294. The God Who Hides

Posted on August 18, 2014 by Adam Stück

I’ve been rereading Exodus lately. It’s really boring.

Sure, the book of Exodus has its exciting bits. The book’s first half tells the story of Moses, and how God worked through him to rescue Israel from its slavery in Egypt. It’s an engaging story: the Lord strikes Egypt with all kinds of interesting disasters, and Moses’s standoff with Pharaoh gets pretty heated.

Moses and the Israelites end up in the desert next to a mountain called Sinai, and that’s where things grind to a halt. God, who appears to the Israelites as a cloud, retreats to the mountaintop. After laying out a bunch of societal regulations for Israel, God commands Moses to climb Sinai in order to receive… more rules and instructions.

I won’t go into more details because, honestly, they’re rather tedious. Besides those details, however, something stands out to me from the second half of Exodus.

God keeps his distance.

At Sinai, God gives the Israelites very specific instructions to avoid the mountain. Only Moses is permitted to climb to its summit, and even then he isn’t allowed to see God’s full glory.

Then the Lord said, “There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock.When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by.Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen.” (33:21-23)

From all Israel, God’s chosen nation, only one man gets a brief, incomplete glimpse of God. It’s pretty much the closest anyone comes to seeing the Lord in the Old Testament. Sure, God makes a few appearances here and there, but he mostly seems to run things from behind the scenes. Only a few priests are allowed anywhere near God’s presence in his places of worship. Just a handful of leaders and prophets ever glimpse him.

I have often wondered why God seems so distant—especially in our own skeptical, pluralist, postmodern age. The silence of God troubles me greatly, and faith sometimes seems foolish. Is it fair for God to demand obedience and fealty without providing irrefutable evidence of his existence?

I don’t know. Is it okay to admit that? I really don’t know.

Maybe God keeps his distance because we can’t handle the full measure of his power and holiness. That view certainly finds support in the Old Testament. (It’s also supported by the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark in which God’s glory fries a bunch of Nazis, but Indiana Jones movies might not be the best resource for theological speculation.) It’s possible that God hides because faith, “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see,” is a virtue he values highly. If God were obvious, faith would not be possible.

It’s worth pointing out that after seeming largely absent in the Old Testament, God showed up in the New Testament in the person of Jesus Christ. The Lord Jesus didn’t keep his distance. Heck, he spent much of his time with the sort of people no one else would go near. Christ touched lepers and chatted with floozies. He was as close and immediate as God had previously seemed distant and unapproachable.

I’m comforted by some of Christ’s final words as he hung dying on a cross. He said, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

These few words reveal something I find almost unbelievable: even Jesus Christ was troubled by the seeming distance and silence of God. I don’t get it. I don’t understand why God seems so far away. Apparently—at that moment—neither did his Son.

Some of my questions may never be answered, but I’m far from the only person asking, and that gives me hope.

291. TMTF’s Top Ten Books You Should Probably Read

Posted on August 8, 2014 by Adam Stück

I love recommending books. This temptation, common to bookish people, seizes me occasionally. I am tempted today beyond what I can bear; there is no way out of this temptation so that I can endure it. That said, here are ten books I think everyone in the world should read.

This list is a mix of great classics, personal favorites, and books with widespread cultural impact. This is not a definitive list of ten books everyone absolutely must read, nor is it a list of my ten all-time favorites. These are simply ten recommendations for the average reader.

Let’s get bookish, ladies and gentlemen, as TMTF presents…

The TMTF List of Top Ten Books You Should Probably Read!

10. The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton

The Man Who Was Thursday is either a gripping spy thriller set in Edwardian era London, or else an eloquent reflection upon the silence of God and the meaning of pain. Either way, it’s fantastic. The dialogue is clever, the plot has some astonishing twists, and the whole book is drenched in intrigue and melancholy romanticism. It’s Thursday himself who says, “Always be comic in a tragedy. What the deuce else can you do?” This desperate courage, along with brilliant surprises and unexpected philosophical depth, make The Man Who Was Thursday a classic.

