“Wow! That Person Really Knows the Bible!”

“Wow! That person really knows the Bible!” I hear that comment made fairly often, and I always wonder what the speaker means.

Usually they mean that someone is quite familiar with the words of the Bible, its many facts and wonderful stories, etc. On one level, that’s great, since most studies these days show that the general level of factual Bible knowledge among even Christians is appalling.

But then I wonder, how much does that person whose Bible knowledge is being touted really understand about God’s written revelation? For example, how much does he understand about the various types of literature that are contained in the Scriptures? Does she realize that being serious about learning what a particular book of the Bible has to teach means being serious enough to learn something about its context and setting? And on we could go.

I don’t doubt for a moment that one doesn’t have to have credentials as a Bible scholar to derive great blessing from simply reading the Bible and learning about the amazingly Good News of God’s love; but neither do I doubt that biblical “malpractice” and mistaken “theories” that sound good on the surface are most easily promulgated by folks who haven’t had the training truly needed to swim in the deeper ends of the pool; they are easily misled and often mislead others whether they have great intentions or not.

Interestingly, those who have worked the hardest and studied the longest to truly know the most about the facts, the message, and the meaning of the Bible are the very last to ever claim to know much about it at all. You might as well claim to truly know every “corner” of the Milky Way, and only the most foolish and blind astronomer would ever make that claim.

I’ve been enjoying Dr. Eugene Peterson’s memoir The Pastor. One of Peterson’s most truly wise and learned teachers at the Johns Hopkins University was Professor William Albright, then perhaps the world’s leading scholar in biblical archaeology and Semitic studies.

Peterson says that one day Dr. Albright walked into the classroom greatly excited. For years scholars had been debating the exact location (and meaning) of Mount Moriah, where Abraham had “bound Isaac for sacrifice.” Dr. Albright had awakened that morning to suddenly realize that he had discovered some very important answers. He stood before his doctoral students and laid it all out, filling the chalkboard with Ugaritic, Arabic, Assyrian, Aramaic, and Hebrew words pertinent to the issue. He’d gone on for twenty minutes when one of his best students raised his hand and asked, “But Dr. Albright, what about . . .”

Peterson says that the Professor stopped, considered for twenty seconds, and said, “Mr. Williams is right—forget everything I have said.” Amazing humility! And true humility is always impressive.

Most folks don’t even begin to realize how much we are blessed by those like the good professor and so many others who have devoted their lives to helping us better understand God’s written word.

May we never forget that the real purpose of God’s written revelation—every page—is to help us know and become like the Lord behind it. Knowing its facts but not its Author would be sad indeed. The more we truly know of Him the more truly humble we will become.

    You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2020 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“What Might Be Filed in a ‘Column Seed’ Folder?”

Two or three folders stuffed with little pieces of paper covered in scrawled notes. A computer file folder named “ColumnSeed” with files named “ColSeed0001” and on up, presently, to “ColSeed0334.” What each of those folders holds, of course, are ideas for newspaper columns/blogs and now, podcasts.

The column-starter ideas submerged in them (though most are relatively benevolent) are a bit like the nuclear missiles resting in submarines and silos: they are usually out of sight, but I feel better knowing they are there.

I almost never look at them. When I do, I am reminded of why I almost never look at them.

Most of them seemed good to me at the time, but now seem weak, at best, and completely unneeded and uninteresting, at worst.

More than a few of them seemed timely at the time. That time is not now. The week I handed a diploma to a son, a few of those ideas were fresh, and I wrote about one of them. The week each of my grandchildren was born, I was overflowing with gratitude. Still am. But it’s another time in those sweet lives. Even the “bug emergency” a granddaughter brought to my attention regarding bugs adrift at sea in our backyard wading pool, well, was an emergency then. And I wrote about it, and I’m glad. But a few such noted moments are notes past their “sell by” date now.

Most of my column-starter notes, as I mentioned, are benevolent in tone, but not all. [Note the preceding sentence. Notice how much can be done with differing combinations of N O T E S in just one sentence. Are words not wonderful?]

