Word of the Week – Bully

Word of the Week – Bully

Bully is a word we all know, right? And it’s certainly not something we’d ever mean as a compliment. Which is why I was utterly confounded when I saw that the original meaning of bully was, in fact…sweetheart.

Say what?

Yep.

The word dates in English back to the 1530s, and it could be used for either gender. Etymologists aren’t entirely certain where it originated, but their best guess is that it came from the Dutch boel, which could mean either “romantic love interest” or “brother.” Boel is probably a dimunitive of broeder.

So what happened??

Well, the word followed a course that is strangely not unusual for words that are used as endearments, thanks to our propensity for mockery and sarcasm (way to go, humans). In the 1600s, bully could be used to mean “a fine fellow.” But you know, it just doesn’t take long for such a term to be applied with something less than sincerity. By the 1680s, it had gone through the meaning of “blusterer” and had begun to mean “harasser of the weak.” The best guess as to how this happened is that chaps would defend their sweethearts…even when others didn’t think those sweethearts were worthy of defense. So what you’d call your sweetheart, you begin to be called, and then are called it mockery, and then the mocking word gets applied to those who do the mocking.

A bit of the original happy connotation is still preserved in the adjective form that means “worthy, jolly, admirable,” which enjoyed a bit of a resurgance in populartiy in the 1800s. The expression “Bully for you!” as “Bravo!” is from 1864.

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The Constant Plank

The Constant Plank

“How can you say to your brother, `Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.” ~ Matthew 7:4-5

 

A couple weeks ago, my husband David shared a quote from one of his favorite podcasts, the Art of Accomplishment. I’m probably going to mutilate the original (sorry, Joe), but it went something like this:

Keeping an open mind doesn’t just mean listening to someone else and not trying to find what’s wrong with their argument. Keeping an open mind means searching for what’s wrong in your own.

 I believe my response was something along the lines of “Wow. Huh. That’s…that’s really good.”

It’s also really hard.

And you know what else it is? Really Scriptural. Really what Jesus tells us to do.

Here’s the thing about that thing He says to the Pharisees in Matthew 7…it sounds really obvious, like they should know they have a PLANK in their eye–I mean, if you get a big ol’ chip of wood in your eye, you notice, right?!

Generally, yes. But our “planks” aren’t always made of wood. Sometimes they’re more like cataracts, or like vision that has changed over time. Sometimes they’re something so ever-present that we get used to them. Sometimes we just don’t know that we’re not seeing clearly.

Do you wear glasses? Do you remember that time you went to the eye doctor, and it had been too long or your eyes had changed a lot? Do you remember when he or she put the right lenses in front of you through those little goggle things? Can you hear yourself in your memory? I bet you said something like this: “Whoa! That’s what it’s supposed to look like? I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten!”

To the doctor who just heard us bumble through those letter or shape charts, our problem is no secret. It’s very clear to them that we can’t tell an E from an F from a chicken. But us? We think we’re just fine. We think they started us off on “the hard one.” We think that all’s well in the world and we’re seeing clearly, just like we always were.

But we’re not. And we don’t know if we’re not unless we’re keeping up with those health-checks or paying attention to our senses. We don’t know unless we try to know, many times. We don’t know until we either see what it’s supposed to be, or someone we recognize as having authority and wisdom tells us so.

Jesus wasn’t just talking to the Pharisees that day, though. He was talking to all of us. Because we are all so quick to see the flaws in someone else’s argument, even if they’re small; we are so quick to look for reasons to disagree with people we don’t like or who are opposed to our views. We are so quick to judge. And even when we check that, when we say, “I won’t point out their speck of dust or try to remove it,” that’s not enough, is it?

Jesus didn’t just say, “Don’t try to remove their speck when you have a plank in your eye.” He said, “First remove the plank from your own eye.”

First, identify your own faults. Your own flaws. Your own skewed vision. Notice it’s there, and then dig it out. Look for where you’re wrong.

In the book I’ll soon be turning in to my editor, The Library of Burned Books, one of the big themes is censorship–the worst possible kind, the kind that is self-selected. Because the German book burning and bannings were not government-led, they were demanded by the people. A people who had decided they didn’t want to engage with certain ideas anymore. Who deliberately purged those ideas from their culture. A tyranny of the people, of the social consciousness, is a powerful, deadly thing. And something we’re seeing today.

