Class-y Thoughts

I have all my classes today. For those of you who are wondering, here's an example of what goes on in the life of a double major--thoughts from my religion, English, and science courses all rolled into one.

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A thought on the Sermon on the Mount:
In chapter 5 of Matthew, Christ contrasts the old law and the new law. In the first few examples, the old law represents the extreme sin, the new law the internal cause behind it. Murder is a result of anger, adultery is a result of lust. If we stop the cause, there's no real need to worry about the sin. But then, Jesus brings up this old/new law pair:

38 ¶ Ye have heard that it hath been said, An ^aeye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth:

39 But I say unto you, That ye resist not ^aevil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right ^bcheek, ^cturn to him the other also.

So the ultimate cause of justice is mercy? Interesting. Obviously, this is not quite the same as the others: this is a pair of virtues rather than sins. But I can see how justice is a lesser virtue derived from the ultimate virtue of mercy. Justice arises from a desire for fairness--to make sure there's no unfairness to any individual because we care about them. Mercy is the extension of that--not only giving each individual a fair standing, but giving them exactly what they need. It's a more individualized form of justice.

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Notes on the rhetoric of general conference:

• Nice use of the commonplace by President Hinckley in his Sunday morning talk--almost telling the Martin handcart company stories, but not quite; just enough to bring in the emotional component.
• Apparently, the priesthood session is usually the best because it can assume a lot more things about its audience. No need to consider non-members. Saturday sessions run a close second, since most non-members and civic authorities watch the Sunday sessions.
• Delivery/memorization has gotten a lot better since the Conference Center was built. The speakers are more aware of their audience. However, we still fall asleep. Delivery leaves a lot to be desired.
  
• Perhaps this is why videos have been inserted? They still creep me out.
• Conference has become a lot less Utah-centered in the past few years. Gone are the days when a speaker can say they grew up in Alpine and have everyone know what they mean. Even what a landfill is needs explanation, just to be sure the analogy will work for all audiences.
  

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You know you've taken too many math classes when:

• You have a favorite matrix. (It's the identity matrix, of course!)
• A black hole with mass zero sounds completely logical.
• Learning more complex things actually makes your life easier.
• Your class cheers every time something reduces to the zero vector.
• Your teacher doesn't know the difference between CS Lewis and Lewis Carroll. (True story: my math teacher was convinced that CS Lewis wrote Alice and Wonderland.)

Come Closer

So, there'll probably be more than the usual number of posts today because I've got quite a few things to write. Since they all have to do with church stuff, I don't feel bad posting them all today.

I'm really enjoying my New Testament class. This could be because it's taught by Dr. Wilfred Griggs, another man high up there on my list of great religious thinkers (along with OSC, CSL, and Hugh Nibley--in fact, he had an office across from Nibley for several years). I really like the way he's chosen to structure his class. First, he treats each gospel as the individual testimony of a man writing to a certain audience. Sometimes I get really annoyed at the way we read the New Testament, and more generally the Bible, in Sunday School. This probably has something to do with being an English major. Everyone's always trying to see past the text, to use what's written down as a general outline of what really happened, focusing on historical events rather than the actual writings of the apostles and prophets. Most people realize that the texts are subjective, having been filtered through human beings, but too often we treat that as something we have to get around or past in order to get to meaning. I like the way Griggs approaches the New Testament because he sees this weakness as a strength. The way different men write about the life of Christ says something about themselves, their purpose, and their audience. If we examine it instead of trying to ignore it, we can learn so much more--again, a plug for the English major.

Also, Griggs is not like most of the religion faculty at BYU. Most faculty I've heard about grade on your ability to either regurgitate the insights they've shared with you in class, or memorize the content of the scriptures, or simply be able to find content in the scriptures, as with open book classes. I guess these are ways to go about grading a religion course, since it's impossible to grade on testimony, but I don't believe they're very good ways. Instead, Griggs grades on your ability to create your own insights, even/especially when they don't agree with his perspective. It's much more true to the way I see the scriptures working in real life. It's not about getting the "right" answer, but being able to get answers of inspiration through the interaction of the scriptures, the Holy Ghost, and your life.

Finally, I like the fact that he's not even going to try to cover all four gospels in class--he says, and I agree, that all you'd be able to get to would be superficial Sunday School stuff. When I was taking my fundamentals of literary criticism class, a teacher who had studied at a Jewish college came to teach our class on Maimonides' Guide for the Perplexed--interesting book by the way. She talked about taking a class wherein they were supposed to study Genesis. But, after a semester, they had barely finished chapter one! Now that's the kind of density with which we ought to study the gospel. (Not that I'm opposed to faster readings--a general overview is good--but in-depth readings get you a lot more.)

