Consider the stubborness of Pharaoh

“Pharaoh sent urgently for Moses and Aaron and said:

I have sinned against the Lord your God and against you.

Now forgive my sin, I implore you, just this once, and entreat

The Lord your God to turn this deadly thing away from me.

When Moses left Pharaoh’s presence he prayed to the Lord,

 and the Lord changed the wind into a west wind, very strong,

which carried the locusts away and swept them into the Sea

of Reeds. There was not one locust left in the whole of Egypt.

But the Lord made Pharaoh stubborn, and he did not

let the Israelites go…”  --Exodus 10: 16-20

Boy this Bible reading is kind of tough stuff. I am working my way through Exodus now and coming to the very familiar story of Moses and Pharaoh, I was quite surprised to bump into this verse –a phrase repeated a few times in this story.  What does it mean?  Why would God make Pharaoh “stubborn?”  If, as we are told, God is love –how does making Pharaoh stubborn reveal God’s love?  It is easy to see how it plays out for the Hebrews who receive their freedom and 40 years of wandering.  But consider the stubborn Pharaoh (and all of Egypt); what does he receive? Boils, frogs, locust and the death of his first-born son.  Why does God make the Pharaoh stubborn?

If we assume that God doesn’t literally make Pharaoh stubborn, then we are still left with the question: Why is it in the story? Repeatedly? Starting with God’s assurance to Moses:

“I myself shall make Pharaoh stubborn…” (cf. 7:3)

Even if we assume this is just a story that is trying to explain how the Hebrew people came out of Egypt, we still have to wonder why the ancient author would have chosen to tell it in this way? What is the author telling us about God? And, what is the spiritual or moral lesson that is being imparted?  If Pharaoh is simply an allegorical figure (a symbol of enslavement to sin –for example), we still are left with the fact that God seems to willfully stop Pharaoh from changing his ways.  What does that mean?

To my 21^st century mind, it seems unfair of God to make Pharaoh stubborn. It seems unloving. And so, we might ask, what did it say to the ancient reader? Was there a lesson in Pharaoh’s stubbornness that transcended narrative logic? Or was it a lesson about God’s authority? Was it an assertion that God can make someone do something against their own best interest? Or was it a lesson about how God’s ways are not man’s ways?

I don’t know. But it is perplexing and seems to hold a paradox of some kind at its core. 

If we assume that Holy Scripture is Holy and truly the Word of God then the issue becomes even more complex.  Why would God say such things about Himself?  What is He trying to teach us about Himself and His ways…? And –of course—we may have to ask ourselves whether questions of fairness are meaningful when it comes to God.   And His ways.

Reading Dante & Genesis: Intention vs text

“…if He gives me food to eat
 and clothes to wear, and if I come
home safe to my father’s home, then
the Lord shall be my God…” –Genesis 28: 20-21

     What does Jacob’s attitude and behavior tell us about God’s chosen people?  What does it tell us about God?  Why is Jacob/Israel depicted as such a character: a trickster, a skeptic, untrustworthy? Someone who seems to lack faith? Someone who puts God to the test?  Seemingly so unlike his grandfather Abraham?  Was it intentional?  If so, why? Was it a self-portrait on the part of the story-teller? The community?  What did the author intend?  Does it matter?

     Dr. Novo, a dear friend of mine, will sometimes challenge my latest rereadings of Dante with the argument that the text may not mean what I think it means, because my reading doesn’t seem like something Dante would have intended.  And what he means by that is: my reading of the poem doesn’t make sense in a 13^th century Italian context. He is simply asserting the logical proposition that a 13^th century Italian poet probably wouldn’t have meant what I might be proposing, because a 13^th century Italian wouldn’t have thought like that. And often I have to agree with him; sometimes I am imposing my modern ideas on a medieval text. 
     However, what I now realize is that there is a much more important question than the intention of the author. And so, in the case of Dante, though I am interested in the question:  Does it make sense in the context of 13^th century Italy?  I am even more interested in the question: Does it make sense in the context of the text?

