Lamentation
It can sometimes seem as if Christians don’t have permission to be unhappy, to have regrets, to feel broken, to express deep sorrow, or to lament. Which would have been news to the writers of Scripture. The major giveaway being that there is literally a book of the Bible called “Lamentation”. The Psalms – the Bible’s very own songbook – has an entire genre called “Psalms of lament”. There are more psalms of lament than there are psalms of any other kind – in fact, a whole third of them are lamentation of one kind of another.
Like many teenagers who had a lovely upbringing in a safe suburb with kind parents and many friends, I was often miserable.
I spent many evenings with my cassette walkman, just the two of us, listening to doomy English music like Depeche Mode, and thinking that no one else understood, or could possibly understand, just how deep I was. I specifically recall one of my friends’ mums looking at my miserable face and saying, “Cheer up, it might never happen.” To which I responded, “Too late. It already has.” And I was so pleased with this response that I probably would have smiled, had smiling not already become physically impossible for me.
There is a kind of sadness or melancholy which is delicious and addictive, which can make us feel special and, yes, even superior to others. A kind of misery that, if we give ourselves over to it, tips into self-indulgence and self-pity.
But you can also fall off the horse the other way. You can mistake “being chipper” for being godly. You can start to believe that Christians have no right to be sad about anything, because everything will be okily dokily in the end.
I’m afraid this poor theology has infected many of our churches, and it’s nowhere more obvious than in the songs we often sing. Some songs have so little gravity that NASA could use them to train astronauts in.
It’s not we that shouldn’t sing songs of joy, of course we should. But where are the songs of lament? It can sometimes seem as if Christians don’t have permission to be unhappy, to have regrets, to feel broken, to express deep sorrow, or to lament. Which would have been news to the writers of Scripture. The major giveaway being that there is literally a book of the Bible called “Lamentation”.
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Old Testament Sacraments, Pt. 2: The Tree of Life in the New Covenant
While partaking of the Tree of Knowledge caused irreparable division between man and man (Gen. 3:16) and man and God, the Lord’s Supper proclaims with certainty that a new Tree, Christ our Tree of Life, will unite us together and unite us with God at last. And we will no longer hunger or thirst, for we may take and eat of him forever.
In our previous post, we explored how the Tree of Life functioned as the sacrament of the Covenant of Works. It was a sign and seal of that covenant’s promises of the life and presence of God in Eden, God’s kingdom and temple.
We should note that, even though Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden, the Tree of Life was not destroyed–indeed, Adam and Eve are expelled in order to stop them from eating from the Tree of Life. This suggests that one day the tree may be accessed again, once the promised “seed of the woman” had arrived to crush the “seed of the serpent” (Gen. 3:15).
The tree reappears later in the Old Testament. In the tabernacle and temple, it is signified in the golden candlestick (shaped with branches like a tree), whose light illuminated the twelve loaves that represented the twelve tribes of Israel (Ex. 25:31-35; Lev 24: 1-9, et al).[1] The two cherubim above the mercy seat recall the two cherubim that guard the way to the Tree of Life (Num. 7:89).[2] By being deprived of the sacrament of the Covenant of Works but reminded of it in the Tabernacle and Temple, Israel was made to long for the fulfillment of the Covenant of Works by the “seed of the woman,” the restoration of the true temple of God, and eternal access to a new Tree of Life. It signified the day when a new priest-king would arise and restore access to God’s presence, a holy of holies accessible without the fear of death. Within this context, the work of Christ comes into focus.
Christ as the Tree of Life
Because the eternal life offered to Adam and Eve upon condition of obedience is of the same substance as the eternal life offered to us through Christ (union and communion with God for eternity), many theologians in the early church and Reformation recognized that the tree was a type of Christ in several senses. The Tree of Life was specifically understood as a symbol of wisdom (cf. Ps. 1; Prov. 3:18, 11:30, 13:12, 15:4), fulfilled in Christ who is himself the very wisdom of God (cf. Prov. 8; Col. 2:3).[3]
The Tree of Life has also been long understood as a sign of the cross: as Gregory of Nazianzus argues, “Christ is brought up to the tree and nailed to it—yet by the tree of life he restores us. Yes, he saves even a thief crucified with him; he wraps all the visible world in darkness.”[4] Calling Christ the true Tree of Life, Augustine states that “man was dismissed into the labors of this life so that he might at some point stretch forth his hand to the Tree of Life and live forever. The stretching forth of the hand clearly signifies the cross by which eternal life is recovered.”[5] Having fulfilled the Covenant of Works as the second Adam, Christ enables mankind once again to enjoy God’s presence and partake of the Tree of Life—His own body and blood—by which mankind can attain eternal life. Christ is thus the Way back into Eden, the true Wisdom of God, and the eternal Life offered to those who enter (Jn. 14:6). [6]
Eschatological Significance of the Tree of Life
Although there is much in the Gospels and Epistles which suggests that the benefits once offered through the Tree of Life in the Covenant of Works are enjoyed presently through Christ in the Covenant of Grace, we must note that explicit use of the image of the Tree of Life in the New Testament seems to be reserved for the Book of Revelation. It therefore seems to have a particular eschatological significance.
