HOW TO PREACH A PARABLE
By Eugene L. Lowry
Abingdon Press, 1989, 173 pages
ISBN 0-687-17924-6
If you are going to read one book on preaching, read “How To Preach a Parable”, by Eugene Lowry, and wear it out reading it over and over again. Granted, I have not read a great many preaching books, but it is hard to imagine how one could top this one.
The format of the book is most helpful. There is a short section that either introduces, or reminds the reader (depending on their prior experience), of Lowry’s narrative method. Narrative preaching, in Lowry’s fashion, is not merely “telling a story”. There are many possible variables, but the theory is that a good sermon will have a plot that works like a story from beginning to end. After the preliminary issues are dealt with, Lowry offers four sermons from four preachers, and analyzes each one. Within the entire book there are a great many pearls, and I shall try to pick out a few to whet your appetite.
Lowry first encourages the preacher to slow down. “Our intention to plan a sermon (emphasis original) is commendable- and inevitable, for Sunday is fast approaching. Yet our task at this early moment in the preparation process should be to set aside our intentionality in favor of the possibility of inadvertent surprise.” (p. 32) what Lowry is arguing against is imposing our agenda on scripture, and he offers a few ways to avoid it. 1) Read the text out loud, several translations. 2) Look for trouble- what doesn’t seem to fit? What raises your eyebrows? What seems “weird”? This places the preacher in the position of investigator rather than explainer.
The four “designs” that Lowry goes on to analyze are: Running the Story, Delaying the Story, Suspending the Story, and Alternating the Story. Each section features a sermon that illustrates the method, and then Lowry helps the reader to see how the sermon achieved its goal, and how to possibly begin doing that yourself.
Running the Story featured a great sermon by Dennis Willis, “Noah was a Good Man.” I liked this sermon so much that I wanted to find out who Willis was (Lowry tells us that he is deceased), so I searched on the Internet for him, but only found a few references to this sermon in this book. Presumably, he preached other great sermons, somewhere. This sermon is as close as the book comes to the stereotypical narrative sermon, one story from beginning to end, but even this story steps out of that mold at one point, briefly. I like how Lowry describes Willis as a “painter” who leads listener to a spot where he is free to paint what he (the preacher) wants to paint “Because art of all kinds has the potential of grasping us rather than being grasped as ideational material.” (p. 62) Now you see that the point of being open to “inadvertent surprise” early on the process is carried out from beginning to end, so it is always the gospel that grasps us, and not the other way around. Perhaps, though, the most important point that Lowry draws form this sermon is the movement from indicative to imperative. In Lowry’s understanding throughout the book, the imperative (what WE need to do) is always made possible by the indicative (what the gospel has made POSSIBLE for us to do). All the examples, beginning with Willis, do this quickly and by surprise, grasping the hearer.
Delaying the Story features a sermon by Leander Keck, Academic Dean at Yale, from the time when he was a professor at Candler. It is a sermon on Mark’s account of the feeding of 5,000, delivered in a seminary chapel. As with all four of the sermons, Lowry asks the reader to read it aloud. Thus, one can “hear” the sermon the way it really WOULD be heard. Since I do most of my reading in the local café, I did not do this (but maybe I should have!). One of the points, though, is that reading something on print enables us to go back and check things that we can’t do when we are listening to something said. We need to write sermons so that they will work for listening, not for reading.
Keck actually delays the reading of the text until part way through the sermon, and by that time he has already taken the position of the protagonists in the text (something that is often a great technique), the flabbergasted disciples. Keck’s sermon gives some tiny but powerful examples of dealing with exegetical questions- “and now he takes those loaves and fishes and says the blessing and divides them just as any Jewish father would do at home…” Lowry notes how Keck “fits (contextual information) into the sweep of the action” (p. 97). But more importantly, Keck leads the listeners AWAY from another exegetical question. I’ll quote Keck, preceded and followed by Lowry’s comment:
“More important, he doesn’t actually say the crowd was fed. He knows we will say it to ourselves. But in the next paragraph it will be assumed, as he asks, ‘How?’
‘Now our curiosity is strained. We want to know how Jesus did it. But curiosity goes hungry while the crowd is fed. Mark wants us to see the people, not the loaves. The crowd has more than enough to eat, and there were twelve baskets of leftovers. And don’t ask where they got the baskets either!’
Once again Keck is faced with the same old question…about miracle. Again, he doesn’t want us to go on a detour…he utilizes the story’s own imagery in noting that ‘curiosity goes hungry.” (p. 97)
The other thing that was helpful in Lowry’s commentary is that he points out how Keck used other examples from scripture to show how God’s transforming power is always at work. The feeding of the 5000 was not an isolated case. But the sermon ends in such a way those those who walk away would not overtly be praising the preacher, but rather, the God who was proclaimed. Says Lowry, “The point is that our inadequacies, if solved by the evocation of the sermon, are solved by the power of Christ’s blessing. Nothing less can be any sermon’s purpose.” (p. 113)
Suspending the Story featured one of Lowry’s own sermons, a sermon on the laborers in the vineyard. Lowry introduces the chapter this way: “This sermon will begin inside the text, run into a problem, and hence require the telling of the story to be suspended while another text provides a way out of the dilemma. Once accomplished, the sermonic process moves back to the central text for the completion of the message.” (p. 115) There were some really good suggestions here regarding lateral moves within the sermon, but perhaps the most helpful thing that Lowry offered was not uniquely connected to this form, and that was the issue of questioning the text.
“…There comes great relief for many people when a preacher ‘dares’ to ask what they have always wanted to ask. Moreover, there are many in most congregations who are close to illiterate about the Bible who can be helped by this procedure. Certainly, one defense against having to ever read the Bible is the presumed attitude that people who have read it are precisely those who do not question it. This misplaced ‘respect’ has contributed to the next generation’s ignorance- at least I have found it so in some congregations I have served. After all, if you don’t read it, you won’t know what you ought to believe and don’t. My experience is that sermons that include such questioning are the ones that tend to draw the greatest amount of substantive comments after the service.” (p. 137)
But back to the sermon, questioning the text in the sermon serves the purpose of helping the listener investigate along with the preacher. It should be noted, however, that Lowry insists that if the preacher cannot find a way out of his questions, he or she should not use the text. “The sermon must find a way out of the apparent dilemma.” (p. 138)
In the weeks since I read this book, I have tried several of its techniques. My attempts have been rather crude, compared to the examples Lowry supplied, especially so my “questioning” of the text. But, like Lowry, I found it was appreciated.
