Best of Chloe — The Whole Word of God

05/1/2008, 11:00 am -- by | No Comments

Originally published May 30, 2007.

Last week at an awards ceremony in a university chapel, I sat near a plain square box with a gold Star of David painted on the front. It was a Torah ark. I hadn’t seen one of those in years, not since I had been to a special shul with my mother, during which graduates of a Hebrew class were honored. My mother was a graduate with her friend Damon, a Messianic Jew who sat beside her with a yarmulke covering his mostly bald head. He sang the Hebrew in a strong and liturgical voice and made me wish I knew how to sing the words so I could join in.

The Torah ark at the synagogue I had attended was huge, painted with rich hues and accented in gold filigree. The wood was carved and the metal molded into complex designs that no doubt told a story I would only understand if I were Orthodox like the people around me. Everything in the decorations had meaning because that is how the Jews look at the world. God created the universe; therefore it is imbued with His symbolic meaning. If we unearth this meaning, we draw a little nearer to God.

The rabbi took the Torah out of the ark for the reading. As he carried it from the ark to the bima where it would be read, the members of the synagogue kissed it as it went by. The part of this that struck me as most profound was how reverent everyone was as the rabbi walked by. This was the Word of God passing through their midst, and their quiet demeanor showed that they would not forget that.

In the Jewish tradition, the old scribes who copied the Torah had certain rules that governed their discipline. For example, they would only write the secondary names of God (El, El Shaddai, Elohim, etc.) with a brand new pen, no matter how fresh the first pen had been. And YHWH, the name God used to reveal Himself, was an entirely different matter. “Before they wrote this highest and best name, [the scribes] rose from their seats and went into their personal quarters. They took off their robes, bathed themselves, clothed themselves with new, clean garments, and returned to their work. There they knelt down, confessed their sins, took a new pen, dunked it once into the inkwell, and wrote those four letters.” (Dr. D. James Kennedy)

Quite a few of my Christian friends tend to avoid the Old Testament. Some of the reasons I’ve been given for that decision include that it’s boring history, or that it’s hard to spot God’s grace and mercy through all the gore on David’s sword. Worse, it has been called outdated, the old law that isn’t important anymore and shouldn’t be bothered with — except for the Psalms, of course, and anything to do with Revelation and/or Messianic prophecy.

But I was enthralled with the Old Testament when I read it. I mourned with Leah over her husband’s neglect and yelled at David for not going to war in the spring, when kings were supposed to go to battle, not play peeping tom. I fell in love with the poetry in Job and sobbed when Jonathan died.

Most importantly, I discovered something that is denied by all those excuses for not reading the Old Testament. I discovered, as we’ve seen in our weekly Bible study, that Jesus was and is everywhere, saturating the narrative with His presence and reaffirming His role as the fulfillment of the law.

Clash of the Titans LXXXI: Prose v Poetry

04/25/2008, 12:30 pm -- by | 4 Comments

In this corner, arguing for the superiority of prose, is Chloe!

And in this corner, fighting on the side of poetry, is Erin!

“I was delayed that afternoon because I had brushed the teeth of a pretty animal that I’m patiently taming. It’s a chameleon. This endearing animal smoked, as usual, some cigarettes, then I left.

I met her on the stairs. “I’m mauving,” she told me, while I myself crystal at full sky I at her look that river towards me.

Then it locks and, maîtresse! You pitcherpin so that at nice vase I sit down if the paths tombs.”
–Desnos

Go ahead. Tell me what that means.

. . .

Yep. I don\’t know, either. That\’s because it\’s poetry, which was never meant to be understood by anyone but the Opium Club.

Think of all your favorite authors when you were little, all the people you learned to read from. Tell me, how many of them were poets? I\’ll wager not a lot, because kids can\’t learn to read on poetry. Why? Because it doesn\’t make sense! And when it does make sense, it\’s talking about feelings or nature or other things that are really, really boring to read about, and have no impact on society whatsoever.

