From Legos to Logos
(audio link)
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.” John 1:1-1:2 (NIV)
These are the words of John, in the Christian Bible.
For Hellenistic Jews and early Christians, Logos, the Word, was an idea beyond writing or speech. It was for some a co-creator with God, the web which held all things together. Logos was the bridge between Divinity and the here and now world of the earth. It was real.
The mystical ideas behind this idea of the Word may not resonate for us all today, but we may recognize a kindred idea. Words have power. Words create and shape and lead us throughout our lives. They build up, or they tear down.
“You’re stupid.”
“You’re fat.”
“You’re not wanted here.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You are beloved.”
“You are welcome.”
And words can go astray. They can be misheard, mistranslated, or simply mistaken. When I was growing up, my mother was responsible for unlocking the cabinet at church where the communion things were kept, and she alone carried “The Key”. One Sunday, my younger sister Tracy and I were more fussy than usual, and Mom got so distracted that she hurried us into church, still holding the toys we had had in the car.
We sat down and Tracy reached around me, grabbing Mom’s purse to rummage. As the service began, my mother realized that she had forgotten to unlock the cabinet. She looked around for her purse and saw it in my sister’s hands. Thinking quickly, she poked me, and hissed, “Tell your sister to put The Key in the offering plate.”
Well, I leaned over and whispered the message, and Tracy stopped playing with the purse and her toy and eyed me suspiciously.
“Really?” she said.
“YES!” I said. Mom nodded.
When the plate was passed, the usher took it from my sister with a strange look, and it only took a few seconds for the rest of us to understand why. Riding amidst the envelopes and cash was Tracy’s toy, a small purple monkey. She had done exactly what she had heard.
Words have power, and not just the power to get a small child in big trouble. Words have the power to shape our world. And maybe the most powerful words of all are those we consider sacred.
The living tradition which we share draws from many sources, several based on powerful written words. We draw on “Wisdom from the world’s religions.” On “Words and deeds of prophetic people”. On “Humanist teachings.”
When we begin a free and responsible search for truth and meaning, these words are there for us to explore. They give us a starting point for our journey.
But…
(There’s always a but, isn’t there?)
Our search for truth and meaning is our own. As a Unitarian Universalist, you don’t get handed any text as truth written down in stone. No minister will tell you which text is right for you, and only you can decide if the writer meant a monkey or a key.
We don’t share a creed or a belief system, not even a fortune cookie which says “you are here.” We are the people of burning questions.
So, my question is this: how do we take those powerful written words and make them our own?
Thomas Jefferson, and the story of his Bible, give us some ideas about one way to do this. Jefferson’s approach to holy words shows the value he placed on personal truth and meaning.
In 1804, Jefferson bought Christian Bibles in English, Greek and Latin. He sat down in the freshly expanded White House, and opened these books, preparing not to pray or preach, but to cut. He went through the texts, looking for Jesus' greatest teachings, slicing out his favorite portions and gluing them into an empty journal. When he was finished, he had created a short work he called "The Philosophy of Jesus." It was never intended for widespread publication or sharing.
In 1819, he sat down again with Bibles, knife and scissors- this time intending to create his own personal Bible. Beginning from scratch, he cut and pasted a book which he called "The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth," often referred to now as The Jefferson Bible.
The end product was an astounding re-envisioning of the contents of the Christian Bible, a source of rational morality in which Jesus was fully human. Jefferson removed all messianic thought, all mysticism and all miracles, all references to virgin birth. He changed the Bible from something which claimed to be a Revelation of the Divine into a collection of moral teachings from the man, Jesus of Nazareth- a radical young teacher devoted to religious reform and human love.
The book ends with the line from the Gospel of Matthew. "There laid they Jesus and rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulcher and departed." In Jefferson's bible, death is the end.
The Jefferson Bible was one man’s attempt to clarify, for himself, those words he held as sacred.
Joan Didion, the California-born author of “The White Album” and a literary journalist, said famously, “I don’t know what I think until I write it down.” I think Jefferson would have liked this thought.
Ralph Waldo Emerson was more specific. He said “Make your own Bible. Select and collect all those words and sentences that, in all your reading, have been to you like the blast of a trumpet out of Shakespeare, Seneca, Moses, John, and Paul.”
