A concession

Obligatory Impressionist painting accompanying Victorian novel

 

"We all of us, grave or light, get our thoughts entangled in metaphors, and act fatally on the strength of them." 

 George Eliot, Middlemarch

I recently sat for my MA exam, and studying for this meant ingesting as much of a 36-author reading list as possible. The idea is to produce graduates who are generalists in Anglophone literature, so the list included everyone from Marie de France (who is a PARTAY and deserves a post of her own) to Salman Rushdie.* One of the authors I had to meet for the first time was George Eliot. Going into it, I was pretty stoked to read Middlemarch, because I had heard so much about it from authors I respect, who highlighted its discussion of female agency and intellectualism. Unfortunately, my longstanding struggle with literary Realism was not about to dissipate, and Middlemarch required some of the most stamina I have ever needed in order to finish a book. I couldn't deal with all....that....detail. The entire time reading, I couldn't help thinking that what Eliot would take 150 pages to write, Austen could say in one paragraph. Oh well. (Also Dorothea Brooke is one of the most annoying characters I have encountered. So much for cool, intellectual heroines.)

ANYWAY, I didn't intend for this post to be a rant about Victorian novels. Instead, the above quote turned itself over and over in my head as I read Middlemarch, and I think it's a perfect summary of the novel as a whole. Hypothetical Reader, do not bother trying to tackle all 800 pages of that book; this quote is all you need to know. #lifehacks However, beyond the quote's nature as a key to reading the novel, I really liked it for its own merit as well. Eliot was spot on in diagnosing why we make so many of the stupid decisions we later (or instantly) regret. I was going to try writing a whole blog post expanding on this quote, but the more I try, the more I realize that it really just stands on its own. There is a tangible power to metaphor, and having the self-awareness to recognize how this plays on your perception of the world is incredibly valuable.

Even though I hated almost my entire experience of reading Middlemarch, I consider it worth it for just that one insight.

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* No, I did not read all 36. This is grad school, remember? The true learning objective is being able to correctly guess which items on an unreasonable reading list are the ones you're supposed to know. Pamela did not make the cut.**

** I would like to add that said exam, in an administrative decision undoubtedly sadistic, took place DURING SPRING BREAK.***

*** All professors seemed to have forgotten the imminence of said exam and assigned us EXTRA homework in the weeks leading up to it. Ok, rant over, I promise.

In which I orate

Apparently reading a different VanDrunen book each year has become a tradition for me:

“According to Scripture...marriage is an exalted state. But it is not the only God-pleasing state in which we can live. While the church does well to affirm marriage and childbearing, it often does a disservice to many of its members by marginalizing the nonmarried and the childless. This can happen in various ways. For example, it can happen when churches advertise themselves as being family friendly or as supporting family values, even when many of their members do not have a family, at least not a spouse or children. It can happen when churches treat unmarried adults simply as those who are not yet married, as if their lives are in a holding pattern until marriage brings meaning to them. It can happen when Christians segregate their social lives, as if the people who are married with children should primarily associate with each other and unmarried people with each other (and, when they do mingle, by people talking incessantly about their children as if those without children find such conversations just as fascinating as they do). It can happen when Christians raise girls as if being a wife and mother is the only worthy goal to pursue in life, such that those who do not marry and have children feel that they have somehow failed and are unprepared to find valuable things to do.” 

(Bioethics and the Christian Life, p. 100)

I’ve long been convinced that this is one of the ways the Church today often falls into profound self-destruction. Every one of VanDrunen’s examples has been deeply relatable for me, not only in the local church but the culture of Christianity at large. Touting ourselves as “family friendly” does at least as much harm as the good it believes itself to do, because doing so marginalizes the very demographic that Scripture itself claims is most physically able to serve the church. Furthermore, identifying ourselves primarily by “family values” is indicative of an underlying social gospel - “moral” conduct is now more important than purity of worship or theological integrity. It’s impossible to get the “practical” aspects of Christian living right if we don’t understand them as a product of God-glorifying doxology and doctrine first; failure to do so leads to legalism and, often, abuse.

The best examples of church life I have witnessed were cases in which the church’s theology and worship flowed into proper relationships between members of the congregation; single people in particular were valued for their own sake. They were not treated as inconvenient problems to be solved, second-class adults waiting to finally “grow up,” and they were neither patronized nor exploited. They were seen as individuals who had something to offer to the rest, and were encouraged to maximize these abilities. The fruit of such an attitude played out in the singles’ active involvement in church life. The church needed them. I can’t help but think how much more our churches could flourish if they shared this attitude.