Prose, on the other hand, is not only much easier to understand, but it\’s also really exciting! Are you a science fiction fan? A mystery reader? Narrative and memoir? Do you like straight-up non-fiction about humor, politics, history, or theology? Prose has it all!

And by the way, feel free to show me what Mere Christianity and The Chronicles of Narnia would look like in poetry. I would guess that not too many people would read those versions. They wouldn\’t get them, because the author would play around with the words, try to say things in new ways without actually saying them, using things like metaphor and alliteration that tie up your tongue and muddle your brain. Also, they\’d throw in archaic words and references to heathen gods we\’ve never heard of because we\’re good people.

With prose, on the other hand, we can learn about all sorts of different subjects, and authors can communicate important ideas and cultural phenomena. Sound boring? This is exactly what Lewis did with Narnia and Pratchett does with his Discworld series. One draws you into a new and exciting world, while the other keeps you on the floor laughing! When was the last time poetry had you on the floor laughing?

Poetry is nice, I\’m sure, for those ten people in the United States who get it. For the rest of us, though, prose is the more interesting, accessible way to go.

I was in third grade when I discovered poetry. It was during “reading” class, and I had just discovered the amazing talent of tuning people out. We had 20 minutes of silent reading time, to be followed by the rest of our regular class time. Halfway through silent reading, I came across the word “fuchsia,” and I stopped.

Who invented a word like “fuchsia?” I knew it was a color, but what did it mean? I put down my book, picked up my pencil and paper, and proceeded to sit through the rest of silent reading and the first fifteen minutes of class writing about what I thought fuchsia could be. And that was my first poem.

Why tell you this? Because I think that poetry is about something deeper than the conveying of information: it\’s about the beauty inherent in everything that there is to convey. Even tragedy or atrocity point to what could be beautiful and no longer is.

Poetry isn\’t necessarily about an argument, or a description, or a collection of thought; and that is why it is wonderful. Taking words that would not normally complement each other, kneading them into submission (but never entirely!), and hoping that what you come up with will catch someone\’s soul besides your own — that is one way to look at poetry.

In more formal verse, the challenge is to go beyond the rules — of expression, depth, etc. — while obeying the rules of form and meter. Such a collision of goals results in poetry that constantly seems like it is trammeling up a few drops of what really is inside of what we can perceive, like oxygen inside a beaker. We can\’t really see the gas, but the form of the glass contains it just long enough for us to get a sense of what it\’s like.

Prose, while able to accomplish more in the areas of formal cataloguing of knowledge, information, and advertisement, can claim no advantage over poetry in storytelling, social commentary, persuasion, or celebration. Many of the greatest contributions to literature (Homer, Virgil, Dante, Chaucer, and Shakespeare, to name just a few) contain what? That\’s right, poetry — because it expresses beauty, emotion, and that tugging behind your navel that means that something important is going on.

And just look at the tomes of prose in the world — anything from tax law to textbooks, poorly written novels to theological treatises — where do we draw the line on what gets published? What is quality? What communicates well? Poetry must work much harder to prove its worth, and the poet to prove her or his gift.

What we have to decide is what is more important to us: the dry, systemic, and categorical communication of human experience in truth that is prose, or the vibrant, painful, beautiful communication that is poetry.

{democracy:239}

Bible Discussion — Luke 19

04/23/2008, 1:00 pm -- by | No Comments

This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next chapter of Luke, Luke 19.

Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 (I)
Ch. 8 (II) | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15-16
Luke: 1:1-38 | 1:39-2:40 | 2:41-3:38 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14-15 | 16-17 | 18

 
INTRODUCTION:
David:
Here, Jesus sensed the errant thoughts of the disciples concerning His rule on earth, and tried to let them down easy. “There was this guy, and he was going to receive a kingdom, but to do it he had to leave for a while and go to another country far, far, far away”¦”

 
SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Josh:
Luke\’s telling of the parable of the ten minas is different than I realized. There were ten servants who received a mina, although only three report upon the master\’s return.

