A True-to-Life Allegory

What would happen if Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress met Kreeft’s imaginative world-view dialogue Between Heaven and Hell? I think we’d get Richter’s provocative and entertaining Christopher’s Journey.

We follow our protagonist on an allegorical journey to the Mountain of God encountering questions of good and evil, right and wrong, hope and despair, the spiritual and the material.

On his trek, Christopher is joined by a colorful collection of characters who each carry a distinct lens through which to view the world. Timothy values rationality, the life of the mind, and what science can prove. Chanter sees beyond good and evil to a singular existence that puts him at peace. Dwayne is full of youthful idealism and energy. Martin is a salt-of-the-earth companion packed with humor and good sense. On their path they meet thieves and brigands, desert heat and an impassable bridge.

Christopher (“Christ carrier”) also brings with him a stone which he has seen used powerfully by his mentor in performing miracles. Yet somehow it remains inert in Christopher’s hands. This produces doubts and uncertainties that Christopher cannot shake and which drive him on his pilgrimage.

As we might expect from an allegory subtitled “A Theodicy” (an attempt to explain the goodness of God in the face of evil), we do not find the fluid plot or fully developed personalities of a modern novel. But we do meet unexpected twists in the tale and encounter characters who are more than one-dimensional.

This is not a book of easy solutions. A good deal is left ambiguous and unresolved which some may find unsatisfying. Yet while there is truth in life, having much that is unanswered is also true to life. We as readers are left to struggle through these questions ourselves, which in any case we all must do.

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Kent Richter is a writer and friend who is a retired professor of philosophy. He gave me this book. My opinions are my own.

Book Club Options

It’s my turn to choose the next book for our book club. Here are the options I came up with. What suggestions do you have?

Fiction
Watership Down by Richard Adams. A classic adventure tale of friendship, loyalty, perseverance, and courage. So compelling you’ll forget that it is a 300-page book about rabbits!

I Cheerfully Refuse by Leif Engers. Perhaps the most endearing post-apocalyptic novel you will ever read, set on the shores and the waters of Lake Superior.

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir (the author of The Martian). Interstellar kidnapping, crossing alien cultures, a protagonist with attitude, saving the galaxy. What more could you want?

Dark Matter by Blake Crouch. A very human sci-fi thriller set in Chicago that makes you care about the characters.

History
Seabiscuit by Laura Hillenbrand (author of Unbroken). A broken horse, a broken jockey, a broken owner, a broken trainer—who somehow all heal each other in the underdog story of the century.

April 1865 by Jay Winik. An historian and diplomat who saw first-hand how civil wars around the world often ended badly—either in the genocide of the losing side or in an interminable guerrilla insurgency—tells why neither happened in the United States.

Shantung Compound by Langdon Gilkey. In this minor classic, Gilkey offers remarkably astute observations about human nature under pressure as he and hundreds of Westerners endured a Japanese prisoner of war camp in China during World War II—a camp that included my 96-year-old friend Ruth!

Symphony for the City of the Dead by M. T. Anderson. The dramatic story of how Shostakovich wrote a symphony during the siege of Leningrad and smuggled it out to be played around the world when the Nazi’s seemed invincible. Even more amazingly, the symphony was performed in Leningrad itself in August 1942, with the city surrounded.

Non-Fiction
How to Know a Person by David Brooks. In a day of hyper reactions and extreme tribalism, a book of stories and practical wisdom on reviving the lost art of conversation and making friends.

Educated by Tara Westover. The astounding memoir of how the daughter of a mega-dysfunctional, survivalist family in Idaho, lacking any formal education, ended up at Cambridge.

Factfulness by Hans Rosling. The subtitle says it all—Ten Reasons We’re Wrong About the World – and Why Things Are Better Than You Think, from a Swedish researcher and advisor to the UN. Mind blown.

Complaining to God

In the book of Numbers the people of Israel are judged for moaning and groaning about not having enough food. Then why are there so many Psalms of lament, suggesting that complaining to God is okay?

