Kingdom-Wisdom from Master Yoda, Part III

The Kingdom of God is Found Through Success—but Especially Through Failure

Yes, failure most of all. The greatest teacher, failure is. 
Luke, we are what they grow beyond. 

That is the true burden of all masters.

We’ve been considering the wisdom about the Kingdom of God found in a dialogue between Luke Skywalker and Yoda from Star Wars: The Last Jedi.  In the last post we considered how the Kingdom was both "here, now" and "over the horizon".  Let’s return to the dialogue, which I printed in its entirety just to refresh our memory.

Luke Skywalker: [Yoda appears as a ghost] Master Yoda. 

Yoda: Young Skywalker. 

Luke Skywalker: I'm ending all of this. The tree, the texts, the Jedi. I'm going to burn it all down. 

Yoda: [Yoda summons lightning to burn down the tree and the Jedi texts. He laughs] Ah, Skywalker. Missed you, have I. 

Luke Skywalker: So, it is time for the Jedi Order to end. 

Yoda: Time it is for you to look past a pile of old books, hmm? 

Luke Skywalker: The sacred Jedi texts? 

Yoda: Oh, read them, have you? Page-turners they were not. Yes, yes, yes. Wisdom they held, but that library contained nothing that the girl Rey does not already possess. Skywalker, still looking to the horizon. Never here, now, hmm? The need in front of your nose. 

Luke Skywalker: I was weak. Unwise. 

Yoda: Lost Ben Solo you did. Lose Rey we must not. 

Luke Skywalker: I can't be what she needs me to be. 

Yoda: Heeded my words not, did you? Pass on what you have learned. Strength. Mastery. But weakness, folly, failure also. Yes, failure most of all. The greatest teacher, failure is. Luke, we are what they grow beyond. That is the true burden of all masters.

My last nugget of wisdom comes from Yoda’s parting words to Luke. Yoda realizes that while Kylo Ren is lost to the Dark Side, there is still hope for Rey—but she can’t do it on her own.  She needs Luke’s help, just as Luke needed Yoda years earlier—and apparently needs him now. Look at how Yoda says it: “Lost Ben Solo you did.  Lose Rey we must not.”  Yoda uses odd speech constructions, but I’m guessing he probably didn’t mix those pronouns accidentally.

Whatever the hidden meaning might be, in frustration, Luke replies, “I can’t be what she needs me to be.” 

As I hinted at before, Luke has convinced himself that because he failed once, he is disqualified from ever teaching again.  He doesn’t want to cause further pain and hurt by his actions.  On the surface, it seems noble enough.  But does this really make sense?  The Galaxy’s only known Jedi Master has sat out the past decade or so as the New Republic/Resistance has struggled to survive against the First Order. So, who is Luke really protecting? Rey or himself?  Losing his nephew to the Dark Side has obviously caused him immense personal pain, as well as grief for his sister, and he would rather avoid feeling all that. It’s an understandable and very human instinct. We all do it. 

Probably my favorite line in the whole exchange is what Yoda says in response: “Heeded my words not, did you? Pass on what you have learned. Strength. Mastery. But weakness, folly, failure also. Yes, failure most of all. The greatest teacher, failure is. Luke, we are what they grow beyond. That is the true burden of all masters.”

What sage wisdom from a Force Ghost!  Personally, I don’t like to admit my failures. I usually try my best to hide my flaws and cover up scars.  I want to pretend to be better than I am.   If I’m teaching, I want to focus on those areas where I am competent and strong, where I am on top of the material we are learning.  I don’t want to lead in an area where I am not in control.  I don’t want my student to see me as vulnerable, scared—human.  I’m a bit embarrassed if I’m the “teacher” and I don’t know an answer.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being competent when we teach.  We should have a certain level of mastery of the subject before we presume to teach others.  But what Yoda says in essence is:  Yes, Luke, show Rey all your strength and mastery—but also be vulnerable with her when necessary.  Let her see you as a real person with flaws and fears [see Jesus: A God Who Was Human]. If she surpHeasses you, if she transcends some flaw that you couldn’t, that’s kind of the point.  True mastery comes as we let go of the need to be seen as perfect. The burden of mastery is letting her increase as you decrease.  

