American Childhood, African Manhood

 William has become somewhat of a celebrity around Mbabane, and certainly in our neighborhood.  Swazis tell me that it's not uncommon to see white babies around town (although I haven't seen them), but I've gathered that it's extremely rare to see a young child with the father.  It did not take long for him to acquire a Swazi name, so William is known everywhere around Mbabane as "Mandla," which means "strength."  Although the "j" sound does not exist in some African languages, that's not the case with siSwati.  My name translates very well as "Joweli," and that is how I am known.  Swazis often leave off the last syllable of a word, so usually my name sounds exactly like it does in the States, only with two syllables.  [Technically speaking, that's the correct English pronunciation as well, but I like it just fine the way Americans say it!]

Back to the point.  Not only is it unusual to see a young child hanging out with his dad, but the backpack in which I usually carry William is an extreme novelty to people here.  Even in South Africa, I have been asked multiple times where I got it.  I guess they just don't see them here in southern Africa.  Anyhow, one of the things that we noticed right away after moving to Swaziland was how total strangers, even on the street, will absolutely fawn over William.  And when I'm carrying him in the backpack, women will wave and cheer, people will sometimes take photos on their phone, even the men will engage with him and be very friendly [in a good way!].

I had never thought before about how much Americans (in general society) tend not to interact with babies.  Mostly, my social circle has primarily revolved around church my whole life, and church people are generally very friendly and welcoming of babies and children.  But even in America, Allison and I noticed how much having a baby around brightened up a room and, to borrow Allison's phrase, were an over-all "happy pill."  But here in Swaziland, that effect is multiplied about ten times.  And other young children will want to play with William and include them in their games, too.  The family who lives in the flat adjoining ours is a single mom with two daughters plus the mom's sister who lives with them.  I don't know the exact age of the youngest daughter (it's hard to guess the age of Africans, they always look younger than Americans because their skin is so resilient to the sun), but she's somewhere between 6 and 8.  Her name is Nozi [sounds just like how it looks], and she absolutely loves it when William plays with her outside in our courtyard.  She doesn't speak much English, and William doesn't speak at all of course, but they really have a good time.

Going back to my original point again, the sad face of this coin is that many fathers in this culture are at least somewhat, if not totally, removed from their children.  For example, the gardener at the first house we lived in was from a village a couple hours drive away from the city, and would only go home to his family every month or two.  He stayed somewhere in the city during the week because it was too far to commute from his homestead every day, and I'm guessing that it was too expensive for him to travel home every weekend.  I think this is also true of other cultures around Africa as well, but it seems that here in Swaziland there is stigma against marrying a woman unless she has proven that she is fertile (and preferably, has already given birth to a son).  There are other cultural factors as well, including the tradition of lobola, or the "bride-price."  It seems that many men don't marry for the simple reason that they simply can't afford to pay it.  The net result is that it appears to have become traditional in Swazi culture for women and children to be together, generally separated from the men.

To illustrate this point, as a family we went to a traditional Swazi festival to celebrate the new year, just to see what it was all about.  This festival is called Ingcwala.  [This word is virtually unpronouncable to the standard English speaker, because the "c" is a click sound.  If you take out the "c" and just pronounce it how it looks, that's close enough.]  At Ingcwala, basically everyone wears traditional Swazi dress and dances in celebration of the coming harvest season.  In fact, Allison was required to buy a piece of cloth to wrap around her as a skirt over her pants, because inside the Royal Kraal (i.e. traditional homestead) women are not allowed to wear pants.  Inside, the men dance on one side, and the women and children dance on the other side.  When we arrived, I was carrying William in his backpack as usual, and I was strictly warned that we wanted to partcipate in the dance, I could not take him with me.  We decided not to join in the dancing, so this wasn't any big deal.  We enjoyed mingling in with the crowd and observing what was happening.  But again, the point of all of this is to demonstrate how ingrained this is in Swazi culture, this gap between father and children.

