We have started working on Genesis in church lately, and as I feared, it has centered largely on a discussion of origins. I am not fond of the debate.
I don't really know that Genesis is intended to shape our understanding of astrophysics and biology. I know there are plenty who would disagree, but I would also stress that one needn't have such a conviction about Genesis to believe young-earth creationism. (That is to say, we can still believe in a young earth without using Genesis as the primary source for such a belief.)
I suppose at least one of the reasons that I hate having the origins debate is that it usually ignores one of the key features of science: it is supposed to change. While scientists surely draw philosophical and religious conclusions from what they've learned (and many of them quite false), science represents a changing understanding of how the world works and what it looks like. Thumbing your nose at a scientist because he misunderstood something is childish at best and at worst teaches people exactly the wrong way to approach science.
It is also true that one of the fundamental tenets of science is naturalism: that is, that natural explanations are the only acceptable ones in scientific exploration. To put it another way, if you accept supernatural explanations for phenomena, by definition what you're doing isn't science. That doesn't make it wrong; it just means that it's not science.
When we begin by disqualifying supernatural explanations, naturally we'll cause friction between those who posit a supernatural explanation and those who deny it. But attacking science for being defined as it is smacks of begging the question.
In the end, science interrogates small-t-truth, while religion interrogates big-t-Truth. It's when scientists begin to use science to shape their moral views that problems arise (see eugenics). Science cannot by its very nature say whether an act is morally right or wrong. The moral of natural selection is "survival of the fittest," but this hardly gives us license to select out the unfit members of society (despite efforts of abortionists and others).
Science is fundamentally undecidable: it cannot say with certainty that it has ever actually finished making a decision on whether something is true or not. We know today that Newtonian mechanics is flawed, even though it accurately predicts gross observations. Einsteinian relativity and quantum mechanics are incompatible, but we haven't yet found any reconciliation between the two. So when a YEC posits a supernatural solution to questions of origins while an old-earth atheist posits another based on science, the problem isn't that science is contradicting the Bible—at some level science always will. The problem is that the YEC is arguing with the OEA on the wrong grounds: the issue with evolution isn't the scientific application, it's the fact that morally reprehensible doctrines are derived from it and flow inexorably from a scientific application of them.
When we spend all of our time pointing out holes in scientific theories that scientists already know and admit, we do little to actually advance any sort of Biblical cause. Worse yet, we teach people that science is inherently flawed (without any qualifications on what that actually means), and we condition them to think of Genesis solely in terms of the origins debate.
With some fortune I'll have some time to discuss more themes in Genesis instead of just cussing in the near future. I have been extremely busy with a variety of personal pursuits and with buying a house, so time here has been hard to find.
Lord-willing, though, more posts will follow.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Psalm 84
Some weeks ago, now, I was privileged to spend some time in Baltimore at a Korean Presbyterian Church; the pastor was concluding a series on worship taken from Psalm 84, and his comments provoked some thoughts of my own I thought I would share (now that I have a few spare moments).
Most of the two of you that read this know by now that the Psalms are special to me, not so much because they resonate with me the personal way they do with others (though they do that, too), but because of their Christological significance. We may read many of them from a prophetic perspective, and in so doing illuminate the nature of the Godhead in ways that are perhaps unexpected.
I am not much of a Hebrew scholar, knowing little of the language and not so much of the structure. But one of the interesting things I have heard is that Hebrew poetry tends to rhyme thought more than it does words, and it is with this approach I looked at Psalm 84.
Psalm 84 is the source of a popular praise and worship chorus "Better is one day." The Psalm itself is a meditation on the excellencies of God's house, the "dwelling place" or "tabernacle" of verse one. Structurally, the middle of the Psalm is contained in verses 5–7, which read
We might begin by seeing the "way to Zion" in the person of Jesus Christ: "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me" (Jn 14.6). There is a curious locus in the person of Christ, where a number of disparate types find their unification. So we see that the journey is bound up in Christ, but also the destination. I think the temple works similarly.
