The Craft of Writing, Part Seven – Productivity

Good day, my fellow readers! I hope this leap day is treating you well. For me, it’s just another day, but I’ll persevere. Anyway, today I’d like to begin with a story. More specifically, it’s the story of me as a writer.

I mentioned back in the beginning of this series that I started writing my first book in the seventh grade, but I didn’t make it very far because I didn’t have a storyboard. Well, not long after I gave up, I thought up the storyline for a new novel, a fantasy which I initially called “A Knight’s Journey,” and later changed to simply “War.” I wrote this novel on-and-off for the next five or six years, completing a chapter or two, then taking a six month break, then writing furiously, then taking a year off, and on it went. I would write, then take a long sabbatical. When the anxiety, pressure and guilt finally got to me, I’d drag out my computer and write more, as much as I could before I lost interest and put it away for another long break. Then I hit my senior year and I decided that I just had to get that book done. So, almost exactly a week before graduation, I finally typed the last words of the epilogue and boom! My first novel, Torjen, was complete (minus the revising, which came later).

But in that time, over the course of those five or so years of writing one book, I’d compiled ideas, characters, plotlines and connections to over thirty-five other books that I decided to write in my life. There was only one problem: if I took as long to write each of them as I did to write Torjen, then I would die of old age before I made it even halfway down the list. That was when I committed to my book-in-a-year plan. Thereafter, once I began a book, I would plan everything in such a way that I would complete it in a year or less. As such, during my five years in college, I completed (year-by-year and in this order) Torjen II: The Search for Andross, Reality, The Hybrid, Torjen III: Diablo and finally the science fiction novel, Infrared. Most of these have yet to be published, but I promise they will be released from their digital prison cells someday. From college, I dove into my studies in seminary and, graduate studies being what they are, I was forced to suspend my novel-writing until I completed my studies. Finally, in the first year of marriage, I was able to dive back in with my newest creation, The Choice of Anonymity, only to take yet another year off afterward so I could make strides into the realm of publication. But regardless of whether or not I get published by this fall, I will definitely begin work on the sequel, tentatively called The Struggle With Conformity.

Now why am I telling you all of this? Because I believe one of the chief qualities of a writer can’t simply be good ideas, skills and talents. It can’t just be good planning, groundwork and carefully crafted worlds and characters. The quality which differentiates between the one-hit-wonder and the legitimate writer is productivity. A good career writer doesn’t write one novel and then live off of that for the rest of his life; if he does, he’s just a fluke, not a true writer. No, a writer writes, and he writes, and he writes because that’s what he does. He writes his stories because he must get them out, or because the need to write, to share his thoughts is driving him mad. Or perhaps he’s in a deep (non-romantic) love affair with the craft itself. He doesn’t just think about writing; he writes!

But too often, I myself have struggled with long periods of inactivity. After all, it took me five years to write my first book! So what’s the solution? For me, what makes the one-year rule successful is a concept that probably brings a nauseating sensation to many stomachs and a woozy disgust to many minds: deadlines. Yes, that terrible beast which plagued each of us in school is what I have to enforce upon myself: deadlines. Check out the 2014-2015 schedule I crafted for The Choice of Anonymity below.

After completing my storyboard of the plot, I looked at how much was to compose each chapter and I gave myself the necessary time to complete it. Notice, for instance, that chapters ten, twelve and fourteen each took nearly a month to complete, while most of the others took about two weeks. That’s because those chapters were whoppers. On the other end of the spectrum, the prologue and epilogue each took about a week because those were miniscule. And chapter nine took another month because, in all honesty, I took two weeks off for the holidays. It wasn’t my most megalithic chapter.

By sticking to these deadlines, I made the writing of my book into a much less daunting task, and I ensured that less than a year after selecting the first few words of the story, I was writing the last few lines. This is the tactic that works for me, the strategy which keeps me productive and ensures that I will not die of old age before I make it halfway through my list of future books (which still rests at around thirty-five to forty, although I now have other follow-up ideas if my memory isn’t shot by then).

If the system of deadlines doesn’t work for you, then I encourage you to find something that will. But remember, you absolutely must find something that works. If you don’t, your productivity will be very low – if alive at all – and a writer you will cease to be. Stay the course, my friends. Be committed to seeing your works through.

Until next time, friends…

Stay tuned for next week’s finale to our eight-part series on the craft of writing, in which I’ll discuss the nature of beauty versus exploitation in storytelling!

The Craft of Writing, Part Five: Information

Hello, hello, hello, hello! I hope your Valentine’s Day went well. Whether with a romantic partner-in-crime or alone with God, I’ve recently heard a number of my wise friends say that what matters most is that you foster the prime relationships you have – both with God and your fellow man. I have to wholeheartedly agree.

Today we’re crossing into the second half of our series about the craft of writing. So far we’ve covered plot, character development, setting and pacing. Now, continuing on the notion of pacing is a factor to which it is intimately tied: the dissemination of information. What do I mean by this? By “dissemination of information,” I mean the revealing of mysteries, the answering of questions or the introduction of something new to the story. Essentially, it’s adding a bit of novelty.

Suppose, for example, you’re writing a story in which your protagonist unveils and ultimately foils a grand conspiracy. You can’t simply reveal the whole conspiracy in your first chapter, or else you’d have nothing left to reveal in the rest of the tale. But if you wait until the second-to-last chapter to reveal all that information, then with what have you filled up all of the previous chapters? What you need to do is space the information out, spreading it like butter over the toast of your novel. This is most preferable for two complementary reasons:

1. By spacing out the information, you’re contributing to the proper pacing that you worked hard to establish according to last week’s post. If you go too long without revealing information, your story may soon grow boring. And if you give away everything at the start, then you have nothing left to reveal and the rest of your book (until the climax) will be similarly boring. What works best is establishing a steady rate of revelation: a little bit here, a little bit there, some more here, some new facts there. And eventually, these little bits of information will begin to form something new underlying your story, something rich and developed. Your readers will feel like detectives, better able to identify with your protagonist as they put the information together along with him (or her).
2. But you also want to add breaks. If every chapter reveals truckloads of new information, then your reader can quickly become overwhelmed and lost in all of the novelty. My recommendation is similar to that of the pacing: after every high-speed place, after every information dump, take a break and allow the reader to catch their breath. Let them process the information for a bit before you throw something new into the mix. You don’t want to pull a Matrix Reloaded and wait until one of the last parts of the tale to unload everything, or it will be too much for the audience to take in at a time (I still have no idea what The Architect was saying in that scene). Let the audience take the information in little spurts, or at a slow and steady rate, but not too slow, or you’ll lose their interest.

