These are some thoughts I put together a couple of weeks ago. I post them now in homage to another of my good friends. My friends of all stripes are forcing me to think through all kinds of issues of faith and "spirituality." I rejoice in my good fortune -- and take the opportunity to crow about the high quality of my social circle.
Since I undertook this journal with the honest assertion of self-aggrandizement, I allow myself this opportunity to celebrate and boast of another holy friendship. (In the “Acknowledgements” to my M.S. thesis, I said something like “An acknowledgements statement is an author’s way of boasting of the quality of the company he keeps.” That’s what’s going on here – although I hasten to add that the sentiments I express are genuine.)
Bjoern spent a couple of days with my family and me (truth to tell, much more time with me than with my family) as a kind of time of farewell. He is leaving his parish in South Dakota to move to Washington state to accept a new call. He came 4-1/2 hours (each way) to give us a little time together, for which I am very grateful. It was a time to confirm that distance will not separate us, and it was a time to spend some “quality time” together, affording an opportunity for us to immerse ourselves in something we both love – viz., talking about theology (and a little politics, too).
Bjoern is a pastor of the ELCA, although he was born and raised in Germany and is a German citizen. That means that he has a really fine accent. (I am a sucker for accents -- German, Scandinavian, and Greek especially.)nHe also has a keen mind (and knows far more than he ought to at his tender age) and a way of coming right to the point in a discussion. That makes conversation a little daunting, but he is also a whale of a lot of fun to be with (although his wit is so wry that it is often two minutes after he comes out with a line that I realize he was joking). He is reflective and eager to both educate and learn (which explains the length of some of our conversations this week.
Bjoern also has as clear a vocation and dedication to parish ministry as I have detected in anyone. He shows himself dearly to love being a pastor, and what is even more important to me, he “gets” the importance of being a pastor to people. He is a theologian, a preacher, a presider, a teacher, a counselor – but he is not a parish administrator or a congregation’s CEO. He has an amazing ability to “liturgize” his parishioners’ faith – rightly recognizing both the need for and the relevance of various rites and offices (some of which he composes) to “contextualize” his ministry. So, in his rural parish, he has celebrated mass under a tent (because an anniversary celebration attracted more people than could be accommodated in the church building and he didn’t want anyone to be relegated to the basement or another over-flow room); he has celebrated on a farm to raise prayers for a good growing season. Insights in how to bring the people’s faith to an existential expression simply flow from him. It’s quite exciting to hear him talk.
Well, while he was here, I was scheduled to go to my class on the Book of John’s Revelation (Apocalypse), so Bjoern accompanied me. We shared a Bible, and there were times our heads were inches apart as we both poured over a text with Prof. Koester to discern its structure and meaning. As we did so, I glanced over at him once and felt much the same warmth, satisfaction, solidarity, and security from sharing the faith as I had in my eucharist with Jim (see an earlier post). There seemed such a fittingness that I was able to share the Word of God with this brother in the faith, with whom I had discussed the faith, the Church, the foolishness of humanity until 3:00 that same morning.
As a Lutheran, I am well-trained in the “Word and Sacrament” construction. They are not two separate emphases in the faith. Both carry the presence of God; both are meant to take place together. And in both, are we brought to a sense of oneness with the rest of the Body of Christ. Some members of that Body are closer, physically and emotionally, than others. But both are “means of grace” – bearers of the certainty and the experience of God’s grace. Because that grace is relational, it is not at all unusual or untoward that participation in hearing and studying the Word and meeting the Lord in his Supper or in the waters of Baptism (or in the blessings of Marriage, for my money) brings the parties to a sense of community. And when one is able to join that sense of community with one’s close friendship and love for those integral to his life, there is almost a sense of ecstasy (and I’m not inclined toward mysticism).
