(Technically, this post also covers the end of Genesis 4, which was left out in the last post.)
Genesis 4:16-26 is the first of what becomes a trend in the Bible to list off detailed genealogies (though usually only sons, thanks to patriarchy). Just wait until we get to Chronicles! Actually, in order to give Noah the proper attention he deserves, I will. As tedious as the genealogies dispersed throughout the Bible may be, I still appreciate them, and I'll explain why when we get to Chronicles.
Genesis 5 starts by reiterating the Genesis 1 concept that Adam, the first human, was created "in the likeness of God," and then extends the idea to human reproduction, as Seth, Adam's new son, is born "in his [Adam's] own likeness, after his image." (5:3) While this could easily lead to thoughts like "descended from the gods," divine right, or many other potentially arrogant ideas, that's not how I read the Bible, nor does the Bible even say that. The Bible, as usual, just isn't an installation manual for your new Christianity software, sorry. Try aisle 9.
What strikes me about this particular verse is the context: this is after the so-called "fall" of humanity, and yet Adam is still described as being made in the likeness of God and, what's more, his son Seth is in Adam's likeness. The divinity is still there; God didn't take it away. For some reason, we can still say, "God dwells in you." In light of Cain's murder of his brother Abel, thanks to this "fall" and the presence of "sin," humanity is still "good," still God's creation.
After more genealogies, tracing from Adam to Noah over many generations (and full of rather long life spans! but more on that when we reach Chronicles), Genesis 6 opens with the heading "The Flood" in my Bible, which, of course, I crossed out and replaced with, "Australia!" in light of the massive floods there earlier this year. I don't know or care if the whole earth was flooded, or even if it rained it all, actually, because the Bible is not a history textbook either. Those are in aisle 3.
The story of The Flood goes a little something like this: people were living lives, the earth was getting populated, and, apparently, humanity had turned to evil. God was pretty upset. Except there was this guy, Noah, who was a pretty all right dude, and God decided that, while God definitely was going to wipe out all the horrible, violent people on the earth with a great flood, Noah ought to build an ark to save himself, his family, and biodiversity. (Dear self-professed "Bible thumpers," please reread Genesis 6: God is very keen on saving all of the animals from extinction. Maybe you should be too.)
The story details the very specific instructions God apparently gave Noah for building this ark, interspersed with things like, "Noah did everything just as God commanded him." (6:22) Genesis 7 is the flood itself, describing with narrative detail the tragic destruction of the Earth. What a scary time to be alive; sometimes, I wonder if I, like Noah, am about to witness the destruction of all that I know. Words like "global warming" and "climate crisis" and "deforestation" are scary; what will become of our earthen home?
Yet Noah follows God. The waters recede, and dry land appears again. (Genesis 8) "Come out of the ark," God says. (7:16, NIV) "As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease." (7:22)
Come out, God says. There is evil, yet there is also good. Even when all of humanity, it seemed, had turned to evil and violence, one good man, Noah, made a difference and saved not only his family, but all of the creatures of the earth from great calamity and natural disaster. And after the rains, after the storms and the floods, the waters recede, and dry land does appear once again.
Noah lived in a frightening time, no doubt. Noah probably looked at "Congress" and thought it looked like a bunch of toddlers throwing tantrums and starting senseless wars, but Noah persevered. Noah had faith and hope and trusted God, trusted the sort of thing that seems crazy to trust, and Noah survived. It doesn't take a literal destruction of the entire earth for this story to have meaning to those of us who fear the flood, who fear the destruction of our world, because it is a story of faith leading one man to do something great, something heroic, and it is the promise that earth, that life itself, will endure no matter what.
Come out, God says. Out of fear, out of despair, out of darkness. Hope! God says. Have faith! Believe that not all is lost, that the storms will end and rainbows will appear. Whatever the storm, no matter how flooded the world around you, the waters will recede, and dry land will appear once again. That is God's promise.
(Amen!)
Showing posts with label How I Read the Bible. Show all posts
Showing posts with label How I Read the Bible. Show all posts
23 July 2011
21 July 2011
Genesis 4: Every Man for Himself?
Toto, I don't think we're in Eden anymore!
