Abigail: Peace and security

"Peace is confused with safety. There is no way to peace along the way to safety. For peace must be dared. It can never be safe. Peace is the opposite of security.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I've been thinking about this Bonhoeffer quote and how true it seems to me. Why do we so often confuse security with peace? If we could understand that security and peace were two different things, would that change everything? Would we become less fixated on "security?" (Of course, Bonhoeffer is talking about worldly security, not religious security.)

On the largest level, we believe that if our borders are "secure" no "enemies" can get through and we will have peace.

We believe--some of us--that if we have a big enough arsenal of weapons, we will be secure from the mayhem of a "home invasion."

In our private lives, perhaps we think if we have enough financial security--enough money in the bank--we will have peace of mind. We won't have to worry in case something "happens". But the lesson of history is that you can never have enough.

These "securities" separate us from our fellow humans. Instead of making us more secure, they make us more fearful of the people who might want what we have.

Achieving peace means allowing ourselves to be vulnerable to other people. It means sacrificing some of our security.

One of my favorite Bible stories is the tale of Abigail, a peacemaker.

David--later to become Israel's king-- was fleeing Saul, who was trying to kill him. David sends some of his men to ask Nabal, a wealthy landowner, for a present, presumably food, because David and his men have been guarding Nabal's vast flocks. Nabal dismisses David's men empty handed, referring to David as a "slave." David tells his men to buckle on their swords and vows to slaughter Nabal and everyone associated with him.

Since Nabal is more or less worthless, Abigail, his wife, acts without consulting him. She has raisins and bread, figs and wine, loaded on donkeys and with these gifts and some sheep goes out to greet David. She falls down in front of him and begs him not to slaughter her people, appealing to his peace of mind. When he is a great king, he won't want to have innocent blood on his hands.

David calms down, accepts her gift and blesses her for preventing him from shedding blood out of anger. He vows not to harm anyone and he doesn't. Shortly thereafter, when Nabal, who appears to be an alcoholic, dies of a seizure, David marries Abigail.

What do we learn from this story?

First, a conflict can be resolved without killing. Nobody dies through violence in this episode. This is somewhat remarkable for the Old Testament, in which violence is the normal way to solve conflicts. Abigail does not feel any inclination to, for example, hammer a tent peg through her husband’s skull—and David doesn’t ask her to.

Second, no treachery is involved. Abigail approaches David without consulting Nabal but she does it to save Nabal, not betray him. Further, David doesn’t ask her to betray him or her people.

Third, to attempt peace, Abigail has to act courageously. She has to become vulnerable. She has no guarantee that David won’t murder her and her party, and good reason to think he will. She also has no guarantee that David won’t kidnap and rape her or sell her into slavery. Peace making means risk taking.

Fourth, here the patriarchal male is not the savior of the people. In a crisis, a “young man” turns to Abigail. Her earned de facto leadership rights trump Nabal’s gender and de jure headship, undercutting the notions of “anointed” leadership emphasized in the previous story, in which David protects Saul--even though Saul wants to kill him-- because he’s a king. This dovetails with the Quaker notion that anybody can be chosen by God to be a leader, messenger or peace maker.

Fifth, Abigail appeals to David’s honor and imagination, telling him he won’t want to wake up one morning as king with a massacre on his conscience. She talks him down from his anger—and he’s grateful. He even admits the slaughter would have been wrong. From this, we learn of a yearning to be released from the endless cycle of violence. Thus, this story undercuts the heroic narrative of David as warrior king, at least raising the question: Is military leadership the right model of kingship or has it been forced on David? And how many people wish an Abigail would step forward at the right moment and prevent a bloodbath that seems inevitable?

Finally, we learn that vows can be broken. Minds can change. David, like Jesus in the story of the Syro-Phoenician women, listens and learns. This shows that we have the ability to break cycles of violence through empathy. We’re not required to be rigid.

I love Abigail. While the men are posturing, she's peacemaking. I love her story, because it shows we don't have to resort to violence.

Is there anything you'd like to add?