9. The Cay by Theodore Taylor

This book made a strong impression on me as a child. On the surface, The Cay is an exciting tale of survival: the story of a privileged white boy and a poor black man stranded together on a deserted island. A closer look at The Cay reveals themes like bigotry, sacrifice, loss, and cultural differences, all handled with disarming frankness and simplicity. The Cay is a quick, easy read, and a book well worth reading.

8. The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle

Everyone should read this book because freaking Sherlock Holmes. He is the archetypical crime-solver and one of the most famous characters in fiction. The Holmes stories are worth reading if only to understand their cultural impact… and they’re also pretty fun to read. The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes is a collection of some of the best. While I personally prefer Chesterton’s Father Brown mysteries, there’s no denying the significance or excellence of Sherlock Holmes.

7. Living Poor by Moritz Thomsen

Living Poor is a memoir of Moritz Thomson, a man described as “the finest American writer you’ve never heard of.” After joining the Peace Corps, Thomson found himself living in a remote coastal village in Ecuador. His account of living poor is powerfully written, with jabs of wry humor punctuating a tone of bitter resignation. I grew up in Ecuador, so Thomson’s descriptions of its people and places strike a special chord with me. For all readers, whatever their circumstances, Living Poor is not only a heartrending glimpse of an impoverished community, but a look at the universal problems of poverty, depression, and helplessness.

6. The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson

Like The Cay, this children’s classic is disarming in its brevity and simplicity. The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is the delightfully funny story of the Herdmans, “the worst kids in the history of the world,” and their unexpected takeover of a church’s Christmas pageant. The book is hilarious. The Herdman kids respond to the Christmas story with suspicion, awe, and curiosity. Not only does this give readers plenty of laughs, but also a fresh, new perspective on an old, tired holiday. The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is two parts funny, one part poignant, and all parts wonderful.

5. The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

I mentioned earlier that the Sherlock Holmes stories are worth reading for their cultural impact. The Lord of the Rings is important in exactly the same way. It didn’t invent the fantasy genre, but it sure as heck defined it. While The Lord of the Rings is an amazing work of fantasy, it’s also slow-paced and really long. The Hobbit is a much quicker read: a simpler adventure that shows off Tolkien’s remarkable world and sows the seeds for the bigger tale told in The Lord of the Rings. The story of Bilbo Baggins and his epic journey “there and back again” is a charming read. I can think of no better introduction to the fantasy genre.

4. Silence by Shūsaku Endō

Silence is the story of a Portuguese Jesuit sent to seventeenth-century Japan, and also one of the most heartbreaking books I’ve ever read. The novel deftly changes perspectives partway through as it follows Sebastião Rodrigues in his journey from religious zeal to anguished perplexity at God’s silence. Silence is not only an elegy on the silence of God, but also a fascinating look at how cultures and their values conflict—much like Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, another book I considered for this list. It’s not a fun or easy read, but Silence is a book to challenge the mind and the heart.

3. Carry On, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse

This is not a particularly deep book, and it doesn’t have to be. It’s a collection of Jeeves and Wooster stories by P.G. Wodehouse. Really, what higher praise can there be? The book introduces two of Wodehouse’s most enduring characters, bumbling Bertie Wooster and his nigh-omniscient valet Jeeves, in a series of stories penned with Wodehouse’s effortless humor, aplomb, and British wit. Wodehouse’s work belongs on any list of recommended books, and Carry On, Jeeves is a fine place to start.

2. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Many of my dear readers probably had to read this book for school, which is kind of a shame. Nothing sucks the fun out of books like being forced to read them. There’s a reason this one is read so widely in schools—it’s absolutely fantastic. Everything about the book is excellent, from the setting to the characters to its skillful handling of themes like racism, class divides, and the loss of innocence. Like Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, another novel that nearly made this list, To Kill a Mockingbird is one of the great classics of Western literature. If you’ve never read this book, read it. If you were forced to read it for school, give it another chance.

1. The Bible

Along with Greco-Roman mythology, the Bible is the foundation of Western literature. Its cultural and literary impact over two millennia is literally incalculable. The Bible is packed with history, poetry, and philosophy that have inspired people and shaped societies. As literature, the Bible is a little uneven—the Psalms are much better reading than, say, Leviticus—but the work as a whole is an incredible wealth of wisdom, truth, and beauty.

