Matthew 6: Giving Up Glory

In this passage, Jesus exhorts people not to seek glory and praise in this life--not to give to the needy for public praise, not to pray loudly so that people see you and think, "Wow, what a holy person."

He also suggests that God hears us the first time we ask for something--we do not need to ask it over and over. Perhaps God does hear us the first time, but when we receive no answer, it's easy to assume he hasn't heard us. So I have more sympathy for the babbling prayer, the "please please please" repetition. Sometimes, the repetition is more for us than for God. We feel a need to be doing *something* and that's the only thing we can do sometimes.

The Lord's Prayer is simple as a formula: worship God and ask for his will to be done, ask for your daily needs to be met, request forgiveness of sins and help to forgive people you're angry at, and keep us from doing wrong. Except for the first part of it, it's hard to imagine that anybody could have a probem with this as a formula for prayer that can help make us better people. I can also see removing the religious trappings of it and suggesting it as a simple daily meditation.

The final passages suggest we shouldn't worry about our physical needs being met--food, clothing, shelter--because if we're following God, he'll take care of all of that. So...why do the righteous sometimes go hungry? There are many faithful people who end up in refugee camps after all. I suppose I could pull some theological explanation that made sense to me in the past to try to explain this contradiction, but I think I'll leave the question as is. Why do good people--hard-working people--people who love God--why do they go hungry?

Matthew 5: turning things upside down

You know, this chapter has to be one of the most familiar Bible passages ever--the passage where Jesus turns things upside and tells people to behave opposite of what feels natural to us.

If you are poor, miserable, and oppressed, he says, don't worry about it because God will bless you in heaven. Be generous. If somebody steals your computer, give him your other computer. If someone forces you to clean their house, clean it twice. Don't defend yourself if somebody hits you--let them hit you again. You're an adulterer if you lust after a woman who isn't your wife, even if you never touch her. Don't ever make promises you won't keep--if you say "yes," then do it. Let your word be gold.

I can't imagine that many people like this passage or really pay attention to it. I think people read it but they don't take Jesus literally. (It's funny that so many other passages are read literally, but not this one.) I think Jesus really means it: Be a peacemaker. Don't be violent. Don't take revenge. Don't be angry or lustful. Be compassionate and merciful. Don't harbor grudges. (Oooh, that's a hard one. I still harbor grudges against people ten years after the fact. Really!)

I think this is a chapter I need to put into practice. It's gonna be hard. I'll report back to you what happens....Well, all the non-embarrassing stuff, that is.

Moving away from the Bible

Tomorrow, I have to read something other than the Bible. It's kind of getting old to me already....I feel like I'm sounding like a Christian again, when I left that life behind 12 years ago and don't have a real interest in going back again...

Matthew 4: temptation and all that jazz

Today, it's true, I don't want to talk about the scripture I read, the temptation of Jesus. I want to talk about how I'm using my brief quiet time in the morning to learn Portuguese. Instead of reading the Bible, I've found an online audio version of it in Portuguese. I listen to the chapter for the day, then listen again while going over the words. It's one more reminder that I am frustrated by the level of my connection with Mozambique, Angola, and South Africa (even though they don't speak Portuguese there...) I'd like to be more connected, to have a home there that I go to regularly, to have a community there that I'm actively involved in. I'm tired by this American life. In fact, so tired that I don't participate in it much. Don't get me wrong, I like the museums that I almost never go to, and the live music that we go hear at least once a month, and the literary readings that I rarely attend...I love the safety I feel--that I can walk anywhere in Livermore and feel perfectly at ease. But it's not enough and my lack of participation in the life here suggests something to me. I'm always longing for there.

As far as the reading of Matthew 4 and the temptation of Christ goes: I already confessed yesterday to being tempted by fame and glory, though not particularly by power. Satan, of course, tries to tempt Jesus by giving him what he's already destined to receive...and Jesus resists because he wants not temporary, earthly glory and power, but eternal glory and power. If he does it Satan's way, he'll have it--here on earth. If he does it God's way, he'll have it forever. Like any foresighted person, Jesus chooses to have it forever, even if that means he can't have it immediately. (A dollar in the savings account means more than a dollar later...but a dollar spent now is only a dollar....)

