How should I read the Bible?

We have a problem of subjectivity. “If God hates all the same things/people you hate, you can safely assume you have created God in your own image,” says Anne Lamott.

A farmer was reading his bible and came across the verse, “He shall not let thy foot be dashed against a stone.” A strong sense of God’s presence came over him and he knew that God would protect him. He climbed to the top of his barn and jumped off — and killed himself. This story is told in Mennonite circles as if it really happened. Perhaps it did.

Some Methodist in the 20th century, — not John Wesley himself, as is erroneously rumored — came up with a four-legged basis for discerning God’s will. It is Wesleyan in spirit and is called the Quadrilateral. But it became a) a theological football and b) a simplistic formula. Robert Outler, who made the formula popular, is said to have wished he’d never used the term. But … I think it can be useful.

To discern God’s will, according to the Quadrilateral, one must test the scripture verse, thought, feeling or impulse by scripture, traditional, reason and experience. Does the verse line up with other scriptures in the bible, especially the sayings of Jesus? Does it line up with Christian writers and theologians? Does it line up with what we know of science, and even common sense? (Our farmer would be in trouble here.) And is it consistent with life as we have experienced it?

That last criterion — experience — can have many facets. For me, conversation with other believers is an important facet through which I try to discern God’s will.

Richard Rohr suggests other criteria: a heart softened by an encounter with Creation, including animals, rocks, trees; and a heart softened by a life of prayer and contemplation. He states that such a heart will lean toward compassion, inclusion, love and suffering, and will handle scripture gently and thoughtfully.

That’s where I am today. It’s easy to use the bible as a weapon against those we dislike; in my case, against the haters, the people who cheat the poor, the proud, the conquerers of others. But I, too — even I! — must pray, connect with other believers, study and finally, hold scripture lightly.

If the books of the bible are forgeries, why bother to read them?

What does it mean when someone says, “this may not have happened, but it’s true?”

Most Christian theologians agree that some of the books of the bible were not written by their stated authors. Some were outright forgeries, meant to counter a “heretical” school of thought in another Christian community; others were written by disciples of the supposed authors.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John were probably written by their followers.

So why even read them, if they aren’t historically accurate? What’s the point?

Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.- Phil. 4:8 

It depends on how you define the word “truth.” We’re generally conditioned to think that scientific and historical truth is the only accurate truth. But what about the the parable of the Good Samaritan or the Prodigal Son? Did they really happen? Are they “true?”

Today’s pop theology is a muddle of ancient, medieval, Enlightenment and modern strands of thinking. We still think of heaven as “up there” — a relic of ancient thought. We think that Jesus died as a sacrifice for us — ancient again. We think that Jesus’ death on a cross satisfied God’s need for justice — a medieval theory from about 1100 AD. We think that a story that “didn’t really happen” is not true — a product of our scientific age.

We need to clean our theological house and re-define the question, “is it true?” Does the story or poem or sermon stimulate you to love God and neighbor? Then it might be true.

So why read the bible at all? 

Simple answer — because it’s our story. It is a vehicle for our own spiritual transformation. When I read the bible, I’m in that story or song. And sometimes it changes me — for the better.

True or False — “Christ Died for My Sins”

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8

True enough, but what does it mean? Why did it have to happen? How does it work?

The early church fathers believed in the  Ransom Theory of salvation. Christ had to die to pay the penalty owed Satan because of our sin. In the first century, it was common to “redeem” someone from a death penalty by buying back his/her life, so this model made sense. We have all been sentenced to death but, in the words of the gospel song, “Jesus paid it all.”

Anselm (1033-1109), a Benedictine monk and archbishop of Canterbury, got Satan out of the picture by proposing that Jesus’ death satisfied God’s own need for justice. His theory came to be called the Satisfaction Theory. It was consistent with the system of feudalism, in which the lord of the estate had to be paid (satisfied)  for any damage to the estate. Without this law, feudalism would have collapsed. So the model made sense in feudal times. And it is the model by which a large chunk of Christianity operates today.

But there were still questions about how salvation actually work. For example, did the divine part of Jesus die, or just the human part? (The early fathers said, only the human part.)

Modern theologians have suggested that this kind of “divine infanticide” (God murdering his own Son) is counter to the nature of God. While there are plenty of examples of an angry, vengeful God in the Hebrew scriptures, Jesus suggests a different God — God is “daddy,” a loving father. The Gospel of John says God is Love itself.

If the Satisfaction Theory no longer satisfies, does Jesus’ crucifixion have any other meaning for modern Christians?

