Jesus the hero, part 3

As I worked to demonstrate last week, Jesus is a hero. More than that, he is an epic hero. Through his life and work he brings to pass the epic movement in the life of Israel and in the life of the church.

According to Dr. Louise Cowan, there are four "essence" characteristics of epic, which I've simplified with the terms Space, Time, Balance, and Motion. Jesus' life and work exemplifies and embodies each of these essence characteristics. Today, I intend to focus only on how Jesus life and work exemplifies the epic essence of Space.

SPACE

The term Space refers to the space in which mankind lives. In epic, this space is opened up or broadened. The "veil," which separates the natural and supernatural, the material and immaterial realms, is torn or lifted, allowing the hero to see and/or directly interact with the divine. Thus a more intimate relation between the hero and the divine is experienced, and the hero (and mankind by way of the hero) is thus able to see and understand and experience more than his typical space or region of habitation within the created world. In other words, his perception is broadened. In seeing the heavenly realm, the hero (and his people through the hero) is better able to understand and interact within the events and happenings of the physical realm.

We see this breaking through of the veil between mankind and the divine time and again within the life of Jesus. Given the fact that Jesus is divine, this is obvious, but it is no less true in terms of his incarnation as a man as well.

The events leading up to and surrounding his birth and the first couple years of his life demonstrate this opening up of space conclusively. Time and again, angels--heavenly or supernatural beings--appear in dreams, orchestrating how the arrival of the infant hero should be interpreted and handled, as well as how this new-born baby's life ought to be preserved. First, Jesus' earthly "father," Joseph, dreams before the baby is even born: the angel of The Lord appears to him and says, "do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins" (Matthew 1:20-22). Just in this brief interaction we hear divine intervention (the angel's message) and we see that there has been some sort of physical divine intervention as well, for Mary is a virgin yet she is with child by the work of God in the Holy Spirit.

Matthew, the narrator of these events, goes further in demonstrating that this is a unique rending of the barrier between God and mankind when he explains that this birth is a fulfillment of prophecy: "'Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,/and they shall call his name Immanuel' (which means, God is with us)" (Matthew 1:23). So this birth itself is a divine intervention, for in the form of this baby God himself is coming to dwell with mankind. The supernatural is going to be enfleshed in a natural body.

To ensure that this baby's significance is rightly understood and that he is allowed to live, more intervention is required. A star guides the wise men's way to this new-born king that is worthy of actual worship (Matthew 2:2). Herod, the current king, will have none of this, though he'll play along; he intends murder. To keep this from happening, angels appear in the wise men's dreams, indicating that they must not return to Herod. When Herod realizes he's been deceived by the wise me, he goes into a rage and kills all children under the age of two that have been born in the region where this new king has been born. Angels appear three times to Joseph in his dreams, first directing him to take the child and his mother to Egypt (Matthew 2:13-15), then directing him back to Israel (Matthew 2:19-21), then directing him to Galilee (Matthew 2:22-23).

So we see that without divine intervention and a breaking of the veil or barrier between the supernatural and the natural, Jesus' birth would not have happened, nor would his life have been preserved. So space is opened up, and people--Joseph and the wise men and Mary (if we remember that she, too, had dreams--see Luke 1:26-38)--are able to understand more fully what is happening here on the earthly plane because they've had direct contact with the supernatural or heavenly plane of existence.

And this divine interaction between God and man doesn't let up all through the life of Jesus. At Jesus' baptism, John the Baptist declares the coming work of the coming Messiah and then God the Father declares that this Jesus is that coming Messiah indeed (Matthew 3:1-17). Months later at what we call the transfiguration, Jesus will meet with God the father and Moses and Elijah (men who should be dead); God will again declare Jesus' identity (Matthew 17:1-13). Jesus himself will pray time and again, directly interacting with the divine (see Matthew 11:25-26; 26:36-44; John 11:41-42; 12:27-28; 17; etc.). His miracles show that he's connected to the divine--that he is divine. In Matthew 8-9 alone he shows he has control over sickness, the supernatural, the natural, sin, death, uncleanness, and physical deformities or birth defects. All these acts or miracles show that he has authority from beyond the pale of man. And let's not forget his death. The literal veil is torn when he dies (see Matthew 27:51-54), demonstrating this break in the barrier between God and man, the immaterial and the material realm. And, upon dying, Jesus goes to the "underworld," hades, surely a place mortals can't tread.