I don't want to be disrespectful or blasphemous, but I struggle with this Scripture. I struggle with the suggestion that we should give up earthly glory and riches so we can get it after we die. I don't mind the idea that we should give up glory and riches, but why should we do it when there's a promise of it later? The only thing we're doing is *delaying* the glory and the riches, not really giving them up.

I also struggle with the idea that it is God who leads us into temptation ("Then Jesus was led out into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit to be tempted there by the Devil." Matthew 4:1.) What does that say about God? Why should God want to test us? I've never liked Job for that reason, God colluding with Satan. It always suggests to me that the lines between Satan and God are not clearly and finely drawn as I'd like them to be. I'd like God to be perfectly good and Satan to be perfectly evil, but when they collude together like this, I just don't know about it. And also, in this very scripture reading, Jesus tells Satan that the scriptures tell us not to test God (Matthew 4:7). Why isn't God held to the same standard? Why does he get to test us if we don't get to test him? Talk about a double standard.

I do love the brief passage at the end of Chapter 4 that talks about Jesus healing the sick. Without a doubt, we humans are desperate for physical healing, and we will follow those who offer it to us. We offer our loyalties, our lives, our fortunes, our families--everything--if somebody can give us healing. So Jesus was/is a healer and that is a HUGE part of why people follow him.

I'm currently writing a book about the ways that we (and especially the ways that I, in particular) seek healing. We tend to go about it erratically, slap-dash, without thinking about what it all might mean. When we are desperate, we listen to the promises that people can make to us, and we want to believe so much that we are willing to try whatever.

Maybe Jesus really was a healer. I'd like to believe that Jesus was different than the people I've seen in South Africa who promise healing and offer nothing. But I do wonder sometimes if Jesus is so very different than the Isaiah Shembes of the world. Isaiah Shembe was an African prophet who lived at the turn of the 20th century. The stories about the miracles that Shembe performed rival the Gospel stories. And the people who follow Isaiah Shembe (who is now long gone, but his descendents have taken up the reign of power) believe wholeheartedly that he is the African Jesus--a prophet sent to his own people. Do I believe the stories of Isaiah Shembe's healing? Not really. Sometimes, I think it's possible, maybe he really did have a healing gift, and maybe many people have a healing gift. But other times, I'm pretty certain that it's just people's wishful thinking, their deep desire for healing, that created the stories and the legends. And so I wonder the same about Jesus.

I *want* to believe in spiritual power and spiritual healing. But I just can't. I've never seen any evidence of it.

Matthew 3: just being me

Matthew 3 relates the story of Jesus' baptism. It was Jesus' cousin, John the Baptist, who baptized him--but reluctantly because John claimed that he was the one who needed baptizing from Jesus, not the other way around. John the Baptist had been living like a mad man in the desert, eating locusts and telling people to repent from their sins.

What struck me about this story was not Jesus' baptism, or the fact that the skies open up and God tells him, "You're my son and I'm pleased with you." No, what struck me was how humble John the Baptist was. He didn't presume to be something he wasn't. Though he had many followers, he knew who was greater than he was. He knew who deserved worship.

The truth is, I always want the glory. I want to be the Messiah--without having to be crucified or go through any of the hard shit, that is. I just want the glory of all the followers, afterward, you see. What that translates into in the real world: As a writer, I'd love to have millions in my thrall. That would, of course, translate into millions in the bank, so maybe I have an even baser motive than fame at heart. But for the most part, I think I'd trade the money in for the fame and glory.

And if I can't be Jesus, I'd like to be second-best: John the Baptist, who prepared the way for the Messiah. (I guess a lot of people would think Peter is second best, but Peter hasn't shown up yet in these gospels.)

