Scott Gill's Blog - Posts Tagged "mark-twain"
Struggles in Faith, Part 1
My faith, at times, and by that I mean my religious fervency, jostles between Mark Twain and C.S. Lewis. One man opted for skepticism, sickened by Christian hypocrisy while the other, despite disappointment in God, continued an ardent path.
Mark Twain, or Samuel Clemens, was raised a Presbyterian and was rarely religious. He was asked; however, to speak at John D. Rockefeller, Jr.’s famous Bible class on a number of occasions. In those classes, Clemens expressed his troubles with Christians’ naïve understanding of what was good and glorifying to God. His favorite example was the Joseph account when Joseph interprets Pharaoh’s dream of future drought and, as a result, is promoted to viceroy, the chief-carrier-out-of-all- Pharaoh-wants position (he was a big deal). Joseph makes an offer to all the people that they cannot refuse; he gives out the stored up grain to the starving in exchange for their money, livestock, and land. He charged an exorbitant price, and leveled on them an eternal tax. Even Scripture says, “Joseph reduced the people to servitude” (Genesis 47:21). Clemens didn’t view Joseph as a hero, acting in faith and saving the people, which is what the majority of all Christians (including me) have believed; he saw him as a shark that “skinned them for every last penny they had…” After four years of seminary study (which I crammed into eight) and reading that very passage in the literal Hebrew, I had never heard such an idea.
Joseph was placed in that position for that particular moment. His faith overcame long terms of isolation and false accusation and he rose to the top. He was a hero, that is, unless you come to him for grain and leave homeless. That’s how Twain saw it, from the “little guy’s” perspective. The farmer was left with little choice; buy grain or starve, and they hocked everything. Twain’s point was that Christians justify and glorify what they read in the Bible without looking at the entire situation. He was troubled with the sections of Scripture where God commands genocide (the entrance into the Promised Land) and he had the guts to voice his troubles. Honestly, I can sympathize with him because I struggle with it too. I’m not saying I no longer believe Scripture, but think about those families; would any of us in our right mind be able to obey the command to “destroy all the peoples the Lord God gives over to you. Do not look on them with pity…?” Would I be able to kill every last man, woman, and child so I could move into a piece of land and build my farm? I have enough trouble reading my Bible every day so, probably not, and that is what Mark Twain meant in his skepticism.
He stayed angry with Christians mostly because of their uncanny ability to stand against smoking, drinking, and cussing, all the while ignoring commands to “love thy neighbor.” He saw this hypocrisy largely in the practice of slavery. He grew up in a land of slaves and even played in their quarters at his uncle’s farm. He went to church and listened to sermons that not only justified the practice, but declared it a kindly act—a better existence—for the slaves, that they were better off in chains than in Africa. He responded to the issue in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn where Huck contemplates his soul’s smoldering future because he assisted the escape of his friend, Jim, a neighboring slave. Huck decides to choose the way of “wickedness” and stay loyal to Jim, knowing that by doing so he sealed his eternal fate (at least according to what he learned in church).
Clemens witnessed and recorded instance after instance of Christians showing hatred while boasting a standard of righteousness. It had embittered him so, that near the end of his life, upon hearing of a friend who had a scare with chest pains, he wrote the following advice on what to do when standing before St. Peter at the pearly gates:
Leave your dog outside. Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and the dog would go in… Sunday afternoons, when you go with the rest of the redeemed to lean over the balusters [the walls looking down] and see the little unbaptised Presbyterian and Roman Catholic children roasting in the red fires, don’t crowd; remember, others want to see, as well as you. And you must rub your hands together, and laugh a little, and let on to enjoy it; otherwise people will suspect you are not as good a Christian as you look… (emphasis mine)
This is the first religious piece I’ve written in nearly 5 years because, honestly, I’ve had little to say. After nearly 15 years in ministry, I had my fill of the cruel hands that named Christ as Lord, and the final straw was when it involved my wife and kids. I remember praying, begging Jesus to get me out of the pastorate and in a profession where my family is off limits (in the church, that is not the case). People ask if I’d ever go back and preach again of which I give a hardy, “NO.” Why would I do that to my wife and kids? The infamous fishbowl is a lonely and hot stage. No, we are happy as I teach and Angie works as a medical assistant. I’m sure some have wondered that my departure from the pulpit was a bit Jonah-esque, a called man running from his call, but if I’d stayed in much longer I would have ended up just like Sam Clemens—bitter, angry, and a skeptic. Instead, I have callused hands from holy work as C.S. Lewis would say and, hopefully, in time, those hands will soften.