I think this says something about what faith is, how it operates in our lives, what it feels like. And I think what it says is not often attended to in Lutheranism. We rightly experience a sense of mystery-personified about and in life in the Church. It matters “existentially” (one of Bjoern’s favorite words). This is something that many of the saints have taught us: Francis and Clare
, Benedict and Scholastica, and such (and notice that the examples I cite do not involve lovers). We are brought more deeply into relationships with loved ones on earth when that love is lived out in the context of the Church’s life – worship, Bible study, celebration of the sacraments, service to those in need. And contextualizing those relationships by that joint involvement in the life of the Church is just so also sacramental.
This, at least, is what I “knew” while I was with Bjoern over the Bible, sharing some wine and food, praying. I am most sincerely touched and grateful for his gesture of grace and love.
I shall miss having in the (relatively speaking) neighborhood. But I know that I shall know his presence in my prayers and in the mass, when I gather with the saints of today and of yore -- all the saints present in various ways.
Monday, October 18, 2004
A Second Round with Apocalypse -- Now
OK, Br. RAR (or is that Br’rar?), this one is for you: Tonight is my final class on Revelation (the Apocalypse) of St. John, and I shall miss these Monday classes – as well as my self-disciplined preparation for them. I have learned an enormity; I have gained a new teacher in Prof. Craig Koester; I have a valuable addition to my library in his book REVELATION AND THE END OF ALL THINGS.
Tonight, we finally get around to Armageddon (actually, we dealt with that last week, too) and the New Jerusalem. In anticipation of the class, I set out a couple of my insights from my reading in the Apocalypse and in Koester’s book. (These are not original ideas of my own, although Prof. Koester should not be blamed for them. His book has helped lead me to where I end up, but I’m not claiming that he intended that I should arrive where I land.)
I am excited – and, justly, horrified – to realize that the battle of Armageddon is a present realty. You’d think that all my training in law and gospel in Lutheran theology would have taught me that. And, to be sure, I have always recognized the on-going, current struggle of faith. But I have never seriously read the Apocalypse to realize that that is its insight, too. And my great interest is “eschatology” has not, so far, led me to the Apocalypse of St. John – which I tended to dismiss as “apocalyptic” versus “eschatological” preaching. So I am embarrassed that my training is so narrow.
To some extent, the apocalyptic crowd – Hal Lindsey, the LEFT BEHIND folks, and how many others? – are correct: Apocalyptic battles are already occurring. To the extent that even the most problematic interpreters of the Apocalypse raise that alarum, they are correct. To the extent that they anticipate only a future and final battle somewhere beyond historical time, they do not carefully read the book, I think.
In John’s visions, the battles between the forces of evil – symbolized by Satan, the beast, the dragon, the harlot – and the force (note my deliberate use of the singular) of righteousness occur even as we read the book. But these battles are not military battles in the sense that we ordinarily – and especially in this time of the “war” on terror – take. I am surprised to have pointed out to me (because I have never recognized the fact) that the ONLY weapon carried by the force of righteousness is the sword that issues from the mouth of Christ – in other words, not a “weapon” at all, but the Word of God. The weapon of righteousness is not a literal sword – let alone a tank or a missile or a nuclear bomb – but is the proclamation of the Word – i.e., the reality and will – of God. It was proclaimed originally by Messiah Jesus, and is now announced by his successor prophet-proclaimers, the Church.
The contemporaneity of the great battle(s) is mightily important, as is demonstrated by the juxtaposition of the opening chapters (the letters to the churches) with all the battle scenes. What is the scene of the battles – even of the great, culminating battle at Har Megiddo? It is the local parish setting – i.e., up close and personal to the lives of believers. What is the cause of the conflict – i.e., over what is the battle fought? It is lackadaisical faith commitment, consumerism, too much accommodation to (indeed, assimilation into) the surrounding culture. Those are battles facing the Church in every place and every age. And to that extent, at least, the Church in every age is in the final conflict for the “end of history.” (For that reason, I wonder – and perhaps Koester will deal with this – whether Armageddon is not so much a picture of one final-and-for-all-time as it is a symbol for the great, current, existential battle that the community of faith in a particular time and place faces for itself. And, on this view, then, Armageddon is not one battle, but several throughout history.)
