Laying Yellow Bricks

In the very first post on this blog, we wrote the following:

Like all really great Christian parents, our troubleshooting/how-to guide was the Bible.  But the Bible isn’t a how-to manual.  It’s a collection of writings by authors pointing to the great Author, the one who made and owns everything.  And the Author has written a tapestry of stories weaved into the One Great Story….  Thus, we live our lives in that greater story, under the kingship of our humble savior.  And when we view ourselves apart from that story or treat the Bible like a DIY book instead of the story of the Life-Giver, we’ve missed the point altogether.  It’s like reading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and using it as a guide to lay yellow bricks.

I wanted to circle back around on this, because I think this is an important thing to understand when you read our blog.  There has been a long tradition that Courtney and I both grew up in that is characterized by appealing to the Bible for the reasoning behind behaviors and decisions.  Sounds good, right?  The problem is when it becomes prooftexting–taking statements from longer passages to defend or justify a particular position.  It’s surprisingly easy to do.  Political smear campaigns are famous for taking one or two sentences a candidate says and turning it into a controversy without understanding the full content of what the candidate was saying.  Sound bites are particularly bad for this.

This happens all the time in Christian circles.  “Paul says that drunkenness is a sin, so all alcohol is evil” ignoring that elsewhere Paul says drinking wine can be good.  “Tattoos are evil, Leviticus says so” says the man with the trimmed beard.  My personal favorite: “The Bible says my body is a temple of the Lord” which is used to justify everything from dieting to eating only organic foods to not getting tattoos to not dying hair to getting enough sleep.  (It’s actually about not having sex with prostitutes, but hey–whatever).

This is particularly what I was referring to with the yellow bricks bit.  The diet/eating/exercise principle illustrates this well: what does the Bible have to say about how we should treat our bodies with eating and the such?  Actually, nothing much directly.  And beyond that, anything we learn is by inference.  And inference is fine.  But appealing to “our body is a temple” argument is not only textually irresponsible, it’s also incredibly ill-suited to the point being made.  Hence, reading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz as a guide to laying yellow bricks.  That’s neither the point of the book nor even a good inference from it.  I’ll come back to this in the next post.

The antidote I was offered to this in recent years was to understand the context.  “Don’t just quote a verse.”  “Understand what the author is saying in their larger argument before just quoting a portion of it.”  And that’s certainly a step in the right direction.  To go back to the candidate idea, don’t just rip a sentence out of their speech; listen to the whole thing and understand how that statement fits into the logical flow of what he’s saying.  There have been examples on both Republican and Democratic sides where this has happened.

Take the “body is a temple of the Lord” example from above.  In the context, Paul is rebuking the Corinthians because apparently some of them were sleeping with prostitutes.  And Paul’s argument for why that was bad, to shorten this a ton, was that our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit and joining our bodies with a prostitute joins with them.  “Therefore honor God with your bodies”  How?  By not sleeping with prostitutes.  Nothing about diets or organic food or exercise or personal hygiene.  If you want to argue for those points, you gotta do it somewhere else.

But this doesn’t solve all of our questions about life and the Bible.  The Bible is chock full of diverse books and varied genres and multiple authors.  Just knowing the context of an author doesn’t fix our issues or give us a clear path to how to live each day or parent our kids.

So, if that’s not good enough, then what is?  And what in the world does that have to do with parenting?  I’ll be getting more into that on Friday.

Getting Back into Blogging

Blogging is a bittersweet thing for me. It takes more time than I feel like I have or want to give to it, and it tempts me to feel like I need to perform, making everyone think I’m oh-so-wise and have it all together. On the other hand, it challenges my mind, gives a woman who doesn’t scrapbook a way to record memories, encourages me to expose my sins and failures so I can shout to the world my continuing need for a savior.

Since Josiah was born, we haven’t blogged. I have never felt more out of control as I have since moving to Indy, and blogging was the last thing I wanted to think about. This has been one of the most difficult years I have known with more transitions than I care to go through again. The last two weeks, however, I’ve finally started to feel slightly settled, a sensation I haven’t known since January.  The last two weeks have also proven to be my most emotional. You know those times when your adrenaline kicks in and you totally keep it together, then fall apart when it’s all over? You now have your visual of my current state.

For many reasons too long to explain in one post, part of the solution to my insanity has been Bill encouraging us to get back to blogging. Today I looked at Bill once again in desperation and simply repeated a phrase I know well, “I don’t know what to do!” Bill looked at me and told me that if someone else were sitting in my living room saying the exact things I were saying, I would most likely know how to encourage them. Once again I heard the words, “I think you should write about it.” This time his words are sticking. I want to write again. I want to expose myself, messes and all. I want to be reminded that the question is not, “What do I do?” but “Who has done it?” We both want this blog to serve its original purpose–to share our footnote in the One Great Story and help ourselves others learn how to look to Jesus in both our failures and successes.