Living in the church for 24 years, I have witnessed how a change in an individual's relationship status can launch - overnight - a flurry of invitations and overtures of friendship which had previously never been offered. This kind of thing can't go on. If there is only one practical takeaway from this post, let it be this: Treat singles as equals (because that's exactly what they are before God).

Atta boy Sidney

Since, then, poetry is of all human learnings the most ancient and of most fatherly antiquity, as from whence other learnings have taken their beginnings; since it is so universal that no learned nation doth despise it, nor barbarous nation is without it; since both Roman and Greek gave divine names unto it, the one of “prophesying,” the other of “making,” and that indeed that name of “making” is fit for him, considering that whereas other arts retain themselves within their subjects, and receive, as it were, their being from it, the poet only bringeth his own stuff, and doth not learn a conceit out of a matter, but maketh matter for a conceit; since neither his description nor his end containeth any evil, the thing described cannot be evil; since his effects be so good as to teach goodness, and delight the learners of it; since therein—namely in moral doctrine, the chief of all knowledges—he doth not only far pass the historian, but for instructing is well nigh comparable to the philosopher, and for moving leaveth him behind him; since the Holy Scripture, wherein there is no uncleanness, hath whole parts in it poetical, and that even our Saviour Christ vouchsafed to use the flowers of it; since all his kinds are not only in their united forms, but in their several dissections fully commendable; I think, and think I think rightly, the laurel crown appointed for triumphant captains doth worthily, of all other learnings, honor the poet’s triumph. 

(The Defense of Poesy, The Major Works, Oxford, p. 232)

2018

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

(Dylan Thomas, 1951)

Technically, this poem is Dylan Thomas's meditation upon the aging of his father and fight against imminent death. It's consistently been lurking in the back of my mind for the past few months, and I think there is more to its call to arms than simply resistance to physical mortality. I read Thomas's "rage" not as an act of violence or wrath, but rather as a nuanced manifestation of fierce, principled persistence. It brings to mind the literary types of the tragic and pathetic. The latter is passive, too consumed with the pathos of the moment to make any more attempt at resistance in the face of defeat. The tragic, however, dies fighting. In a spiritual sense, it is connected with Watson's imagery of Heaven being taken by storm. Leaving this here as a reminder that my faith, my church, my hope are all things I can never take for granted or give up in despair; through God's grace, they are things worth fighting for.

In which I take shots at my own kind

There's a rather ubiquitous piece of advice from Luther that amounts to this: if you want to be a good Christian cobbler, don't make mediocre shoes with crosses on them; make good shoes. This might be the best way to explain my dislike for the growing number of movements trying to get women into theology. I know this sounds like I've lost my mind, but hear me out.

In theory, the idea is great. There's still a disheartening lack of interest in knowing God in the female demographics of the church. Nobody would ever admit it when phrased this way; instead, it's the dismissive comments about how men split hairs over doctrine or the need to make bible/book studies "fun." We're still plagued by the myth that there is no real benefit to such abstract study. So yes, there's still a long way to go.

What I find to be deeply problematic is the difficult time these movements have in getting around to discussing actual theology.

There's one popular site that brands itself as a hard-hitting community of doctrinally-minded women responding to issues in the culture at large. Lots of aggressive socio-political commentary, but I have yet to find a post dedicated to any theological topic. I find this particularly destructive, not only because of the way it promotes a belligerent brand of Christianity, but also in the way it turns the purported study of divinity into something very human-focused. It's culture wars masquerading as theology.

Another, related, mistake I often see is the conflation of theology proper and Christian living. Aspiring to be a virtuous student/employee/wife/mother is commendable, but that discussion is not theology. We apply our theology to such situations, yes, but the actions that follow are the result of what we believe about God; they are not the beliefs themselves.

Finally, these movements have a tendency to create a very gendered version of theology. Very often, books marketed for women suffer from poor doctrine and a domestic model of femininity. But, beyond these issues - why do we need to write theology books for women? Why can't we read Owen and Turretin along with the men? Why can't a woman's book be marketed as simply another theological book, and not something distinctively feminine? I refer to the Luther analogy at the beginning of the post. If you strive for excellence as a woman theologian, don't write some sloppy theology and slap a floral cover on it; produce something that lives up to the standards of both our confessional heritage and academia.

