Good Reads

This may seem like an odd topic for a blog post, but I figured that one would not get a full understanding of my HNGR experience without having some experience of the stuff I am reading. Okay a little context, I have been reading some books during downtimes while here, some of them are assigned readings for classes and some are books I bought. I decided to include some of my favorite passages as a blog post. These may or may not be “HNGR-ish” or some more than others, if that word has meaning. I know not everyone who read this blogs like reading long passage, but that’s what this post consists of. I prefer long sections instead of quick, short quotes out of context.

This first passage is from Christianity Rediscovered by Vincent Donovan, a reading for one of the HNGR classes I am taking. He was a missionary with the Masai in Tanzania. This was taken from his first trip among them. For those who had Dr. Yamamato, he often read this passage out loud in class, although I don’t know if I will start and stop at the same point as he did.

            “I remember the very first week of instructions when I asked the Masai to tell me what they thought about God. I was more than startled when a young Masai elder stood up and said, ‘If I ever run into God, I will put a spear through him.’

            Here he was immersed on one side in an unshakable belief in the existence of God, and faced on the other side with the numbing reality of a life that includes pain and sickness, death of children and los of cattle. This young elder was trying to come to terms with a God who seemed to responsible for it all. His thoughts were really not very far removed from those of many young Americans and Europeans today; not really very different from the mentality of Albert Camus in The Plague. This is the point at which religious reflection began for him in a very real way. So this is the point at which we began to speak with him and his fellow tribesmen about the Christian idea of God. The question evoked by this comment of his was his question, not ours, and we tried to answer it the best we could.

            It is as good a starting place as any for preaching the gospel to the Masai.

            For the Masai, there is only one God, Engai, but he goes by many names. Sometimes they call him male, sometimes female. When he is kind and propitious they call him the black God. When he is angry, the red God. Sometimes they call him rain, since this is a particularly pleasing manifestation of God. But he is always one, true God. They asked if we did the same. I had to admit that for us, also, God goes by many names, and that in the long history of the bible, the same is true. Indeed, I was to find from research, as a result of this question of theirs, that the Jews called God, on occasion, fire, breeze, and God of the mountain. They were a bet incredulous to learn, that, for all practical purposes, we leave the female out of God, and we consider him as only male, which is, of course as patently wrong as considering God only female. God is neither male nor female, which is an animal classification, but certainly embodies the qualities which we like to believe exist in both. If the Masai wanted to refer to God as she as well as he, I could certainly find nothing theologically incorrect about the notion. Their idea seems much more embracing and universal than ours – and not a whit less biblical:

            ‘Does a woman forget her baby at the breast, or fail to cherish the son of her womb? Yet even if these forget, I will never forget you’ (Is 49:15).

            Then they told me of God, Engai, who loved rich people more than poor people, healthy people more than the sick, the God who loved good people because they were good and rewarded them for their goodness. They told me of God who hated evil people – ‘those dark, evil ones out there’ – and punished them for their evil. Then they told me of the God who loved the Masai more than all other tribes, loved them fiercely, jealously, exclusively. His power was known throughout the lush grasslands of the Masai steppes; his protection saved them from all surrounding, hostile, Masai-hating tribes, and assured them of victory in war over these tribes; his goodness was seen in the water and rain and cattle and children he gave them.

            I finally spoke up and told them they reminded me of another great people that lived long ago, and live until the present time. ‘They are the Hebrew tribe, the Jews, the Israelis. They are famous the world over for having preserved in the world the knowledge of the one, true God. But it was not always easy for them. They often tried to restrict that God to their tribe and to their land, and so made him less of a God than he really was.

            ‘One time, in the early days of their tribe, he called a man named Abraham and said to him, Abraham, come away from this land of yours. Leave your people and your tribe and your land, and come to the land I will show you. And all nations will be blessed in you, if you do this.

            ‘The God of the tribe of Abraham had become a God who was no longer free. He was tripped in that land, among that tribe. He had to be freed from that nation, that tribe, that land in order to become the High God.’

            Each African tribe believes in God, and it is generally considered to be a monotheistic God. But each tribe likes to restrict the attention and protection of this God to its own territory, thus planting the seeds for polytheism.

            I continued talking with the people who were now listening very closely: ‘When Abraham followed God out of his land, there began on this earth the story of the one, living, High God.

