Living Reflectively
The following is an excerpt from a book that I so appreciate and value. In this book, we are reminded just how much God loves us and how, if we are observant and sensitive to the day's events, that God can come to us in the most intimate of ways and connect to us in a way that only we will 'get'. But if we continue to live at the pace of life, which is forever increasing, we will miss those moments in which God seeks to connect with us. It is about creating pauses in our day, so that we are quiet and still, present and waiting to hear the small, still voice of the Savior ... speaking just to me.
The following reflects on how movies can provide an opportunity to be a 'window into the soul' ...
The Spirit of Life
The difference between an intellectual approach to the Scriptures and an intimate approach is dramatized in a scene from The Dead Poet’s Society, starring Robin Williams as Professor Keating. One of my favorite scenes in the movie is a classroom scene where Keating calls on one of his students.
“Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface: ‘Understanding Poetry by Dr. J. Evans Pritchart, Ph.D.’?”
The young Mr. Perry opens his book and dutifully reads. “ ‘To fully understand a poem, we must be fluent in its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech. Then ask two questions: One. How artfully has the objective of that poem been rendered? Two. How important is that objective? Question one rates its perfection. Question two, its importance. Once these questions have been answered, seeing the poem’s greatness is relatively easy. If the poem’s score is plotted on a graph, with the vertical line representing its importance and the horizontal its perfection, its greatness can easily be ascertained.’ ”
As the boy continues to read, Keating chalks a graph on the blackboard. The other students carefully copy it in their notebooks. After Mr. Perry finishes, Keating turns to the class, smiles and says one word.
“Excrement.”
Which takes every student off guard. “We’re not laying pipe,” says Keating with mounting passion. “We’re talking about poetry. Now I want you to rip out that page. The entire page. Rip it out.”
The students’ eyes widen.
“In fact,” Keating says, “rip out the entire introduction! I want it gone! History! Be gone, J. Evans Pritchart!”
The students hesitate as they cut glances toward each other, wondering if this guy is for real.
“It’s not the Bible,” Keating assures them. “You’re not going to hell.”
One by one they start ripping, as Keating continues his impassioned plea.
“This is a battle, a war, and the casualties and our hearts and souls. Armies of academics going forth, measuring poetry. No! I’ll not have that here! You’re going to learn to think for yourselves, to savor words. No matter what anyone says, words and ideas can change the world.”
Keating moves to the middle of the room and tells them all to huddle up. They’re still not sure what’s going on, but they move in around him because his passion is so real and infectious.
“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. Medicine. Law. Business. Engineering. All noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love – these are what we stay alive for.”
The story dramatizes the conflict between the ideals of the Classical Age and those of the Romantic Age. The educational institution embodies one set of ideals. The instructor, the other. The ideals of the school are etched in the stone above its pillars: Tradition. Honor. Discipline. Excellence. Keating’s ideas are enfleshed in his life: Poetry. Beauty. Romance. Love.
The conflict between Jesus and the religious establishment was over similar ideals. Chiseled into the thinking of the scribes and Pharisees were the ideals: Law. Tradition. Ritual. Morality. Into that establishment came a teacher with no formal education and a loyal following of disciples. He espoused things that sounded very much like: Poetry. Beauty. Romance. Love.
He told them, essentially, to rip out whatever human teachings or traditions were smothering their passion for God and for other people. They were not words He mouthed. They were words He lived. His passion was embodied in every prayer, every conversation, every healing, every pilgrimage to the temple.
There is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be our hearts and souls. The Christian life is about passion. Passion for God and passion for people in need. These are the words and ideas that when enfleshed can change the world. These are the things we live for.
But those things can easily get lost. One such way is by detaching them from the objects of our love. When we do that, al we’re left with are actions that only resemble love. Empty, impersonal acts. Like sex without love. And when sex is detached from love, it is reduced to a technique. People may write handbooks on it, but not poetry.
