Gilead
by Marilynne Robinson, Picador, New York 2004
Review by John L. Ng
December 2014
On my way to Marilynne Robinson's latest novel "Lila," I came across her 2004 "Gilead". What detained the interest of this aging pastor is its story of an ailing pastor, who sits down to write down his life and ministry reflections for his young son. Recently told that he has a coronary malady that may imminently take his life, Pastor John Ames hopes that his son will grow up with enough maturity to read and understand his heart-felt letter. "Gilead" is that letter.
Much contemporary fiction on religious life is wanting. Mostly, the dramas turns to polemics and the comedies become parodies. Or its characters are usually tissue-thin caricatures of dimwitted goodness or of guised hypocrisy. All together, these individuals are dull and uninviting. Ms Robinson's "Gilead" provides a refreshing change. Her novel is a comparative reminder of two other monographs on the life of a cleric. Both are also written in diary formats. Georges Bernanos' "The Diary of a Country Priest" is fiction; Reinhold Niebuhr's "Leaves from the Notebook of a Tamed Cynic" is non-fiction. Like these, "Gilead" is a meditation on being a well-intentioned minister in a world that is broken, sinful and impervious to the presence of God.
During year's end holidays recently, my wife and I attended our grandson's Carols and Lessons worship at his school. Many parents attended because their children were performing. The rector tried in earnest to call the presence of God into the consciousness of the congregation. But we were distracted every which way. During singing and reading, with anxious devotion to our children, we waved and clicked photos indiscriminately. With tenuous attention, the sudden wailing of sirens outside turned our heads mindlessly. When the benediction was offered, in collective chaos, parents and children scurried hurriedly looking for their loved ones.
That recent religious experience at my grandson's school reflects Pastor Ames' parish in Gilead, a fictitious small town in Iowa. His parishioners' lives are pervaded by pains and penitence. His sermons and prayers, in the thousands, seek to bring God's grace-full presence into their pervasion. He relives his own family history, time and time again, attended by brokenness. He remembers the death of his first wife and child, the legacy of his fiery grandfather, a controversial clergy in the abolitionist movement, and his father, a pacifist pastor, who was egregiously estranged from Pastor Ames' grandfather. He relates resentment against John (Jack) Ames Boughton, his namesake and the wayward son of his good friend. The younger John's life is trailed by crimes and punishments. His unexpected returns to Gilead causes clashing emotions of empathy and animosity in the older John. He confesses to his own son, "He could knock me down the stairs and I would have worked out the theology for forgiving him before I reached the bottom. But if he harmed you in the slightest way, I'm afraid theology would fail me."
Ms Robinson's beautiful prose is lucid and poetic. Her notion of religious life is realistic and redemptive. She beckons, maybe demands, the reader to pace slowly and enjoy the beauty of her syntax. Yet her prose is fierce. It laments the burdens of being truly human in a broken world. Even in Biblical faith's redemptive reality, all of us are in need of forgiveness, reconciliation and acceptance, from God and from one another. The shadows of the prodigal son parable dances throughout her narrative. Every relationship in "Gilead" is a revival of Jesus' parable of undeserved grace. Pastor Ames simply ends with, "I'll pray, and then I'll sleep."
Review by John L. Ng
December 2014
On my way to Marilynne Robinson's latest novel "Lila," I came across her 2004 "Gilead". What detained the interest of this aging pastor is its story of an ailing pastor, who sits down to write down his life and ministry reflections for his young son. Recently told that he has a coronary malady that may imminently take his life, Pastor John Ames hopes that his son will grow up with enough maturity to read and understand his heart-felt letter. "Gilead" is that letter.
