And here we come to another observance of “All Saints Sunday.” Or is that “All Souls”? Or both? For many of us, confusion reigns. A few definitions first, a bit of history, and then we shall trace a trajectory within which we might find ourselves.
First, let’s define a key term: “saints.” For many of us, that word dredges up sepia images of anemic holy over-achievers, hands piously folded, eternally floating just about an inch off the ground – or ossified museum pieces stuck on a pillar, displayed as an example to roll out annually to hold over the heads of the rest of us ordinary slobs. Why on earth would anybody in their right mind want to create a day like “All Saints”? Every few hundred years, the Catholic Church must clean out the rolls, clear away the accumulated underbrush of saints days on the calendar, as this or that Famous Christian Hero acquires his or her own special memorial day. Sainthood is always in danger of becoming merely a kind of holy merit-badge. And then the phenomenon itself leaps into the realm of cult mysticism. I remember in the 1990s, a bakery discovered that one of its rolls, when viewed from a certain angle, bore an uncanny resemblance to Mother Teresa. Made the newspapers, the evening news. Hundreds came to venerate, or at least to check it out, the half-baked image of a saint. Which is where all too many of them remain – an oddity, packaged up for public consumption. Dorothy Day is reported to have once growled, “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily!” (quoted in Joan Chittister, The Liturgical Year [Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2009], p. 191).
When the Church created a commemoration of “saints,” it’s just possible that it may have had something else in mind. What is a “saint”? Delve into the New Testament, and you will find Paul tossing that word about with gleeful abandon when he’s talking about – ordinary Christians (see, e.g., Romans 1:7; I Corinthians 1:2; Philippians 1:1). “Called to be saints,” he says, by which he means each and every one who follows Christ. We didn’t just up and decide one day to follow Christ – we were summoned by God to live into the new reality created by Christ’s life, death, and new raised life, and in that reality we are made holy – formed into a new people to exhibit to the world the new “way” of Christ. Animated by the spirit of the crucified-and-risen Jesus, we now live toward the new social reality of God (which some call the “kingdom of God”). Made “holy” by the living spirit of Jesus – we did not achieve such on our own; indeed, we cannot do so by our own devices. “Sainthood” is not an accomplishment, but rather a new orientation which grips us like a powerful magnetic field. You could say that “saints” are ordinary people grabbed by God, ignited and now burning with a holy passion to become everything God calls them to be – and to reorient human society itself to God’s New Way of love.
It wasn’t too long before such a single-minded devotion to God’s New Way got them in trouble. Those who refused to renounce their faith were executed, of course, in spectacular ways. But each went to her or his death intending for it to be a public witness serving notice that God’s Way was the best way for all. The very word, “martyr,” means “witness” – as in, my death = my final act of evangelism. Each congregation kept a roll of those who died, on “diptychs,” two tablets hooked together by leather straps, which they pulled out and read aloud every week at Eucharist. By so doing, they declared: “these ‘witnesses’ shared their Lord’s witness to the love of God. We will remember them and their witness.” As in, “gone but (most definitely) not forgotten.” Their “witness” lives on to inspire our own. In fact, a martyr’s death was called their “baptism by blood,” and viewed as their “birthday” into life eternal. And so the Church began to remember those whose passion for Jesus and his way led them to join the Passion of Jesus. By reading aloud the roll of martyred “saints,” the Church offered role-models to show the rest of us how it can be done. As in, “now go and do likewise, in your own idiom.”
After a millennium, the Church formalized this remembering of saints, and then adding a second date for the rest of us second-stringers whose lamps of faith may not have burned quite as brightly. Despite the inherent hierarchy of “All Saints” followed by “All Souls,” one fact remains: you will not be forgotten. Just as God has promised, “I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands” (Isaiah 49:15-16), so the community of God will not forget those in Christ who have died. The “communion of saints” extends beyond death; those who have died are “hidden with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:3). They are kept safe.
And so we gratefully remember those who have died, who are gone from our midst, all “saints” and all “souls,” in the confidence that the final breach of death will be healed. We remember them in hope, as gifts from God. “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1). The presence of the “saints” challenges us to imitate them. On one level, of course, they offer their holy flame to ignite our own. We can dare to believe ever more deeply in the Way of Christ, because they did. Every year’s commemoration spurs us onward in our own faith-journey. More deeply, though, their faith confronts us with a stark choice. We, too, are “called to be saints” in this time and place. As they did in their day, we today can resist the cascading “society of spectacle” (Guy Debord) in which the media seduce us into an attention span of a strobe light; we can protest the reduction of human beings made in the image of God to either commodities or enemies. Their faith in God propels us toward our own faith that the future is not closed, but rather open in God: un-finished, un-managed, possessed of multiple options. We declare with them that every last human being is precious, a beloved child of God’s heart. And that the love of God has already occupied Wall Street, and every other street. We remember in order to rehearse for our own faith-filled activity. The pressure of their bestowal urges us to labor toward making real in this world the New Reality of God proclaimed by Christ. With poet Nelly Sachs, they announce: “Someone/ will take the ball/ from the hands that play/ the game of terror” (O the Chimneys [New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1967], p. 153). And they are looking at us. We honor them best not by warming our hands in the fire of their faith, but by burning afresh. The memory of their contribution presses us to ask ourselves, “what is my own contribution?”
It is, after all, the same God we worship, the same Christ we follow, with the same agenda for all of Creation. The annual commemoration of “All Saints,” of “All Souls,” can be, of course, a time to dust off those museum-piece relics another year. We’ve heard those sermons time and again.
But . . . what if, to swipe an image from Croatian writer Dubravka Ugrešić (Thank You for Not Reading: Essays on Literary Trivia, trans. Celia Hawkesworth, [N.p.: Dalkey Archive Press, 2003], p. 220.), what if those “saints” we remember are “not a message in a bottle, but bait,” dangled by the hand of God?
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Thursday, October 27, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Language for Preachers
Once again, what you heard in Seminary: K.I.S.S.: "Keep It Simple, Stupid." There, don't we all feel uplifted! More seriously, as we who would preach something resembling the Word of God -- or a word from God through our poor words! -- know all too well, techno-speak is murder to comprehension. This is why storytelling is so fabulously popular.
But ordinary language is what folks use in everyday conversation. So conversational language is what best carries the freight of the words of our sermons. This entry in Paul Krugman's blog, "Conscience of a Liberal" simply underscores this notion, coming from the flying keys of a Nobel-winning economist: "But, And, Why."
Preaching to the soul of our hearers is work -- as preachers know all too well. But we are not left alone. That Word hurled to the world (Isaiah 55:11) is doing most of the work for us already, and the One who stepped into human skin -- technical term: "incarnation" -- is also carrying the heavy end of the load (check Matthew 11:28-30). Just as the Word eternal (John 1:1) landed on planet earth as a back-woods Galilean, in a land occupied by Roman power, so now that very Word inhabits our words. Let's make it easier for God to get the Good News across to contemporary ears, by K.I.S.Saints.
Bob
But ordinary language is what folks use in everyday conversation. So conversational language is what best carries the freight of the words of our sermons. This entry in Paul Krugman's blog, "Conscience of a Liberal" simply underscores this notion, coming from the flying keys of a Nobel-winning economist: "But, And, Why."
Preaching to the soul of our hearers is work -- as preachers know all too well. But we are not left alone. That Word hurled to the world (Isaiah 55:11) is doing most of the work for us already, and the One who stepped into human skin -- technical term: "incarnation" -- is also carrying the heavy end of the load (check Matthew 11:28-30). Just as the Word eternal (John 1:1) landed on planet earth as a back-woods Galilean, in a land occupied by Roman power, so now that very Word inhabits our words. Let's make it easier for God to get the Good News across to contemporary ears, by K.I.S.Saints.
Bob
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Preachers' Bibliography for Sundays After Pentecost (Ordinary Time)
(* indicates a good place to start)
Dunn, James D. G. Jesus and the Spirit: A Study of the Religious and Charismatic Experience of Jesus and the First Christians as Reflected in the New Testament. London: S.C.M. Press, 1975.
González, Catherine, and Justo González. "Babel and Empire: Pentecost and Empire." Journal for Preachers 16/4 (Pentecost 1993): 22-26.
Moltmann, Jürgen. The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992.
*Rouwhorst, Gerard. “The Origins and Evolution of Early Christian Pentecost.” Studia Patristica 35 (1999): 309-22.
Saunders, Stanley P., and Charles L. Campbell. "Anything But Ordinary: Worship and Preaching in Ordinary Time." Journal for Preachers 18/4 (Pentecost 1995): 25-31.
Social Themes of the Christian Year: A Commentary on the Lectionary, edited by Dieter T. Hessel. Philadelphia: Geneva Press, 1983, 210-53.
Trinity Sunday:
Alfs, Matthew. Concepts of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit: A Classification and Description of the Trinitarian and Non-Trinitarian Theologies Existent within Christendom. Minneapolis: Old Theology Book House, 1984.
Brown, Sally A. “Speaking Again of the Trinity.” Theology Today 64 (2007): 145-58.
Hayden, Hilary. “The Trinity in Liturgy: Reflections on God for Us.” Liturgy 13/1 (Winter 1996): 51-59.
*LaCugna, Catherine Mowry. "Making the Most of Trinity Sunday." Worship 60 (1986): 210-24; reprinted in Between Memory and Hope: Readings on the Liturgical Year, edited by Maxwell E. Johnson, 244-61. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000.
Lee, Jung Young. The Trinity in Asian Perspective. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996.
*Liturgy 13/1 (1996) – special issue: “Trinity Sunday and Beyond.”
Living Pulpit 8/2 (April-June 1999) - special issue.
MacKenzie, Charles Sherrard. The Trinity and Culture. New York: Peter Lang, 1987.
Marsh, Thomas A. The Triune God: A Biblical, Historical, and Theological Study. Mystic, CT: Twenty-Third Publications, 1994.
Moltmann, Jürgen. The Trinity and the Kingdom: The Doctrine of God. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993.
The Trinity: An Interdisciplinary Symposium on the Trinity, edited by Stephen T. Davis, Daniel Kendall, and Gerald O’Collins. New York: Oxford University Press, 1999.
Wainwright, Geoffrey. “The Ecumenical Rediscovery of the Trinity.” One in Christ 34 (1998): 95-124.
All Saints/All Souls Day
Alexander, J. Neil. “Rejoice in the Glorious Company of the Saints.” Liturgy 14/3 (Winter 1998): 1-15.
Costa, Nathan. “‘For All the Saints’: A Feast for All People and All Time.” Worship 81 (2007): 482-508.
*Delooz, Pierre. "The Social Function of the Canonisation of Saints." In Models of Holiness, edited by Christian Duquoc and Casiano Floristán, 14-24. Concilium. Vol. 129. New York: Seabury, 1979.
