A Letter to N.T. Wright: HELP!!!
Have you ever had a piece of correspondence you had to write that was so important that you were just never satisfied with how it sounded, no matter how hard you worked on it?
Those of you who stop by here on occasion might know that I've written a book called Parables of a Prodigal Son: The Theologically Grounded Testimony of an Ordinary Scoundrel. I've just completed the final edit and am about to start shopping it around. But since Wright's vision was so integral to the overall theme of the book, I decided that I would send him a review copy with the (slim) hope that he might give it a look.
So over the last few days, I've been working on this cover letter. It's changed about a 1,000 times in my head and about a dozen times on paper. This is what I've got so far, and come hell or high water, I'm gonna send it out on Monday, unless anyone has any comments that may convince me to change a word or two, or a sentence, or the whole darned thing.
Otherwise, I covet your prayers for this endeavor.
The Right Reverend Nicholas Thomas Wright
Auckland Castle
Bishop Auckland
DL147NR
Dear Bishop Tom:
As I am aware that you are uncomfortable with grandiose introductions, at least during your speaking engagements, I will simply say, as will become clear in what is to follow, the written word is far too impoverished to convey my appreciation for having come to know your work and glimpse your biblical vision.
As we have never met, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Raffi Shahinian. I am a husband, father of two, attorney by trade, and a fledgling, stumbling disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ.
I am also a first-time author, which brings me to the rather nebulous purpose of this letter. I have recently completed a manuscript for a short book which I have tentatively titled Parables of a Prodigal Son: The Theologically Grounded Testimony of an Ordinary Scoundrel. A bit of background information may be relevant here.
On November 20, 2002, almost one week after my daughter's first birthday, I undertook perhaps the most faithful action of my life. I abandoned my family. To this day, I continue to label that act "faithful" because it was just that: faithful to the existential/postmodern/atheistic beliefs that comprised my worldview at the time.
Two years later, my wife, who had become a Christian during my absence, found me. I did not particularly want to be found, but the woman who stood before me was not the same woman I knew years earlier. There was something emanating from with her as she communicated to me that she had forgiven me. While I did not have the categories to understand (perhaps, in a sense, even to perceive) that which was emanating from her, it overcame me, and I returned home.
About a year ago, I was grasped by a vocation to tell that story. Parables of a Prodigal Son is the result of that vocation.
At this point, I can almost foresee you thinking, "That's lovely, and thank God, but why are you telling me all this?" To answer that question, perhaps I should start where the book starts:
"Some two thousand years ago, a young Jewish prophet traveled along the dusty byways of Galilee telling a story by which He sought to illustrate the indescribable breadth of God’s grace. The story was about a young man and his quest to find fulfillment. Tired and bored of the humdrums of life tending to the family business, he asked his father for his share of the family inheritance so that he might see what the world had to offer. His father agreed, and off he went to start a new life, to stake his claim in the world.
Two thousand years ago in the Middle East, that young man’s actions would have been considered scandalous, even unforgivable. In twenty-first-century America, it sounds like the start of a small town boy’s coming-of-age tale. A lot changes in 2,000 years.
The indescribable breadth of God’s grace isn’t one of them.
I’ve been told that my family and I have a story that also illustrates the expanse of God’s grace. It does just that, which I think is part of the reason that, until now, I’ve felt a strange sense of unreadiness to tell the story or, to put it in mainstream Christian terms, to “give my testimony.” Giving one’s testimony, in the tradition that I inherited, means standing before your congregation and describing certain events in your life that bear witness to the truth and reality of God and Jesus and the Spirit. But because I somehow knew that mine—my family’s, rather—was recognized as a uniquely powerful testimony that needed to be told, I have never felt prepared to tell it, for several reasons.
First, while I realized that our story clearly bore witness to the workings of the Father, Son, and Spirit, I didn’t fully comprehend how or in what sense that was so. I found that while I was able to articulate my Christian beliefs, and I was able to articulate the story of what occurred within my family, I was never able to integrate the two. The problem, in retrospect, was that my Christian beliefs were, if not wrong, then at least naively incomplete..."
As you may gather, I have since arrived at a point where I believe I can present my testimony in a manner that makes sense within, that is derived from, and that is faithful to the biblical worldview. And, in fact, Parables strives to do precisely those three things.
Which is where you come in.
