The Bible: A Love Story

I gave this sermon in 2011. I post it here in response to a Twitter exchange with @Eugene_Debs.

Here is the secular reading I used in the service. I think it’s great background.

“What Is the Bible For?” The Rev. Paige Getty

In January 1604, King James I of England convened a conference where a new English version of the Christian Bible was conceived in response to the so-called “problems” that the Puritans (a faction within the Church of England) had detected in the two earlier English translations. King James gave the translators instructions that were intended to ensure that the new version would more adequately conform to the expectations of the Church of England and its beliefs about ordained clergy. The translation was conducted by 47 scholars, whose “mandate was to improve on the earlier English Bibles — ‘to make…out of many good ones, one principall good one.’” (Freeman) All of them were members of the Church of England, and they finished their work in 1611. (Wikipedia)

Because this translation was then “appointed to be read in Churches”(Crystal 9), and has been a very popular – if not the most popular – English translation of the Bible for the past 400 years, it gets credit for introducing the Bible into common usage.

Last year a writer (David Crystal) published a book about the way the King James Bible has influenced our English language – he counts 257 common idioms (“the expressions we use and modify freely with no reference to their origins”) that can be traced to the Bible, and were popularized because of the broad exposure that people have had to the King James Bible over time. (Freeman)

“Whenever you hear phrases such as the salt of the earth, a man after our own heart, let there be light, two-edged sword, how are the mighty fallen, rod of iron, wheels within wheels, get thee behind me, Satan, new wine in old bottles, a voice crying in the wilderness, a fly in the ointment, you are hearing echoes of the prose of the KJV.” (Shaw)


The Bible: A Love Story

The Rev. Dr . Victoria Weinstein


Suppose you sat down with some friends and brought out cherished photo albums from your family’s past. There’s great-grandmother, with her handmade gown and veil, your beautiful great-grandma and her proud groom, circa 1893. Later photos show your grandfather, their son, riding a Model-T. It was the first in the family. In the photo, relatives are gathered around, beaming; some looking nervous. A guy rides a horse and cart by and the rider looks skeptically at the locomotive. You can almost hear him saying, “It will never catch on.”

Your friends, sitting next to you on the couch, give you strained smiles.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you put this all on-line?” one asks. “Then you could e-mail them to us and we could see them on the screen. It would be so much easier.” You agree that it would be, and you’ll think about it. But you love the closeness of sitting together and looking through the album in person, on the couch.

Another friend points at great-grandmother’s wedding dress. “Good God, is that handmade? What a nightmare. It’s so awful that they didn’t have the technology back then that would have spared whoever made that gown the hours of backbreaking work over those buttonholes! Women were so oppressed. It’s so sad, an arranged marriage.”

The first friend pipes up again. “Look at that old car. They were all so excited about it, but of course they had no way of knowing that the Model-T would be the beginning of the suburbanization of America and the awful, soul-killing labor of working on an assembly line. Henry Ford was such a tyrant.”

Thoroughly wounded now, your joy ruined, the images you will always find beautiful obviously not respected by these critical eyes, you put the photo album back on the shelf. You know that you will never again share them with these friends, or anyone like them.

The four-hundredth anniversary of the publication of the King James Bible this year gives me an opportunity to share with you my own feelings about this grand work of Western religion, literature and culture. As you may have guessed, the analogy of the photo album is my attempt to express to you how I feel the Good Book has been treated by too many of my best religious friends, that is, the Unitarian Universalists and other free-thinkers who cannot read it without judging it by today’s standards.

The Bible is a collection of stories, teachings, visions, recipes, love letters, declarations of despair, warnings, and blessings –  from our great-great-great and going back many many generations great grandmothers and grandfathers. It is the family album of the Western world, the lore, the poetry — the cherished artifact that shows us how our ancestors saw the world, what sense they made of it, how they saw God, how they saw their place in the cosmos — and it chronicles how that understanding changed over time.  The evolution of human understanding is in there, too. Yes, the snapshots in the Bible show a world unsophisticated, where everything is roughly hewn by human hands — including the concept of God. The images are primitive, the covenants and conflicts and concepts hard to relate to, the sociology disturbing, the psychology woefully dysfunctional.  And yet it is shot through with threads of pure gold. And the King James Version is particularly full of gold:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

My cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

We still say that in funerals today because people still request it.  For most people, there is no other version that evokes the beauty of the desire for eternal peace the way the KJV translation of the 23rd psalm does.

