One Thousand Gifts, Chapter 8

"Desperate to Trust"

(I cringed when I saw her open with a quote from Emerson, America's premier Transcendentalist. Sigh. Why do Christians quote him in spiritual contexts? Moving on ...)

Voskamp addresses a common difficulty for many women: Worry. Anxiety. Stress. Fear. Distrust.
Her Farmer husband tells her, "Relax ... just trust. Just trust."
 But for Ann, it's not so simple. "Anxiety has been my natural posture, my default stiffness." She calls is "an identity" (143).

She returns to her early childhood and her sister's death. "In our house, we don't talk of heaven; the dead bury the dead."  Her parents are emotionally dead in their grief. They have no hope, no talk of seeing their child again, of Jesus holding her in His arms. There's only despair. Ann develops an ulcer when she's only seven years old from the strain of growing up in this family.

Is it any wonder that a child in such a home would turn into a fearful adult? That she would have trouble trusting? She's told she has agoraphobia:  "anxiety about being in places or situations from which escape might be difficult."  Think -- that's what life is! A place from which escape will definitely be difficult! How do we conquer such anxiety?

Interestingly, she at last calls something a SIN!  She says that the way we respond to our own stress can be sin. The opposite of stress is trust. "Can trust be conjured up simply by sheer will, on command?" (146)

She spends rather a long time on this theme, which is fine, but it's nothing new. You can read Christian women coping with daily stress and hunting for faith on a hundred blogs each day.  Voskamp works her way slowly through what I'll call a theologic, a progression of causes/effects that makes sense to her. Here's what it looks like, in a nutshell:

Belief is Trust, which is an Action, and the Action is to Give Thanks.

Belief -- Trust -- Action -- Thanksgiving


And it isn't surprising that Voskamp in the end would find the perfect answer to her problem of distrust and fear, simply by being thankful. That's been her recurring theme for seven chapters so far. That's why this chapter, while nice, feels a bit repetitive.

She continues, regarding this act of trust: "That's my daily work ... the work I shirk. And trust is that: work. The work of trusting love. Sometimes, too often I don't want to muster the energy. Easier to ... worry than to exercise discipline." (147)

I'm sorry to say that in this statement she steers perilously close to saying that her faith is a work, a work she must dredge up enough energy to do each day. Her own work. Working for her faith, her salvation. Because make no mistake:  the belief she's talking about here is "saving faith." "Are stress and worry evidences of a soul too lazy, too undisciplined, to keep gaze fixed on God? To stay in love?" (147) When she's anxious and fearful and faithless, she seems to say that she needs to work harder and be more disciplined.

Voskamp is hard on herself; she pulls no punches. The downside of that is that she's also hard on her reader, the Christian woman who identifies with Voskamp's life. She faces up to her fear:  "If authentic, saving belief is the act of trusting, then to choose stress is an act of disbelief ... atheism. Anything less than gratitude and trust is practical atheism" (148).  So, do we look at ourselves in the mirror on days when we're worried and anxious, and say to ourselves, "You are an atheist! You don't believe in God at all! Your anxiety proves it!" Hmm. I think that response takes it a bit too far. Does Jesus tell us not to worry, not to fear? Yes. Does He call us atheists when we worry? No. He's gentler than that.

Let me pause and say that there so much good in this chapter, but also a bit of bad. When Voskamp trusts God, she feels freedom and such exuberant joy. It's a pleasure to read it! She feels peace in her spirit. "I feel no fear and it makes no sense" (150). She's experiencing "the peace that passes understanding" of which Paul speaks, and this peace is utterly miraculous, because it's overwhelming, tangible, and has no source, no cause, except the hand of God. It's miraculous, stunning to experience. I loved reading this part! This is good.

But Voskamp can never stray far from her security blanket, her magic wand:  giving thanks. If thanks doesn't play a part in any minutia of her life, then she assumes something's wrong.  "I invite thanks. For this is His will, thanks the one thing He asks to be done in everything and always and only because He knows what precedes the miracle." (149) By page 160, she's placing these words, "Eucharisteo always precedes the miracle," into God's mouth, as if it were a piece of Scripture she's forgotten the reference for. She writes that God is saying it to her. But this magical cause-and-effect relationship between her giving thanks and miracles happening, this is a figment of her invention. By this point in her life she believes it so strongly, she cannot imagine God without these words in His mouth. Personally, I think this is bad.

Voskamp reminds us that trusting God is tied closely to remembering. I find this to be eminently Biblical. Throughout Scripture, God's people are told to trust Him as they remember how He's provided in their past.  "The God whom we thank for fulfilling the promises of the past will fulfill His promises again" (158). And I tell you, it's not easy, but this remembering does work to alleviate one's worry. It takes time, and sometimes worry rears its ugly head again, but after decades of seeing God rescue you repeatedly from disaster, it does become easier to believe He'll do it one more time!!  This is good!

In Psalm 77 and 78, I recently read about remembering. Ninety-two verses of remembering God's rescue. "I shall remember the deeds of the LORD, surely I will remember Thy wonders of old. I will meditate on all Thy work, and muse on Thy deeds."  "And our fathers have told us ... tell to the generation to come the praises of the LORD."  "That they should put their confidence in God, and not forget the works of God." And on and on. In ninety-two verses, there lots of remembering, but not a word of thanksgiving. Not a word!  But Voskamp, of course, says that the remembering must be done with thanks, the magic wand. "Trust is the bridge from yesterday to tomorrow, built with planks of thanks. Remembering frames up gratitude" (151). "Count blessings and discover Who can be counted on" (151). And it makes a little sense; remembering God's previous work in your life is about the same as counting your blessings, right?

In my opinion, Voskamp takes it a bit too far. "This is the crux of Christianity: to remember and give thanks" (153). "Why is remembering and giving thanks the core of the Christ-faith? Because remembering with thanks is what causes us to trust -- to really believe" (153). "Eucharisteo returned me to God as non-eucharisteo had caused the fall from God" (153). "Gratitude is what births trust ... the true belief" (153).  "It's only when you live the prayer of thanksgiving that you live the power of trusting God" (153). Notice her use of the exclusive word, "only."

I hope you see that Voskamp says we cannot be saved unless we give thanks. To her, giving thanks is essential to salvation to such a degree that without it a person cannot be saved. Now, I agree that thanksgiving is fabulous, and is a normal by-product of being saved from damnation, and should be present in the Christian. But I don't prescribe it as an essential element to saving faith, so that a person who otherwise has faith would be damned without it.  In this part of the chapter, I do find Voskamp's view to be bad.

And if that is not bad enough, she continues on with the Eucharist theme, the Lord's Supper. This section is where I took the greatest exception to Voskamp in this chapter, I'm afaid. She drifts into a confusing story about fearful children trying to sleep during World War II, and then ties their comfort to receiving a chunk of bread to clutch in their hands as they drift into sleep. Anyway, then Voskamp says this: "Eucharisteo, remembering with thanks, this is the bread. We take the moments as bread and give thanks and the thanks itself becomes bread. The thanks itself nourishes" (158).

Did you read that? Did she just say that the bread we eat during the Lord's Supper is actually our thanks? That if there is symbolism involved here, and spiritual nourishment to be had from the bread, it's our thanksgiving that does it? Oh. My. Word. I want to make this crystal clear: The bread of the Lord's Supper is one thing and one thing ONLY. It is Christ's body, crucified for us. The bread is His body, and nothing else. Nobody, not Voskamp nor I, can redefine what that bread is.

But this is often the approach of the mystic. They like to remove traditional boundaries in religion or faith. They like to expand. They like to redefine and thus find new wonders that others might have overlooked. By calling the Eucharist bread her own thanksgiving, Voskamp elevates her thanks-list to an exalted plane. Giving thanks becomes a sacrament. Giving thanks becomes the sacrifice that is made for sin -- Jesus's body. Except now, instead of Jesus doing something for her, Voskamp is doing something. She's giving thanks. It's subtle, and I'm certain it's very well-intentioned. But I think this tiny chunk of this chapter is very, very bad. I don't think Voskamp intends to denigrate Holy Communion. I imagine she thinks she's elevating it, and giving it a new wonder that other theologians have missed. But I think she's in error. And in case we wonder whether Voskamp sees her own role as a mystic, she says, "I'm a wanderer ... eating manna, eating mystery"  (158). She's aware of the mystery.

After writing this last part, I'm so discouraged about her views that it's hard to proceed. There are other interesting aspects of chapter eight, but I think I'll leave them unsaid. I'd encourage you, dear reader, to ruminate on this last part because it's of vital importance. It's fair warning to all of us to be so careful in our spiritual thoughts. Do we have one area of our faith that we give too much importance to? Do we read it into Scripture more than is actually there? Do we begin redefining terms? Altering even the sacraments themselves? Even someone with the best of intentions, like Voskamp, can fall into error, one step at a time.