On loss and thanksgiving

Som natural tears they drop'd, but wip'd them soon;

The World was all before them, where to choose

Thir place of rest, and Providence thir guide:

They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow,

Through Eden took thir solitarie way.

(Paradise Lost XII.645-649)

My freshman year, in my 17th C poetry class, my professor taught us that one of the most important things we could learn as fallen humans is how to lose. Not "lose" in the sense of a competition, but rather a bereavement. If we could learn to cope with loss successfully, we would be able to grow from the traumas we (inevitably) experience in life, rather than destroy ourselves and others in them. That kind of thing is difficult for an invincible 19-year-old to absorb, although in my case, the recent death of my father was an imminent validation of my professor's point. I don't think anybody wants to dwell on the possibility of losing the things they love most dearly.

This past year, with its collection of anniversaries, revisits, and - quite frankly - disasters, has foregrounded the problem of loss in an inescapable way. Parts of 2017 remind me of 2012, especially in the uncomfortable proximity between extremes that I keep encountering. This has been the most difficult part of "learning to lose" for me to grasp: how do you make sense of gaining and losing when both are happening simultaneously? Loving what cannot be kept, trusting in the wake of betrayal, discovering joy amid sorrow; the past five years have taught me that these are choices, and that they are both exhausting and cyclical.

My professor highlighted this tension in Paradise Lost, as Milton resolves it as a felix culpa, or fortunate fall; we would not experience the joy and hope of redemption if it were not for the despair of the Fall. I'm uncomfortable with the theological assumptions behind this; I get nervous any time we start speaking about the Fall in terms that could suggest necessity or inevitability. Grace, however, is a staggering intervention in it.

I suspect that I will always struggle with the close relationship between gain and loss, but one thing I am learning from my experience in it is gratitude. Despite how bewildering it can be, each instance of blessing amid trial is a mercy from God. We cannot survive the sorrows of this world without divine grace, and sometimes joy amid sorrow is one of the ways God softens the darkness of His providence. We do well to hope in the Gospel present in the curse of Genesis 3.

I read Philippians 4.4-9 recently, and it made me realize how powerful an attitude of thanksgiving is. Gratitude is the core of our sanctification, and I can't think of a more effective response to loss than meditation upon the mercies and goodness God has shown us in our lives.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice! Let your gentle spirit be known to all men. The Lord is near. Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 

Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things. The things you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

Shall thy work decay?

Lately, I've learned how easy it is to read this sonnet from a corporate point of view. The pain and tangible sense of struggle is visceral.

Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste,
I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday;
I dare not move my dim eyes any way,
Despair behind, and death before doth cast
Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste
By sin in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh;
Only thou art above, and when towards thee
By thy leave I can look, I rise again;
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,
That not one hour my self I can sustain;
Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art,
And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart.

(John Donne, Holy Sonnet #1)

Thankful for God's answer of a resounding "NO" in Romans 8. The trials we undergo do not hamper His kingdom but ultimately strengthen it. Nothing will stop Him from working out our salvation, or, by extension, the good of the Church. We survive by holding onto His promises.

"For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he already sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it." (Romans 8.24-25)

Devotional confessionalism

In the midst of some research the other day, I went through chapter two of the 1689, and I was struck by how much of an impact it makes when you consider how these attributes of God are being continually manifested in Himself and worked daily in our lives. It's convicting to realize how much I would benefit in my spiritual life if I were to seriously meditate upon this reality more often. God is not just an academic theory I study; He is the living Unmoved Mover of the universe who loves me and sent His Son to die for me, personally. Just that thought alone ought to make me more patient under trial and more gratefully obedient.

1. The Lord our God is but one only living and true God; whose subsistence is in and of himself, infinite in being and perfection; whose essence cannot be comprehended by any but himself; a most pure spirit, invisible, without body, parts, or passions, who only hath immortality, dwelling in the light which no man can approach unto; who is immutable, immense, eternal, incomprehensible, almighty, every way infinite, most holy, most wise, most free, most absolute; working all things according to the counsel of his own immutable and most righteous will for his own glory; most loving, gracious, merciful, long-suffering, abundant in goodness and truth, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin; the rewarder of them that diligently seek him, and withal most just and terrible in his judgments, hating all sin, and who will by no means clear the guilty.
(1 Corinthians 8:4, 6; Deuteronomy 6:4; Jeremiah 10:10; Isaiah 48:12; Exodus 3:14; John 4:24; 1 Timothy 1:17; Deuteronomy 4:15, 16; Malachi 3:6; 1 Kings 8:27; Jeremiah 23:23; Psalms 90:2; Genesis 17:1; Isaiah 6:3; Psalms 115:3; Isaiah 46:10; Proverbs 16:4; Romans 11:36; Exodus 34:6, 7; Hebrews 11:6; Nehemiah 9:32, 33; Psalms 5:5, 6; Exodus 34:7; Nahum 1:2, 3)