The final form, Alternating the Story, begins with a sermon by Fred Craddock. And it was here that, in my opinion, Lowry is at his pedagogical best. Craddock is a genius, and Lowry knows it. He knows that we are likely to read Craddock, say, “I wish I could preach like that,” and then go back to preaching the way we do. But Lowry offers ways to LEARN to do what Craddock does.
One of the most prominent features of Craddock sermons are freely created stories. Lowry talks about how this technique serves the sermon, but “There is another, perhaps more important, purpose for preachers attempting such freely invented stories. Such recreations will open the mind of the preacher. I suggest their use even if the final result is not good enough to be included in the finished sermon. Before the shock of recognition can occur for listeners, it needs to occur for the preacher. Freely invented stories often promote that shock.” (p. 167)
In another section, Lowry marvels at Craddock’s choice of words, in this case “rearranging the dust” (referring to a struggling farmer in a bad year). First, he notes that adjectives and adverbs are modifiers, and “most of us are not greatly impacted by an alteration. We are impacted by a radically new and different image. To do that, one needs the power of nouns and verbs” (p. 163). With regard to Craddock’s genius, Lowry says, “We may think the result of our efforts a bit feeble in comparison. But the proper comparison is not with anyone else; the proper comparison is between how we do things now and how we might do things…Find another term for the usual one, then find another context for the new term, and then find a phrase associated with that other context” (p. 164)
But I would like to add a thought, and I add it because Lowry was so enamored with “rearranging the dust”. I don’t know much about Lowry’s background, but I do know that some of Craddock’s early preaching was in Oklahoma. So I suggest that Craddock may be a good listener. Not in the east, but In Kansas, during times when crops AND prices were good (a long time ago), I heard farmers repeat the phrase “playing in the dirt”. Listen to what people are saying. We have a way of coining our own phrases. Listen, and it is not too hard to move from “playing in the dirt” in good times, to “rearranging the dust” in bad times.
“When listeners begin to believe the preacher knows them better than they know themselves, a kind of communion emerges…when (Craddock) said: ‘Let me tell you a story.’ Who would say no?” (p. 170).
Not me!
George R. Pasley
September 23, 2002
Thursday, August 7, 2008
THE HOMILETICAL PLOT
THE HOMILETICAL PLOT
The Sermon as Narrative Art Form, Expanded Edition
By Eugene L. Lowry
Louisville, Westminster John Knox Press, 2001
When I recently read Adam Hamilton’s “Leading Beyond the Walls,” I was intrigued by a statement he made regarding preaching: “Finally (after developing series topics and sermon titles), I outline each sermon, beginning with the human condition, moving to possible scriptures that might speak to this condition and any theological concepts that have bearing on it.” (“Leading Beyond the Walls,” p. 92)
I was intrigued, but not convinced. While I appreciate the value of such a utilitarian approach, I had reservations about the way such an approach could fully illumine the experience of God’s grace. Now granted, I have not HEARD Hamilton preach, but what I read reminded me too much of some of the sermons I read in a couple magazines I no longer subscribe too- all about ethics and morality and practical living, and not enough about the Kingdom of God. My own approach is to begin with scripture, identify the human condition that it addresses (context), and then proceed.
I was therefore much excited when I began reading Lowry’s book. He begins by artfully describing his struggles with general notions of sermon construction, and notes what I was taught and believe to be true: “The sermon has its roots in the truth of the gospel which indeed has a life of its own. Our task is the same as that of any artist whose act of discovery…is to ‘extricate the import and order of his experience and body it forth in language’” (p. 10).
He then proceeds to the question of how to move to a genuine sermon idea.
“Some will reply: A theme or topic. Others will reply: A problem or a felt need…Both kinds of replies are correct- but something is missing. The first reply concentrates on the substance of the sermon, the central message to be preached. But if this is the central priority in our sermon preparation we will tend to produce lecture-type sermons which are strong in content but weak in establishing contact with our congregation. If we follow the advice of the second kind of reply…we likely will establish quick rapport with the listeners but be weak in content” (p. 17).
Then he described his current (now classic) process, which I found amusing because it SEEMS haphazard AND seems to much like my own process, which seems all to unorganized to me: “I mean quite literally that I take my jumble of notes and divide them into two stacks on my desk- the one with problem notes, and the other with theme or answer notes. Then I try to link thoughts from one stack of ideas with the other until a relational gestalt happens” (p. 18).
Lowry then makes the conclusion that delighted me:
“It is not enough to probe the question of WHAT the text is saying. It is equally important to discover WHY it is saying what it says. The question of WHY is most often the context for the transition into homiletical form. Every explicit theme presumes an implicit problem; every explicit problem presumes an implicit theme. When this does not hold, there is no sermon.” (p. 19)
Now this reminded me of the lesson Bob Culp taught me when I came home to preach (from seminary my junior year), and what I was taught one year later: The introduction of a sermon should make “a promise”, that is, ask a question that will be answered by the end of the sermon. Which is what Lowry does with “the homiletical plot.”
I remember well the discussion of Lowry’s method in class, and that is why I bought the current edition of the book. I believe the book was on a list of books we were given, of which we had to read one or two and write on them. I did not read it then, but it was well worth the read now, 5 years into my career.
In Lowry’s method, once the sermon idea is “discovered”, the sermon functions as a narrative, even if it is not A narrative. In other words, it has a plot. There are several keys to this, and I will list them briefly.
First, start with ambiguity- often called “discrepancy” or “homiletical bind” or even “upsetting the equilibrium.” Sometimes this is done for the preacher by the context of the sermon- for instance, sermons preached on September 16, 2002, hardly needed to begin by upsetting the equilibrium. It was already upset.
