Paper

Natalie Brandsma
Lit 240
15-12-2009


"Zeus has led us on to know, the Helmsmen lays it down as law that we must suffer, suffer into truth."
-Aeschylus

Grief is isolating; loneliness is part of the experience of pain, of loss, for it is alone that we experienced that which we now miss. If it is a person who has died, we miss them in a way that is very unique to our experience of sharing life with them. No one else understands our relationship with that person like we do. There is no way to fully describe our pain to another person, because to understand fully, they would need to share in our experience. But we try—again and again—to share our stories, and we find that with sharing, comes a sense of shared experience. From that, we can begin to heal. We do not share our unique grief still, that will always be ours alone to bear, but with the sharing of our story comes a sense of the collective suffering of humanity. We understand grief, pain, and loss—all these are a part of the human experience. These dark feelings are most intense and most primitive. Because pain is unpleasant, we try to avoid it, to run from it; and in a quest to understand our pain, we question it. Why did this happen to me? And as some sort of deity has existed in the minds of humans since the early human experience, we question God. We try to extract some sort of meaning from our intense pain, isolation, this darkness that is grief. From our questioning, we receive no definitive answers.
So the character of Job in the Bible and Jacob in Isaac Bashevis Singer’s The Slave question the reason for their suffering, their sins, and God. Both ultimately find that there is no causal relationship between the sins they have committed and their suffering. Ultimately, God can provide no individual answer to either character; suffering is part of the human experience of life, and we must discover meaning that emerges from our own suffering.
Job begins as a pious man, he says, “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God, and not receive the bad?” (2.9) Job then goes on to state that which is the central message of the book in 1:21 "...the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” Often quoted to provide comfort to the grieving, it is this message of acceptance that the Book of Job is known for. However, Job begins, as all who suffer begin, in denial. He stumbles forward numbly on with his life. He has not had time to process all of the tragedy that has occurred in his life, but once he does, he demonstrates a storm of emotions. His friends question him over and over again: what has he done? What sin has Job committed to deserve this punishment? Job insists that he has done nothing to deserve such misery: “O that my vexation were weighed…/For then it would be heavier than the sand of the sea” (6.2-3). Job’s reactions ring true to human nature: we believe that there must be a purpose for our suffering, and that this suffering has been decreed by divine justice.
Job’s friends implore Job to reveal and repent his wickedness; they tell him: “If you are pure and upright, surely then he will rouse himself for you” (8.6). But Job has begun to question God, insisting that he has not committed a crime so great as to deserve such suffering. He complains, "See, he will kill me; I have no hope; but I will defend my ways to his face./ This will be my salvation, that the godless shall not come before him" (13.15-16). Job defies God and shares his anger, reflecting another stage of the grieving process.
"My spirit is broken, my days are extinct, the grave is ready for me" (17.1). Job, in the depths of his suffering, is purely human, sharing in this experience we call grief. And he has learned that sin has no causal relationship with suffering. At the end of the Book of Job, Job questions God as to the reason behind his suffering. Wisdom is to be found from a fear of the Lord (28.28). The Lord answers Jobs questions: to question leads to nowhere, for we humans cannot possibly understand the ways of the divine. And Job replies, “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted. “ (42.2). God is angered at Job’s friend’s words to their friend: “my wrath is kindled against you and against your two friends; for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has” (42.7). Job remains righteous because he has discovered that there is no definitive answer to why he suffers, no reason humans can understand. In his book, The Great Code, Northrop Frye comments, “the situation cannot be contained within the framework of law and wisdom and no causal explanation is good enough” (194). We must learn to accept our suffering along with our joys, this is the lesson from the book of Job. And we must look for meaning that may emerge from our own suffering.
Early in the novel The Slave, Jacob is pious and repentant. He questions not God, but himself. What sins can he repent for? What has he done to deserve his position as a slave? But through the novel, Jacob changes with his experience. His views of the world broaden, and he grows more contemplative. With the death of his wife, Jacob changes completely; he begins to ask bigger questions, and he rejects personal responsibility for both his sufferings and those of Sarah.
Like Job, Jacob rejects the notion that he is somehow responsible for his suffering with the death of his beloved Sarah-Wanda. He begins, instead, to question God. As she is dying, he thinks of her as virtuous, “a thousand times better than any of the others. Have they been to heaven and learned what God likes? Worry and fear, the isolation in which he found himself, had made him rebellious” (239-240). Jacob questions the knowledge of his fellow men; his suffering is great, and he is coming upon some sense that the answer to his question is that there is no definitive answer. He blames himself in moments, because he fell in love with a gentile, but on some level, he believes that their love could not be a sin. “What happened was no accident. Everything was preordained…he had been driven, he knew, by powers stronger than himself” (247). Jacob begins to trust in the divine in a different way. He no longer is questioning himself and his sins, but he questions the ways of the world. He has found wisdom in his sorrow, and, “now he at least understood his religion: its essence was the relation between man and his fellows” (247).
He realizes that all of the rules are unimportant compared to a larger theme about his religion that seems to be missed by his community: love for one another. Jacob moves, with his grief, into his own space with God. Like Job, Jacob has rejected the idea that there is a causal relationship between his behavior and his suffering. When he is in the woods running for his life, engulfed in grief, Jacob demonstrates that he has gone through a major shift in thought; he draws comfort from thoughts of Sarah-Wanda rather than from his God (254). He has halted his obsession with proper behavior, and he focuses instead on the things of his heart.

Jacob comes through his suffering, and in the end, he discovers “Everything remained the same: the ancient love, the ancient love, the ancient grief” (279). Jacob has discovered wisdom from the depths of grief. He has accepted himself and, like Job, he has discovered that the nature of suffering is universal. He has done nothing directly to deserve so much pain; rather pain is part of his human experience.
Job captures the essence of the experience of suffering in the conclusion of his defensive speech (29-31). He laments, “And now my soul is poured out within me;/ days of affliction have taken hold of me,/ The night racks my bones,/ and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest” (30.16-17). Job is a miserable character, yet he attempts to cling to dignity as he separates his suffering from his identity. He feels isolated and abandoned by God and by the joy of living.
Life is a binary. Joy cannot exist without suffering; it matters not whether we are a sinner or the utmost pious. Suffering is inevitable. Yet when we are deep within the swirling darkness of suffering, we search for justification or meaning. We, like Job, question, why me?
In our dealings with each other, with our children for example, we often inflict suffering as punishment or discipline. Therefore it seems natural for humans to question God, the father figure, what was done to deserve the punishment and pain that is experienced. As humans, we think, unable to turn off this constant stream of conscious thought, we must question and agonize over our suffering. We run away from our negative emotions, we stuff them down, we try anything to avoid acceptance. Yet acceptance is what we ultimately move to, and only by moving straight through the heart of the grief we try so hard to avoid can we move beyond it.
May we find comfort in our darkest moments of suffering in the knowledge that all suffer, all will suffer. May we turn to the words of Job, of Jacob, and of the myriad other characters in literature who grieve and suffer. We are not, in fact alone, no matter how isolated we feel by our experience. And our experience exists for a reason, experience brings with it lessons and growth.
The day my father died started out as such a normal day—another day in the mountains, just him and me, together, like hundreds of previous days. We talked and laughed during the early part of our climb. Growing silent as the climb grew harder, and I suppose my dad’s stomach ace grew worse. But silence was normal. We had the ability to spend hours together in silence. Those moments, of quiet togetherness, were intimate. Our love, our friendship, was such that we did not need words or business to express it. So together, in our own thoughts we climbed. Dad really wanted to make the top that year, as we had not been able to the year before. He complained of an “annoying” stomach ache. But we dismissed his discomfort as indigestion from the Nepalese food from dinner the previous night. My dad and I both have EMT basic training—he actively used his training, I did not. But neither of us recognized the symptoms as heart trouble. I did not realize something was seriously wrong until dad wanted to turn around less than ten feet from the summit. Moments later, his hand started to tingle, and we both realized that he was having a heart attach. My dad said, “I can’t believe this. This is ridiculous.” Only moments later, he lost consciousness. I am thankful that there were other people around to help me perform CPR to talk to the rangers on the phone; we tried desperately to save my father. But he died anyway. And suddenly what had been a normal day, turned into an extraordinary story.
I do not know if I believe in God, but I question. Like Job, like Jacob, I throw my questions out, scream them in anger. Why did this happen? I search for meaning. And I have found truth in the quote: “we must suffer, suffer into truth”. There is meaning in suffering; through suffering, we learn to appreciate the mundane. We learn to embrace the gift of a “normal day”. We learn that life should not be taken for granted. And we learn to embrace and treasure our memories. I found this quote on my dad’s bathroom mirror after his death; these words describe painfully my experience and perspective. But they also draw from my grief a powerful lesson.
“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you. Bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.” -Mary Jean Iron

one last fitting quote and a photo of my happy father

I opened a Yoga magazine to this page, and I thought the quote fit well with today's discussion:

"Success is a journey, not a destination. Happiness is to be found along the way, not at the end of the road, for then the journey is over and it is too late. The time for happiness is today, not tomorrow. IF we wait to arrive at happiness, we shall be sadly disappointed in life." -Wes Milliman

no coincidence and final musings

I think I wrote this in a previous blog, but I no longer believe in coincidences. The fact that this class was one of the two I am taking the semester after my dad's death feels serendipitous. I have had the ability to share my story, through the semester, and through the literature.