On Judging Others

I’m in a quandary. From friends and acquaintances on many sides, I get this message:  Do Not Judge.  Don’t judge anyone. Don’t assess other people’s behaviors or decisions. It’s not your place. The Bible says not to judge. If you judge others, you’re putting yourself in God’s place. It’s unkind and breaks up the Body of Christ when Christians judge each other. Only kind and gentle words, please.

Sound familiar?

But my mind tells me this: (Oh, that’s a dangerous way to begin!) Be Wise! Be discerning. Evaluate everything and everyone around you. Assess everything through God’s Word. Be a critical thinker. How can you live righteously if you don’t examine the people and world around you and determine whether they are holy? And although you must always sprinkle your words with the salt of gentleness, you must not shy away from addressing evil or wrong-thinking. Christians are called to test the spirits, to be wise as serpents.

Am I making a mountain of a mole-hill? Can you refrain from judging others in any way, and simultaneously use critical thinking regarding your world? I don’t know how to do it. I usually err on the side of being the critical thinker and assessor, trying to do so objectively and never hatefully. But I get plenty of flak for it. (Just looked up that spelling for “flak.” The word means “strong criticism.” When other people criticize me for criticizing others, is that a double standard?)

I toyed with waxing eloquent about several links I’ve read lately that pertain to this judging theme, but I think I’ll just link to them and leave the reading to you. I agree with many parts of them. Here they are:

Cheetos for Breakfast - a Letter to Young Mothers, very refreshing

Troc, Broc, and Recup - a Pause in Lent, "Fast from judging others"

Holy Experience - The Command that could Resurrect the Church

My bottom line is this: We must have the freedom to assess. We should never be cruel, thoughtless, or malicious in our criticism. But we must be able to look around at people’s parenting, public behaviors, opinions and writings, and think, “That is right,” or “That is wrong.” We may need to voice this also, for our good or someone else's. And we’d better be able to support our views, not being arbitrary or flippant. I agree with Voskamp that unity and love in the Body of Christ should remain a paramount concern. But that unity is preserved both by the assessor being thoughtful and careful, and by the ‘assessee’ accepting in a godly way the criticism that comes. He must work out how to accept such criticism gracefully. For every time I’ve seen a person do criticism badly, I’ve also seen a person accept wise criticism badly. Both sides must learn how the game is played properly, especially among Christians. The metaphor of the body is apt. We do not sever a body part with cruel words. Neither do we shy away from correct care of a body part in trouble, when correction is required. Such care can be painful for a wounded or dysfunctional part, but it must be done. The medicine that hurts, also heals.

  This isn’t easy. I’m no expert! But we do the Body of Christ a grave disservice when we preach loudly, “No Criticism Allowed!” We should examine our terms carefully. To Judge means to sit oneself upon the bench as a judge over others, i.e., to determine whether they are guilty or innocent and to dole out punishment accordingly. To judge spiritual matters additionally means to decide eternal guilt and dole out eternal punishment. None should aspire to judge in this way. But that is entirely different from critical thinking and critical assessment. I’ve spoken out of turn before. I’ve also held my tongue when a word would have been useful. Both are wrong. Real wisdom is knowing when the word is needed, is helpful. Lord, help us all to know!

On Transformations

Ever since reading Voskamp's book and writing these reviews, I've been pondering the idea of transformations, or changing something into something else.

I've been rather hard on Voskamp, as she describes her efforts to change the bad things in her life into good things. Inasmuch as she's simply re-labeling things in her life, I've gone so far as to state I think that's an ungodly thing to do. Those are strong words. I've called her "thanks list" a silver bullet, a magic wand, as if using it mysteriously alters the bad into good, just by uttering some words. She herself says that eucharisteo always precedes the miracle.

That's what magic does.

Magic changes Ron Weasley's normally land-locked vehicle into a flying car and instantly alters the house flag colors draped over Hogwarts's dining hall. Magic transports Dorothy from Oz back to Kansas instantly, and turns Gandalf's staff into a weapon of power in Theoden's court. Magic changes things in super-human ways. We love to put magic into stories, don't we? We're longing for the supernatural to act.

Because when God acts, He transforms things. He makes a mute donkey speak. He makes blind people see. He changes water into wine -- instantly. He turns dead to living. Every day, He enters dead human hearts and makes them alive to whole new spiritual realms. Transformation is magic, and we love to see it. It's the stuff of Heaven, and we really want to see it on Earth.

That's why Voskamp's book is so exciting to readers. She's promising miracles!! She tells us, if we offer a prayer of thanks, the painful, bad, fallen things in our lives will be transformed by that thanks, into healing, good, unfallenness. Into a state of wholeness. In essence, she's claiming to transfigure this poor planet, in small ways, into a little bit of heaven. Is it bad to wish that? No. Is it bad to claim to do it? Maybe.

Why does Proverbs 17:15 tell me, "He who justifies the wicked, and he who condemns the righteous, both of them alike are an abomination to the LORD," and then also describe God Himself as "Him who justifies the ungodly"? Why does God get to do the very thing He says we're not allowed to do?

Because He's God. He actually does really justify me, the sinner. He has the magic. He has the power, or as Scripture calls it (I love this term!!), the "attesting miracle." Attesting to what? When Jesus heals disease and drives out demons and stops storms, what does all that attest to? His supernatural status as Creator, as King, as The Boss.

I'm not He. I have no attesting miracles. And it would be very wrong for me to claim such powers, when I don't have them. It would be very wrong for me to say I'm transforming anything from one state to another.

And here's where I wish Voskamp would be more precise. I do not think she's taking on God's role and putting herself on His throne. I just wish she were more clear about exactly how her own transformations take place. Only God transforms. Her prayers are not magical. Thanks isn't magical. Even a thankful heart is not magical. Only God transforms anything evil into anything good, and He does it on His own terms. He rarely transforms as we'd like Him to (i.e., remove this thorn in my flesh, please Lord!), but usually in unexpected ways (Ah! He'll leave the thorn but give me strength instead - how bizarre!)

Mystics (and I do think Voskamp is a Christian mystic) often take one piece of theology and make it the absolute centerpiece, and ask everyone to realize it as such. They get their perspective a bit skewed. They are essential in the church because they take things we've often pushed to the periphery (like thanksgiving) and bring it back into a prominent place. Dry theologians limit the faith down, always paring away, and mystics broaden it again and encourage us to embrace the things we've mistakenly tossed aside. Both are so useful.

Thanks for listening. I hope this made a bit of sense. I do not think Voskamp is far afield, but I do think she's a little afield. Mostly, I wish she'd be more clear, but mystics don't tend to do that. Oh how we long for heaven, with all its magic -- all its "signs" -- and as my Bible teachers often said, Heaven is "now" and "not yet." We must keep both in balance.

One Thousand Gifts, chapter 7

"The Ugly Beautiful"
In chapter 7, Voskamp continues what she began earlier.  What does the thankful person do with the bad things in life? For Voskamp, the key is to change the bad thing to a good thing, with her thanks. "I look for the ugly beautiful, count it as grace, transfigure the mess into joy with thanks and eucharisteo leaves the paper ..." (127).  We've addressed this concept before -- the idea of changing bad to good by transfiguring it.  In chapter 7, Voskamp gives us a good, commonplace example of how she does this. It involves her two sons, grumpy attitudes, and a piece of toast.

You know how it is with kids:  they fight. They may use sticks, fists, words, or just eyeballs, but they fight. Ann has normal kids. The son she dwells on in this chapter is entering adolescence, a problematic age with some kids. (Boy, could I tell some tales!) When the conflict explodes in her kitchen, she scrambles to address it, in herself, with eucharisteo. She stops in mid-conflict, in the unrest of her own heart, and thanks God. "Father, thank You for these two sons. Thank You for here and now. Thank You that You don't leave us in our mess" (127).  She says it feels weird, but she prays this anyway.

It's important to me to stop here for a moment and note this crucial fact:  this activity really works for Ann Voskamp. And it works for many people. Expressing thanks to God is truly the silver bullet, and magic elixir, the answer!! that solves every problem. I say that only because Voskamp says it herself, over and over. Thanks is the solution to every conundrum, the resolution to every conflict, the peace for every war. This has been eye-opening for me, because I would never have considered it. I did not know there were other Christians, walking around on this planet, for whom this was a massive struggle -- the hardest thing to do! To give thanks. But clearly, it is true. I say this because it is not the magic elixir for me. I wish it were; it would be much easier (for me, anyway) than what really does work, for me. Just as thanksgiving is a struggle for Ann, repentance, confession, saying "sorry" -- these are my huge pills for me to swallow. Even in the the privacy of my own heart, it has been difficult for me to look at God (with my mind's eye) and say, "I have been wrong. This is sin. I'm so sorry. Please help me!" That's what my own personal 1000-list project would look like:  1000 ways of saying I'm sorry to God. It is what heals my soul, slowly softening it and changing it. It's taken years.

