Over at Ralph the Sacred River, Dr. Edward Cook posted Some Lines from Milosz in which he reproduced a poem from Nobel laureate Czeslaw Milosz.

I was unfamiliar with Milosz, and don't know anything of the man besides this poem. But the poem hit me like poetry seldom does. I'd highly recommend that you read it. Then read it again.

Thank you, Dr. Cook.

(also note: Ralph the Sacred River is now on the blogroll to the right) 

[Notes on EpDiog §6. Due to the length of this post, my random thoughts on §7 are broken into at least two posts. The next post will be at some future point, and in it I hope to cover EpDiog 7.3-9]

In §7, the author of EpDiog moves from telling Diognetus about Christians to telling Diognetus about Jesus. This is really a fascinating little chapter — we see how Jesus was seen (in the context of a letter to convince someone else of the rightness of Christianity, anyway) by the early church. There's a lot in here.

EpDiog 7.1 starts out confirming a few things discussed earlier regarding Christians:

• Christianity isn't something conjured up by man (cf. EpDiog 5.3).
• Christianity isn't bound to the topic of “human mysteries” (again, EpDiog 5.3)

EpDiog 7.2 is a marathon verse, taking nearly 3/4 of the page in Ehrman's edition.* It is discussed below in pieces:

But the truly all-powerful God himself, creator of all and invisible, set up and established in their hearts the truth and the holy word from heaven, which cannot be comprehended by humans.

God is all-powerful, he is the creator of the seen and unseen. This all-powerful God has worked (somehow) in the hearts (the innermost part) of Christians, placing the “truth and holy word from heaven” which cannot be comprehended (ἀπερινόητον) by humans into the hearts of humans. Was this dude an Augustinian?

To do so, he did not, as one might suppose, send them one of his servants or an angel or a ruler or any of those who administer earthly activities or who are entrusted with heavenly affairs, but he sent the craftsman and maker of all things himself, ...

Wow. Just above God specifically is “creator of all and invisble” (παντοκτίστης καὶ ἀόρατος θεός) and now the one whom God sends is “the craftsman and maker of all things” (ἀλλ ̓ αὐτὸν τὸν τεχνίτην καὶ δημιουργὸν τῶν ὅλων).

Here's the fun part: τεχνίτην and δημιουργὸν are used together in Heb 11.10 and they're speaking of God: “For he was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer (τεχνίτης) and builder (δημιουργὸς) is God.” (cf. also Wis. 13.1). Indeed, the author of the epistle himself uses δημιουργὸς of God in EpDiog 8.6. LSJ and BDAG have abundant evidence of δημιουργὸς being used in a number of contexts, so there's not too much to read into the usage of this particular word (which, according to LSJ, has meaning ranging from craftsman to creator to a title used by magistrates). But δημιουργὸς combined with ὅλων, implying the one who made or created everything leads me to think that there is some relation between these two bits of text. I should probably do some searching on Perseus to search for where these words occur in close proximity, to see if they form some sort of stock phrase.

... by whom he created the heavens,
by whom he enclosed the sea within its own boundaries,
whose mysteries all the elements of creation guard faithfully,
from whom the sun was appointed to guard the courses that it runs during the day,
whom the moon obeys when he commands it to shine at night,
whom the stars obey by following the course of the moon,
by whom all things are set in order and arranged and put into subjection, ...

Upon reading this, I immediately have mental cross-references firing off to Col 1.15-17, “For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, ... ”. This one who was sent by God is the one by whom God did these things, these works of creation. And these things are under subjection to him.

... the heavens and the things in the heavens,
the earth and the things in the earth,
the sea and the things in the sea,
fire, air, the abyss,
creatures in the heights,
creatures in the depths,
and creatures in between—this is the one he sent to them.

Wow. And that's just verse two! Next up, EpDiog 7.3-9. In it, we see more about the one God sent — how he was sent, in what form he came, and what his task was.

