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A Milton-Style [Mawkishly Emotional?] Mother’s Day
I’m trying NOT to make weekend posting a habit, but I couldn’t resist sharing this with you on Mother’s Day.
It’s just TOO quaint.
You got to love epic poems that tackle fantastic topics like the biblical Fall…
Not only are they sweeping in imagination, but their language is often noble, polished and–absurd? Frightening? Mawkishly sentimental because of drunkenness?
I don’t have the answer, but John Milton’s Paradise Lost has got such language. Let me give you an example.
The setting is the garden of Eden. It’s morning and Adam is leaning over Eve who is still sleeping. This is what he says:
This, my friend’s is how he awoke her. Ever said THAT to your wife as she wakes up? Yeah. I didn’t think so.
Adam is making us look pretty bad, men. But wait, women, you’re not off the hook. Here’s how Eve responded:
O Sole in whom my thoughts find all repose, My Glorie, my Perfection, glad I see Thy face,
My Glorie? My Perfection? How dreamy!
Eve goes on to relate a bad dream she had and of course Adam comforts her…all very charming deeds in a garden bower that makes a Martha Stewart-designed bedroom look like a living space you’d find in a half-way house.
According to Milton, the mother of creation got top-notch treatment. Something we can seriously regard when it comes to our own mother’s AND wives this holiday Sunday.
So let’s practice husbands: “Awake My fairest, my espous’d, my latest found, Heaven’s last best gift, my ever new delight.”
And what about a version for mothers? Can you write something? Use Adam’s line as a template. Happy Mother’s Day!
Is John Nash a Modern-Day Nebuchadnezzar?
You’re probably wondering what a 20th century Princeton-trained abstract mathematician has in common with a Babylonian ruler who reigned around 600 B.C.
Not much, really.
Except they both went mad.
And that’s the connection I want to explore.
Losing a Beautiful Mind
Here’s how Daniel describes Nebuchadnezzar’s descent into madness:
All this came upon King Nebuchadnezzar. At the end of twelve months he was walking on the roof of the royal palace of Babylon, and the king answered and said, “Is not this great Babylon, which I have built by my mighty power as a royal residence and for the glory of my majesty?”
While the words were still in the king’s mouth, there fell a voice from heaven, “O King Nebuchadnezzar, to you it is spoken: The kingdom has departed from you, and you shall be driven from among men, and your dwelling shall be with the beasts of the field. And you shall be made to eat grass like an ox, and seven periods of time shall pass over you, until you know that the Most High rules the kingdom of men and gives it to whom he will.”
Immediately the word was fulfilled against Nebuchadnezzar. He was driven from among men and ate grass like an ox, and his body was wet with the dew of heaven till his hair grew as long as eagles’ feathers, and his nails were like birds’ claws.
It’s evident that Nebuchadnezzar lost his mind. And while John Nash didn’t crawl on all fours and eat grass, he, too, lost his mind.
I tell you all this because I recently finished reading Sylvia Nasser’s biography of John Nash–A Beautiful Mind
It was a gritty, 400-page narrative of schizophrenia–with Nash as the protagonist–that traveled from the nastiness of his narcissism to the brutality of his mental illness to the humility of his remission.
And throughout this very readable book I could not shake the comparison between Nash’s descent into madness with Nebuchadnezzar’s.
What We Can Learn from Descents into Madness
This is not what I’m saying: God used schizophrenia as an act of judgment against John Nash. I cannot demonstrate that at all.
All I’m saying is that it could be–as it was so obviously for Nebuchadnezzar. But this much is true: the depth of megalomania and hubris in each man was vast and ultimately led to their insanity.
Nebuchadnezzar reveling in his majestic glory and dictatorial demands for idol worship and John Nash exalting his mathematical genius and rubbing his status as a scientific giant into the noses of his subordinates [whom he thought was just about everyone].
The warning we need to walk away from both of these men’s stories [and Nebuchadnezzar's in particular] is that we are all prone to self-sufficiency, self-supremacy and self-exaltation…
And when we push the limits of these areas we are in great and grave danger of judgment–possibly in this life, definitely in the next.
But more importantly we must remember this: Christ alone is supreme. Christ alone is to be exalted and worshiped. And in Christ alone do we find our ultimate sufficiency.
Who Do You Praise in Your Times of Restoration?
In the end, Nebuchadnezzar was humbled by his madness. As was Nash. But Nebuchadnezzar praised God for his restoration…
He said, “Now I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise and extol and honor the King of heaven, for all his works are right and his ways are just; and those who walk in pride he is able to humble.”
As far as I know, John Nash did not praise God. In fact, he talked about willing his way into rationality.
Whatever the case might be, I hope that Nash did in fact give God glory for his recovery–but that piece of news has simply been left unreported.
