The Best "Lord's Prayer"

I love Jesus's prayer in Matthew 6:9–13 for its uncomplicated message for believers wanting to be more like Him and aligning their expectations with the will of God. Clearly, Jesus's focus in His concise prayer is on the majesty, beneficence, and power of Father God in our lives.

After this manner therefore pray ye:

Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.

This prayer is not focused on human empowerment at all; rather, it is all about what Father God can, does, and will do for His believers. Yet, progressivechristianity.org writer Francis Mcnab incorrectly and anthro-centeredly rewrites how we are to pray to God in the passage. First, note that Mcnab immediately removes the fatherhood of God (disregarding Jesus’s specific address as trivial or outdated). Then, note how many more times Mcnab adds us, we, and our compared to the original Scripture. Note the additions of “within us” to the passage (shifting the outward power of God to the inward power of His adherents). Note also Mcnab’s emotional emphases of avoiding anxiety, rising above ugly realities, overlooking stupid people, and feeling personal acceptance in life. Speaking of which, note how the kingdom of God is demoted to simply being the kingdom of life—which is what? Nature? And while Mcnab does end his translation with three “Yous,” readers are left to ponder just exactly who (or what) the “good caring presence” is that Mcnab refers to initially in his narcissistic version. Read for yourself:

Good caring presence within us, around us, and above us;
Hold us in a sense of mystery and wonder.
Let the fullness of your goodness be within us and around us;
Let all the world know your ways of caring and generosity.

May we find we have all we need
to meet each day without undue anxiety.
Overlook our many stupidities, and help us
to release everyone from their stupidities.

May we all know that we are accepted.
Strengthen us that we will reach out
to the best, always with the faith
to rise above the ugly realities of our existence.

And we celebrate the gifts you have given us –
the rich kingdom of life’s possibilities
the power to do good and the triumphs of good
and the moments when we have seen
the glory and wonder of everything.

You are life’s richness.
You are life’s power.
You are life’s ultimate meaning –
Amen.

This is not a paraphrase of the Lord’s Prayer; it is a humanist, self-empowering, eisegetical revision wherein the profane replaces the Divine. Even Mcnab’s inclusion of “Amen” (So be it) at the end feels more like blasphemy than any affirmation of biblical truth. A better basic takeaway of the Lord’s Prayer might include the following conclusions:

  • We are to think of God as our divine Father (Jesus even calls Him, "Abba” [daddy], in Mark 14:36 and the apostle Paul calls Him, "Abba," in Romans 8:15 & Galatians 4:6).

  • God lives in heaven, is holy, and is the King of Kings.

  • God alone is our great Provider, our Mercy, our Model, our Protector, and our Deliverer.

  • Father God can all do all these things because He is the One, true, loving eternal God.

To flip the script might feel good to some (as in Mcnab’s Prayer) but it runs dangerously contrary to the reality of our relationship with God—according to Jesus Christ (and the Word of God). Ultimately, the authoritative prayer of Jesus requires His followers to be humble, unpolitical, submissive, supportive, and grateful to Father God—absolutely asserting the singularity of God's importance in our lives. There can be no greater or “good-er” news than that! Can I get an Amen?

A Comparison of “She Walks in Beauty” by Lord Byron and “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” by John Keats

In nineteenth-century English Literature, Lord Byron and John Keats are famous for their Romantic poetry, which often displays a lyrical and mystical connection between humanity and nature, specifically regarding individualism, idealism, and inspiration. The relationship of nature and humanity is often a central theme in Romantic literature with the detriments of society juxtaposed against the sublimity of the natural world.  It is this celebration of nature that leads some to suggest that “Romantic poems habitually endow the landscape with human life, passion, and expressiveness” (Greenblatt, 1373). Two such powerful poetical productions concerning this life, passion, and expressiveness are found in Byron’s poem, “She Walks in Beauty,” and Keats’ poem, “La Belle Dame Sans Merci.”  These poems have aspects that are quite similar and yet they also diverge in important ways.

Both of these poems focus on the phantasmal beauty of mysterious women who live in some wraithlike plane between real life and dreams, and who find their “haunts” in the natural world, but yet who nevertheless produce a romantic attraction to their male counterparts in these poignant poems. Though these writings and poets share some commonalities such as female beauty, mysterious bonds to nature, and male obsession with beauty, key differences remain that leads these poems to conclude much differently—one positively (Byron), and one negatively (Keats).

In regards to the shared aspect of feminine beauty that is presented by the poets, the two poems are both fixated on women of unusual loveliness and presence in nature. Keeping with Romantic literature style, the beauty of these women parallel the beauty of the world. Byron writes, “She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies” (lines 1-2) and “And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent” (lines 13-14).  For his own ethereal lady, Keats writes, “I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful—a faery’s child. Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.” (lines 13-16). Byron’s description ironically does not clear up the appearance of his love for it is hard to see at nighttime and shadows often play tricks with the eyes. Similarly, Keats brings in a supernatural notion of fairies, which are considered by most to be mythological creatures of the imagination. So, are these visions of loveliness or delusions of emotion?

This is just the start of the narrators’ details of “reality” for their wraithlike women. Despite this unusualness about their women and their environs, both poets are clearly enamored by these fantastic females (although Keats’ lady may be a femme fatale) and are almost obsessed by their majesty.  Byron contemplates his loves’ facial features and states, “Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling place” (lines 11-12) and describing his own response to his woman’s charms, Keats remarks, “I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery’s song” (lines 21-24).  Their looks are entrancing and the narrators linger to ponder their exquisiteness; in fact, one could easily correlate the intensity of inspiration of these women with the inspiration of their surreal surroundings.

