A few weeks ago, the Blog Antagonist posted about her son’s questions about evolution and God. Several of us commented on her post that we believe in God and also accept the reality of evolution. BA politely asked us to explain how exactly we do that. So here’s my take on this.

Evolution - the scientific theory that gene frequencies change over generations in reaction to environmental stimuli - is a proven fact. It has been observed in laboratories and in field work. If you want to read up on the subject, try Jonathan Weiner’s Beak of the Finch or David Quammen’s Song of the Dodo, both highly readable books that explain difficult scientific ideas simply and entertainingly for the non-scientist.

Even Christian opponents of evolutionary theory now recognize that evolution of certain species has been observed, so they now distinguish between micro-evolution, which they will accept, and macro-evolution, which they deny. Some will admit that a different kind of fish can evolve from a fish, but they will not accept that a bird can evolve from a dinosaur.

But if evolution has been demonstrated in small ways over short periods of time, it makes perfect sense that changes accumulate over large periods of time. And, in fact, that is exactly what the fossil record suggests. In other words, I accept the reality of evolutionary history because the evidence for it is compelling.

But BA’s question is not why I accept evolutionary theory, but how I can do so and maintain my Christian faith at the same time. That requires a little exploration of why people think the two are contradictory.

There are two general categories for supposed inconsistencies between Christian faith and evolution. The first is the belief that evolution is inconsistent with the existence of God.

Science studies the natural world, the world that can be observed with the five senses. Even something like dark matter, which nobody can see or touch or define, is known from its effects on what we can observe with instrumentation (which is, after all, merely an extension of the senses). Science deals in material explanations for material phenomena.

God, though involved in the material world, is not himself material. Our faith describes God as spirit, something we define primarily by what it is not. Spirit is not physical, it is not limited by time and space, and it does not have an end. There is no place where God can be slipped under a microscope. There is no place where God is not.

Science may not be equipped to say anything about God, but it does speak about history. Since Christians believe that God acts in history, there are opportunities for disagreement here. The second category of disagreement between evolution and Christianity - and the bigger issue for Christians - is the seeming contradiction between scientific accounts of our biological history and the Bible’s account of creation.

I believe with the church throughout history that the Bible is revelation from God. I think that the Christian’s approach to the Bible should be one of submission: I read the Bible in order to trust, obey and serve God. Through study, I immerse myself in scripture and allow it to shape my soul.

Things get a little trickier when you read scripture not on its own terms, but looking for an answer to a question. The formulation of the question often determines its own answer. If you read Genesis asking, “What does the Bible say about evolution?” you will not find an answer to that question and you may miss the more important theological meanings of the text.

Interpretation is important, but not all the church reads the Bible the same way. You can see this, for example, in how the Roman Catholic church responds to evolution. Roman Catholicism interprets the Bible through the magisterium, the authoritative traditions of the church. Because the magisterium is trusted to keep the church faithful to the true meaning of the Bible, Genesis 1 and 2 are allowed a degree of allegory and metaphor that make many Protestants uncomfortable.

For Protestants, scripture is supposed to be the rule by which we measure tradition. Only scripture itself can tell us when it is allegorical or metaphorical. And many Protestants get a little queasy at the thought that anything in scripture can be non-literal.

I believe God made the world, and is the omnipotent and gracious ruler of it. I don’t think that Genesis 1 and 2, which have inconsistencies between themselves, are meant as a piece of journalism telling us exactly what happened and when and in what order. Whether from a Roman Catholic or a Protestant perspective, Genesis 1 and 2 may legitimately be read as non-literal.

We all know what a day is and has always been: the amount of time it takes the earth to rotate completely on its axis, or, in ancient terms, the amount of time it takes for the sun to rise once and rise again. And, according to Genesis, when exactly was the sun made?

The fourth day. I think that ought to holler metaphor at us.

There are a lot more of us Christians who accept evolutionary history than you might suppose. Try reading about this guy. Or, for a different perspective that still incorporates evolution, try Stephen Barr’s article “The Miracle of Evolution.”

Az read all your appreciative comments on the previous post and he said, “I wish I’d had fifteen women talk that way about me when I was single.”

After my last post about Az the Beloved, some of you seem a little concerned. Could I have snagged the elusive hetero-sensitive husband? Do I know some ancient husband-training secret? Is he genetically predisposed to perfection?