“Foster-Harris in “The Basic Patterns of Plot” advises that ‘just as a good fiction story is always a parable, so a correct fictional plot, the map of the story, must contain a problem, the solution, and the answer.’ Likewise a sermon in its essential form is a premeditated plot which has as its key ingredient a sensed discrepancy, a homiletical bind.” (p. 20)
Second, do not answer the discrepancy until the end. Hold the tension in the story- do not “tell them what you are going to tell them, tell them, and then tell them what you told them.” The key point here is to let the listeners discover the answer along with you. Lowry calls this “diagnosis," and suggests going down a few dead-end streets in the sermon before finally reaching the desired destination. All those notes on your memo pad that are scratched off as you think theologically through the sermon include them for the congregation’s benefit. Lowry says this differs from “description”: “What is missing is depth- a probing into the causative ingredients responsible for the situation.” (p. 43) Later, he gives his reasons: The purpose…is not simply for a resolution to be reached but also for a READINESS FOR RESOLUTION to be developed.” (p. 51, emphasis Lowry’s)
Third, the part I remember most from my seminary class, the “AHA” moment, or “disclosing the clue to resolution.” The part that I either forgot or missed, but appreciated reading, was “the principle of reversal,” (and I will tell why in just a moment). Lowry first illustrates the principle as seen in jokes, literature, and movies. The example he used is “High Noon,” but I think my generation would see it clearly in “The Sting.” “This sudden reversal in preaching comes as the clue to resolution reverses the train of diagnostic thought. The resultant shock does not come in the form of humor, but in the form of release by means of sudden illumination of the homiletical puzzle.” (p. 57)
Lowry gives several biblical examples of reversal- all of the parables, for instance, and the sacrifice of Isaac. But then he makes the point that was “Aha!” for me:
“What is being alleged here is not that Paul, Jesus, and the writer of the Abraham story necessarily intended to utilize the principle of reversal, obviously; it is that there seems to be a common thread of narrative plot procedure which in fact constitutes what can be labeled the principle of reversal…Moreover, the principle of reversal which occasions the homiletical “aha” is more than just a literary device or good strategy- although it is that. I believe it has its roots in the gospel itself. To claim that the preached Word ‘is a stumbling block to Jews and a folly to Gentiles’ surely is to suggest that there is something about the Gospel which is upside down to the world’s way of viewing truth.” (p. 70)
I hope that Lowry tossed and turned on his bed for hours before arriving at that discovery- it is too great to have been reached by an easy method!
Lowry not only offers this discovery, he offers methods of reaching it week after week. Using the teaching tool of a connect-the-dot puzzle with a “trick” answer, he concludes “The peculiar talent of the puzzlemaker (a rather sadistic one at that) is the talent of “helping” us to make the wrong assumption…Except by good luck only by CONSCIOUSLY QUESTIONING our assumptions can we begin the process of extrication and resolution.” (p. 61) Of course, this rang a bell in my recent memory of the book I read by Douglass John Hall, in which that author claimed that thinking theologically- and teaching congregations to do so- was the greatest task of preachers in the post-Christendom era. To me, thinking theologically- and questioning culture critically- is the same as “consciously questioning our assumptions.”
Lowry, however, notes another truth. “The reason that flashes of insight come when one is not looking is that our cognitive ruts lose their tenacious hold upon us when our mind is occupied with other things or begins to drift as we go to sleep. Hence, the unthinkable thought (generally inverted from common sense) has a chance to break through.” And this reminded me of Brueggemann, reminding us to “make room for otherwise,” by telling us that Thomas Kuhn’s work argues “scientific learning does not advance incrementally by the steady accumulation of data, but by the emergence of new interpretive paradigms that drastically rearrange data.” (“Testimony to Otherwise,” p. 31)
So what is Lowry’s practical suggestion? “So too, the expertise of the homilist may produce blinders preventing resolution of an issue. In many cases crucial diagnostic resolution will come only by reversing the particular assumption.” (p. 62)
Fourth (the method does not end with “Aha!”), is what Lowry calls “experiencing the gospel.” This is not the same as reversal- reversal was the “clue” that enables us to hear and experience the gospel. Experiencing the gospel is seeing- and being- in the place where problem intersects proclamation. Lowry views “the gospel as continuous with human experience AFTER human experience has been turned upside down.” (p. 79)
And Fifth, anticipating the consequences. This is the “Now what do we do? stage.” Particularly helpful was an explanation drawn from the work of behavioral change theorist Kurt Lewin:” Believing that any static state is a balance of tensions on either side of the status quo, Lewin states that change can be achieved by two means: first to increase tension (pressure) from “behind” the static state in the direction of the desired change, or second, to diminish tension (pressure) which exists between the static state and the desired change.” (p. 84)
Lowry uses different words to say it, but essentially the gospel- by turning life upside down- “diminishes tension which exists between the static state and desired change.” And so the Kingdom of God comes. Amen.
George R. Pasley
June 28, 2002
The Sermon as Narrative Art Form, Expanded Edition
By Eugene L. Lowry
Louisville, Westminster John Knox Press, 2001
When I recently read Adam Hamilton’s “Leading Beyond the Walls,” I was intrigued by a statement he made regarding preaching: “Finally (after developing series topics and sermon titles), I outline each sermon, beginning with the human condition, moving to possible scriptures that might speak to this condition and any theological concepts that have bearing on it.” (“Leading Beyond the Walls,” p. 92)
I was intrigued, but not convinced. While I appreciate the value of such a utilitarian approach, I had reservations about the way such an approach could fully illumine the experience of God’s grace. Now granted, I have not HEARD Hamilton preach, but what I read reminded me too much of some of the sermons I read in a couple magazines I no longer subscribe too- all about ethics and morality and practical living, and not enough about the Kingdom of God. My own approach is to begin with scripture, identify the human condition that it addresses (context), and then proceed.
I was therefore much excited when I began reading Lowry’s book. He begins by artfully describing his struggles with general notions of sermon construction, and notes what I was taught and believe to be true: “The sermon has its roots in the truth of the gospel which indeed has a life of its own. Our task is the same as that of any artist whose act of discovery…is to ‘extricate the import and order of his experience and body it forth in language’” (p. 10).
He then proceeds to the question of how to move to a genuine sermon idea.
“Some will reply: A theme or topic. Others will reply: A problem or a felt need…Both kinds of replies are correct- but something is missing. The first reply concentrates on the substance of the sermon, the central message to be preached. But if this is the central priority in our sermon preparation we will tend to produce lecture-type sermons which are strong in content but weak in establishing contact with our congregation. If we follow the advice of the second kind of reply…we likely will establish quick rapport with the listeners but be weak in content” (p. 17).