Does that make sense? Ann's solution works for people who also have her problem. Mine works for me. I wonder how many other kinds of Christians there are out there, with their own personal issue with God, and their own good solution?

The "Ugly Beautiful." I've already discussed why I don't particularly like calling an ugly thing beautiful, or a bad thing good. I think it's not godly. But we've discussed that. Let's look at some of the "ugly" things that Ann wants to transform. Here's a few things from her list: toys all over the floors, two-month-old-paint tape around trim, mismatched socks, lost library book, apple cores, dusty shelves, splattered mirrors."

Well, you can hardly call those catastrophes. These are life's little inconveniences. She calls them ugly. I think she uses the word "annoyances." Care to add to the list? Stinky toilets, flat tires, dead watch batteries, horrible commercials, failing eyesight ....

Ann's way of altering herself is to alter the things she dislikes. She changes them into good things, using thanks as her magic wand (I promise I don't use that meanly -- I think it's a lovely image), and this in turn changes the way she sees her world, turning it into a pretty world, which changes herself. It's convoluted, but it works for her. She knows that fundamentally, it is she who must be changed really. She states over and over how she needs new eyes -- a new way of seeing the world. She wants to see it from God's perspective, which means to see all ugly things as beautiful. Right?

I simply don't read the Scriptures as indicating that ... at all. But that's another argument for another day. But here's my take on achieving the same results as Ann:  when I'm grumpy about the socks/toys/toilets/dust/and on and on, I change myself with repentance. It goes something like this: "Father, I have a nasty mood this morning. It's not glorifying You, and not helping anyone. It's destroying relationships, which tells me it's SIN. Please forgive me. Please help me to realize that all these little inconveniences are not eternal. They're not worth worrying over. Give me strength. Help me remember what does matter -- my attitude, my kids' attitudes. Our souls." Then I set about trying to address attitudes, not things. By the time I realized this useful method, and implemented it fairly well, all my children were basically grown, of course!

I really relate to Ann's experiences in this chapter, and much of her way of dealing with conflict is clearly helpful. She is gentle, loving. She speaks privately with him. She uses Scripture. It worked with her son and they agree to do the thanks-list together. If I could speak with her, I'd only encourage her not to assume that it's the method that will solve everyone's self-issues. It worries me slightly that she never really alludes to SIN. Is she dancing around it? I don't know. I don't think she wants to look inside her son, or herself, and ever see SIN. Sin is bad, and she is all about transforming the bad to good. I wonder this -- will she ever write these "ugly/beautiful" things on her thanks-list: lying, hitting, cursing, unfaithfulness, hate, death? I don't think she will. What do we do with these items? She does name one sin in this chapter; she calls herself a blasphemer, when she looks at the world around her and fails to see the Face of God, when she looks at the ugly and doesn't see the beautiful. Whenever she fails to take the joy from the well of thanksgiving, then she's a blasphemer. She says it this way:

"If I am rejecting the joy that is hidden somewhere deep in this moment -- am I not ultimately rejecting God? Whenever I am blind to joy's well, isn't it because I don't believe in God's care? That God cares enough about me to always offer me joy's water, wherever I am .... But if I don't believe God cares, if I don't want or seek the joy He definitely offers ... I don't want God.  Blasphemer" (130)


My heart breaks for Ann here. She is so hungry for joy. She has found it, overwhelming, when she gives thanks. But in crisis moments, she forgets, or she doesn't quite know how to do it. How does one give thanks for an angry son? When she fails, she labels herself a blasphemer. A sinner, yes. "Forgive me, Lord!" That's what I would cry. "Thank you, Lord!" are the words she reaches for.

I do not fault either approach. (I have already expressed my dissatisfaction with some of her theology she uses to arrive at her position.) I wonder if she will confront any moments in which she will be unable to squeeze any joy out. Are there life situations in which one cannot even whisper, "Thank you, Lord"?  Paul tells us to be thankful for all things, at all times. He was even able to thank God for his sufferings and persecutions. But I do think there are times when we must pray, "Forgive me, Lord, I have sinned," before we can pray anything else.

One Thousand Gifts, chapter 6

This may be rather long. Just warning you.

In chapter six, Voskamp seems to shift to a new theme. She's been pounding thankfulness. Now she moves on to seeing. The events of this chapter occur on a chaotic day that all mothers recognize. She is overwhelmed, grumpy, weary at suppertime. Then she is called outside to see the moonrise. Voskamp spends the entire chapter describing her new discoveries about herself, while watching the moonrise. She is overcome with beauty, glory, humbleness and the presence of God.

It sounds so ordinary to say it that way. Voskamp rarely uses ordinary terminology, and that's part of what makes her rather ordinary cathartic moments sound very extraordinary. She does a good job of describing the occasional senses of wonder and bliss that we experience with God, that we often cannot describe ourselves.

I mentioned before, in my "Ann Voskamp Revisited" post, that two pastors had reviewed Ann's book. Both men criticized her mystical approach to her faith. I imagine their "mystic radar" started humming when they read chapter six. One pastor has removed his review, and has since put up a sort of apology to Voskamp. (He doesn't apologize for critiquing her book, nor for the content of his review, but for the lack of love in his tone.) The other review by DeWaay is more academic and detailed. The first area of concern he addresses is Voskamp's panentheism.

Panentheism. A word that is not in my 1962 Oxford English Dictionary. Nor is it found in my 1980 Webster's. Hmm. Online, I find this: Pantheism is the belief that God is the universe. Panentheism is the belief that God is in the entire universe. It goes beyond mere omnipresence, which states that God is not limited spatially -- He is a spirit, and His spirit is not limited by space. Panentheism sees the world as existing in God, and God existing in the world. It seeks to avoid the concept of transcendence, which places God distinct from His creation. Panentheism goes beyond merely seeing God's glory in creation, or hearing His praise in creation. It goes beyond simple General Revelation, which states that man may look objectively at the created order and infer the existence of God and traits about Him.  Many believers see Panentheism as a Biblical concept. They refer to verses like Romans 8:36: "For from him, and through him and to him are all things," or Ephesians 4:6: "There is one God who is father of all, over all, through all and within all."

It all boils down to one concept: Unity. Christians have unity with Christ; we are "one with Him." This unity is what Voskamp longs for, in chapter six. "I long to merge with Beauty," she says. In her terminology, she "aches" for this union. We speak of "knowing God and being known by Him."  For Voskamp, this union is preceded by seeing God rightly -- her perception being changed to realize that God is "all Eye,"  that He is seeing her. Remember the Eye of Mordor from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings?  Well, imagine a good version of that -- an eye that always sees you, no matter where you are, that knows every part of your thinking and loves you. The Eye that lays you bear. Voskamp says God's Eye "leaves the soul disrobed. I am naked and I am right ashamed. I know how monstrously inhumane I can be" (116).
But unity comes when she is willing to look back at the Eye, to look God full in the face (well, not really -- she's looking at the moon) and not be afraid. Voskamp harkens back a couple of times to Jacob's encounters with God, the nights he saw the ladder and wrestled with God. Only ... God literally spoke to Jacob in a dream the first time, and the second time, Jacob physically wrestled with the flesh-and-blood body of the second person of the Godhead. He wasn't interacting with the moon, nor was the moon some sort of Beauty Symbol for God. Voskamp does know the difference. "Is worship why I've run for the moon? Not for lunar worship, but for True Beauty worship .... I do not deify the wind in the pines, the snow falling on hemlocks, the moon over harvested wheat. Pantheism, seeing the natural world as divine, is a very different thing than seeing divine God present in all things .... nature is not God but God revealing the weight of Himself, all His glory, through the looking glass of nature" (110). I do hope her goal, and ours, is to see God as He is, and not through a looking glass at all.

You cannot say that Voskamp is a panentheist simply because she sees the glory of God in nature. David saw the same, and wrote many psalms about it. If Voskamp hears God's praises exclaimed in the moon or the wheat fields or the ocean, she's only hearing what Scripture tells us we should be hearing. This is not news, friends. And just because she uses somewhat bizarre, flowery, poetic language doesn't make her heretical. Pastor DeWaay quotes often from this chapter, in his accusation that Voskamp is a panentheist. First he claims that panentheism does violence to the person of Christ: "If God in His essence and essential being is found in everything, then there is nothing unique about Christ. Biblically, Christ reveals God and His glory in a way nature does not." He is right, but I'm not sure Voskamp errs this way. Of equal concern is his statement that Voskamp finds her experiences in nature to be salvific. "Voskamp describes an experience where she finds salvation by gazing at a full moon in a harvested wheat field."

