Author: wtucker

by

Bible Burping

Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may stand against the wiles of the devil.  (Ephesians 6:11)

 I wanted to clarify something about this verse invoked by  Kari Lake.  She may not know the context of the verse, but if she does know, then shame on her.

On April 14 in Lake Havasu City, Arizona, Kari Lake, candidate for U.S. Senator said

We’re going to strap on our seatbelt. We’re going to put on our helmet — or your Kari Lake ball cap. We are going to put on the armor of God. And maybe strap on a Glock on the side of us just in case. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/16/us/politics/kari-lake-glock.html#:~:text=%E2%80%9CWe’re%20going%20to%20strap,of%20us%20just%20in%20case.%E2%80%9D

For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. (Ephesians 6:13)

The “rulers. . . the authorities   . . .the cosmic powers” in these verses refer to spiritual enemies, not physical ones, not campaign rivals. The Apostle Paul believed that the world was fraught with spiritual forces that induced fear, prejudice, rage, deceit in people who opened themselves up to manipulation: the way we may find ourselves doing something in a mob that we would never do individually. If you have seen the rising rage of crowds, you might get the sense that Paul knew what he was talking about.

When someone talks about the “armor of God” and then says in the next sentence, . . . And maybe strap on a Glock on the side of us just in case, that is an offensive misuse of scripture in order to excite a crowd and pay homage to gun rights. In fact inciting a crowd is the surest way to bring the “cosmic powers of this present darkness” onto the set. Remember what happened when  Donald Trump said, “We fight like hell. And if you don’t fight like hell, you’re not going to have a country anymore” on January 6. That was the closest example I can remember  of stirring up the spiritual forces that emerge from crowd behavior. The results speak for themselves.

I’ll call it “Bible burping,” the tactic of burping up scripture to punctuate political speech just the way a barfly burps up beer to punctuate his (or her)  opinions. The medium is the message.  Burping is the medium; the message is “pay attention.”

During the 2016 campaign, Donald Trump, asked about his favorite Bible verse, said  “I mean, you know, when we get into the Bible, I think many. So many,” he responded. “And some people—look, an eye for an eye, you can almost say that. ”

About this passage in Leviticus (“an eye for an eye”), Jesus said:” Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” (Matthew 6:38). It’s funny how no one in a political campaign quotes that verse.

The Bible, both the Hebrew and the Christian scriptures, has always been important to me; I am apt to quote it in my own discourse about politics or religion. I try to avoid taking the language out of context to make my point.  The weaponizing of the Bible offends me, because it turns something sacred into something calculated for damage.  When politicians use scripture out of context to stir anger in  voters, they are doing the devil’s work.  I am not sure if I mean a real entity or an inflammatory spirit, but the results are the same: delirious audiences.

If you recognize it, the weaponizing of scripture, call it out. It doesn’t matter who does it, Republican or Democrat or Third Party candidate. It is wrong to quote the Bible out of context for manipulation or campaigning for power.  It is wrong to Bible burp, to  quote fragments to arouse a crowd.

Shakespeare said it best:

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul producing holy witness
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

Merchant of Venice (I, iii, 98-103)

 

 

by

Our Chief End

What is our [man’s]  chief end? Our [Man’s] chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy God for ever.                                  Westminster Shorter Catechism

The defining words of Christian life are the praising and the living. My second miracle was how I learned both of these ends.

For some young Christians in the 1970’s, the yearning for “more” was satisfied by the “Baptism of the Spirit.”  Mainline Christians became “charismatic,” experiencing what Pentecostal Christians had been practicing for decades: speaking in tongues, interpretation, prophesying, singing in the spirit.  Pentecostalism had gone mainline across the denominations, even in the Catholic church. Christians who received this gift called themselves “completed Christians.”

One Sunday evening, in search of this completion, I drove to Mount Vernon, N.Y., about forty miles from my home. It was a Presbyterian church, pastored by Harold Bredesen, an outspoken, published, charismatic Christian. I sat in a large sanctuary listening to Christians of diverse denominations singing and speaking in tongues. A few stood up and interpreted tongues in English. It was unlike any Presbyterian service I had ever attended.

At the end of the service I knelt on the steps of the platform in front of the altar.  A “Spirit-filled” woman laid hands on me, while speaking in tongues. I didn’t feel anything and became nervous. She encouraged me: “Just start speaking, it will come.” Sure enough, when I opened my mouth to speak, I felt a rush of excitement, and I was speaking in tongues. It felt truly “charismatic.” It sounded to me like an Arabic tongue, but I never believed it was an identifiable language. It was more the excitement of praising God without processing the words. It was scintillating. I left the service with a new voice.

