Do you mean that literally?

One of the best insults a contemporary atheist or secularist can level against a Christian is to say that they "take the Bible literally". This seems roughly equivalent to other insults such as "thick as a plank" or "the same IQ as a bit of plankton". This attitude, I suppose, stems from the perception that there are details in the Bible which are so patently ridiculous that no intelligent person could possibly consider them to be true.

Now, this is an interesting idea, because it raises so many wonderful questions. Here's just a few of the key ones:

1) If it's stupid to take the Bible literally, does that make it smart to take it figuratively?

2) What does it mean to take the Bible literally?

3) What does it mean to take the Bible figuratively?

4) What is the purpose of the Bible?

5) What makes anything "patently ridiculous"? Common sense? If so, what makes "common sense" common?

I might just leave a few of those questions to sit and settle with you for a while, not because I'm not interested in answering them but because they get asked so rarely that I feel like the moment should be savoured somewhat. What I am most interested in looking at, however, is the second question:

What does it mean to take the Bible literally?

Now, on the surface this seems simple. Taking it literally means believing it word for word. The fact that Biblical literalists are so widely criticised suggests that this word-for-word reading is the problem. Of course, not taking it literally should not necessarily mean dismissing it wholesale, and this is a point worth considering. Certainly, taking something figuratively rather than literally is often necessary. Every student I've ever taught knows that, when a person says they have butterflies in their stomach, they don't mean it literally. Yet taking this saying figuratively is not an instantly straightforward process. Certainly, the words in that context did not mean exactly what they seem to mean. If I say that I have butterflies in my stomach, I do not mean that actual butterflies are actually in my actual stomach. So what do I mean? For many people, liberating the Bible from literal meaning seems to open up the possibility that it means, well, whatever we want it to mean - by which logic saying, "I have butterflies in my stomach" could as easily mean "I am nervous" as it does "I've got indigestion" or, to put in one from left-field, "I have a giant alien sitting on my front lawn at the moment."

Now common sense says that the third option is ridiculous, the second unlikely, and the first most logical. But this assumes that we are operating under a tightly structured system of linguistic cues and symbols, whereby "butterflies in the stomach" clearly refers to that fluttery feeling of mild nerves or anxiety, and should not be taken to mean anything else. That seems rather rigid, doesn't it? Couldn't the saying mean...well...something else to other people? No, of course it doesn't. We all know what the phrase means, and anyone who takes it to mean something else needs to learn the correct meaning to avoid further awkward confusion. All of which goes to say, I suppose, simply that a symbol, while not to be taken literally, may still have quite a clear, set meaning - one which is possibly true, in a rigid, objective sense, even if someone may hear the saying not knowing what a butterfly is or how it feels to have some inside one's stomach.

Generally, when people talk of "taking the Bible literally", it is with an understanding of "literal reading" as a sort of subtle-as-a-sledgehammer, zero-nuance reading that would, if taken to its logical extent, make a reader of "Song of Songs" wonder why the lover would feel so strongly for a girl whose breasts are gazelles and ancient architectural structures simultaneously.

Do I take the Bible literally? Yes. Does that mean I believe that the book of Leviticus provides the only necessary guidelines for how doctors should treat leprosy? No. Does this make me inconsistent in my faith? Not at all. Taking the Bible literally should not mean reading it without thought, application or interpretation. It means, for a start, being able to distinguish poetry from history, prophecy from theology, a narrative from a letter, a song from an instruction.

An interesting recent approach to reading the Bible literally came from A.J. Jacobs' "The Year of Living Biblically", a slightly satirical look at applying the Bible wholesale into one's life. I was naturally inclined to dislike the book, but this review from Bible scholar Ben Witherington has made me more open. Nevertheless, Witherington still makes the point that behind the

surveys and studies that Jacobs does in this book is the sort of flat hermeneutic applied to the Biblical text, assuming that it all applies to all God's people at all times, rather than a more covenantal approach which says that there are different regulations for differing times in the history of God's people as the covenant and its rules are changed by God.

In other words, actually applying the Bible does not mean reading every word exactly as it appears and pulling it directly out of the text without thought about what it really means. That kind of practice is not only bad Bible reading. It's bad reading. If that's what it means to take the Bible literally, then I can see why such a practice would be ridiculed.

