Thoughts on Anne Rice's "Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt"

A few months back I picked up Anne Rice's novel, Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt, at a used bookstore.  Not being a big fan of vampire stories, I had never read any of her previous books.  But I remembered hearing about this book when it first came out, and I was intrigued.  I finally got the chance to read it this week.

I'll admit, I was a bit skeptical when I started the book, just as I'm sure most of its readers are at first.  I mean, writing about Jesus' childhood in the first person?  Isn't that a bit... audacious?

Kudos to Ms. Rice-- she handles it masterfully.  

I really enjoyed this book.  She makes first century Egypt, Judea, and Galilee come alive.  The characterization is so believable.  And her return to Christianity in her personal life is evident in the fact that she portrays Jesus with such care.  She does a wonderful job of not only making Him fully God and fully human, but she also fleshes out what it might have been like for Him as a child.  I have often wondered about Jesus' childhood-- did He know He was God?  What age did He know?  Did He have miraculous power even then?  Anne Rice's imagination about how it might have been is both challenging and intriguing.  

Another part of the book I really enjoyed is the author's note at the end.  Ms. Rice describes a bit of her journey of faith and what led her to write this book.  She also describes her extensive research leading up to it.  (I was also delighted to find that she lists N.T. Wright as one of her biggest influences.)

Sometimes I forget that when Hebrews 4:15 says, "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin," it is referring not only to Jesus' temptation and suffering towards the end of His ministry, but also all the years of His earthly life.  To be teased by other children.  To feel childlike fear in a dangerous world.  To have adults brush aside your questions.  To be looked at with suspicion due to your questionable parentage.  To figure out just who it is God wants you to be.

I highly recommend this book, and I'm looking forward to reading the second one in the series, The Road to Cana.  It has being a blessing to my faith and will continue to be so as it prompts me to ponder the Incarnation more fully.

Thoughts on "The Furious Longing of God" by Brennan Manning, Part 2

At the end of each chapter of "The Furious Longing of God," Brennan Manning lists a couple questions to consider for further application.  The first question of the book is "When you read that phrase--the furious longing of God--what emotions or images does it evoke?"  Here is what I wrote on some notebook paper in response to that question:

Fury is a lightening storm, tearing across the night sky.  Fury is an earthquake, knocking down buildings and swallowing the earth.  Fury is a tornado, ripping trees from the ground and hurtling them through windows.  Fury is a hurricane, overtaking land and life with wind and wave.  What has fury to do with love?  Fury is a mother bear protecting her cubs from danger.  Fury is a father when he learns his child has been kidnapped.  Fury is a lover who has learned his lover has been greatly wronged.

Fury is vengeance, wrath, power unleashed.  But furious longing?  Does longing have the propensity to be furious?  Furious longing would be desperation, unquenched desire, unfulfilled need.  Longing implies lacking-- to long means one is not complete.  Yet God is complete and whole, lacking in nothing.  He has perfect union and fellowship within the Trinity.  What need has He of me?  And to call it furious-- I rather envision more a passive, "Oh, sure, it would be nice if she would join us, but no big loss either way."

The thought of God longing for me like a lover, a Father, a hurricane-- I cannot picture it.  And surely His longing is for His Church and not for me as an individual?  How rather arrogant to suppose I'm singled out.  One lost sheep versus the ninety-nine-- I've detached myself from Biblical exegesis so much, being careful to not apply which was not meant to be applied to me, that I  no longer can truly envision a passage such as this as having anything to do with me.  Furious wrath, yes, but furious longing?

Surely this is just the impassioned cry of a lover and not applicable to the place I hold in God's heart.  Then again, would God not love more deeply, more passionately, more fully-- more furiously-- than any human lover?

Love requires an other.  If God is love, His love must have an object.  He would be fully justified, in His perfection, to make that object Himself alone.  Yet He chooses to direct His love towards people and invite them into a union with Him.  Not just invite but relentlessly pursue, like a tireless lover.  I cannot grasp that imagery in relation to me.

Thoughts on "The Furious Longing of God" by Brennan Manning, Part 1

I read "The Furious Longing of God" by Brennan Manning today.  It's the first book of his that I have read, and I plan on reading "The Ragamuffin Gospel" now.  Overall, I liked it.  It wasn't as earth-shattering as I had hoped, but I don't fault Mr. Manning for that.  Just my own state of mind.

I appreciate his many descriptions of the love of God and just how wide and deep and completely immeasurable it is.  Conveniently he left out any mention of hell, which is frustrating since that's the one kink in my pursuit to understanding and accepting the love of God.  (God is love.  Yep, got that.  God is all-powerful.  Sure, I'm with you.  Those who don't believe in Jesus suffer in hell for all eternity.  Screeeech... this bus comes to a halt.)  I'm still struggling and thinking through the issue of hell.  Mr. Manning ignores it all together.  I'm sure he's thought about it lots, but I wish he would have shared his conclusions amidst all the love talk.  For now, it's a hurdle I can't get over.

My other frustration is that the first part of the book did a wonderful job of easing the guilt of trying to live a perfect Christian life.  Best line of the book-- "... I've decided that if I had my life to live over again I would not only climb more mountains, swim more rivers, and watch more sunsets; I wouldn't only jettison my hot water bottle, raincoat, umbrella, parachute, and raft; I would not only go barefoot earlier in the spring and stay out later in the fall; but I would devote not one more minute to monitoring my spiritual growth. No, not one" (p. 65).  Ah, that was reassuring.  But at the end he emphasizes how important it is for Christians to love other people.  Obviously this is true and right.  But I started the book feeling relief from guilt only to end with feelings of guilt for not loving enough.  Love obviously requires some work and action, and so I'm back to counting and making sure I'm doing "enough."  Again, not Mr. Manning's fault.  Just my own.

I think I have trouble with books like this because I've spent so much energy reacting against emotionalism and sentimentality in my own life.  My emotions can be a fickle roller coaster, and I used to use them as a measure for "where I was in my relationship with God."  I know better now, and so I tend to not trust my emotions, lest I mistake them for the voice of God.  Mr. Manning isn't calling us to emotionalism, but he does refer to mysticism and the experience of God.  This by its very nature seems to be a deeply emotional experience.  I start to doubt whether I've actually "experienced" God in this way.  Maybe I did once, at campfire sing-a-longs and church altar calls, back before anti-depressants and periods of agnosticism.  I don't know.  I suppose I could work myself up for such an experience, but it would inevitably let me down if it's not genuinely from God.  

More thoughts to come.