by Kathy Brasby | May 17, 2013 | Bible
When we read biblical narratives, we need to pay close attention to the dialogue. That’s where the action is, so to speak.
Dialogue carries most of the punch of the story. Biblical narratives are tightly written with no extra words. Every sentence does heavy lifting in terms of the message.
Let’s take a look at some dialogue between two brothers. Here’s the piece we’ll examine:
Once, when Jacob was cooking some stew, Esau came in from the open country, famished. He said to Jacob, “Quick, let me have some of that red stew! I’m famished!”
Jacob replied, “First sell me your birthright.”
“Look, I am about to die,” Esau said. “What good is the birthright to me?”
But Jacob said, “Swear to me first.” So he swore an oath to him, selling his birthright to Jacob.
Then Jacob gave Esau some bread and some lentil stew. He ate and drank, and then got up and left.
Gen 25:29-34 (NIV)
We almost have what writers call a “talking heads” situation with a little action and a lot of talking.
Because characters are developed through the dialogue, what does the dialogue tell us about Jacob and Esau?
Esau is dramatic and driven by his stomach. He overstates his situation. Is he really about to die?
He also doesn’t value his birthright compared to the immediate need: hunger. So he’s not a guy who looks ahead. Right now is what matters for Esau and his own desires trump anything noble.
Jacob, on the other hand, is a guy who sits at home while his brother is out in the field. Was Esau hunting? Working in the field? We’re not told but he was not sitting at the fire cooking stew.
Jacob’s greed keeps him from ladling up the stew for his hard-working brother? Instead, he proposes an unequal exchange: food for birthright.
Jacob’s conscience doesn’t weigh in, even when Esau agrees to the lopsided deal. In fact, Jacob wants the deal locked in with an oath. Jacob is not a man to be trusted.
In a short exchange between brothers, we get a vivid picture of the character of each man. As Genesis unfolds, we see the consequences of Jacob’s greed and craftiness. He becomes a deceiver, a man of lies and crooked deals. And his first deal comes when he swindles his brother.
Jacob’s transformation from deceiver to father of God’s nation is made more amazing in light of this early exchange between Jacob and Esau.
Biblical dialogue carries forward rich meaning and it’s important to read it carefully.
by Kathy Brasby | May 13, 2013 | Hope
When our hobby farm was at full capacity, we milked several Nubian goats every day. One morning, when I started chores in our milking room, my 4-year-old daughter climbed onto a large feed box at the back of the room and peered over the back side.
“Mom, there’s a cat back there.”
Cat (Photo credit: @Doug88888)
Oh, great. There weren’t supposed to be any cats in that room. “Is it dead or alive?”
She studied the gap between the box and the wall. “Dead. Can I pick it up?”
“No!” Yeuck. What now? Why did my sweet husband go to work 40 miles away when it would have been nice to turn that dead cat over to him? I was home alone. Well, me and a curious preschooler.
“Leave it alone,” I added before she got any fresh ideas for exploration. She huffed and crossed her arms but stayed atop the box with her feet dangling on my side.
I drew in a long breath, avoiding any images of this dead cat smashed against the wall. Kind of like not thinking about the purple elephant in the room.
I had to deal with it on my own. Where there any empty feed bags around? How was I going to pick up this thing?
Maybe I milked a little slower that morning. Why did adults get to be the responsible ones?
Believing strongly in the principle that it’s better to face the horror than have it hanging over your head all day, I finished the barn chores and took a deep breath.
Hand sanitizer. Check. Thick trash bags. Check. Facemask. Check.
Back into the milking room I marched, my daughter close on my heels. She wouldn’t miss this for the world. Sigh.
I leaned slowly over the feed box and looked down the gap. There, tattered and soiled, lay a purple and white stuffed cat toy.
“You said it was dead,” I said to my daughter.
“Well, it’s not alive.”
A lesson on the nuances of words. Check.
by Kathy Brasby | May 10, 2013 | Stories
The Bible uses many genres but the most common one is narrative. The many stories of the Bible populate our literature and our imaginations.
Mention the prodigal son and heads nod. We understand the one who wandered away but then returned to a joyous father.
We know the good Samaritan, who defied cultural bigotry to extend a kind and sacrificial hand to another in need.
Let’s look briefly at a powerful story that packs a bigger punch than you might first think.
The book of Ruth, at first glance, seems to be a sweet romance with a nice moral to the story. But let’s go deeper into this amazing narrative.
This is the story of a Israelite woman, Naomi, who travels with her husband and sons from their hometown of Bethlehem in the midst of a famine to the land of Moab. While they live in a foreign country, the husband and sons die.
A woman in that culture without a husband or son was destitute, unable even to transact business.