But lest you get the idea that all families in Swaziland are like this, let me assure you that they aren't.  I have seen families at our church where the men primarily take care of the kids during the service.  One of the teachers at ZBC is a married Swazi man who has one son of his own and, along with his wife, has adopted four others either orphaned or vulnerable.  Our parish priest lives with his wife and five children.  Another of our Swazi friends has a family, including caring for a child he fathered before getting married, and he and his wife have been married 14 years.  And all of these men have two common denominators -- maybe others as well, but at least two -- they are Christians, and they are employed in well-paying jobs.

Allison was reading an article this past week which explained a saying that they have in Nigeria: "Being a man is more than a full-time job."  It means that there are too many cultural and social obligations than what a man can fulfill by working one full-time job.  It seems as though this applies to Swaziland as well.  More than anything, I feel saddened by these cold realities.  Sometimes I feel guilty to have such a good relationship with my son when so many other sons around me don't have a good (or any!) relationship with their father.  Yet, I suppose that the very best thing I can do both for Africans and Americans, is to be the best father to my children that I can be.

And to pray...

Almighty God, our heavenly Father, who sets the solitary in families: We commend to your continual care the homes in which your people dwell. ... Turn the hearts of the parents to the children, and the hearts of the children to the parents; and so enkindle fervent charity among us all, that we may evermore be kindly affectioned one to another; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.
 -Collect for Families, Book of Common Prayer, p.828-9

Queue on Cue

 I feel like everyone who has lived in a developing country has a story about queueing.  I mean, it's old news.  But I have to tell my story, mainly because it illustrates an aspect of the experience of being a cultural outsider.  I could have saved myself a lot of time and trouble had I known a small yet important bit of information ... something that one can only learn through the experience of living here.  This post brought to you with extreme gratitude to Matthew and Natasha Dukes!

I had to renew our vehicle registration in March, so about the middle of the month I started asking around to see what I needed to do in order to do that.  I learned that I needed to go to the Revenue Office with my vehicle registration document (what they call here in Swaziland a "blue book") and E120, or about 15 US dollars.  No problem.  Some things came up that week and I wasn't able to get to there to complete it, so I had to go the following week, which was right before Easter.  I went to the Revenue Office on Thursday of that week, which was when our house-helper came so that I didn't have to take William with me on this errand.  I had heard that the queue was always long at the Revenue Office, so along with my money and documentation, I also took William of St. Thierry's "On the Nature and Dignity of Love."  I'm a geek ... yes, I know.

I wasn't sure exactly when the office opened, but I figured it was either 8am or 8:30.  I arrived at 8:10, and already the queue was all the way across the parking lot.  The office didn't open until 8:30.  Thankful that I had brought a book along, I got in line and started reading.  From the appearance of things, I think that almost everyone was there for the same reason I was.  Almost immediately I noticed other people in line talking and laughing in small groups, usually two or three people, genuinely looking like they were having a wonderful time waiting in line.  I thought to myself, "Wow, Americans really have something to learn."  You never would have known if these people were angry or frustrated or miserable.  The time came for the doors to open, and the line started moving slowly -- very slowly in fact -- but moving none-the-less.

Now I started to notice something else, too.  I began to notice others (not many) come around from the street, usually well-dressed folks also carrying money and a blue-book, but they did not get in line.  They would mill around for a bit, talking with others either in line or just hanging around, then walk off in the direction of the building.  Ten minutes later I would see them again, seeming to walk away as if they were done with their business.  You can guess what was going on -- just like I guessed what was going on -- and you are probably right.  Swaziland, like most developing countries as well as the under-belly of many developed countries, works on relationship instead of rules.  This didn't really bother me too much in this case, although it did a little, and I definitely took notice of it. [In the course of my working career, I myself have done my share of rule-bending for the sake of professional relationships.  Plus, being a white person in Swaziland, I get far more benefit from this relationship-not-rules paradigm than cost, and I certainly get far more benefit than most Swazis, I'm sure.  So I really can't complain about it.]  The general point here is that this experience of queueing was vastly different than anything I would have experienced in the US.  But the line was moving a few feet every few minutes or so, and I was reading a book that I vastly enjoy.  I thought about trying to engage in conversation with others, but no one around me looked like they wanted to chat.  I'm not proficient enough in siSwati to converse in it, and I didn't want to embarrass someone by talking to them in English if they didn't know enough English to be comfortable.  So I kept on reading. 