Until then I pray for Nash’s soul.
And yours, that you would resist pride with a ferocious and fantastic tenacity and instead adore the only being in this universe who deserves our praise–Jesus Christ.
Your Personal Conflict with the Great Commission
**Simply fulfilling my promise to write about Radical all week. And don’t miss tomorrow’s post. Got a little surprise.**
Suspend your belief for a moment.
I want to change your view of history.
In January 1703, shortly after graduating and failing an audition for an organist’s post at Sangerhausen in January 1703, Johann Sebastian Bach didn’t take up his post as a court musician in the chapel of Duke Johann Ernst in Weimar…
But instead, while riding away from Sangerhausen, Bach felt a severe call on his life to travel to Tunisia to minster the gospel to the Arabs…
Summarily giving up his ambition to be a composer.
Revision of Van Gogh’s Little Life
Almost two hundred years later, Vincent Van Gogh succeeded in his early vocational aspiration to become a pastor and preached the gospel from 1879 until his death to a small mining town in Belgium…
Neglecting his elegant [but tortured] artistic output that resulted in intoxicating paintings like The Starry Night and Still Life: Vase with Sunflowers?
Naturally, even to conceive of such events means we have to revise history and do some heavy-duty speculating.
But here’s my point–what if every great Christian artist, writer, dramatist, composer or scholar simply shed their vocational ambitions to work strictly as a missionary, preacher, teacher or evangelist?
Would our culture be any less than it is without Bach’s sacred St. John Passion or the sublime chaos of van Gogh’s Irises?
The answer, or course, is “no.”
For one thing, conceiving of history without Bach the composer and his rich legacy of liturgical works or Van Gogh and his dreamy, sad impressionistic paintings is pure fiction.
It’s the stuff of revisionist history best left in the hands of novelists who like to entertain. Here’s what I’m getting at.
The Tension the Great Commission Creates
I get a strong impression after reading David Platt’s Radical that he’d like to see us all abandon our political, social, academic or artistic pursuits and share the gospel.
That, my friends, is radical.
It’s an over-reading of his point, of course, even though he is a pastor and [I think] would be quiet happy if every one in his church–and all the readers of his book–would become evangelists or missionaries.
In fact, after you read the book there’s a small part of you wanders if you should liquidate your 401k and send it to World Vision…
Or sell your suburban home and move your family of four to a grass hut in Bangladesh…
Or scrap your dream of being a veterinarian and take the first flight to Ethiopia to save ten-year-old girls from sexual slavery.
David Platt and his book just might ruin your life in that way.
Extreme, perhaps. But Jesus and his great commission was anything but superficial.
Which brings us to the tension with our cultural mandate: God’s decree that we subdue the earth by building schools, running governments and crafting art.
Questions the Book Will Stir Up
No question: There are those who will read the book and go to the extreme. Who will give it all up and make radical changes to their lifestyle to fulfill the gospel.
David Platt’s got the testimonies to prove it. For the rest of us, we at least re-think how we spend our money.
In reality, all Platt asks you to do is bear your heart before God and ask: What can I do? How can I give it all?
And what does that mean?
Does that mean I remain here in the suburban U. S. and churn out blog posts or novels or paintings or musical scores–for your glory?
Or do you have something more radical for me? Read Platt’s book and, in truth, you will ask yourself those questions. What do you say?
One Final Thought
Sometimes I wonder what Calvin would’ve written if he’d not had his conversion, but instead pursued his ambition to live a leisurely literary life.
I gamble he might have been a French Goethe. To this literary nut job, that sounds appealing.
Don’t get me wrong: I wouldn’t trade that history if it meant we gave up the Institutes. I’m just saying: Maybe it’s not so bad to let your imagination wander on occasion.
Who knows: You might stumble upon a brilliant idea. An idea you can offer up to the glory of God.
But maybe that’s enough? We’ll never know, will we?
David Platt Frightens Me
Ever hear anyone complain that academics are divorced from reality?
That theorists would simply collapse in shock if they ever stepped down from their ivory tower into the dirty world of human beings?
That some professors are educated beyond their usefulness?
That scholars are cut off from emotion, compassion and spiritual devotion?
Granted, there’s a lot of truth behind these complaints.
Intellectuals tend to elevate the mind over the heart, making the pursuit of doctorates more important than people.
But not all academics fall to this temptation. Take David Platt for example.
Educated to the Hilt
At first glance, you could level those accusations at David Platt.
He earned two undergraduate degrees from the University of Georgia. He followed that up with three advanced degrees.
But he wasn’t finished.
He added a doctor of philosophy from New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary [NOBTS] to his curriculum vitae.