Thank you for allowing me to speak. Thank you for your words and your thoughts.

My dad suggested to me more frequently over the past few years to pick up a Bible. He found its poetry beautiful, its words (or at least some of them) comforting. My dad only discovered religion in the years since my mom's diagnosis with Parkinson's Disease. Both my parents migrated toward religion, and there they found community, support, love. It filled something for my dad, and it continues to fill something for my mom. I have trouble with organized religion, because frankly it scares me. People seem to get so caught up in the community and camaraderie that they lose sight of the foundation. I think it is frightening to think of how many people have gotten caught up in a sort of mob-mentality associated with religion and they cease to think for themselves. So many religious institutions have the ability to control people through fear (fear of God's wrath, hell etc.). And I think anything that is so influential and has so much power over people's minds can be dangerous. I do not understand how a belief system, or religious view can remain static in a world that is it constant flux and change. I hope that as we move into a modern time, more and more people will approach religion while holding on to their brains. I hope people will question and explore all facets of religion.

I am hopeful, because I think religion can be a wonderful thing as well as a dangerous one. My dad was trying to help me find inner peace when he suggested I try attending church or perhaps opening the Bible. I do believe that there is a general lack of spiritual health in our society that leads to increased problems with addiction. We try to fill our emptiness with drugs, alcohol, sex, shopping, sugar, gambling... the list goes on and on. But perhaps what we need is stillness, poetry, love, compassion.
These are principle teachings I respect from any religion.

I too (like Lisette) have thought a lot about love recently. My grandmother sent me a card after my pony died when I was young, and in it she wrote, "Great sorrow is the price we pay for love". How true. And how thankful, in an odd way, I can be for this blister of grief and pain that has me engulfed. My dad and my grandmother both taught me many things, but above all, they both taught me about unconditional love. And that love does not go away. I am comforted by a phrase in Song of Solomon: "for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave" (7.6). And I know that my love--the love I feel for them, and the love they gave to me--lasts on. It is a source of strength and comfort for me. And I can pass on those lessons to those around me as I grow and heal.

The last time I remember my dad sharing a part of the Bible with me, he read to me from First Corinthians. Although I have said my dad suggested I pick up the Bible or attend church, he only mentioned these ideas a few times. He never pressured me or made me feel like I should, he just put it out there as an idea for me to do what I wanted with it. I opened my Bible tonight, and took a look at First Corinthians 13. And I found the part my dad read to me and it is beautiful and moving:

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends.

I think often too of the love of strangers. I found incredible support and love from complete strangers on the mountain when my father died. People were there to help me. They took over cell-phone duty, CPR, they hugged me. One girl just sat with me and tried to keep me calm through mindless chat. And after I realized that he was dead and I had to stumble down the mountain without him, they were there to keep me from falling. Literally--I took off when I first started down, tripped and fell immediately. Then one of the guys who had been on the scene the whole time appeared at my side, took my backpack and my hand and lead me down to the boulder basin where rangers waited to escort me the rest of the way down. People were there for me. And they demonstrated to me a wonderful side of humanity. I am so thankful to have seen such powerful goodness in the most horrific day of my life.

And since my dad's death, I have been engulfed with support and love. I have found love from many different directions, some of them surprising. And I have found it here, in this class. So again, thank you. May I remind you to treasure each day, each person, each moment that we are given. For life is not something to be taken for granted; life is a gift.

A belated paper post

I know I was supposed to post this some time ago. It has been rolling around in my head and in my computer for quite some time.

I am interested in grief and sorrow and suffering. The essence of great story, Dr. Sexson says, comes from those thing which are difficult.

Premise: Suffering is incommensurable with our “crimes” or sins.

Quote: “We suffer into the truth”
-Aeschylus

-Scars are paraded as evidence that we’ve been “through the fire” -Dr. Sexson

I have this small book that has helped me significantly in my journey through this great grief. The first time I opened the book, I opened it to this page:


Quote: “She thought that she had never before had a chance to realize the might, grimness and tenderness of God. She thought that now for the first time she began to know herself, and she gained extraordinary hope in this beginning of knowledge” --James Agee

“If we have ever wondered about the limits of our strength and our ability to endure, our experience of loss will tell us much. Our life is shaken to the foundation. But we survive. And out of this terrible, rarefied self-knowledge comes, if we are fortunate, a kind of empathy with all of creation--a senseof the wonder at the suffering and the beauty, of the world. We know ourselves to be in this world, to be part of it and also that it is out of our hands. We cannot manage any of it, but we are in the hands of One who can."

I found this quote and this passage so helpful in that moment. I know that I have learned much about myself through my experience of trauma, tragedy and grief. I learned that I have the ability to remain calm in the worst situation I can possibly imagine. I have learned that I have a deep reserve of strength upon which I can draw on during moments of extreme need. I have learned of the strength of my mother, and the strength of myself. I have learned that we are completely out of control of what life hands us. All that I can do now is appreciate what I have. I have wonderful memories. I will always be the daugher of an intelligent, loving, wonderful man. I have the legacy of his unconditional love. I have memories of the man who was my father; and I have no unfinished buisness with him. Our relationship was idealistic, pure, and something I will treasure with all of my heart for the rest of my days. Perhaps I treasure our special relationship even more because of his untimely death. I certainly have examined much more of the ways in which I am like him than I would have otherwise. And I have learned to do what dad always told me to do: "count your blessings". I have many. I have found so much love and support from many different directions. I have found connections everywhere with people who have been in the "belly of the fish".

Suffering is natural and as much a part of life as joy. The book of Job tells us that suffering is not connected directly with our actions. Jonah tells us that suffering is unavoidable--we cannot run from our lives.

In my paper, I will talk about suffering in the macrocosm. I will trace the suffering of Job, drawing on my previous blog on the subject, and I will trace the suffering with Jacob. I will show how those who suffer--which is all of us (we have all lost SOMETHING, and we will all experience loss and grief). emerge from their suffering with something of value. We learn from our experiences of suffering; our perspective is shifted, and we gain a sort of worldly-wisdom. And we are capable of coming through so much more than we ever imagined. We learn about ourselves from suffering.


Now, some random musings on suffering:

Quote:
O! that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew;
Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d
His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world.
-William Shakespeare

Reason for God: because we need someone or something to question. The randomness is difficult to understand, why do we search for meaning and understanding? Is it easier to question some percieved entity (God; the great spirit; God as we create him in our own image? a thought I had while in Origins class)

I believe in a connected spirituality as a part of the human experience. I believe in the connection between all things in the world; I do not believe in coincidence. My dad told me in recent years that he no longer believed in coincidence, but that he believed there was a specific order to the universe and the events that take place in each of our lives. When he told me, I felt like he was confiding some deep secret belief. And I was unsure of how I felt. I felt uncomfortable with the thought that things are ”pre-ordained“. Perhaps it made me feel less of some sense of control. But as events have taken place in my life since, I truly believe everything happens for a reason. The experiences I’ve had in my life leading up to the moment of my dad’s death have given me the strength and wisdom to cope; I have the self-knowledge that I will again find my feet and learn to stand in this world without a father. And with this self-knowledge and with this experience, this story, my story, I hope that someday I can help other people. Just as those who have been close to death and loss hold my hand now.

Quote (reminds me of Jacob’s thoughts when Wanda aka Sarah died):
”I don’t believe you dead. How can you be dead if I still feel you? Maybe, like God, you changed into something different that I’ll have to speak to in a different way, but you not dead to me Nettie.“ -Alice Walker

”For when is death not within ourselves?...Living and dead are the same, and so are awake and asleep, young and old.“ --Heraclitus
We are all part of the same story, ultimately (macrocosm). May we find comfort in our darkest moments of suffering in the knowledge that all suffer, all will suffer. We are not, in fact alone, no matter how isolated we feel by our experience. And our experience exists for a reason, experience brings with it lessons and growth.


Thank you class, for allowing me to share my story. And thank you for sharing your stories with me. I have found comfort and strength from connections, and with the telling of my story. We must all tell our story.

”There is a gravitational pull, an endless current which we do not recognize which draws us beyond all things and people, but at the same time more deeply and freely into them.“ --Edward J. Farrell

There are ambiguous gifts of suffering. We emerge with a larger sense of the world, a greater perspective; a sense of wonder at the world and a sense of mystery.
Grief pushes us to the edge of experience and in that we are forced to explore the dark corners of ourselves. As well as the dark corners of what it is to be human.

Death has the effect of knocking the wind out of the living. We stumble forward, feeling paralyzed by grief. Yet, at some point, we realize that we must slowly return to the world of the living.