Johnson, Elizabeth A. Friends of God and Prophets: A Feminist Theological Reading of the Communion of Saints. New York: Continuum, 1998.
Lamberts, Josef. “The Reform of the Roman Calendar.” In Christian Feast and Festival: The Dynamics of Western Liturgy and Culture, edited by P. Post, G. Rouwhorst, L. van Tongeren & A. Scheer, 461-84. Liturgia Condenda, v. 12. Leuven: Peeters, 2001.
*Liturgy special issues: 12/2 (1994-95) – “All Saints Among the Churches;” 14/3 (1998) – “Souls, Saints, and Services.”
Lochman, Jan Milič. The Faith We Confess: An Ecumenical Dogmatics. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984, 209-17 ("The Communion of Saints").
McBrien, Richard P. "The Saints: An Ecclesiological Reflection." Theology Digest 48 (2001): 303-17.
*Prevallet, Elaine M. “The Communion of Saints: Challenge of a Dangerous Memory.” Weavings 14/6 (Nov-Dec 1999): 41-48.
Steere, Douglas V. On Beginning from Within. New York: Harper, 1943, 33-64 ("The Saint and Society"), 65-86 ("The Authority of the Saint").
*Talley, Thomas J. “For All the Saints: A Brief History.” Liturgy 12/2 (1995): 39-46.
*Whalen, Michael D. “In the Company of Women? The Politics of Memory in the Liturgical Commemoration of Saints – Male and Female.” Worship 73 (1999): 482-504.
White, James F. “Forgetting and Remembering the Saints.” In Between Memory and Hope: Readings on the Liturgical Year, edited by Maxwell E. Johnson, 401-14. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000.
Witczak, Michael. "All Saints, Feast of." New Dictionary of Sacramental Worship, edited by Peter E. Fink, S.J., 41. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1990.
______. "All Souls, Feast of." New Dictionary of Sacramental Worship, edited by Peter E. Fink, S.J., 42-43. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1990.
Reign of Christ Sunday
González, Catherine Gunsalus. “At the Doorway to the Church Year.” Liturgy 13/2 (Spring 1996): 21-25.
*Liturgy special issue: 13/2 (1996) – “Christ Reigns.”
Dunn, James D. G. Jesus and the Spirit: A Study of the Religious and Charismatic Experience of Jesus and the First Christians as Reflected in the New Testament. London: S.C.M. Press, 1975.
González, Catherine, and Justo González. "Babel and Empire: Pentecost and Empire." Journal for Preachers 16/4 (Pentecost 1993): 22-26.
Moltmann, Jürgen. The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992.
*Rouwhorst, Gerard. “The Origins and Evolution of Early Christian Pentecost.” Studia Patristica 35 (1999): 309-22.
Saunders, Stanley P., and Charles L. Campbell. "Anything But Ordinary: Worship and Preaching in Ordinary Time." Journal for Preachers 18/4 (Pentecost 1995): 25-31.
Social Themes of the Christian Year: A Commentary on the Lectionary, edited by Dieter T. Hessel. Philadelphia: Geneva Press, 1983, 210-53.
Trinity Sunday:
Alfs, Matthew. Concepts of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit: A Classification and Description of the Trinitarian and Non-Trinitarian Theologies Existent within Christendom. Minneapolis: Old Theology Book House, 1984.
Brown, Sally A. “Speaking Again of the Trinity.” Theology Today 64 (2007): 145-58.
Hayden, Hilary. “The Trinity in Liturgy: Reflections on God for Us.” Liturgy 13/1 (Winter 1996): 51-59.
*LaCugna, Catherine Mowry. "Making the Most of Trinity Sunday." Worship 60 (1986): 210-24; reprinted in Between Memory and Hope: Readings on the Liturgical Year, edited by Maxwell E. Johnson, 244-61. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000.
Lee, Jung Young. The Trinity in Asian Perspective. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996.
*Liturgy 13/1 (1996) – special issue: “Trinity Sunday and Beyond.”
Living Pulpit 8/2 (April-June 1999) - special issue.
MacKenzie, Charles Sherrard. The Trinity and Culture. New York: Peter Lang, 1987.
Marsh, Thomas A. The Triune God: A Biblical, Historical, and Theological Study. Mystic, CT: Twenty-Third Publications, 1994.
Moltmann, Jürgen. The Trinity and the Kingdom: The Doctrine of God. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993.
The Trinity: An Interdisciplinary Symposium on the Trinity, edited by Stephen T. Davis, Daniel Kendall, and Gerald O’Collins. New York: Oxford University Press, 1999.
Wainwright, Geoffrey. “The Ecumenical Rediscovery of the Trinity.” One in Christ 34 (1998): 95-124.
All Saints/All Souls Day
Alexander, J. Neil. “Rejoice in the Glorious Company of the Saints.” Liturgy 14/3 (Winter 1998): 1-15.
Costa, Nathan. “‘For All the Saints’: A Feast for All People and All Time.” Worship 81 (2007): 482-508.
*Delooz, Pierre. "The Social Function of the Canonisation of Saints." In Models of Holiness, edited by Christian Duquoc and Casiano Floristán, 14-24. Concilium. Vol. 129. New York: Seabury, 1979.
Johnson, Elizabeth A. Friends of God and Prophets: A Feminist Theological Reading of the Communion of Saints. New York: Continuum, 1998.
Lamberts, Josef. “The Reform of the Roman Calendar.” In Christian Feast and Festival: The Dynamics of Western Liturgy and Culture, edited by P. Post, G. Rouwhorst, L. van Tongeren & A. Scheer, 461-84. Liturgia Condenda, v. 12. Leuven: Peeters, 2001.
*Liturgy special issues: 12/2 (1994-95) – “All Saints Among the Churches;” 14/3 (1998) – “Souls, Saints, and Services.”
Lochman, Jan Milič. The Faith We Confess: An Ecumenical Dogmatics. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984, 209-17 ("The Communion of Saints").
McBrien, Richard P. "The Saints: An Ecclesiological Reflection." Theology Digest 48 (2001): 303-17.
*Prevallet, Elaine M. “The Communion of Saints: Challenge of a Dangerous Memory.” Weavings 14/6 (Nov-Dec 1999): 41-48.
Steere, Douglas V. On Beginning from Within. New York: Harper, 1943, 33-64 ("The Saint and Society"), 65-86 ("The Authority of the Saint").
*Talley, Thomas J. “For All the Saints: A Brief History.” Liturgy 12/2 (1995): 39-46.
*Whalen, Michael D. “In the Company of Women? The Politics of Memory in the Liturgical Commemoration of Saints – Male and Female.” Worship 73 (1999): 482-504.
White, James F. “Forgetting and Remembering the Saints.” In Between Memory and Hope: Readings on the Liturgical Year, edited by Maxwell E. Johnson, 401-14. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000.
Witczak, Michael. "All Saints, Feast of." New Dictionary of Sacramental Worship, edited by Peter E. Fink, S.J., 41. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1990.
______. "All Souls, Feast of." New Dictionary of Sacramental Worship, edited by Peter E. Fink, S.J., 42-43. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1990.
Reign of Christ Sunday
González, Catherine Gunsalus. “At the Doorway to the Church Year.” Liturgy 13/2 (Spring 1996): 21-25.
*Liturgy special issue: 13/2 (1996) – “Christ Reigns.”
Thursday, June 23, 2011
What the Heck is “Ordinary Time” (and Why Should We Care)?
If you trawl lectionary-helps resources for long enough, you will discover during “the season after Pentecost” (see my explanation of that phrase here) a peculiarity in the naming of the Sundays. Any given Sunday may have several names: “Xth Sunday after Pentecost,” “Xth Sunday after Trinity,” or “Xth Sunday in Ordinary Time,” to name the three most common designations. On some lectionary lists, you will find all three of these, a source of confusion to many.
The earliest schema was to count Sundays after Pentecost Sunday, a practice which dates from the infancy of the Church. A peculiarity arose when the Festival of the Holy Trinity was introduced in the Middle Ages (eventually settling on the Sunday after Pentecost Sunday): due to its popularity in the churches of northern Europe, Sundays in the season after Pentecost became numbered with reference to Trinity Sunday, rather than Pentecost Sunday. This was for centuries a distinctively (though not exclusively) Lutheran practice, which remains to this day, at least in vestigial form (my source concerning the practice of counting after Trinity Sunday is Luther D. Reed, The Lutheran Liturgy (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1947), p. 521).
Another way of counting Sundays is “the Xth Sunday in Ordinary Time.” Commonly, you will find explanations that the Sundays following the Epiphany and Pentecost Sunday are not “special” or “festive” Sundays, but slog through the common “ordinary” time of the liturgical year. The fireworks of Easter and Pentecost are over, summer has arrived (at least in the Northern Hemisphere), school is out, vacations are taking their toll on worship attendance, so we touch on the ordinariness of Christian living. Thus the logic of all too many explanations.
Not so! “Ordinary” time is time counted by means of “ordinal” numbering. You remember your elementary school math classes, right? Cardinal numbers are: one, two, three, and so on. Ordinal numbers are: first, second, third, and so on. As the dictionary says, “ordinal” means “marking the position in an order or series.” So, at a first, more superficial level, “Ordinary Time” simply refers to a numbering system that counts Sundays during non-festal seasons, after Epiphany and after Pentecost. Thus, the “fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time” (A source which explains this handily, and is a fine theological introduction to the liturgical year is Laurence Hull Stookey’s Calendar: Christ’s Time for the Church [Nashville: Abingdon, 1996], esp., for “Ordinary Time,” pp. 133-35).
Plunge deeper, though, and the very notion of “ordinal” opens theological depths of meaning for this long stretch of liturgical year territory. “Ordinal” implies some sort of relationship – something is “third” from something else. They are linked by some sort of order implied in the very means of counting. With the liturgical year, that relational link is temporal. The very terminology, “Ordinary Time” involves a “from-to” dynamic, automatically placing every Sunday of our “ordinary” worship in the narrative schema of God-with-us salvation, from Creation to Consummation. Most particularly for Christian worship, “Ordinary Time” allows sustained exploration of the Christian community of faith as “body of Christ,” that is, the living embodiment of Jesus Christ’s ministry, fueled by the Spirit of the Risen Lord to perform that ministry in the world. And that includes each and every member of said community of faith.