The idea of the temple extends to the person of Christ (Jn 2.21), and I think we can make an interesting connection here to Christ. The opening verse of the Psalm reads, "How lovely are your tabernacles O LORD of Hosts!" One of the first things we read in the gospel of John is, "And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us" (Jn 1.14). The idea of dwelling here is the same as that of the tabernacle in Ps 84.1.
While the focus of the Psalm is decidedly rooted in the temple, I think we can develop a theme from other Psalms that describe the temple as though there's some divinity attached to it (specifically look at Ps 48.12–14). This presages the Divinity of Christ, who is figured in the temple as the place where God dwells.
That we can see a Messianic reference in the Psalm is reinforced in the 9th verse: "Behold our shield, O God; look on the face of your anointed!" The word "anointed" here is our word "messiah." The verse identifies the shield of the first clause as the face of God's anointed in the second (I rely on the ESV for the translation; my guess is that the Hebrew is plastic enough to draw some other conclusions).
I see Jesus as a shield, as it were, in two senses. In the first, he goes before us into God's presence (the firstborn from the dead), interceding on our behalf shielding us from God's wrath. In the second way, Jesus shields us from God by being human. God tells Moses in the famous passage that no man can see his glory and live; but in Jesus, the glory of God is contained in someone who can be seen and handled, an innocuous and innocent human who poses no such threat of death. He's harmless, as it were.
God is pictured as the sun and the shield in verse eleven, both the brightness that burns away the darkness and the shield to protect from it. Again, there's an identification here that points to the deity of Christ (the anointed is our shield, and God is our shield).
My thoughts at this point are a bit disjointed because of some interruptions; as is the case with most blog postings, it's difficult for me to find time to get them all in at once, and I find that my thoughts especially toward the end here have fragmented somewhat. But I think at least there's an outline of a thought here that would allow us to read the passage Christologically and investigate the different ways in which we know Christ's work.
Most of the two of you that read this know by now that the Psalms are special to me, not so much because they resonate with me the personal way they do with others (though they do that, too), but because of their Christological significance. We may read many of them from a prophetic perspective, and in so doing illuminate the nature of the Godhead in ways that are perhaps unexpected.
I am not much of a Hebrew scholar, knowing little of the language and not so much of the structure. But one of the interesting things I have heard is that Hebrew poetry tends to rhyme thought more than it does words, and it is with this approach I looked at Psalm 84.
Psalm 84 is the source of a popular praise and worship chorus "Better is one day." The Psalm itself is a meditation on the excellencies of God's house, the "dwelling place" or "tabernacle" of verse one. Structurally, the middle of the Psalm is contained in verses 5–7, which read
Blessed are those whose strength is in you,The central part of the Psalm concentrates on the journey; the house of God is seen as a metonymy for God's presence, and the hope of the Psalmist is bound up in living in God's presence.
in whose heart are the highways to Zion.
As they go through the Valley of Weeping
they make it a place of springs;
the early rain also covers it with pools.
They go from strength to strength;
each one appears before God in Zion.
We might begin by seeing the "way to Zion" in the person of Jesus Christ: "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me" (Jn 14.6). There is a curious locus in the person of Christ, where a number of disparate types find their unification. So we see that the journey is bound up in Christ, but also the destination. I think the temple works similarly.
The idea of the temple extends to the person of Christ (Jn 2.21), and I think we can make an interesting connection here to Christ. The opening verse of the Psalm reads, "How lovely are your tabernacles O LORD of Hosts!" One of the first things we read in the gospel of John is, "And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us" (Jn 1.14). The idea of dwelling here is the same as that of the tabernacle in Ps 84.1.
While the focus of the Psalm is decidedly rooted in the temple, I think we can develop a theme from other Psalms that describe the temple as though there's some divinity attached to it (specifically look at Ps 48.12–14). This presages the Divinity of Christ, who is figured in the temple as the place where God dwells.
That we can see a Messianic reference in the Psalm is reinforced in the 9th verse: "Behold our shield, O God; look on the face of your anointed!" The word "anointed" here is our word "messiah." The verse identifies the shield of the first clause as the face of God's anointed in the second (I rely on the ESV for the translation; my guess is that the Hebrew is plastic enough to draw some other conclusions).