Things progressed just like this for an hour, by which time I was now halfway across the parking lot and wishing that I had not worn sandals.  My legs, knees and feet were all starting to get very sore from standing and keeping my balance on uneven concrete.  I had been in line 90 minutes, and it was starting to look like I might be there all morning, if not all day.  I also noticed at this time that the line stopped moving entirely.  I have no idea what was happening inside, but at 9:30am the line did not move for another 30 minutes.  At 10:00am, I gave up and went home.  I had texted Allison about the situation, and one of her research assistants told her that the office was busy because many workplaces were closed for holiday (Maundy Thursday -- and everything is closed here on Good Friday) so many were getting personal business done.  Next week would be better, so I left.

The following Tuesday I was prepared, again armed with William of St. Thierry and hiking boots, hoping to arrive before 8:00am.  I left home at about 7:40, but there was a lot of traffic on the road going into town.  Again, I didn't arrive until ten after 8, only to find that the queue was just as long as the week before.  I promptly got back in my car and drove home, unwilling to have the same experience again.  I returned again on Thursday morning, arriving at 7:30am (with great pride and anticipation!) and was relieved to see the end of the queue only halfway across the parking lot.  I got in line, but this time the gentleman ahead of me began talking to me (in English) almost immediately.  Stanley and I had a remarkably pleasant conversation.  I learned that he had grown up around Mbabane, graduated from high school, had aspirations of becoming an electrician and was taking classes toward that end.  In fact, he was in the queue not to pay his vehicle registration, but to pay the fees for his next term.  Like many Swazis, he was currently looking for a full-time job and asked me if I had a job for him.  Of course I apologized and said, "No, I'm afraid I don't," but I did write down his phone number and told him I would call him if I came across anything.  On more of a downer note, he also told me that he had been there in line the day before and had waited until noon before they came out saying that the computer system was down.  They had sent everyone away, telling them to come back tomorrow.  So Stanley was back, and he assured me, "I have a feeling that everything is going to be OK today."  This wasn't exactly confidence-inspiring, especially since the office doors hadn't opened yet.  But I agreed with him cheerfully, thankful to have someone to talk to.  We talked for an hour, and the time really did go by quickly.

The office opened at 8:30am, right on schedule, and by 8:40 a very pleasant and official-looking gentleman was walking down the rows of people, saying, "Bonkhosi [i.e. friends], our computer system is down.  The technicians are coming, but we do not know whether it will be repaired today."  There were no arguments, frustrations, or even angry words spoken by anyone, that I could hear anyway.  You could tell from the looks on faces that people were not pleased, but I was amazed at the reception of this news.  [I still don't know if this is really a good thing or a bad thing, but I noticed it.]  Everyone just turned and walked away, many of them still talking with each other, although not quite as jovially as ten minutes earlier.  I clapped Stanley on the shoulder as I said farewell, reaffirming that I would call him if I came across any work that he could do.

It turns out that the reason why the computer systems were down is because the organization or company that provides the IT services for all the government computers was striking in demand of better pay.  But rather than just not showing up for work, they were actually shutting down all the government computers across the country for several hours every day.  I have no idea how all this got resolved, I only heard about the situation from a well-connected friend of mine.  But I was in quite a fix, since I was already a week late getting the vehicle registered and not knowing how long it might take me to get it done.  Enter, from stage right, my friend Matthew Dukes.