He then served as dean of chapel and assistant professor of expository preaching and apologetics at NOBTS.
The man is a highly accomplished academic. [And as an arm-chair intellectual, he scares me.]
Naturally, you’d expect his book Radical to read like a professional journal. But it doesn’t.
Entering the Dirty Business of Human Beings
Here’s what can’t be missed: Platt gets around.
His book is shaped by his overseas mission trips to places like India and Indonesia.
It’s influenced by his time as pastor at the Church at Brook Hills.
And it’s predisposed to sound a lot like John Piper–the quintessential scholar-turned-pastor–who obviously impacted Platt.
All this serves to make Platt firmly grounded in the dirty business of human beings, compassionate to the bone and ridiculously eager to make disciples.
Which in turn makes Radical a book anyone could read.
In fact, it’s almost simplistic. Sometimes redundant. It’s Richard Wurmbrand meets Kevin DeYoung.
You won’t get lost in this book. Neither will you have to re-read any sentences. In fact, you’ll almost get bored.
But at that moment when you’re tempted to close the book, Platt pulls you back in. He does this in a handful of ways.
Radical: Sticky from Experience and Education
He might draw out a beautiful analogy about the church being a troop carrier turned luxury liner.
Or a gripping story about a young, intelligent woman killed in a bizarre bus accident while she served Palestinian refugees in Egypt.
Or a potent scene where believers in China begged him to teach them the Old Testament…and ten days later to teach them the New.
While all these things make for a good read we have to remember that Platt argues from a very simple platform: the gospel of Jesus Christ.
A platform he demonstrates you don’t need a degree to preach. Or a doctorate to understand.
Just a heart that hungers to lose it’s will in the will of God and no longer desires anything for himself–except the glory of God.
And it’s just this kind of heart that drives the hardcore academic David Platt.
Why Did God Create Woman?
Women. Ah. My favorite subject.
Especially since I’m married to arguably the most merciful, kind and generous woman of all.
Indeed. Any amount of success I have as a father, writer or husband I owe to her.
The running joke around our house is that if not for my wife, I’d still be living with my mother.
In her basement.
Dead serious. My wife is classic helper. Classic companion. I’d be lost without her.
But what does “helper” mean? Where did that term come from?
Furthermore, why did God think man EVEN needed woman? And what does the Bible say about this union?
Let’s take a look.
History Before Woman
Long ago God created a man named Adam. He told Adam [a man made in God's image] to cultivate the earth.
To subdue it.
Adam shaped wood into tools. Domesticated oxen to plow fertile soil. He groomed fruit trees. He raised honey bees. He cultivated mint and cornflowers.
But the image of God in man was not complete. God said, “It is not good that man his alone.” He wanted to give Adam a companion.
What’s strange about this arrangement is that Adam doesn’t seem to notice his need for a companion.
He appears perfectly content to be alone.
This is problematic. Not to Adam, but to God. And for reasons we might not consider.
History After Woman
Then God created woman. Genesis 2:21-23 tells us what that looked like:
So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and while he slept took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. And the rib that the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. Then the man said,
“This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.”
Because God created woman even though Adam was content in his solitude suggests God had something else in mind for man than merely tinkering around in a garden by himself.
God wanted to give man a partner in the stewardship of that garden. Together man and woman split the labor of subduing the earth.
He commanded them both to rule. To take dominion over the fish. The birds. The badgers.
And this responsibility–a sovereign authority you might say–is another way that man and woman are made in God’s likeness.
God is in charge of the universe…man and woman are in charge of the earth. But mere stewardship of goats and crops wasn’t all.
Something Adam Couldn’t Do Alone
Part of Adam and Eve’s responsibility involved multiplying humans. Procreation. Making babies.
A skill, we all know, Adam could not perform on his own.
This command would ensure God’s image spread over the earth. It allowed for Adam and Eve to fulfill their cultural mandate by sharing their workload with their children.
Yet another division of labor.
Call it imperialism if you want. But all for the glory of God. Here’s what I mean.
What Male-Female Union Does to God’s Glory
Listen: When man and woman work in harmony–sharing the responsibility of creating culture, raising children and sharing the gospel–God is glorified.
And he is glorified within the ordained parameters of marriage.
From the Genesis narrative of the creation of man and woman God demonstrates his plan for marriage equals a monogamous heterosexual relationship.
Proliferation of mankind–God’s image–could not happen any other way.
God knew that his glory was limited in the creation of one man. So he made woman. And then man and woman made child.
This union and procreation honors God. Glorifies him. Extends his joy as this man, woman and child honor them with their hearts and service.
It’s a lifestyle of adoration for their creator. Incomplete when man was alone.
Recommended resource: God, Marriage and Family Andreas J. Kostenberger
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