PUT THE TRUTH OUT ON THE STREET AND LET IT TAKE CARE OF ITSELF

Although I fully subscribe to the science of evolution and cosmology, my main interest in it – as a pastor, parent, and teacher – is the faith of our children, and this faith is threatened far more by a misguided and ignorance-based insistence on teaching certain parts of the Bible as science than it is by exposing our kids to the most rigorous and challenging scientific thinking. Even if some try to protect them from it, children will eventually be introduced – in high school or college or through their own reading or curiosity – to modern science. At that point, if they have been led to believe that they must choose between science and faith, they will either give up on science, or – more likely – they will leave their faith behind. Either of these choices is a tragedy, because it is a false choice, one that neither the Bible nor faith asks them to make.

Genesis, and, indeed, all the books of the Bible, stake a claim on the truth, yes, but literal scientific factualness was a non-issue for the ancient writers and readers of a pre-scientific age. The Bible is a multi-century collection of different kinds of books (poetry, hymns, history, love songs, letters, sermons, etc.), and people of faith have always used their capacity for thinking and reasoning to interpret them. If I tell my daughter that she is a gem, I am communicating something truthful to her, yet no one would even consider discussing whether or not she is really (“literally”) a gem. The Christian does not exist who does not use some kind of judgment to decide which aspects of scripture are to be interpreted literally and which are to be understood metaphorically, and Martin Luther reminded us that “plain reason” is a partner with Holy Scripture in understanding the word of God.

There are two distinct accounts of creation in Genesis (different authors, different styles). The first account ends and the second begins in the middle of what we call Chapter 2, verse 4. (Those helpful monks who outlined the text with chapters and verses a few hundred years ago didn’t always locate the most logical breaks.) In the first account, the method of creation is simply the spoken word: “Let there be….” In the second it is a hands-on process: God forms a mud-man and breathes life into him; God plants a garden. The first account has the sound and repetition of a liturgy; the second is a narrative, a story. To attempt to correlate either of these with the instruments of science is to miss the real questions the writers are addressing (For example, the main question addressed in the second Genesis account is, “If God meant the world to be good, how did it get so messed up?”)

And then there’s the book of Job. In the 38^th chapter of this book we come upon yet another explanation of creation, in a narrative in which God himself tells the story. In this delightful and somewhat sarcastic exchange, God is saying, in effect, “Tell me about it if you think you know so much!” and the passage suggests still another method of creating: the builder’s arts of carpentry and construction:

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?... Who stretched the measuring-line upon it?... Who laid its cornerstone?... Who shut in the sea with doors and made it fast with a bolted gate?... Who can tilt the waterskins of the heavens?”

Next time you hear someone say, “I believe literally in the creation story of Genesis,” I propose two questions; 1) “Which one?” and 2) “What about Job 38?” If a creationist reading of Genesis requires a literal Adam and Eve, for example, and is used to launch expeditions to seek Noah’s Ark, then shouldn’t this declaration to Job from the mouth of God cause us to develop science projects such as, “How big are the bolts on the doors which hold back the sea?” and “Where should we travel to find the cornerstone or the pillars of the earth?” I suspect that even literal creationists read these as metaphors, but why? Why is this passage less worthy of a literal interpretation than those in Genesis? And if there are no literal gates holding back the sea, then what is the writer trying to say? Do we look for a scientific meaning or a theological one?

We don’t need to protect our children (or the Bible) from scientific inquiry. We can “put the truth out on the street and let it take care of itself.” We can teach our children that there is no conflict between the theological world-view of Genesis and the discoveries of science.  We can be at least as open-minded as reformer John Calvin (hardly a flaming liberal), who, in 1557, wrote:

Genesis described in popular style what all ordinary men without training perceive with their ordinary senses. Scientists, on the other hand, investigate with great labor whatever the keenness of man’s intellect is able to discover. Such study is certainly not to be disapproved, nor science condemned with the insolence of some fanatics who habitually reject whatever is unknown to them.*

 With John Calvin, people of faith can see science (“whatever the keenness of intellect is able to discover”) as a kind of “third testament” to the creative will of God, and not as an enemy.

The Roman Catholic Church only recently (1992!) admitted that it was a mistake to try to silence Galileo and his theories over 300 years ago. Sadly various school boards and whole church bodies (this time influenced by a blinders-on fundamentalism) are making the same mistake regarding evolution. I don’t want them teaching my kids – in church or in school.

