Catching Up: End of Break, the Psalms

A friend of mine at church here mentioned that he’s been reading my blog.  He seems like a cool guy, so I was surprised to discover that he has no life.  (Just kidding, Martin!)  And then I decided that I’ve been neglectful of the ol’ blog, and I should write something.

There’s one measly week left of my break.  It’s been a good one – I enjoyed an Easter trip to the Belfast area with my friend Amy, and the rest of my time in Oxford has been pretty low-key.  I took walks, read books, played games, tried out a new pub each week with friends (sort of a gradual pub crawl!), baked bread (and devoured it! Yum!).  I even got a little work done… not as much as I’d like, but hey, there’s still one week left!


I have yet to write that thesis proposal, but I have definitely found a topic that I’m interested in.  I’m waiting for the ‘okay’ (or ‘nay’) of a faculty member.  As I was reading in the library several weeks ago, I came across an article about a 6th century figure named Daniel of Salah.  In the midst of a rather tumultuous time for his church community, Daniel was commissioned to write a commentary on the Psalms.  Daniel wasn’t just interested in creating something scholastic: he wrote his commentary as a series of homilies, crafting one sermon per psalm, so they could shape many people at once and be easily disseminated.  It’s the oldest extant Psalm commentary that we have in the Syriac language, and it made a huge impact on the generations after him.  Daniel’s was a minority Christian community, persecuted by the Byzantine orthodox authorities because of their theological differences, and his commentary helped to shape their identity.  That influence lasted longer than Byzantine rule – soon the Islamic conquest swept the historic home of Syriac-speaking Christians out of Byzantine hands forever, and this commentary continued to inspire generations of marginalized Christians in a new era.  

As I was reading about this, I also discovered what a pivotal role the Psalms played in Syrian Christianity in general.  In the Syriac-speaking churches, a person couldn’t even be ordained as a sub-deacon without knowing and reciting the entire Psalter by heart.  (Being able to sign one’s own name was desirable, but negotiable!)  Monastic life was characterized by the daily recitation of Psalms, and memorization of the Psalms formed the cornerstone of Christian education. The language of the Psalms is the prayer language of this community, so imagine the kind of impact that Daniel’s text would have had on those who gathered to hear it and ruminate on it, homily by homily, and who then passed on their knowledge to a wider audience.

Studying this has challenged me personally in several ways.  Why don’t I try to memorize the Psalms, too?  I presume that these would have been sung or chanted by these churches, aiding memorization.  Maybe I could find a Psalter adapted for plainsong chant to help in that task?  (Any recommendations?)  Those of you who’ve spent any amount of time with me know that I hum/sing/whistle incessantly – why not harness one of my irksome personal habits for good?

My own Christian fellowship has been going through a long period of identity-shift.  We’re mostly content to argue about fairly surface level stuff – what happens in our worship services and who does it.  It seems like pretty sandy ground for us to build our house on.  I wondered – what books of the Bible do we turn to in order to remember who we are?  (For the C of C, my guess is Acts. What’s yours?)  What communication tools are effective for shaping communal (not just individual) identity today and how can we use those best?  

Homespun

In Abilene, you sometimes find bits of April sprinkled into winter months like January. Today is one of those days, and I took advantage of the welcome sunshine during my lunch break. While walking the track around ACU, my mind wandered the realm of metaphor - that wondrous literary device that bests lengthy expositions with a simple image. I've recently discovered that finding a metaphor to describe my feelings or situation at any given point is extremely satisfying, opening new doors of self-understanding in a way that other descriptions can't. Anyway, here's the metaphor that really stuck with me today.

One thing that I love about reading patristic writers is that they have immersed themselves so deeply in the Scriptures that biblical images and phrases pour freely from their pens and saturate their writing. Some of this is intentional, but some is subconscious. They wield biblical allusions freely, imaginatively, and even playfully - far more creatively than my historical criticism trained mind can begin to fathom. Sometimes the allusions are so subtle that I skim right over them without noticing. Whatever the outcome, for these patristic writers the text has a life that's not quite bound by its original context so that it takes on new meaning and significance in the author's situation. I'm not about to throw cautions about original context to the wind, but I still think there's something beautiful and inspiring about the lively patristic use of the Bible. I'd like for Scripture to capture my imagination that way (instead of quotes from the latest Office episode!).