Genesis 4, as you may or may not know, is the story of Cain and Abel, another familiar story. Brothers Cain and Abel bring their offerings to God—Cain, the older of the brothers, brings "an offering of the fruit of the ground" (4:3) and Abel brings "of the firstlings of his flock and of their fat portions"—and God, much to Cain's unhappiness, likes Abel's offering but not Cain's. So Cain kills Abel.
There is much that can be debated in this chapter, ranging from God's favourite foods to the importance of family to God's justice to sin and foolishness to—well, you get the point. It is a story with which we are (almost) all at least somewhat familiar, and about which we all seem to have opinions. In these verses is the first real conflict of the good and evil within human nature, the first time we see the results of our new awareness of both good and evil, of our free will.
"If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is couching at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it," says God. (4:7) We have a choice, God tells us; we always have a choice. The freedom to choose well, to do what is good, is always ours, and yet that freedom, that knowledge of good, lies in tension with sin always crouching at our doors. Knowing goodness means knowing evil. We must be masters of ourselves.
Cain falls prey to sin; he kills his own brother. "Am I my brother's keeper?" he famously says. (4:9) Much less famously, yet just as profoundly, God says, "The voice of your brother's blood is crying to me from the ground." (4:10) Cain, in defense of his jealous hate, says it's "every man for himself"; he is not responsible for his brother. Yet he is wrong.
"The voice of your brother's blood is crying to me from the ground." The very ground, the dirt, the soil itself, cries for justice, cries out against Cain's heartless action. Abel is dead, and yet the world itself speaks, gives voice to his spilled blood. The story of Cain and Abel is, to me, not a warning against a fickle God with particular dietary tastes, but a reminder of how deeply connected we all are to each other and to the earth.
And the justice administered in this story is not "an eye for an eye": Cain cries out, "I shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will slay me," (4:14) yet God says no. "'Not so! If any one slays Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.' And the LORD put a mark on Cain, lest any who came upon him should kill him." (4:15) Rather than add to the bloodshed, God leaves Cain to suffer the guilt, to experience, as Dumbledore might say, "a fate worse than death": he is alone, disconnected, outcast.
Poor Cain. The story of Cain and Abel serves as an example of what we are really choosing when we choose hate, jealousy, and evil. Cain, led by the deceit of sin, chooses to suffer a fate much worse than death. The story says much more about us and sin than it does about whether God likes her steaks rare or well-done; it tells us that sin latches onto our weaknesses, our insecurities, and leads us to harm and to hate. God tells us we must choose, but we really can choose. It is both our freedom and our burden. Genesis 4 asks us to choose love, not hate, to be our brother's keeper, not murderer.
Genesis 4, as you may or may not know, is the story of Cain and Abel, another familiar story. Brothers Cain and Abel bring their offerings to God—Cain, the older of the brothers, brings "an offering of the fruit of the ground" (4:3) and Abel brings "of the firstlings of his flock and of their fat portions"—and God, much to Cain's unhappiness, likes Abel's offering but not Cain's. So Cain kills Abel.
There is much that can be debated in this chapter, ranging from God's favourite foods to the importance of family to God's justice to sin and foolishness to—well, you get the point. It is a story with which we are (almost) all at least somewhat familiar, and about which we all seem to have opinions. In these verses is the first real conflict of the good and evil within human nature, the first time we see the results of our new awareness of both good and evil, of our free will.
"If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is couching at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it," says God. (4:7) We have a choice, God tells us; we always have a choice. The freedom to choose well, to do what is good, is always ours, and yet that freedom, that knowledge of good, lies in tension with sin always crouching at our doors. Knowing goodness means knowing evil. We must be masters of ourselves.
Cain falls prey to sin; he kills his own brother. "Am I my brother's keeper?" he famously says. (4:9) Much less famously, yet just as profoundly, God says, "The voice of your brother's blood is crying to me from the ground." (4:10) Cain, in defense of his jealous hate, says it's "every man for himself"; he is not responsible for his brother. Yet he is wrong.
"The voice of your brother's blood is crying to me from the ground." The very ground, the dirt, the soil itself, cries for justice, cries out against Cain's heartless action. Abel is dead, and yet the world itself speaks, gives voice to his spilled blood. The story of Cain and Abel is, to me, not a warning against a fickle God with particular dietary tastes, but a reminder of how deeply connected we all are to each other and to the earth.