Prof. Koester speaks beautifully of the “end” of history. He helped me to see that we must use the word “end” carefully and deliberately. For the Apocalypse deals with the end of history, not in the sense of “end” as conclusion, but in the sense of “end” as goal, as “telos,” as fulfillment. History’s “end” is not a nuclear explosion – which could very well bring the history of the earth to a temporal end, I admit. History’s “end” – i.e., its goal or its point or its fulfillment – is in the gathering of the tribes and nations to worship “around the glassy sea.” John’s concern, then, is not to forecast or describe how the earth’s history will cease, but it is to describe how the Creator’s work of art is fulfilled when faithful recipients of his grace offer their praise and worship. Today, then, can as well be the end of history as some future point (whether vague or pinpointed). For Christians who place their ultimate trust in God-revealed-in-Messiah, history has – in a penultimate sense – reached its end, even if it does not stop.
When I gather with my congregation to sing God’s praises and to meet him face-to-face in the Eucharist, history has “ended” – i.e., be fulfilled. That there will be some final fulfillment beyond the contemporary is suggested by the language of the “first” and “second” resurrection. I’m not sure that that is an apt way to read that passage, so I have a question in mind for tonight’s class. For me, however, it fits.
A natural implication to draw from that is the recognition that Christians are not called to be violent participants in some kind of armed conflict (in the sense that the world understands that) – or even to relish the idea of violent Goetterdaemerungen. Rather, Christians are called to be non-violent resisters to the evil which the Word of God takes on – suffering servants, proclaimers and trusters of the Word of God, witnesses by their resolution to the faithfulness of God who promises not to abandon us. As I noted earlier, the armies of heaven are not armed, but merely (?) accompany the One who rides the White Horse. Those who face battle are not called to do battle, but to resist – to wear their white robes (bleached by the suffering of Christ) and to resist forces of violence, nihilism, hedonism, economic misdeeds, sexualism, “modernism,” less-than-seriousness, and all the other problems identified in the book as the works of the antagonists of God.
When I first met Stanley Hauerwas – one of the most combative and consistent pacifist theologians one is likely to meet or read – he autographed one of his books to me, encouraging me to faithful service in the “Army of God.” I questioned his use of a military term to refer to the life of faith. He responded that the people of God ought not to let others set the terms of discourse or to claim exclusive right to the use of certain well-established terms in the Christian lexicon. His point was that the Scriptures (especially the New Testament) speak of the army of God without in any sense intending to portray them as militarists. While there is a war to be fought, the weapons of that war are not swords, guns, or missiles; rather, the weapons are the Word of God (on our part, at least). I now see that he has a most apt apocalyptic view of the life of faith.
It was that that encounter with Hauerwas that set me to rethinking my feelings about the BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. Last week, Prof. Koester made much of that hymn. He pointed out that that hymn is really just a retelling of the Battle of Armageddon (more evidence that the Church best sings some of her theology). But even before hearing him say that, I had “rehabilitated” the hymn for my soul, with its warrior and conflict imagery, for the Church’s use. (Actually, I WAS REHABILITATED for the singing of the hymn by Prof. Hauerwas.. And, because the hymn’s call for and reassurance of justice has always gripped me in the voicebox and tear duct when I sing it, I am happy for the transformation.) Knowing that by singing the hymn, I am singing the Book of the Apocalypse makes it just that much better.
Resistance – the modus operandi of the Church – is exercised in numerous ways, I suppose. (That would make a really good topic for a series of adult fora in congregations: How can we avoid the Spirit’s indictments of the seven congregations at the beginning of the Apocalypse?) But military might (including individual armaments) is not one of them. On this I think the testimony of the Apocalypse is clear: Christ’s word is the sword; faith is the defensive breastplate; love is the battle plan – strategic and tactical.