He must increase, but I must decrease—John the Baptist

In the story of Jesus, it seems John the Baptist may have embraced this burden of mastery that Yoda speaks about. According to Scripture, John himself was something of a miracle baby, being born to Elizabeth and Zechariah late in life.  John was six months older than his cousin Jesus, but seems to have become convinced that Jesus was the Messiah.  It's possible that the elder John could have been something of spiritual mentor for Jesus?  If that were true, then it would have been easy for John to be jealous of the younger Jesus getting all the attention.  But that does not appear to be what happened.  What we know of him is that his ministry "prepared the way" for what Jesus would accomplish, and then he seems to step aside and let Jesus take center-stage.  In Mark's Gospel, we find that he was executed by King Herod—Mark 6:17-29.

John seems to know he's "not the one", but apparently his followers aren't convinced.  The Jewish people have been waiting for a Messiah for centuries, so it's not surprising that when this powerful preacher appears seemingly out of nowhere preaching a message of repentance and preparation for "coming of the kingdom of God" out on the outskirts of civilization, they start to wonder: Is he the one we've been waiting for?  Is John really the Messiah?  Is he the next coming of the prophet Elijah that has been predicted?  

But—not for the first time [e.g., see John 1:6-8; John 1:19-28]—John makes it clear that he isn't the one, but is merely "sent ahead" of the Messiah to get things ready for his arrival.  He realizes that his work is nearing its end, but that Jesus's work is just beginning.  He likens himself to the best at a wedding, who is ready to stand next to his cousin—the bridegroom.  John makes it clear that Jesus is the one who who "has the bride".  So, like on any wedding day, the best man is justifiably excited, but he knows this is the groom's day; the focus is on him—and on the bride that is about to walk down the aisle to join her groom.  And as best man, John couldn't be happier!  This gives context to understand what John means when he says: "He must increase, but I must decrease"—John 3:29-30.  

Much like Yoda was Luke’s teacher in the ways of the Force, and John the Baptist may have been a mentor for Jesus, we learn from the Gospel stories that Kingdom-living is about becoming disciples, or students, who, in the words of Dallas Willard, “learn from Jesus how he would live our life if he were us,” and then are sent forth to invite others to become fellow learners.  Kingdom-living is about learning to become the truest version of you—including developing the grace and humility of which Yoda speaks, that allows us to have both our successes and failures on display as needed for our those who follow us.  Kingdom–living is something we begin “here, now,” meeting the human “needs in front of our nose”, but it also prepares us for what lies “over the horizon.” Kingdom-living is, as Willard put it, “training for reigning.”

I always felt like Luke Skywalker was something of a slow learner.  One can argue he could’ve learned this lesson Yoda was teaching him years earlier and saved everyone involved a lot of grief.  But in the end, he does get it.  Luke reconnects with the Force and summons all his remaining energy for a confrontation with Kylo Ren on Crait, where the Resistance is hiding.  His final act not only brings personal peace regarding his failure with his nephew, but it also transcends his own concerns for the greater good (peace) of the Galaxy.  His sacrifice “buys time” for the Resistance to escape the First Order—and allows Rey to survive that the Jedi might live on.  Indeed, Luke will not be the last Jedi—nor, it seems, will Rey. The spark of hope is reignited, just as it was over 30 years ago when a farm-boy from Tatooine picked up the torch, that had been sputtering for several decades, and answered Obi Wan Kenobi’s summons to become the Galaxy’s “New Hope” against the Dark Side.  The last scenes of The Last Jedi show a young slave boy playing with his friends as they reenact the Battle of Crait, then later that same boy is alone gazing at the stars above him, with hints that he is “Force-sensitive”, and just might be destined to become part of the Galaxy’s “Next Hope”.  We will have to wait for Star Wars Episode IX to see how the story concludes.

We are the spark that can ignite the flame of God’s love in our world in our generation.  

Over this series of posts, we’ve considered how the kingdom of God is not found in a sacred text with many words as much as it’s experienced through a relationship with the living Word of God, how it’s both “in front of our nose” and “over the horizon” at the same time, and how it’s found through sharing our success with others—but especially through sharing our failures.  

Passing the spark is a good metaphor to summarize the kind Kingdom-living we've discussed.  The classic hymn Pass it On reminds us that: "it only takes a spark to get a fire going."  For centuries, followers of Christ have passed the spark of hope within us, which we believe is found through knowing Jesus as Lord and Savior, from one person to another, from one generation to the next—1 Peter 3:15-16.  