This family album is precious. It is yellowed with age but its wisdom has not expired. Its images and stories bind us to our past and can illuminate our present.  Job, the suffering man who cannot understand why he is so cursed.  Ruth, the immigrant worker and her immortal words to her mother-in-law as she expresses loyalty to her new land: “Entreat me not to leave thee, [or] to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people [shall be] my people, and thy God my God.” The passionate friendship of Jonathan and David. The book of Psalms, to which so many of us turned after 9/11 (I did that very day as soon as I saw the news, in fact) — the psalmist giving voice to our sense of dread and agony, our need to know that even if we were bombed that night (as those of us close to the attacks thought we might be), our souls could come to no harm:

“Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday…. Thou has made the LORD, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation. There shall no evil befall thee… For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.” (Psalm 91)

More images from the family album:

The man of Galilee, walking the lonesome road, eating a Last Supper in the upper room with his closest disciples:  “Henceforth I call you not servants, but I have called you friends.” The tripped-out apocalyptic vision of the Book of Revelation, whose images and symbolism of an empire destroyed by the wrath of God still captivates readers today, generating fodder for poets, scholars, historians, psychologists, artists, movie makers… and yes, a lot of nut jobs.

This book is old. It is archaic and cryptic and no easy read.  You should probably not go it alone if it is your first time. And yet, it is the one book I would choose to take with me to the proverbial desert island. It is my family photo album, my family being all of humankind.  It has within it the entire record of human nature — good and evil and everything in between – and of divine nature — benevolent, cruel and ultimately mysterious.  It is the most compelling, outrageous soap opera ever aired (have you ever read Genesis!?). It asks all the big questions that have ever been asked and starts the process of tackling them. The Bible is a fine companion in joy and sorrow, and it never abandons the reader who will not abandon it.  There is a character in there who is you, no matter what day or at what age you read it.  It is a treasure trove, a vast repository of human folly and wisdom.

I grew up thoroughly unacquainted with the Bible, except for those few stories that I heard in my UU Sunday School — things like Adam and Eve, and vague murmurings about Jesus now and then — and the stories that I soaked in through the wider culture: movies like “The Greatest Story Ever Told,” “The Ten Commandments,” Monty Python’s “The Life Of Brian,” or the musical “Godspell” and “Jesus Christ Superstar.” I sort of knew the Lord’s Prayer, and there was a disco version of it in 1973 that helped with that. [sings] My grandmother was outraged. If you asked me what the first phrase of the 23rd psalm was, I would have answered,  “Now I lay me down to sleep…?”

And so, ironically, by not knowing the content or the basic purpose of any of the library of books we refer to as the Bible,  I was literarily and intellectually impoverished. I could not go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art or look through art books and understand the stories recounted by hundreds of my favorite paintings. Why was that woman holding a man’s head on a plate? Who was that woman in blue weeping at the feet of that dead man on the Cross? What was that bizarre plot twist in “Pinnochio” when he gets swallowed by a whale!? Where did that come from? What did it mean?

When we read Hemingway’s The Old Man And the Sea in junior year and our teacher spent most of one lecture discussing the Christian symbolism in the novel — – and most of my schoolmates nodded knowingly and took notes, I was humiliated and felt left out and ignorant. The same thing happened with the novels of John Steinbeck the next year: I had no reference point for understanding the primal struggle that went on between the two brothers, Aaron and Caleb (standing in for Cain and Abel).  I did not know that the title East of Eden came from the Bible.  Classical music was less meaningful for me because I refused to think about the lyrics to the many oratorios, cantatas, masses and choral works I sang and loved through all my high school years. I missed the point of thousands of lines of poetry, deprived of an entire vocabulary of references that a knowledge of the Bible would have given me.  All I heard was “LORD” and “Christ” and other things I didn’t believe in. And so I closed my ears, never believing that any part of that sacred story was my inheritance.  Ignorance kept me defiant and rejecting.

I am still profoundly sorry about that vast omission in my education, which was entirely the fault of modern adults in my life who thought the Bible too primitive, ridiculous, dangerous, hateful, destructive, anti-Semitic, anti-feminist, anti-gay, anti-intellectual for me to know.  Also the fault of my Unitarian Universalist church, whose job it specifically was to acquaint me with our Biblical heritage.  I am still catching up, and I feel cheated of years of conversation and Bible study.

