If I'm being perfectly honest, this week's readings from Norman Wirzba's Living Sabbath Rest: Discovering the Rhythms of Rest and Delight did not instigate a lot of thinking in me. During our small group discussion, my group concluded that Wirzba's description of Sabbath rest seems to be fairly synonymous with Christian living, so few of his main points seem to branch off very far from anything I've learned in a Sunday school classroom over the course of the past twenty years. Hence, such a lack of profundity rendered me thoughtless, and I found our discussion of these chapters to be rather empty. There's my brutal honesty for the day.
I did have a moment of confusion, though, while I was reading chapter twelve of Wirzba's novel, entitled, "Sabbath Worship;" I had difficulty establishing where Wirzba identifies the problem with worship in our society. Specifically, I couldn't tell if Wirzba thinks the necessary change needs to be mental or volitional. When it comes to diagnosing the problem, he seems to go back and forth between an inappropriate mindset and an inappropriate course of action, and while he certainly agrees that there are currently problems with both aspects of worship, his conclusion as to where the core of such problems lies is unclear.
For example, Wirzba writes, "Our common failure at worship reflects a profoundly disoriented life, an inability to examine carefully and honestly who and where we are. It suggests that we have not adequately grasped our situation in life as creatures made in the image of God, sharing our lives with other creatures, all dependent upon God and each other for our well-being" (155-156). This suggests that modern worship is not a reflection of Sabbath rest because of a mental failure; we, as Christians, do not fully understand the importance, context, and meaning of our worship, and it therefore is not what it ought to be. That makes sense, and I would have to agree with that.
However, Wirzba also writes, "Because there are no limits to the goodness of God, no detail that escapes God's notice or affirmation, there are no limits to the times and places wherein praise and worship to God are fitting . . . When we punctuate key, though mundane, events in the day with praise, we consecrate our life and our living to God. We can sanctify our daily routines- when we rise and go to sleep, fill our car with fuel and our stomach with food, smell a flower or see a child smile- when we intersperse them with 'Sabbath moments' of praise and thanksgiving" (157). This suggests, rather, that the problem with our worship rests in how we choose to live our lives; we, as Christians, do not act in a manner reflective of the worshipful life to which we are called. That also makes sense, and I would have to agree with that as well.
Our thoughts and are actions, undoubtedly, are interrelated, and each has influence over the other, so both certainly ought to be reevaluated in order to start embodying a Sabbath mindset in worship. However, Wirzba seems to write to conclude that the solutions to our problems are specific enough that they can be limited to one of these aspects of our worship, but he fails to adequately conclude which aspect is more problematic. That was my analysis, at least. Hence, I was left confused; where exactly is the problem, and how do we fix it?
To answer my question, I posed another question: is worship as a whole more mental or volitional? I thought that if I could determine the essence of worship, then I could more easily clarify what Wirzba is asserting. However, the problem is that that is a very difficult question. I don't know whether the basis of our worship lies more in how we think or how we act; personally, I find each to be equally important. Thus, Wirzba should not attempt to reduce the problems of our worship to either a mental or volitional fallacy, which I'm sure was not his primary intention in writing as much as it was my own interpretation. However, he should rather establish that the seemingly limitless potential manifestations of our worship imply a seemingly limitless amount of potential problems with how those manifestations are produced; worship is too broad to be corrected this easily, so while there is value in identifying needs for corrections, the practicality of such identifications is moot.
That's my analysis, at least.
Sunday, October 25, 2015
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Week 7
There was a moment in class this past Thursday while I was in small group discussion over chapter six of Norman Wirzba's Living the Sabbath: Discovering the Rhythms of Rest and Delight where I completely disagreed with every single one of my small group members. I was hardly in the mood to be the odd one out and try to defend myself, though, so I kept quiet. What can I say? Sometimes introversion gets the best of me. Luckily, now I can vocalize my thoughts to my heart's desire via blog.