In a way, we are like the Resistance in our world.  We stand against the “Dark Side” if you will—i.e., we resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they take. We are the spark that can ignite the flame of God’s love in our world in our generation.  Much like the Star Wars space opera, if the flame is to continue to burn after we are gone, it will be because we passed it on to the “Next Hope”—God has no Plan B.  If we truly believe this message we share is our world’s best hope—maybe it’s only hope—then we better get busy passing it on. 

Kingdom-Wisdom from Master Yoda, Part II

The Kingdom of God is “In Front of Our Nose”

Jesus’s favorite topic of conversation was this mysterious entity he called the kingdom of God, and how he usually did so by telling stories that contained metaphors to describe it.  We began to plumb the depths of a modern story to see if it might also contain Kingdom-wisdom.  We were looking at conversation between Luke Skywalker and Yoda from Star Wars: The Last Jedi and pondering how, as much as we value the Bible to help us learn about God, the most important Kingdom-wisdom isn't found in a book. This week I want to focus one short line of dialogue from their exchange.  After Yoda explains that there is nothing in the sacred texts that Rey doesn’t know already, he ends by saying:

Skywalker, still looking to the horizon. 
Never here, now, hmm? The need in front of your nose.

In John 14:6 Jesus says: I am the way and the truth and the life.  No one comes to the father except through me. We often interpret this verse to mean: I am the way to follow if you want to go to heaven when you die.  But what if that’s not all Jesus had in mind here? I think that when you delve into the broader first-century-Roman-Empire-context of this passage, there’s a strong argument to be made that Jesus was less concerned with his follower’s eternal destinythan he was with their current reality.  At the very least, I think Jesus had both now and not yetin mind.  And for these early followers of Jesus, who were an oppressed minority living under the heel of Roman occupation, getting through today was the most important question in their minds.  Concerns about the afterlife probably were secondary.  To paraphrase Yoda’s words to Luke, they were more focused on “the need in front of their nose.”

What if Jesus was saying to his followers: I am the way to follow if you want to enter the kingdom of God—today.  Note that the very next verse goes on to say, “If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”  That seems to be saying: from this moment on, if you follow me, you will get to know God. Always the questioner, Thomas presses the issue and seeks to clarify.  “Show us the Father and then we will be satisfied.”  We might sense Jesus getting a bit frustrated as his reply in John 14:9, which in essence says: Thomas, you’ve been with me this long and you still don’t get it do you?!  If you’ve seen me, you’ve seen Him! 

I’ve heard it said that we Christians can be so heavenly-minded that we’re no earthly good.  I think maybe Luke fell into the Jedi-equivalent of that.  He thought his work “here, now” was done.  He also thought he had screwed up royally and didn’t want to cause anyone—including himself—additional pain. He was living out his days on a remote island cut off from the Force, disconnected from engaging all the galaxy’s problems, waiting for the day when he could quietly slip “over the horizon” and merge with the Force 

Maybe some of us can relate to how Luke feels?  Participating in the life of a community of faith week after week can be physically, emotionally, and spiritually draining.  That’s especially true for those of us who take on the mantle of leading others, both laity and especially clergy.  There are certainly moments, when life in community is challenging,  where we might get wounded by the actions of others (even if it wasn’t intentional), and where we might be tempted to quit—to withdraw from the world,  to escape to wherever or whatever Ahch-To is for us and never come back.  But somehow we persevere and endure Sunday after Sunday because we know God has called us to this role.   Our contribution is still needed “here, now” meeting the “need in front of our nose.”

Now, having been a Jedi Master for nearly 1000 years, Yoda surely knows about the challenges of life “here, now”.  He isn’t unsympathetic that his former student is tired and wounded from all that has taken place.  Yoda also presumably already knows a thing or two about the nature of life “over the horizon” at this point, and he knows that Luke will enter that life when the time is right.   But he also knows that it is not Luke’s time yet.  No, he still has work to do “here, now” in his physical body.  Rey and the Resistance need the help of a Jedi Master—and Luke happens to be the only one available.  He does no one—including himself—much good remaining hidden away on Ahch–To brooding over his failure with his nephew.  Yoda’s visit seems to be a “kick in the butt” to remind the aging Jedi that, to use an earlier Yoda quote, there is still “much to learn he still has”.  Of course, as the plot unfolds, Luke learns the lesson.  He reconnects and offers everything he has left “here, now” to save Rey and the Resistance. 

