Fourteen books that attempt to explain the Bible and the One to whom it points.
One critic took Barth to task for his audacious undertaking:
"The angels laugh at old Karl. They laugh at his trying to capture the truth about God in a book on dogmatics. They laugh, because volume follows volume, each thicker than the last, and as they laugh they say to each other: 'Look! There he goes with his [wheel]barrow full of volumes on dogmatics.'"
Why do writers dare to contain with ink that which cannot be contained? Why are readers drawn into these stories as if they were their own?
I'm as guilty as anyone. I write like a madman as I chart my own meanderings across the landscape of the Divine. My library is threatening to overtake our house. What's going on?
I think I just can't help but be drawn to these stories. Life can get lonely sometimes, and I love it when I can share the experiences of other road-weary travelers. They show me breathtaking views I might not have otherwise seen. We revel in one another's joy and hold each other when our hearts are broken.
Of course, the company of another human being in the same room only adds to this beauty and mystery.
Their presence serves as a constant reminder that my story isn't the only one out there, and that maybe I shouldn't take myself so seriously. Because I have a lot to see and even more to learn.
By the way, the critic with the angelic laughter? It was Karl Barth.
2 comments:
I like how you put that into words. Let me know if you have any book recommendations that might inspire me in my current situation (though not too many, I still have grad work to complete this semester!) :)
Thanks for the kind words, Melody. I'll see what I can find for you.
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