Ray Anderson writes,

“When someone asks where they should begin reading in the Old Testament, I never tell them to begin with Genesis, but rather with Exodus. Exodus is the theological beginning point that serves as the exposition and explanation of all that precedes.” [1]

When I first read this snippet, I took it as a curiosity and moved on without much thought. But, sitting in church one Sunday, I felt a twinge in my brain; a significance to Ray’s words began to form, a message to my own lost self and to a lost culture.

I can best understand Ray’s comments by thinking about the name of God – YHWH. This is God’s own, personal name (meaning I AM WHO I AM) and it is rendered by most English translations as “The LORD”. YHWH appears throughout Genesis (“The LORD said to Abraham.”) to describe which god (the only one!) created heaven and earth, and which god brought Abraham out from his own country to become a new nation… by whom all peoples of the earth would be blessed.

But Abraham never knew God’s name.

Only Moses knew God’s name; it is at the beginning of Exodus that YHWH appears to him in a bush that is ablaze yet does not burn up.  It is Moses whom YHWH commands to take off his shoes – Moses who is standing in the presence of holy God – present on the earth and introducing himself by name.

Exodus begins with a bombshell – the starting point of the Bible. God comes down and introduces himself to humanity. The rest of the story begins here… even Genesis. Most of us have been taught to read books by starting at the beginning, but Genesis is very much a prequel to Exodus.[2] This is clear; someone, in writing down the Genesis stories, has very carefully told them using God’s own name – YHWH. Genesis is written in hindsight, and it is important to pay attention to this.

For example, if we are tempted to place the Jewish creation myth alongside another ancient Mesopotamian creation myths, we must be cautious, because the Genesis story is not just an ancient myth. It is a reinterpreted ancient myth. Someone (having been stunned by the very revelation and introduction of God, by personal name, to the world) has gone back to re-examine tradition. Having been awed by the incredible and miraculous election and rescue of the Jewish people, he has retold an old story – to explain what actually happened.

The Moon and Sun are not gods; YHWH is. They are only created things. Matter is not shaped from a giant serpent of chaos but is spoken into existence by the word of the God who parts the sea and walks on the earth in fire, and who has introduced himself to humanity in a burning bush. Pharaoh, who claimed to be God – who claimed to protect and uphold the land – who claimed to make the rains fall – was exposed as a helpless fraud by the hand of our YHWH. There is a God who controls all Creation and he is YHWH. We know who he is because he has told us, and we know he commands the world because we have seen him do it.[3]

YHWH is in Genesis, which means that so is the burning bush. The plagues – the parting of the Red Sea… the pillar of fire… the glory at Sinai… all are in Genesis. The beginning words of this story are “I will rescue you from Egypt” and not, “Get out of my garden.” But – having now been rescued… we need to understand how we ever got to Egypt in the first place.

One lesson this story teaches us in our own lost culture is that God doesn’t play fair. He’s liable to introduce himself first, and ask him to follow him… before we understand everything. It’s quite probable that, once we have believed him and followed him some distance, we will have to go back and revise what we once thought we knew.

Our own lost culture is fixated on telling our own story “right the first time”. (These days, in the West, we mostly we try to do this through science and observation.) We think we can build an accurate story of our existence (an anthropology) without factoring in the introduction of God. Well, no – we can’t. We will get lost in bad creation myths, because we, as people – as storytellers – have not yet been transformed to the point where we can tell a decent story.

Look at the Gospels. They weren’t recorded in realtime, as events happened – not even close! Thanks be to God; even a brief read through Mark shows that when events were going on, the disciples were in the dark about what was actually happening. The Gospels were written through the fires of Pentecost. Here we have transformed Apostles who, having lived a life in the Spirit and in the Church, became men who knew – men who had seen with their very eyes the kingdom that Jesus came to announce.

They didn’t know what he had been preaching about, they knew the thing he had preached.

