In this middle section of Ecclesiastes we move from various proverbs and observations toward the book’s climactic resolution.
Chapter 7 begins with a focus on our mortality and the need for us to be ever-aware of this truth. Just as having a good reputation based on good character is better than good perfume (because perfume is simply a cover-up for our stink), so our death is better than our birth. What is the point of this analogy? Does the Teacher truly believe that it’s better to be dead than alive? Or is he saying that it’s not until the very end of our lives that we truly know who we are? We may think we have good character and a good reputation, but we don’t really know until we’ve reached the end.
This observation is then followed by a series of proverbs that choose mourning over celebrating. At first this shocking sentiment is counter-intuitive, but the Teacher, I think, is choosing to face the miseries of life and the prospect of death honestly and head-on rather than pretending all is well, that life goes on forever, and amusing ourselves into distraction from reality. To always be honest and aware of our mortality actually brings us a deeper peace and acceptance (v. 3).
Verse 10 rejects the common feeling that past times were better than present times. We tend to see the past through rose-colored glasses, idealizing our best memories and tending to forget the monotonous and the unfair. The Teacher’s point is that the past was just as miserable as the present, but for us it may be the case that today is actually better than yesterday. Some researchers claim that there is far less violence and far more freedoms and opportunities today in the world than at any other time in history. When middle class white people idealize the world of their youth and think the situation has deteriorated since then, they are probably forgetting or unaware of all the people who were restricted and discriminated against far more in the past than they are today.
Verses 15-18 are another set of startling statements. The Teacher seems to have been influenced by Greek philosophy, counseling moderation in all things–even being moderate instead of too righteous and wise! Better to be a mix of the righteous and the wicked without going overboard with either one. If you’re too wicked, you’ll die young. If you’re too righteous, you’ll be oppressed by a perfectionistic spirit. The Teacher is not actually suggesting we be less good. Indeed, he states that those who fear God (those with an unselfish moral concern) will succeed in balancing how to live.
In verse 26 the Teacher warns against seductive women who entrap men into folly–a theme found in Proverbs as well. Nothing reveals the prejudiced male point of view of this book quite so clearly. In actuality, it is men who are usually the ones doing the seduction, leading naïve women into unwanted disasters. The Teacher acknowledges that only one out of a thousand men is wise, but he can’t find any women at all who qualify (v. 28). There’s just one word for this: sexist.
In chapter 8 we move into advice about obeying rulers. The Teacher, I think, is being prudential; he is looking for the best way to get through this life without unnecessary pointless misery. There’s no point in taking on the power of the king. In the rest of the Bible we find a usually respectful approach to governing authorities, but also a willingness to subvert them or circumvent them when they are doing something unjust.
As we move into chapter 9, I sense that we are now reaching the book’s climax. The theme of vanity reemerges, and yet the Teacher acknowledges it’s better to be a living dog than a dead lion (so much for the day of death being better than the day of birth). Being alive is to be treasured. It is a wonder and a gift. Although it is all hebel–a temporary puff of smoke–enjoy it while you can. Enjoy bread and wine and celebration; wear nice clothes and oil your skin; do whatever work is at hand with diligence and strength and skill; and enjoy the love of your wife. This is the Teacher’s most exuberant, positive expression to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, and it is the first time he has included one’s most important, intimate relationship–the one we have with our spouse. The Teacher is maturing.
He concludes that life is unpredictable. The fastest don’t always win the race, the strongest don’t always overcome in the battle, the most intelligent don’t always flourish, the wisest and most skillful are subject to chance. Once again, even while enjoying the gift of life, stay aware of its mortality–the unknown time and circumstances of its end. Such awareness heightens our appreciation for the gift we have now; rather than taking life for granted, we cherish each moment even more and are prepared, internally, for it’s end, whenever and however that may be.