Chloe:
God likes short people better?!

Steve:
The people on the side of the road during Christ’s entry into Jerusalem were described as “the whole crowd of disciples.” I wonder how many people that included.

David:
Not this time, but another time, I noticed that this is actually the second time that Jesus cleansed the Temple. He did it at the beginning of his ministry too, the first time he ever visited Jerusalem.

 
BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Chloe: Muttering Sin
Josh: Five More; Stones Cry Out
Steve: Ten More Mina

Continued here!

Houghton Going Green

04/22/2008, 1:30 pm -- by | 1 Comment

A new professor is coming to Houghton College — Dr. Matthew Sleeth, an environmentalist and the author of Serve God, Save the Planet. He\’s been hired to make the campus green.

I don\’t like the sound of that.

See, we all have our own opinions on how Houghton College spends its money. Personally, I\’ve been watching professors drop like flies. The sociology department\’s class offerings have dwindled to entry-level courses, and senior writing majors have been forced to coerce over-extended professors into doing independent studies, or else succumb to Intro to Creative Writing.

And instead of getting a few new sociology or writing professors, we hire some guy to make the campus green? Houghton doesn\’t care about being green! This is a marketing strategy.

This whole semester, every time I heard Sleeth\’s name, I went off on the poor souls who found themselves within a ten-yard radius of me. “Do you know they\’re requiring all the first-years to buy his book?,” I would cry. “He\’s rewriting the Scripture and calling it the first ”˜Green Bible!\’ It\’s going to be printed with recycled paper and soy ink. Soy ink!” Absolutely absurd.

Sleeth spoke in chapel yesterday. I would have boycotted, but I skipped too many chapels earlier in the year and had to go to meet the requirement. I decided I would go, but I wouldn\’t enjoy it.

Sleeth started off on the wrong foot, bragging about how his son was 19 and graduating from Asbury, and his daughter was 17, in her second year at Asbury, and looking forward to seeing her book, “It\’s Easy Being Green,” in bookstores soon. Well, whoopty-freakin-do.

But then he started talking about his life. He graduated third from the bottom of his high school class. Relatively Christian, he met a Jewish girl and got married, then together, they swore off religion. His wife announced soon after their wedding that she thought he should go to college, so he did, worked his butt off, and went to medical school just two years later.

Throughout his chapel talk, Sleeth spoke time and again of how someone — usually his wife, often God — challenged him, leading him to dedicate himself entirely to something: first emergency medicine, then Christianity, and finally environmentalism. When Sleeth chose to believe in something, he threw himself into the work of perfecting it. He loves what he does, he\’s passionate, and he wants others to be passionate with him.

I enjoyed his chapel, immensely. He\’s speaking again today, and I can\’t wait to hear him. Maybe the college isn\’t spending its money wisely, but that doesn\’t have anything to do with who and what Dr. Matthew Sleeth is. I can\’t wait to see what he will do for Houghton.

Bible Discussion — Luke 18

04/16/2008, 1:00 pm -- by | No Comments

This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next two chapters of Luke, Luke 18.

Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 (I)
Ch. 8 (II) | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15-16
Luke: 1:1-38 | 1:39-2:40 | 2:41-3:38 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14-15 | 16-17

 
INTRODUCTION:
David:
In this chapter God uses a story about an unjust judge to make two points. One, men ought always to pray and not faint. Two, there will be times in your life when the God who loves you so much will appear disinterested in you and your problems, but that is never true. When this happens, refer to point one.

 
SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Connie:
In John’s telling of the Bartimaeus story, he says he wants to regain his sight. Matthew reports that there were two blind men, and they asked Jesus to receive their sight. I keyed in on the word regain, because I think that sometimes we don’t appreciate what we have until we lose it. We need to stop that behavior, saints.

