I've just finished reading Garry Wills's forthcoming book
What the Gospels Meant, part of a series that includes
What Paul Meant and
What Jesus Meant. I've only seen the latest one. Wills marches through the four Christian Gospels, holding the hand of the late New Testament scholar Raymond Brown, who, like several of my favorite theologians, taught at Union Theological Seminary, although years before I ever arrived there. (I should say, though, that the professors whose classes I took at Union were mainly excellent. The book owes a lot to what they taught me.)
A
Catholic himself, Wills introduces his meditation -- a quick, enjoyable read -- by reinforcing a concept about the Gospels that can't be repeated enough: "They are
not historically true as that term would be understood today. They are not history at all, as our history is practiced. They do not draw on firsthand testimony or documents. They do not use archives -- for instance, court records for the trial of Jesus, birth records for his genealogy, or chronological markers for his time line" (emphasis mine).
Wills does his own translations from the Greek, and from his mouth, the Gospels sound less familiar than I was expecting. Here's the Lord's Prayer from Luke, for instance:
Father! your title be honored,
your reign arrive,
our meal to come,
grant us this day,
and dismiss our sins
since we have dismissed all our debtors,
and bring us not to the Breaking Point.
In his chapter on Luke, Wills quotes the famous parable of the Prodigal Son, a story that I write about in
Faith when considering my own Christian inheritance. The inheritance appears in the book -- and on my arm -- as tattoo showing my father's and my stepfather's initials; both good Catholics, they died when I was five and twenty-five, respectively. In explanation, I write:
"In the end, learning my inheritance through the early deaths of my fathers makes my life of faith all the more urgent. So I've gotten my tattoo. It burned a little. I have my father's initials -- FJK and PAB -- set in sharp, black ink on my right shoulder. And it reminds me to live. Rather than suggesting permanence, tattoos prove our impermanence, our scarrability, the softness of our skin, the always vulnerable, yet desperately held line between the quick and the dead. Believing that the Christian inheritance is a worldly one, while also knowing that a cab may not stop as I pass on my bike, or that I too may get cancer any day now, I am obliged to live and love as fully as possible."
Lately, for some reason, I've been doubting the
Christian part of this inheritance. Told over and over that unless I look forward to the
otherworldly inheritance I face -- that is, eternal life -- I'm not much of a Christian, and shouldn't call myself one, I've questioned myself: Is it important that I claim a Christian inheritance or identity, even as an atheist? What would the woman sharing the Sign of Peace with me during Mass think of me if she knew I had no hope, nor really any need, for the afterlife?
Reading Wills's book was reassuring. His unfamiliar translations made me see the Gospels -- and what they
meant (and continue to
mean) -- in a new light. The parable of the Prodigal Son makes sense to me. It speaks to me. And in a sense, I speak
it. Atheist or no, I speak as a Christian and think like one.
Labels: garry wills, prodigal son, raymond brown, tatoos, what jesus meant, what paul meant, what the gospels meant
The Faith Between Us has been spotted in bookstores! (By one of us. The other spent the weekend learning how hunt big game.) Faith: It's out. We'd love to hear from you about it.
I have been spending a lot of time reading about the history of 