After its initial chapters, the Book of Ecclesiastes has a loose structure, meandering to various subjects and continually circling around to once again pronounce that “all is vanity.” In this section of the book, the Teacher often sounds a lot like the Book of Proverbs: one bit of observational wisdom after another about how best to live. Several of his statements are worth pondering.
“Two are better than one” begins one of the more happy statements in this book (4:9-12). Friendship, companionship, having a partner–this is crucial for living a strong and fulfilling life (at least for most people). Marriage is perhaps one of the relationships in mind, but the passage also covers all deep friendships. We thrive when we have someone with whom we can share our thoughts, our fears, our hopes, our loves. “Just friends” is a way our culture has trivialized the importance of genuine friendship. The Teacher is not thinking of people we merely socialize with at parties or on the pickleball court; he’s talking about those few people in our lives with whom we experience trust and an intimate bond. Is it better to have many casual friends or just one one close friend? The Teacher would select the latter.
What is the best way to worship God? With lots of singing and spoken prayers, sacrifices and offerings? Or with humble silence? The Teacher chooses the path of few words (5:1-2). Aware that God is utterly transcendent and beyond us (the “Wholly Other” as Karl Barth put it), it is foolish for us to prattle about God, thinking all our talking and rituals are influencing God to bless us. The Teacher is perhaps reflecting a bit of Amos and Isaiah’s critique of Israel’s worship–prophets who condemned religious ritual that is not an outgrowth of doing justice for the poor and oppressed. The Teacher is not against the forms of worship used in the temple, but he is against an unreflective religiosity that does not first critique oneself and come before God in humility.
5:7 continues a critique of meaningless and unreflective prattle. Instead, the Teacher says to “fear God.” This is not a call to live in fear of hell or some other divine punishment; rather, this is the ancient Hebrew way of saying: have a proper reverence for God, aware that God is a rescuing God, we belong to God, and God requires a moral and just life from us. Verses 8-9 are rather obscure, but the theme of oppression of the poor ties in with the call to fear God. “Fear God” is repeated throughout the Old Testament, and is said to be “the beginning of wisdom” in the Book of Proverbs. It is also one of the last statements in the Book of Ecclesiastes. It is the refrain that ties together much of the Bible. Despite the Teacher’s often dour and meaningless view of life, he never abandons this central tenant of faith that, despite everything, we are to pursue doing God’s justice in this world with an attitude of humility toward God.
Loving money and pursuing money is a bottomless pit that never arrives at satisfaction (5:10), a view repeated by Jesus and the New Testament writers, who also see it as contrary to the pursuit of justice. On the other hand, honest labor by those who are content with what they have brings satisfaction and sound sleep (5:12). We came into the world naked and will go out the same way, so accumulation of wealth is a foolish pursuit (5:15). It is a selfish, temporary pursuit, unlike the pursuit of justice, which is God’s eternal pursuit.
Once again, the Teacher returns to his conclusion that it is best for people to enjoy whatever they have and find satisfaction in their work; that way we won’t spend our time brooding on how life is meaningless (5:18-20). But in the next breath he observes that in many cases even fortunate people are unable to do this (6:1-6). Ecclesiastes is full of tensions such as this. There are no easy or complete answers.
If there is one consistent value in Ecclesiastes, it is that the gifts of life are to be enjoyed, as much as we can. Today we might call this “mindfulness.” Judaism (at least as I am aware of it) differs from some other religions in that it does not have a history of world-denying asceticism. In the Talmud is the statement: “In the world to come, everyone will have to give account for all the pleasures of life that they refused to enjoy.” The ancient rabbis did not counsel asceticism and a rejection of the material world; rather, they embraced and appreciated the pleasures of bodily existence. Of course, these pleasures must be within proper contexts of spiritual gratitude so that they are not selfish and exploitive. But from the opening lines of the Bible, Judaism has always declared creation to be good. Not to enjoy it is to reject the gift of God.
[I will take a Christmas break from this blog and resume the study of Ecclesiastes on January 9th.]
