"All Notes, No Music", the first blog post of 2024, referenced a quote by David McCullough from The Course of Human Events. Let's conclude 2024's posts with another quote from that same speech: "The truth of history is the objective, always. But truth isn't just the facts. You can have all the facts imaginable and miss the truth, just as you can have facts missing, or some wrong, and reach the larger truth."

In Christianity, we are especially prone to use constructs like metaphors to wrestle with truth—that's because we don't have tangible reference points for God. We can describe God's love, but we can't fathom how deep that love is, so we compare God to a loving father or a loving mother.

When Jesus wanted people to envision living from his nurturing essence, he said, "I am the true vine… and you are branches." Of course, we know that Jesus did not identify as a plant. Just like when Asaph said that God owned "the cattle on 1,000 hills," he would not have argued with someone showing him 1,001 hills and asserting that God didn't own the cattle on that last one.

In the Bible, time and time again, we see the prophets and then Jesus himself oppose ultra-literalism, especially when it impeded building a relationship with God and helping others do likewise. The Lord is not against asking interesting, detailed questions about history, theology, or anything else. But what's the intent?

As the religious leaders were splitting hairs about what God's law implied for them, Micah famously relayed these words of God: "He has told you, people, what is good! And what is it? Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God." Paraphrasing Jesus, Paul said, "The whole law is fulfilled in one word: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'"

Meanwhile, we struggle to believe that Paul would use "word" to refer to several literal words, as if literary devices did not exist in his day. Do we forget that The Iliad predates Paul by almost a millennium? Will we discount the larger meta-truth of the Bible because of perceived incongruities? Will we poorly represent our faith to others because the poem which begins the Bible mentions six days (cf., "E4-1 Order from Chaos"). Perhaps Paul couldn't count, and Jesus really was a plant? Or, instead, will we acknowledge the capital-T Truth of the Bible and our God and share it with others?

What is an apostle versus a disciple versus a follower of Jesus?

Apostle, from the Greek apostolos (apo [off, away] and stellein [send]), literally means "one who is sent off." Thus, an apostle is sent away on a mission. However, it'd be strange to call yourself an apostle while getting groceries at someone's behest. In practice, apostle almost exclusively refers to the subset of Jesus's disciples known as The Twelve. Peter, James, John, and the others of The Twelve were a select group of Jesus's followers. Their membership's comprising twelve men was symoblic of the twelve sons of Jacob who themselves patriarched the twelve tribes of Israel.

Disciple, from the Latin discipulus, directly translates to student. That is, a disciple is one who learns from a teacher. However, it is less of a sense of sitting in class while the teacher facilitates learning; more-so, it is the idea of forming an intentional student-teacher relationship, sitting at the feet of the master, learning the teacher's unique knowledge, and dedicating oneself to that teaching. Jesus was often accompanied by a host of disciples exceeding just The Twelve.

The tougher group to classify is "follower of Jesus." We've already identified how apostles differ from disciples, but now we wonder if a person can be a follower and yet not a disciple? Do disciples do more? Have a special calling? Require formal acknowledgement? In short, is discipleship—or better yet, can it be—a subset of all followers… or are followers and disciples different words for the same concept?

Personally, I don't think there is a difference. If one claims to follow Jesus, then that person naturally needs to try and learn who he was and what he preached. If there's no desire to know—to become a disciple/student—then "follower" is a misnomer; "catechumen" or even "dilettante" might be more appropriate terms. Followers follow, and following requires knowing and seeking to know the teacher.

Apostle vs. disciple vs. follower—differences notwithstanding—every Christian is called by God to a unique and consuming mission. Unique, because no two people's are exactly the same. Consuming, because God demands the whole heart. Whether sent abroad or staying home, the Lord requires absolute, whole-hearted, 100-percent buy-in. It's a lot, but that’s a term of the disciple-master agreement. It's yours to accept or reject. So, are you all in?