Additionally, as alluded to earlier, both poems share in a mystical landscape wherein reality is unsure and the narrators could be dreaming or they could be in an enchanted scene.  Discussing the manifestation of his lady love, Byron writes, “One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace” (lines 7-8).  This impairment limits full awareness of what is reality for Byron. Keats also offers his own twist on situational reality when he writes, “She took me to her elfin grot” (line 29).  In both poems, the women exist in ghostly (or magical) fashion, although they have deep, emotional and physical connections to their male interests. Yet, for both men, they recognize that their perception of these women could be fictitious or perhaps just in their heads.  Perhaps Keats sums it up best when he says, “And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream’d On the cold hill’s side.” (line 34-36).

These poems do, however, take a different turn when it comes to the ultimate consequence of the relationship between the narrators and their women. Like nature, which has positive and negative elements, these women, too, show this range between security and threat. For Byron, his perception and appraisal of the woman is beneficial and complimentary. He concludes his poem with “A heart whose love is innocent!” (line 18). Of his positive relationship, Byron writes earlier, “But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below” (lines 16-17).  This romantic relationship brings harmony for the narrator even with the natural world.

For Keats, the liaison he has with his “fairy’s child” (line 14) could be considered more of a curse than a blessing despite the proclamations of love for the narrator by the woman—“She look’d at me as she did love, And made sweet moan” (lines 19-20) and “And sure in language strange she said—I love thee true” (lines 28-29). Yet, this love comes with a steep price. Offering a more somber and sardonic tone, Keats writes, “I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill’s side” (lines 41-44). Keats’ relationship with the woman ends in anxiety and stagnation, which is expressed in the last hopeless lines of this poem—“And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing” (lines 46-49). This love sees no life echoed in nature, no hope for the future.

“She Walks in Beauty” and “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” are expertly and carefully written by Byron and Keats so as to enlighten the reader regarding the passion and significance of these women in the lives of the narrators, but the passion depicted in each poem also brings the narrators to a different end. For Byron, the love of the narrator for his woman gives him great peace of mind and sets his heart, unfettered in love, soaring. For Keats, the love of the fairy for the narrator brings him only false security and eventually nightmares, producing in him a sense of hopelessness and malaise.

It is reasonable to assume that these Romantic poets saw an easy correlation between human relationships and the dynamic natural state of the world. As with all human relationships, sometimes life in the wild is pleasant, but all too often, it is a cold, lifeless desert. Always, though, nature is full of mystery, passion, and significance—providing ample subjects for the poet and tales of admonition for the reader.

Works Cited 

Greenblatt, Stephen, ed., et al. “La Belle Dame Sans Merci.” In The Norton Anthology of English Literature.  8th ed. Vol 2.  New York:  W. W. Norton & Company, 2006. Print.

________.  “She Walks in Beauty.” In The Norton Anthology of English Literature.  8th ed. Vol 2.  New York:  W. W. Norton & Company, 2006. Print.

(Copyright by John S. Knox, 2024)

In Search of a Clever and Ingenious Narrative

In the literary field, it can be assumed that both writer and reader are in constant search of a “good story” (Bennett and Royle, 55). Authors carry out this endeavor by creating works that hopefully engage with readers in matters of culture, emotion, psychology, gender, economics, etc. Readers, both professional and amateur, look for works that resonate with them in a variety of ways, often leading to differing conclusions as to the meaning, value, and success of any particular book or short story.  Ironically, while writers attempt to compose their works in ways that impart significant truths to the reader, these truths may be overlooked by the reader or underemphasized by the author. D. F. Hurley suggests, “Interpretations and evaluations make stories into sites where debates over values and power take place” (Hurley, 92).  Substantiating this, Bennett and Royle state, “The telling of a story is always bound up with power, with questions of authority, property and domination” (Bennett and Royle, 52).  Thus, some works defy simple conclusions and normal analyses sought after by both author and reader.

This reality is evident when reading Albert Camus’ “The Guest”—a short story about a French-Algerian schoolmaster who is forced to leave his comfortable lodgings in order to deliver an Arabian convict to a local prison.  In Camus’ existentialist narrative, several instances of political oppression contrasting with individual freedom can be perceived; however, the overall significance of the characters, plot development, etc. are left open, which stirs up matters of debate in literary circles today.  As Muhlestein remarks, “Key aspects of the story are still in controversy, including what to make of Daru [the protagonist]” (Muhlestein, 223).  Furthermore, Camus’ purpose and methods for writing “The Guest” appears to challenge literary conventions of narrative power and enlightenment assumed by many (such as Bennett and Royle) to be a requirement of the “good story” or at least of a typical one.

“The Guest” presents to the reader a dramatic narrative in which Daru, the Algerian, is depicted in battle for control over his own circumstances and in which the final outcome for Daru’s “Guest” (the Arab) is uncertain. These two characters (if not all of the characters) are given some opportunity to voice or affect their liberties. This is a crucial aspect for Bennett and Royle who state, “Narrative power, then, may be the only strategy left for the weak and dispossessed: without narrative power, they may not be heard” (Bennett and Royle, 58).  In literary works, the narrator should provide a chance for the oppressed characters to voice their frustrations and hopes in the story. Sometimes the author of a narrative uses his or her story to champion for an idea or person that otherwise would have been ignored or suppressed by dominant powers. This typically provides an opportunity for positive movement in the story for the oppressed to lessen their burdens, at least philosophically if not physically. Yet, Interestingly, if this is true, it is hardly evident in “The Guest,” for all the characters share the same situational impotence and frustration from the beginning to the end of this tale—it is if they are yelling into the desert winds and only can be barely heard.

