The book of Joel is short; only three chapters. Scholars aren't sure if it was written in the 9th century or 6th century B.C., but that doesn't matter very much. The overarching message is that Yahweh is about to rain down judgment on Israel as well as other nations for their wickedness, on the coming Day of the Lord. But if the people will repent, He will restore and bless Israel.
There's a famous, comforting passage in Joel, referring to the Day of the Lord: "And afterward, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions. Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days. I will show wonders in the heavens and on the earth, blood and fire and billows of smoke. The sun will be turned to darkness and the moon to blood before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord. And everyone who calls on the name of the lord will be saved, for on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem there will be deliverance, as the Lord has said, among the survivors whom the Lord calls" (Joel 2:28-32).
Perhaps the most remarkable feature of Joel is his description of an invasion of locusts. Scholars believe he was talking about a real event, although it could be construed as a metaphor for God's wrath and/or for the devastation from invasions of foreign armies--Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, or Romans.
As with the other minor (and major) prophets, Joel's message is scary and disturbing because it can be applied across the ages: God will not tolerate wickedness forever; He certainly could and perhaps will unleash His wrath.
For me, though, the book of Joel makes my thoughts wander to a couple of my favorite pieces of American literature.
First, the description of the invasion of locusts makes me think of On the Banks of Plum Creek by Laura Ingalls Wilder. The chapter "The Glittering Cloud" describes one of the devastating infestations of locusts in the 1870s on the American prairie. It's horrifying, and a scene right out of Joel. When people say "Locust swarms of biblical proportions," they're talking about Joel (or possibly the plague of locusts in Exodus 10).
The other link to a favorite book is Joel 3:14: "Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision!" (My NIV text note says this would refer to a valley where God passes judgment on the people.) In the 1951 World War II novel The Caine Mutiny by Herman Wouk, one of the characters, Thomas Keefer, publishes a novel about the war that he entitles Multitudes, Multitudes. There's not really any explanation about why that title is used. Wouk was a Jewish biblical scholar in his own right, so it's fun to speculate. I suppose it was used by the character, and by Wouk, to illustrate that all the multitudes of people involved in the war were subject to God's judgment.
The two images tie together for Joel's readers and for us today. We must remember that we are all in the Valley of Decision--subject to God's judgment; and God's judgment can be as horrifying and devastating as an invasion of multitudes and multitudes of locusts.
And, friends, that is a vision of biblical proportion.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
John: Another point of view
I thought I'd write about reading the Gospel of John before I leave town for a few days.
I love all the Gospels. Each has its own unique characteristics. What I like best about John is the way it presents "the rest of the story." You probably know that Matthew, Mark and Luke are called the "Synoptic Gospels" because they have more or less the same viewpoint and seem to draw on common sources (whatever those sources may be!). Scholars believe John was written a number of decades afterwards. It almost seems like John read the Synoptics then said, "I have some important comments to add."
There are some significant differences in John, compared to the Synoptics. For example, John describes at least two and maybe three trips to Jerusalem for Passover. He doesn't really describe the Last Supper, with the bread and the wine, although he has a lengthy "Upper Room Discourse." John is the only Gospel to tell the story of the raising of Lazarus. That sort of thing.
Although the language (in Greek) is pretty easy to read (compared to, say, Luke-Acts), the Gospel of John is quite sophisticated literarily. For example, there are interesting nuances like Jesus' words to Nathanel in 1:50 "You believe because I told you I saw you under the fig tree. You shall see greater things than that..." that are echoed in His words to Thomas in 20:29, "Because you have seen me you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed." There are all sorts of interesting plays on words, double meanings, and such.
John's Gospel always feels a little more "polemical" than the other Synoptics. Jesus seems to spend more time arguing with other theologians, and there are also passages (which could be the narrator, John, rather than Jesus speaking) that are also quite theological in tone.
Years ago, I was reading about the so-called Gnostic Gospels, books written about the same time as John that were the beginnings of Gnosticism, a heresy with some similarities to Christianity. Although I've forgotten most of what I was reading back then, I remember being struck that quite a bit of John seemed to be aimed directly at those early Gnostics.
I suppose this is another illustration of the fact that the more you dig into and study the Gospels, or any Bible book for that matter, the more fascinating it becomes.
There are so many passages in John that I love. Whenever I get to John 11:25, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies. And whoever lives and believes in me will never die," I hear the exquisite musical setting of this from John Rutter's Requiem.
