The Parable of the Unreliable Narrators - Sermon

In my sermon last week, I said that we should be surprised by parables, that they really are intended to surprise, to catch the audience off guard with an eternal truth wrapped within a pleasantly told tale. But can be difficult to retain that surprise when the parables have become familiar.

Movies with a twist, surprise ending are enjoyable once, and Mystery and Detective novels lose their thrill after the first reading. The story in Luke 15: 11 - 32 of the prodigal son (a title that I really don’t like[i]) is very familiar to us; it is probably the most familiar, most well-known of Jesus’ stories. And because of that over-familiarity it is challenging to retain a sense of wonder as we read it. Familiarity in this case breeds, if not contempt, then at least indifference. We’ve heard the story, read the parable multiplied multiple times and, since we already know the ending, we may have a tendency to breeze through it without critical thought. It is difficult for us to retain the thrill of the twist, the surprise ending, the aha!. But, perhaps it’s time to be surprised by the parable again. We want a sort of ‘second naiveté’ when we come to the parable of the Lost Son[ii] .

As I read and re-read the parable this week, one of the things that caught me by surprise was the unreliability of sons as they described their circumstances. Neither the younger nor the elder son seems able to speak the truth, to himself or to others around him. They omit certain details and highlight others in order present themselves in the best light possible. They do not tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Their stories are shaded and shady.

And everyone does this; sometimes we do it purposefully and with deliberate calculation, sometimes unconsciously. When politicians do it, we call it “spin-doctoring.” Corporations hire Public Relations teams to do it. Governments create propaganda. Individuals do it by shading the truth. We do it, all the time; we reveal only parts of the truth, those parts that we think are acceptable, the parts that we think other people want to hear, those parts that will make us look good. Even when we’ve sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, we emphasize our success and our strength while hiding and disguising our failures and weakness. (Firestone)

Pamela Meyer, author of the book Liespotting, has said, “We wish we were better husbands, better wives, smarter, more powerful, taller, richer-the list goes on. Lying is an attempt to bridge that gap, to connect our wishes and our fantasies about who we wish we were, how we wish we could be, with what we're really like. And boy are we willing to fill in those gaps in our lives with lies.”

 In Jesus’ story, the younger son, after blowing through his inheritance, finds himself working on a pig farm in a far off country. And there he says to himself, “…here I am dying of hunger…” (Luke 15: 17) But I think he’s lying to himself. Yes, there was a famine in that country and, yes, times were hard, but he was working, presumably being paid. If the famine had not yet proceeded to the point where all of the pigs had been slaughtered for food, there must have been other food still to eat. And considering what must have been his pampered life of comfort and ease–under an extravagantly generous, softy of a father-I doubt that this callow uncalloused boy had any previous experience with hunger or labor. His tender hands and pale skin must have blistered from work and sun. His stomach must have cramped from hunger. But I read his complaint with a measure of distrust–not outright disbelief. I’m sure he was hungry, and tired, and sore, and dismal. But I doubt his claim of starvation.[iii] He is exaggerating his peril, somewhat.

When he finally comes to his senses and realizes  that he has made a foolish mistake he begins to formulate a plan, prepares and rehearses a speech that he hopes will minimize his failures and at the same time, engender a compassionate response from his father: “Father,” he says, rehearsing, “Father, ehem, uh… Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired men.” (Luke 15: 18 -19 NJB)

It doesn’t seem honest. It is calculated for effect. It’s as if he is afraid to confront the truth about himself and so puts the burden of this very practiced apology on his father. What he wants is for his father to accept him, so he prepares this nonpology[iv] to get that acceptance. One author has written that, “[w]ith great privilege comes an equally great ability to be irresponsible and yet succeed, be cared about, get out of jail free.” Saying “I’m sorry,” in this case is really only saying “Please like me.” (Prickett)

The younger son in this parable is not entirely honest-not with himself, and not with his father.

But the elder son is not any better. He first claims that he has “slaved” for his father for many years and “never once disobeyed any orders.” (Luke 15: 29) The elder son wants to portray himself as the wounded martyr, the aggrieved innocent, so he accentuates the positive and eliminates the negative. (Arlen and Mercer) But I suspect that his slavery is only a whining exaggeration and that his claim of perfect obedience is not perfectly true.

He then goes on to say that despite all of his perfect obedience and loyalty, his father has “never offered [him] so much as a kid for [him] to celebrate with [his] friends.” (Luke 15: 29) And this, too, I disbelieve. The father in this story is the true prodigal–giving money and resources extravagantly, wastefully even.  I cannot believe that this lavishly giving man, would have never given his son anything. But the elder son isn’t a reliable narrator; he shades the truth and, like his younger brother, puts the burden on the father.

