Author: laurenlarkin

Whatever You Do, Don’t Ask “Why?”

(The following is my personal inquiry about suffering and questioning God’s Will in that suffering. None of it suffices for a proper treatment of doctrine surrounding the question. Take it as is: personal musings)

A few months after I graduated from seminary with my MDiv, I found myself back in class at the same school. I had noticed there was a night class being offered on reading through John Calvin, so I jumped at the opportunity. After having been solely a stay-at-home-mom for only 3 months, I needed–NEEDED–an adult, intellectual, theological outlet, and a reading class on Calvin would do nicely. Plus, I’m that obnoxious person who loves being in class and learning; I’m also that obnoxious person who rewrites B papers, so auditing a class post graduation for no reason than just because is well within my standard range of activity.

One night the discussion revolved around God’s will, a topic most of us find somewhat frustrating and intriguing. Specifically, the discussion revolved around a certain aspect of God’s  will: does God will or allow bad things to happen to us? I’ll be honest, I don’t care for the question, so when the discussion proceeded I checked out; plus, I was a graduate and an auditor, this wasn’t my battle. It was the question posed by the professor that jerked me back into the real-time of the class: if you’re the victim of the violence does willing or allowing feel any different?

The question hung in the air; the classroom had gone terribly silent.

“No.” I said. “It doesn’t feel any different.”

There’s a reason I hate the question about whether or not God wills or allows bad things to happen to us: because I’ve suffered.  I’ve suffered both physically and emotionally, by hands and by words. I hate the question because the questions I end up asking and their corresponding answers are bad news. If God willed my suffering, then I’m left asking was I created to suffer? to be a receptacle for violence?  is this what I am good for? If God allowed my suffering, then I’m left asking why? why didn’t God intervene? is this suffering pleasing to God?

The discussion about God willing or allowing suffering in a person’s life always launches me directly to the question of “Why?” and that’s the one question, the absolutely and positively one question I can’t ever let myself ask. Whatever you do, don’t ask why. The why question and the multitude of possible answers is a veritable mental, emotional, and spiritual vortex that sucks the mind and the heart into the utter recesses of the dark night of the soul, and that place is a crushing place that will make life and existence actually painful. And that’s a scary place to be, because when we’re in that amount of pain we can become desperate to ease that pain and to silence the evil narrative to which we’ve fallen prey.

So, the “why?” question is off limits. That doesn’t mean I don’t find myself there periodically. It just means that when I am there, I’ve to do active self-willing and mental gymnastics to get my mind and my heart to ask a different question and to focus on that question’s answer. The only thing that I want to know in light of my suffering, the only question that actually has an answer of comfort (for me) is a “What” question: what now? What happens now? I’ve suffered, yes, but tell me that that suffering is not the final word. Tell me that Jesus wept. Tell me that God has delivered his divine verdict to that suffering. Tell me that my heavenly Father’s righteous indignation was set aflame and burned brightly. Tell me that God can restore what the locusts have taken, that even out of that evil, God can call forth something good, something beautiful, something divine. Tell me that I’m not the sum of my deeds or the deeds done to me. Tell me of God’s radical activity toward me on my behalf in Jesus Christ and His life, death, resurrection, and ascension.

The “Why?” causes a disruption in the flow of the story that is my life; it places that part of my story outside of the story-line and out of reach. And if that part of my story is out of reach I can’t do anything with it, it moves from past to the present and into the future unanchored. The “Why?” and it’s corresponding (possible) answers will never substantially ease the burden of the suffering. But the “What now?” question puts that story into my own hands and gives me the opportunity to put it where it belongs in my story-line: chronologically in the past as an historical event. I can admit it and confess it, and thus there’s a spiritual placement: at the foot of the Cross; this is the only way to lift the burden of the suffering. Whatever you do, don’t try to answer the “Why?”, just tell me about the what and the who that is the very good news now.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (Jn 3:16)

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Mt 11:28-9)

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
    for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
    for they will be comforted.” (Mt 5:3-4)

Posted on by laurenlarkin 0

The Indefatigable Regret of the Sham Existence

“The sinner’s relationlessness and the judgment of God’s wrath upon the sinner which takes place in and with sin is not revealed, however, as sin is enacted but only as it were in retrospect, within the brackets of the revelation of the righteousness of God in the gospel. Only in the one who knew no sin and yet was made sin for us (2 Cor 5.21) is the sinner revealed in relationlessness and sin. That Jesus Christ was made sin for us by God means that the destruere et in nihilum redigere which is enacted in and with our sin is revealed in Jesus Christ, as he and he alone dies the accursed death which we live. Jesus’ death on the cross is grace, since it reveals that in the midst of life we are in death. He makes manifest the nothingness which the sinner celebrates under the illusory appearance of being. Or at least Jesus’ death on the cross reveals this when we allow it to speak for itself (that is, according to the law).” Eberhard Jüngel[1]

Apart from Christ we are the walking dead; this is probably the most concise way for me to sum up what Jüngel is articulating in the quote above. Most of you may be thinking about zombies at this point; I don’t blame you, I am too. While I think the image of zombies is a good one, I have to confess that I think our state apart from Christ, apart from the event of justification is actually far worse than merely a zombie existence. It’s a sham existence. In the sham existence, we are “alienated from ourselves…a ‘corrupt nature’, that we, expressed in biblical language, are sinners.”[2] To push the definition a bit further,

“For part of human actuality is our striving to realize ourselves and thus to determine our own being through our own achievements. Expressed in biblical terms, the whole of our life-context is qualitied by the reality of sin, which does not just simply make the human person bad—that would be the moralistic understanding of sin!—but rather which exposes human persons to the illusion that they can make themselves good.”[3]

Let’s be clear, in no way shape or form are zombies giving any damn about making themselves good, and they are certainly not trying to strive to realize themselves through their own achievements. They are the dead, the barely animated, they just act from a primal base neurological response from the bottom of the brain-stem. We, on the other hand, are worse off because we are actively trying to self-realize (striving to do so), to make ourselves good.  And in trying to self-realize and make ourselves good, we have every opportunity to suffer under the immense weight of regret. And this type of regret makes me wish for nothing more than to be a zombie.

Regret is a relentless and indefatigable beast and it goes hand in hand with the sham existence. And by “regret” i mean that self-destructive, inwardly directed anger over events and circumstances of the past (distant and immediate). The area between what should have been or what could have been and what was or is is where regret lives. We regret things both inside and outside of our control: our bad choices and the bad things that happened to us. Let’s be clear, regret is different from conviction that is brought on by the Holy Spirit. Regret would rather work itself out unto destruction; conviction will always bring life. The feelings that course through one’s veins under the duress of regret are shame and condemnation; the feelings that make you wish for everything to end. The feelings under conviction, on there other hand, are feelings of being exposed yet comforted and accepted; the feelings that drive you toward life. It’s worth noting that the internal monologue of the mind is vastly different when experiencing regret and conviction; the difference being between self-focused and self-loathing language (death) v. other-focused (God and neighbor) and (thus) self-affirming language (life).

And the rather cruel part about regret is that it’s not easily silenced, especially from within the sham existence. That’s because when we go to silence this cruel voice within the sham existence our knee-jerk reaction is to correct it with good deeds, thus trying to nullify the voice of regret with the voice of approval. Pulling ourselves up by our boot-straps, doing better, and (maybe) turning a blind-eye to the past and blocking the memory of the failure in order to press on into the future, is akin to putting a band-aid on a major flesh wound. Maybe the louder approval sounds, the more I won’t hear regret’s condemning tirade. But it’s a lie; there’s no silencing the voice of regret…by our own power.

