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
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