And the extraordinary thing about this story, the really surprising thing in this familiar parable, is that the father doesn’t care. He accepts the self-serving stories from both of his sons, and responds with an outlandish generosity, with a prodigal grace. The younger son isn’t quite able to own up to his own immaturity and failure, but the father accepts him, welcomes him home anyway. The elder son is angry and unforgiving and unable to admit that he is just as greedy for their father’s estate as his younger, irresponsible brother. But the father loves him anyway, and gives him everything. 

Both of the sons are unreliable narrators. They have not told the truth (not the whole, unvarnished truth, anyway) to themselves or to their father. Even so, the father remains absolutely reliable in his outlandish, extravagant, prodigious love. He loves them, welcomes them, embraces them even as they are attempting to manipulate him. He knows what they’re trying to do, but he ignores it. He cuts off the younger son’s rehearsed nonpology apology, to have him dressed in a fine robe and have the family ring thrust upon his finger. He interrupts the elder son’s complaint, “you’ve never given me anything” to tell him that “everything I have is yours.” The father is steadfast in his merciful love to these unworthy boys.

And if this is to be read as a parable of God’s love for us unworthy people, we should be surprised and taken aback by the steadfast reliability of his merciful love. Even when we try to manipulate God, bargaining, pleading, demanding… he loves us. Even when we try to pretend to ourselves and to God that we’re not really so bad, not as bad at least as the other guy… he loves us. Lavishly. Wastefully, even. Prodigally.

Like the psalmist in Psalm 32, we have a tendency to keep silent about our sin and shortcoming; we don't tell the whole and complete truth. And while we are lying to ourselves, and to others, and to God about ourselves, our bones are wasting away, groaning day and night. (Psalm 32: 5) But when we finally come to our senses and tell the truth, when we confess, God, for his part, takes away our sin and forgives our guilt. This is is extraordinary, prodigal, wasteful grace-that he loves us, even as we are telling lies.

For his mercies shall endure
ever faithful, ever sure.
-John Milton 

***

Arlen, Harold and Johnny Mercer. “Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive” 1944.

Firestone, Lisa. "Shades of Truth: The Many Ways We Lie." The Huffington Post, 23 Sept. 2013. Web. 5 Mar. 2016.

Meyer, Pamela. "How To Spot a Liar." TEDtalk. July 2011. TED. Web. 5 Mar. 2016.

Prickett, Sarah Nichole. “Saying Sorry Is a Pretty-Girl Trick.” The Hairpin, 20 Aug. 2013. Web. 5 Mar. 2016.

---

[i] Let’s Not Call Him the Prodigal Son Anymore, Okay? 

[ii] Though I’m not using that phrase in exactly the same way as the philosopherPaul Ricouer… 

[iii] The Parable of the Unreliable Narrators 

[iv] Nonpology 

Biblical Limericks – King David was Loathsome

Look at me God, and see how I hate;
see how my anger will not abate.
You can examine me-
test my heart and you’ll see
how loathsome is my natural state.

Psalm 139: 21 - 23

Biblical Limericks: The Contempt of the Proud

Have mercy, oh Lord, and goodwill,
for our souls have had more than their fill
of contempt and of scorn
from those who have not borne
the pains and griefs of life that can kill.

Psalm 123: 3 - 4

He Felt the Glory, but Did Not Understand

He sat alone in the scrub grass and flowering weeds on the side of the hill. Further up, at the crest of the hill, was County Road 29; a metal guard-rail curved between the edge of the blacktop and gravel and the steep slope. Below him was the rocky shoreline of Cedar Lake. Men fished there sometimes, with their coolers of beer and lawn-chairs. But not today. Today a storm brewed over the waters. 

Already the wind was whipping the weedy plants around him on either side. He could smell their green and yellow scent, of pollen and spring, mixed with the ozone smell of thunderstorms. Out over the lake, heavy metal clouds hovered, silver grey-blue, like cobalt. He wondered for a moment how clouds so heavy could stay up. And then a thundercrack rocked the sky, jarring him. His teeth clamped down on his tongue and he yelped in pain and surprise. He spat and saw a bit of blood mixed with his saliva.

He’d come out on Country Road 29 on his bike, which was still where he left it-at the top of the hill, this side of the guard-rail. Now he wished he’d worn a jacket. Even if he ran up the slope and rode back towards home, he knew he couldn’t outrun the storm. And what was at home anyway? Nothing. Loss. Emptiness. He was going to be soaked and he didn’t care. At least, he told himself he didn’t care.