By the time I got home my parents were in bed. I went into my bedroom to pray, opened my mouth in praise, and the same rush of the Spirit filled me. I was speaking in tongues again. Excited, I went into my parents’ bedroom to tell them what had happened. My mother was perplexed, but glad for me. My father was asleep, so I didn’t know what he thought. His brother was a Pentecostal minister. We had visited his church, but tongues never happened for us. It seemed so foreign. My Dad said he had previously heard of Puerto Rican Christians speaking in Spanish, and that did not sound like a gift of the Spirit.

The next morning, Dad said he was glad about my gift, but guarded about what this meant. The baptism was nothing he expected to receive, but he never openly questioned the authenticity of my experience. I took some secret satisfaction that I had gone beyond my parents’ spiritual experience.

This was the second miracle in my life, but I link it with life in  graduate school. Some doubt the authenticity of charismatic gifts, even many conservative Christian churches. For me, it was assurance that God was active in my life. It was the most physical manifestation of God I had experienced. It made faith less theoretical, more pervasive, at a time when faith was fragile, finding my way onto a new campus with a new direction.

I found a Presbyterian church in Cambridge like the place where I had “received the Spirit.” They had traditional services on Sunday morning, but charismatic services on Sunday evening and smaller groups teaching and worshipping in the Spirit on Wednesday night. It was also a college church, where students from Harvard and M.I.T. attended for the time they were students and then moved on. The pastor and church leaders felt this transient congregation was part of the mission of the church. It was a dynamic, multi-cultural church.

This church became my life through fifteen years. I found room mates from the church during graduate school. I found other room mates from graduation until I was married to Kathy Hessert in 1974. I found my wife in this church. I struggled to find a teaching job for two and a half years in this church. They prayed for my longing to teach.

I found my first full-time job from a member of the church. He taught me to be a bookkeeper. I found my first teaching job during this time. My employer let me out of work to go to every teaching interview I had, knowing I would be leaving when I was hired to teach.

I learned to live in Christian community in this church. The idea of maturing in faith kept us aspiring to change as a community. We formed small groups that made our faith more experiential. We had open discussions with each other about what we were learning about ourselves, about our shortcomings and gifts.  Kathy and I shared leadership in one of the groups.

Kathy and I experimented with communal living with another couple from the church. It ended after a year, but we learned more about “life together.” To this day I have friends who shared our life together in the church, even though it went through a painful transition in our last five years there.

After I found my first teaching job we moved about fifteen miles away from church and infrequently went back to visit.

But in those fifteen years I learned how to “glorify God and and enjoy God forever.” There was glory and there was life. That was my second miracle.

by

On a Writing Marathon (2024)

The Awakening

The henchman, the foreman, the doorman

I know

But the Awakening Man?

Waking from a nightmare, a hibernation, a heavy sleep?

A startling noise, a sudden inspiration?

An Awakening Woman?

Reaching for the clouds, struggling, persevering?

Inspired to write?

Starting a new day, reaching for the stars, ?

Photo

Awakening

From anguish, from bondage

Pulling against the chains of death.

 

 

Lepidoptera

Parable in fluttering

Molting, chrysalis, hardening wings

Patient Emergence

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

by

Miraculous

             The Latin mīror means “I wonder or marvel at.” The miracle is in the eye of the beholder. Witnessing a “miracle,” many will want to explain it by rational means. Others will take a wonder as a wonder. No need to explain to them. Such are the miracles in my life:  improbable, yet easy to explain away, if you are a doubter by nature.

A miracle is generally defined, according to the etymology of the word—it comes from the Greek thaumasion and the Latin miraculum— as that which causes wonder and astonishment, being extraordinary in itself and amazing or inexplicable by normal standards.

I remember four miracles in my life. My miracles seem to surround my choice or calling to be teacher. If it was merely my choice to teach, then not so much a miracle. If teaching was my calling—then I see it with wonder.

The first miracle in my life came at a vulnerable moment: the transition from undergraduate to graduate school. I had graduated from Hamilton College with a B- average, still with departmental honors in English Literature.  I thought I wanted to be a journalist—maybe someday a freelance writer. I slap-dashed three applications to journalism schools and a creative writing program. To this day I cannot imagine why I was so casual about applying. I set myself up for failure. That’s what happened.

In the meantime, I had spent Winter Study in January with a professor and three other English majors teaching sophomores who had placed out of Freshman Composition. Despite arriving on campus with advanced placement, they felt they needed a refresher in good writing style. Our senior team took on 4-5 students each and met weekly to talk about the class we had designed and to reflect on our progress. Our professor made occasional suggestions but left us to teach on our own.

The feedback from our students was very positive, and we felt we had improved their writing in three short weeks. It was my first teaching experience, but it was not a miracle. . . yet.

A few months later Professor Lindley, our teaching supervisor, called me into his office. To this point I had never taken a course with him, because early English Literature was not on my bucket list. But he had noticed my aptitude and interest in teaching. He told me he had received a letter from the Harvard School of Education to recommend someone for their new Master of Arts in Teaching program. I thought, Why not? Even though I had a pathetic B- average and had not prepared to study education. He told me he would recommend me.