* Ehrman, Bart. The Apostolic Fathers, Vol. 2 (Loeb Classical Library vol. 25). Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003.

Time for another non-biblioblog entry (sorry, Eli — deal with it. I might feel some sympathy if you posted more often than once a month ... ). I'll be back on track soon, don't worry.

Here's a sampling of what's been in the rotation at the office for the past week or so. As usual, links only work if you have Real Rhapsody.

Recently in the Rotation (January 2005)

• Wolftrap And Fireflies — Carbon Leaf
• Reunion Monticello — Carbon Leaf
• Message To Me — Carbon Leaf
• Life Less Ordinary — Carbon Leaf
• What About Everthing? — Carbon Leaf
• Bella's Birthday Cake — Five for Fighting
• Superman (It's Not Easy) — Five for Fighting
• 100 Years — Five For Fighting
• Monkeys At The Zoo — Charlie Peacock
• Sitting, Waiting, Wishing — Jack Johnson
• You And I Both — Jason Mraz
• The Remedy (I Won't Worry) — Jason Mraz
• Curbside Prophet — Jason Mraz
• Too Much Food — Jason Mraz
• Stay — Lisa Loeb & Nine Stories
• I Do — Lisa Loeb
• If I Had A Boat — Lyle Lovett
• More Pretty Girls Than One — Lyle Lovett
• St. Louis Blues — Peter Cincotti
• Ordinary Day — Great Big Sea
• Sea Of No Cares — Great Big Sea
• Love — Great Big Sea
• Chafe's Celidh — Great Big Sea
• Old Brown's Daughter — Great Big Sea
• A Boat Like Gideon Brown — Great Big Sea
• When I Am King — Great Big Sea
• Out Of My Head — Fastball
• Closing Time — Semisonic
• Across The Great Divide — Semisonic
• Chemistry — Semisonic
• September In Seattle — Shawn Mullins
• Pandora — Shawn Mullins
• Twin Rocks, Oregon — Shawn Mullins

Here's the entire playlist. These are in no particular order, so cue it up, pop it on "shuffle", and enjoy.

I picked this recipe up off of a web page somewhere; I'd give a link if I had one. But I don't, so here's the recipe:

1 clove garlic
1/2 tsp dijon mustard
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
salt/pepper to taste

Put garlic, mustard, and balsamic vinegar in a small container and let it sit for 10 minutes. On the mustard, the recipe recommended using the “country style” Grey Poupon. I went a step further and used Maille Old-Style “Whole Grain Dijon Mustard”.

After 10 minutes, remove the clove of garlic. I used minced garlic and just left it in there — but I like garlic. Add the olive oil. I'm assuming you're using a small container that you have a lid for. Seal the container and shake the mixture like crazy.

It's ready to use. I used some (no additional salt/pepper) on a Spinach/Feta/Pine Nut creation of mine, and whoa — I actually had seconds on salad. If you know me, and you know my history with salad, then you know that's saying something.

Note the proportions; this recipe should be easy to scale if necessary.

Update: Welcome, PunditGuy readers. I figured since someone linked to me, I should find the source of this recipe, so after a little digging, here it is. Enjoy! And have a look around. Here's a little about me and what this thing is all about. If you dig this sort of stuff, I'd recommend you check out some of the “Biblioblogs” listed in the blogroll to the right. Thanks! (and thanks, PunditGuy, for the link!)

In his book The Reformation: A History, Diarmaid MacCulloch writes:

Calvin's preaching represented an intensive examination of the details of God's Word that few other expositors would equal, sucking the last drops of meaning from every last syllable and turn of phrase: 189 sermons on Acts between 1549 and 1554, 174 on Ezekiel form 1552 to 1554, and 200 on Deuteronomy in 1555 to 1556. This could be liberating to an audience precisely because it was so demanding. Calvin and the preachers who followed him asked a lot of their audience and were thus taking them seriously as adults in the faith. Reformed congregations were expected to absorb and understand complex and abstract material and therefore were encouraged to see the value of education. (MacCulloch 239)

This sort of demanding teaching is missing in the church today. Are the sermons you suffer through listen to demanding and challenging, or are they merely platitudinous and thus lacking practicality or applicability?* Is the text itself examined and wrestled with, or is the text referred to simply as a starting point for some sort of tangential “deep thought” that somehow makes everyone listening feel better?

