by Kathy Brasby | Oct 25, 2013 | Hope
Last week we began a discussion about the betrothal genre in the Bible with some basic guidelines laid out. Then we examined the first betrothal – that of Isaac and Rebekah – setting the conventions in place.
The second betrothal is also found in Genesis but features a few tweaks to the guidelines – for a purpose.
Jacob, Isaac’s son, left his home and goes to a foreign land. There was no surrogate this time; Jacob was fleeing his brother’s wrath after deceiving him.
But the convention remains. Jacob went to the well to find his uncle Laban and there met Laban’s daughter, Rachel.
She was unable to draw water because of a stone blocking the well. So Jacob moved the stone for her and then watered the sheep. This slight variation on the convention could foreshadow the difficulties Jacob must overcome to actually marry Rachel- and even her difficulty in bearing children for him.
But the convention continues, for Rachel, after meeting Jacob, runs to her home. He eats a meal with the family and the betrothal is secured.
Although we were told immediately that Rebekah was beautiful, in this story we don’t learn of Rachel’s beauty until later – when she was compared to her sister Leah. The convention flexes here to give us understanding about the coming strife between the two sisters.
A third betrothal follows in Exodus when Moses, fleeing Egypt after murdering an Egyptian, arrived in a foreign land: Midian.
There he met the seven daughters of a Midianite priest – at a well where they had come to draw water. Moses had to drive off hostile shepherds before drawing water for the sheep, as the convention requires.
The girls hurried off to tell their father. Their father, Reuel, invited Moses to a meal and Moses was given Zipporah as his wife. All within the convention.
Next week we’ll look at a surprising betrothal story that used the betrothal conventions to an unexpected conclusion.
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by Kathy Brasby | Oct 18, 2013 | Hope
Most literature belongs in a particular genre and most genres have rules or conventions that govern the narrative.
For example, if you were to read a romance novel, you’d expect the hero and heroine to meet in the first chapter. You’d expect, in spite of conflict, that eventually they would find each other and there would be a happy ending.
Within those conventions there’s plenty of room for variety.
The Bible uses such conventions with some fascinating results.
Let’s meet the betrothal convention. In this story type, we have the following rules:
- Hero or his surrogate travels to a foreign country
- He encounters a girl, a maiden, the daughter of so-and-so – at a well
- Someone – the hero or the girl – draws water from the well
- The girl hurries – needs to be running/hurried – home to bring news of the stranger
- A betrothal occurs, usually after sharing a meal with the family.
Our first betrothal story occurs in Genesis. Abraham sends his servant, his surrogate to search for a wife for his son. The surrogate travels to a foreign country and comes to a well.
Since the custom was for the young women to draw water there, it was a good place to camp. There he meets Rebekah, who draws water for him and his camels. Then she runs home to tell her family about the stranger.
Her brother, Laban, comes out to invite the servant to a meal with the family. The betrothal is made and Rebekah goes with the servant to Abraham’s land where she marries Abraham’s son, Isaac.
This narrative established the betrothal narrative structure. The next one will stretch at the edges of the conventions a bit – for a very good reason.
We’ll take a look at that narrative next week.
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by Kathy Brasby | Oct 16, 2013 | Hope
I had already wiped down the kitchen cupboards and was putting some muscle into swabbing down the ceiling when my husband came home from work.
“Wow, you’re energetic,” he said, knowing my usual love for housecleaning matched my love for toenail pulling.
I should have just smiled and agreed. But the story was too good to hold back.
“You know how we usually keep the syrup and molasses in the cupboard?” I pointed down to a shelf just above the floor beside the refrigerator.
He nodded, although his eyes were already wandering toward the cookie jar.
“That wasn’t a good idea,” I said.
I had walked into the kitchen to find our youngest, at about 18 months, sitting in a pool of molasses on the floor, happily swirling his hands in the thick black goo.
“That’s not good,” my husband said.
“It gets worse because I didn’t think.”
In one of those sudden rushes that mimic panic – OK, that was panic – I grabbed young son under the armpits and lifted him out of the black goo.
“He didn’t like that,” I explained. “He started kicking in protest.”
“A little kick?” By now, my husband was examining the ceiling and cupboard doors. He knew.
“Not even close to little.”
By the time I wrapped son in a towel just to stop the kicking, the kitchen was sprayed with molasses.
