Siddhartha and Scripture

Among other things, I am a substitute teacher. Most of my time is spent at public schools. I rather like it, to be truthful. I hear all manner of profanity, see all states of dress, encounter every level of interest, and receive every shade of respect. “Whaddup, Dog?” when I call the roll, is my favorite.

Recently I was invited to substitute at a Christian school. You might think it would come naturally to a pastor, but I found it a rather other-worldly experience.

Bible is a standard subject at the school I visited. It was my first opportunity to teach it outside the church setting. In my week with sixth graders I taught the book of Ruth (a favorite of mine), as well as the rise and demise of King David.

I was amazed at how much the students already knew about the Bible. Most of them were familiar the rudiments of Ruth’s adventure with Boaz and David’s misadventure with Bathsheba. Some of them even knew about David’s kindness toward Mephibosheth!

In contrast, I was once asked to give a quiz over the Hermann Hesse book Siddhartha in a sophomore English Literature class at a public high school. Little more than a tract promoting Eastern mysticism, I wondered why it deserved to be one of the few novels a student will read during high school.

I also mused about the uproar there might be if the spiritual adventures being studied were not the guru Siddhartha on a path to enlightenment, but rather the apostle Paul on a very different spiritual path, as found in the book of Acts in the New Testament.

The Bible is among the most influential pieces of literature ever written. Most would say it is at the top of the list. Why, then, is it so scrupulously avoided in our public educational system? How well are we serving our children if we eliminate it from their education?

How are we to appreciate Rembrandt’s paintings, for instance, without the underpinnings of the biblical text? What does “The Return of the Prodigal” mean if divorced from its biblical context? Can Handel’s Messiah, Haydn’s Creation, or Vivaldi’s Gloria be fully appreciated without knowing the source of these musical masterpieces?

I realize this is a slippery slope in the context of our pluralistic culture. I am not campaigning for a return to the mindset of yesteryear. If we ever were a so-called Christian nation, we certainly are not now. The varieties of our religious experience must be respected.

However, it seems to me some balance is necessary. No disrespect to Mr. Hesse. I have read Siddhartha; although its evangelistic intent cannot be discounted, I appreciate its literary merits. I have no problem including it in our educational curriculum. But -- and here is the main point -- its literary influence is miniscule compared to the Bible.

My contention is this: a public education which does not expose students to the Scriptures is shortchanging itself. Why not simply teach it as the great literature it is – without promoting any particular religious agenda?

There is no reason why it cannot be done. The Psalter offers some of the most meaningful poetry ever conceived. The saga of Paul’s shipwreck on Malta is one of the greatest ancient seafaring adventures ever written. And the little love story known as Ruth is a brilliant short story with a powerful message for respecting the alien in our midst.

All these and more could -- and should -- be standard fare for students. Without it, we may as well get used to communicating like this:

That’s the truth, Dog. You feelin’ it?

Bent out of Shape

After a while she got used to her situation. But she never got used to the stares.

In time, she forgot about her misshapen body. But whenever someone’s eyes averted after meeting her own, she remembered.

That’s when she realized that her condition was more than a daily nuisance. She was a public eyesore, a person to be avoided. People viewed her with pity or revulsion, or both.

She was on the outside looking in. Her crooked back was not just uncomfortable for her; it made others uncomfortable around her.

So she learned to cope. She tried not to stick out. She entered late, stayed in the background, and left early.

Word spread that a local celebrity was returning to her small town. As anxious to see him as everyone else, she slipped into the meeting unnoticed.

He paused for a moment, looking intently at her. Or was it her imagination?

“Woman, come here,” he said. Attention was the thing she feared most. Did he really mean for her to stand up in front of all those women and men?

Trembling, she obeyed. Gathering her crooked bones, she made her way to the front. Her crooked condition always worsened when she was self-conscious.

He looks squarely at her. Sensing her embarrassment and fear, he smiled. “Today, you are set free from your sickness.”

Touching her, she instantly felt the life returning to her crooked bones. Cautiously at first, she raised her shoulders, and, unbelievably, she stood up straight. For the first time in eighteen years, she was whole again! Her hands involuntarily raised in joy and gratitude.

But her joy was short-lived. The sound of celebration was quickly quelled by words of condemnation. Quieting the noisy crowd, the moderator spoke directly to her: “There are six days for work. Come to be healed on those days, not on the Sabbath.”

Instinctively she hunched over, slinking toward your seat. Another voice boomed, stopping her in her tracks. “You hypocrite! You permit us to untie an ox on a holy day; why don’t you allow us to untie this woman from her bondage?”

At this, her accuser was humiliated, her community was amazed, and her reproach was removed. And we, two millennia later, still grappled with the lessons of that day, preserved for us in the thirteenth chapter of Luke’s gospel.

We are appalled by the religious leader’s callousness. A woman was healed and he was indignant. She got bent into shape, and he got bent out of shape! How could he be so short-sighted?

And yet if we are honest with ourselves, we acknowledge that we religious-types are sometimes infected by his disease. Like him, we can forget that traditions are here to serve people, not the reverse. God help us remember that our churches should be places where broken people are made whole, not where imperfect people play pretend.

Mostly, however, we are encouraged by Jesus’ compassion. Our brokenness may not be as apparent as hers, but it is equally painful and debilitating. Whether hampered by past hurts or craven fear, sincere doubts or stubborn habits, painful failures or lingering illness, Jesus loves to bring healing to us at the point of our deepest hurt. And for that we, like the woman in our story, cannot help but praise and thank God.