The answer to this question, that I raised here, begins with understanding the book of Numbers. Though Israel starts with obedience as it prepares for its march into the wilderness (Num 1–10), it quickly slides into rebellion, disobedience, and criticizing God (Num 11–25). The story changes abruptly once the original generation after the Exodus dies in the wilderness (Num 26:63-65). The account of the second generation is then characterized by life and hope (Num 26–36).*

As always, in understanding Scripture, context is foundational. The complaints to God in the book of Numbers were not disconnected incidents which we can treat in isolation. They were part of a pattern, a whole posture of rebellion by the first generation, which God punished them for.

Psalms is a different book with a different context—one aspect of which is that of bringing all our emotions, concerns, praise, frustrations, thanksgiving, and sorrows to God in worship. In fact, more than a third of all psalms are laments, more than any other type of psalm.

The book of Psalms suggests that God wants us to engage him fully and honestly as individuals and as a community, with our whole beings—including our griefs and our joys. In this way we are encouraged to hold on tightly to God in the midst our pain and anger rather than to push him away.

Back to the original question. Given what we find in Numbers and the Psalms, is it okay to complain to God? The answer is yes and no. It depends. Is our complaining part of a basic attitude toward God of angry rejection? Or is it part of our pattern of wrestling with God, engaging him deeply and fully?

Our context is crucial as is the context of any given Bible passage. That’s why we can’t treat the Bible as a handbook of quick and easy answers to the complications of life. The Bible was never intended to be a grab bag of independent timeless truths which we can pull out willy-nilly at our whim. We must ponder each episode and comment the way God gave it to us–in the context of the whole.

When two parts of the Bible seem to say opposite things, that doesn’t mean we throw up our hands in despair and conclude that the Bible is not trustworthy. Rather it calls for us to stop, slow down, and meditate on the book as a whole, on the Bible as a whole, and on our life as a whole.

Sometimes complaining will be wrong, Scripture says, and sometimes it won’t. Sometimes it will be hard to tell. In any case God calls us to take the time to ask the Spirit to guide us to discern which is which.

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*See Dennis T. Olson, “Book of Numbers,” Dictionary of the Old Testament Pentateuch, eds. T. Desmond Alexander and David W. Baker (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2003), pp. 611-18, which summarizes much of what is found in his larger work: Dennis T. Olson, Numbers (IBC; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1996).

Image by AndrésC from Pixabay

Books We Disagree With

“You’re reading a book by him???”

I have friends who don’t tolerate books by people they disagree with. They won’t read them and if they do, they will sharply criticize every aspect. They won’t admit there is anything of value.

This is true of my conservative friends and my liberal friends.

Somehow I am the odd one who likes books I often disagree with. I like books that challenge me and make me think in new ways. I don’t end up agreeing with everything, but I do end up learning something.

I may not think that a Jungian or Marxist or Capitalist framework is the way to view the world as a whole. But when I read books of such persuasions, I am intrigued. Even if I don’t buy it all, I see something that could help as I try to make my way through the world. And I believe it is good for me to nurture empathy for others who have had different experiences.

I try to remember that I don’t know everything, and that the world is big and complex and full of wonder.

Recently I mentioned to a friend a book written by someone whose political ideas she thought were completely wrong. How could I think something like that was a good book? Even though the book itself had nothing to do with politics, she wouldn’t even consider it.

I suggested that liberals can write good books and bad books. Conservatives can also write good books and bad books. I think she understood what I was saying, but I suspect she was still pretty skeptical.

The book I was talking about was interesting, creative, well-written, well-organized, intelligent, and honest. It gave windows of insight into certain aspects of the world I was not previously familiar with. That, I think, is a good book.

Maybe part of the reason I enjoy reading books I disagree with is that I like learning. I find the world endlessly fascinating—whether it be science or history or human nature or an individual’s story. Even if it’s only learning how other people think in ways that I disagree with, it’s still stimulating. I love being a lifelong learner.

