Tag Archives: Bible

His Boundless Word

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In these days of quarantine, social distancing, stay-at-home, and always wash your hands–we can feel stifled, closed in, and bound. Not bound by the laws of health only but by our fears and worries as well. In the midst of these concerns, how blessed I was to read these words:

Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David, as preached in my gospel, for which I am suffering, bound with chains as a criminal. But the word of God is not bound! Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, that they also may obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory.  2 Timothy 2:8-10

Paul wrote many of his letters from prison. Sometimes, under house arrest (as many of us feel we are now), but he reminds his readers that though he may be in chains, the Word of God is never bound! Never in chains, never closed in, never kept at a distance, and never limited to “only two verses, please.” We are free to study the Word of God, share it, memorize it, and know that it will always be working. His Word is free and boundless.

 

 

Leap Over A Wall by Eugene H. Peterson–Book Review

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Eugene Peterson is best known for his translation of the Bible published in 2002 when Peterson was seventy years old. He spent many years before then as a college professor (teaching Hebrew and Greek), then a small-town pastor but became known all over the world with the publication of “The Message: The Bible in Contemporary Language.”

Though long familiar with “The Message,” Leap Over a Wall (1996) was new to me. A picture on instagram of a book labeled “reflections on the life of David” and subtitled: Earthy Spirituality for Everyday Christians quickly caught my interest, and it was well worth my search.

 

Peterson’s mother’s possessed fantastic storytelling abilities, so Peterson grew up being fascinated with the characters of the Bible–not because of their spiritual depth or insights–but because of their stories. “Story is the primary way in which the revelation of God is given to us. The Holy Spirit’s literary genre of choice is story.”

Of all the people in the Bible, David is one with an overwhelming presence and gives us some of the Bible’s greatest stories. Who doesn’t know the story of David and Goliath? David and Bathsheba? God uses his life–in all its sordid details–to teach us about Himself and how we should respond to our Creator. Though we often think of the Bible as being full of doctrine, laws, and theology (and it is), God uses the stories of His people to teach us.

“God reveals himself to us not in a metaphysical formulation or a cosmic fireworks display but in the kind of stories that we use to tell our children who they are and how to grow up as human beings, tell our friends who we are and what it’s like to be human.”

In each chapter, Peterson goes through different areas, specifically relationships, of David’s life and how he responds to God in each one. How did these various relationships in David’s life (Saul, Jonathan, Abigail, Doeg, etc.) help him to see God? To turn to God? To trust in God? Peterson’s own imagination combined with his scholarly knowledge of theology creates a book full of wisdom and insight told in his own “earthy” way. If you’re familar with “The Message,” you won’t be surprised to see a chapter titled “Boneheads–David and the Sons of Zeruiah.”

Peterson explains how in much of David’s story, it’s not how he lives or the decisions he makes that put his story in the Bible. They are there to teach us about God and how He continually works in our lives and in those around us. “God’s salvation, not David’s shoddy morals or clever genius, is the subtext here.”

Though David seems to spend much of his life going from one disaster to another, he ultimately ends up praising and trusting in God as expressed in the title taken from one of David’s more lengthy psalms of praise. “For by you I can run against a troop, and by my God I can leap over a wall.” Psalm 18:29

“The primary concern of the spiritual life isn’t what we do for God, but what God does for us.”

“My Name is Absalom” Part 3 by P.M. Gilmer

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This is part three of “My Name is Absalom”. If you haven’t read parts one and two, please go back and read my last two blogs:

https://declaretonextgeneration.com/2017/07/28/my-name-is-absalom-part-1/

https://declaretonextgeneration.com/2017/08/04/my-name-is-absalom-part-2-by-p-m-gilmer/

I arrived at the palace and headed straight for the dining hall. I didn’t see either of my parents–only a few of my younger siblings as well as a couple of my father’s other wives quietly lingering. No one seemed to be eating; a few looked up at me as I entered, but just as quickly looked back down again. It seemed they had heard something of what happened to Tamar. I walked over to Chileab’s mother, Abigail, the most level-headed of my father’s wives.

“Where is my mother?”

“She has retired for the evening. As has your father.” At first, she wouldn’t look at me, but I stood there until she did. Her eyes shone with tears of pity. “How is Tamar?” she asked quietly.

“How do you think?” I answered harshly. I had no grievance with Abigail, but I was in no mood for commiseration or possible platitudes. Abigail was as bad as her son in that she too often tried to see the good where none could possibly exist. I turned and left, not willing to answer questions or see sympathy from anyone else.

Pushing past servants, I made my way to my mother’s room. I knocked on the door, and her maid servant opened the door slightly to see who was there. When she recognized me, she turned and said, “It’s your son, Absalom, my lady.”

Without waiting for my mother’s response, I shoved the servant aside and went in. The room was dark with only one small oil lamp lit in one corner. My mother was reclining on her couch, and even in the darkness, I could see her eyes were puffy and red.

“My darling boy,” she said, reaching out her arms towards me.

I leaned down, kissed her, then found a stool to sit on. “What did you hear?” My mother was prone to histrionics, and I did not want to give her a chance to make this situation about her. I was undoubtedly too late for that.