O people of the Internet, what are your top book recommendations? Let us know in the comments!

287. About Storytelling: Intertextuality

Posted on July 25, 2014 by Adam Stück

As long as we’re talking about The Avengers, I want to point out that Marvel’s superhero stories have a lot in common with the Bible, Little Women and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

The similarities here are obvious… aren’t they?

(I also want to point out for the record that Jo and Donatello are the best March sister and Ninja Turtle, respectively. I’m just throwing that out there.)

These stories are extremely different, but they share at least one notable characteristic: intertextuality. This fancy (and somewhat dirty-sounding) word refers to the way an artistic work is shaped by another artistic work.

Still confused? I sure am. Let’s make it simpler by looking at these stories one by one.

Little Women is a novel by Lousia May Alcott about sisters growing up and getting married. It’s basically Pride and Prejudice, but better. (Fans of Jane Austen, please spare my family.) The first half of the book, which follows the March sisters as they become young ladies, loosely parallels The Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan. As these little women read Bunyan’s allegory, they find it mirrored in their own pilgrimages from childhood to adulthood.

The Bible is packed with intertextuality. The number of times Scripture references itself is practically beyond count. The New Testament alludes constantly to the Old. Many books of Scripture cite passages from other books. Jesus Christ, as he hung dying upon the cross, quoted a phrase from the Psalms. Stephen, in turn, repeated some of Christ’s final words during his own execution. The Bible echoes itself constantly.

The Avengers is a tale woven from several different stories. Every one of its heroes has some kind of history; the film is built upon the foundation of other films. Without Iron Man and Thor and all those other Marvel movies, The Avengers probably wouldn’t even exist.

As for my favorite band of crime-fighting reptiles, well, the Ninja Turtles began as a parody of several gritty comics popular at the time. Even its details were drawn from the works it parodied: the Turtles’ teacher Splinter was a jab at a comic book character named Stick, and the villainous Foot Clan poked fun at a supervillain group called The Hand. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles exist as a lighthearted response to darker comics.

All these stories are shaped by other stories. So what?

Intertextuality can be either a brilliant asset or a horrible nuisance. It can give a story depth or make it incomprehensible.

The benefits of intertexuality are too many to list in a single blog post, so I’ll mention just a few. Referring to other works can establish a strong narrative framework, as in Little Women. The Bible shows how intertexuality can help explain and clarify ideas. In The Avengers, the way separate narratives converge in one big adventure is, if I may express it so bluntly, really freaking sweet. Finally, intertextuality can provide humor or insight in the form of parody or satire of existing works.

Of course, intertextuality can go wrong. G.K. Chesterton is probably my favorite author, and also really awesome, but he sometimes makes the mistake of assuming all his readers are just as smart and educated as he is. His book Orthodoxy is full of allusions to other thinkers, but without context or background these references only confuse ignorant readers like me.

We’re all shaped by other people. It’s only natural, then, for our ideas and stories to be shaped by those of other people.

286. God is Not a Grump

Posted on July 21, 2014 by Adam Stück

I may be overanxious, but prayer kind of scares me.

Does any other person of faith feel at least a little nervous speaking to the creator of the universe? Heck, I get flustered interacting with random people on the Internet. Speaking to the Lord God Almighty is a good deal more intimidating. I mean, he made the starry heavens! He designed trees and molecules and wombats! He created coffee! (I believe coffee is the clearest ontological proof of God’s goodness.) I mean, seriously, the greatness of God is immeasurable, and it makes me nervous.

Yes, I know God loves me. Christian culture tends to emphasize the kindness, love and gentleness of Christ, sometimes to the point at which it forgets his harsher words and actions.

Christian culture sometimes gives this impression of Christ, which is equal parts heretical and hilarious.

I generally make the opposite mistake. I remember the Lord Jesus brandishing a whip, killing trees and calling people snakes. I recall all those times in the Old Testament God pronounced curses on people and struck them dead.