The kingdom of God is both “here, now” and “over the horizon”. Theologians have speculated a great deal about what life is like “over the horizon” and there are lively debates to be had over the details.  However, at the end of the day none of us can make more than make educated guesses about what awaits us “over the horizon” in eternity.  As Paul says in his letter to the church in Corinth: For now we see in part, as if we were looking through a mirror, but one day we will see in full, and know fully, and be fully known—1 Corinthians 13:12.  

Scripture indeed promises us that one day we will see what is "over the horizon"—but it is not this day...  

Today, we have only the world that  is "here, now", with many pressing “needs in front of our nose”.  There is much work to do on Earth, where our actions allow the Kingdom to come on Earth as it is in heaven.  Our actions can make a positive impact for the common good of the world; conversely, our inaction could add to the pain and suffering of humanity.  What we do "here, now" really does matter!  

In the Gospels (e.g., see John 6) we see Jesus responding to the “needs in front of his nose” with compassion, mercy, and grace.  He met the physical needs of the people he encountered every bit as much as their spiritual needs.  For Jesus the two are of a piece.  Notice for example in the story of feeding the 5000 (which is one of the few stories about Jesus that appears in all four Gospels), that the physical feeding comes before the spiritual needs of are even addressed. Jesus sees hungry people and he simply cannot not feed them. 

If we want to discover the Kingdom of God and walk in the way of Jesus, we will need to do the things that Jesus did on a regular basis. 

If we want to discover the Kingdom of God and walk in the way of Jesus, it stands to reason that we will need to do the things that Jesus did on a regular basis.  We too have an obligation to tend to the needs of the least, the last, and the lost in our world, responding to the “needs in front of our nose” just as Jesus did. In some mysterious way the work we do “here, now” prepares us for the work we will continue to do “over the horizon” in eternity.  If we’ve been doing the work of God “here, now” we can expect a smooth and peaceful transition to life “over the horizon”—just as Luke experienced such a transition at the end of The Last Jedi. We can trust God to work out the details of the transaction when the time is right.  

Next: Kingdom-Wisdom is Found Through Success—but Especially Through Failure.

Jesus: A God Who Was Human

Theologically we speak of Jesus as fully human and fully divine.  That means he must have been something of a living paradox—an enigma. He obviously possessed qualities that were divine, such as the ability to heal others and perform miracles, including rising from the dead, which no human has ever done before or since.  But at the same time, other scenes show him to be quite human, with a range of emotions, which would suggest he had weakness, folly—and maybe even failure—just like any other human that has ever lived on this third rock from the Sun. 

I think the people that followed Jesus got to know a real person.  Especially in Mark’s telling of the story, I think we see a fully human Jesus on display, one who wrestles with what it will take to live out his call to sacrifice his life.  Most scholars think Mark’s account is the oldest Gospel.  It almost seems like later writers decided we needed a more Divine Jesus to worship (more of a Super Hero if you will), so they increasingly downplayed his human side.^* But what if it was precisely the fact this God was so human that made him so believable and accessible?  What if his being real and vulnerable was what made others willing to follow him?  I think that might be the whole point of the incarnation in the first place. 

^*For example, the Gospel of John, which may be the most “recent” of the four narratives written about the life of Jesus, seems to take things to the opposite extreme, emphasizing a fully divine Jesus. The author frequently interrupts the narrative to remind us that Jesus knew exactly what he was doing and why, but did a particular act for the benefit of others.

Back to Part I.

Kingdom-Wisdom from Master Yoda, Part I

The Kingdom of God Isn’t Found in a Book

Time it is for you to look past a pile of old books, hmm?

More than any other topic, Jesus told stories about the kingdom of God.  It’s a phrase that our modern ears stumble over.  We don’t tend to talk of kingdoms in our modern world, at least not in the U.S.  We overthrew a King when our nation began, so the word can have a negative connotation.  What in the world was Jesus talking about here?  Or was it even of this world?

Theologian Dallas Willard defines kingdom of God as the range of God’s effective will, where what God wants done gets done.  Jesus makes it clear that one can’t pinpoint the kingdom of God on a map—Luke 17:21—or discover its secrets in a book.  We find the kingdom as we follow Jesus day-by-day. Pastor Eugene Petersen referred to it as “a long obedience in the same direction”.

When Jesus talked about the Kingdom, he tended to do it in the context of stories called parables, and used metaphors to describe what the Kingdom was like.  I think our modern stories (e.g., books, movies) can also reveal the Kingdom of God.  We just need eyes that see and ears that hear.  For example, one of my favorite scenes in The Last Jedi (Star Wars Episode VIII) is an exchange between Jedi Master Luke Skywalker and his former master Yoda.  