Who’s afraid of the big, bad Bible?

Apparently, many of us. The way religious liberals too often treat the Bible and it reminds me of that great moment in the musical “1776” when Rhode Island’s founding father Stephen Hopkins, in regards to debating the subject of independence from England, says, “Well, in all my years I ain’t never heard, seen nor smelled an issue that was so dangerous it couldn’t be talked about.”

Biblical fundamentalism has ruined the Bible for many. And I understand why. To create another analogy to go along with the photo album analogy, let’s think of the Bible as a sumptuous meal. It is filling. It is flavorful. It is spicy, and also sweet. It is ancestral food, the kind we call “soul food.” It’s mom’s best cooking. But say you go to someone’s house and they put a plate of this food down done all wrong. It’s over-cooked, dry as can be, it chokes going down your throat but they don’t allow any beverages at the dinner table. Eating becomes a form of torture. You don’t know what you did to deserve this, but your hosts keep saying, “EAT MORE! IT’S GOOD FOR YOU!”  Your eyes water, and you simply cannot eat more. It is making you seriously ill. This is not comfort food, it’s punishment food. Who can blame you for never wanting to see it on your plate again?

I cannot. So I understand those who want to avoid the Bible, but encourage them to take it up and study it within a context of liberal religious interpretation. The whole foundation of liberal religion is the freedom to interpret, and the responsibility to do so from a learned place!  So for us, that means that the Bible should be taken seriously if not literally, that it can and should be discussed, looked at in historical context, and viewed through the lens of critical (not rejecting and criticizing but critical) analysis.

It is so important that you understand our religious heritage:  I want you to know that the whole project of translating the Bible from the Latin (and the earlier Greek) into English was specifically so that it could be read by everyone, not just the clergy. So that it could be discussed, debated, taught, studied, pored over in each household and not just in the church. The whole point of the King James Bible was to make the book accessible to lay people! To think that we have, in this era, voluntarily abdicated the right to speak with authority from the Bible to the fundamentalists just breaks my heart.  When we do that, we are truly dishonoring the memory of the men and women who founded this congregation, for whom personal knowledge of Scripture was one of the absolute highest responsibilities and privileges in their lives. We are also cheating ourselves and our children of a glorious literary and spiritual inheritance.

But I don’t want you ever to read the Bible as an ammunition-gathering exercise.  The Bible is not a weapon.  Some use it that way, but that does not mean that we should.  There is no integrity in memorizing a few Bible quotes to use only as a rebuttal to the stupid, abusive uses of the Bible.  We can either refute Scriptural interpretation from a knowledgeable place or I it’s also fine to say, “I don’t agree with you, but I’m not going to argue with you.”  Pulling the sentence one likes out of the Bible to prove a point is called “proof-texting,” and it is a cheap exercise that is beneath any thinking person. You cannot win an argument with a proof-texting Biblical literalist, so I advise you to walk away if you can.

Nor is the Bible an archeological artifact to be analyzed under a microscope as if it had no deeper use than to establish whether or not the events and people recorded in it are historically real before its stories can be deemed worthy of reading and taking seriously. That is the surest way to kill the imaginative power of the Bible, and I neither respect nor encourage that method  of Bible study — which I consider not so much study as vivisection.  The Good Book will never yield up its wisdom to the reader who examines it clinically with scalpel in hand.

The Bible is a scrapbook of letters and photos compiled by the generations, including some photographs of immoral, hateful relatives you don’t want to know, and some letters from grandfathers and grandmothers whose house you would never want to visit.  True to its comprehensive nature, the book is embraced by all different kinds of members of the family, and for different reasons. There’s no reason to let the mean, hateful aunts and uncles have total possession of it, and we have let them hog it for way too long in this generation. I think we need to march over to their house and take it back so that our own children can see the pictures and know the stories, and we can help them understand what it means and how we see it, and they can grow to love the whole of it and feel that it belongs to them.

“Did this stuff really happen?” your children will ask as you sit on the couch and turns its pages together. And you can respond, “That actually doesn’t matter in the least. What matters is that people a long time ago cared enough about this story that they were willing to make huge sacrifices and even die so that you could hear it. They wanted so much for you to hear it, not to wonder whether these things actually happened or not, but so that these stories would change your heart. So let’s take a look at them, and see what we can find together.”