“However, Jesus’ death on the cross by no means only speaks for itself. It speaks in the gospel as the word of the cross. And precisely as the word of the cross, the gospel is the proclamation of the lordship of the risen one. More precisely: the gospel proclaims that the risen one lives as the crucified. And in this the death of Jesus comes to have its real meaning, namely as the event of the love of God (Jn 3.16). Jesus’ resurrection from the dead promises that we shall be made anew out of the nothingness of relationlessness, remade ex nihilo, if through faith in the creative Word of God we allow ourselves to participate in the love of God which occurs as the death of Jesus Christ. In this sense, Christian existence is existence out of nothingness, because it is all along the line existence out of the creative power of God who justifies. The Christian is accompanied by this nothing ness in the double form revealed in Jesus’ death and resurrection: as the end of the old and the beginning of the new, as a reminder of the judgment enacted in the sinner, and as the promise which surpasses judgment in the same way that grace has surpassed sin (Rom. 5.20).” Jüngel[4]

This is where proclamation of the Gospel becomes absolutely crucial. Unless an external event occurs to us (via hearing the Good News) we’ll continue to circle the proverbial drain that is our sham existence drowning in the water of regret. Our eyes and ears need to be opened.

Thus, the proclamation of the event of the cross causes the sinner to be made aware that she is a sinner but also that, by faith, she is created anew (simultaneously). In seeing the event of the cross and being made aware of her sham existence (“Justification”) the sinner dies to the self (he cannot die to herself until she is made aware of her sham existence); also, in the event of the cross and in being made aware of this sham existence she is made to die to herself, and thus to rise anew with Christ, created out of nothing since the former existence, the former person was brought to death. As is the way of the sham existence, so goes regret. Regret can only be dealt with by the cross and the event of justification. We can’t silence regret’s voice, but Christ’s “this is my beloved!” can. The words, the names that regret whispers to us in the dark of night are only undone by the words declared to us about us in the bright light of day, Christ himself, through the proclamation of the Gospel—the Gospel of the justification of the sinner, of those alienated from themselves, those who are corrupt…you and me.

While I wish I could say that the death of the sham existence and with it regret’s tyranny is a once and done thing, it’s not. Yes, there is the initial encounter the human person has who hears the proclamation of the Gospel (for the first time newly) and suffers that initial death of the sham existence and the birth of the new life out of nothing. However, death to life is daily, sometimes even hourly, in the life of the believer. “Then he said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it’” (Lk 9:23-4). The call to take up my cross demands a daily response, and to take up my cross is essentially to be brought to death of self and my sham existence. Taking up my cross necessitates a confession that I am not my own and that I am Christ’s. It demands that I admit that I’ve, once again, believed the lies of my sham existence and let regret regain its domination over me. In this taking up of my cross and in this confession is my death but in this death is life, life abundant, life true, where our ear is inclined to Christ’s voice and not that of regret.

“Media vita in morte sumus, in the midst of life we are in death; but even more media morte in vita sumus, in the midst of death we are in life.” Jüngel[5]

[1] “The World as Possibility and Actuality: The Ontology of the Doctrine of Justification” Theological Essays. Translated by J. B. Webster. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989. (108)

[2] “On Becoming Truly Human: The Significance of the Reformation Distinction Between Person and Works for the Self-Understanding of Modern Humanity.” Theological Essays II. Translated by Arnold Neufeldt-Fast and J. B. Webster. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995. (230)

[3] Ibid, 231.

[4]Possibility, 108-9.

[5] Ibid, 109

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The End of Toil; Work Restored

What follows here is a concept/are concepts I’ve been wrestling with and have decided to put down on “paper”. I won’t claim that this post will bring you the standard comfort that I aim to bring in many of my posts; it’s not intended to do or be that word. Rather I’m looking at the concepts of rest and work, toil and work, the believer and work; I’m looking to process those words of rest and work. And, to those who have eyes to see, you may even see a deeper question I’m examining.

“Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground” (Gen 1:26)

“The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it” (Gen 2:15)

We were created to work.

I know this statement sounds odd coming from someone who often emphasizes the rest we have in Christ. So, I’ll reassure you upfront: there is no better word to me than the word of comfort that is the word of promise, who is Christ Himself, that grants, nay, creates rest for those who have the ears to hear. We have rest in Christ because by faith in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit we are united to God and in Him is true rest and peace (with God, with others, and with self). We have rest because Jesus’ word never falls to the ground, it never comes back empty. God’s promises are facts because His word creates the very thing it desires: rest for the heavy laden; comfort for those who are burdened by suffering and sorrow; peace for the anxious. “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt 11:28); because He is rest and He’s called us to Himself we therefore have (actual) rest.

Rest (and peace with it) is a significant word (and theme) not only in the first few chapters of Genesis, but throughout the biblical narrative. It’s notable that according to the Genesis story, humanity was created and ushered into its first day which was God’s day of rest. God worked then rested on the seventh day; we were created on the sixth and rested (on the seventh, our first day).

But rest isn’t the only word; as we contend with the word “rest,” we must also contend with the word “work.”

So, moving on along the story line: we rested and then we worked. Rest came first and work flowed forth from that rest.  The trajectory of the movement of work from rest is important for a few reasons, but for our purposes immediately this one reason will do: the work and dominion-having of our foreparents was built on and not merely towards the day of rest. (They weren’t “working for the weekend,”[1] but out of the weekend.) Rest is the foundation of our work.

We weren’t created for rest but into rest; we were created to work.

“But it is appropriate here also to point out that man was created not for leisure but for work, even in the state of innocence” – Martin Luther[2]

The command to have dominion over the earth as uttered in Genesis 1 and again in 2, was not yet an odious word (that sad fact comes in Gen. 3); we were to have dominion over the earth and to work it (joyfully and obediently). Work, for Adam and Eve, was a pleasure, something that brought joy.

“…greater than these was the fact that Adam was fitted for eternal life. He was so created that as long as he lived in this physical life, he would till the ground, not as if he were doing an irksome task and exhausting his body by toil but with supreme pleasure, not as a pastime but in obedience to God and submission to His will” – Luther[3]

Work was to be a blessing, and as far as we know with the little information we have from the story it was. And to have this dominion was a uniquely human attribute for no beast was given or heard and understood the command that was uttered to the Adam and Eve.[4] (To work being an aspect of the imago dei so imprinted on humankind.)

But something happened and the humans together transgressed God’s command not to eat of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Thus, curses ensued that plagued humankind.

“‘Cursed is the ground because of you;
through painful toil you will eat food from it
all the days of your life.
It will produce thorns and thistles for you,
and you will eat the plants of the field.
By the sweat of your brow
you will eat your food
until you return to the ground,
since from it you were taken;
for dust you are
and to dust you will return.’” (Gen 3:17c-19)

In one quick word, work—that which was to bring joy and pleasure and to be done willingly and obediently—becomes toil; and in becoming toil, it will be done without joy, lacking pleasure, and it will impose itself as a demand on us which we will fight against. Working the ground will be a pain, a toil. And in this transition of work turning into toil (a pain), there is also a transition from working the ground being a part of the dominion humanity had over the earth to that work, being toil, now having domination over us. It is a labor and a toil to bring forth life and it is a labor and a toil to sustain life from the earth and on the earth. Humanity was cursed and so was our work.

But only for a period of time.

The promise of the Seed of the woman crushing the head of the snake hangs in the background (ref. Gen 3:15). And just as we were held under the custodial authority of the Law until faith (until Christ, the Seed) (ref. Gal 3:25-27), so we were held under toil’s domination…until faith, until Christ. And Christ has come because “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (Jn 3:16). “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners” (1 Tim 1:15); to save them from death and unto life, life abundant. And that abundant life that we are given incorporates our person, our being, and our activity. In Christ we are given true life and true existence; in Christ work ceases to be toil and becomes work again.

But for me to now say something like, “now that you have life, go work!” would be coarse at best and futile at worst. I can sit here all day and speak of how work and activity are now not toil but work to be enjoyed and seen as a blessing and a pleasure; but those words will fall on deaf ears if those doing the hearing haven’t first been impacted by the external-to-themselves event that is the hearing of the proclamation of the gospel—the Gospel of the justification of the sinner.

