In an e-conversation with a pastor friend in Denver I said this today...
I accept Postmodernity's criticism of modernity; the criticism of modernity's arrogance and misplaced confidence in the inevitable advance of humanity. What postmodernity does is open the door for the doctrine of the Fall. Observing that we live in a world gone wrong is a good place to begin the Gospel story. But I'll be a suck egg mule before I'll believe that Jacques Derrida was anything other than a clever fool. Deconstruction is nothing but dressed up Nihilism. I was in Paris the day Derrida died. I wanted to get a t-shirt made up: Derrida Is Dead. That some of the Emerging church people (not the leaders...as far as I know) have a juvenile fascination with Derrida gives me a low opinion of them. Francis Schaeffer would slap them down.
And that reminds me of a great story.
The Paris Train Story
In October of 2004 Peri and I were in Paris for a week. Because of where I was ministering we were staying in the northern part of Paris near the Charles De Gaulle airport. One evening I wanted to attend an event at the
Notre Dame Cathedral. Because Peri was a bit worn our from the day's activities, I went by myself -- a forty-five minute train ride to the center of Paris. The event I was interested in was an hour long sight and sound presentation on the history of the Cathedral. I took the RER to the
Saint-Michel metro stop which is just a couple of blocks from Notre Dame. I still had more than an hour before the nine o'clock presentation, so I went to the famous English bookstore nearby,
Shakespeare and Company, which had been the haunt of American and English expatriates like Ernest Hemmingway, T.S. Elliot, Ezra Pound, James Joyce, and other writers. The proprietor allows young aspiring writers to have a bed in the shop (if he thinks they show sufficient promise); it is a very interesting place. As I was browsing among the Russian literature section I decided to buy a paperback copy of Dostoevsky's
The Idiot. What was unusual about this purchase was that I had a nice hardback copy of
The Idiot back at the hotel, but since I had brought nothing with me to read, I thought I would buy it and have something to read on the forty-five minute train ride back to the hotel. At twelve euros, it was a bit of an extravagance.
Leaving Shakespeare and Company "the Idiot" and I walked across the street to Notre Dame. The presentation was well done and I found it very interesting; it covered not only the 900 year history of the Cathedral but the coming of Christianity to France through the apostolic ministry of
Saint Denis in the 3rd Century; Saint Denis was beheaded in 275 A.D. at a pagan temple which later became the site of Notre Dame. At the conclusion of the presentation, as I sat by myself in the massive cathedral.
(I was sitting next to the column on the far right of the picture.) I prayed a simple prayer asking God to use me for His purposes while I was in Paris. It was a little past ten o'clock when I left Notre Dame.
As I walked from the Cathedral to the Saint-Michel metro stop with
The Idiot in hand, I continued to dedicate myself to God and ask that He would use me in some way. When I got on the train, it was mostly empty and I sat down in a section by myself, opened my book and began to read. We had only gone one stop, maybe two minutes, when a young Asian man got on and sat down opposite me. I paid no attention to him until he said to me in good English, "That's a great book."
I said, "Have you read it?"
He said, "I'm reading it right now."
I replied, "What a coincidence."
His name was Yu and he had just graduated from college with degrees in political science and history. I told him that was a good combination of degrees. Political science is man's attempt to govern himself and history is the record of his failures.
As we talked about
The Idiot, Yu went on to tell me that his favorite contemporary author was Gabriel Garcia Marquez and I told him that I had read
One Hundred Years of Solitude and
The General's Labyrinth. These were the two Gabriel Garcia Marquez books Yu had read, and we both shared the opinion that
One Hundred Years of Solitude is utterly fantastic and
The General's Labyrinth is a bit boring. Yu then mentioned that he also liked to read philosophy and that occasioned me to mention that
Jacques Derrida, the founder deconstruction philosophy, had died in Paris that very day. When I quipped, "And may his philosophy die with him", Yu said, "It will."
Yu was obviously a very bright young man and I was curious about his basic worldview so I said, "You're an intelligent young man, just graduating from school with degrees in history and political science; from what you know of history and politics, let me ask you a question: What hope to have for the world? Do you believe that humanity is capable of establishing some kind of political system that will eliminate injustice and produce peace on earth?"
