- Cry, The Beloved Country by Alan Paton
- Remembering Babylon by David Malouf
- The Road by Cormac McCarthy
- Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver
- A Movable Feast by Ernest Hemingway
The Bloggy Book Club
About 3 weeks ago, my dear friend Nicole sent me a book by Alan Paton entitled Cry The Beloved Country (“Cry”). Then, two weeks ago, my new friend Hamster sent me Papa—A Personal Memoir, by Greg Hemingway (“Papa”). Cry is a novel about racial injustice, set in an Apartheid bound South Africa. Papa is a non-fiction account of Ernest Hemmingway’s life through his son’s eyes. I love South Africa and Hemingway. I also like good writing. I walk by both books daily and they respectfully ask me to open them to a new journey. But alas, I am stuck in the Shack with Mack and a syrup bottle version of God that makes my stomach turn.
In more guarded conversations—ones that do not find themselves published on the internet for all the world to see—you will hear many say that the dialogue in the Shack is somewhat less than stellar but not quite atrocious. It is an idea book, the Shack apologist will say. I waited for these ideas, hoping that they would overshadow the atrocities of trite dialogue. I had been promised that they would. And not just from you guys. From preachers, and worship leaders, and bloggers, and perhaps even a relative or two.
I am disappointed.
“But while Mack could not stop the tears from filling his eyes, he was not ready to let go—not yet, not with this Woman. …’Not Ready?’ she responded. ‘That’s okay, we’ll do things on your terms and time. Well come on in. Can I take your coat.’” Page 83.
“Mack stepped back again, feeling a bit overwhelmed. ‘Are there more of you?’ he asked a little hoarsely. The three looked at one another and laughed. Mack couldn’t help but smile. ‘No, Mackenzie,’ chuckled the black woman. ‘We is all that you get, and believe me, we’re more than enough.’” Page 85
“Pap was working on something with her back to him, flour flying as she swayed to the music of whatever she was listening to. The song obviously came to an end, marked by a couple of last shoulder and hip shakes. … ‘West Coast Juice. Group called Diatribe and an album that isn’t even out yet called Heart Trips. Actually,’ she winked at Mack, ‘these kids haven’t even been born yet.’” Page 90.
“Mackenzie, I am neither male nor female…. If I choose to appear to you as a man or a woman, it’s because I love you. For me to appear to you as a woman and suggest that you call me Papa is simply to mix metaphors, to help you keep from falling so easily back into your religious conditioning.” Page 93.
When talking about Jesus asking why God forsook him: “’Will you at least consider this: When all you can see is your pain, perhaps you lose sight of me?’” Page 96.
About Jesus healing the blind: “’He did so as a dependent, limited human being trusting in my life and power to be at work within him and through him. Jesus, as a human being, had no power within himself to heal anyone.’” Page 100.
“’We have limited ourselves out of respect for you. We are not bringing to mind, as it were, our knowledge of your children. As we are listening to you, it is as if this is the first time we have known about [your friends], and we take great delight in seeing them through your eyes.’” Page 106.
It is true, the Shack is an idea book. And I don’t like the ideas.
The church has eaten this book up. We’ve put it on the best seller list. Why? We want an identifiable God. So we quickly adopt a version in which we dress her in an apron and jeans, allow her imperfect grammar, plug her into an iPod, limit her deity within human confines, and allow her to cast aspersions about Jesus’ eyesight on the Cross. We like her to refrain from pushing. She would never swallow us in a whale, or strike us off our asses on the road to Damascus. She waits for us. She does things on our “terms and time.”
Who is she? She is your all-understanding aunt. You know, the one who used to listen to MTV when you were 6 and knows how to make that kick-A blackberry cobbler. Because we can all identify with blackberry cobbler. And who didn’t shake to the Dire Straights?
But at the heart of it all, the God I know through scripture is not understandable. His qualities are infinitely juxtaposed: he is violent and tender; he is permissive and forceful; he is creative and destructive; he is understanding but unbending; he sets forth his plan and then relents. Further, he sent us a representation of himself that was not understood, even by those who followed him the most closely. And when the Spirit came and infiltrated every believer, they still didn’t quite get God—at least, not all the way.
I know that the above quotes contain many debatable theological issues, but that is not the point of this post. Perhaps we can discuss these more fully in the comments. Instead, I ask why we are so quick to adopt a rewritten God? Why do we desire to neuter the immutable complexities of God, which I admit can seem vexing? I think these complexities are beautiful. They keep me coming back for more.
Look, I don’t need God to be white, or male, or Baptist, I just need him to be God. Not my aunt Sharon (who I must say makes incredible toffee). And I fear that all I’m getting here is a culturally acceptable version of him. A palatable version of the trinity. A made-for-T.V. theology in which Oprah is sure to be the central character. We’ll watch it and laugh at that cute blue bird nuzzling in the crook of her neck.
Rubbish.
And here are some of the stereotypes the book attempts to rebuke:
So far I've read to somewhere in chapter 10, and the pace shows no sign of slowing down. Some of the items above I thought were very insightful, and have made me think. But I can't think for long because in the next paragraph something new is brought up.
"Mackenzie, I am neither male nor female, even though both genders are derived from my nature. If I choose to appear to you either as a man or a woman, it's because I love you. For me to appear to you as a woman and suggest that you call me Papa is simply to mix metaphors, to help you from falling so easily back into your religious conditioning."After all, pastors do represent God in a special way to their flock - and they are perhaps the most prominent icons of God for those far away from the church. I think my familiarity w/ the "in persona Christi" doctrine of the Catholic church made me think about the quoted passage in relationship to women's ordination. There are plenty of people who find the idea of turning to a man for help / guidance a terrifying thing. (Although I've heard the counter-argument, "All the more reason for these hurt people to have interactions with male pastors that could be positive and healing.")
[...] She stopped talking, but only long enough to put away some seasonings into a spice rack on a ledge by the window and then turned to face him again. She looked at Mack intently. "Hasn't it always been a problem for you to embrace me as your father? And after what you've been through, you couldn't very well handle a father right now, could you?" (93)
Try as he might, Mack could not escape the desperate possibility that the note just might be from God after all, even if the thought of God passing notes did not fit well with his theological training. In seminary he had been taught that God had completely stopped any overt communication with moderns, preferring to have them only listen to and follow sacred Scripture, properly interpreted, of course. God's voice had been reduced to paper, and even that paper had to be moderated and deciphered by the proper authorities and intellects. It seemed that direct communication with God was something exclusively for the ancients and uncivilized, while educated Westerners' access to God was mediated and controlled by the intelligentsia. Nobody wanted God in a box, just in a book. (65-66)Young gives an overstated and simplistic answer to the organized-religious-tradition-versus-personal-encounter-with-God question. It bothers me for a number of reasons:
None of his old seminary training was helping in the least. (91)