Chloe:
I never noticed that little phrase in verse 7 — “cry out to Him day and night.” Jesus isn\’t talking about any prayer. He\’s talking about prayers with depths of emotion and need. It\’s a promise, but not the promise we may like to interpret it as.

Steve:
Jesus made the blind man ask for his sight (as Josh mentions below in a great illustration).

David:
Infants were being blessed, but not baptized — something Protestants still do today.

 
BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Steve: Flog
Josh: Tax Men
Josh, Connie: Scourge[d]
David: How Hardly; Sorrowful Rich

Continued here!

Please Procrastinate

04/16/2008, 10:00 am -- by | 1 Comment

Last Sunday, Erin and I went to Geneseo for some grocery shopping. Well, great, you\’re no doubt thinking, who cares?

But it was a very important day. I had just gotten back from a writing retreat and had a lot of homework to do. She always has a lot of homework to do. We needed to buckle down and plow through our respective to-do lists.

But the sky was piercing and the wind was meandering and everyone else was playing catch outside.

So we threw on capris and sleeveless shirts for the first time this year, and when our housemates asked us where we going as we giggled our way out the door, all we said was, “Crazy!”

We drove with the windows down, my feet on the dash (Death Cab in our heads), as I read a book out loud. We did our grocery shopping, then went to Starbucks. And Dunkin\’ Donuts. And Tim Hortons. To be fair, the last two were good deeds, not indulgences. (When everyone figured out where we\’d gone, they had called and placed their order.)

On the way back, as twilight settled and the warm air turned chilly and wet, we pulled over next to standing water and Erin introduced me to the peepers, those little frogs that almost sound like crickets. I had never noticed them before. We came home bearing gifts of coffee and donuts and ice cream; never mind that every donut had a sizable bite out of it. Finder\’s fee and all that.

The homework didn\’t get done. I didn\’t finish reading the chapter, I didn\’t do the worksheet, and I didn\’t write the reading response. But I got an A on the quiz, and it didn\’t kill me not to turn an assignment in. I\’ll forget that within the month. I will not forget my adventure with Erin. The essence of that little road trip will come back every time I hear the peepers, every time I drive with the windows down, every time I drive through Geneseo or go to Wegmans.

The work will get done. It always does. The adventure will pass you by.

Bible Discussion — Luke 14 and 15

04/2/2008, 12:30 pm -- by | No Comments

This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next two chapters of Luke, Luke 14-15.

Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 (I)
Ch. 8 (II) | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15-16
Luke: 1:1-38 | 1:39-2:40 | 2:41-3:38 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

 
INTRODUCTION:
David:
The contrast between these two chapters is noteworthy. In ch. 14, Jesus addresses scribes and Pharisees during a social event at a chief Pharisee’s house, and rebukes the guests (v. 7), the host (v. 12), and the entire nation of Israel (vv. 16-24), while challenging their commitment to follow Him.

In ch. 15, He addresses publicans and sinners, and it\’s all about how anxious God is to have them saved, how happy that salvation makes heaven (v. 10), and how happy it should make the rest of us (v. 32).

 
SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Connie:
After the man finds his lost sheep, he calls together his friends AND neighbors, and has a party to celebrate. I know it’s a metaphor for the lost sinner, but it made me wonder what all those people will eat during this party? Hopefully not all of his other sheep, hmm?

Chloe:
The father gives the lost son the best robe, a ring, and a party with a fattened calf for the meal. But what never occurred to me before is that since the lost son took his inheritance, the father is using what is rightfully the good son\’s to supply this party. I can see why he\’s sore about it.

Erin:
Peace is always an option instead of war, even when two armies are getting ready to fight (14:31-33).

Josh:
Jesus preempts the Pharisaical protests to healing on the Sabbath by asking them if it’s okay in advance (14:3).

 
BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Josh: The Other Son
Chloe: Famine
David: Lost Coin
Steve: Dropsy; Pig Pods
Connie: Bread Enough
Erin: Five Yoke of Oxen

Continued here!