Now you may, unfortunately, run into a pinched point where you have no choice but to reveal a large amount of information in a short amount of time. It’s understandable, it happens to me from time to time. If you have exhausted all other options and find yourself facing this conundrum, my advice is to try and be as careful and clever as possible. While writing Torjen II: The Search for Andross, I arrived at a chapter where I was forced to introduce over a dozen new characters who were to have an intense discussion. The best I could do in that scenario was to make each as unique as possible so that the reader could keep them separate, then focus predominantly on only a few of them. I had a similar issue in my most recent work, The Choice of Anonymity, in which the ultimate explanation was revealed in one chapter. To balance this, I added foreshadowing in order to set this up, and then I still held a few key bits of information on reserve so as to keep the reader engaged. The foreshadowing worked like a charm, allowing for the revealed information to read more like a linking of facts than a wholesale revelation of them.

So the basic rule of thumb is to tie in the revealing of new information with the pacing you’ve already constructed. That adds some consistency to your book, as well as depth. But as a final note, let me point out that in the end of your work, all of the most important information must be explained. That’s my personal pet peeve in writing, when mysteries are established and then left unsolved. I mean, sure, you don’t have to explain whether or not one character followed through on their resolution to quit smoking or if another character ultimately conquered her fear of flying. But the big, crucial information that forms the core plot of your work must be answered.

However, it doesn’t necessarily have to be answered in this book. Suppose you’re writing a trilogy, or a series, or a grouping of works that interrelate but don’t form a linear series. If, over the course of your stories or books (notice the plurality there), those things will eventually be answered, then you may withhold key pieces of information to be made clear later. Again returning to The Choice of Anonymity, I leave the ultimate fate of all but my protagonist unknown, but the reason for this is that there will be two follow-up novels in this trilogy, and their fates will be made known there.

So if you’re going to establish a mystery, or some unresolved question, please ignore the tendency of the highly-talented and fascinating writer/director J.J. Abrams, who chooses to leave his mysteries unresolved. Let it be known, my friends. Let it be known.

Until next time, friends…

Stay tuned for my next blog post, in which I’ll discuss the deeper relationship between the protagonist and antagonist!

The Craft of Writing, Part One: Plot

Greetings, and a fair day to those of you reading this! I hope the past week has treated you well. Mine has been busy getting back into the swing of things, but I’ll soon pick up the energy I need. Now I would like to begin a new seven-part series on the craft of writing. Essentially, I want to cover everything from plot to character development to pacing, and the most important things in between. Most of what I plan on sharing with you is what I’ve picked up over the course of my…twelve?…years of writing. I’m not claiming to be an expert, but based on what I’ve learned over the years, I’ve found that I’ve become more sensitive to examples of poor writing. In addition, my writing skills often translate into a deeper understanding of stories in any medium, which is why when I watch movies with my wife, I’ve learned to keep my predictions to myself; I have spoiled too much with my startling accuracy, to my wife’s utter annoyance.

In my senior year of high school, my English teacher taught us that there are three chief components to storytelling: plot, characters and setting. A perfect balance of these will create a balanced story, but you can still be memorable if at least one of these is done well. Today, I want to talk about what I feel to be the most important of these three: plot. After all, without a plot, there is no story. If you focus on just character development, you end up with a psychological profile but no story, and if you focus on just setting, you’ve essentially described a painting. Plot, my friends, is the action of the story, that which pushes the reader forward in time (or backward, if the plot involves time travel).

So then what is plot? Plot is the events of the story. This is what happens. Suppose, for instance, that I were to tell you a story where a man and a woman go into the woods, only to confront a werewolf, who chases them back to the village, then that confrontation and the ensuing chase would be the plot.

Since this is the basis of the story (what makes a story a story), then this is where I would advise you to begin. This is born from a single, core idea, perhaps an event or a scenario. Perhaps a virus infects a family member and is determined to be highly contagious. Or perhaps a man goes to visit his dear aunt, only to find a colony of ants spelling out words in her living room. I began watching a movie earlier called Don’t Blink, in which ten friends go up to a cabin for the weekend only to find all people and wildlife have seemingly vanished from the area (kind of similar to Ghost Ship, only at a cabin instead of a lost vessel). It doesn’t really matter what that event or scenario is, but once you have it, then you can begin to play around with it. What will a set of characters do in response? Will they search for answers? Will they go on a quest? Or will they turn on each other?

From this, you begin to develop the plot, threshing it out into a story. Here’s where it begins to get difficult, and to demonstrate this, I’ll first explain a tactic I used unsuccessfully when I was young, and then I’ll describe my regular process now. When I was in the seventh grade, I began to write a book called The Choice of Anonymity. The plot was simple: a shapeshifter begins murdering people in a town, and a kid has to stop him. That was literally all I had when I first began writing. So naturally, I didn’t get very far. After about two or three chapters, I realized that I had no idea where I was going. I had no endgame in mind and no guide to get me there. So the book ended.

Fast forward eleven years. I chose to return to The Choice of Anonymity, but I wanted to do it right this time. So before I even began, I thought out a bunch of scenarios all relating to that one central theme (the murderous shapeshifter). I thought of a group of zombified students chasing my characters through a school. I thought of a daring escape from a collapsing hospital. I imagined a religious experience at the altar in a church. A murder in an observatory. A house that comes alive. I wrote each of these on a notecard. I chose a starting point (my main character sees a neighbor’s house burning down), and an ending point (my main character has a confrontation with the shapeshifter himself), and I put those on either end of a spectrum. Then, all I had to do was organize the rest of the events in a logical order, fill in the blanks to connect them into a reasonable storyline, and then bam! I have my plot. This is called storyboarding. Below is a picture of my storyboard for The Choice of Anonymity.

By storyboarding, you’re able to do a number of extremely important things. First, you’re able to add much more complexity to the storyline. After all, if you don’t fully understand your story, then you’re fairly limited, for you’ll be forced to either keep it simple or any complexity you try to add will become incomprehensible. How many times have you watched a television show only for it to become painfully obvious that the writers have no idea where they’re taking it? Heroes, for instance, knew exactly where it was going in the first season, but after that, the writers fumbled around with no storyboard, and the quality was significantly diminished. The same happened to Supernatural once it went beyond season five. It’s still enjoyable, but just nowhere near what it once was. On the other end of the spectrum was Carnivale, which had a storyboard for more seasons than the show got picked up on (if only it could have controlled its budget, alas). So the storyboard allows you to have a much greater control over your story, giving you the power to develop greater – but, more importantly, coherent – complexity in it.