A brief set-up is in order for those unfamiliar with the plot. Luke Skywalker, the one-time hero of the Rebellion has fallen on hard times. He tried to establish a new Jedi Academy, but he failed as a teacher—and as a brother/uncle.  His nephew Ben Solo (Han and Leia’s son) betrayed Luke, and the Jedi Academy.  He now calls himself Kylo Ren and has become Supreme Leader of the First Order—the bad guys.  After his Jedi Academy was destroyed, Luke went into exile on an island on a remote planet called Ahch-To, where the first Jedi Temple was located.  

When The Force Awakens (Star Wars Episode VII) began, Luke hadn’t been seen or heard from in years. The whole plot centered around the Resistance (the good guys) going to great lengths to find a map to Luke’s location. Meanwhile a young girl named Rey experienced an "awakening" and discovered she had great deal of raw potential with the Force.  With the help of her friend Finn, she fought a wounded Kylo Ren to a draw. At the end of Episode VII, Rey follows the map to seek Luke out to ask him to train her further in the ways of the Force.  

The Force Awakens ends where The Last Jedi begins, with Rey presenting Luke with his old lightsaber.  To her surprise, Luke tosses the lightsaber over his shoulder and walks away.  He refuses to help Rey at first.  Later, he reluctantly agrees to give her a few lessons—but only to show her why it’s time for the Jedi Order to end.  As the plot unfolds, Rey discovers that Luke has cut himself off from the Force, and learns more about why—his failure with Ben Solo.  When it becomes clear Luke will not leave the island to help the Resistance, Rey departs Ahch-To to confront Kylo Ren on her own, and try to turn him back to the light.  This leaves Luke alone to contemplate things.  As he prepares to destroy the Jedi Temple he has an encounter with his old mentor Yoda. 

Luke Skywalker: [Yoda appears as a ghost] Master Yoda. 

Yoda: Young Skywalker. 

Luke Skywalker: I'm ending all of this. The tree, the texts, the Jedi. I'm going to burn it all down. 

Yoda: [Yoda summons lightning to burn down the tree and the Jedi texts. He laughs] Ah, Skywalker. Missed you, have I. 

Luke Skywalker: So, it is time for the Jedi Order to end. 

Yoda: Time it is for you to look past a pile of old books, hmm? 

Luke Skywalker: The sacred Jedi texts? 

Yoda: Oh, read them, have you? Page-turners they were not. Yes, yes, yes. Wisdom they held, but that library contained nothing that the girl Rey does not already possess. Skywalker, still looking to the horizon. Never here, now, hmm? The need in front of your nose. 

Luke Skywalker: I was weak. Unwise. 

Yoda: Lost Ben Solo you did. Lose Rey we must not. 

Luke Skywalker: I can't be what she needs me to be. 

Yoda: Heeded my words not, did you? Pass on what you have learned. Strength. Mastery. But weakness, folly, failure also. Yes, failure most of all. The greatest teacher, failure is. Luke, we are what they grow beyond. That is the true burden of all masters.

                       

From the moment I first heard these words in the theater, they have been speaking to me.  And as I’ve pondered what they were trying to say, I think I’ve discerned three nuggets of Kingdom-wisdom. (Like any good story, there is probably more than what I’ve identified; feel free to mine deeper on your own.) 

Jesus said that the Kingdom spreads slowly but steadily: like yeast in bread that gradually spreads over the whole loaf, or a tiny seed that eventually grows into a huge bush, or a tiny spark that could ignite an entire forest.  Kingdom-wisdom must be intentionally searched out—and then it must be savored, and allowed to soak in. In other words, it takes time to learn to walk in the way of Jesus.  In that spirit I will break the article into a series of three posts, so we have time to ponder each nugget of wisdom, before moving to the next.

For my first nugget of Kingdom-wisdom, let’s focus on the first few lines of dialogue above.  Luke is flummoxed about what to do with Rey.  In essence, the Force found Rey, and then Rey sought out Luke. She appears on Ahch-To hoping Luke will train her the ways of the Force.  She has raw ability but she needs a teacher to refine her skill—much like Luke did years ago.  Luke can clearly sense that Rey has great potential in the Force; but that is precisely what worries him.  The last student he took on with such raw power and potential in the Force was his nephew Ben Solo—and Ben ended up betraying him.  Worse yet, Luke either didn’t see it coming or maybe he chose to ignore the "red flags" he saw because he had enough hubris to think he could “handle it”. As he says to Rey at one point: “It didn’t scare me enough then—it does now.”  

