Review by Ea Skyrah -- Who Told You That You Were Naked?
Posted: 08 Mar 2018, 01:36
[Following is a volunteer review of "Who Told You That You Were Naked?" by William Combs.]
4 out of 4 stars
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There is something magical about the title that appears after the fade of the first giggle. “Who told you that you were naked?” I read aloud to myself, the blue flicker of the computer screen flashing in the darkness of my room in the night. Despite the lack of sunlight, the opening novel of William E. Comb’s book reinvents any ill preconception of the Bible itself through modern prose. Indeed, the title grabbed my—and hopefully yours— attention—with the abrupt death of an ewe by the jaws of a lion. Adam heaves the victim’s baby, the left and lonely lamb, over his shoulder, and cares for it. Juxtaposed nicely with mundane acts ie. pebble skipping, Who Told You That You Were Naked awakens the infinite curiosity of mankind from the very origins of life with the full spectrum of biblical references. William E. Combs, a retired Presbyterian minister with Master of Divinity and Doctor of Ministry degrees from Fuller Theological Seminary, paints the canvas of Christianity’s history into a condensed structure with philosophical, psychological, and the cognitive stories of man—and woman.
Hunters of symbolism will have a feast with Who Told You That You Were Naked. Whether it be predatory nature of the lion, the ready supply of lambs, or facets of trees, all raw pillars of the beginning of time orbit one another. Moreover, those with an acquired taste of elevated vernacular, or desiring to trace back colloquialism, will thoroughly enjoy the story. As every face of the Earth has different directions, universal words such as death have its own discrepancies of physical, spiritual, and relational that Combs touches. Later examples include faith. Indeed, rather than encounter “anecdote” or simply “narrative”, readers greet themselves with “vignettes.” Demographically attuned words such as “estesian” flow with the “verdant” paradise east of Eden. The landscape itself lies exposed not just to Adam, but the readers as well. Pulling and enticing imagery spark and stimulate all senses, every adjective armed with intent. Recurring themes of man versus nature, man versus man, and so on and so forth, greet the mind at every turn of the page.
An expert in his study, Combs clearly illustrates his familiarity with the content. It takes a true teacher to readily explain his or her subject without eliciting more confusion—and I found none. Rather, Combs’ words spark more inquisitiveness: did Adam and Eve not demonstrate theory of mind prior to eating the forbidden fruit, and what biopsychosocial approach contributes to the precipitous pain that produces from prevailing to paradoxical perspectives? Did they proceed from the preconventional morality stage—no longer fearing punishment from God—when they took the bite—even as they cowered before God? Combs predicts these puzzled pieces, and asks them himself: Why did they not feel shame until Adam took his bite? (The discussion occurs in chapter two). Notwithstanding, the story of Adam and Eve fully patch together with strips of facts that surprise the reader: after both ate the forbidden fruit and became ashamed of their nakedness, the fig leaves they clothed themselves with actually left rashes all over their arms. No matter the questions, these little details delight the person’s eyes swallowing every enticing and equally excruciating event.
Conversely, Who Told You That You Were Naked strips the theology bare. Without fully interpreting the word of God, Combs manages to brilliantly deduce implications in the intellect of the encountered people, such as the dichotomy of evil and good in relation to understanding and experiencing both. By dancing around the definitions of diction, Combs offers analysis entrenched and expanded—and of course clarifies the concept of nakedness. Pausing at sections of reading, he further offers study questions that regroup the readings—each which offer a plethora of points. Mirror-image perceptions, the just-world phenomenon, and other social psychology descriptions appear in Combs’s analysis. Social science weaves sociology with Adam and Eve providing the tunnel of inner thought—all of which Combs provides, as he says himself, plausible explanations for.