And then Jesus returns from Hades, from death, from the tomb. So not only does Jesus have a running communion with God the Father, not only does he speak and act with an authority given him from the supernatural (that is, God the Father), not only does he venture to the land of the dead, he actually returns. He is able to pass between the material and the physical, for all of space, all realms, are opened up to him.

All this demonstrates conclusively that the life and work of Jesus demonstrates the epic essence of Space. And, as we continue this study of how Jesus is epic, we'll see that his mission is to do the same for us: open up space, open up reality, open up understanding.

Jesus the hero, part 2

Earlier this week I began exploring how Jesus is an epic hero, as well as how his life and work reflects the essence characteristics that Dr. Louise Cowan discusses in her essay "Epic as Cosmopoesis." So far I've covered how his story demonstrates a split in the veil that separates the divine and the mortal. Secondly, I explained how Jesus, like other epic heroes stands at a place in time when a people or culture faces structural annihilation, and the hero must act to allow the people to be renewed or reformed.

Today I want to continue with Cowan's other two essence characteristics. I call the first of the two remaining characteristics "Balance." In epic, there is a restoration of balance between the masculine and the feminine. This doesn't necessarily mean equality, as we're so quick to jump upon these days when we speak of woman and men and gender roles, etc. What this means is that the balance between male and female, and the significance of each, is recognized and embraced in epic. The two complement each other and work together to bring to pass the epic movement. So, in the case of Jesus, a male, women or the feminine play a vital role in his life and ministry. He is born of a special woman--a virgin, chosen by God. He is anointed for burial by a woman. Women are the first witnesses and messengers of his resurrection. Time and again through his teaching and actions, Jesus affirms the dignity and honor of women. So in the life and work of Jesus, the feminine is significant and women play a part in his heroic action. (And, we could add that the church, the people Jesus came to teach and save and deliver to the Father, is a bride--feminine.)