We need to know God first and understand him later. If we wait for God to make sense to us before we believe in him, we will forever be drowning in a world of primordial soup that houses ancient dragons of chaos, trying to piece together some kind of sensical story without any of the critical pieces. We can’t understand our lives without beginning in introduction and transformation.

“Hi God.
I’m Scott.
My life is kind of a mess.
Please don’t hate me…”

[1] Ray Sherman Anderson, The Soul of Ministry?: Forming Leader’s for God’s People (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), 4. Back

[2] Prequels are funny things. Often (e.g. The Silmarillion & Lord of the Rings) they should be read last. In some cases (*cough* Phantom Menace *cough*) they should just be ignored. Back

[3] Genesis is really about Israel. It is not a general “How God made people” manual but more of a “Wow – YHWH was there all this time and this is what he was actually doing” account. Back

The first, an earthly lament about the rioting in England. An anguished headline,

What turns people into looters?

by  zimpenfish

What turns people into looters…

Let’s take a look at the hidden narrative in this headline.

We are not bad people, we are not looters! We get turned into them. Ordinarily we are just fine until something external comes over us. Like a prince before an evil witch, we are turned into slimy amphibians.

We have what looks from every angle like a dilemma. How can ordinary people turn into lawless ruffians over the course of five minutes? Where is the witch? What did it?

Of course, the sensible answer is that people didn’t change or turn into anything.
The sensible answer is that the same people only needed the right set of circumstances in order to behave in a new way.

That is disorder below; what about disorder above?

Well, it turns out we are managing to clutter up outer space with alarming amounts of junk. What a mess! The space junk we’re leaving up there is dangerous and it’s smashing into other junk and making more junk and it’s stopping us from putting even more would-be junk up there!

Oh dear! Whatever shall we do?

by  zimpenfish

We’d like to get rid of it, the scientist says. But no one is building a system that can clean it up!

Why not? Well, it’s pretty simple. A system which can remove busted satellites from space can also remove non-busted satellites from space. All our governments are nasty, suspicious and afraid of the fallout of building such a system. Diplomatically, it’s unfeasible.

Why? Because they all know what they themselves would do with it, if they had the circumstances to get away with it.

We question why a little bit of social disorder causes us to take up arms against each other (we’re all such decent, ordinary folk!), but if we actually stop to take a look at ourselves, the heartbreaking truth is obvious.

We can’t even take out the trash for fear of one another.

“The tragedy of 21st century N.A. is the weak/seared conscience, superego, Parent–or whatever your favourite psychobabble would dictate. We suffer from too many friends and not enough heroes.”

It’s a very astute observation. (But I don’t know if it’s fair to call out a seared conscience as *the* tragedy of 21st century N.A.  )

I can’t claim to have a finger on the general cultural pulse (I swim in very small circles), but I can testify that in technical arenas where people pride themselves on being “rational”, there is often a general disregard for authority.

When you deconstruct human systems from either a post-modern or naturalistic persepective, it is difficult to find a basis for any kind of real authority. Both naturalistic and postmodern views make the question, “Why should you be the boss of me?” difficult to answer.

In either world personal experience is paramount. A naturalistic approach gives very little basis for elevating anything else, and a postmodern approach confines our mandate to only being concerned with ourselves. In the one, only we exist. In the other, no one has the right to transcend. The idea that we require assistance from outside ourselves (a hero to save us) is blasphemous in either framework. Friends become important because heroes are either fictional or illegal.

Heroes hold authority. Heroes say (usually wordlessly), “You ought to be like me”, but in our one current approach there is no “ought” and in the other it is an unforgiveable sin. The film The Incredibles illustrates this sentiment nicely; in it, the initial charge brought against superheroes is, “You are just extra-strong people like us with no transcendent role or mandate. Furthermore, you are flawed and do not serve the public good, so we will sue you for the harm you cause.”