I see Jesus as a shield, as it were, in two senses. In the first, he goes before us into God's presence (the firstborn from the dead), interceding on our behalf shielding us from God's wrath. In the second way, Jesus shields us from God by being human. God tells Moses in the famous passage that no man can see his glory and live; but in Jesus, the glory of God is contained in someone who can be seen and handled, an innocuous and innocent human who poses no such threat of death. He's harmless, as it were.
God is pictured as the sun and the shield in verse eleven, both the brightness that burns away the darkness and the shield to protect from it. Again, there's an identification here that points to the deity of Christ (the anointed is our shield, and God is our shield).
My thoughts at this point are a bit disjointed because of some interruptions; as is the case with most blog postings, it's difficult for me to find time to get them all in at once, and I find that my thoughts especially toward the end here have fragmented somewhat. But I think at least there's an outline of a thought here that would allow us to read the passage Christologically and investigate the different ways in which we know Christ's work.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
When Helping Hurts
Traveling over the past few days has given me some much-desired reading time. I read the book (Amazon or WTS Books) from which this entry takes its title on the drive, and I enjoyed it.
I've been involved for a little while with a group of people who ministers to homeless, mainly through relationships rather than providing goods or services, and I thought the book would be a worthy read, if for no other reason than it would be thought provoking and could provide a bit of a check for me personally in what we've tried to accomplish and how.
This is primarily a theological blog, and I deal less with orthopraxy than orthodoxy when given the chance.
My primary criticism of the book is that the authors don't take more time to develop the theological underpinnings for their arguments, sound though they may be (and they support themselves well). They do take some time to look at the effect of the fall on the human race, both from the personal and interpersonal perspective, but also from the systemic perspective (that is, they argue that the plight of the poor is not merely a personal one, but also systemic, and that solutions need to target both areas, not just one).
"Man fully alive" has been a theological well spring for me for nearly a year, now, and I have seen how it impacts my interactions with the people we meet on the street. For my part, I am not an evangelist, and I haven't been gifted that way, but simply being able to talk about God's glory manifested in Christ to some of them has been a profound blessing (hopefully not just for me).
I would wish that they spent more time looking at what it means to bear the image of God, but I think they predominately wished to spend more time on the practical matters of helping. The basic premise of the book is that indiscriminate aid often hurts more than it helps, all around.
Some key points that stood out to me:
I've been involved for a little while with a group of people who ministers to homeless, mainly through relationships rather than providing goods or services, and I thought the book would be a worthy read, if for no other reason than it would be thought provoking and could provide a bit of a check for me personally in what we've tried to accomplish and how.
This is primarily a theological blog, and I deal less with orthopraxy than orthodoxy when given the chance.
My primary criticism of the book is that the authors don't take more time to develop the theological underpinnings for their arguments, sound though they may be (and they support themselves well). They do take some time to look at the effect of the fall on the human race, both from the personal and interpersonal perspective, but also from the systemic perspective (that is, they argue that the plight of the poor is not merely a personal one, but also systemic, and that solutions need to target both areas, not just one).
"Man fully alive" has been a theological well spring for me for nearly a year, now, and I have seen how it impacts my interactions with the people we meet on the street. For my part, I am not an evangelist, and I haven't been gifted that way, but simply being able to talk about God's glory manifested in Christ to some of them has been a profound blessing (hopefully not just for me).
I would wish that they spent more time looking at what it means to bear the image of God, but I think they predominately wished to spend more time on the practical matters of helping. The basic premise of the book is that indiscriminate aid often hurts more than it helps, all around.
Some key points that stood out to me:
- Consider three different phases of poverty alleviation: relief, rehabilitation, development. Too often we apply relief when something different is needed. Essentially the argument is that we should help people to help themselves rather than introducing methods that could lead to dependence.
- Attempt to identify assets among the target people group rather than needs, and encourage development of those assets to fulfill their needs. The goal is to get them to take ownership of the solution.
- Avoid paternalism in all its aspects; instead take a learner's mind to the task at hand.
- Evaluate the need for your presence; consider whether local resources are better suited for the solution and determine the appropriate response from your church.
- Foster relationships rather than dependencies.
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