”Feeling light within, I walk“ --Navajo Night Chant

Jonah

Jonah flees from God's instruction to go to Nineveh; Jonah, like most of us, does not want to face his responsibilities. Then God, angry, flings a storm upon the sea where Jonah has tried to flee in a boat. Jonah runs away again--he also flees from the consequences of his actions; he does not like to face uncomfortable truths--that which is reality in life. He runs from problems. Wait, sounds familiar. Drinking, smoking, drugs, sex, entertainment (massive interest and focus on entertainment in our society): all are ways that we often look to for avoidance of our problems, feelings, lives...

Jonah does not see or care how his problems are affecting those around him--also familiar. The other men on the boat are kind and generous and try to save all of them before they toss Jonah overboard. Image: raging sea.

Jonah and suffering: Jonah is tossed into the raging sea--into the depths of the storm. Life with its dramatic changes and problems and intense grief feels sometimes like we are caught in the depths of an angry sea. We try to keep our head above water and continue to breathe--for this is all we can do. But we feel small and powerless and waves crash over and over our head. Intense emotion feels like this to me. I have felt often out of control and as though I am swimming through some intense storm as I try to cope with my life and my emotions. Emotions crash and crash over me and I feel out of control. Angry outbursts, tears, sometimes intense joy. I never know what the next wave will bring.

Then Jonah enters the belly of the FISH. A quote from a conversation with our professor: "Scars are to be paraded as evidence that we have been through the fire". Or in this case, that we have been tossed into the stormy sea and swallowed by a fish. We will emerge from the belly of the whale as a wiser person.

Mike Miles told me I am in the undertow of intense grief, of coping with a completely new reality and new experience of life. He said I must trust that I will be spit out the other side, and that I will grow from this pain and suffering. I hope blindly. Hope, memories, and the knowledge that suffering is universal and no matter how hard we try to protect ourselves from it, no matter how we try to run or to hide, we are all tossed into the raging waters and find ourselves in the belly of the fish. And all we can do is be there, in the experience, and trust that if we can bare the pain of no longer running, we will be spit back out and we will have gained a deep knowledge of the world and experience and wisdom.

Jonah, while in the belly of the fish, learns to be grateful. He is humbled--he has nothing and so he must simply trust in God. And when he says this, "the Lord spoke to the fish, and it spewed Jonah out upon the dry land" (2.10).
And when he is called again, Jonah does not flee, but faces his responsibility.

Jonah has expectation of his future: that the Lord's wrath will rain on the city of Nineveh. He probably has conjured up selfish images of how he will be viewed in greatness as his prophecy comes true yada yada. But then his expectations are destroyed by the Lord. His future is suddenly not as he envisioned it; so and Jonah responds with a temper-tantrum. Jonah still must learn to be thankful for what he has--God demonstrates this lesson again to him with the presence of the bush. Jonah waits in the heat and sun to watch the city and God gives him a bush for shade. But the lord giveth and the lord taketh away. And he causes the bush to wither. Jonah again responds with anger, and believes he is justified in his anger, but God responds: "You are concerned about the bush, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night" (4.10). God tells Jonah that the fate of the city is in His hands. Jonah has no power over the course of events in his life. Expectation leads to anger as things turn out differently. So Jonah should just relax, become a little more zen, go with the flow, and be thankful for what he has. Because he cannot know what his future will bring. We should all be grateful for what we have now, in this very moment. For none of us knows what the next moment will bring. We should not rely on dreams for our futures, because this moment is all we KNOW we have for sure. This is our life, now. Life does not begin in the future when we see ourselves with a job, a spouse, etcetera. Life is now. Appreciation for what we have is now. We will all find joy and we will all find suffering in life. We will all be tossed into the turmoil of grief and sudden change. We will go into the belly of the fish. But the beauty is that we will again emerge. We will deal with what we have been given, and we will learn from our experiences.

Samuel 1 books 1-10 script

Narrator (N):
“There was a certain man of Ramathaim, a Zuphite from the hill country of Ephraim, whose name was Elkanah…He had two wives; the name of the one was Hannah…” (1 Samuel 1.1)

Hannah had no children, and her rival provoked her over and over again. Therefore, Hannah grew sad and wept and would not eat. She goes to the temple of the Lord to present herself before him and pray for a child. She prays silently and :

Eli: “How long will you make a drunken spectacle of yourself? Put away your wine. “

Hannah: “No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard you servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.”

N: Elkanah knew his wife, Hannah, and the Lord remembered her. Samuel is born. As soon as he is weaned, he is given to serve God: “they brought the child to Eli” Hannah sings a poem of thanksgiving at her separation from her son.

“The sons of Eli were scoundrels (1 Sam 2.12). Eli weakly tries to dissuade their behavior “But they would not listen to the voice of their father; for it was the will of the Lord to kill them” (2.25)

“ A man of God” speaks to Eli.

Man of God: The Lord speaks: “Far be it from me, for those who honor me I will honor and those who despise me shall be treated with contempt”

N: Eli learns that his family is getting kicked out of the priesthood, both of his sons will die on the same day, and that a new priest will take their place: Samuel.

Little Samuel is summoned by the Lord:
It is night, the boy Samuel sleeps. The Lord calls “Samuel, Samuel!” and he presents himself to Eli and says:

Samuel: “here I am”

N: 3 times.

Eli: go lie back down and listen when you are called!


N: The Philistines and Israel battle. Israel is defeated.

Elders: “Why has the Lord put us to rout today before the Philistines? Let us bring the ark of the covenant of the lord here…so that he may come among us and save us from the power of our enemies.” (4.3)

N: Initially the Philistines are terrified, but they grow brave and the ark fails the Israelites. Eli’s 2 sons are guarding the ark and are killed as the Philistines capture it.

Messenger to Eli: Your sons are dead and the ark was captured by the Philistines.

N: Eli falls over backward and dies.



Ark is placed in the temple of Dagon, the Philistine God. Suffering begins when they do not heed the warning signs: the statue of Dagon is knocked over the first night; he is replaced and the next morning he is fallen and missing limbs.
They move the ark to Gath. The Lord struck the town with tumors. They send the ark to Ekron and “the hand of God was very heavy there” (5.12)

The Philistines ask the Priests: what do we do? Answer: offer the Lord a guilt offering of 5 gold mice and 5 gold tumors, put it in a wagon and “send it off, and let it go its way” . The ark is returned to Israel, to Beth-shemesh.

N: Samuel speaks to Israel.

Samuel: “If you are returning to the Lord with all your heart, then put away the foreign gods and the astartes from among you. Direct your heart to the lord and serve him only, and he will deliver you out of the hand of the Philistines.”

N: “so Israel put away the Baals and the Astartes and they served the Lord only” (7.3-4). Samuel judges his people at Mizpah.

Israel conquers the Philistines. Samuels sons are corrupt. Samuel is getting old.
Elders of Israel: “You are old and your sons do not follow in your ways; appoint for us, then, a king to govern us like other nations”

N: Resistant, Samuel warns them against wanting a monarch. But they do not listen. Samuel, following the Lord’s instructions, picks the handsome, tall Saul as king when Saul visits “the seer”
Saul: I am only a Benjaminite, from the least of the tribes of Israel”

N: Saul falls into a prophetic frenzy

Samuel announces to the Israelites that Saul will be king. Then they cannot find Saul, eventually discovering him hiding in the baggage. He is presented to the people.

The people: Long live the king!

Frye part 1

revelation |ˌrevəˈlā sh ən|
noun
1 a surprising and previously unknown fact, esp. one that is made known in a dramatic way : revelations about his personal life.
• the making known of something that was previously secret or unknown : the revelation of an alleged plot to assassinate the king.
• used to emphasize the surprising or remarkable quality of someone or something : seeing them play at international level was a revelation.
2 the divine or supernatural disclosure to humans of something relating to human existence or the world : an attempt to reconcile Darwinian theories with biblical revelation | a divine revelation.
• ( Revelation or informal Revelations) (in full the Revelation of St. John the Divine) the last book of the New Testament, recounting a divine revelation of the future to St. John.
DERIVATIVES
revelational |- sh ənl| adjective
ORIGIN Middle English (in the theological sense): from Old French, or from late Latin revelatio(n-), from revelare ‘lay bare’ (see reveal 1 ). Sense 1 dates from the mid 19th cent.
-New Oxford American Dictionary

CREATION
"In Genesis, however, the forms of life are spoken into existence, so that while they are made or created, they are not made out of something else" (106). Again, the power of WORDS, and oral language.

Something that always has bothered me about Genesis: "We know only of a world in which every human and animal form is born from a female body; but the Bible insists, not only on the association of God with the male sex, but that at the beginning the roles of male and female were reversed in human life, the first woman having been made out of the body of the first man" (107). Aha! "God is male because that rationalizes the ethos of a patriarchal male-dominated society."