Camus begins his story with Daru’s warm, comfortable, and uncomplicated fortress of solitude adjacent to the “empty, frigid classroom” (Camus, 86) being threatened with the presence of two approaching men.  The tension rises in the narrative as the men get closer and closer and the narrator tells a bit about Daru and the political circumstances surrounding his life. Daru lives a Spartan existence “nonetheless satisfied with the little he had and with the rough life, [for he] had felt like a lord with his whitewashed walls, his narrow couch, his unpainted shelves, his well, and his weekly provision of water and food” (Camus, 88). When confronted with his appointed duty, Daru initially resists being saddled with delivering the Arab and tells the soldier that "every bit of this disgusts me, and first of all your fellow here. But I won't hand him over. Fight, yes, if I have to. But not that" (Camus, 95), yet Daru effectively basically acquiesces to the authorities’ demands in the end. Balducci, the soldier delivering the Arab, is sympathetic to Daru but remarks to him that he is only following orders, that “the orders exist and they concern you [Daru] too (Camus, 91-92), and that “No one is safe, we're all in the same boat" (Camus, 94). The Arab, perhaps the most weak and dispossessed figure in this story, when given the opportunity to defend himself in a “woeful interrogation” with Daru, remains silent and “open-mouthed” (Camus, 100).

Finally, when Daru returns to the schoolhouse after risking his own freedom by providing an escape route for the Arab, Daru is confronted with a threatening note on the blackboard, which states, "You handed over our brother. You will pay for this" (Camus, 109). Daru is powerless to respond in defense to the Arab’s allies’ allegations and threat, so is left feeling “alone” (Camus, 109) and without options.  His cherished home has now become enemy territory, and he has become “the Guest.” Again, Camus has provided a voice for the weak and powerless in this novel, but no accompanying direct strategy for rescue or change, although Camus has provided an indirect strategy, perhaps, for Daru and the Arab.

Camus’ characters are clearly good examples of the unheard voice referred to in the aforementioned Bennett and Royle quotation.  Daru is clearly being presented as one of the “weak and dispossessed” (Bennett and Royle, 58), as is the Arab and the soldier. Balducci, the soldier in the story, pays no attention to Daru’s complaints about being left with the Arab for he was, too; the Arab is presented only as a pawn in this game of war and submissively accepts his fate without any fight.  However, “The Guest” demonstrates the passive-aggressive strategy of Daru to free himself of both the unwanted duty of turning over the Arab to the prison and of implicating himself by actively freeing the man. Thus, the narrative options of delivery or freeing of the Arab prisoner is not the only strategy presented in “The Guest.”  Daru attempts to avoid his obligation (and accompanying guilt) by empowering the Arab to affect his escape. 

In existentialist fashion, the narrator has given both Daru and the Arab opportunities to assert their individuality by having Daru allow the Arab to choose which path to take—either to prison or freedom. Thus, both men are presented at crossroads of their own decisions—each one risking their liberties and life. Of course, in the end, it still ends up a potentially pointless act for “Daru, with heavy heart, made out the Arab walking slowly on the road to prison” (Camus, 109) and Daru’s life is threatened when he returns home.  Nevertheless, unconventional options were provided in this narrative by Camus for Daru, the Arab, and, possibly, for protagonists in other stories in situations concerning powerlessness and oppression.  However, these alternatives are not without risk or consequence to the individual and neither do they guarantee success—as is the case for all human beings. The overall effect of this narrative choice has led many to feel frustrated by Camus’ story, but perhaps that was part of Camus’ incentive—to help readers feel the existentialist angst.

Additionally, the overall purpose and meaning behind this narrative has left some literary critics unsure of their final evaluation of “The Guest.”  Muhlestein calls it “a puzzling text” (Muhlestein, 223) and Hurley states that it “deserves special scrutiny now” (Hurley, 79) considering the change in international politics.  Beyond such political interpretations that may lend themselves to Deconstructionism, questions still remain concerning this story regarding Daru’s treatment of the Arab, and the Arab’s choice to continue on to prison alone. As Bennett and Royle suggest, readers read out of curiosity and have an innate desire to understand why a character does what he/she does in the end of the story. This concluding knowledge brings them satisfaction; therefore, any story that fails this objective creates an imbalanced reader/story relationship and frustrates the readers’ expectations.  People need closure, presumably.  They state, “A part of the equilibrium that endings apparently offer is the satisfaction of epistemophilia, the reader’s desire to know” (Bennett and Royle, 55).

Camus could have provided the key information for these characters’ motivations.  Yet, the key passage detailing the actions of both Daru and the Arab lack any clear indication for either character’s choices.  Instead, only uncertainty and frustration are presented to the reader.  Camus writes,

He [Daru] turned his back on him, took two long steps in the direction of the school, looking hesitantly at the motionless Arab and started off again. For a few minutes he heard nothing but his own step resounding on the cold ground and did not turn his head. A moment later, however, he turned around. The Arab was still there on the edge of the hill his arms hanging now, and he was looking at the schoolmaster. Daru felt something rise in his throat. But he swore with impatience, waved vaguely, and started off again. He had already gone some distance when he again stopped and looked. There was no longer anyone on the hill.

