Welcome. Can we say grace?
Yes. Draw up a stool. Welcome to Theologic Al’s, where the bartenders talk about theology, sometimes at the expense of making sense—even if talking theology is supposed to be a way of making sense of the world. For example:
How in the world are we granted God’s grace? By God’s grace, of course, through our Lord Jesus Christ. But do we come by God’s grace only through Christ? It depends, I suppose, on what you mean by that, but I’m going to contend here that while we are saved by the grace we receive from God in Christ Jesus, there are other, secondary ways we experience God’s goodness to us—God’s grace.
Right? Did you make it through that paragraph, stuffed with theological language? If you did, you’ll make it through the rest of this. I can’t make theology any more complicated than other bartenders you’ve talked to make NFL football.
But forget football altogether, and ice dancing. Think instead of your own experiences of God’s goodness. Particularly, think about one of those times you were staring out the back window, when suddenly you thought, “My God, this is good,” and you found almost without realizing you had spoken a prayer of thanksgiving for part of the world God has made.
It is the continuing contention of the writer of the first chapter of Genesis that God made the world and made it good. About the various “stages” of the enterprise, he writes:
“God saw how good it was.” – v. 12
“God saw how good it was.” – v. 18
“God saw how good it was.” – v. 25
“God looked at everything God had made and found it very good.” – v. 31
Of course, that was before we screwed it up. Eve takes the apple, and she hands it to Adam, and he takes a bite, too, and the next thing you know, they’re out of the garden in a patch of thorns and thistles (KJV) they have made for themselves. At least, this is how Milton sees it in Paradise Lost. Eve puts forth “her rash hand,” plucks and eats. And
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
Sighing through all her works gave signs of woe,
That all was lost.
But is that right? Is that what we make of the world we live in, gazing out the window? Is all lost? That’s a pretty extreme Protestant position, and I doubt any of us hold it in more than a technical sense—because we’re Presbyterians, perhaps, and think we ought to.
So, what do we hold? I think we do experience, at least, a sense that our being cast out of the garden—whether we think of that historically or metaphorically—has changed our relationship with the creation; so it also changes our ability to see through creation—to see through nature—to God. But I don’t think we really believe in our bones—in our own nature—that the natural world is fallen as we are. I think we reckon either that it isn’t fallen at all; in fact, it has a power to heal us almost equal to Christ’s. Or, that it’s fallen only a little and it can still, if we pay attention or lose focus, staring out the back window, lose focus on ourselves—nature can still lead us in the right direction (back toward Eden). Something like this:
It was as if heaven kissed earth,
so earth now dreamed of heaven.
You could see it in the still
shimmer of the flowers.
Feel it in the breeze through the fields,
the grain softly waving,
the forests gently rustling—
the star-clarity of the night.
And your soul spanned
wide its wings,
and found itself flying
through the stillness—home.
That’s my (very) rough translation of Josef Freiherr von Eichendorf’s "Moonlight” (Mondnacht).
We sing it here sometimes, at Al’s, though I suspect it’s heresy to do so. Maybe we should stick to German beer but lay off German poets. What do you think?
How in the world are we granted God’s grace? By God’s grace, of course, through our Lord Jesus Christ. But do we come by God’s grace only through Christ? It depends, I suppose, on what you mean by that, but I’m going to contend here that while we are saved by the grace we receive from God in Christ Jesus, there are other, secondary ways we experience God’s goodness to us—God’s grace.
Right? Did you make it through that paragraph, stuffed with theological language? If you did, you’ll make it through the rest of this. I can’t make theology any more complicated than other bartenders you’ve talked to make NFL football.
But forget football altogether, and ice dancing. Think instead of your own experiences of God’s goodness. Particularly, think about one of those times you were staring out the back window, when suddenly you thought, “My God, this is good,” and you found almost without realizing you had spoken a prayer of thanksgiving for part of the world God has made.
It is the continuing contention of the writer of the first chapter of Genesis that God made the world and made it good. About the various “stages” of the enterprise, he writes:
“God saw how good it was.” – v. 12
“God saw how good it was.” – v. 18
“God saw how good it was.” – v. 25
“God looked at everything God had made and found it very good.” – v. 31
Of course, that was before we screwed it up. Eve takes the apple, and she hands it to Adam, and he takes a bite, too, and the next thing you know, they’re out of the garden in a patch of thorns and thistles (KJV) they have made for themselves. At least, this is how Milton sees it in Paradise Lost. Eve puts forth “her rash hand,” plucks and eats. And
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
Sighing through all her works gave signs of woe,
That all was lost.