Left devastated, Naomi decides to return to Bethlehem. One daughter-in-law, Ruth, determines to follow her and so they return with Naomi complaining about what God has stolen away from her. She calls herself Bitter and says that she left Bethlehem full and now returns empty.
Ruth, a foreign widow – and her status couldn’t be much lower than that – goes out into the harvest fields to gather up the grain that has fallen to the ground. She took on a servant status out of kindness to Naomi, picking up heads of grain as food for Naomi and her.
While in the fields, she is noticed by the field’s owner, who is impressed with her commitment to Naomi. He extends kindness by providing protection while allowing Ruth to gather in his field.
As it turns out, this owner, Boaz, is a family member – and one who is qualified to rescue Naomi from her problems – perhaps by buying her land or perhaps through marriage to perpetuate the lineage.
There are a number of subtleties in the process but in the end Boaz marries Ruth, provides her with a son that legally is Naomi’s lineage, and heads up the line of King David – and ultimately Jesus.
The book allows Naomi to blame God of cruelties, including afflicting her with emptiness. Yet the book ends with Naomi nurturing her newborn grandson, with Ruth and Boaz both deeply devoted to her.
We get to see how Naomi’s perception of God’s nature changes as we follow her story. Where Naomi says she returns empty, the reader immediately is shown that she returns at the time of an abundant harvest. That harvest symbolizes the fullness God has ahead for her.
The story of Ruth unveils kindness in many ways: from Ruth to Naomi, from Boaz to Ruth, and from God to Naomi.
Naomi thought she understood how destitute her life had become. But she would soon learn the true nature of God, that of abundance and goodness. He restored a family – and her second family became a royal lineage.
The women of Bethlehem, who heard Naomi blame God for her empty status, remind her after the baby’s birth that God provided a redeemer, renewed her life and would sustain her in her old age.
In the end, this sweet romance reveals the kindness of God. That’s the power of narrative.
by Kathy Brasby | May 8, 2013 | Stories
Contrary to some appearances, productivity apps are not the key to understanding life or unraveling the mysteries of the universe.
I’m not opposed to the idea of being more efficient but I’m more of a seat-of-the-pants writer who struggles with the idea that getting more organized will cure problems I don’t want to admit I have.
My desk, with the piles of papers that I am avoiding today, is ample testimony that a little help might be appropriate.
I do not like to-do lists. They feel restrictive and, well, boring. On those rare occasions when I write down my list, I lose it. Sticky notes disappear under magazines. My to-do list tends to be the stack of projects beside my computer.
Enough confession. I met Nozbe last week and it has helped.
Nozbe is, in part, a digitized to-do list and I like that. When I’m cruising the internet or even doing some digital reading, I can quickly type in a task to do and Nozbe stores it for me. Not only on my computer, but I can link the list to my cell phone and my tablet.
Nozbe also allows me to organize to-do lists within various projects but, if I need more than five projects, I need to subscribe. That’s $10 a month and I haven’t taken that step yet. I’m still on the free version.
But I’ve gotten a lot of back-logged projects done this week and there really is a certain buzz in checking off items.
Maybe productivity apps would help unravel the mysteries of the universe.
Nah.
But Nozbe has lightened my week’s list of projects. Not bad.
Do you have a favorite productivity app that might help rescue me?
by Kathy Brasby | May 6, 2013 | Stories
A cool night breeze floated into the room, giving the candle a little dance. The black summer sky flickered with stars while the glowing moon backfilled the window. Delicate notes from Josh Groban filled the air and we tipped sparkling glasses to each other. He looked deep into my eyes and spoke with a voice like silk, “I smell skunk.”
I did too, actually.
Candles (Photo credit: magnuscanis)
We gave each other an accusing look but moved on. I wondered if the candle had gone bad. He raced to the window to see what the dogs had drug up.
Often we enter marriage expecting a steady flow of candles and sparkling cider when sometimes what we get is skunk.
It’s not the mishaps that define us but the way we respond. In the skunk episode, I got the giggles.
In another absolutely unrelated episode, I was helping my mother move from her wheelchair to the front seat of the car. My job was to stabilize her as she stood and be sure she landed on the seat.
This day, we jigged when we should have leaned and Mom found herself lying across the seat, her back where her bottom should have been.
We looked into each other’s eyes and I could see a clear “Now what?” in hers. Another mishap. And I did it again.
I got the giggles. Both of us laughed until enough strength returned to boost her into the seat.
Once I thought that more than one mishap in a day meant the day was lost to morose self-pity. No more.
Now when things don’t go according to plan, I’m more likely to get the giggles first. I’m not sure that solves anything but it transforms a disappointment into a memory.