Trust yourself to identify the sacred. Find what has meaning for you. Be fearless in trimming away anything you find offensive or untrue.
Words can create.
And, creation isn’t always easy.
Along with purple monkeys, one of the toys my parents believed in with all their hearts were Lego blocks.
I can tell you with complete honesty that each of us children had five million bazillion Legos, and I think some of them reproduced each night. I had Legos in red, and white, and green, Legos that came in 500-piece boxes, and even some type of strange, skinny, Legos that I tried using as popsicle sticks.
I took those annoying little plastic bits and used them to build houses and castles, roads, and dinosaurs. I left them laying on the floor and learned the pain of stepping on them, in the dark, at three in the morning
And then someone bought me a Lego kit. A Lego dollhouse, with furniture
It came with instructions, and a picture on the box to show you exactly what it was supposed to look like, so you knew when you had screwed it up beyond belief.
I spent a day building it, a few hours reading the instructions, and another day building it correctly.
When I was done, I remember staring at it in dismay.
I hated it.
I had followed the directions and built what someone at Lego felt should be every little girl’s dream, but I absolutely hated that color-coordinated little thing.
So, I got out the rest of my Legos. I borrowed a few pieces from my cousins. I flat out stole the front half of my sister’s Lego boat.
I added a few more stories and took out the weird window in front. I mixed up the colors in the walls, and I turned the boat into a garage. When the furniture was too small for my new creation, I tossed it back into the box and built my own out of toilet rolls and tape.
It took me two weeks, and when I got done, it was beautiful.
But it wasn’t a Lego dollhouse kit anymore. It was my house.
Gather together your own Legos- not made of plastic, but of words, and pictures, and beginnings of thoughts. Be brave, choose boldly from the colors and shapes around you, the words that call out to you like trumpet blasts, no matter what the source.
Choose the kit you prefer and ignore the instructions. Repurpose your sister’s boat. Your cousin’s gas station. Some guy in the subway’s windows.
From time to time, even feel the pain as you step on a bit- ideas and words so sharp they make you wince and reconsider. Tear it down as needed and begin again.
Logos or Legos. Sacred words or building blocks. The joy, the truth, the journey, is in making them your own.
Happy building.
These are the words of John, in the Christian Bible.
For Hellenistic Jews and early Christians, Logos, the Word, was an idea beyond writing or speech. It was for some a co-creator with God, the web which held all things together. Logos was the bridge between Divinity and the here and now world of the earth. It was real.
The mystical ideas behind this idea of the Word may not resonate for us all today, but we may recognize a kindred idea. Words have power. Words create and shape and lead us throughout our lives. They build up, or they tear down.
“You’re stupid.”
“You’re fat.”
“You’re not wanted here.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You are beloved.”
“You are welcome.”
And words can go astray. They can be misheard, mistranslated, or simply mistaken. When I was growing up, my mother was responsible for unlocking the cabinet at church where the communion things were kept, and she alone carried “The Key”. One Sunday, my younger sister Tracy and I were more fussy than usual, and Mom got so distracted that she hurried us into church, still holding the toys we had had in the car.
We sat down and Tracy reached around me, grabbing Mom’s purse to rummage. As the service began, my mother realized that she had forgotten to unlock the cabinet. She looked around for her purse and saw it in my sister’s hands. Thinking quickly, she poked me, and hissed, “Tell your sister to put The Key in the offering plate.”
Well, I leaned over and whispered the message, and Tracy stopped playing with the purse and her toy and eyed me suspiciously.
“Really?” she said.
“YES!” I said. Mom nodded.
When the plate was passed, the usher took it from my sister with a strange look, and it only took a few seconds for the rest of us to understand why. Riding amidst the envelopes and cash was Tracy’s toy, a small purple monkey. She had done exactly what she had heard.
Words have power, and not just the power to get a small child in big trouble. Words have the power to shape our world. And maybe the most powerful words of all are those we consider sacred.
The living tradition which we share draws from many sources, several based on powerful written words. We draw on “Wisdom from the world’s religions.” On “Words and deeds of prophetic people”. On “Humanist teachings.”
When we begin a free and responsible search for truth and meaning, these words are there for us to explore. They give us a starting point for our journey.
But…
(There’s always a but, isn’t there?)