Yu said, "I have no such hope." Then Yu said to me, "I've heard that Fyodor Dostoevsky was a Christian; do you know if that's true?" (At this point in the conversation I'm fairly sure Yu had no idea I was a Christian.)
I said, "Yes, it's true, and I know how he became a Christian, would you like to hear the story?"
Yu said he would and I told him how Dostoevsky as a young man was a part of a failed revolution and had been arrested in St. Petersburg, put in prison, and sentenced to death. On the day of his execution, Dostoevsky and four other co-conspirators were brought forth from the prison to face the firing squad; their crimes were read out, they were blind-folded, the formality of execution was begun, and at the last moment their sentence was commuted to five years hard labor in Siberia. As one might imagine, this event had a tremendous effect on Dostoevsky (in several of his novels, Dostoevsky writes of what goes through the mind of a man on his way to his execution). As Dostoevsky arrived at the prison camp in Siberia where he would serve his sentence, a peasant woman was handing out copies of the Gospels. For five years this was nearly the only reading material available to this literary man, and it was through the reading of the Gospels that Dostoevsky became a Christian.
Yu then asked me what I did. When I told him I was a pastor, he was initially surprised, then he became serious and said, "Since you are a pastor, I want to tell you something. I was brought up in a home that believed in God, but when I entered my teens I rejected the idea of God and became an atheist. Yesterday I went to Notre Dame, just to see the Gothic architecture. But while I was in the Cathedral I found myself wanting to pray. I tried to pray to God and tell Him that I wanted to know Him, but I don't think He heard my prayer because I walked away from him years ago."
I said, "Yu, let me tell you something. God did hear your prayer. Less than an hour ago I was in Notre Dame and I prayed saying, 'God, use me while I'm in Paris.' Then I got aboard this train, you sat down across from me, commented on my book, which we are both reading and which I just bought, even though I already have a copy of it in my hotel room, so that we would meet and have this conversation and I could tell you that God most definitely heard your prayer yesterday in Notre Dame just as he heard my prayer tonight and arranged for our paths to cross so I could tell you these things."
Yu was stunned.
I said, "Yu, do you really want to know God? Do you want to know the Answer that Dostoevsky found? The Answer for a world gone wrong?"
He said, "I do."
I asked, "Do you have a Bible?"
He said, "I do."
I said, "Yu, go home, read the Gospel of John, like Dostoevsky did, and you will discover how you can know God through Jesus Christ." Then I asked Yu, "Will you do this?"
He said, "I will."
I then wanted to say so much more to him, but as I looked out the window for the first time during our conversation I saw we were at the Charles De Gaulle stop. I thought we had talked for a few minutes, but it had been forty-five.
I simply said, "Yu, this is my stop, I have to go, see you later. God bless you."
When I got off the train I felt like an angel.
I have an assurance deep in my heart that my friend Yu has read the Gospel of John and made the Great Discovery that I and Fyodor Dostoevsky and so many millions of others have made: Jesus is the Answer.
And I wonder if Yu ever thinks, "Was that man an angel?"
I'm not a winged seraph, but I know for certain that I was a messenger sent by God to meet a young man on a train in Paris.
On the day Derrida died.
BZ
PS
Bonus Material...
Father of Non-sense
Janie B. Cheaney
A French thinker who died last month temporarily had in his sphere almost as much influence as Peter Singer in his. The man was Jacques Derrida, the "father of deconstructionism."
Who? Father of what? I wouldn't have known myself, except for the work of astute observers like Gene Edward Veith and others. A celebrity in the academic world, Derrida never tried to reach the masses; his books and articles were so obtuse it was a badge of brilliance to understand them. But, according to his own theories, there was no real point in understanding him, for deconstructionism claims that no text can communicate true meaning. When one takes apart the language of an author, one finds inherent contradictions and false suppositions that he or she was too mired in the cultural milieu to recognize. Whether the author recognizes it or not, there can be no inherent meaning in a text.