For every reaction, there is an inverse one. Combs touches upon this law of the universe, a set of balanced scales weighing into his writing. While God’s hand in creating difficulty during childbirth models the image of the Punisher, the challenge stirs appreciation for life and bolsters the mother-daughter bond—and the father admiring his wife more because of such. In this, Combs picks apart social traps. However, more volatile issues, such as feminism, become at risk—and consequently this book may skew group polarization. Frankly, the serpent uses Adam’s wife, who was not named at this time, sensitivity at a time she is alone to its advantage. While social norms across different culture today may depict different situations, the story of Adam and Eve passed by word of mouth and engraved in ink cannot adapt and change to the times of today—and thus generates seemingly anachronism. Nevertheless, Combs offers his own counterarguments and analyses found near the end of chapter two.
Combs rakes through the theme of identity, case in point the story of Cain murdering his brother Abel. The perception of other people drive sins and satisfaction, vices and virtues. The variety of lenses into looking into the lives lost, lived, and loved shape biblical verses into a fully story that is Who Told You That You Were Naked. The answer to the title unsurprisingly lies with the simple reflection of self—for sight is everything, and without the discernment between knowledge and wisdom, fundamental understanding clashes with the social script of existing. Every word doubles on the social clock of the time, where linguistics and lessons linger on the tongue and mind. Combs plows through the conduct of other humans, all flawed. Even if a reader has a bone to pick with religion, or Christianity in general, the stories of Paul, Jared, and Jesus issue the topics of forgiveness, faith, and sacrifice, respectively—all lessons learned or to be again.
With this, before I shut off my computer, I readily rate William E. Combs's Who Told You That You Were Naked's wholeheartedly fulfilling, professionally edited, and highly educational book a 4 out of 4. I find that he aptly attains his goal having readers view sin and salvation through different lenses, which thus changes the basic outlook of life and social exchanges. Combs revives the "irrelevance" of the Gospel, and refreshes the memory of the "salt of the Earth" so that even if we do not accept Christianity, we can appreciate each other as human beings—just as Adam and Eve grew as aware of good and evil one they ate the forbidden fruit we chew everyday.
******
Who Told You That You Were Naked?
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
Like Ea Skyrah's review? Post a comment saying so!
4 out of 4 stars
Share This Review
There is something magical about the title that appears after the fade of the first giggle. “Who told you that you were naked?” I read aloud to myself, the blue flicker of the computer screen flashing in the darkness of my room in the night. Despite the lack of sunlight, the opening novel of William E. Comb’s book reinvents any ill preconception of the Bible itself through modern prose. Indeed, the title grabbed my—and hopefully yours— attention—with the abrupt death of an ewe by the jaws of a lion. Adam heaves the victim’s baby, the left and lonely lamb, over his shoulder, and cares for it. Juxtaposed nicely with mundane acts ie. pebble skipping, Who Told You That You Were Naked awakens the infinite curiosity of mankind from the very origins of life with the full spectrum of biblical references. William E. Combs, a retired Presbyterian minister with Master of Divinity and Doctor of Ministry degrees from Fuller Theological Seminary, paints the canvas of Christianity’s history into a condensed structure with philosophical, psychological, and the cognitive stories of man—and woman.
Hunters of symbolism will have a feast with Who Told You That You Were Naked. Whether it be predatory nature of the lion, the ready supply of lambs, or facets of trees, all raw pillars of the beginning of time orbit one another. Moreover, those with an acquired taste of elevated vernacular, or desiring to trace back colloquialism, will thoroughly enjoy the story. As every face of the Earth has different directions, universal words such as death have its own discrepancies of physical, spiritual, and relational that Combs touches. Later examples include faith. Indeed, rather than encounter “anecdote” or simply “narrative”, readers greet themselves with “vignettes.” Demographically attuned words such as “estesian” flow with the “verdant” paradise east of Eden. The landscape itself lies exposed not just to Adam, but the readers as well. Pulling and enticing imagery spark and stimulate all senses, every adjective armed with intent. Recurring themes of man versus nature, man versus man, and so on and so forth, greet the mind at every turn of the page.