Let me make some connections, roping in John Knox’s Jesus: Lord and Christ (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1958) to help. The Christian faith declares that the human Jesus of Nazareth was the very revelation of God to us humans. Common knowledge. Knox plays with that assumption, claiming that the “event” of Jesus Christ embraces “the personality, life and teaching of Jesus, the response of loyalty he awakened, his death, his resurrection, the coming of the Spirit, the faith with which the Spirit was received, [and] the creation of the community” (p. 217). The “Christ-event” includes all of these, which means that, for the earliest followers in the infant church, this “event” was still happening in their living as a community of faith in the power of the Holy Spirit (p. 226). It was decidedly not “Jesus died for me (long ago) and I shed a fond tear for dear old Jesus.” No, the “invasion” of God’s love into the world God has never stopped loving, in the life, words, death, resurrection, and exaltation of Jesus, was now bestowed upon the community of faith – and every last blessed soul in it – with full authority and power to act like Jesus. In fact, it was understood that Jesus himself continued to serve his beloved sisters and brothers in the world through our hands, feet, and voices. Knox claims that “God through Christ brought into existence a new people – a people in which [God] could be known, in precisely the way [God] is known there, as righteous love, as grace and truth,” and this is the means by which God is actively reconciling the world to Godself (p. 267, emphasis his). The glory – and the terror! – is that the community of faith is the God-chosen continuation of servant Jesus Christ in the world, in the power of the Holy Spirit.
“Ordinary Time” injects into our “ordinary,” quotidian lives, trapped in a world rife with suspicion, exploitation, and the horrors of wars, the extraordinary excess (J-L Marion) of God, overflowing into our world, and offers to make us “new creations” (II Corinthians 5:17), “co-worker[s] in Christ” (Romans 16:9), remaking said world.
So, how do you preach during the Sundays of “Ordinary Time”? Looking through the “lens” (John Calvin) of scripture, you show how my face can show the face of Jesus, “God with us” (Matthew 1:23), to the faces of God’s beloved in the world, across the street or across the globe.
The earliest schema was to count Sundays after Pentecost Sunday, a practice which dates from the infancy of the Church. A peculiarity arose when the Festival of the Holy Trinity was introduced in the Middle Ages (eventually settling on the Sunday after Pentecost Sunday): due to its popularity in the churches of northern Europe, Sundays in the season after Pentecost became numbered with reference to Trinity Sunday, rather than Pentecost Sunday. This was for centuries a distinctively (though not exclusively) Lutheran practice, which remains to this day, at least in vestigial form (my source concerning the practice of counting after Trinity Sunday is Luther D. Reed, The Lutheran Liturgy (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1947), p. 521).
Another way of counting Sundays is “the Xth Sunday in Ordinary Time.” Commonly, you will find explanations that the Sundays following the Epiphany and Pentecost Sunday are not “special” or “festive” Sundays, but slog through the common “ordinary” time of the liturgical year. The fireworks of Easter and Pentecost are over, summer has arrived (at least in the Northern Hemisphere), school is out, vacations are taking their toll on worship attendance, so we touch on the ordinariness of Christian living. Thus the logic of all too many explanations.
Not so! “Ordinary” time is time counted by means of “ordinal” numbering. You remember your elementary school math classes, right? Cardinal numbers are: one, two, three, and so on. Ordinal numbers are: first, second, third, and so on. As the dictionary says, “ordinal” means “marking the position in an order or series.” So, at a first, more superficial level, “Ordinary Time” simply refers to a numbering system that counts Sundays during non-festal seasons, after Epiphany and after Pentecost. Thus, the “fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time” (A source which explains this handily, and is a fine theological introduction to the liturgical year is Laurence Hull Stookey’s Calendar: Christ’s Time for the Church [Nashville: Abingdon, 1996], esp., for “Ordinary Time,” pp. 133-35).
Plunge deeper, though, and the very notion of “ordinal” opens theological depths of meaning for this long stretch of liturgical year territory. “Ordinal” implies some sort of relationship – something is “third” from something else. They are linked by some sort of order implied in the very means of counting. With the liturgical year, that relational link is temporal. The very terminology, “Ordinary Time” involves a “from-to” dynamic, automatically placing every Sunday of our “ordinary” worship in the narrative schema of God-with-us salvation, from Creation to Consummation. Most particularly for Christian worship, “Ordinary Time” allows sustained exploration of the Christian community of faith as “body of Christ,” that is, the living embodiment of Jesus Christ’s ministry, fueled by the Spirit of the Risen Lord to perform that ministry in the world. And that includes each and every member of said community of faith.
Let me make some connections, roping in John Knox’s Jesus: Lord and Christ (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1958) to help. The Christian faith declares that the human Jesus of Nazareth was the very revelation of God to us humans. Common knowledge. Knox plays with that assumption, claiming that the “event” of Jesus Christ embraces “the personality, life and teaching of Jesus, the response of loyalty he awakened, his death, his resurrection, the coming of the Spirit, the faith with which the Spirit was received, [and] the creation of the community” (p. 217). The “Christ-event” includes all of these, which means that, for the earliest followers in the infant church, this “event” was still happening in their living as a community of faith in the power of the Holy Spirit (p. 226). It was decidedly not “Jesus died for me (long ago) and I shed a fond tear for dear old Jesus.” No, the “invasion” of God’s love into the world God has never stopped loving, in the life, words, death, resurrection, and exaltation of Jesus, was now bestowed upon the community of faith – and every last blessed soul in it – with full authority and power to act like Jesus. In fact, it was understood that Jesus himself continued to serve his beloved sisters and brothers in the world through our hands, feet, and voices. Knox claims that “God through Christ brought into existence a new people – a people in which [God] could be known, in precisely the way [God] is known there, as righteous love, as grace and truth,” and this is the means by which God is actively reconciling the world to Godself (p. 267, emphasis his). The glory – and the terror! – is that the community of faith is the God-chosen continuation of servant Jesus Christ in the world, in the power of the Holy Spirit.
“Ordinary Time” injects into our “ordinary,” quotidian lives, trapped in a world rife with suspicion, exploitation, and the horrors of wars, the extraordinary excess (J-L Marion) of God, overflowing into our world, and offers to make us “new creations” (II Corinthians 5:17), “co-worker[s] in Christ” (Romans 16:9), remaking said world.
So, how do you preach during the Sundays of “Ordinary Time”? Looking through the “lens” (John Calvin) of scripture, you show how my face can show the face of Jesus, “God with us” (Matthew 1:23), to the faces of God’s beloved in the world, across the street or across the globe.
What About Preaching During the Season after Pentecost?
A couple of points to make here. First, perhaps from the liturgical OCD department: the proper terminology is “the season after Pentecost,” not “the season of Pentecost.” As in, this Sunday is “the Xth Sunday after Pentecost.” Why be so picky? Well, there are actually good theological reasons for the distinction. Pentecost (“fiftieth day” in Greek) is the culmination of the grand intervention by God in human affairs called the crucifixion-resurrection-ascension-sending of the Spirit. The earliest Christians wisely perceived a unity in these separate activities of God, namely, the event of salvation bestowed by the God of Love through Jesus Christ. These events were understood to display just how far God’s love would go – as Paul reminded the Philippians (chapter 2) of an early hymn about Jesus sung by Christians:
6 who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
7 but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
8 he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death —
even death on a cross.
9 Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name
that is above every name,
10 so that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
11 and every tongue should confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
A few decades later, historian and theologian Luke stretched these events over a 50-day spread, culminating in the return of God/Jesus in the form of God’s Holy Spirit to the community of faith during the Jewish festival of Pentecost, which had evolved to become a celebration of God’s gift of the Law at Sinai, God’s revelation to the Hebrew community of faith of God’s plan for human societal life in harmony. At Luke’s prompting, Christians quickly latched onto the gift of the Spirit precisely on that festival not so much as “you got the Law, but we got the Spirit (so there!),” as much as the Spirit animating a community formed around the crucified Jesus as the embodiment of the living God, now given to the community of faith, and shoving it to the ends of the earth to create precisely that divinely-intended New Humanity.
The liturgical season after Pentecost developed to explore the variegated dimensions of this movement of God the Holy Spirit animating the community of faith. Paul called this community the “body of Christ,” by which he meant not a particular status to be lorded over others, but as a task: the community of faith was, and still is, the living embodiment of the ministry of Jesus Christ in the world. What Jesus did, he helps us do, through the Spirit of the risen Lord.
I guess you could say that, in a way, “after Pentecost” does stand as a reminder of our status: we who are recipients of the spirit of the crucified, raised, and exalted Lord – who, let us remember, deliberately chose to retain the nail cuts in his hands and feet (see Luke 24:40 and especially John 20:27) – serve the One who came among us “not to be served, but to serve” (Mark 10:45). Pentecost catapulted us into a new room, so to speak. The season after Pentecost gives us a long stretch of time to explore its nooks and crannies.
6 who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
7 but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
8 he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death —
even death on a cross.
9 Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name
that is above every name,
10 so that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
11 and every tongue should confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
A few decades later, historian and theologian Luke stretched these events over a 50-day spread, culminating in the return of God/Jesus in the form of God’s Holy Spirit to the community of faith during the Jewish festival of Pentecost, which had evolved to become a celebration of God’s gift of the Law at Sinai, God’s revelation to the Hebrew community of faith of God’s plan for human societal life in harmony. At Luke’s prompting, Christians quickly latched onto the gift of the Spirit precisely on that festival not so much as “you got the Law, but we got the Spirit (so there!),” as much as the Spirit animating a community formed around the crucified Jesus as the embodiment of the living God, now given to the community of faith, and shoving it to the ends of the earth to create precisely that divinely-intended New Humanity.
The liturgical season after Pentecost developed to explore the variegated dimensions of this movement of God the Holy Spirit animating the community of faith. Paul called this community the “body of Christ,” by which he meant not a particular status to be lorded over others, but as a task: the community of faith was, and still is, the living embodiment of the ministry of Jesus Christ in the world. What Jesus did, he helps us do, through the Spirit of the risen Lord.
I guess you could say that, in a way, “after Pentecost” does stand as a reminder of our status: we who are recipients of the spirit of the crucified, raised, and exalted Lord – who, let us remember, deliberately chose to retain the nail cuts in his hands and feet (see Luke 24:40 and especially John 20:27) – serve the One who came among us “not to be served, but to serve” (Mark 10:45). Pentecost catapulted us into a new room, so to speak. The season after Pentecost gives us a long stretch of time to explore its nooks and crannies.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Trinity Refined
A clarification of my last post, about "That Trinity Thing," if you please. First, some clarification of terminology. Specifically, my mention of the "economic Trinity." We are not talking about the flow money, whether into your own checkbook, or on a societal scale. The term comes from the Greek "oikonomia," which derived from the management of a household (which, yes, includes finances). In this case, the term was extended to embrace God's "management" ("plan") of the salvation of creation (as in, for example, Ephesians 1:10: "... as a plan [oikonomian] for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth." The notion occurs elsewhere in the letter as well, "the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God..." [3:9]). So, relating all this to the Trinity, the phrase "economic Trinity" refers to said plan for the salvation of all Creation, begun in Jesus Christ (God the Son), and spurred by the indwelling of God the Holy Spirit in the community of faith, forging a force of reconciliation that will simultaneously display among themselves God's reconciliation (internal) and struggle for reconciliation between humans in the world (external). This redemptive activity begins with God, comes to us from God, animates us to participate in God's activity of salvation in our world, and promises that what God began, God will wind up in splendid style at the Consummation (rather than the far weaker catastrophic end-of-the-world visions in which a special few escape destruction and don't give a whit about the other poor slobs).