It just makes life more interesting.

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Image by GrumpyBeere from Pixabay

The Most Bewildering Parable

Perhaps Jesus’ all-time most bewildering parable is that of the unjust steward (Luke 16:1-9). Is Jesus really saying it’s okay to misuse other people’s money?

The story is this. A rich guy (let’s call him Elon) has heard that his manager (let’s call him Andy) is wasting his money, maybe skimming some off the top. So Elon tells the manager to turn in the books. He’s fired.

Andy is desperate about how to survive. He is too proud to beg and too weak to dig ditches. So he cooks up a scheme. Before word gets out that he’s fired, Andy goes to people who owe Elon money–lots of money. Andy has each of them do the paperwork needed to reduce their debts by huge amounts. This way, Andy figures they’ll help him when he is out of a job. One favor will deserve another.

When Elon finds out what Andy has done, is he furious that Andy has lost even more of Elon’s money? Does he throw him in jail? Does he bust his kneecaps? No. Jesus says that Elon praises Andy for being so shrewd.

If we assume that the rich guy is God and the manager is all of us . . . ok, I’m still really confused. God wants us to be dishonest?

Jesus goes on, however, and concludes with this, “For the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the people of the light. I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.” That’s supposed to help? What the heck does it mean?

Tim Mackie and Jon Collins remind us in a Bible Project podcast that indeed we are all stewards of what God has given us. Everything we have comes from him. Whatever we have (health, connections, property, abilities, money) isn’t really ours. It all belongs to God. And we are to steward all this, to manage it for his purposes.

How is the unjust steward wise? He realizes money isn’t an end in itself. It is to be used for other, greater purposes. For the steward, that greater purpose is to gain a cushy life for himself.

We can be wise similarly by also realizing that money should be used for greater purposes. The difference lies in what that purpose is. The point for us is not to accumulate money or possessions for their own sake (or for our own sake) but for the sake of God’s kingdom.

Money is not about the money, Jesus is saying. It’s about justice, generosity, and the fruit of the Spirit. Righteousness meant doing right by others in Jesus’ day. It does today too.

Mastering with Grace, Sacrifice, and Generosity

When I first read Amor Towles marvelous novel, A Gentleman in Moscow, I was immediately struck by this:

“A man must master his circumstances or otherwise be mastered by them.”

I don’t think Towles means men and women should exert power over our environment and relationships, forcing them to conform to our will. After all, the hero of his novel, Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov, is forcibly under house arrest in the hotel he is staying at. He cannot leave without threat of death.

Rather I think Towles is focused on the attitude, the mindset we have when we face challenges, disappointments, tragedy, or injustice. But it’s an attitude that shapes our actions and ultimately our character. We can become victims of our circumstances, letting them force us into their mold, or we can rise above them.

That is exactly what Alexander does. Instead of falling into despair, he makes the most of his new situation. Rather than seeking revenge, he looks for how he can contribute to the life and people of the hotel—both guests and staff. He takes a job in the hotel restaurant. He becomes guardian of an abandoned girl, and then the girl’s daughter. He falls in love. Over the course of decades, he makes a profound and lasting impact on the lives of many people—even though he is imprisoned!

Anthony Ray Hinton is a true-life example of this. Wrongfully imprisoned and placed on death row for decades, he transformed from a cauldron of anger to a beacon of light for those around him. As chronicled in his astounding book, The Sun Does Shine, he mastered his circumstances long before he was finally exonerated and released.

The examples Towles and Hinton give are ones of shaping our circumstances not with force but with goodness, sacrifice, and generosity. Thus Towles memorable line about circumstances may need a slight alteration. The point is not to control our situation or ourselves in any way we wish. Rather it is a choice between two masters:

“We must allow grace to master us or we will be mastered by our circumstances.”

“Gee, That’s Funny!”

Let’s face it. The Bible is full of curiosities.