In the first two chapters the Teacher has established that all pursuits are pointless, and therefore our only recourse is to enjoy each moment as we can. Now he turns to reflect on the nature of time.
3:1-8 is a beautiful poem about finding the right moment for different actions. In the field of ethics, there is a perspective that believes that what is the right thing to do now is the right thing to do tomorrow and yesterday–that right action does not change. The Teacher disagrees. Each moment requires its own discernment as to what is the right action. This does not mean that the definition of justice is fluid, but it does mean that the goal of justice is not an unwavering path.
The poem is also acknowledging that life has appropriate stages. We are meant to pursue different things in different stages of life. Erik Erickson famously promulgated eight essential stages of human development that correspond with different age groups: the need to learn trust, autonomy, initiative, ability, identity, intimacy, generativity, and acceptance of what is and will be.
In this poem, the pairs flip back and forth between positive-negative and negative-positive. In other words, the pattern of life–whether to act or be passive, whether to build or tear down–varies from time to time. Significantly, though, the first pair is birth-death and the last pair is hate-peace. In other words, we are urged to accept that life must end in death, but we are also urged to believe that the ultimate condition of existence is peace.
While we go through different times and seasons, doing different things, God endures (3:14) and God stands outside of time (3:15). This thought, I think, is meant to give us a sense of stability in what would otherwise be a meaningless world. The Teacher is aware that injustice can be found everywhere (3:16); nevertheless, he believes that in some way–outside of time?–God will provide justice (3:17). We all die, just like animals. Does this mean we are no different from the animals? Or do humans have a spirit that continues existence after death? (3:19-21). The Teacher doesn’t know, but he wonders whether the reality of death is a kind of test from God (3:18). The meaning (and translation) of this verse is unclear, but perhaps we are coming close to the question raised in the first chapter of Job: Do humans act with virtue for the sake of a reward, or are we capable of doing good even though there is no reward at all, only suffering? Are we capable of being good just for the sake of being good? It seems to me this is a central concern of the entire Bible.
One more bit of wisdom: the Teacher comes to the insight that the real motivation behind much of our labor and creativity is envy of others (4:4). This leads the Teacher to advise that we should practice quietude rather than accumulation (4:6).
Months after my mother died of cancer, I was sitting on a couch at home imagining the moment of my own death: my last struggle to breathe, and then no more. I then imagined my wife’s death, and then, even worse, I imagined the time–presumably many decades from now–when my children are each on their death bed taking their last breath. It was a shattering experience for me. At that moment I was completely hollowed out by the sense that nothing matters at all. Everything is pointless.
The Teacher expresses a similar sense, for a similar reason, in chapter two of Ecclesiastes. In chapter one he has the initial sense that everything is pointless because the same cycles continue repeating endlessly. In chapter two, he seeks a way to break out of these meaningless cycles of nature and history. How? By pursuing pleasure.
The Teacher uses the word pleasure in a broad sense. It includes: building monuments and works of beauty, increasing his wealth and possessions, enjoying rich entertainments and sexual experiences, and becoming famous. But after tasting every pleasure, he still concludes “all was vanity and a chasing after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.”
He doesn’t say why pleasure failed to bring meaning to his life, but we frequently discover this for ourselves. It is a common experience to long for a possession or a position, but once we obtain it, it makes us no happier. Happiness researches have found that getting a raise or obtaining some other desired thing causes an initial increase in happiness, but soon we resume our former emotional state. Games and adventures, power and fame, after a while, fail to make any difference. We often feel they are empty of any lasting meaning or purpose. They are simply distractions. Distractions from what?
The next pursuit of the Teacher is wisdom. Surely a wise life is better than a foolish life. Wisdom keeps us from falling into disasters and embarrassments. Wisdom tends to make life more stable. But no matter how wise we are, we ultimately end up in the same place as the fool: dead. If we all end up dead, what was the point in being wise and careful? Whatever wealth we may have accumulated through our hard work and wisdom now goes to someone else–who may turn out to be foolish and waste it all. What was the point? No matter how rich we were, no matter how famous, we will eventually be forgotten. Dead is dead.