Much contemporary fiction on religious life is wanting. Mostly, the dramas turns to polemics and the comedies become parodies. Or its characters are usually tissue-thin caricatures of dimwitted goodness or of guised hypocrisy. All together, these individuals are dull and uninviting. Ms Robinson's "Gilead" provides a refreshing change. Her novel is a comparative reminder of two other monographs on the life of a cleric. Both are also written in diary formats. Georges Bernanos' "The Diary of a Country Priest" is fiction; Reinhold Niebuhr's "Leaves from the Notebook of a Tamed Cynic" is non-fiction. Like these, "Gilead" is a meditation on being a well-intentioned minister in a world that is broken, sinful and impervious to the presence of God.
During year's end holidays recently, my wife and I attended our grandson's Carols and Lessons worship at his school. Many parents attended because their children were performing. The rector tried in earnest to call the presence of God into the consciousness of the congregation. But we were distracted every which way. During singing and reading, with anxious devotion to our children, we waved and clicked photos indiscriminately. With tenuous attention, the sudden wailing of sirens outside turned our heads mindlessly. When the benediction was offered, in collective chaos, parents and children scurried hurriedly looking for their loved ones.
That recent religious experience at my grandson's school reflects Pastor Ames' parish in Gilead, a fictitious small town in Iowa. His parishioners' lives are pervaded by pains and penitence. His sermons and prayers, in the thousands, seek to bring God's grace-full presence into their pervasion. He relives his own family history, time and time again, attended by brokenness. He remembers the death of his first wife and child, the legacy of his fiery grandfather, a controversial clergy in the abolitionist movement, and his father, a pacifist pastor, who was egregiously estranged from Pastor Ames' grandfather. He relates resentment against John (Jack) Ames Boughton, his namesake and the wayward son of his good friend. The younger John's life is trailed by crimes and punishments. His unexpected returns to Gilead causes clashing emotions of empathy and animosity in the older John. He confesses to his own son, "He could knock me down the stairs and I would have worked out the theology for forgiving him before I reached the bottom. But if he harmed you in the slightest way, I'm afraid theology would fail me."
Ms Robinson's beautiful prose is lucid and poetic. Her notion of religious life is realistic and redemptive. She beckons, maybe demands, the reader to pace slowly and enjoy the beauty of her syntax. Yet her prose is fierce. It laments the burdens of being truly human in a broken world. Even in Biblical faith's redemptive reality, all of us are in need of forgiveness, reconciliation and acceptance, from God and from one another. The shadows of the prodigal son parable dances throughout her narrative. Every relationship in "Gilead" is a revival of Jesus' parable of undeserved grace. Pastor Ames simply ends with, "I'll pray, and then I'll sleep."
Studies In Words
By C. S. Lewis, Cambridge University Press, 2nd edition. 2013
Review by John L. Ng
September 2014
In my recent readings, one author alerts me to a book written more than 40 years ago by C. S. Lewis. When I first embraced Jesus in faith more than 40 years ago, the first reading of my new faith was by Lewis. It was his “Mere Christianity” that formed my thinking and feeling in Christianity. Almost any monographs by this English literature don are profitable. His breezy, witty style certainly does not conceal the depth and breadth of this great thinker. “Studies In Words” is an excellent example of his learned insights.
First published in 1960, “Studies In Words” is a collection of etymological studies of some common English words that were originally intended for his students. Lewis takes simple words - e.g., sad, wit, free, sense, simple, conscience, life - and traces their complex origins and evolving layered meanings. He uses wide references from Latin, Greek and English, including New Testament versions, to illustrate their thick nuances. Before the age of computer technology, it is incredulous how prolific is Lewis’ notations. His uncanny ability to pull usages and quotes from numerous sources dazzles our internet weary mind as well as enriches it.
For the monosyllabic “sad”, we are told that it is “brother to Old Norse saddr and cousin to Latin satur.” All three words originally meant “gorged” or “full of food.” In time, it came to mean ‘fed up” or “have enough.” Today “sad” comes to us as an emotion full of grief – as someone who is “fed up” with disappointment. Take the simple “free.” In Old French it is frans. A “frank” person is “unencumbered by fears, calculations. . . .” She is straightforward and bold with her words because she is “frank” to be herself. In “freedom,” she is honest enough to be transparent with others.