So, for the person to see work as work (dominion-having) and not as toil (work dominating), two things need to happen: I need to be brought to death (by the Law) and be recreated (by the Gospel), and I need work to be transformed from toil. In hearing the word of the Law, I am brought to death because I see that I am toiling trying to justify myself by my works, that I am finding my identity, purpose, and self in my works; from this I need rest and that rest is wrought through the death that comes from the word of the Law. But not only from the word of the law, but also by the second and final word, the word of the Gospel, which brings me (as a new creation) into new and full life in union with Christ by faith in Christ apart from my works. (And this union with Christ is true rest; rest reminiscent of that seventh day of creation into which humanity was created, from which humanity worked.) By hearing the word of the Gospel, I am given a true rest (in Christ) that births a true existence and a true identity that is mine always apart from my works because my identity and purpose is found in the One who died for my sins and was raised for my justification (Rom. 4:25). In being given true rest in Christ by faith in Him in alone, and in having my works separated from me in death and re-creation, I am given my works back. In the event of justification (hearing the word of absolution proclaimed to me) work (toiling) is removed from me and from the seat of judgment over me (domination) and put in its proper place: under my dominion (ref. Eberhard Jüngel);[5] toil becomes work and is a blessing to the creation and my neighbor and to me.

In Christ, we have been given rest (true rest) and out of that rest we work and no longer toil; in Christ, we are re-created to work.

____________

[1] Loverboy, “Working for the Weekend” on the album Get Lucky

[2] Luther’s Works Vol. 1 Lectures on Genesis: Chapters 1-5. Ed. Jaroslav Pelikan. St. Louis: Concordia, 1958. 103. Luther is commenting on Gen 2:15

[3] Ibid, 65. Luther is commenting on Gen 1:26.

[4] Ibid, 66. Luther commenting on Gen 1:26, “Adam and Eve become the rulers of the earth, the sea, and the air. But this dominion is given to them not only by way of advice but also by express command. Here we should first carefully ponder the exclusiveness in this: no beast is told to exercise dominion; but without ceremony all the animals and even the earth, with everything brought forth by the earth, are put under the rule of Adam [and Eve], whom God by an express verbal command placed over the entire animal creation. Adam and Eve heard the words with their ears when God said: ‘Have dominion.’”

[5] This paragraph is a modified version of a paragraph written for a book review submitted to Modern Reformation that will be published in their Nov/Dec issue. Of important note is that in the book review I forgot to mention the influence I’m operating from here in this discussion, specifically these immediate thoughts. When I caught the error, I contacted the journal, but it was too late to add the reference. So, I’ve added the reference here. The omission was by no means intentional; as can happen when one studies a particular theologian for a while their language becomes your language and that’s really what happened here. Anyone who knows me well enough has heard me verbally give credit to Jüngel when I mention this particular transition of domination to dominion; however, when I wrote the book review I wrote it fast and rushed to submit on time and, thus, my editing was paltry. Here is where I believe the reference is coming from: Justification: The Heart of the Christian Faith. Translated by Jeffrey F. Cayzer. London: T&T Clark, 2001 (I’m drawing from memory and my book is out on loan). You can also find aspects of this in a few essays here: Theological Essays. Translated by J.B. Webster. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989; and: Theological Essays II. Translated by Arnold Neufeldt-Fast and J.B. Webster. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995. Please forgive the oversight.

Posted on by laurenlarkin 3

A Comment Worth Posting

Last week I wrote a post about being a feminist. (You can read it here.) I received a couple of comments on the actual post and some more via twitter. But one friend, Nate Sparks, dm:ed me privately with his comments. His reason to dm me privately was that he didn’t want his comment to detract from my post. I really respect that choice and felt honored by it. However, Nate and I have a really cool friendship. You see, we do not agree on everything, specifically as it pertains to certain issues regarding sexuality, sexual identity, and gender identity. There is much overlap in our thoughts, but there are differences. That he felt the freedom to come to me and tell me what he was thinking was an honor to me, specifically because of the dialogue we had as a result; that I was still free to say: “hey, we don’t agree here” is a beautiful measure of the real freedom that our relationship has. I don’t want to be surrounded by the people that I only agree with nearly 100% of the time; conflict and tension aren’t to be feared in relationship with an other, with another human being, but to be pushed through. If the cycle of death to life in relationship is to continue, which it should, then conflict and tension demand the setting aside of self  (the death of the self (of both selves) in the relationship) through ardent listening to the other and desire to have your language altered because of the other. I’m not sure if any of that makes sense. With those with whom I agree nearly completely, my listening and language become lazy; but with those friends who disagree with me, listening and language are taken to another level because they have to be if the relationship is to remain alive and concurrently life-giving. This is the kind of relationship I am fortunate enough to have with Nate, and, frankly, I’m really grateful for it and blessed by it.

With that said, I wanted to take the time to honor Nate and his extremely thoughtful and well thought out response to my post on feminism. I was going to add it to the comments section of the original post, but after I read it a number of times felt compelled to give it its own place. Nate in his comments challenges me to think bigger and offers some very interesting things to contemplate. So, below, is what Nate wrote to me. Enjoy.

 

Yay! I love what you did here, and love your humility in writing it. Its awesome that Travis can come to you like that and you can listen and learn. That is a trait I love about you, and this post makes me even more proud to call you a friend. I’m not pushing you to change the post, but I did have a couple thoughts as I read it.

1. Many feminists will recoil at the phrasing “man-hating.” Because much of the angst of feminism is based in very real slight and mistreatment, mosts feminists would rather be perceived as “man hating” (though that is largely a misnomer) than be seen as playing by the rules of the patriarchal system.

2. I encourage you to give feminist theologians another shot. I used to cringe at feminist scholarship because I saw it as twisting and manipulating the text. But I recently went back to some feminist theology/commentary books I own. I was struck by a word in the work of Elaine Wainwright on the Gospel of Matthew. She said that, when so much of scholarship has worked to exclude you, you have to form a new meaning (she uses poesis) with a new and inclusive narrative. This involves going against the grain and asking the questions often deemed too dangerous. There are certainly feminist scholars who go a bit off the deep end. But I greatly value and learn from feminist scholarship and have found much of what so believe challenged by learning to see the narrative of women where once I never even thought to look.

3. I absolutely agree you are a feminist, but be careful not to define feminism in a way that dismisses intersectionality. Feminism, at least since the third wave, has strongly emphasized that overcoming patriarchy benefits all people. They are things like racism and homophobia as rooted in patriarchy and the pursuit of the “ideal masculine” which rules over and is privileged above all others. As such, feminism is about equality for POC and LGBT as well. A prime example is Black Lives Matter. Many are unaware the movement was started by and still run nationally by two black, queer feminists. Again, I don’t say this to dismiss your words or crush you. I certainly hope they haven’t done so. It takes a lot of deprogramming to embrace feminism – trust me, I know that full well. I only want to encourage you to continue the journey and keep exploring. I know I am often tempted to say, “Okay, I embrace feminism and equality, so I’m here now. I’ve arrived.” I need to remember that I am on a journey, that it is okay to listen and learn and develop over time. In as much as I know I need to be reminded of this, I hope to encourage you in this as well. You’re an awesome person, a great teacher, and an amazing friend. I’m happy to see you grow more comfortable in your skin as a feminist. Thank you for sharing with me 😃

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Luther? Not Luther.

As I go along here with my research in to Luther, I get the opportunity to research whether or not Herr Luder actually said something or not. Quotes get attributed to him (and this does happen with other scholars, too, I’m sure) but they aren’t actually direct quotes from him. They might be damn good summaries of his concepts, but they aren’t direct quotes. So, this may be the only entry for this topic or there may be more…we’ll see as time drags on…
Here is the most recent attributed quote I had the privilege of researching:
“God does not need your good works, but your neighbor does”

Is this quote from Luther? No, it’s not from Luther.
Here’s what I found:
Turns out, Steve Paulson on page 182 of his Luther for Armchair Theologians, writes this exact sentence when he’s talking about Luther’s concept of the freedom of a Christian. “God does not need your good works, but your neighbor does.”  Paulson does not quote anyone–meaning, there are no quotation marks or is there a footnote indicating the source. Now, I read Freedom of a Christian recently (when I was searching for this particular quote) and didn’t find those words, but the idea is there.