Now that is an unhealthy temptation to put before any wife. I can make mental lists of all his flaws on any cranky day, and then spend the next two weeks struggling to forget the list I so unwisely made.

But our anniversary is approaching, and I have an anniversary tradition I indulge in sporadically, and this seems the perfect time. So here goes. Note that this list must be original each year, and contain no duplications.

Another Top 50 Reasons to Love Az the Husband

1. He never yells at me when I leave the tools out in the rain.

2. Whenever I ask if a dress looks cute on either of our girls, he says, “Cute isn’t something she wears. Cute is something she is.”

3. He never considers food overcooked. This has saved many a meal.

4. He brags about my baking to other people.

5. He revels in being “the married guy” on his shift.

6. He is brave, and won’t let me tell you the stories that prove it.

7. He calls my huge, clodhopper feet, “baby feet.”

8. He still cares what I think about everything.

9. I said, “You better not have a midlife crisis and leave me for some younger woman.” He said, “Veronica, you are my younger woman.”

10. He reads to me.

11. He makes a mean red beans and rice.

12. He does laundry.

13. When I am a tired, worn, sleepless mother who has not showered in a week, he tells me I smell good. He may be lying, but if so, he’s good at it.

14. He watches bad movies with me.

15. He loves living without a tv.

16. He still goes to church with me when he has been up working the night before.

17. He loves books as much as I do.

18. He hates NASCAR.

19. Sports bore him.

20. He sat on a jury for a particularly despicable crime, and kept the disturbing details to himself.

21. He tells me my garden looks good. This is rarely deserved.

22. He lets me take a few bites from his plate every time I ask (I don’t ask often).

23. He can make conversation with absolutely anyone.

24. He looks like a lumberjack, but thinks like a geek. And yes, that is too sexy.

26. His eyes still twinkle at me.

27. He once had a sty in his eye, and asked me to lance it. Yes, that is gross, and I didn’t do it, but the man trusts me to PUT A NEEDLE IN HIS EYE.

28. He never complains about the fact that 3/4 of the closet space is mine.

29. He lets me pick out what shoes he buys. And he seems kinda proud to have a woman there picking out his shoes.

30. He never complains about picking up something from the grocery store - even the embarrassing somethings.

31. This image in my memory: my handsome man in faded levis and a white button down oxford, with my daughter’s sippy cup sticking out of his back pocket.

32. The way my youngest gleefully shrieks “Daddy!” whenever he comes home.

33. He never takes off his wedding ring. I don’t require that, but I still find it charming.

34. He walks through cemeteries with me and has exhaustive conversations about the etymology of the names on the headstones (we are nerdy, people).

35. He is willing to play what-will-we-name-our-next-baby whenever I want, for as long as I want, even when I’m not pregnant. And makes me laugh by suggesting names of obscure Reformers (no, we are NOT naming our next child Oecolampadius).

36. He reads my blog comments even before I do. He likes to see people liking what I write.

37. On the very, very rare occasions when he is embarrassed, he blushes.

38. The bluest eyes I have ever seen.

39. He can stand against the world, as long as I am happy with him at home.

40. He is willing to move in with my parents. Words cannot describe.

41. He is able to forget past girlfriends by an act of will. I’ve never seen anything like it.

42. He reads to our girls almost every day.

43. He can enjoy the fanciest gourmet meal, and the next day still be delighted over macaroni and cheese.

44. On my biggest, frizziest hair days, he tells me my hair is beautiful.

45. When I remind him we must forgive someone, he grumbles but tries to do it anyway.

46. He plays Scrabble with me, even though I usually win. And he crows when I lose.

47. He remembered our exact wedding date today, and I forgot it.

48. He claims a beautiful woman is shaped like a classical guitar: bottom-heavy.

49. He decently airs out the bathroom afterward. We have been married ten years, people. This is important.

50. It only took me an hour to write this list.

JellyBean is at that stage of potty-training where she cannot be relied upon to use the potty, but she dislikes wearing a pull-up.

The other night I was getting ready for bed when I heard her crying. Through her door, it sounded like she said “threw up,” so I went in to check on her. She was calling, “Wanna fresh pull-up!” She had taken off her (perfectly dry) pull-up early in the evening, fallen asleep, and peed on her bed.