Then the miracle: I got in. After botching three journalism/ writing applications, I got into Harvard!  To that point I had a slight, but not decisive interest in teaching. Now I was fired up! I packed my bags for Cambridge in June, since my program began in the summer, and I was on my way.

Three improbable things had happened that made this a miracle for me:           

  • I signed up for a teaching class with no plans to teach professionally
  • Professor Lindley recommended me for an M.A.T. program at Harvard, even though I was barely an average student
  • Harvard accepted me with a B- average

When three improbable conditions come together at a turning point in your life, you can’t be blamed for calling the outcome “a miracle.”

I am not calling it a figurative, but a literal miracle. I had no business getting into Harvard, but apparently Professor Lindley’s recommendation did the trick. It turned my doubt into belief. I was going to be a teacher.

And the miracles weren’t over . . .

by

The Great Teacher

For some reason students are glad to give teachers credit for identity or character formation. If it weren’t so immune to measurement or controlled experiments, we might believe that teaching is more about compassion and example than test score elevation. A classroom:

When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?
They replied, “Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah, and still other Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”
“But what about you?”he asked. “Who do you say that I am?
Simon Peter answered, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”
Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by man, but by my Father in heaven. And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.”
(Matthew 16: 13-18)

Jesus was concerned with unleashing the potential of his followers. He planned a short stay on this planet, and he needed disciples who would seamlessly take up his work after he left. In the verses above he contrived an unstandardized test to measure the readiness of his disciples.
1) Who do people say the Son of Man is?
2) Who do you say that I am?
The first question has several answers, more in the way of reporting than solving a problem. “Who do people say that I am?” ranged everywhere from “John the Baptist” to “Jeremiah.”
The second question “Who do you say that I am?” is clearly the summative measure of their progress, and Peter, the star pupil, steps into the breach with the best answer “the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”

The next move is where the teaching really begins, even as the learning curve often rises in the post-mortem of a test, more than from the test itself. Why do these questions even matter?

Jesus’s first lesson is “this was revealed . . . by my father in heaven.”  You learn by listening to God, not those who speculate that Jesus was Elijah come back from the dead.

The next move is lending perspective to what has just happened. Another thing you can’t readily assess: the pupil graduating to a new identity. First, Jesus addresses him as “Simon,” then as “Peter” signifying his growth and potential for growth. And then prophetically, “On this rock I will build my church.”

In my latter years of teaching teachers, I suddenly began to hear myself say “You’re going to be a great teacher” when a student shared a great insight or experience. And I wished I had made such outrageous predictions much earlier in my career. Because I realize now that students remember those moments better than all the professional wisdom I could impart, and the memory may help them later in their careers.

Why did Peter need to hear that bold prediction from Jesus at that moment? First, he had made himself vulnerable by saying what other disciples were afraid to utter. Many were thinking it. Only Peter was willing to say it. Second, he was about to see the man he called “the Christ” imprisoned and tortured. The whole dream was dissolving. Third, Peter was going to contribute to Jesus’s humiliation with the three denials, something he swore he would never do. The timing of Jesus’s prediction was crucial, because it would carry Peter through his trial by fire.

There is a cliche in teaching that we teach the student, not the subject matter.  Students remember who you are and how you teach, not just what you teach. Research shows that education students often imitate their best teachers in the past more than the teacher we try to impose on them in their teacher education. This is good from the point of view of knowing good teaching, but bad from the point of view of developing your own character as a teacher.

In teaching student teachers I finally learned that how I teach and how I treat students is the curriculum students receive more than the research about best practices and new classroom approaches. I began to realize that Jesus’ effectiveness as a teacher came from his daily actions as a compassionate, inclusive and personal teacher that left the most enduring memory on his pupils.

My conversion to Jesus, the teacher, came late in my life. At least half way through my journey.  But it came in the nick of time, when I was trying to teach teachers, who were eager for my experience as a high school teacher. What they did not know was that I was teaching more and more by example as I learned what the real curriculum was, what they would carry with them into student teaching.

Jesus shows us that character and identity formation are the heart of great teaching. His teaching was not successful because his disciples had a good grasp of the Law and the Prophets or even impressive faith. He was successful because he taught them as individuals, as much as the curriculum of the Good News.. He was successful because they could take up the cross as they had seen him do it: feed the hungry, heal the hurting, encourage the hopeless. They caught the spirit and the intent of his teachings, the part that would stay with them after graduation.

And that’s what made this rabbi a Great Teacher.

 

by

Britches

                                                                   Where do you look for theater in Missouri?

If you venture to the Women’s Eastern Reception, Diagnostic and Correctional Center for theater, go with faith that a company of incarcerated women can produce a comedy in high theatrical style. They are a delightful troupe of sisters having fun and bringing their audience along for the ride.