Before I go any further, I want to establish that I didn't think my group members were in the wrong; they had a reaction to the text that I'm sure most readers would have had when reading this chapter, so I'm not going to discredit their opinions. I simply interpreted the chapter differently. Here's what I mean:
Chapter six is all about coming to terms with all of the pain that's in the world and how to practice Sabbath rest in light of sufferings. When it comes to pain, according to Wirzba, endurance comes from the assurance of others enduring the pain with those in pain; Sabbath rest happens when people achieve a deep solidarity amid difficult times. After all, Christ, who has given us the greatest comfort possible, achieved such a task by joining us in our sufferings and taking on the iniquities of the world. Hence, people should not be so quick to escape their pain but should consider difficult times opportunities to grow closer to others and grow as a mature human being.
That's the gist of how Wirzba claims we ought to experience the peace of the Sabbath amid our painful lives, and I can see why every member of my small group agreed with what he said, taking in his words as a refreshing new perspective of the Sabbath. Honestly, I agree with him, too. There was simply one point of his that really rubbed me the wrong way.
Wirzba asserts, "Pain and suffering should not be cast as 'problems' that need to be 'explained' or 'solved,' eliminated because they represent an affront to the world we would choose or make for ourselves. In fact, it is a mistake to look for a 'solution,' since this becomes an excuse to avoid the communal disciplines of care and constancy that enable us together to bear, absorb, and grow through each other's hurt" (79).
If I had read those few sentences three months ago, I would have found them reassuring; I would have felt the weight of the world being lifted off of my shoulders. After all, Wirzba claims, in essence, that I don't need to worry about fixing all of life's problems. How relieving! I was worried that God actually wanted me to do something about all of this evil to which I am exposed! Now all I have to do is "bear, absorb, and grow through each other's hurt." That's so much easier.
Isn't this just a huge cop-out? Yes, surely this principle holds true for certain circumstances. For instance, if my best friend loses his father to cancer, there is obviously no way to "solve" that "problem." I can't approach him and ask him how I can make things any better; all I can do is approach him and not abandon him in his time of suffering. I get that. Pain does not constitute a need for repair as much as it does a need for care.
But can we really approach others' pain at the expense of a solution? Is it really a "mistake," like Wirzba claims, to try and fix what we see as broken? Like I mentioned earlier, if I had read this passage three months ago, I would have agreed with him, but now that I've been exposed to evils such as those presented in "The Dark Side of Chocolate," how can I conclude that we shouldn't try to do something about others' pain? Sometimes it just isn't enough to simply bear with others in their time of need; sometimes we need to act!
Finding a solution to what we see as problems, though, does call for a certain amount of enduring pain alongside the hurt, like Wirzba notes. When we act rashly without first meeting suffering people where they're at, we miss the opportunities to grow and learn from the pains and trials of this life. Thus, I don't think that we ought to endure pain at the expense of a solution, nor should we seek a solution at the expense of enduring pain; each has its place in the world, and when we discover which problems in this life require us to be searching for a solution and which ones simply require us to be, then we will find Sabbath rest.
Before I go any further, I want to establish that I didn't think my group members were in the wrong; they had a reaction to the text that I'm sure most readers would have had when reading this chapter, so I'm not going to discredit their opinions. I simply interpreted the chapter differently. Here's what I mean:
Chapter six is all about coming to terms with all of the pain that's in the world and how to practice Sabbath rest in light of sufferings. When it comes to pain, according to Wirzba, endurance comes from the assurance of others enduring the pain with those in pain; Sabbath rest happens when people achieve a deep solidarity amid difficult times. After all, Christ, who has given us the greatest comfort possible, achieved such a task by joining us in our sufferings and taking on the iniquities of the world. Hence, people should not be so quick to escape their pain but should consider difficult times opportunities to grow closer to others and grow as a mature human being.
That's the gist of how Wirzba claims we ought to experience the peace of the Sabbath amid our painful lives, and I can see why every member of my small group agreed with what he said, taking in his words as a refreshing new perspective of the Sabbath. Honestly, I agree with him, too. There was simply one point of his that really rubbed me the wrong way.