♦ Why are four women also listed with 44 men named in the genealogy of Jesus in Matthew 1? For a patriarchal culture—gee, that’s funny.

♦ In the book of Numbers the people of Israel are judged for moaning and groaning about not having enough food. Then why are there so many Psalms of lament, suggesting that complaining to God is okay? Gee, that’s funny.

♦ In back-to-back verses, Proverbs 26:4-5 says we should answer fools and then not answer fools. Gee, that’s funny.

♦ When Jesus was walking on the water during a storm while the disciples were straining at the oars, the text says, “He was about to pass by them” (Mark 6:48). What? Didn’t he see they were in trouble? Gee, that’s really funny.

We may be so familiar with the Bible that we cease to see an odd twist, a strange insertion, a peculiar comment. Or we might just think the Bible is weird and write the whole thing off. Yet if we take the time to notice the unexpected, we can find a doorway into an insight, and even into the heart of the passage.

Consider the comment about Jesus passing by the disciples. Well, yes, walking on water itself is a little unusual, but we still notice that. We seldom, however, think about Jesus passing by. What is going on there?

Because the New Testament writers were people steeped in the Old Testament, that’s where they often drew ideas, motifs, and references to understand this surprising Jesus who was not the military Messiah they expected. The language of “passing by” recalls the story in Exodus 32–33 when Moses asked God to see his glory. God says, “When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by” (Exodus 33:22, my emphasis).

Likewise, when Elijah fled Jezebel’s murderous threats, he was told, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by” (1 Kings 19:11, my emphasis), and God revealed himself to Elijah.

We also find this in Job, who says that God “treads on the waves of the sea. . . . When he passes me, I cannot see him” (Job 9:8, 11, my emphasis). And indeed, the disciples weren’t even sure who they were looking at. “They thought he was a ghost” (Mark 6:49).

What’s Mark getting at? By using the “passing by” language that the Old Testament uses when God shows himself to humans, Mark portrays Jesus as a revelation of God to the disciples like with Moses and Elijah. Jesus, Mark is saying, is someone who somehow embodies the God of Israel.

We could go even more deeply by looking at Jesus calming the storm. According to the Old Testament, who is the one who controls the seas (Gen 1:9-10; Ex 14:27-28; Job 26:11-12; 38:8-11; Ps 65:5-7; 89:9; 104:6-7; 107:23-39)?

Taking note of something strange is exactly what Steven Johnson recommends for increasing our creativity and understanding. He calls it the slow hunch.

When we see something strange in the Bible, we may be tempted to ignore it or conclude that the Bible is unreliable. But instead, if we dig more deeply (such as into all the examples above), we can be rewarded with deeper insight.

When we react with “Gee, that’s funny,” it’s not a problem. It’s an opportunity.

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Image by AJS1 from Pixabay>

A Cautionary Tale

In many ways, Fierce Attachments, a memoir of a daughter’s relationship with her mother, is a sad tale. After the sudden and early death of the Vivian’s father, her mother is consumed by her grief, using it to shield herself from others. Though Vivian wants to connect with her mother, she has difficulty. Her mother—a strong, intelligent, capable, and opinionated (!) woman—cannot see her daughter or the world through any other lens than herself.

But we should not judge her mother too harshly. Even many of us who have not experienced a sudden, traumatic loss, still live like this. We are simply focused on ourselves and have difficulty getting out of that frame to see people from their own viewpoint.

Vivian and her mother can’t connect and can’t separate. What makes this raw book even more tragic is that while Vivian criticizes the narrow path her mother has taken, almost inevitably it seems, Vivian ends up doing the same. She has relationships with men, but she can never really attach in a deep and lasting way. She even wonders if she intentionally picks men who are incapable of that kind of connection.

In How to Know a Person, David Brooks mentions Gornick’s memoir as a cautionary tale. While there are practical ways to know a person better, he says, we also need to be alert to the many paths which can prevent that from happening.

