John Through Old Testament Eyes

The Old Testament presents true Judaism as tenaciously monotheistic. No god compares to the One God who is in a category by himself. In fact, the gods of other nations are actually no gods at all. Worship of them is absolutely forbidden.

Then how could the Jews who first followed Jesus believe he was the divine Son of the Father, and still defend the monotheism that is so strongly proclaimed in the Old Testament? That was the challenge John took up in his gospel.

Karen Jobes keys in on this central question in John Through Old Testament Eyes, the second in a set I am the series editor for—the Through Old Testament Eyes New Testament Commentaries. One way John presents Jesus as divine is by using Old Testament metaphors, images, and symbols that are said to be characteristic of God (such as judge, king, and shepherd). But John does not collapse the divine Father and Son, suggesting these are simply two names for the same person. After all, he (and Jesus) say clearly that the Son was sent by the Father.

How then does John maintain his monotheism? One way, as Jobes writes, is by redefining what monotheism means—as the unity of the divine Father and the Son. They are, for example, one in will and one in glory.

This is not the only question Jobes addresses. She ably covers the entire gospel, its structure, and various themes. All the while she emphasizes the richness of Old Testament background, motifs, and literary patterns that illuminate the fourth gospel.

Personally, I have found this approach most rewarding. When puzzling through difficult passages in the New Testament, I often find that the Old Testament roots of those sections provide the “aha” moments that resolve the mystery.

The gospel of John is often the first encounter that people have with the Bible. As a college student, like so many others, Karen Jobes was transformed by it. That love for the book is wonderfully married with the skills of a seasoned scholar, resulting in this readable and enlightening book.

Footnote Your Talks

Once I received a letter from a reader who said that a book published by the firm I worked for had plagiarized his own writing. This was a serious charge and a rather shocking accusation because our book was written by a senior scholar with a stellar reputation. Could this be possible?

What made the case more interesting was that the writer of the letter said he had been a student of this scholar some fifteen years before. The scholar, claimed the student, had incorporated some of the student’s paper into the book we published. And he provided evidence. Several paragraphs from his paper matched exactly or very closely portions of the book.

We sent the material on to the author for his comment. After reviewing it, he admitted it was true. How had it happened?

The author thought the student’s paper was excellent and began referring to it, even reading from it, in his lectures over the next several years. Slowly, in his class notes, the student’s name became detached from the quotations. Then the quotation marks disappeared. When it came time to write a book based on these lectures, the author had forgotten where this material in his notes had come from and assumed it was all his own.

How did we resolve this? We and the author agreed to revise the book in the next printing. We put the student’s material in quotation marks and gave due credit in the footnotes.

The Lesson to Be Learned: Whenever you prepare a talk, a sermon, or a lecture—always footnote your speaking notes as if it were to be published. You never know when you might take some old material (even decades later) and work it into a published piece. Include not only the name of the person responsible for the quote (or for the point of fact) but also, the name of the book, the publisher, date of publication, and page number. Then you won’t have to spend hours trying to track it down—which can sometimes be impossible, even in the internet era. I know—I’ve tried.

Corollary: When speaking, give credit to your sources, whether quoted or summarized. You can’t give full bibliographic information since that would make your talk impossible to listen to. But you can say, “As David Brooks says in his new book . . .” That is intellectually honest (you didn’t come up with the idea), and it doesn’t unduly interrupt the flow of your talk.

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photo credit: Adrian Schweiz (Pixabay)

Advice to Publishers–From a Previous Century

In 1996 Charles Scribner III wrote the introduction to a history of the publishing house whose name he shares.* Here are some quotations that show that the more things change in publishing, the more they stay the same.

On the Importance of Finding New Writers
In 1913 Charles Scribner’s only son, another Charles (III), graduated from Princeton and began his career in publishing. He was a contemporary of Perkins and Wheelock, and his age gave him a ready grasp of the importance of the new writers who were beginning to appear on the scene. (p. xviii)

On the Importance of a Balanced List
I think it’s fair to say that by the 1950s the star-studded Perkins years had left an unfortunate legacy. The editors were on the perpetual lookout for the new Hemingway or Wolfe to arrive—like Godot. Their attention was fixed on the fiction front, to the exclusion of other areas of publishing. To restore some balance to the list–and a balanced list is essential to a publisher’s survival—Scribner set out to develop fields of nonfiction history, biography, how to books…. But Charles Scribner, Jr.’s own true love was for reference works, and these years saw the birth of works that have become the staple of every major school, college, and public library. (pp. xxiii-xxiv)

On Finding the New in the Old
In the context of my thumbnail history of Scribners very little of recent times is truly new; we were doing much the same a century ago. In effect, the postwar decades may be viewed as a recapitulation of earlier themes; that is to say, striking a balanced list, recognizing the importance of non-fiction, maintaining a backlist, bringing out series of books such as reference sets, and co-publishing with British firms. (p. xxiv-xxv)

For those in publishing looking for good ideas for the future, sometimes the best ones can be found in the past.