Thunder cracked again, not the sky-splitting, deafening, end of the world, apocalyptic boom as before, but loud and darting, seemingly without a center, without a point of origin. It came from all directions at once, from everywhere and nowhere, rumbling across the lake, echoing back and forth, up the hillside and down into the depths of his soul. A few small stones, loosened by the wind and the rumble, skittered down the hillside.

“What?” he asked, looking out over the white capped waves on the lake. “What do you want to say?”  He wasn’t sure to whom he was speaking. Was it God? Himself? The World? The great Whomever? It didn’t matter, only the wind answered him. Trees along the shore waved and shook in the gusts; leaves fluttered, battered in all directions. Some were carried up, others circled in fierce, demented eddies. And then the rain began to fall in hard stinging drops. “Tell me!” he shouted.  And the rain became a roar.

Lightning ripped through the darkened sky. And again, fiery flashing forks stabbing down from the clouds. A bolt ripped through a copse of oaks, mixing a shower of sparks and smoke with the falling rain. A thick branch fell to the ground, smoldering.

He should have been afraid. He knew that.  Somewhere deep in the primitive, limbic-system part of his brain, in the lizard-brain responsible for feeding, and fighting and fleeing, he knew that he should have been terrified. He was exposed. Vulnerable. Thunder bellowed from the sky, but he did not flinch.  Lighting struck again and again, but he didn’t even shiver. He stood up. His clothes were soaked through with rain, his hair matted down in disarray. He wiped the water from his face and raised his arms. “There is glory here!” he shouted. “Glory!” He felt it, but did not understand.

In Silence

Behind the electrical hum
of fluorescent bulbs and
radio static is silence;
I’m listening for salvation

like a toppled wall,
a battered fence,

I am a breath, an illusion,
something  even lighter
than a breath

I heard you once,
twice, I’m sure of it

(based, somewhat, on Psalm 62)

Faith in the Face of Empire: Four Questions

Soon, in just a few days, people around the world will be celebrating the Passover – most of them Jewish, but among them will be not a small number of Christians as well. During the Seder (“order”) four questions will be asked and answered.  They are asked and answered every year; they are part of the story, part of the telling.  They are part of the way that the story is communicated from generation to generation.  They are questions that lead to freedom.

In chapter six (“The People of Palestine”) of his book Faith in the Face of Empire: The Bible through Palestinian Eyes[i], Mitri Raheb asks four existential questions of his own, questions that he hopes will help lead to freedom for the Palestinian people.

1- Where Are You, God?  This is an old, old question; “a three-thousand-year-old lament that the inhabitants of Palestine have passed from one generation to the next (Raheb, 68).”  And it is a question asked repeatedly throughout the pages of scripture.  It’s not that they doubt his existence, or his love, but…

 How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?

    How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I bear pain[a] in my soul,

    and have sorrow in my heart all day long?

How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?
(Psalm 13:  1 – 2 – NRSV)

Raheb makes a rather striking declaration – “throughout the Bible, with the exception of the Exodus, the God in whom the people of Palestine put their faith appears to be silent (Raheb, 69).”

My friend Tim and I have been talking about this very thing today.  He has a sense of Geborgenheit in God.  Warmth.  Security. Closeness.  But this is not everyone’s experience with God.  And does not appear to be the experience of the Palestinian people.  God may have heard, and may have been moved by the cries of his people as they suffered in slavery under the Egyptians, but the cries of the Palestinians under the successive waves of crushing empires has not moved him to effect their release.

2 – Who Is My Neighbor? Another familiar question.  The Bible can be read as a collection of narratives about the land, the peoples, and identities.  The whole of the Hebrew Bible / Old Testament is a struggle toward a national identity.  The New Testament flips this head over heels and “instead of identifying with one people over and against the others, which is the traditional way of forming one’s identity, it calls people to reflect on the entire process of identification as misleading (Raheb, 72).”

But in Palestine, this is not just a question of learning to accept outsiders, foreigners and one’s enemies as neighbors; it is also a question of how to relate with one’s own people.  Empires have a long history of playing various occupied groups against each other.  It’s an effective way to suppress resistance. “The siege that Israel imposes on Gaza aims at developing two diverse and unrelated identities, one in the West Bank, the other in the Gaza Strip.   The stronger these identities develop in isolation from one another, the less likely it is for their people to unite (Raheb, 73).”

