When I started reading
Gilead and
With Calvin in the Theater of God at the same time, I little expected them to intersect. Calvin is rarely a name that surfaces in literature (especially modern), and when it does, it's usually a negative reference. Imagine my surprise to find the narrator of
Gilead refer to Calvin positively. Though, to be honest, I didn't know what to expect from Marilynne Robinson. I've seen her books recommended often -- and often by fellow knitters, come to think of it! -- but this was my first foray into her writing. I wasn't disappointed. I wrote a bit about both books in my recent
"book review" post, but thought I'd share some of my favorite passages. It's quite rare for me to mark passages in a novel, so that says something about
Gilead!
But I'll start with Calvin, which I found to be an excellent collection of essays not so much about Calvin himself, but rather about topics that he was passionate about. Each writer acknowledged Calvin's strengths and remarkable contribution to theology and church history, without "deifying" him or denying his weaknesses (he was human, and therefore a sinner, after all). Essentially, the authors glorified Jesus Christ, not John Calvin. Which is exactly what Calvin would have wanted.
As a mother, it's easy to feel that the "busyness" of my daily life detracts from my ability to serve God. But as David Mathis noted in his introduction, "It was the everyday life of suffering that produced [Calvin's] holy angst, the everyday life of disorder that begged for his arrangement, the everyday life of deadlines that prodded his productivity. It was an everyday life surrounded by distraught souls needing encouragement and deeply depraved sinners needing help with holiness. He simply would not -- could not -- have done what he did had he been tucked away in studious solitude, trying to maximize his isolation from the world and its fallenness."
Struggling with grief and loss comes with many challenges -- not least of which is the temptation to doubt God's goodness. Mark Talbot quotes Calvin in his essay, "Bad Actors on a Broken Stage:"
"No one will weigh God's providence properly and profitably but him who considers that his business is with his Marker and the Framer of the universe, and with becoming humility submits himself to fear and reverence."
Later, Talbot writes, "When bad things happen to us, are there ways to stop feeling that we have been given serpents for fish and stones for bread? In these situations, we need to know, Calvin writes, the Bible's promises that 'God's singular providence watches over the welfare of believers,' as well as to become acquainted with Scripture's examples of God's 'great diligence' in caring for his saints... it is primarily in and through our encounters with this world's sin and suffering that we begin to enjoy 'the immeasurable felicity of the godly mind.'"
As a side note, reading Talbot's chapter has convinced to read his book,
When the Stars Disappear,
which I've been eyeing for a while.
I was also interested to learn more about Calvin's perspective on poverty, which Marvin Olasky tackled in his essay, "The Secular Script in the Theater of God." He writes that "many people throughout medieval times had heard that the best way to help the poor was to give them spare food, clothes, and coins. Tyndale's emphasis on agape rather than charity challenged that, and Calvin's theoretical writing, plus the policies he implemented in Geneva, showed in practice the meaning of agape. He taught and showed that the best way to tackle poverty was not to distribute alms, but to open a business and employ those who would otherwise beg. The understanding underlying Calvin's emphasis on helping the poor and the alien was simple: Everyone is created in God's image and is worthy of respect. He wrote, 'We cannot but behold our own face as it were in a glass in the person that is poor and despised...though he were the furthest stranger in the world.'"
In a culture where the words "justice" and "equality" have been mutilated into weapons by those with political agendas, or degraded by social media's virtue signaling, we would do well to look to Calvin -- who was looking to Jesus. If all humans are made in God's image, then all of the people that I meet deserve respect that is not dependent on their color, gender, class, or cultural background. If all men are descended from Adam, as the Bible teaches, there is simply no room for one human to feel superior to another. I'm made in God's image, and so are you.
I also appreciate Calvin's perspective on poverty, which deserves more than just a "band-aid" approach. I once read a Victorian-era novel that addresses this issue -- I wish I could remember the title! In the story, concerned citizens from local churches (not the government) established a homeless shelter whose residents were provided with (and required to) work. The work itself turned discarded material into a useful resource, which is its own lesson in creative sustainability. The idea was to provide the impoverished with life skills that would eventually grant them independence. In the meantime, their immediate needs for food and shelter were met. It still puzzles me why this model is not more common! Granted, it is far more "costly" than just donating money or goods, because it involves taking the time and effort to truly help others.