In the writing world, I suppose that means that if I can't be Judy Blume, it'd be nice to be, I don't know, Marcus Zuzak. Or Sara Zarr.

But I have to admit, the pursuit of fame isn't very fun. I'm pretty miserable about it. A friend of mine, a publisher at a small press, once told me, "You place too much emphasis on publication." She's right. But beyond the emphasis on publication, I place too much emphasis on the fame and glory after publication.

The truth is, I enjoy writing, and I get a great deal of satisfaction out of finishing a piece, whether it's a small piece or a longer piece or a book. And that should be enough. It's often not, but it should be.

So I'm sticking a new post-it note on the edge of my screen. It reads: You are not Jesus.

And underneath that, another post-it note: You're not even John the Baptist.

This isn't my way of tearing myself a new one, by the way. I know I'm a good writer and a decent person and all that jazz. Those post-it notes are just to remind myself that I shouldn't try to be something I'm not.

I should just try to be me.

Matthew 2: prophecies and problems

See, I don't get why it would matter to God to be so specific with his prophecies about the PLACES that the Messiah would come out of. Why was it so important that he be born in Bethlehem? That he come out of Egypt? That he grow up in Nazareth?

There's a number of things I don't like about the specificity here.

Scenario A. God knew ahead of time exactly what would happen--that there would be a census and all people would have to return to the place of their birth; that Herod would be king, get jealous, and try to kill all the children so that he could kill his rival, the king of the Jews that the Magi claimed had been born. If God knew in advance what would happen, then why didn't he stop the slaughter of all the innocents in Bethlehem? One might argue that people have free will and God doesn't interfere with that. But if he knew in advance what would happen, does anybody have free will?


Scenario B. God didn't know ahead of time how it would happen, but there something about these places that held particular symbolic meaning for the people at the time, or these places held spiritual power in some way, and so it was necessary for Jesus to be born in the one place and reside in two other places as he grew up. So God finagled his way to make sure Jesus was born in Bethlehem (by causing the census), allowed or encouraged Herod's killing of the infants to make sure Jesus and his parents fled to Egypt, and ultimately encouraged Joseph to move to Nazareth, where Jesus could grow up in relative peace.

Scenario B seems less threatening to me than Scenario A (which makes God seem, well, kind of evil, no matter which way you cut it, either actively evil or passively so) but even Scenario B doesn't seem so great.

For the believers, I get it. The specificity offers assurance that this was truly the Messiah because he fits all the prophecies. But the specificity--and how it was achieved--should surely give us room for pause.

The God of the Old Testament is a God of vengence. He has no problem telling the people of Israel to commit mass genocide, to slaughter an entire people and leave no one standing. So why would the God of Matthew chapter 2 suddenly be so different, that he'd have a problem with the slaughter of a bunch of innocent babies, just so his prophecy could be fulfilled?

Scenario C. It was all a coincidence. After the facts of Jesus's birth, life, and death, his biographers were able to find things from the Old Testament that helped prop up their argument that Jesus was the Messiah.

Scenario D. Is there a Scenario D? I'm willing to entertain propositions.

Yesterday's chapter put me in a spiritually seeking and peaceful kind of mood but today's has me all hepped up and frustrated.

Matthew 1: dreams, desires, and decisions

I am often seized with a desperate frustration that I'm called to do something and I'm not doing it. Usually, that frustration has to do with the fact that I live here in the U.S. when I want to be doing something for Africa, making a difference there instead of here.

This morning, I read Matthew chapter 1 (I'm reading it in Portuguese) and was struck by two things: 1) by Mary's desperate plight (unwed, pregnant) and 2) Joseph's belief.

For Mary, I wonder if she was at peace, sure that God would take care of her since he impregnated her, or whether she was fearful, wondering what would happen to her. My bet is that she was fearful, trying to calm herself down, hyperventilating, telling herself over and over that God would surely not let her starve to death since he got her into this predicament in the first place. She probably didn't calm down until Joseph agreed to marry her after all. This doesn't make Mary less in my eyes; it simply makes her more human, more like me, after all, more like all of us.