*The book is Of Making Many Books by Roger Burlingame, which (originally published in 1946) covers the first hundred years of Scribner’s. The book was reprinted fifty years later by the Pennsylvania State University Press.

What’s So Funny About God?

With images of sober-faced priests, sour-faced Puritans, and stern-faced evangelists firmly embedded in our corporate psyche, it can be rather jarring to ask the question in the title of Steve Wilkens book, What’s So Funny About God?

Wilkens faces another challenge. The few books about humor and theology are decidedly unfunny. He combats this trend with a light, breezy style that enhances rather than hides his content.

Standard categories of humor are embedded in our theology. We have irony (the Pharisees ask Jesus for a sign right after he feeds five thousand), political satire (the gross excesses of the Persian Empire in Esther), reversal (the happy surprise of Easter), paradox (life comes from death; we are both saved and sinners).

Then there is the incongruity of the “high and low, animal and exalted” wrapped up in God’s most amazing creation—human beings made in his image. We are astounding spiritual beings who also poop. No wonder Gnostics didn’t believe Jesus became human. They had no sense of humor!

In addition, amidst his insightful comments, Wilkens liberally sprinkles in jokes (relevant to the points he is making). A few favorites:

Two cows are standing in the field. One asks the other, “Are you worried about this mad cow disease going around?” The other relies, “Why should I be? I’m a helicopter.”

Medium-sized church building for sale. Sleeps four hundred.

Saying “I’m sorry” and “I apologize” usually mean the same thing. Except at a funeral.

The book finds the funny in Christmas, Easter, everyday life, and the end times (“Does This Eschatology Make My End Look Big?”). The thing about comedy, which is also true of this book, is that it sneaks in deep truth when we aren’t looking. Among these is the discovery that not only can we love God, we can also enjoy him.

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photo credit: Robert Owen-Wahl (Pixabay)

Where Good Ideas Come From

Parents, sales reps, truck drivers, pastors, teachers, and nurses are always looking for good ideas. So are writers—ideas for blogs, for plot lines, for characters, for humor, for titles, for openings, for closings. Steven Johnson’s Where Good Ideas Come From, happily enough, offers (wait for it) good ideas on how to find good ideas.

One common notion he hopes to correct is that ideas mostly come when sitting alone under a tree waiting for an apple to fall on our head. He shows by anecdote and with historical data that more ideas come in collaboration than in isolation.

Generating ideas is a social activity. By this he doesn’t mean the traditional brainstorming session. Rather creativity comes by being connected to multiple people with varied interests in diverse settings. If our interest is biology, we should not just go deeper into botany but dabble in architecture, web design, the arts, and economics which will give us new perspectives for our biological studies.

In chapter 11 of Write Better I likewise emphasize the importance of expanding our range of interests, experiences, and social connections to enhance creativity. Johnson doubles down on this last dimension. More ideas come in the coffee shop with friends or in the hallway with colleagues than when we are alone, staring at a screen. Thus studies have shown that, on average, large cities are three times more creative than small towns (pp. 10-11).

Johnson also considers two ways ideas arise. One is in the “Eureka moment” that I focus on in Write Better. The second is “the slow hunch” pattern of idea generation. That is, we muse over a puzzling observation for a period of months or even years before a solution emerges in bits and pieces, rather than all at once. In either case, interacting with many different perspectives, subjects, and people is central to the solution.

Looking for good ideas? Read widely, not just in one area. Explore a variety of experiences. And mix it up with friends, colleagues, and other writers. Find people with different interests to see what is exciting them.

Where do your good ideas come from?

Photo credits: Qimono, Pixabay (light bulbs); Pexels, Pixabay (turtle)

Naturally Speaking

Once at a block party as several dozen of us stood around chatting and eating, a neighbor came up to me and said, “The Smiths are moving away next week, and we have a gift for them, but could you say a few words of farewell?”

It was the first I’d heard of this. “Right now?” I asked a bit wide-eyed.

