Tarshish

Nope, this isn't about Jonah. This is about trading ships. It seems throughout Hebrew Scripture that ships were originally referred to as "ships that could go to Tarshish." It makes more sense to us to say "trading ships."

But that's not the point either.

In both Samuel–Kings and Chronicles–Ezra–Nehemiah, the text recounts that Jehoshaphat built a fleet of trading ships but they were wrecked before they set sail. A prophet noted that this was because he had made the ship-building alliance with Ahaziah king of Israel "who was guilty of wickedness."

It makes sense that God wouldn't be keen on an evil king. More sense that he would prefer a good king to not ally himself with an evil king. But I think the point may be one step deeper.

Jehoshaphat oversaw one of the most amazing military victories ever. Judah defeated three nations by trusting in YHWH and singing his praises. They crested the hill overlooking the battlefield, and God had already made the nations destroy one another. The only remaining task was to fetch the plunder. Again, this was all about trust in God, and he blessed Judah for it.

Now a nation must be prosperous to afford a fleet of ships. And God was indeed prospering Judah. But Jehoshaphat did not trust YHWH to provide the ships; he signed a contract with someone who had explicitly turned away from YHWH. That's a good reason to wreck the ships.

A final detail is that this was an apparent imitation of Solomon. Solomon was so enormously prosperous that his fleet of ships anchored in the same harbor generations before Jehoshaphat's wasn't really necessary, but God blessed Israel with it. In effect, Jehoshaphat was trying to say that he was as great as Solomon. Only it was YHWH who made Solomon great, and anyone who tries to measure up to that sort of greatness by allying with an enemy of YHWH is doomed to fail.

Image and rest

The ancient Near Eastern myths about creation are so interesting, mainly because they portray their deities as petty junior highers. It's hard for me to believe that people would tell such stories about their gods. But as Michael Moore (not that one), my Pentateuch professor, says, a significant, overlooked portion of these myths is often how political, economic, and social structures found their form. It's not just about how the physical world found its form (as we often assume with the Bible). Further, the myths themselves served to subvert the structures as they stood at the time.

The Atrahasis myth gives the account of the creation of humans. For some reason, it was essential for canals to be dug in Mesopotamia, and lesser gods were assigned this task. After a while, they got sick of the labor and revolted, and humans were created to do this work. The gods were able to rest indefinitely now, which seems to be a part of their goal all along. However, the humans got noisy, preventing the gods from resting, so this led to the flood. (That's a pretty spare summary. You can read more commentary that I found on a lazy Google search.)

According to the Bible, when God (Elohim) created the cosmos, he made humans in his image to tend and care for the earth. And in the creation poem, he also rested. However, God rested on the seventh day, implying that he still works 86 percent of the time. Later on, he gives his people the command to rest on the seventh day as well. So God invites humanity to do his work with him and to partake in the same benefits of rest.

This is a huge social polemic against the Mesopotamian myths. While the flesh and blood of one of the lesser gods was mixed with clay in order to create the slave race humanity in Atrahasis, this is nowhere close to God creating us in his image, giving us a noble task in creation, and breathing his very breath or Spirit into us.

Guacamole

Today is the day of salvation

My heart has been burdened with the idea of "being right" lately. Holy Spirit has been doing a mighty work over the past couple of years to save me from this way of death. While the strength of my reactions to "wrong" ideas has mercifully waned, I still need reformation to be merciful in my responses to what seems to me inconsonant with the truth of God's story.

I talked with a barista at Starbucks a couple of months ago, and her religious approach horrified my Self of Yesteryear. She was raised a Catholic and wandered in high school and college somehow landing back in Catholicism. But her landing pad has more to do with Buddhism than anything. I think she mainly attends Mass for the beauty of the theatrics (respectfully stated).

Back in the day, I would have heard the words "today is the day of salvation" from Paul in 2 Corinthians echoing in my head as I tried to convince her that she needed to become a Christian. But I was just struck with the idea that what was bouncing around in my head was actually "right now is the time to pray the sinner's prayer."