The final essence characteristic that Cowan discusses in her essay is something I call "Motion." In epic, there is a linking between human history and divine destiny. The divine appears (as in the first essence characteristic), and directs man to his intended end, the one ordained or determined by God. Often times the hero and his action is a sort of gate or passage way to this divine destiny. Now, if this doesn't sound like the person and work of Christ, I'm not sure what does. Clearly Jesus came, speaking the words of God with all the authority of God, directing mankind toward the path we should be on. His death, burial, and resurrection make our destiny possible, wherein God will be our God and we will be his people.

~~~*~~~
I've merely scratched the surface here, I admit. Still, we see that although Jesus isn't like the typical epic hero, a la Achilles, Aeneas, or Jake Sully from Avatar, he is undoubtedly a hero and his work is unquestionably epic.

Jesus the hero

In the gospels we find Jesus, the epic hero.

No, he doesn't look anything like Achilles or Odysseus, Aeneas or Aragorn. He doesn't do physical slaying of his enemies, though we could argue that the Pharisees get a fair drubbing on many an occasion. He doesn't lead an army, though we could argue that he is building one--of a sort. He doesn't found or defend a city or nation in the sense that these other heroes do, though we could argue that founding and defending a city--the city of God--is exactly what he's doing.

So Jesus isn't a typical epic hero... but there can be no doubt that so much of what he does and works for is the very motivation, pursuit, and goal of the epic hero. But Jesus is no ordinary epic hero.

What I want to begin working through here are the four essence characteristics that Dr. Louse Cowan discusses in her essay "Epic as Cosmopoesis," and explain how the life and work of Jesus encapsulates each. Today I'll start with the first two.

First of all, in epic the "veil" or barrier between the divine and man, between the supernatural or immaterial realm and the natural or material realm, is opened up. Man is allowed a view of things and creatures that mere mortals are normally not privy to. In the case of Jesus, God the Father speaks to and of this man, his son. Time and again, Jesus and God the Father communicate in, and though we don't usually hear the voice of God the Father in the gospels (that is, his actual words aren't recorded), we know that Jesus is being heard, for his miracles demonstrate that he is heard (see the feeding of the 5,000 for example, Mark 6:30-44).

Secondly, in epic there is an awareness of all of time--past, present, and future. The hero himself lives at a time of utmost importance, a time when the culture of a people group faces possible structural annihilation. The hero is well aware of where his people have been and he knows the possible or prophesied future to where they head. He also often knows--and this is the great weight the hero bears--that he must act or execute a certain function or play a certain role in his present, or the destined or commanded future will not arrive. In many ways (all ways?), the potential future of his people rests on his shoulders.

Clearly this describes Jesus and the time and place when and where he arrives on the scene. He is the Jewish messiah, the promised coming king, who is to bring to fulfillment all that the Jewish people have longed and looked for. He is the climax of their story and the one who will renew God's people and institute a new way to live and move and have being in the Kingdom of God. And... we could say more. The point is, Jesus is all these things, BUT if he doesn't act then the hoped for renewed city and culture and kingdom won't come. All is lost unless God intervenes and his Son the hero carries out his mission.

~~~*~~~
So we're on our way to briefly explaining how Jesus is an epic hero. Later this week we'll explore how Jesus embodies the other two essence characteristics that Cowan describes in her essay.

For now, let me know what you think of this. Does it make sense? Is this a viable way to see and understand the person and work of Jesus?

A New Look

It's been over a week since my last post--the longest I've been away for months. But, as you can see, I was working on a new look, a new feel to the site.

This isn't a drastic change, but perhaps what I have now is more readable than gray on black.

On another note, have you ever noticed how being frustrated or discouraged about something can lead you to just give up on it altogether? (Of course you have, right?) Last weekend I spent hours reading about and experimenting with another platform for this blog. I contacted customer support. I looked at other blogs. Then Monday rolled around and I didn't want to have anything to do with this blog--nothing to do with redesigning, experimenting, posting, reading.

I didn't go so far as to abandon the blog altogether, for I'm back again with another post. But I have given up on things because of frustration or discouragement. The biggest, most dramatic abandonments? People. Specifically, girlfriends when I was in high school and college. I gave up on people--people!--because the interaction/communication/give-and-take became frustrating or discouraging. Just walked away.