This is what all of our pleasure is trying to distract us from: the reality of our own impending death and the total pointlessness of our life after we are forgotten.
I enjoy walking through old cemeteries. The monuments are often aesthetically beautiful, and the tomb inscriptions are full of sorrow and longing, love and hope. But I can’t help but think that these monuments are futile attempts to stay alive, to be remembered and honored. Billions of people have lived and died on this planet, and all but a miniscule number are now forgotten. In humility we ought to accept that in a few generations we will simply be a name on a register. In humility we ought to join the rest of the departed human family and accept our equality and mortality.
The Teacher, after facing the reality of his coming death, says, “I hated all my toil in which I had toiled under the sun …. So I turned and gave my heart up to despair.” His insight goes beyond his own privileged life, though: at least he has the good fortune to live a comfortable (though pointless) life. He is aware that most people don’t even get that. Recognizing that the multitudes are made up of people who have to struggle daily just to survive, he asks, “What do mortals get from all the toil and strain with which they toil under the sun? For all their days are full of pain, and their work is a vexation; even at night their minds do not rest. This also is vanity.”
So if life is pointless, what should we do? The Teacher says we have no alternative: “There is nothing better for mortals than to eat and drink and find enjoyment in their toil.” It may all be pointless, but enjoy it while you can, because this is all that God has given us. Some, through divine chance, will enjoy some wisdom in their lives, while others will simply have to labor to live. Whatever our lot, take it and live it.
This is a refrain the teacher will come back to again and again. Is he right? Many of us, I’m sure, are ready to interrupt him and disagree with him for one reason or another. Many will point out that the Teacher has no future hope, and so this affects his conclusions. That’s certainly true. But before we discount him, we should first acknowledge the truth he is experiencing, and then keep listening. He has other things to say as well.
In the first half of my life I was mesmerized by the great stories of the Bible, but in the second half of my life I am drawn to the wisdom books of the Bible. The stories of the Bible are about God acting through the complex human drama to bring about a future hope. But the wisdom books are reflections about life and its meaning, giving us permission to think for ourselves and figure things out and examine whether what we have been taught and assumed is actually true.
Two wisdom books stand out for their shocking analysis and questions: Job and Ecclesiastes. Both are cynical, critical, and struggle to find some sort of resolution or peace. Job wonders why, if God is good, the innocent suffer. Ecclesiastes wonders if there is any point or meaning in life at all. Job has a happy–though ambiguous–ending. Ecclesiastes simply gives up, but–in the hand of a later editor–chooses faith anyway. This is the book I will reflect on for the next several weeks.
“The words of the Teacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem” (v. 1). This title, along with the reference to being a person of wisdom (v. 13), suggests that the narrator is supposed to be King Solomon. However, the style of this book comes from a much later period and shows the influence of Greek philosophy. Most likely, this is one of the last books of the Old Testament to be written, and it was also one of the last to be accepted by Judaism (and Christianity) as authoritative scripture. The writer, who calls himself “the Teacher,” is posing as King Solomon, imagining how Solomon, a man renowned for his insight, might have reflected on the meaning of life.
“Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity!” (v. 2) This opening line summarizes the entire content of the book. It is its thesis statement. The rest of the book is devoted to making the case of its truth. The word “vanity” is a translation of the Hebrew word hebel, which refers to a wisp of smoke or vapor. The idea is of impermanence, of something that passes quickly of no consequence. We could paraphrase the opening line as: “Pointless, pointless, all is pointless.”
The Teacher begins his argument by pointing out the endless cycles of nature: generations come and go, the sun rises and sets, the wind continues blowing, rivers keep flowing, and yet nothing fundamentally changes. We keep seeing and hearing, but we don’t really see or hear anything new. Because the Teacher lives in the ancient world, a world with little science or technological development, it would indeed seem like nothing really changes. Would he have felt similarly if he had been aware of the history of the earth in the past couple of centuries? Isn’t the world entirely different now: computers, cell phones, space flight, heart surgery, robotics, etc? Hasn’t the world changed politically and economically: the rise of democracy and market capitalism?