Any earnest communicator would find this book fascinating. Having been a preacher and teacher for many years and having listened to preachers and teachers for many more years, I realize how callous we can be with words. Mark Twain once quipped that the difference between the almost right and the right word is the difference between a lightning bug and lightning. Lewis concurs that “Language exists to communicate whatever it can communicate. Some things it communicates so badly that we never attempt to communicate them by words if any other medium is available.” And yet, mere words are often all we have.
Lewis goads us to emulate his love affair with words. To use words efficiently, we need a healthy respect (a healthy respect of what?). Every dialogue we encounter is a meeting of meanings. We bring to it a certain view of the world. This worldview defines our reality of God, ourselves and others. Our respect for words makes us choose them more accurately and concisely to share our world to others. To use words effectively, we need a healthy imagination. Imagination is that God-given ability to make others see and feel our spoken words. Lewis intimates that, “one of the most . . . effective uses of language is the emotional.” Just feel the Psalms’ usage of emotive words to train us in prayers. For others to experience our words, they have to see, feel, taste and touch as well as hear what we have to say.
So much insight in this small book is displayed with such grace, charm and wit. Lewis’ written words are self-evident in his respect for and imaginative use of words. Find a copy and enjoy.
Review by John L. Ng
September 2014
In my recent readings, one author alerts me to a book written more than 40 years ago by C. S. Lewis. When I first embraced Jesus in faith more than 40 years ago, the first reading of my new faith was by Lewis. It was his “Mere Christianity” that formed my thinking and feeling in Christianity. Almost any monographs by this English literature don are profitable. His breezy, witty style certainly does not conceal the depth and breadth of this great thinker. “Studies In Words” is an excellent example of his learned insights.
First published in 1960, “Studies In Words” is a collection of etymological studies of some common English words that were originally intended for his students. Lewis takes simple words - e.g., sad, wit, free, sense, simple, conscience, life - and traces their complex origins and evolving layered meanings. He uses wide references from Latin, Greek and English, including New Testament versions, to illustrate their thick nuances. Before the age of computer technology, it is incredulous how prolific is Lewis’ notations. His uncanny ability to pull usages and quotes from numerous sources dazzles our internet weary mind as well as enriches it.
For the monosyllabic “sad”, we are told that it is “brother to Old Norse saddr and cousin to Latin satur.” All three words originally meant “gorged” or “full of food.” In time, it came to mean ‘fed up” or “have enough.” Today “sad” comes to us as an emotion full of grief – as someone who is “fed up” with disappointment. Take the simple “free.” In Old French it is frans. A “frank” person is “unencumbered by fears, calculations. . . .” She is straightforward and bold with her words because she is “frank” to be herself. In “freedom,” she is honest enough to be transparent with others.
Any earnest communicator would find this book fascinating. Having been a preacher and teacher for many years and having listened to preachers and teachers for many more years, I realize how callous we can be with words. Mark Twain once quipped that the difference between the almost right and the right word is the difference between a lightning bug and lightning. Lewis concurs that “Language exists to communicate whatever it can communicate. Some things it communicates so badly that we never attempt to communicate them by words if any other medium is available.” And yet, mere words are often all we have.
Lewis goads us to emulate his love affair with words. To use words efficiently, we need a healthy respect (a healthy respect of what?). Every dialogue we encounter is a meeting of meanings. We bring to it a certain view of the world. This worldview defines our reality of God, ourselves and others. Our respect for words makes us choose them more accurately and concisely to share our world to others. To use words effectively, we need a healthy imagination. Imagination is that God-given ability to make others see and feel our spoken words. Lewis intimates that, “one of the most . . . effective uses of language is the emotional.” Just feel the Psalms’ usage of emotive words to train us in prayers. For others to experience our words, they have to see, feel, taste and touch as well as hear what we have to say.
