The Bible as a Story
A long time ago I used to really really like Madeleine L’Engle.
So much, I wanted to name my first daughter after her (and nickname her “Maddy” and hope she was a tomboy who played baseball and…)
My first exposure to her was Walking on Water, a book of meditations on the intersection of Christianity and art. She cites all kinds of ideas and stories from philosophers, artists and theologians and brings them together in the context of her own writing. Among the ideas she introduced was the idea that the Bible was a story.
Now, it’s important to differentiate what L’Engle means by story and what a fundy would mean. To L’Engle, stories can be true, even fiction ones. Especially fiction ones. And trying to figure out whether the details actually happened (how many people were in that army, what happened to the sun in that battle, how many animals, how big…) is a waste of time. If you open yourself up to the story, you will see part of the deeper truth that it is trying to reveal.
The Bible, for her, is not the definitive and authoritative Word of God, but an icon, and a very good icon. She spends a whole book (Penguins and Golden Calves) talking about icons, and icons taken too far (idols).
Icons are like windows. You look through them to see what’s outside, but you only ever get a piece of what’s outside. And what’s outside when you look through icons like the Bible is God. When you read the Bible, and you open yourself up, you see little pieces of God. Horribly incomplete pieces, but more than you had before.
The Bible isn’t the only icon for God though. Nature, good art, and even some bad art are all icons L’Engle uses to see a little bit more of God. It’s all about being open.
I used to read the Bible all the time. It’s been almost six years since I’ve actually sat down and read it, and probably longer than that since I’ve been open to seeing a little bit more of God through it, or anything except an ancient text which has had a huge impact on Western Literature and thought.
Part of that is because, when I’m open to see pieces of God, I have other familiar places I go: outside on my deck to sit in the sun, to read The Sun Magazine, to John Coletrane or Bach, and to a candle (though it’s been a while for that one as well).
It’s also partly because I’ve been less open, period. It’s hard giving up the notion that I have to be sure about God before I try to initiate any kind of spiritual experience that may or may not be related to some kind of divinity. So what if it’s all a bunch of chemical, emotional and sociological responses that have nothing to do with a “non-existent spiritual realm.” When I do open up in this way, ever so rarely, my life seems a little less chaotic, things seem a little less pressing, I gain some sort of blurred perspective where as before I had none. I finally can make out that there is something beyond what occupies my time, even if I can’t quite make out what it is.
Maybe it’s time I read the Bible again.
So much, I wanted to name my first daughter after her (and nickname her “Maddy” and hope she was a tomboy who played baseball and…)
My first exposure to her was Walking on Water, a book of meditations on the intersection of Christianity and art. She cites all kinds of ideas and stories from philosophers, artists and theologians and brings them together in the context of her own writing. Among the ideas she introduced was the idea that the Bible was a story.
Now, it’s important to differentiate what L’Engle means by story and what a fundy would mean. To L’Engle, stories can be true, even fiction ones. Especially fiction ones. And trying to figure out whether the details actually happened (how many people were in that army, what happened to the sun in that battle, how many animals, how big…) is a waste of time. If you open yourself up to the story, you will see part of the deeper truth that it is trying to reveal.
The Bible, for her, is not the definitive and authoritative Word of God, but an icon, and a very good icon. She spends a whole book (Penguins and Golden Calves) talking about icons, and icons taken too far (idols).
Icons are like windows. You look through them to see what’s outside, but you only ever get a piece of what’s outside. And what’s outside when you look through icons like the Bible is God. When you read the Bible, and you open yourself up, you see little pieces of God. Horribly incomplete pieces, but more than you had before.
The Bible isn’t the only icon for God though. Nature, good art, and even some bad art are all icons L’Engle uses to see a little bit more of God. It’s all about being open.
I used to read the Bible all the time. It’s been almost six years since I’ve actually sat down and read it, and probably longer than that since I’ve been open to seeing a little bit more of God through it, or anything except an ancient text which has had a huge impact on Western Literature and thought.
Part of that is because, when I’m open to see pieces of God, I have other familiar places I go: outside on my deck to sit in the sun, to read The Sun Magazine, to John Coletrane or Bach, and to a candle (though it’s been a while for that one as well).
It’s also partly because I’ve been less open, period. It’s hard giving up the notion that I have to be sure about God before I try to initiate any kind of spiritual experience that may or may not be related to some kind of divinity. So what if it’s all a bunch of chemical, emotional and sociological responses that have nothing to do with a “non-existent spiritual realm.” When I do open up in this way, ever so rarely, my life seems a little less chaotic, things seem a little less pressing, I gain some sort of blurred perspective where as before I had none. I finally can make out that there is something beyond what occupies my time, even if I can’t quite make out what it is.
Maybe it’s time I read the Bible again.
posted by deadwriter at 9:32 a.m.
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