Wirzba asserts, "Pain and suffering should not be cast as 'problems' that need to be 'explained' or 'solved,' eliminated because they represent an affront to the world we would choose or make for ourselves. In fact, it is a mistake to look for a 'solution,' since this becomes an excuse to avoid the communal disciplines of care and constancy that enable us together to bear, absorb, and grow through each other's hurt" (79).
If I had read those few sentences three months ago, I would have found them reassuring; I would have felt the weight of the world being lifted off of my shoulders. After all, Wirzba claims, in essence, that I don't need to worry about fixing all of life's problems. How relieving! I was worried that God actually wanted me to do something about all of this evil to which I am exposed! Now all I have to do is "bear, absorb, and grow through each other's hurt." That's so much easier.
Isn't this just a huge cop-out? Yes, surely this principle holds true for certain circumstances. For instance, if my best friend loses his father to cancer, there is obviously no way to "solve" that "problem." I can't approach him and ask him how I can make things any better; all I can do is approach him and not abandon him in his time of suffering. I get that. Pain does not constitute a need for repair as much as it does a need for care.
But can we really approach others' pain at the expense of a solution? Is it really a "mistake," like Wirzba claims, to try and fix what we see as broken? Like I mentioned earlier, if I had read this passage three months ago, I would have agreed with him, but now that I've been exposed to evils such as those presented in "The Dark Side of Chocolate," how can I conclude that we shouldn't try to do something about others' pain? Sometimes it just isn't enough to simply bear with others in their time of need; sometimes we need to act!
Finding a solution to what we see as problems, though, does call for a certain amount of enduring pain alongside the hurt, like Wirzba notes. When we act rashly without first meeting suffering people where they're at, we miss the opportunities to grow and learn from the pains and trials of this life. Thus, I don't think that we ought to endure pain at the expense of a solution, nor should we seek a solution at the expense of enduring pain; each has its place in the world, and when we discover which problems in this life require us to be searching for a solution and which ones simply require us to be, then we will find Sabbath rest.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Photo Essay
I would be lying if I said I didn't feel out of place in the Amish community. Who wouldn't feel out of place in an environment so different than our own? However, something about the Amish was yet so welcoming and accepting of an ignorant group of tourists. They understood how different we were, but they firmly established that neither their lifestyle nor ours was inherently better than the other. They were simple, kind people, and I appreciated and respected that. Hence, the photos I took were not of their agriculture or their technology (or their lack thereof); I noted the little trinkets and such that emulated their warm, godly lifestyle:
I know these quotes don't really embody the full philosophy of the Amish lifestyle, but they serve as an appropriate reminder. They reveal that, yes, the Amish are very different from the rest of the world, but they are not separate from the world. They welcome others, they encourage others, and they worship the same God that we do. That's what really caught my attention.
Fair Oaks Farm, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Right from the start, our tour guide referred to us as "city folk," and I immediately received such a remark as condescending. Thus, I already wrote off everything he had to say before he even said it. The Amish, who are as far from "city folk" as is humanly possible, never once made such a remark during our time in their community, but this industrialized dairy farm had the audacity to claim themselves the real farmers of America. That was my analysis, at least. As a whole, the farm was disconcerting:
It all seemed like a show. There was nothing personal about it; they didn't care about the cows, they were showing off their agricultural conquests, and they expected us to appreciate them for the work that they did. I was a little turned off, to be honest. I wasn't impressed with them. The birthing barn was disgusting, the barns were crowded, and the little carousel the cows rode while getting milked almost made the cows seem like prisoners. They kept reassuring us that they had the cows best interest at heart, but it all seemed to industrialized to be sincere. I bet the Amish would call these guys the "city folk" of farming.
Anyway, in conclusion, I present to you "Jayme Putney as Text"
Week 6
I don't know if it's because I'm not enjoying reading this book, but I have a hard time giving any credibility to Steven Bouma-Prediger's arguments made in his For the Beauty of the Earth: A Christian Vision for Creation Care. By that, I don't mean to say that Bouma-Prediger is an unintelligent, inexperienced individual in his field of study; I merely mean to say that I don't think he presents his points very well.