So much insight in this small book is displayed with such grace, charm and wit. Lewis’ written words are self-evident in his respect for and imaginative use of words. Find a copy and enjoy.
Jesus, Interrupted: Revealing the hidden contradictions in the Bible (and why we don't know about them)
By Bart D. Ehrman, Harper One 2009.
References:
Misquoting Jesus: the story behind who changed the Bible and why 2005
Forged: Writing in the Name of God - Why the Bible's Authors Are Not Who We Think They Are 2011
Review by John L. Ng
May, 2014
Even a casual glance of Bart Ehrman’s list of published books will impress any reader. He is a prolific writer, mainly on Biblical studies for the general public. At this writing, he is the James A. Gray Distinguished Professor of Religious Studies at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Once upon a time, Ehrman was a professing Evangelical. He had walked down the church aisle to commit his life to Jesus. He had studied at Moody Bible Institute and Wheaton College. But the more he engaged the Biblical texts, the more he doubted their validity. Then he made a detour from the Evangelical traditions to attend Princeton Theological Seminary. From there, he left his traditional faith and embraced Agnosticism. Since, he has devoted his career to refute the inerrancy of the Bible.
In “Jesus, Interrupted,” and the other two books, his modus operandi is predictable. The premise is that the gospel accounts of Jesus are unreliable because the New Testament is historically unreliable. He endeavors to educate those who are novices in historical and textual criticism. He quickly bullies the uninitiated by declaring that his conclusions are “standard fare,” shared by well respected, objective scholars. Implicitly, when Evangelicals disagree with him, it is due to their intellectual denial or inferior scholarship. We are left with two disparaging options: maintain our trust in the Bible by compromising our intellectual integrity or maintain our intellectual integrity by adhering to his conclusions.
His chapters are loaded with accusations: a historical assault on faith; a world of contradictions; liar, lunatic, or Lord; finding the historical Jesus; who invented Christianity; is faith possible. An initial reading finds his arguments compelling – that the gospels are full of errors and contradictions. His “textbook case” regarding the death of Jesus is classic. According to the Mark gospel, after Jesus and his disciples observed the Passover, where the Eucharist was instituted, Jesus was arrested, trialed and condemned to death by crucifixion. But according to the John gospel, Jesus and his disciples shared a common meal. But nothing is mentioned about the Eucharist. Afterwards Jesus was arrested. John notes that it was on the day of preparation for the Passover when Jesus was condemned to death. According to Mark, Jesus died the day after the Passover. According to John, Jesus died the day of the Passover.
The discrepancy seems obvious. But there is an overarching assumption Ehrman wants us to make – that his findings are solely based on the empirical. In reality, empirical research is not entirely possible. Whether in science or history, all scholars enter their discipline with a set of pre-suppositions. Most often, these pre-suppositions are subjective. That is where the fallacy lies. In his study of the timing of Jesus’ death, he assumes that reliable history should be written according to the chronology of events. If event A happens before event B and a historian renders event B before event A, then he is in error. But there are other reasons for this discrepancy besides being erroneous. Take for example, what if for ancient writings, like the John gospel, a pre-supposition is that chronological history may be superseded by a more significant theological or philosophical rationale? Through the confession of John the Baptist, Jesus is presented in the John gospel as the Passover lamb (1.29). It would fit theologically, but not chronologically, that Jesus the Passover lamb would die on the day of the Passover.
If we assume that the ancient writers understand history as we do, then there are glaring discrepancies in the gospels. If it is feasible that ancient people do not understand history as neat, precisely and tidy as modernity, then the discrepancy is only apparent. All writers, including Ehrman and those of the New Testament, begin their opus with certain pre-suppositions. Where a writer begins will affect how s/he will end up. With that in mind, Ehrman is still a good read. What he has to say about the New Testament can help us with a more adequate understanding. But I would caution that it is always better to be uncertain with an opened mind than be certain with a closed mind. As the American satirist, Ambrose Bierce, once quipped, “certainty is being mistaken at the top of one’s voice.”