Cactus Flowers

04/2/2008, 9:25 am -- by | 2 Comments

Bweinh! celebrates National Poetry Month this April.

I miss the desert like I miss a drink of water after a day of fasting, like I miss my bed after a year of traveling.
That grit in my teeth when the wind blows too hard, and that crack of thunder that makes me steady the expensive vases teetering in their tenuous places.
The rain on a tin roof a few times a year, and then the transformation, the green invasion in my trusty red dirt.

And I am missing it to live in a deadened landscape where the rain doesn\’t smell like anything and there is no noise at night but the absence of sound when there\’s snow on the ground.
I miss the crickets.
I miss the coyotes.
I miss those sounds in the night that bury me in my covers, that give me shifty eyes, or no eyes at all because I don\’t want to know what would make a noise like that.
Anything but this silence like life doesn\’t come around here anymore.

Continued here!

Bible Discussion — Luke 13

03/26/2008, 1:00 pm -- by | No Comments

This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next chapter of Luke, Luke 13.

Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 (I)
Ch. 8 (II) | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15-16
Luke: 1:1-38 | 1:39-2:40 | 2:41-3:38 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

 
INTRODUCTION:
Connie:
The red words continue to abound in this chapter, although this time they include some warnings we should heed…

David:
This section starts with two narratives showing the wrong and right attitudes about judgment. In the first one, people gloated about God\’s judgment falling on others, and Jesus rebuked them. He followed that up with a story about a man interposing himself to save a tree from judgment, saying, “Wait! Give me some more time! Maybe I can turn this around!”

 
SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Connie:
Galilean blood was shed as a sacrifice by Pilate (v. 1). Was that to get back at Jesus through His countrymen?

Steve:
Pharisees came and warned Jesus that Herod wanted him dead.

David:
Many will seek to enter by the straight gate, but won’t be able to.

Josh:
In this passage, the synagogue ruler does not directly rebuke Jesus for healing on the Sabbath, but rather the people, for coming to be healed on that day.

At any rate, based on the description provided here — merely a touch and a word — it\’s hard to fathom how anyone could consider this healing “work.”

 
BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Josh: Fallen Tower; Gathering Brood
David: DIG IT/DUNG IT
Steve: Ox or Donkey
Connie: Fruit on the Fig
Chloe: Third Day (shhh, don’t tell anyone, but it really is one!)

Continued here!

Luke 12

03/26/2008, 10:00 am -- by | No Comments

Last week’s Bible study was on Luke 12. That passage is my favorite in the whole Bible, so I\’d been looking forward to it ever since I heard we were doing Luke. However, college ate my life and I had no time for the Bible study. But I will not be deterred! I want to share with everyone what that passage has meant to me these last few years.

My father died when I was seven, leaving my mom, my sister and me with Social Security checks to take care of us. We lived off of those for several years, but we always knew that when I turned 16, my mom\’s check would stop, and when my sister and I turned 18, our checks would stop. I turned 16 the same year my sister turned 18, and that year my mom lost her job. She didn\’t find another one until after that last check stopped coming.

I cannot describe the fear we faced every single day for those two years, both together and in our own worlds. I remember staying up nights, terrified that we would have to give away our animals and everything we owned, that we would have to leave our apartment and live in our van, that we would starve. I remember the November the electricity bill was somehow $400, and my mom forbade us to turn on the heat or use the oven, and constantly yelled at us for having too many lights on. I remember the Pop Tarts for both breakfast and lunch, and running out of milk or bread near the end of the month and having to wait until the 1st or 2nd to get more.

But most of all, I remember being so afraid, always so afraid.

I do not remember going hungry. I don\’t remember going thirsty, or without decent clothes. I don\’t remember ever going to sleep without a solid roof over my head. I was helpless with worry those two years, but at least once a week I read Luke 12:22-34, and later committed it to memory. Experience has impressed on me the passage\’s truth. I have never gone hungry for lack of food. I have never been without clothes or shelter. And though I worried, I\’m sure I did not add a single moment to my life by doing so.