But the answer isn’t as simple as “don’t.” The answer is “do the opposite.” My hero puts it this way (we’ll see if it remains as quoted here, LOL, but as of right now…):

“Read things you hate and things you love and things you never thought you’d understand, and never, never accept the excuse that it’s not for you. That you’re not smart enough or deep enough or strong enough to handle it if you read something that offends you. You are. You’re strong enough to admit where you’re wrong and then to grow. You’re strong enough to be offended and then try to understand why. You’re strong enough to grant that someone can be different and still be worthy of dignity. And if you aren’t?” He slammed one more book onto the stack. “Then read more, until you are.”

The only way to remove the plank is to identify it. And the only way to identify it is to look. And the only way to look is to engage with other ideas, compare them to your own, to approach your every belief with care and speculation and introspection. To assume nothing. No, wait–to assume you don’t have it all right. Because I promise, you don’t. I believe 100% that God’s Word is Truth…but I also know that I fail in my understanding of it. I know Christ was enough–but I know I do a lousy job of accepting it. I know the Spirit will provide the answers–but I know I don’t always listen.

What would happen if we took that form of humility though? What would happen if we approached each debate, each conversation, each argument with that perspective? What would happen if we didn’t shy away from being wrong but REJOICED when we found where we were blind, so that we could remove it?l

We wouldn’t all just have open minds. We’d have open hearts. Full hearts. Hearts overflowing with love.

Lord, show me today the plank I have left in my eye.

Word of the Week – Easter

Word of the Week – Easter

Every couple years, I love to revisit the history of words like Easter…because yes, I’ve featured it twice before, but maybe you’re new here! Or maybe you don’t remember the history–I know I forget plenty of the words I’ve covered before! LOL

This one, however, has stuck with me…because its discovery was pretty important in our family. See, we’d just looked up the history of St. Nicholas to try to determine if Santa Claus ought to remain part of our family tradition…and what the kids and I learned was that St. Nick’s is a story of miracles, generosity, and deep faith. Something to emulate, for sure!

So a few months later, my daughter decided to write an essay for our homeschool on Easter. I had a suspicion she wasn’t going to like what she found, already knowing as I did that the English name for the holiday came from a pagan goddess, but I said, “Sure, have at it.” So she did. And she was genuinely upset at what she found. No stories of faith-filled saints here, that’s for sure!

First, let’s note that in most European languages, the word for this holiday in which we celebrate the resurrection of Christ is a variation of the Hebrew pasche, the word for Passover, which of course is the Jewish holiday that was going on when Jesus was crucified and then rose from the dead. And this has been kept even in English in some faith traditions that will talk about the Paschal Lamb, light the Paschal candle, and so on.

But when Anglo-Saxons were introduced to Christianity, they decided to call this important Christian feast by the same name they already used for the vernal equinox, since they historically coincide. Which meant was called Easter, after Eastre, the goddess of spring, whose feast day was celebrated then. Eastre wasn’t just the goddess of spring though–she was a magician, most remembered for turning a chicken into a rabbit…that still laid eggs. Sound familiar? This is, in fact, where the Easter Bunny tradition comes from.

Now, eggs do have a link back to Passover traditions too, don’t get me wrong. The egg itself has plenty of faith-filled symbolism, and even searching for items during the Paschal celebration has long roots in Judeo-Christianity (during seder meals, children hunt for the “missing” piece of bread that the adults have hidden for them, and a prize goes to whoever finds it).

Even so, you can’t escape that many of our modern English-speaking traditions have nothing to do with the Christian celebration of the day and everything to do with its ancient pagan roots.

The term “Easter Eggs” dates to 1824, and the modern tradition of the Easter Bunny is from 1909, both of which were informed by those early stories of the goddess Eastre. Easter Island is so named because it was discovered on Easter Monday.

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The Lamb in the House

The Lamb in the House

“Tell the whole community of Israel: On the tenth of this month every family must procure for itself a lamb, one apiece for each household. If a household is too small for a lamb, it along with its nearest neighbor will procure one, and apportion the lamb’s cost in proportion to the number of persons, according to what each household consumes. Your lamb must be a year-old male and without blemish. You may take it from either the sheep or the goats. You will keep it until the fourteenth day of this month, and then, with the whole community of Israel assembled, it will be slaughtered during the evening twilight.” ~ Exodus 12:3-6

David and I are participating in a study of the book Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist for Lent. It’s a fascinating look at what the original Passover and Exodus was, what it had evolved to be for the Jews by the time Jesus walked the earth, and how He purposefully modeled His ministry to be the NEW Exodus, with the NEW Passover (or perhaps purposefully set up the “original” to foreshadow, since we know He’s the author of all).