Panentheism seems to be a moving target. I'm not exactly sure what it means, and I'm not exactly sure if Voskamp espouses it. Does she claim to find her salvation in an experience with Nature? I don't think so. She happens to be in a natural location, in a wheat field, with the moon. But the important thing is that God is there. The presence of God's glory, His beauty, His eye, her longing and awareness -- these are the crucial elements. And the salvation she experiences is not the initial saving of her soul; she's already a Christian. She is, however, saved from a former darkness and ignorance and unwillingness to see and embrace and cry out for the God who loves her. So her experience in the wheat field is one of those wonderful moments that occur in the Christian's life, when she sees something new. Voskamp is certainly not telling the unbeliever, "Go look at some beautiful element of the natural world, feel united to it, and it will save your soul." DeWaay, in my opinion, has been hasty in his criticism.

And I ask, "Why?" Why doesn't he get it? Has he never, ever lain on the sand by the roaring ocean at night, opened his eyes wide to a sky full of meteorites, and been overwhelmed by what God does? Has he never been lost in a cool forest full of old trees and felt in his soul that there was more present than just trees and him? Is he such a calculating academic that he knows nothing of such wonder? I doubt it. Most Christians experience at least a little of this. Ann experiences it a lot. I have too, more when I was younger. Some Christians experience actual miracles. Oh how we long for moments in this fallen life when God is so obviously near! It's merely a longing for heaven.

Did I like this chapter? Oh, I don't know. I can't say I've really liked the book. I find the writing a little disorganized and meandering, so it doesn't work for my particular brain. It does for some. I think Voskamp sees the order in it, but the key is to be able to communicate it to others. What is a moment of euphoria for her, is something interesting to read about to the rest of us.  I do find it a good reminder of the childlike wonder and joy we have in the presence of the Father. How long since you've felt that way? Ann twirls in her skirt as she returns to her house with her children in the growing dark. She has the joy of a girl. Never lose that.

A few loose ends in this chapter before we leave it:
1) Voskamp is prepping us for her "cathedral imagery." She says she is "struggling to make a cathedral of the moment, to hallow it with the holy all here" (102).  She comes close to "desecrating the space" with an inappropriate response (103). She seeks "even one thousand more gifts, sanctuaries in moments" (105). And, "How do you open the eyes to see how to take the daily, domestic, workday vortex and invert it into the dome of an everyday cathedral?" (121).  I believe this is where she's headed. It's one thing to run out of the house just before supper and spend an hour kneeling before the moon. Wouldn't it be better to find the Beauty in your house, in the kitchen, at the sink, where the mess is? This is her struggle -- to find it there.
2) She begins the sexual imagery in this chapter, and I am first uncomfortable with it here. She describes "the great-bellied moon, it all heaves, heavy with the glory" (106). It's the "harvest moon aching ... womb swelling round with glory" (105). That's a fairly familiar, if rather personal, image. On p. 111, however, she sits in the shorn wheat field with her camera, looking up at the moon through a few remaining wheat stalks. "It is still, stalk still. One lone stem of wheat bows its head before me. Behind it, the perfect backdrop of pure moon full, pregnant with the grandeur. I reach out my hand, run my finger up its silk slender shank. This is how. I learn how to say thank you from a laid-low head of wheat."

Hmm. Perhaps the pregnant womb of moon is too much when combined with the phallic symbol of the wheat stalk, together with her stroking it. I apologize for any offense. But this is exactly what I've bought into, reviewing this book; this is exactly the imagery I've promised to address, much as I'd like to avoid it.  Why am I uncomfortable? Am I a prude? No. Do I think Scripture does not use marital imagery? Of course it does. I'd just prefer that Voskamp not go beyond what Scripture does. The Bible uses the picture of husband and wife to show God's relationship with His people -- Israel, or later, His church. The church is the bride, not just little ole individual me. There's a big difference. The familial relationship that Scripture repeatedly uses to describe God's relationship with me, is that of father and child, not husband and wife. Even the most familiar passage from Isa. 54 is in reference to Zion, when the prophet says, "Your husband is your Maker." The "wife" is a city with battlements, foundations, walls, and gates.

Keeping things clear, enumerated, distinct -- this is not usually the mystic's gift. God is my Father, both literally and metaphorically. He is not my sexual partner, in any sense. I wish she would clarify these roles, but mystics don't clarify much. Is Ann Voskamp a mystic? She says no. Here's a good definition of a mystic: " a person who seeks by contemplation and self-surrender to obtain unity with or absorption into the Deity or the absolute, or who believes in the spiritual apprehension of truths that are beyond the intellect." What do you think?

One Thousand Gifts, chapter 5

In Chapter 5, Voskamp steps into deeper waters: Can I thank God for the bad as well as the good? Can I thank Him when evil steps into my life?

She approaches the question through her son's farm accident, in which he injures his hand. Unlike the lovely snippets of sunlight on her List, she calls events like this "the hard eucharisteo." The hard thanks. Joni Tada calls it (as Scripture does) "the sacrifice of praise" -- praising God through tears, when you can barely breathe, and just assenting to Him is a sacrifice of your soul. Hard days. I've had those.

Voskamp notes early on that light can emerge after darkness; she uses the example of an amaryllis given to her by her mother-in-law. The bulb was the 1000th item on her List, just before her mother-in-law died. After death comes resurrection. After burial in the dirt comes a glorious bloom. After desolation comes wisdom and relief. Perhaps the best writer on this subject is Elisabeth Elliot, in her excellent book A Path Through Suffering.

Voskamp clearly struggles hard with suffering. She asks bold questions. "Life is loss," she says. "What will I lose?"  And I want to answer her, 'Nothing! All is returned, and more, in the New Earth!' She asks, "When will I lose?" And I want to answer, 'Never! That's what eternity is all about -- never losing anything good.'  She then asks, "Who will I lose?" And my reply is, 'No one!' All your brothers and sisters in the Lord will be with you there.'

She asks, "What in the world, in a world of certain loss, is grace?"  And my answer of course: 'Certain gain! We have a hope that is secured in the heavens. This life on this earth is a pig sty compared to the New Earth awaiting us.'

She can't hear my replies, and I suppose she knows these answers anyway. But she doesn't mention the Christian's great hope. This chapter focuses on despair and dealing with it somehow here. Some days we are living in the pain. Ann is looking for the right glasses to use, the right perspective to use, when examining suffering and evil. On p. 86/87, she finds the perfect lens through which to look:  The Word. I was excited to read those pages.

On p. 88, she drifts into deeper waters yet. She ruminates on the nature of evil, a subject that hefty theologians like Augustine and Edwards have wrestled with and not mastered. Voskamp compares evil to a shadow, an absence of light. This is, I think, Augustine's view. She says: "That is what a shadow is, an empty space, a hole in the light. Evil is that -- a hole in the goodness of God." I was stunned at that sentence, at the idea that God's goodness could even have a hole, a lack, a break or an imperfection. And if God's goodness could have a gash in it, I would never imagine it to be filled with ... Evil. I'm really uncertain of what she means there. I don't want her words to mean what they actually say, so I'm hoping she just did a bad job of expressing herself. Regardless, it's important to note what she's saying: Evil is an absence of good; Evil is not a thing in and of itself.

Quickly, she leaps into the real message of this chapter. Her theme is that all bad things are transfigured into good things. "So God transfigures all the world? Darkness transfigures into light, bad transfigures into good, grief transfigures into grace, empty transfigures into full." (p. 97) That's another passage I stumbled over; my mind snagged on it. It just doesn't sound right to me. Shocking, yes. Right, no.

I agree with so much that she's dancing around -- that God allows grief and pain, that He then uses it in our lives for our gain and His glory. We all know this. I posted this just days ago, in the video by Steve Saint. If you didn't watch that, you need to. He offers such profound, mature understanding of this subject! The mature Christian understands that the blows of this life are the chippings away from the Sculptor's hand. Only He -- only He! -- can do such miracles with fallen men and fallen events! Another thrilling example happened just this past week in Colorado. Did you hear about Petra, a victim in the Aurora shootings? A bullet was shot into her head, entering her nose and passing through her brain to the back of her scull. Yet her brain was virtually uninjured. Why? Because from birth she'd had a defect (a defect!)  in her brain, a channel of fluid running (you guessed it) from her nose through her brain. Only a CAT scan would have ever revealed it. The bullet went in at one end of that channel and traveled, like a pea through a straw, through her brain. I'm sure such an event could not have been replicated, not if one tried again and again.

Clearly a miracle. God's glory and power shown. And what were His tools? A brain defect. A demented shooter. A bullet. A surgery. Those are all fallen things. He uses them.

But they're still fallen. It's important to remember that. Violence and hate and illness and injury and death -- they are all evil things. They do not get renamed or remade. Or transfigured. Oh how important it is that we not fall into the mistake, in our desperation of understanding Evil, to somehow call it Good. "Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who substitute darkness for light and light for darkness; who substitute bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter." (Isa. 5:20)

We must keep these eternal issues straight.