All of us at some time or another have been guilty of approaching the Scriptures that way. Detaching it from the source of its life. Dissecting it in order to study it.
We study it as a handbook of principles, when we should see it as poetry.
We study it as a treatise on theology, when we should see it as beauty.
We study it as a record of biblical history, when we should see it as romance.
We study it as a code of conduct, when we should see it as love.
The Spirit of Love
Several years ago Ken Burns produced a series on the Civil War for PBS. He sifted through mounds of old photographs, letters, maps, diaries, historical records, and memoirs, editing them and adding sound effects and narration to put together a compelling documentary of that defining moment in America’s history. And as Burns was doing his research, he came across a letter that captured the essence of what he wanted the series to show – the personal side of war. Here is that letter, written by Union Major Sullivan Ballou to his wife back home.
July 14, 1861
Camp Clark, Washington
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days – perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more …
I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the strong cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing – perfectly willing – to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt …
Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me – perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly I would wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness …
But, O Sarah! if the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights … always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again …
Sullivan Ballou died at the first battle of Bull Run.
This is what the war meant to so many people on both sides. Fathers who would not be coming home. Or sons. Families that would never be the same again. Wives who would be left to raise a family alone, plant crops alone, face an uncertain future alone. So he would never forget the reason why he was making the documentary, Burns folded the letter and kept it in his shirt pocket during the entire time he was working on the film.
We can use Sullivan Ballou’s letter to study history, as a springboard to talk about the Civil War and the issues over which it was fought. We can use it to study geography, mapping out places like “Camp Clark, Washington,” where the letter originated. We can focus on military references such as “The Revolution,” and discuss the comparisons and contrasts between the two wars. We can do word studies, tracing the etymologies of such words as wafted. We can even use the letter to pursue theological studies, starting with American views on “Omnipotence” and “Providence,” launching into discussions about which side of the war God was on.
In short, we can study the letter the way J. Evans Pritchart, Ph.D. studied poetry.
We can study the letter in its grammatical, historical context, but if we fail to understand it in the context of two people who have committed themselves in an intimate relationship with each other, we miss the point of the correspondence.
The whole point.
The same is true with the Bible. It is a factual, historical document, but if it’s merely wars and dates we’re concerned with, issues and lines of theological demarcation over which swords were drawn and battles are fought, we will miss the Person, who, from a faraway battlefield, has disclosed His heart to us. That last letter from Sullivan Ballou to his beloved wife Sarah sounds so much like some of the last words from Jesus to His disciples. In the intimate setting of the upper room, He told them in essence:
“I am going into battle soon. I don’t want our heart to be troubled. It’s love for my Father’s country that sends me. I’m leaving, but I won’t leave you alone. I’m going to send my Spirit to breeze across your brow when you need comfort … to whisper of my love. I shall always be near you … in the gladdest days and the darkest nights. And I go to prepare a place for you, to receive you to myself, that where I may you may be also … always … always.” (see John 14-17)
Sullivan Ballou’s letter has certain meaning for an historian, a slightly different meaning for a linguist, and an entirely different meaning for a filmmaker. Each of those meanings is a valid perspective for study. But the ultimate meaning of the letter can only be found in the relationship of the lover to his beloved. That is the primary context by which all the words should be evaluated. It is the spirit of love existing between Sullivan and Sarah that gives the words live. Apart from that spirit, the words may educate me or enlighten me, even move me. But they will never pierce my heart the way they pierced Sarah’s. They will never be treasured the way she treasured them. Or remembered the way she remembered them. And they won’t be passed on the way she passed them on to her children.
The Bible is, first and foremost, a love letter. The words in that letter are like seeds that fall into the soil of our heart. With enough skill, we can precisely measure the seeds, weight them, and study them. No amount of skill, though, can bring the seeds to life. Only the Holy Spirit can do that.
This is true of any word from God that lands on our heart – whether it’s a word voiced through the Scriptures or through nature or through the circumstances of our lives. Each and every word that comes to us will lie dormant in the soil unless the Spirit gives it life.