Some of my not-so-benevolent notes are actually complete columns that I wrote while ticked off. Writing them delivered me of a gut-load of fury—righteous, self-righteous, or otherwise—but they never needed to see the light of day. I am not, you understand, saying that they were untrue. But Scripture tells us that truth-speaking should be done “in love.” Even if your point is ever so true and desperately needs to be made, skewering someone with pointed truth heated by blistering anger is much more “aggression” than it is “love.” It never helps.

So the angry columns—and, I’m pleased to say that they are few in number—helped me at the time but will help others only by staying where they are. All of which, by the way, is a good reminder that anything you write quickly as a text, a social media “shot” or reply, etc., should be allowed to marinate a bit before you fire it off. Many people, I’m told, even some national leaders and famous folks, don’t have enough discipline to just wait a couple of minutes for their blistering note and hot head to cool off; they just launch the missile. Almost always a mistake. Most mature third-graders know better than to behave that way.

Some of my notes seemed funny or witty at the time, I guess; they are not now.

Some were written in a crisis time. Crisis times are nothing I enjoy, but the shock sometimes lights off brain cells. Some of those (few) notes seem to have come from a scorched brain; others, more worthwhile, are more interesting but the fizz has gone out of the soda. (And I’m glad.)

So, there. Looking for something to write about, I just shared some thoughts on “column seed” and am saved from having to scratch out on a note to stick in a folder: “Write about how to keep ideas available on stuff to write about.” Whatever ColSeed0335 turns out to be, it won’t be that one.

I probably wouldn’t look at it anyway. In my experience, ideas for stuff worth writing about don’t come out of a dusty file; they come from the story the Author of life is always busy writing all around us. I just need to be still long enough to open my eyes and notice.

He’s not called “the Word” for nothing.

 

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2020 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“Why Didn’t I See That Wreck Coming?”

Some wrecks you simply cannot see coming; others, well, it’s almost criminal negligence not to see them heading your way. The latter can and should be avoided.

If you are busy minding your own business as a good citizen when you are suddenly dispatched (tragically, for sure) by falling space junk, or perhaps by a less flashy but nonetheless spectacular, garden variety meteorite, I don’t see how anyone could rationally criticize you for not seeing the danger coming.

Of course, we’re so incredibly enlightened now that we can’t criticize anyone for anything. If we’re nailed on the noggin and nullified by a statue we’re busy pulling down, say, of a Confederate general or Mother Theresa (ours is not to reason why), and we are not city workers doing our job after a legal city council vote or city-wide “Does This Statue Offend Us?” referendum . . .

If we’re just short of other things to do, enjoy a good protest or riot, are full of ourselves and our victim-hood (whatever the issue and whatever our color, economic class, intelligence or lack thereof), and relish mayhem, and the statue we’re destroying accidentally destroys us, I don’t know that we’d have a lot to complain about. Vandalizing public property carries with it inherent risks that should not surprise us. Once upon a time, one of those risks was being arrested.

Some problems can’t be avoided, but others? Is it really necessary to light a cigarette while filling a gasoline can? Or why not just get out of the way of the speeding train? You saw it coming, right? Loud whistle. Bright light. In the name of all that still makes sense in this crazy world, why did you stand there and wait for its kiss—and then expect others to clean up and mourn the mess as being unpredictable?

And now, in the midst of an already crazy time comes Election Day rumbling down the track. If you’d be ecstatic over the choice between a proctological exam or a root canal, you’ll love this one. Even more lovely is the serious possibility that it will be Election Month (or worse).

In a recent issue of The Wall Street Journal, Daniel Henninger writes that looking ahead at the coming election is like sitting in a boat about to plunge over Niagara Falls: any fool can see trouble coming.

He’s specifically talking about the mail-in ballots. Fraud possibilities aside (which seem very real to me), he’s talking about the widely varying state to state post-marking, acceptance, and verification rules for mail-in ballots. WSJ polling, he says, suggests that 66% of Trump voters plan to vote in person, and 75% of Biden voters say they’ll vote by mail. Interesting. But it means, basically, “parallel elections for the same office.”

I recently received four of the same item in the mail. Why? Because of mail delays—“item presumed lost”—the store tried three different times to mail me the same product. All of their tries finally, but very tardily, succeeded. I really don’t blame the USPS. The pandemic has their boat loaded. One might say that they are paddling near Niagara Falls. Already. And obviously.