But is that right? Is that what we make of the world we live in, gazing out the window? Is all lost? That’s a pretty extreme Protestant position, and I doubt any of us hold it in more than a technical sense—because we’re Presbyterians, perhaps, and think we ought to.
So, what do we hold? I think we do experience, at least, a sense that our being cast out of the garden—whether we think of that historically or metaphorically—has changed our relationship with the creation; so it also changes our ability to see through creation—to see through nature—to God. But I don’t think we really believe in our bones—in our own nature—that the natural world is fallen as we are. I think we reckon either that it isn’t fallen at all; in fact, it has a power to heal us almost equal to Christ’s. Or, that it’s fallen only a little and it can still, if we pay attention or lose focus, staring out the back window, lose focus on ourselves—nature can still lead us in the right direction (back toward Eden). Something like this:
It was as if heaven kissed earth,
so earth now dreamed of heaven.
You could see it in the still
shimmer of the flowers.
Feel it in the breeze through the fields,
the grain softly waving,
the forests gently rustling—
the star-clarity of the night.
And your soul spanned
wide its wings,
and found itself flying
through the stillness—home.
That’s my (very) rough translation of Josef Freiherr von Eichendorf’s "Moonlight” (Mondnacht).
We sing it here sometimes, at Al’s, though I suspect it’s heresy to do so. Maybe we should stick to German beer but lay off German poets. What do you think?
- Rick Dietrich
posted by Rick at 12:26 PM
2 Comments:
Nice place!
I'll have whatever is on tap.
You know Rick, for me, one of the tenets of orthodox doctrine that I have continually wrestled with is this idea that our sinfulness has somehow corruted all of nature. To lay the blame for hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes, etc. at the feet of humanity is really quite unconscionable. (Understand that this is different from recognizing that our sinfulness contributes to the impact of these realities - i.e building our house on a beach that we know will someday be hit by a hurricane and then raging at God because he "allows" hurricanes to happen)
In a recent issue of The Christian Century, Brethren theolgian Nancey Murphy stated that "...cosmology, astronomy, geology and evolutionary biology have together called for rejecting the ancient idea of a Golden Age followed by a historic fall that changed the processes of nature". Joy and praise arose in my heart when I read that! She later goes on to say that science tells us that paradoxically without these violent types of natural events, our planet would not be capable of supporting life.
The mistaken assumption by the writer of the creation accounts in Genesis (if I might be so presumptuous) was to assume creation was complete and somehow fixed. Science tells us that our universe is still being created. I like to think that the writer of Genesis should have continued the creation story with - On the eighth day the Lord arose from his rest and went back to work on his good creation... When God speaks from the whirlwind to Job, He speaks at length of Leviathen, the ancient symbol of chaos. I believe God continues to wrestle with Leviathen to bring his desired order from the evil of chaos.
Yes, I can find grace in nature. Never more so than standing waste deep in a mountain stream watching trout feed on small mayflies knowing that God is present in the natural processes that made that a reality out of the dark nothingness that was.
Thanks for the beer, Gotta go.
Howard,
Thanks for stopping by. I’m glad you like the décor.
Two things:
First. I’m in agreement, I think: if nature is fallen, it’s hard to believe humankind is accountable. That doesn’t mean that we’re not accountable for how we use and abuse the natural world.
And B (as one of my high school teachers almost invariably had it. Two things: First, and B). What do you make of the “fact” that the examples we give of fallen nature are strictly from a human point of view? Hurricanes, tornadoes, volcanoes, cancer—all are examples of natural evil, because they are evil to us, in the sense we perceive that they harm us.
Finally (the third of those two things). I’m intrigued by the notion that God continues to wrestle chaos into order, though I’m not sure what to make of it—or that I like the idea even though I’m intrigued with it. I tend to agree that creation is ongoing, but if it goes on in a God vs. Chaos match—each day each gets up to the sound of tom-toms and “Let’s get ready to rumble!” . . . I’m getting side-tracked by my own rhetoric; but don’t we end up with some sort of Manichean dualism?
Rick
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