Matthew called me that Saturday to come over to his house and help him install the wiring for the lights on his house-gate.  Allison was tired and napping that day, so I took William with me and went over to his house after lunch.  His wife Natasha played with William while Matthew and I worked out in the sun, installing circuit breakers and grounding cables.  After we were done working and I was getting ready to go home, I mentioned my queueing woes of the previous week.  Matthew says to me, "You know, there's another revenue office in downtown Mbabane.  They only have a few cashiers there, but no one knows about it so the queue is always short."  Then his wife piped up, "Yes, of course, you must go there!  I went there to register my car and was in and out in 7 minutes.  I got there right at 2pm, when they re-open after lunch."  At this, I was effusive in my praise of them, saying something to the effect that they had saved my life ... or something like that.

Well, it took me thirty minutes instead of seven, but by Monday afternoon, the deed was done.

This is the way things are in a new culture, and there's nothing else to do but just accept it and learn as much as you can along the way.  Things that would take two hours in the US will take two weeks here, for no other reason than we're cultural new-comers who haven't learned in the system yet.  At times this is incredibly frustrating, but there are unexpected advantages as well.  It occurs to me now, while writing this, that the frustrating situation caused me to talk about it with someone else, which then helped provide the solution I needed to the problem I faced.  Relationship, not rules.  It's not the American way so much, but it's the African way. 

Cultural Reflections (6 months)

 "Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a mansion prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.  Amen."

-Collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent

I'm writing this on Christmas Day; so Advent is officially over, and Christmastide is here.  It's been quite an unusual Christmas thus far, especially since being in the southern hemisphere now, we are in the heat of summer rather than the dead of winter.  It was a scorching 95 degrees today; and rather than turkey, we ate impala game pie (well, William and I did; Allison couldn't because she is gluten-free) -- just to mention a couple differences from the normal Christmas routine.

But there was another difference, too, of a different kind.  On Sunday, at the Anglican cathedral in Mbabane, we heard a sermon by a priest (a white man, probably British, who married a Swazi woman has lived here in Swaziland for nearly fifty years) who questioned the Virgin Birth of Christ.  He didn't deny it outright.  But he said that he didn't think that the Incarnation demanded that the birth of Jesus from a virgin mother was necessary for it.  It's not good to say things like this to theologians; it gets us thinking.  I will spare you the diatribe and simply say that I think the priest is wrong.  After the service he wanted to meet us, and he offered us a standing invitation to his farm out in the country for tea.  Perhaps one of these days I'll drive out there and have tea, and a chat.  But the main point here is that I had never before heard, in any church, a priest openly question the doctrine of the Virgin Birth from the pulpit.  Why did he do that?

In other news, I think I have discovered the key to the mystery car problem of a couple weeks ago.  It turns out that the engine is shutting down at odd times when the radiator fan turns off.  Obviously, the problem was new that weekend in Pretoria.  But we don't normally drive the car long enough distances for the radiator fan to come on, so it simply hadn't happened very many times.  But this weekend we drove long enough that I began to find the pattern.  What's interesting to me is that, looking back, our breakdown outside Pretoria still did not follow the pattern.  Since then, every time the car has stalled out, it has started again less than 10 minutes later -- except that one time at the exit ramp where we met Elizabeth a little while after the car stalled.  I can't draw any scientific conclusions from that whole scenario: but I conclude, in faith, that God is good and that He cares about all our needs -- as big as an ill husband, and as small as a beige bookbag.

Another difference from before ... well, two actually ... is that I'm a father now, and I have a son.  These are different things themselves, and they make an astounding difference.  Not in any particular sense, I don't think, or at least I haven't figured it out yet.  I'm still too new at it.  But as I write this, it strikes me that God is a Father, and God has a Son ... although I'm certainly NOT trying to say that I am God, nor am I suggesting that divine relationships are the same as human relationships in general.  Here's all I'm saying: I have these things in common with God now, and I didn't before.  But I don't know exactly what it means.