3 – What is the Way to Liberation? What is the best – most effective, moral way to achieve a free and independent state? There is no real consensus on this issue.  And there has never been.  Throughout Palestine’s long history of occupation there has never been a universally accepted answer to this question.  And here Raheb identifies five patterns drawn from the New Testament that are still being used in Palestine today.

A – Fighting Back – like the zealots.  Every now and again the occupation has become too oppressive, too brutal, too insulting and some (never all) of the people have taken up arms against their oppressors.  These Intifadas (“uprisings”) are usually brief – three to five years – “That seems to be the length of time or capacity of the people of Palestine for enduring direct military confrontation. The longer an Intifada continues, the more it becomes a liability for the population (Raheb, 75).”

B – Observing the Law – like the Pharisees.  In this mindset the best way to achieve liberation is to commit oneself to fully obeying God’s law.  The occupation is not the result of God turning away from us, but of us turning away from God.  And the best way to ensure our release is to ensure that everyone obeys the laws of God (as we understand them).  The Pharisees of the time of Jesus were not rigid, power hunger, religious hypocrites; they were sincere followers of God who believed that the best (and only) way to live was in complete adherence to God’s law.  This understanding is comforting in several ways – it is observable and quantifiable. You can see the results of people following the laws.  And it preserves the goodness of God. God’s (apparent) silence is not evidence of God’s lack of concern or powerlessness – it is the result of our rebellion.

This pattern is found today in the political manifesto of Hamas [Islamic Resistance Movement] (Raheb, 77).”   “The group who is promoting the law today as the solution to the Palestinian problem is Hamas.  The Arabic word for law is sharia.   For Hamas, as part of the Muslim Brotherhood movement, sharia is the way to true liberation.  The fact that Hamas has been engaged in fighting Israel since 1988 should not make us think that this group belongs to the zealots.  On the contrary, in all Muslim Brotherhood writings, the main focus is on having divine law control peoples’ daily lives.  Their main fight is not with the empire, but with their own people who have forgotten their religious identity (Raheb, 78).”

C – Accommodation - like the Sadducees, walking the tightrope between God’s will and the emperor’s (Raheb, 79).  Some try to work within the system of power. Trying to please the people and keep the rulers happy. 

D – Collaboration – like the New Testament tax (toll) collectors.  “In today’s Palestine these are the subcontractors who distribute Israeli products to the Palestinian markets, who bid on contracts in Israeli settlements, or who collaborate by providing information on people and organizations.  This group wants to exploit the empire by helping to exploit its own people.  For this group, the empire is good business.  Why fight for liberation?  Long live the empire (Raheb, 80)!”

E – Retreat [ii]- like the Qumranites.  Those that hold this attitude believes that that there is no hope.  No chance. And it doesn’t matter anyway since the world is about to collapse.  They retreat into self enclosed community to wait for the inevitable end.   Then they will reemerge to reestablish the old ways and the pure laws.  Raheb identifies the Muslim Salfists and some conservative Christian free churches as contemporary examples of this pattern; “disillusioned and disinterested in politics, they maintain a faithful watch preparing for the great battle against the evil of the present (Raheb 81).”

4 – When Will We Have a State? -   Raheb relates this question back to questions in the Hebrew Bible /Old Testament (1 Samuel 8:20) and the Christian New Testament (Acts 1:6).  But, for Raheb, the question isn’t enough.  “Liberation is not an end to itself (Raheb, 82).”  It is not enough to “be like all the other nations.” It is not enough to “restore the kingdom.”  The goal must be a free and independent state.  Liberation from the control of the empire will leave a power vacuum that will inevitably be filled. 

And even this may not be enough.  “If Israelis and Palestinians are frank with themselves, they need to admit that the state project they’ve respectively worked so hard to achieve for the last sixty or so years has failed.  Israel developed an apartheid system, and the Palestinian mini-state in Gaza or the Palestinian “holes in the cheese” of the West Bank are not the dream for which people fought.  Yet, both peoples are still unable and / or unwilling to admit that hard and painful truth and begin looking for new models of coexistence (Raheb, 84).”

Previous Chapters 

Chapter 1 – Longview of History 

Chapter 2 – Dispelling the Myth of Judeo-Christian Tradition 

Chapter 3 – The Geo-Politics of the Middle East 

Chapter 4 – Omphaloskepsis  

Chapter 5 -  Seven Marks of the Empire 

---

[i] Raheb, Mitri, Faith in the Face of Empire: The Bible through Palestinian Eyes, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, NY, 2014.

