Although I missed most of the Jesus and Evangelical Power conference, held on October 27-29, 2006 at First Presbyterian Church of Berkeley, I attended Ruth Padilla DeBorst's second presentation of Too Close to the US and Too Far From God (mp3). As I noted on the conference blog, I was intrigued by her comment about how the export of genetically modified food into her country has driven out a lot of local farming (since local farmers would have to buy patented seeds). I was looking for confirmation that I heard her correctly and substantiation of her claims. Some other commenters followed up, pointing to:
an article in the Wall Street Journal (for which I have no easy access as a non-subscriber) and
I'm hoping that the blog will soon be restructured to better facilitate discussion around particular talks. I'm also looking forward to listening to the talks, which are all available for download as mp3s.
Yesterday morning, as I meandered from one thought to another, the words "Be still, and know that I am God" registered on my consciousness. As I quieted myself, I found a clarity of mind and focus of action that I am wont to attribute to divine action. Silence on my part is often a prerequisite for communing with God. What happens though when God is not be found -- or to be heard -- when we actively search for God, whether in quiet or in silence? The theme for yesterday's sermon at First Pres Berkeley (based on Job 23) was precisely such silence of God. Mark Labberton's sermon induced the scribbling of a lot of quotes, questions, phrases, pregnant phrases on my notepad. Let me share a few:
Job 23 as a counterpoint to the proverbial wisdom tradition in which you will have a good life if you do right.
Job's friends marshalled all the arguments of proverbial wisdom in an attempt to set Job right.
How did Job know that he was righteous? Aren't we all less than righteous? Is that type of righteousness what Job was thinking about?
I don't think that I've ever been plunged in the "dark night of the soul", that Jobian darkness.
The silences in Yosujiro Ozu's films came to my mind. The previous day, Laura and I had just seen silences in Ozu, who came to my mind because of our seeing Café Lumière, Hsiao-hsien Hou's tribute to Ozu. I found a lot of Hou's silences unbearable, while Ozu's silences were illuminating. Why is that? Are some of God's silences unbearable while others are illuminating?
The choir had just sung Ich harre des Herrn, meine Seele harret, und ich boffe auf sein Wort from Bach's Cantata 131 (BWV 131) (Aus der Tiefen rufe ich, Herr, zu dir.) (Out of the depths I cry to thee, o Lord. Lord, hear my voice!). What suitable accompaniment to the day's sermon.
All this reflection makes me once again deeply aware of my own acute vulnerability. God does not explain or even justify His silences. He provides no satsifying answers other than the ultimate, eventual assurance that things will be set right....eventually.
In the face of such vulnerability, we need to live in the here and now and live in hope.
Jesus provide his own share of odd silences. Eg., with Lazarus, Mary and Martha.
In Bach's St. Matthew Passion, Jesus is ostensibly one of the star singers. Yet he doesn't sing very much. At the beginning, he sings beautifully, reassuringly. Then he falls silent very soon into the Passion.
In the face of global suffering on mind-staggering scale, how can I not expect to suffer too?
In silence, we "face the reality of our own mortality" (ML)
Milosz expresses the transience of the moment with poignancy. See, for example, Czeslaw Milosz - Poetry: Encounter