And the justice administered in this story is not "an eye for an eye": Cain cries out, "I shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will slay me," (4:14) yet God says no. "'Not so! If any one slays Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.' And the LORD put a mark on Cain, lest any who came upon him should kill him." (4:15) Rather than add to the bloodshed, God leaves Cain to suffer the guilt, to experience, as Dumbledore might say, "a fate worse than death": he is alone, disconnected, outcast.
Poor Cain. The story of Cain and Abel serves as an example of what we are really choosing when we choose hate, jealousy, and evil. Cain, led by the deceit of sin, chooses to suffer a fate much worse than death. The story says much more about us and sin than it does about whether God likes her steaks rare or well-done; it tells us that sin latches onto our weaknesses, our insecurities, and leads us to harm and to hate. God tells us we must choose, but we really can choose. It is both our freedom and our burden. Genesis 4 asks us to choose love, not hate, to be our brother's keeper, not murderer.
16 May 2011
Genesis 3: Adam Goes to College
At the beginning of Genesis 3, my NIV Bible has the subtitle "The Fall of Man" which I crossed out and wrote, "Man grows up, goes to college, makes mistakes, LEARNS, GROWS—no longer under parents' protection." I'll admit that the NIV has a much catchier title than I do, but it's a misleading title.
Everyone knows this story (or almost everyone). God says don't eat from this tree, the snake convinces Eve to eat from the tree, she eats and shares with Adam, and then they realise they're naked and hide from God. So God kicks them out of Eden. This story is the basis of all kinds of theologies and ideologies I don't subscribe to which say that humans are inherently evil/sinful/bad. If you've been following my blog much, you might have already picked up on how very much I disagree: I believe humans are inherently good-seeking. This story is just as much a "crucial point" in the story of humanity though, even when not read as the moment when we condemned ourselves to hell. So here's what I'm reading:
Just before Genesis 3, we read: "And the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed." (Genesis 2:25, RSV) Ignorance is bliss, isn't it? Adam and Eve are two young people, living a pretty easy life with everything given to them by their parents (God), and they don't have to worry about anything, not even their own nakedness. The relationship they have with God is that of a very young child and their parents: do what you're told, and your parents will take care of you. God is a pretty liberal parent, giving Adam and Eve only one rule: "You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die." (Genesis 2:16-17) And it sounds reasonable, right? Probably just a poisonous fruit.
But along comes the snake who tells Eve that not only will it not kill her, but it'll actually make her smarter, wiser, and like God. What kid doesn't dream of being like their parent when they grow up? So she and Adam eat, and their eyes are opened. Adam and Eve eat some magical knowledge-granting fruit, and all of a sudden they realise they're naked—ignorant. No longer are they little kids, and yet they're naked. Instead of instant wisdom, what Adam and Eve get is the realisation that, holy crap, they don't know anything. Along comes God, and they do what any human would do if they were naked: they hide.
So after God finds out what happened, God declares some frightening punishments on Adam, Eve, and the serpent which seem to be coming from a wrathful God, but what I read looks a lot more like God explaining the rules of the game to new players. Adam and Eve decide to leave behind blissful ignorance and the protection of home in favour of labouring for knowledge and the struggle for wisdom. God can't magically hand wisdom to them, since it's not a tangible gift, so God tells them the truth about what what lies ahead: it's going to suck. It's going to be hard. They're going to groan and cry out. But there's no going back. And the snake, the catalyst? Adam and Eve are going to hate that jerk forever; they're going to hold a grudge.
It's part tribal explanation for why they hated snakes so damn much, part thought-provoking allegory. Here, the Bible challenges us to question our relationship with God. We don't have the "pre-Fall" relationship with God anymore, but wisdom didn't just fall out of the tree either. We're in that tough, awkward phase of our relationship with God between blissful youth and "real" adulthood. There is a Mark Twain quote (which varies depending on the source) which humourously describes this change in the relationship of child and parent nicely: "When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years."
Just before sending Adam and Eve out of the garden, God makes them some clothes ("garments of skin"). Even in this moment that is so often referenced as the moment in which God turns from a loving God into a God who is disgusted by us, reviled by us, even hateful of us, God has not abandoned us.