Let's flashback to chapter two of his book, "What's Wrong with the World?" Bouma-Prediger exposes his readers to a large number of observable, documented crises in which the earth and its inhabitants currently find themselves, such as overpopulation, hunger, deforestation, loss of biodiversity, and climate change, to name a few. He implies that since these dangers are apparent in today's world, it is obviously imperative that mankind does something about it; humans need to reevaluate their lifestyles to yield the necessary change in this world.
This isn't where I think Bouma-Prediger is bogus. I'll get there. Just hold on.
Now let's look at the reading for this past week, chapter five, entitled "How Should We Think of the Earth?" Bouma-Prediger discusses an issue that I think could revolutionize the way mankind treats the earth: theocentricity. We, as humans, should not develop a care for the earth for the sake of humans, the sake of the earth, or even for the sake of life itself; we ought to care for this earth for the sake of its Creator. There's just something more convicting about our treatment of the earth when we step back and realize that we have been abusing a gift from God. We ought not develop a philosophy of ecology; we ought develop, rather, a theology of it.
Again, this isn't where the red flags come popping up for me. Hence, chapters two and five, separately, seem fairly legitimate to me, but when I look at them as a whole, I feel like Bouma-Prediger is missing some key points.
In essence, Bouma-Prediger asserts that mankind has unfortunately destroyed its home, and to repair it, mankind must develop a new, theocentric mindset. However, is it fair to propose that the world fixes its ecological gaze on God? It would seem that there's a step in between mankind's current view of the earth and developing a Christian view of the earth: mankind must first become Christian.
I understand that Bouma-Prediger's description of a Christian care for the earth is directed more towards the church; obviously, that's where this kind of ecological view ought to start. However, if this kind of care is to solve the problems Bouma-Prediger presents earlier in his book, then a Christian care cannot be limited to just the church; the church doesn't have that large of an influence to correct mankind's ecological mishaps itself. Hence, in order for Bouma-Prediger to have a leg to stand on, it seems that in order for mankind to truly solve the earth's problems and to have a proper view of the earth, it must become Christian. Otherwise, it won't develop a properly theocentric view of the earth.
Believe me, I wish that the world would embrace Bouma-Prediger's arguments. I wish that the world would turn their eyes to its Creator not only that it could prevent the destruction of the earth, but that it could truly understand what it means to be human in all regards. However, if we think practically about this, it doesn't look like the world will suddenly turn to Christianity anytime soon. Hence, Bouma-Prediger is accurate in his arguments, but he simply needs to be thinking more practically. Before asserting that we allow Christianity to change how we view the world, he should first address how we should change how the world views Christianity.
That, however, seems like quite an arduous task.
Let's flashback to chapter two of his book, "What's Wrong with the World?" Bouma-Prediger exposes his readers to a large number of observable, documented crises in which the earth and its inhabitants currently find themselves, such as overpopulation, hunger, deforestation, loss of biodiversity, and climate change, to name a few. He implies that since these dangers are apparent in today's world, it is obviously imperative that mankind does something about it; humans need to reevaluate their lifestyles to yield the necessary change in this world.
This isn't where I think Bouma-Prediger is bogus. I'll get there. Just hold on.
Now let's look at the reading for this past week, chapter five, entitled "How Should We Think of the Earth?" Bouma-Prediger discusses an issue that I think could revolutionize the way mankind treats the earth: theocentricity. We, as humans, should not develop a care for the earth for the sake of humans, the sake of the earth, or even for the sake of life itself; we ought to care for this earth for the sake of its Creator. There's just something more convicting about our treatment of the earth when we step back and realize that we have been abusing a gift from God. We ought not develop a philosophy of ecology; we ought develop, rather, a theology of it.
Again, this isn't where the red flags come popping up for me. Hence, chapters two and five, separately, seem fairly legitimate to me, but when I look at them as a whole, I feel like Bouma-Prediger is missing some key points.
In essence, Bouma-Prediger asserts that mankind has unfortunately destroyed its home, and to repair it, mankind must develop a new, theocentric mindset. However, is it fair to propose that the world fixes its ecological gaze on God? It would seem that there's a step in between mankind's current view of the earth and developing a Christian view of the earth: mankind must first become Christian.