And then there’s this:
The quote is also found (in a slightly variant form) in Gustaf Wingren’s Luther on Vocation. The quote is found on page 10 in the section “The Kingdom of Heaven” in the chapter “Earth and Heaven.” The only difference in the quote being “our.” So, per Wingren: “God does not need OUR good works, but OUR neighbor does.” Wingren’s book dates earlier (1957) than Paulson’s (2004).

Interestingly, in the section where Wingren uses this quote with the “our”s, he is referring to a work of Luther’s entitled, “Kirchenpostille.” This work does not appear in the WA or the LW. And it seems obscure. It’s located in the: Sämmtliche Schriften in either vol 11 or 12. I did a search  for the german words for neighbor in vol. 11 (https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt/search?q1=Nachster;id=mdp.39015074631709;view=1up;seq=36;start=1;sz=10;page=search;orient=0): Nachbar and Nachster (umlaut over the a). Nothing came up with “Nachbar,” but a few pages of references popped up for Nachster. From a cursory reading of the references, I did not find the quote above in question–as in, I did not find that specific set of words in that specific word order as a solid quote. However, again from a cursory my-German-is-merely-okay-because-I’m-out-of-practice-translating read it seems that in the selected references Luther is advocating for works for neighbors. Coupling this advocating of works for neighbor with his doctrine of justification (considering his adamant stance that we keep works and law out of the justification event (no works are required from our end to be justified and only are we justified by faith in Christ which is a gift from God Himself)) it would make sense to conclude: God does not need our works but our neighbor does.

So, in the end, Paulson may be playing off of Wingren who is summarizing Luther’s Kirchenpostille about our works toward our neighbor. Luther doesn’t put these words together in this succinct quote; can you get there from Luther? Seems so.

 

Another plausible option is this: sometimes what happens with a good summary quote from someone else about another scholar is that it can get reabsorbed back in to the scholar as an authentic quote because it fits well, and really, in our case, Wingren is speaking about Luther and Vocation and speaking well, so the quote gets attributed to Luther although, it’s Wingren. Another possibility could be, considering Paulson’s adaptation of it, is that it’s such a common LutherAN saying that the quotation reference isn’t even needed because it’s become a (LutherAN) colloquialism.When a piece of information or a quote becomes so commonly used, quotation marks or references to source will ceased to be used because it’s been adopted into common knowledge, and it is quite possible that this has happened with: God does not need our/your works, but our/your neighbor does.

Posted on by laurenlarkin 0

John Donne on Fridays

The Expiration

So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss,

Which sucks two souls, and vapours both away,

Turn thou ghost that way, and let me turn this,

And let ourselves benight our happiest day,

We asked none leave to love; nor will we owe

Any, so cheap a death, as saying, Go;

Go; and if that word have not quite killed thee,

Ease me with death, by bidding me go too.

Oh, if it have, let my word work on me,

And a just office on a murderer do.

Except it be too late, to kill me so,

Being double dead, going, and bidding, go.

Selection take from: John Donne: A Critical Edition of the Major Works,  edited by John Carey; Oxford: OUP, 1990

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The Free Gift

Every semester in seminary there would be this one moment in the middle of the semester where all of my classes would collide on one theological or biblical concept; different teachers teaching different classes, yet the trajectory of the lectures landed each professor and each class here at this specific point. Divine. I loved it when it happened, pure joy all the way down. While I’m no longer in seminary and moving along a sizeable course load, I still get that sense of joy when books I’m reading overlap, when the fiction book I’m reading provides the picture for the theological concept I’m reading about in my theology book. Today, such a wonderful event happened: reading Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment just a bit ago, I was given a wonderful little scene that put images to words that I had read in Luther’s Commentary on Galatians yesterday evening.

Luther:

I am not speaking at such great length without reason. It seems to be exceedingly inadequate to say that the Holy Spirit is granted solely through hearing with faith and that nothing at all is demanded of us but that we refrain from all our works and just listen to the Gospel. The human heart neither understands nor believes that such a great prize as the Holy Spirit can be granted solely through hearing with faith; but it thinks this way: ‘The forgiveness of sins, deliverance from sin and death, the granting of the Holy Spirit, of righteousness and of eternal life–this is all something important. Therefore you must do something great to obtain these inestimable gifts.’ The devil approves of this opinion and magnifies it in the heart. Therefore when reason hears: ‘You cannot do anything to obtain the forgiveness of sins except only to listen to the Word of God, it immediately exclaims: ‘Oh no! You are making the forgiveness of sins too meager and contemptible!’ Thus the greatness of the gift is responsible for our not accepting it. Because such a great treasure is being offered freely, it is despised Luther Lectures on Galatians 3:2 (213)

And Dostoevsky:

‘I don’t know how to thank him either,’ Raskolnikov went on, suddenly frowning and looking down. ‘Setting aside the question of payment–forgive me for referring to it’ (he turned to Zossimov) ‘–I really don’t know what I have done to deserve such special attention from you! I simply don’t understand it…and…and…it weighs upon me, indeed, because I don’t understand it. I tell you so candidly’ (Raskolnikov to Zossimov in Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment (195))

I think there’s an assumption that if something is done for someone else freely, in charity, that that free gift will not only be taken advantage of (along with the giver) but that it naturally perpetuates a taking-for-granted cycle. While maybe sometimes the case, I’m not sold that it’s always the case. There’s no part of Raskolnikov (here) where he’s taking the posture of taking for granted medical care that has come to him in a great time of need and freely at that. He’s done absolutely nothing to deserve or to earn such treatment. So Zossimov’s treatment given as a true gift, freely, breaks from Raskolnikov’s reason; it just doesn’t make sense, and that it doesn’t make sense it weighs upon him. “‘I don’t know how to thank him either,’… I simply don’t understand it…and…and…it weighs upon me, indeed, because I don’t understand it” isn’t the language of someone who is taking something for granted even though it was something freely given.

A gift freely given is a confusing thing. And the larger the free gift the harder it is to understand.

As the free medical care from Zossimov breaks from Raskolnikov’s reason, causing him to be both confused and weighed down, so it is with us and the free gift that is given to us by faith in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit. We are given deliverance from sin, justification, righteousness, life of very life, and God himself. All of this is given to us all by faith in Christ alone and none of it by anything we have to offer or what we bring to the table, and beyond any we attempt we could make to earn it, and this breaks from reason and weighs heavy upon us. To refer to Luther’s words, we want to despise the free gift; it’s offensive to us on so many levels.

But here is one of those moments where the Law and Gospel, death and life, collide at one point: the free gift (the very beautiful free gift) reveals that something is wrong, that we are not well, and that in fact we are near death (or dead in our trespasses). It’s a light in the darkness that exposes the situation for what it is: dire. But then it’s also the free gift that’s freely given that makes well, heals, and brings into existence a new life, a new creation; as it exposes it is given. And as we are exposed by the free gift we also receive this inestimable gift of God himself through faith in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Therefore if I am little and the thing that is being given to me is great—in fact, the greatest there is—I must think that the One who is giving it to me is also great and that he alone is great. If He is offering it and wants to give it, I do not consider my own sin and unworthiness, No, I consider the fatherly will that He who is giving it has toward me. I accept the greatness of the gift with joy; and I am happy and grateful for such an inestimable gift granted to me in my unworthiness, freely and by hearing and faith. (Luther, Lecture on Galatians 3:2 (214))

And what miraculously flows forth from our hearts is gratitude, which eclipses the reality that our flesh so despises this free gift because it doesn’t make sense. In not knowing how to thank Zossimov and expressing his confusion about the free gift, Raskolnikov articulates a deep and abiding gratitude that is beyond words that trumps the confusion. Gratitude is the furthest point from “taking for granted.” It is gratitude that  is produced by seeing that God so wills it that you have this inestimable gift. It is gratitude that produces the love and worship of this man Christ Jesus who is God who gave himself freely for you. And it is gratitude that drives us towards our neighbor in love to freely give to them as we have freely received. 

