I was right to dread reading this book. Although my Dad insists that the lament of the author is answered in the end by faith, such is clearly not the case. The book begins and ends with despair, which exactly mirrors my current state of mind. "They heard how I was groaning," I seem to hear myself say, "with no one to comfort me" (1:21). "Why have you forgotten [me] completely?" I ask (5:20).
It is only for the briefest of moments that the writer's wail is lifted long enough for him to realize, "The Lord will not reject forever" (3:31). For a mere seventeen verses of the book, hope shines through the desperate circumstances of Israel at that time, and the lesson is an interesting one. Although the recurring message is that the affliction of the nation is due to the fact that they "have transgressed and rebelled,"(3:42) the author stops feeling sorry for himself long enough to recognize that, even though sins must be repaid, once they are there is no need to reconsider them. The mercies of JEHOVAH "are new every morning," he insists (3:23). Once one has paid for his sins, there is a new moment granted, and new choices can be made to reach a different outcome. I don't happen to subscribe to the ideas of atonement and retribution for sins, but what the author of Lamentations suggests rings true: beat yourself up until midnight if you must, but once a new day arrives move on.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Friday, November 18, 2005
Sin-Leqi-Unninnĩ: Gilgamesh
There are two parts to this review, and they could not disagree with one another more. To begin with, I would like to voice my frustration with the choices of the editors, Gardner and Maier, who have managed to turn a vibrant, exotic story completely sterile. The edition I chose to read was so needlessly scholarly as to be nearly unreadable.
Fortunately, enough of the story's beauty and passion made its way through to spite the editors that I fell completely in love with it. I want to find (or create) a version which conflates the Babylonian, Sumerian and akkadian versions of the story to create a flowing narrative uninterrupted by missing fragments or editorial commentary.
Of course, the theme I found most personally relevant was that of brotherly love. The connection between Gilgamesh and Enkidu, the passion they felt for each other, was intoxicating. Likewise, I relate to Gilgamesh's quest for immortality, but do not agree with the editorial conclusion that he exhausted all means of escaping death and failed at each. Surely, his pursuit of love, conquest, offspring, worship and even his journey to the bottom of the abyss to retrieve a life-sustaining plant were all unsuccessful attempts to live indefinitely.
But if he can reach across the page and touch me, especially among general scholarly agreement that his story is based on actual events, does he not still live? Furthermore, are not his experiences reflective of Biblical stories--the flood, the life-giving plant stolen by a snake, etc.--and therefore practically still occurring?
Fortunately, enough of the story's beauty and passion made its way through to spite the editors that I fell completely in love with it. I want to find (or create) a version which conflates the Babylonian, Sumerian and akkadian versions of the story to create a flowing narrative uninterrupted by missing fragments or editorial commentary.
Of course, the theme I found most personally relevant was that of brotherly love. The connection between Gilgamesh and Enkidu, the passion they felt for each other, was intoxicating. Likewise, I relate to Gilgamesh's quest for immortality, but do not agree with the editorial conclusion that he exhausted all means of escaping death and failed at each. Surely, his pursuit of love, conquest, offspring, worship and even his journey to the bottom of the abyss to retrieve a life-sustaining plant were all unsuccessful attempts to live indefinitely.
But if he can reach across the page and touch me, especially among general scholarly agreement that his story is based on actual events, does he not still live? Furthermore, are not his experiences reflective of Biblical stories--the flood, the life-giving plant stolen by a snake, etc.--and therefore practically still occurring?
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Jeremiah
It is a real struggle to view this, or any revered religious book, with strict objectivity. In reading a novel or an essay, I expect the work to convince me of its merit. With the Bible, however, I choose to read on the assumption that the burden of proof lies on me, the reader. It is my task to sift through the archaic societal baggage, potential mistranslations and disjointed narative to walk away with a jewel of understanding.
There is good news and bad news, therefore, in the reading of Jeremiah. The good news: The book has a recognizable line, a consistent tone, and seems to have been written primarily by one individual with one message. All of this makes it inifinitely more readable than its forbearer, Isaiah. The bad news: It is infinitely more readable than Isaiah. Whereas Isaiah's mixed messages actually contributed to the meaning and interest of the book, Jeremiah asks far less from the reader in terms of thought, and correspondingly is less interesting.