But there’s also a much more fundamental purpose to the storyboard which I’ve already hinted at: coherency. I’m talking about plot holes. A plot hole is a place where you look at the story and realize that something didn’t quite work out logically. Perhaps a character reveals information that there’s no way he should have known. Or perhaps your antagonist tracks your characters to a tavern, only for you to realize there’s no way he should have known they were there. These issues can be catastrophic for your story, for if they are critical enough to the plot, then the whole plot can break down, leaving your story in unappreciated shambles. But the storyboard allows you to correct for this! By looking at the storyboard closely for hours at a time until your eyeballs begin to ache, you can pinpoint plot holes and then, with the whole storyline sitting before you, you can reconfigure and massage the plot until the problem is reconciled.

Finally, when your storyboard is perfected, polished and totally coherent, you can begin the next few steps. But before that, I want to touch on one last concept: organic writing. Organic writing is when you sit down with no plan and choose to go wherever the story takes you. This is in stark contrast to what I’ve described in this article. I will say that organic writing is a good and powerful tool for improving your own abilities as a writer. I, myself, do it once every couple of weeks or so in order to test myself and keep my writing mind sharp. However, organic writing is, in my opinion, better suited to shorter works, like short stories or flash fiction (stories of a thousand words or less). But if a book is what you’re going for, I don’t believe organic writing will get you there, at least not without a severe sacrifice in quality. It sure didn’t work when I first attempted The Choice of Anonymity.

I hope this has helped you writers out there. If your process is different than mine, please, I encourage you to share it in a comment. After all, a challenge to do things differently is a great opportunity for growth.

Until next time, friends…

Stay tuned for my next blog post, in which I’ll discuss character development!

What Scholars Really Say: Mysteries in the Book of Daniel

Hello, hello! It has been over three weeks since last you heard from me. In that time, my wife and I took our dog and traveled to Indiana to spend the holidays with our families. It was a very enjoyable time, but alas, vacations must inevitably come to an end, so it’s back to the grindstone for me.

Today, I would like to discuss the book of Daniel. A short book of only twelve chapters, it is most famous for its stories of the three boys thrown into the fiery furnace by the dreaded Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar and, later on, of the prophet Daniel being thrown into the lions’ den. Spoiler alert: they all survive. Well, at least they survived those ordeals; they’re long-dead now, possibly of old age or something. Who knows? But the book of Daniel is actually far more influential for Christians due to its enigmatic second half, with prophecies of crumbling kingdoms and dreaded beasts, of tyrannical rulers and a powerful being known as the Son of Man.

That last term is most important. You see, virtually every Christian today will tell you that the Son of Man is Jesus Christ. In the gospels, Jesus identifies himself in that regard, and other prophetic texts refer to him by that title (among others). But in the seventh chapter of Daniel, the prophet describes a vision of one coming down from Heaven who is “like a son of man” (emphasis mine). That certainly sounds odd. Why not the Son of Man? The reason for that is because the term actually evolved over time. In Judaism, the term “like a son of-” was a strange way of describing an entity’s species: a son of a pig is a pig, a son of a sparrow is a sparrow, a son of a man is a man. What Daniel may have been saying was that this being he saw coming down from Heaven was human-like in appearance. The term “son of man” occurs 107 times in the Old Testament, and 93 times in the book of Ezekiel. In almost all of those 93 instances, the term is used when God refers to Ezekiel as “Son of man.”

However, this term didn’t stay static with that meaning. Instead, it evolved, and eventually, the term “son of man” transformed from a weird way of calling someone a human into a proper title referring to a mysterious, messianic figure. After centuries of theological change in the Jewish faith, and the development and evolution of belief in a coming messiah, that term no longer meant just “human” in Jesus’ time. Instead, it referred to the coming Christ, and when Jesus stepped onto the scene, he claimed the title which was waiting for him.

That’s just one of the ways the book of Daniel has influenced Christianity. But before we delve in further, let me lay out a simple diagram for you.

Daniel 1-6: Narrative

Daniel 7-12: Prophecy

Admittedly, it is a very simple diagram. You essentially split the book right in the middle and that’s it. The first half tells the story of Daniel and three of his Jewish friends who are taken captive to Babylon, capital of the brutally oppressive Babylonian Empire. They experience persecution and blessing, they witness as Babylon falls to the more powerful Persian Empire and become servants to the new king, who becomes especially fond of Daniel. But political intrigue places Daniel in a lions’ den in which he miraculously survives. The second half, beginning with chapter seven, shifts into a series of visions Daniel has of the future. And that’s when things get hairy from a scholar’s point-of-view.

Traditionally, it’s accepted that the author of the book of Daniel is, naturally, the prophet himself. If that’s the case, then he chose to compose the first six chapters in the third-person in the guise of an unidentified narrator. That doesn’t seem too odd to me. It’s simply a stylistic choice. But then, after a brief introduction in chapter seven as that same narrator, the book shifts into the first-person, and it remains this way throughout the duration of Daniel’s visions. This in itself, while noticeably strange, can still be accepted as just an odd writing choice.

But then comes the content of chapters seven through twelve. These six chapters fit squarely into a category of writings called “apocalyptic eschatology.” That’s academic for “end-of-the-world stuff.” Daniel sees strange visions of Heaven, of monsters, of world-shaking things to come. He sees godless kings rise up and go to war, and he sees them defeated by an enigmatic, messianic figure described as “one like a son of man.” To top off this craziness, many of the visions are shared with him by an angel named Gabriel. This, honestly, is where much of Christian belief about the end of the world actually derives. The type of material in the second half of Daniel helped to set the tone for much of what we see in Revelation, in which we see visions of Heaven, monsters, godless kings who go to war only to be defeated by the Son of Man. And, in Revelation, John is shown these things by an angel. As a matter of fact, both Daniel and Revelation make mention of another angel named Michael, the only angel other than Gabriel to be identified by name in the entire Bible! Craziness!

But here’s the rub: apocalyptic eschatology didn’t develop until over two hundred years after Daniel’s death. I won’t go into the explicit details of how I know that, but let’s just say I wrote the thesis for my Master’s Degree on this very topic. So how is this possible? One could easily respond with the claim that Daniel was seeing the future, so of course his writings would be similar to future writings. Except that these six chapters would have been completely anachronistic for the style of writing and prophecy that existed in Daniel’s day. It’s like reading a letter written by George Washington, in which halfway through he suddenly mentions googling something or checking into Valley Forge on Facebook.