 

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Feminist.

Someone I know from twitter challenged something I said in an interview that aired yesterday over at Key Life Network. Now before you cry out, “Down with trolls!”, I have to say this individual is far from a troll and is someone for whom I have sincere respect. I don’t entertain trolls, but I’ve learned that when Travis* asks what seems like a nonchalant, casual question or finishes a statement with an ellipses, I’m quite certain something is about to be unearthed, some preconceived notion of mine is about to be radically altered…for the better.  So, when he asked,

Why don’t you want to sound ‘like a complete, total feminist’?

I thought, “Oh, crap…here we go…”,  and I buckled up and braced for impact. My answers and his push-back revealed (to me) that I had serious cracks in my understanding about feminism in general and exposed (to me) my own very deep seated fear of being associated with feminism and called a feminist–not something I’m proud to admit. And if the initial question and the following push-backs weren’t well aimed arrows hitting each of their marks, it was the last remark he made that hit me so perfectly and with such skill that Legolas himself would be jealous. I had just defended myself by saying,

…even tho I’m cautious (and maybe overly so) about how i define myself as a feminist does not discredit all the work I do to promote women and men…

To which he wrote,

Nope, doesn’t discredit it. But it (your caution) may implicitly discredit the work being done by others…

That arrow hurt. That impact hurt. While I wasn’t hurled into an existential crisis, I was forced to reckon with some questions:

Why am I cautious about a feminist label?

Am I potentially hindering good work being done by disassociating myself from feminism?

Am I a feminist?

To answer the first question, I think the main reason I’m hesitant to call myself a feminist because of the way “feminist” is a four letter word in conservative evangelical circles, in which I was spiritually reared and (to some extent) academically trained. Not only is it considered a four letter word, but it is assumed to be so connected to secular life, that  a good Christian woman would never want to call herself a feminist. Feminist, from what I can deduce from my experience, seems to draws up imagery of an angry, man-hating women, looking to overthrow the entire system by her rejection of marriage and family. A couple of years back, my seminary had to deal with the issue of some male MDiv and DMin students singling out female MDiv students on the ordination track telling them they were acting against God’s divine ordering of the sexes. In conservative contexts, many feminist theologians get a bad name for some of the awkward things they do exegetically to scripture (sometimes the accusation is valid; sometimes not. And let us not confuse feminist theologian with a theologian who is also a feminist). As a woman student and then as a Teacher’s Assistant, who spoke up for the equality and freedom of women using both theology and scripture as my foundation, I thought I was in a bind: I’d lose my audience if I played the feminist card. So I distanced myself, “Not feminist…so you can listen to me…” Rather than stand ground and demand that the word “feminist” be defined correctly in spite of the few places it’s been run into the mud, I attempted to placate the more conservative folk I was encountering.

And here I can answer the second question posed above: yes, my disassociation from feminism hinders the good work others are doing. How so? In this way: as I go about both my academic and pastoral callings, which incorporates a message of freedom for women and men, while simultaneously denying that I am a feminist essentially creates a dividing line where I make the implicit statement that what I am doing is good and what other feminists are doing is bad. For all intents and purposes, I’m promoting my work at the expense and detriment of the work of other feminists. I’m creating teams, an “us” and “them.” As a Christian the “us” and “them” will almost always take on the flavor of Christian and Secular, good and bad; this is unacceptable.

And since when is it a good idea for Christians (for me) to shirk a word or phrase because of the historically negative connotations it has carried? Am I not given a new language, a new grammar, a new voice to speak, new eyes to see, and new ears to hear as a result of faith in Christ? To part ways with “feminist” because of fear, rubs against the confidence I’ve been given in Christ. Rather than throw out language because of its baggage (hypothetical or not), let us use the new language we’ve been given in Christ to rightly define the language.

Feminism rightly understood is freedom and equality for woman alongside man; and this freedom and equality is beneficial for man in that it demands and expects more from him than has been previously expected from patriarchy. This freedom and equality for woman is exactly what is given to her through Jesus Christ; for scriptural support, start by reading through the gospel of Luke and move on from there. This demand on man that expects more than what patriarchy has ever expected is justified in the person and being of Jesus Christ.  The way Jesus interacts with women throughout the gospels is a demand and expectation on man to be capable of more. In union with Christ by faith in Him, men are neither tyrannical overlords lusting to rule over the weak woman nor primal beasts needing to be tamed and educated by the domesticated and civil hand of the woman; in union with Christ by faith in Him, the free man is rightly oriented to the free woman, and she to him because they are rightly oriented to God by the power of the Holy Spirit.This is the goal of feminism rightly understood, and it has everything to do with us Christians and Christianity.

Am I feminist?

Yes.

I am a complete and total feminist.

 

* @WTravisMcMaken (on Twitter) and I highly recommend visiting his blog: Die Evangelischen Theologen   http://derevth.blogspot.com/

Posted on by laurenlarkin 7

Man and Stone

I submitted the following poem as an “essay” answer to to a question about predestination and election in my introductory Systematic Theology class in seminary (for my MDiv).

He raised the metal instrument
To break the large, obdurate stone,
Fused and beautifully congruent.
Downward he thrust, painful moan;
Object intractable, to say the least,
His ax couldn’t break the cemented beast.

With his sweat drenched head and brow,
He raised the instrument above his head;
His steadfast strength would not bow
He’ll beat this stone with hands shred.
Muscles flexed, he forced the ax down
Slicing the air, his barbaric yawp did soun’.

Nothing shifted and nothing moved,
Still it laid, this cruel, cemented beast;
He wiped sweat from forehead grooved,
From victors table, he would not feast.
The sun burned down upon his scorched back,
Exhaustion peaked, sleep he did severely lack.

Full body weight rested on the weary ax arm,
Years in this quarry were wearing him thin;
Yet, it wasn’t the rocks that caused him harm,
But ego’s keen control, deep from within.
Sweat beaded on his brow once more,
This mundane task, dogmatically bore.

 

His face contorted in a painful sneer,
This burden his and only he could win;
His skin taut across ribs, a mere veneer
For his spirit cloaked, Pride’s near kin.
He shifted his weight from left to right
And gripped the heavy instrument tight.

Breath held, he wield the ax through the air,
Both arms craned, in a weird, awkward stretch;
With every fiber of his being, he paused there…
Then one violent movement, to peace a stench,
He threw the ax forward still holding the wooden end
The blade crashed against the stone, unwilling to bend.

 

His hands released the wretched instrument,
Not of will but from impact an’ vicious friction.
The handle split, and metal head broke atonement—
He was suddenly aware of this ironic sudden action—
His fingers left in a nature’s smooth, relaxed reaching pose,
His eyes trailed toward the wooden fragments still, froze’.

The sun was wickedly relentless at that climatic hour;
Each ray beat down upon his weakened frame,
Man rent useless to fate’s cruel and sublime humor.
This mere stone or act of breaking it, he could not tame.
He hated that sun more and more with each minute passing,
It illuminated his err, highlighted his nicked pride, amassing.

 

The dull and monotone quarry walls did mock him,
They cried out, laughed; he despised their presence.
His eyes scanned the area from base to quarry rim,
He felt escaping what he claimed….his very essence.
No relief was insight and this job was his to do alone,
With every aching muscle, every twisted joint and bone.

 

His knees could not bear the weight of ego’s last stand,
They bent and buckled; his mind and will would fight;
But when the body is tired…his knees hit the rocky sand,
He slumped. Man destroyed, beaten by Nature’s might.
His left hand thrust upon the dust near his scraped knee,
He gripped the muted ground…useless…it, too, could flee.

A guttural sob welled in his starved and deprived core,
The shackles around his ankles felt tighter and excruciating,
His hair fell around his face, forcing breath more and more,
His muttered words, inaudible; lips incapable of annunciating.
He used the back of his tanned, ripped and scarred hand
Spreading more blood then clearing brow of fine dust and sand.