"But, because we begin and end, we insist that beginnings and endings must be much more deeply built into the reality of things than the universe around us suggests, and we shape our myths accordingly" (108). Even existing in this modern world, we have no actual concept of our universe. We may have the scientific facts: estimations on the age of the universe, the earth--its birth via explosion--and all sorts of physical information. But on a conceptual level, all these facts fail us. None of us is capable of fathoming any of these facts, they are too far beyond our little existence and experience. Again I wonder, how do we remove ourselves from ourselves to observe? I do not think it is possible beyond some ideal to strive toward (fantasy perhaps?).

Beginning, like waking up from sleep is a revelation in itself. I think this may be a point Frye is getting to...Therefore Genesis mimics the structure of the U-shape that is the entire Bible. Thinking of creation in this way makes sense to me if I think of my own experience. Experience itself did not begin with birth, at least it means nothing to me now as those early years are not a part of memory. Early memories are like thoughts upon first waking, until we emerge into the full experience of life.


"The world God made was so "good" that he spent his seventh day contemplating it--which means that his Creation, including man, was already objective to God, even if we assume that man acquired with his fall a new and more intense feeling of the "otherness" of both God and nature" (110).

Revolution

The contrast of light and dark is like the binary of life and not-life (after death). I think heaven, too, is a natural human creation: how can we imagine an end of our experience?


"The spoken words of Christ are recorded with great care, but his physical appearance, the fact that he was bound to resemble some people more closely than others, could never have been anything but an embarrassment" (116). Funny that today we have such a concrete image of Jesus's physical appearance.

I do not think I understand this section...

why i have not blogged recently and a hero's death

I was up until 2 last night crying. I haven't been eating well. haven't been sleeping. haven't really been writing in my journal. people tell you to call them if you need anything. they don't realize how difficult it can be to make that call.

But I managed to lift myself out of it enough to make some calls, to reach out to some people. I am trying to keep living; focusing on the baby steps. Someone told me "life is for the living". I am trying to function among the living. But i do not feel fully alive. a part of me died up there with him. He took part of me with him. When he died, my life as it was at that point died. And I was shoved suddenly into adulthood; numbly I stumble onward, trying to figure out this strange new life. I don't really know why I am in school right now. My brain is on vacation, and I keep trying to force it back to work. I guess I know education was important to my dad and my initial thought was "he would want me to continue living normally". I did not realize that living normally is impossible. I guess I feel pressure from society to dive back into life as it was. Sometimes distraction is nice, but sometimes it is impossible. And my memory is a blur; this whole part of my life is a blur as I am living it and already it blurs in memory. I am thinking I will take next semester off. I need time and space to digest all that has just happened to me. I have to learn how to live without my dad. and he's everywhere. All I have left are memories, and it's the memories that hurt so much.

I have found this blog to be somewhat therapeutic. I figured, instead of trying to fight against where my brain is going constantly, maybe I should just throw it all out there. I do not know if people read this, but there is something healing about getting my thoughts out into the ethers. I don't feel quite so alone with them, so haunted by them. Although I am still haunted, constantly, of grotesque images from my dad's death. I dream about it. I wake up crying. I re-live it over and over again, at varying levels of intensity.

And I miss him intensely. He was my best friend, my protector, my daddy. He fixed things when they broke. He told me how to fix things if he couldn't because he was too far away. He hugged me and kissed my bruises when I fell down. He picked up the pieces when I screwed up. And he always forgave me and continued loving me just as deeply. He always told me, "Natalie, you won't understand the love a parent has for a child until you have kids of your own." I know I am lucky to have had such an awesome dad. I can't imagine having a better relationship with him. How many people can say they have no regrets, no unfinished conflicts with the dead? I am lucky enough to feel overwhelmingly that way (of course there are always small things, but I love d my dad so).

I know this event, the event of my dad's death, is one of the primary shapers of my life. I will never "recover" from this people tell me. It will change, and the pain will shift, but it will not go away. I will never stop missing him.

Death is as natural as birth, and yet why do we shy so much from it? Our culture especially, is so afraid of sadness, grief any uncomfortable feelings. But I have found that avoiding the grief does not make it go away, and it does not make me feel any better. It simply changes form and manifests itself in a different way. I feel it in my body, especially if I have not acknowledged it recently. I feel heavy; like I am living in molasses. I am exhausted, yet sleep is illusive (as it always has been for me). I find my grief comes out as anger at small things. Perhaps this will teach me empathy for the actions of people--you never know what someone is going through. Why are we, as humans, so afraid of the pain of grief? I wonder if we are afraid that the pain will kill us. It certainly feels like too much sometimes. I feel like I am about to fall over some edge, and I am so afraid of falling. But, I think, the only way to move through this and find myself again is by falling, again and again. Each time I start to slip, I fall deeper into the darkness of memory. I allow myself to miss him a little bit more. I miss him so, so terribly. His absence is like a bright light shining on my constantly. I blink against it, I try to hide from it, but it finds me where ever I turn. I cannot call him to ask him to help me with my computer. Or when my truck won't start. Or when I need money to pay the vet bills for my horse. Or to cry to him about how freaking hard living is right now. I cannot call him when I have a good day. Or when I have a bad day. I have to find new people to share my excitement and my sorrow with. As David says, "I shall go to him, but he will not return to me" (2 Samuel 12.23)

Like Moses, my dad died at the top of a mountain. Well near the top, really. His death certificate says 200 feet below the summit of Long's Peak. Although we did not make the top together that day, I signed the register for both of us. And really, my dad's body did make it all the way, because they air-lifted him off in a helicopter that they landed on the summit.

Ok, I am hoping that writing this will help clear some fog so I can return to schoolwork. . .

the slave

I seem to have lost my momentum for blogging. Then again I feel a little like I've lost my momentum for life in general lately. I guess just keep getting back on the horse each time I fall off...

I loved The Slave. I thought it was tragic and real and beautiful. The end was my favorite part. I thought it really brought beauty into the tragedy. And I like that it took my viewpoint from the microcosm, the story of Jacob alone without Sarah in exile, to the macrocosm, they were together again in spirit and in a sense in physical body. Themes of fate and destiny drive the tale, and from turmoil and tragedy emerges peace. I was left with a feeling that there is more to this life than the earthly experience, and I felt comforted for Jacob that he was brought back to Sarah.

Job part 1.2

Job 1:13-19. Job loses one thing after another. This seems like a metaphor for the way suffering tends to happen in real life. They say bad things always come in threes. Usually, it seems, it is one bad thing after another for a certain period of time. And Job states that which I think is the central message of the book in 1:21 "...the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." And being the pious man modern Christians want to find in the book of Job, he "did not sin or charge God with wrongdoing" even after his wife tells him to do otherwise. Perhaps Job is in the first "stage" of grief: denial.

Interesting that Job's three friends just sit with him for a week. In some native American cultures, it is customary to go and just sit by someone who is grieving and this is thought to bring the greatest comfort. True, there is no right thing to say to someone who is grieving, but there certainly is a wrong thing to say!

Job, like a child, wishes for an easy out from his suffering. His solution: to never have been born! Who hasn't wished for a moment that we could just not deal with something? Well, by never existing in the first place, Job would not have had, nor would he have lost, and therefore he would not be suffering now. But he also would not be around to be relieved from suffering... Seems almost like a temper tantrum. I think this outburst make Job a more realistic character. If he really were the pious, uncomplaining character the traditionalists want him to be he would not be human.

We train our children and our dogs that they make a mistake and they are punished. If good, they are rewarded. So why wouldn't we expect that the universe operates in the same manner? Especially if we (I'm using we here as humanity; early humanity) view ourselves as the "children" of God. It is natural to question why bad things happen; and if we view ourselves as a child or servant of a higher power, why wouldn't we search and search our memory for something that we have done wrong. Perhaps this is why there are so many freaking rules in the Bible! They were trying so hard to be good and to therefore eliminate suffering. But alas, turns out, everyone suffers anyway...

Job asks, "What is my strength, that I should wait? And what is my end, that I should be patient?/ Is my strength the strength of stones, or is my flesh bronze?/ In truth I have no help in me, and any resource is driven from me" (Job 6:11-13). Aren't these the questions that we all ask when we are going through a hard time? I have questioned my own strength with dealing with the traumatic death of my father. And at times I wonder "what is the point of being strong?" I have also wondered when my strength will break; when enough is enough--similar to Job asking "is my strength the strength of stones?" I have wondered how much I am expected to be able to handle (expected by whom? society? God? the universe? I am not sure). Job here demonstrates his anger and frustration (stage 2 of the "grief cycle").

Job ch 7.

Stage 4 depression

Job says, "so I am allotted months of emptiness and nights of misery are apportioned to me./ When I lie down I say, 'when shall I rise?'/ But the night is long, and I am full of tossing until dawn..." he goes on to lament: "my eye will never again see good." Job is depressed.