But back to The Theater of God -- each essay was well worth reading, and I'm so pleased that this book caught my attention.
There really is no good segue to Gilead; while I read these books at the same time, and found an unexpected "connection," that's where the similarity ends.
It wasn't hard to warm to Marilynne Robinson's characters -- they seemed so real, even when I didn't understand their way of thinking. The narrator, a pastor in his 70's, was someone I'd like to meet. The book is reflective, written as a letter from father to son. As he near the end of his life, he recalls his own nuanced family relationships and the hardships that his community endured. A dying man in a dying town. Several of the characters have their own novels, which I think I'll have to read now.
Here's the passage that connected this contemplative novel to Calvin:
"Calvin says somewhere that each of us is an actor on a stage and God is the audience... I do like Calvin's image, though, because it suggests how God might actually enjoy us. I believe we think about that far too little. It would be a way into understanding essential things, since presumably the world exists for God's enjoyment, not in any simple sense, of course, but as you enjoy the being of a child even when he is in every way a thorn in your heart." (pg 124-125)
It's not an easy book to read, because it's not the kind of story that's tied up in a neat little bow at the end. There is some resolution, but the book doesn't have a dramatic story arc to begin with. It just makes you think about life, about relationships, about God Himself. I don't quite understand all of the narrator's trains of thought, and think I disagree with a few things he said. But some passages were wonderful, like this one:
"But I wished to say certain things about the Fifth Commandment, and why it should be thought of as belonging to the first tablet. Briefly, the right worship of God is essential because it forms the mind to a right understanding of God. God is set apart -- He is One, He is not to be imagined as a thing among things (idolatry -- this is what Feuerbach failed to grasp). His name is set apart. It is sacred (which I take to be a reflection of the sacredness of the Word, the creative utterance which is not of a kind with other language). Then the Sabbath is set apart from other days, for the enjoyment of time and duration, perhaps, over and above the creatures who inhabit time. Because "the beginning," which might be called the seed of time, is the condition for all the creation that follows. Then mother and father are set apart, you see. It seems to me almost a retelling of Creation -- First there is the Lord, then the Word, then the Day, then the Man and Woman -- and after that Cain and Abel -- Thou shalt not kill -- and all the sins recorded in those prohibitions, just as crimes are recorded in the laws against them. So perhaps the tablets differ as addressing the eternal and the temporal.
What the reading yields is the idea of father and mother as the Universal Father and Mother, the Lord's dear Adam and His beloved Eve; that is, essential humankind as it came from His hand. There's a pattern in these Commandments of setting things apart so that their holiness will be perceived. Every day is holy, but the Sabbath is set apart so that the holiness of time can be experienced. Every human being is worthy of honor, but the conscious discipline of honor is learned from this setting apart of the mother and father, who usually labor and are heavy-laden, and may be cranky or stingy or ignorant or over-bearing. Believe me, I know this can be a hard Commandment to keep. But I believe also that the rewards of obedience are great, because at the root of real honor is always the sense of the sacredness of the person who is its object. In the particular instance of your mother, I know that if you are attentive to her in this way, you will find a very great loveliness in her. When you love someone to the degree you love her, you see her as God sees her, and that is an instruction in the nature of God and humankind and of Being itself. That is why the Fifth Commandment belongs on the first tablet. I have persuaded myself of it." (pg 138-139)
It seems Gilead is one of those books that defies simple description. I'm reading Robinson's novel Housekeeping now, and find it much the same. They're the kind of books that challenge, stories that I mull over even when I'm not reading them. The closest thing I can think of is Leif Enger's beautiful novel, Peace Like a River, even though they're quite different.
At any rate, I've rambled on long enough -- you'd be far better off reading the books themselves than my lengthy musings! Reading anything good lately? I'd love to know -- I'm always on the lookout for book list candidates!