Without forewarning or subliminal undertones,
Something shifted and something was un-still,
Breath held in anticipation, dust crossed over stones,
Eyes clenched tight, he sought Earth’s movement spill.
A breeze was starting to pick up from a point farther away,
And he sensed its impending arrival from dust’s desire to play.

It wasn’t long before the wind was full force,
Swooping and twirling, the dust filled the air;
He remained hunched and pressed against sand course,
The wind had become torture, an instrument unfair.
Breath still held, eyes compressed and shut tight,
He let out one prayer from retried will’s fight.

One splat, two…then a forceful, teary succession,
Water from the gray, clouded sky did on him fall.
The wind died and the drops left a muddied impression
On his taut, burned back—his favorite created wall.
The rain poured as the sky busted and suddenly opened up,
This blessing was poring over, spilling from Heaven’s Cup.

Water soaked and drenched his body, mind and soul,
Relaxed muscles, he slowly unfolded, he stood up tall;
A life revived—a man cleansed of dust’s and sand’s toll.
He felt renewed under every drop; he heard Spirit’s Call.
He bent over and grabbed the stubborn cemented beast,
And hurled it toward the most distant point, utterly east.

 

The stone ungracefully soared through the watery sky,
As the man stood, he awaited the stone’s future landing.
He beheld the cruel object, sternly, in the pupil of his eye
It shattered against other stones. He was the one left standing.
A beautifully tragic ending to an ugly, cemented, beastly stone
That dry was solid and firm; but water weakened, broken by mere bone.

The man gently rolled his head back and enjoyed the still rain,
The water cleansed his brow and pored through unkempt hair.
He knew, in him, something stronger and greater did reign,
Arms outstretched, he desired not to move but there remain.
Not by his strength was he to win this begrudging internal fight,
For it is all by Love’s first gift that opened this passage sealed tight.

He opened his mouth and released vocal chords in a loud, mellifluous laugh,
The notes ran, nay sprinted heavenward; each one filled with joy and delight.
Just like Moses’ song at the sealing of the Red Sea, raising His Victory Staff,
As the Israelites danced in the presence of their God, in His awesome might.
For they, like this man, knew that this was more than mere happenstance,
It was the awesome power of a destined to be, a foreordained circumstance.

 

 

–(lre larkin (2004/2005); inspired by Article XVII of The 39 Articles.) Originally posted at www.mbird.com: http://www.mbird.com/2008/11/man-and-stone-part-i/ and http://www.mbird.com/2008/11/man-and-stone-part-ii/

 

 

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Death to Life in Fertility to Birth

The following post is a conglomerate of four older posts that I did a few years back (the date of the introduction being early September, 2013). I’ve merged them here, as I feel they make a fine article to be taken as a whole. The introduction makes clear the goal and a quick glance into the method of my madness in terms of writing these posts. I want to be clear that while I do celebrate the event that is my ability as a woman to create, sustain, and nurture life in and from my body, I do not think that experiencing such an event defines womanhood; my theology leads me to believe that womanhood is made full in Christ (justified by faith in Christ) apart from any works I or my body may do. Enough with my caveats; I’ll let you read.

Introduction

“’Can a woman forget her nursing child,
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget you.'”

Isaiah 49:15

“Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

Matthew 10:39

It’s not surprising that the topic of life is first and foremost on my mind. At some time, in the next 3-4 weeks, I’ll give birth to our third child. It is an exciting event; a new life will exist in the world, creating her own ripple effect in the lives of her parents, her brothers, her grandparents, and those she will one day encounter. The whole event is, simply, miraculous; there is a lot of joy and celebration that should surround such an event.  From the moment of conception, through pregnancy, to the culmination in birth the common theme is new life, and not incorrectly so for it is in fact a new life in the world.

But what is less spoken of, but I believe to be inherent in the event, is the death involved in order for this new life to come forth. For, to be sure, there is a death, a real death to self from beginning to end. This death lies in the fact of the lack of control that is part of the fertility and child-bearing process. There is nothing guaranteed within the process. No matter how much a book may claim otherwise, encouraging that you can in fact plan when you will conceive based on some temperatures and fluids, the fact remains that not only are these very factors out of our control, but even if all the elements align perfectly, there is still some portion of control lacking in the acquisition of the final product: conception and implantation.  Conception and implantation have no guarantees attached to them, for the threat of miscarriage is very real in the first trimester and even in the second, not to mention tubal implantation. Graduating into post week 20, and you still aren’t guaranteed a successful outcome, as I’ve heard a number of stories about how everything was just fine and then…Even now, at nearly full term, there is no guarantee that everything will be fine; even now I have not complete and total control over what will happen.  And so it is, from the beginning to the end, I am radically changed through the event of death and not of life; in this event, at every turn, I am reminded of my place (at God’s mercy) and the futility of my capability.

But though it is death, it is not death for death’s sake; but an event of death to bring forth life, to bring forth new life (an event of actuality that leads to possibility) and, typically, not only one new life, but two. I don’t mean to be callous in my math here but, yes, for the time being, I am excluding the man from the equation. While he participates in the beginning, the whole of the pregnancy is rather abstract for him, only becoming “more real” upon birth and at that moment the death he experiences–because of this new life–begins.  I say this as a woman who is married to a man who lovingly cooks for her during the first trimester when her stomach can’t handle it, understands as her expanding belly and increased number of pillows demands at least half of the bed, and cancels work trips and outings with friends because, “It’s just too close to the due date.” Not to mention a man who is as passionate about natural labor and childbirth as his wife is and knows his supporting role in labor; a man who held me, letting me hang my full weight from his arms during every late stage contraction as I tried for a VBAC with our second son, for 14 hours (roughly). So I don’t mean to say that the man isn’t part of the process, but for what I’m talking about here, life out of death as it relates to fertility, pregnancy, and the birth of the child, I’m focusing on her, the woman; because it is this journey, which is her journey and during which he plays a supporting role (albeit the primary supporting role). He stands apart from the event, looking on, watching, providing support when and where he can, but ultimately this event is between her and God. She will suffer death over and over again, which will bring forth this new life of her own and that of her child. He will be impacted but later, subsequent to her death and new life.

Plus, to be honest, I can’t speak from the man’s point of view. The only information I’ve been able to garner about the whole event from his perspective is from my husband. He’s willingly admitted the abstractness of the whole thing and we laugh when he asks, “Is there really a baby in there?” To which I like to respond, “No. A litter of Kittens.” About which we both admit that that scenario (though creepy, loaded with questions were it to happen, and perfect fodder for a B rated sci-fi movie) would be significantly easier than a real baby.  He’s also admitted a feeling of helplessness during our miscarriages. During our last miscarriage, as I lay on the bathroom floor in the fetal position, enduring 3 hours of transition contractions to pass the sack (etc), all he could do was lay with me unable to take my pain, to alleviate it, to stop my tears. I know it was no “easy” task to witness the woman he loves suffer excruciating pain and discomfort and sorrow and I’m sure there was a death in that for him; the line I’m desiring to draw is between the one who goes through the event and the one who witnesses the event.

While I’ve attempted to appease the allegations that could be brought forth against me for not including Him in my discussion of Her, I’m sure I’ve not exhausted all possible appeals. With that said, I want to get back to why I’ve started this post in the first place: the death and life in fertility to birth. I plan to look at three primary areas as they relate to the themes of death and life: pregnancy, labor and delivery, and infertility and loss. As a woman, I will be able to speak from experience of having gone through the bulk of these events–the good and the bad, the joyful and the sorrowful.  As a theologian of the cross, I will see these events through the lens that God creates out of nothing (not just in the beginning but now); that these events participate in that death and (re)creation; and how, in the depths of the fear, the realization of the loss of control, and deep insecurity, Jesus Christ proves himself to be true and real and  present in that suffering with us, not to “test” us but to to whisper to us, “I know. Take my hand. Follow me” and to be our strength when we’ve got none left to walk on.