“Yes. I know you can do a good job.”

Well, if she thought I could do it, maybe I could. I then called for attention. I was brief, and I managed to offer a tone that mixed our appreciation for them, our sadness at their departure, and our best wishes and blessing for their future.

Many people fear public speaking more than death. Over years of speaking to small groups and rooms of hundreds, following certain practices have helped me prepare and be relaxed (ultimately allowing me to form a habit of speaking that has even made doing so spontaneously possible).

♦ Be familiar with your material. Read it aloud multiple times. If possible, practice in the room or setting where you are to speak. Wean yourself off your script to notes, then to a note card. This has the added benefit of making sure you take up only your allotted time. Have someone listen to you ahead of time to give encouragement and suggestions. Even if you think you’d feel awkward speaking to just one, it will prepare you for the awkwardness of  speaking to ten or a hundred.

♦ Don’t start with a long wind up about how glad you are to be there. You’ll lose listeners before you start. Jump right into the material with a strong opening statement or story.

♦ Vary your volume. Vary pitch. Vary speed of delivery. Churchill used to write directions to himself in the margin of his speaking notes such as, “Pause as if searching for the right word” [to look spontaneous] or “Weak point, so talk louder.”

♦ Avoid set piece jokes, like, “An alligator walks into a bar . . . !” Rather be humorous like Will Rogers or Garrison Keillor.

♦ Move your body. Hand gestures, sure. Lean forward for intimacy or emphasis. Also move around if possible while speaking. People don’t hear so well, but they see great! Action can grab attention. Practice these aspects as much as what you say.

♦ Use props. This can come off as artificial, but if the prop is natural, it will help you be natural, more conversational. For example, pull something out of your pocket that you usually carry around (a phone, car keys) to illustrate a point. This is an opportunity to move around as well.

♦ Use audience participation. Get people involved by asking questions and calling for a response that connects with your content. Maybe: “People usually have a strong preference for either vanilla or chocolate ice cream. How many of you here are chocolate people? [raise hand] How may are vanilla people? [raise hand].” Or ask them to turn to the person next to them and ask, for example, “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor and why?”

♦ Watch some eighteen-minute TED talks. These speakers are the best, and they get great coaching. Don’t just listen to their content. How did they organize their material? Watch what they do. Make note of what worked. Then think about which of those techniques you could make your own.

You don’t have to employ all these tips. If you just do a few, then I believe (like my neighbor who believed in me) that you can do a good job.

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credit: Alexas Fotos (Pixabay)

The Choices We Make

In Matt Haig’s The Midnight Library, Nora Seed (single, unemployed and 35) is full of regrets. Every facet of her life has lapsed into failure. She decides to end it all, but unexpectedly finds herself in the Midnight Library. Here she has an opportunity to try a succession of different lives by reversing past decisions.

In one life she continues her teen swimming career instead of dropping out. In another she pursues rock music instead of university. Then she chooses science rather than philosophy. Once she accepts an invitation to coffee instead of declining.

In each life, however, she doesn’t go back to the point of decision. Rather she picks up that life at age 35 and sees where it has taken her. As a result she grapples with her life, with the nature of choices, the importance of relationships, the meaning of regret, and what she truly values and desires.

Matt Haig’s moving and thoughtful book highlights the significance of our decisions. They matter and truly make a difference. Helping an elderly neighbor, befriending a troubled teen—these can have life-changing consequences for us and for others. We are not trapped in eddies of meaningless. In addition, no matter what choices we have made (good or bad, wise or foolish), we can still make decisions in the life we have right now that can move toward redemption.

Haig goes too far, however, in embracing the uniquely American myth (though Haig is British) that anybody can be anything. We do not live in a world of infinite possibilities, as the book posits. I could never have been a professional basketball player regardless of the decisions I made. And millions can never become world famous who are locked in generational cycles of poverty with minimal options for education, career tracks, parental nurture, and health care. If a few can break out, the exceptions prove the rule.

Our lives will not be perfect. Nonetheless, we can grow wiser and more compassionate. And that is no small thing.

The Magic of the Particular

One temptation writers face is to offer a big idea (or maybe just a moderate-sized idea) without any specifics or examples. We give broad, general advice or theories which may be valid but which may also numb minds. As readers, we may struggle to understand and to remember the point.

Our brains crave the specific. This principle is called moving from the general to the particular. Taking my own advice, then, let me give a concrete example.