And there it will wait … quiet and still ... for the rain.
(from The Reflective Life by Ken Gire. Chariot Victor Publishing, 1998. pp. 64-71.)
The following reflects on how movies can provide an opportunity to be a 'window into the soul' ...
The Spirit of Life
The difference between an intellectual approach to the Scriptures and an intimate approach is dramatized in a scene from The Dead Poet’s Society, starring Robin Williams as Professor Keating. One of my favorite scenes in the movie is a classroom scene where Keating calls on one of his students.
“Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface: ‘Understanding Poetry by Dr. J. Evans Pritchart, Ph.D.’?”
The young Mr. Perry opens his book and dutifully reads. “ ‘To fully understand a poem, we must be fluent in its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech. Then ask two questions: One. How artfully has the objective of that poem been rendered? Two. How important is that objective? Question one rates its perfection. Question two, its importance. Once these questions have been answered, seeing the poem’s greatness is relatively easy. If the poem’s score is plotted on a graph, with the vertical line representing its importance and the horizontal its perfection, its greatness can easily be ascertained.’ ”
As the boy continues to read, Keating chalks a graph on the blackboard. The other students carefully copy it in their notebooks. After Mr. Perry finishes, Keating turns to the class, smiles and says one word.
“Excrement.”
Which takes every student off guard. “We’re not laying pipe,” says Keating with mounting passion. “We’re talking about poetry. Now I want you to rip out that page. The entire page. Rip it out.”
The students’ eyes widen.
“In fact,” Keating says, “rip out the entire introduction! I want it gone! History! Be gone, J. Evans Pritchart!”
The students hesitate as they cut glances toward each other, wondering if this guy is for real.
“It’s not the Bible,” Keating assures them. “You’re not going to hell.”
One by one they start ripping, as Keating continues his impassioned plea.
“This is a battle, a war, and the casualties and our hearts and souls. Armies of academics going forth, measuring poetry. No! I’ll not have that here! You’re going to learn to think for yourselves, to savor words. No matter what anyone says, words and ideas can change the world.”
Keating moves to the middle of the room and tells them all to huddle up. They’re still not sure what’s going on, but they move in around him because his passion is so real and infectious.
“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. Medicine. Law. Business. Engineering. All noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love – these are what we stay alive for.”
The story dramatizes the conflict between the ideals of the Classical Age and those of the Romantic Age. The educational institution embodies one set of ideals. The instructor, the other. The ideals of the school are etched in the stone above its pillars: Tradition. Honor. Discipline. Excellence. Keating’s ideas are enfleshed in his life: Poetry. Beauty. Romance. Love.
The conflict between Jesus and the religious establishment was over similar ideals. Chiseled into the thinking of the scribes and Pharisees were the ideals: Law. Tradition. Ritual. Morality. Into that establishment came a teacher with no formal education and a loyal following of disciples. He espoused things that sounded very much like: Poetry. Beauty. Romance. Love.
He told them, essentially, to rip out whatever human teachings or traditions were smothering their passion for God and for other people. They were not words He mouthed. They were words He lived. His passion was embodied in every prayer, every conversation, every healing, every pilgrimage to the temple.
There is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be our hearts and souls. The Christian life is about passion. Passion for God and passion for people in need. These are the words and ideas that when enfleshed can change the world. These are the things we live for.
But those things can easily get lost. One such way is by detaching them from the objects of our love. When we do that, al we’re left with are actions that only resemble love. Empty, impersonal acts. Like sex without love. And when sex is detached from love, it is reduced to a technique. People may write handbooks on it, but not poetry.
All of us at some time or another have been guilty of approaching the Scriptures that way. Detaching it from the source of its life. Dissecting it in order to study it.
We study it as a handbook of principles, when we should see it as poetry.
We study it as a treatise on theology, when we should see it as beauty.
We study it as a record of biblical history, when we should see it as romance.