When I pray, I sometimes can’t shake the feeling that God hears my prayers with the divine equivalent of a grumpy expression.

I'll listen to your prayers, but only because I have to.

“I’ll listen to your prayers, kid, but only because I’m contractually obligated by the Bible.”

Why do I struggle with this faint, annoying fear that God is a celestial grouch?

I suppose it’s because I’m painfully aware of my own faults, and not always forgiving towards the faults of others. It’s easy for me to assume that God, being absolutely perfect, is even less tolerant of our sins and failures. If I were God—which, fortunately for the universe, I am not—I wouldn’t be very gracious or patient.

Thus I often have what C.S. Lewis called a “vague, though uneasy, feeling that [I haven’t] been doing very well lately.” This uneasiness makes me reluctant to pray or practice other spiritual commitments. It’s easier for me to bury my anxiety in unnecessary busywork, pointless procrastination or random YouTube videos. Quoth Lewis, “All humans at nearly all times have some such reluctance; but when thinking of [God] involves facing and intensifying a whole vague cloud of half-conscious guilt, this reluctance is increased tenfold.”

It was last week I was reminded, and not for the first time, that praying badly is better than not praying at all. “Next to trying and winning,” as I often say, “the best thing is trying and failing.” When I feel far from God, keeping my distance probably won’t help.

As for God being a grump, well, that’s nonsense. There’s a famous verse in the thirty-fourth chapter of Exodus. God appears in this passage and, being a gentleman, introduces himself: “The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.”

These words are echoed throughout the rest of the Bible, and the “slow to anger” part jumped out at me as I read Psalm 145 yesterday: “The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.” He responds with compassion, not contempt; grace, not disgust; gentleness, not grouchiness.

If God is truly gracious, compassionate and slow to anger, I think it’s safe to say he is not a grump.

283. The Storm and the Internet

Posted on July 11, 2014 by Adam Stück

As my dear readers have probably guessed, I like the Internet.

Seriously, the Internet is amazing: an invisible, intangible, worldwide web of information, news, pictures, videos and funny cat pictures, all accessible through a few clicks or keystrokes. Need something? Type it into Google or some other search engine, wait a few seconds and voilà! You have it! Even the world’s best libraries can’t compare to the Internet’s incredible speed, marvelous efficiency, up-to-date accuracy and comprehensive variety.

A couple of weeks ago, a strange thought drifted into my caffeine-addled mind. The Internet brings together the best (and worst) of humankind in one place. Anyone anywhere with an Internet connection can contribute to the Internet, building a vast and ever-expanding construct—something entirely artificial. The Internet is unprecedented. Nothing like it exists, or could possibly exist, in nature. It is a unique triumph of humankind, one only humankind could create and sustain. The Internet is something to which people, cultures and societies everywhere have contributed.

It made me think of the Tower of Babel.

Most of us know the story, I think. The book of Genesis in the Bible describes how humankind came together in an early age of Earth to build a tower to heaven. This building, the Tower of Babel, had two purposes. It was a monument to the pride of humanity and an anchor to prevent them from scattering across the world.

God, however, had other plans. He confounded the language of the people building the Tower of Babel. Construction halted when its builders couldn’t communicate, and humanity eventually spread over the earth as God had planned.

I’m not saying the Internet is evil—good heavens, no! I think the Internet is fantastic.

Nevertheless, I can’t help but notice its similarities to the Tower of Babel. The Internet has united humanity in a way Babel could not; thanks to online translators, even differences of language are not a problem! The Internet records the greatest accomplishments of humankind, and could even be called a monument to human achievement. It’s an artificial world ruled by immediate gratification, quick searches, streaming videos and instant communication. The Internet is a world over which humanity holds absolute sway.

Weeks ago, on the same evening I pondered the Internet and the Tower of Babel, there was a terrific storm. It was majestic, exciting, terrifying and awesome. Trees bent and thrashed in the wind. Rain dashed against my windows. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. As I dozed off, a flash of lightning penetrated my curtains and closed eyelids to wake me up instantly—it was as though lightning had struck right there in my bedroom.