Daru hesitated. The sun was now rather high in the sky and was beginning to beat down on his head. The schoolmaster retraced his steps at first somewhat uncertainly then with decision. When he reached the little hill he was bathed in sweat. He climbed it as fast as he could and stopped. Out of breath at the top. The rock-fields to the south stood out sharply against the blue sky but on the plain to the east a steamy heat was already rising. And in that slight haze Daru with heavy heart made out the Arab walking slowly on the road to prison (Camus, 108-109).

 Bennett and Royle’s aforementioned understanding of endings is definitely challenged by this passage for it fails their test of epistemophilia. If final knowledge is necessary for reader equilibrium, then this story comes up lacking, but this assumes that all readers are of the same mindset—an uncertain notion at best.  The reader is informed of both the indecision of the Arab and the anger of Daru over the Arab’s passivity, but not why either character ultimately feels that way. Does the Arab go the way to prison because he is stupid? Is it because he is hoping his submission will grant him mercy?  For Daru, is he frustrated because the Arab has chosen imprisonment over freedom, or is he afraid the prison authorities will now know for certain he shirked his responsibilities and, in fact, was incredibly inept at his job? These questions go unanswered in the end, leading to “40 years of analysis” (Muhlestein, 223).

Additionally, whether the Arab will flee to safety or imprisonment is undetermined for Daru only sees the Arab walking slowly to the prison; the reader never finds out if the Arab makes it there or changes his mind.  Furthermore, later on in the story, the final outcome for Daru is also unknown as his own life is threatened by the Arab’s brothers despite his “help” to him. Ironically, Daru’s life at the schoolhouse has become a prison, too, and he also is faced with the choice to stay or flee for his life—should he flee to safety or stay the course? As such, the reader is kept in limbo until the end of the story (and even after) and no balance or closure is ever actualized for either the protagonist or the reader.  Thus, in many ways, this story is a sort of anti-narrative narrative; yet, in its imbalance, this story works well to portray the striving and frustration inherent to human existence.

Some might consider the indecisive “ending” of Daru and the Arab to be only the reality of individual existence. Bennett and Royle’s assumption of adequate knowledge might be unreasonable or unrealistic for all literary works. In fact, knowledge might just lead people to new questions—a conclusion potentially satisfying to some, but not others.  With this in mind, Camus might be presenting a tale showing universally what it means to be human—we are all powerless, we all have unwanted obligations, we all must choose to acquiesce or to resist, but the final outcome may remain unsatisfying or undetermined.

Bennett and Royle’s understanding of the narrative has several valid points when it comes to how a storyline typically should be presented (good narratives champion often suppressed voices and provide closure); however, they also point out the “paradoxical attractions of a good story,” as “The Guest” apparently should be labeled.  Camus’ existentialist use of tension, irony, and contradiction are evident in the characters’ present actions and the presumed final outcomes for both Daru and the Arab.

Analyzing this story without giving adequate notice to these factors can only lead to greater frustration and confusion.  Just as the reader has a motivation for reading a work, so too does the author for writing it. Bennett and Royle state, “We might consider another important aspect of narrative, namely the relation between the teller and listener and reader” (Bennett and Royle, 56). Without acknowledging the existentialist purposefulness of Camus’ narrative structure and its handling of the oppressed voices, “The Guest” could easily be considered a poorly written and unsatisfying story instead of a clever and ingenious narrative about individual moral choices and their consequences.

Works Cited 

Bennett, Andrew and Nicholas Royle. 2004. Introduction to Literature, Criticism and Theory. Great Britain: Pearson Education.

Camus, Albert. 1958. Exile and the Kingdom. U.S.A.: Alfred A. Knopf.

Hurley, D. F. 1993. “Looking for the Arab: Reading the Readings of Camus’s ‘The Guest,’” in Studies in Short Fiction 30: 79-93.

Muhlestein, Daniel K. 1999. “A Teacher and His Student: Subversion and Containment in Camus’s ‘The Guest,’” in Studies in Short Fiction 36: 223-234.

(Copyright by John S. Knox, 2024)

The Holiness of God

For countless generations, people have used the term, “Holiness,” to both describe God and as a standard for His believers to follow in life. Unfortunately, the definition of Holiness has come to mean innumerable things—not all of which find their basis in scripture. Too often, Holiness has centered more around human priorities and actions (a.k.a. works-righteousness) rather than Godly ones, as seen in the bible.

Yet, despite the variegated interpretations and approaches to the idea of Holiness, Leviticus 11:44 clearly states, “For I am the LORD who brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be your God; you shall, therefore, be holy, as I am holy.” As delivered, Holiness is not just a suggestion; it is a commandment from God, and because of that reality, it is incumbent upon all believers to seek a truer understanding of what it means to be holy today, especially in the new dangerous era of Postmodernism.

Reading through the Hebrew and Greek Scriptures, it is impossible to ignore how often Holiness is referenced, promoted, and/or mandated for God’s followers. As previously mentioned, Israel, God’s chosen people, were instructed time and time again to be holy as God is holy. In fact, the Hebrew word for holy is “Qadosh,” which means radiance, separation, or purity. Thus, Holiness is not just a legal matter; it also contains attributes of action, protection, righteousness, and exclusivity—all characteristics of God, as described in the Scriptures.

Not just an Old Testament tenet, the New Testament writers also admonish Christians to adhere to the biblical standard of Holiness. 1 Peter 1:15 states, “But as he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in ALL your conduct.” In their writings, these men directly and indirectly pushed for Holiness as they discussed being set apart from the world—morally, ethically, and spiritually. Moreover, for the Disciples and Apostles, being holy also means being faithful, blameless, loving, and obedient to God, qualities they observed in Jesus Christ during His ministry on earth.