As great-great-great-great-great-and-going-back many generations great-uncle Paul wrote to the community at Philippi, according to the King James Version of this beloved letter,

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

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This Is What Church Does: Ministry As A Lifestyle

This lovely video of a beautiful, young engaged couple being aged by make-up artists and revealing themselves to each other is going viral. Take a look.

A few things to think about in terms of our earlier conversation about the function and purpose of the Church as it morphs, evolves and dies in its current building-based, institutional form.

First, while the majority of viewers of this video see this clip in personal terms (emotional, touching, romantic, a love to aspire to, etc.), I see it in ministerial terms. My first thought was, “If this couple isn’t a pair of actors, they seem eminently ready to marry. Blessings on them.”

Thinking ministerially is different from thinking romantically or individually; it is a mindset that laity and clergy alike share when they are steeped in a lifestyle that constantly keeps before them the presence of Death in the midst of life. This is what church does. We observe the sacred moments of life’s passage and our covenantal commitments ostensibly bind us to each other in community even as we individually (or two by two) marry, welcome and bless children, suffer the inevitable greater and lesser losses of time together, and then hold each other in care until death comes. And when it does, we say the customary prayers and give thanks to God/Life and incine ourselves toward the consolations of memory and the promise of eternal life (for many UUs, not so much eternal life in heaven as a “shining name” in the shared memory of the community and a spiritual existence beyond our comprehension or imagining).

What other community is going to deal with mortality and death the way the church does? Nope. Not going to happen. You know why? Most other communities have a product to sell or a lifestyle to promote that promises good looks, better health, more popularity or legacy-making that conveniently skips around the inevitability of death. We in the church, well, we hang out with Death all day and we’re very comfortable with it. I didn’t shed a tear while watching the couple in the video because I have a front row seat to the ravages of time. I could only affectionately wish them strength for whatever fate has in store for them. “God, prepare us for what thou art preparing us.”

The lens of ministry is what we must prepare to bring to the world whether or not we meet in buildings or attend Sunday worship together — although in my heart of hearts I want always to be able to do that. I still believe that corporate worship is essential to the teaching of ministry as a lifestyle, which is what I believe the legacy of the church is and must be.  When we speak as Unitarian Universalists of Standing On The Side Of Love, I always translate that to mean ministry as a lifestyle and way of showing up (I am not a fan of slogans and suspect that SOSL will soon begin to sound as dated to many ears as it already does to mine).

Be that as it may…

My chief observation about the couple in this video is that they regard each other with compassion even when revealed in subsequently older versions of themselves. At no time do they laugh at or mock one another, or use sarcasm meanly to comment on the ravages of time. This orientation of kindness and tender regard is what the church can teach, and does teach by the simple fact of being one of the only natural multi-generational points of intersection in our culture. When elderly people are your friends and mentors, it is harder to objectify and dismiss them as sad, shuffling figures. The multigenerational nature of congregational life is something that must continue however the church convenes itself in its new, more sustainable forms.

I did not expect the young couple in the video to have Big Issues on their minds when they entered into the aging experiment, but it did occur to me as they considered the years to come that they were thinking in purely personal terms.I wondered what seventy years would reveal not only in the faces of this couple, but in society as a whole.  This is also what Church does: it orients the individual away from thoughts of self- survival and happiness and toward the well-being of the wider community and world. No couple preparing to wed in a month should be thinking about social unrest or climate change or the precarious future of their children — but there it is. By the time this couple develops bushy eyebrows and sagging chins, will we have less poverty, a much smaller prison population, a stronger or weaker infrastructure, better or worse public transportation, affordable housing for more people? Will the children this beautiful couple assumes and hopes will be born to them be able to afford higher education? Will black lives finally matter by then? Will the oligarchs still own Congress? Or will the Supreme Court have decided that, in fact, corporations are not people?

This is what the Church does. It says that “my liberation is bound up with yours” and sees many faces when it looks into the eyes of the Beloved.  The Church exists to train us to see the faces of many we would otherwise not see — to choose not to see, even to reject or turn away from in revulsion — when we look into the eyes of the Beloved.

In a culture that still conceptualizes big thobbing heart LOVE as a phenomenon between two people, the Church (or “organized religion,” if you like), represents, teaches and promotes a lifestyle that regards heartthrob-style love in communal terms. God loves us first, and we love in response. We’ll never look as sexy and appealing when we incarnate this love as does this sweet, young, beautiful, white, heterosexual couple out of Central Casting, but the power of what we do, and what we are, and how we love will more than make up for that.