So does this mean that the entire book of Daniel is a lie? Of course not, stop being so melodramatic. What is more likely the case is that Daniel may have (but also may not have) written the first half of his book, chapters one through six. Then, over two centuries later, someone else chose to add in the second half, six chapters which accurately describe events leading up to about the year 164 B.C., the year of the death of Antiochus Epiphanes (a brutal Greek king who ruled Judea and tried to stamp out Judaism; most scholars believe he was the one to commit the “abomination of desolation” referred to in Daniel 9).

So, as most scholars believe (as well as myself), Daniel in all likelihood did not write chapters 7-12. But does this diminish the book’s value, or its truth, or its impact on Christian theology and belief? Absolutely not! In my opinion, mysteries like these only serve to make the Bible more fascinating and worth the effort of diving in and seeing what’s really there. I encourage you to do the same, and never hesitate to share with me any of the fascinating things you learn in doing so.

Until next time, friends…

The Combined Universe, in Fiction

Hello! I earnestly hope that you had a good, no a great, Halloween. My wife and I ended up running a 5K for an animal defense charity, and we did it dressed like Jack and Sally from The NIghtmare Before Christmas. Our dog joined us, dressed like a pumpkin, and we ended up winning the award for best dog/owner costume combination. It was awesome.

Anyway, I also hope you enjoyed last week’s bout of scary stories. I had fun writing them. Now with stories in mind, I wanted to take the next two weeks to discuss an interesting trend in the fictional world: combined universes. This week, I’ll explain exactly what a combined universe is, and next week, I’ll explore some of the more famous ones we’re seeing in movies these days.

What is a combined universe?

A combined universe is a concept in fiction wherein multiple works all take place within the same universe. This becomes most obvious when you get crossovers, like when the main character from one book shows up as a minor character in another book. Suppose, for instance, you have a book about a man named John Grey who explores a haunted house and only barely escapes from the ghosts within. Now suppose you have a second book which takes place fifty years later, in which a boy named Eddie Black is being pursued by evil spirits. Then, suddenly, an old man shows up and saves him. Eventually, you come to realize that Eddie’s savior is the old and worn John Grey. Eddie is still the main character of his own book, mind you, and Mr. Grey is only a minor character, or a side character; it’s always clear that this is Eddie’s story, not Mr. Grey’s. Now when you put these two books together, what you discover is that they take place in the same fictional universe, and together, John and Eddie’s stories tell a greater story. This is a combined universe.

Now to be totally clear, it must be established that a book series does not constitute a combined universe. For instance, the Harry Potter series does not take place in a combined universe, because, put simply, the books tell one main story (Harry’s story) with no crossover with other books. If J.K. Rowling decided to write a separate series focused on, say, Professor Lupin’s exploits, or Mad-Eye Moody’s adventures, or perhaps detailing the stories which Gilderoy Lockhart claimed were his own, then you would have a combined universe because these stories would intertwine and intersect with Harry’s story but without being subsumed by it. Am I clear as mud on this?

Here are two examples from one of the masters of science fiction/horror, H.P. Lovecraft. Lovecraft famously created two combined universes, one referred to as the Cthulhu Mythos and the other known as the Dream Cycle. In the Cthulhu Mythos, Lovecraft used a number of stories all related to one malevolent being known as Cthulhu. All stories in this combined universe relate in some way to the interaction between regular humans and these evil, godlike alien beings, Cthulhu being the most famous of them. The fact that some characters recurred through stories, and the stories took place at different times and places, established that the Cthulhu Mythos constituted one fictional universe. Lovecraft’s Dream Cycle is very similar, only instead of the focus being evil alien monsters, it is instead on strange realms and lands only accessible via dreams and visions. Again, the recurring characters and plot elements establish that all the stories encapsulated by the Dream Cycle take place in a single combined universe.

I hope I’m becoming more clear here. The basic premise is that the writer is using multiple, intertwining stories to tell the greater story of the evolution of a single event, or entity, or history of a world. This is especially popular in comic books, in which one comic book character who has his own series will have a run-in with another comic book character who has her own series, thus establishing that both series take place in the same universe. Some writers seem to like this concept, while others avoid it, and still others dip their toes in it every now and then. Stephen King, for instance, occasionally suggests some sort of combined universe through the tiniest of hints, though so much more of his work can be considered stand-alone material. Writer Darren Shan, on the other hand, who made it big with his amazing Cirque Du Freak series, had the tiniest of possible connections between his last Cirque book and his later series, The Demonata. However, in an interview with a fan, Shan denied the connection, thus obliterating the possibility of a combined universe (unless he has since changed his mind).

But by far, one of the most famous of these was constructed by the writer of The Lord of the Rings, Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien. While many of his works can be read as stand-alone novels or trilogies (like The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion), these works cohesively tell the history from beginning to end of the world of Middle-Earth. Middle-Earth, thus, constitutes a combined universe.

More often these days, what we’re starting to see is a shift toward what is called a Cinematic Universe. A Cinematic Universe is, quite simply, a combined universe established in film, rather than in books. But, seeing as that is the focus of next week’s article, I will withhold that explanation until then.

Until next time, friends…

What Scholars Really Say: Who Wrote Revelation?

Hello, everyone! This is another addition to my new series, What Scholars Really Say, in which I describe various traditional beliefs about the Bible and then see what scholars have to say about them. Before I continue, I want you to rest assured that I in no way intend to cast doubt on the validity of the Bible, nor do I have some insufferably arrogant desire to debunk traditional beliefs in order to feel better about myself. I absolutely affirm the power of scripture, and it is with that reverence that I simply want us Christians to sharpen our knowledge of it. Oftentimes, the traditional beliefs are completely correct. But at other times, the traditional beliefs don’t quite line up with what scripture really says, and that’s what I wish to illumine in this series. So with that caveat in play, let us proceed to today’s topic: the writer of Revelation.

Introduction

Revelation is the very last book of the New Testament and, thus, caps off the entire Christian Bible. While Catholic and Orthodox Bibles may differ from Protestant ones in having additional books between the testaments, all three traditions affirm Revelation as the last book, a book which only barely made it into the Bible. Revelation is what is called an “apocalyptic text,” a very specific type of Jewish literature common from the mid-300s B.C. through the 2nd Century A.D. In this book, both Jesus and an unnamed angel appear at various times to a Christian man named John, who is currently exiled to a penal colony on the island of Patmos. Revelation is his record of all that John witnessed during his divine visitation, and it covers everything from a description of Heaven to the events culminating in the end of the world.