2. God, having all life, glory, goodness, blessedness, in and of himself, is alone in and unto himself all-sufficient, not standing in need of any creature which he hath made, nor deriving any glory from them, but only manifesting his own glory in, by, unto, and upon them; he is the alone fountain of all being, of whom, through whom, and to whom are all things, and he hath most sovereign dominion over all creatures, to do by them, for them, or upon them, whatsoever himself pleaseth; in his sight all things are open and manifest, his knowledge is infinite, infallible, and independent upon the creature, so as nothing is to him contingent or uncertain; he is most holy in all his counsels, in all his works, and in all his commands; to him is due from angels and men, whatsoever worship, service, or obedience, as creatures they owe unto the Creator, and whatever he is further pleased to require of them.
(John 5:26; Psalms 148:13; Psalms 119:68; Job 22:2, 3; Romans 11:34-36; Daniel 4:25, 34, 35; Hebrews 4:13; Ezekiel 11:5; Acts 15:18; Psalms 145:17; Revelation 5:12-14)

3. In this divine and infinite Being there are three subsistences, the Father, the Word or Son, and Holy Spirit, of one substance, power, and eternity, each having the whole divine essence, yet the essence undivided: the Father is of none, neither begotten nor proceeding; the Son is eternally begotten of the Father; the Holy Spirit proceeding from the Father and the Son; all infinite, without beginning, therefore but one God, who is not to be divided in nature and being, but distinguished by several peculiar relative properties and personal relations; which doctrine of the Trinity is the foundation of all our communion with God, and comfortable dependence on him.
(1 John 5:7; Matthew 28:19; 2 Corinthians 13:14; Exodus 3:14; John 14:11; 1 Corinthians 8:6; John 1:14,18; John 15:26; Galatians 4:6)

Five years

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind

I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom

But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb,

That spot which no vicissitude can find?

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—

But how could I forget thee?—Through what power,

Even for the least division of an hour,

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

To my most grievous loss!—That thought’s return

Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,

Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,

Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;

That neither present time, nor years unborn

Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

(William Wordsworth, on the loss of his daughter)

I was told many things as I waited for my father to die, but I was never prepared for how this newfound sense of loss would only deepen with time. The anesthetic joy of college has given way to a steadily-accumulating list of milestones passing unwitnessed and quandaries lacking his insight. You learn to move on, but even this is an unstable term: it's more like becoming old friends with the memories that haunt you. Never less painful, simply more familiar.

I wrote the post below over a period of several weeks following the news that my dad was going to die much more suddenly than I had expected. At the time, I was about to graduate highschool. I never had the heart to finish it. I've made it through five of the sixty-some years I anticipated at the end of the post, and each one of these has brought new people I wish he could meet and experiences I wish he could share. I find him in recurring dreams when I sleep and in notes tucked inside the books that I read. He's there in the decisions I make, spanning prank-ridden college lore to places I've traveled to choices I've made in career and education. The example of his piety and love for the local church has given me the fortitude to hold fast to my confession - sometimes the most difficult decision of all. The older I've grown, the more I've realized that there are very few men capable of living up to such a precedent.

It's a comfort to see how even our Savior was moved by the ugliness of suffering and death in John 11. I'm thankful for the hope He has given me - not only for my own salvation but also for the chance to see my father again - and I rest in the compassion He has shown me in the trials of my present life. It is only because of Him that I am able to finally end the post below, not with the sonnet above, but with the one a man like my father truly deserves.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou’art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy’or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

(John Donne, Holy Sonnet #10)

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June, 2012. "A Tale of Two Readers."

These are just a few of my dad's books. Ever since we first became acquainted with Reformed theology back in 2003/4, he's spent a lot of time putting together a library for our family so that we would have the best resources at our fingertips for learning about our good God. Before that, I was known as the big reader of the family and the majority of the household literature probably consisted of Little House on the Prairie and assorted American Girl series. Now, though, my dad began conscripting every available shelf to house the collection he was building. The bookcase above, for example, is a walled-up doorway that he fitted shelves into. It's in a little back room which he used as an office and where he spent a lot of his free time sharing what he learned with the blogosphere. I was always coming in to visit and he would tell me about all the latest among the blogs - the people he met, the fads evangelicalism was caught up in, and most importantly, what he was learning about God. I always thought of us as Lizzy and Mr. Bennett in Pride & Prejudice. 

