A Biblical Theology of Blessing in Genesis

 I have been studying blessing in the book of Genesis for a number of years, particularly concentrating on it for a two-year period around 2010. I experimented with writing my research into an article several times, but it never came together. Last summer, I decided to try to actually get the article written as a means of getting back into academic thought patterns as I start a master's in TESOL this summer.

 I submitted it to Themelios, and today it was published as "A Biblical Theology of Blessing in Genesis."

 I would be remiss not to mention the impact of one teacher on this whole project: without Dr. Horn, I almost certainly would never have studied, written or submitted this for publication. Dr. Horn told our class regularly to write and to submit our best work for publication, and he'd occasionally mark what our best work was. He said it often enough that I finally believed he was serious. Beyond that, he fostered my love for Genesis in one class, taught me what biblical theology was in another class, and provoked my interest in the meaning of 'blessing' in a sermon. I have truly been blessed by his impact on my life and my learning.

**A couple of previous posts that stemmed from this same study: Divine Blessing and Food; The Broken Ugly, a poem.

Dreaming in English - a Turkish author's ponderings on writing in English

 At the end of print copies of her novels, Turkish author Elif Shafak has a short piece on why she writes novels in English; it's called "Dreaming in English." She has a slightly adjusted version of this piece posted on the English Pen. It is beautiful and well worth the read, especially if you are interested in the lives of global nomads and TCKs. Shafak expresses that sense which children of multiple cultures may have of being able to be true to each of their cultures in various ways, without betraying or abandoning any of them. She expresses the sense of belonging and connecting and loving, indeed, the sense of identity, which is felt deeply and yet somehow at a distance. I'd love to have posted the whole thing, but I'll leave these tidbits, with the hope that you will go read the whole thing for yourself (here, emphases mine).

I never thought I had to make a choice between my two loved ones: English and Turkish. In truth, perhaps even more than writing in English or writing in Turkish, it is the very commute back and forth that fascinates me to this day. I pay extra attention to those words that cannot be ferried from one continent to the other. I become more aware of not only meanings and nuances but also of gaps and silences. And I observe myself and others. Our voices change, even our body language alters as we move from one language to another. At the end of the day, languages shape us while we are busy thinking we control them.

Sometimes, the presence of absence strengthens a bond and distance brings you closer.

Rather than a pre-given, fixed, monolithic identity, we can have multiple and fluid belongings. We can even love more than one person. Our hearts are wide and deep enough to do so. And yes, we can also dream in more than one language.

 Incidentally, for reasons she hints at in the article, Shafak is often not well regarded here in Turkey. Unfortunately, the reasons for that here (as with other authors in their own homelands) are political rather than literary. I am interested, however, in the experience she is expressing - not in either the literature itself or the politics thereof.

Christ honoring God in the Atonement

 I'm reading a recently-released book, Jonathan Edwards on the Atonement, by Brandon Crawford. While I haven't gotten to the main part on Edwards yet, several nuggets have stood out in the historical overview, particularly from the pre-Reformation period. I thought I'd post them as it is the week when we particularly recall Christ's work of atonement. These quotes derive from the thoughts of Athanasius and Anselm, and these particular ones emphasize the work of Christ in relation to God's honor and the shame brought by sin.

“He alone, being Word of the Father and above all, was in consequence both able to recreate all, and worthy to suffer on behalf of all and to be an ambassador for all with the Father. For this purpose, then, the incorporeal and incorruptible and immaterial Word of God entered our world.”

(quote from Athanasius) 

Sin dishonors God because it belittles his glory; it declares that God is not the kind of being who deserves loving obedience. For this reason, the penalty of God’s law—death—must be carried out. God would dishonor himself if he ignored the demands of his own law and allowed men’s sins to go unpunished. By sending his Son to pay sin’s price for men, God upheld his own honor, answered the demands of his law, and made it possible for sinners to have life.

(summary of Athanasius' theology of the atonement)

On the other hand, “the man who does not render to God this honour, which is His due takes away from God what is His own, and dishonours God.” This, Anselm argues, is the essence of sin. It is failing (or refusing) to give the entire self to God in wholehearted worship and obedience. And sin demands “satisfaction.” Making satisfaction for sin means not only restoring what was wrongfully taken, but also giving back above and beyond what was taken—for only then is the honor of the offended one truly restored, Anselm says.

(emphasis mine)

 Each of these sections are well said, but the final highlighted sentence is a fresh thought for me, at least phrased in this way. Christ was not only restoring or repaying God's honor, he was increasing it!  

Grief and Songs, as strangers

 Recently, I have been spending a good bit of time meditating on the question posed in the middle of Psalm 137, both from that psalm and from the book of Daniel: "How shall we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?" Having lost everything, having been taken into exile, and having arrived at the place to where the they were being forced, the question is being raised. The ones who murdered the exiles' children, raped the women, destroyed and desecrated the temple, and burned their city are requiring that they songs of Zion: the grief is fresh, "Is it even possible to sing the LORD's songs here, after all that?"

 It seems to me that Psalm 137 gives two answers, while Daniel suggests a few more which I may post about later. Psalm 137's two solutions are both 'remember': the exiles must not forget where they came from - remember their origin, their God-given home. If they do that, then the songs of Zion may still be sung. The second solution is that the LORD Himself is to remember the injustices enacted upon them, those who gloried in their being massacred. These solutions are understandable for those who believe in the Psalms today, too.

 It has been said that our modern culture does not mourn or grieve well. That makes me wonder if that is why the themes in this song seem difficult to find put to music in English well. Here's a variety of audio versions of the psalm:

This may be the nicest of the Christian versions of it that I found. It's biggest downside is that it doesn't stick directly to the words of the psalm .

This Anglican chant solves that problem, but the style is a bit difficult for me.

Here's a Yiddish rendition, which seems to carry the tone well though obviously I can't understand it.

This Rastafarian version is catchy, but it only catches part of the psalm - and I'm not clear enough on the Melodians's cultures to know whether this is a style of grief: it seems quite possible.