While Christ as the second Adam has given his people access to a renewed relationship with God in which we can partake of all his benefits, mankind still feels the curse of Adam and the burden of exile still weighs down the souls of men.
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Analyzing Narratives
Written by Daniel M. Doriani |
Monday, September 5, 2022
In a sense, the Bible is one long narrative. It tells the story of creation, fall, and redemption. Shortly after Eve and Adam sinned, God activates his plan to restore humanity. The whole Bible fits within that narrative. Within the grand narrative, substories abound in the epochs of biblical history. There is a unity to the narrative of the patriarchs, the exodus, the kings, Israel’s exile and return, and the Gospel accounts.A Likely Story
“Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter. They lived with their mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a very big fir tree.”
“There was once a fisherman who lived with his wife in a poor little hut by the sea . . .”
“Once upon a time there lived a very rich king whose name was Midas . . .”
Lines such as these tell us that a story is coming. When one starts with “Once upon a time,” we expect a children’s story. When we hear that Peter is naughty, a child suspects that he will find trouble, and then escape—since the drawing is so cute, he must survive—and learn a lesson. In fact, Peter does disobey his mother. He goes to Mr. McGregor’s garden, where he munches lettuces and beans until he nearly collides with Mr. McGregor, who almost catches him. After a desperate flight, Peter sees the gate, dashes for it, and escapes. Exhausted, Peter goes to bed with nothing but chamomile tea, while his good sisters enjoy bread, milk, and blackberries.
Simple as they are, the adventures of Peter Rabbit follow the most common structure for drama, from Mark Twain to Shakespeare, from science fiction to the Bible. In that structure, readers meet a hero (Peter) in settings (Mr. McGregor’s garden) that bring adventure (stealing food), followed by tension (the chase). It reaches a climax (almost captured) and a resolution (escape). Finally, the story offers comments that help readers interpret it as it unwinds. When Peter limps home and goes to bed without supper, it suggests that rebellion does not pay.
Broadly speaking, the Bible has two literary forms, narrative and discourse. Narratives are stories or dramas. About one-third of the Bible is narrative. With few exceptions, such as Jesus’ parables, biblical narratives are historical. They describe and interpret what happened in space and time to the people who appear in the account. Narrative is the most common literary form or genre in the Bible, with more pages than law, prophecy, letters, or visions. In this book, we collect all other genres of the Bible under the term discourse. Discourse includes laws, letters, prophecies, proverbs, psalms, speeches, prayers, and visions. Within the CAPTOR format (context, analysis, problems, themes, obligations, reflection), we now move to the first part of analysis. Chapter 6 explains how we analyze biblical discourse. This chapter describes the way that we analyze narratives.
In a sense, the Bible is one long narrative. It tells the story of creation, fall, and redemption. Shortly after Eve and Adam sinned, God activates his plan to restore humanity. The whole Bible fits within that narrative. Within the grand narrative, substories abound in the epochs of biblical history. There is a unity to the narrative of the patriarchs, the exodus, the kings, Israel’s exile and return, and the Gospel accounts. At a granular level, we have individual narratives, such as the history of Samson and Delilah. We usually study the Bible at that level, yet we must always locate individual narratives in the context of God’s wider plan.
Narratives are history, yet they don’t just report what happened. They convey moral lessons, but they are more than morality tales. Biblical narratives describe and explain God’s redemptive acts, as they lead to their climax, the death and resurrection of Jesus.
Biblical authors use various methods to engage readers and enable them to see events as God does. They repeat crucial ideas. They preview the future, so that readers will know where events are leading. They allude to the past, so that readers can observe God’s consistent ways with his people. They present characters with whom we can identify. They leave some things unexplained, so that readers will get involved in the task of interpretation. In these ways and others, authors use stories to teach about God, humanity, and their relationships. It is no overstatement to say that God is the main character in every narrative and that what he does is the main theme (Ps. 66:5; Luke 24:24–27). Whenever we forget this, we court moralism.
Types of Narrative
All narratives report events and tell stories, but they have more than one pattern, so let’s label them. The most common types of narrative are reports, speech stories, and dramas. By distinguishing them, we interpret them better.
Reports are brief records of events such as battles (for example, David’s defeat of the Ammonites in 2 Samuel 10) or building projects (for example, Solomon’s temple and palace in 1 Kings 6–9). Reports also describe dreams and the reigns of minor kings. They present facts or simple events and typically lack dramatic tension. Although they may not reveal much by themselves, reports often develop or allude to important themes.