She regarded me, her eyes glittering and calculating. “That your sister made a spectacle of herself in the streets of Jerusalem. That she went to Amnon’s house, threw herself at him, and is now refusing to marry him.”

I stared at her. “Are you mad? Tamar went to Amnon’s house at our father’s insistence where she was attacked. And you now think she should marry him?”

She sniffed. “Tamar has always been a little dramatic, don’t you think? Oh, yes, I’m sure I’ve spoiled her, but she is old enough to take responsibility for her own actions. And what would be so bad about being married to your brother? Better that than some foreign prince or an Israelite merchant. There have been several of those sniffing around her already, but now with her making her shame so public, it’s unlikely anyone else will have her.”

My stomach churned, and I had to swallow the bile threatening to choke me. “You would put the blame on Tamar? Your own daughter?” A suspicion grew in my mind. “Did you know Father told Tamar to wait on Amnon?”

My mother gave a small shrug, then yawned. “I was there when your Father spoke to Tamar, yes. She didn’t really want to go, but Amnon had asked for her, and your Father wanted to please him. Do you think I should have stopped her? Really, Absalom, Tamar cannot be babied forever. Now, I am tired and ready to retire. If you are so determined to put blame on someone, speak with your father. Though you should probably wait until the morning. Your father was quite distressed when he heard about Tamar’s street exhibition and asked not to be disturbed. He will not appreciate being bothered at this hour, especially as you didn’t even show up for a dinner at which you were expected.”

Not for the first time, my mother rendered me speechless. Should I have been surprised at her attitude? No, in all honesty–yet I was. I did not want to go home and tell Tamar what our mother had said, but I feared she would not be a bit surprised. Disappointed, yes, and hurt as well, but not surprised. She believed our mother to be jealous of her beauty, but I always scoffed at such a notion. Now, I was not so sure.

Frustrated, I got up and left my mother’s room and almost ran out of the palace. I was tempted to go and see my father in spite of my mother’s warning, but I knew if he refused to see me, I would not be able to control my temper any longer.

So, I fled down the dark streets of Jerusalem, running with no real purpose. I thought of going to Amnon’s house, but assumed he would be well guarded. I could try and find Jonadab, but doubted he would see me either. Somehow, though, I knew I would not let Amnon get away with hurting my sister. I consoled myself with the well-said proverb: revenge is a dish best served cold.

“My Name is Absalom” Part 2 by P.M. Gilmer

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Here is part two of my continuing story. If you missed part one, please click on following link:

https://declaretonextgeneration.com/2017/07/28/my-name-is-absalom-part-1/

 

Now I come to the part of my story which is the most difficult for me to tell, but, unfortunately, it is the most important and explains how and why things changed so much between myself and my brothers.

I had spent the morning idling at my house, knowing I should make my way to the palace to see my mother. I was expected for dinner that evening, but I hadn’t spoken to her since we returned from battle several days ago now, and I knew my mother would be annoyed that I had made no effort to see her on my own. Before I could summon the energy to get ready to go, one of my servants entered my room, his eyes wide with fear.

“My lord! There is trouble outside! Your sister . . .”

When my servant first entered, I sighed, ready to rebuke him for troubling me about some minor disaster, but as soon as he uttered the words “your sister”–I sprang to my feet, pushed him out of the way, and ran out the door.

Just down the street from my house, I could see a small crowd gathered and could hear the wailing of a young woman–a young woman whose voice I recognized very well.

Not bothering to put on sandals or even an outer garment, I dashed down the street, kicking up dust, and upon reaching the crowd, pushed the first man out of my way. I gasped as I saw my sister standing in the middle of the street, wearing the new, colorful robe our father had recently given her. But, the robe was torn and ashes covered her beautiful hair. Her maidservant cowered next to her, tears streaming down her face as well.

I cannot express the horror I felt upon seeing my sister in such a state. For a moment, I could not move. Then I looked up and over the crowd and realized where we were standing–right outside my brother, Amnon’s house. In front of his door, two servants stood guard, their eyes wide with consternation and dismay, but also a fierce determination. I turned back to Tamar and grabbed her by the arm.

“Tamar! Be quiet! You’re making a spectacle of yourself! What is wrong? Has that Amnon been with you?”

She would not stop weeping, so I gave her a little shake. “Tamar! Be quiet! Amnon is your brother, so don’t take this to heart. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you–but no matter what has happened–we need to keep this in our family.”

I began to pull her by the arm to bring her home with me and when she resisted, I looked into her eyes. The reproachful look she gave me pierced my very soul, but I still needed to get her out of the street. The crowd around us remained silent, not daring to speak or call out while I was there, but I knew as soon as I left, the talk would spread far and wide about the trouble between the children of the king.

Once we reached my house, I turned her over to one of my women servants who, along with Tamar’s own handmaid (who had followed us silently through the street) took off Tamar’s torn robe and led her off to bathe and comfort her.

