Two-Fisted Reading

By some twist of fate, I ended up reading The Omnivore's Dilemma and Fight Club at the same time. The weird thing is, I can't shake the thought that they seem like similar books, in some obscure ways. Both are looking to "break up civilization so that we can make something better of the world," though one way is much more explosive and violent, where the other is a little more sedate. Both see us as "middle children of history, raised by television to believe that someday we'll be millionaires and movie stars and rock stars, but we won't. And we're just learning this fact." Both seem to suggest that real life begins when we take off our blinders and engage our true selves with the real world.

In the end, I'm much more persuaded by an organic revolution than a violent overthrow of the corporate structures all around us. Deep down, I'm a lover, not a fighter. Still, though I may not have the stomach for Fight Club, there's something about this kind of bloodrush expedience that is compelling. I guess I was raised by television to look for quick resolution, and a villainous hero.

Bruce and The Bible

I was listening to some Bruce Springsteen the other night, and thinking about the Bible (funny how that happens). In particular, to the third song off of my very favorite album, 'Devils and Dust'. Now, upon first glance at the lyrics, it might appear that the Bible entered into my consciousness because it would roundly criticize such sentiments. And I grant you, looking at the lyrics, one might liken 'Reno' to unabashed pornography. It'll certainly part your hair, as they say in the land of my birth.

But listen to the song, and hear the vocals, and it tells a different story. "This is probably the most powerful call to sexual fidelity I've ever heard," is the way the thought went through my head. Because Bruce relays the charged lyrics with dis-passion, sadness, and emptiness. Even before he comes to the telling final line, you realize that a scene that might seem arousing is in fact a flat and uncomfortable and wholly depressing experience.

But my thought about the Bible is broader than just listening (or reading) to hear the proper 'tone' or 'voice' from the author. My thought is not only about allowing the authors of the Bible to write in the voice of someone else (something Bruce does all the time, as he speaks through a variety of fictional and actual characters, which doesn't make the stories any less true, and maybe even more true). My thought is about reading the Bible with enough literary sophistication to allow irony, sarcasm, and satire. My thought is that we should read the Bible with at least as much attention, intelligence, and creativity as we grant the reading of any other book.

Those who see the Bible as a handbook of guidance, it seems to me, are forced to read everything as exemplary-- that everything between the covers is on the 'recommended' list, except for those things which are clearly denounced. But not everything we say or write is something that we commend, and plenty of us decry things about which we're clearly enamored.

The best example of this is Song of Solomon, a book widely understood as a love letter from Israel's king Solomon to his newest bride. In some circles, it is touted as a quite literal guide to sex and marriage (even though it takes some wrangling to get it to fit into that mold). But one interesting theory that a professor shared in seminary is that it is pseudonymous, and is in fact a sarcastic assessment of the King, who though he has hundreds of wives and concubines (a fact that must be glossed over in those weekend marriage encounters) is still trying to act all randy toward his latest acquisition. The theory is that this mystery writer is suggesting that the King is a sham, and so is his Kingdom (a sentiment shared by many of the Biblical prophets, priests, and judges). That all of this work of alliance and politics and wealth is only hurting the people that it purports to help, and practically enslaving a whole harem of women and servants, and leaving the King morally bankrupt besides. Of course, that's just one theory of authorship-- it could be written by the guy who signed it, as some kind of triumphalist, self-promoting pro-empire propaganda. Who can be sure?

That's just one example among many others. But I've got mental meanderings that run elsewhere, too... Maybe the scenes of almost unspeakable violence in the Hebrew Bible are in fact (negative) commentaries on violence (anyone ever see Unforgiven?). Maybe when Jesus says, "the poor you will always have among you," he's not giving us a pat on the back. Maybe when Jesus says, "Render to Caesar," he's delivering an audacious insult to the most powerful person in the world (self-proclaimed). Maybe the division of labor enacted by the Apostles in Acts is not some positive development, but the beginning of the end of the salad days of the church (HT: DP). Maybe Paul's uncomfortably qualified denouncement of slavery and his famously doublespeaking commendation/silencing of women in churches are in fact a wink and a nudge that will topple the entire social order. Maybe the violence and wrath expressed in Revelation is not God's preferred future, but a visceral promise of justice to a people long oppressed.

Maybe the Bible is a lot more challenging and a lot more nuanced than many of us realize (which isn't to say that we need a degree in literature to read it-- it's message is simple, and direct). Perhaps our first impression of its message-- that living after God is both intuitive and illogical, all while being a very good thing-- was right all along.

I Can Feel It

The revival, it's coming...  all across this great land.  

Feeling Like Spring

I'm halfway through The Omnivore's Dilemma, dreaming of a life where we don't make grocery lists, but rather go to the market (or farm) and receive what is available. Today's trip to the farmer's market was a bit of a cheat (all of the food was local and natural, but not necessarily seasonal), and the meals it made were even better.

The Girlie and I shared a spinach and potato egg scramble for lunch. Dinner was steamed chard with pork sausage and roasted new potatoes. With fresh strawberries for dessert at both, makes Mike a happy boy.

A Christianity Worth Believing

Doug Pagitt is a rare person, sharing a rare gift. In a world full of religious thinkers who are beholden to denominations, theological legacies, churches (full of people who would leave if their pastor ever spoke their honest thoughts), tenure, paychecks, and pensions, Doug is a true free agent. Having separated himself from almost any form of obligation, he has taken his considerable intellect and thought his way toward some truly fresh perspectives on Christianity. The result is personal and engaging and pioneering and perfectly perspectival: a theological treatise almost completely devoid of footnotes (though it comes from a person with a professional, pastoral, and theological pedigree).