Which frustrates me, a reader determined to make some sense out of it. Yes, JEHOVAH is mad at Israel, and yes, he is then even madder at Babylon, but very little is revealed in the delivery of these judgement messages about his nature or personality. In fact, judgment is the one consistently interesting topic in Jeremiah. Perhaps most intersting is the presentation of the writer's judgment against the God he is worshipping. He actually dares to present a case against God, and God deigns to listen. "You will be in the right, O JEHOVAH, when I lay charges against you;" he acknowledges, "but let me put my case to you" (12:1). JEHOVAH's answer does much to explain the seeming indecision with which he was painted in Jeremiah. "After I have plucked them up," he says of evildoers, "I will again have compassion on them, and I will bring them again to their heritage and to their land: (12:15). God compares humans to "The vessel he was making of clay [which] was spoiled in the potter's hand." Instead of discarding it, however, "he reworked it into another vessel, as seemed good to him"(18:4). The judgment of God is thorough; "JEHOVAH test[s] the mind and search[es] the heart, to give to them according to their ways" (17:10). Heart, mind and actions are all taken into account. This is appropriate, for God alone has the perspective that comes with physical expansiveness. "Who can hide in secret places?" he asks, "Do I not fill heaven and Earth?" (23:23). But his judgment is also fluid; fate is always in the hands of the judged.
Which is not to say that God is indecisive, as seemed to be the case in Isaiah. He acts with great pith and moment, if not absolute finality. It is significant that each prophetic utterance begins with the phrase, "The word of JEHOVAH came to me, saying . . ." or some variation thereof. It is the word of God, his very speaking, which contains his power and through which he levels nations. Repeatedly, God's judgment is expressed in terms of vocalization: "JEHOVAH will roar from on high, and from his holy habitation utter his voice" (25:30). And, perhaps more significantly, the power of God's word is a negotiable document; it is transferrable. "Now I have put my words in your mouth. See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant" (1:9-10). It is, therefore, not an act of scholarly ingenuousness to approach so-called holy books with a certain level of reverence and an assumption of value. The word of God--in any of its forms--is not only a thunder, but an electric current which runs through the spirit and activates it in ways human authors can only reflect, not capture.
There is good news and bad news, therefore, in the reading of Jeremiah. The good news: The book has a recognizable line, a consistent tone, and seems to have been written primarily by one individual with one message. All of this makes it inifinitely more readable than its forbearer, Isaiah. The bad news: It is infinitely more readable than Isaiah. Whereas Isaiah's mixed messages actually contributed to the meaning and interest of the book, Jeremiah asks far less from the reader in terms of thought, and correspondingly is less interesting.
Which frustrates me, a reader determined to make some sense out of it. Yes, JEHOVAH is mad at Israel, and yes, he is then even madder at Babylon, but very little is revealed in the delivery of these judgement messages about his nature or personality. In fact, judgment is the one consistently interesting topic in Jeremiah. Perhaps most intersting is the presentation of the writer's judgment against the God he is worshipping. He actually dares to present a case against God, and God deigns to listen. "You will be in the right, O JEHOVAH, when I lay charges against you;" he acknowledges, "but let me put my case to you" (12:1). JEHOVAH's answer does much to explain the seeming indecision with which he was painted in Jeremiah. "After I have plucked them up," he says of evildoers, "I will again have compassion on them, and I will bring them again to their heritage and to their land: (12:15). God compares humans to "The vessel he was making of clay [which] was spoiled in the potter's hand." Instead of discarding it, however, "he reworked it into another vessel, as seemed good to him"(18:4). The judgment of God is thorough; "JEHOVAH test[s] the mind and search[es] the heart, to give to them according to their ways" (17:10). Heart, mind and actions are all taken into account. This is appropriate, for God alone has the perspective that comes with physical expansiveness. "Who can hide in secret places?" he asks, "Do I not fill heaven and Earth?" (23:23). But his judgment is also fluid; fate is always in the hands of the judged.
Which is not to say that God is indecisive, as seemed to be the case in Isaiah. He acts with great pith and moment, if not absolute finality. It is significant that each prophetic utterance begins with the phrase, "The word of JEHOVAH came to me, saying . . ." or some variation thereof. It is the word of God, his very speaking, which contains his power and through which he levels nations. Repeatedly, God's judgment is expressed in terms of vocalization: "JEHOVAH will roar from on high, and from his holy habitation utter his voice" (25:30). And, perhaps more significantly, the power of God's word is a negotiable document; it is transferrable. "Now I have put my words in your mouth. See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant" (1:9-10). It is, therefore, not an act of scholarly ingenuousness to approach so-called holy books with a certain level of reverence and an assumption of value. The word of God--in any of its forms--is not only a thunder, but an electric current which runs through the spirit and activates it in ways human authors can only reflect, not capture.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)