The "immanent Trinity," or internal relationality in God's being, in turn displays God as endlessly relating in creative-love/creating-love, endlessly reaching out to create new relating among us creations, and endlessly drawing-us-in to new relations with God and each other. An obscure bishop and theologian (ca. 394 C.E.) named Amphilochios of Iconium mused that all we can really say -- or even hope to know! -- about God is not God's "whatness," but rather God's "howness"; that is, all we know of God is not the essence of what God is, but only "how" God is experienced by us (the reference to Bishop Amphilochios comes from Richard Kearney, The God Who May Be [Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001], p. 115 note 17). Thus, for preachers, it is much more useful to begin any attempt to plumb the depths of the doctrine of the Trinity from the standpoint of the economic Trinity (see clarification above).
The "immanent Trinity," or internal relationality in God's being, in turn displays God as endlessly relating in creative-love/creating-love, endlessly reaching out to create new relating among us creations, and endlessly drawing-us-in to new relations with God and each other. An obscure bishop and theologian (ca. 394 C.E.) named Amphilochios of Iconium mused that all we can really say -- or even hope to know! -- about God is not God's "whatness," but rather God's "howness"; that is, all we know of God is not the essence of what God is, but only "how" God is experienced by us (the reference to Bishop Amphilochios comes from Richard Kearney, The God Who May Be [Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001], p. 115 note 17). Thus, for preachers, it is much more useful to begin any attempt to plumb the depths of the doctrine of the Trinity from the standpoint of the economic Trinity (see clarification above).
Thursday, June 16, 2011
That Trinity Thing
Trinity Sunday. Ah, yes, the first major milestone in the Liturgical Year which celebrates a doctrine, rather than a specific event in our Judeo-Christian heritage. For "free-church" Protestants -- including the Campbell-Stone-heritage Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), which claims me -- the doctrine of the Trinity is not only a head-scratcher, but also already dismissed by Alexander Campbell's disdain for anything speculative in theology. So we don't do "Trinity" very well to start with (but see John Mark Hicks' article on Campbell's take on the Trinity here). Furthermore, the postmodern skepticism of any "grand narratives" lends its suspicion to calcified doctrines -- like the Trinity.
Besides, there are all the arguments hurled at us that "the Trinity isn't biblical" (well, true, the word itself does not grace the pages of scripture, the the relational reality sure does); and the objection, "isn't that a Catholic thing?" To which we reply: and Orthodox, and Reformed, and Lutheran, and Alexander Campbell himself took it on.
Suffice it to say, any preacher who feels the urge to take on the Trinity this Sunday is already facing a steep challenge.
All too often we hapless preachers start at the top, and tangle ourselves trying to explain the mechanics of the Trinity. Our acrobatics fall flat: "Well, you see, the Trinity is like...."
And the sermon is D.O.A. Harry Emerson Fosdick once observed that folks rarely come to church "desperately anxious to learn about the Jebusites." Truth is, many might actually prefer the Jebusites over laborious explanations of "The Doctrine of the Trinity."
So, all too often, we'll just avoid the whole scene, thank you very much.
What may help the preacher who bravely dares to navigate these theological waters, is to start with our own perceptions. Specifically, to answer the question: "Trinity: so what?"
Yes, the doctrine is a part of the Church's theological heritage, and we do need to educate folks about the "deposit of faith handed on to us." Absolutely. But our challenge is to make it make sense, and to reveal its significance for ordinary slobs like us. This is not to advocate a trite "making the Trinity relevant," a little holy "3-in-1 oil" to make life easier. Please! To the contrary, what we try to do is to show how the Trinity is plowed into the theological air we breathe; how it animates the ecclesial life we aim for (at our best).
How to pull it off?
Start with the person in the pew. In fact, preacher, go ahead and sit in the pew, and ask yourself: what's the big deal about "Trinity"?
Then you start thinking, reading, and pondering some more. We have had handed to us two chief perspectives on the Trinity -- which all the theological Leading Lights have addressed, in some way or another: the "immanent" Trinity and the "economic" Trinity. As many of us know, the "immanent" Trinity seeks to understand the internal divine interrelations between God the "Father," God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, and that takes us, of course, to the notion of "perichoresis," a gift from the Eastern church: the "divine dance of mutual love" within the immanent Trinity. How love is swapped back and forth (to be irritatingly superficial). If we preachers start here, we've already lost the homiletic game. We contort our sermons into pretzels, trying to find analogies which will do justice to the subtleties of this Mystery. If we have a screen, we may try a Venn diagram to help.
Or we can start with the "economic Trinity": how we understand that God shows Godself in the activity of salvation in our world. Ah! Here we can touch on human experience, to relate us to God, God to Jesus to the Holy Spirit, and all of those disparate characters to Divine Love invading this earth. Creator God creatively weaving things back toward the original dream, using Redeemer Son to show us the human face of God -- and the lengths to which Love will go, and Holy Spirit God flooding the community of faith with Divine Energy to become invited participants in the redemption of all Creation back to God.
Hmmm. That includes me! You mean that the Trinity is not some dusty doctrine up on a shelf, to be brought down once a year whether we need it or not? You mean, it might have something to do with how I interact with folks at work, at home, at Wal-Mart? You mean that the "Trinity" might actually have something to do with real life? Who'd have thought!
Only then do you bring out the immanent Trinity. This is what God is like: relationships, the best kind. Who doesn't wish for that, I ask you? Animated by a self-giving love for the Other that just won't quit -- and celebrates the "otherness" of that Other. In a world obsessed with drawing lines between insiders and outsiders, obsessed with denigrating people of color, bent on "ethnic cleansing" of any who might threaten paleface dominance, the immanent Trinity radical love for the not-like-me Other comes as a prophetic challenge indeed. Also, you find within its perichoretic dance of love: reconciliation, cooperation, harmony -- all of those noble goals we like to sling at each other. The immanent Trinity displays them, not as impossible ideals, but as the very heart of Creation, as example, as inspiration -- and as power-to-accomplish its demand. If "because He lives, I can face tomorrow," as the song says, then even more because They love, we can become God's agents of love in a world starved for it.
That might just preach.
Besides, there are all the arguments hurled at us that "the Trinity isn't biblical" (well, true, the word itself does not grace the pages of scripture, the the relational reality sure does); and the objection, "isn't that a Catholic thing?" To which we reply: and Orthodox, and Reformed, and Lutheran, and Alexander Campbell himself took it on.
Suffice it to say, any preacher who feels the urge to take on the Trinity this Sunday is already facing a steep challenge.
All too often we hapless preachers start at the top, and tangle ourselves trying to explain the mechanics of the Trinity. Our acrobatics fall flat: "Well, you see, the Trinity is like...."
And the sermon is D.O.A. Harry Emerson Fosdick once observed that folks rarely come to church "desperately anxious to learn about the Jebusites." Truth is, many might actually prefer the Jebusites over laborious explanations of "The Doctrine of the Trinity."
So, all too often, we'll just avoid the whole scene, thank you very much.
What may help the preacher who bravely dares to navigate these theological waters, is to start with our own perceptions. Specifically, to answer the question: "Trinity: so what?"
Yes, the doctrine is a part of the Church's theological heritage, and we do need to educate folks about the "deposit of faith handed on to us." Absolutely. But our challenge is to make it make sense, and to reveal its significance for ordinary slobs like us. This is not to advocate a trite "making the Trinity relevant," a little holy "3-in-1 oil" to make life easier. Please! To the contrary, what we try to do is to show how the Trinity is plowed into the theological air we breathe; how it animates the ecclesial life we aim for (at our best).
How to pull it off?
Start with the person in the pew. In fact, preacher, go ahead and sit in the pew, and ask yourself: what's the big deal about "Trinity"?
Then you start thinking, reading, and pondering some more. We have had handed to us two chief perspectives on the Trinity -- which all the theological Leading Lights have addressed, in some way or another: the "immanent" Trinity and the "economic" Trinity. As many of us know, the "immanent" Trinity seeks to understand the internal divine interrelations between God the "Father," God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, and that takes us, of course, to the notion of "perichoresis," a gift from the Eastern church: the "divine dance of mutual love" within the immanent Trinity. How love is swapped back and forth (to be irritatingly superficial). If we preachers start here, we've already lost the homiletic game. We contort our sermons into pretzels, trying to find analogies which will do justice to the subtleties of this Mystery. If we have a screen, we may try a Venn diagram to help.
Or we can start with the "economic Trinity": how we understand that God shows Godself in the activity of salvation in our world. Ah! Here we can touch on human experience, to relate us to God, God to Jesus to the Holy Spirit, and all of those disparate characters to Divine Love invading this earth. Creator God creatively weaving things back toward the original dream, using Redeemer Son to show us the human face of God -- and the lengths to which Love will go, and Holy Spirit God flooding the community of faith with Divine Energy to become invited participants in the redemption of all Creation back to God.
Hmmm. That includes me! You mean that the Trinity is not some dusty doctrine up on a shelf, to be brought down once a year whether we need it or not? You mean, it might have something to do with how I interact with folks at work, at home, at Wal-Mart? You mean that the "Trinity" might actually have something to do with real life? Who'd have thought!
Only then do you bring out the immanent Trinity. This is what God is like: relationships, the best kind. Who doesn't wish for that, I ask you? Animated by a self-giving love for the Other that just won't quit -- and celebrates the "otherness" of that Other. In a world obsessed with drawing lines between insiders and outsiders, obsessed with denigrating people of color, bent on "ethnic cleansing" of any who might threaten paleface dominance, the immanent Trinity radical love for the not-like-me Other comes as a prophetic challenge indeed. Also, you find within its perichoretic dance of love: reconciliation, cooperation, harmony -- all of those noble goals we like to sling at each other. The immanent Trinity displays them, not as impossible ideals, but as the very heart of Creation, as example, as inspiration -- and as power-to-accomplish its demand. If "because He lives, I can face tomorrow," as the song says, then even more because They love, we can become God's agents of love in a world starved for it.
That might just preach.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The "Body-Language" of Lent
At last evening's Ash Wednesday service, the scripture lesson, Isaiah 58:1-12, struck me in a new way. Yes, fasting has been a Lenten practice since the beginning, inherited from our Hebrew forbears. But there is fasting . . . and there is fasting.