            ‘Everyone knows how devout you Masai are, the faith you have, your beautiful worship of God. You have known God and he has loved you. But I wonder if, perhaps, you have not become like the people of the tribe of Abraham. Perhaps God has become trapped in this Masai country, among this tribe. Perhaps God is no longer free here. What will the Kikuyu do to protect themselves against this god of the Masai – and the Sonjo? They will have to have their own gods. Perhaps the story of Abraham speaks also to you. Perhaps you Masai also must leave your nation and your tribe and your land, at least in your thoughts, and go in search of the High God, the God of all tribes, the God of the world. Perhaps your God is not free. Do not try to hold him here or you will never know him. Free you God to become the High God. You have known this God and worshipped him, but he is greater than you have known. He is the God not only of the Masai, but also my God, and the God of the Kikuyu and Sonjo, and the God of every tribe and nation in the world.

            ‘And the God who loves rich people and hates poor people? The God who loves good people and hates evil people – ‘those dark, evil ones out there’? The God who loves us because we are good and hates us because we are evil? There is no God like that. There is only the God who loves us no matter how good or how evil we are, the God you have worshipped without really knowing him, the truly unknown God – the High God.’

            There was silence. Perhaps I had gone too far. The mention of a wandering search that took a lifetime must have evoked memories of their own ancestor recalled from generation to generation around the nomadic campfires. Abraham himself must have seemed like a long lost ancestor to them, he who used to like to ‘fill his eyes with cattle.’ The Masai are a Nilotic people, and they have a dim remembrance of their ancestors crossing the ‘great river’ in their wandering exile. If you look at a map of Northeastern Africa you will find the record of that historic trek. All along the sites they passed through have Masai names until today. The word Khartoum in the Masai language means ‘we have acquired.’ That is where they believe they first acquired their cattle. Khartoum today is the capital of the Sudan. When they came up out of the steamy jungles of the Sudan into the cold plains of Kenya, they said, ‘nairobi,’ which means cold, and it stands as the main city in Kenya and East Africa today. They finally discovered their promised land of milk and honey (the two most desired and appreciated items in the Masai diet) in the empire they cared out of East Africa. But the High God! That was something else.

            Finally someone broke the silence with a question. Whether he asked the question out of curiosity or anger, I do not know. I only know it surprised me:

            ‘This story of Abraham – does it speak only to the Masai? Or does it speak also to you? Has your tribe found the High God? Have you known him?’

            I was about to give a glib answer, when all of a sudden I thought of Joan of Arc. I don’t know why I thought of her, but suddenly I remembered that since the time of Jeanne D-Arc, if not before, the French have conceived of God (le bon Dieu – what would the Masai think of him?) as being a rather exclusively and intimately associated with their quest for glory. I wonder what god they prayed to?

            Americans have some kind of certainty that ‘almighty God’ will always bless their side in all their wars. Hitler never failed to call on the help of ‘Gott, der Allmachtige’ in all speeches, in all his adventures. A Nazi doctor once told me that they could always count on the Catholic school children to pray for Hitler every morning, to ask God’s blessing on him. What god, the Teuton god?

            I have been to many parishes in America where they prayed for victory in war. I recognized the god they were praying to – the tribal god. I will recognize him more easily now, after having lived among the Masai. And what about the God who loves the good people, industrious people, clean people, rich people, and punishes bad people, lazy people, dirty people, thieving people, people without jobs and on welfare – ‘those dark, evil people out there?’ Which god is that?

            I was there for a long time in silence looking at the Masai people. They called their God Engai. Well, that is no more strange-sounding than our gods. The god invoked by the people to bless the troops of Mussolini about to embark on the plunder of Ethiopia, and the god invoked by an American cardinal to bless the ‘soldiers of Christ’ in Vietnam, and the god the French glory, and the German god of Hitler were no more the High God of scripture than is ‘Diana of the Ephesians’ or Engai of the Masai of East Africa.

            To each one of these cultures must ever be presented again the proclamation of the message, symbolized in the call of Abraham – to leave their land and their nation, to learn of the High God, the God of the world. All nations are to be blessed in Abraham.

            ‘No, we have not found the High God. My tribe has not known him. For us, too, he is the unknown God. But we are searching for him. I have come a long, long distance to invite you to search for him with us. Let us search for him together. Maybe, together, we will find him.’” (This is from pages 32 to 36 in my version of the book at least. It’s most of the beginning section in the fourth chapter).