There are so many fascinating historical details in this book, so many “Ohhhhh!” moments I’ve already had in the three weeks and three chapters. But today I want to focus on one little detail of the original Passover narrative.

One little detail that I’ve noticed before but had never really paused to fully think through.

“You will keep it until the fourteenth day of this month…”

So on the 10th of the month they select a lamb and they “keep it” until the 14th.

How do you suppose each family kept the lamb, when they were living in a city? For that matter, how would each one “keep it” when they were in the wildness, after they’d selected it? What did this “keeping” entail?

It meant that they took the lamb into their house (or tent or dwelling, whatever the case may be). It meant they lived with that lamb for four days. It meant that they fed it and gave it water, and that the children probably petted it and played with it (because we all know what happens when kids and small animals meet, right?). It means that this people who identified as shepherds–who took care of their lambs, who would go off in search of the one that had strayed, who would fight lions and other wild beasts to keep these lambs safe…they gave very preferential treatment to this beautiful, perfect, spotless lamb.

They made it, for four days, a part of their family.

And then they sacrificed it.

Just pause for a moment. Let that sink in. And ask yourself WHY God, through Moses, commanded this.

Why did He tell them to choose the best of their herd? Why did He tell them to keep it for four days? Why couldn’t that part happen on the day of Passover?

Because this lamb wasn’t just giving its life for their food. Not even just as what would become normal offerings throughout the year. This lamb was literally saving the life of their firstborn. A direct trade–its life for his. The blood of this lamb told the Angel of Death “Don’t stop here.” It marked that house as belonging to God.

It was supposed to hurt.

It was supposed to be hard to kill that lamb.

It was supposed to cost them something.

It was supposed to make them pause and consider how important this was. How much it meant. What belonging to God demanded and gave. It was supposed to matter.

And let’s note that God gave the instructions not just for that FIRST Passover, but as what should be done every year. That same process for the lamb, yes–but also the instructions for what to say. Every year, even thousands of years later in the time of Christ, the father of every household said these words, when the child asked why they observed the feast: “It is because of what the Lord did FOR ME when I came forth out of Egypt.” (Emphasis mine, Exodus 13:8.)

Even from the beginning God was setting in motion a ritual that would make certain each new generation experienced this miracle anew. That each one understood how serious it was.

Christ set up the same instruction for us, with the Last Supper. He told us, too, to eat His flesh just as the Israelites had to eat that lamb they had sacrificed. Why? Because only His blood will save us from ultimate Death. Only His blood marks us as belonging to God.

So…what about those days, then? What about taking the lamb into the house? What’s the parallel for us today, as Christians, who don’t bring in a literal sheep or goat?

How are you taking Jesus into your house in the days leading up to the Paschal celebration? How are you dwelling with Him? How are you drawing closer and closer, so that when you relive the events of those three miraculous, earth-shattering, history-changing days, it hits you anew, as if you were there in Jerusalem for the Last Supper? As if you were there on the hill of Golgotha?

This is why the season of Lent has been part of the church for so long. Not just four days, but forty. Forty days to grow closer to your Savior. Forty days to invite Him anew into your house. Forty days to make Him a part of your meals, part of your conversations, part of your prayers, part of your daily life in a new, deeper way. Forty days to remind yourself of how He is your friend, your brother, your King, your rabbi, your everything.

Because then, when you look anew on the cross, it will be real to you. Then, when you take the bread and the cup, you’ll remember what it cost. Then, when you explain to your children or grandchildren or your own stubborn heart why we observe this same thing year after year, you’ll know the answer.

“It is because of what the Lord did for me when He went to Calvary, when I came forth out of sin and into true life.”

Bring the Lamb into your house this year, friends. And lavish love upon Him. Because we need to remember what our salvation cost.

Word of the Week – Ruminate

Word of the Week – Ruminate

Today’s word is going to be short and sweet, but interesting nevertheless!

This one is totally for my husband, who asked a few weeks ago if ruminate was related to cows. Cue me going, “Uh…” and reaching for my phone.

Turns out that, yes. Yes, it is. Ruminate has been around since the 1530s, meaning “to turn over in the mind.” But it’s straight from the Latin word rumen, which means…gullet. And hence ruminare, which means “to chew the cud,” like a cow.

So when you’re ruminating on something, you’re chewing the cud. In your brain.

You’re welcome. 😉

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