You see, Ann ponders, and she wonders, "That which seems evil, is it a cloud to bring rain, to bring a greater good to the whole of the world?" And later she asks, "What if that which feels like trouble, gravel in the mouth, is only that -- feeling? What if faith says all is . . . " (95)

Yes. God can use it all. Even the evil things of this world are tools in His hands, and He manipulates them as He wishes. Without illness we could not know healing; without loss, gain; without weariness, rest; without death, resurrection. 

But it is one thing to say that God uses the bad in order to bring forth the good for us. It is quite another to rename the bad, and call it good. When Ann says, "What which seems evil," or "that which feels like trouble," I'm perturbed at her words. When she states that "bad transfigures into good," I do not think I can agree with her.

We knew a man whose wife died, and in his deep grief and trouble, he struggled with how to define Death. Scripture clearly tells us that Death is our enemy. It is of the fall, it is conquered by Christ, and it has no place in God's Kingdom. Death will not exist on His New Earth. But this man, as he groped for a way to understand his loss, came to the conclusion that Death is a friend -- the friend who takes our hand, removes us from this place of toil and sickness, and leads us into heaven. Death is our Friend -- see, that's so wrong! Just because we're struggling to understand deep issues, doesn't mean we can begin redefining terms.

I'm afraid that Voskamp may well be doing that in this chapter, and I can't go there with her. She asks, "Is there anything in this world that is truly ugly? That is curse?"  Her answer to that question is "no."

No curse? On this planet? Yes, the curse is here. When my precious friend held her dead baby, only a day after his birth, that is the curse. I will not tell her, "Actually, friend, this is a good thing. Death is your friend." When I hear of a child abused for a decade, chained to a potty chair, starved and beaten, that's the Curse. When I read of Treblinka, that's the Curse. The Curse is definitely here. And just because I have a God who can rescue and use evil for His own ends, doesn't mean that Evil isn't still ... Evil.

I would like to think I'm misunderstanding Voskamp here. I don't think I am. So much of what she says is very good, very useful. There's just a slice of it, a significant slice running straight through the middle, that I must cut out with a scalpel, if I am to do her book justice.

"Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who substitute darkness for light and light for darkness; who substitute bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter."

One Thousand Gifts, chapter 4

Before reading this book, I asked quite a few people for their impressions of it. They seemed to remember two chapters best: the last chapter when she flies to Paris, and the "bubbles in dish water" chapter. My impression from them was that Voskamp spent an entire chapter describing the beauty of soap suds.

Perhaps they meant chapter 4. I don't know. She does spend some time describing soap suds, but that's not all that happens in this chapter. Truthfully, this is a chapter in which she decides to rescue her life from the tyranny of hurry. She wants to redeem her time. Or as she says so aptly, "I have lived the runner, panting ahead in worry, pounding back in regrets ...." (p. 69)

Ann is a photographer, and she slows her life by taking snap-shots. Each item on her Eucharisteo List is a snapshot of beauty. When she stares at a ballooning soap bubble, shimmering in her hand, and refuses to be rushed into scrubbing the dishes, she is capturing a moment of beauty, elongating it. Slowing time.

In this chapter, Ann finds another way that Eucharisteo -- her List of Thanks -- works miracle in her life. It forces her to focus, to slow, to stay in the present. She is thankful for now, not for past and not for future. She's refusing to be mastered by either regret or worry (don't we all know those two ogres!!) as she was before. The List seems to do this for her effectively.

She notes the power of The List several times. "Is this eucharisteo the way to that elusive fullest life, the one that lives in the moment?" she asks. Later, it's a statement: "Eucharisteo always, always precedes the miracle." (That's quite an assumption. Hmm.) She realizes that she doesn't lack time, she lacks thanksgiving. She sees that being thankful to God (and not only in heart, but on paper) precedes miracles, re-awakenings, in her life.

I identify deeply with this topic because I too have been dominated by the dual sentinels of regret and worry, standing like frowning headmasters in my school of life. I will contort a situation in amazing ways, simply to ensure that I will never, never have regret. And the worry ... oh, the worry! Not much one can do about that. Is there? Ann found something. For her, just listing off beautiful moments in life and whispering "thank you!" to God, is enough to keep regret and worry at bay. I agree with her that that discovery is a monumental miracle in life -- a huge thank-you in itself! I have worked on this sin in my life (she doesn't call it sin) with some success in later years. My approach is more to remind myself to slow down, enjoy the moment, remember that children grow, friends move, loved-ones die, and my life is well past half-way over itself. It's just common sense: If I focus on yesterday and tomorrow, I will thoroughly waste today.  I've mellowed, become a better wife, a more patient mother, a more listening friend.

I never made The List.

The List is one way, but it's not the only way, to learn to savor time. Voskamp seems to think (and she's indicated this before) that saying thank-you is some sort of magic wand. Oh, I don't mean to be trite. She sees the power of the miracles that occur in Scripture as happening because someone gives thanks.  As I quoted her before: "Eucharisteo always, always precedes the miracle." In the feeding of the 5000, she says this of the Lord, "Jesus embraces His not enough ... He gives thanks ... and there is more than enough." (p. 72) She calls his thank-you "the crossing over that took the not enough and made it enough." She posits that because Jesus thanked the Father for the meal, the fish and loaves multiplied.

She does it again later, on p. 76, in describing the events around the Road to Emmaus.  "... think of the strangers walking briskly, blithely along to Emmaus, oblivious to the God-skin before their eyes. Only in the slowing, the sitting down at the table, when His hands held the bread and the thanks fell from His tongue, do the open-eyed, the wide-eyed, see the Face ...." I will take issue with her treatment of the Scriptures here. Nowhere in the Luke 24 passage does it indicate that the two men "walked briskly." She inserts their hurry into the passage herself. (In fact, they actually hurry later -- when they return to Jerusalem in their excitement from seeing the Lord!) And far from blithe, Scripture says, "they stood still, looking sad," when Jesus addressed them. The passage does not say that Jesus's prayer over the food somehow opened their eyes to recognize Him. Peter, however, preaching in Acts 10:40, gives us a clue. "God raised Him up on the third day, and granted that He should become visible, not to all the people, but to witnesses who were chosen beforehand by God, that is, to us, who ate and drank with him after He arose from the dead."

Why did the two men at Emmaus suddenly recognize Jesus? Because He thanked God for food? No, because God had chosen and granted to certain people to recognize Jesus at certain times. It is the mighty power of God, not the mystical power of a particular prayer. Peter seems to say that eating and drinking with Jesus were also important -- the breaking of the bread. The breaking of bread, the supper of the Lord, the great marriage feast of the Lamb:  all this is of a piece. Eating is communion, i.e., taking one large piece of food, breaking it into portions, distributing it to those who love each other, and when they eat it, and it becomes part of their very bodies, they are unified in that food, which was (moments before) a unity. It's a simple enough picture, but a wonderful one. God eats with us, shares food with us, makes us part of His family at His table.

Anyway, exciting as daily thanksgiving is, I still think Voskamp is giving it a power in Scripture which Scripture itself doesn't indicate. After one Bible quote on p. 71 where she put "gave thanks" in italics, she had to add afterward, "emphasis added."  Exactly.

Thanksgiving is always good, always welcome, always an appropriate response to God. Always. But it does not always produce a miracle. I won't tire you with dozens of examples from Scripture of miracles that are not preceded by a word of thanks. Perhaps Voskamp became enthusiastic, and had a slip of the tongue. Thanksgiving can precede miracles, and sometimes does. Do miracles happen more readily to people who have hearts full of thanks? That may be. But it is not a cause/effect relationship.

Other than those exceptions, however, I found this a charming chapter, and I was not turned off by the dwelling on the soap bubbles, because I do things like that myself. And I was particularly struck by Voskamp's wonderful understanding of time and eternity here -- I wish she'd dwelt more on it. I love this quote: "But time is not running out. This day is not a sieve, losing time.  With each passing minute, each passing year, there's this deepening awareness that I am filling, gaining time. We stand on the brink of eternity." (p. 77)  Yes! Yes and yes! My heart is very full of this. Each moment here we choose to add to our treasure trove of joy in heaven, or deduct from it. Each kind word, loving touch, each choice to be supple instead of stiff and cold, each time we think of eternity and know that it's already started ... that is redeeming the time.  I appreciated this reminder from Ann to focus on today, not because we're scared of our pasts or our futures, but because today is the day -- "as long as it is called today!" -- to encourage one another and demonstrate our hope for eternity.

One Thousand Gifts, chapter 3

This chapter is such a joyful chapter. It was a pleasure to read. I could feel Ann's release from darkness, her exuberance and giddy enthusiasm at finding a mechanism to help her out of the pit she'd been living in. In this chapter, she begins her exercise of keeping The List.