     In a famous letter written during his exile, Dante explained that his poem should be read in the four-fold manner used for reading scripture.  Which means that the poem should be read on four levels: literal, allegorical, moral and anagogical. But, another element of how we read scripture is as a document received from God, but through human hands.  We know human hands wrote it, but we trust that the text itself is speaking to us the word of God. Yes, there may be academic theories about sources, and interpolations, and scribal errors, etc. And on a scholarly level those have importance.  However, our ultimate concern isn’t with the writers (or their errors), but the text itself.
     Would the author of Genesis have seen anything wrong on unseemly in Jacob's skeptical acceptance of God? Would the ancient readers have been troubled at all by Jacob's "ifs"?  If God does this... If God lets me arrive safely... if God gives me clothes and enough food...etc.  

     What the author(s) or compilers intended is certainly a question of interest, but what the text says, is a question of actual importance.  For instance, when we read Genesis, we can ask did the author intend to make Jacob a trickster? But more importantly, we should ask what it means that he is one.

    When I read Dante, I approach it in much the same way: I understand that Dante may or may not have intended some things I discover in his poem.  But my main concern isn’t with his 13^th century Italian intentions, but with his poem. Without imposing my 21^st century bias on it, I try to simply ask the text: What do you have to say? And then I ponder, what does that mean?

All I have is what I need -some thoughts against Independence

“All I have is what I need…”  --Audrey Assad

I’ve been doing a bit of driving this summer; not to Waxahachie or beautiful downtown Wichita Falls or anything touristy like that –but to HEB, the mall, and appointments, and even once to Miller Outdoor Theater. And as I drive around Houston the CD I have been listening to the most in the car is a Christian pop CD called “Heart” by Audrey Assad.  I think it is quite possibly one of the great pop CDs of all time.  The melodies and rhythms are wonderfully catchy and sometimes quite thrilling, but the songs –the lyrics and the way she sings them—are often so strangely beautiful that they seem transcendent.  Though there doesn’t seem to be a narrative “concept” to the album, the songs do feel organically united and create a beautiful cohesive whole.  It is truly an album to enjoy again and again.

                But there is one phrase that shows up in at least a couple of the songs that has troubled me (in a good way –of course): “all we have is what we need…”  And as I read Genesis, I keep thinking about this phrase.  How applicable it is to the story of God’s love and grace and the story of His people.  And to the story of my own life. As a kind of disclaimer, let me say this: in the context of her song, I think it is quite possible Mrs. Assad is saying something more straightforward than what I am about to describe.  I imagine she means something along the line of –God has given me everything I need, why should I long for more.  But what I hear is: all we really have, any of us, is our need.  And perhaps that is exactly how God intends it.

                Going back to my recent reading of Genesis, look at Abram –called by God to become a blessing to the world—he is lead to a foreign land, separated from his family and home, called to dwell in a place where he lacks the security of all he has known and where he will find himself constantly in need of shelter and food and even a place to lay his head. And then there is Jacob, who seems so clever and wily, yet who –in the end—must submit himself first to the brother he has abused and tricked, then because of a famine to the will of some Egyptian power-broker (who it turns out is the beloved son that he lost so many years before).  Again and again we see in the stories of the people of God that all we really have is our need.  We are called time and again to place not our burnt offerings and incense upon the altar –but to offer God our brokenness and our contrition. We are called time and again to recognize our complete dependence on God; our need for His grace.  That is our greatest gift. And –on some level it is the only thing we have that is truly ours: Our need.  And so we are called to share it with the world. We are called to place our need upon the altar, to offer it to all and to become a blessing to the world.    

It is interesting to me that I am writing this on the 4^th of July: Independence Day. We –as a culture—do not value “need.” We have a little bit of disdain for it. Because need makes you dependent. And that is anathema in the land of independence!  A land where we can define and redefine ourselves any way we like, because we don’t need anybody or anyone’s approval.  We are autonomous and independent and that’s how we like it. And yet is that what God intended? Is that what Christ meant when He said:

Anyone who finds his life will lose it and anyone who loses his life for my sake will find it
–Matthew 10:39

What does it mean to take up your cross and follow Christ? What does it look like? Does it mean Independence? Does it look like self-sufficiency? Or is that the call of God asking us to come and share our brokenness with the world?   Perhaps all I really have is what I need –and that need is a door to salvation –not just for me—but for you as well. We tend to think of a need as a lack or an emptiness, but what if –like the song says—it isn’t a lacking, it is the thing we actually have been given to share with the world. All I have is what I need  --here, I hold it out to you. It is all I have –and I offer it to you.

Thank you, Audrey Assad. Happy “dependence” day to all…