As I lay awake, I kept thinking about the neat, well-behaved world of the Internet and the wild, overwhelming world outside my window. The storm and its peals of thunder seemed almost like God laughing.

In the morning, appropriately enough, the Internet was gone.

It took nearly a week to have it fixed. In that time, I did more reading than usual. My younger brother and I leafed through my copy of Hyrule Historia and waxed nostalgic over our childhood memories. We enjoyed life without Internet. It wasn’t bad at all.

Now the Internet is back. I’m thankful to have it, and glad to be reminded that it’s just a tiny part of a much bigger, better world!

280. By Faith

Posted on June 30, 2014 by Adam Stück

My older brother and his family are moving to the Dominican Republic.

I suppose it should have come as no surprise. My family and I and most of our relatives grew up in Ecuador and traveled regularly between the Americas. Relatives on both sides of my family, Stücks and Erdels, are wanderers. We are foreigners and strangers on earth. We bounce from place to place with practiced ease.

Many of my relatives, however, have settled more or less permanently in one place. I had assumed my brother Andrew and his family were among them.

I guess I was wrong.

Andrew and his wife Sarah own a house in Indiana. When they bought the place, it was kind of a wreck. They worked tirelessly to fix it up. They planted an enormous garden, which they diligently pruned and weeded. (Heck, even I spent more than a dozen hours yanking weeds out of their garden.) My brother and sister-in-law built a hen house and raised at least one or two generations of chickens. I haven’t even mentioned their cats, of which there were three at last count.

For all appearances, Andrew and Sarah and their little ones had settled in to stay.

At this moment, Andrew and Sarah are in the process of selling their house, giving away their possessions, obtaining passports for their three children—their youngest, by the way, is just a few weeks old—and preparing to move to some country they’ve never visited in their lives.

They are doing all this by faith.

That little red line? Yeah, that's about seventeen hundred miles.

That little red line from Indiana to the Dominican Republic? Yeah, that’s about seventeen hundred miles.

When I talked with Andrew about their decision over the phone, I told him he should follow wherever God led. I could not, however, hold back my opinion that dropping everything abruptly and moving to another country seemed “ill-advised.”

I think Sarah found a better word for it in one of her emails: “crazy.”

Andrew and Sarah believe this crazy, ill-advised decision also happens to be the right one. I agree with them. They have good reasons to believe going to the DR is God’s will… and they have the faith to go.

They amaze me, and I’m proud of them.

I’m also not sure I have that kind of faith.

I was recently asked whether it took faith to grow up on the mission field in Ecuador. I replied, honestly, that it didn’t take much. My family was always there. My future always seemed secure. Ironically, it was when I stepped off the mission field and came to Indiana in the US that I found myself really depending on God.

Surrounded by strangers, disoriented by culture shock, out of place, uncertain of the future and feeling very much alone, it was hard for me to begin college in Indiana after leaving Ecuador six years ago. It was just as hard to leave Uruguay and return to Indiana two years ago.

Moving forward is still hard, and I’m settled comfortably. If God told me to leave everything—my cozy apartment, my fast Internet connection, my peaceful neighborhood, my endless supply of coffee and Cheez-Its from the local Wal-Mart—would I go? If a three-hour drive overwhelms me with anxiety, how would I handle moving, say, to Kenya? If depression makes my life in Indiana a challenge, how would I survive depression in some unfriendly, faraway place?

If God tells me to go, will I go?

One day after Andrew and Sarah confirmed their decision, my Scripture reading took me to Hebrews eleven. Yes, this is the By faith chapter. It lists all these great biblical heroes and the great things they did—things done by faith, of course—and then…

These people all died having faith in God.

How cheerful.

The chapter goes on.

They did not receive what God had promised to them. But they could see far ahead to all the things God promised and they were glad for them. They knew they were strangers here. This earth was not their home. People who say these things show they are looking for a country of their own. They did not think about the country they had come from. If they had, they might have gone back. But they wanted a better country. And so God is not ashamed to be called their God. He has made a city for them.

My brother and his family, like our dear parents and so many of the wonderful people in my life, have chosen to be strangers on earth. They’ve given up safe, permanent homes and faced all kinds of difficulties for rewards they’ll never see in this life. They live by faith. And so God is not ashamed to be called their God.