Very early in the first chapter, I mention that I gleaned a piece of insight "from the Gospels (with a little help from N.T. Wright)," to which I attached the following footnote:
"So as not to repeat this parenthetical on nearly every page, let me say here that Bishop Wright’s scholarship has had an immense influence on me and the beliefs upon which I attempt to live in faith. Those familiar with his work will recognize that influence throughout this book. If you are not familiar with Dr. Wright’s work, I cannot recommend more strongly that you engage with it, and see if you will not thereby be inspired to write a book, or paint a picture, or design a building, or talk with your children, or choreograph a dance, or write a paper for school, that tells the story of God’s redeeming work in Christ for the world (or your little bit of it). I would ask here for the good bishop’s forgiveness for not specifically citing his work when I discuss, as I will often do, the ideas that he so clearly helped to form. Were I to do so, the book would be littered with citation. Let the reader understand that nearly every specific theological insight I articulate in this book, and certainly the big theological picture, is drawn primarily from Wright’s work. As the good bishop taught me to see that we should not seek to rebuild foundations once built, but to erect building upon them, I see this project as precisely such an endeavor, his scholarship being the foundation."
With fear and trembling, therefore, I have enclosed a copy of the manuscript which, unbeknownst to you, you helped write. I referred to this letter as "nebulous," and it is at this point where that term will begin to resonate most, because I am not quite certain why I am sending this to you, though I am certain that I could not do otherwise. I am fully aware that your schedule allows little time for reading material far more significant than mine, and I am not deluded into thinking that you would prioritize this little project. But I send it to you in any event, because I am certain that I could not do otherwise.
I do not ask for a response, I do not ask for your comment. I do not ask for an endorsement or a "blurb." I ask simply for your blessing for the project as I begin to pursue avenues of publication.
Let me close by saying this. I will be dedicating the book to my wife, who so bore and reflected the image of her Creator on that fateful day that she was able to inaugurate my salvation; to my daughter, toward whom I continue to feel like Peter at the second charcoal fire; and to my son, who was born subsequent to these events, and who I regard as something of a tangible seal of God's forgiveness of my sins. I have not yet worked out the words I will use to dedicate the book to them, I have, however, decided upon the words of appreciation I will extend to you, and they are these:
"To Bishop Tom, whom I have never met, of whose fellowship I am not a member, and who, as I have heard in his recorded voice, groans in travail that we are not visibly seen as one, though we are. May this exercise help to bring to your heart a small measure of peace in that regards, Good Bishop."
Grace and Peace,
Raffi Shahinian
Those of you who stop by here on occasion might know that I've written a book called Parables of a Prodigal Son: The Theologically Grounded Testimony of an Ordinary Scoundrel. I've just completed the final edit and am about to start shopping it around. But since Wright's vision was so integral to the overall theme of the book, I decided that I would send him a review copy with the (slim) hope that he might give it a look.
So over the last few days, I've been working on this cover letter. It's changed about a 1,000 times in my head and about a dozen times on paper. This is what I've got so far, and come hell or high water, I'm gonna send it out on Monday, unless anyone has any comments that may convince me to change a word or two, or a sentence, or the whole darned thing.
Otherwise, I covet your prayers for this endeavor.
The Right Reverend Nicholas Thomas Wright
Auckland Castle
Bishop Auckland
DL147NR
Dear Bishop Tom:
As I am aware that you are uncomfortable with grandiose introductions, at least during your speaking engagements, I will simply say, as will become clear in what is to follow, the written word is far too impoverished to convey my appreciation for having come to know your work and glimpse your biblical vision.
As we have never met, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Raffi Shahinian. I am a husband, father of two, attorney by trade, and a fledgling, stumbling disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ.
I am also a first-time author, which brings me to the rather nebulous purpose of this letter. I have recently completed a manuscript for a short book which I have tentatively titled Parables of a Prodigal Son: The Theologically Grounded Testimony of an Ordinary Scoundrel. A bit of background information may be relevant here.
On November 20, 2002, almost one week after my daughter's first birthday, I undertook perhaps the most faithful action of my life. I abandoned my family. To this day, I continue to label that act "faithful" because it was just that: faithful to the existential/postmodern/atheistic beliefs that comprised my worldview at the time.
Two years later, my wife, who had become a Christian during my absence, found me. I did not particularly want to be found, but the woman who stood before me was not the same woman I knew years earlier. There was something emanating from with her as she communicated to me that she had forgiven me. While I did not have the categories to understand (perhaps, in a sense, even to perceive) that which was emanating from her, it overcame me, and I returned home.
About a year ago, I was grasped by a vocation to tell that story. Parables of a Prodigal Son is the result of that vocation.