References:
Misquoting Jesus: the story behind who changed the Bible and why 2005
Forged: Writing in the Name of God - Why the Bible's Authors Are Not Who We Think They Are 2011
Review by John L. Ng
May, 2014
Even a casual glance of Bart Ehrman’s list of published books will impress any reader. He is a prolific writer, mainly on Biblical studies for the general public. At this writing, he is the James A. Gray Distinguished Professor of Religious Studies at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Once upon a time, Ehrman was a professing Evangelical. He had walked down the church aisle to commit his life to Jesus. He had studied at Moody Bible Institute and Wheaton College. But the more he engaged the Biblical texts, the more he doubted their validity. Then he made a detour from the Evangelical traditions to attend Princeton Theological Seminary. From there, he left his traditional faith and embraced Agnosticism. Since, he has devoted his career to refute the inerrancy of the Bible.
In “Jesus, Interrupted,” and the other two books, his modus operandi is predictable. The premise is that the gospel accounts of Jesus are unreliable because the New Testament is historically unreliable. He endeavors to educate those who are novices in historical and textual criticism. He quickly bullies the uninitiated by declaring that his conclusions are “standard fare,” shared by well respected, objective scholars. Implicitly, when Evangelicals disagree with him, it is due to their intellectual denial or inferior scholarship. We are left with two disparaging options: maintain our trust in the Bible by compromising our intellectual integrity or maintain our intellectual integrity by adhering to his conclusions.
His chapters are loaded with accusations: a historical assault on faith; a world of contradictions; liar, lunatic, or Lord; finding the historical Jesus; who invented Christianity; is faith possible. An initial reading finds his arguments compelling – that the gospels are full of errors and contradictions. His “textbook case” regarding the death of Jesus is classic. According to the Mark gospel, after Jesus and his disciples observed the Passover, where the Eucharist was instituted, Jesus was arrested, trialed and condemned to death by crucifixion. But according to the John gospel, Jesus and his disciples shared a common meal. But nothing is mentioned about the Eucharist. Afterwards Jesus was arrested. John notes that it was on the day of preparation for the Passover when Jesus was condemned to death. According to Mark, Jesus died the day after the Passover. According to John, Jesus died the day of the Passover.
The discrepancy seems obvious. But there is an overarching assumption Ehrman wants us to make – that his findings are solely based on the empirical. In reality, empirical research is not entirely possible. Whether in science or history, all scholars enter their discipline with a set of pre-suppositions. Most often, these pre-suppositions are subjective. That is where the fallacy lies. In his study of the timing of Jesus’ death, he assumes that reliable history should be written according to the chronology of events. If event A happens before event B and a historian renders event B before event A, then he is in error. But there are other reasons for this discrepancy besides being erroneous. Take for example, what if for ancient writings, like the John gospel, a pre-supposition is that chronological history may be superseded by a more significant theological or philosophical rationale? Through the confession of John the Baptist, Jesus is presented in the John gospel as the Passover lamb (1.29). It would fit theologically, but not chronologically, that Jesus the Passover lamb would die on the day of the Passover.
If we assume that the ancient writers understand history as we do, then there are glaring discrepancies in the gospels. If it is feasible that ancient people do not understand history as neat, precisely and tidy as modernity, then the discrepancy is only apparent. All writers, including Ehrman and those of the New Testament, begin their opus with certain pre-suppositions. Where a writer begins will affect how s/he will end up. With that in mind, Ehrman is still a good read. What he has to say about the New Testament can help us with a more adequate understanding. But I would caution that it is always better to be uncertain with an opened mind than be certain with a closed mind. As the American satirist, Ambrose Bierce, once quipped, “certainty is being mistaken at the top of one’s voice.”