And it is refreshing to me that he goes on to say "Therefore I will not restrain my mouth; I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul" (Job 7.11). In our society, we praise those who suffer gallantly in silence. We applaud a good attitude, even if the person is really feeling sad, angry, depressed; we expect cheerfulness and a "good" or "positive" attitude. Was it the same during the time that the book of Job was written? Or did this behavior come from a traditionalist view of the Book of Job, ignoring the center? Finally, someone who does not try to hold in all of his emotions that arise from suffering but allows them to pass through him. Job is human. He asks God to leave him alone! ("Will you not look away from me for a while, let me alone until I swallow my spittle?" Job 7.19). I have felt the same way, as have we all when we have suffered. We reach a point where we just want to cry out "ENOUGH!". What more do you want me to handle? (again the "you" here does not necessarily mean god; it seems like a common question people ask of life when they are suffering). And those who believe are called to question God, just as Job does.

Also, Job blames God for his suffering; it seems we as humans always need a scapegoat; again, he demonstrates anger!

Zophar's line I like "And you will have confidence, because there is hope" (Job 11.18). For those who are suffering, hope brings us through. We have to hold on to the hope that today will be better; or manageable at least. We hope for a future day, hour, moment, when we will find joy instead of sorrow. Job responds to this only as a man who is truly suffering and in a deep depression would. He complains that he is laughingstock because "those at ease have contempt for misfortune" because his friends continue to blame Job for some wrong-doing that has brought upon this suffering. Job is angry and frustrated, and he seems to have given up. Key line of Job: "I am not inferior to you" he says to his friends. I am not inferior to you because I suffer.

"See, he will kill me; I have no hope; but I will defend my ways to his face./ THis will be my salvation, that the godless shall not come before him" ( Job 13.15-16). He has nothing left to lose, so he can lose nothing by questioning God. He has no more fear of God because all he can lose is his life (and we all die anyway).

"so mortals lie down and do not rise again; until the heavens are no more, they will not awake or be roused out of their sleep" (14.12).

"My spirit is broken, my days are extinct, the grave is ready for me" (17.1). Grief often leads us to thoughts of death, perhaps suicide. It is too much to handle, so we must search for a reason to continue living...Job doesn't seem to have one.

And yet his friends continue to insist that he has done something wrong; that he somehow deserves his suffering (again--perhaps the reason for so many RULES? Then they figured out that even the most pious, perfectly well behaved man suffers, so they wrote Job...?)

Why the number three? Three parts to the Hebrew bible--> Three friends? I guess many religions have the concept of triple deity. I wonder though where this comes from. Can anyone enlighten me?

"If only I could vanish in darkness, and thick darkness would cover my face!" (23.17) The God Job knows is dark and terrifying. He is the God of suffering. Who has the power to give but also the power to take away and therefore cause suffering. Job feels lonely and alone. Even his friends do not listen or understand him or where he is coming from.

Job 25.4 "How can one born of woman be pure?" wow.

Rebellious Elihu: "I am young in years and you are aged; therefore I was timid and afraid to declare my opinion to you" (32.6) So here we discover that old age does not bring wisdom, nor are the aged always correct in their thinking or their answers. He says something interesting at the end of the chapter: "For I do not know how to flatter--or my Maker would soon put an end to me!" (32.22). What does that mean? Thou shalt not flatter one another?

He says, "Surely God is great, and we do not know him;" (36.26). God is like the weather--powerful and impossible to understand. Yet there is a reason behind the storm, Elihu says. "Listen, listen to the thunder of his voice and he rumbling that comes from his mouth" (37.2). God is the weather, he is there to explain this dark and terrifying world of nature that makes men (humanity) feel so small and vulnerable. I would feel better too thinking I was not alone in this vast world, but someone was watching out for me. "God thunders wondrously with his voice; he does great things that we cannot comprehend" (37.5) Agnosticism I think, should be at the base of all religions, for one principle of religion is faith, and is not the act of having faith a bit agnostic in itself?

Then God answers Job, much like I remember my parents answering me sometimes: "because I'm the Father, that's why...!"

God's answer to Job returns us again to the topic of knowledge. Job proclaims knowledge that he does not have and God is angry. God knows all, and because he is mortal, Job cannot and does not. Knowledge is power and control.

Questioning why we suffer is like questioning the ways of the world: why does a horse have a mane and leap; a majestic creature. Why did God create things the way they are. It is questioning why things happen in the wild the way that they do (most of God's answer deals with imagery of wild animals and nature). I looked up Behemoth: a creature found in the book of Job; perhaps the largest most powerful animal ever to exist (wikipedia). (I guess I don't know if this was talked about in class; I missed the last day of Job discussion). I was a little disappointed to reach the end of Job and find him so humbled. I liked how he spoke his mind and wailed out his anguish. And yet he seems to have found peace with the way things are and that I think is a gift. He has reached the last stage of grief: acceptance.

Job pt. 1.1

I did not mean to publish the last Job post yet. oops. I think the whole book of Job is a metaphor for this little nugget at the center of the human condition and experience. As my dad would have said: "sometimes you win some, sometimes you lose some." Meaning that we all have good days and bad days. We will all know happiness and joy, and we will all suffer. We will all know sickness and we will all know health. Life is a binary. You cannot have joy without suffering; it matters not whether you are a sinner or the utmost pious person. You will suffer. When you are suffering though, you search for justification or meaning. You think, why me? So I think it would be natural for a more primitive to question the motive of some sort of deity. As humans, we think too much, so we must question and agonize over our suffering. We run away from our negative emotions, we stuff them down, we try anything to avoid acceptance. Yet acceptance is what we ultimately move to, and only by moving straight through the heart of the grief we try so hard to avoid can we move beyond it. I think about animals and sometimes I think they are lucky. They grieve for one another. But they don't have the ability to think about avoiding their grief; so they simply grief and move through it and accept it.

Back to Job:I think Job is a metaphor for the person we all want to be when we are suffering. I don't want to be polite or cheerful or patient. I want to know what is happening to me, why is this happening? Anger arises and you want someone or something to blame (like a little kid, I want to throw a temper tantrum and somehow think this fit will make things go back to normal). I do not want to be resilient or pleasant. I think Job is very realistic because he is true to his actual feelings.

Ok this is difficult for me. I am reading about Jacob watching over sarah's corpse. And images of my Dad's corpse are crowding my head. I was afraid of his body. I was afraid to touch his corpse on the mountain because I was afraid to feel it's lifelessness. I do not understand how Jacob can sit alone in a room with Sarah's body for days and not be afraid of it. At the same time, I don't understand how I could be so afraid of my dad's body. I guess it has a lot to do with how traumatic and sudden his death was. One moment, it was a normal day and we were out in the mountains again. The next moment, I was alone, and he was reduced to "the body". Am I afraid of death? I do not feel afraid of death. I think being so close to it has made me realize how natural death is. Every single one of us will die. It is only a matter of time. So what then am I afraid of when I think of seeing my dad's corpse on the mountain? I think I was and am afraid of the sudden life-altering change that I was experiencing. A part of myself is still grasping for explanation of what happened to him, and to me up there. I asked my boyfriend, who lost his father to cancer years ago, if it ever feels real. He said that it doesn't, but that you learn to somehow accept this new and bizarre life.

The whole description of Jacob leaving Sarah's body is vivid and realistic. And true. I remember thinking about exactly the same things when I had to leave my dad's body on the mountain. I remember not wanting to touch him, because he had moments before been a man and I did not want to feel him as a cold, hard corpse. And at the same time, I wanted to hug him and to throw myself over his body and weep. And I wanted to kiss his lips or his cheek and say good-bye. But I, like Jacob, did not know how. "He wanted to say goodbye but he didn't know how" (248). I also remember thinking, like Jacob, that it was just a body now, an empty shell. So what did it matter? Likewise, Jacob wonders "...what difference did it make whether the corpse was eaten by mice or worms?" (249).

As I started down the mountain, I saw a raven flying low and near me--almost alongside me as I descended . And I wondered about my dad's soul, just as Jacob wonders: "Does she know what's happening to me...Or is her soul so distant that it is no longer connected with this world?" (249). I felt pulled from my dad's corpse in much the same way Jacob was, although I wasn't arrested. But I did have to go through all the logistics at the bottom of the mountain, and so I can somewhat relate to how Jacob must have felt with those men. I would have wanted to yell from the core of my being "Can't you people just leave me alone for a minute so I can digest what just happened to me? My whole world just caved in!" (note to self, try harder to eliminate 'just' from my vocab. very is another good one to nix...).

Well. I had to stop reading for today. Too much. Also kind of killed my mental state for doing any homework...

quote and frustration

"Why not let people differ about their answers to the great mysteries of the Universe? Let each seek one's own way to the highest, to one's own sense of supreme loyalty in life, one's ideal of life. Let each philosophy, each world-view bring forth its truth and beauty to a larger perspective, that people may grow in vision, stature and dedication.