[ii] In the book this is “Retrieval” (page 80) – but I wonder if it’s not a mistake.  

Doing Theology by Story - Rethinking My Thinking

  

This post, like my last (I Was Too Critical and Not Critical Enough) are 1) prompted by my recent reading in John P. Meier’s  second volume of his A Marginal Jew series, and 2) efforts to continually rethink my thinking. 

Today I was struck by his use of the phrase “doing theology by story (Meier 922).” [i] In context he is talking about the gospel stories of Jesus walking on the water and cursing the fig tree – stories that he believes go back fairly early in Christian history, but are probably not actual-factual-historical events.  He believes them to be creations of the early Church as a way of “doing theology by story.”

And, honestly I have no real problem with this.  It is the way that I have come to understand several parts of the bible – Noah, Jonah, etc…  These stories, as we have them in our collection of scripture, are (to steal another of Meier’s frequently used phrases) not videotaped replays of historical events.  They are theology embedded in a story. 

But I must confess: I haven’t been fair in applying this.  Way back in 2010 (That’s a long time in internet years…) I wrote about a story told concerning a U.S. Infantry brigade during World War I and Psalm 91. 

As I was reading and researching Psalm 91 … I began to find a story about the 91st psalm repeated over and over on numerous websites, in the exact same words (or only slightly varied) each time.

A story from World War I tells about the 91st Infantry Brigade of the U.S. Expeditionary Army. When it was preparing to enter combat in Europe, most of the men were "green soldiers" who had never seen combat. Its commander, a devout Christian, called an assembly of his men where he gave each a little card on which was printed the 91st Psalm. They agreed to recite the Soldiers' Psalm daily.

The 91st Brigade was engaged in three of the bloodiest battles of WW I: Chateau Thierry, Belle Wood, and the Argonne. While other American units similarly engaged had up to 90% casualties, the 91st Brigade did not suffer a single combat related casualty!

Because of this story Psalm 91 is frequently described as the “soldier’s psalm” and as the “Ultimate Shield,” and you can find Psalm 91 devotional booklets to be distributed to soldiers to keep them safe.

Isn’t that story amazing?  Isn’t it just unbelievable? 

Exactly.  It is unbelievable, because there was no 91st Brigade in the U.S. Expeditionary Army.  Its commander wasn’t a devout Christian.  They didn’t recite the 91st Psalm every morning.  They didn’t fight in three of the bloodiest battles of World War One, and they didn’t avoid the massive casualties that every unit on all sides of that horrible war suffered. The story is not true.

 
Psalm 91 - Can We Find That Secret Place of the Most High?

 So on the one hand, I am willing to accept “doing theology by story” when I like the story, or when I like the theology.  But I am (unfairly?) critical of it when I don’t like the story or the theology.  

It’s these questions I’m asking myself now – how far is this “doing theology by story” allowed to go?  What guides or limitations should be in place?  Should the theology conform to, and confirm my understanding of other parts of the bible?  Should the story confirm, and conform to what I have experienced?    Should actual-factual-history be considered?  If so, then how much?  Does it matter that there was no world wide flood, that Jesus may not have walked across the surface of the Sea of Galilee, that there was no 91^st Infantry Brigade reciting psalm 91….

I don’t know that I have complete and finalized answers to these questions today. I’m just rethinking my thinking…

---

[i] Meier, John P. A Marginal Jew Vol. IIL Mentor, Message, and Miracles Doubleday, Garden City, NY, 1994.

A Blessing for the Ascent

As we make our pilgrim way
 through the rocky vale
let us look up to the mountains-
Where does our help come from?

From weak idols that need to be awakened?
No.

May the Lord be your guardian.
May the Lord be your shade.
And may the Lord be your strong right hand.

May he shelter you from the sweltering sun
and from the deleterious influence of the moon.

When you go out and when you come in,
when you go up and when you come down.
May the Lord, the king of the universe
be with you, now and forever. Amen.

(Psalm 121)

(Photo taken at Qumran.) 

Pray for the Peace of Bethlehem – A Modern Psalm of Ascent

I was glad when they said to me,
“Let us go to the house of bread.”
Our feet are standing
within your barb-wired gates, O Bethlehem,
Bethlehem that is compacted within the walls.

Pray for the peace of Bethlehem.
Pray for the freedom of Palestine.

May they prosper who love you,
and they who love the Prince of Peace
born within your walls.

For the sake of my brothers and my comrades,
for the sake of my enemies too,
I will now say, “May peace be within you.”
I will seek your good.

(See Psalm 122)