God is faithful. It\’s taken me a couple of years to get to the point where I can finally write those words and actually believe them, but God is faithful nonetheless. Luke 12 didn\’t teach me that — I had to learn it myself — but the passage certainly reminds me of the truth whenever I forget.

“Then Jesus said to his disciples: ”˜Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?\’ ”

Bible Discussion — Luke 11

03/12/2008, 12:30 pm -- by | No Comments

This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next chapter of Luke, Luke 11.

Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 (I)
Ch. 8 (II) | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15-16
Luke: 1:1-38 | 1:39-2:40 | 2:41-3:38 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

 
INTRODUCTION:
Connie:
This is a great passage for the Spitzer scandal backdrop this week, because Jesus begins by emphasizing our need for daily dependence upon God — through prayer for our every need: physical, mental and spiritual. He goes on to show that although hypocrisy may be effective for a time to succeed in the natural world, it cannot bring lasting reward in the Kingdom of God. The outside must match the inside.

David:
Jesus teaches His disciples to pray in this chapter, to persevere in prayer, to understand where their authority comes from in prayer (binding the strongman), and to avoid the hypocrisy of the scribes and Pharisees.

Mike:
A rollicking adventure of a chapter where Jesus teaches about prayer, unclean spirits, and then denounces some lawyers!

 
SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Mike:
v. 52–Jesus’ charge that the lawyers “have taken away the key of knowledge.” He seems to accuse those who know the law the best of misinterpreting it, and thus barring themselves and others from the rich life the law could provide.

David:
In verse 42, Jesus compared the Pharisees to hidden graves that men walk over without noticing. This action would render them unclean, in their theology. I believe that unknowingly accepting hypocritical and false teaching does the same to us now.

Steve:
Luke says Jesus drove out a mute demon, and that when it left, the possessed man could speak, amazing the crowd. Interesting.

Josh:
In this passage the entire “woe” segment is sparked by a Pharisee who was taken aback that Jesus did not wash up before a meal. I wish I’d known that when I was younger and Mom was on me about washing up.

Chloe:
Abel is counted among the prophets.

Connie:
The scribes, Pharisees and men of law grew angry, despising and blaspheming the words of Jesus; then a woman spoke up and admired Him and the wisdom and power with which He spoke.

At first I dismissed His rebuke to her as one to those whose would later idolize Mary, but really it was much more than that. Jesus led the woman to a higher consideration. Though it’s a great privilege to hear the word of God, the ones who are truly blessed — that is, blessed of the Lord — are those who hear it, keep it in memory, and keep to it as their way and rule. Look at how many heard the same things she did that day, yet used them to scheme against Him.

 
BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Josh, Mike: Queen of the South
Chloe: Sign of Jonah
Steve: Lamplight
David: woeuntoyou
Connie: Best Seats in the Synagogue

Continued here!

Bweinh! Goes to the Movies — The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

03/12/2008, 10:00 am -- by | 3 Comments

The screen is blurry, and I blink several times to clear my eyes. No, still blurry. I blink again. So does the screen. A little better. There are shapes moving about now. The screen blinks again and the shapes become people. It wasn’t my eyes.

“The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” is the story of Jean-Dominique Bauby, the former editor of French Elle, who suffered a stroke at the age of 43 and lived the remaining two years of his life locked inside his paralyzed body. The opening scene is a rendering of Bauby waking from the coma and learning that he has locked-in syndrome — he cannot speak, he cannot move, and he cannot communicate at all, despite his fully conscious and capable state.

But Bauby is a remarkable person, and so he does not only spend his last years longing for his past life and the release of death. Though he cannot speak, Bauby can blink his left eye. Therefore, his speech therapist devises a simple yes-no blinking system, then goes on to develop a list of French letters organized from the most common (e) to the least (w). She recites this list to Bauby until he blinks, thus enabling him to slowly spell out words and communicate with people. In this way, Bauby writes a book: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, an abstract personal narrative on which the film is loosely based. The final manuscript is strong and pristine, every word’s worth and work weighed by hours of solitude and stagnancy.