Only, it isn't. Very few people actually read the Bible like that. At the very least, they know that "gazelles" means something other than the literal animal, and that two metaphors can be used for the one thing without contradiction. Taking the Bible literally works if we understand that literal reading is not unsubtle, ignorant reading, but a practice of reading which seeks to understand what the text meant to its original readers, in its original context, and how this applies to us today. It isn't a free-for-all process of "make of this text whatever you want". Nor is it a rigid, unthinking quest which reads a book of symbolic love poems as a textbook on biological deformity and sexual curiosity.

So, to bring this to some sort of conclusion: let's all agree to be readers of thought and subtlety, who can tell a symbol from a "fact" without losing too many hairs, and who can take as much meaning and truth from a poem as we can from a textbook. We might start to see that the Bible, contrary to popular opinion, is worth reading, worth applying, possibly even - yes, possibly even worth believing.

Who do people say that I am?

They had just seen all kinds of crazy things being done: a few loaves of bread feeding several thousand people (not once but twice), blind men enabled to see...But they seemed to be the blind ones. They looked at him every day of their lives, walked everywhere that he walked, heard everything he said, saw everything he did. But they still didn't understand.

Others did, though. Demons called out his name. Gentiles who knew nothing of the Jewish beliefs he fulfilled, recognised him for who he was. Blind men, bizarrely, managed to "see" the reality of his identity...

Then one day, they got it. Well, one of them did - the one called Peter. (Was that irony? "Peter" meant "rock", and he was the least dependable of any of them...) Peter got it. He said, "You are the Christ, the son of God."

And Jesus said something that Peter had never expected. He said: yes I am, but don't think that means what you've got in your head. Don't think it means victory and glory right here, right now. Don't think it means that you'll be glorified along with me, here and now, and given a seat in my new revolutionary government. Don't picture sword-and-sandle epics here, Peter. Picture the worst form of torture/tyranny/despotism you can. Got it? Good. Then picture me, there, subjected to that torture. Picture yourself, condemned to much the same sort of death. Picture that, then you'll have it. Then you'll know what it means for me to be the Messiah.

And Peter heard, and rebuked him.

------

Is how I think of Jesus just a matter of "opinion"? Is it reasonable for people who disagree to say that they have "a different opinion"?

The truth is, people all throughout history have been very good at having opinions about Jesus: good man, revolutionary, tyrant, prophet, liar, messiah, God, madman...Phillip Pullman's curiously titled book, "The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ" suggests something of the tension in how we look at the man. But, in truth, it isn't about opinions. It isn't a question of what we think about him, but of who he is, whether or not we recognise that truth. But it's also a question of finding the truth of who he is, and letting it transform us.

------

Years later, Peter was shown the very same torture, tyranny and despotism that had killed his master. Jesus had said to him, when he had walked on earth, that "when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and take you where you do not want to go". Now it was true. Origen wrote that "Peter was crucified at Rome with his head downwards, as he himself had desired to suffer". He knew now. He no longer had an opinion about Jesus. His life had been transformed by who he now knew Jesus to be.

Open letter to the Moreland City Council...

...on seeing my street being cleared this morning of autumn leaves:

To our most esteemed Mayor and those

Who guard our city from our foes:

I bring you greetings, but I must

Admit that you have lost my trust.

Today I saw a truck which loudly came

And took away our leaves. What shame!

I fear that you have missed the reason

Why Autumn comes each year. This season

Is designed to bring us many joys

In the form of golden leafy toys

Which fall from trees into our laps

(And make us pillows for our naps

If we should choose to siesta in

The street. It surely is no sin

To do so!) And, furthermore,

The leaves are there to keep our cars

Warm when the night grows far too cold

For our cars’ wheels (young or old).

It also strikes me, councillors, that

The leaves make quite a lovely hat

When they land upon our wand’ring heads,

And moreover they allow cars to play

As they drive down the street. Why, they

Could fly, should they choose. Up, up in

The autumnal air! (I won't mention the din

That your truck made this morning when

I stepped outside, filled with leafy yen.

The roaring beast was torture to

My cosy, autumnal senses.)

You,

I trust, will soon fix this mistake

Or the street will yell and quake

In anger.