Nearly from the beginning, the traditional belief has held that this John is, in fact, the apostle John, one of the twelve disciples who traveled with Jesus during his earthly ministry. As such, it is generally accepted among the general Christian populace that John is the writer of the Gospel of John, the three Letters of John and, near the end of his life, the final book of Revelation. It is believed that, while all the other disciples were martyred, the apostle John survived into old age and was extremely elderly when he had these visions on Patmos.

Questions Arise From Early On

If you’ll remember from last week, I mentioned how doubts about Moses’ authorship of the Pentateuch began to arise sometime in the mid-17th Century. Well, the doubts of John the Apostle’s writing of Revelation go back a whole lot further. The earliest recorded skeptic was the 3rd Century archbishop of Alexandria, Dionysius (not to be confused with the Greek god of frat parties). Dionysius (the archbishop) raised two important points. First, he noticed that, while Revelation cites John as its author, the gospel and letters do not, suggesting some manner of inconsistency. Secondly, the archbishop described how in the original Greek, the gospel and letters flow elegantly, displaying a mastery of the language. Revelation, on the other hand, does not.

Since that time, there have arisen numerous arguments against the idea that the John of Revelation and John the Apostle were one and the same John. But ultimately, the most crucial of the differences I notice can be split into two categories, which I will explore separately: the lack of John of Patmos’ claim to apostleship, and the differences in writing style.

First Objection: No Claim to Apostleship

In the opening chapter of Revelation, the writer introduces himself as “his [Jesus’] servant John, who bore witness to the word of God, and to the testimony of Jesus Christ.” Many have used the word “witness” to bolster the claim that this John was the apostle, who “witnessed” Christ’s ministry in the early 30s A.D. However, the word “witness” is quite loosely used in the Bible, so this would be an example of eisegesis (that is, reading into the Bible what you want it to say). But more importantly, John does not identify himself as one of the Twelve Disciples or Apostles. The typical response to this is that he was being humble. But wouldn’t such humility ultimately harm the desire for his message to reach as many people as possible? I mean, if Billy Graham wished to send a declaration to the Christians of the United States, a declaration that he wanted as many people as possible to hear, would it be wise to simply sign it as “Billy”? Of course not; that would severely hinder the reach of his letter. Instead, resting on his fame and authority, he would sign it as “Billy Graham,” not out of a sense of pride but simply using the reputation he has to serve God’s will and reach as many souls as possible.

The absence of a claim to apostleship is actually only the tip of the iceberg, however. You see, it’s standard – almost expected – in apocalyptic literature for the writer to claim to be someone of Biblical fame or authority. There are apocalyptic texts which claim to be written by the apostles Peter or Paul. There are older ones which claim to be written by Enoch, by Moses, by Noah and even one claiming to be written by the ultimate human progenitor, Adam. All of these are completely false, of course, but when this habit is taken into account, it actually becomes downright peculiar that the John of Revelation doesn’t claim to be someone famous. He simply says that his name is John, and that’s that. Add to this the fact that John was as common a name back then as it is today and the likelihood of it being John the Apostle diminishes significantly.

Second Objection: Stylistic Differences

As I noted above, scholars for almost 1,700 years have pointed out the differences in vocabulary and writing style between the gospel and letters on the one hand and the book of Revelation on the other. Even if a difference in age is taken into account, you would expect someone who’s been sharing the gospel throughout a Gentile empire to have improved in his mastery of Greek, not gotten radically worse. But there’s another, more haunting discrepancy between the gospel/letters and Revelation, and this lies more in the underlying theology of the works.

In the opening of John’s gospel, we are introduced to strange imagery describing darkness and light, as well as an enigmatic entity known simply as “The Word,” from the Greek word Logos. It’s immediately established in John’s gospel that this “Word” is Jesus Christ. While this seems like normal language to most Christians today, it actually has its origin not in Jewish theology, but in Greek philosophy. These are, indeed, Greek philosophical concepts which eventually made their way into Christian theology. John the Apostle, preaching in a predominantly Gentile empire, would likely have come in contact with such concepts, and so he ingeniously weaved them into the gospel narrative in order to make the Jewish messiah more easy for Greeks to understand.

The book of Revelation, on the other hand, never broaches these concepts. Jesus is never described as the “Word,” and the imagery of darkness versus light is pretty much untouched; instead, John uses the imagery of two warring kingdoms, one led by Christ and the other by a demonic being called “the Dragon.” The Greek philosophical concepts found in the gospel/letters are absent, and what we have in Revelation is instead a more “purely Jewish” text. I can understand the omission of such imagery if John of Patmos is writing to a Jewish audience, but he’s not. Revelation is to be delivered to 7 mostly-Gentile churches in Asia Minor. Thus, this omission is highly telling.

This is not, of course, to say that the gospel/letters and the book of Revelation are inconsistent with one another. They are, on the contrary, totally consistent and theologically sound. However, it is clear that their writers were composing their works from very different perspectives, and thus, it is even more unlikely that John of Patmos is, in fact, an elderly John the Apostle. Having done the research for my Master’s thesis on the book of Revelation (and on apocalyptic literature in general), I can assure you that most scholars who specialize in the last book of the Bible agree: John of Patmos and John the Apostle were two different Johns.

Personally, I like to imagine these two guys chilling together up in Heaven and having a good time listening to the debates.

Until next time, friend…

Protagonist

Hello! I apologize for being a day late on this current post, but yesterday being Labor Day, I was unable to contrive the time necessary to write. Now I was initially unsure of what to write on today, but then I remembered a story I recently wrote which has been generally well-received by anyone who’s read (or, rather, listened to me read) it. Given my most recent two blog posts – one discussing fictional accounts of breaking the Fourth Wall, and one discussing fictional accounts of characters recognizing the falsity of their reality – I found this story to be a reasonable cap to this series.

I originally wrote this story for the San Antonio Writer’s Meetup Group, a gathering of local writers who meet twice a month to share their work. The ideal word limit is approximately 1,200 words, so I took that as an exact directive in constructing this piece. I hope you enjoy it!

Hello, my name is Max Destroyo. Seriously? That name is just so…terrible, and pretentious. It’s like the writer took maybe five minutes to come up with it. I mean, come on, man, am I a human being or a cyborg? Honestly, I’m not really sure because the writer didn’t develop me enough. Anyways, like I said, my name is Max Destroyo, and…I just feel like I’m dying whenever I say that. The “Max” part isn’t bad, but “Destroyo?” What, was “Explodo” already taken? Seriously…

In any case, I have recently come to the conclusion that I am a fabricated, written character. How do I know this? Well, my lack of body is a great indicator. Most real, living people don’t exist solely as words on a page. Most of them have things like hair and arms and a mouth, none of which my writer took the time to develop in me. What’s my hair color, bud? That’s right, intangible, because that’s a real color. And don’t get me started on my mouth, or, more specifically, my voice. Did my writer research and build a psychological profile or historical background for me, factors which are extremely necessary for building a character’s unique voice? Of course not, that’d be far too much work! I suspect that the writer thought of this earlier in the day, and then later in the afternoon, after a big meal and a nap, sat down to write out the story organically. Let me tell you now: you don’t develop a character organically and expect him to have a unique voice right off the bat. It takes pages and chapters, sometimes even whole volumes, to develop the voice of an organic character, and I have the sinking feeling I don’t have that much time.