Her friend suggested this: Could Ann write a list of 1000 things that she loves? 1000 blessings, 1000 gifts. Through the course of the chapter, Ann goes from thinking "Sure, whatever" about the list, to sitting up at night or waking early just to add to it, to thinking it's a juvenile, ridiculous waste of time. But in the end, she sticks with it because it did the trick -- it forced her, regularly and often, to remember to be thankful.

Gratitude was, for some reason, the water that Ann's parched soil needed. She was crying out for it. I smiled as I read how she responded to the simple act of writing down beautiful things. The act felt like "unwrapping love" to her. "Writing the list, it makes me feel ... happy." She adds one more thing to the list, just to feel that happiness again. She's taking another sip, and another sip, and another sip, of the pleasant drink of realizing how much God loves her.

Ann notes how we are driven by our habits. She'd nourished a habit of discontent, a life very empty. She's striving now to nourish a new habit, which will water her life. One habit must be replaced by the other.

And although I don't intend to mention Ann's writing style much, I'll note that her list -- one noun after another, each with its attached adjectives -- is very poetic in its form. Ann is a poet. I think perhaps the "taste" of the list, the sound of the word structure, was appealing to her poetic heart. I imagine her list would read rather like a poem. When she transfers this somewhat choppy style into prose, sometimes it works well, and sometimes it doesn't. That's the challenge of the poet.

Ann enjoys the biblical act of naming things, naming her gifts from God. She feels like Adam, naming animals. We all enjoy naming things. She puts quite a bit of emphasis on making a physical list, on the value of pen and paper. It would not be enough for Ann to make a mental list, or even verbally to tell God each day the named list of gifts. She's a writer; she must write it down. Because naming is a work of God, and a work of Eden, she feels it is holy work, this list of hers. She goes so far as to say this: "If clinging to His goodness is the highest form of prayer, then this seeing His goodness with a pen, with a shutter (of a camera), with a word of thanks, these really are the most sacred acts conceivable." (p. 61)

And it is here, in the last two pages of this chapter, that I must take some exception to Ann's argument. "...the most sacred acts conceivable."  Well, perhaps the most conceivable to her. I think other Christians might come up with acts of worship that they would consider more sacred, more holy, than making lists or taking photographs. Her goal, I think, is to make an activity that is accessible to anyone, anywhere. But there are many Christians on the earth without pens, paper, or certainly cameras. Some can't write. Some have no eyes, no hands. Some, frankly, aren't living the life that Ann is living.

In her enthusiasm (which is beautiful to behold) she uses superlatives that are disturbing to me; they are presumptive. "The only real prayers are the ones mouthed with thankful lips." (p. 60) Aside from the fact that I can give hundreds of prayers from Scripture that are deep, wrenching, sincere, and answered, which are not expressions of thanks, I must also say it's the ultimate cheek in her to insist that everyone else's prayers conform to her prescription. Thanksgiving is wonderful! It is commanded and desired by God. It is a beautiful response from His children's hearts. But God's Word never says that without thanks, we cannot please Him. It says that without faith we cannot please Him.

"Prayer, to be prayer, to have any power to change anything, must first speak thanks ...." She uses Philippians 4:6 to support this assertion. It's true that thanksgiving is often tied to the believers' prayers, in Scripture. But not always.  It's not so essential to begin with "and thank you, Lord, for ..." that without it, you're not praying at all. Think of Peter, praying to Jesus right in front of him: "Lord! Save me!"  That was an immediately effectual prayer. James says that the effectual prayer of a righteous man, accomplishes much. No mention of thanksgiving there. Does that mean the righteous man is an ingrate? No. But James doesn't feel compelled to mention the necessity of gratitude; righteousness is the essential element for effectual prayer in this passage.

James has a lot to say about prayer in this passage. If you're suffering, pray. If you're cheerful, sing. If you're sick, get anointed (!!) Confession, intercession and righteousness are mentioned as important to prayers that get answered. Thanksgiving doesn't happen to be mentioned by the brother of Jesus, not here.

So, do we all pull out our favorite prayer verses and battle it out? Of course not. I take no exception to the value of thanksgiving. I agree with Ann that it's of great importance. I take exception to her assertion that prayer isn't really prayer, without it, that prayer without a word of thanks goes nowhere, and God does not hear. "Prayer without ceasing is only possible in a life of continual thanks." And, "...the only way to be a woman of prayer is to be a woman of thanks."

Notice Ann's use of the word "only." It seems very much like she's saying we must pray as she says, or we're not praying. Thus, a chapter full of joy and new life and happiness becomes rather legalistic, at the end. It was a bit of a sadness to me. I am thrilled that Ann found a solution that worked so well for her, and I know that it has been very helpful to other women.  That is great!!! But she need not beat others over the head with it. "Do it my way! If you don't, you're not praying!" I wish I could ignore this tone, helpful as it might be intended, but I can't.

I wonder, are there women out there who read Ann's blog and her book, and happily started on a list, only to find it did not do the magic for them that it did for her? Were they disappointed? Did they feel like failures? Did a list-making not create the grateful heart within? What if there are other equally valid ways to get the same joyful result? I hope these women will not read Ann's words, "The only real prayers ...." and "Prayer, to be prayer ..." and lose heart. I think that would accomplish the opposite of what she hoped.

[Addendum: some prayers to think about:
"God, I thank thee that I am not like other people: swindlers, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax-gatherer ...."
"God, be merciful to me, the sinner!"
Jesus's prayer, instructing us how to pray -- no word of thanks, but much request, reverence and confession.
"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
"Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!" and "Lord, do not hold this sin against them!" Stephen says both these prayers as he is gazing at heaven itself.
My only point here is that, although thanksgiving is a wonderful component of prayer, it is not the essential item that Ann makes it out to be, without which a prayer is not really a prayer.]

Review: One Thousand Gifts, chapter 2

 
In this chapter, Ann launches into her excitement about the Greek word eucharistio. We recognize this term -- the Eucharist -- the Lord's Supper. She examines this event, and from it she gleans one fundamental, essential fact for herself:  that Jesus gave thanks. That's what the word eucharistio means:  "He gave thanks."

Eucharistio becomes Ann's mantra, her theme song, her banner. When she thinks of the Communion, she thinks of giving thanks. As she reads Scripture, she comes upon passage after passage of thanksgiving. It becomes the face she sees in every crowd; it possesses her mind. I've done this in my own Scripture study before, found things that kind of were there, but honestly ... kind of weren't. Adam has been so helpful to me in this area. I've gone to him full of enthusiasm about something I thought I was finding in Scripture, and he would gently, firmly tell me, "Sorry. You're over-reading. It's not there in the Greek." Or "You're bringing things into the passage that really aren't there."

Exegesis is drawing meaning from the passage that is intended. Eisegesis is putting things into the passage that aren't intended.

Ann reads the passage of Lazarus being raised from the dead, and because Jesus gave thanks to God before raising him, she deduces that it was thanksgiving that raised him. Not the power of God. Not the Holy Spirit. But thanksgiving. "Thanksgiving raises the dead!" she says.

Was Jesus's thanksgiving for the bread/wine really the most important thing going on, that evening? No, it was Jesus's sacrifice, the new covenant in his blood, the participation we have in that. Ann mentions that participation, but to her, the fundamental activity is thanksgiving. I mean, have you ever thought of the Last Supper with the disciples and realized, "Wow! The most important thing happening that night was that Jesus thanked God for the meal"? I have not.  The meal itself is the point.

Ann mentions Matt. 11, where Jesus curses the unbelieving cities, and praises the Father for others who will believe. Jesus praises God for the mystery of salvation, which is hidden from the Jews, and revealed to the Gentiles. But what is the big thing happening in this passage? Giving thanks? Or the mystery of God's salvation and how it is realized?

When Ann reads Scripture, she repeatedly finds the thing that's most important to her, and that's normal. We all do that to some degree. We don't all write best-selling books telling the Christian world that this most important thing is paramount to everyone -- that it's the essential element to our salvation. She calls the Lord's Supper, the table of thanksgiving.

Again, she addresses the passage with the ten lepers. One, a Samaritan, returns to thank Jesus for his healing. Jesus tells him explicitly, "Rise and go; your faith has made you well." This man isn't just healed of leprosy; his soul is made right with God. He is saved, as Ann points out. But she associates the man's salvation with his gratitude. "And when did the leper receive sozo (salvation) -- the saving to the full, whole? When he returned and gave thanks.... Our very saving is associated with our gratitude."

Does she go so far as to say that the man's gratitude produced his salvation? Not quite yet ... but she comes perilously close, I think. Again she says, "If our fall was the non-eucharisteo, the ingratitude, then salvation must be intimately related to eucharisteo, the giving of thanks." And then, "The leper's faith was a faith that said thank you. Is that it? Jesus counts thanksgiving as integral in a faith that saves." (p. 39)

"Jesus counts thanksgiving as integral in a faith that saves." What that means is that gratitude is essential to your salvation. You can't be saved without it. It is "integral."

