For this post, I thought it would be good to combine a few different
ideas together and cook up something cool. I hope it turns out OK.
My sophomore year in college, I took an English literature class
that was excessively challenging, to say the least. It was taught by the head
of the English department (or maybe just head of the grad school) who was probably very close to retirement. He was a
nice guy, but his ideas went so over our heads it wasn't even funny. (Well, OK,
maybe it was a little bit funny.) If I remember correctly, the part of the
class that covered William Blake poetry was especially out of whack. While we
were discussing one poem in class, the professor was like, "Surely you
caught the sexual connotations in the poem." Um... what? Come on. We were
good little Baylor kids who were away from home and lived life in our naïve
little bubbles. We went to church when we weren't studying. Our brains weren't
anywhere near the same ballpark as a sexual connotation. We wouldn't understand
a sexual connotation if you drew us a map to it, tattooed it on our foreheads,
and invited us out to a candlelight dinner with it.
Our grades were dependent upon our ability to analyze the poetry, and
our analysis needed to match the professor's
out-of-whack-and-so-over-our-heads analysis. I remember at the end of the
semester, he nonchalantly showed me that I scored a D+/F- on my final essay,
but he was going to curve all of our grades. I think I ended up getting a B- overall in that class. It was an honors class that kicked
all of our butts. We were all very capable students, but I think perhaps the professor knew that we all needed to have our grades curved to compensate for his
flying-way-out-in-outer-space head.
During one class, when we were covering a flying-way-out-in-outer-space poem, the professor asked us to discuss our
impression of the poem. I think he was looking for input from us -- something, anything
-- to get the discussion started. I don't remember exactly why I answered
(perhaps I couldn't bear the silence any longer), and I don't even remember if
I had actually read the poem before class, but I replied, "There's some
parallelism in the poem." That seemed to please the professor. Whew! Saved
by the Bible.
Parallelism is a repetitive literary device that is used usually in
poetry for rhetorical effect. (You wouldn't use parallelism in journalism, because journalism requires as few words as possible.) In parallelism, you say one
thing and then repeat what you just said in a different way. Here's an example
of parallelism:
I own two cats;
Two felines have I.
I think ancient Hebrew poets and psalmists used parallelism a lot,
because it's all over the Bible. For example:
"Give ear, O my people, to my law; incline your ears to the words
of my mouth." (Psalm 78:1)
"Plead my cause, O Lord, with those who strive with me; fight
against those who fight against me... Let those be put to shame and brought to
dishonor who seek after my life; let those be turned back and brought to
confusion who plot my hurt." (Psalm 35:1, 4)
I am very thankful for my college education, and I am very blessed that
it happened when/how it happened. But I've discovered in recent years just how
damaging the worldview of some of the professors and even the surrounding community really was. I think I've blogged a tiny bit about this
before. The church I joined in my college town (soon after I graduated)
believed that the Bible was real, inspired, and inerrant, but only in the
original manuscripts. (So, does that mean that all our English translations are
garbage?) Then I began attending a missions training school. I don't remember
his exact words, but one of the instructors there (shortly before I attempted
suicide) basically said that believing something to be inerrant was a narrow-minded,
uneducated thing to do. (Shame on you for throwing a wrench in a gullible, vulnerable
kid's faith.) Then we ended up discussing how some statements in the Bible are
contradictory and how some mistakes were supposedly published in the Bible.
Really? Seriously? Have you even met my God? How can you not understand
that He's powerful enough to cover up and fix any mistakes that some dorky
little translator made way back in the Dark Ages?
At any rate, I don't think it's an accident that God chose for the Bible to
be written in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek so that we English speakers or German
speakers or Spanish speakers would have to go on a treasure hunt to discover
what was originally written in the original biblical languages.
And I definitely don't think it's an accident that parallelism was used
so much in ancient Hebrew poetry. I think to a degree, God's heart beats in
parallelism.
"Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one! You shall love
the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your
strength. And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart."
(Deuteronomy 6:4-6)
"Then one of the scribes came, and having heard them reasoning
together, perceiving that He had answered them well, asked Him, 'Which is the
first commandment of all?' Jesus answered him, 'The first of all the
commandments is: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you
shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all
your mind, and with all your strength.' This is the first commandment.' "
(Mark 12:28-30)
"He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the
still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness
for His name's sake." (Psalm 23:2-3)
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones
those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together,
as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!" (Matthew
23:37)
"Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who
trusts in Him!" (Psalm 34:8)
"Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you who have no
money, come, buy and eat. Yes, come, buy wine and milk without money and
without price. Why do you spend money for what is not bread, and your wages for
what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good, and let
your soul delight itself in abundance." (Isaiah 55:1-2)
Recently, due to Macho's health issues, my refrigerator has
become a pet pharmacy. Pictured from left to right are liquid steroids that my
vet hasn't yet authorized me to give to my cat but is ready for distribution just
in case, my dinner from last night which I used to tempt my cat whose appetite
has mysteriously vanished, used needles which I was instructed to not throw
away but to bring back to the vet's office for disposal instead, half a Coke
which I am chugging down while I am writing this post, liquid antibiotic which
I've been required to squirt down my cat's throat every 12 hours but only if he
eats, and vitamin B12 injections which I have been administering weekly.
Yes, the game I've been playing with Macho lately is "Why the heck
aren't you eating?" My once gluttonous cat has been declining into a
fragile shell of a feline who is quite possibly living out his last days. Or
perhaps he's just being a drama queen -- I'm not quite sure yet. But I've been
taking it one day at a time.