My dad's zeal for theology rubbed off on me, and I started collecting these books myself. Dad was organizing our church's bookstore, and whenever a book order came in, there was almost always a book or two he had gotten for me. He signed up for an Amazon.com credit card for the sole purpose of using he rewards points on free books. Yeah, we're hardcore bibliophiles here. 

Then, when I just finished 8th grade, he got sick and had to shut his blog down. As the years of waiting for a liver transplant went by, the side effects of his disease made it difficult for him to stay awake for long and he was unable to read much from the books he had surrounded himself with. What he had learned about God in those books, however, has never left him. On good days, we still talk about the same things we did five years ago, although I'm now the one telling him what the latest is on the blogs. 

This weekend, we found out that my dad's sickness has rapidly gotten worse. In fact, he's too sick now to get a transplant. The doctors are giving him 3 weeks at the most to live. It is a sore blow, as the Puritans would say it, but we know that God's will is infinitely better than ours.

My dad is going to die, but he isn't going to be gone forever. The thought occurred to me to view this as I would a story. Some of the characters are going to be separated for an extended period of time, but in the end, all that matters is that they're going to meet up again. When Odysseus and his family were finally together again, do you think they spent their time mourning their time apart? I'm going to see my dad again, but without any of the pain, sin, and sadness that comes with living in this world. I'm going to see my dad, but only after I've seen Christ first. And sixty-some years apart is nothing compared with eternity together.

Hope

I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.

I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God's gift to man. I perceived that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it. God has done it, so that people fear before him. That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already has been; and God seeks what has been driven away.

Ecclesiastes 3.10-15

I read this passage in my devotions this morning and was stuck by the juxtaposition of man's satisfaction in his God-ordained work and God's own ongoing works of creation and providence. Things got a little spooky when I looked it up in Matthew Henry. He approached it from a different angle than I did, but his commentary deeply resonated with me: God is faithful even in the prolonged, exasperating trials which have no end in sight. The wisdom of his plan is more beautiful than any scenario we could have devised for ourselves.

The passage is too long for me to post the entirety of it here, but I highly recommend checking it out. A lot of it reminds me of Boethius's counsel in his Consolation of Philosophy.

We have seen what changes there are in the world, and must not expect to find the world more sure to us than it has been to others. Now here Solomon shows the hand of God in all those changes; it is he that has made every creature to be that to us which it is, and therefore we must have our eye always upon him.

I. We must make the best of that which is, and must believe it best for the present, and accommodate ourselves to it: He has made every thing beautiful in his time (v. 11), and therefore, while its time lasts, we must be reconciled to it: nay, we must please ourselves with the beauty of it. Note, 1. Every thing is as God has made it; it is really as he appointed it to be, not as it appears to us. 2. That which to us seems most unpleasant is yet, in its proper time, altogether becoming. Cold is as becoming in winter as heat in summer; and the night, in its turn, is a black beauty, as the day, in its turn, is a bright one. 3. There is a wonderful harmony in the divine Providence and all its disposals, so that the events of it, when they come to be considered in their relations and tendencies, together with the seasons of them, will appear very beautiful, to the glory of God and the comfort of those that trust in him. Though we see not the complete beauty of Providence, yet we shall see it, and a glorious sight it will be, when the mystery of God shall be finished. Then every thing shall appear to have been done in the most proper time and it will be the wonder of eternity, Deut. xxxii. 4; Ezek. i. 18.

II. We must wait with patience for the full discovery of that which to us seems intricate and perplexed, acknowledging that we cannot find out the work that God makes from the beginning to the end, and therefore must judge nothing before the time. We are to believe that God has made all beautiful. Every thing is done well, as in creation, so in providence, and we shall see it when the end comes, but till then we are incompetent judges of it. While the picture is in drawing, and the house in building, we see not the beauty of either; but when the artist has put his last hand to them, and given them their finishing strokes, then all appears very good. We see but the middle of God's works, not from the beginning of them (then we should see how admirably the plan was laid in the divine counsels), nor to the end of them, which crowns the action (then we should see the product to be glorious), but we must wait till the veil be rent, and not arraign God's proceedings nor pretend to pass judgment on them...