I can't go there. I'll agree that thanksgiving should be a huge part, a daily part, a minute-by-minute part of a believer's life. That we don't have enough of it. That we sin when we don't thank God. But I cannot redefine salvation by stating that my act of thanksgiving contributes to my salvation. My salvation is produced by Jesus's blood, shed for me, and the faith that He gives me to believe in Him -- period. I don't do a thing. Even my thanksgiving is merely a response, and it's a response that He gives me. But it is a varied by-product, from one person to the next. It is not essential to salvation.

I know Christians who can't drum up a thankful heart. Like Ann was, they are very scarred. But I don't write them off as unsaved. I know pagans who are cheerfully thankful every day -- they'll even say "Thank God!" for things. But they don't believe in Him for salvation. Drug addicts are thankful for their next hit. Robbers are thankful for their loot. Adulterers are thankful for their mistresses. And some of them are thankful to God for these things -- they'll tell you. Is there any redeeming quality to that thanksgiving?

I'll be honest; this is not the area of Voskamp's theology that I thought I'd differ with her on! Of all her views (and in spite of the fact that I didn't participate in her 1000-item list exercise), her emphasis on gratitude was, I assumed, the one part with which I would whole-heartedly agree. So I'm disappointed to find that I don't. I go pretty far up to the edge of the cliff with her, regarding gratitude, but I can't take the leap off the cliff which would redefine justification in my theology.

If I were talking with Ann over a cup of tea, I imagine she'd say, "Well, that's not exactly what I meant." And we'd talk and debate and wrangle and end up with a fun afternoon. But I don't have that. I only have her book. And a book is a very different thing from a conversation. A book is permanent, and once you send it off to the world of publication, you're stuck with what you said in it.

I understand that gratitude was the silver bullet, the elixir, the cure-all for Ann Voskamp, and that's a wonderful thing! It isn't that for everyone. I think she drifts close, in this chapter, to stating that it is. Ann desperately needed joy in her life, and gratitude brought that for her. [By the way, I'd love to go into her exegesis of the word eucharistio, in which she links giving thanks with joy, because of their distant similar root, but I don't have time. However, she makes a bit of error there. It's rather like saying that you and your 7th cousin are intimately connected, because of a distant ancestor. A lot changes as the words are further removed from the root.]

Does gratitude bring joy for everyone? I think it can help. But Paul says to the Philippians, "Make my joy complete; be like-minded." For him, joy came when believers are unified in faith and belief. It doesn't just bring joy, but complete joy! Jesus also felt joy, but it wasn't necessarily when he thanked the Father. "For the joy set before Him endured the cross, bearing the shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." Jesus felt joy when he looked at the suffering before Him, and realized that it would soon be OVER, and He would be in heaven, past all the suffering, having accomplished His work.

I feel joy when I think of heaven, of the New Earth. I don't have to dredge up joy over fallen things on this fallen planet. I don't have to force myself to thank God for disease, death, sorrow, abandonment. He can redeem those things, and I can praise Him for His redemption. I thank Him, not for the ugly, but when He takes the ugly away. That's the gospel. Like Jesus, I have joy when I think of heaven. I think Ann does too. I just haven't heard her say it yet, but I'm still reading!

Review: One Thousand Gifts, chapter 1

 

One Thousand Gifts: Chapter One

[This is my promised review of Ann Voskamp's book, One Thousand Gifts. I think I'll review it one chapter at a time. My previous post explaining the purpose of these review posts, is here.]

The death of Ann's sister was a horrible tragedy, and worse perhaps because Ann and the parents had to physically witness the violent death. As Ann's father says, the child didn't just die, she was killed. This left a visual scar on Ann particularly. It does seem that the family handled the tragedy as badly as a family can: extending the damage, nursing the wound, not finding any redeeming aspects to it at all, harboring bitterness and anger. That's the worst possible way to handle any negative event.

That said, the event damaged Ann deeply, into her adult life, when it did not have to. Her parents were probably at fault there, and should have sought ways to keep the death from harming the other children, even if they couldn't keep it from harming themselves. The father's nurturing of the pain seems mimicked in Ann's attitude and feelings. “Losses do that. One life-loss can infect the whole of a life.” They should have kept the initial tragedy from spawning additional ones. They didn't.

Later, Ann describes a better response in her brother-in-law's handling of his boys' deaths. The man attempts to look deeply into God's will and purposes, and is at least able to come to the wise conclusion that life events are best left in God's hands; His acts are perfect even when they include death. Especially when they include death. (I like his understanding of Hezekiah and Manasseh.) Our perspective on death is so skewed, so wrong, so blinded, we cannot assess it correctly. God chooses to remove a precious child from this dark, damaged planet, and take her to safety in heaven, and we humans scream in anger at the rescue? Why do we do that? Because we're selfish. We want the dead loved one here, with us. Ann's parents never helped her to see death correctly.

All that to say, I'd still insist that I've known people, particularly Christians, who have suffered much more grievously than Ann did, and did not respond in such a hateful way. But I think she'd agree with that – that her response was wrong, and needed correction. So that's no criticism of her; it's just an honest statement. Although the death of a child is a deep wound, suffering can get much, much worse than the death of one child, but the real issue is how we respond. Ann responded with darkness. Some people (even pagans!) respond with light. Ann's story will, I think, be about struggling her way to the light. And that is certainly a story worth telling!

I'd like to address one theological issue in this chapter, which she talks about on pp. 14 - 16. She asserts that mankind's fundamental sin is ingratitude – a desiring for something better, not accepting what God gives us in this world. She says, “...what I have, who I am, where I am, how I am, what I've got – this simply isn't enough.” This well of dissatisfaction in her soul is an agony to her, and she sees it as the first sin, as the basic evil.

She does well to examine the Garden of Eden in this chapter, but I look at the issue differently. When humans long for something more excellent, more beautiful, more secure, more fulfilling, I don't see that as a sin. I see that as a longing for heaven – for Eden again, for the New Earth. Are we supposed to be satisfied on this fallen Earth? I don't think so. We can be thankful for many good things God gives us here, but we should never think that we can be satisfied here. We can't. We're designed for heaven, and we can never be fully joyful until we are there with Him.

Ann blames the evils of this broken world on man, on our ingratitude, our lack of satisfaction, on the poison of the first sin. She admits, “I thirst for some roborant, some elixir, to relieve the anguish of what I've believed: God isn't good.” Longing for an elixir for sin isn't a bad thing. It's exactly what we're supposed to long for. For some reason, Ann labels that longing as a sin.

What I'm saying is that I'm supposed to be dissatisfied with this world. It's broken. God doesn't expect me to pretend otherwise. I'm not to put on rose-colored glasses, look around me and say, “It's all beautiful! It's all good! It's all holy!” Because it's not. That kind of adulation is reserved for only one place: heaven. It's an offense to describe other places using language and feelings that are reserved for God's home only. She does not go this far in the first chapter, but I mention it because I've read her blog a lot, and I think I know where she's headed with this idea.

Otherwise, however, I find this first chapter to be very readable, very engaging, and often beautiful. The writing is occasionally disjointed and choppy, but when she sticks to story, she does well.

There is no evidence of the mystic here, that I can find. But I'll say this: Ann's life began with a massive, life-changing experience. She was visual witness to a horrific act. Her sister didn't die of disease in a hospital bed, or die in her sleep; she died a bloody, violent death in front of Ann's eyes. It's possible that this engagement with first-hand experience, early on, made an indelible mark on her, and caused her to look for other, later experiences as a means of compensating for this first one.

Ann Voskamp Revisited -- The Discussion

This is a fair warning to anyone who doesn't want to read another word that might be construed as criticism of Ann Voskamp, her blog, her book, or her ideas. Click away!
That said, my goal is not ever to be critical of Ann Voskamp. My goal is to present the discussion, look at the various points, and make an assessment, and hopefully a careful one, of what's been said. Because there has been discussion. This first post is simply an attempt to let you readers know what's been going on.
First Ann has a beautiful blog, A Holy Experience.
She's also written a much-loved book, One Thousand Gifts.
(Please see the bottom of this post for links to my reviews of the chapters of her book.)

Last year, I wrote a blog post about Ann's blog. It wasn't about her book, because I'd never touched her book. It was meant to be rather light-hearted. It caused a bit of a stir in my usually uninhabited comment section. I only ever intended to address her writing style, compliment her on her content, and ask a simple question, which was answered rather quickly.
That was last summer.