Today, we celebrate Halloween, a holiday so ostensibly secular that some Christian denominations denounce, demonize, and disparage this evening of candy, costumes, and mischief. However, one might note with interest that the word Halloween is an adaption of All Hallows' Eve, the first day of the three-day liturgical celebration of Hallowtide.

Hallow refers to holy or sainted; therefore, the three hallow days are observances relating to holy people. Halloween is the eve of—that is, the day before—All Hallows' Day, also called All Saints' Day or Hallomas. The third day is All Soul's Day. Thus, the triduum of Hallowtide is Halloween, All Hallows' Day, and All Soul's Day.

All Saints' Day commemorates saints, which depending on denomination can be narrowly or broadly defined. The word saint itself refers to holiness, so we can note that saints are holy people—those who have demonstrated exceptional closeness to God and adherence to his call. We are very familiar with certain saints like Paul, Patrick, and Augustine. Nevertheless, even those who aren't enrolled in the liturgical calendar of saints can still be regarded as such. Who gave you your first bible or brought you to faith? Could that person be a saint? Is All Saints' Day for that person also?

All Souls' Day is an interesting holiday with a somewhat misleading name. "All souls" does not, in fact, refer to all souls, but only the subset in Purgatory*. Purgatory is an attribute of Roman Catholic and similar theologies. Its name derives from same root as purgation, purging, and purge—i.e., cleansing. Reductively, it is a midway point between Earth and Heaven whereat souls are purged of the sinful natures they still had at the time of death. That is, a good person dies who is destined for Heaven, but that person is still imperfect, so there must be a transitional place/period—i.e., Purgatory—where they can complete the process of becoming holy before attaining sainthood and entering Heaven. All Souls' Day is for the souls in Purgatory. All Saints' Day is for the souls in Heaven.

Thus we have that Halloween (31 October) is All Hallows' Eve; as its name implies, it is the day preceding All Hallows' (Saints') Day (1 November), which itself precedes All Souls' Day (2 November). Together, these three days comprise Hallowtide. Although one might be hard-pressed to find a Halloween party with overt Christian themes, it is ultimately a Christian holiday.

Looking for something fun to do this evening? Check out Halloween Ben-Go—a bingo-inspired scavenger hunt available for free right here on Stories of Symmetry, created and coded by yours truly. Happy Halloween!

*As a personal post-script, I do not subscribe to the theological notions from which the logical consequence of Purgatory is derived. Nevertheless, it is the meaning behind the day and important to understand.

Theory

In episode 1-8 The Bones Go Home, I said that "a verse of the New Testament is like a first-century soundbite. We find a pithy sentiment and then isolate and latch on to it, but there is always a context and a message surrounding the one or two sentences that we adore so greatly." Culling a handful of verses here and there is a sure way to miss the big picture that Stories of Symmetry strives to reveal. Not that there's ill intent, necessarily, but incompleteness.

If you've read my book Practical Advice for a Better World, then you know I tackle issues of societal organization. One of the topics I am asked about is socialism, particularly in response to the early church's supposed adoption of that philosophy, as recorded in Acts 2:44-45: "All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need."

Is this socialism? Well, what is socialism, anyway? Reductively, it's systems of social ownership wherein members of the company/party/country/etc. are "owners", not merely employees/members/citizens/etc. The prevailing motivations behind most socialist organizations are stability and fairness—though social ownership, of course, guarantees neither of these.

Socialism is different from communism (government controls everything and there's no private property), anti-capitalism (opposition to letting people have choice regarding purchases), egalitarianism (all personal outcomes are equal because there is no social organization or specialization), and other associated philosophies. Additionally, while socialism can be targeted at various levels of government, it is not strictly political.

In a pure sense, the early church may well have been socialist, because presumably there were no "owners" other than the collective membership itself. Although people like Simon Peter, Mary Magdalene, Paul, and many other disciples held leadership roles, they probably didn’t regard themselves as the church's masters.

In the same way, the Presbyterian church might be regarded as socialist, since it is congregation-led. And since the Presbyterian model is the basis for representative democracy (such as the United States and many other countries use), perhaps the U.S. should be considered socialist—again, in a pure sense, no politics intended.

