Living Wittily

Did Jesus Really Say That?

I spent an absorbing hour or two yesterday trying not to push Jesus through the grid of my presuppositions. Rudolf Bultmann's "Is Exegesis without Presuppositions Possible?" is one of his seminal articles, and the question is a tad awkward. Can any of us come to a text without much of our mind already in the process of being made up by our experiences, prejudices, extent of previous learning, existential commitments, a bias in favour of what we already think? And when the text is the Gospel account of Jesus, what he said and did, how can we possibly read it without what we already think of Jesus shaping our preferences for the exegtical options?

Here's the problem. Luke 16.1-8a is a scandalous parable. Scandal, deriving from 'skandalon', "an impediment placed in the way causing one to stumble". Could Jesus really be saying that embezzling and squandering an employer's property, and then quick witted cleverness in using the proceeds to buy yourself out of trouble is something to be commended? If Jesus did say that what does that do to our view of Jesus? If he couldn't possibly have meant what it seems he said, what did he mean? And why did he say it in the first place? And here's the hard bit - how far is our difficulty in interpreting this parable due to our refusal to believe Jesus might have said something so offensive?

That raises further questions. Was Jesus being ironic? Are we so unable to think ourselves into the codes and norms of a very different culture, that we become postmodernists with a dangerous residue of literal woodenness? Does reverence for Jesus get in the way of that deeper devotion that tries to hear the authentic voice of Jesus, however disconcerting? In the parable itself, was it the master who commended the dishonest manager, or the voice of Jesus, or the voice of Luke the narrator? And what was commended? Was it the dishonesty, embezzlement and bribery, or the recognition of crisis and the urgent action taken to survive. In which case the methodoloy (cunning dishonesty) isn't the point, indeed is beside the point; and instead the alertness to see and the motivation to survive the coming crisis, that is the point. Or is it? Or is that exegetical option driven by my presuppositions about what Jesus could or couldn't say?

I am happy to hear from others who have puzzled over this parable in pleasurable perplexity and exercised exegetical energy extensively - and if you have reached any conclusions that might have survived the process of presuppositional prejudices - that is, if such a thing is possible? (Smiles broadly!) 

The now not so hidden cost of those spring onions

I like spring onions. Salad needs the fresh, sharp, kick of mild onion to balance the sweetness of tomato and the slight bitterness of leaves. Never occured to me to ask where the spring onions come from, and who picks them.

So when I hear that Romanian children as young as 9, and up to 16 have been harvesting spring onions in Worcestershire I'm appalled, angry, ashamed. But wearing a cotton dress and sandals in October and in a northerly wind with low temperatures. And as employed supplementary labour to their parents with derisory wages. At that stage I'm beginning to feel as if time has slipped and words like safeguarding, child protection, and human rights have still to be invented and legislated into existence. And then to fuel embarrassment and incredulity with more anger, I discover there is a Gangmaster's Licensing Authority which has the good purpose of "regulating those who supply labour or use workers to provide services in agriculture, forestry, horticulture, shellfish gathering and food processing and packaging".

And I am relieved and grateful such an authority exists and intervened in this case. But my anger and incredulity is that such a regulatory body is best described by the word Gangmaster; that such a body is necessary is patently and sadly obvious. But that in this country the children of migrant workers can be so unprotected as to be defined as those whose welfare depends on the Gangmaster (say that word out loud) the Gangmaster's Licensing Authority is for me a moral disgrace.

And it leaves me with several questions. Which supermarkets are stocking food harvested under such exploitative conditions? Do supermarkets have codes of practice for their suppliers and do they enforce them? How does such exploitation of children in forced child labour relate to the UNICEF Convention on the Rights of the Child? What is the sub text, the subliminal impact on how we see other human beings, when we legitimate such discourse as "gangmaster"? What are the criteria for slavery, and which of them do not apply to a child with no choices, nor protection from the demands of the labour market, and no status in a country of which they are not citizens?