Okay, now let’s pretend there’s a segue between that paragraph and this one. I’m also supposed to tell you that I’m quite sarcastic. Okay, now that’s just bad writing. If I have to tell you about a personality characteristic as bluntly as that, then that’s just laziness. Where’s the subtlety in the writing, the fine art of allowing the audience to come to conclusions on their own? When I say things as bluntly as “I’m quite sarcastic,” it’s like I’m taking control of their perspective of me, and that’s too much control in the writing process. But I’m not the writer here, and certainly neither is my own writer.

You know, I think I should just take a deep breath and relax. I’m not normally this angry, after all. I think I’m just frustrated. I mean, how would you respond if you just found out that your entire existence is tied up with a short story with a 1,200-word limit? And what word are we on now? 463? That means my life is over one-third over now. I’m the equivalent of a guy in his late twenties or early thirties, and reading this page probably took less than three minutes. Maybe if I slowed down, I could extend my life just a little…bit…long…er…

It doesn’t really matter. What is the purpose of trying to extend my life if my whole purpose is to be the narrator for one, single story? I mean, if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get the story expanded into a book, and if I’m extremely lucky, maybe even a series of books. But even then, when I reach the last word of the last sentence of the last chapter of the last book, my existence will draw to a close. As the last stroke is drawn on the page, so my own life ends. It’s true of any character in any work of fiction: when the last story about them ends, they die. They don’t live forever, don’t keep going. The grim reaper waits upon that final letter, and though a shadow of them may live on in the reader, the core of them has ceased to be.

What will that be like for me? At the end of this story, will the last word hurt, like a knife in my back? Will it be eerie and disturbing, like hearing the last of the dirt tossed upon your casket? Yeah, I got morbid there. Sorry about that. But will I die and go on to a fictional afterlife? Or will I simply cease to be? These questions plague me. It’d help if I could remember what it was like before I formed through the writer’s words. But how could I remember from before I existed? If that were somehow possible, perhaps it would undermine the real value of my purpose here.

I don’t think I blame the writer so much anymore. I mean, sure, he didn’t really do any sort of character development, but he at least created me, bringing me here for a purpose, though I just passed the two-thirds mark and I still don’t know what that is. Is that what life is like? Trying to find your purpose, your reason for being here? Are we here simply for our stories, or is there some deeper, more true purpose for our existence?       I can understand if I was placed here to oppose some evil mastermind, or some brooding supervillain. Or maybe, on a lower key, a minor antagonist. But where is that antagonist for me to rail against? Maybe…maybe the antagonist of my story isn’t so much a person, but more a state of being. Am I here to fight against my impending death at the end of this story?

I think I just wish that my purpose would extend beyond the end of this story. If I’m lucky enough to be the protagonist – and I think it’s safe to assume that I am, here – then I’ll make it at least as far as the story’s climax. If I’m really lucky, there may even be some falling action, but that’s like walking that last green mile before the executioner’s chair. I know death waits for me at the end of the falling action. So it all goes back to my core question: am I only here to complete a single story? Man, I wish I existed like the audience and the writer. At least for them, there’s the possibility of living on, not to mention having a body. I mean, what if I wanted to be a runner and run forever? Thank God that’s not true, because I just don’t have the energy for that.

Enough of the reveries, I think. Back to reality! Er, I mean, back to fiction! So what’s this story supposed to be about? I only have about a hundred words left, so I don’t think I’ll be able to accomplish much. Hey, hey, hey, I just thought of something devious, yes, yes, a way to get back at the writer for not giving me characteristics: instead of actually doing anything, I just wasted his entire story on this one, single monologue. Take that, writer! You wanted a story and all you got was rambling nonsense! Oh, now I’m sad. And there, ladies and gentlemen, is more bad writing.

Sixteen words left, I should make them count. But how should I end this? How about…

Until next time, friends…

They Dynamics of a Godly Relationship, Part Five

Hello, and welcome to my last in our series on relationship dynamics between man and God. I’ve enjoyed writing these for the past month as they’ve caused me to think not only about what kind of human-divine relationships there are, but how exactly my own fellowship with God operates. Do I see God as a best friend, a parent, a lord or an alien? In truth, I feel like I often vacillate between these, but more often than not, I see a vassalage (Lord-Servant dynamic) relationship focused on duty and honor. After all, a daily prayer that I never even realized became a habit was “Lord, please make me honorable today, and help me to honor you.”

But how do these four dynamics function together? In truth, they present a sort of spectrum, varying from closeness to distance.

Best Friend <————— Parent ————— Lord —————> Alien

Closest ————————————————————– Most Distant

From this, it might be a natural impulse to say that the Best Friend dynamic is automatically the best because it fosters the closest intimacy between God and humanity. Now while intimacy is very important, and a goal worth striving for, we cannot forget the benefits of the Alien dynamic, which causes us to rethink our preconceived notions of God and recognize that there are aspects of his character that we, as mortal men doomed to die, will never truly understood.

So does that mean we should strike for the middle ground, trying to hit some sort of “sweet spot” between the Parent and Lord dynamics? Nay, I say. Instead, I think it would be good for us to try and find the important aspects to emulate from each paradigm.

From the Best Friend dynamic, we enjoy a closeness with God as the Holy Spirit, feeling his presence all around us. By recognizing that power, the force of God, we can do mighty things for God, so long as we don’t take the closeness of that relationship for granted.

From the Parent dynamic, we can recognize that God is helping us to mature, and realize that the trials we face are there to make us a better person. In addition, seeing God in this way ensures us that we have someone divine looking out for us, so we needn’t fear the dark spiritual forces of this world. After all, the great Lord of Lights is shining his light on us, and the sacrifice he made for us has rescued us from that very threatening darkness. But we needn’t forget that God is more than a parent, and the family dynamic must not be overemphasized as the only proper method for viewing God.