What struck me as I pondered the scripture reading -- and I agree wholeheartedly that Holy Scripture is indeed a window into the heart, mind, and intentions of God, so there! -- was the body-language in the text, which it links deeply to our activity as a people of God. As I said in yesterday's post, Lent is a time which hopes to form us corporately and individually as a people of God. And, as Christians who follow Jesus Christ, we have been baptized into the "body of Christ." So "body-language" is most pertinent here. By "body of Christ," Paul understands the community of disciples committed to the Way of Christ to be the living embodiment of Christ, animated by the Spirit of the Risen Lord. Paul sees "Jesus, and him crucified" as living now through the Spirit-enabled ministry of the members of the community of faith -- the Church. "Body of Christ," then, is not a badge of honor, so much as it is a way of acting in the world. Our activities embody Christ. We are the living continuance of his ministry.
How does this connect to the aforementioned "body-language"? Isaiah was doing nothing so much as declaring a new "Body-language." Notice the various physical actions: "Shout" (v. 1), "fast" (all over the place -- stay tuned), "quarrel," "strike with a wicked fist" (v. 4), "bow down the head," "lie in sackcloth and ashes" (v. 5), "pointing of the finger," "speaking of evil" (v. 9). That's what God/Isaiah says we human-types do already. But notice, now, how God through Isaiah starts to get meddlesome: "loose the bonds of injustice," "undo the thongs of the yoke," "break every yoke" (v. 6). And then God/Isaiah cuts loose and gets downright personal: "share your bread with the hungry," "bring the homeless poor into [gasp!] your house," cover the naked, not hide from responsibilities toward family members (v. 7), "offer food to the hungry," "satisfy the needs of the afflicted" (v. 10). Only if we do this Revised Version Fasting will our "call" be answered, our "cry for help" be answered by God: "Here I am" (v. 9).
All of these actions are acts of bodies. And God is summoning us not simply to the traditional ways of fasting, you know, bowing down, doing the sackcloth and ashes thing, and so on. No, God is asking -- commanding! -- the body of believers to offer their bodies in service to those whose bodies have been ravaged. Body ministers to body to bring the blessings of God. One human body takes responsibility for another human body.
Notice how unimpressed God seems to be with the traditional forms of spiritual athletes. "You just disguise your contempt for each other, and for Me, by showing off," is the essence of the message. "Spiritual exercises" build "body-mass" (no pun intended) (okay, maybe just a little), not by focusing inward, but specifically by focusing outward, toward others in need. In fact, one might justifiably ask, "just who is really in need here? The excluded folks (homeless poor, hungry, naked, needy) -- or the excluding folks?
Fasting: denying something for the sake of focusing on God, removing the distractions, ignoring the pains of "withdrawal" whilst experiencing a gathering clarity. And just what is God/Isaiah saying that we should deny here, in this newfangled method of fasting? We deny not some but something, but someone: our own imperious selves. Not in order to demean ourselves, reduce ourselves, eliminate ourselves, destroy the person called "me." But rather to enlarge the entire person by including other people who have been excluded into the circle of "me-ness." By "enlarging the body" through bodily actions. Specific, caring, bodily actions that address individual and social needs.
The New Revised Version of fasting creates a new anatomical reality, for individuals, as well as communal bodies. By swapping a "me" totally wrapped up in "myself and I," for a "we" that is radically inclusive of others at the utmost depths, in the broadest social sense, we offer our bodies to our God. As Christians stumbling our Lenten journey along Christ's Way, we might just discover a new way of being. Together.
Who knew that God was in the "body-shaping" business, sculpting a buff new "body of Christ"?
What struck me as I pondered the scripture reading -- and I agree wholeheartedly that Holy Scripture is indeed a window into the heart, mind, and intentions of God, so there! -- was the body-language in the text, which it links deeply to our activity as a people of God. As I said in yesterday's post, Lent is a time which hopes to form us corporately and individually as a people of God. And, as Christians who follow Jesus Christ, we have been baptized into the "body of Christ." So "body-language" is most pertinent here. By "body of Christ," Paul understands the community of disciples committed to the Way of Christ to be the living embodiment of Christ, animated by the Spirit of the Risen Lord. Paul sees "Jesus, and him crucified" as living now through the Spirit-enabled ministry of the members of the community of faith -- the Church. "Body of Christ," then, is not a badge of honor, so much as it is a way of acting in the world. Our activities embody Christ. We are the living continuance of his ministry.
How does this connect to the aforementioned "body-language"? Isaiah was doing nothing so much as declaring a new "Body-language." Notice the various physical actions: "Shout" (v. 1), "fast" (all over the place -- stay tuned), "quarrel," "strike with a wicked fist" (v. 4), "bow down the head," "lie in sackcloth and ashes" (v. 5), "pointing of the finger," "speaking of evil" (v. 9). That's what God/Isaiah says we human-types do already. But notice, now, how God through Isaiah starts to get meddlesome: "loose the bonds of injustice," "undo the thongs of the yoke," "break every yoke" (v. 6). And then God/Isaiah cuts loose and gets downright personal: "share your bread with the hungry," "bring the homeless poor into [gasp!] your house," cover the naked, not hide from responsibilities toward family members (v. 7), "offer food to the hungry," "satisfy the needs of the afflicted" (v. 10). Only if we do this Revised Version Fasting will our "call" be answered, our "cry for help" be answered by God: "Here I am" (v. 9).
All of these actions are acts of bodies. And God is summoning us not simply to the traditional ways of fasting, you know, bowing down, doing the sackcloth and ashes thing, and so on. No, God is asking -- commanding! -- the body of believers to offer their bodies in service to those whose bodies have been ravaged. Body ministers to body to bring the blessings of God. One human body takes responsibility for another human body.
Notice how unimpressed God seems to be with the traditional forms of spiritual athletes. "You just disguise your contempt for each other, and for Me, by showing off," is the essence of the message. "Spiritual exercises" build "body-mass" (no pun intended) (okay, maybe just a little), not by focusing inward, but specifically by focusing outward, toward others in need. In fact, one might justifiably ask, "just who is really in need here? The excluded folks (homeless poor, hungry, naked, needy) -- or the excluding folks?
Fasting: denying something for the sake of focusing on God, removing the distractions, ignoring the pains of "withdrawal" whilst experiencing a gathering clarity. And just what is God/Isaiah saying that we should deny here, in this newfangled method of fasting? We deny not some but something, but someone: our own imperious selves. Not in order to demean ourselves, reduce ourselves, eliminate ourselves, destroy the person called "me." But rather to enlarge the entire person by including other people who have been excluded into the circle of "me-ness." By "enlarging the body" through bodily actions. Specific, caring, bodily actions that address individual and social needs.
The New Revised Version of fasting creates a new anatomical reality, for individuals, as well as communal bodies. By swapping a "me" totally wrapped up in "myself and I," for a "we" that is radically inclusive of others at the utmost depths, in the broadest social sense, we offer our bodies to our God. As Christians stumbling our Lenten journey along Christ's Way, we might just discover a new way of being. Together.
Who knew that God was in the "body-shaping" business, sculpting a buff new "body of Christ"?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
A Brief Overview of Lent
You are in charge of recruitment for the Christian Church a hundred years after Jesus’ death. Nobody is alive anymore who heard him speak. Even those whose parents did are dying out. Jesus hasn’t come back yet, and it is slowly dawning on folks that it might be a while before he does. In the meantime, you want people to be the very best Christians they can be. If they want to be baptized, you want them to understand just what they are getting into. What are you going to do?
You pick a date for baptism, say Easter, as a perfect time to enter into the new life of the risen Lord. How are you going to prepare folks for their Easter baptism? You create a prep-period. Let’s call it “Lent.” That’s what Lent was at first – the final home stretch of getting ready to be baptized, to enter the community of faith, the Body of Christ.
In a way, becoming a Christian was seen much like becoming a naturalized citizen of any country. In this case, you were becoming a citizen of God’s kingdom, of God’s reign, of God’s New Humanity in Christ. What do you do if you want to become a naturalized citizen of a country? You learn the history, you learn the key figures, you learn the events, you learn the symbols, you learn new words, you learn new ways to act, you learn the expectations, you learn a few rules. You study up, you practice, you might take a test, then you have some sort of ceremony which marks your entry into your new status as citizen of your new country. Lent became something very similar in those early days of the Church.
They learned the history of God-with-us from the scriptures of both Testaments. They learned Christian practices, such as prayer, fasting, forgiveness, service, worship, study. They learned the symbols: the Cross, baptismal water, bread and wine, the people gathered, and so on. They learned the faith: who God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are, the span of God’s dealing with humanity from Creation to the grand windup at the End, sin and salvation, the community of faith which is the living embodiment of Jesus Christ, and my own particular vocational role in God’s saving activity in this world. They learned new behaviors, new expectations, and practiced a new morality. By doing all this, gradually they merged the story of their life with the story of God-with-us. Lent was the time of making God’s vision for humanity their own: thought, word, and deed. Lent is the great remaking.
What about the penitential atmosphere in Lent? Where did that come from? During the great persecutions, people gave up the faith to avoid getting slaughtered. But later many regretted their failure of nerve and sincerely wanted to come back to Christianity. Some leaders refused to even consider the notion. They had made their decision to betray Christ, now those apostates must live with the consequences. No, they could never return to the Church. Other Christian leaders said, “You want to come back? Here’s what you must do to repent of your apostasy: you will study all over again, and by confession and service demonstrate your repentance. And after a period, you will be readmitted into our fellowship.” Penitence was the demonstration of faithfulness. Lent was the final period to demonstrate their sincere repentance. During the Middle Ages, the penitential side of Lent got way overblown, crowding out the preparation aspect. By now, Lent has declined to being a period where we play at being holy by “giving up” something (that may or may not matter to us), or hear over and over what unworthy worms we are.
But . . . what if we tried to recover the original intention of Lent: to enter more deeply into my participation in God’s activity on this earth through God’s New Humanity in Jesus Christ? What about learning more from the Bible? What about trying prayer in deeper ways? What about serving others as an offering of myself to God, as a self-conscious acting-out of God’s saving activity here on earth? Feeding the homeless, tutoring someone trying to learn English as a second language, visiting a Veterans' hospital, sponsoring a refugee family trying to make a new life in your city, mowing lawns of the homebound, sending cards to advocate for political prisoners, befriending a family of practicing Muslims (especially needed, in view of Rep. Peter King's witch-hunt-for-Muslim-extremists hearings beginning March 10) ? What about conversing with others about things that really matter, in a disciplined fashion? What about “giving up” something important, but maybe not necessary, in order to get out of the way something which has become an obstacle between me and God? What about fasting for a morning, or a day, letting every growl of the stomach becoming a reminder of my absolute dependence on God? What about praying for somebody else, or the poor, or war refugees, bringing them to the throne of God, every day? What about spending 15 minutes every day in silence, simply opening myself to God, paying focused attention to the presence of God? What about gathering my courage, and asking forgiveness from that person (you know, that one), and trying to mend fences?