According to the Guardian, "the minimum working age in UK and European law is 14 although 13-year-olds can work in special circumstances. The number of hours children aged 14 and 15 can work is controlled and restricted to school holidays and weekends. There is no minimum wage for under-16s." Now as a boy I used to pick berries in the summer, and potatoes in October, for what was then not a lot of money. In Scotland the October school break is still called by those old enough to remember "the tattie holiday". But I was never forced to work. I was older than 9 years of age. I was paid enough to make it worth it. I had warm clothes. I wasn't denied school. And home was just a mile away.And the farmer wasn't a gangmaster!

The measure of a society is how it treats its children. To put it another way - this week, the measure of a society is how we harvest our spring onions.

All the prayers I ever prayed for myself - distilled by the poet.

 

Whispered Poem

I have been risky in my endeavours,

I have been steadfast in my loves;

Oh Lord, consider these when you judge me.

Most of the words I've ever spoken in prayers about myself could probaly be distilled into these three lines. Don't ever tell me that prepared prayers are less spiritual than the spontaneous. Passion, devotion, consolation, contentment, reminiscence, self-knowledge, and humility with a hint of defiance - all in three lines.

The new collection of Mary Oliver's poems is too good, and too wise, to read through any other way than a carefully rationed poem a day.

 

 

Before an Icon

 

Before an Icon

Before an Icon

The unbeliever is challenged

The intellectual is lost for words

The theologian feels small

The artist's heart is filled with joy

The contemplative finds fresh inspiration

Those who thought they were strong are disarmed

The child throws wide its arms, and smiles.

Anon.

 

The Birds of Scotland - The biggest books in the house!

Oh my goodness!  If as Brutus claims,

"There is a tide in the affairs of men,

which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune", 

then  there is also

"a click in the affairs of men

which taken at the Amazon checkout leads on to spending a fortune!"

Which I now confess freely if a tad expensively, I have done. For a year or so I've flirted with the idea of buying the definitive set of books on Scottish Birds. The recent post about the yellowhammer's egg is just one incident in a lifetime interest in Scottish ornithology. No big deal, never made it a hobby, just always interested, always looking, gathering information, finding out about this one and that. But I was brought up listening early morning to skylarks, walking home at dusk listening to the hunted cry of the curlew, dodging the dive-bombing of hundreds of peewits (lapwings), knowing the difference between a wren and a goldcrest, fascinated by the flight of the pied wagtail, mesmerised by flocks of starlings doing their choreographic miracles before roosting in the haysheds, astonished at the kestrel defying gravity by simply facing the wind and angling its wings, excited by the wirring of a sinpes wings as it banked towards the ground, scared witless by the big owl that flew out of the farm barn one evening we were playing in the loft, and so well able to identify by call or appearance most of the birds that inhabit our wee country.

The books are a work of art. Forget coffee table books - these are dining table books. You need space on table or floor to open them. The illustrations are nearly all photographs by Scottish Ornithologists, the text is written in flowing narrative, the information is comprehensive, authoritative and up to date. But most of all they are simply sumptuous repositories of science, wisdom, testimony and required data to understand, appreciate, care about and care for some or the most beautiful creatures in our country. Since my childhood a large number of species have been decimated by the way we've lived and sprawled across the land. But there are still encounters that evoke wonder, moments of sheer magic, unlooked for surprises all over the place.

This blog has always been a place where great books are appreciated. And while much of the best reading of my life has been theology, there's always been for me the needed balance of books that broaden out into the wider avanues of our experience. Biography, history, good fiction, poetry - and natural history. These two large volumes will simply become part of our living room furniture - because expensive as they are - they could have cost 3 times as much and they'd still be a bargain - but they are to be looked at, loved, studied, browsed, handled, shaped by constant handling so that they don't stay nearly new books but begin to show signs of being used, referred to, plundered and gazed at.

Roses, George Eliot, minor poet, and Haiku.

Roses

You love the roses - so do I. I wish
The sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bush. Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
As feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be
Like sleeping and like waking, all at once!

George Eliot

The greatest novelist in the English language - maybe. Not the greatest poet - in one textbook called a minor poet. But when she got it right she could capture in a poem those same human longings and dreams, frustrations and hopes, that add such texture to her novels.