By faith, my family follows God.

I’m trying to do the same. It scares me, especially on the days I suffer from severe depression or anxiety, to wonder where God may lead me.

Wherever it is, I’ll follow. By faith, I’ll follow. At the very least, by faith, I’ll try.

After all, as I never tire of saying, “Through many trials, toils and snares I have already come. ‘Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.”

268. Haircuts Are Evil

Posted on May 2, 2014 by Adam Stück

Like taxes, haircuts are are a necessary evil.

Every few months, I glance in the mirror and despair, for my hair needs to be cut. It’s pretty easy for me to tell when I should hit the hair salon. When my hair starts to look like Justin Beiber’s iconic (and idiotic) hair helmet, I know it needs to be cut.

I’m sometimes tempted to ignore the Beiber resemblance and let my hair keep growing, but one thought pulls me back to safety from the brink of madness.

I will never, ever have a mullet.

My hair has generally been a mess. Once, in middle school, I tried styling it with gel: a mistake that shattered my fragile self-esteem into tiny, tiny pieces. Since then, I’ve occasionally attacked my hair with a comb and left it at that.

If you tell me I need a haircut, I will glare at you with cold, bitter fury. And then I'll go get a haircut.

If you tell me I need a haircut, I will glare at you with cold, bitter fury. And then I’ll probably go get a haircut.

The problem with haircuts is that they bring scissors, razors and other sharp objects very close to my eyes, ears and other things I’d rather not have cut off or gouged out. My fears are not baseless. At least one hair stylist has drawn blood—repeatedly—giving me good reason to fear anyone who brandishes bladed implements anywhere near my face.

Are haircuts evil? Yes. I will prove it. Let us turn to Scripture, brethren, for our answers.

Most of us know the story of Samson, who let his hair grow as a symbol of devotion to God. When his hair was cut, Samson lost his divinely-given strength. He was surrounded, powerless to resist. His tormentors blinded and enslaved him. In the end, Samson ended his own life. (This is all in Judges 16.) All of this happened because Samson got a haircut. A haircut killed him!

Don’t even get me started on Absalom. He was a really bad dude. He also had his hair cut regularly. An evil man who got haircuts? Coincidence? Coincidence?!

With this vast and comprehensive wealth of Scriptural evidence, I believe I’ve proved that haircuts are evil.

(No, I’m not being serious. Please put down your Bibles and/or heavy stones before someone gets hurt.)

In the past two years, I have found one consolation to make haircuts bearable. The Tenth Doctor from Doctor Who has some sweet, sweet sideburns. Although my paltry sideburns are not worth comparing to the good Doctor’s, they’ve definitely grown on me. (Pun intended. I’m so, so sorry.) Haircuts are awful, yet they keep my sideburns neatly trimmed. Neat sideburns put me ever so slightly closer to achieving the splendor of the Tenth Doctor’s hairstyle.

Saving the universe? Bah! A negligible accomplishment compared to having such awesome hair.

THOSE SIDEBURNS.

Maybe haircuts are worth it after all.

Then again… maybe they’re not.

The Bible Sure Can Be Nasty

Posted on March 19, 2014 by Adam Stück

With the payment he received for his wickedness, Judas bought a field; there he fell headlong, his body burst open and all his intestines spilled out.

Acts 1:18

For being the all-important text of a religion considered pure and gentle, the Bible sure can be nasty.

Seriously, the writers of Scripture pulled no punches in describing scenes of violence. These range from morbidly amusing, such as the death of Absalom, to sickeningly brutal, like the death of Sisera and the suicide of Judas mentioned above.

Heck, even some of the stories we consider kid-friendly are really violent. Noah’s Ark and David’s duel with Goliath are tales we tell children in Sunday school, which is odd considering the flood snuffed out nearly all humanity and David cut off Goliath’s head.

The Bible also has some disturbing stories about sex. Not halfway through Genesis, the Bible’s very first book, we get attempted gang rape and drunken incest. Absalom, whose violent death I mentioned in the preceding paragraph, had sex in public with his father’s lovers to make a political point before his grimly humorous demise. Absalom’s sister Tamar was raped by her half-brother Amnon.