With such an attitude, it's a wonder I've been married as long as I have. Looking around me, reading statistics of divorce and abandonment, this issue give up attitude was/is obviously not isolated to me.

~~~*~~~
I state the obvious. But my little frustrating set-back last weekend reminded me that discouragement and frustration doesn't have to reign over us. We don't have to be cowards, quitters, or anger mongers when things don't go our way or as we'd hoped. We need reminders of who we are, of what we've committed to, of what work we've been called to do in this wide world. Sometimes we need break or room to breathe because our lives can be so noisy that we can't hear or feel the reminders that are constantly coming our way.

It took me a week for my ears and heart and mind to remember that I've committed to trying to think things through in my life--to living more intentionally and self-consciously. Much of the time, I do this thinking through writing. Like Flannery O'Connor explained, "I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say." 

So that's why I have this blog. I figured others of you out there are much the same way. Maybe some of my introspection and efforts at making thoughtful observations about my small-sphered life and experience will move some of you to do the same with your life.

So I've got a (slightly) new look here to Thinking Things Through and a re-memory of why I have this blog in the first place. Thanks for coming along and reading about the ride.

Being disected

Have you ever read something just to, well, get through it? No doubt, this is the plight of students everywhere. "Just gotta get through this... just gotta get through... ." It could be an assignment for school or work, or even an article or a book a friend recommended and you feel obligated to "read" it. The pile of books and magazines to read is ever growing. Add blogs to that, if you happen to be a blog reader (and I say thankya).

What about the Bible? Ever read it just to get through and check it off your list of... whatever list it is you have for yourself? (Yeah, I know. There are a ton of issues with this attitude, but I don't want to address them here and now.)

Often times, we approach texts the wrong way. We seek to plow through but the texts never get through to us. This is especially true of the Scriptures. There are loads of books out there that speak to us, but the Bible is a book that speaks to us and reads us. It's not always a pleasant thing being read, but we so desperately need a good reading and often.

Hence the need for meditation on the Bible. It is food for the soul and we need it to get into us. To get through us. As Mark Batterson puts it in his book Primal, "If the goal of reading is to get through the Bible, the goal of meditation is to get the Bible through us." This getting the Bible through us takes time and effort. But the work is good and the results are healthful.

I've often read the Bible like it was some sort of cadaver to be dissected and analyzed and pulled apart so I could argue it, often against other Christians, sad to say. What I need is a dissecting myself, that I might see and, perhaps, show others that they too might see and savor the glory of God (Piper-influence phrase, I admit).

Steve Schlissel says it well: "The word of God is a living and active sword, not a cadaver awaiting dissection." May you and I be dissected today, that we might be healthier tomorrow.

The song speaks for me because it speaks to me

I mentioned last week that I've been learning about how to encourage and help my daughters--and teenagers in general--deal with the, well, drama of being a teenager. The difficulties of growing up, learning how to relate to peers and parents, learning to feel comfortable in one's own skin, can be overwhelming. I know, none of this is new. It's not like this is some new era in the history of teens.

What was new to me was realizing that I don't have the diagnosis, nor do I necessarily have to have one when the moments of intense struggle come. I simply need to be present, to empathize, to have compassion. My voice and my solutions are just insufficient sometimes. 

After speaking with my daughter on a calm, open and personal level, I went to church and went about the typical routine of our Wednesday nights. This meant that when it came time for youth Bible study (which I teach), I would lead us in songs. When I sat down to play and sing, the youth weren't there yet, so I played a U2 song from the 80s--"Where the Streets Have No Name."

Now I love U2. I've listened on and off to The Joshua Tree album since it came out in 1987. I think it's one of the greatest collections of songs made during my lifetime. I know that "Where the Streets Have No Name" was a tremendous hit. I know the words--by heart, as it were. But I don't think they ever really spoke to me until that night, when I was open to my daughter and open to introspection and words in general. They sang to me... and for me.

I want to run
I want to hide
I want to tear down the walls
That hold me inside
I want to reach out
And touch the flame
Where the streets have no name

I want to feel sunlight on my face
I see the dust cloud disappear
Without a trace
I want to take shelter from the poison rain
Where the streets have no name

It felt like these words were written for me. More than that, it felt like they were written for my daughter. How true is it that teenagers (all of us?) want to run and hide, yet want to be open and free from the constraints that bind us inside of ourselves? We want sunlight and a sort of cleansing, AND protection from what will poison us. Right?

~~~*~~~

So here's my thought before I bore you away: Songs speak for us. You and I probably know this, but I'm not so sure how aware of it we are, how conscious of it we are. Teenagers may not be able to articulate that this is so, but they know it as well as we do. I really think this is a big part of why music is so important to teenagers. These singers and song writers--perhaps poets, at least in the sense that they speak what is in our hearts and minds and longings--are a voice for us when we can't find our own. They've put into words and sounds what our internal self needs to say and/or hear. 

So to my daughter and to the teenagers and to the adults that can still relate to all this, I encourage you to find the songs. Find the songs that speak to you. Find the songs that speak for you. We may feel alone in this wide world, but the songs sing this clear truth: we're not.