While the women took care of Tamar, I paced through my house wanting to go and confront Amnon, but I knew the crowd would still be there, waiting to see what I would do. Though my first thought after realizing what must have happened between Amnon and Tamar had been to force Amnon to marry my sister, my thoughts now grew darker, and I knew I only wanted to kill him. I tried to calm myself, knowing I should go and speak with my father first, but I was in no mood to see him. I did not know what my father would do, but I knew he would not countenance any type of severe punishment. Certainly not the death I now envisioned in my mind.

In the end, I did nothing. Well, not right then anyway. I ordered a servant to bring me a skin of wine, and I took it and a cup up to my roof to drink. The sun was sinking into the horizon, and though the air quickly cooled, it did nothing to chill my blood.

I had drunk about half the skin when Tamar came up silently behind me and sat down on a bench next to me. We said nothing for several moments, just stared out at the darkening sky. Then, taking a deep breath, Tamar said in a shaky and low voice, “He said he would never marry me, and,” she stopped, trying to stifle a sob. “And he said he hated me.”

The rage I had been trying to tamp down flared up, and I hurled my cup out into the night. “He said that? He actually said that?”

Tamar nodded, her face down, sobs hiccupping out of her. “I tried to tell him to wait and ask Father to let us marry, but he wouldn’t listen. He just . . . just forced himself on me, then told me to get out. Said he hated even the sight of me and told his servant to throw me out and lock the door.”

Before I could respond, one of my servants came up to us, bowed to me, and said, “Sorry to interrupt, my lord, but your mother has sent a messenger wanting to know why you didn’t appear for dinner. I believe she is still waiting for you.”

I groaned but knew I should go. Obviously, I needed to talk to her anyway, but it would not be at a pleasant family meal. I stood up, then turned back to Tamar. “I need to go. She must not have heard about this yet, but she will soon enough. I will leave guards at the door, so you will be safe here. You will be fine?” I didn’t think she would actually be “fine”, but I had no choice but to leave. I needed to speak to both our mother and father, then decide how to take care of Amnon.

Tamar reached up and took my hand. “There is one more thing you should know,” she said, her voice so hoarse from her earlier screaming and crying I needed to strain to hear her. “Jonadab was there as well.”

My eyebrows raised and my gut clenched. “Jonadab? You mean?”

She shook her head. “No, not that he touched me, but he was there with us. He opened the door for me and brought me into Amnon. He . . .” Her voice broke again, and new suspicions crept into my mind.

“I don’t understand. Why were you there anyway?”

“Father sent me,” she said, her voice even lower.

I was so stunned, I sat back down. “Father sent you? What do you mean?”

“Father called me this morning. He had been to see Amnon because he was sick, and Amnon told Father he wanted me to come to him with food. So, I made some bread and brought it to him. When I got there, Jonadab was waiting for me. Like I said, he brought me into Amnon’s room and as soon as I went in, Amnon grabbed me. I tried to stop him . . .”

I pulled my sister to myself, hugging her tightly as she sobbed. “It’s not your fault,” I said fiercely. “Do not think that for a minute. And you do not have to marry that fool, Amnon, either. You can stay here with me. I will take care of everything. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her head against my chest, and I wished I did not have to leave. But, my mother was not a patient woman. Besides, I now had another reason to go: I needed to confront my father.

Declare to (the) Next Generation

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Well, I said a few weeks back that I would take some time to explain the name of my blog. When I started my blog, I had in mind writing about homeschooling and sharing news in education (mostly in reading and writing). I wanted to share and review any books that I consider worthwhile, as well as give information on any events going on that other homeschoolers might find helpful. (I’ll go ahead and say, I don’t post reviews on books I didn’t like or can’t recommend. I may blast a book privately, but knowing the struggles of writing, I have no interest in being public about one that maybe just wasn’t my cup of tea; though I just returned one to the library that might make me change my stance on that). Being a mother, a teacher, and a mentor–sharing with the next generation is always very much on my mind, so hence the title. The idea to “declare to the next generation” is hardly an original thought. (Do I actually have those? Sorry; that would be another blog). There are several verses in the Bible that instruct us to declare or say to the next generation what we have learned concerning Him and His Name.

Psalm 78:4–We will not hide them from their children but tell to the coming generation, the glorious deeds of the LORD, and His might and the wonders that He has done.

Psalm 145:4–One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts. In the Amplified Version: One generation shall praise Your works to another, And shall declare Your mighty and remarkable acts.

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All of these verses express a desire and an expectation. We are expected to declare, to commend and to praise–not to hide–His works; especially to another generation. And that is what I want to do with my reading, my writing, my life. Since I decided to recharge my blog (focusing more on reading and writing and less on education), I thought of changing the name, but what could be more important than declaring His works to the next generation? Whether reading, writing, or educating, it is only because of Him that I can do any of these things.  “If we grant that as artists, our ways of creating and seeing begin with the creativity of God, then let’s look at the root of that imaginative impulse.” (Luci Shaw)

Though I am writing and sharing with my peers, as well as older generations (yes, there are still one or two of those still alive), my ultimate goal would be to pass on my learning and experiences to the next generation. What we learn is worthless if it is not passed on to others. It is also this thought that has inspired me to begin the book I am writing. But, more on that at another time.