I'm trying to think if there are any other loose threads to tie up from this Advent season.  I've been thinking a lot -- the working of the Holy Spirit, the goodness and providence of God, the painful reality of suffering.  No matter how you cut the cake, we are born to die.  Hmmm, sounds like someone else I know...

Merry Christmas, world.  Happy Birthday, Jesus.  Gloria In Excelsis!

"Almighty God, you have given your only-begotten Son to take our nature upon him, and to be born this day of a pure virgin: Grant that we, who have been born again and made your children by adoption and grace, may daily be renewed by your Holy Spirit; through our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom with you and the same Spirit be honor and glory, now and for ever.  Amen."
-Collect for the Nativity of Our Lord [Christmas Day] 

"...In the Garden of the Lord..."

Do you hear the people sing
Lost in the valley of the night?
It is the music of a people
Who are climbing to the light.

For the wretched of the earth
There is a flame that never dies;
Even the darkest night will end,
And the sun will rise.

They will live again in freedom
In the garden of the Lord.
They will walk behind the plough-share,
They will put away the sword.
The chain will be broken
And all men will have their reward.

Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade
Is there a world you long to see?

Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring
When tomorrow comes!

So goes the final chorus of the musical, Les Miserables.  As a Hebrew scholar, what's remarkable to me about this piece of exquisite poetry is that nearly all the imagery is taken directly from ancient Hebrew writings in the Tanakh (i.e. the Old Testament of the Bible).  I would like to expound on this imagery as it is used in the song, which mirrors the usage of the imagery in the ancient documents.

First, let's identify the images in the song that are NOT taken from the Hebrew writings: of singing and music; of the valley and climbing; of the barricade and its rhyming term, crusade; of the broken chain; and finally, of distant drums.  The concepts of music and singing are to be expected, since the poem itself is a song set in a musical drama.  The image of the barricade comes from the immediate context, a musical depicting the events of the June Rebellion in Paris during the summer of 1832.  None of these images provide the primary meaning of the lyrics, however.  Rather, particularly in the case of the barricade and distant drums, these images are endued with their meaning in this particular context by the other images in the song, taken from the Hebrew writings.

The most easily recognized images appear in the middle section, the single stanza of the poem that contains six lines instead of the usual four.  Let us examine the first line, "They will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord."  In this line, the author introduces the source text for the poem's imagery as well as the central theme that the poem expounds.  The specific phrase that sets the source text for the poem is, "the garden of the Lord."  This is fairly recognizable as a reference to the biblical story of the garden of Eden, sometimes also called the "garden of God" in the Hebrew writings.  In case there is any doubt of this, the term "the Lord" proves the case.  Since ancient times, the Hebrews would not voice the name of their deity, Yahweh, because of religious traditions rooted in the Ten Commandments.  They would instead say, "the Lord," just as it is rendered in our English Bible nowadays (usually in all caps, the "LORD").   So we have established that the author is drawing from the imagery of the ancient Hebrew writings, as we will continue to see.

Let us now examine the phrase, "They will live again in freedom...."  The key word here is again.  The song is making a statement about a future life; not the present life, but a life after death.  It turns out, this small detail makes all the difference in the song.  What gives the poetry its power is not a pie-in-the-sky type of unfounded sentimentalism that somehow the poor and wretched of the earth will lift themselves from their squalor and everything will be right as rain.  Our collective human experience proves the falsehood of these dreams, honorable though they are.  No, the poem declares that the freedom of the oppressed peoples of the world lies not in this life, but in the next.  Ironically, though, this declaration is paired with a call to action of behalf of poor and wretched souls on earth now.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Where will these poor and wretched people live in freedom?  In the garden of the Lord, i.e. in paradise, with God.  [I won't relate all the details of the story of the Garden of Eden because it's so familiar, but the main point is that humankind is banished from paradise on account of sin, because they have disobeyed God.] This sense of freedom is described throughout the prophetic Hebrew literature in terms of peace; and in a few select locations, using the contrasting ideas of a sword to represent violence and war and a plough-share to represent peace and work (specifically the work of tilling ground).  This image is also familiar, since it comes from the patron text of the United Nations: "They will beat their swords into plough-shares and their spears into pruning hooks.  Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war any more" (Isaiah 2:4b).  This is quoted again by the prophet Micah (Micah 4:3), and a strange inversion of it by the prophet Joel in calling the nations to prepare for war as a divine judgment on Israel (Joel 3:10).  The main point here is that the elysian vision of the Hebrew writers was a return to life in the Garden of Eden -- a life of peace with God, peace with humanity, peace with the cosmos.