Meeting teenage meltdowns with community

Teenager meltdowns are not uncommon. The issues tend to be minor, but the drama is thick and heavy. Often teenagers feel overwhelmed with anger, loneliness, frustration, confusion, insecurity, angst, etc., or any combination of all of the above. For the teenager, more days than he or she can count are the times that try men's souls. Such was the case when I was a teenager; such is the case with the students where I teach; such is the case with my daughters.

I'll not attempt to diagnose this, for as I said, there are so many ingredients that can and do go into the mix that can result in meltdown. I'm not doctor or psychologist. However, I will say that my best prognosis--what works best in my house and at the school where I teach--is not trying to solve my all the problems, not criticizing (a mistake, I admit, I've made before), not pointing out the pettiness of it all, not being outraged and touting threats at or about all the jerks in the world.

What "works" best for my daughters or students is calmly listening; what works best is relating similar experiences that I've had; what works best is not casting judgments. There's no magic in this, no medicine, no therapy, but somehow doing these things works like magic or medicine, somehow doing these things is therapeutic.

I know that the stereotypical thought or assumption is that students think adults don't understand them. While it is true that some parents or adults can't (or won't) understand the troubles of a young person, the truth remains that the young person is, well, a person. Listening, relating similar experiences, and not casting judgments allow us to interact as equals in terms of our being, in terms of our humanity. In other words, when I approach my daughters or one of my students in the manner I've described, we are able to freely interact with each other as two people struggling through life. The father-daughter or leader-follower or teacher-student relationships (depending on the parties involved and the circumstances at hand) are suspended for a time.

I've found that in such times of teenage emotional crisis I don't have to have answers because my daughter or student doesn't necessarily need answers. What he or she needs most is me. Not me the parent or teacher, but me the person. When I give my daughter or a student me the person, he or she isn't necessarily "cured" or "fixed" or "problem solved," but he or she is comforted in some way that I can't exactly explain. He or she is somehow pulled out of self and into me and my life, as I'm drawn into his or hers. It's a reciprocal meeting, a moment of community.

And such moments of community? I don't know, but I can't help but think there's something strangely therapeutic about them.

I really ought to pray

God has ordained that he will be moved by prayer. He actually wants to hear his people's prayers and intends to be persuaded by them, at least some of the time.

A case in point: When Abimelech took Abraham's wife, Sarah, the Lord confronted him and said, "You are dead man because of the woman whom you have taken, for she is a man's wife" (Genesis 20:3).

Abimelech protests, ending his prayer with "In the integrity of my heart and the innocence of my hands I have done this" (20:5).

Clearly, Abimelech's hands are not innocent, for he took a woman. However, the Lord acknowledges the integrity of the man's heart: "Yes, I know that you have done this in the integrity of your heart, and it was I who kept you from sinning against me."

We could argue that this exchange between Abimelech and the Lord is a prayer dialogue of sorts. However, God does not respond to Abimelech's protest with a deliverance from the trouble he's caused himself by taking a woman. Rather, God gives him directions on how to rectify the situation: Abimelech is to return Sarah to Abraham.

What is interesting in regard to this brief discussion on prayer is the reasoning God has behind this returning of Sarah to Abraham. God says, "return the man's wife, for he is a prophet, so that he will pray for you, and you shall live." Do you see the three purposes for returning Sarah?

1. Abraham is a prophet

2. He will pray for Abimelech

3. Abimelech will live (and not die, which would be the consequence for not returning Sarah)

Now if this is a prayer dialogue, and God is hearing Abimelech, why can't Abimelech make the case for himself? Rather, why doesn't God answer the case Abimelch makes for himself with a favorable answer? The simplest answer (and I know this is a complex scenario) seems to be that God intends to hear Abraham's plea. He intends to hear the prayer of his prophet. Why?

Because God has ordained that he will hear the prayers of his people.