Far From The Tree: parents, children and the search for identity
by Andrew Solomon, Scribner, 2012
Review by John L. Ng
April, 2014
Sitting across a table from me, a father sobbed intermittently as he scuffled to accept his present circumstance with a Down syndrome child. When his wife was with that child, as persons of faith he and his wife did not contemplate once about terminating the pregnancy. Ignoring the doctor's counsel, their faith assumed that it was God's unfathomable providence. The challenges of raising a Down syndrome child were harmlessly in the future. But now that the child was in his arms, at once his career path, financial concerns, parental task and familial needs took an unpredictable and difficult detour. Being a father of "normal" children, I felt no moral authority to embolden him to carry on. I could only listen silently to his not so silent desperation.
"Far From The Tree" informatively explores how families cope with raising children with "horizontal identities" - a term coined to describe those who possess cognitive, physical and psychological disparities that their parents do not share. The title is from the old adage that claims an apple does not fall far from its tree. For the 300 families with deaf, dwarf, Down syndrome, autistic, schizophrenic, and severe physical disable children in the book, the "apples" have fallen far from the tree, even to other orchards. The study also includes children who are prodigies, conceived in rape, transgender and serial criminals. Having spent 10 years in research, in some cases living with these families, Andrew Solomon, an academic and journalist, concludes that unhappy families who reject their less than "normal" children have similar travails, but the "happy ones who strive to accept them are happy in a multitude of ways."
The book is wise, graceful, generous and rich in imagination. At times biographical, Solomon offers intimate glimpses into the mystery and the desperation of these families' psychologies. It is intuitive for parents to love their children; it is more intentional to accept them but not for what they might have been. He reminds us that parents do not "reproduce" children who are duplicates of who they are. Parents only "produce" children who are unpredictably different. With some, these differences are overwhelmingly disparaged. Parents and other family members of children with horizontal identities are left with the onerous tasks of caring for them. With sobriety and also in hope, Solomon affirms that to watch a family with just enough courage and industry to nurture a less than normal child is to "witness a shimmering humanity."
I remember when our four children came into the world, each time I quietly dreamed that they would be good looking, intelligent and find a good place in the world to do some good. But I also remember each time as I was putting on my surgical gown to join my wife in the delivery room, I prayed in earnest that God would gift us a "normal" child in mind, soul and body. As an Evangelical pastor, my theological traditions alert us that we are a broken humanity living in a broken world. In our brokenness, some are more broken. What then is normality? Is it a normal with abnormalities at its extreme ends or is it a spectrum of shades of abnormality. I dare not say. But my theological traditions also says there can be triumph through adversity. Whatever our lot, St Paul says that we "rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope." Although I do not know the author's faith traditions, if any, nor does it matter, I find his book warm, affirming, hopeful and empowering. All parents and those who help them would do well to read "Far From The Tree."
Review by John L. Ng
April, 2014
Sitting across a table from me, a father sobbed intermittently as he scuffled to accept his present circumstance with a Down syndrome child. When his wife was with that child, as persons of faith he and his wife did not contemplate once about terminating the pregnancy. Ignoring the doctor's counsel, their faith assumed that it was God's unfathomable providence. The challenges of raising a Down syndrome child were harmlessly in the future. But now that the child was in his arms, at once his career path, financial concerns, parental task and familial needs took an unpredictable and difficult detour. Being a father of "normal" children, I felt no moral authority to embolden him to carry on. I could only listen silently to his not so silent desperation.
"Far From The Tree" informatively explores how families cope with raising children with "horizontal identities" - a term coined to describe those who possess cognitive, physical and psychological disparities that their parents do not share. The title is from the old adage that claims an apple does not fall far from its tree. For the 300 families with deaf, dwarf, Down syndrome, autistic, schizophrenic, and severe physical disable children in the book, the "apples" have fallen far from the tree, even to other orchards. The study also includes children who are prodigies, conceived in rape, transgender and serial criminals. Having spent 10 years in research, in some cases living with these families, Andrew Solomon, an academic and journalist, concludes that unhappy families who reject their less than "normal" children have similar travails, but the "happy ones who strive to accept them are happy in a multitude of ways."