Looking back at Where the Wild Things Are, the best solution is for authority to lay down the discipline that draws the sting of wildness. This doesn’t mean wiping out exuberence (are Dads ever fun?), but it does mean directing it… and curtailing devastation. Of course, in the film’s world, no such father exists for Max, and no such king exists for the Wild Things. There’s no hero to be found.

It doesn’t make sense to me, however, to set up heroism and friendship as direct foils. In a comic-book world of super-powerful entities, the distance between a hero and a villain is a measure of compassion.

Heroes care, they are involved and present. Heroes struggle with the pain that comes from being close to injury. It hurts to bear someone else’s burden. Heroes weep for lost lives and ask, “Could I have done more?” while the villain taunts, “Why do you waste your time with the weak?”.

Does transcendence preclude friendship?
My entire faith is based on the certainty that it doesn’t.

We can eradicate a disease but we can’t free ourselves from the fear that someone will use it against us as a biological weapon.

The kicker is, someone might; worse things have been done. It is a rational fear. What value does science place on a human person or on a human life?

Even the cold hearted “survival of the species” so often touted as our genetic purpose is not a scientific value but a human one tacked on to scientific belief. Science is blind to virtue.

They form a remarkably practical, powerful presentation of the Christian Gospel which is gloriously free from Church language and culture. They are simple to understand, difficult to follow and they hold a massive treasure. The greatest testimony to their worth is that they have proven themselves in the lives of many.

The real world creeps in! The steps do not call us to live in our heads; they demand that we put things right with other people. Irony is at play: we must exclusively seek someone else’s benefit to receive our own. We must reach out to reach in.

Step 9

Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

direct amends

If the steps have taught us anything, it is that we must change. Part of this change is the transforming experience of doing difficult things directly. The steps have repeatedly emphasized our need to work past fears and reservations; even this far in, we still need strong language to keep us from fudging or ducking out.

The degree to which we manage to overcome our fear, shame or anger is directly proportional to the degree of freedom which results. In many ways, it is our freedom, for these things (and the unconfessed sins they protect) are a brutal and crushing burden.

wherever possible

Possibility as used here is a double edged sword. It means that whatever we can do, we must. But it also is a reminder that our overarching search is a search for sanity. We wish to increase sanity and goodness in the lives of others and ourselves. To do this, we must discard the impossible.

Bashing our heads against the impossible is insane; it distracts us from the possible good that we should be doing. Of course, we cannot necessarily trust our selves to say what is possible. In our insanity we may despair of doing something which is, in truth,  readily achievable.

This is why the previous step had us become willing to make amends to all. We resolved within ourselves the possibility of us doing it, and removed, at the very least, the self constructed barriers to us doing so.

except when to do so would injure

Our overarching search is for sanity and goodness. We are, after all, trying to fix and not to break. Here we see the governing principle of love – patient, kind, long-suffering. This step is driven by love of others – consideration for them before ourselves. Our agenda must take a backseat to their welfare.

It is, after all, not even really our agenda! It is God’s, and we must accept the structure of his guidance – that in this case, a greater general concern (love) overrules what a specific directive (make direct amends) points to as a good thing.

It is important to notice that this clause refers only to our action and never to our willingness, which is pre-established and must always remain. If it later becomes possible to amend without injury, we should be still willing to do so.

them or others

Notice the lack of self in this clause. It is all too easy to say, “This hurts me, I should not do it.” We have given care of our lives over to God, anyway! This step indicates that God really does expect us to turn the care of our lives over to him – because here God is requiring us to waive it!

Whether it injures us or not is not a question we should be asking. We have a directive – we need to do this if we want to stay within the steps. If we trust that the steps are leading us towards goodness, we are trusting that we will not be injured, at least not in any way which precludes goodness. Our pride may be injured. It may feel terrible.

But then again, feeling is not always directly proportional to injury, is it?

The character of a God who would desire something, have the power to make it so, and yet not do it is foreign to us. We find it confusing and contradictory that omnipotent God would allow a world where some of the things he desires don’t immediately come about. The conclusion we ultimately arrive at is that either his desires are not good, or he is not powerful, or he doesn’t exist.