Luke thinks if he destroys the Jedi Temple and the sacred texts he can put an end to his concerns. That’s when Master Yoda—who mentored Luke in earlier Star Wars films—appears as a Force Ghost, and the following conversation ensues.

To Luke’s surprise, Master Yoda doesn’t try to stop him from burning down the Jedi Temple, and the tree where the Sacred Jedi Texts are stored. Quite the contrary, he summons lightning to expedite the destruction!  Yoda reminds Luke that while the sacred texts certainly contained wisdom, what Rey needs—and also what Luke needs—right now isn’t found in any book.  When Luke questions Yoda about letting the texts burn, I love his response: “Oh, read them, have you?  Page turners they were not.”  

I think there’s Kingdom-wisdom in this reply.  Our Bible is a sacred text inspired by God that contains pearls of great wisdom.  The Bible tells the Story of God's people; we "mine its treasures" to learn about God.  However, anyone who has spent time reading the Bible knows there are sections of the Bible that aren’t exactly “page-turners”. Certain sections of Scripture don’t make for inspiring storytelling.  That’s because they were never intended to.  As author Benjamin Corey says it, all scripture isn’t in “red letters”. [1] That is to say, contrary to how we’ve sometimes come to view it, every word of the Bible wasn’t spoken by Jesus.  We find a variety of different authors and genres of literature in the Bible and we need to understand the original context of what we read as we seek to interpret it and apply Scripture to real-life situations in our world today.  Words actually spoken by Jesus in the Gospels may need be given higher priority than other portions of Scripture.  

The true wisdom of the kingdom of God is not discovered in a sacred text containing many words, it’s discovered in a relationship with the living Word of God. 

The true wisdom of the kingdom of God is not discovered in a sacred text containing many words, it's discovered in a relationship with the living Word of God.  As Corey puts it, “the Bible isn’t the fourth person of the Trinity”—i.e., the Bible isn’t God.  While we don’t go so far as Master Yoda, and burn our Sacred Text (which we later find out he actually didn’t do either!) this scene does remind us that if every Bible ever made burned, we would still have the Word of God. Christians have a living, breathing relationship with the Word of God (the Greek word John uses is logos) in the flesh as revealed in Jesus—see Jesus: A God Who Was Human.  We interpret the words of Scripture through the lens of Jesus not the other way around. 

Next: The Kingdom of God is "In Front of Our Nose"

---

[1] See Chapter 3 of Corey’s book, Unafraid: Moving Beyond Fear-Based Faith (2017; Harper Collins), to learn more about these ideas.

An Inspired Telling of the Story of the Bible

One of my summer reading projects has been Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water and Loving the Bible Again, by Rachel Held–Evans.  If you have difficulty relating to the Bible, or determining exactly what role it should play in guiding our lives as follower of Jesus, this book may be helpful.  I have read a number of books about the Bible as Story before, but Rachel’s writing challenged me to see the Bible from a vantage point that is different from my own.  

Rachel was born into a conservative evangelical congregation, but over time her theology has become more progressive.  I fear some may sneer liberal, at this point, and not consider reading the book. I think that would be a mistake. While there are a few places where Rachel gives her personal opinion, I believe the overall message of the book can speak to Christians across the theological spectrum if we will allow it.  It addresses an important topic to all who follow Jesus.  Contrary to how we sometimes view it, the Bible is not the “fourth person of the Trinity”; Jesus—not the Bible—is the Word of God (logos)—John 1:1. However, that doesn’t mean we should “forget” about the Bible.  Not at all; it is sacred writing, inspired by God, and so we need to learn to properly handle it—2 Timothy 3:14-17.