When does this paradisical life occur?  The song avers this will happen when the "chain is broken" and "all men have their reward."  At this point, we still do not know what is meant by the chain, so we will pass over it for now.  However, given the biblical imagery already offered in the stanza, we can understand the thought that all men will have their reward.  In the Hebrew vision, the life of peace and justice is brought about because God Himself, as divine judge, will mete out to all people what they deserve.  If we look in the Isaiah text to the line immediately preceding the bit about swords and plough-shares, we read, "[The LORD] will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples" (Isaiah 2:4a).  Again, this is an undeniable theme throughout all of the literature of the Hebrew Bible.  The Hebrew sages continually urge their readers not to fall into wickedness because "the day of the LORD" is coming when He will judge everything and everyone.  Take note of this metaphor ... the day of the Lord. 

So we have now set forth the fundamental ideas of the poem, centered around the middle stanza: that the hope of the poor rests not in the present time, but in the afterlife, living in paradise in the presence of God, following the just judgment of God in dispensing justice both on the oppressor and for the oppressed of the world.  The person and action of God cannot be divorced from this vision, for it is He who actuates it.  But the song goes one step further here to suggest that God will not simply judge on behalf of the oppressed in paradise, but that God is doing so even now, in the present life.  This we will see presently.

We now come to the first image in the previous stanza, i.e. the everlasting fire.  "For the wretched of the earth there is a flame that never dies; ...."  The question is, of course, "What is the 'flame that never dies?'"  Once again, the answer comes from the Hebrew writings.  The specific reference to a fire that never goes out is found in Exodus 3, in the lesser-known story of Moses and the burning bush.  "The angel of the LORD appeared to [Moses] in flames of fire within a bush.  Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up."  In case there is any doubt about who is here in the fire, the text identifies Him two sentences later: "...God called to him from within the bush, 'Moses! Moses!'"  God Himself is the everlasting fire.  The poem is saying that God is the present hope of the oppressed, but that this present hope is grounded in the reality of future judgment, when the night is over and the sun rises.

Let us now consider the nature of this night and the coming dawn.  In the imagery taken from the Hebrew writings thus far, it seems clear enough that the terms night and light are metaphors for death and resurrection.  Not only this, but even the Hebrew text itself uses the same metaphors in the same way!  I have already mentioned that the Hebrew writers referred to the coming judgment of God as the day of the LORD.  In the Hebrew worldview, a day started with the evening; thus the movement of a day in the Hebrew mind was from darkness to light, from dusk to dawn, from night to day.  This same mindset extended to their vision of the afterlife as well.  To the ancient Hebrew, death was not permanent but temporary, like sleep.  In fact, one of the clearest texts showing the Israelite view of the afterlife affirms this very thing.  "There will be a time of distress such as has not happened from the beginning of nations until then.  ...  Multitudes who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake: some to everlasting life, others to shame and everlasting contempt.  Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars for ever and ever" (Daniel 12:1-3).  Death is the sleep of night, followed by the awakening of resurrection, at which time the judgment will occur and the afterlife (or after-death, for some) will commence.  This use of night/darkness contrasted with the coming day/light as metaphors for death and resurrection is central throughout each stanza of the poem and finds its climax in the final line, "...when tomorrow comes!"  Death is the night, the chain, the barricade, the distant drums.  In the future, at dawn, comes judgment, and after that, the world beyond the barricade ... paradise.