We’re just not primed to conceive of a God who wants something but doesn’t take it.

We focus so much of our lives on avoiding pain, avoiding suffering, avoiding discomfort. We try to fill our desires. Patience and long-suffering are not our characteristics.

If we don’t eat, we starve, and the conclusion we come to is that we must guarantee our eating. We have to immediately do something about the things that trouble us. This idea of instant gratification is bad enough when we apply it in our own lives, but when we project it onto God, it causes major theological headaches.

When we expect that God acts like we do we should get ready for disappointment.

Excrement is filthy. It holds all the toxins and bits of food that we don’t want. We associate it with disease (it causes cholera when we drink it), disgrace, poverty and most everything else repulsive. It’s a common metaphor for everything bad that goes on in our lives.

“The sh*t hit the fan”
“You’re in deep sh*t”
“I have so much sh*t going on in my life right now.”

It is a Bad Thing.

But as I’m writing this, my brother is peeking over my shoulder and saying, “Don’t forget its earthy and fertilizing nature.”

We are led to a conundrum. When God looked over Creation and gave it a stamp of approval (he saw that it was good), he was looking over people who ate food – bowel movements and all.

So it is a Good Thing.

Or… it was. And then something changed and things all went south and Adam and Eve got kicked out of the garden. Was there a magic toilet in the garden (“Refuse, be gone.”)? No.

By the time Adam and Eve left the garden, however, they were different people. They had a new penchant for trying to define right and wrong on their own. Same plumbing, different plumbers. They took the first steps on the walk towards today.

Maybe we don’t have a refuse problem. Maybe we have a shoveling problem. That is, we don’t want to do it. And since we are too morally deficient to deal with our own waste properly, we cause ourselves bigger problems.

And we blame it. We call it nasty and filthy and we wish it didn’t happen.

It’s a simple, down to earth example of how we ascribe our badness to God’s goodness. Yes, the badness is there and yes, it needs to be removed, but if we think the badness is anything other than a moral problem (for God’s removal), we are deluded.

Shoveling could be fun. We could hold big shoveling parties where all our friends come out and we tell jokes and get it done in half an hour and where there is no nastiness. If we get dirty there is clean water where we can wash, and no one has a filthy disgusting mind that wants to revile and reject us for it.

But we don’t want to shovel, because we are lazy. We are hung-over and tired from our relentless seeking for what we think is good. We are distracted by the curvy and the pleasant. We don’t want to invite friends, because we are proud and angry. We don’t all have clean water because we are greedy.

Dissention, factions, envy, greed, licentiousness, sexual immorality, rebellion, selfish ambition, and every kind of wickedness come out to play in the human heart. And we blame the shit.

Poor shit.

It’s getting blamed for a change in mankind – a change that’s illustrated by Adam’s hiding before God when he realizes he’s naked.

When Adam’s lack of clothes was revealed, was it revealed to Adam or to God?
Did Adam become ashamed, or did God? All the time previous, was God ever embarrassed to look at bare Adam?

Did God change?

Or did Adam?

How Adam saw the world really changed at a fundamental level. He lost his connection to the heart and mind of God. He started seeing things differently than God did. Adam, not God, was the first to cover bare Adam.

And God, being gracious and merciful, saw Adam’s shame and distress and said, “Your covering isn’t very good, let me sacrifice some of my creation to give you a better.” Our sin does not preclude God’s love.

When Jesus came to earth, he said, “Render unto Caesar”. Give man his due, and give God his. Don’t blame one for the other, don’t praise one for the other. We suffer from Adam’s malady: the chronic inability to see things the same way as God does.

Life is good; thanks be to God.

Can I really believe that God created all things and is above all things – and at the same time claim that man’s badness is greater than God’s goodness?

More likely is that I am misunderstood about the true nature of things. More likely still is that I myself am bad and not fully able to see.