I suspect, though, that the Teacher would still claim that “there is nothing new under the sun.” Yes, we have invented all sorts of technologies never dreamed of before, but has the essence of human nature and life really changed? Do we not still face the same questions and struggles we have always faced? Yes, human equality has advanced, but we are still plagued by violence and accidents, and no one can escape the reality of death. The earth is getting hotter, but there’s no “goal” to nature. All of our great scientific discoveries have merely revealed that there is no purpose or direction behind the movement of subatomic quantum fields. We just exist. We’re not really going anywhere. At least, that’s what it looks like, and always has.
As the Teacher seeks through philosophical reflection (“wisdom”) to figure out the point of it all, he admits its a depressing quest, “an unhappy business that God has given humans to be busy with” (v. 13). All that we do, and all of our thinking, amounts to nothing.
The cynicism of the Teacher is going to be unrelenting throughout this book. We might be tempted to give up on him before the book is done, or argue he’s wrong and decide to ignore him. But I would suggest listening to him carefully and seeing the truth in what he says. He may not see all the truth, but the truth he does see is important for us to look at honestly and unflinchingly. There is no genuine hope unless we’ve gone down to the deepest depths. Ecclesiastes is our guide on that journey.
On the wall of my church office, above my desk, hang three crosses in a triangular pattern. I placed them there about thee years ago and they have become the focus of my daily meditation.
The cross at the top, which is also the largest, is made out of poured stone, with wide, flaring arms. Inscribed on the cross are the words of the Lord’s Prayer. Below to the left is a cross made out of rusted barbed wire, at the center of which are two tiny turquois stones held in place with a thin wire. To the right is a cross made out of two pieces of cholla cactus wood, permeated with natural thin holes. A strip of leather holds the two pieces of wood together, along with a piece of unpolished turquois and red coral.
Each of these crosses has a particular meaning for me. The top cross, inscribed with the Lord’s Prayer, reminds me that my central task is to pray for and live out the coming of God’s kingdom, on earth as it is in heaven. The barbed wire cross reminds me of Jesus’ terrible suffering and death–the cost of nonviolent, self-giving love, even for enemies. The cholla cactus cross, with its many holes, reminds me of the wind of the Spirit that blows where it will and which must be the source of power for me and the church. Only when I empty myself through prayer may God’s Spirit fill me.
Together these crosses represent for me the Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I have to admit that until recent years I’ve never been a big fan of the Trinity. It always struck me as an artificial and abstract doctrine subscribed to by overly confident theologians, causing more division than good, roughly equivalent to trying to figure out how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.
But as these three crosses have served as the visual focus for my daily prayers and meditation, the Trinity has become far more real and relevant to me. The Kingdom is the ultimate hope and goal of God the Father. The suffering of the cross epitomizes the ministry of Jesus and summarizes what it means for the Word to become flesh, for God’s love to be embodied and lived out to its ultimate consequence in the Son. And the Spirit is that power and virtue of God which is everywhere and always, but which we block through our own self-filling, and thus requires our self-emptying to fully employ. Rather than an artificial and abstract doctrine, the Trinity has become my spiritual journey. I often end my prayers by looking at these three crosses and saying: “For your kingdom, by your cross, through your Spirit.”
I encourage others to find something that may visualize your faith or discipleship, and use it as a focus at the beginning or end of your prayers.
One of the great intellectual developments of the Middle Ages was the founding of universities. The first was the University of Bologna in Italy in the year 1088. The University of Oxford came next, followed by the University of Salamanca (Spain), the University of Paris, and the University of Cambridge. These first universities studied and taught the following subjects: grammar, logic, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy. And binding them all together was “the queen of the sciences”: theology.