Then he described his current (now classic) process, which I found amusing because it SEEMS haphazard AND seems to much like my own process, which seems all to unorganized to me: “I mean quite literally that I take my jumble of notes and divide them into two stacks on my desk- the one with problem notes, and the other with theme or answer notes. Then I try to link thoughts from one stack of ideas with the other until a relational gestalt happens” (p. 18).
Lowry then makes the conclusion that delighted me:
“It is not enough to probe the question of WHAT the text is saying. It is equally important to discover WHY it is saying what it says. The question of WHY is most often the context for the transition into homiletical form. Every explicit theme presumes an implicit problem; every explicit problem presumes an implicit theme. When this does not hold, there is no sermon.” (p. 19)
Now this reminded me of the lesson Bob Culp taught me when I came home to preach (from seminary my junior year), and what I was taught one year later: The introduction of a sermon should make “a promise”, that is, ask a question that will be answered by the end of the sermon. Which is what Lowry does with “the homiletical plot.”
I remember well the discussion of Lowry’s method in class, and that is why I bought the current edition of the book. I believe the book was on a list of books we were given, of which we had to read one or two and write on them. I did not read it then, but it was well worth the read now, 5 years into my career.
In Lowry’s method, once the sermon idea is “discovered”, the sermon functions as a narrative, even if it is not A narrative. In other words, it has a plot. There are several keys to this, and I will list them briefly.
First, start with ambiguity- often called “discrepancy” or “homiletical bind” or even “upsetting the equilibrium.” Sometimes this is done for the preacher by the context of the sermon- for instance, sermons preached on September 16, 2002, hardly needed to begin by upsetting the equilibrium. It was already upset.
“Foster-Harris in “The Basic Patterns of Plot” advises that ‘just as a good fiction story is always a parable, so a correct fictional plot, the map of the story, must contain a problem, the solution, and the answer.’ Likewise a sermon in its essential form is a premeditated plot which has as its key ingredient a sensed discrepancy, a homiletical bind.” (p. 20)
Second, do not answer the discrepancy until the end. Hold the tension in the story- do not “tell them what you are going to tell them, tell them, and then tell them what you told them.” The key point here is to let the listeners discover the answer along with you. Lowry calls this “diagnosis," and suggests going down a few dead-end streets in the sermon before finally reaching the desired destination. All those notes on your memo pad that are scratched off as you think theologically through the sermon include them for the congregation’s benefit. Lowry says this differs from “description”: “What is missing is depth- a probing into the causative ingredients responsible for the situation.” (p. 43) Later, he gives his reasons: The purpose…is not simply for a resolution to be reached but also for a READINESS FOR RESOLUTION to be developed.” (p. 51, emphasis Lowry’s)
Third, the part I remember most from my seminary class, the “AHA” moment, or “disclosing the clue to resolution.” The part that I either forgot or missed, but appreciated reading, was “the principle of reversal,” (and I will tell why in just a moment). Lowry first illustrates the principle as seen in jokes, literature, and movies. The example he used is “High Noon,” but I think my generation would see it clearly in “The Sting.” “This sudden reversal in preaching comes as the clue to resolution reverses the train of diagnostic thought. The resultant shock does not come in the form of humor, but in the form of release by means of sudden illumination of the homiletical puzzle.” (p. 57)
Lowry gives several biblical examples of reversal- all of the parables, for instance, and the sacrifice of Isaac. But then he makes the point that was “Aha!” for me:
“What is being alleged here is not that Paul, Jesus, and the writer of the Abraham story necessarily intended to utilize the principle of reversal, obviously; it is that there seems to be a common thread of narrative plot procedure which in fact constitutes what can be labeled the principle of reversal…Moreover, the principle of reversal which occasions the homiletical “aha” is more than just a literary device or good strategy- although it is that. I believe it has its roots in the gospel itself. To claim that the preached Word ‘is a stumbling block to Jews and a folly to Gentiles’ surely is to suggest that there is something about the Gospel which is upside down to the world’s way of viewing truth.” (p. 70)
I hope that Lowry tossed and turned on his bed for hours before arriving at that discovery- it is too great to have been reached by an easy method!
Lowry not only offers this discovery, he offers methods of reaching it week after week. Using the teaching tool of a connect-the-dot puzzle with a “trick” answer, he concludes “The peculiar talent of the puzzlemaker (a rather sadistic one at that) is the talent of “helping” us to make the wrong assumption…Except by good luck only by CONSCIOUSLY QUESTIONING our assumptions can we begin the process of extrication and resolution.” (p. 61) Of course, this rang a bell in my recent memory of the book I read by Douglass John Hall, in which that author claimed that thinking theologically- and teaching congregations to do so- was the greatest task of preachers in the post-Christendom era. To me, thinking theologically- and questioning culture critically- is the same as “consciously questioning our assumptions.”
Lowry, however, notes another truth. “The reason that flashes of insight come when one is not looking is that our cognitive ruts lose their tenacious hold upon us when our mind is occupied with other things or begins to drift as we go to sleep. Hence, the unthinkable thought (generally inverted from common sense) has a chance to break through.” And this reminded me of Brueggemann, reminding us to “make room for otherwise,” by telling us that Thomas Kuhn’s work argues “scientific learning does not advance incrementally by the steady accumulation of data, but by the emergence of new interpretive paradigms that drastically rearrange data.” (“Testimony to Otherwise,” p. 31)
So what is Lowry’s practical suggestion? “So too, the expertise of the homilist may produce blinders preventing resolution of an issue. In many cases crucial diagnostic resolution will come only by reversing the particular assumption.” (p. 62)
Fourth (the method does not end with “Aha!”), is what Lowry calls “experiencing the gospel.” This is not the same as reversal- reversal was the “clue” that enables us to hear and experience the gospel. Experiencing the gospel is seeing- and being- in the place where problem intersects proclamation. Lowry views “the gospel as continuous with human experience AFTER human experience has been turned upside down.” (p. 79)
And Fifth, anticipating the consequences. This is the “Now what do we do? stage.” Particularly helpful was an explanation drawn from the work of behavioral change theorist Kurt Lewin:” Believing that any static state is a balance of tensions on either side of the status quo, Lewin states that change can be achieved by two means: first to increase tension (pressure) from “behind” the static state in the direction of the desired change, or second, to diminish tension (pressure) which exists between the static state and the desired change.” (p. 84)
Lowry uses different words to say it, but essentially the gospel- by turning life upside down- “diminishes tension which exists between the static state and desired change.” And so the Kingdom of God comes. Amen.