Factors

However, we know that many philosophies are not discussed in pure senses, so it's important to distinguish what we know about the early church from what is often associated with socialism. There are two factors worth mentioning:

Intent. If the early church was socialist, it was not because a few organizers wanted to control others and their outcomes. Rather, it was because each individual member chose to place Jesus above everything else and model his self-sacrifice, minimalism, and rejection of wealth for the sake of wealth. This is altogether opposite from leaders instantiating a socialist façade while simultaneously stockpiling resources and power for themselves.

Second, willingness. All participants were voluntary and able to come, go, and participate at their discretion. Furthermore, as the congregations were comprised by both rich and poor, salve and free, etc., we know that the church did not authoritatively impose on personal lives or livelihoods.

Pragmatically, this makes sense, because socialism's effectiveness is strongly correlated to relationships, virtue, and willingness. This is why socialism is tenable at small scales, but ineffective at large scales. (Keep in mind that supposed socialist countries like the oft-cited Scandinavian ones are not actually socialist, but redistributive capitalist; others, such as some East Asian countries, are actually communist.) When you don't know the people your self-sacrifice is supposed to help (lack of relationships), there are enough bad apples to spoil the bunch (lack of virtue), and people are forced to participate (lack of willingness), the system crumbles.

Conclusion

Socialism is a system of ownership. It does not, of its own accord, lead to fair or good outcomes; neither does it have an opinion on wealth, politics, religion, welfare, the environment, or anything else often associated with it. In fact, socialism and democracy, even socialism and capitalism, often go hand-in-hand. Socialism is a little bit like a Rorschach test; what you say about it reflects you, not the thing itself.

Therefore although it is possible (though not proved) that the early church thrived on a socialist system, it is probably unwise to boldly make that claim because of society's misunderstanding of socialism itself. It’s analogous to discrimination. Discrimination, in a pure sense, is not bad. It's synonymous with sorting, and sorting is morally and ethically neutral. Of course, when people think about discrimination, they think about demographic discrimination for unjust purposes… so I would caution the reader against loudly proclaiming the merits of discrimination (in its pure sense).

Better than ask about socialism, we should ask about the character of the early church. It was dedicated to Jesus's teachings. As such, it rejected the world's evil from whatever system it arises. It did not despise unjust people, only their unjust ways; it did not reject wealth, but the claim that it is life's greatest goal; it did not reject privacy nor private anything, only the use of those to conceal wrongdoings.

Lastly, and more importantly, is what the church did. It held fast to Jesus. It loved the marginalized and needy. It sought to be fair. It sought to understand. These are what we should emulate. Regardless of the infrastructure that supports it, we should remember the mission and carry it forward.

Acts 19 recounts the story of a near-riot that took place in Ephesus in response to Paul's preaching. The source of the commotion was a silversmith named Demetrius who engaged many of the local craftsmen in producing idols of the city's goddess Diana (a.k.a. Artemis). Paul was leading many people in that part of the world to the nascent monotheistic religion Christianity… and Christians have no use of idols.

The rise of Christianity, Demetrius feared, would hurt his idol business. Therefore, he riled the townsfolk and nearly brought Paul and his companions to mob justice. Paul wasn't killed for his preaching that day, and Demetrius's business was small in the grand scale of the Roman Empire. Of course, when the leaders of Rome itself began feeling Paul's disruption of their own interests, then he was killed—likely beheaded.

Powerbrokers do not like to see their power bases threatened. Threats can come from foreign affairs, politics, and rising stars within the field; however, the greatest threat is always Christianity because of its sincere departure from worldly vice. Christians and the Christian religion are not incorruptible; in fact, the counterexamples are troublingly prevalent, historically and contemporarily. Notwithstanding, Jesus is incorruptible, and Jesus's steadfast goodness is the greatest threat to evil in all its manifestations.