What about recovering Lent as a season of growing closer to God?
You pick a date for baptism, say Easter, as a perfect time to enter into the new life of the risen Lord. How are you going to prepare folks for their Easter baptism? You create a prep-period. Let’s call it “Lent.” That’s what Lent was at first – the final home stretch of getting ready to be baptized, to enter the community of faith, the Body of Christ.
In a way, becoming a Christian was seen much like becoming a naturalized citizen of any country. In this case, you were becoming a citizen of God’s kingdom, of God’s reign, of God’s New Humanity in Christ. What do you do if you want to become a naturalized citizen of a country? You learn the history, you learn the key figures, you learn the events, you learn the symbols, you learn new words, you learn new ways to act, you learn the expectations, you learn a few rules. You study up, you practice, you might take a test, then you have some sort of ceremony which marks your entry into your new status as citizen of your new country. Lent became something very similar in those early days of the Church.
They learned the history of God-with-us from the scriptures of both Testaments. They learned Christian practices, such as prayer, fasting, forgiveness, service, worship, study. They learned the symbols: the Cross, baptismal water, bread and wine, the people gathered, and so on. They learned the faith: who God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are, the span of God’s dealing with humanity from Creation to the grand windup at the End, sin and salvation, the community of faith which is the living embodiment of Jesus Christ, and my own particular vocational role in God’s saving activity in this world. They learned new behaviors, new expectations, and practiced a new morality. By doing all this, gradually they merged the story of their life with the story of God-with-us. Lent was the time of making God’s vision for humanity their own: thought, word, and deed. Lent is the great remaking.
What about the penitential atmosphere in Lent? Where did that come from? During the great persecutions, people gave up the faith to avoid getting slaughtered. But later many regretted their failure of nerve and sincerely wanted to come back to Christianity. Some leaders refused to even consider the notion. They had made their decision to betray Christ, now those apostates must live with the consequences. No, they could never return to the Church. Other Christian leaders said, “You want to come back? Here’s what you must do to repent of your apostasy: you will study all over again, and by confession and service demonstrate your repentance. And after a period, you will be readmitted into our fellowship.” Penitence was the demonstration of faithfulness. Lent was the final period to demonstrate their sincere repentance. During the Middle Ages, the penitential side of Lent got way overblown, crowding out the preparation aspect. By now, Lent has declined to being a period where we play at being holy by “giving up” something (that may or may not matter to us), or hear over and over what unworthy worms we are.
But . . . what if we tried to recover the original intention of Lent: to enter more deeply into my participation in God’s activity on this earth through God’s New Humanity in Jesus Christ? What about learning more from the Bible? What about trying prayer in deeper ways? What about serving others as an offering of myself to God, as a self-conscious acting-out of God’s saving activity here on earth? Feeding the homeless, tutoring someone trying to learn English as a second language, visiting a Veterans' hospital, sponsoring a refugee family trying to make a new life in your city, mowing lawns of the homebound, sending cards to advocate for political prisoners, befriending a family of practicing Muslims (especially needed, in view of Rep. Peter King's witch-hunt-for-Muslim-extremists hearings beginning March 10) ? What about conversing with others about things that really matter, in a disciplined fashion? What about “giving up” something important, but maybe not necessary, in order to get out of the way something which has become an obstacle between me and God? What about fasting for a morning, or a day, letting every growl of the stomach becoming a reminder of my absolute dependence on God? What about praying for somebody else, or the poor, or war refugees, bringing them to the throne of God, every day? What about spending 15 minutes every day in silence, simply opening myself to God, paying focused attention to the presence of God? What about gathering my courage, and asking forgiveness from that person (you know, that one), and trying to mend fences?
What about recovering Lent as a season of growing closer to God?
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
What to Give Up for Lent
Tomorrow, March 9, is Ash Wednesday, of course, the beginning of the season of Lent. Among some of the more scrupulous (or wanting to be so), one hears of what they will be giving up for Lent. A popular move this year is to give up Facebook for the period.
Why "give up" anything at all? You'll hear it from a 5-year-old, but even a 95-year-old might wonder as well. Doesn't matter if you belong to a highly liturgical, formal church, or one that gathers around a kitchen table -- what is this "giving X up for Lent" stuff?
In the formative centuries of the infant Church, the liturgical year began to cohere as an attempt to integrate our lives into the life of Christ. So, through scripture and ritual practice, Christians followed their Lord, trying to inculcate his ways into their way -- or, better, their ways into his Way. Lent became a period of preparation for a renewed experience of the Resurrection living in the community of faith, the living embodiment of the ministry of Jesus powered by the Spirit of the risen Lord (I know, I know -- dense stuff). So, just as Christ wandered through the wilderness for 40 days, now so did we. He abstained from food, so did we (mostly). He gave up something -- so will we. Imitating our Lord.
So far, so good. But probe deeper. Beyond mimicking the chief figure of Christianity, why bother "giving up" something? Spiritual heroics? A test of willpower?
Many do it because somebody in (religious) authority "says I'm supposed to." Others, a bit wiser, make a sincere effort to imitate Jesus. For some, it is simply an opportunity to cleanse themselves from a minor vice (for a brief period). For a few, it is a demonstration of mastery over X -- the triumph of spirit over flesh (however that is defined).
Notice, though, that these reasons, noble though they may be, tend to focus upon ourselves. We end up working at maintaining our sacrifice. Even if it is for Jesus. And then, at the end of Lent, we can heave a big sigh, relax, and get back to real life. Sometimes we may even feel virtuous.
Which misses the point entirely. What was Jesus doing out there on the backside of beyond for 40 days? Why did he endure the 3 temptations by Mr. Bad? Was he showing off? Was he just going through a divinely-ordained script? No. After dropping onto him in his baptism, the Holy Spirit drop-kicked Jesus into the wilderness (Mark uses that sense of the word in his version). Out there, Jesus was busy preparing himself for his ministry. Away from all distractions, he had plenty of time to consult with God.
The early Christians saw Lent as just such a time of preparation. In fact, for those who were preparing for baptism on Easter, Lent was the home-stretch of a three-year time of study, prayer, fasting, and life re-orientation. So the entire period was seen as a season of re-orientation toward the ways of God -- for the first time, or the latest time.
So it can be even in these tawdry times. The forty days of Lent can become a time of intensive study, of deep prayer (call it face-time with God), of self-examination -- not to highlight what worms we are, but to assess who we are and who we are not, and how we might re-re-orient our lives toward God. And, yes, it can be a time for "giving up" the things which impede our walk along the Way of Jesus. "Giving up" in this model becomes not so much a heroic enterprise ("see what I'm giving up for you, Jesus?"), nor a burden ("can't wait till Lent is over!"), but rather focusing on tuning our lives to God's wavelength, that the excess simply drops away. Bad habits, dirty words, etc., maybe. But also anything in our life which interferes with our following Jesus. Which can include "a few of my favorite things" -- or even the people we love.
Lent can be a time when we let Jesus do a little "interior decoration" job on our lives. Let him move the furniture around a bit. What we really "give up" is control. The "things" we may give up are just signs that we're handing over the control to God again. In order to "know thee more clearly, love thee more dearly, and follow thee more nearly, day by day" (to swipe the words of Richard, Bishop of Chichester).
Lent can indeed be a dour time -- if we do it thoughtlessly. Or it can beckon us to plunge into a "closer walk with Thee." Not so much "giving up" as giving in to the Love that will not let us go.
Why "give up" anything at all? You'll hear it from a 5-year-old, but even a 95-year-old might wonder as well. Doesn't matter if you belong to a highly liturgical, formal church, or one that gathers around a kitchen table -- what is this "giving X up for Lent" stuff?
In the formative centuries of the infant Church, the liturgical year began to cohere as an attempt to integrate our lives into the life of Christ. So, through scripture and ritual practice, Christians followed their Lord, trying to inculcate his ways into their way -- or, better, their ways into his Way. Lent became a period of preparation for a renewed experience of the Resurrection living in the community of faith, the living embodiment of the ministry of Jesus powered by the Spirit of the risen Lord (I know, I know -- dense stuff). So, just as Christ wandered through the wilderness for 40 days, now so did we. He abstained from food, so did we (mostly). He gave up something -- so will we. Imitating our Lord.
So far, so good. But probe deeper. Beyond mimicking the chief figure of Christianity, why bother "giving up" something? Spiritual heroics? A test of willpower?
Many do it because somebody in (religious) authority "says I'm supposed to." Others, a bit wiser, make a sincere effort to imitate Jesus. For some, it is simply an opportunity to cleanse themselves from a minor vice (for a brief period). For a few, it is a demonstration of mastery over X -- the triumph of spirit over flesh (however that is defined).
Notice, though, that these reasons, noble though they may be, tend to focus upon ourselves. We end up working at maintaining our sacrifice. Even if it is for Jesus. And then, at the end of Lent, we can heave a big sigh, relax, and get back to real life. Sometimes we may even feel virtuous.
Which misses the point entirely. What was Jesus doing out there on the backside of beyond for 40 days? Why did he endure the 3 temptations by Mr. Bad? Was he showing off? Was he just going through a divinely-ordained script? No. After dropping onto him in his baptism, the Holy Spirit drop-kicked Jesus into the wilderness (Mark uses that sense of the word in his version). Out there, Jesus was busy preparing himself for his ministry. Away from all distractions, he had plenty of time to consult with God.
The early Christians saw Lent as just such a time of preparation. In fact, for those who were preparing for baptism on Easter, Lent was the home-stretch of a three-year time of study, prayer, fasting, and life re-orientation. So the entire period was seen as a season of re-orientation toward the ways of God -- for the first time, or the latest time.
So it can be even in these tawdry times. The forty days of Lent can become a time of intensive study, of deep prayer (call it face-time with God), of self-examination -- not to highlight what worms we are, but to assess who we are and who we are not, and how we might re-re-orient our lives toward God. And, yes, it can be a time for "giving up" the things which impede our walk along the Way of Jesus. "Giving up" in this model becomes not so much a heroic enterprise ("see what I'm giving up for you, Jesus?"), nor a burden ("can't wait till Lent is over!"), but rather focusing on tuning our lives to God's wavelength, that the excess simply drops away. Bad habits, dirty words, etc., maybe. But also anything in our life which interferes with our following Jesus. Which can include "a few of my favorite things" -- or even the people we love.
Lent can be a time when we let Jesus do a little "interior decoration" job on our lives. Let him move the furniture around a bit. What we really "give up" is control. The "things" we may give up are just signs that we're handing over the control to God again. In order to "know thee more clearly, love thee more dearly, and follow thee more nearly, day by day" (to swipe the words of Richard, Bishop of Chichester).