For Joseph, I'm struck by the fact that he didn't question whether this was really the Angel of the Lord that spoke to him in the dream, he just did what God told him to do. (At least, that's the edited version passed down through generations...) In reality, I suspect he was like most of us: sticking to the path he'd decided to embark on, but desperately afraid he was doing the wrong thing, and wondering all the time if that dream had been, after all, just a dream and not really God's direct command. At some point, he must have made peace with his decision--but I'm guessing it was after the decision was irrevocable, after he had tied the knot and married Mary and had nowhere else to go but down the path with her towards childbirth. Up until then, he must have been a confused mess of emotions going off in all different directions, especially wondering if God was *really* in this.

Maybe I'm projecting, but I don't think "peace" is the emotion most people feel when God puts them in a predicament.

I want to have more faith. I am not a woman of faith, not a particularly religious woman, but I do believe in God. And as such, I want to believe that s/he has some direction for my life, has called me to do certain things, and, thus, will help me even when things seem desperate, as they did for Mary, or uncertain, as they must have seemed to Joseph.

I'm reminded of a dream I had a few nights ago. In the dream, I was in a house, surrounded by women I know who are all young mothers. I wandered from person to person, but I couldn't relate to any of them because I'm not a mother. In fact, I felt inferior as I talked with them--there was a sense in which all of them had experienced a part of womanhood that I lacked, and we couldn't connect on that particular level. It made me feel robbed of something. And even as I tried to interest them in non-motherhood-related topics, I realized what I was doing: subconsciously, I was trying to make them feel inferior because I had a career and had travelled to so many exotic locales and done so many interesting things. Eventually, I separated myself from the mothers with babies--they were in one part of the house, while I was in another part of the house. In my part of the house, I was joined by my many African friends, and we discussed Africa, and politics, and health, and we ignored the issue of motherhood. Among these friends, I felt totally equal (though some of them are parents) because we were meeting on a different playing field.

I woke up and felt a moment of grief, like I'd lost my chance at motherhood, like I'd traded it in for Africa and writing. On reflection later, I realized that of course, I have never given up my dream of motherhood--until the last few years, I didn't have a spouse with whom I could have children. But I did feel the dream was speaking to me about my hidden desires as well as the obvious calling on my life to Africa. While all the other women in the room had chosen motherhood--and let me add, they are all young women I admire, who have made the choices they wanted to make in regards to choosing children over career, at least for the time being--I had not. And ultimately, I found myself in a room with the people I had chosen--Africans.

Did the dream signify that I'll never be a mother? Well, I sure hope not. Nor do I think it says that I'm inferior for not being a mother, or that those women are inferior for not having an interesting career that has allowed them to travel to exotic locales. But it does say a lot about my calling: where I've positioned myself in life, what I've chosen, perhaps even what God has chosen for me.

As I embark on this next stage of my life, trying to get pregnant, I'm constantly filled with doubts. Sometimes I wonder if motherhood is what God intends for me, or even if motherhood is something I want to add to my mixture of things I've already chosen (or that has chosen me)--Africa and writing. Sometimes I feel desperate to be pregnant, now, and sometimes, I secretly hope I'm not pregnant, so that nothing needs to change. In fact, I worry about how motherhood will prevent me from doing the things I feel I'm supposed to do in Africa--those vague, hazy outline of things that still haven't happened. I'm still waiting for the clarion call from God, the angel of the Lord appearing to me in a dream and telling me, "This is what you're supposed to do."

But like I said, it seems so clear in the Gospel story, but the path that God marked out for Mary and Joseph must have been hazy and uncertain to them. I wonder how fearful, and frustrated they must have felt as they walked down that road, wondering all the time if they could veer in a different direction, or if they even wanted to, or if this was really the path they were supposed to be on and if they weren't just fooling themselves. I wonder how much of this path I'm following I charted myself, and how much has been charted for me.

I don't know the answer to any of those questions. Like I said, I'm not a particular person of faith. But I'm trying.