Religious Scholar



I was talking with a clergyman recently about the meaning of communion (the Eucharist) in various Christian sects.  There are a number of different views, including:

• the wine and bread (or “Welches and Wonder”) are symbols of God’s love and sacrifice for us;
• the priest is the channel through which the elements transform literally into the Body and Blood of Christ;
• Christ is present in the elements, though not physically.

There are probably other views with differing degrees of subtlety that fall somewhere between these perspectives. As a practicing Christian on the fringe of the organized church, I acknowledge these points of view, and would never participate in this ancient but meaningful ritual without respect and devotion.

But for those who see the Divine most perfectly expressed in nature, the natural world itself is one big communion wafer. To enter the woods, is to enter the Holy of Holies, created by God, not Man. The light that streams from above through whispering trees is pure and unfiltered, unlike the muted light that glows through stained glass windows. The water of streams and rivulets sparkles more brilliantly than any monstrance crafted of gold and gems. The songs of birds and the soft cooing of forest creatures eclipse the calculated melodies of organ and choir.

The air itself is charged with divinity; as Thalo of Miletus, the preSocratic philosopher, taught, “All beings are full of gods.” Taking in this air, this sight, these sounds and scents, we ourselves are transformed into a divine body, a holy blood. This is not pantheism, but the recognition that Spirit is immanent. We have only to uncover our eyes, open our ears, unbind our hearts and step out from the box of preconceptions and rigid opinions into the merciful freedom of truth.

Quote of the Day:

“I can’t for the life of me imagine that God will say, ‘I will punish you because you are black, you should have been white; I will punish you because you are a woman, you should have been a man; I will punish you because you are homosexual, you ought to have been heterosexual.’ I can’t for the life of me believe that is how God sees things.”

—Desmond Tutu from the film, For the Bible Tells Me So

I attended a fascinating Work in Progress program of the Princeton Research Forum last week. Member Ron Hyman led us through a study of five translations of Psalm 15. It was amazing how different the translations were, and to what degree they varied from or conformed to the original text. I came away from the presentation reflecting on the motivations of translators.

Rarely are these motivations transparent and free of the complexity of intention. To translate is to have power over communication. To translate scripture is to have power over the deepest moral and spiritual understanding of people and institutions.

A number of subtexts underlie the translation of religious literature.

If the translation is by a political or religiously motivated organization, the motive may be "how can we best transmit what we want people to believe and do in this translation."

If it's a single scholar, he or she may want to present a text that is unflinchingly true to the original.

Or a literary individual may want to emphasize the poetic qualities of the text, the spirit of the text rather than the literal details.

A person or organization with a social agenda may want to undo some of the perceived harm that religions have done by seeming to endorse, say, slavery, prejudice against homosexuality, or sexism. This would drive their translation.

There are also heritage reasons for preferring a certain translation. I associate the incomparable cadences of the King James Version with my own childhood and earliest feelings of spirituality. While the text can be misleading and is sometimes incorrect, nothing touches my heart like this translation of the Christian Bible.

I think there is room for all these approaches, as long as we clearly know which is which. Together, in amalgam, they provide a context for reading and thinking about scriptures. But certainly, we must be aware of and know the factual, literal basis of works so variously translated.  Otherwise, we wind up like the apocryphal country preacher who lamented all the new translations of the Bible appearing on the market by crying, “Why can’t they just leave it in the King James English the way Jesus talked it!”

Winter

When Winter comes, nests appear in trees,

Old elms bare their arms like young girls in spring,

Fresh rivers flow through forests filled with melting snow,

Blue herons, feathers tucked, take wing.

We shiver, never more alive;

Warmth is a distant dream

While icicles burst on snow-piled eaves,

And small fish hush beneath a frosty stream.

                                                                --Linda Brown Holt

Measurable material reality and non-quantifiable spirituality interpenetrate for the believer.