Quintessence of Dust: A Review of "Clay in the Potter's Hands" by Diana Pavlac Glyer

Hamlet, after hymning the glories of the human creature, scoffs, "And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?" It's not a bad place to begin pondering Diana Glyer's "Clay in the Potter's Hands." Glyer, herself a skilled potter, combines her vast knowledge of the intricacies of that craft with the biblical image of human beings as being made from dust. In the end, she provides a rich answer to Hamlet's rhetorical question. "Clay in the Potter's Hands" has several virtues that are, in my experience, rare in a Christian devotional book: It exegetes but does not over-reach, it favors substance over pithiness or prettiness, and it comforts without cloying. More to the point, it thickens the soul.

Glyer exegetes but never over-reaches. The author is not a theologian and she's not a pastor. She teaches English at Azusa Pacific University. Now, the teaching of English is a noble calling and Azusa is a Christian institution, and Glyer is clearly a serious and studious believer, but that combination does not qualify one to speak authoritatively in the field of Christian doctrine or the interpretation of Scripture. Glyer recognizes this fact. From the opening sentence, the reader knows that he has encountered a book of devotion - the thoughts of a devout Christian regarding her own rich spiritual experience. At the same time, Glyer does not offer a froth of uninformed emotion devoid of biblical content. When she does deal with Scripture (and these occasions are not rare) she keeps it simple and keeps it sound. Her Hebrew word-study on the verb "formed" in Genesis 2.7 provides an excellent example. In the same vein, Glyer cites Jeremiah 18.1-2ff, the inevitable text for a book about pottery as a spiritual metaphor, but avoids the mistake of trying to impose the full craft of pottery on what is, in context, a laser-focused image. Instead, she mentions the multiplicity of God-as-potter-people-as-clay language throughout the Bible and works from there.

Glyer favors substance over pithiness or prettiness. She writes beautifully, in pellucid prose of short, familiar words in compact sentences. She avoids any sort of verbal gingerbread. As I read I thought of the critic whom Hamlet cites on the subject of his favorite tragedy, exulting that there are

no sallets in the lines to make the mattersavoury, nor no matter in the phrase that mightindict the author of affectation; but called it anhonest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by verymuch more handsome than fine.

"Very much more handsome than fine": exactly! In fact, one surprising virtue of the volume is the lack of "quotable quotes." I call this a virtue because it arises from the fact that Glyer goes beyond maxims and quips. Again and again I discovered that pulling out isolated passages to share with others would feel like a surgeon yanking the lungs from a living patient in order to show a class of interns the elegance of their function: Glyer writes so organically that any single phrase comes to life only in its intricate connection to the larger work. If I attempt to isolate individual lines, I "murder to dissect."

Finally, the book comforts but does not cloy. So many devotional books deliberately seek to spin out sweetness like devotional cotton candy and leave the reader feeling that the road that leadeth unto life, while perhaps strait and narrow, is at least well-upholstered. By contrast, Glyer dives straight into the rough-and-tumble of the Christian life and uses her governing metaphor artfully to do so. I don't suppose I ever thought of pot-making as a violent process but throughout the book the reader winces as the potter pounds and purifies, bakes, smashes, and - perhaps worst of all - ignores the clay in order to move it from mud to artifact. This is a writer who knows that sinners do not become saints without some suffering. She writes in the vein of John Donne, who prayed:

That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.

So where does the comfort come in? Again and again Glyer assures the reader that a master potter never inflicts suffering except to serve the ultimate purpose. Chapter 14, "Redeeming," is by itself worth the price of the book.

In an Evangelical culture where bad devotional books multiply like tribbles on Star Trek, Diana Pavlac Glyer offers us a simple yet substantive volume of meditations on the Christian life, presented in the form of a vivid controlling metaphor soundly anchored to Scripture. I cannot recommend the book highly enough.