All this brings us to the central theme of the poem, the fundamental question that the author asks the listener.  Do you see the world beyond the barricade, or have you shut your eyes?  When the people sing, they are singing of their lostness in the night and their hope for a new day.  Do you hear them sing, or are your ears stopped up?  And most directly, will you join in God's crusade on behalf of justice for the poor and oppressed, not only for tomorrow, but for today?  Or will you, like the general populace of Paris, do nothing?  The drums are beating.  Judgment is coming.  And when it comes, will you stand or fall?

This is the message of the song.   But if you will indulge me for just a moment longer, I want to press the issue a little further -- further than is explicitly expressed in the poem, because the central question of the song begs a deeper question still.  Finally, what actually makes the difference between those who pass the judgment, and those who fail?  I believe the song hints at the answer, but we must look back to the Hebrew writings to see it fully.  In the Garden of Eden story, death is the penalty for sin, and eternal life is only gained by eating the fruit of a certain tree, the Tree of Life.  However, God evicted humankind from paradise and placed the cherubim at the entrance to the Garden of Eden.  Now often, the images conjured up in our minds are one or two large flaming angels, wielding longswords and looking fierce, ready to cut down anyone who attempts to re-enter paradise.  But I do not believe this is the proper conception from the Hebrew text.  And the key lies in the flame imagery, not just highlighted in the song but developed in the ancient writings as well.  Here is my translation of the verse in Hebrew:

"And [God] made to dwell in front of the Garden of Eden the cherubim and the flame of the sword that goes back and forth, to keep the way to the Tree of Life" (Gen. 3:24).

Now, these are my personal opinions only, but I believe the purpose of the cherubim, the flame, and the sword is NOT to prevent humankind from eating from the Tree of Life.  That objective was already achieved by sending humankind out from paradise.  The objective of the cherubim, the flame, and the sword is to ensure that a way remains for people still to eat from the tree and live forever in spite of the punishment of death that has already come to all humanity.  In other words, God has provided a way to escape the punishment -- not to avoid death, but rather to pass through death and come out the other side -- just as Noah and his family came out the other side of the flood, and the Israelites came out the other side of the Red Sea.  If we understand the story of the Garden of Eden in this way, this draws our attention as the reader to these objects in the story: the cherubim, the flame, and the two-edged sword. [Because of the grammatical construction, it's difficult to tell from the Hebrew text whether the flame and the sword are different objects or the same object.]  I will not address the cherubim here because it would take too long to explain.  The flame imagery, in the context of the Hebrew writings, seems to speak of God; that is, that God Himself keeps the way to the Tree of Life, so one must pass through Him in order to live forever.  This much is not difficult to understand.  But what about the sword?

For the answer, let us turn to the book of Revelation, which expounds much imagery from the early Genesis texts.  When St. John sees the vision of the risen Jesus on the Isle of Patmos, he writes, "In his right hand [Jesus] held seven stars, and coming out of his mouth was a sharp, two-edged sword.  His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance" (Rev. 1:16).  And just a little bit later Jesus says, "Whoever has ears to hear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.  To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God."  I believe this refers to the ancient Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden story, just like the tree in the Eternal City mentioned in Revelation 22 also refers to the same Tree of Life. 

Jesus of Nazareth keeps the way to the Tree of Life.  And the message of the Hebrew writings, as developed by the later Jewish writers who came to embrace Jesus as LORD, is that He is the difference between those who stand or fall at the final judgment.  If you claim Jesus, you will forever live.  If you do not claim Him, you will forever die.  The hope of the poor, and of all humanity, is with Jesus.  He is the Flame That Never Dies.