 Jesus gives us an answer, if we look with open hearts. He never said, “worship me” or, “thank me for what I did for you.” What he did say, many times, was, “take up your cross, and follow me.”

In other words, the Way of the Cross needs to be our way if we are to enter the process of spiritual transformation. (John Wesley called it sanctification, or “moving towards perfection.”)

The Way of the Cross is, for me, the same thing as spiritual transformation. Wesley suggests the following pathways for transformation (He called them the “means of grace.”): worship, the sacraments, prayer, service to others (especially the poor) bible study and meeting with others for mutual encouragement (He called this “holy conversation.”)

So for me “Jesus died for my sins” became, “Take up your cross. My yolk is easy and my burden is light.” I can attest to this: the Way of the Cross includes suffering as we confront our own egos. But the Way of the Cross is a way of freedom and wholeness, and even lightness of being.

Don’t take yourself so seriously

We think dualistically these days. One thing is bad; another good. One political candidate is evil; another is good (or less evil). All Muslims are terrorists; all Americans are good. Everything is black-and-white.

We think with our reptilian brain — the fight, freeze or flight brain. Forget facts, forget logic, just be afraid. Be very afraid. Politicians have done a masterful job of manipulating us on this level since 9/11. Today political candidates exploit the same fears. Adolph Hitler was a master manipulator of these fears. We retreat to our lizard brain, our most primitive brain. (Scientists now say that humans have five brains, with the most advanced being the “brain of the heart.”)

Adolescents and children learn to think on the lizard brain level; indeed, it is probably necessary for their safety. But we adults need to move beyond fight/flight/good/evil duality. The best way to outgrow 24/7 dualism is to meet with someone you’re afraid of — a homeless person, say — and talk/listen to them. I predict that your stereotype will melt away. It has happened to me many times over my 75 years.

A friend of mine, as a high school girl, was walking in a small town with her mother. Across the street they saw a cheerleader from a rival school. My friend told her mother that this girl had gotten pregnant. Her mother replied, “What makes you think that couldn’t happen to you?” She frequently advised her children to put themselves in the other person’s shoes.

Jesus told his hearers, “You’d better remove that log from your eye before you help your friend removed the speck in his eye.” The hearers no doubt laughed at the comparison, and then were offended when they got his meaning.

Dualistic people objectify. We project bad qualities onto others — “those terrorists are violent. They hate others. They are animals.” It has been written that we dislike in others what we don’t like in ourselves. When I was a boy, we had a saying, “When you point a finger at someone, you are pointing three fingers at yourself.”

Most of us think dualistically. One path toward change is letting our ego (“sin”) go. I asked a spiritual director why I was having troubled dreams. He laughed and said, “your subconscious [soul] is telling you not to take yourself so seriously.” I am still working at letting my ego go, through prayer, reading, worship and conversations with co-travelers.

Bottom line: we don’t need to take ourselves so seriously. Put yourself in the other person’s shoes. Talk to someone you don’t like. Say as the Virgin Mary said to the angel, “Let it be with me according to your word.” Receive.

Advent and the Path of Descent

The Path of Descent is a right path for the beginning of Advent. The early church mystics based their idea of spiritual descent on Paul’s instructions to the Philippians: “have that mind in you which was in Christ Jesus, who emptied himself, pouring out his life for others.”

In today’s terms we would say, “begin the process of emptying yourself of your ego, so you can grow in wisdom and insight.” Jesus said we can’t see because we have a log in our eye. His hearers must have laughed when he used that metaphor.

In Preparing for Christmas, Richard Rohr calls John the Baptist the Master of Descent. John says, “I must decrease while he [the Messiah] must increase.”

I grew up saying something like that — “less of me and more of Thee.” The only problem with my theology then is that it also meant, “me bad, God good.” John Wesley did not embrace that dualistic “theology of the worm.” He believed that we have within us a divine spark, sickened by sin. These days I call it the ego — the drive to build, grow, be in charge, be noticed — to be my own god.

The problem with embarking on emptying oneself of the Ego is that it can’t be accomplished by the Ego! For me the process includes prayer, meditation, scripture, worship, service, Holy Communion. Entering into those activities forces me into a receptive mode instead of a directive mode. Wesley called these the Means of Grace — the means by which God’s grace can bubble up from that divine spark.

He included Holy Conversation, which means sharing on the heart level. We are hard-wired for community. We can’t go it alone. To experience community we need to … empty ourselves of ourselves, so our hearts are open and there is space. Space for others. Space for The Christ.