Fully launched in the 1960s, a time of riotous tearing-down, Derrida's theory fit right in, joining a current of isms that were remaking the university landscape (relative, postmodern, existential, and so on). His focus was on literature and communication, and his bombshell idea exploded most effectively in literature departments, taking forms Derrida might not have intended. For once deconstructed, a work could be reconstructed to suit the reader's own mirey milieu. Thus English and victim-group "studies" classes became textual sandboxes, where
Moby Dick was an examination of racism,
The Merchant of Venice a searing indictment of Christian hypocrisy,
Pride and Prejudice a cry for help from a subjugated woman.
Fun and games in the classroom is one thing; responding to actual events should be another. Or perhaps not. When asked about the historical significance of Sept. 11, Derrida's lengthy reply, with endless qualifiers and scare quotes, sounded like self-parody: "...All the philosophical questions remain open, unless they are opening up again in a perhaps new and original way: what is an impression? What is a belief? But especially: what is an event worthy of this name? And a 'major' event, that is, one that is actually more of an 'event,' more actually an 'event,' than ever?..."
Texts like this lend themselves more to satire than deconstruction; "Father of Deconstructionism Dies, If 'Death' Means Anything," ran the headline on the humor website Scrappleface. In some ways, Derrida outlived his times; deconstructionism was never taken seriously as a philosophy, and as a literary fad, it has run its course.
But as an intellectual virus it lingers on, doing its part to undermine the very idea of objective truth, meaning, even logic. The man or woman on the street who never heard of Derridan terms like arche-trace or differance have probably heard of legal quibbling over the meaning of the word is, or the CBS suggestion that certain documents it foolishly used were "fake, but accurate." Language has always been misused to obscure meaning rather than express it, but never in ways that challenge the very idea of meaning.
Derrida's approach to language is often described as "playful" -- as if he himself knew he wasn't making sense, but that was OK because there was no sense to be made. Floundering in a linguistic mud puddle while trying to explain the significance of 9/11 was no more ridiculous than John Edwards's claim that wheelchair-bound Americans would get up and walk during a Kerry administration, or Richard Holbrooke characterizing the War on Terror as a metaphor. But Derrida wasn't running for anything; Sens. Kerry and Edwards (Mr. Holbrooke, too) were campaigning to be the chief arbiters of "major events," making their irresponsible statements an especially dangerous form of play.
It's also a degradation of the image of God, who expresses Himself in the Word and promises that "on the day of judgment, people will give account for every careless word they speak" (Matthew 12:36). Does language matter to Him, or not? When He says, "Let there be light," it happens. When He says, "Get up and walk," we do. When He calls things that are not as though they were, we can be certain that the "as though" will melt away like snow in a blazing sunrise.
What He says not only means something but is something, as certain to come to pass as these words that I'm typing on my keyboard this moment.
Copyright 2007 WORLD Magazine
November 27, 2004, Vol. 19, No. 46
Link
I'm back in the USA. New York. The 16 hour flight home wasn't bad at all. 1 sermon, 1.5 books, 3 albums, 1 movie, 2 meals and 5 hours of sleep. All in all a pretty productive 16 hours.
The great thing about blogs is that just about anything can pass for a blog.
So I'm going to pass off an email I just shot to a friend as a blog.
We've both been reading
Paul: In Fresh Perspective by N.T. Wright.
I finished it on the flight from India and sent this email this morning.
From: Brian Zahnd
Sent: Saturday, January 20, 2007 5:07 AM
To: Shea Strickland
Subject: Paul (N.T. Wright)
Have you finished it yet?
I finished it on the flight from India today.
It blows my mind. It also fills me with a strange joy.
I know N.T. is definitely on to something.
He's a seer. N.T. sees the NT as it really is.
The problem is I have to rethink everything.
I have to be born again. Take it from the top.
But I'll do it!
I'm starting to understand why I wanted to say
Come With Me.
We really are headed somewhere new.
I feel like what I've known as Christianity has indeed been a cheap and tawdry consumer version of the real thing.
What we've called Christianity is to authentic Christianity what Wal-Mart is to culture. It's like comparing
Wal-Mart to the
Louvre. Which I actually said in my message on Consumer Christianity back in 2004 -- but now I see it far more clearly. It's the McDonaldization of Christianity.