These patristic writers use Scripture the way a woman quilting by hand works thread in and out of the material. Sometimes the thread is barely visible, even intentionally hidden from sight, but nonetheless it is that which holds the whole tapestry together. However beautiful the material and design may be, the small, careful stitches combine to form the pattern that gives the quilt its appealing texture. In such a way the Scriptures are woven into patristic writings, holding them together, adorning them.

Lord, though life sometimes hands us what seem to be random pieces of material, may your life-giving Word be the thread that binds it all together, bringing order, beauty and texture to our otherwise jumbled existence.

So that paper didn't turn out quite as well as I might have liked... but I just turned it in anyway (5 minutes ago), and it feels nice to finally have a chance to take a breath without unfinished assignments looming over head. Besides, I got to read some patristic writers, and I always enjoy that. Here's a statement from Clement of Alexandria that I keep thinking about:

Now the Scripture kindles the living spark of the soul, and directs the eye suitably for contemplation; perchance inserting something, as the husbandman when he ingrafts, but, according to the opinion of the divine apostle, exciting what is in the soul. (Stromata, Book 1, Chapter 1)

Mmm - savor that! "Scripture kindles the living spark of the soul." I read Clement and I think to myself, "I want to read Scripture with that kind of passion." Perhaps I'll sit at the feet of the fathers this summer... Book of Steps here I come!

But first, it's time for a little recreation... I think I'll go see a musical tonight. Maybe Wicked?!

Thanks, Billy.

I'm working on this paper. I'm not quite sure how it'll turn out, but I have a hunch that it'll be a mixture of the following components: excerpts from 2nd and 3rd century church fathers concerning the New Testament canon, insights from the epistemology of testimony and virtue epistemology (whew!), and Christian catechesis. Maybe. How that'll all fit together is still a mystery to me. (But it needs to all come together in the next 24 hours or so. No worries - it'll work out somehow.)

Today I picked up Canon and Criteria in Christian Theology by William Abraham. The first two chapters (all I've read so far) are fascinating! I wish I had more time to dive into this material. Abraham challenges the notion that the Bible is primarily a source of epistemic justification. In other words, Scripture should not be used as a trump card in religious discussion and life. (That's too simplistic a description, but it'll have to do.) Abraham describes the Christian Scriptures as just one among many canons of the church. Scripture is a means of grace which gives us access to divine revelation. It strikes me that this is quite different from the way that we tend to view Scripture in the church - in a refreshing and life-giving way. Although this seems to run counter to a lot of Protestant Christianity's teaching about the nature and function of Scripture, it actually provides a more balanced, respectful view of Scripture. Here's an excerpt that I found particularly moving:*

We might sum up by thinking of the varied canonical traditions as different elements in the production of a grand symphony. The music which results is the music of salvation, which naturally transposes itself into hymns of praise. Some of the canonical traditions, like the water, oil, bread, and wine of the sacraments, represent various instruments in the orchestra of the Church. Some, like Fathers and bishops, represent various players. Some, like liturgical material, represent the scores, which are best followed according to the programme notes which accompany them. Everyone involved in the orchestra must approach his or her role in a spirit of humility and dependence, joy and praise. Most important of all, everyone must heed and be open to the leading of the great conductor, the Holy Spirit, who, through the use of the canonical traditions of the Church, creates within the participants the melody of Christ the Saviour, a music which leads ineluctably into the unfathomable, unspeakable mystery of the living God.

When I first learned about the historical formation of the New Testament canon, it was somewhat disorienting. It took centuries to fully flower, and it was a messy, ad hoc process. I'll never see Scripture in the same way again... and I think that's a profoundly good thing!