This is another passage that I liked from the same book. It’s from the same chapter, although this time at the end. You may be glad that this one is much shorter.

            “I was sitting talking with a Masai elder about the agony of belief and unbelief. He used two languages to respond to me – how own and Kiswahili. He pointed out that the word my Masai catechist, Paul, and I had used to convey faith was not a very satisfactory word in their language. It meant literally ‘to agree with.’ I, myself, knew the word had that shortcoming. He said ‘to believe’ like that was similar to a white hunter shooting an animal with his gun from a great distance. Only his eyes and his fingers took part in the act. We should find another word. He said for a man really to believe is like a lion going after its prey. His nose and eyes and ears pick up the prey. His legs given him the speed to catch it. All the power of his body is involved in the terrible death leap and single blow to the neck with the front paw, the blow that actually kills. And as the animal goes down the lion envelops it in his arms (Africans refer to the front legs of an animal as its arms), pulls it to himself, and makes it part of himself. This is the way a lion kills. This is the way a man believes. This is what faith is.

            I looked at the elder in silence and amazement. Faith understood like that would explain why, when my own was gone, I ached in every fiber of my being. But my wise old teacher was not finished yet.

            ‘We did not search you out, Padri,’ he said to me. ‘We did not even want you to come to us. You searched us out. You followed us away from your house into the bush, into the plains, into the steppes where out cattle are, into the hills where we take our cattle for water, into our villages, into our homes. You told us of the High God, how we must search for him, even leave our land and our people to find him. But we have not done this. We have not left our land. We have not searched for him. He has searched for us. He has searched us out and found us. All the time we think we are the lion. In the end, the lion is God.’

            The lion is God. Of course. Goodness and kindness and holiness and grace and divine presence and creating power and salvation were here before I got here. Even fuller understanding of God’s revelation to man, of the gospel, of the salvific act that had been accomplished once and for all for the human race was here before I got here.” (From page 48)

The second one is Isaiah 25:1-9 (NIV translation). I won’t talk about why I like it as I will let it speak for itself.

“O lord, you are my God; I exalt you

And praise your name,

For in perfect faithfulness

You have done marvelous things,

Things planned long ago.

You have made the city

A heap of rubble,

The fortified town a ruin,

The foreigner’s stronghold

A city no more;

It will never be rebuilt.

Therefore strong peoples

Will honor you;

Cities of ruthless nations

Will revere you.

You have been a refuge

For the poor.

A refuge for the needy

In his distress,

A shelter from the storm

And a shade from the heat.

For the breath of the ruthless

Is like a storm

Driving against a wall

And like the heat of the desert.

You silence the uproar

Of foreigners

As heat is reduced

By the shadow of a cloud

So the song of the ruthless

Is stilled.

On this mountain

The Lord Almighty will prepare

A feast of rich food for all peoples

A banquet for aged wine –

The best meats

And the finest wines.

On this mountain

He will destroy

The shroud

That enfolds all peoples,

The sheet that covers all nations;

He will swallow up death

For ever.

The Sovereign Lord

Will wipe way the tears

From all faces;

He will remove the disgrace

Of his people

From all the earth.

The Lord has spoke.

In that day they will say,

‘Surely this is our God;

We trusted in him,

And he saved us.

This is the Lord,

We trusted in him; let us rejoice and be glad

In his salvation.”

This next passage is from The Politics of Jesus by John Yoder. He is discussing the hymn about Christ in Philippians 2:5-11.

            “In other ages, we observed, theology understood these words as having to do with the divine nature of the eternal Son of God and his condescending to take on human nature. This was the best way to say it when people could think most meaningfully in terms of ‘essences’ and ‘substances.’ But it is equally relevant – and much closer to the substance of the text of this hymn, as we shall see in a moment – to see in ‘equality with God’ also the element of providential control of events, the alternative being the acceptance of impotence. Christ renounced the claim to govern history.