George R. Pasley
June 28, 2002
THEN THE WHISPER PUT ON FLESH
THEN THE WHISPER PUT ON FLESH
New Testament Ethics in an African American Context
By Brian K. Blount
Abingdon Press, 2001. 232 pp.
ISBN #0-687-08589-6
Some weeks ago I found in my library a mostly unread copy of James Cone’s “God of the Oppressed”, published more than twenty years ago. I read it thoroughly, making many notes. It was at once engaging and provocative, hopeful and polemic. Cone, who is still professor of Theology at New York’s Union Seminary, is African American, and wrote his theology strictly from a liberation prospective.
I next found on my shelf a smaller volume, completely unread, by Wendell Berry: “The Hidden Wound,” written just a few years earlier than Cone’s volume, during a time of social unrest. The opening historical narrative by Berry, a white man, did better than anything I have ever read or heard to explain the systemic nature of racism. Berry sought to identify a wound deeper than racism in our society, the separation of humans from labor and from the soil, and argued that racism was one result of that separation.
I then chanced upon in a bookstore a contemporary volume by one of my own seminary professors, Brian K. Blount. Since I had so recently read two books dealing with experience of Black Americans, the title of Blount’s book caught my eye, and I bought it: “Then the Whisper Put on Flesh: New Testament Ethics in an African American Context”.
Blount’s work has a slightly different focus than Cone’s. It is more exegetical in nature, and less argumentative. Cone wrote that liberation was the necessary foundation for theology, saying “What has the gospel to do with the oppressed of the land and their struggle for liberation? Any theologian who fails to place that question at the center of his or her work has ignored the essence of the gospel” (Cone, introduction, p. 9). His argument was that theological discourse was not ONLY universal, but also particular, and that the experience of his people was a fundamental tool in theology. What I found provocative, but did not necessarily disagree with, was his insistence upon doing theology from that particular perspective.
Like Cone, Blount argues “that the Bible has always been read through the experiences of the people holding it. The meaning they draw and the ethics they build are directly related to the lives they lead. It is no wonder that for a people in slavery and yearning to be free that the Bible would mean and encourage liberation” (p. 15). Blount differs from Cone, however, in his acknowledgment of other lens for reading the Bible, even within the African American tradition (p. 50).
The focus of Blount’s work then shifts from Cone, as Blount then begins to do the work that Cone argued needed to be done: using the lens of African American history, and his exegetical skills, he interprets the New Testament from a liberation perspective. There is a separate chapter for the Synoptic Gospels, one for John, one for the letters of Paul, and one for Revelation. This was clearly different from Cone, for I noticed very early in Cone’s work that there was practically nothing in his use of the New Testament outside of the synoptics.
What made this book come to life for me were Blount’s numerous descriptions of actual encounters of slave communities with the texts.
The synoptics are where Blount begins, and where he finds his easiest going. But what makes the book valuable to the preacher, and especially to me, a white preacher, are the other chapters. Even from a non-liberation perspective, I find John difficult to preach, but Blount offers some exciting possibilities.
Briefly, Blount describes the ethics of the synoptics as “Kingdom Ethics,” each with a slightly different twist: Mark as boundary breaking, Matthew as “visual institution”, and Luke as “ethics of reversal.” I found personally interesting his view of Matthew’s ethics defined as “an identifiable, alternative worship community in an environment he believed was hostile to its reconfiguration of the faith of God’s people” (p. 64). I find this personally interesting because of the thought I have been giving to the manner in which preaching forms community, and especially “alternative community.” There is much in Blount’s work that gives me something to work with.
Commenting on John, Blount says, “When we carefully read John’s work in the light of its first-century context, we find his language and symbolism to be the stuff of active, counter-cultural, community resistance” (p. 93). He describes a way African slaves had of seizing and making their own reality inside of their suffering reality, quite vividly, telling the story of a corn shucking. In the reality of their own construction, “the injustices that presently plagued them were ‘in truth’ no more” (p. 95). Blount argues that the gospel of John served the same function in its original context, and can do so still.
If there was one thing in the book that really moved me, it was Blount’s description of the interpretation and appropriation of scripture by slaves. Think of it: they could not read. All they knew of the Bible was what some white person decided to tell them, and yet they immediately discerned that it was good news- that it meant liberation. While Blount never draws the conclusion that the Holy Spirit was an active agent in this discernment, or that the very nature of Gospel itself makes such discernment by oppressed people’s inevitable, I could not help thinking along those lines.
Blount tells a particularly forceful story, quoting two sources, of something that goes beyond this: slaves rejecting a letter of Paul (Philemon) as authentically belonging within the canon. No wonder that Cone ignored Paul!
Yet there is a lot within Paul’s letters, especially the authentic letters, that proclaims liberation and Blount makes excellent and helpful (from a preacher’s standpoint) use of it. Blount not only points this out, but does the more difficult work of correcting false interpretation of less obvious passages of Paul. In the end, though, Blount must conclude, “Paul apparently did not have the full ethical courage of his Galatians 3:28 convictions” (p. 149). But, he reminds us, neither has the historical black church always had all of its courage (specifically with respect to women). And I suspect that many a church historian would concur about that deficiency in all of the church!
Finally, Revelation provides the inspiration and direction for “active resistance.” Agreeing with Cone, Blount argues that the Gospel is not an opiate, “because the people who lived the symbolic language also lived the contrary lives of opposition to the political and religious powers of their respective worlds” (p. 159). Even more, he argues that “personal escape from the horror” is not the “hoped for and enacted conclusion. Divine judgment that would transform the human historical landscape was anticipated instead” (p. 164).
I found the book not only inspirational, but also helpful, and I expect to use it often as a reference.
August 28, 2002
New Testament Ethics in an African American Context
By Brian K. Blount
Abingdon Press, 2001. 232 pp.