Billions served. But served what?*
N.T. Wright is right-on on the NT.
But most cannot understand him. He writes as a scholar. Our challenge is to figure out how to communicate what he (and others) are saying to a wider audience.
N.T. Wright has gone to the top of the list of people I want to have a conversation with. We really should go kidnap him for a couple of days.
* Which is not to say I don't occasionally like McDonalds. After two weeks in India I'm ready for a Big Mac! But I don't want a my Christianity to be McChurch.
BZ
Hello from the Imperial Hotel in New Delhi, India. Aaron and I are at the end of our time in India and we'll by flying out at midnight tonight. A 16 hour flight. (Note to self: Charge the iPod, buy some more reading material and hope the movies are good.) And the 16 hour flight just gets us to New York. After 5 hour layover it's the final leg home. From the time we leave the hotel till the time we reach home is 28 hours. Yeah, baby! And yesterday we traveled 12 hours to get to New Delhi. Along the way I will be working on my message for Sunday morning:
Other People. I call these seven mile high sermons. I dreamed of preaching this message last night. It was good in my dream.
The two conferences went very well. I preached a total of 17 times. The Indian Pentecostal Convention asked me to return next year and speak every night. We'll see.
Oh, by the way. The day I left Thiruvalla, Ravi Zacharias arrived. My host in Thiruvalla is a friend of Ravi. I just missed an opportunity to meet him. Darn! May there be another opportunity!
I got an email from Mina in Egypt today.
Mina was our guide and interpreter when Peri and I climbed Mount Sinai last November. Mina is a believer who came to the Lord through a series of dreams and miracles. He's a
Coptic Christian (Egyptian Orthodox). The Coptic Christians have a long history of persecution and Egypt is a land where many martyrs fell. This has produced a rich devotion in the Coptic Church. I want to share his email with you. I find it very poignant.
Hello,
How are you my friends?
Hope you are okay and every thing going to be fine with you in your life. I don't know where are you now or if you went home or still traveling every where. But, i hope you enjoying your time any way. It's the first day in my holiday today, you know i was thinking all of the time if we will be able to keep in tough or not, But when i started to check my E-mail, i got your sweety message and i cann't describe for you now how much i been happy because of your words.
I know that you didn't get excellent guiding because my English was not American and also i know that i didn't understand you many times and that was a very bad from my site, I mean you could have another one more better than me.
But, you know, really i was vey happy to see you and also to know that there are many people love Jesus as i do and also to know that there are many and many from the most far site of the world believing in Jesus by your way.
Oh, I forget to tell you important point about me, I stopped smoking completly now. You know i had Three days off, then i was praying in my room in Taba where i am working and i refused to go outside with my friends, and i was praying asking Jesus to change some parts in my life in the first day, Then i had dream; "Dream of Fire" as i call it now: That i was smoking in my Dream and there was one angel beside me crying and his eyes were full of tears, then i started to look to him and my hands started to get burning because i forget the fire when i was looking to him. When i waked up, i burned all of my Cigarettes in the W.C, and to now i didn't smoke any more and never i will smoke again.
I know you don't have time to read all of that but i wanna complete what's happened with me to you please, I am sorry for that. At the next day, i mean thje Second day, I was praying for all of the Christians in all of the World because of the problems which between people together now because of the Differents between The Orthodox, The Catholics and The Protostantics and in the end of the Third day i went outside my room to watch Football with my friends in Coffe Shop and on one News Chanal i got some News about the Christians here in Egypt, that Pop Shenoda the Third, Pop of Orthodox Christians in the Middle East sent Invetation to Pop of Vatican to come to pray here in Egypt and also sent another Invetation to Dr. Safwat who is responsable about the Protostantic Church in Egypt to come to Pray also with him togather as Christian People together not like Orthodox or Catholic or Protostant. You know that didn't happen before, you know, I am very happy now because of that and i feel that all of the Christians will be one body one day as Jesus asked us to do in the BilBle.