Throughout the film, the director parallels Bauby’s current life with his past life — being trapped inside his body as an invalid, juxtaposed with his life filled with supermodels and lovers and the mother of his children, who stays by him to the end, but whom he continuously reminds us is not his wife. There are scenes where, in flashbacks, he sneers at the invalids in holy places hoping for a miracle, and scenes where he is the invalid being wheeled toward the blessed springs. There are scenes where he plays with his three children and jokes obscenely with his teenage son, and scenes where they play around him, incapable of playing with him.

The film enables the audience to live life through the eyes of someone with locked-in syndrome. We experience Bauby’s muteness, humiliation, and helplessness alongside him. We feel trapped and frustrated and suffocated as he does. And when the movie ends we release our breath, unaware that we were holding it the whole time, dreading with Bauby the end.

Best of Bweinh! — Hot v. Cold

03/7/2008, 7:00 pm -- by | No Comments

Originally published June 26, 2007.

In this corner, preferring cooler weather, is Steve!

And in this corner, preferring hotter weather, is Chloe!

Today, Syracuse will swelter. It’s the hottest day of the year. The high will be 95; combined with tropical humidity, this will make it nearly unbearable outside. Last week, I spent 7 days in New Mexico, Satan’s sauna, where highs reached triple digits every day.

What a perfect time to extol the joys of cooler weather!

I’ve worked outside in temperatures that ranged from 25 below to 95 above, and I’ll take the colder end anytime. Most of the worst jobs in America face extreme heat, including cowboys, ironworkers, longshoremen and roofers. Horses and hot tar don’t give you a 6-hour break at high noon!

It’s true people are more comfortable in warm-weather attire, but let’s think about extremes. If you’re too cold, you can always put on warmer clothing, or more of it. But when it’s hot outside, there’s a pretty strict legal limit on how high you can, uh, let your freak flag fly. Even if you can get nekkid, there’s no guarantee that unfortunate decision will cool you down enough to be comfortable.

Plus they say freezing to death is one of the least objectionable ways to die. Your extremities slowly go numb, which sounds like bliss compared to the searing pain of heatstroke pounding your head into seizure, hallucination and coma.

Maybe the best reason to like cold weather is its effect on relationships. When it’s hot like today, unless you’re submerged in a body of water, you don’t want to be near anyone. Tempers shorten, fuses blow, and even a platonic hug exchanges more fluid than a blood transfusion.

But not only do you want to be around other people when it’s cold, it’s practically necessary to conserve heat! Cuddling up on the couch with someone special isn’t an unpleasant, sweaty chore like in July — in the winter, it keeps up both morale and body temperature.

Hot weather is for individuals — sweaty, uncomfortable, and alone — but cool weather? Cool weather brings us together.

Imagine yourself, eight years old, waking up one morning and noticing the air is unusually crisp and muted. As you tumble out of bed, heart racing, breath quickening, you know that — yes, out the window — SNOW!

You run screaming down the hall, smack into your mother’s knees. “Not without these!,” she chirps, pointing to the mountain of snow gear she will soon inflict on your person.

By the time she finishes protecting your cute little extremities from frostbite, you have to pee, you couldn’t play in the snow if your life depended on it (or get up if you fell down), and the radio has announced the roads are plowed, so school is not canceled.

This would not happen if it were hot. For one thing, you can easily move in the attire required for a hot day, which is next to nothing. More importantly, school can’t be canceled in the heat because there is no school! That means days filled with tans, swimming pools, water fights, picnics, sports, and siestas.

Oh, yes, siestas. It’s a physical impossibility to work when it’s 105 degrees out, ladies and gentlemen. That means you quit at 1:00 and don’t start up again until 6:00, if at all!