Britches, their latest performance, brings to life the story of Charlotte Cushman, the bold actor of the 19th century, who shocked and thrilled audiences with her portrayal of Romeo along with her sister’s Juliet.  “When Queen Victoria saw Cushman as Romeo, she said she couldn’t believe it was a woman playing the part” (https://www.folger.edu/podcasts/shakespeare-unlimited/romeo-charlotte-cushman/).

Trailblazing the Stage: 10 Facts about Charlotte Cushman

The play Britches invents a love triangle of Charlotte (Dylan Staudette), her sister Susan (Natasha White), and the understudy Joan (Tessa Van Vlerah), as their company makes a comedy of performing the tragedy Romeo and Juliet, complete with a dark figure who threatens to upset the joie de vivre of the play.  In Britches the actors, including Wanda, the nurse (Patty Prewitt), perform the famous tragedy in rehearsal, then at an evening show, then at  an intoxicated cast party, then at the matinee the next day, then with a final celebration.

Six “Scholars” (Tara Carroll, Natasha Orender, Sandra Dallas,Kylie Shepherd, Angaline Ryan, Marie Pursley) cross the stage at convenient intervals to explain the customs and motives of the comedy, adding context and humor.  A black-cat-costumed actor (Yvette Mahan) crosses the stage occasionally or settles down at stage center to interrupt the flow of action as only a cat can.  The random interruptions add insight and lightness to the dialogue of the acting troupe as they prepare, perform and then reflect on their rendition of the play.

The original comedy-about-a-tragedy-production was written and adapted for the women of WERDCC by Courtney Bailey, who conceived it as a tribute to Charlotte Cushman. When she brought the script to the Spoken Word artists of the Prison Performing Arts company, they conceived a double tribute, not only showing the genius and boldness of the legendary Cushman, but the unique sisterhood of the incarcerated citizens of WERDCC. “I now realize that the script was waiting for the right collaborators to truly bring it to life,” Bailey commented in the playbill.

“I asked them to add their insight to this ‘Lady Romeo’s’ story. Incarcerated people who reside in a women’s facility are no strangers to playing male Shakespeare roles; in fact they may be the greatest experts on this performance practice in today’s theatrical ecosystem.”

Her instincts proved exactly right. The brassy playfulness of the women is perfectly attuned to the boldness of Cushman’s renditions of protagonists such as Hamlet, Romeo and Lady Macbeth, which delighted nineteenth century theater-goers from Boston to the British Isles. In Britches Cushman performs her most famous role as Romeo opposite her sister’s Juliet. “This bold choice further solidified her reputation as a groundbreaking actress willing to break down barriers in the pursuit of artistic excellence” (program notes).

The play celebrates the joy of an acting company first in its rehearsal, when Juliet balks at climbing the lofty stepladder to her balcony, then in the after-party of the evening performance, when a massive black cauldron is rolled out with the traditional fare of actors–beans and rice. They celebrate their modest provisions with a rousing musical tribute to “Beans and Rice,” reminiscent of a drinking song in a local pub. In the finale, the company reprises their tribute to Beans and Rice.

The play was directed by Prison Performing Arts’ own Artistic Director, Rachel Tibbets, assisted by Costume Designer Liz Henning and Set Designer Erik Kuhn.

Britches gave its only two performances on Thursday, March 14. The next Prison Performing Arts production will be 12 Angry Men, at the Northeast Correctional Center. See the PPA website for more information: https://www.prisonperformingarts.org/about-ppa.

Prison Performing Arts, the facilitator for performances like Britches, “nurtures the discipline, teamwork, and communication skills necessary for successful re-entry into society.” PPA also works in the Missouri Eastern Correctional Center, the Northeast Correctional Center, the St. Louis City Juvenile Detention Center, the Transition Center of St. Louis, the Hogan Street Regional Youth Center, and the Division of Probation & Parole – District 17.

Donations may be sent to:

Prison Performing Arts

3333 Washington Ave.
Ste. 203-B
St. Louis, MO 63103

 

​

r

​

​

​

 

 

 

by

Assurances and Hopes

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

William Butler Yeats “ The Second Coming”

What is faith? Is it an unshakable conviction? Is it the bottom line for what we believe? Is faith a certainty? Is it sometimes  fragile trust in God?  Is it a hope that battles with doubt?

Certainty

“Faith of our Fathers . . . We will be true to thee till death.”

“T’is so sweet to trust in Jesus, Just to take him at his word . . . Just to know, Thus saith the Lord.”

“Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine.”

These lines of favorite old Protestant hymns reminded me that nothing has been more sure than my faith in God. In a life that might be upset, faith was a guarantee that I  was safe and confident. My parents and grandparents passed down a faith that could not be shaken.

