgy & prisoners of war

Talking about liturgy (the way in which worship services are planned and structured) with an evangelical or conservative presbyterian can be an exercise in frustration. For example, many think a "formal" worship service is one at which the preacher, and perhaps some of the congregants, wears a tie.

Actually, a "formal liturgy" is one which uses forms: that is, a set order (salutation, call to worship, confession of sin, declaration of pardon, etc.), written prayers, and the like. The more formal Church traditions (Episcopalian, Lutheran) are "high Church" in liturgy, while the more anti-formal (Baptist, many conservative presbyterians) are "low Church."

This is brought to mind by an article in today's Rocky Mountain News (http://www.rockymountainnews.com/news/2008/sep/04/rove-recalls-colorado-roots/), which recounts how John McCain was appointed a chaplain at his prisoner of war camp because he had liturgies memorized. This feat is only possible, of course, if the order of service at one's Church is consistent and formal. In many low Church traditions (whether such as a congregation or a denomination), there is no liturgy which the observant participant could memorize.

Here, then, is a very pragmatic argument for formal liturgy: it trains and equips congregants to worship even when they do not have access to their home Church or a pastor, even when they are in a cauldron of despair such as a North Vietnamese POW camp. Anti-formal evangelicals, baptists, and presbyterians may learn to think at their Lord's Day services, but not to worship.