Broadening our DNA

Earlham School of Religion functions in tandem with Bethany, a Church of the Brethren seminary, sharing campus space, courses and programs. For example, two of my classes are under the auspices of Bethany. I think this is healthy for Quakers, who can get insular and ingrown and then suspicious of outsiders. Thus I was interested in a blog article on the need for faith groups to widen their "gene pool" at http://biblical.edu/index.php/media/missional-journal: You have to click on the pdf for Founder's Effect. ( I found this through the Jesus Creed site.)

It noted the need for incorporating the message of marginalized groups into the faith discussion, noting that mainstream, evangelical Christianity is dominated almost entirely by white voices and white, middle-class perspectives.

Hat Honor, oaths, thee and thou for today?

This blog is raw thought, a work in progress...

I have been thinking a lot lately about hat honor, oaths and thee/thouing.

All of these sticky points caused a great deal of trouble for early Quakers. Seventeenth century England, as I understand it, was loosely analogous in its hierarchy to the military today. Everybody had a place in the order of being and everyone did the equivalent of saluting and saying "sir" to one's superiors.

Quakers refused to do that. They would not take off their hats (or bow) to social superiors, and they would not address their superiors with the plural "you," instead insisting on addressing them with the commonplace, singular thee and thou. They would not swear oaths.

Last night, as I was reading Rosemary Moore's The Light in their Conscience, a book about the early Friends, I learned something new: in both hat honor and oath taking, the wealthy and powerful were often treated as above the law. Moore quotes Fox, writing in 1657, that "If a Lord of an Earl come into your courts, you will hardly fine him for putting off his hat ... but it is the poor that suffer." (120.) Likewise oaths. Not only were oaths forbidden in the Bible, they "could also be a form of social distinction, as oath-taking was rarely required of the gentry." (120)

This underscores the extent to which faith practices and social justice issues wove together for the early Quakers. The early Friends were not resisting these customs or laws merely out of principle, but both from principle (religious conviction) AND from solidarity with the poor and oppressed.

I imagine, however, that most, if not all, of the poor would take off their hats or swear oaths when commanded. What apparently galled the Quakers were that these customs reinforced the lowly status of the poor and the privilege of the rich-- this was not the way things should function in the Kingdom of God.

But shouldn't the Quakers have not "sweated the small stuff," as we now say? Aren't we always saying that? We say "just suck it up." We say, "just chill, dude." Should the early Quakers have " just sucked it up?" How hard is it, after all, simply to lift your hand and take your hat off your head? Isn't it as easy to say "you" as "thee?" To swear the oath? Was it worth going to jail for these gestures and potentially losing your property, your livelihood, and in some cases, your life? Shouldn't the Quakers have just chilled and picked more important battles?

Leaving aside that it's fairly clear they weren't "picking," but following the promptings of the spirit, the Light, Jesus Christ incarnate in their hearts, what about us? Do we suck it up too much, suppressing the Light that tells us to protest petty injustice? Do we decide it's "it's not worth it?" Do we rationalize--use reason--where God is asking us to act from the heart?

It's clear that the "small" gestures of the early Quakers--not taking off their hats, not theeing and thouing--sent tremors through the society disproportionate to the gestures themselves. They were powerful symbols of a new way of living. They were simple acts affirming human dignity that resonate with us to this day.

It seems to me that we are living in a society that has become more stratified, in which the rich are richer and the poor are poorer. The stakes are higher for the poor--and even the middle classes--who are more apt than ever to "suck up" petty indignities because the abyss looms so close. For the rich, the stakes are lower than ever--they can heap on the petty humiliations--not deliberately, but because they don't have to think-- with greater ease because, well, if person A doesn't like a situation, person B is waiting in line for the job. It is a society in which, paraphrasing Dorothy Day, it is becoming harder, not easier, to be good. Which perhaps makes it all the more incumbent on people of conscience to insist on the good.

It seems more clear to me than ever that--as the Spirit directs, let me emphasize, as the Spirit directs--we need to stand up to the small injustices. These function--as hat honor did--as the stand-ins for the bigger social injustices that sweep across our culture. One example (and I am groping here to be concrete) might be cashiers who have to stand all day--why can't they have stools? Well, we are told they are "lucky to have jobs." In the grand scheme of things is a stool such a big deal? No, but if we agree as Christians or Quakers that all people should be treated with dignity and respect, that we should do unto others ... shouldn't we raise some questions?