In Sunday School I was taught that faith was the opposite of doubt.  Cautionary tales of doubting were important: Peter walking on the water till his confidence failed, and he sank;  Zechariah struck dumb by his lack of faith that his wife would become pregnant with John the Baptist; “Doubting Thomas” challenging the resurrection until he touched the nail prints in the hands of Jesus.

Faith was an available commodity we could pass on, but should not lose. We needed to be steadfast: “We will be true to thee till death.”  Our unsaved friends also treated faith as a commodity. “I wish I had your faith,” some said to me, as if I had a stash of it in my wallet.  It existed as a scarce, but reliable resource.

Jesus reinforced this concept of faith by scolding his disciples for their lack of faith, especially in the Gospel of Matthew (6:30, 8:26, 14:31; 16:8;17:20; 21:21). Yet Mark shows the paradox of having faith, yet needing faith, in the healing of the boy possessed by demons. When Jesus tells the father of the possessed boy, “All things can be done for the one who believes,” the father exclaims, “I believe; help my unbelief! (Mark 8:24).”  Jesus proceeded to heal the son despite the father’s admission of doubt.

Matthew’s concept that faith defied doubt and physical evidence found its way into the dictionary definition of faith:

  1. “unquestioning belief that does not require proof or evidence” (Webster’s New World College Dictionary)

Constancy in faith is the understanding that does not require “proof or evidence.” True faith dismissed the appearance of things. Jesus healed contrary to the evidence of hopeless infirmity. Jesus ignored the political predicament of his people. He also counseled against fortifying our material security with wealth in Matthew (6:19-21).  The only reality was the coming of an invisible kingdom, “not of this world.”

In my family our middle class poverty was compensated by our future heavenly wealth. A lack of regard for money was considered a sign of faith.   My mother’s favorite hymn was:

This world is not my home

I’m just a-passing through

My treasures are laid up

Somewhere beyond the blue

It can be liberating to cast off materialistic goals, but in our family it minimized our savings or investment for retirement.  We imagined spiritual wealth, and so believed we were never poor, even though a day never went by when my Dad did not say, “We can’t afford . . . .”

Because of our hope for heaven, we did not see social and political events as consequential. For example, we saw the Civil Rights movement in the 1960’s as a compromise of faith in our future heavenly liberation. Faith meant that the material world did not matter as much as the spiritual world.

Faith devoted to permanent beliefs, independent of experience, could be described as “dogmatic” from the Latin word meaning “an opinion which one believes.” Experience does not threaten or revise dogmatic beliefs.

In my early experience, faith was certainty, and certainty became a disregard for material reality, a detachment from facts and evidence. Peter walking on water was total faith; his sinking in the waves was a loss of faith.  Enduring faith dismissed the material circumstances of life.

Uncertainty

After a mid-life battle with doubt, I looked back at what the Christian Bible said about faith. I found a new definition in the Epistle to the Hebrews, attributed to a contemporary of the Apostle Paul:

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.  (Hebrews 11:1)

This version of faith seemed more paradoxical, less certain than what I had been taught.

“Convictions” and “assurance” were something we chose to believe. Not banked commodities, but high-stakes beliefs.  As defined in Hebrews, faith seemed less a legacy or acquisition, but a gift. This faith is “organic,” because experience could revise our beliefs, allowing us to grow in understanding, as well as faith.

The biblical epistles are likely to show faith as a gift, as in the letter to the Ephesians “By grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God” (2:8). Or when enumerating the gifts of the Spirit, Paul says, “To one is given the utterance of wisdom . . , to another faith by the same Spirit (I Corinthians 12:9).

Faith was not about guarantees, but about hopes. Faith was not about a substitute reality, but about a conviction we could not empirically prove.  Therefore, faith was not certain, not a foregone conclusion,  but an “organic” faith that could change with experience. We had a faith that could struggle with doubt.

I think of the Yeats poem, quoted above, as prophetic for this time and place. My alternatives for faith relate to the famous lines from “The Second Coming:”

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity

 

Sometimes “passionate intensity” can be dangerous.  With passionate intensity, Crusaders killed Muslims; Muslims killed Crusaders.  With passionate intensity the Spanish Inquisition killed both.  With passionate intensity Protestants killed Catholics in the war Yeats wrote about.

There’s something about the tension between faith and doubt that makes us humble. We are not so vindictive, when we realize we are blessed with a gift of faith, not a guarantee.  It may be all right to have convictions, not certainties.  We can hope to listen and hope we can be heard.

by

Little Shop of Horrors

Is the sixty-three year old tale The Little Shop of Horrors a tragedy, a comedy, tragi-comedy, a farce? Yes!

But there are at least three versions of the story– a 1960 movie, 1982 musical, a 1986 revised movie musical with two endings.