I understand that Bouma-Prediger's description of a Christian care for the earth is directed more towards the church; obviously, that's where this kind of ecological view ought to start. However, if this kind of care is to solve the problems Bouma-Prediger presents earlier in his book, then a Christian care cannot be limited to just the church; the church doesn't have that large of an influence to correct mankind's ecological mishaps itself. Hence, in order for Bouma-Prediger to have a leg to stand on, it seems that in order for mankind to truly solve the earth's problems and to have a proper view of the earth, it must become Christian. Otherwise, it won't develop a properly theocentric view of the earth.
Believe me, I wish that the world would embrace Bouma-Prediger's arguments. I wish that the world would turn their eyes to its Creator not only that it could prevent the destruction of the earth, but that it could truly understand what it means to be human in all regards. However, if we think practically about this, it doesn't look like the world will suddenly turn to Christianity anytime soon. Hence, Bouma-Prediger is accurate in his arguments, but he simply needs to be thinking more practically. Before asserting that we allow Christianity to change how we view the world, he should first address how we should change how the world views Christianity.
That, however, seems like quite an arduous task.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Week 5
I don't think I would be the only student in this class to say that these four chapters of Ellen Davis' Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible were not the most riveting pieces we've read throughout our time in the Honors program. However, I am one of the few who can say that I did actually read them, but that doesn't necessarily mean I got much out of them; I was bored, disinterested, and constantly thinking of all of the other, more invigorating assignments I had waiting once I finished reading. Yes, I know that admitting my academic faults is not really the Honors way, but hopefully my blunt honesty will win me back some points with the academic world.
That being said, this post has probably been the most difficult one to start thus far. After all, where do I begin writing about something that came dangerously close to putting me to sleep? How am I supposed to conjure five hundred words over something I found as enjoyable as reading the dictionary? Well, it helps to spend the first two paragraphs stalling.
Nevertheless, my apparent disinterest in this topic appropriately serves as topic enough; my disregard for Davis' propositions embodies the stance of modern society in regards to said propositions and raises a few interesting thoughts. For instance, isn't it ironic the level of effort I put into reading and processing a chapter entitled, "Wisdom or Sloth? The Character of Work?" I understand that Davis directs her writings towards agriculture and actual physical labor rather than academic work, but the irony is still intriguing. The chapter emphasizes more the importance of working not simply land but more appropriately whatever God has created and allotted to each individual. Hence, perhaps I am slothful and unwise in my work ethic, and this chapter made that truth annoyingly clear to me.
"Reading the Bible Through Agrarian Eyes" also caught my attention (as much as I could stand) simply because I had no idea what it meant. Why does it matter that I should approach the Scriptures with agriculture in mind? After all, Jesus was a carpenter, not a farmer. Again, through the chapter, Davis reveals my folly. Land itself is an important theme of the Old Testament, and a knowledge and understanding of its significance in those contexts ought to affect our interaction with it and care of it today. Hence, my ignorance if its importance and its many occurrences in the Bible diminishes my appreciation of it and assumed responsibility for it.
I was raised in an urbanized community, so why would I bother to approach my daily life with any other fixation? Agriculture was not an aspect of my immediate world, so why would I interpret theology in an inapplicable manner? Thus, Davis does a stellar job in illustrating how I, as simply a reader, let alone a steward of God's creation, have little concern for an agrarian mindset.
So what?
Well, I'm not much of an original thinker (there's that blunt honesty again). My viewpoints and preconceptions are products of an influential society, so my disregard for an agrarian mindset is merely a reflection of our society's disregard for an agrarian mindset. Even when I was assigned to read these works, I couldn't bring myself to pay attention enough to formulate any kind of critical thought; I just don't have a passion for it. Surely that isn't unique in our world. Surely my apathetic approach to this literature is derived from the modern world's (dare I say it: the modern church's) consideration of these topics. We work smarter, not harder, so why develop a theology of hard work? We ask ourselves how the Scriptures apply to only our personal lives, so why consider the importance of a lifestyle completely other than our own when reading the Bible?