Christians are capable of critical thinking; the intelligence of a fair portion of those assembled for the teaching is insulted when preachers/teachers simply shoot for a lowest common denominator. Do pastors today make demands of their congregants similar to those described above? Are sermons just to be listened to, or are they to be understood?

Calvin had his problems (yes, you heard me say that — now get up off the floor!) but in his favor, he strove to work though the text, understand it and apply it and teach others what was in the Scripture. His commentaries are still valuable to consult today because of this drive.

Too often (and I'm guilty of this) important arguments (either supporting or contradicting) are dulled or glossed over because of concern over the ability of the students/congregants/whomever to understand. Instead of being cause to skip over something, this should be cause to slow down and examine the issue in greater detail, working through the seemingly tough problem so that those on the receiving end can — with some work and effort, don't get me wrong — come to an understanding of what's going on.

The problem has many sides. Passivity on the part of the student/congregant is a real problem. I have no silver-bullet solution for it. But what motive does one have to break free from passivity if one is not challenged?

Ok, I've ranted enough. You may now return to your normally-scheduled blog reading.

* Clarification: I'm not speaking of the teaching in the church I currently attend, though I have in the past “suffered through” some truly horrible sermons. I've dutifully forgotten their content though I do have memories of their occurrence.

There are too many good books to read (and study) and not enough time. Just this week I received the final drop from an order I placed with Peter Lang at SBL (two books). And then I see the latest Review of Biblical Literature (thanks to NT Gateway Weblog). One of the books I've been waiting for has been reviewed, and this only makes me want to read it more.

The book is Dr. Charles E. Hill's The Johannine Corpus in the Early Church. Dr. Hill was a professor at Northwestern College when I was there, and I had the pleasure of taking a few classes that he taught. The most enjoyable (and frustrating) was of course first-year Greek. We studied Attic Greek using the ATHENAZE books. I also took a class on the Johannine literature that he taught.

Anyway, this latest book looks to be well worth reading. Only it's from Oxford, and it's $150.00 — more than I like to spend on a single title. I guess this one is going on the 'buy at SBL' list (assuming I'm able to go to Philadelphia for the 2005 meeting) unless someone else can suggest a method for getting Oxford titles on the cheap. Again, please realize I'm a bibliomaniac and while I may be able to get the title via interlibrary loan, the problem is returning it — I wouldn't want to let it go.

This brings me to a general question: How do folks attack reading lists? Obviously you're reading some stuff and you're doing well at working your way through it. How does one go about selecting and then diligently working through them in light of all the other responsibilities of your daily routine?

I have my own ways of doing this, but I've got too many books and too little time. Apart from “read faster” (which means I'd end up understanding less of what I'm reading) or perhaps “remove distractions” (which goes without saying and is easy for a single guy like me) I'm looking for some hints on how to be a bit more efficient with my time.

I see from a post at Marginal Revolution that Dr. Robert Heilbroner has passed away due to an extended illness.

This brings back memories.

In my heady undergrad days, one assignment given in an econ class was to write a letter to an actual, living, breathing economist and ask him questions about stuff.

This was in the early 90's (1991?). Balanced budgets were all the rage; the phrase “Gramm-Rudman” was known by many who weren't into politics or economics (oh that we could be in a similar place now ... Phil Gramm, please do something!). I was a balanced budget zealot. So I chose to send a letter to Dr. Heilbroner asking him how in the world one could advocate deficit spending as a viable fiscal policy.