Pure, fundamental Christianity upsets the world—it stirs, or better yet agitates, the waters—because it is not a means for the powerful to increase power, nor the acquisitive to acquire wealth, nor the unjust to propagate injustice. In fact, it is the opposite: letting go of power and wealth to instead promote justice and mercy and love. Overturning the status quo creates hostility.

Demetrius stirred Ephesus into a frenzy because his souvenir shop was poised to lose money. I believe he would have called for Paul's death if the rioters had gotten their hands on the preacher. Such would be the fate of Christianity itself if Wickedness has its way.

In the West, we sometimes forget that being a Christian is dangerous, although in other parts of the world they have good cause to remember. Christians must be prepared for the response that Jesus elicits. Notwithstanding, we must hold tight to the his good news and spread the healing message of Jesus near and far.

In the Bible, we read about miracles, parables, and run-ins with various authority figures, but do these accurately represent "a day in the life" of Jesus? While part of me believes that emulating Jesus's day-to-day is admirable, another part of me recognizes the fact that, notwithstanding cultural and temporal differences, we simply don't know what Jesus's daily life was like.

We know that Jesus was witty, loved his friends, dined with company, and treated others fairly. Perhaps more importantly, we know that he prayed frequently, strove heavenward, yet respected mundane earthly concerns.

But what did Jesus do each day? Was he an early-riser? Big breakfast or no breakfast? Perhaps a napper? Did he have an open-door policy with his followers, with the public? Again, we don’t know, but if we step back and assess the big picture, we can make some fair assumptions:

First, like all people, Jesus was complex. He was not a fictional character described by one or two adjectives; that is, we cannot say he was always this or always that. I am sure that at times he was lighthearted, and at others serious; at times energized, at others fatigued. There were probably days when he spent hours at the dinner table swapping stories, and other days when he ate quickly by himself and then retired.

Second, Jesus was unapologetically God-focused. I imagine that his days were punctuated with dedicated prayer time, and that many of his conversations eventually landed on heavenly thoughts. However, this does not mean he was "no earthly good" as kingdom-focused people can sometimes become. As said above, he respected and cared for the earth, its people, and their daily concerns.

Lastly, I believe that Jesus tried to make every person he encountered feel special. He strikes me as the kind of person who was present in coversations, who gave notice and apology if he couldn't keep an appointment, who de-escalated tension, and who smiled both for himself and for others.

If I were to make a serious effort toward enumerating Jesus's daily routine, I could probably write a leadership-style/self-help book titled something like Ten Highly-Effective Habits of History's Most Influential Individual. But of course the secret is that it all boils down to the one that he and his followers returned to constantly: Love. Try to love life, love others, love yourself, and be loving. If you do that, you will start to be like Jesus and allow others to experience him too.

Today—Sunday, June 23, 2024—is the Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, and that means… very little. It's ordinary. An ordinary day with no feasts or holidays. So, since there's nothing else to do, let's talk about the church calendar. First, there are different Christian traditions and they don't all abide the exact same calendar. Notwithstanding, let's give it a reductive overview, beginning with the beginning.

The church calendar, called the liturgical calendar, begins where the faith does, with the birth of Jesus on Christmas, December 25th. Then looking back from Christmas four Sundays (not including Christmas if Christmas falls on Sunday), we arrive at the beginning of Advent, which is the start of the liturgical year. The Christmas season—called Christmastide—begins with Christmas and lasts for twelve days, ending on January 6th, which is Epiphany, (or through the next Sunday, depending on which Christian denomination).

Skipping forward in the year, Easter, which celebrates the resurrection of Jesus, is calculated thusly: Assume that the vernal equinox is always March 21st. Then, fast-forward to the next full moon of the Metonic approximation of lunar events (which may or may not be the exact date of a full moon in the sky). Easter will be the following Sunday. Lent, which is Easter's season of preparation, begins 40 days prior—not including Sundays—which means that the first day of Lent—Ash Wednesday—is 46 calendar days before Easter. Finally, the Easter season (called Eastertide) begins on Easter Sunday and end fifty days later on Pentecost Sunday.