The book is wise, graceful, generous and rich in imagination. At times biographical, Solomon offers intimate glimpses into the mystery and the desperation of these families' psychologies. It is intuitive for parents to love their children; it is more intentional to accept them but not for what they might have been. He reminds us that parents do not "reproduce" children who are duplicates of who they are. Parents only "produce" children who are unpredictably different. With some, these differences are overwhelmingly disparaged. Parents and other family members of children with horizontal identities are left with the onerous tasks of caring for them. With sobriety and also in hope, Solomon affirms that to watch a family with just enough courage and industry to nurture a less than normal child is to "witness a shimmering humanity."
I remember when our four children came into the world, each time I quietly dreamed that they would be good looking, intelligent and find a good place in the world to do some good. But I also remember each time as I was putting on my surgical gown to join my wife in the delivery room, I prayed in earnest that God would gift us a "normal" child in mind, soul and body. As an Evangelical pastor, my theological traditions alert us that we are a broken humanity living in a broken world. In our brokenness, some are more broken. What then is normality? Is it a normal with abnormalities at its extreme ends or is it a spectrum of shades of abnormality. I dare not say. But my theological traditions also says there can be triumph through adversity. Whatever our lot, St Paul says that we "rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope." Although I do not know the author's faith traditions, if any, nor does it matter, I find his book warm, affirming, hopeful and empowering. All parents and those who help them would do well to read "Far From The Tree."
The Hinges of History: Volume II - The Gifts of the Jews, Doubleday, 1998
The Hinges of History: Volume III - Desire of the Everlasting Hills, Doubleday, 1999
by Thomas Cahill
Review by John L. Ng
January, 2014
In a previous book review, I mentioned that the European Union deliberately omitted in its charter any reference of Christianity’s impact in European history. That is plain silly if not stupid. Any reader of history cannot reasonably deny the Judeo-Christian significance in Western Civilization and indeed the world. These two monographs by Thomas Cahill, former editor of Doubleday, second and third books of a projected seven-volume series, examine the global influence of the Judeo-Christian traditions. As his general heading hints, Judaism and Christianity are hinges of history.
The subtitle of "The Gift of the Jews" conveys his thesis: “How a Tribe of Desert Nomads Change the Way Everyone Thinks and Feels''. When Abraham in the Jewish Torah heard a voice telling him to leave his kindred and sojourn in a land God would show him, Cahill concludes that something extraordinary in history was about to happen. It would be "a migration. . .that would change the face of the earth." Indeed, Judaism has given us an unique perception of our exterior world and our interior life. Before God spoke to Abraham, the world saw history as cyclical, spinning in a vicious cycle. The biblical worldview sees a progressive linear line of history that has a beginning in creation and an end in consummation of the world as we know it. Judaism also gave the world monotheism. Before Abraham, many people believed in many gods. Today, most people refer to the notion of deity as one God who has created the heavens and the earth. And there is the Jewish Decalogue. These ten words that had bind an ancient nation also shapes much of civilization's sense of social responsibility, personal morality and rule of law.
The second title "Desire of the Everlasting Hills" - a reference to Jacob's blessing of his sons in Genesis 49.26 - traces "the world before and after Jesus." Cahill reads the Christian New Testament as a viable historical text. He considers the witnesses of the first Christians seriously. They gave a consensus, albeit imperfect, on what Jesus has taught and done. Even as a writer with modern sensibilities, Cahill has high regard for the gospels' historicity. He treats the miraculous with openness. For example, he considers Jesus' virgin birth no more impossible than "the exaltation of the humble" in Mary's Magnificat. He rejects the abrupt ending of Mark that lacks a post-resurrection appearance of Jesus as an argument against a real resurrection. He argues that common sense would not allow Mark's painstakingly rendition of Jesus as God's anointed only to deny the final evidence that Jesus is the Son of God.