From a more holistic perspective, Paul's statement of the fulfillment of Isaiah's prophecy is "we have reached the climax of history when God himself has come to rescue his people—indeed all of humanity—from sin and its resultant exile/estrangement and from death, the previously ultimate exile." That's how I interpret what Paul is saying in context.

But what do we do if this steals the urgency of conversion? I think my own journey away from "wrong thinking search and destroy" is a good illustration. Holy Spirit has taken his sweet time in healing me from this dysfunction. Why would I think that a conversation in an afternoon would change my life and actions? God's Spirit is active in making the practical presence of the reality of salvation present throughout the world and in people's lives. Today I trust that he will use me to gently and powerfully bring salvation in his creation, both human and not.

Seven thousand

I heard the story of Elijah's flight from Jezebel again today. The odd thing that struck me had to do with how we view the "literalness" of the Scripture text. Specifically, is God's reference to the 7,000 who have not bowed to Baal a precise number or is it a number that illustrates a point to Elijah and those who followed after him?

The exact question that popped into my head was, "Would Elijah have been more encouraged by a precise number (like a census) or by knowing that God had preserved a complete number of faithful people?" What if the text said, "I have reserved 2,863 in all Israel who have not bowed the knee to Baal"? Or "I have reserved 64,551 in all Israel who have not bowed the knee to Baal"?

I think real encouragement comes from knowing that the completeness and perfection of God's remnant has been preserved. The way this number works is 7 x 10 x 10 x 10. Seven and ten are significant in themselves, but a thousand is also important as a complete number. So 7,000 would have told Elijah, "You are not alone. I have preserved exactly the people who needed to be preserved in order to accomplish my purposes."

This gets back to the doctrinal question. Is it a lie if it's not a precise number? Or did God pick the number and then ensure that there actually were 7,000? Or is the Bible not a product of late Modernism? I've long been an "inspired, inerrant" kind of Bible guy. I still am, but I think the definitions are changing. I now tend to see the importance of the number as one that communicates best to Elijah, and in this case, it's emotionally rather than numerically.

Editorial Ponzi scheme

I was talking with an editorial colleague today about the feeling we get when we find a somewhat obscure error in a text, whether it's a newspaper article or a more permanent medium, such as a book. I think superiority is a good description. It's a cross of "How could they be so stupid/blind?" and "I'm sure glad I'm not that stupid/blind. Also, if it were profitable for me, that company should hire me."

In an experience based society, we always crave the next high, and that little charge that grammarians get when they catch a mistake can carry them for a while. It's almost like a currency, it's so valuable. But there's a problem.

Inevitably, I will miss a mistake in a manuscript I'm working on, or in my valorous editorial work, I will introduce an error. Somehow, it becomes just a mistake for me, and that's natural, and it's okay, and I'll do better next time, and really, seriously, believe me, please, I'm not stupid or incompetent.

Notice how when the paper is in my wallet, it's not currency? In the hands of the uphill editor, there's no value, but when the text is presented to another, there is suddenly opportunity for real value. But the value is not real. That person could hand the text down the line to someone who will find a different error that the previous editor insists doesn't mean much.

When dealing in a medium of exchange for commodities or services, this is criminal fraud—that only stupid people get involved with, right?

What makes it so different when we deal this way in words and ideas? I do get annoyed with the declining editorial standards in media, but I have been learning to not place a value on others' mistakes. I try to give them the benefit of the doubt that I so generously offer myself.

We should all strive for excellence, but not for the purpose of propping up insecure egos. Otherwise, absorbed in hedging our own egotistic positions, we will collectively turn out such poor quality work that we end up with zero value.

Water and bridges

I was typing an e-mail the other day, and I naturally felt the urge to combine two cliches in a unique and thought-provoking (to me) way. Okay, so, natural for me, but probably just weird to the reader and everyone else.

However, I enjoy the result of the combination, as it describes the nexus of time and event. People who obsess over personality often term themselves or others as "time-oriented" or "event-oriented." While my new not-yet-cliche doesn't deal specifically with that aspect of personality, it brings an awareness of time and an attention to the event. Yet it's also a bit carefree about time, and given the usual context of the central cliche, it gives a strange sense of preregret. After all the setup . . .

We'll cross the water going under that bridge when we come to it.