ISBN #0-687-08589-6
Some weeks ago I found in my library a mostly unread copy of James Cone’s “God of the Oppressed”, published more than twenty years ago. I read it thoroughly, making many notes. It was at once engaging and provocative, hopeful and polemic. Cone, who is still professor of Theology at New York’s Union Seminary, is African American, and wrote his theology strictly from a liberation prospective.
I next found on my shelf a smaller volume, completely unread, by Wendell Berry: “The Hidden Wound,” written just a few years earlier than Cone’s volume, during a time of social unrest. The opening historical narrative by Berry, a white man, did better than anything I have ever read or heard to explain the systemic nature of racism. Berry sought to identify a wound deeper than racism in our society, the separation of humans from labor and from the soil, and argued that racism was one result of that separation.
I then chanced upon in a bookstore a contemporary volume by one of my own seminary professors, Brian K. Blount. Since I had so recently read two books dealing with experience of Black Americans, the title of Blount’s book caught my eye, and I bought it: “Then the Whisper Put on Flesh: New Testament Ethics in an African American Context”.
Blount’s work has a slightly different focus than Cone’s. It is more exegetical in nature, and less argumentative. Cone wrote that liberation was the necessary foundation for theology, saying “What has the gospel to do with the oppressed of the land and their struggle for liberation? Any theologian who fails to place that question at the center of his or her work has ignored the essence of the gospel” (Cone, introduction, p. 9). His argument was that theological discourse was not ONLY universal, but also particular, and that the experience of his people was a fundamental tool in theology. What I found provocative, but did not necessarily disagree with, was his insistence upon doing theology from that particular perspective.
Like Cone, Blount argues “that the Bible has always been read through the experiences of the people holding it. The meaning they draw and the ethics they build are directly related to the lives they lead. It is no wonder that for a people in slavery and yearning to be free that the Bible would mean and encourage liberation” (p. 15). Blount differs from Cone, however, in his acknowledgment of other lens for reading the Bible, even within the African American tradition (p. 50).
The focus of Blount’s work then shifts from Cone, as Blount then begins to do the work that Cone argued needed to be done: using the lens of African American history, and his exegetical skills, he interprets the New Testament from a liberation perspective. There is a separate chapter for the Synoptic Gospels, one for John, one for the letters of Paul, and one for Revelation. This was clearly different from Cone, for I noticed very early in Cone’s work that there was practically nothing in his use of the New Testament outside of the synoptics.
What made this book come to life for me were Blount’s numerous descriptions of actual encounters of slave communities with the texts.
The synoptics are where Blount begins, and where he finds his easiest going. But what makes the book valuable to the preacher, and especially to me, a white preacher, are the other chapters. Even from a non-liberation perspective, I find John difficult to preach, but Blount offers some exciting possibilities.
Briefly, Blount describes the ethics of the synoptics as “Kingdom Ethics,” each with a slightly different twist: Mark as boundary breaking, Matthew as “visual institution”, and Luke as “ethics of reversal.” I found personally interesting his view of Matthew’s ethics defined as “an identifiable, alternative worship community in an environment he believed was hostile to its reconfiguration of the faith of God’s people” (p. 64). I find this personally interesting because of the thought I have been giving to the manner in which preaching forms community, and especially “alternative community.” There is much in Blount’s work that gives me something to work with.
Commenting on John, Blount says, “When we carefully read John’s work in the light of its first-century context, we find his language and symbolism to be the stuff of active, counter-cultural, community resistance” (p. 93). He describes a way African slaves had of seizing and making their own reality inside of their suffering reality, quite vividly, telling the story of a corn shucking. In the reality of their own construction, “the injustices that presently plagued them were ‘in truth’ no more” (p. 95). Blount argues that the gospel of John served the same function in its original context, and can do so still.
If there was one thing in the book that really moved me, it was Blount’s description of the interpretation and appropriation of scripture by slaves. Think of it: they could not read. All they knew of the Bible was what some white person decided to tell them, and yet they immediately discerned that it was good news- that it meant liberation. While Blount never draws the conclusion that the Holy Spirit was an active agent in this discernment, or that the very nature of Gospel itself makes such discernment by oppressed people’s inevitable, I could not help thinking along those lines.
Blount tells a particularly forceful story, quoting two sources, of something that goes beyond this: slaves rejecting a letter of Paul (Philemon) as authentically belonging within the canon. No wonder that Cone ignored Paul!
Yet there is a lot within Paul’s letters, especially the authentic letters, that proclaims liberation and Blount makes excellent and helpful (from a preacher’s standpoint) use of it. Blount not only points this out, but does the more difficult work of correcting false interpretation of less obvious passages of Paul. In the end, though, Blount must conclude, “Paul apparently did not have the full ethical courage of his Galatians 3:28 convictions” (p. 149). But, he reminds us, neither has the historical black church always had all of its courage (specifically with respect to women). And I suspect that many a church historian would concur about that deficiency in all of the church!
Finally, Revelation provides the inspiration and direction for “active resistance.” Agreeing with Cone, Blount argues that the Gospel is not an opiate, “because the people who lived the symbolic language also lived the contrary lives of opposition to the political and religious powers of their respective worlds” (p. 159). Even more, he argues that “personal escape from the horror” is not the “hoped for and enacted conclusion. Divine judgment that would transform the human historical landscape was anticipated instead” (p. 164).
I found the book not only inspirational, but also helpful, and I expect to use it often as a reference.
August 28, 2002
TRANSFORMING THE STONE
TRANSFORMING THE STONE: Preaching Through Resistance to Change
Barbara K. Lundblad, author
(Nashville: Abingdon, 2001)
For some of us, prophetic preaching is a scary thing. And I suspect that for others, prophetic preaching is rushed into with too much enthusiasm. For all of us, eager or hesitant, Barbarta Lundblad has written a wonderful book. Five chapters, plus an introduction and a conclusion, offer seasoned and spiritual advice on preaching “transformation.” Because she chooses the word “transformation,” Lundblad points us to the purpose of ALL preaching. The wonder of the book is that Lundblad shows both the big picture of theory, and the little tricks that make it work.
The most important thing is stressed first: “For people of faith, transformation doesn’t happen: it is a gift from God.” (p. 13) Transformation is something to be excited about, and Lundblad both MAKES it exciting, and helps the preacher make it “good news.”