The religions of humanity should be a unifying force, for all the great religions reveal a basic unity in ethics. Whether it be Judaism, Catholicism, Protestantism, Buddhism or Confucianism, all grow out of a sense of the sacredness of human life. This moral sensitivity to the sacredness of human personality -- the Commandments not to kill, not to hurt, not to put a stumbling block in the path of the blind, not to neglect the widow or the fatherless, not to exploit the servant or the worker -- all this can be found in the Bibles of humanity, in all the sacred books. All teach in substance: "Do unto others as you would that others should do unto you." There is, then, a basic unity among the great religions in the matter of ethics. True, there are religious philosophies which turn people away from the world, from the here and now, concentrating life-purposes on salvation for one's self or a mystic union with some supernatural reality. But most of the great religions agree on mercy, justice, love -- here on earth. And they agree that the great task is to move people from apathy, from an acceptance of the evils in life, to face the possibilities of the world, to make life sweet for one another instead of bitter. This is the unifying ethical task of all the religions -- yes, of all the philosophies of humankind. There is no need to force our own theological points of view upon one another or to insist that the moral life grows out of final, absolute authority."

-Algernon Black

My Aunt sent me the top part of this quote today in my e-mail and it fit. I have been so frustrated with people trying to control or convert one another...ugh. This frustration has come to the front with the reading of The Slave. I do not understand where humanity got this big idea that it is better to call another man a villain because he does not hold the same beliefs as you do. At the same time, exclusiveness makes sense in an evolutionary/animalistic view. Our guest speaker said that one of the greatest priorities for a people was preservation of the tribe (with pure bloodlines). It makes sense to me that it would be a natural tendency to try to preserve your own and drive out the competition-- more resources for me. We are, I think, inherently selfish by nature. And in the animal kingdom, males battle over their females all the time--preservation of your own. And yet, as thinking and creative creatures, why can't we get around this idea of exclusiveness? On a large scale, exclusiveness in religion causes violence, hate crimes, the very worst side of humanity. And it is everywhere on a small scale too--just step back into a middle school cafeteria at lunch time.

But it frustrates me. Why can't we just all get along? Why is it so difficult to communicate about our differences and find some common ground? We know we are capable of it--at least from time to time. Cannot we learn from our past as human race and all of the suffering that has unnecessarily occurred because we cannot reconcile our different interpretations of scripture? or God.

In The Slave, I have been frustrated with the Jewish people's habit of picking and choosing. I suppose that is what Singer is trying to illustrate to his readers. I am nearing the end of the book, and I will write more about it when i am actually finished. But one of the smaller parts in particular stands out to me. The way the women in Pilitz gossip and redicule Sarah. It has always seemed so controversial to me to watch supposedly "religious" people gossip and be so mean to one another. I have suffered in silence listening to gossip by many religious people I know. And I cannot believe how mean they can be to one another. I never understood it then, as a small person. Especially, I think, because my parents raised me without the influence of religion, watching this behavior tainted my ideas about what religion can offer a person. I do not think religion is the key to becoming a good person. I think we all know how to be good to one another; but why is treating each other well so difficult? that is what I would like to know. Religion left out of the question, why can't we just be nice to each other? Find love and compassion instead of anger, judgement, jealousy...

Job pt. 1

Begins with THE main human addiction: materialism. Job is RICH. He's got lots and lots of stuff. And we humans, we like STUFF. lots of it. Greed! We are constantly looking for little "boosts" that we feel in mood or happiness with a new purchase. I thought it is interesting to read this ancient text and see the story of Job start with a guy who has a lot of STUFF.

year of living Biblically

I read the intro to the book The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs. I thought I would share some pieces of it. I really like this paragraph: "The influence of the Bible--and religion as a whole--remains a mighty force, perhaps even stronger than it was when I was a kid. So in the last few years, religion has become my fixation. Is half of the world suffering from a massive delusion? Or is my blindness to spirituality a huge defect in my personality? What if I'm missing out on a part of being human, like a guy who goes through life without ever hearing Beethoven or falling in love? And most important, I now have a young son--if my lack of religion is a flaw, I don't want to pass it on to him."

So A.J. Jacobs gets the idea to follow the Bible literally from his (ex) Uncle Gil. ("The Bible says to bind money to your hand [Deuteronomy 14:25], so Gil withdrew three hundred dollars from the bank and tied the bills to his palm with a thread. The Bible says to wear fringes on the corners of your garment [Numbers 15:38], so Gil bought yarn from a knitting shop, made a bunch of tassels, and attached them to his shirt collar and the ends of his sleeves...")

He confesses that his first motive for reading the Bible and trying to follow it literally was to write the book. His second though, is that: "If I had what they call a God-shaped hole in my heart, this quest would allow me to fill it" (6).

And his third reason? To explore biblical literalism. "A literal intrepretation of the Bible--both Jewish and Christian--shapes American policies on the Middle East, homosexuality, stem cell research, education, abortion--right on down to rules about buying beer on Sunday" (6).

As we talk about in class, he says, "But my suspicion was that almost everyone's literalism consisted of picking and choosing...Not me. I thought, with some naivete, I would peel away the layers of interpretation and find the true Bible underneath" (6-7).

Everyone is worried about how this adventure will affect him. He says, "It's impossible to immerse yourself in religion for twelve months and emerge unaffected. At least it was for me" (7).

He reads it: "four weeks, five hours a day" (8). As he reads, he types up every rule and bit of advice he can find, ending up with "a very long list" (8).

He says, "This is going to be a monster project. I need a plan of attack." Um yeah... He notes that some of the rules (no lying, no coveting, no stealing, love your neighbor etc.) will make him a better person, while others will make him strange. "And a good number of the rules aren't just baffling, but federally outlawed" (8).

I learned that there are an estimated three thousand versions of the Bible in English alone.

He says: "To follow the Bible literally--at face value, at its wort, according to its plain meaning--isn't just a daunting proposition. It's a dangerous one" (9).

He makes some decisions. First, "I will try to find the original intent of the biblical rule or teaching and follow that to the letter" (10). He decides to devote the majority of his year (8 months) to the Old Testament because that is where the bulk of rules are (and many of the rules in the New Testament are similar). He decides to talk to some people: "rabbis, ministers, and priests, some of them conservative, some of them one four-letter word away from excommunication" (11). He decides to visit groups of Biblical literalists (Orthodox Jews, Amish etc.). But ultimately, "they won't be the final word. The Bible will" (11). He wants to discover the Bible for himself.

Interesting: his Orthodox Jewish Aunt says "You can't just obey the written law. It doesn't make sense without the oral law" (12). Apparently you need rabbis to explain what "rest on the sabbath" means. I thought that was interesting, and it points out the glaring fact to me that I don't know much about religious customs.

Also interesting: "Some conservative Christians were also baffled by my undertaking. They said I couldn't truly understand the Bible without accepting the divinity of Christ. They said that many of these laws--like the ones about animal sacrifice--were nullified by Jesus's death" (12). I guess this helps me understand Biblical literalism somewhat--I have a real hard time understanding why people FIGHT against evolution being taught in schools and think that creation ( or the "scientific" theory of the irreducibly complex) should be taught instead; or at the very least along side it...

Jacobs says he is nervous about his quest. I would be as well. He says, "I love my encyclopedia, but the encyclopedia hasn't spawned thousands of communities based on its words. It hasn't shaped the actions, values, deaths, love lives, warfare, and fashion sense of millions of people over three millennia" (13). Good point. Also points out how fantastically influential this single text is. Blows my mind to think of how much influence the Bible has today, let alone adding up its past as well. Amazing. How is it even possible that this one book has essentially controlled millions? For so long? Reminds me again, of complexity theory in science. Which basically would say that the Bible took hold, as opposed to any other text, by fluke. But once it gained momentum and power, its momentum and power kept growing. So the Bible take over has emergent properties: it took over because it took over...

Overall, I found the introduction to be an entertaining read. He is a descriptive writer, and he kept my attention (I hear that is difficult to do these days). Did I mention that he took a Biblical literature class in college?

Susanna part 2

Music is feeling. I think i may have said this before but music conveys this whole realm of human expression that cannot be conveyed descriptively through language. Music touches us deeply. We sing when we are sad, and emotions pour from the depth of our souls. We sing when we are happy and our hearts are lifted up. I, too, believe there is a silent music of the earth, of our existence. There is a music in the silence that we can feel if only we pay attention. Emotions are music and music is emotion. Dance to the vibration of the earth and you will learn to listen to your heart, for our hearts speak, not in words, but in music. Our hearts beat out a steady rhythm. So we each exist to our own music--the music of the physical body. Susanna is pure. She is in tune with her own music and rhythm as she feels the sensual touch of water, of leaves on her hands. She is connected with the earth and a part of it. And the elders are somehow separated from the earth. They deny the music of their bodies until it can no longer be suppressed and comes surging and beating out.

Wallace Stevens evokes in my head this image of this woman who is so pure of heart, she listens to her heart and to the sounds of the world and she is connected with nature and herself. She is experiencing the bliss of the moment. Then, suddenly:

A breath upon her hand

Muted the night.

She turned —

A cymbal crashed,

Amid roaring horns.

Her whole world crashes in on her and everything begins to move very quickly--the poem moves from beautiful, sweet to crashing, loud, chaos (almost) like one of Beethoven's symphonies.