Not surprisingly, with all these notions embedded in the concept of Holiness, it is easy to become overwhelmed with trying to conform all activities and attitudes to God’s standard of holiness. All of the aforementioned requirements of Holiness are an important part of its definition, but none alone are sufficient to define what it means to be holy. Thus, it is advisable to approach Holiness in a holistic way (ironically) in order to gain a fuller and more productive understanding of Holiness.

The most dangerous tactic that some followers have embraced throughout history is to myopically promote one aspect of Holiness as THE quintessential manifestation of Holiness while ignoring all the other characteristics of Holiness. By making the part the whole (also known as “synechdoche”), the balance of understanding Holiness is lost. Moreover, too often, Holiness is narrowly defined merely in terms of behavior alone, when it should also focus on believers’ relationships with each other and the lost.

In reality, a person is not holy because of his or her actions; people are holy because of their relationship with God through Jesus Christ. As one of my former Seminary professors put it, Holiness (or sanctification) is “the dynamic relationship between God and His followers” (Dr. Larry Shelton, 2002). It is a recognition that humanity is flawed, but God is not. It is a desire to separate from the evil of the world to the good of the divine in order to find true peace, true purification of the heart, mind, and soul. Finally, it is a synthesis of belief and action in the life of the believer that leads to a deeper, more meaningful reconciliation with God.

This understanding may sound complicated, but it is not. Ultimately, Holiness comes down to a character transformation wherein the believer is no longer serving sin but embracing God and His ways. It is being lovingly obedient to Yahweh—not only because it is “commanded,” but because it is a good, healthy, and wise way to maintain and cultivate one’s relationship with the Creator/Redeemer. All believers are adopted children of God through our brotherhood with Jesus Christ. Striving for Holiness, then, is just a healthy expression of appreciation for our Father, and a request to get as close to God as possible—just like His Son.

To put it in simpler terms, Holiness is moving closer to God through a covenantal relationship in Jesus Christ. Outside of this concept or relationship, being holy has little meaning. Therefore, reading the biblical exhortation to “be holy for I am holy,” a fuller understanding can be observed. Being holy is not just an obscure list of do’s and don’ts; being holy removes the stumbling blocks that prevent us from moving closer to the divine source of love, power, and salvation in our relationship with God.

Still, Holiness has come to have some bad connotations in the postmodern era. In many circles (Christian and non-believer alike), piety and Holiness are synonymous with snobbery and elitism. In reality, though, Holiness is the humble admission that our sinful ways are not His good ways; therefore, we need to reflect Him more. With that healthy attitude, believers can experience and share their deep affection with God, each other, and to the world who needs love now more than ever.

We are called to be holy as God is holy. Yet, making the part the whole and picking one aspect of Holiness to focus on might be a practical and efficient way of exercising one’s faith, but Christianity is not about pragmatism or expediency. It is about shining in the darkness; it is about discarding all that hurts our relationship with God; it is about submitting to the Lordship of Jesus Christ and rejecting our own self-righteousness and self-deification.

Holiness needs to be sought after in its entirety, and the why of being holy is just as important (if not more) than the how, because striving for Holiness allows a closer and less encumbered communion with God, the Father—and truly, nothing else in life is as important as our relationship with Him who created and saved us.

(Copyright by John S. Knox, 2024)

Thielicke, Bonhoeffer, and Bultmann's Neo-Orthodox Prescriptions For Healthy Fellowship

In their writings, Helmut Thielicke, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and Rudolf Bultmann all present important pillars of truth for the spiritual health of members in the Christian community. These tenets are based upon the understanding of who and what God is to us as well as who and what we are to ourselves and to God.

In Thielicke's book, The Waiting Father (Harper and Row, 1959), he addresses the parable of the Prodigal Son, providing an interpretation of the story that focuses on these two different brothers. The Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11–32) is seen to be selfish and willful but is also portrayed as someone pathetically lost in his own desires, "bound to his homesickness . . . bound to urges . . . bound to a grand style of living." The older brother, however, is presented lacking in character, too, for in him "forgiveness has become a banality" as he easily judges his brother. Furthermore, his relationship with his father has "become a thing taken for granted," where he has become alientated from his father's loving desires. Despite outward appearances, both men inside are found wanting because of their pride and self-centeredness. For the Christian community, these two men serve as glaring reminders that it matters little whether we are openly—or silently—disobedient and discontent with God. Both attitudes pull us away from a right relationship with Him (and others).

Bonhoeffer's work, The Cost of Discipleship (Touchstone, 1995), addresses the issues of being in tune with God and His desires for us. Christians are called to be the light of the world, the salt that preserves and gives the world its flavor and vitality (Matt 5:13) . Bonhoeffer points out that Christians have no choice to be salt or not for as Jesus' disciples, "They must be what they really are." If a community claims to be Christian and yet does not show their "discipleship visible in action," then they will find themselves "irretrievably lost" and are not "followers of Jesus." Of course, this discipleship in action is not for their glory but for God's through Jesus Christ. Their good works originate with and come directly from Jesus and are present solely to point people to the light of the cross. Bonhoeffer therefore implies that if a Christian is going to talk the talk, he must walk the walk.