Even the holy prophets had off-putting things to say about sex. The sixteenth and twenty-third chapters of Ezekiel describe the lewd idolatry of Judah and Israel using strong sexual language.

There’s also a lot of drunkenness in the Bible, not to mention demon-possession and other satanic elements. Seriously. If the Bible were a film, it would have a stiff R rating. This is the book we teach in Sunday school.

I think that’s a good thing.

Granted, we should probably spare kids the most graphic bits of the Bible until they’re old enough to handle them. The Bible itself, however, needs to be taught as it is. God didn’t give us the sentimental, fluffy, family-friendly book some people believe the Bible to be. He gave us a book that describes war and death and sexual assault.

Why?

In the end, I think the Bible is honest. Its historians don’t idealize its history and its prophets don’t tone down their prophecies. This dark, broken world isn’t perfect, and God’s Word doesn’t paint it that way. Even the nasty parts of Scripture have a purpose, and that purpose is pointing humankind toward the grace of God.

After all, how can we appreciate grace and peace and beauty until we’ve seen the alternatives?

229. A Christmas Story (with Assassins)

Posted on December 2, 2013 by Adam Stück

I’ve decided to share one of my old stories on TMTF this month, because recycling is good for the environment.

I wrote “Zealot: A Christmas Story” because there are not enough Christmas stories about assassins. It’s the tale of Jehu, a Jewish revolutionary bent on driving the Roman Empire out of Palestine. His life of hatred and bloodshed is interrupted by an astonishing series of people: a cowardly traveler, some crazy shepherds, a grouchy scholar and a rabbi whose teachings would transform the world.

The story of the Nativity is a familiar one. We all remember the stable, the manger, the angels and the shepherds. What we forget is the historical context. For centuries, the Jews had been subjugated by powerful empires. Ancient prophecies of the Messiah, a hero chosen by God to restore Israel, must have seemed empty and distant.

Jesus was born in an era of hopelessness and disillusionment. Since God seemed to be doing nothing to rescue Israel from Rome, a number of Jews decided to take matters into their own hands. They became zealots: revolutionaries fighting a hopeless battle, struggling to survive and awaiting the Messiah whom God had promised.

In the end, the Messiah came. He lived and died not to rescue Israel from Rome, but to free humankind from death.

“Zealot: A Christmas Story” is the tale of a revolutionary, and how he witnessed the beginning of a revolution infinitely greater than any he could imagine.

Throughout December and early January, chapters of this story will be published on TMTF on Wednesdays, replacing my weekly ramblings about geeky things. Never fear! Geeky Wednesdays will return next month.

I hope you enjoy “Zealot: A Christmas Story.” Have a bright, beautiful December!

Biblical Poetry Is Weird

Posted on October 16, 2013 by Adam Stück

How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes behind your veil are doves. Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from the hills of Gilead. Your teeth are like a flock of sheep just shorn, coming up from the washing. Each has its twin; not one of them is alone.

Song of Songs 4:1-2

Protip: If you’re dating a woman, don’t compare her physical features to farm animals.

The Bible is full of weird poetry. Take Song of Songs, also called Song of Solomon. Its original audience may have found it moving or beautiful, but the past three millennia have not been kind to its similes. What must have been romantic in Solomon’s day seems very strange to us.

Reading Song of Songs is an amusing and educational experience. In praising a woman’s beauty, for example, the book compares her nose to a tower and her breasts to young gazelles. Sweet, sexy or just weird? I prefer not to think about it.

Song of Songs describes the woman’s lover in slightly less bizarre terms. Parts of the man’s body are likened to doves, gold, jewels, flowers and spices. These may not be the most masculine comparisons, but at least the man doesn’t sparkle in the sunlight like a certain vampire.

Biblical or otherwise, what’s your favorite strange bit of poetry? Let us know in the comments!

Typewriter Monkey Task Force

Faith, Writing, Video Games, Literature, TV, Movies, Life, the Universe, and Everything

Tag Archives: Bible