Still not convinced? Let’s not forget these other important points:

— Ice will kill you on the road. Hot asphalt will not, unless you’re stupid and walk barefoot on it, and then it’s your own fault.

— Heat makes all the scary things go away, like snakes, big things with teeth, and children.

— Heat stroke is temporary, but another good reason not to work. Frostbite is forever, like diamonds, but without the jewel or the finger to put it on.

— Water parks, ice cream, barbecues, parades. Have you ever tried to have a parade in below-zero weather?

If you still prefer the cold, I’ll pull the patriotic card. As Americans, we stand for liberty, and if shorts, tank tops and flip flops aren’t liberating, I don’t know what is. Certainly not your snow pants.

{democracy:70}

Best of Bweinh! — Romans 8 Discussion

03/5/2008, 12:00 pm -- by | No Comments

Read Part One here, and Part Two here!

Best of Chloe — The Dragon Tree

03/5/2008, 10:30 am -- by | No Comments

Originally published December 7, 2007.

The Dragon TreeIn a place called Clissold Park in North London, where dogs run without leashes and babies learn to walk, off the path and far into the cold emerald grass, there is a dragon, cursed by an English witch hundreds of years ago to be eternally rooted in the ground, to pay for transgressions long since forgotten.

The dragon is mossy green with age, and ribbons of bark twist around his huge serpent-like branches. His coils stretch far and low, curling like arabesques in stone cathedrals, and reaching out to those who happen by him. At first glance it is impossible to tell whether he is inviting people to take refuge under his canopy or clawing the sky, writing in agony with the wind.

I have only ever seen the dragon in the winter, when the leaves have all fallen and he looks ragged and lost, like nature put far too much work into one side and forgot about the other. His branches lie at the height of my shoulder, five feet from the ground, and I can wrap my arms around them as if I were holding a horse’s strong, muscular neck, and feel the strange warmth in the tree’s core, the flame of his breath that has yet to burn out. He is a climbing tree, and a limber person could clamber all the way to the top branches to view St. Paul’s and the Gherkin defining London’s horizon, or simply settle in the cleft of a low-hanging branch and write verse or read old novels.

When I first discovered the dragon, I couldn’t tell if he was writhing or beckoning, whether the warmth in his branches was from the burn of fighting muscles or the comfort he exuded. I couldn’t decide whether the holes in his trunk and the creeping moss were conquerors or companions. Perhaps, I thought, he was a content and wise old tree — or perhaps an embittered dragon biding his time, waiting to break free.

Whatever the case, I took on impulse the invitation to recline where the trunk had split at the base so that another gently sloping trunk had grown out of the ground. I accepted the proffered place to sit and muse, to lie back and tell him my thoughts on God and nature, on my fellow man and our history.

During these long afternoons, the dragon taught me things he had learned throughout his centuries in the ground. He described to me the great people who took their first steps within his circumference, the heinous crimes committed beneath his branches, and the everyday commonalities that taught him the most about humanity. He taught me that men search for God in whatever they can, be it mountains or oceans, stars or suns, or trees that reach out to touch people, to brush their shoulders and say, “Come, I have much to tell you.”

The dragon taught me that, as great as nature is, and as much as it can fill me with awe, the Creator is still greater. He taught me that I too must learn patience and discernment if I will be wise like the dragon. He taught how the world will go on after I have passed away and time has swallowed my memory, how I am so undeniably small.

There is a dragon in Clissold Park in North London. I have never hugged, never loved, never learned from a dragon before. But the dragon in Clissold Park, cursed by a good British witch, has learned much in his years in the ground, sedentary and silent but for the wind. He has learned that when one’s movement is measured in decades rather than seconds, one must calculate each choice carefully: that choosing to writhe is choosing to writhe for an eternity, and choosing to beckon is choosing to listen and teach forever. And he learned that though each small movement will make its impression on his form, only the results of centuries will be remembered.

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