At this point, I can almost foresee you thinking, "That's lovely, and thank God, but why are you telling me all this?" To answer that question, perhaps I should start where the book starts:
"Some two thousand years ago, a young Jewish prophet traveled along the dusty byways of Galilee telling a story by which He sought to illustrate the indescribable breadth of God’s grace. The story was about a young man and his quest to find fulfillment. Tired and bored of the humdrums of life tending to the family business, he asked his father for his share of the family inheritance so that he might see what the world had to offer. His father agreed, and off he went to start a new life, to stake his claim in the world.
Two thousand years ago in the Middle East, that young man’s actions would have been considered scandalous, even unforgivable. In twenty-first-century America, it sounds like the start of a small town boy’s coming-of-age tale. A lot changes in 2,000 years.
The indescribable breadth of God’s grace isn’t one of them.
I’ve been told that my family and I have a story that also illustrates the expanse of God’s grace. It does just that, which I think is part of the reason that, until now, I’ve felt a strange sense of unreadiness to tell the story or, to put it in mainstream Christian terms, to “give my testimony.” Giving one’s testimony, in the tradition that I inherited, means standing before your congregation and describing certain events in your life that bear witness to the truth and reality of God and Jesus and the Spirit. But because I somehow knew that mine—my family’s, rather—was recognized as a uniquely powerful testimony that needed to be told, I have never felt prepared to tell it, for several reasons.
First, while I realized that our story clearly bore witness to the workings of the Father, Son, and Spirit, I didn’t fully comprehend how or in what sense that was so. I found that while I was able to articulate my Christian beliefs, and I was able to articulate the story of what occurred within my family, I was never able to integrate the two. The problem, in retrospect, was that my Christian beliefs were, if not wrong, then at least naively incomplete..."
As you may gather, I have since arrived at a point where I believe I can present my testimony in a manner that makes sense within, that is derived from, and that is faithful to the biblical worldview. And, in fact, Parables strives to do precisely those three things.
Which is where you come in.
Very early in the first chapter, I mention that I gleaned a piece of insight "from the Gospels (with a little help from N.T. Wright)," to which I attached the following footnote:
"So as not to repeat this parenthetical on nearly every page, let me say here that Bishop Wright’s scholarship has had an immense influence on me and the beliefs upon which I attempt to live in faith. Those familiar with his work will recognize that influence throughout this book. If you are not familiar with Dr. Wright’s work, I cannot recommend more strongly that you engage with it, and see if you will not thereby be inspired to write a book, or paint a picture, or design a building, or talk with your children, or choreograph a dance, or write a paper for school, that tells the story of God’s redeeming work in Christ for the world (or your little bit of it). I would ask here for the good bishop’s forgiveness for not specifically citing his work when I discuss, as I will often do, the ideas that he so clearly helped to form. Were I to do so, the book would be littered with citation. Let the reader understand that nearly every specific theological insight I articulate in this book, and certainly the big theological picture, is drawn primarily from Wright’s work. As the good bishop taught me to see that we should not seek to rebuild foundations once built, but to erect building upon them, I see this project as precisely such an endeavor, his scholarship being the foundation."
With fear and trembling, therefore, I have enclosed a copy of the manuscript which, unbeknownst to you, you helped write. I referred to this letter as "nebulous," and it is at this point where that term will begin to resonate most, because I am not quite certain why I am sending this to you, though I am certain that I could not do otherwise. I am fully aware that your schedule allows little time for reading material far more significant than mine, and I am not deluded into thinking that you would prioritize this little project. But I send it to you in any event, because I am certain that I could not do otherwise.
I do not ask for a response, I do not ask for your comment. I do not ask for an endorsement or a "blurb." I ask simply for your blessing for the project as I begin to pursue avenues of publication.
Let me close by saying this. I will be dedicating the book to my wife, who so bore and reflected the image of her Creator on that fateful day that she was able to inaugurate my salvation; to my daughter, toward whom I continue to feel like Peter at the second charcoal fire; and to my son, who was born subsequent to these events, and who I regard as something of a tangible seal of God's forgiveness of my sins. I have not yet worked out the words I will use to dedicate the book to them, I have, however, decided upon the words of appreciation I will extend to you, and they are these:
"To Bishop Tom, whom I have never met, of whose fellowship I am not a member, and who, as I have heard in his recorded voice, groans in travail that we are not visibly seen as one, though we are. May this exercise help to bring to your heart a small measure of peace in that regards, Good Bishop."
Grace and Peace,
Raffi Shahinian
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