The word “science” had a broader meaning in the Middle Ages, applying to any field of study that sought to better understand the world. So why was theology considered the “queen” of the sciences? Because theology is the study of God, and it is God who unifies every field of knowledge, creating a comprehensive worldview. Thomas Aquinas, the greatest of the medieval theologians, achieved a synthesis of all known knowledge into a single system, with God at its center.
Those days are long gone. Now anyone can get a college degree without even knowing what theology is. And very few universities are still trying to pull all knowledge together into one coherent system–or if they try to, they probably aren’t using theology to do it.
Is there a new “queen of the sciences” today? Many would argue for physics being queen. If all of reality boils down to matter and energy, physics is the field that tries to explain where it all came from and how it all works and where it’s all going.
Others might argue for mathematics. The only way we can understand matter and energy, and build models of reality, is through equations. If math is the language of the universe, then it should be regarded as queen.
Others would argue that behind math and all the hard sciences is philosophy. Philosophy tells us how to think, how to figure out what “knowledge” is and how we can or cannot access knowledge. Science is a method based on various assumptions; it is up to philosophy to determine whether those assumptions are valid or all-encompassing.
Others would argue that philosophy has become a sterile language game, and viewing physics or math as the heart of reality is reductionist nonsense. If we really want to get as large a grasp on reality, or at least human realty, as we can, we should focus on psychology. Psychology uncovers the secrets of human motivation and behavior.
Not so fast, say the sociologists. Psychology looks at the individual, but we are social animals, and it is what we do together that reveals the deepest truths of what it means to be human.
No, say the historians. History is the great story of humanity. Here is psychology and sociology, evolution and biology, the environment and geography, politics and discovery, all rolled into one. History is queen.
Or is it? Before there was history, there was mythology. Mythology isn’t confined to “what happened.” Mythology explores meaning and purpose, the basic impulses that make us such extraordinary creatures, that cause us to dream and tell stories, form values, become organized, and seek an ideal.
But has mythology been replaced by literature? Some would argue this is our modern mythology for exploring who we are, making sense of reality, and finding a way forward.
I find all of these candidates worthy of consideration for the title: “queen of the sciences.” None will be able to find consensus support because we no longer share a culture or world that sees things the same way. Each of us brings to the table a different experience or tradition or intuition that predisposes us to pick one or another candidate as “queen,” and then relate all other knowledge around that.
Which brings me back to theology. For me, the most basic truth of all is that which is greater than anything we can imagine. It is that from which all exists and finds meaning and purpose and direction. I call that God. And it is my understanding of God that provides the framework for my life.
Theology: queen of the sciences.
For almost forty years I have made good preaching the centerpiece of my ministry. I believe in good preaching for three reasons: 1) good preaching is the most effective way to transmit faith to the congregation, 2) preaching is the pastor’s most public ministry, so the better the preaching, the stronger the pastor’s public ministry will tend to be, and 3) good preaching often correlates with vibrant and growing congregations.
Preaching is sometimes derided by our culture. It is linked to pomposity, dogmatic narrowness, fear-mongering, empty platitudes, boredom, hypocrisy, and narcissism. That, of course, is bad preaching, not good preaching. Unfortunately, bad preaching gets most of the attention.
Because I believe in good preaching, I have given much attention to cultivating it. The first thing I tried to teach myself was to speak in as natural and conversational a way as possible. I wanted to get away from the stilted, formal preaching voice I often heard in my childhood. I also emphasized lively storytelling: biblical stories, personal stories, and parable-type stories. Although I was committed to bringing current biblical scholarship into my sermons, I didn’t want my sermons to be a mental exercise–an informative lecture or a detailed commentary on scripture; rather, I strove to turn my sermons into a journey with challenges and surprising twists, leading ultimately to encouragement, guidance, and healing. Finally, I dispensed with a manuscript and notes in the pulpit so that I could speak with full eye contact and engagement with the congregation, allowing for spontaneity.