So our in-class discussions are only going to cover Matthew and Luke. But, so that we cover all the gospels, our two outside papers are on Mark and John. I usually hate writing religion papers--the Sunday School answers sound even more dull on paper--but I'm absolutely ecstatic about this one because it gives me a chance to really think about what each book is trying to accomplish.

I just finished reading through Mark, so I'll wrap up this post by giving you some of my thoughts on his gospel. Sorry that they're kind of still outline-y. I need to read through Mark again to refine my ideas.

• Mark's thesis statement: Mark 1:1 "Jesus Christ, the Son of God"; specifically bearing testimony of Christ's divine nature, in opposition to the idea of Jesus as simply a great teacher or prophet.
• Mark focuses on Christ's actions more than his doctrine (see Bible dictionary). Specific types of actions which seem to be more concentrated:
• Confrontations with devils/evil spirits--they testify that He is the Christ. Account of the Legion of spirits cast into the swine much more detailed in Mark than Matt. Real opposition of evil to goodness of Christ.
  
• Miracles--acknowledging his power and divinity. Also, authority over matter, life, and the elements.
  
• Contrast between the Pharisees/Scribes and Christ: idle words versus actions. Pharisees concerned over specific, small doctrines and details. Christ paints righteousness with a much broader stroke.
  
• Asking people to not tell about miracles--not be converted by heresay?
• Parables in Mark are parables of how people act once they receive the gospel. Our testimonies shown through action.
• Many implications that the gospel is for everyone--not just for the Jews, or the righteous.

Update: Additional posts have been scrapped for today. Stupid real life. :D

Wiser than the Children of Light: Parables

Parables are interesting things. The way in which they convey their meanings is somewhat of a mystery, and yet they do it so effectively and consistently. Reading these simple stories brings all who read them to an understanding of very specific doctrines, so much so that the gospels rarely need to provide explanation outside of the story, other than the context in which Christ provided it. For a more eloquent explanation of the wonder of parables, I turn to the OSC:

It's no coincidence that so much of Christ's labor in this life was devoted to creating [parables]. . . . The Church he founded eventually failed him. His doctrines were distorted, forgotten, and lost. His followers were slain. The people he healed eventually died. But his stories, those deceptively simple parables, persisted. Where doctrines consisting of language can be and usually are reinterpreted into convenient new meanings, stories consisting of causal relationships between events are very hard to reinterpret without the audience noticing and crying "Foul!"

. . . If I tell you that the "so-called Good Samaritan" was really a clever businessman who acted as he did so as to impress the innkeeper in order to get a purchasing contract with him later, and if I tell you that Christ's message was that you must do good PR in order to succeed in business, you know I'm lying. (Orson Scott Card, "Art as an Act of Charity," A Storyteller in Zion, p. 112-113)

Generally, the meanings of the parables are just as obvious as that of the Good Samaritan. But in my scripture reading yesterday, I stumbled across the one parable that I view as an exception. And it's become one of my favorite parables not only because of it's meaning, but because it is not as obvious. (Maybe it's just the elitist in me.) For your reference, here it is, the Parable of the Unjust Servant from Luke 16:

1 And he said also unto his disciples, There was a certain rich man, which had a steward; and the same was accused unto him that he had ^awasted his goods.

2 And he called him, and said unto him, How is it that I hear this of thee? give an ^aaccount of thy ^bstewardship; for thou mayest be no longer steward.

3 Then the steward said within himself, What shall I do? for my lord taketh away from me the stewardship: I cannot dig; to beg I am ashamed.

4 I am resolved what to do, that, when I am put out of the stewardship, they may receive me into their houses.

5 So he called every one of his lord’s debtors unto him, and said unto the first, How much owest thou unto my lord?

6 And he said, An hundred measures of oil. And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and sit down quickly, and write fifty.

7 Then said he to another, And how much owest thou? And he said, An hundred measures of wheat. And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and write fourscore.

8 And the lord commended the unjust steward, because he had done wisely: for the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the ^achildren of ^blight.

9 And I say unto you, Make to yourselves friends of the ^amammon of unrighteousness; that, when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations.

10 He that is ^afaithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much.

11 If therefore ye have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon, who will commit to your ^atrust the true ^briches?