The remainder of the year is Ordinary Time. Its name derives from the Latin ordo meaning order, as in the order "one, two, three," because the weeks don't have special names, just numbers. Ordinary time refers to the two periods of the year outside of Advent, Christmas, Lent, and Easter. It is not without special events, but neither is it those exciting times.

Ordinary Time is the "miscellaneous," "other," "etcetera." Generally speaking, beginnings and ends are exciting, and middles less so. Creation and destruction are grand events, but maintenance is pedestrian. Nevertheless, the middle is just as important; the maintenance just as integral; and the Ordinary Time just as crucial to a healthy liturgical year.

The relatively calm period of Ordinary Time allows for pause, reflection, and active efforts to grow in our walk with, and understanding of, God. It's an opportunity to strengthen weaknesses and deepen knowledge. If Christmas is Jesus's arrival and Easter his departure, then Ordinary Time is the period that he is with us, walking beside us, teaching and guiding us, and transforming our lives from ordinary to something so much more.

Perhaps you know someone whose faith is alive and thriving… or perhaps the opposite: dead. As a potentially living entity, we also use language that describes faith's capacity for growth. We have small faith, mustard-seed-sized faith, great faith, faith enough for others, etc.

I like to think of faith as a house plant, as a palm-sized gift from God that's relatively hardy, but not immortal. It's not too difficult to keep alive. Sure, it needs light and water, but not very much. It's tolerances are far greater than a human's. It sits there, requires minimal maintenance, and simply is.

A house plant is a living thing, and that means that I didn't create it. I can tend to it, and there's even a chance I germinated it from a seed or propagated it from a clipping, but of course I can't make a living thing. Its life—the spirit, the animation, the spark that set it going—is from God, not me. I did not create it, I steward it. I keep it alive… or I don't. I nourish it, or I kill it.

Ideally, I learn its needs and tend to them. Even better, I nurture it so well that I need to repot it, then repot it again, and again. At some point, it begins propagating. But of course, we know that many people don't have green thumbs. Even with diligence, their plants will die. For others, demise will come through neglect, or being forgotten about, or hidden away, or who knows. If we kill our plant—our faith—what then? Is all lost? Will God give us another? Are there second chances? Thirds? More?

Of course there are. One day there comes a knock on the door and a friendly neighbor holding a tiny plant for you. Is God working through this person, maybe sent this person? Now enters a Christian to share faith, revive yours, and help maintain it.

Dry, shriveled leaves and adust soil are sad sights, but they're neither the last page of the book, nor the end of the world. Faith ought to be kept alive, but even when it dies, there is hope. After all, isn't the whole thing built upon resurrection in the first place?

The church is meant to be a collaborative body of complementary parts and skills. No one member is supposed to do everything, and just maybe no one member is even meant to be independent—at least in terms of gifts and abilities. Interdependence, then, best describes the church, perhaps best exemplified by tongues.

Speaking in tongues is encouraged by a few denominations, and avoided by most; notwithstanding, the act is mentioned several times in the New Testament. At Pentecost, the Holy Spirit enabled those gathered to "speak in tongues," that is, speak in foreign languages the speakers themselves didn't know. Miraculous!

Elsewhere, speaking in tongues—glossolalia—is described more like random babbling. (Maybe that's why psychiatrists use the same word to refer to just that.) Paul addressed this topic at length in 1 Corinthians 14. He said that speaking in tongues is helpful for the one speaking. Tongues are prayers from the spirit rather than the mind, and Paul said that he did more speaking in tongues than all the rest of them.

He was also quite emphatic that the practice did nothing for the rest of the church. At church, he said, it is better to speak five intelligible words than 10,000 unintelligible words in tongues. The one exception is if there is someone who can interpret. When that's the case, the gibberish becomes a prophecy for all to hear and benefit from. Paul prescribed an orderly approach wherein a small number of people can take turns speaking in tongues—if that's their gift—and wait for other church members—with the gift of interpretation—to translate.