Bultmann's book, Existence and Faith (Living Age, 1960), is a good synthesis of these previous authors' teachings. Focusing on the Sermon on the Mount and its call to a higher justice (Matt 5:1– 12), he argues that the Law for us exists merely to "protect each other from the oppressions of others." Although not a trivial thing, justice still lacks God’s ultimate goal for humanity of an inward "willing obedience" to God. The Law focuses on the outward behavior but cannot check the inward mechanisms of selfishness and self-centeredness that cause destruction of people’s relationship with each other (and God). Consequently, as a community, people need to be more concerned about their inner motivation than legalistically following religious or societal edicts, alone.

I am drawn most strongly to Thielicke's work, for in his theology, I see a strong foundation for living gracefully for myself and others. His understanding and portrayal of the pain, suffering, and consequences that both brothers endured really touched me and pointed to a deeper place to begin my relationships at. I kept hearing, "Be merciful as God is merciful to you," as I read this essay; and over the weekend, I was even able to find application in its words. I had to forgive someone recently who had hurt me in the past and part of my motivation came from the understanding that I, too, have offended and hurt even though it may not be perceived. Thus, I have been both the Prodigal Son and the Older Brother, and to stay close to God. I must remember that it is all about modeling the mercy and forgiveness that God has shown me in my relationship with others.

~ Reflection Paper, George Fox Seminary (April 15, 2001)

(Copyright by John S. Knox, 2024)

Excerpt from Lexicon of Religious Facts and Figures (2021)—"Christian Activism in the First and Second Centuries CE"

Christian activism in the first and second centuries CE did not go unnoticed, especially by the provincial leaders who disliked any civil unrest that interfered with the Pax Romana, a peaceful and prosperous period between 14 and 180 CE. With the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 CE and the Diaspora (the forced dispersion of the Jews from Israel) that followed, after the first century CE, Christian castigation mostly came from Roman leadership who feared little, if any, reprisal or revenge from the Christians who were known for their passivity and peacefulness (and who had few political friends in the Senate). Thus, members of the Early Christian movement often became political targets and scapegoats for the social ills and political tensions of specific rulers and turbulent periods during the first three centuries, CE; however, this persecution was sporadic and rarely Empire-wide, but it was devastating, nonetheless.

The persecution of the Christians did not end with the deaths of the Disciples and the Apostles; their pupils and successors, the Church Fathers (ancient theologians, church leaders, and defenders of orthodox Christianity) also endured Roman hostility and maltreatment for their beliefs, as did other peripheral Christian men, women, and children (of all ages) who called them- selves, "Christian. The three main periods of persecution occurred from 64 to 95 CE (Emperor Nero to Emperor Domitian), 112 to 250 CE (Emperor Trajan to Emperor Decius), and 250 to 311 CE (Emperor Valerian to Diocletian).

Generally, people of all religious persuasions were tolerated within the Roman Empire; after all, polytheism was the norm for most Mediterranean societies at that time. Yet, for the Empire to operate, efficiently and profitably, social order had to be maintained at all costs. Submission to the Emperor was not an option, but Christians could not and would not say, "Lord, Lord, to the enthroned emperor or make a divine offering in their deified honor. This caused frequent friction with Roman authorities, and who started a conflict was less important to the Roman governors than maintaining peace and acquiescence; therefore, the troublesome elements were eliminated as a warning to others about challenging the absolute rule of Rome.

"Theological Implications of Wisdom Literature"

The Sacred Writings played a big role in the life of the Israelites. In any culture or people–group, you can find books of sayings, songs, prayers, or short pithy statements that come out of the experiences from their daily life. When these pass the test of time and are used by multiple groups, in multiple locations over several generations, they become folklore. It becomes their story and it is passed from generation to generation to keep the history alive.

These stories appear in multiple forms and are used in variety of ways that fit the needs and expectations of the people who own them. Some of the ways they are used include the following: public worship, retelling family history, instructing young members, and reminding both old and young of proper prioritization. Furthermore, for the Israelites, these stories describe the plight of the people and their relationship to God over the centuries, especially since the time of Abraham. The specifics of the story present truths of eternal religious and theological significance, as well as the majesty and mystery of God’s ways.

The paternalistic tone of Proverbs illustrates a parenting style. The adult addresses the child and asks them to “listen,” to “pay attention,” to “give ear to,” to “keep the commandments,” while all along suggesting that this is the Way of wisdom, success, honor, and righteousness. The Jewish parent would often ask the child to repeat these stories back to them in a way to be assured that the lessons were learned well.

In Proverbs 4:20–27, one can read about a father asking his boy to heed the advice of his parents (especially since in a world where there are many crossroads, the possibility of taking the wrong turn is ever present). Here, the father gives his child specific instructions of what he can and should control and by making the right and wise decision the child will be on the right path.

            My son, pay attention to what I say; listen closely to my words

            Do not let them out of your sight, keep them within your heart;

            For they are life to those who find them and health to a man’s whole

            body. Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.

            Put away perversity from your mouth; keep corrupt talk far from your

            lips. Let your eyes look straight ahead, fix your gaze directly before you.

            Make level paths for your feet and take only ways that are firm. Do not

            swerve to the right or the left; keep your foot from evil.

In this text, the father tells the son that, in his life, he will encounter many crossroads and face many decisions, which will have an impact on him. The son may not have many experiences in dealing with everything that life may throw at him, but he can have control of some basic things. These guiding principles will help him in being wise, and, furthermore, will help him make the right choice, which will, in turn, please parents and honor God. Observe the things the child can control—his ears to listen and pay attention, his heart to keep his father’s words, his health if he obeys, his lips, mouth, heart, and eyes to stay on the right path. His is told to watch the roads his feet go on, and, of course, by controlling his body and doing what he is told, he will not swerve to the right or left but stay on course. These are words of wisdom from the father to the son.