No matter how the world views this enigmatic figure, few can ignore or deny the historical centrality of Jesus. Whether we are believers or skeptics, whether we are cut from different cloths of other faiths, his teaching is indelibly sewed into the fabrics of all societies. Cahill concludes that Jesus' teaching is the "standard by which all moral actions are finally judged." The classical historian, Donald Kagan, writes that of all universal values ". . . the most important of these is the Judeo-Christian tradition. . . ," especially the counter-intuitive ideas of the Sermon on the Mount.
Although possessed with a breezy writing style that makes him an entertaining read, Cahill has a greater and serious purpose. The Judeo-Christian traditions have redefined a worldview that transforms the way we see God, our world, ourselves, our neighbors, and even our enemies.
Review by John L. Ng
January, 2014
In a previous book review, I mentioned that the European Union deliberately omitted in its charter any reference of Christianity’s impact in European history. That is plain silly if not stupid. Any reader of history cannot reasonably deny the Judeo-Christian significance in Western Civilization and indeed the world. These two monographs by Thomas Cahill, former editor of Doubleday, second and third books of a projected seven-volume series, examine the global influence of the Judeo-Christian traditions. As his general heading hints, Judaism and Christianity are hinges of history.
The subtitle of "The Gift of the Jews" conveys his thesis: “How a Tribe of Desert Nomads Change the Way Everyone Thinks and Feels''. When Abraham in the Jewish Torah heard a voice telling him to leave his kindred and sojourn in a land God would show him, Cahill concludes that something extraordinary in history was about to happen. It would be "a migration. . .that would change the face of the earth." Indeed, Judaism has given us an unique perception of our exterior world and our interior life. Before God spoke to Abraham, the world saw history as cyclical, spinning in a vicious cycle. The biblical worldview sees a progressive linear line of history that has a beginning in creation and an end in consummation of the world as we know it. Judaism also gave the world monotheism. Before Abraham, many people believed in many gods. Today, most people refer to the notion of deity as one God who has created the heavens and the earth. And there is the Jewish Decalogue. These ten words that had bind an ancient nation also shapes much of civilization's sense of social responsibility, personal morality and rule of law.
The second title "Desire of the Everlasting Hills" - a reference to Jacob's blessing of his sons in Genesis 49.26 - traces "the world before and after Jesus." Cahill reads the Christian New Testament as a viable historical text. He considers the witnesses of the first Christians seriously. They gave a consensus, albeit imperfect, on what Jesus has taught and done. Even as a writer with modern sensibilities, Cahill has high regard for the gospels' historicity. He treats the miraculous with openness. For example, he considers Jesus' virgin birth no more impossible than "the exaltation of the humble" in Mary's Magnificat. He rejects the abrupt ending of Mark that lacks a post-resurrection appearance of Jesus as an argument against a real resurrection. He argues that common sense would not allow Mark's painstakingly rendition of Jesus as God's anointed only to deny the final evidence that Jesus is the Son of God.
No matter how the world views this enigmatic figure, few can ignore or deny the historical centrality of Jesus. Whether we are believers or skeptics, whether we are cut from different cloths of other faiths, his teaching is indelibly sewed into the fabrics of all societies. Cahill concludes that Jesus' teaching is the "standard by which all moral actions are finally judged." The classical historian, Donald Kagan, writes that of all universal values ". . . the most important of these is the Judeo-Christian tradition. . . ," especially the counter-intuitive ideas of the Sermon on the Mount.
Although possessed with a breezy writing style that makes him an entertaining read, Cahill has a greater and serious purpose. The Judeo-Christian traditions have redefined a worldview that transforms the way we see God, our world, ourselves, our neighbors, and even our enemies.