The universal testimony of Scripture is that Christians are those who follow Christ at just this point. The text we were just reading, Philippians 2, was cited by the apostle as part of his plea to the Christians at Philippi to live together more unselfishly. The visions of the book of Revelation go on from the heavenly throne room, where the lam is praised, to a vision of triumph (ch. 12) where the multitude of ‘our brethren’ has defeated the dragon ‘by the blood of the lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death.’ Elsewhere, Paul can describe the entire apostolic ministry with its inner and outer sufferings as a matter of ‘carrying about in our bodies the putting to death of Jesus, so that in our bodies the life of Jesus also may be made manifest’ (2 Cor. 4:10). This is what Jesus himself meant by recognizing as disciple only the one who is ready to take up a cross and follow him.

The reason Paul drew upon the hymn to the servant Lord was that he sought to move the Christians in Philippi to a more unselfish attitude to one another, in the interests of more brotherly relationships within the congregation. It was in this connection that we referred to the hymn, since it is one more example of the call to the Christian to imitate his or her Master.

But the original meaning of the hymn was far more than we perceive if we note only the point at which a Christian can be invited to respect the example of Christ. The initial confession of the hymn to the servant Lord was the dramatic juxtaposition of his condescension to the point of death with his victory. The renunciation of equality with God (v. 6) has been understood in later Christian doctrinal development as referring to the metaphysical meaning of deity and incarnation, but probably the first meaning in the hymn was the more concrete Godlikeness promised by the serpent to Adam in the garden, which would have consisted in unchecked dominion over creation. Or perhaps it refers as well to the kind of Godlikeness claimed by Caesar. What Jesus renounced was thus not simply the metaphysical status of sonship but rather the untrammeled sovereign exercise of power in the affairs of that humanity amid which he came to dwell. His emptying of himself, his accepting the form of servanthood and obedience unto death, is precisely his renunciation of lordship, his apparent abandonment of any obligation to be effective in making history more down the right track.

But the judgment of God upon this renunciation and acceptance of defeat is the declaration that this is victory. ‘Therefore God has greatly exalted him and given him the title, which every creature will have to confess, the Lord.’ ‘Lord’ in the earliest Christian confessions was not (as it is in so much modern piety) a label to state a believer’s humility or affection or devotion; it is an affirmation of his victorious relation to the powers of the cosmos. That ancient hymn, which since it could be incorporated as a block in the apostolic writings is one of the earliest snatches of Christian worship on record, is thus affirming that the dominion of God over history has made use of the apparent historical failure of Jesus as a mover of human events.

We said before that this text affirms a philosophy of history in which renunciation and suffering are meaningful. After the further ground our thoughts have covered we can affirm still more roundly that for the apostle this renunciation must have been seen as profoundly linked to the human career of Jesus, who did concretely renounce the power offered to him by the tempter and by the Zealots. This hymn is then not, as some would make it, simply a Hellenistic mystery-religion text about a mythical Christ figure, coming down from heaven and returning thither; it is at the same time the account of the human Jesus whose death was the very political death of the cross. The renunciation of the claim to govern history was not made only be the second person of the Trinity taking upon himself the demand of an eternal divine decree; it was also made by a poor, tired rabbi when he came from Galilee to Jerusalem to be rejected.

This Gospel concept of the cross of the Christian does not mean that suffering is thought of as in itself redemptive or that martyrdom is a value to be sought after. Nor does it refer uniquely to being persecuted for ‘religious’ reasons by an outspokenly pagan government. What Jesus refers to in his call to cross-bearing is rather the seeming defeat of that strategy of obedience which is no strategy, the inevitable suffering of those whose only goal is to be faithful to that love which puts one at the mercy of one’s neighbor, which abandons claims to justice for oneself and for one’s own in an overriding concern for the reconciling of the adversary and the estranged. 1 Peter 2 thus draws direct social consequences from the fact that Christ ‘when he suffered did not threaten but trusted him who judges justly.’” (This is from pages 234 to 236 if you have my version of this book. Otherwise look at Chapter 12, subsection called “War of the Lamb”).

There are other books I am reading (as well as other good parts of the books I quoted). This is intended to just give a taste, not be extensive. Plus it’s already probably too long. I wanted to type some quotes from We Have Never Been Modern by Bruno Latour, another good book I have read. It is neither the simplest book nor the easiest to quote: his definitions/concepts build in such a way that to just quote them out of context, without reading how he’s defines them, would be too hard to understand. Despite this, you should read it. The Next Christendom by Philip Jenkins is another good book, although I basically just started it.