Consider the advice to avoid clichés, those standard phrases or images that have become verbal wallpaper. It’s good advice. But can I make that advice more specific? Yes. Avoid worn-out phrases like, “I held her at arm’s length.” Now you have a better idea what I mean.

That, however, is still not detailed enough to understand how to implement the general idea of cliché avoiding. I need more. What can I do? I can add: when you spot such a phrase, delete it or turn it into plain language. Rewrite it as, “I started spending less time with her.”

That, however, while valid, can be a bit dull. Here’s another strategy. Extend the metaphor embedded in the cliché. Again, good, general advice but can I give an example? Yes, I can.

Not      I held her at arm’s length.

Better  I held her at arm’s length wishing my arm were longer.

Now you understand much better what I mean. “Extend the metaphor” is theoretical and general. We have a hard time knowing exactly how to implement this excellent piece of advice when it stands alone. But with an example! Ahh! The mists of confusion disappear and the sun shines forth!

Moving the other way, from the particular to the general can work just as well. We start with a story about parents and children, or about bosses and employees, or about trees and squirrels. Then we draw a general principle from the tale.

Want to lock in understanding for your readers? The delight is in the details.

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photo credit: Ryan McGuire, Pixabay

Vital Lessons from Countries in Crisis

Poet Steve Turner wrote, “History repeats itself. Has to. No-one listens.”

The tragedy is that smart people continually think they are exceptions to the rules. Ironically, people who don’t think they are too smart are better off because they believe they can benefit from the experience of others.

In Jared Diamond’s recent book, Upheaval, the author focuses on what we can learn from countries in crisis. He tells the fascinating stories of six countries over the last two hundred years who each faced a major turning point—some navigating those moments with great success and others with less. What makes Diamond’s book particularly insightful is that he has visited each of the countries dozens of times and speaks the language fluently in all but one.

We encounter Finland (Russia’s invasion, 1939), Japan (Commodore Perry’s arrival, 1853), Chile (Pinochet’s coup in 1973), Indonesia (the countercoup of 1965), Germany (postwar recovery, 1945-1990), and Australia (separation from England, 1940-80). Other than postwar Germany, I only knew the barest outline of the stories he tells, and found his tales absorbing.

What factors contributed to handling crises well? Among a dozen he names are facing reality squarely, accepting responsibility rather than blaming others, letting go of doctrinaire commitments, being willing to modify some elements of national identity while retaining others. In light of these, Diamond then considers the prospects for the unresolved crises today in Japan, in the United States, and in the world as a whole.

I found the chapter on Chile to be notably unnerving. Chile had a long democratic tradition, identifies with Europe rather than Latin America, and enjoys protection from invasion by significant geographic features. Yet when the left, right, and center parties in Chile all refused to compromise, the country descended into cruelty, violence, and oppression for twenty years, from which it has still yet to fully recovered.

Chile’s lessons of inflexible, extreme partisanship loom especially large for the present-day United States. Every government leader and concerned citizen should absorb the warnings and wisdom of this book if we wish to navigate our future together successfully.

Smaller Is Bigger

In Write Better I emphasize the importance of staying focused on a narrow audience—even writing with just one person in mind. That can provide excellent guidance in knowing at what level to write, what to put in and what to leave out, what kinds of stories to tell, and how to organize your piece.

Don’t write for all parents, but for parents of teens.

Don’t write for all parents of teens but for parents of gifted teens.

Don’t write for all parents of gifted teens but for single-parents of gifted teens.

Counterintuitively, limiting your audience can increase your readership. How? By making sure you go deeply into that narrow group. Writing successfully for all parents is hard because there are so many other resources and bestselling books already available. You might therefore get fewer readers for the broad audience than for the narrow one where there is less competition.

I tried to follow my own advice in Write Better. Instead of addressing all writers, I focused on nonfiction writers for general audiences. Admittedly that’s still broad, but it meant I could leave out character and plot development as well as technical and academic writing.

Nonetheless, books often have some in secondary audiences read over the shoulders of the main audience, finding much of value. That’s what happened to me as well.

Unexpectedly, I’ve had people tell me Write Better is valuable for speakers. While I don’t address topics like gestures, intonation, or preparation, we have a lot of overlap between writing out a talk and preparing a magazine article. Knowing your audience, constructing a persuasive argument, developing tone, becoming more creative, handling criticism—all these and more are of value both to those who speak and those who write.

Less is more, you see. And a smaller audience can get you a more readers.

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photo: matunin Pixabay