I’d dunked him in the bathtub, changed my clothes and started scrubbing the sticky kitchen by the time my husband got home.
“Yeah,” he said, pulling out a cookie. “That molasses spot probably wasn’t a good idea.”
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by Kathy Brasby | Oct 11, 2013 | Hope
The books of the Bible were written like most literature: in sentences and paragraphs.
However, chapter divisions were added to texts in the 12th century, presumably to make things easier for scholars. The average person wasn’t reading the Bible at that time.
Verse divisions came in the 1500s.
Those divisions are helpful when trying to direct someone to a specific phrase in a text. It’s complicated to tell someone, “See the third sentence in the fourth paragraph on the page? Yeah, the one that starts with ‘And.’”
But those divisions have hurt us in reading the Bible as literature. We focus on a verse and miss the story.
Sometimes the verse starts in mid-sentence and ends before the sentence does. And we read that one verse and think we’ll gain great meaning.
Try reading a biblical narrative as the author wrote it. All the paragraphs and all the sentences. Just like you read a magazine article or a novel.
Sometimes reading a single verse gives us incorrect meaning. Sometimes it limits the meaning or directs it down one path when the author had a wider and richer meaning in mind.
Look for sentences and paragraphs. Ignore the chapter/verse markings when reading.
You may be surprised at what you read.
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by Kathy Brasby | Oct 8, 2013 | Hope
I didn’t expect to get such a spirited free spirit as my youngest daughter grew. But she was the one who always saw things her way.
For example, the dance in the mud puddle.
We didn’t get rain much on our hobby farm but this soaker had left several large puddles in the driveway.
So, of course, she needed to go outside and explore. Puddles, drizzle, thick cloudy skies… these things have to be experienced when you’re 4.
“Don’t get your clothes muddy,” I said as I zipped up her jacket and tightened her boots.
She scampered outside and I went back to folding laundry. I wished I was exploring with her.
But I knew she was having fun.
I didn’t know how much fun until I looked out the window. There was my lanky little girl, her arms raised high and her fingers pointing delicately toward the clouds, as she pirouetted in the muddy water of our driveway to an orchestra that only she could hear.
Stark naked.
I rushed outside with a big towel and she broke off from her ballet.
Her clothes were neatly folded at the edge of the puddle.
“You told me not to get muddy,” she said. “So I took them off.”
The answer a free spirit would give. I admired her imagination and quick-thinking obedience. Her innocent joy in the rain captured my heart. Her upturned face touched me. I was moved by her exuberance.
But… naked is naked. She still had to come inside.
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by Kathy Brasby | Oct 4, 2013 | Hope
I once sat through a 16-hour class in two days and figured it would take plenty of caffeine to keep me awake. I was wrong.
The professor sat on top of his desk and seemed to rabbit-trail into a story at every opportunity. He gave us conflict and resolution, drama and mystery.
At the end of the class, I realized that he had landed all his key points through the story telling. He didn’t need lectures because he had tales to tell.
The Bible uses similar strategy. Stories beckon to our emotions, offering visits to different settings with people we don’t know.
We follow the thread of conflict and drama, eager to see what happens next. Our emotions are captured by the stories.
Whether it’s in a classroom or sitting at a coffee shop, stories always trump lecture.
From the beginning of Genesis, where we are given a dramatic unfolding of the creation of the world, to Revelation where we trek through mysterious accounts to read the final plan for the world, we find the Bible packed with stories about people and events, disappointments and victories, love and conflict.
In Genesis alone, we meet numerous people and their life stories. Noah is well-known today for his faithfulness in building an ark before there was a sign of a flood. We ask questions. How could he devote his life to this carpentry? What did the neighbors say to him? What did he say to them?
Abraham’s story fills much of Genesis and we follow his travels from his homeland to an unknown land. He tussles with his nephew, Lot, and with his wife, Sarah. Promises are made to him that he doesn’t see results for many years.
How did he feel when Sarah asked him to produce an heir through a servant? And, later, did he mourn when Sarah forced him to send mother and son – his son – into the wilderness?
What did the celebration look like when Sarah did bear a son, Isaac? Do we like Sarah? How does she train up her son?
We identify with the people and the stories. We grow in our empathy.
Like my professor who used stories to make his points, the Bible plants meaning through stories.
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