My personal journey of faith is a little different from Rachel’s.  I sometimes feel that, with due deference to Bilbo and Frodo, the story of my journey could be called "There and Back Again: A Methodist's Tale"  I was born, baptized, and confirmed United Methodist (UM).  I went away to college and got involved in more evangelical, non-denominational churches, before eventually “coming home” to the UM church when I married a UM pastor.  Because I wasn’t a cradle evangelical, and because the church I attended for most of my years “in the middle” of my spiritual journey to date was more progressive evangelical, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced quite the same faith crisis that Rachel describes in the book, when I became exposed to different ideas as I ventured out into the world. I think I have always been comfortable in the via media that Methodism strives to obtain—which derives from Anglicanism.  I don’t think I’ve ever viewed Scripture as an inerrant transcript from the Divine, but rather as inspired writings from human beings earnestly seeking to faithfully interpret God. In their specific context.  I never felt I had to choose between evolution and Scripture, for example, but clearly Rachel’s experiences growing up in more fundamentalist churches resonate with many readers and writers.[1]  I’ve encountered just enough conservative dogma to know it’s out there and can be toxic to faith when we feel we have to “check our brain at the door of the church”. 

A more significant difference in our perspectives is our genders.  As a woman, Rachel has a lens to interpret the stories of God’s people that I, as a male—and a white male in particular—do not possess.  She clearly experiences a connection with the people encountered on the pages of the Bible (and with other followers of Jesus throughout history)—who the vast majority of time were an oppressed minority in the times and places they lived—more easily than I.  

Those two differences notwithstanding, there is one thing Rachel and I do have in common that hooked me to the book from page one.  Like her, I fancy myself a storyteller, and I resonate with her view of the Bible as God’s Story. Before we can recognize the Bible for what it is, we have to recognize what it isn’t.  It isn’t meant to be a science textbook or legal document or a book of magic.  No, the Bible is—first and foremost—the Story of God’s people as they journey with God from Creation, to the Cross, to New Creation, and on into Eternity.  

In the Introduction, Rachel shares a bit about her spiritual journey, and how her view of what the Bible was to her changed over time: from a book of children’s stories, to a handbook (or instruction book) as a teenager, to an answer book as a young adult, to a stumbling block to her faith for a time in her mid-twenties.  Though she doesn’t say it explicitly, I think she’s come to a point of seeing it as story once again, but one for “spiritually mature” audiences only. I for one could relate to this description of an evolving views of Scripture—and even of God—as I have grown.

As a memoirist as well as a theologian, Rachel recognizes the power of story and she views the Bible a series of individual stories of God’s people told through a variety of voices in a variety of genres.  To fully appreciate the writing in the Bible, we need to understand the places and spaces where those voices originated.  We need to resist the temptation to force-fit the text to fit our contemporary setting, and cherry-pick verses to prove whatever point we want to make.  Instead, we need to let these ancient texts speak to us on their own terms.  

Inspired is really a series of stories.  The content is organized into series of reflections on the many types of stories found in Scripture. There are Chapters on Origin, Deliverance, War, Wisdom, Resistance, Gospel, Fish (discussing the Miracles of Jesus), and Church stories.  Each one contains anecdotes from Rachel’s experience, as well as thought-provoking theological reflection.  Before each chapter, there in an interstitial containing a piece of creative storytelling that relates to the topic she is about to discuss.  Prior to the chapter on Gospel Stories, for example, there is a retelling of the Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well—John 4:4-28.

To me some of the strongest writing is the chapter on Deliverance Stories.  Again, as a woman author, I think she is able to empathize with these stories perhaps better than a white male author would.   For example, because she was pregnant with her own firstborn child during the period she wrote the book—and especially because she had experienced a miscarriage prior to the current pregnancy—Rachel experiences particular solidarity with Mary’s experience as theotokos—the God bearer. She reflects on the implications of the verse: And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered—Luke 2:6, King James Version.  I thought the following excerpt from Chapter 2 of the book was powerful. 

What volumes hid between these lines!  The morning sickness, the hormones, the round ligament pain, the sleepless nights, the anxiety, the fear, those first startling kicks and those first piercing cries—all the quotidian challenges of pregnancy, punctuated by the considerable risks of first-century maternity and the momentous prophecy surrounding this particular child.

Did Mary ever doubt what she’d been told by the angel? Did she wake one night to blood too early or pain too sharp and wonder if her song had been nothing more than foolish ramblings of misplaced hope?  

There are few doctrines of the Christian faith more astounding to me than the incarnation, the remarkable notion that the God of the universe was once as vulnerable as a fetus and hungry as a baby.  Mary knew the humanity of Christ more intimately than anyone, from the moment that humanity manifested itself in the swelling of her breasts, a sudden sensitivity to heat and smell, that strange aversion to eggs and inescapable craving for lamb. 

