“No one,” wrote James Montgomery Boice about Genesis chapter thirty-four, “appears in a favorable light.” It’s true. A dark shade is used to color both the pagans and the People in chapter thirty-four. That chapter is nothing but rape and retaliation, cowardice and cunning, timidity and treachery. And it doesn’t end on a high note. There isn’t a heroic figure who rides in at the last minute to set everything right and leave us with a “happily-ever-after” conclusion.
Chapter thirty-four ends with a question left hanging unanswered and then the whole matter is dropped with God speaking again to Jacob in chapter thirty-five as if there is nothing to be salvaged from the wreckage of chapter thirty-four. It appears that there is no sense in belaboring discussions of lessons that can be learned or speaking platitudes about making lemonade.
Arthur Pink, in his book “Gleanings in Genesis,” skips the whole chapter resigned to accepting there are no good gleanings from that poisoned soil. Pink says as much by writing, “We pass over the sad record of this intervening chapter, asking our readers to turn to it for themselves.” Read it if you want to, Pink seems to say, but I’ve got nothing helpful to add. The chorus of Dave Mason’s “We Just Disagree” comes to mind. At least the least in part: So, let’s leave it alone…There ain’t no good guy…”
And so, we are left asking, “why?” If you, like me, believe in the inspiration of Scripture, you wonder why God put this sad story in the pages of Holy Writ? We could, of course, ask that about a lot of things we read in the Bible. Here is the rub: the impulse to ask that question betrays our proclivity for coverup and spin, and our reticence for honesty about the dark side of our lives and institutions. We wonder, then, why won’t God play along?
God doesn’t play along. He doesn’t coverup. He doesn’t skip over. He doesn’t put a spin on things. He lets us know that David was an adulterer, Samson a fornicator, Jacob a deceiver, and Peter a denier and coward. Why does God leave our faith open to the charge of hypocrisy and illegitimacy? Please, Lord, just tell us about the good, the righteous, the just. Don’t tarnish our heroes, thank you.
I have been reading “Mayflower,” by Nathaniel Philbrick. The book jacket accurately describes the way the contents of the book portrays the Pilgrims, Puritans, and Indians of 17th Century New England: “Vibrant, tragic, self-serving, and heroic figures…” is what Philbrick calls them. Neither perfect nor putrid. Americans on both sides of the present cultural conflicts about our country’s past are mistaken in their approach. On one side are those who hold people of the past up as mythical, god-like heroes who are beyond critique or criticism. On the other side are people who only see the flaws and failures. They are blinded to any good. They demonize and degrade and demand these people be wiped from history and memory.
God, in contrast, unhesitantly displays both. He doesn’t merely set before us good guys and bad guys. That is there, but what we see more often is the good and the bad in the same guy. To borrow from Luther, we see people as “simul justus et peccator,” simultaneously righteous and sinners.
“There ain’t no good guys,” sang Dave Mason. “There is none good, no not one,” wrote Paul. It is okay to have heroes, people we admire and even imitate. It is also wise when you are gazing on your hero’s crown of glory to glance down and remember their feet are but clay.
Out of the Miry Blog 