Make it not tongues, but teaching or healing or good-idea thinking or any gift that can benefit the church. No such gift or skill is intended to operate independently of another. Masts work alongside sails, and soap complements water. Coins have two sides, and you don't throw a handful of them into the air and expect a meaningful result; you count them, stack them, and in doing so realize their true worth.

In "The Kingdom of Heaven", we asked what heaven looks like. In "Parousia" and elsewhere, we noted the timing. Heaven's impending arrival is somewhere between soon and a long way off. But didn't Jesus say, "The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand"?

Belying what's depicted at the end of Revelation, most of the rest of the Bible indicates that heaven's arrival will be a gradual process. Jesus brought it and started the work, and he left it for his followers to complete. It's like laying a home's foundation and exclaiming, "It's underway!" Is the house here? It's at hand. When will it be finished? That depends on the builders.

Speaking of builders, there are varying skillsets. (We talked about this a little in "Corpus, Part 1") Some are good at framing; others are skilled plumbers. Some are great interior designers; others don't really have a skillset but are great at odd jobs and assistance.

Not only is the kingdom of heaven at hand, but we are called to build it with whatever we have at hand. This doesn't preclude augmenting one's skills or vocation, but it does mean that we can't wait until some future time to begin the work. We need to start contributing with whatever's at hand.

Juvenilia is a hell of a thing—it's the collection of works produced while one is young or novice. In many ways, it's like looking back at old yearbooks. Maybe your freshman picture is quite charming, but maybe it's awkward and embarrassing. The point is that we have to start somewhere; we can't wait for personal perfection, all the answers, or any other delays.

I mention juvenilia because Practical Advice for a Better World, Stories of Symmetry, and especially The Symmetry Podcast are all part of mine. At times I wish I had stated something differently or had better speaking/writing skills; at other times, I disagree with my younger self. Nevertheless, I'm proud of the content I've created even when I wish I could go back and redo some of it.

It's important to use what I have at hand to build the kingdom that's at hand. I encourage you to do the same.

To an alms-seeker at one of the Temple gates, Peter said, "I have neither silver nor gold, but what I do have, I give to you: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk." Contemporarily, it is not uncommon to hear a prayer ended with "in the name of Jesus, amen" or similar words. These, however, often make me smile bemusedly, and here's why:

Invoking the name of Jesus is only part of doing something "in the name". The other part is doing something characteristically of the one invoked. Indeed, more important than using the words "in the name of Jesus" is praying for something that Jesus would have prayed for, in a manner that reflects him. In the name calls-to-mind that named person's character, personality, motivations, intentions, and overall quiddity.

Don't get me wrong—there does appear to be power in the name—in the word—"Jesus". We talked about this in "What's in a Name?" Part 1 and Part 2. "Is anyone among you sick?" asks James 5:15, "[Anoint] him with oil in the name of the Lord." In John 14, Jesus says, "Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that I will do . . . If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it."

Considering again the beggar whom Peter healed through invoking the name, praying/doing "in the name" is never wrong; it's just not an abracadabra or incantation designed to make things work. It's better thought of as an outward sign of an inward stirring. In the name arises with the act and its motivation, not the words spoken.

Pray boldly "in the name", but as you do, remember to do it in the name.

"I hear all the notes but no music." This is the old piano teacher's complaint, at least according to David McCullough in The Course of Human Events. This sad verity is, I assume, the unspoken refrain of so many Christians: I hear all the notes but no music, know the stories but they don't resonate, quote the verses but hear no voice of God.

Sometimes, we become too familiar with our surroundings. We talk about Supreme God assuming a human life to sympathize with us, then dying to redeem us . . . and we say it with no more thoughtfulness than we give the time to a passing stranger. We cannot hear the unfathomable idea just uttered. Some people can recite every list Paul devised for teaching his congregations, yet we might completely miss the objectives of the lessons.

Perhaps, if you don't yet have a New Year's resolution, consider enjoying the music. Approach what you read and hear and relay with less scrutiny. Instead, step back and listen to the symphony. Let the awe-filled story of the Bible resonate within you and awaken newfound appreciation and wonder.