The first principle is that transformation is grounded in grace- it is a gift from God. God comes to us. Grace happens. But grace must be particularized. She quotes William Muehl, “Don’t talk to me about grace- show me grace!” But the reason for this is that the congregation needs to experience grace. This is a thought that has been working on me in more detail of late, and I intend to put a few thoughts together on it. But basically, the preacher needs to help the congregation see where God is at work and what God is doing. Both in the culture- local and larger- and in scripture, particulars abound for the preacher to work with.
Second, Lundblad asks the question, “Can preaching help people make the connection between God’s grace and the shaping of new communities?” (p. 49) Her first answer inspired a poem from me, “All Welcome.” She makes two helpful points: “For those who have known the tragic wounds of ostracism and oppression, God’s word of inclusion and blessing is the bottom line of preaching.” (p. 51) The second point is a follow up, continuing her theme of particularity: “Those who have felt the sting of exclusion need to hear God’s welcome in ways that honor and respect their particularities.” (p. 51) But then, Lundblad addresses resistance. She offers two possibilities for form: Moving from familiar to strange (p. 53-54), and moving from points of lesser resistance to greater. And she adds this possibility to both: the movement need not happen in one sermon, or in one series of sermons, or in a year of sermons. Finally, she reminds us to “reach out not only to the prodigal, but also to the older brother.” Name the particularities of tradition and scripture that are tried, true, and being kept.
This brings up her third point, “Testing What is Written in Stone.” She begins with a short but excellent discussion of Jesus’ hermeneutic (I have been looking for some time for an essay or even a book on the subject). To be more specific, she then offers a long series of questions from Christopher Morse. I made a note of this book, and I may want to at least look at it in a library: “Not Every Spirit: A Dogmatics of Christian Disbelief,” Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1994) And once again, she reminds us, using the words of the parable, that old treasures are brought out, too. There are excellent suggestions and examples for bringing out both old and new.
Now the climb is more difficult, for the fourth point is “Hard Words.” She begins by reminding us that Jesus didn’t shy from hard words. She then points out that his words were not JUST critique, but “provocative alternative.” (p. 98) In follow up, she suggests that “stories can get through where statistics overwhelm” (p. 100), and she makes suggestions for finding the stories and the alternatives in your community.
The final chapter is really about congregational and community exegesis. The point is, “the hope is for transformation, not alienation” (p. 121)- what is the common ground, and how can you find it? In this chapter, she uses sexuality as a case study and provides numerous possibilities.
I particularly liked the many short sermons she offered as examples, but the whole book was like the best lectures we experienced at seminary- “very close to preaching.” She reminds us to read the text expectantly- and to be expectant in all of our ministry. Come to the text without notes, without commentaries, without other people’s sermons. Transformation, after all, begins with the possibility that God is going to do something we are not expecting.
George R. Pasley
August 5, 2002
Barbara K. Lundblad, author
(Nashville: Abingdon, 2001)
For some of us, prophetic preaching is a scary thing. And I suspect that for others, prophetic preaching is rushed into with too much enthusiasm. For all of us, eager or hesitant, Barbarta Lundblad has written a wonderful book. Five chapters, plus an introduction and a conclusion, offer seasoned and spiritual advice on preaching “transformation.” Because she chooses the word “transformation,” Lundblad points us to the purpose of ALL preaching. The wonder of the book is that Lundblad shows both the big picture of theory, and the little tricks that make it work.
The most important thing is stressed first: “For people of faith, transformation doesn’t happen: it is a gift from God.” (p. 13) Transformation is something to be excited about, and Lundblad both MAKES it exciting, and helps the preacher make it “good news.”
The first principle is that transformation is grounded in grace- it is a gift from God. God comes to us. Grace happens. But grace must be particularized. She quotes William Muehl, “Don’t talk to me about grace- show me grace!” But the reason for this is that the congregation needs to experience grace. This is a thought that has been working on me in more detail of late, and I intend to put a few thoughts together on it. But basically, the preacher needs to help the congregation see where God is at work and what God is doing. Both in the culture- local and larger- and in scripture, particulars abound for the preacher to work with.
Second, Lundblad asks the question, “Can preaching help people make the connection between God’s grace and the shaping of new communities?” (p. 49) Her first answer inspired a poem from me, “All Welcome.” She makes two helpful points: “For those who have known the tragic wounds of ostracism and oppression, God’s word of inclusion and blessing is the bottom line of preaching.” (p. 51) The second point is a follow up, continuing her theme of particularity: “Those who have felt the sting of exclusion need to hear God’s welcome in ways that honor and respect their particularities.” (p. 51) But then, Lundblad addresses resistance. She offers two possibilities for form: Moving from familiar to strange (p. 53-54), and moving from points of lesser resistance to greater. And she adds this possibility to both: the movement need not happen in one sermon, or in one series of sermons, or in a year of sermons. Finally, she reminds us to “reach out not only to the prodigal, but also to the older brother.” Name the particularities of tradition and scripture that are tried, true, and being kept.
This brings up her third point, “Testing What is Written in Stone.” She begins with a short but excellent discussion of Jesus’ hermeneutic (I have been looking for some time for an essay or even a book on the subject). To be more specific, she then offers a long series of questions from Christopher Morse. I made a note of this book, and I may want to at least look at it in a library: “Not Every Spirit: A Dogmatics of Christian Disbelief,” Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1994) And once again, she reminds us, using the words of the parable, that old treasures are brought out, too. There are excellent suggestions and examples for bringing out both old and new.
Now the climb is more difficult, for the fourth point is “Hard Words.” She begins by reminding us that Jesus didn’t shy from hard words. She then points out that his words were not JUST critique, but “provocative alternative.” (p. 98) In follow up, she suggests that “stories can get through where statistics overwhelm” (p. 100), and she makes suggestions for finding the stories and the alternatives in your community.
The final chapter is really about congregational and community exegesis. The point is, “the hope is for transformation, not alienation” (p. 121)- what is the common ground, and how can you find it? In this chapter, she uses sexuality as a case study and provides numerous possibilities.
I particularly liked the many short sermons she offered as examples, but the whole book was like the best lectures we experienced at seminary- “very close to preaching.” She reminds us to read the text expectantly- and to be expectant in all of our ministry. Come to the text without notes, without commentaries, without other people’s sermons. Transformation, after all, begins with the possibility that God is going to do something we are not expecting.