The Path of Descent is not easy. But it offers space, lightness, joy. Susan Yarbrough, talking about her book, Bench Pressed, said, “Listening to the stories of immigrants broke my heart. And a broken heart is an open heart.”

I wish you a Joyous Journey. A Path of Descent.

Freedom and Joy with “The Poor”

St. Francis was in a heap of trouble. After an unsuccessful stint as a soldier, and ill, he returned home to recover. One night he was praying and sleeping in the ruins of the Church of St. Damian, and had a vision. In his vision God said to him, “Francis, do you see my house in ruins? I want you to restore my house.”

Francis was fun-loving, a troubadour, an entertainer, and probably, an Enneagram Type Seven — a party boy. He impetuously rushed out and sold his horse to raise money for the church. He also sold some of his father’s expensive silk cloth. Father was not pleased and had Francis imprisoned for stealing.

The conflict between them dragged on, and Francis’ reputation was lost in the process. He retreated to a cave or cellar — we don’t know which — and dealt with his crumbling persona: no longer popular, a failure as a soldier, and a failure as a follower of God. His ego container had crumbled, we would say today.

But, G. K. Chesterton wrote, Francis emerged from his cave as if he were walking on his hands — he saw the world upside down: the rich were actually poor and the poor rich. Ever the jester, he was now a jongleur de Dieu — a jester for God.

Francis renounced his father’s wealth and he became a mendicant — a beggar for God. He asked for food and stones so he could rebuild the church with his own hands. Others were inspired by his example and joined him. That was the beginning of the Franciscan orders.

Francis experienced poverty of the Self. His Ego crumbled. He found joy, freedom and compassion within himself. Jesus said, “blessed are the poor.” What a blessing it is to drop our denial about who we really are. We find the freedom to follow our hearts into freedom and joy. And into compassion, service and solidarity.

When the walls of our Ego Containers begin to break down, we come face-to-face with The Others and see them as persons. Our relationships become “I-Thou,” rather than “I-It” or “I-Other.” We find, as St. Francis and Pope Francis did, that we are one with the poor. We are two, but first, we are one. Just as we are one with Creation.

Jesus said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Our spiritual practice takes us through loss and sometimes suffering, into freedom and joy. Indeed, blessed are the poor.

If you want to know more about working with the poor, you can start by looking up Shane Claiborne and reading his book, The Irresistible Revolutionary.

Look at the moon, not the finger

There is a good reason why our present pope is the first to take the name of St. Francis: St. Francis rejected the power and wealth of the Church, and went instead to find Jesus with the poor and in nature. Pope Francis is the first pope, to my knowledge, to reject wealth and power.

After his conversion St. Francis stripped off his fine clothing and wore a plain brown robe. He had always been repulsed by lepers, but after his conversion he began to kiss their sores and identify with them. He spent so much time with lepers he contracted leprosy himself.

Pope Francis points us to the poor and oppressed, where he finds the spirit of Christ. Like St. Francis, our pope finds Christ in the poor, the vulnerable and oppressed — even in animals and the rest of God’s Creation. You can see his face light up when he is with children. He finds joy and freedom with them.

Jesus calls us to leave our fine clothes and find the same joy and freedom. “Fine clothes” is a wonderful metaphor, representing the way we want to appear to others — the way of our egos: I am an attractive person, an important person, an intelligent person, a funny person — even a humble and loving person. These fine clothes – what a burden they are! Francis got rid of his — literally and metaphorically — and found joy and peace.

I get irritated when TV commentators view Pope Francis through a political lens: What point is he trying to make? What is his agenda?

Furthermore, we are dualistic when we analyze Francis (and others): he is either this or that, left or right, right or wrong, black or white. The best answer to the question, “is someone this or that” is often — “yes.”

I see the pope as a finger, pointing at the moon. The Buddha said, “My teaching is like a finger pointing at the moon. A thinking person will use the finger to see the moon; an unthinking person will never see the moon.” 

Pope Francis is the finger, pointing us to the Ultimate Truth of Christ. But most of us are blind. We obsess about the finger.

The Gospel of John reports a confrontation between Jesus and the Pharisees. Jesus heals a blind person, but the Pharisees couldn’t “see” it. He says to them, “you see, and yet you are blind.”

Quit studying the finger! Take a deep breath. Look at the radiance of this Moon. Open your heart; let go of the things you are proud of. Embrace mercy, compassion and justice. You will find peace and joy there. Jesus said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.”