The author of Hebrews makes a similar claim, when he suggests, “Fixing our eyes on Jesus . . .  so that you will not grow weary and lose heart” (Hebrews 12:1­–3). Such practical advice is the primary religious purpose behind these books. Our faith is not only a spiritual, intellectual, and emotional, but is equally important when it comes to our daily praxis.

The author of Luke’s Gospel portrays Jesus in a same way. “And Jesus grew in wisdom, and stature, and in favor with God and man” (Luke 2:52). This describes the balance of the healthy and wise person. The physical, intellectual, spiritual, emotional, social, and practical balance is the plan of God for his people. Wisdom Literature contributes to this delicate and God-pleasing balance.

The more poetic and contemplative aspects of these writings present us with another way that the Israelites accomplished the task being wise and raising wise children. It is seen in their poetry, stories of their past heroes, or analogous or parabolic writings. These require the reader to take the time to sit, read, think, observe, contemplate, and experience God’s relationship to them. In a way, these are examples, like stain glass windows in the great cathedrals and basilicas of our time. The person may enter in a deep, long, and potentially life-changing spiritual experience. This may take the approach of contemplation, prayer, devotion, quietness, and longing for God.

The stark difference seen between the short, pithy practical ways of the Book of Proverbs from the longer, more creative stories passed down to them through books such as Psalms, Ecclesiastes, Job, and Song of Songs, is the posture and approach of the reader. Here, the father is not drilling and asking the child to repeat, but rather the reader or observer contemplates the plight of the people. Most of these are familiar stories, which are seen and heard over time with new and profound meaning based on the state of the observer. A child who grows up in the church may hear the story of David and the Giant, and, at different stages of his/her life, the meaning may change slightly or profoundly.

There are a few hermeneutical principles that are different in these writings.

1.     One requires the person to read and understand the song or the story as a whole. It loses its value when it is separated and compartmentalized. For example, the story of Job teaches that God allows for difficulties and suffering. At the end, the hero is protected and blessed. Similarly, the trials and suffering may not be the same or of the same depth, but one can still count on God to protect and bless even bless them.

2.     Another principle requires the reader to understand that the details of the story are not exactly the same as his/her own, although principles are easily transferable from past experiences to one’s present own experience. For example, God will provide for their daily needs as he provided for the daily needs of the Israelites in Exodus. Similarly, King David’s needs during his battles are different than our contemporary needs during our battles. One is not wandering in the wilderness or fighting giants as the stories detail.  However, one can ask for and experience God’s provisions and protection in times of struggle and hostility.

3.     When one observes a piece of art, there are many elements and stories within the story, but each individual story contributes to the whole message that the artist is portraying. Great church stain glass windows may portray many specific stories within the story, but, when seen all together, they present the major massage of the story. For example, in the picture of the last supper, one observes different conversations, different emotions, different posturing, based upon the individual Disciples’ depictions. Some are excited; others may be sad, hungry, confused by Jesus’s words, etc., but the picture, holistically, can give a more complete message of the great promise of Jesus, and possibly the great message of the communion table, which is a central part of the Christian faith.

Finally, the Song of Solomon (Songs), in many ways, explains some great mysteries of the church. One of these is the mystery of the relationship between a man and a woman. It is as deep and profound as any other experience in a person’s life, but it cannot be explained in words; it can only be observed and experienced. Thus, the contemplative way of thinking about love and intimacy helps us see and experience the story. It is impossible to write an essay that fully unravels the emotional, spiritual, physical, intimate, and intellectual depth and breadth of the relationship between these two lovers. But, when one reads Ecclesiastes, one can enter into that profound world of love, and intimacy God created for his people.

Wisdom literature, then, can be experienced through the creative ways of God’s people as they write, draw, or tell their stories. As Crenshaw concludes, “For that opportunity to think their thoughts, and thus to enrich our own, we owe an immense debt to the wise men and women who ventured forth on an endless search more than three thousand years ago.”[1]Future generations then find the answers to their questions about life, love, intimacy, fear, longing, trust, peace, contentment. The wisdom literature of the Christian church is seen and experienced through our hymnals, books, stain glass windows, religious icons, and personal stories of people as they experience God. Just as the Israelites asked their children to learn the stories, sing their songs, and live in wisdom and fear of God, the Church continues this redemptive story through the contemplation and memorization of biblical wisdom.

~ Tim Tsohantardis

Excerpt from God in the Details (Kendall-Hunt, 2017)

[1] Crenshaw, 239.

Trusting in the Historicity of the Bible

Historically and globally, people have different roles and different social obligations at different times and in different places. The Bible is replete with stories that focus on age, gender, race, or socio-economic status. In antiquity, slavery was commonplace; now it is illegal. Before the technological age, brute force set the parameters for warfare and agriculture; now, machines empower the weakest to do the heaviest tasks. Women used to be confined to knowledge of domestic duties; social revolutions have since burst the halls of education open to all members of society. Thus, context is crucial in understanding what is a universal mandate of God, and what is a community or cultural identification. In a postmodern world, where multiculturalism is promoted and mandated, where cynicism and skepticism are encouraged and rewarded above any fideism, how does a follower of Jesus be an obedient citizen of God’s kingdom while respectfully obeying earthly leaders, as the New Testament instructs?