This memoir, however, is a cautionary tale in another sense. It highlights that while grief can be healthy, it can aslo bind us if it becomes the consuming fact of our life. Grief is a dreadful and necessary journey through the valley of the shadow of death, but the valley is not the destination.

The Crux of Faith

For Christians, the cross may be so familiar that we cease to see it and be shocked by it.

To help us, Bran Zahnd offers an untypical theology of the cross. As the author suggests, The Wood Between the Worlds is an exercise in theopoetics—akin to meditations on nineteen aspects or implications of the death of Christ. Since other excellent volumes cover the standard topics of atonement, substitution, forgiveness, and salvation, Zahnd turns his attention elsewhere.

We read, for example, that while humanity was exiled from Eden and the Tree of Life, now all are welcome at the cross, the true Tree of Life. We also find a profound chapter on Pontius Pilate, and how we are all at some level stained by skepticism and dirty hands. In addition, Zahnd offers a wonderfully clear explanation of Rene Girard’s important work on the social dynamics of scapegoating today and throughout history.

Insights and icons from Eastern Orthodox Christianity weave in and out of these and his other uncommon subjects such as Ellie Wiesel’s doubts, the harrowing of hell, and Mary’s ponderings.

Much of the book considers power and weakness. In this light Zahnd takes up uncomfortable topics such as capital punishment, pacifism, and James Cone’s The Cross and the Lynching Tree.

While today’s church often focuses on power, the gospel writers emphasize suffering, loss, and weakness. When Paul says, “God’s weakness is stronger than human strength” (1 Cor 1:25), he “doesn’t mean that when God is weak, God is still stronger than human might. That wouldn’t be scandalous. It would be just a typical boast about power as conventionally understood. Rather Paul is taking us into the deep mystery of the cross, saying that God’s power is precisely located in the weakness” of the cross. [p. 29].

Power corrupts as the Ring of Power in Tolkien’s trilogy twists those who seek it. All our attempts to use power are likewise subject to corruption. Christianity is tainted when it aligns itself with government-sponsored violence as all sides did in World War I and as we still see today. We cannot justify such actions by misunderstanding the imagery of armies and destruction in the book of Revelation. For it is the slain lamb who is the central victor of the book.

Through mystery and metaphor, in this mind-provoking and soul-provoking book, Zahnd explores the literal crux of the Christian story.

Nietzsche Is Still Laughing

Deep in the recesses of Charles Taylor’s massive tome A Secular Age on the huge shifts that have transformed the Western world in the last five hundred years, he tells a story–a story of a friend visiting a political gathering:

A Buddhist acquaintance of mine from Thailand briefly visited the German Greens. He confessed to utter bewilderment. He thought he understood the goals of the party: peace between human beings, and a stance of respect and friendship by humans towards nature. But what astonished him was all the anger, the tone of denunciation, of hatred towards the established parties. These people didn’t seem to see that the first step towards their goal would have to involve stilling the anger and aggression in themselves. He couldn’t understand what they were up to.*

Taylor says that the person who would have been most delighted with the irony of this story was Friedrich Nietzsche. The late nineteenth-century German philosopher was famous for his idea of “will to power.” He thought, essentially, that there was no morality, no ethics. These were just thin, convenient covers for seeking to gain what we wanted—to impose our control on others!

Such a story would prove to Nietzsche that he was right, that people don’t operate by ideals, even the most high minded. It’s all a sham, a fake, a charade. Even a political party supposedly built on the foundation of peace with the natural world quickly degenerates into vitriol and violence.

We may think this view is cynical. Nietzsche just thought it was reality.

Like those pursuing progressive ways to make the world better, conservative Christians may also disagree with Nietzsche. But in a day in which some think that Jesus’ admonition to love our enemies is wrong or that it just doesn’t apply when it comes to asserting our political will, Nietzsche is still laughing.

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*Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 698.

Image credit: openart.ai photograph of Friedrich Nietzsche laughing.