We spend a lot of our religious lives trying to avoid disorientation. We sing happy-clappy (theologically bankrupt) praise songs and pretend that the lament psalms don't exist. (No wonder people fall away from church when they're struggling.) We make up ridiculous, snappy slogans to slap on our bumpers. Sometimes we turn a blind eye to things that might pose a challenge to faith. On the other hand, I've had friends drop their faith like a hot potato when times of disorientation come. These moves are two sides of the same coin - they seek re-orientation at the cost of serious inquiry. (Although the second of the two reactions seems more intellectually honest than the first to me.)

I suggest living into disorientation for a while - even (especially) when it comes to central assumptions in our faith. Unrushed re-orientation is worth the uncomfortable wait; at least, that has been my experience in struggling with the formation of the Christian canon. Disorientation gave way to new appreciation for the church, despite all of its short-comings and foibles. Most importantly, I think got a tiny glimpse of the great conductor, the Holy Spirit, leading us along through confusing tangle of human history. I heard the soft strains of the melody of the Saviour... could it be that in the midst of disorientation I stumbled unawares into the mysterious presence of the living God?

* It moves me partially because of the musical imagery - I'm such a sucker for symphonic metaphors!

John 15:1-17

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean* because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call your servants, because servants do not know their master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit - fruit that will last - and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. This is my command: Love each other.


This picture is currently the wallpaper on my computer, and every time I see it I think about this passage. Thinking about it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy... until I actually attend to Jesus' words! This is a pretty challenging vision of Christian life together! Here's just an off-the-cuff list of my observations:

• God is the one who prunes the vine. (I think we tend to forget that from time to time.)
• As branches in the True Vine, we are participants in the love of the divine communion(!).
• The allure of autonomy is deceptive. A branch hoping to produce fruit on its own ends up in quite the opposite state: tossed away, withered - good only for firewood. Kinda puts my prideful strivings in perspective!
• "Friends" - wow. I suspect that this is a more robust notion of friendship than those we inherited from Romanticism. That alone is worthy of several posts.
  
• Love is costly here. It's easy to read the final "love one another" without glancing at the first, more demanding command: "Love each other as I have loved you." And, of course, on the lips of Jesus, the reference to laying down one's life is no empty exhortation. (Ironically, what may appear as being cut off from the land of the living is actually remaining in the True Vine.) I wonder - what could we say about the nature of the church from this passage?
  

One more random thought: this passage makes me think of Polycarp - a second century bishop of Smyrna and a disciple of the apostle John. His name is derived from two Greek words that appear in this passage: polu karpos or "much fruit." And the name fits. In 155, facing certain execution at the hands of local magistrates, Polycarp refused to curse Christ saying, "I have been his servant for 86 and he has never mistreated me. Then how can I blaspheme the King who saved me?" With his decision to remain in Christ, Polycarp's life was forfeit - they burned and stabbed him. And yet, in laying down his life, Polycarp became a living sermon - a vivid illustration of the very passage from which he derives his name. (If you're interested, you can read a 2nd century account of his martyrdom here.)

* A Johannine play-on-words: the word translated "clean" is the same as the one translated "prune" in the previous verse.

an etymology lesson

Here's something Tera and I learned today while holed away in our library study room:

Scholasticism is probably one of the most despised intellectual movements in human history. Thus the English word 'dunce' (fool) derives from the name of one of the greatest scholastic writers, Duns Scotus.

-from Allister E. McGrath's Reformation Thought: An Introduction

Scholastics were known to speculate on such questions as the well-known, "How many angels could dance on the head of a pin?" Other obscure questions include, "Could God have become a cucumber instead of a human being?" (was Scholasticism the underlying inspiration for Veggie Tales?!) or "Can God undo the past by making a prostitute a virgin?"

Perhaps a more pertinent question would be, "Is this post more pointless than Medieval Scholastic debates?" Hope you enjoyed it anyway.