These and other issues challenge readers as they seek to correctly understand God’s Word—His divine messages to humankind—from our limited and personal perspectives. Issues of injustice, inequality, disunity, suffering, divisions, hate, unfairness, and others have long troubled the human mind and spirit. Living in a world where everything exists in the immediate—Now!—waiting and working for an answer seems unbearable, but the biblical solution is to trust in God and cling to the mystery until such a time when the divine solution will be made crystal clear. Until that occurs, biblical readers are exhorted to trust in God’s ways, to carefully study and learn His word, to be unconditional in leaning upon the Word of God for instruction and advice, and in all things, to have the holy, righteous love of God be the guide for all human choices.

There are many approaches that scholars and theologians can take when writing about the Old and New Testament texts in the Bible. Our respective academic backgrounds lend themselves to a personal-but-pragmatic method that incorporates the biblical and the theological with the historical and the sociological. Ultimately, though, the Bible is the redemptive story of God and His people. This story begins in the early chapters of Genesis but continues on through the Old Testament books of Joshua, Judges, Samuel, Kings, Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, Ruth, and Esther. The tales within them are tantalizing and often terrible, with soap opera scripts, cliff-hanger endings, and last moment interventions by a God who delights in rescues and reconciliations.

Because of my great passion for Church History and the Bible, I frequently find myself pulled into watching a Bible or Church History documentary on the History Channel or Discovery (See your local listings). They always have such awesome titles—"UFOs in the Bible," "Joshua and the Battle of Jericho," "Samson and Delilah," "David and Bathsheba," 'Solomon and Sheba," and the list goes on. Unfortunately, they mostly offer an interesting but unfaithful view of the Scriptures, biblical characters, and the facts—pandering  to the masses with no biblical or Church History understanding.

Watching these movies becomes a lesson in patience and self-control.  It’s a good thing that no bricks are laying about in arm's reach. I must look like a zombie with my eyes perpetually rolled up into my head with all the false deconstructionist proclamations being spewed out like promises from a politician. "The Bible writers never believed in the One God." "Most scholars think David was mythic figure." "No historical evidence exists for Joshua." "For the Prophets, their revelation was never about the end of the world." "None of the Historical books were actually written by their purported authors." Their deviances from traditional understanding go on and on. Truly, we have entered an age of "Mediapostasy."  

Departing from truth accepted for nearly 2,000 years, these are movie and television screens filled with the false teachings that Paul warns about in 1 Timothy 6—

"If anyone teaches otherwise and does not agree to the sound instruction of our Lord Jesus Christ and to godly teaching, they are conceited and understand nothing. They have an unhealthy interest in controversies and quarrels about words that result in envy, strife, malicious talk, evil suspicions and constant friction between people of corrupt mind, who have been robbed of the truth and who think that godliness is a means to financial gain." 

Their perspective is limited and darkened, and they want others to join in with them in ignorance.

The media outlets suggest something quite different than biblical truth. They offer postmodern society an unassertive, watered-down version of the heroic men and women in the Old Testament, a mythic/fairytale view of Yahweh, and a convoluted, corrupt composition of the Bible. This is not unexpected considering key Biblical prophecies. Paul says in 2 Timothy 4:3,

"For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths."

The media’s version is not "Good News" and hardly something that people would turn their lives upside-down for (or die) if it meant as little as media makes it out to be. The Way would not have caught on as an international, inclusive, indelible faith and spread like wild-fire through a withered, self-centered society consumed with its own greatness, and lacking in mercy, truth, and love. In the darkness, people are drawn to the light.

For the early Christians, the Biblical message of God's plan of salvation through Jesus was the "Good News" because it offered a truthful, dependable, refreshing take on life with God and each other. It allowed them to be human, affirmed God’s love despite their faults, and promoted a positive but realistic outlook on life that benefitted everyone. For them, it wasn't one way to the divine; it was the only way. John 17:3 states, "Now this is eternal life: that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent." Orthodoxy was not a political position. Something was "orthodox" because it was true, not artificial nor fraudulent, and it had to be a powerful truth.

The Bible (including the New Testament) calls people to live Godly, holy lives fighting against their destructive human instincts. It requires Christians to take the righteous path and bravely suggest that others do likewise for a better, healthier relationship with each other and God. It suggests that each believer “contend for the faith that was once for all entrusted to God’s holy people." ~ Jude 1:3

Why? Because the accounts are true. Because there really is a God. Because Jesus really died for the sins of the world. Because Moses and the Hebrews really crossed the Red Sea. Because David really did slay a giant. Because this really is one incredible 6,000–year story worth learning about.

(Copyright by John S. Knox, 2024)

“The best view comes after the hardest climb.”

One of the most disastrous shams to have occurred in postmodernity is the socialist presumption that one's achieved status (what you've accomplished) is less important than one's ascribed status (what you were born as) for entrance into higher education.

To justify university admission "because I'm a man/woman," "because I'm Black/White," "because I'm rich/poor" is counter-productive and irrelevant in an intellectual milieu that formerly required advanced critical thinking, advanced logical prowess, and the utmost in honest self-awareness and self-regulation. Admitting too many ill-prepared students without these essential attributes has turned the hallowed halls of education into the hollowed halls of political conceit and contrivance.***

Historically, the sculptor (the educator) shaped the marble (the student), not vice versa, but today, the opposite occurs, forcing or limiting curriculum that barely scratches the surface of what students need to know for a robust education. It's not "higher" education if the student never climbs above the foothills (or even valleys) to the mountain top. Time to return to a Golden Age of education where attainment is more important than appeasement, where students encounter rigorous educators and not just bureaucratic facilitators.

***I blame the secondary education system for poorly training students to be better thinkers, communicators, and better-read BEFORE entering college.