At the same time, the book probably doesn't strike the reader that way, for it reads like a memoir, and at a deeper level, like a wide-ranging theology of humanity and the human condition. But look even deeper, and you'll see the life's work of a true autodidact: a fresh look at God and the world through unconventional lenses as diverse as physics, anthropology, sociology, psychology, natural health, and personal experience.

Where most Christian thinkers only look back (to some imagined golden era in the history of the church), Doug's innovative suggestion is to look at Christianity from the perspective of the future. Of course, he does present some historical study (especially to the time before Augustine, when much of Christian thought ossified into the terms of Greek philosophy), but he does so as a means of finding the trajectory of the Christian faith, looking past our time toward the even better day he envisions ahead.

The Revolution Will Be Televised

Apparently, Gospel Matt is liveblogging the birth of his progeny, while the Mrs. is doing all of the work.

(If he sounds like he's writing for his day job, he should be forgiven-- I'm pretty sure he was up all night.)

Girl Got Her Hair Did

...and our hair hero Angelo brought her through with flying colors. (But not without some help: that look of contentment is a combination of a DVD on the laptop and The Girlie chain-smoking Gummy Bears.)

Missing Nana

All smiles when Nana is around
Originally uploaded by 3Stavs

She drove back home a few days ago, but we're missing Nana around here. The Girlie keeps calling her on the fake cell phone, and singing songs about ponies, and carrying her little toy computer around in her satchel, just like Nana. I keep thinking I hear her footsteps on the stairs outside, hoping that she's coming up to say hello.

It was really great having her around to help out, and to manage the strange stomach illness of The Girlie, and to just generally add her good cheer. My highlights were watching Ella's delight and Nana's chagrin when I caught them sharing Pez candy in the back seat of the car ("it's just sugar," Nana protested), then hearing Nana read 'The Little Engine That Could' on the way home from the bookstore. But the best story was when Ella and Nana were watching "Danger, Danger, Don't Touch" on Nana's computer. When the song described the danger of scissors, The Girlie excused herself to go to the kitchen drawer and return with said implement in her hand. I guess it's finally time for Mom and Dad to childproof the kitchen.

Blink

I've been meaning to read Blink for awhile, and finally grabbed it at the library. My snarky reading plan was based on my thumbnail sketch of the book, and my own tendency toward speed-reading. I reasoned that if I have the gift, I should hardly need to read the book at all. If I don't have the gift, then reading it won't help me, anyway. But my own 'blink' about Blink was flawed, for in reading it I found that everyone has the gift in some degree, and once I started reading, I was really interested in the many examples of 'thin slicing' and 'selective sampling' and 'intuition' that Gladwell cites. The genius of this volume is that he finds a way to describe the point of the book on the first page, but he writes well enough, and with enough interesting examples, to keep the reader's attention all the way through the book.

Sure, I 'blinked' over whole chapters that seemed tedious, and did some 'thin slicing' of the stuff I did read (I don't like to take quizzes or perform thought experiments, preferring to skim past them to see the point of the exercise). And I appreciated Gladwell's intellectual honesty in exploring the dark side of selective sampling in cases like police brutality and unnecessary shootings. But even with my quick read, I was amazed at the promise and danger of the human ability to find shortcuts in perception and judgment.

Jesus For President Comes to DC

...can't wait!

Friday June 27 at 7PM Calvary Baptist 755 8th St NW, Washington, DC FREE Tickets at www.JesusforPresidentinDC.org

On Shutting Up, and Liking It

It stings my consummeristic self to admit it, but I'm not always so great at choosing what is good for me. I was thinking about this as I was ordering some food at Banh Mi (yes, that makes 3 times in 4 days, and yes, I may be struggling with an addiction), where 'choice' isn't a high priority, and 'selection' is left up to the slightly surly folks behind the counter.

Since I hadn't had my cup yet, I ordered some coffee. Here, this is a binary choice: "iced, or hot?" I chose the latter, and that was the end of the matter. No caff, or decaf. No small, medium, or large. No skinny, soy, or whole. You get what you get. You get what everyone gets.

And a few minutes later, I got it. The fact that it was in a large cup that was only half-full seemed to emphasize the point: this is what we give you. It was very hot, very strong, and very rich and sweet (fortified with sweetened, condensed milk, I think). Not exactly the way I'd make it myself (black, thanks), but it was really, really good. Delicious, in fact. And I wouldn't have had it to enjoy if the lady at the counter had politely asked me, "Now how would you like that?"

The sandwiches are similar. Sure, there are about a dozen choice of meats or fish or other fillings, but the options end there. I asked for a 'ham' and a 'combination', and that was the end of our conversation. This is no Subway (tm), where I press my flesh up against some sneezeguard and tell them exactly what I want, where, and in what order. And why should I? I make sandwiches all of the time. And while I'm pretty good at it, it's not my life's work, and I'm undeniably trapped inside my own experience. So why not let someone else do the driving for once? Let the two ladies stationed far away from the customers decide just how much mayo and quick-pickled carrots and jicama to put on my respective sandwiches. Because if it were up to me, I'd make a goopy mess of mine, adding more mayo and peppers and cilantro and cucumber until all of those flavors were clamoring for attention like a room full of 2-year-olds. But by humbling myself a bit, I'm treated to an elegant expression of the true Zen of the sandwhich: pure poetry on a flaky French baguette. Nothing I don't need, and-- as it turns out-- everything I could want.