This story isn't perfect. God didn't write it down for us, and even if God did, we still wouldn't magically understand. And that's the whole point here. The Israelites who kept this story in their oral tradition, and then at last wrote it down didn't understand everything either. Adam and Eve started the journey, and it is far from over. We're still learning, still journeying. In this ancient story, the Israelites tell of humans just like them who chose the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom over blissful ignorance. Adam and Eve chose to develop a conscious of their own and think for themselves rather than assume that what they were taught is right. In Genesis 3, moral conscious is born and we become a little more "like God" and a little less like animals. We become aware of our own foolishness and mortality and of the difference between good and evil. What we do with that knowledge is now up to us. God gives us clothes, but this is our journey. God will provide us with the tools we need, but it is our job to make use of what God offers, now that we have left the blissful ignorance of Eden.
Everyone knows this story (or almost everyone). God says don't eat from this tree, the snake convinces Eve to eat from the tree, she eats and shares with Adam, and then they realise they're naked and hide from God. So God kicks them out of Eden. This story is the basis of all kinds of theologies and ideologies I don't subscribe to which say that humans are inherently evil/sinful/bad. If you've been following my blog much, you might have already picked up on how very much I disagree: I believe humans are inherently good-seeking. This story is just as much a "crucial point" in the story of humanity though, even when not read as the moment when we condemned ourselves to hell. So here's what I'm reading:
Just before Genesis 3, we read: "And the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed." (Genesis 2:25, RSV) Ignorance is bliss, isn't it? Adam and Eve are two young people, living a pretty easy life with everything given to them by their parents (God), and they don't have to worry about anything, not even their own nakedness. The relationship they have with God is that of a very young child and their parents: do what you're told, and your parents will take care of you. God is a pretty liberal parent, giving Adam and Eve only one rule: "You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die." (Genesis 2:16-17) And it sounds reasonable, right? Probably just a poisonous fruit.
But along comes the snake who tells Eve that not only will it not kill her, but it'll actually make her smarter, wiser, and like God. What kid doesn't dream of being like their parent when they grow up? So she and Adam eat, and their eyes are opened. Adam and Eve eat some magical knowledge-granting fruit, and all of a sudden they realise they're naked—ignorant. No longer are they little kids, and yet they're naked. Instead of instant wisdom, what Adam and Eve get is the realisation that, holy crap, they don't know anything. Along comes God, and they do what any human would do if they were naked: they hide.
So after God finds out what happened, God declares some frightening punishments on Adam, Eve, and the serpent which seem to be coming from a wrathful God, but what I read looks a lot more like God explaining the rules of the game to new players. Adam and Eve decide to leave behind blissful ignorance and the protection of home in favour of labouring for knowledge and the struggle for wisdom. God can't magically hand wisdom to them, since it's not a tangible gift, so God tells them the truth about what what lies ahead: it's going to suck. It's going to be hard. They're going to groan and cry out. But there's no going back. And the snake, the catalyst? Adam and Eve are going to hate that jerk forever; they're going to hold a grudge.
It's part tribal explanation for why they hated snakes so damn much, part thought-provoking allegory. Here, the Bible challenges us to question our relationship with God. We don't have the "pre-Fall" relationship with God anymore, but wisdom didn't just fall out of the tree either. We're in that tough, awkward phase of our relationship with God between blissful youth and "real" adulthood. There is a Mark Twain quote (which varies depending on the source) which humourously describes this change in the relationship of child and parent nicely: "When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years."
Just before sending Adam and Eve out of the garden, God makes them some clothes ("garments of skin"). Even in this moment that is so often referenced as the moment in which God turns from a loving God into a God who is disgusted by us, reviled by us, even hateful of us, God has not abandoned us.
This story isn't perfect. God didn't write it down for us, and even if God did, we still wouldn't magically understand. And that's the whole point here. The Israelites who kept this story in their oral tradition, and then at last wrote it down didn't understand everything either. Adam and Eve started the journey, and it is far from over. We're still learning, still journeying. In this ancient story, the Israelites tell of humans just like them who chose the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom over blissful ignorance. Adam and Eve chose to develop a conscious of their own and think for themselves rather than assume that what they were taught is right. In Genesis 3, moral conscious is born and we become a little more "like God" and a little less like animals. We become aware of our own foolishness and mortality and of the difference between good and evil. What we do with that knowledge is now up to us. God gives us clothes, but this is our journey. God will provide us with the tools we need, but it is our job to make use of what God offers, now that we have left the blissful ignorance of Eden.