Or should we just chill out?

Old Testament women: Were they "Quakers?"

How do we get "religion"--ritual, rules, the doctrines and dogmas that subtly twist the faith into something it's not meant to be--out of the way without losing our moorings? This is, of course, near and dear to the Quaker heart, perhaps always running in the back of our minds, but now forefronted for me.

In the early books of the Old Testament, several women take matters into their own hands and do the right thing without--according to the text--being explicitly told to do so.

In one example, when the Israelites are enslaved in Egypt, Pharaoh tells the midwives Shiphrah and Puah to kill the sons born to Hebrew women. They decide not to--and don't. (Moses, in contrast, has to hear explicitly from God in the burning bush about freeing his people. Why do you think people like Moses had to receive explicit instructions from God?)

Earlier on, Rebekah too, makes independent decisions. She's caught in a system of primogeniture which will give headship and the wealth of the clan arbitrarily to the firstborn of her twin sons, whether or not he is the most fit for the task. Esau, the firstborn, hotheaded and impulsive, doesn't necessarily put the needs of the community ahead of his own. Jacob, however, is thoughtful and deliberate.

It has always bothered me that Rebekah used trickery to gain the blessing and birthright for Jacob. It betrayed her oldest child. It seemed cruel to interfere and favor one child over the other. I wondered what it must have done to Esau to know his mother thought so little of him.

On the other hand, the system of inheritance that gave all the spoils to the oldest son was also potentially--inherently-- cruel. It penalized Jacob for the accident of being born a few minutes after Esau. (It hit me for the first time that it's probably not incidental that Esau and Jacob were twins: it underscores the arbitrariness of primogeniture: In this instance, you can't make a case that the older son's age makes a difference). But even this is not the real issue.

I'm now seeing Rebekah as a wise woman, with little power in her social structure, using what power she had not to promote a favored son, but to help safeguard the clan as a whole. This was not just a domestic matter but a higher stakes situation in which the entire group would suffer if the wrong person ended up in charge. Rebekah acted to benefit the community as a whole. Jacob was more fit to lead, and Rebekah, rather than stand by helplessly, used her wits to subvert an arbitrary system. Primogeniture was a form, not a thing to be idolized for itself, but a means for preserving the community intact rather than dividing and subdividing its wealth into ever small parcels. Rebekah, in acting as she did, preserved the intention, if not the letter, of that law.

These stories are hopeful and address the need to challenge systems that are not working for the benefit of the community. They teach that one compelling way to speak truth to power is simply to do the right thing.

But what does this have to do with getting religion out of the way? These women had such a close relationship with God that they didn't let arbitrary structures of authority get in the way of doing the humane/human/image of Godlike thing. They obeyed the inner light. They didn't get confused by doctrine or custom. In the end, the Bible affirmed their choices.

Are We Gadgets?

From http://www.amazon.com/You-Are-Not-Gadget-Manifesto/dp/0307269647:

Question: You argue the web isn’t living up to its initial promise. How has the internet transformed our lives for the worse?

Jaron Lanier: The problem is not inherent in the Internet or the Web. Deterioration only began around the turn of the century with the rise of so-called "Web 2.0" designs. These designs valued the information content of the web over individuals. It became fashionable to aggregate the expressions of people into dehumanized data. There are so many things wrong with this that it takes a whole book to summarize them. Here’s just one problem: It screws the middle class. Only the aggregator (like Google, for instance) gets rich, while the actual producers of content get poor. This is why newspapers are dying. It might sound like it is only a problem for creative people, like musicians or writers, but eventually it will be a problem for everyone. When robots can repair roads someday, will people have jobs programming those robots, or will the human programmers be so aggregated that they essentially work for free, like today’s recording musicians? Web 2.0 is a formula to kill the middle class and undo centuries of social progress.

What do you think?

In Richmond at ESR... with Jane Austen and literature

Here I am at Earlham School of Religion and ...