We study it as a code of conduct, when we should see it as love.
The Spirit of Love
Several years ago Ken Burns produced a series on the Civil War for PBS. He sifted through mounds of old photographs, letters, maps, diaries, historical records, and memoirs, editing them and adding sound effects and narration to put together a compelling documentary of that defining moment in America’s history. And as Burns was doing his research, he came across a letter that captured the essence of what he wanted the series to show – the personal side of war. Here is that letter, written by Union Major Sullivan Ballou to his wife back home.
July 14, 1861
Camp Clark, Washington
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days – perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more …
I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the strong cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing – perfectly willing – to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt …
Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me – perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly I would wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness …
But, O Sarah! if the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights … always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again …
Sullivan Ballou died at the first battle of Bull Run.
This is what the war meant to so many people on both sides. Fathers who would not be coming home. Or sons. Families that would never be the same again. Wives who would be left to raise a family alone, plant crops alone, face an uncertain future alone. So he would never forget the reason why he was making the documentary, Burns folded the letter and kept it in his shirt pocket during the entire time he was working on the film.
We can use Sullivan Ballou’s letter to study history, as a springboard to talk about the Civil War and the issues over which it was fought. We can use it to study geography, mapping out places like “Camp Clark, Washington,” where the letter originated. We can focus on military references such as “The Revolution,” and discuss the comparisons and contrasts between the two wars. We can do word studies, tracing the etymologies of such words as wafted. We can even use the letter to pursue theological studies, starting with American views on “Omnipotence” and “Providence,” launching into discussions about which side of the war God was on.
In short, we can study the letter the way J. Evans Pritchart, Ph.D. studied poetry.
We can study the letter in its grammatical, historical context, but if we fail to understand it in the context of two people who have committed themselves in an intimate relationship with each other, we miss the point of the correspondence.
The whole point.
The same is true with the Bible. It is a factual, historical document, but if it’s merely wars and dates we’re concerned with, issues and lines of theological demarcation over which swords were drawn and battles are fought, we will miss the Person, who, from a faraway battlefield, has disclosed His heart to us. That last letter from Sullivan Ballou to his beloved wife Sarah sounds so much like some of the last words from Jesus to His disciples. In the intimate setting of the upper room, He told them in essence:
“I am going into battle soon. I don’t want our heart to be troubled. It’s love for my Father’s country that sends me. I’m leaving, but I won’t leave you alone. I’m going to send my Spirit to breeze across your brow when you need comfort … to whisper of my love. I shall always be near you … in the gladdest days and the darkest nights. And I go to prepare a place for you, to receive you to myself, that where I may you may be also … always … always.” (see John 14-17)
Sullivan Ballou’s letter has certain meaning for an historian, a slightly different meaning for a linguist, and an entirely different meaning for a filmmaker. Each of those meanings is a valid perspective for study. But the ultimate meaning of the letter can only be found in the relationship of the lover to his beloved. That is the primary context by which all the words should be evaluated. It is the spirit of love existing between Sullivan and Sarah that gives the words live. Apart from that spirit, the words may educate me or enlighten me, even move me. But they will never pierce my heart the way they pierced Sarah’s. They will never be treasured the way she treasured them. Or remembered the way she remembered them. And they won’t be passed on the way she passed them on to her children.
The Bible is, first and foremost, a love letter. The words in that letter are like seeds that fall into the soil of our heart. With enough skill, we can precisely measure the seeds, weight them, and study them. No amount of skill, though, can bring the seeds to life. Only the Holy Spirit can do that.
This is true of any word from God that lands on our heart – whether it’s a word voiced through the Scriptures or through nature or through the circumstances of our lives. Each and every word that comes to us will lie dormant in the soil unless the Spirit gives it life.
And there it will wait … quiet and still ... for the rain.
(from The Reflective Life by Ken Gire. Chariot Victor Publishing, 1998. pp. 64-71.)
Comments