04 May 2011
How I Read the Bible: Genesis 1
"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." That's how it all begins, and so that's where I'm starting. Every Wednesday, I am going to take a look at a portion of this crazy book called the Bible, starting with the very first of the creation stories it contains. I am no Biblical expert, nor do I think I have some kind of special (divine) knowledge everyone else is lacking. I don't even know Greek, Hebrew, or Aramaic. I present only one opinion on what may be the world's most controversial book and share my own journey. As we go, I'll be using the Revised Standard Version and cross-referencing other versions as well. With all that said, let's begin.
Genesis 1. Right here, on page one, we get the very first story of creation, the most famous of all creation stories. Now, I love creation stories, and I've read all kinds of different ones, but this is one of my favourite. Every time God makes something, God looks at it—God sees it!—and finds it to be good. God is an artist, and an artist who actually likes their work! When I read this, I see a mystical forming of the world like a vague picture slowly becoming clearer and clearer. I get to watch God's brush strokes.
I hear a lot of arguments about the creation story, and I've never understood them. Those who argue that it is a literal, factual story which disproves evolution seem to have missed the poetry, and those who argue that its factually erroneous account of things that happened long before humanity even existed disprove the Bible's usefulness also seemed to have missed something crucial.
"And God saw that it was good." I read this very first (in the Bible) creation story, and what I read is a story about an artist, a creator, which loves its work. As an artist, I find it hard to like, let alone love, most everything I make. I get annoyed, emotional, moody, upset because what I made is imperfect. And then here's this artist, this creator, who looks at all of creation and says, "Hey, I like that!" I read this story, and I want to be like God.
I also see here something profoundly human: the desire to understand the hows and whys of existence. Cultures from every corner of the world had their own creation stories, all attempts at understanding the world in which they lived, and the Israelite people were no different. The Bible, from the very first page, recounts for me one culture's journey toward greater knowledge and understanding of the world. There is a hunger to understand and make sense of the unknowable here, and it is a universal hunger, a hunger to which I can relate, to which we all can relate.
Maybe I'm supposed to think the Bible is the perfect, infallible Word of God and to treat it like a book of law and scientific and historical fact, but why would I even want to read that? The Bible is an invitation to think and consider, an invitation to engage, and that's what compels me to read it. It connects me to people who lived in a far away land a very long time ago, and it connects me to people who are alive today in my very own hometown. And, somewhere along the line, the Bible connects me to "God," whoever and whatever God is. I am no Biblical expert, but neither were the writers of the Bible.
Genesis 1. Right here, on page one, we get the very first story of creation, the most famous of all creation stories. Now, I love creation stories, and I've read all kinds of different ones, but this is one of my favourite. Every time God makes something, God looks at it—God sees it!—and finds it to be good. God is an artist, and an artist who actually likes their work! When I read this, I see a mystical forming of the world like a vague picture slowly becoming clearer and clearer. I get to watch God's brush strokes.
I hear a lot of arguments about the creation story, and I've never understood them. Those who argue that it is a literal, factual story which disproves evolution seem to have missed the poetry, and those who argue that its factually erroneous account of things that happened long before humanity even existed disprove the Bible's usefulness also seemed to have missed something crucial.
"And God saw that it was good." I read this very first (in the Bible) creation story, and what I read is a story about an artist, a creator, which loves its work. As an artist, I find it hard to like, let alone love, most everything I make. I get annoyed, emotional, moody, upset because what I made is imperfect. And then here's this artist, this creator, who looks at all of creation and says, "Hey, I like that!" I read this story, and I want to be like God.
I also see here something profoundly human: the desire to understand the hows and whys of existence. Cultures from every corner of the world had their own creation stories, all attempts at understanding the world in which they lived, and the Israelite people were no different. The Bible, from the very first page, recounts for me one culture's journey toward greater knowledge and understanding of the world. There is a hunger to understand and make sense of the unknowable here, and it is a universal hunger, a hunger to which I can relate, to which we all can relate.
Maybe I'm supposed to think the Bible is the perfect, infallible Word of God and to treat it like a book of law and scientific and historical fact, but why would I even want to read that? The Bible is an invitation to think and consider, an invitation to engage, and that's what compels me to read it. It connects me to people who lived in a far away land a very long time ago, and it connects me to people who are alive today in my very own hometown. And, somewhere along the line, the Bible connects me to "God," whoever and whatever God is. I am no Biblical expert, but neither were the writers of the Bible.
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