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What Happens to Worshipers When The Traditional Church Closes Its Doors

It’s late and I’m not going to have time to flesh this post out to the extent that I’d like to, but I do want to get something down because I haven’t blogged here in way too long and I’m feeling mightily burdened by the massive unhappiness around me in the Unitarian Universalist ministry.

I want to say right up front that my blogging about church matters is never a passive aggressive way to complain about my own congregational work, so please do not try to read between lines. You’d be amazed how much projection goes on with bloggers. Whenever I make oblique references in posts, commenters inevitably assume they’re blind items about my own life.

This is about the misery I am hearing pouring out all around me from all regions of the country where ministers are scrambling to adapt to the seismic quakes in religious and congregational life.

Seminaries are imploding. There have been cataclysmic conflicts or scandals at Starr King School For the Ministry, Andover Newton Theological School and other, non-UU seminaries.

Unitarian Universalist seminarians have just learned that an important component of their formation process has been de-funded.

UU districts are merging into regions. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it requires nimbleness and a lot of effort. The UUA has cut staff following a major budget shortfall in 2014.

Congregations are likewise running out of money.

Ministers are exhausted from living in the old way of doing church (leading worship, supervising staff, attending to the pastoral care of the church, creating and leading programming, representing Unitarian Universalism in the wider community) while groping toward new ways of being church (becoming part of the missional movement, using social media, meeting social justice demands that are urgent and critical, managing administrative shifts around hiring/firing staff for doing church in the new way).

If you’re not an insider, 90% of these references won’t mean anything to you. You probably have no idea what I’m talking about (“missional church? Huh?”).

Because everything is changing so fast, even those of us in the profession can’t keep up with the framework, the lingo or the expectations.  The fancy name for all of this is adaptive leadership, which is a nice way of saying that we’re all running like Indiana Jones a few yards ahead of the boulder of cultural change that threatens to flatten us at any moment.

It is obvious that for those in non-conservative religious majority regions, Sunday morning worship can no longer be the main focus for getting newcomers through the door, let alone be the program by which they integrate into the life of the congregation and eventually join the church.

Except, wait! All of our existing programs and models for church vitality and growth make that now-erroneous assumption, so we’re simultaneously watching the trends change, observing the decline in our numbers, grieving the loss of numbers and volunteer energy, and trying to figure out — while trying to stay out in front of the boulder — what new models will work to create community. Pub theology? Parenting groups? Doing away altogether with the concept of church membership in favor of something else? What something else?

Not incidentally, tbe congregational polity of the UUA member congregations relies on traditional concepts of church membership in order to function. Voting members — defined how, now?  – elect officers, call ministers, often vote on the budget, and serve on boards and committees of the board. Some congregations are paralyzed by their own bylaws which require a quorum or minimum number of voting members present for even the revision of the old by-laws! You can’t make this stuff up.

Did I mention volunteers? The concept of volunteering is also changing radically as patterns of participation change completely from what they were a couple of decades ago. The percentage of younger newer people to our congregations who have any experience with church life is low, and the workings of the organization seem obtuse to the unchurched (can’t say I blame them). Attempts to change organizational structure to simplify and facilitate involvement create anxiety in the system and it may take years for leaders to do the relationship work necessary to implement new structures.

Ministers report rampant dysfunction and abuse — years of struggle to establish basic boundaries with mentally ill or abusive members, angry push-back against attempts to do anti-racism work with the congregation, triangulating and betrayal between clergy or lay staff, clergy sexual or emotional misconduct never properly dealt with by previous colleagues, fiduciary bullying amounting to paychecks being withheld or salaries arbitrarily cut mid-year, unreasonable and even conflicting expectations of ministers demanded by 100+ “bosses,” all of whom feel entitled to direct the minister’s priorities, and general chaos. Secret board meetings, ministers resigning mid-year or being forced out.

I hope you didn’t read this far hoping for a solution.

I don’t have any.

Nor do I have hope that everything is going to work out for the best — not in the traditional sense, anyway, where “the best” is defined as some version of the current status quo.

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Posted in Mind of the Minister, The Church, Theological Reflection, Unitarian Universalism | 9 Comments