Not too long after I sent the letter, I received a handwritten response (on a postcard) from Dr. Heilbroner. I'm fairly sure I still have it; I'll see if I can dig it out of my old college papers tonight and post an image of it here sometimes over the next few days. I don't remember exactly what Dr. Heilbroner wrote, but it did have the effect of calming me down a bit.

Update: I went home for lunch, and took a quick look in my old stacks. I found the letter immediately. I had (most likely for a class) finished reading The Debt and the Deficit by Dr. Heilbroner and Peter Bernstein. The assignment to write to an economist came at about this point in time. According to the copy of the letter I sent him, I asked Dr. Heilbroner whether or not the government had a “moral obligation” to repay its debts.

Below are the front and back of the card he sent. The card is typewritten (not handwritten as I earlier mentioned) but is signed. I wrote my letter to him on November 25, 1991. His response is postmarked December 3, 1991. Clicking on either image will open a larger version of the graphic.

and the front of the card:

Note to you young'uns out there: This is how we did things before email (and blogs).

I'm working through 1Ti 3.1-7. I'm at the end of verse 2, specifically dealing with the term “hospitable” (φιλόξενος). In looking at non-Biblical citations of φιλόξενος, I came across Josephus, Life 1.141-142:

When, therefore, silence was made by the whole multitude, I spake thus to them:—“O my countrymen! I refuse not to die, if justice so require. However, I am desirous to tell you the truth of this matter before I die; for as I know that this city of yours [Taricheae] was a city of great hospitality, and filled with abundance of such men as have left their own countries, and are come hither to be partakers of your fortune, whatever it be, I had a mind to build walls about it, out of this money, for which you are so angry with me, while yet it was to be expended in building your own walls.” (Life 1.141-142, Whiston translation)

I got a chuckle because Josephus notes that Taricheae “was a city of great hospitality” and then essentially begs for them to spare his life, hoping their hospitality will kick in and save his skin.

Anyway, that's beside the point. After thinking about the above for a bit, and looking at the other occurrences of φιλόξενος in the NT (1Ti 3.2; Titus 1.8; 1Pe 4.9) and some instances in the Apostolic Fathers (1Cl 12.3, Hermas Mandates VIII.10, Similitudes IX.xxvii.2), I started to think about φιλόξενος in terms of citizenship; that it has to do with showing kindness of some degree to foreigners sojourning among a native population, at least in some sense. I don't want to narrow it to a citizenship context (as it does obviously mean “hospitable” or “hospitality” in a general sense in some of the above citations), but many of the above instances (particularly Josephus and 1Clement) are in that context.

Then I started thinking about the sense of citizenship of Heaven that occurs in the NT. There are two references in particular:

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit. (Eph 2.19-22)

But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself. (Php 3.20-21)

This perspective also occurs in the Apostolic Fathers, particularly in the Epistle to Diognetus:  

But while they dwell in cities of Greeks and barbarians as the lot of each is cast, and follow the native customs in dress and food and the other arrangements of life, yet the constitution of their own citizenship, which they set forth, is marvelous, and confessedly contradicts expectation.  They dwell in their own countries, but only as sojourners; they bear their share in all things as citizens, and they endure all hardships as strangers. Every foreign country is a fatherland to them, and every fatherland is foreign. (EpDiog 5.4-5, Lightfoot)

So, my question is: When Paul includes φιλόξενος in lists of virtues describing qualities that should be evident in “overseers” (1Ti 3.2; Titus 1.8), could he, as he considers Christians to be citizens of the Kingdom, be desirous of overseers who show hospitality to all non-citizens of the Kingdom?

I realize the context in both 1Ti 3.2 and Titus 1.8 is general, so we have to interpret it generally in the sense of “hospitality” since that's as specific as the context gets. But I'd never considered this in light of heavenly citizenship espoused elsewhere in the NT. Does Paul simply require the overseers to be kind to strangers; or does this requirement have roots in a desire for the overseer to extend kindness to those who are not fellow-citizens of the Kingdom?