Oh, i didn't get the Books or any CD, But, i will go tomorrow to the Post Office of my city to check if there is something to me there or no. Then i will tell you later sure. Thanks for that very much, You know, you are the first people to something like that with me in all of my life.
I don't know what can i sent to you from here, But i will do my best to send to you something which i hope you will like one day.
Jesus Bless you,
Mina
Egypt
Mena and me.
Jesus in on the move in surprising ways and in unexpected places.
From Indian Pentecostals to Egyptian Copts. Hallelujah!
I'll be home soon.
Blessings,
BZ
PS
The bobtune going into my head as I post this blog:
Blind Willie McTell
Such a cool song!
Here are the first and last verses:
Seen the arrow on the doorpost
Saying, "This land is condemned
All the way from New Orleans
To Jerusalem."
I traveled through East Texas
Where many martyrs fell
And I know no one can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell
Well, God is in his heaven
And we all want what's his
But power and greed and corruptible seed
Seem to be all that there is
I'm gazing out the window
Of the Imperial Hotel*
And I know no one can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell
* Actually the line is the St. James Hotel. But I'm gazing out the window of the
Imperial Hotel.
Just checking in with the Western world.
It's Sunday night and Aaron and I are in Hyderabad, India. We've been the past week in Warangal for the Indian Evangelical Team annual conference. There was no internet access where we were staying. Not that it would have mattered much. I had no time for any bloggishness. I spoke thirteen times. They asked me to speak for an hour and half on each occasion, but occasionally I would shirk my duty and speak for only an hour. I also met with many pastors, laid the cornerstone for a new building and wrote a new message which I gave Saturday night.
Preaching thirteen times.
My voice sounds like an old blues singer. Except I still can't sing.
After preaching this morning we hired a taxi to take us Hyderabad where we have a flight at 7:40 Monday morning. It's a two hour drive from Warangal to Hyderabad. After one flat tire, one broken fuel pump and four hours later we arrived.
In the morning we fly to Bangalore, then to Cochin and then drive three hours to Kumbanadu where I will be speaking at the 82nd Annual Indian Pentecostal Convention. This is one of the largest Christian conventions in India with 5,000 pastors for the daytime sessions and who knows how many people in the evening meetings. I will be preaching Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday evening as well as daytime session Tuesday and Wednesday. I don't know a single person at this convention, so...I wonder what it will be like?
Oh, yeah, after I accepted the IPC invitation to speak in their convention, they sent me the topics they want me to preach on. That makes it more demanding. Well, I'll trust Jesus and swing for the fence.
I know this is a boring blog. Just a travel update.
And a prompt for prayer.
Pray for me.
BZ
PS
Speaking of old blues singers. My favorite:
Blind Willie Johnson
Next up on the iTunes...
Soul of a Man
by Blind Willie Johnson
I'm going to ask the question
Please answer if you can
Is there anybody's children can tell me
What is the soul of a man?
Won't somebody tell me
Answer if you can
Won't somebody tell me
Tell me what is the soul of a man?
I've traveled different countries
Traveled to the furthest lands
Couldn't find nobody could tell me
What is the soul of a man
Won't somebody tell me
Answer if you can
Won't somebody tell me
Tell me what is the soul of a man?
I saw a crowd stand talking
I just came up in time
Was teaching the lawyers and the doctors
That a man ain't nothing but his mind
Won't somebody tell me
Answer if you can
Won't somebody tell me
Tell me what is the soul of a man?
I read the Bible often
I try to read it right
As far as I can understand
It's nothing but a burning light
Won't somebody tell me
Answer if you can
Won't somebody tell me
Tell me what is the soul of a man?
When Christ taught in the temple
The people all stood amazed
Was teaching the lawyers and the doctors
How to raise a man from the grave
Won't somebody tell me
Answer if you can
Won't somebody tell me
Tell me what is the soul of a man?
This is another stream-of-consciousness I-need-to-do-a-blog so-I'll make-it-up-as-I-go blog. But it's Sunday night and I'm not feeling too clever so don't expect much and you won't be disappointed.
Here goes (I really am making this up as I go)...
Ready for the long haul.
