Kostenberger on Vanhoozer

"Here is Vanhoozer’s theological cast:

The playwright: God

The drama: The history of redemption (Part One)

The script: The canon of Scripture (Part Two)

The dramaturge: Theologians (Part Three)

The director: The Holy Spirit, and pastors under him

The actors: All believers (Part Four)

According to Vanhoozer, the task of the theologian, as the dramaturge, is both manifold and vital. He seeks to help the players and the audience (collapsed into one in Vanhoozer’s proposal) to make sense of the script; he selects the proper edition or translation of the play (text criticism, translation); he researches the play to keep it historically accurate (historical background research); he thinks about the playwright’s intention (authorial intent); studies the play’s production history (the history of interpretation); and collaborates with the director on a compelling and coherent interpretation, paying attention to both detail and larger themes (p. 244). In all this, the dramaturge “works the drama” and serves as the liaison between playwright and director."

ooooo, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!

Bruggemann on scripture

How we read the Bible, each of us, is partly a plot of family, neighbors, and friends (a socialization process) and partly the God-given accident of long-term development in faith. The real issues of biblical authority and interpretation are not likely to be settled by erudite cognitive formulation or appeal to classic settlement, but live beneath such contention in often unrecognized and uncriticized ways that are deeply powerful, especially if rooted (as they may be for most of us) amidst hurt, anger, or anxiety.Real decisions about Biblical meanings are mostly not decided on the spot, but are long-term growth of habit and conviction that emerge, function, and shape, often long before recognized. And if that is so, then the disputes require not frontal arguments that are mostly exercises in self-entertainment, but long term pastoral attentiveness to each other in good faith. The script of the book is a host and launching pad for the wind among us that the world cannot evoke and the church cannot resist

Ascension Sunday ramblings

Have you ever known someone famous? Have you ever seen someone on TV and thought, hey, I know that guy! And felt that tinge of participation, as though you shared in their acheivement? Thought of when you played together when you were young "yeah, I can see the potential even back then'?
Have they ever drawn you into their world, introduced you to other big names?
Imagine how Joseph's brothers would have felt coming to Egypt. Lowly foreigners begging for food. Leaving a brother behind, bringing another, and then finding out, hey, I know that ruler of this massive rich Empire! Aside from the shame of having sold him to slaves, there must have been a surreal awe and joy.
Imagine how the disciples must have felt, seeing Jesus ascend to the right hand of God. It wasn't as if Jesus was a man, died, came back to life as a man, and then suddenly became a distant God. This was their mate, their leader, their friend, ascended to the highest place. And as they realised that that meant he was God, they must have thought back over their time together, and seen it all in a fresh light. Jesus has entered into the heavens, as a spirit filled man, in an amazing position to say of his friends 'they're with me'
When I was younger I got in trouble for praying "too chummy" with God. God (and Jesus) are to be revered. And rightly so. Yet it is our friend we revere. It is our fleshy friend Jesus. The same bloke who ate fish on the beach is enthroned as Lord. When we look at the ascension we see Jesus revealed as divine, but that has to force us to think of God humanised.

Christians and history

Christians can engage with history, because our beleifs embrace the messy, dark complexity of human existence. Christians beleive in reality. That a real God sent a real saviour to redeem and restore this real world. And so we can approach historical reality, not trying to shape its stories to conform to our pre-determined identity and ideology, but to be shaped, peirced and re-newed by and in it.

Circle of the same

Scot over at Jesus Creed has a wise post about hanging out with people similar to us. http://www.jesuscreed.org/?p=2101

bless this mess

Each time I invite people over for dinner, I feel obliged to clean up my apartment. The interesting books stop lying around and find their way home to the bookshelf. Paper of all shapes and sizes is hidden in draws. Colourful towels are no longer draped over chairs. The mandala of acrreted detritus on the floor is sucked up. And I am left with bland carpet, bare walls, functional furniture. An empty space
Is messyness my way of doing interior decoration?
Messyness: the inner urge for creativity and beauty placed there by God himself?
A gift, not unlike the one given to Bezalel and Ohilab?
Will my wife ever accept my artistic talent?

On the streets

This is a song my brother wrote a couple of years back. I still like it

Does he make you feel scared
like a black serpent does
when you walk late at night
he’s asleep on the grass?
Well put yourself in his place, if you can, if you must
who’s the one to feel fearful who can this man trust?

On the streets

Well you’ve got your three meals
And you’ve got your five days
Not to mention four wheels
to cruise those highways
and our fortress protects us like yachts in the bay,
whats he got besides having to face a new day?

On the streets

The stars for his bed burn the mind like the lies that we’re told
Of our forefathers bled for our lives but that tie’s getting old
now the homeless are many while few hoard the riches and hold
And the serpent exists but he’s not on the streets in the cold

Did you ever assume
she took too many loans
in her days as a mother
with the children at home?
Now she’s pushing that trolley with all that she owns
through the city of folly, of fashion, of foam

Through the streets

She was never a mother, and never her mother ever knew
through her father she suffered enough of incestual abuse
to be pushing that trolley since she was thirteen and it’s true
can’t go near now before she is stricken with fear through and through

So she’s pushing her founds
through the lights and the sounds
but it helps to forget
to forget what she’d found.
He was in the fresh air,
dead still all around
his heart full of shame
his own gambled life now

to the streets

And the stars for his bed burn the mind like the lies that we’re told
Of our troops, how they bleed for our lives, when it’s just for the gold
Ask the homeless, they’ll tell you this city we’re in’s lined with holes
And the serpent’s still lurking but he’s not on the streets in the cold

What’s expected in this
most material of place
Is to sharpen your weapons
and harden your face
It’s a shame to our day,
from the day when all races
start running, shake hands,
making plans for some grace

For the streets

-Evan Wells