The results have been gratifying. I am often commended for my preaching. My congregations have grown.
And yet, at the back of my mind I am aware that there is also a danger in good preaching. It can detract from what is more important.
Aristotle taught that effective public speaking depends on three things: logos, pathos, and ethos. Logos refers to reason. Effective communication has to make sense, it has to be logical and it has to make its case in an intellectually persuasive way. Pathos refers to emotion. Effective communication needs to engage our emotions. We are far more motivated by emotion than by reason, and even our ethical choices are determined more by our intuitions than by our logic. Ethos refers to character. Who we are as a person, what kind of impression and credibility we convey through our personality and personal behavior, has a tremendous effect on how people respond to us.
When I was a teenager I was surprised to discover that I could say the same words as a person I admired, but get an entirely different response from the same audience. That was because my ethos–my character–was not the same.
When good preaching is taught in seminary it often relies on logos and pathos, while ethos gets neglected. One can indeed preach excellent sermons by combining good logos and pathos. For many years that’s what I relied upon. But in the long run, ethos matters more. I believe a mediocre sermon preached by someone with good ethos nurtures a faith community better than a good sermon preached by someone with mediocre ethos.
It is what a pastor does outside the pulpit that determines whether they are “good” in the pulpit. Is the pastor moral and mature? Does the pastor listen well? Is the pastor sensitive and understanding? Does the pastor put meeting the needs of others before personal convenience or comfort? Does the pastor exhibit a big heart? That’s good preaching.
The apostle Paul offers a sober warning. He says he was sent to “proclaim the gospel, and not with eloquent wisdom, so that the cross of Christ might not be emptied of its power” (1 Corinthians 1:17). The self-giving love embodied on the cross, which is at the heart of the Christian faith, is not about trying to be eloquent or verbally impressive. “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging symbol” (1 Cor 13:1).
I still believe in good preaching. But I believe even more in love.
Praying for an election seems quite problematic to me. What exactly is one praying for?
If you’re praying for your favored political party or candidates to win, that’s a problem. Aren’t there people praying for the other party and candidates to win as well? What is God supposed to do with these contrary prayers? That’s like praying for your favorite football team to win a game–though admittedly that’s a more trivial matter. So let’s consider a situation that was not trivial at all: World War 1. At the beginning of that war, the various nations going to war each made declarations that God was on their side. Isn’t it the ultimate hubris to declare that you know that God is on your side and not on your opponent’s side? So it is with our elections. Praying that your own favored side wins is to assume that you know God is on your side and not on the side of those who think and feel differently than you do.
And how exactly would God use our prayers to defeat our political opponents? Are we asking God to rig the election? Are we asking God to keep our political opponents home with a cold so they don’t vote? Are we asking God to change their minds–violating their free will and choice?
If we support democracy, then we must support every voter being able to vote according to their own reason and conscience and preference. It means we have to accept the will of the majority–even if we think the majority is quite wrong-headed. If the majority makes a choice that turns out to be unwise, then perhaps they will correct their mistake in the next election. It’s messy and frustrating, but that’s the way it has to be if we accept the basic principle of government by election.
So I usually don’t pray for elections–certainly not for particular election results. If I pray, I pray for calm and acceptance within myself and others; I pray that God will work through whoever is elected for the common good.
But is that enough? The issues before us, and the crisis of our times, seem to demand a more passionate prayer than that. So, without trying to make God into a political partisan, here is my attempt to pray for the election this year:
God of all people and nations, God in whom we all share your image and the same value, I pray that I, along with all voters, political candidates, and political representatives, will be led by your Spirit to seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly; that we will seek the common good above our own selfish interests; that we will speak honestly and truthfully; that we will balance our passion with sensitivity and understanding; that we will build together and not tear apart; and that we will trust in You to use this flawed nation and our imperfect choices toward your desired greater good. You know our deep longings, hopes, and fears. Deliver us from what is wrong and unjust, but also deliver us from our own short-sighted blindness, self-righteous intolerance, and attitudes of hostility. Grant us peace as a nation, and wholeness for all. Amen.