That's a Dylan line that only the hardcore Dylanites will recognize.
You know who you are.
Aaron and I are sitting in the Continental lounge in Newark getting ready for the long haul flight to New Delhi. 14 hours. I'll be speaking 17 times in two conferences. One in Warangal, Andhra Pradesh (800 pastors) and the other in Thiruvalla, Kerala (5,000 pastors). This is my twelfth time to India and Aaron's first. Pray for me...and Aaron.
Earlier this week I was not really looking forward to going to India. It's a lot of work that always leaves me exhausted. But as I was driving to church Friday morning for one the 7:00 prayer gatherings I was listening to NPR and they were talking about India. As soon as I heard a Hindi accent, my enthusiasm for India revived.
I know what India
looks like. An
Indian sunrise is unique.
I know what India
sounds like. A
din of humanity.
I know what India
smells like. The
spices of India are legendary.
I know what India
tastes like.
Gosht vindaloo!
I know what India
feels like. Long bumpy rides in a
Tata jeep.
And India looks and sounds and smells and tastes and feels like a billion souls...most of whom are hungry for what the Kingdom of Jesus is.
Random thoughts:
I hate the Chiefs.
(Let's not talk about it.)
I'm rooting for Marty now.
When I fly on long transcontinental flights I have a system:
First I read. I'm reading
Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller.
When I'm too tired to read I watch a movie. Hopefully they'll have a good one. The best movie I ever saw on a plane was
The Game.
After I'm too tired to watch a movie I listen to music. First up on the iPod tonight is Wilco,
Yankee Foxtrot Hotel.
After that I sleep (hopefully).
The twelve prayer meetings at the seventh hour (morning and night) of the seventh year of this millennium (from the evening of the 1st to the morning of the 7th) were awesome. They were better attended than I anticipated and each of them was strong and unique. Three stand out in my mind: The one on joy, the one on authority and the one on favor. Favor was Saturday night. As we worshiped I felt the Spirit of God gave me this prophetic word,
You have come to seek My favor
But you need not seek it
From the moment you set your heart to seek My face
You found my favor -- and My favor found you.
The passages of scripture I ministered from were Isaiah 54:4-10 and Isaiah 57:16-19.
Comfort ye My people. Amen.
The lyrics to the Keith Green song Peri and were trying to quote at that prayer meeting go like this...
When I Hear the Praises Start
Keith Green
My son, My son, why are you striving
You can't add one thing to what's been done for you
I did it all while I was dying
Rest in your faith, my peace will come to you
For when I hear the praises start
I want to rain upon you
Blessings that will fill your heart
I see no stain upon you
Because you are my child and you know me
To Me you're only holy
Nothing that you've done remains
Only what you do for Me
My child, My child, why are you weeping
You will not have to wait forever
That day and that hour is in My keeping
The day I'll bring you into Heaven
For when I hear the praises start
My child, I want to rain upon you
Blessing that will fill your heart
I see no stain upon you
Because you are My child and you know me
To me you're only holy
Nothing that you've done remains
Only what you do in Me
My precious bride, the day is nearing
When I'll take you in My arms and hold you
I know there are so many things that you've been hearing
But you just hold on to what I have told you
For when I hear the praises start
My bride, I want to rain upon you
Blessings that will fill your heart
I see no stain upon you
Because you are My child, and you know Me
To me you're only holy
Nothing that you've done will remain
Only what you do for me
(It's a beautiful song, if you don't know it, you might try to get it.)
Right now I'm happy.
But don't make too much of that. Happiness is transitory. Happiness can come suddenly and leave just as quick. But peace...peace can endure, peace can stick with you. You can be established in peace. This present world is not very conducive to long bouts of happiness. That will have to wait until the Kingdom comes. But the Kingdom that has already come is a bulwark of peace that you live in day by day.
May you live in the peace of the Kingdom of Jesus everyday of 2007.
I mean it...I believe it.
Peace,
BZ
PS
I'm hungry. I hope they have something good on the plane. Gosht vindaloo?
I hear people gathered around a TV watching Giants/Philly shouting. Better go check it out.
Adios