I quote this poem for no other reason than I like roses, I like the poem, and clearly, George Eliot liked roses as well! Oh, and there are still roses in our back garden despite the snow that fell earlier this week.

Inspired a Haiku:

White capped red rose bud,

snowflakes on fragile petals,

summer meets winter.

 

The Gospel of John - not being afraid of deep water

Since College days when I patiently and conscientiously worked through C K Barrett's commentary on the Gospel of John I have loved this New Testament text. And alongside those evenings slowly turning the pages and making notes I still have in neat handwritten, pre-computer script, we were walked through the text by our New Testament teacher, R E O White. It was an immersion in text that taught me to swim, and not to be too afraid of deep water. In the years since I've slowly worked through numerous commentaries and monographs and tried to stay current with Johannine scholarship. Some big names are familiar companions - Barrett, Brown, Schnackenburg, Morris, Carson, Beasley-Murray ( a scandalously restricted volume in the Word series given the three volume sprawlers on Luke and Revelation) - more recently Moloney, Lincoln, and monographs by Ashton, Koester, Robinson, Bauckham et al.

And then there are those books which use John for spiritual formation, from Jean Vanier, to William Countryman to Francis Moloney. I have to say I'm less enamoured of such attempts to feed the Gospel of John through a Christian spirituality grid. Lesslie Newbiggin's The Light Has Come is a different category altogether. A theological gem.

But the reason for all this Johannine enthusiasm is the imminent arrival of John Ramsey Michael's commentary on John. I met him once when i was teaching in Hanover, New Hampshire. He is a wise, shrewd and deeply learned man, whose scholarship range is wide and deep. I was teaching on Julian of Norwich, George Herbert and Charles Wesley - he was teaching on John Bunyan. His literary sensitivity, theological resourcefulness and open minded interest levels made him a source of much fun and much learning. His commentary is already being described as readable, progressing Johannine scholarship, and a gift to the preaching of the church. Not surprised. And it will be the commentary I'll saunter through for the next few months - if it arrives by Advent it'll be fun reading him on the greatest advent hymn of them all - "In the beginning was the Word.....and the Word became flesh..." So swimming at the deep end, standing at the edge of the reservoir, not being afraid of deep water - my theological hero James Denney had his own take on the deep water metaphor - about Jesus and his passion he urged that we hear 'the plunge of lead into fathomless waters'. That's what happens when I dive into the text of John's Gospel.

Tell it preacher! Dr John Sentamu on the so called Big Society Idea

"There is nothing new in a set of Government policies that looks to encourage individuals and voluntary groups to be enabled, to be engaged within our community, to care for one another.

"The Church of England knows all about volunteering. More people do unpaid work for church groups than any other organisation. Churchgoers contribute 23.2 million hours' voluntary service each month in their local communities.

"The Church of England alone provides activities outside church worship in the local community for over half a million children and young people aged under 16 years, and 38,000 young people aged 16 to 25 years. Over 136,000 volunteers run activity groups for young people which are sponsored by the Church of England."

The Church understands the importance of volunteering, but we must not forget that the state "has responsibilities too", he said.

"There is a reason we pay our taxes. Whilst it is easy to pretend that much of our hard-earned cash goes to fund expense-fiddling MPs, disreputable casino-style banks or mad politically correct quangos for do-gooders - actually we should expect the state to run and fund strong public services, with our money.

"How to raise that money is another question. I am not an economist, and I am not a politician, but to cut investment to vital public services, and to withdraw investment from communities, is madness.

"You do not escape an economic downturn by cutting investment and by squashing aspirations."

(Part of Archbishop John Sentamu's response to the Spending Review - more of it here)

Eccentric Existence - a richly textured theological magnum opus

I have been rightly chastised by a good friend more than once, over many years, for daring to suggest that she read Kingsway paperbacks! Not that I or she has anything against publisher, pbk format or the popular theology usually packaged in said books! But she reads serious theology, and so now if either of us want to wind the other up about our intellectual exploits or lack thereof, the most effective term of affectionate ridicule usually includes the Kingsway pbk!