All three versions have the same principal actors, the innocent, bumbling Seymour Krelborn; the sweet, victimized girl he works with, Audrey;  their irritable, materialistic boss, Mr. Mushnik; and the voracious exotic plant that consumes them all–Audrey II.

 In the ’60 original, Audrey Jr. hypnotizes Seymour into doing his bidding  . . . . The cops discover that the plant has been eating people and they chase Seymour through the streets of Skid Row. He comes back to Mushnick’s shop and tries to kill Audrey Jr. once and for all, but fails, and is himself eaten. https://widescreenworld.blogspot.com/2015/10/little-shop-of-horrors-1960-vs-1986-and.html

In the original stage musical of 1982, not only does Audrey II also kill Seymour, Audrey and Mushnick, it spreads all over the country, enticing other people the same way it enticed Seymour with promises of fame and fortune. (https://widescreenworld.blogspot.com/2015/10/little-shop-of-horrors-1960-vs-1986-and.html). The final number “Don’t Feed the Plants” suggests a world wide takeover is in progress. Yet the music tends to carry the story back toward comedy.

 

 

 

However, in the musical filmed in 1986, the grim ending of the previous versions was re-designed for the popular whim that Seymour and Audrey should fulfill their dreams and live happily ever after in suburbia. The director, Frank Oz, originally conceived the ending as gleefully hinting of plant takeover, and was bitterly disappointed with the ultimate product.

What about the latest rendition, just finishing a run in the Cincinnati suburb of Finneytown? This version offers more of the sinister take-over of Audrey, but her offspring appear as the familiar main characters sporting the flowery coronas around their heads. Everyone seems delighted with the absurd invasion of Audrey’s descendants.

However, the absurdist excitement is almost overwhelmed by the soul-grabbing solos of the leads, Audrey (Anya Revelle), singing “Somewhere That’s Green”  and Seymour (Marcus Miller) singing “Suddenly Seymour,” who give the musical a romantic updraft. We are  pulling for these two down-and-outers so much that their ingestion by Audrey II feels too tragic to be redeemed by sunny little flower buds around their heads at the end.

Does the booming-voiced (Brennen Volz) monster Audrey II become a warning against materialism and the passion for fame? Do we hear a message amidst the merriment of Little Shop of Horrors?

The finale, which retains the warning “Don’t Feed the Plants,” retains its glee, but no dire warnings. It’s a horror musical with a thin filling of caution. Even the sadistic dentist (Brady Volz) returns looking less threatening.

We noticed exceptional stage managing of props and set, organized by Jason George, and exceptional drama enhanced by spotlights under the steady hand of Karah George.  Their under-appreciated skill behind the scenes make a grand musical so much grander.

So what is it- a tragedy,  comedy, farce,  some maniacal concoction of all three?  Every performance brings a different taste of the botanical marvel, and sometimes your mood determines what you see in Audrey II.

“Life is a tragedy for those who feel, and a comedy for those who think.”― La Bruyere

 

by

The Jonah Syndrome

But to Jonah this seemed very wrong, and he became angry. 2He prayed to the Lord, “Isn’t this what I said, Lord, when I was still at home? That is what I tried to forestall by fleeing to Tarshish. I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity.  Jonah 4:1-3

Most people remember Jonah being swallowed by a whale.  A few others remember he was running from God when the “whale” (actually a “sea monster”) swallowed him. Sunday school scholars actually remember what happened after the whale threw him up: he went to preach to the Ninevites.  Sunday graduate school scholars remember what happened after Jonah’s day-long sermon: the Ninevites repented. And God actually forgave them, relenting from the plan to destroy the wicked city.

But almost no one can remember what happened in Chapter 4, when Jonah saw his prophesy of doom reversed by God.  He had a hissy-fit.  The last chapter of the story of Jonah consists mostly of Jonah complaining that God had betrayed him and that God’s mercy for Nineveh was more than he could stand.

Jonah was expected to deal with a divine-ordered reform: the acceptance of repentant pagan people. As a traditional Hebrew prophet, Jonah held the belief that Gentiles, all non-Jewish people, were not favored by God. What God says at the conclusion of the book of Jonah is: And should I not have concern for the great city of Nineveh, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand people who cannot tell their right hand from their left—and also many animals? (Jonah 4:12).

The implied response to God’s question is “Of course,” but Jonah’s final words in this book are: Now, Lord, take away my life, for it is better for me to die than to live. (Jonah 4:3). Laughable, but also pitiable, because even three days in the whale could not shake Jonah’s fixation on the rights of the “chosen people.” The tale instructs us that God is more tolerant and merciful than his chosen people.

I call the rigidity of faith against new revelation or compromise the “Jonah Syndrome.” It means a faith that expects a certain universal order and rejects anything that disrupts it. Jonah is the extreme case. He says, Now, Lord, take away my life, for it is better for me to die than to live. 

