Americans love good fiction, says pollster George Barna, which seems to be a peculiar opening sentence for a report on his recent survey of what Americans believe about some familiar Bible stories – – including the virgin birth. It’s not clear what Barna regards as fiction, but the subjects of his survey believe the story of the virgin birth to be literally true . In fact, of the six stories included in his survey, this one was accepted as an accurate depiction of an historical event by three out of four adults.
The other five stories were of Jesus turning water into wine, feeding the five thousand, the flood, Eve and the serpent, and the strength of Samson. Good marketing sense, I suppose, would make the virgin birth the story to highlight in this Christmas season. On the other hand, if Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan are to be believed, the story wouldn’t have impressed Jews, Romans or Greeks in Jesus’ day. Not that the ancient world had the understanding of conception that we have two millennia later. It’s simply that such births were, for some, not considered all that unusual (it happened in instances of the birth of gods with some regularity) and, for others, while they doubted in certain cases, it was taken for granted that such things could happen.
Writing in The First Christmas: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’ Birth, Borg and Crossan suggest that we would be wise to presume that “the ancients were as wise as we moderns are – – when we are both wise – – and as dumb as we moderns are – – when we are both dumb.” In either case, they say, it’s the wrong question to ask. The question to ask is not about the biology of the mother. Rather, it is about the destiny of the child and, once you know that, “are you willing to commit your life to it?”
Maybe some questions are better not asked at all. Sometimes questions, once asked, are best left hanging in the air, echoing in our minds, throbbing in our hearts. If they must be asked, then their answers ought to be danced or sung, sketched or painted. If words must be used, let them come from poets; let them be words like – –
Blood of her blood, bone of her bone./Identical the mouth, the nose, the eyes./You can see he is his mother’s son, and hers alone,/ in any way one’s DNA supplies./If too he is his Father’s Son, how can you know/but by the blazing love behind the gaze, or in the innocence of blessing?/ Even then there’s no/ way to know until you touch the mystery within.
It is the poets (in this case Paul Mariani) who delve into the heart of mystery and return with the softest of hints, the whispered insights that are far more satisfying than answers. Let those of us who would be formers of Christians take note. There are many ways to teach, because there are many ways to learn. There are questions worth asking, but others best left to the imagination.
Terrific thoughts, Judy, thanks. I have a clergy friend who readily confesses, and demonstrates with a sweeping gesture across his library shelfs, that over the years his collection of commentaries and theological tomes have diminished, while those shelves containing volumes of poetry have increased. I suspect he’s on the right track.
Not to say that theology, and theologica thinking, are unimportant. Merely to underscore your thought that the language of the poets attend to the mystery and depth of faith in ways others fall short.