I'm fascinated and somewhat amazed--though not entirely surprised--at the extent to which literary approaches and literary theory are currently permeating religious studies. Given the view of Bible as narrative and all of us as part of a larger story or discourse, this makes sense--but I didn't fully realize the impact until I got here. For me, this merging of literary approach, literature and religion is more than a touch of miracle, as it connects my passions ... leaving me in a state of near swooning euphoria--and I can, in a sense, pick up my graduate studies in English from the 1980s where they left off.

Every Tuesday, the school has a community lunch with a speaker. This week, I had the good fortune to hear Emily Townes, who teaches at Yale Divinity school. She was questioned about evil and suffering--two subjects she's written about--and she talked about the relationship between imagination and evil. I was thrilled. She discussed how cultures can create fictions that become so widely repeated they are accepted as facts--and that these fictions can obscure evil. She used as her example "Aunt Jemima" and "Mammy," cultural icons of the fat, jolly slave woman. There was no real Aunt Jemima--I knew this--(she first emerged as a former slave hired by owners of a pancake mix to make pancakes during the Chicago World's Fair in the 1890s and became wildly popular). Also, while female slaves cared for white children, the Mammy figure is another fiction. Townes pointed out that slaves were underfed (thin), and that none were truly happy with their lots. In fact, most "house slaves," contrary to our pictures of them, were likely to be the products of interracial "pairings". From what Townes said, I picture the real slaves as skinny, light-skinned, harried, overworked and unhappy rather than brilliantly brown or black, fat, cheerful, jolly and laughingly contented.

Of course--and while Townes did not say this I can imagine--cultural icons or stereotypes such as the cheery Aunt Jemima flipping buckwheat cakes in the kitchen or Mammy happily bustling around organizing the children speak to our deep desire to believe that the people who do the dirty work in our culture actually enjoy the task. And I imagine it's probable that some slaves would pretend to cheerfulness, as we all need to survive.

I also have been pursuing--of course--Jane Austen at ESR. I mentioned being a Jane Austen fan in my introduction of myself to my on-line Old Testament class and am thrilled to have fellow fans among my classmates. Naturally, Townes's talk of imagination and evil immediately made me think of Jane Austen--Austen was a woman who didn't gloss over the everyday horrors of middle-class life, the petty cruelties which she understood were worse for defenseless lower class people. Also, a book I am reading introduced me to a British Quaker author--her name evades me right now-- who wrote a children's book about Jane Austen in 1977.

I'm settled into my apartment in Richmond as I deliberately travelled light--and Roger, of course, is a wonderful moving companion.

Internet access has been a problem all week, hence my "silence." I am now--at last-- part of the Earlham College system, so I can access the Internet on my laptop, a huge boon. I still can't pick up the wireless system in my apartment, however, although I am right across the street from the campus--Roger says an enhancer of some sort might help. It isn't ALL terrible to be denied 24/7 Internet access however--it forces me to do other things. But it does impede blogging.

Otherwise, all is fine. I had to switch my schedule so now I will be in Richmond Tuesday afternoon through Friday morning. I will taking Old Testament, New Testament, Quaker History and Literature, and a class on Bonhoeffer.

I ran into a genuinely cheerful Clare Gamble, an Olney graduate and now student at Earlham College.

I hope everyone is well.

Was Jesus Chill?

I asked Roger if he thought Jesus was chill and he said, yes, if the Son of the God comes to earth, that's inherently chill.

Ok. But Jesus didn't always act chill. For instance, in the garden of Gethsemane, he more or less fell apart and started crying and asking God to take the cup away. On the other hand, when it was time to face Pilate, Jesus was chill.

Jesus had many moments when he stayed chill with people, such as when the Syrophoenician woman was insistent about having her daughter healed. He was chill about healing the Roman centurion's daughter. Chill about feeding the 5,000. Totally chill about saving the woman who was about to be stoned for adultery.

Preaching "love your enemies" is about as chill as it gets. I would call that the ultimate chill statement.

On the hand, he lost it with the Pharisees, and his final week was frenzied--hence the term "the passion." Driving the money lenders from the Temple doesn't seem too chill to me. But David might have slaughtered them all--so perhaps the whip was a chill gesture after all.

What do you think? Was Jesus chill? Roger says that since being chill is the highest of all human achievements, Jesus was a priori chill. But, of course, the other question is, dare I ask, how important is chill?