I put her pull-up back on and pulled her out of bed to change the sheets. She hadn’t wet much, just the sheet and - gasp! oh no! - Special Blanket.

JellyBean does not have a binkie or a wubbie or a blankie. She has always tried carefully to pronounce everything the way grown-ups do. When she was 11-months-old she called a sippy cup of water “hauf.” I thought it was so cute that I started asking her if she wanted “hauf.” She stopped immediately and called it “water” ever after. She has had a few adorable mispronunciations (ladybug was waaaaay-be-gud and teddy bear was, for inexplicable reasons, Thibodaux), but pet names for objects are beneath her dignity. The blue and yellow baby quilt my sister made for her, which she has slept with since she was tiny, she has always called Special Blanket.

It was one-o-clock at night and Special Blanket was wet with urine. I changed her sheets, gave her a substitute blanket, and explained why Special Blanket had to be washed. Then I closed the door.

I expected crying. Sometimes when I put her to bed, she cries about it for a little while, and then falls asleep. She has energy to work off, and she lets me know if she is in any real distress. I am used to the variety of her cries.

I did not expect roaring. It sounded like a tornado, a blizzard, some phenomenal act of God happening in our upstairs. “OOOOOOHHHH - AAHHHHH - WAAAAHHHH - SPEEEECIAL BLAAAAANKEEEET!”

I thought I could wait till morning to wash it. I waited, hoping she would calm down. She did stop crying, but she would not sleep without Special Blanket. Instead she stayed awake shouting and playing and screaming. Az the Disgruntled went to talk to her. It turned to crying again. “WAAAAAHHHH - AAAAAAAHHHHH - MAAAAAAAAAA - SPEEEECIAL BLAAAANKEEET!!!”

Az the Loving, Az the Wonderful, Az the Letting His Wife Sleep, washed and dried Special Blanket and brought it to JellyBean, who had drifted into a grudging sleep. He brought it to her warm and clean, and said “Here’s Special Blanket.” She didn’t say a word or open her eyes, just held her arms up until he covered her.

And I slept until Az woke me in the morning with a fresh cup of coffee on the nightstand.

I guess I have my own Special Blanket.

Everybody loves a good movie. But a few of us love the bad ones. Not just any bad movie; there are too many of those to bother with. But two kinds of bad movies lure me into watching: movies whose ambition is such an abysmal failure that I cannot look away from this artistic trainwreck (#1,2,3,5), or movies whose effrontery in even being made shocks me into mouth-gaping attention(#4).

1. Zardoz - This 1974 futuristic tale stars Sean Connery, Charlotte Rampling and special effects that will make you cringe. I don’t want to give anything away, but let’s just say there is a big floating head that’s really some kind of hovercraft that people ride inside. And the women wear a lot of muscle-shirt mesh. A deeply misogynist movie, its point seems to be something like women need the threat of male violence to keep their lives interesting.

2. Battlefield Earth - L. Ron Hubbard. John Travolta. Only religious fervor could make a movie this bad.

3. Barbarella - Jane Fonda’s famous shocker, and I’m not talking about Vietnam. The entire movie is really just an excuse for Fonda to be naked. And don’t miss David Hemmings (Monty Python: “The Part of David Hemmings will be played by a block of wood”).

4. Nice Girls Don’t Explode - Let me just explain the set-up to you. A girl has grown up believing, because her mother tells her so, that if she becomes sexually aroused, her uncontrollable pyrokinetic powers will burn the people and things around her. Yep. That’s right. She can’t date, because it might kill somebody.

5. Ishtar - Warren Beatty and Dustin Hoffman - how could it be bad? This one made headlines for its abysmal reviews and box office returns. I actually saw it in the theater. It was tedious, and perhaps should be covered by the Geneva Conventions for this chorus alone, which still wakes me up out of a sound sleep sometimes:

“Telling the truth can be dangerous business;
Honesty and popularity don’t go hand in hand.
If you admit that you can play the accordion,
No on will want you in their rock-n-roll band.”

I know that from memory. Oh no. Now I will hear this for weeks (on a hopeful note, I intend to sing it loudly to my future teenagers when I feel like exasperating them into silence).