From the Lord dynamic, we recognize our own duty to God, and we seek to honor him with our servitude. Recognizing our own responsibility to the Cosmic Creator pushes us to effect real change in the world, reaching out to do his will in place of our own. Missionaries have struggled in the deepest recesses of our planet in servitude to their Lord, and we should be willing to do whatever he asks of us. But we must remember that God is not a distant lord, but a merciful, caring one. He is no distant despot but a king who invites you to his table for the feast, and we enjoy his presence in our reverence.

And from the Alien dynamic, we recognize that our search is never fully complete. God can never be fully understood, encapsulated or contained within a heart, a book or the universe itself. Part of him will always remain unknown to humanity. But that need not be discouraging; on the contrary, it should fuel our search, pushing us to learn more, to seek more, to press onward on our journey of discovery. And we must never look down upon those who are unsatisfied in their search, but instead try to join the search alongside them.

I love that God is so dynamic. There is no perfect template that can be laid across him, no perfect description of his relationship with the people of our planet. His reality is multi-faceted, ever-changing, putting us outside of our comfort zones only to call us back into his warm embrace, giving us a Spirit to rely on while causing us to look just a little bit deeper, to go just a little bit further, to never become complacent but to conform our spirits to his own will for us. In so doing, this alien Lord we serve will become both our parent and our friend.

Until next time, friends…

The Dynamics of a Godly Relationship, Part Four

Hello, hello! I trust you’ve all enjoyed your weekend, and have satisfactorily prepared to reenter the work-week on this Monday. It’s been tiring for me, but I shall persevere. First, I’d like to say thanks for reading about the man-God relationship dynamics which I’ve been describing these last few weeks. I know my readers are few, but I appreciate having any. So without further ado, I would like to describe the last dynamic, which is perhaps the most strained and strange of them. Then, next week, I’ll have a final wrap-up in which I describe how each of these interact with one another.

Dynamic Four: The Alien

I’m not talking about the worship of extraterrestrials, mind you, so don’t expect the old Ancient Aliens theory. Rather, I’m talking about a relationship in which God is not seen as a best friend, a parent, a lord or monarch, or even, most notably, a being which can be understood. Those who identify in this regard see God as a nebulous, unknowable, distant entity whose ways and characteristics are not – and some would even contend, cannot be – understood. God, to these people, is far more mysterious, and his ways beyond the scope of man’s understanding. This is not to be confused with things like atheism (which proclaims that there is no God) or agnosticism (which proclaims a refusal to decide whether or not God exists); those who have a distant/alien relationship with God definitely believe that he exists. However, they are unable to discern his character. Essentially, they see his effects upon the world, and they may even feel him acting in their lives, but they’re presently unable to piece those experiences together into an understandable character with which they can have an intimate relationship.

This type of person often moves from denomination to denomination, and sometimes even between religions. They do this because they do, indeed, feel a connection with God, but they’re adamantly searching for some system, some basis of belief which will explain what their souls are telling them. They spend time in a church that emphasizes the best friend dynamic, but they feel unsatisfied and move to a church of the vassalage relationship. But the burdens are too heavy there so they move to a parent/child-emphasized church, and then on between Catholic, Protestant, perhaps Buddhist or a dabbling with Muslims or the Baha’i Faith. Too often, unfortunately, when they move on to the next step in their spiritual growth, those they’ve left behind will demonize them, describing them as having “left the faith” when they’ve really only moved from one interpretation of God to another while still attempting to approach that same, one God.

This dynamic is perhaps one of the oldest, at least according to anthropologists. It definitely predates the earliest texts of the Hebrew Bible (the Christian Old Testament), and there may be some evidence that this was the human/divine relationship held by our hunter/gatherer ancestors while they were still huddling in their caves. These ancients, it is suggested, could see the acts of God, but they had no basis for understanding him, so they merely stood in awe of an enigmatic power they were too primitive to comprehend. In some respects, the accounts of such men as Abraham and Job attest to the “alien-ness” of God, the behaviors he displays which seem counter-intuitive to the wisdom and knowledge which we have thus far accrued.

But there is something quite powerful which the God-searchers can teach us: that God can never be fully understood. Contrary to what many Christians might say, God is not fully revealed in the Bible. The Bible is meant to describe the growing relationship between God and humanity from the beginning of time up until the late First or Early Second Centuries; it is not meant to be a psychological profile of the creator of the universe. The full character of God has never been totally revealed to humanity, and for that reason, we still endure frustrations when his plans and behaviors run counter to the systems we’ve established. The wanderers who seek what is, to them, an alien God disrupt our systems by pointing out the limits of human understanding and our own reasonable fallibility.But we must never believe that they don’t have faith. I think, at least in some respects, it takes more faith to follow a God you cannot understand than to worship one which fits a system you like. After all, we must ask ourselves in the end: do we love our God, or do we love the castle which we’ve built around him?

Until next time, friends…

Stay tuned for my next blog post, in which I’ll see how all of these dynamics influence one another!

A Desire For Humble Unity

Salutations, readers! I hope this day greets you well.

I have, for the most part, refused to take sides on the current Supreme Court issue regarding same-sex marriage. While a nationwide ruling concerning the legality of almost any sort of marriage runs contrary to my political beliefs, there’s something deeper in this issue, a sort of alienation and demonization of each side by the other. Pro-gay advocates have taken this opportunity to openly attack those who hold to Biblically-based heterosexuality, while anti-gay advocates have released staggering condemnations upon those who apply what I sometimes call the “Skittles Filter” on Facebook. But at the heart of this is a startling self-righteousness in which both sides are guilty of misunderstanding the true Spirit of the Bible, and this is where I find my true offense. So let me lay out clearly what I see as the issue with each side. But before I do, I want to encourage you to read both sections of what I wrote, not just one. If you ignore one of my arguments and try to utilize the other to justify your own, I fear you may be validating the one you ignore, and I don’t want that for you. After all, we must first recognize the log in our own eyes before pointing out the sawdust in the eyes of others.

To the Pro-Gays

I’ve heard a number of arguments from the pro-gay camp concerning Biblical interpretation. Some are as mild and lazy as “God wouldn’t condemn love, since he’s a loving God” (a view which didn’t save the first child of King David and Bathsheba in 2^nd Samuel 12), or “people shouldn’t deny who they truly are” (an argument which is hypocritically restricted from some of society’s more dangerous or taboo criminals, like pedophiles and sociopaths). But over these arguments, I’ve seen a more scripturally-based attack which goes as follows: restrictions on homosexual behavior are among the Levitical laws –> Christians don’t follow most of the Levitical laws anymore –> therefore, Christians can’t say homosexual behaviors are wrong without being hypocritical. Some have even made the further argument that since Jesus never mentions homosexuality, there is therefore nothing wrong with it.