*Ironically, the Texas School Board just replaced Thomas Jefferson with John Calvin in its outline of the study of civilization's ideas. Thus, I propose that this quote be engraved over their office door.

MY FAVORITE JOKE

After years of trial and error, a team of scientists had at last been successful in creating life in their laboratory. They uncorked a bottle of champagne and engaged in a round of congratulatory back-slapping. The chief scientist called the raucous gathering to order and said, “I guess the first thing we have to do is let God know that he’s no longer needed.” They all agreed, and deputized a young member of their group to deliver the message. The scientist made an appointment with God, and was ushered cordially into His office. “Yes, my son, what can I do for you?” “Well, er… Mr. God, sir, you see, it’s like this…, we scientists have created life now, so, well, you’re no longer needed; you’re free to go.”

“I see,” said God. “Well, that may be, but, just to make sure, I propose we have a man-making contest.”

“Certainly,” said the young scientist.”

“You go first,” said God.

“All right,” said the scientist, as he bent over and scooped up a handful of soil. “No no no!” said God; you get your own dirt.”

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Disclaimer: This, my favorite joke, is not an advertisement for “creationism” (which I don’t buy. As a pastor I believe and teach that there is absolutely no conflict between evolutionary biology, cosmology, and the Christian faith or its texts). Rather, I submit it as a commentary on my favorite question: “What was there before there was something?” (as discussed in an earlier post.)

IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD

Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth, ... when the morning stars sang together...? ~ Job 38:7

I find a mystical connection among and between science, theology and poetry. I mean "mystical" quite literally (if the word "mystical" can, in fact, be used literally): That is, it is a connection that is difficult to get hold of or put into words (not that that's going to stop me from trying). The connection of which I speak is not the usual "dialogue" between science and religion, and it is not a covert or overt attempt to use science to prove theology or vice-versa. It is rather an interplay in which the one can almost stand in for the other, or a composition in which they sing in harmony (the harmony and the individual parts being a unity and separate at the same time). And the voice of the song -- the language that describes the interplay -- is poetry.

For the purposes of this discussion I define "science" as the limitless searchings of physics and cosmology, with infinity as the nexus at which it meets theology. "Let there be light" and the"big bang" of the primal explosion each speak of ultimate beginnings which are really penultimate (what was there before...?), and they are each metaphors -- poetic expression.

Here's one of those mystical connections: The "word" referred to in John's gospel ("In the beginning was the word") is both the utterance "let there be light" and the one who uttered it: the Word. The primal explosion of the big bang is an explosion of light -- the light brought into being by the word. Physics and Metaphysics. The element that strings it all together? Poetry. Perhaps there at the beginning before the beginning is not a micro-micro-nano-particle, but a word.

Another take: Deuteronomy reports, "The eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms," and Einstein assures us of the conservation of matter and energy (nothing is lost). I am a Bible-believing Christian (the perspective from which I write), but my belief in eternal life is fed as much by the physics as by the Bible. A poetic view allows us to posit that they are saying the same thing. (As is Norman Maclean, in the absolutely beautiful last lines of A River Runs Through It: "Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.")

I am haunted by the cosmology of faith and the faith of cosmology. The language (the words) of the haunting is poetry. Here's A.R. Ammons:

This is just a place.

We go our round distance yearly in a star’s atmosphere,

turning daily into and out of direct light

and slanting through the quadrant seasons.

Deep space begins at our heels,

nearly rousing us loose.

We look up or out so high

sight’s silk almost draws us away.

This is just a place.

Currents worry themselves, coiled and free,

in airs and oceans;

Water picks up mineral shadow

and plasm into billions of designs:

frames trees, grains, bacteria.

But is love a reality we made here ourselves?

And grief – did we design that?

Or do these, like currents,

wind in and out among us merely

as we arrive and go?

This is just a place.

The reality we agree with that agrees with us,

outbounding this, arrives to touch,

joining with us from far away.

Our home, which defines us, is elsewhere

(but not so far away we have forgotten).

This is just a place.

If the conservation of matter and energy only allows for eternal life to be infinitely recycled stardust, so be it -- infinity is infinity. But if we stir in the possibility that the whole schmere is God's love project, then it is stardust held in the everlasting arms. I can live with that.

We must become more than what is left of our bodies

And will see and become what is always
Rushing toward us and around us. (David Wagoner)

citations:
A River Runs Through It, by Norman Maclean, University of Chicago Press, 2001

In Memoriam For May Noblett (This is just a place), A.R. Ammons

How It Will Be, David Wagoner