Pregnancy

 “To the woman he said, ‘I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children'” (Gen 3:16a,b)

When Martin Luther translates this verse from Hebrew into German, the first two parts of the verse read like this, “Und zur Frau sprach er: Ich will dir viel Mühsal schaffen, wenn du schwanger wirst; unter Mühen sollst du Kinder gebären.” Or, in English, “And to the woman he said: ‘I will create/make many toil/distress/difficulty when you are pregnant; under troubles/pains/toils you are supposed to give birth to children.'” The Hebrew supports Luther’s translation choices. The Hebrew word w’heronekh’ incorporates not only the idea of child-bearing, but, more specifically, the whole of the event from beginning to end:  including pregnancy and conception. If this were not so and if the word only referred to the act of child-bearing (the labor and delivery part, which is often the focus for many people), then the second of the first two statements to the woman would be redundant–the second being nearly unnecessary. In what God says to the woman as part of her curse to bear is that from beginning to end the event of bringing forth a child will be toilsome, hard, filled with sorrow, pain, difficulty, and distress; there is no part that goes unscathed by the curse. Bringing forth a child, in simple terms, will not be easy in any stretch of the imagination. Part of the battle ground between life and death will be her very body; as fast as she can rejoice, she will be able to weep.  All of it happening to her and in her and apart from her control–and there in lies her death, her pain, her toil–it’s not merely physical but also emotional and intellectual.

For this post, I’ll focus primarily on pregnancy (and not conception, I’ll save that for a later post), which makes sense because I’m 38.5 weeks pregnant. Pregnancy is, if you will, sort of on my mind. So what does death and life look like as a woman progresses through pregnancy? A perpetual (or what feels like a perpetual) loss of self, a handing over of one’s self to the event. Physically, this is somewhat more obvious. The pregnancy, and by this I really mean the growing life within the womb, takes over. A glass of milk is no longer merely some Vit D for the mom, it will go first to the child. Our bodies, literally, re-prioritize who is important; and the important person is the new life, the child. If we don’t ingest enough vitamins to cover both baby and mom, we, ourselves in our body, will suffer. Then there’s the ever present aversions (both smell and taste and touch) that pop up in an otherwise normally unaffected mother. With my second son I couldn’t tolerate the smell of Ham. Ham. It’s completely innocuous; it has no danger to it whatsoever, but I reacted to it like I would rotten eggs or rotten meat. There’s the nauseous hailing in “morning sickness”, which, by the way, is typically more of an all-day sickness that can fluctuate in correlation to, well, nothing really. It sort of does what it wants. Personally, I would be nauseous both full or hungry, both rested or tired. And speaking of rest, what’s that?? In the beginning, in those first few weeks, there is, typically, extreme exhaustion, no matter what you do. You could sleep all day and wake up and feel exhausted.  Physically, the woman is taken over. She is no longer in control of her body, and this is the beginning of the death of herself.

But it doesn’t end with the completion of the first tri-mester; no. way. As the pregnancy progresses so will her weight, her hips will spread, her belly will expand, her breasts will enlarge, her feet will change, her ligaments (all of them) will loosen and the once graceful and deft will quickly become, shall we say, a bull in a china shop. On a confessional note, I bump into more walls, door frames, and banisters than I care to admit. My large belly has actually turned on and ignited gas burners on our stove. My husband got nervous one night, because he was certain I’d burn my belly reaching up over the stove to get something down from the cabinet above. At this stage in the game I can’t actually just sit up from a lying down position, but have to sort of do this roll thing and throw in a grunt or two. And that’s just what I’m willing to share.  Every month that progresses by, she will lose more and more of herself and who she was. Every turn through out the pregnancy changes her, for good–there’s truly no going back to what was.

While the physical symptoms present themselves in such tangible ways, there are yet more concerns for the pregnant woman that lie just under the surface of the physical in the emotional and intellectual. Fear.  I am not only losing control of my body as it seems to completely hand itself over to this process of growing this life, but I am in the midst of a deep, spiritual awareness that I’m not in control and that awareness brings with it fear.  Humanity in general does not like to be out of control; we’d rather be God than confess that we need Him.  This truth is ever present in the life of the pregnant woman. What do you mean there’s, technically, nothing I can do to guarantee a successful result?! Fear (and anxiety, it’s sister) is the tantamount emotional and intellectual response to the realization that one is not in control. And fear is the exact emotion she will feel (some of us more and some of us less) during the entire pregnancy, for there is no definite to lay hold of; confidence is pure illusion.

For me, fear rears it’s head frequently. I remember remarking to a friend when I was pregnant with my first that I wish I had a window that I could look through to see if everything was okay with my baby. I want there to be something that I can do to ensure a good result: I won’t drink coffee or alcohol, I’ll avoid noxious odors and certain foods with old-wives tales linking them with miscarriage (from any culture), I’ll happily stop running and other activities that could result in loss or damage to the baby. But still, even if I do all of those things, there’s no guarantee. Even currently being 38weeks (almost 39) pregnant, I still have that lingering concern about whether or not everything is okay, and I have it everyday. Throughout the first trimester, I was concerned about miscarriage; then through the second trimester, concerned about late term miscarriage, still birth, the results of tests; and, now, as I approach the end of the third trimester, my concern lie in her movements throughout the day, what the outcome of labor and delivery will be, is she really healthy (mentally and physically), and will we be okay through the c-section/recovery. As I go through my day without taking hold of the concrete answers I desire, and made aware of my inability to do anything, I am thrust to my knees (sometimes very literally) at the foot of the Cross, asking for help to make it one more day, to take one more step through what seems to be a thick fog. Each breath accompanied by honest confessions of fear and weakness and heartfelt pleas for His mercy.  The more I progress through this pregnancy I made more and more aware that while the end will hopefully result in the bringing forth a new life into this world, there is something between here and there and that something is death.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me” (Psalm 23:4).

From conception to birth, the woman is thrown to the foot of the Creator’s throne, dependent on His will, His mercy, and His strength through her weakness. Everyday for nine months, she will make this journey; everyday she will hand herself over to the death of herself; everyday she will be much more different than the day before; everyday she will join her voice with Mary’s, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38). Everyday she will die, only to be raised up anew.

Labor and Delivery

O Lord, in distress they sought you;
they poured out a whispered prayer
when your discipline was upon them.
 Like a pregnant woman
who writhes and cries out in her pangs
when she is near to giving birth,
so were we because of you, O Lord;
     we were pregnant, we writhed,
but we have given birth to wind.
We have accomplished no deliverance in the earth,
and the inhabitants of the world have not fallen.
 Your dead shall live; their bodies shall rise.
You who dwell in the dust, awake and sing for joy!
For your dew is a dew of light,
and the earth will give birth to the dead. (Isaiah 26:17-19)

Femininity is often defined in terms more associated with a church mouse than that of a living, breathing, human being. Meek and mild are the boundary markers for interpretations on what is feminine: soft, smooth, gentile, maternal, quiet, proper, etc. It will be no surprise to you then that I would disagree with any definition of femininity that is based on such words/terms. In defining femininity, we must consider the very thing that biologically defines a woman: birthing. Thus, redefine femininity. Rather than meek and mild, it is strength, fortitude, and even fierceness that defines femininity. A woman in labor is completely feminine. A woman in labor is confronting death to bring forth life; no small task. And she confronts death alone. No person (apart from the Holy Spirit) takes her hand and guides her through it. It is here where the ferocity that is woman comes to the fore; she will (speaking in terms of an un-medicated labor and delivery) moan, grunt, even growl at death, bring it, Death! She’ll stare it down. My life for this one! A proper definition of femininity must incorporate this imagery.