So! Just to avoid such a literary insult flying in this direction any time soon, I wish to announce the purchase of some serious theology. David Kelsey's two volume magnum opus, Eccentric Existence: A Theological Anthropology, (Louisville: Westminster John Knox0 2010) [1496 pages!] is the culmination of a lifetime's wisdom, reflection, theological exploration and Christian thinking. A systematics from the perspective of Christian Anthropology is so overdue I suppose some of us wondered if it might ever appear - assuming any of us thought it a valid or viable theological proposal in the first place. But because the nature of the human being, and the relation of humanity to God, and the meaning of humanity created in the image of God, are deep questions that go to the vital centre of human thought, experience and existence, such a theology is now an essential and humanising task. Christian theology now, at this stage in human history, has critically important things to say about human existence, the human future and the future of the world.

A faith tradition that expresses an understanding of God as a Triune communion of self-giving creative love, and tells the story of that love as bringing all else into existence, and becoming incarnate in human form to enter the created and finite  order of time and sin and death, and triumphs not through power but through redemptive passionate love, is a faith tradition which must inevitably hold, not only an exalted and holy view of God, but a high and sacred view of human dignity, worth and personality. In other words, a systematics that begins with the question "What are human beings that you care for them?", is one that will approach familiar questions from an unfamiliar angle, will take seriously the relationality of God and the human creature, and will bring the Love of God to bear upon the purpose of human existence within the entirety of the divine purpose for the created order. In a world hell bent on its own exhaustion, such a theological corrective is now a necessary and urgent note in the message of a Gospel whose ultimate purpose is the renewal of a creation which, more than he could ever have known, Paul describes as groaning, awaiting its redemption.

These two big books when they come will be the ever presents on my desk for the winter. To be read deeply and slowly, not uncritically but with a sense that now and again, we are gifted the chance to handle, admire, even to own, someone else's richly textured theological fabric, woven on a long practised loom by a weaver who knows the colours and patterns of theological reflection, faithful to Scripture, and lovingly modelled on a conception of God that is Trinitarian.

Kelsey, along with Frei and Lindbeck, are of course postliberal theologians of "the Yale School". I know that. And I recognise the challenge his theological approach represents to other theological schools and styles, including my own. But one of the golden rules of theological hospitality is the refusal to allow someone's label and reputation to dictate how we receive them. So I look forward to what good hospitality should also and always enable - shared conversation, intellectual friendship, and sufficient courtesy to listen at least twice as much as we speak. Now and again I'll report on the conversation.

Mary Oliver's Poetry, and a moment of childhood wonder

My early years were spent in rural Ayrshire. My father was a dairyman and I lived my entire childhood at least three miles from the nearest shop and school. Oh, and we didn't have a car till I was at secondary school. Amongst the compensations throughout my life have been a love of the coutnryside, a lifelong passion for Scottish wildlife - flora and fauna, and a number of memories maybe not many folk my age will now have.

I remember discovering a yellowhammer's nest in a hawthorn hedge and being utterly and almost tearfully delighted at the delicacy of shape and colour. To my young eyes this is what a jewel looked like - fragile beauty, grey mauve at the top, tapering to white at the point and traced with several dark elongated commas and question marks as if someone more clever than Faberge had randomly painted a one off egg for the life-remembered pleasure of an 8 year old boy in wellingtons jeans and almsot certainly a big wooly jersey!

So when I come across this poem by Mary Oliver I know exactly what she feels.

With Thanks to the Field Sparrow, Whose Voice is So Delicate and Humble

I do not live happily or comfortably

with the cleverness of our times.

The talk is all about computers,

the news is all about bombs and blood.

This morning, in the fresh field,

I came upon a hidden nest.

It held four warm, speckled eggs.

I touched them.

Then went away softly,

having felt something more wonderful

than all the lectricty of New York City.

...........................

Maybe somewhere in such memory there is for me the explanation of why I have always felt a deep resonant joy that Jesus saw connections between the birds of the field and air, and the creative care of God. Was that egg still beautiful if no one had ever seen it? You decide. Some day I may attempt the impossible and try to capture on tapestry that jewel of a moment, that awakening of childhood wonder at the random beauty of life's promise, a yellowhammer's egg, laid in a woven cup lined with moss, sheep wool, and feather.