12 And if ye have not been faithful in that which is another man’s, who shall give you that which is your own?

A very strange parable indeed. Here are a few of the things I draw from it. First, we must be able to obey lesser commandments before receiving higher ones. If we cannot be trusted to keep the lesser law, how can God reveal more unto us? We must make better use of what we have. And rushing at the last minute like the unjust servant will not do. The gospel demands the "tranquil and steady dedication of the lifetime" (Elder Oaks, "The Dedication of Lifetime" --the half not on dating!). If not, when we are called to be accountable for our actions, we will be found short.

In that same vein, I believe that the master commends the unjust servant because, even though what he did was wrong, at least he went after what he wanted with zeal. He found himself in a dilemma, weighed his options, "resolved" what to do, and pursued it full-throttle. In this way, those who work evil are often better than those who are good: how many of us go after truth and righteousness with the same determination and single-mindedness that the unjust servant shows towards evil?

Not many, I think. Rather, we wonder and worry about not receiving a special witness that our course is right, and hestitate to act. I am as much guilty as the next person of faith. We want a voice from God to confirm our every action, when He has told us plainly that "it is not meet that I should command in all things" and men should "do many things of their own free will" (D&C 58:26-27). Thus "the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light." (Thanks to James Joyce for that bit of insight, even if it's the only thing I've ever gotten from him. Cursed Dubliners!)

The usually most troubling passage of this parable is "Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness; that, when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations." Is the Savior telling us to make friends with evil people? Perhaps yes. Perhaps not. I could see it either way. First, if we are friends with the unrighteous, then we can lift them up, and, in spite of our imperfections, they will testify of our goodness at the last day. Or, the Savior could merely be encouraging us to have many friends, for when our own situation or willpower fail us. If we lack the strength to bring of our salvation on our own, it is our friends who create the tide that we will drift along in.

I love thinking about this parable--so complex and so satisfying.

Pros and Cons of Being Martha

This wasn't what I originally intented to write about, but I need to write it down before I forget what it was about. So Saturday's intended blog entry is being put off indefinitely.

As this semester has come to a close, I've noticed a problem I have that's always been lurking in the back of my mind, but I never really bring out and conquer. It's one that should be obvious, but for some reason I manage to always ignore it. The problem is this: I am always living waiting for something to end, for the future, I guess, but mostly for change.

In particular, during the semester I tend to rationalize the fact that I have no time to do what I want by the fact that it will soon be over. This semester has really been the worst: I literally go to school everyday, come home, eat, do homework, and sleep. When I do have free time, I spend it vegging out in front of my computer because my brain and will are simply so fried that I can't do anything else. When the semester ends, I spend a few days just hibernating in my apartment recovering. But then, I don't learn from my experience and simply load myself up again with way more than I can handle.

I probably get this from my dad: he tends to go in this same full-throttle/crash-and burn cycle. He'll work a sixty hour week, perhaps staying at work for even 48 hours straight. Then he comes home and crashes through the weekend. I know this is not a good way to live; as I said to my dad, I don't want to live waiting for my life to be over.

So while I've been pondering this, I came across in my scripture reading the story of Mary and Martha in Luke 10. When people discuss this story, we talk about the problem of being too busy to stop and listen to the gospel. The work Martha is doing is something that needs to be done, but sometimes it is more important to stop and listen to the gospel. Mary is symbolic of the quiet listener, Martha the overworked and distracted disciple.

However, this time as I was reading this story, I looked up a cross reference and read in John 11 the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. I hadn't ever read this story focusing on the Mary/Martha aspect, but when I did, I noticed another aspect of this relationship which caused me to reconsider the meaning of the story. When Jesus comes to Bethany, Martha immediately comes to him, and when asked if she believes Christ has the power to raise the dead, she immediately says yes. But when Mary comes to the Lord, she seems, at least to me, to be in total despair, lacking the hope that Martha seems to have in the gospel.

The conclusion I came to was this: living a busy and less active life sometimes leaves little time to contemplate the gospel, but I think it gives us a testimony of the principles of the gospel in action in our lives. By sitting around contemplating the gospel, we can gain a deep understanding of the principles involved, but it doesn't necessarily give us a testimony of their truth. The gospel is not something that can be studied in isolation; we cannot learn the gospel without having something to apply it about. The most boring and least strong members of the church are those who spend all day studying the gospel. Really, it becomes a sort of inbreeding: you have no substance to live the gospel about and your belief in it becomes founded only on your study of it. But when you live, you see the application of the principles in your life, and your testimony grows stronger even though you may not have as much time to study.

So, as seems to be the conclusion of the most of my posts lately, it's all about balance. I need to find the point in my life when I won't be so overwhelmed that I don't have time to contemplate, but also be busy enough to have experiences and deepen my testimony of the gospel.