Labor and delivery is earthy and visceral. I’ve yet to meet a husband, having witnessed his wife giving birth, who has not walked away completely changed in his opinion of what this woman can do and even is. Many male comedians have joked–in truth to a great degree–that if God came down and changed the roles (men now being child-bearers) that the human race would cease to exist. Men who have stood by, next to, or even those who have have held their wife during labor (my husband), and witnessed this process are forever changed in their own way–at the least his view of her is radically altered. Thus, in the process of creating a definition of femininity that incorporates the imagery of the woman in labor, the definition of masculinity is redefined. Chivalry become less about protecting her from danger and more about protecting her space to enter into this danger. His inherent ability and desire to protect (a generalization I’m willing to make having seen this “protector” spirit in my young sons) will be turned outward, toward the world, keeping the world at bay; in his presence she is safe, he becomes the source of comfort and soothing–he becomes the homestead–while she enters into this event and while she works and battles. He is not holding her, but holding everyone back. In light of modern birthing techniques, the husband often loses his role in this process, being relegated to the side and designated unhelpful or useless–a problem that needs a correction. Husbands are crucial to the process and the event this woman, his wife, will go through, for he is her first source of comfort, the one who knows her intimately, and his presence can represent to her that she is free to enter into this battle, to face death.

So, let us speak in terms of the theme of these posts, and let us look on the death and life in labor and delivery.

From the onset of labor to the completion of pushing, the woman submits to the event happening to them. The woman gives herself up (has to) to bring this other life into the world.  A woman who is laboring (naturally) will often look almost lifeless during the highpoint of contractions–slumped and limp held up only by the strength of her husband’s arms or still, inexpressive,  curled up on her side. Even delivery (pushing), the most primal of the process and invoking the totality of the activity of the woman–activity surfacing beyond all reason, in spite of all exhaustion–in itself, represents her total submission to the event–she has to push. She is face to face with death (her death), she will give the whole of herself to the process and afterwards is forever different.  She does not choose when labor begins, but it seizes her, and she can do nothing but die to herself to bring this child into the world. When you see her child, you see the death she went through in labor and delivery to move this child from her body in to the world. It is impossible to go through this process, this event and remain the same.  There is a new woman at the end of the event and not merely a new title to add to the others.

But let me not forget those of us who endure a different labor and delivery process; for those of us who endure Cesarian sections (a major surgery to extract the baby from the very lowest part of the abdomen) also go through the death into new life process. Having had three C-Sections, the imagery of being laid out on an operating table in a cruciform position does not escape my attention. My arms are stretched out to the side, and strapped (albeit loosely) down. My legs pulled straight on a narrow (and I mean NARROW) table. It is in this position, cruciform, that I will give birth. I don’t want to make a too-big of a deal about this nor draw a one-to-one comparison between her and Jesus’ death. But the imagery is there. During our last (and final) delivery, I walked (without Daniel) to the OR; everything about this small trek to have our daughter felt like dead woman walking. Each step down the cold hallway, barely covered by my gown, led me toward my confrontation with death. Without the lead-up that is the transition between early stage labor to a stage referred to as “transition”, you feel catapulted to deaths door in the event of a c-section.  As she is laid out, strapped, prepped, and as the curtain is raised–separating her from the gruesome scene below–she will close her eyes, breathe out, and say, “My life, for this one.” She will never be the same when the last suture is in place, and she will bare the scar of this confrontation, it will be the symbol of her new, of her different self, forever marked.

Labor Pains

I am sick today,
sick in my body,
eyes wide open, silent,
I lie on the bed of childbirth.

Why do I, so used to the nearness of death,
to pain and blood and screaming,
now uncontrollably tremble with dread?

A nice young doctor tried to comfort me,
and talked about the joy of giving birth.
Since I know better than he about this matter,
what good purpose can his prattle serve?

Knowledge is not reality.
Experience belongs to the past.
Let those who lack immediacy be silent.
Let observers be content to observe.

I am all alone,
totally, utterly, entirely on my own,
gnawing my lips, holding my body rigid,
waiting on inexorable fate.

There is only one truth.
I shall give birth to a child,
truth driving outward from my inwardness.
Neither good nor bad; real, no sham about it.

With the first labor pains,
suddenly the sun goes pale.
The indifferent world goes strangely calm.
I am alone.
It is alone I am.

Akiko Yosano
Infertility and Loss

And Elkanah, her husband, said to her, “Hannah, why do you weep? And why do you not eat? And why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?” … [Hannah] was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord and wept bitterly. And she vowed a vow and said, “O Lord of hosts, if you will indeed look on the affliction of your servant and remember me and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a son, then I will give him to the Lord all the days of his life, and no razor shall touch his head.” (1 Sam 1:8-11)

Affliction; this is the word Hannah uses to describe her childless state, her barren state, as she prays to God (actually, it’s more like pleading and begging). Hannah is afflicted with grief and sorrow. She is distressed and she weeps bitterly. She can’t eat, she laments (the deeper connotation of the word translated as “weep”), and she is not merely “sad” as a “feeling of blueness” as we would casually say, “I’m sad today.” It would be better to render the question from her husband, “why is your heart sad?,” as “why is your heart broken?”  Anyone reading who has suffered a broken heart knows that this feeling breaks through the floor of sadness into a realm that effects both the mind and the body in painful ways. A broken heart is described as such because the heart actually feels broken; there’s an ache or a piercing pain that seems to ricochet through the fleshiness of the heart muscle–it’s not merely metaphorical.  Hanna experiences this depth of broken-heartedness.

Over what?

A longing and a desire gone unmet.

Hannah is barren; she is without a child.  Hannah isn’t over-reacting about her childless state. The way the story is told seems more like a snapshot of her life at this one moment of her distress over being barren rather than a wholistic picture of what Hannah has been suffering–Hannah’s story practically opens the book of 1 Samuel. In v. 5 there is the mention that the Lord had closed her womb. And then from there, we jump right into her peaking distress and broken heart. In this way–the way the story is told–we miss out on the beauty that is the climactic point of Hannah’s distress and weeping. She is wholly consumed by hope deferred; hope deferred doesn’t merely occur because hope has been deferred once…but over and over and over again. Hannah has been pushed to the brink of the cliff that leads to despair, to death.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life. (Prov. 13:12)

Hope deferred makes the heart sick and this sickness steals life from the victim. Hannah has spent who knows how long longing and yearning for a child. Think of the numerous months coming and going, each one delivering it’s “no” and “not this time” to Hannah’s heart–hope sprung, hope dashed.  And the deferral of her hope has made her sick: she can’t eat, she can’t stop weeping bitterly, she is inconsolable.  This is a picture of a woman who is not well, who is suffering intimately with the brokenness of a very fallen world. When hope has been deferred for so long and dashed against the rocks so many times, one begins to long for not-hope. The deferral of hope can make one so sick that they wish for hope to take flight and to vanish, never again to alight on the heart–for, to the suffering soul, to live a life vanquished of hope seems better than to have hope yet once again only to have it dashed…yet once again.

And so it is with those of us who have suffered with infertility or loss or both. In both infertility and loss there is a hope, a real, tangible, hope that blossoms and the real hope that is shattered into what seems like shards upon shards. And each time this hope is dashed, there is a death. And it is this death that leaves the woman a different creation the next day. Out of all the experiences surrounding fertility and birth, it is those who suffer from infertility and loss who get the one two punch of Gen 3–the curse rears it’s head both in the inability to get or to stay pregnant (pain increased) and the all to alert awareness that death still marches about the earth creating casualties, leaving scars. These are the women who will enter into the battle that wages to bring forth life (my life for this one), who will face death, and who will exit the battlefield marred.

And yet, out of this real encounter with death, with “no,” with “not this time,” there is life: for she is a new creation out of this death–never to be the same again. For it is she who has suffered death that knows what life is; it is she who has not born new life who understands–on a deep and visceral level–just how miraculous new life is; it is she who has wept bitterly and cried out for relief who knows from Whom joy and comfort come; it is she who knows the failure of the very thing she was uniquely gifted to do who finds her very person not in the sum of her working or not-working parts, but in the totality of The One who has born the brokenness of the world (and of her body) in His body and who has dealt death a death-dealing blow. And while she has not brought forth new life quantified in onsies and diapers, she is the epitome of new life, for it is she who declares even in this darkness: life.

 

Posted on by laurenlarkin 1