Could the certainty of some people’s faith instill a prejudice against human differences? Differences in gender preference, the role of women, race, political preference ? “True faith” people can sometimes mean stubborn people.

I remember having a discussion about homosexuals with a friend and former Lutheran pastor. We were both members of the first church I had attended after a desperate period of my life.  He asked me to consider the human identity of those born to prefer their own sex. I had preconceptions that I could not see through, and I told him I thought the gay identity was an aberration, learned in the culture.  I remember his disappointed expression, when he realized I was implacable.

Two years later Kathy and I moved to Ypsilanti, MI to take my first academic appointment at Eastern Michigan University. We moved to Depot Town, a lovely historical neighborhood. After a year I realized that my new next-door neighbors were lesbians, and, a year later, that my back yard neighbors were gay men.  I realized there were several gay professors where I worked.  It was a classic case of cognitive dissonance: believing something that was utterly challenged by circumstances.

Kathy was much more tolerant of homosexuality than I, and she invited our next-door neighbors over for coffee and conversation. I was nervous about entertaining them, because of my own hang-ups, but I found we had much more in common than I imagined.

They were married. They were musicians and had met in Europe, where gay marriage had been normalized. They wore ordinary clothes, a little more “mannish” than an avowed heterosexual might expect, but nothing disturbing. They were interested in acquiring a dog. We had three dogs, and Kathy obliged with most of what she knew about small dogs. We had two Papillons and had bred another Papillon twice, and they were interested in all the details. Kathy loved gardening. So did they. They were the most compatible neighbors we could ask for, and they won my heart over a period of months. It was obvious they were truly in love with each other no differently than Kathy and I were in love.

The guys over the back yard fence were very friendly. In the summer we would meet at the fence to share the news of the city and the neighborhood. It took me longer to accept gay men, but my prejudices toward lesbians had been broken, so I gradually felt comfortable with my male neighbors.

As for the workplace, my department head was gay as well as many in my department, so I learned acceptance just by working with people I had never known.  We were all just colleagues with shared experiences. It was what some conservative believers call “normalization.”

The city of Ypsilanti brought forth an equal rights referendum, including same-sex rights, within two years of our moving there. It passed by a three to one vote. Clearly, we were in a new culture! My experience convinced me that integrating with people was a powerful way to learn to accept them. I chose not to call it “normalization .”

So maybe I wasn’t rigid. I certainly had my prejudices changed over a couple of years, and nothing has happened since then to challenge my reform. But I know what I believed before we moved to Ypsilanti, and probably nothing but a transplant into another community, i.e. divine intervention, could have changed those beliefs.

The Jonah Syndrome prevented me from seeing gay people as real people, as chosen as much as any of us, for God’s mercy. I had to give up my dualistic view of gender to accept sincere couples, who practiced monogamy and cared about their heterosexual neighbors.

The narrative of Jonah ends quite differently than the book of Job,  a narrative written about the same time. In the very end, Job is restored to double his original family and fortune, but first he says when God appears from a terrifying whirlwind:

I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear,

But now my eye sees you;

Therefore I despise myself

And repent in dust and ashes.  Job 42:5-6)

How different from Jonah, who hears the dreaded truth and says, Lord, take away my life. Job survives with a new understanding of God. Jonah despairs, because he cannot accept the new understanding. He is trapped in an ethnocentric view of God, instead of the new vision of an omnipresent God who favors all people. Faced with a “cognitive dissonance,” Job turns from anger to worship.

It is harder for me to identify with Job, who bears so much and hangs on to fragments of faith, in spite of unfathomable hardship. It is easier for me to see myself as the sad sack prophet who cannot accept what I now believe: that God’s mercy is to all people, not just a select few.

I find it easier to learn from Jonah. His lesson is basic: don’t assume you know who God favors and doesn’t favor. Let faith be a matter of “the conviction of things unseen,” things I don’t already know or think I know. Faith is not only what I believe, but what I might believe, as my understanding of God grows. God may be unchanging, but God is not always who I think God is. I can learn from the hapless, whale-devoured prophet, Jonah.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

Nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. (Isaiah 55:8)

 

 

by

Where is Your Faith?

Faith of our Fathers! Holy Faith!

We will be true to thee till death

Frederick William Faber, 1848

Steadfastness was traditionally a sign of true faith in my early Christian education.  In Sunday School we were taught not to doubt. Cautionary tales of doubting included: Peter walking on the water till his confidence failed and he sank; Zechariah struck dumb by his lack of faith that his wife would become pregnant with John the Baptist; Jesus prevented from healing in Nazareth, because of their lack of faith;  Jesus scolding his disciples for their lack of faith; Thomas doubting the resurrection until he touched the nail prints in the hands of Jesus.

Faith was a commodity we could not do without. We could have a lot of faith or a minimal faith, but not “no faith.”  No one I knew could see faith as a continuum, a work in progress.

