I'm about halfway through the Starz! miniseries of The Pillars of the Earth, based on the book of the same title by Ken Follett. The story is takes place during medieval times, and is about the events surrounding the building of a cathedral. Trust me, it's more interesting than it sounds.
As is usual, the book was better. But once you get past the exposition-heavy first episode, the series isn't bad. The cast is well chosen, and though the production values are spotty in places (this is no Lord of the Rings), they're pretty good for television (it's also no Xena: Warrior Princess).
The interesting thing for me is how both series and book demonstrate the uses of the idea of hell. The main villain character, a nobleman who does the usual rape/pillage/oppression thing, is occasionally kept at bay by the good guy (a priest/monk) using the fear of hell and damnation. This in a book written by an atheist.
The specific question of hell aside (especially since I'm not sure how much it was actually historically used to afflict the powerful and comfort the afflicted), thinking about it this way can show us something about judgment. We normally think judgment is inherently bad, but in the Bible it is basically synonymous with justice. For oppressed people, the idea that someone is going to rout the bad guys and make things right is a very good thing.
Is judgment bad? If we fear judgment/justice, is it possibly because we might find ourselves among those first who will be last?
For further thought: David Opderbeck posted some very interesting thoughts in regard to justice, the coming of the Lord, and child sexual abuse here.
Texas may very shortly become the first state to recognize that they have executed a legally and factually innocent person. This piece on the Cameron Todd Willingham case is long, and it's in the New Yorker, so you'll have to put up with those insufferable cartoons, but it's a fascinating and heartbreaking tale.
At church last night we sang "Good King Wenceslas" by John M. Neale. You've probably heard it; it's a pretty traditional Christmas song, despite the fact that it doesn't mention Christmas, or little baby Jesus, or shepherds, or stars, or anything like that. Like me, you probably only know the first few lines:
Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even.
But the song actually tells a story about the king, or rather, the duke. Wenceslas was Duke of Bohemia (which is part of the present-day Czech Republic) from 921 to around 935 A.D., when he was killed by his brother. He is considered a martyr, and is the patron saint of the Czech Republic. Legend, which I tend to believe unless I have a reason not to, depicts him as a "good king" who traveled around giving to the poor and needy of his kingdom (or dukedom or fiefdom or whatever). And if that's not enough, he was played in a movie by Jonathan Brandis.
So read the rest of the lyrics. The song has several good lessons, and features one of those characteristically low-key Christian miracles. The language is a little baroque, so I'll summarize each verse.
Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even. Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, gathering winter fuel.
It's the day after Christmas, and Wenceslas sees a poor man gathering sticks to make a fire.
“Hither, page, and stand by me, if you know it, telling, Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?” “Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain, Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes’ fountain.”
He calls a servant over and finds out where the peasant lives.
“Bring me food and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither, You and I will see him dine, when we bear them thither.” Page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together, Through the cold wind’s wild lament and the bitter weather.
The duke orders food and logs for a fire, and goes with his servant through the winter to eat with the peasant.
“Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger, Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer.” “Mark my footsteps, my good page, tread now in them boldly, You shall find the winter’s rage freeze your blood less coldly.”
It's freaking cold, and the servant doesn't think he can go on to feed the poor man, but Wenceslas advises him to walk behind him.
In his master’s steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed. Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing, You who now will bless the poor shall yourselves find blessing.
The servant walks "in his master's steps", from which miraculous heat emanates. It's not in the song, but presumably they successfully find the poor man and dine with him. One historian wrote in 1119, "But his deeds I think you know better than I could tell you; for, as is read in his Passion, no one doubts that, rising every night from his noble bed, with bare feet and only one chamberlain, he went around to God’s churches and gave alms generously to widows, orphans, those in prison and afflicted by every difficulty, so much so that he was considered, not a prince, but the father of all the wretched."
I really like the idea of a barefoot king wandering around in the snow, giving away his kingdom to the poor and inviting people to walk in his footsteps. So even though on first glance "Good King Wenceslas" seems only vaguely Christmas-y because it mentions snow, I think it's a great song to sing as we celebrate the birth of another barefoot king.
Now Cain said to his brother Abel, "Let's go out to the field." And while they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.
Then the LORD said to Cain, "Where is your brother Abel?"
"I don't know," he replied. "Am I my brother's keeper?"
The LORD said, "What have you done? Listen! Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground. Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth."
Cain said to the LORD, "My punishment is more than I can bear. Today you are driving me from the land, and I will be hidden from your presence; I will be a restless wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will kill me."
But the LORD said to him, "Not so; if anyone kills Cain, he will suffer vengeance seven times over." Then the LORD put a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him. So Cain went out from the LORD's presence and lived in the land of Nod, east of Eden.
"The death penalty violates [the] justice of God, because it asserts that some human beings are not redeemable; that some human beings should not be saved from death. The death penalty not only seeks to cut a human being off from physical life; it seeks to impose a spiritual death on the person executed by denying the person the time to change, to convert.
The death penalty would impose a human timetable upon God, by saying if God really wants to save this person, God could. Indeed, God could, but who are we to tell God when and where this is to take place? The death penalty makes the state into God, deciding who is redeemable and who is not. The death penalty violates God's justice in deciding that some people should not be allowed the chance at salvation, at conversion, at change. The death penalty even goes so far as to say, "We want this person to rot in hell" - as if we are to determine who is to be saved and who is not.
The death penalty, then, is not only not God's justice, it is idolatry. And as idolatry, it is the worst form of injustice-it does not give to God what is due to God as God - namely, power over life and death. It is idolatry in that it makes the state into God. It is idolatry in its preaching of a false god - a god of death rather than the God of life. God is a God of life, not a God of death. My God, what is so wrong with us that we so pervert God's Word to make God into a God of death?"