Lent can indeed be a dour time -- if we do it thoughtlessly. Or it can beckon us to plunge into a "closer walk with Thee." Not so much "giving up" as giving in to the Love that will not let us go.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Giving 'Em Heaven
Fascinating, fascinating! The latest dust-up concerning the reality of heaven and hell, and who goes where. NYTimes article today, "Pastor Stirs Wrath With His Views on Old Questions," describes the furor over an upcoming book by Rob Bell, pastor of Mars Hill Bible Church in Grand Rapids, MI, holding the modest title, “A Book About Heaven, Hell and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived.” Says the writer of the article, Erik Eckholm, that Bell, "known for his provocative views and appeal among the young, describes as 'misguided and toxic' the dogma that 'a select few Christians will spend forever in a peaceful, joyous place called heaven, while the rest of humanity spends forever in torment and punishment in hell with no chance for anything better.'” Some will mourn this, some berate Bell for dispensing untruth, and others are already lining up scriptural "proofs" plucked from hither and yon, and massaged into a predetermined framework.
A few years ago, Dr. Martin Marty wrote in the journal, Christian Century: “I have a test, when pressed. Take the presser to dinner, see to it that a candle is lit, and ask the guest to put his or her finger in the tiny flame for ten seconds. ‘Are you crazy?’ No, just testing. Now picture your whole body in it for ten seconds[,] and then forever. If you still want to press me,” continues Dr. Marty, “I’ll say: ‘If you still believe that torment will happen to unreached Hindus and your friendly neighborhood unbeliever or lapsed Catholic, why are you so inhumane, so selfish, that you are spending an extra hour beyond necessity to eat or chat? Get out of here. Pass out tracts. Board planes to reach the heathen.’” He concludes, “Don’t tell me you have dealt with the physical pain of that hell and can keep your own sanity”(June 3, 2008, pp. 24-25).
What anyone says about Hell in particular, says more about them than about the actual "doctrine." "Hell" is wielded more often than not as a weapon to keep the kiddies' behavior in line (so to speak), than to address any meaningful realities, human or divine. Such usage reveals a "chain-of-command" mentality which even Jesus seems to have had problems with (see his remarks to his disciples -- his trainees in the ways of God, Revised Jesus Version -- found in Mark 10:42-45. James and John have just begged Jesus to get to the head of the line in glory, raising the ire of their colleagues:
"So Jesus called them and said to them, 'You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.'"
So any use of "Hell" to beat folks into compliance with a particular behavioral program seems a risky game, eternally speaking.
But wait, there's more (as the late night infomercials have it): what about the reverse appeal? I mean, the standard line urging folks to accept Jesus as their divine "get out of jail free" card, signing those "Four Spiritual Laws" cards and all that. You know, "you want to avoid hell and see all your loved ones in heaven? Just say the magic words." Seems that this use of "Hell" is also risky (quoting again from Mark, this time 8:34-35):
"He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, 'If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.'"
You want to save your life? Stop worrying about Hell, and get busy acting like Jesus.
Yes, the notion appears in the Bible, true enough. So does slavery, without criticism. Yes, it seems to be a place best avoided. Yes, it does involve some sort of punitive experience. And -- yes, there are hints about the character of such a place, but found in writers separated by geography and time (Matthew [80-85, probably Syria]; Revelation [ca. 95, probably southwest coast of Asia Minor {modern Turkey}]; and so on) -- and writing with diverse purposes. So it is tenuous at best to try to patch together a comprehensive "Unified Hell Theory" of God's eternal torture-chamber.
It is theologically, though, that the notion is most problematic. Theo-logically, as in, what sort of picture of God this notion paints. At best, to be fair, the notion of Hell addresses issues of justice: if tyrants get away with their evil, why bother being good? Why bother trying at all? Why not just join the mayhem, because justice simply doesn't matter to the "Big G." Any doctrine of Hell tries in some fashion to address that issue.
But push the "doctrine" far enough, and it points to a huge flaw in the theological framework. If God requires a horrendous dungeon in order to balance the moral books, then God is a failure. Simple as that. How? If humans can defy God, and God must respond by creating an Eternal Refuse Pile for the ultimate no-goodniks, then God must not be as powerful as rumored. Humans can defy God and get away with it. Occupants of Hell can be labeled, "God's Failed Experiments."
That's what is really at stake with any serious notion of Hell. Yes, yes, there arises the lively objection that humans have free will, and so God gives us room to fail. It is our own Damn fault -- literally. But the overall design is still God's, and so is the failure. The very presence of Hell says, "somebody made in the image of God is nevertheless no good, and never can be any good. Forever." Hell = God failed.
Furthermore, anybody who does qualify for heaven, and is serious about this God-thing, and God's rep for Love, simply cannot reside happily in Heaven, knowing that even one person is wasting away in Hell. Part of the very DNA for "Christ-like-ness" is an Other-directed love which will die for the sake of the other. The permanent existence of Hell gives the lie to any claim of that sort of love. Unmasks it as demonic, truth be told.
No, if you can rest easy in Heaven whilst even a single soul resides in hellfire, you haven't earned your stripes as a Christian. Even Mark Twain got that, in the famous scene from "Huckleberry Finn," in which Huck decides he must save Jim, even if that means he will go to Hell.
Wonderful controversy, but I'll take my stand here.
A few years ago, Dr. Martin Marty wrote in the journal, Christian Century: “I have a test, when pressed. Take the presser to dinner, see to it that a candle is lit, and ask the guest to put his or her finger in the tiny flame for ten seconds. ‘Are you crazy?’ No, just testing. Now picture your whole body in it for ten seconds[,] and then forever. If you still want to press me,” continues Dr. Marty, “I’ll say: ‘If you still believe that torment will happen to unreached Hindus and your friendly neighborhood unbeliever or lapsed Catholic, why are you so inhumane, so selfish, that you are spending an extra hour beyond necessity to eat or chat? Get out of here. Pass out tracts. Board planes to reach the heathen.’” He concludes, “Don’t tell me you have dealt with the physical pain of that hell and can keep your own sanity”(June 3, 2008, pp. 24-25).
What anyone says about Hell in particular, says more about them than about the actual "doctrine." "Hell" is wielded more often than not as a weapon to keep the kiddies' behavior in line (so to speak), than to address any meaningful realities, human or divine. Such usage reveals a "chain-of-command" mentality which even Jesus seems to have had problems with (see his remarks to his disciples -- his trainees in the ways of God, Revised Jesus Version -- found in Mark 10:42-45. James and John have just begged Jesus to get to the head of the line in glory, raising the ire of their colleagues:
"So Jesus called them and said to them, 'You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.'"
So any use of "Hell" to beat folks into compliance with a particular behavioral program seems a risky game, eternally speaking.
But wait, there's more (as the late night infomercials have it): what about the reverse appeal? I mean, the standard line urging folks to accept Jesus as their divine "get out of jail free" card, signing those "Four Spiritual Laws" cards and all that. You know, "you want to avoid hell and see all your loved ones in heaven? Just say the magic words." Seems that this use of "Hell" is also risky (quoting again from Mark, this time 8:34-35):
"He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, 'If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.'"
You want to save your life? Stop worrying about Hell, and get busy acting like Jesus.
Yes, the notion appears in the Bible, true enough. So does slavery, without criticism. Yes, it seems to be a place best avoided. Yes, it does involve some sort of punitive experience. And -- yes, there are hints about the character of such a place, but found in writers separated by geography and time (Matthew [80-85, probably Syria]; Revelation [ca. 95, probably southwest coast of Asia Minor {modern Turkey}]; and so on) -- and writing with diverse purposes. So it is tenuous at best to try to patch together a comprehensive "Unified Hell Theory" of God's eternal torture-chamber.
It is theologically, though, that the notion is most problematic. Theo-logically, as in, what sort of picture of God this notion paints. At best, to be fair, the notion of Hell addresses issues of justice: if tyrants get away with their evil, why bother being good? Why bother trying at all? Why not just join the mayhem, because justice simply doesn't matter to the "Big G." Any doctrine of Hell tries in some fashion to address that issue.
But push the "doctrine" far enough, and it points to a huge flaw in the theological framework. If God requires a horrendous dungeon in order to balance the moral books, then God is a failure. Simple as that. How? If humans can defy God, and God must respond by creating an Eternal Refuse Pile for the ultimate no-goodniks, then God must not be as powerful as rumored. Humans can defy God and get away with it. Occupants of Hell can be labeled, "God's Failed Experiments."
That's what is really at stake with any serious notion of Hell. Yes, yes, there arises the lively objection that humans have free will, and so God gives us room to fail. It is our own Damn fault -- literally. But the overall design is still God's, and so is the failure. The very presence of Hell says, "somebody made in the image of God is nevertheless no good, and never can be any good. Forever." Hell = God failed.
Furthermore, anybody who does qualify for heaven, and is serious about this God-thing, and God's rep for Love, simply cannot reside happily in Heaven, knowing that even one person is wasting away in Hell. Part of the very DNA for "Christ-like-ness" is an Other-directed love which will die for the sake of the other. The permanent existence of Hell gives the lie to any claim of that sort of love. Unmasks it as demonic, truth be told.
No, if you can rest easy in Heaven whilst even a single soul resides in hellfire, you haven't earned your stripes as a Christian. Even Mark Twain got that, in the famous scene from "Huckleberry Finn," in which Huck decides he must save Jim, even if that means he will go to Hell.
Wonderful controversy, but I'll take my stand here.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
A Response to Last Night's Call by President Obama
A response to last night's call by President Obama for less strident rhetoric, and for commitment toward a better nation:
We who call ourselves Christians follow the lead of the One Whose birth we recently observed, who was called Prince of Peace. Not only do we follow-after Him; we try to follow His lead, imitating His practices and adopting His perspective as our own (a kind of holy "fusion of horizons," so to speak). Fortunately, for our trying to "get along together," we have a model given us by our earliest forbears in the faith.
The early Christian churches, in addition to scrapping amongst themselves all too often, for little or no reason, did do some things right. For example (and relevant to this issue today), the
"Passing of the Peace" was originally a "kiss of peace," which swiped a social symbol of reconciliation -- a public kiss, visibly symbolizing "peace between me and thee" (similar to the origins of the symbol of shaking right hands together, as in "look, no sword"). A smackeroo
on the cheek, men to men, women to women (to keep other tongues from wagging about those licentious Christians) -- but done intentionally as a part of every worship service in order to live out the reality of peace-making. In this case, it was a weekly opportunity to mend fences, and
become what the church was intended to be: a harmonious community reflecting the will of God for humans. People in conflict were expected to make up with each other; if you even suspected that somebody had a gripe against you, you were to go to them (pre-emptively!) check it out, and patch things up between you. And this was done not only to keep the peace on Sunday in the worship space. This was how folks learned God's ways of making peace -- by daring to mend fences, learning by doing, with every expectation that said practice would leak into our week.