Though her physical beauty may fade, the fact that she was beautiful remains--it is in the past, it is preserved. Though the event of Susanna and the elders is over, it yet lives because it happened and it happens. It is a story of human experience. People are mortal, but this universal experience and this universal music is immortal. As long as humans live there will be beauty, there will be deceit and lies and truth and honesty and purity and goodness and evil and peace and war and desire. The essence of the story is immortal. This is what I take from the end of the poem.

susanna part 1

I spent 7 hours yesterday dealing with my sick horse yesterday. So I plan to write more, but am trying to get initial thoughts down.

Susanna as a woman offers the promise of ecstasy to the elders. Because women hold the power of the physical enjoyment of her body. She is beautiful, and therefore she holds power in her beauty. I think the poem compares the power that her physical body holds to the power of music. It is something that cannot be described using words. Wallace Stevens uses poetry to conjure up the feeling of desire and longing in us, the readers. Susanna is pure in her beauty because she does not sin. Perhaps it is her rejection of the elders that demonstrates what great power beauty and sex have over them. They want her even more because she rejects them and this leads them to anger and desire for revenge.

But Susanna, the woman, is pure of heart. And justice comes to her because of that.

More to come later...

suffering

I had planned to spend the weekend catching up on my reading for this class. Then Saturday I felt physically ill, and combined with this pile of emotional burdens I carry, I could not. Then sunday slipped away. And today, I cannot stop crying.
I am sitting here looking at a picture I took of my dad the day he died. It was just after sunrise, and so the sun is brilliant. And he is smiling. He emits this glow from the photograph; the same glow that is evident in so many photographs, and in so many memories. My dad radiated happiness and gratitude.

Sometimes I think I would have given anything to had at least some warning. My whole system is still confused by what happened that day; I am still reeling. But steadily, this sludge of reality is sinking in. He's dead. Gone. I cannot call him. I cannot hug him. And with it, reality brings deep holes of grief. I feel so much pain in my life right now. Less than a month after my dad died, my mom and I had to have our dog put down. My mom has Parkinson's disease, making our already slightly strained relationship more complicated. My horse is sick, probably infected with EPM, a neurological parasite. He was treated for the disease 4 years ago, but it seems to come back. Most of my friends are working a lot now, with school. My boyfriend works heinous hours. So I am alone much of my time. I have always embraced aloneness, and I believe that loneliness is part of the essence of the grief process. Loneliness is a part of the definition of grief. No one can share the memories I have with my dad. They are mine alone. Yet this means that the pain that comes from those memories is mine alone as well. I think for me, the loneliness is compacted by the trauma of watching my dad die. I have never felt more alone than I did on that mountain, coming down without him.

At first, I wanted to scream to everyone: "my dad just died of a massive heart attack on a mountain in front of me! He was so healthy! My dad!" and at the same time that I want to scream this out I want to deny it. This urge has quieted a bit, as the day to day activities slowly begin to feel something close to normal again.

I do not want to sound like such a "downer", but that's what my life is right now. I lay this foundation because I want to talk about my experiences with suffering, and to share some of what has come from it. I am experiencing grief, just as everyone who is alive now will at some point in their life times. Death is as much a part of life as birth, and therefore, grief too is very much a part the human experience. We all must grieve; we all must suffer. Pain is hard to deal with. We want to run from it, stuff it down, kill it with medication, avoid, ignore...anything but feel it. But to feel pain is to allow it to pass on.

I told my friend Anna the other day that sometimes I want to go back to the days just after my dad's death. Those days are a blur, I was so numb. I have never lived more in the present moment than I did then. I had to. I had to extract every possible joy from each moment; I had to revel in the feeling of breath in my lungs, marvel at the sound of my heart beat, gasp at how terribly fragile life is. But it is the fragile-ness of life that make it so precious.

I found a quote in a grief meditations book that someone gave me that I read often. It really spoke to me, and spoke to my experience. Ironically, it is one of the few quotes in this book that is somewhat religious.

"She thought that she had never before had a chance to realize the might, grimness and tenderness of God. She thought that now for the first time she began to know herself, and she gained extraordinary hope in this beginning of knowledge."

-James Agee

The author of the meditations book, Martha Witmore Hickman adds: "If we have ever wondered about the limits of our strength and our ability to endure, our experience of loss will tell us much. Our life is shaken to the foundation. But we survive. And our of this terrible, rarefied self-knowledge comes, if we are fortunate, a kind of empathy with all creation--a sense of wonder at the suffering and the beauty, of the world. "

When I realized my dad was having a heart attack on the mountain, I felt this rising, almost uncontrollable urge to panic. But I told myself "You cannot." And I did not. From this experience, I was able to access a level of deep calm that I did not know I was capable of. I learned that I am capable of handling a situation that is worse than a nightmare, and I am stong enough to slowly step out of that situation and continue living. There have been moments when I am profoundly aware of this moving forward. The first huge step was starting down the mountain alone. I remember looking back and seeing my dad's body, just lying there. The body. Only moments before, he had been a man. He had been my dad. When I first realized that I would have to hike down without him, I took off and immediately tripped and fell. I stood up, took some deep breathes and told myself: "Natalie, you have to get off this mountain safely." I carefully took another step, and walked down the mountain and into my new reality. I did not notice until I was at the bottom of the mountain, in the Ranger's office, that my knee was bleeding.

Because my dad died in Boulder county, he was at the coroner's office there for a few days. He died so suddenly, and his medical records were so clean that they had to do a complete autopsy to rule out foul play. My mom flew up to Denver the day dad died. I called her from the mountain, a short ways down from where he died. By the time I got to the trail head, she was on her way up. We had a few days in Denver to digest. I was glad for that time, for by the time we got back to Durango, CO, there had been enough in the paper that many had figured out what happened and were waiting to hug me and comfort me and do....something! (All of this, as anyone knows who has gone through a painful experience is a bit overwhelming). Anyway, my next big step was leaving Denver for Durango. I felt it was another step out of my cloud toward reality. The last big step was leaving Durango to return to Bozeman. I remember walking into my apartment the night I got back and seeing the passage of time everywhere: dust, rotting food in the fridge...it was bizarre to see my apartment the way I had left it and to think of how different my life was when I had left compared to my return. And yes, since I've been back in Bozeman, I do feel like reality is sinking in, and along with it the grief. Today, three months ago, my dad met me in Estes Park, and we had a lovely diner. He was happy and healthy and content and so, so alive.

Anyway, I said above that I wanted to address the question of why we suffer. And I want to do so by sharing with you my experience.

Life is about extracting every possible inch or crumble of joy we can from every moment. Because a lot of life sucks. Everyone has bad moments. Sometimes you think a day is a bad day. But I think there are no truly bad days, only a bad perspective. The bad day I shared in class, for example. Yes in the moment it sucked, but now I can look back and think that that day brought my mom and I closer. It gave us the ability to connect in a way that we otherwise might not have. I am glad I could be there to support her through the day that should have been my parent's 30th wedding anniversary. And I was glad she was there to support me through that day, missing him, and through my horse's sudden illness. Therefore, even though the day was difficult, there was something beautiful that emerged. Nicholas Kristof said that when he travels to the darkest, most corrupt, violent places in the world, he also finds alongside the awfulness, examples of absolute goodness that humanity is capable of. I think this is why we suffer. Because to truly appreciate what we are grateful for in life, we must experience loss. Because grief adds a whole new highness to the feeling of joy.

Author Paulo Coehlo uses wine as a metaphor: "You can only know a good wine if you have first tasted a bad one" (Brida).

Because beauty comes from pain; pain is never alone; for me it is accompanied by good things that come from it's experience. When I was little and I was sick or had teeth pulled, no matter how miserable I was, I could always be grateful that my loving parents were there to take care of me. Now, I can be grateful for what my friends can give me for support during this time. I am grateful for all of the love I currently experience in my life, and for all of the love that I have experienced.

With the pain of my dad's death comes a strange gratitude. I am grateful for the pain, for the depth of the loss and the suffering. My hole is so deep because the man who left it was so great. My dad and I had a special connection that I will never experience with another human. He loved me intensely and unconditionally. And I will never stop loving him. I can say that I have no large regrets. My dad and I had a wonderful relationship, and there was no unfinished business or hardness between us. How many people can say that about their fathers? I have more good memories with my dad in 22 years than many people have in 50. I can be oh so grateful for those happy memories, for all the photographs.

Something inside me smiles when people tell me that my experience led them to reevaluate a relationship in their life. My best friend, Page, told me that she is really treasuring every moment with her mother. That she feels a sort of urgency to ask her mother all the questions she has been wanting to ask and to enjoy her mother as much as she can. The park ranger who helped me to the bottom of the mountain told me as I was leaving that she was going to call her dad: "yeah...we don't get along that well. But I think I need to call him. I need to call him." And many other people have told me that they have reevaluated relationships with parents, their health, perhaps the priorities in their lives. So from my dad's death comes inspiration. I had several people tell me that his obituary and his funeral were just that: inspiring. I feel proud to be the daughter of my father. He truly lived his life by his ideals and values. He was passionate about his work, he was passionate about being a volunteer firefighter, passionate for the mountains, wilderness and wildness in general really, and most of all passionate about his family. He made huge sacrifices to always be there to support me in any event that I did, and he would always take my calls, no matter how busy or stresses he might have been. He made us, his family, such a priority in his life. And for this I am so, so grateful. I have to question myself, would I be this grateful for these memories if my dad had not died so suddenly and tragically?