So, writes Henninger, we see the problem coming. It’s headed our way. The wreck is completely predictable. Some states (wisely) require mail-in ballots to be received by Election Day (by close of polls) to be counted. So mail it very early; if you don’t, and it’s not counted, no whining. Some states say ballots must be postmarked by Nov. 2 or 3, but we’ll count them until X days after the election (or if they arrive before Easter in years when the big rodent saw his shadow on the previous Groundhog Day; just kidding on that last). Most states require that the voter have a pulse when he/she marks the mail-in ballot. (Kidding again. I’m not sure California or New Jersey require a pulse.)

Anyway, we’re just gonna watch this happen, singing “Row, row, row your boat merrily down the stream” as the thunder of the falls resounds and the spray hits us in the face? Really?

Such idiocy is breathtaking. We better work on fixing this now.

But before I get too haughty, perhaps I should recall how many times I’ve ignored my Father’s clear warnings and wise counsel, been utterly foolish or rebelliously disobedient, “sowed the wind” and “reaped the whirlwind.” Yes, and then acted surprised by the wreck!?

    You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2020 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“A Good Door-knocker, I Am Not!”

I might as well just admit it: I am not a good door-knocker.

Knock, knock. Who’s there? Probably not me, or you’d not have heard the clatter.

I don’t like to make noise. I like peace and quiet and assume that others do, too, so I tend to knock too quietly. Nor do I enjoy having to stand outside a door as I realize that I knocked too tentatively and that it’s probably my own fault that I’m standing there, waiting, wondering if anyone is home, if anybody heard my wimpy knock, and how long I should wait before knocking (apologetically) again.

Knocking, by its very nature, seems intrusive. I don’t like to bother people. I’d starve as a door-to-door salesman, religious pamphlet passer-outer, etc., for all of the reasons above—and more. If, when the door-knocker knocks, he’s praying that no one is home, he is not well-suited for door-knocking.

But some people are.

Like the guy in Jesus’ parable in Luke 11.

It seems to me the fellow is a few slices short of a loaf. Actually, he’s three loaves short of “enough for company.” Oh, and he’s “you.”

Don’t be offended, but “you” are a little clueless in this parable. It is, however, Jesus’ story and not mine. And the Lord calls him “you.”

You show up at a friend’s house at midnight. Unannounced. You shouldn’t have. Granted, you’d have had to wait about two thousand years to call or text ahead, but you shouldn’t have done that, either. No way to shine this up.

You knocked. Loudly. With authority. (Even though you have none.) I’m sorry, but, if this is you, I figure “you” stand in people’s personal space and talk too loudly even at decent hours. Spittle sputter. Buzzard breath. You may be a tad short of friends.

But you’ve rattled the timbers around this particular soon-to-be-former friend’s door. At midnight.

Three-quarters asleep, he stumbles over and manages to raise the bedroom window: “Hey, fool, we’re trying to sleep here! The lights are out, the door’s locked, and my kids are finally asleep—or at least they were. Go away!” Where I live, we’re more civilized. We might just forgo the filibuster, cock the .45, and growl, “Git!”

But “you” plead your case. Another friend has shown up for a visit, and you don’t have a morsel or crumb anywhere in the house. You figure a loan of three loaves of bread will be enough. Wheat, not white. Mind wrapping it up?

“Are you daft? No!” Please? “No!” You sure? “For heaven’s sake, let me sleep!” Just this once?

The window slams shut. Curtains pulled. Unprintable snarls. A baby’s yowling.

Louder unprintable growls. Heavy steps. Bolts sliding. A door flung open. More snarls. A package of, presumably, three loaves shoved in your chest. A door slammed in your face.

You probably won’t be doing a garage sale together anytime soon. But you got the bread.

Why? Jesus says it’s because you’re a loud jerk. Well, he calls you “shamelessly persistent.”

The Lord tells this story in the midst of some of his most amazing teaching on prayer. And he is telling us something important about our Father. Above all, notice that this is not a comparison, it’s a contrast. 

We’re not obnoxious neighbors who get on God’s nerves; we’re the sons and daughters in whom he delights.

So keep asking, seeking, knocking. It’s your Father’s deepest joy to open the door to his children.

Anytime. Any time. Any time at all.

   

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2020 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.