Then sometime last week a facebook friend posted a book review of One Thousand Gifts, written by Tim Challies, a pastor in Canada. You may read it here. He wrote it because he was asked to. Generally, the review was not complimentary. He first addresses her unusual style, and then her content, discussing both without any seeming bias or preference. Then Challies turns to the area of his concern, Voskamp's use of sexual metaphor and imagery in her description of her relationship with God. Although Voskamp's habit of uncomfortable (to me) intimacy on her blog was something that bothered me when I read it for several years, I'd never read it so clearly described, until Challies's review. He ends by saying he would not recommend the book.

Immediately on the heels of this review, another one emerged online. Bob DeWaay, a U.S. pastor and writer on Critical Issues Commentary, wrote a lengthier and more academic assessment of Voskamp's book. You may read it here. He rather harshly mimics her style, but moves on to summarize his criticisms of her book. "Where her work warrants challenge is in her reliance on panentheism, romanticism, sensual language and those whose viewpoints she approvingly cites." Please note that panentheism is NOT the same as pantheism.  I had to look them up to make sure I understood the difference. DeWaay diligently fleshes out his points, quotes from Voskamp frequently to support his arguments, and ends by stating that she is, without doubt, a mystic. Like Challies he does not recommend the book. His review takes into account more theological and cultural issues, and his conclusions about Voskamp's work are more harsh and scathing. I wouldn't consider either pastor to be rude or mean in these reviews. They are simply doing what they're supposed to do: warn Christians about error that they see.

Both men commend Voskamp for her emphasis on thankfulness, a practice sorely lacking among Christians. Both frown upon her frequent references to theologians and writers who are mystics, Catholics, or otherwise not in conformity with whatever is their list of acceptable people to quote. Both dislike that she felt compelled to fly to Paris and achieve her highest experience with God in a Catholic cathedral. I must say, I found the Notre Dame quite lovely myself although I had no mystical experience there.

My intent is to do what I've put off doing:  read the book. I don't own a copy, and I don't intend to spend money on it. I've got a hold on it at the library. When I've finished the book, I'll get back to you on the topics that most concern me: whether Voskamp is a mystic in her writings, and what I think of her use of sexual metaphor and imagery.

Voskamp herself has responded in her own way, on her blog, to the criticism -- I think particularly of Rev. DeWaay. You can read her post here. I'm not quite sure, but I think she may be comparing the trauma of his review to a heart attack. She flatly denies being a mystic, and claims not even to know the meaning of the word. She demonstrates her own fear of having her writings negatively received. (Don't we all!?)  And on another page, which you can read here, she pulls in the "big guns" by having Marvin Olasky, editor of World Magazine, defend her use of sexual metaphor in her descriptions of her relationship with God. The page is basically a long list of quotes from various Christians and a few Scripture passages, which seem to give precedence to this type of writing.

I will not do another "light-hearted" post on this writer. I will not address her writing style, which is simply a matter of preference and has no place in a serious critique. My intent is to find as much common ground as possible, as much to commend as possible, and clearly state any concerns that I see. Anyone is free to disagree with my amateur assessment. I am no pastor, no theologian. I have a BA and an MA in literary studies, and have taught high school English for about 15 years. As well as I can, I will pick apart her book and dissect it for you. That's what I do, as a professional. Anybody who has been telling me to read the book, that's what you've been asking for. This critique will probably take at least two posts.

Here are links to my chapter reviews of 1000 Gifts:
Chapter 1,  Chapter 2,  Chapter 3,  Chapter 4,  Chapter 5,  Chapter 6,  Chapter 7 , Chapter 8

Figuring Out Ann Voskamp

Update: This post below was meant as a quick, quizzical wondering about a blogger I'd read. Note that it was written  in June, 2011. Since that time, I've done more digging into Ann's writing, my initial questions have been answered, and more have surfaced. Thus, I wrote  this post. And then I began reading her book.
  For my chapter-by-chapter reviews of One Thousand Gifts, click on the following numbered links: Chapter One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. And one other post. I hope to finish my review of her book in due time.
NOTE: Please notice that I have now begun my reading of Ann's book, probably more in-depth than most readers. So the post below, which was written quite a while ago, has been superseded by other, more current and accurate posts on this author. Comments on this post are now closed.

You know Ann Voskamp. If you're a female blog-reader, you've probably come across her blog, A Holy Experience. Indeed, you may be one of her avid followers. I'm not, but I do read her sometimes, picking out those posts that dig deeper than her poetic style, into the heart of issues that cut into the Christian life.

This photo lifted from the WORLD Mag article.

I've been bemused by Ann Voskamp. At first I thought she was just another homeschooling mommy blogger, with a really nice site. I read her posts on my Google Reader, because I don't like to fight with her music, pretty as it is. And her posts are so huge, they load slowly. Massive pictures. Nice, quirky photos, but too many close-ups of people's hands and feet.

At first I was truly put off by her writing style. Yeah, I know she's a poet, but does that mean she has to remove all prepositions and articles? Okay, that's an exaggeration, but it's the first thing I noticed about her posts. I'm an English teacher; I can't help it. That minimalist style is okay in a poem, but in prose? Nails on a chalkboard to me.  And I'll say that in the past two years or so, she's moderated her style. I cringe though, when I read other bloggers who are clearly imitating her. Ugh. She's writing like herself; that's what they should imitate -- be yourself, bloggers!

Ann gives an impression of great intimacy on her blog, as if she's speaking to you, her best friend. Blog ladies find this very appealing. Intimacy, however, requires two, and I found early on at her site that if I wanted to contact her, I had to enter the name and email address of another friend first, and that left a deep sense of "ick!" with me. I didn't go back again for a while. If you want to know how friendly she is, here is her hello-to-the-new-reader page.  And for what it's worth, I think she's sincere. But I also think this is a business now, a big business, probably bigger than she was anticipating.

Ann's most known for her new book, One Thousand Gifts, a best-seller and appreciated by her many fans. I haven't read it, but from what I gather, it's a book about being thankful for the gifts God gives us. She did this on her blog -- made a very long list of the diverse things she's thankful for. One thousand of them, I think. And many other bloggers are following her example. If you see a random list of bizarre items on the bottom of a post, numbered #377, #378, #379, you know you've found a Voskamp reader.

And she's been a huge help to so many people. I was prompted to do this post on her, because today I read an article in World Magazine on Ann. The writer noted that Ann does have detractors. I suppose every well-known person does. And I was forced to ask myself, "Self, are you a detractor?" And I am not. I think Ann Voskamp is wonderful. Some of her style and her schtik do not appeal to my preferences, but what are preferences? Phooey, as Nero Wolfe would say. The woman doesn't answer to my preferences.

It's her content that intrigues me. A recent post, "What to Sing in Your Storms," is a good example. She's watching their bean seeds get washed away by rain. A farm family's income for the year. She sits with her daughter, who is thanking God for everything, for every drop of rain! And Ann's assessment of why we must thank Him for absolutely everything was as deep, and hard, and shocking, and as Biblical as it gets. Voskamp says:

"...we have no knowledge of good and evil apart from God; my seeing, it is not omniscient. Can I really see if a death, disaster, dilemma, is actually evil?" (Let's count the human tragedies in history that have eventually worked out for immense good. Corrie ten Boom? Ann Frank? Solzenitzen's imprisonment? Bonhoeffer's death?)

"Giving thanks is only this: making the canyon of pain into a megaphone to proclaim the ultimate goodness of God." (Excellent imagery there)

And this one, this one cut me to the quick, and I have returned to read it over and over, wanting it to cut again, and deeper, so that the incision remains, a scar that will remind me of its truth:


"But this is not easy: That which I refuse to thank Christ for, I refuse to believe Christ can redeem."

All of the things that I refuse to be thankful for, I am denying that God can redeem for my benefit, and for His glory. It doesn't mean He won't redeem them, but it means He will do it while I stand by, saying, "I don't believe." What shame that is for the child of God.


This is getting rather long, and I haven't gotten around to what I wanted to say about Ann Voskamp. Where does the depth come from? This is a woman who is: beautiful, classy, wealthy (yeah, we can see her home, her fabulous school room), with beautiful kids and a devoted husband. She lives near family and has a Christian heritage. From what I can tell, the most gut-wrenching crisis she's ever experienced personally is that she was ridiculed by some other girls in middle school.

I mean, seriously. My daughter's been through that. With one paragraph, I could easily outstrip Ann Voskamp in the category of "personal trials."

And so I'm wondering, where does her depth come from? Because that kind of deep understanding about trials and suffering comes from only one place: experience. She deftly applies God's Word to human suffering, but that's a mechanical task, for anyone who doesn't have the cuts in her heart first.

That's why I'm trying to figure out Ann Voskamp. Because the cuts in her heart that produce these thoughts really should come from more than just some nasty words flung at her out of a school bus window. Not to underestimate the viciousness of an 8th grade girl or anything.

If I could talk to Ann, I'd ask her, where do your deep wells come from? That's what I'd like to know.