Reports are brief records of events such as battles (for example, David’s defeat of the Ammonites in 2 Samuel 10) or building projects (for example, Solomon’s temple and palace in 1 Kings 6–9). Reports also describe dreams and the reigns of minor kings. They present facts or simple events and typically lack dramatic tension. Although they may not reveal much by themselves, reports often develop or allude to important themes.
Principle 1: To discover the point of a report, examine several reports together.
Speech stories primarily report what someone said in a historical setting. In a speech story, words matter most.
Principle 2: In speech stories, the main event is the speech, not the events surrounding it.
Dramas, the longest and most complex type of narrative in the Bible, are the focus of this chapter. Apart from parables, dramas are historical events, not mere stories, and we appreciate the evidence of their accuracy. Our faith rests on the assurances that God actually accomplished his plan of redemption (1 Cor. 15:14–17). Biblical dramas do not, therefore, follow the patterns of literary dramas because someone massaged them to make them fit. Rather, God structured the world so that certain elements are present in stories that are worth telling. If biblical dramas have the same structure as fiction, it is because art imitates life, not because the Bible imitates art.
Principle 3: When you find the crisis and resolution of a drama, you usually find the main point, too.
Excerpt taken from Chapter 5: Analyzing Narratives, Getting the Message: A Plan for Interpreting and Applying the Bible, Revised and Expanded by Daniel M. Doriani. A new edition will be released on September 7, 2022 by P&R Publishing. Used with permission.
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The Constitutional Fidelity of Loving and Dobbs
Written by David R. Upham |
Thursday, June 15, 2023
In Dobbs, the Court once again has looked back to our tradition, our laws, our Constitution, and found therein a reserved right of the states to protect prenatal life. Dobbs is in full harmony with Loving. Like Loving, Dobbs is a recovery and vindication of our republic—a great victory for constitutional truth, justice, and the American way.Our national Supreme Court has set aside the so-called “right” to abortion established in Roe v. Wade (1973) in favor of the states’ reserved authority to protect prenatal life. The Court’s decision proceeded from this syllogism:
(1) The Constitution’s Fourteenth Amendment protects only the rights enumerated in the Constitution or otherwise “deeply rooted” in our “Nation’s history and traditions”;
(2) the right to abortion is not such a right;
(3) therefore, contra Roe, the Amendment does not secure any right to abortion.
According to the dissent and many commentators, the Court’s reasoning threatens various unenumerated and innovative rights. Indeed, Justice Thomas, in his concurrence, specifically questioned the putative constitutional rights of contraception, nonmarital sexual activity, and same-sex “marriage.” These putative rights do, indeed, seem foreign to our Constitution and were only recently acknowledged by some of our laws.
The dissenters, however, mentioned the right of interracial marriage, first endorsed by the Supreme Court in Loving v. Virginia (1967). According to Justices Breyer, Sotomayor, and Kagan, the right of interracial marriage, like the abortion right, is not deeply rooted in our traditions. Indeed, laws banning such marriage once prevailed as widely as anti-abortion laws did; therefore, just as the new right of interracial marriage was vindicated in Loving, so was the new right of abortion six years later in Roe: “The Fourteenth Amendment’s ratifiers did not think it gave black and white people a right to marry each other. To the contrary, contemporaneous practice deemed that act quite as unprotected as abortion.” By this account, Loving, like Roe, was evolutionary, and anti-traditional.
But the Dobbs dissenters are wrong, egregiously so. Their opinion reflects a widespread and serious misunderstanding of our nation’s history.
The right of American citizens to intermarry, regardless of race, is, indeed, deeply rooted in our traditions of freedom and citizenship, and is, for this reason, consistent with the original intent and meaning of the Fourteenth Amendment. To be sure, bans on interracial marriage, of course, were once widespread in some parts of our county.
But such laws were never our American tradition. They were not original but innovative. It was not until 1691, nearly a century after Jamestown, that Virginia became the first colony to ban such marriages. Moreover, these laws were never universal. At Independence, only about half the states retained such laws—and nearly all were south of the Mason-Dixon line.
When our political ancestors first migrated to America, they brought with them the English common law—a general customary law recognized in England at the time. This original law recognized three principles.
First, that law secured extensive liberty, including a broad freedom to marry. The ease with which the common law allowed marriages gave rise to what we still call “common law marriage”: a marriage that happens simply by the unofficiated and even unwitnessed private agreement to live as husband and wife. The “consent of the parties is all that is required,” as James Kent later explained. Under this law, racial barriers to marriage were unknown.
Second, the law recognized broad birthright membership: All persons born under English jurisdiction were English subjects. Here too, the law recognized no racial discrimination.
Third, that law incorporated or reflected the complementary principles of legal “due process” and “equal protection,” both of which aimed to secure, to all persons, the rights of life, liberty, and property against lawless violence. Here too, these principles involved no racial discrimination whatsoever.
This protection extended to all living human beings—even before birth.
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