Moreover, this was Christianity's public witness to the world not only that there are better ways to get along than by murdering each other, but that peace in society was eminently possible.
So, I urge those of you who belong to faith communities, and urge you to urge your friends of similar persuasions, to adopt the "passing of the peace" as a practice to show peace-making to the world, and train each other in the ways of peace, as a public witness in light of this tragedy. Make it more than a sort of second "hi, howya doin" backslapping time of greeting. Explain clearly the whys and wherefores, and then dare your community to do this in the name of the Prince of Peace who blessed peace-makers.
By such acts we declare that violence is against God's will for humanity, and we show our power to demonstrate better ways to get along (rather than simply bemoan this tragic world).
Otherwise, violence will be the only option folks perceive.
May God comfort all those who have been affected by this past weekend's violence in Tucson.
Bob
We who call ourselves Christians follow the lead of the One Whose birth we recently observed, who was called Prince of Peace. Not only do we follow-after Him; we try to follow His lead, imitating His practices and adopting His perspective as our own (a kind of holy "fusion of horizons," so to speak). Fortunately, for our trying to "get along together," we have a model given us by our earliest forbears in the faith.
The early Christian churches, in addition to scrapping amongst themselves all too often, for little or no reason, did do some things right. For example (and relevant to this issue today), the
"Passing of the Peace" was originally a "kiss of peace," which swiped a social symbol of reconciliation -- a public kiss, visibly symbolizing "peace between me and thee" (similar to the origins of the symbol of shaking right hands together, as in "look, no sword"). A smackeroo
on the cheek, men to men, women to women (to keep other tongues from wagging about those licentious Christians) -- but done intentionally as a part of every worship service in order to live out the reality of peace-making. In this case, it was a weekly opportunity to mend fences, and
become what the church was intended to be: a harmonious community reflecting the will of God for humans. People in conflict were expected to make up with each other; if you even suspected that somebody had a gripe against you, you were to go to them (pre-emptively!) check it out, and patch things up between you. And this was done not only to keep the peace on Sunday in the worship space. This was how folks learned God's ways of making peace -- by daring to mend fences, learning by doing, with every expectation that said practice would leak into our week.
Moreover, this was Christianity's public witness to the world not only that there are better ways to get along than by murdering each other, but that peace in society was eminently possible.
So, I urge those of you who belong to faith communities, and urge you to urge your friends of similar persuasions, to adopt the "passing of the peace" as a practice to show peace-making to the world, and train each other in the ways of peace, as a public witness in light of this tragedy. Make it more than a sort of second "hi, howya doin" backslapping time of greeting. Explain clearly the whys and wherefores, and then dare your community to do this in the name of the Prince of Peace who blessed peace-makers.
By such acts we declare that violence is against God's will for humanity, and we show our power to demonstrate better ways to get along (rather than simply bemoan this tragic world).
Otherwise, violence will be the only option folks perceive.
May God comfort all those who have been affected by this past weekend's violence in Tucson.
Bob
Signs of Hope
Egypt's Muslims attend Coptic Christmas mass, serving as "human shields"
by Yasmine El-Rashidi, Ahram Online, Friday 7 Jan 2011
http://english.ahram.org.eg/News/3365.aspx
(From the website: Ahram Online is the English-language news web site published by Al-Ahram Establishment, Egypt’s largest news organization, and the publisher of the Middle East’s oldest newspaper, the daily Al-Ahram, in publication since 1875.)
by Yasmine El-Rashidi, Ahram Online, Friday 7 Jan 2011
http://english.ahram.org.eg/News/3365.aspx
(From the website: Ahram Online is the English-language news web site published by Al-Ahram Establishment, Egypt’s largest news organization, and the publisher of the Middle East’s oldest newspaper, the daily Al-Ahram, in publication since 1875.)
Look Busy...
Greetings, fellow travelers,
Planning anything after May 21? You might want to rethink: Jesus is coming on that very day. Well, according to this source:
http://www.familyradio.com/graphical/literature/judgment/judgment.html
Of course, we all hedge our bets and say, "Well, we'll see...." But notice how grounded on Enlightenment rationalistic scientific calculation the whole enterprise is. And locking even God into a box of predetermined scheduling. Not to mention having to do a lovely little tapdance with scripture verses in order to show that Jesus didn't really mean what he said about "nobody knows the day or hour." Now, rather than just enjoying a moment's snicker together, let me ask: in what exactly does this attitude place its faith? The relational, interactive person of God, or a mechanistic moralistic arbiter? (okay, loaded question) And, following from that question, what is the motivation for placing faith in the mechanism of a plan (rather than the Planner)? In short, against just what windmill is this attitude tilting?
Now swing around and look forward: what is the overt outcome lurking behind the words? And what is the hidden desire (perhaps hidden even from this position's advocates)?
My guess is that the whole thing revolves around feelings: powerlessness, loss of control, dependency, perhaps some resentment and anger as well. So we bargain that when we perceive that the ideal world (as we envision it) is slipping away, the Biggest Kid on the Block will intervene, and the Informed Ones will be rescued from any and all ambiguity, safe on the lifeboat to Heaven (so to speak), leaving all others to rot. Oh, the language offers an out for unbelievers, but notice that it doesn't seem very enthusiastic about bringing outsiders on board. Much more time (=words) is spent on the details of the coming disaster.
Furthermore, what is the whole point of the End, in this view? Retribution around the corner against those in the driver's seat presently (= "them"), and bliss for the underdogs (= "us"). That is, the End of all things is seen as evening the balance of the moral scale -- in favor of "us." Such a view leaves itself wide open to the criticism, "well, then, does that mean that God has to rectify a mistake?"
Missing from this view (according to me, of course) is any sense of God's freedom to "save" any and all, any divine emotion except anger, a somewhat more organically biblical (my view again) sense of the eschatological end as a consummation, a restoration of the harmony intended at Creation, a cosmic redemption, universal reconciliation, and so on. The End as Completion by the God Whose ways are simply beyond our comprehension (much less our calculation!). "Faith" crouches into defensive fear (I will follow the rules so I don't miss out), rather than deep trust, in God as free agent of goodness, operating within the ambiguities and contradictions of this life.
Cheers,
Bob
Planning anything after May 21? You might want to rethink: Jesus is coming on that very day. Well, according to this source:
http://www.familyradio.com/graphical/literature/judgment/judgment.html
Of course, we all hedge our bets and say, "Well, we'll see...." But notice how grounded on Enlightenment rationalistic scientific calculation the whole enterprise is. And locking even God into a box of predetermined scheduling. Not to mention having to do a lovely little tapdance with scripture verses in order to show that Jesus didn't really mean what he said about "nobody knows the day or hour." Now, rather than just enjoying a moment's snicker together, let me ask: in what exactly does this attitude place its faith? The relational, interactive person of God, or a mechanistic moralistic arbiter? (okay, loaded question) And, following from that question, what is the motivation for placing faith in the mechanism of a plan (rather than the Planner)? In short, against just what windmill is this attitude tilting?
Now swing around and look forward: what is the overt outcome lurking behind the words? And what is the hidden desire (perhaps hidden even from this position's advocates)?
My guess is that the whole thing revolves around feelings: powerlessness, loss of control, dependency, perhaps some resentment and anger as well. So we bargain that when we perceive that the ideal world (as we envision it) is slipping away, the Biggest Kid on the Block will intervene, and the Informed Ones will be rescued from any and all ambiguity, safe on the lifeboat to Heaven (so to speak), leaving all others to rot. Oh, the language offers an out for unbelievers, but notice that it doesn't seem very enthusiastic about bringing outsiders on board. Much more time (=words) is spent on the details of the coming disaster.
Furthermore, what is the whole point of the End, in this view? Retribution around the corner against those in the driver's seat presently (= "them"), and bliss for the underdogs (= "us"). That is, the End of all things is seen as evening the balance of the moral scale -- in favor of "us." Such a view leaves itself wide open to the criticism, "well, then, does that mean that God has to rectify a mistake?"
Missing from this view (according to me, of course) is any sense of God's freedom to "save" any and all, any divine emotion except anger, a somewhat more organically biblical (my view again) sense of the eschatological end as a consummation, a restoration of the harmony intended at Creation, a cosmic redemption, universal reconciliation, and so on. The End as Completion by the God Whose ways are simply beyond our comprehension (much less our calculation!). "Faith" crouches into defensive fear (I will follow the rules so I don't miss out), rather than deep trust, in God as free agent of goodness, operating within the ambiguities and contradictions of this life.
Cheers,
Bob
For Starters...
Okay, I've broken down and now am an official blogger. Here's this Newbie's first post.
So what is up with the title of said blog?? Is it dispatrioticrespectfulhereticalblasphemous? Mais non! Not at all intended to be so. Just following the practice of Jesus, who, in his prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, prefaced his "thy will be done" commitment to God with a radically honest "I don't want to do this! Take this cup away from me!" (see Luke 22:42)
I plan to "dance the edge of mystery" (to quote one of my favorite authors, David Buttrick), devoting my all to the ways of God shown through that living parable named Jesus Christ, and also respecting the grace given us humans created by Love in the image of God by speaking my piece boldly into the living Presence of God.
Then we will talk. As rhetorician Kenneth Burke observed, we participate in an eternal conversation, and our piece contributes something new in the world, that then bounces of all the other somethings-new to illuminate the path of others. Nobody has The Truth (save God, and God has chosen to reveal that in bits and pieces), so we gain a little ground through the give and take of conversation.
So, converse, already!
Devote yourself to God's Way -- and make your suggestions as well. Always in faith.
I invite you to join the discussion. Welcome!
So what is up with the title of said blog?? Is it dispatrioticrespectfulhereticalblasphemous? Mais non! Not at all intended to be so. Just following the practice of Jesus, who, in his prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, prefaced his "thy will be done" commitment to God with a radically honest "I don't want to do this! Take this cup away from me!" (see Luke 22:42)
I plan to "dance the edge of mystery" (to quote one of my favorite authors, David Buttrick), devoting my all to the ways of God shown through that living parable named Jesus Christ, and also respecting the grace given us humans created by Love in the image of God by speaking my piece boldly into the living Presence of God.
Then we will talk. As rhetorician Kenneth Burke observed, we participate in an eternal conversation, and our piece contributes something new in the world, that then bounces of all the other somethings-new to illuminate the path of others. Nobody has The Truth (save God, and God has chosen to reveal that in bits and pieces), so we gain a little ground through the give and take of conversation.
So, converse, already!
Devote yourself to God's Way -- and make your suggestions as well. Always in faith.
I invite you to join the discussion. Welcome!
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