I am also extremely fond of John 15:1-17, the part about the vine and the branches. "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." It inspires me to do what I can to remain in Christ, which is primarily accomplished through prayer.
Neighbor, how long has it been since you read the Gospel of John? Well, that's too long.
I love all the Gospels. Each has its own unique characteristics. What I like best about John is the way it presents "the rest of the story." You probably know that Matthew, Mark and Luke are called the "Synoptic Gospels" because they have more or less the same viewpoint and seem to draw on common sources (whatever those sources may be!). Scholars believe John was written a number of decades afterwards. It almost seems like John read the Synoptics then said, "I have some important comments to add."
There are some significant differences in John, compared to the Synoptics. For example, John describes at least two and maybe three trips to Jerusalem for Passover. He doesn't really describe the Last Supper, with the bread and the wine, although he has a lengthy "Upper Room Discourse." John is the only Gospel to tell the story of the raising of Lazarus. That sort of thing.
Although the language (in Greek) is pretty easy to read (compared to, say, Luke-Acts), the Gospel of John is quite sophisticated literarily. For example, there are interesting nuances like Jesus' words to Nathanel in 1:50 "You believe because I told you I saw you under the fig tree. You shall see greater things than that..." that are echoed in His words to Thomas in 20:29, "Because you have seen me you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed." There are all sorts of interesting plays on words, double meanings, and such.
John's Gospel always feels a little more "polemical" than the other Synoptics. Jesus seems to spend more time arguing with other theologians, and there are also passages (which could be the narrator, John, rather than Jesus speaking) that are also quite theological in tone.
Years ago, I was reading about the so-called Gnostic Gospels, books written about the same time as John that were the beginnings of Gnosticism, a heresy with some similarities to Christianity. Although I've forgotten most of what I was reading back then, I remember being struck that quite a bit of John seemed to be aimed directly at those early Gnostics.
I suppose this is another illustration of the fact that the more you dig into and study the Gospels, or any Bible book for that matter, the more fascinating it becomes.
There are so many passages in John that I love. Whenever I get to John 11:25, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies. And whoever lives and believes in me will never die," I hear the exquisite musical setting of this from John Rutter's Requiem.
I am also extremely fond of John 15:1-17, the part about the vine and the branches. "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." It inspires me to do what I can to remain in Christ, which is primarily accomplished through prayer.
Neighbor, how long has it been since you read the Gospel of John? Well, that's too long.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Job: Ruminations on Sin and Suffering
I am so glad to be finished with Job. I always feel like I'm slogging through this book, even though it's shorter than a lot of the books in the Bible.
As I think about why it's not a favorite, I'm a little stumped.
First, I thought it was because there's not much narrative, as there is in, say, the Gospels or Judges. But that's not quite true. There's a definite story in Job: He's a great guy; Satan persuades God to test his mettle by afflicting him hideously; a bunch of his friends show up to comfort him and nearly talk his ear off; in the end, God restores everything Job has lost. That's a narrative.
Then, I thought it was because there's not much dialogue. Well, there's not much back-and-forth repartee. Most of the book is supposed to be speeches of those three friends. Plus, there is some definite interchange between Job and his wife; between Satan and God; between Job and the friends; and ultimately between Job and God.
Maybe it's the message of Job that bothers me. As I see it, the book deals with the question, "Why do bad things happen to good people?" And I think it's a two-part answer: 1) You, Man, are not going to get an answer; and 2) God has your situation and everything else in creation under His control. I don't think anyone really likes that answer. Yet, it is the very nugget of faith; something that has sustained people who believe in God through the millennia. It certainly is the bedrock of my own faith.
The long passages attributed to Job and his friends just work through all the possibilities of why bad things happen to good people. It occurred to me this time as I read Job that this sort of mirrors what most of us do when we're troubled. We, too, try to figure out if it's because we sinned, or because we're too proud, or because God is capricious, or whatever. Anyone who's spent a sleepless night wrestling with a problem can relate to the endlessness of the internal turmoil.
The friends raise an interesting point. Their thesis seems to be that the only reason Job would be suffering so much is that he must have sinned. They are working from the assumption that if you actually are sinless, you will be blessed, and vice versa--if you sin, you will suffer the consequences. This logic would seem to imply that one could be sinless. Anyone who takes the notion of sin seriously, however, knows firsthand that it's probably impossible to be sinless. That's why we praise God for offering us salvation from sin through faith in Christ.
I noted that chapter 31, Job's final lament, includes a listing of human sins that he has not committed. We never do find out what Job's sins are; probably the same quiet, inner sins that we all commit. But that final list paints a picture of the inverse of godly living.