An expert in his study, Combs clearly illustrates his familiarity with the content. It takes a true teacher to readily explain his or her subject without eliciting more confusion—and I found none. Rather, Combs’ words spark more inquisitiveness: did Adam and Eve not demonstrate theory of mind prior to eating the forbidden fruit, and what biopsychosocial approach contributes to the precipitous pain that produces from prevailing to paradoxical perspectives? Did they proceed from the preconventional morality stage—no longer fearing punishment from God—when they took the bite—even as they cowered before God? Combs predicts these puzzled pieces, and asks them himself: Why did they not feel shame until Adam took his bite? (The discussion occurs in chapter two). Notwithstanding, the story of Adam and Eve fully patch together with strips of facts that surprise the reader: after both ate the forbidden fruit and became ashamed of their nakedness, the fig leaves they clothed themselves with actually left rashes all over their arms. No matter the questions, these little details delight the person’s eyes swallowing every enticing and equally excruciating event.
Conversely, Who Told You That You Were Naked strips the theology bare. Without fully interpreting the word of God, Combs manages to brilliantly deduce implications in the intellect of the encountered people, such as the dichotomy of evil and good in relation to understanding and experiencing both. By dancing around the definitions of diction, Combs offers analysis entrenched and expanded—and of course clarifies the concept of nakedness. Pausing at sections of reading, he further offers study questions that regroup the readings—each which offer a plethora of points. Mirror-image perceptions, the just-world phenomenon, and other social psychology descriptions appear in Combs’s analysis. Social science weaves sociology with Adam and Eve providing the tunnel of inner thought—all of which Combs provides, as he says himself, plausible explanations for.
For every reaction, there is an inverse one. Combs touches upon this law of the universe, a set of balanced scales weighing into his writing. While God’s hand in creating difficulty during childbirth models the image of the Punisher, the challenge stirs appreciation for life and bolsters the mother-daughter bond—and the father admiring his wife more because of such. In this, Combs picks apart social traps. However, more volatile issues, such as feminism, become at risk—and consequently this book may skew group polarization. Frankly, the serpent uses Adam’s wife, who was not named at this time, sensitivity at a time she is alone to its advantage. While social norms across different culture today may depict different situations, the story of Adam and Eve passed by word of mouth and engraved in ink cannot adapt and change to the times of today—and thus generates seemingly anachronism. Nevertheless, Combs offers his own counterarguments and analyses found near the end of chapter two.
Combs rakes through the theme of identity, case in point the story of Cain murdering his brother Abel. The perception of other people drive sins and satisfaction, vices and virtues. The variety of lenses into looking into the lives lost, lived, and loved shape biblical verses into a fully story that is Who Told You That You Were Naked. The answer to the title unsurprisingly lies with the simple reflection of self—for sight is everything, and without the discernment between knowledge and wisdom, fundamental understanding clashes with the social script of existing. Every word doubles on the social clock of the time, where linguistics and lessons linger on the tongue and mind. Combs plows through the conduct of other humans, all flawed. Even if a reader has a bone to pick with religion, or Christianity in general, the stories of Paul, Jared, and Jesus issue the topics of forgiveness, faith, and sacrifice, respectively—all lessons learned or to be again.
With this, before I shut off my computer, I readily rate William E. Combs's Who Told You That You Were Naked's wholeheartedly fulfilling, professionally edited, and highly educational book a 4 out of 4. I find that he aptly attains his goal having readers view sin and salvation through different lenses, which thus changes the basic outlook of life and social exchanges. Combs revives the "irrelevance" of the Gospel, and refreshes the memory of the "salt of the Earth" so that even if we do not accept Christianity, we can appreciate each other as human beings—just as Adam and Eve grew as aware of good and evil one they ate the forbidden fruit we chew everyday.
******
Who Told You That You Were Naked?
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
Like Ea Skyrah's review? Post a comment saying so!