And this means he will hear prayers from his people on behalf of others. He will be moved favorably toward others based on the faith and requests of his people.

~~~*~~~

If it is true that God hears the prayers of his people, then why don't we pray more earnestly? Why don't we pray more broadly? Why don't we pray... at all?

I ask this not as an indictment, but rather as a realization and as a confession. I believe all that I've said--and more--about prayer, yet I am unmoved to make prayers as I ought... as I need... as is healthy for my heart and soul.

If you get a chance or feel the urge, let me know your thoughts on prayer. How often do you pray? Do you have any pointers or wisdom on prayer?

Love feeds love

On Monday I discussed Trevor Nunn's version of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night and how love, when bestowed, opens people up. Love has the startling power to draw people out of themselves, out of their woes and worries, out of their hang-ups. It is a wonder.

As Spring begins to burn hot, as the school year begins to wind down, as anticipation of graduation swells in hopeful chests, I still see many students with downcast or anxious eyes. Sure, some of the problem is apathy or the so-called "senioritis" (as I've discussed over the last couple of weeks); but much of what is going on in my students and in myself is a growing sense of urgency--for whatever reason. Many here at school are walking the halls, wrestling our way through classes and days and homework (when they do it) , trying to just make it by. All the students are racing toward summer. The seniors are racing toward their mini-consumation--GRADUATION. Their all racing in the same direction, toward similar goals... and yet... there's somehow a hollowness in the midst of all the anticipation.

I don't know the direct cause of the blank or wandering, focus-less gazes I see. I DO know that many of these floundering students need encouragement. Reminders. A gentle push.

Love.
~~~*~~~

At the end of this day and all the struggles these teenagers feel--that I feel as a teacher and parent--all of us need feeding and the food we need is love. I know this may sound like a spectacularly obvious assessment, but I see so many of us who call ourselves educators, parents, friends miss this point. Rather than seeking to feed this need for love (and all that love carries along with it), we sometimes have that tendency to withdraw from the students or worse, we follow them into their hazy, hungry state and neglect to be fed ourselves so that we might, in turn, be feeders.

Love feeds love. We need to be fed with love and support--from colleagues, friends, family, students, speakers, authors, etc.--so that we can feed.

It's spring. Go find invigoration, go find, learning, go find love. You might have to try hard to do this, especially if you're weary with the work set before us. DO IT! It's worth the labor, for you and for those in your charge.

Don't join the hollow stare. Fill it.

"Love feeds love and I believe that
love bleeds when it doesn't get enough." ~Wayne Kirkpatrick

Love draws out love

Believing that the masquerading Viola is a young man in Trevor Nunn's film adaptation of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night is a bit of a stretch. Still, that aside, her character in the play demonstrates a very important aspect of the powerful affects of love on both the lover and the loved.

She poses as a man so she might serve in Duke Orsino's court. He is pining away for the Countess Olivia, who will have none of his wooing affections. The Duke gets the happy idea that his new page, Cesario (who, unbeknownst to him is really Viola dressed in man's garb), might be able to go to Olivia's court, present the Duke's plea of love, and win over the lady with his (her) youth.

The idea is a long shot, considering Viola has sworn she will see no man for seven years because she needs to mourne the loss of her brother. She is closed up within herself. Enter Viola disguised as Cesario. She enters Lady Olivia's dark drawing room (well, it's dark in director Trevor Nunn's film version of the play) and soon persuades Olivia to lift her veil. Likewise, she draws back the curtains, letting the sun's startling light fill the room. To top it all off, Cesario and Olivia go out the door, into the open, airy gardens of Olivia's manor.

Just a story? Maybe. But what Trevor Nunn has captured of Shakespeare's vision is this: when a lover bestows affections, gifts, or even unflinchingly honest words (as Viola does), the loved person is opened up, just as Olivia's veil, curtain and parlor door are opened in the film. They are opened up and drawn out of themselves. And that, indeed, is a happy hope for those of us shut in or shut down or shut up.