"Along with two-thirds of the American public, I believe in capital punishment. I believe that there are some defendants who have earned the ultimate punishment our society has to offer by committing murder with aggravating circumstances present. I believe life is sacred. It cheapens the life of an innocent murder victim to say that society has no right to keep the murderer from ever killing again. In my view, society has not only the right, but the duty to act in self defense to protect the innocent."
"You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' But I tell you, Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.
"You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
"One of the great counterarguments death penalty opponents face is the challenge, 'If it were your spouse/child/sibling who was murdered, you'd feel differently.' Never did I feel that that boy's shocked parents, who were losing their son as surely as my parents lost theirs, and who have the added pain of shame, needed to suffer more. An 18-year-old's execution would not give back the dead. Nor would it have given me 'closure', which I regard as a myth - a politician's fiction. Spare me, please, your feel-good vengeance." --Paul Bosco, whose brother was murdered (son of Antoinette Bosco).
This past week I went to MOSI, or the Museum of Science and Industry, in Tampa, Florida. I sent to see an exhibit called Bodies. Guess what it's about. Go on...
Yeah. Bodies.
Actual human bodies that have been treated with a process that preserves them, so they can be displayed at room temperature, not behind glass or anything. It was fascinating, and weird. Some of the coolest displays were where they would have a body next to its own skeleton, holding hands or something. Many of the displays showed cancerous lungs next to healthy lungs, or focused on how the nervous system runs throughout the body. Stuff like that.
As interesting and educational as the exhibit was, it does raise some moral/philosophical questions. Whose bodies are these? Is it okay to display them like this at all? What if they or their families granted permission? What if they didn't?
The exhibit didn't offer any details on where the bodies came from. I've heard (this is secondhand rumor/gossip, I'm not reporting this as fact) that they are unidentified, donated, or otherwise abandoned bodies from China. They certainly did all appear to be Asian. I wonder how much it matters where the bodies came from. They were certainly treated with dignity; it was a museum exhibit, not some morgue peep show. Still, how would you feel about your relatives or your government using your body for this purpose? If the bodies were donated to science/research, that's one thing, but what if we just started sending the bodies of homeless people to museums?
Many of the exhibits were very sensitive in nature, such as the ones about the reproductive system. I'm hugely in favor of organ donation, but I don't think I want my mummified penis in a glass case somewhere. Also, the part on fetal development, while really cool and fascinating (I know, I'm overusing modifiers like "fascinating" and "interesting"), was also somewhat troubling. Before that, however, they did stipulate that the fetuses all died from natural complications.
The trouble with all this is that I can't articulate why it's troublesome. I don't have a logical reason why it bothers me a little bit. And that's all it does bother me...a little. It's not a huge obvious moral problem. It's not an incredibly complicated moral question that I can still come to a position on, like the death penalty or abortion (both of which I'm opposed to, but that isn't my point here). I found the exhibit really cool and neat and still somewhat creepy. I'm aware that that isn't rational. And even on religious grounds, I believe the body is not who we really are, so absent the soul, what does it matter what happens to the shell? Maybe it's just some unconscious taboo about corpses that I've absorbed unconsciously. Maybe it's the fact that you don't see the naked body of an industrialized nation's citizen on display like that. Maybe it's the idea of all those people with no one to care what happens to their body, no one to bury them or burn them or whatever, no one to say goodbye.
If you get the chance, go see it. It really is educational, and cool. But also slightly unsettling.
Just watched a documentary tonight with some friends. It was about war and terrorism in Uganda, and rebel groups that kidnap children, using the boys for soldiers and the girls for sex slaves. Pretty horrible stuff.
What's worse is that most American churchgoers probably couldn't place Uganda on a map.
Last night I went out with some friends for what we're calling the Downtown Ministry. Basically we go to downtown (Orlando) and take clothes or food or whatever to the people living on the streets. We don't pass out lameass tracts or do anything most churches would consider "witnessing". We just hang out and talk to folks.
Jesus always met physical needs along with spiritual ones. We try to meet basic needs like food and clothing, but also emotional ones. People avoid the homeless. Pay attention to yourself, and you'll notice how you intentionally don't look at homeless people. Or people are jerks. Even those with good intentions can sometimes be condescending. We try to just restore some of the dignity of being a human being to our friends downtown.
It was really good. Like most "outreach" or whatever, I'm sure I took away a lot more than I gave. I didn't have any kind of epiphany about the poor or amazing spiritual experience. I just met some people, and talked (and learned how to listen) awhile. I highly recommend it.
I'm posting from D.C. this week. Vacation. Unfortunately it's very much on the cheap. I like the city so far, but I'm finding the mass transit a little overcomplex. Anyway, the Leadership Summit was awesome, but I had like no time to decompress, since I had to get on the road right away. I'd not seen Bill Hybels speak before, and to be honest, I had a little bit of a pre-conception in the back of my mind, but he ended up being really cool. And several of the speakers said really powerful things about the AIDS crisis and other things going on the world that evangelicals are by and large ignoring. So although I'm drawn toward (and being enriched by) Brian McLaren and the so-called "emergent" movement (for lack of a better word) rather than the Hybels/Warren megachurch set, I'm realizing that the Kingdom needs all kinds. Some people need the Willow Creek type experience. I feel led toward something that, as McLaren writes, "maximizes discontinuity". In other words, I don't think it's enough (for me) to just bring in drums and punch up the usual church service a bit. I want an overhaul. I want a new thing entirely, or maybe something ancient rather than modern. But Paul talks about members of the body and if I'm the appendix or whatever, I should criticize noone else.