George R. Pasley
August 5, 2002
THE OTHER
By David Guterson
Alfred A. Knopf, 2008
ISBN 978-0-307-26315-5
I read Guterson’s first novel, Snow Falling on Cedars, while I was in seminary. It’s themes of life and death clung tightly to my theological studies and I have been a devotee of Guterson ever since.
Guterson’s latest work, The Other, continues his ongoing contribution to what life and death mean, and how to live in between. Unlike his previous works, The Other is written as a first person narrative, the story told by Neil Countryman, a man of my own generation.
Countryman’s narrative is a recounting of a friendship forged between himself and John William Barry. The two were an unlikely pair, Countryman being from a working class Irish family and Barry being a trust fund baby. But they met at a track meet, and the friendship worked even though they lived different lives.
Of the two, Barry was the angry one. An intelligent, thoughtful and resourceful student he believed that formal education was tantamount to being “owned.” Barry’s character is enamored of Gnosticism, a denial of the significance of all things physical (this emphasis of a spiritual/religious dimension into the plot is similar to Guterson’s work in “Our Lady of the Forest”).
The two boys become avid hikers into the backcountry of the Northwest. Both graduate and enter college, but Countryman meets a love interest, Jamie, just as college begins. I found Guterson’s narrative of the love affair between Jamie and Neil quite compelling, the best writing in the entire novel.
In college Barry’s character became angrier, more radical, and more determined while Countryman’s character edged slowly towards a more traditional lifestyle. Barry in fact dropped out of college, made a withdrawal from his trust fund, and took up residence in a remotely placed modular home. Countryman made regular pilgrimages to visit his friend.
The interesting irony in the story is that though Barry abhorred “being owned”, he seemed to own his friend Countryman. Or was it loyalty on the part of Countryman? At any rate, Countryman assisted Barry in a ruse to make his family think he had moved away to Mexico, apparently forever. The real truth was he had gone further into the woods, living as a hermit, determined not to be connected to anybody (Except Countryman) for the rest of his life.
Countryman kept his friend’s secret but it was not an easy keeping. Neither could he let his friend be, so he made continued trips, at great hardship, into the wilderness to supply his friend with a small assortment of food and literature. But the care packages were not enough, and despite his provisions and Barry’s own survival skills, Countryman made one last visit and found his friend dead. Loyal to the end, he wrapped his friend’s body in a woven bark mat and hid it deep in the cave. Other than his wife, he never told a soul.
While Countryman’s loyalty presents a conflict for the narrator, the real conflict in the novel is “How shall I live my life?” The two characters shared certain views of the world, but Countryman could not follow Barry into the woods. In the course of living his life- of falling in love, of taking a job, buying a home and raising a family, he had to decide what was important, how to live his own life and not the life dictated by his family, by society, or by necessity. A plot twist that is made evident in the opening pages and clear in the later pages adds a significant complication to that question but to the reader it will be clear that Neil Countryman made a good choice and was as loyal to the choice as he was to his friend.
Well written, thoughtful as always, and a significant contribution to our understanding of humanity.
George Pasley
August 1, 2008
Ketchikan, AK
By David Guterson
Alfred A. Knopf, 2008
ISBN 978-0-307-26315-5
I read Guterson’s first novel, Snow Falling on Cedars, while I was in seminary. It’s themes of life and death clung tightly to my theological studies and I have been a devotee of Guterson ever since.
Guterson’s latest work, The Other, continues his ongoing contribution to what life and death mean, and how to live in between. Unlike his previous works, The Other is written as a first person narrative, the story told by Neil Countryman, a man of my own generation.
Countryman’s narrative is a recounting of a friendship forged between himself and John William Barry. The two were an unlikely pair, Countryman being from a working class Irish family and Barry being a trust fund baby. But they met at a track meet, and the friendship worked even though they lived different lives.
Of the two, Barry was the angry one. An intelligent, thoughtful and resourceful student he believed that formal education was tantamount to being “owned.” Barry’s character is enamored of Gnosticism, a denial of the significance of all things physical (this emphasis of a spiritual/religious dimension into the plot is similar to Guterson’s work in “Our Lady of the Forest”).
The two boys become avid hikers into the backcountry of the Northwest. Both graduate and enter college, but Countryman meets a love interest, Jamie, just as college begins. I found Guterson’s narrative of the love affair between Jamie and Neil quite compelling, the best writing in the entire novel.
In college Barry’s character became angrier, more radical, and more determined while Countryman’s character edged slowly towards a more traditional lifestyle. Barry in fact dropped out of college, made a withdrawal from his trust fund, and took up residence in a remotely placed modular home. Countryman made regular pilgrimages to visit his friend.
The interesting irony in the story is that though Barry abhorred “being owned”, he seemed to own his friend Countryman. Or was it loyalty on the part of Countryman? At any rate, Countryman assisted Barry in a ruse to make his family think he had moved away to Mexico, apparently forever. The real truth was he had gone further into the woods, living as a hermit, determined not to be connected to anybody (Except Countryman) for the rest of his life.
Countryman kept his friend’s secret but it was not an easy keeping. Neither could he let his friend be, so he made continued trips, at great hardship, into the wilderness to supply his friend with a small assortment of food and literature. But the care packages were not enough, and despite his provisions and Barry’s own survival skills, Countryman made one last visit and found his friend dead. Loyal to the end, he wrapped his friend’s body in a woven bark mat and hid it deep in the cave. Other than his wife, he never told a soul.
While Countryman’s loyalty presents a conflict for the narrator, the real conflict in the novel is “How shall I live my life?” The two characters shared certain views of the world, but Countryman could not follow Barry into the woods. In the course of living his life- of falling in love, of taking a job, buying a home and raising a family, he had to decide what was important, how to live his own life and not the life dictated by his family, by society, or by necessity. A plot twist that is made evident in the opening pages and clear in the later pages adds a significant complication to that question but to the reader it will be clear that Neil Countryman made a good choice and was as loyal to the choice as he was to his friend.
Well written, thoughtful as always, and a significant contribution to our understanding of humanity.
George Pasley
August 1, 2008
Ketchikan, AK
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