I have found myself scrutinizing every aspect of my dad that is within me. I have always known that I am a lot like my dad. We even look a lot alike. But through the experience of looking through so many photographs and all of his files, all of his personal belongings--what cards he kept, what articles he saved--I have learned so much about my father. And the more I learn about him, the more closely I examine him, the more of him I find in myself.

My dad was always trying to teach me to follow my dreams, and to learn to love myself. He often told me that when I couldn't sleep at night, I should repeat the mantra: "I like myself." But I have this funny habit of judging and putting down many aspects of myself. This experience of grief has changed that for me. I have found so much strength within myself that I did not know I had; and I have found so much of him in me. I love him so much, how can I hate something that I love? I have begun to embrace those parts of myself that I think come from him, and I have found so much of myself that I can be proud of and grateful for. My whole perception of myself has shifted. I also feel like my entire perspective on life has changed. I now know how precious every moment is, and how quickly life can be over. Just because I am young does not make me immune to death, and I think it is healthy to have some awareness of our mortality, so that we may enjoy every moment more in knowing that this life is not forever. Through the suddenness of my dad's death, I have learned to focus on today, and today is the day to do what i want to do. Or it is the day to work towards what I truly want to be doing.

Sometimes I find myself wishing I had had some warning. I am almost jealous of friends whose parents died from cancer. I think "at least they knew death was approaching." But, first of all, I do not think there is any benefit that can be gained from comparing our experiences of pain or grief, every experience is different, and second of all, I look at the photographs of me and him on the day, oblivious to looming death, happy to be together in the mountains. And I think that my dad died exactly as he would have wanted to die. He was in the mountains, in a beautiful and spiritual place, he was doing something he loved. He was healthy up until those last moments. And he was with me, the daughter he has always adored. He said he wanted to "flame out". I think he got his final wish.

Sometimes I wish with all of my heart that I did not have to carry the experience of watching my father die with me. And yet, I am so grateful to have been there. I have no questions about his death; I know we did absolutely everything possible, and there simply was no way to save him. And especially because my dad and I did not have the opportunity to see each other frequently recently, I am so, so thankful that I was able to spend that final day with him. And I am thankful that I could be there with him; I like to think i was a source of some comfort during those final painful moments. In a way, this experience pushes my relationship and my closeness with my dad onto another level. I feel so close to him now.

how to read scripture

Has anyone looked at the section titled "Strategies for Reading Scripture"? I just opened my Bible to that page and something on it caught my attention, especially after all the Frye I've emersed myself with lately. John Barton writes: "First, we should read the Bible in the expectation that what we find there will be true." He goes on to talk about some groups of Christians where the "truth that is looked for is literal and historical truth, so that whatever the biblical text affirms is taken to be factually accurate." But, Barton notes, many do not subscribe to this theory and therefore the "truth it contains may sometimes be poetic or symbolic truth rather than factual truth, but it is not an option to suggest that anything in the Bible is an expression of error." That last bit is the part that caught my attention. Who is he to say "it is not an option"? What about free will and intellectual freedom etc. are we not free to interpret for ourselves this text?

More on Frye.

Pg 30. "...myth is the linguistic vehicle of kerygma, and...to 'demythologize' any part of the Bible would be the same thing as to obliterate it."

pg 32-33. "Certain stories seem to have a peculiar significance: they are the stories that tell a society what is important for it to know, whether about its gods, its history, its laws, or its class structure."

This reminds me of the complexity theory in theoretical physics. Complexity is that which exists just prior to chaos theory. I remember reading somewhere about how things took hold in society, eventually to impact/influence massively almost at random. The influence of the particular stories that happen to make up the Bible seem like a good example of this. Almost by chance, these words came together to perforate and impact society in every facet of our western cultural life (including many ways that we are probably yet unaware of). I would doubt that the authors of this text had this intention.

pg 40. "The general principle involved here is that if anything historically true is in the Bible, it is there not because it is historically true but for different reasons. The reasons have presumably something to do with spiritual profundity or significance. And historical truth has no correlation with spiritual profundity, unless the relation is inverse." So why do we have this ongoing CONSTANT battle between fundamentalist Christians and evolution? I have never been able to understand why anyone would attempt to take the Bible literally. I guess this relates to the discussion in class about the easiest way to halt learning is by giving an answer. The issue gets rather complicated, because the traditionalist view of the Bible is based on faith; but does this necessarily mean that faith includes faith in the "truth" (in a very modern, concrete and scientific, if you will, sense) of the events that occur in the Bible?

pg 44. "...one should doubtless keep an open mind about them, though an open mind, to be sure, should be open at both ends, like the foodpipe, and have a capacity for excretion as well as intake." I really like this comment. Why is it that we are so stubborn in our beliefs? I guess it is the same with anything; somewhere deep down we are afraid of change in every facet (despite that the whole human experience is change--nothing is static).

Pg. 44. "The first thing that occurred to me was that the Bible itself could not care less whether anyone ever finds an ark on Mount Ararat or not: such 'proofs' belong to a mentality quite different from any that could conceivably have produced the Book of Genesis." So simple, yet so profound and difficult to grasp. Once again, we are limited in our comprehension of the Bible because we are trapped in this time period; with our own pre-concieved notions of the way the world is viewed by humanity. It is difficult to understand such a different world-view and way of thinking. We have no way of experiencing it.

Pg 50. "All human societies are insulated to some degree by a culture that surrounds them and separates them from nature." And yet we continue to try to "return to nature" (at least in modern times, it seems to be a re-occurring trend, probably more pronounced in areas like Bozeman...). I do not really have anything "profound" to say about this quote, but it grabbed my attention.

Looking back through Frye (trying to grasp meaning from his WORDS--I find it much too easy to drift off in thought while reading Frye, although when I force myself to pay attention and extract meaning he is fascinating).

Pg. 17. God is a verb: I've heard this before. Dr. Mike Miles says that by even applying the name "God" (or any other name for this essence, Yahweh) we lose something of that which we are trying to describe; the best way to understand "God" according to Dr. Miles, is to stop trying to understand (it, Him?). When he was talking about this, I also remember him quoting the phrase "I am that I am". God is a verb. Author Paulo Coelho agrees with this definition of God. He also thinks we have spent too much time and energy trying to define and describe God.

Living in the demotic phase of language, the age of SCIENCE and FACT and TRUTH etc, it makes sense that humans will also try to apply this same view of the world to their religion. The main problem with this of course is that through logic, religion no longer becomes necessary for it is replaced by science and laws and government. So why do we continue to do this? Why the constant culture clash between religious fanatics and evolutionary biologists? Why the constant clash between religions, for that matter (which all seem to have arisen from one common ancestor of religion...)

Pg. 18 "'In the beginning was the Word' as 'in principio erat sermo'. This is a purely metonymic translation: in the beginning, Erasmus assumes, was the infinite mind, with its interlocking thoughts and ideas out of which the creative words emerged." This passage really grabbed my attention. I think it illustrates the power in words during the metonymic phase.

Frye talks about objective observation and how it is essentially obsolete because any observation is affected by the observer, from which we cannot remove ourselves. Using this line of thinking, how can we possibly understand the Bible as it is meant to be understood when we are stuck in the demotic age of language and the Bible was written during the two previous phases of language? Which raises the question: is it necessary to understand the Bible as it was "meant" to be understood? (it seems to me that this is the basis for many arguments among religious folk; everyone seems to think they know better how to best interpret the Bible...)

Frye says that the modern function of literature is to continue re-creating the earlier phases of language (metaphorical phase especially) (23). I have trouble wrapping my head around the functions of earlier literature; also have trouble with the idea that it was "not until the coming of a different conception of language that a tension arises between figurative and what is called "literal" meaning, and poetry begins to become a conscious and deliberate use of figures" (23). Probably because I am stuck in this scientific, factual, descriptive, demotic age. Yet how somehow Utopian and beautiful it seems to me, this idea of speaking primarily in metaphor. I feel like so much more could have been conveyed by provoking a much deeper sense of meaning, rather than a logical thought that is our current way of understanding and comprehending the world. Pg 28 on poetry: "persuading the emotions to follow their intellectual guidance.") Which ties nicely into Frye's point that language uses us, not vice versa. I have noticed this in the scientific world: the power of words and meaning is apparent there. There are words that are not acceptable in the scientific community. For example, scientists do not "believe" something to be true, rather they "propose".

Aha! a quote from Frye that goes with one of my earlier statements pg 26 (he is talking about Kant's writings): "God's existence disappears from the context of "pure reason", where rational proofs are needed, but reappears in the context of "practical reason," where reality in experience is what is appropriate."