Last week’s blog post on “Ten Spiritual Movies” got a lot of views and comments. “Spiritual” and “movie” must be an intriguing combination. So this week I wondered if I could come up with a book list that might interest people. I started making a list of spiritual books, or books that most deeply formed me, or books I enjoyed the most, or books that I thought were the best. I finally decided a more enlightening list would be “Ten Eye-Opening Books.” These are the books I have read in my adulthood (most of them recently) that have shocked me with important truths I did not know, or had not fully appreciated. Getting the list down to ten was difficult. I hated leaving some out, and the remaining list is a little lop-sided–favoring books that have to do with human violence. But for me personally, these have been the most eye-opening books I have read.
On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society, by Dave Grossman (2009). An Army officer and psychologist, Grossman developed the field of “killology”–the study of the effects killing has on those who kill, particularly in combat. Killing others is not natural to humans, and it comes with a heavy psychological toll. So the task of the military is to train people to get over this natural inhibition while not becoming psychological casualties in the process. (The high level of suicide among veterans perhaps demonstrates the inability of the military to completely fulfill this task.)
A Bright Shining Lie, by Neil Sheehan (1989). The Vietnam War was unwinnable from the beginning. No amount of U.S. military might could win a foreign civil war that was propping up an unpopular, corrupt government. We just keep forgetting this lesson.
Black Hearts: One Platoon’s Descent into Madness in Iraq’s Triangle of Death, by Jim Frederick (2013). The title says it all. Perhaps the best expose on the tragic Iraq War at ground level.
No Good Men Among the Living, by Anand Gopal (2015). Here’s the madness of the Afghanistan War, but from the perspective and experience of the Afghans themselves. It makes you ashamed of the brutality and stupidity of the U.S. military command and government.
Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland, by Patrick Radden Keefe (2019). My knowledge of “The Troubles” was cursory until I read this searing book that focuses on one murder. I was surprised by the way a terrorist organization was able to transition to mainstream politics–and thereby become more effective.
Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln, by Doris Kearns Goodwin (2009). I’ve read this book twice and was even more impressed by Lincoln the second time through. A deep thinker, a sensitive soul, an inspiring visionary–embodied in effective political balance, moderation, and humility.
The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration, by Isabel Wilkerson. I knew nothing about the great migration of African Americans from the South to the North and West in the 20th century. I thought I had a pretty good understanding of Jim Crow and the scope of American racism and injustice–and then I read this book.
Mountains Beyond Mountains, by Tracy Kidder (2009). Paul Farmer, a Harvard physician who dedicated his life to bringing effective healthcare to the poorest of the poor in places like Haiti, is one of the most remarkable persons I have ever read about. As important as his medical advocacy is his trenchant analysis of how American imperialism has ruined Haiti. To my own surprise, this book gave me important insights into the meaning of many of Jesus’ radical sayings.
The Goodness Paradox: The Strange Relationship Between Virtue and Violence in Human Evolution, by Richard Wrangham (2019). Humans are by far the most cooperative and least reactive of all mammals. We are extraordinarily “good” to one another. And yet, in certain circumstances we can be the most violent of all animals, slaughtering each other in war and carrying out executions. Wrangham, an expert in chimpanzee behavior and evolutionary psychology, develops a thesis to explain this paradox–one that I found convincing.
The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Politics and Religion, by Jonathan Haight. Based on a variety of behavioral experiments (many carried out at UVA), Haight makes a compelling case that our moral choices are based initially and primarily on six intuitive emotions which we later rationalize. Conservatives balance all six moral intuitions, whereas liberals tend to emphasize two or three, with the result that the two sides are talking past each other. Along with its investigations into religion, I found this to be the most helpful and insightful book I have read since college.
Reading a book takes a lot longer than watching a movie, but I hope you’ll take the time.
Biblical Commentary and Contemporary Topics 