On the other hand, the Hebrew Bible honors a tradition of questioning or negotiating with God. Abraham, the paragon of faith, questioned the angel, who promised that his elderly wife would bear a child. Lot famously cross-examined God about his mercy on the city of Sodom and Gomorrah (Shall not the Judge of the earth do what is just?” (Gen 18:25). Jacob wrestled with the angel of God the night before confronting his estranged brother, Esau. Moses tried to escape the role of prophetic leader by insisting he was inarticulate. Called by God to lead his people against the powerful Midianites, Gideon insisted on sign after sign to prove God’s call. Despite the awesome power and holiness of God, Jewish history and literature honors dialogue, even argument, with God.

Contrast this with the one incident in the Christian Bible when Jesus is challenged by Peter for predicting that the Messiah must suffer and die.  Jesus harshly rebukes him: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.” (Matthew 16:21).

And what does Jesus say after Peter bravely walks on the water to meet Jesus, then has a panic attack? “You of little faith. . . .why did you doubt?” What about the other disciples who cowered in the boat? How little was their faith?

If Peter were a character in Genesis, he would be honored for his nerve like Jacob, who wrestled with God, but in the Gospel of Matthew he is an object lesson for his lack of faith.  The disciples of Jesus are frequently chastised for their lack of faith, whereas when Moses balks, he is given Aaron as a spokesperson and manages to become the most honored prophet in Jewish history.

The examples from the Christian scriptures have made Protestant Christians consider faith dualistically. You either have it or you don’t. If you had it you were favored or “saved.”  If you lacked it,  you were judged or “unsaved.” Even my unchurched friends saw this dualism in me. They might say, “I wish I had your faith,” as if I had a secure stash of faith in my wallet.

The discrepancy between the God of  Jacob and the God of the Gospels may turn on what faith means in different traditions. In the Hebrew Bible the prophets were respected for their audacity for questioning God, but, for some Christians, challenging God shows a lack of faith. And faith is a commodity that you have or you don’t have.

Father Richard Rohr notes the limitations of this dualistic way of thinking or believing:

The dualistic mind is essentially binary, either/or thinking. It knows by comparison, opposition, and differentiation. It uses descriptive words like good/evil, pretty/ugly, smart/stupid, not realizing there may be a hundred degrees between the two ends of each spectrum. 

Should faith and doubt be considered a dualism, where the absence of one reveals the existence of the other? Or are faith and doubt relative to each other, where faith may lapse into doubt, while doubt may restore faith?

Brian McLaren, in his study of doubt (Faith After Doubt, St Martins Essentials, 2021), suggests that honest doubt can actually enrich faith. In profiles of numerous pastors and church leaders, he claims the struggle with doubt can restore an abandoned faith, that doubt should be faced, not stigmatized, that doubt may be a sign of a healthy faith.

This is apparently the view of doubt in the Hebrew Bible, where some of the exemplars of faith actually challenged God.  And some of the pretenders of faith were called “false prophets.”  When Elijah, the heroic antagonist of the wicked King Ahab, fled from the wrath of his idolatrous wife Jezebel, he cowered in a cave at Mount Horeb, where God had first spoken to Moses:

Lord God who rules over all, I’ve been very committed to you. The Israelites have turned their backs on your covenant. They have torn down your altars. They’ve put your prophets to death with their swords. I’m the only one left. And they are trying to kill me.”

15 The Lord said to him, “Go back the way you came.” (I Kings 19:14-15).

Elijah turns from faith to fear to faith again in a few chapters of I Kings. The Apostle Peter ran the same course, from confessor to denier of the Messiah to the inspiring leader of the church at Pentecost.  Doubt propelled these two heroes into stronger faith.

And yet many Evangelical Protestants conceive of doubt as abandonment of faith.  Doubt can be battled, but it cannot be confronted as a viable option.  It can only be opposed with fierce opposition. As a lapsed Evangelical pastor, Brian McLaren, writes:

Good Christians (and I’m sure good people of other religions) were expected, quickly and privately, to mend their doubts like an embarrassing tear in the pants and, failing that, to silence and suppress their doubts, to fake confidence and certainty in desperate hope that the next sermon, hymn, praise song, conference, book, or prayer would be the silver bullet that would vanquish doubt forever. (Faith After Doubt, 208)

Yet following  the example of the great heroes of faith, Jacob, Moses, Elijah, Peter, we see that faith can be lost and regained. Further, that the  exploration of doubt can bring a later resurgence of faith. McLaren and so many pastors he counseled found doubt as a counterpoint to faith, potentially a route to a restored faith.

Perhaps the “Faith of our Fathers” has come full circle, where doubt can be acknowledged without condemnation. “We will be true to thee, till death,” may not be the last word in the hymn.  Faith and doubt are more similar than we know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Subscribe By Email

This form is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

Skip to toolbar