I think Job is a tour de force of Hebrew poetry. It has stanza after stanza of parallel thoughts, and it's packed with imagery and metaphors. It struck me for the first time that the behemoth and leviathan that are discussed in God's speech in chapters 40-41 could also be metaphors for human troubles or for Evil. I especially like the passages that describe God's grandeur in nature. The next time I read Job, I'm going to take a little more time as I read the poetry and savor the language more thoroughly.
I also like Job's declarations of his faith. "The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised." Or, as we know it from the King James Version, "The LORD giveth and the LORD taketh away: Blessed be the name of the LORD." (Job 1:21)
Or: "Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him." (Job 13:15) "I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon ghe earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God." (Job 19:25-26).
And, Job 28:28: "The fear of the LORD--that is wisdom, and to shun evil is understanding."
One last thought. The voices of Job's friends, Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar and Elihu, are aggravating. They come to comfort Job (which is admirable), but they keep yammering about how he really must have done something awful to deserve this suffering. They just remind me of short-sighted "religious" people. They aren't exactly wrong in what they say, but they are misguided and unhelpful. Worst of all, they come across as so self-righteous. Ugh. (Note to friends: Please let me know if I ever do this.)
As I think about why it's not a favorite, I'm a little stumped.
First, I thought it was because there's not much narrative, as there is in, say, the Gospels or Judges. But that's not quite true. There's a definite story in Job: He's a great guy; Satan persuades God to test his mettle by afflicting him hideously; a bunch of his friends show up to comfort him and nearly talk his ear off; in the end, God restores everything Job has lost. That's a narrative.
Then, I thought it was because there's not much dialogue. Well, there's not much back-and-forth repartee. Most of the book is supposed to be speeches of those three friends. Plus, there is some definite interchange between Job and his wife; between Satan and God; between Job and the friends; and ultimately between Job and God.
Maybe it's the message of Job that bothers me. As I see it, the book deals with the question, "Why do bad things happen to good people?" And I think it's a two-part answer: 1) You, Man, are not going to get an answer; and 2) God has your situation and everything else in creation under His control. I don't think anyone really likes that answer. Yet, it is the very nugget of faith; something that has sustained people who believe in God through the millennia. It certainly is the bedrock of my own faith.
The long passages attributed to Job and his friends just work through all the possibilities of why bad things happen to good people. It occurred to me this time as I read Job that this sort of mirrors what most of us do when we're troubled. We, too, try to figure out if it's because we sinned, or because we're too proud, or because God is capricious, or whatever. Anyone who's spent a sleepless night wrestling with a problem can relate to the endlessness of the internal turmoil.
The friends raise an interesting point. Their thesis seems to be that the only reason Job would be suffering so much is that he must have sinned. They are working from the assumption that if you actually are sinless, you will be blessed, and vice versa--if you sin, you will suffer the consequences. This logic would seem to imply that one could be sinless. Anyone who takes the notion of sin seriously, however, knows firsthand that it's probably impossible to be sinless. That's why we praise God for offering us salvation from sin through faith in Christ.
I noted that chapter 31, Job's final lament, includes a listing of human sins that he has not committed. We never do find out what Job's sins are; probably the same quiet, inner sins that we all commit. But that final list paints a picture of the inverse of godly living.
I think Job is a tour de force of Hebrew poetry. It has stanza after stanza of parallel thoughts, and it's packed with imagery and metaphors. It struck me for the first time that the behemoth and leviathan that are discussed in God's speech in chapters 40-41 could also be metaphors for human troubles or for Evil. I especially like the passages that describe God's grandeur in nature. The next time I read Job, I'm going to take a little more time as I read the poetry and savor the language more thoroughly.
I also like Job's declarations of his faith. "The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised." Or, as we know it from the King James Version, "The LORD giveth and the LORD taketh away: Blessed be the name of the LORD." (Job 1:21)
Or: "Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him." (Job 13:15) "I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon ghe earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God." (Job 19:25-26).
And, Job 28:28: "The fear of the LORD--that is wisdom, and to shun evil is understanding."
One last thought. The voices of Job's friends, Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar and Elihu, are aggravating. They come to comfort Job (which is admirable), but they keep yammering about how he really must have done something awful to deserve this suffering. They just remind me of short-sighted "religious" people. They aren't exactly wrong in what they say, but they are misguided and unhelpful. Worst of all, they come across as so self-righteous. Ugh. (Note to friends: Please let me know if I ever do this.)
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