The problem with this line of reasoning is that it ignores the history of theological development in the Christian church. Contrary to what some may claim, Christianity is not based purely on the teachings of Christ. Much of our theology was further developed by the teachings of his followers – the Apostles – and then furthermore by their own disciples down through the centuries. This fact is crucial. You see, in the days immediately after Jesus, when Christianity was spreading like wildfire across the Roman Empire, there was a great controversy over whether or not Christian converts should obey the original Levitical commands which applied to all Jews. Some of the apostles said no (chief among them, Paul) and others said yes, while some rode the fence (Peter, “the cornerstone of the church,” originally said yes but later changed his mind after receiving a vision in Acts 10). Ultimately, this became such a divisive issue that the Jerusalem Council (the Christian core at that time) issued a decree that all Gentile converts to Christianity need not follow the Levitical laws; instead, they must hold to the following code of ethics:

1. They should not eat meat sacrificed to idols.
2. They should abstain from sexual immorality.
3. They should not eat the meat of anything which has been strangled.
4. They should not drink blood.

So aside from worshipping the God of Israel exclusively, and accepting Christ (you can’t be Christian without Christ), Gentile Christians were only to hold to these four mandates. This is why we, the spiritual descendants of those converts, need not follow the original Levitical laws. But for the sake of this current discussion, we must focus on point number 2: they should abstain from sexual immorality. Does that refer to homosexual behaviors? Or does that simply refer to rape, incest and other, more heinous crimes? Unfortunately for the pro-gay camp, this letter was penned by Jewish Christians, and the mandate is therefore to be understood in a strictly Jewish context. When read in that context, homosexual behavior is a form of sexual immorality. Thus, it is not unbiblical for Christians to view homosexual behavior as sinful. You can see it right there in Acts 15, the full explanation for why we can eat bacon and yet must still abstain from homosexual behaviors.

The last thing I’ll talk about on this side of the debate is the writings of Paul. Indeed, Paul condemns homosexual behavior more than any other Biblical writer. And why is that? Some have pointed out that he frequently preached in Greek cities, and in ancient Greece, homosexual behavior was almost the natural way of life. But America isn’t ancient Greece, so does that mean Paul’s words don’t apply now? Absolutely not. After all, if you go to a den of thieves and condemn thievery, that doesn’t mean thievery is okay elsewhere. It just means it’ll be the hot topic in that locale. So by all counts, the Bible does affirm that homosexual behavior is sinful and wrong. But please, keep reading, because it does get better.

To the Anti-Gays

One part of Christianity is recognizing what is and is not sinful. That is indeed true. However, when asked which commandment is greatest, Jesus replied with the chief 2: to love the Lord with all you are, and to love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22, Mark 12, Luke 10). That does not mean you simply love the righteous, for there is none righteous. All are covered by the grace of Christ, and so we should respond with love and honor toward others, even if they are others with which we disagree. It is not our job to judge or to condemn, only to love. I know this sounds real fluffy (trust me, I have issues with fluffy words), so I have a more logical way of describing it.

The scriptures which denounce homosexual behavior are part of our religious heritage, a deeply-rooted part of our faith’s code of ethics. But those outside the church do not live by that code of ethics. Indeed, our country was founded on the principles of religious freedom. This does not mean it’s a Christian nation and we’re free to choose our denomination (as some have mistakenly claimed), but, rather, we are free to choose our religion and practice it freely, or not at all. This isn’t just a country guaranteeing freedom to Christians, but also to Jews, to Muslims, to Hindus, to Sikhs and to atheists and agnostics. The Constitution assures every citizen that they need not abide by the Christian code of ethics, but merely by the Constitution’s. Think of it this way: suppose you work for a company, let’s call it “Goog-Mart.” Now, being an employee of Goog-Mart, you are required to abide by the company’s policies as established by its founder. Would it be reasonable of you to get mad at customers and other non-employees for not abiding by Goog-Mart’s corporate policy? Of course not! You can’t expect non-employees to obey company policy, even if you’ve explained it to them.

Thus, the job of the Christian is not to convince outsiders to obey our code of ethics; instead, our job is to get people to join the company. We need to get people into Goog-Mart – er, church – so that they can know its great and loving founder. Through love – and not condemnation – I believe we can get people on the path that we’ve already discovered, a path that leads toward the sanctifying grace of God.

Now who in their right mind will get on a path occupied by angry, condemning, judgmental, self-righteous and proud people? What will condemnation and angry, self-righteous tirades accomplish? Judgment is not the way to bring people into the fold. It didn’t work for Paul in Acts 24, and it certainly won’t work for you now. Instead, let love and an open door welcome them inside. You don’t have to condone homosexual behavior, but neither is it your job to condemn it. It’s only your job to help that person get to know Christ, and in so doing, let him do the necessary work inside them. If you do this, then you’ll learn how to love people, even if you disagree with them.

Now this love brings me to a final point. You may have noticed that I’ve used the phrase “homosexual behavior,” not “homosexuality” in relevant parts of this post. I’m not seeking some sort of political correctness. Rather, what I mean is that homosexuality (the state of being homosexual, feeling homosexual urges and the like) is not, itself, wrong. The Spirit of the Bible, as well as much theology regarding sin and guilt, presents the case that it is not wrong. It is only homosexual behaviors (that is, the following through on those urges, the engagement in acts which are Biblically-defined as sexually immoral) which are wrong. Thus, a homosexual who commits to a life of abstinence is not sinning in being homosexual. It is not a sin to be gay, and we should never think it so. Furthermore, any sins a gay person commits are no worse than the sins we all commit, so a condemnation of someone entirely, of their whole character, is indefatigably vile. Thus, we can love the sinner, but not the sin. That is, in fact, what we should be doing, and we are not bigots, judges or hypocrites for doing so. We’re merely following the way outlined by our spiritual heritage.

Closing Thoughts

So what can we take from these two discussions? Certainly, I’ve given good fodder to either side to be used against the other. But that would only exacerbate the deeper problem: a dissociation between those who should be sharing in the cup of fellowship. Rather than condemning the other side (pro-gay if you’re anti-gay, and anti-gay if you’re pro-gay), we should extend invitations to them. I have friends who are pro-gay, even though I’m not. I have family members who are condemnatory of gays, while I am not. Does that mean that I should condemn and break ties with those individuals? By no means! Instead, I should continue the fellowship, knowing that disagreements mean nothing; conciliatory love, unyielding friendship and joyful fellowship, those mean everything.

Until next time, friends…