The days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

Two millennia later, in the longest hours of my own unremarkable pregnancy, this little string of words from the gospel of Luke invited me to press on, to fear not.  It reminded me that whether it’s a forty-year journey through the wilderness or a forty-week gestation, the most important tasks of life are accomplished a day at a time.  Deliverance is not as much a transformation of the heart as it is a transference of the body—Inspired, Chapter 2, pp. 46-47.

Now, I’ve reflected on the implications of the incarnation before, but I guarantee I didn’t write anything like this!  I couldn’t… I physically feel this scene. Well, I feel it as much as any man—who has never experienced pregnancy and childbirth—can.  Of course, the scene has such power to her because Rachel has lived a similar scene herself.  She has entered into it in a way I never could.  She got Deliverance because she was living through her own personal “deliverance” at the time. 

Probably my favorite chapter (at least at this time) is the one on Gospel Stories. I think it’s because this chapter really drives home the idea of the gospels being composed of stories—including a lengthy discussion of parables, which are stories Jesus told to help people understand his favorite topic of conversation: the kingdom of God.  He uses things his first-century audience would have been familiar with as metaphors (word pictures) for how life in the kingdom of God works.  

When I read some of this I found myself thinking of the wisdom Sophia Petrillo used to offer her roommates in the 1980s-90s TV series, The Golden Girls.  Now, granted, Sophia’s tales tended to be a bit “taller” than the down-to-earth stories Jesus told his followers, but there was always a moral at the end, or a lesson the other girls (including her daughter, and the two other ladies she lived with, whom she viewed as daughters) needed to learn.[2]  She always started by saying: “Picture it.  Sicily—1922…”  Next time you read the parable of The Good Samaritan, try to imagine Jesus saying to the disciples: “Picture it.  Jerusalem—AD 22.  A young man sets off on a journey toward Jericho…”

I like Rachel’s discussion here about the scandalous particularity of the gospel.   She discusses how there are probably as many unique answers to the question, “What is the good news of Jesus?”, as there are people on the planet to ask.  She lists a whole series of examples, giving both intimate and epic answers.  In the end, she concludes all of them are correct, each as unique as the individual answering the question; but you will find among those answers common themes.[3]  

If you will, the gospel stories in the Bible read like a good memoir.  There’s a mosaic of personal stories of individuals and groups encountering Jesus that thread together to emphasize more universal story the author wishes to tell about Jesus—and each gospel writer’s focus was different. We thus end up with four unique (but not completely different) stories of Jesus, and his significance.  We bring all four of them together to get a more complete picture of Jesus.  

I think this quote sums things up: “The good news is as epic as it gets, with universal theological implications, and yet the Bible tells it from the perspective of fishermen and farmers, pregnant ladies and squirmy kids.  This story about the nature of God and God’s relationship to humanity smells like mud and manger hay and tastes like salt and wine.  It is concerned, not simply with questions of eternity, but with paying taxes and filling bellies and addressing a woman’s chronic menstrual complications.  It is the biggest story and the smallest story all at once—the great quest for the One Ring and the quiet friendship of Frodo and Sam”—Inspired, Chapter 6, p. 150. 

I could say more, and discuss other sections, but I don’t want to give away the whole story. Suffice it to say, I really did like this book and I highly recommend it. 

---

[1]Indeed Rachel’s journey is not unique among progressive authors that I have read.  Both Diana Butler–Bass and Mike McHargue (a.k.a., Science Mike)—describe similar bumpy journeys from conservative toward more progressive theologies in their writing. Like Rachel, Diana left behind conservative churches and seminaries, and is now an Episcopalian. (She tells her story in Strength for the Journey). Mike was born a fundamentalist, had a period where he became an atheist, and last I knew, was attending a United Methodist church, (He tells his story in  Finding God in the Waves.)

[2]These "Picture It" anecdotes usually also involved historical figures, with Sophia claiming to have had trysts with Pablo Picasso, Sigmund Freud, and Winston Churchill, among others. She also claims to have befriended many famous people including Golda Meir, Mama Celeste, and accidentally claimed that Robert Frost was always "nipping at my nose" (she was confused with Jack Frost).

[3]Of course, this is hyperbole; not every answer given to this question will be correct.  We have to exercise discernment. The point is that it’s really hard to reduce the “good news” to a single catchphrase or slogan.  As Rachel says in the book, “It strikes me as fruitless to try and turn the gospel into a statement when God so clearly gave us a story—or more precisely, a person”—Inspired,  Chapter 6, p. 151.