Do You See What I See?

I was sitting, chilling in an overly air conditioned classroom at Bowling Green State University about twelve years ago when I first read C.S. Lewis’ “Meditation in a Toolshed.” In the essay, he discusses the need to look both at and along a particular issue in life: love, religion, life, whatever. We should recognize that experience and education are equally as valuable when trying to understand the mysteries of this thing we call human existence.

We read the essay in class in preparation to discuss the debate surrounding Science and Religion. Are they mutually exclusive? Can they both present valid perspectives? The answer, I believe, is obvious. Of course, they can.

I have been thinking about Lewis’ essay for the past few days. I had not read it since that summer in 1996. Perhaps I am drawn to this text because recently I have revisited several passages in the Bible.

I was raised Fundamental Baptist. We attended church three times a week; there were a lot of “no’s” growing up. No smoking, no drinking, no dancing, no movies, no sex, no wearing pants to church (a memorable fight involving lots of tears changed that), no, no, no, no, no. Many of the people I grew up with, of course, ended up doing many of these things, and, as far as I know, some still do.

When reading the Bible, I am also reminded of Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave.” Like many people, it is one of my favorite pieces of literature. In it, Plato describes a scene where human beings have been kept shackled in a cave. They can only stare at the wall—nowhere else. There is a fire and a wall. Puppets cast shadows on the wall, and the human beings, having grown up in the cave, recognize this shadow world as “real.” The movie The Matrix offers a stylized version of the same notion. Plato says that if we unlocked one of these persons, dragged him up out of the cave, and introduced him to sunlight, flowers, trees, grass, sky—the “real” world—he would be unable to return to the world of shadows, for he had experienced something more and finally understood that all he knew before was false, someone else’s interpretation of the truth.

When I sit down and read my Bible, I want to see past the shadows. I want to see the text anew. I want to look at it and along it—simultaneously. There are many passages that I have never heard preached on, or at least, they were not preached on in the ways that I understood them. The women of the Bible were rarely spoken of, unless they were Ruth or Esther. Much of what I have read in the text was ignored. Slowly, I begin to recognize that I grew up watching shadows.

I want to believe that I have the mental capacity to read the Bible for myself without the filter of a “learned” intermediary, or “scholar.” If these words are truly from my Creator and Deity, then I should be able to have access to them as freely as anyone else.

C.S. Lewis wonders about subjectivity. If we can only experience things from our own limited perception, then how can we ever have any “true” objectivity? Is that really a table? Does my friend experience the table as I do? What are the implications of our disparate understandings of table?

I read stories of love in the Bible. I have read plenty of sections about types of love that are condemned. If I read the text one way, I am an abomination who does not deserve access to God. This is how my parents read it. Sometimes, I think it is a test of their faith everyday that I survive and am not "judged." They believe that I will die early--perhaps they think my salvation is lost these days, I'm not sure. They didn't used to think that. Even so, everyday, their words cross my mind. Will I slip and fall in the bathtub? Will a stray car swerve into my lane? Why does my head hurt and throb? I feel like my parents are sitting back and waiting. My seemingly "unpunished" life tests their beliefs. I can see both along this issue and at it. I understand how they think and why. Are they right? Am I right? The shackles of my Baptist upbringing bite my wrists.

People say that the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah was homosexuality. Fine. I will read the text that way. But, what about the fact that after Sodom and Gomorrah was burned into nothingness, Lot’s daughters got their father drunk and both slept with him—having children by him? I always found that passage so hard to read. Thankfully, our mores have changed thousands of years later. A person could compose a list pages and pages long of things that we are supposed to read one way (without our modern knowledge and understanding) and things that are not supposed to be read the same way (having children by our drunken fathers).

In the end, I have tried to look at and along the beam whenever I approach the Bible. I pray and have prayed, cried, lost weight, tossed and turned and stayed awake night after night. My brother prayed hard, too. He prayed that he could be “cured” of the pain he felt most of his life. He took his own life fourteen years ago. I felt the same way five years ago when I cried out to God for different reasons. I received an answer. Was it a deception? A test? Perhaps.

I suppose what I would really wish to see is fewer people judging others. Why can’t we try to look at and along the beam before we condemn someone? Perhaps my answer could be found if I spent an afternoon in the shadows of a toolshed.

All I know is that some days the sun, that bright shining warm sun, feels just beyond the reach of these manacled arms...