Sleeping for Jesus

There comes a time every semester when Tera and I joke about becoming modern Messalians. For the most part, no one really knows much about the Messalians – most of what we know about them comes from reports and condemnations of 4th and 5th century church councils and synods. Out of the murky waters of second-hand (probably none too generous) descriptions of their beliefs, there is one basic tenet of the movement that rises to the surface: all you have to do to obtain salvation is pray without ceasing. (Emphasis on the "without ceasing.") All those other practices, like fasting, receiving the sacraments or being a part of the church, are worthless according to these guys and gals. (They were a co-ed bunch.) So – all that salvation requires is constant prayer. Now, it’s not uncommon to find people throughout the history of the church emphasizing various ways of practicing continuous prayer. It’s one of the Messalians’ distinct prayer techniques that makes them interesting to us... well, at least interesting enough joke about defecting to their now non-existent ranks.

“Since their goal was unceasing prayer, some groups determined that dreams were a form of prayer. One can only dream while asleep, so excessive sleep was considered a spiritual discipline and this ‘discipline’ was conducted anywhere at any time, even in the open streets of Antioch.”
(From Robert Kitchen’s introduction to the Liber Graduum)

Sleep? As a spiritual discipline?!?! Sign me up!!! (At least we’d be well-rested heretics…)

It sounded so good... and then I discovered that one of the major leaders of the Messalians was named Alexander the Sleepless. I guess that other Messalians held the other extreme and said that no one should sleep at all because they need to be praying 24-7. Perhaps the “sleeping for Jesus” folks were reacting against that, and spiritualizing their decision to “sell-out” a bit. (“Sleeping for Jesus” – wouldn’t that make a great t-shirt?) We Christians just can't seem to help but do that pendulum swing thing, can we? Alas, maybe it’s not as appealing an option as I thought…

Come to think of it, few of my dreams would qualify as prayers anyway. That would be a (large!) stretch. Well, it’s still kind of fun to laud the Messalian sleepers around midterm time!

sparkles and atoms

Today I started reading The Cloud of Unknowing. (Check it out here.) The anonymous author wrote in Middle English in the 14th century. Before I'd always dismissed it as one of those weird Medieval contemplative texts: you know, maybe an interesting read, but probably loopy and irrelevant. Uh, wrong! It's surprisingly insightful (but it takes me a while to catch on with its King James-ish language and mystical subject!). No wonder Christians throughout the ages have considered this a classic work - turns out they actually knew what they were talking about!

Apparently, this mysterious writer has me pegged - Anonymous knows how much I wring my hands over my use and misuse of time. (Maybe I'm not alone in this?) After a short description of how time is made up of tiny units called "atoms" and how we will give account to God for our use of our life's "atoms," the author anticipates my distressed interjection (my paraphrase):

"How can I give an account of every single moment I've spent - I, who have to this day never taken note of how I spent my time during my 24 years of life? [Dude, Anonymous even pegged my age! Well, at least for a couple more weeks.] ... Help me now for the love of Jesus!"

And then the author relieves my distress (again, my loose paraphrase):

"You said it well: "For the love of Jesus!" For in the love of Jesus is your help! Love is such a power that it makes all things common. Therefore, love Jesus, and then everything that is his will be yours. Because he is God, he is the maker and giver of time. Because he is human, he is the very keeper of time. And because he is both God and human, he is the most just judge and the one who asks for an account of how time is dispensed. Therefore, knit yourself to him by love and by belief, and then because of that knot you will be able to see time alongside him in the way that he does, and alongside all those others who are also knitted to him by love: with Mary who was full of all grace in keeping time, with the angels of heaven who can never lose time, and with all the saints in heaven and on earth who by the grace of Jesus rightly heed time because of love."

In all my years of hand-wringing over my poor time management, never has anyone suggested to me that maybe the answer isn't really establishing boundaries, buying a new day book (which I use for about 2 weeks and then lose), or mapping out a schedule. Maybe instead I'd better concern myself with something altogether different: simply loving Jesus. The Cloud of Unknowing offers an alternative way to measure time: not by hours, days and years, not by tasks completed and tasks left undone, but simply by "sparkles." These are the moments, the "atoms" when the soul leaps toward God out of love for God alone, like "a sparkle from the coal." That, I feel, is the best, most appealing way to orient my time and measure the quality of my life: by every momentary blaze of love toward God.