Our search for truth and meaning is our own. As a Unitarian Universalist, you don’t get handed any text as truth written down in stone. No minister will tell you which text is right for you, and only you can decide if the writer meant a monkey or a key.
We don’t share a creed or a belief system, not even a fortune cookie which says “you are here.” We are the people of burning questions.
So, my question is this: how do we take those powerful written words and make them our own?
Thomas Jefferson, and the story of his Bible, give us some ideas about one way to do this. Jefferson’s approach to holy words shows the value he placed on personal truth and meaning.
In 1804, Jefferson bought Christian Bibles in English, Greek and Latin. He sat down in the freshly expanded White House, and opened these books, preparing not to pray or preach, but to cut. He went through the texts, looking for Jesus' greatest teachings, slicing out his favorite portions and gluing them into an empty journal. When he was finished, he had created a short work he called "The Philosophy of Jesus." It was never intended for widespread publication or sharing.
In 1819, he sat down again with Bibles, knife and scissors- this time intending to create his own personal Bible. Beginning from scratch, he cut and pasted a book which he called "The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth," often referred to now as The Jefferson Bible.
The end product was an astounding re-envisioning of the contents of the Christian Bible, a source of rational morality in which Jesus was fully human. Jefferson removed all messianic thought, all mysticism and all miracles, all references to virgin birth. He changed the Bible from something which claimed to be a Revelation of the Divine into a collection of moral teachings from the man, Jesus of Nazareth- a radical young teacher devoted to religious reform and human love.
The book ends with the line from the Gospel of Matthew. "There laid they Jesus and rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulcher and departed." In Jefferson's bible, death is the end.
The Jefferson Bible was one man’s attempt to clarify, for himself, those words he held as sacred.
Joan Didion, the California-born author of “The White Album” and a literary journalist, said famously, “I don’t know what I think until I write it down.” I think Jefferson would have liked this thought.
Ralph Waldo Emerson was more specific. He said “Make your own Bible. Select and collect all those words and sentences that, in all your reading, have been to you like the blast of a trumpet out of Shakespeare, Seneca, Moses, John, and Paul.”
Trust yourself to identify the sacred. Find what has meaning for you. Be fearless in trimming away anything you find offensive or untrue.
Words can create.
And, creation isn’t always easy.
Along with purple monkeys, one of the toys my parents believed in with all their hearts were Lego blocks.
I can tell you with complete honesty that each of us children had five million bazillion Legos, and I think some of them reproduced each night. I had Legos in red, and white, and green, Legos that came in 500-piece boxes, and even some type of strange, skinny, Legos that I tried using as popsicle sticks.
I took those annoying little plastic bits and used them to build houses and castles, roads, and dinosaurs. I left them laying on the floor and learned the pain of stepping on them, in the dark, at three in the morning
And then someone bought me a Lego kit. A Lego dollhouse, with furniture
It came with instructions, and a picture on the box to show you exactly what it was supposed to look like, so you knew when you had screwed it up beyond belief.
I spent a day building it, a few hours reading the instructions, and another day building it correctly.
When I was done, I remember staring at it in dismay.
I hated it.
I had followed the directions and built what someone at Lego felt should be every little girl’s dream, but I absolutely hated that color-coordinated little thing.
So, I got out the rest of my Legos. I borrowed a few pieces from my cousins. I flat out stole the front half of my sister’s Lego boat.
I added a few more stories and took out the weird window in front. I mixed up the colors in the walls, and I turned the boat into a garage. When the furniture was too small for my new creation, I tossed it back into the box and built my own out of toilet rolls and tape.
It took me two weeks, and when I got done, it was beautiful.
But it wasn’t a Lego dollhouse kit anymore. It was my house.
Gather together your own Legos- not made of plastic, but of words, and pictures, and beginnings of thoughts. Be brave, choose boldly from the colors and shapes around you, the words that call out to you like trumpet blasts, no matter what the source.
Choose the kit you prefer and ignore the instructions. Repurpose your sister’s boat. Your cousin’s gas station. Some guy in the subway’s windows.
From time to time, even feel the pain as you step on a bit- ideas and words so sharp they make you wince and reconsider. Tear it down as needed and begin again.
Logos or Legos. Sacred words or building blocks. The joy, the truth, the journey, is in making them your own.
Happy building.