In trust you will see all this clearly,

Mayorship, I am yours, sincerely…

A concerned Morelandian

(The street south of Albion).

All kinds of weather

The torrential downpour of last night and this morning has made everything feel very wintry, even though its only April. The sun is coming out now, so the evergreens outside are sparkling freshly and the sky has glimpses of blue poking out from grey. It's a wondrous sight. To celebrate the arrival of winter, I decided today to listen to all my favourite wintry songs. I made a playlist of many of them on YouTube, and here is one of them, complete with magnificent footage from David Attenborough's "Planet Earth" series - Sigur Ros' "Staralflur":

But why, I can imagine you all asking me, why would you celebrate the arrival of winter? Isn't winter something to be saddened by? Shouldn't we celebrate the arrival of spring, or summer?

Well, first let me say that I love winter in Melbourne. It was rough for me to return to a particularly cold one last year after six months in the tropics, but, once I'd adjusted to shivering much of the time and wearing multiple layers to cover all extremities, I found I quite liked it again. But I also have to say that, of all the things that I most missed about my home (aside, of course, from friends and family) was the quirkiness of Melbourne's seasonal variation. You see, you just don't get seasons in Borneo, except for wet and...wetter. I wrote many poems about the rain, because that was just about the only distinctive feature of the weather, apart from the heat. But here, well, there's so much weather to talk about, and to marvel at. I'm reminded of one of my favourite C.S. Lewis moments, from the start of "That Hideous Strength":

"That's why Camilla and I got married, " said Denniston as they drove off. "We both like Weather. Not this or that kind of weather, but just Weather. It's a useful taste if one lives in England."

"How ever did you learn to do that, Mr. Denniston?" said Jane. "I don't think I should ever learn to like rain and snow."

"It's the other way around," said Denniston. "Everyone begins as a child by liking Weather. You learn the art of disliking it is you grown up. Noticed it on a snowy day? The grown-ups are all going about with long faces, but look at the children - and the dogs? They know what snow's made for."

I love that quote, because, apart from the discomfort extreme weather can cause, it can so often be a wonderful example of the glories of God's creation - which makes me suspect that, when our world is renewed, it won't be a world without seasons. It may in fact just be a world where the seasons cause no discomfort, so we can wonder at all their changes and all their particular beauties without pain and suffering.

I may be wrong, of course. But for now I intend thoroughly to admire this winter and all the beauties that it brings. I hope my fellow Melburnians can bring themselves to admire it with me.

By Merri Creek

It was a cosy kind of day in East Brunswick. The streets were lush with leaves and the sky purple with unrequited rain. I crossed over the Merri Creek, journal in hand, half-composed poems and - strangely - lyrics from "Good King Wenceslas" stuck in my head:

Therefore, Christian men be sure,

Wealth or rank possessing:

You who now will bless the poor

Shall yourselves find ble-essing.

I came to the northern side of the Normanby Road underpass, where, walking this way before, I had passed a girl curled up against the sign which says, "Making history along Merri Creek". I had noticed her then, and wondered if she was okay, wondering also what reason anyone would have for sleeping beside Merri Creek. This time, the girl was not sleeping. She was walking the opposite way along the path, eyes to the ground. She had a plastic bag in hand. Her clothes were presentable enough but bedraggled. She stumbled once as she walked, but not in a way that suggested danger or incapacity. Our eyes met at one point and she gave an evasive smile. I looked back once or twice as I walked on, to see that she was okay. I wondered if there was anything else I could do. It seemed all I had the power to do was to pray, to commit her to the God who sees her every step, knows exactly why she is there, and exactly what to do to help.

I know that I am reluctant to help those I see in need; I know I will grab any excuse I can find to do nothing. It wouldn't be appropriate. She's a young girl walking alone. What would she think of a young man stopping and asking her if she was okay? It wouldn't be wise. It wouldn't be safe. Excuses, yes, but also all true. Yet so, I am sure, would have seemed the excuses of the Levite and the Pharisee as they kept walking on the Jericho road: It isn't safe to stop here, alone. The road is filled with murderers and thieves.

Thank God, He sees my weakness and heard my prayers. I do not know what will happen to that girl. I pray that she will be okay.