Mark Twain, or Samuel Clemens, was raised a Presbyterian and was rarely religious. He was asked; however, to speak at John D. Rockefeller, Jr.’s famous Bible class on a number of occasions. In those classes, Clemens expressed his troubles with Christians’ naïve understanding of what was good and glorifying to God. His favorite example was the Joseph account when Joseph interprets Pharaoh’s dream of future drought and, as a result, is promoted to viceroy, the chief-carrier-out-of-all- Pharaoh-wants position (he was a big deal). Joseph makes an offer to all the people that they cannot refuse; he gives out the stored up grain to the starving in exchange for their money, livestock, and land. He charged an exorbitant price, and leveled on them an eternal tax. Even Scripture says, “Joseph reduced the people to servitude” (Genesis 47:21). Clemens didn’t view Joseph as a hero, acting in faith and saving the people, which is what the majority of all Christians (including me) have believed; he saw him as a shark that “skinned them for every last penny they had…” After four years of seminary study (which I crammed into eight) and reading that very passage in the literal Hebrew, I had never heard such an idea.
Joseph was placed in that position for that particular moment. His faith overcame long terms of isolation and false accusation and he rose to the top. He was a hero, that is, unless you come to him for grain and leave homeless. That’s how Twain saw it, from the “little guy’s” perspective. The farmer was left with little choice; buy grain or starve, and they hocked everything. Twain’s point was that Christians justify and glorify what they read in the Bible without looking at the entire situation. He was troubled with the sections of Scripture where God commands genocide (the entrance into the Promised Land) and he had the guts to voice his troubles. Honestly, I can sympathize with him because I struggle with it too. I’m not saying I no longer believe Scripture, but think about those families; would any of us in our right mind be able to obey the command to “destroy all the peoples the Lord God gives over to you. Do not look on them with pity…?” Would I be able to kill every last man, woman, and child so I could move into a piece of land and build my farm? I have enough trouble reading my Bible every day so, probably not, and that is what Mark Twain meant in his skepticism.
He stayed angry with Christians mostly because of their uncanny ability to stand against smoking, drinking, and cussing, all the while ignoring commands to “love thy neighbor.” He saw this hypocrisy largely in the practice of slavery. He grew up in a land of slaves and even played in their quarters at his uncle’s farm. He went to church and listened to sermons that not only justified the practice, but declared it a kindly act—a better existence—for the slaves, that they were better off in chains than in Africa. He responded to the issue in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn where Huck contemplates his soul’s smoldering future because he assisted the escape of his friend, Jim, a neighboring slave. Huck decides to choose the way of “wickedness” and stay loyal to Jim, knowing that by doing so he sealed his eternal fate (at least according to what he learned in church).
Clemens witnessed and recorded instance after instance of Christians showing hatred while boasting a standard of righteousness. It had embittered him so, that near the end of his life, upon hearing of a friend who had a scare with chest pains, he wrote the following advice on what to do when standing before St. Peter at the pearly gates:
Leave your dog outside. Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and the dog would go in… Sunday afternoons, when you go with the rest of the redeemed to lean over the balusters [the walls looking down] and see the little unbaptised Presbyterian and Roman Catholic children roasting in the red fires, don’t crowd; remember, others want to see, as well as you. And you must rub your hands together, and laugh a little, and let on to enjoy it; otherwise people will suspect you are not as good a Christian as you look… (emphasis mine)
This is the first religious piece I’ve written in nearly 5 years because, honestly, I’ve had little to say. After nearly 15 years in ministry, I had my fill of the cruel hands that named Christ as Lord, and the final straw was when it involved my wife and kids. I remember praying, begging Jesus to get me out of the pastorate and in a profession where my family is off limits (in the church, that is not the case). People ask if I’d ever go back and preach again of which I give a hardy, “NO.” Why would I do that to my wife and kids? The infamous fishbowl is a lonely and hot stage. No, we are happy as I teach and Angie works as a medical assistant. I’m sure some have wondered that my departure from the pulpit was a bit Jonah-esque, a called man running from his call, but if I’d stayed in much longer I would have ended up just like Sam Clemens—bitter, angry, and a skeptic. Instead, I have callused hands from holy work as C.S. Lewis would say and, hopefully, in time, those hands will soften.