His appetite was fine until about two weeks ago when he stopped wanting
to eat. I've tried all kinds of things to get him to eat again. Sometimes my
attempts are successful, and other times I just say "whatever" and
let nature take its course. But I'm still fighting for him. Considering the way he was squirming while I was cleaning his ears a
little while ago, I hope he's still fighting, too.
I've tried everything I can think of to get Macho to eat again: dry
food, wet food, my food, tuna, in his bowl, off the floor, out of my hand. This
process seems to require a lot of patience. Yesterday while Macho was eating
wet cat food out of my hand (a process that is uncomfortable for me but
hopefully life-giving to him), I asked God if He was like that with me. He
replied, "Oh, child, you have no idea." Indeed.
"The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right
hand [the side not carrying a shield]. The sun shall not smite you by day, nor
the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all evil; He will keep your
life." (Psalm 121:5-7, Amplified Bible)
My first job straight out of college involved some manual labor. I had
to haul packages and other materials on a dolly across a college campus. It was
hard, but I enjoyed it. In the scorching Texas heat, I learned how valuable the
shade of a tree really is. Shade is a lot cooler than it looks.
So, when God says that He Himself is a shade, I think He means that He
is a necessary, refreshing, cool refuge from the scorching-fire trials of life.
Trekking across the unforgiving, unrelenting, unavoidable sun-scorched prairie of life is so
much more bearable when I'm careful to walk in the shade.
The Amplified Bible says that our right hand would be the unshielded
hand (I guess because an ancient Hebrew warrior would fight with his sword in
his right hand and his shield on his left hand). So, God is my Keeper who takes
care of me. In the areas of my life that are unshielded, He Himself is my
shield. He protects me from the elements -- physically, spiritually, emotionally,
etc. -- especially from the details that I don't even know exist, and I think He is so much more zealous about keeping me alive than I
am.
I think that's true for all of us... especially if we let Him shield us.
Lately as I've been digging a little bit into some opera, I've realized
just how excessively dramatic it is as an art form. Which is probably why
operas are usually more popular in Europe (which embraces traditions very tightly),
as opposed to the USA (where, if something stops working for us, we just take
it out back and shoot it). Usually what happens during an opera is somebody
will fall in love, somebody will have one or more affairs, and/or somebody will
die, and the story will usually take about two hours to be told. It's sort of
like watching a movie with cheesy acting and nonstop singing. For example,
while I was watching La bohème for the first time yesterday, I almost stopped about a quarter of the way through. I'm glad I
didn't, because it's a classic indeed, but I think perhaps Puccini could have
done without the last 20 or 40 minutes of the play. By the end, I was like,
"OH, MY GOSH, JUST DIE ALREADY!!!"
Are slow deaths just a European thing? I mean, when Frodo went on his
quest to destroy the Ring of Power, he didn't just sprint across Middle Earth
and slam-dunk the ring into the fire from which it came. He took three movies
to do it in. On his long, arduous journey, he encountered opposition, enemies,
and all sorts of danger. He even slipped up a few times and used the ring for
himself. But an entire trilogy later, the ring -- and all the evil that it
attracted -- was finally destroyed.
"And those who are Christ's have crucified the flesh with its
passions and desires." (Galatians 5:24)
In his book, Dennis Jernigan talks about how the death of the flesh is
slow and excruciating, and he isn't kidding. When God told me that my healing from
a specific type of sin would be gradual, He wasn't kidding, either.
If you've been following my blog for the past several months, you know
that I've been fighting the addiction of a habitual sexual sin. God has been
helping me every step of the way, and I'm still amazed at how He hasn't kicked
me to the curb. He's emphasized pretty firmly that my healing isn't going to
come from a formula. And He's right. Just when I think I have a handle on my
struggle, I'm thrown a curveball, and I stumble and fall. I think it's really more
of a dance than a battle strategy.
Yesterday, for example (because the temptations are usually strongest
on the weekends), while I was working through and talking through a temptation
with God, I ended up becoming way too busy to sin. Oh, would you look at the
time? I have to get ready to go to church now. Darn, crucified little flesh. You'll
just have to kick and scream without me.
But that worked for me yesterday. That might not necessarily work for
me today.
What works for me all the time is just doing whatever God says to
do, avoiding whatever He says to avoid, and clinging to Him for dear life. That
isn't a formula. That's a relationship.
God isn't a senile professor with a flying-way-out-in-outer-space head
who expects us to follow Him and pinpoint His ways by matching His
out-of-whack-and-so-over-our-heads analysis. He doesn't give us all curves
because He expects us to fail all His tests. He isn't some dumb little god who
gives us a dorky little book to read, and He doesn't give us a dull-bladed, mistake-filled, dangerously faulty weapon to fight with. He isn't a cruel tyrant who gives up on us as soon
as we refuse to eat the food He gives us.
God is a loving Father whose ways are so much higher than ours, and He
knows that, and He's always readily available to help us tiptoe our way through
this landmine-filled life. He is infinitely patient with us, and He is infinitely
faithful to us, and He won't give up on us. If we belong to Him, I don't think
He'll just take us out back and shoot us if we make one little mistake. I think
He'll bunk next to us while we're withering away in our sickbeds, and He'll
nurse us back to health. He'll bring us back to life, if we'll let Him. He's committed to that,
and He's already poetically told us all about it in His word.
I am in God's family;
God's child am I.
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