I don't think this is a reflection of poor theology; Davis clearly outlines various logical, pertinent arguments that are consistent with Christian fact. There's nothing heretical about the church's agrarian viewpoints; the problem lies in how often such viewpoints are used. This is a reflection, rather, of poor attitude. We as a human race and we as a church simply just don't care about whatever we deem unnecessary, and we are awfully quick to deem things unnecessary. Heck, I deemed an agrarian approach to the Bible unnecessary after reading only the title of the chapter, and I completely overlooked the value of approaching the Scriptures with such a mindset.
That kind of poor attitude, moreover, doesn't have a lot of limitations. It can easily carry over into several aspects of one's life, and if the church doesn't check its attitude soon, who knows what other kind of truth could be thrown out the window?
That being said, this post has probably been the most difficult one to start thus far. After all, where do I begin writing about something that came dangerously close to putting me to sleep? How am I supposed to conjure five hundred words over something I found as enjoyable as reading the dictionary? Well, it helps to spend the first two paragraphs stalling.
Nevertheless, my apparent disinterest in this topic appropriately serves as topic enough; my disregard for Davis' propositions embodies the stance of modern society in regards to said propositions and raises a few interesting thoughts. For instance, isn't it ironic the level of effort I put into reading and processing a chapter entitled, "Wisdom or Sloth? The Character of Work?" I understand that Davis directs her writings towards agriculture and actual physical labor rather than academic work, but the irony is still intriguing. The chapter emphasizes more the importance of working not simply land but more appropriately whatever God has created and allotted to each individual. Hence, perhaps I am slothful and unwise in my work ethic, and this chapter made that truth annoyingly clear to me.
"Reading the Bible Through Agrarian Eyes" also caught my attention (as much as I could stand) simply because I had no idea what it meant. Why does it matter that I should approach the Scriptures with agriculture in mind? After all, Jesus was a carpenter, not a farmer. Again, through the chapter, Davis reveals my folly. Land itself is an important theme of the Old Testament, and a knowledge and understanding of its significance in those contexts ought to affect our interaction with it and care of it today. Hence, my ignorance if its importance and its many occurrences in the Bible diminishes my appreciation of it and assumed responsibility for it.
I was raised in an urbanized community, so why would I bother to approach my daily life with any other fixation? Agriculture was not an aspect of my immediate world, so why would I interpret theology in an inapplicable manner? Thus, Davis does a stellar job in illustrating how I, as simply a reader, let alone a steward of God's creation, have little concern for an agrarian mindset.
So what?
Well, I'm not much of an original thinker (there's that blunt honesty again). My viewpoints and preconceptions are products of an influential society, so my disregard for an agrarian mindset is merely a reflection of our society's disregard for an agrarian mindset. Even when I was assigned to read these works, I couldn't bring myself to pay attention enough to formulate any kind of critical thought; I just don't have a passion for it. Surely that isn't unique in our world. Surely my apathetic approach to this literature is derived from the modern world's (dare I say it: the modern church's) consideration of these topics. We work smarter, not harder, so why develop a theology of hard work? We ask ourselves how the Scriptures apply to only our personal lives, so why consider the importance of a lifestyle completely other than our own when reading the Bible?
I don't think this is a reflection of poor theology; Davis clearly outlines various logical, pertinent arguments that are consistent with Christian fact. There's nothing heretical about the church's agrarian viewpoints; the problem lies in how often such viewpoints are used. This is a reflection, rather, of poor attitude. We as a human race and we as a church simply just don't care about whatever we deem unnecessary, and we are awfully quick to deem things unnecessary. Heck, I deemed an agrarian approach to the Bible unnecessary after reading only the title of the chapter, and I completely overlooked the value of approaching the Scriptures with such a mindset.
That kind of poor attitude, moreover, doesn't have a lot of limitations. It can easily carry over into several aspects of one's life, and if the church doesn't check its attitude soon, who knows what other kind of truth could be thrown out the window?
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