That insight feels delightful: It confirms my political stance against Star Wars missile defenses, against apocalyptic-inspired warmaking (sometimes called “preventive war”), against reliance on military might for our “defense” (a political position I arrived at primarily on the witness of the Sermon on the Mount, but which now seems to have an even broader base). In the Church, promoting and/or justifying war, et. al., ought to be out-of-bounds thinking, so Christians ought also to vote against the same, I think. Blood-stained uniforms are not the dress of Christians – white linen baptismal gowns are. Only Messiah wears a blood-stained alb, and his is stained with his own blood, not that of his victims – sacrificial blood, not defensive-wound blood. (After reading this book, the Church ought to reflect on Lady Macbeth’s lesson: The stain of unrighteousness blood is indelible. And I have to say that I never expected to invoke the good – er, bad – Lady in any theological reflection!)
Just-war thinking: Are you next for the indictment of the Spirit?
In any event, thank you, Professor-brother Craig, if you happen to read this. You have excited me in a long-neglected (at least by me) aspect of the faith – one I shall be working on for a long time.
This last book in the Bible is a beautiful thing. We ought all to know it better. Happy reading, brothers and sisters.
Tonight, we finally get around to Armageddon (actually, we dealt with that last week, too) and the New Jerusalem. In anticipation of the class, I set out a couple of my insights from my reading in the Apocalypse and in Koester’s book. (These are not original ideas of my own, although Prof. Koester should not be blamed for them. His book has helped lead me to where I end up, but I’m not claiming that he intended that I should arrive where I land.)
I am excited – and, justly, horrified – to realize that the battle of Armageddon is a present realty. You’d think that all my training in law and gospel in Lutheran theology would have taught me that. And, to be sure, I have always recognized the on-going, current struggle of faith. But I have never seriously read the Apocalypse to realize that that is its insight, too. And my great interest is “eschatology” has not, so far, led me to the Apocalypse of St. John – which I tended to dismiss as “apocalyptic” versus “eschatological” preaching. So I am embarrassed that my training is so narrow.
To some extent, the apocalyptic crowd – Hal Lindsey, the LEFT BEHIND folks, and how many others? – are correct: Apocalyptic battles are already occurring. To the extent that even the most problematic interpreters of the Apocalypse raise that alarum, they are correct. To the extent that they anticipate only a future and final battle somewhere beyond historical time, they do not carefully read the book, I think.
In John’s visions, the battles between the forces of evil – symbolized by Satan, the beast, the dragon, the harlot – and the force (note my deliberate use of the singular) of righteousness occur even as we read the book. But these battles are not military battles in the sense that we ordinarily – and especially in this time of the “war” on terror – take. I am surprised to have pointed out to me (because I have never recognized the fact) that the ONLY weapon carried by the force of righteousness is the sword that issues from the mouth of Christ – in other words, not a “weapon” at all, but the Word of God. The weapon of righteousness is not a literal sword – let alone a tank or a missile or a nuclear bomb – but is the proclamation of the Word – i.e., the reality and will – of God. It was proclaimed originally by Messiah Jesus, and is now announced by his successor prophet-proclaimers, the Church.
The contemporaneity of the great battle(s) is mightily important, as is demonstrated by the juxtaposition of the opening chapters (the letters to the churches) with all the battle scenes. What is the scene of the battles – even of the great, culminating battle at Har Megiddo? It is the local parish setting – i.e., up close and personal to the lives of believers. What is the cause of the conflict – i.e., over what is the battle fought? It is lackadaisical faith commitment, consumerism, too much accommodation to (indeed, assimilation into) the surrounding culture. Those are battles facing the Church in every place and every age. And to that extent, at least, the Church in every age is in the final conflict for the “end of history.” (For that reason, I wonder – and perhaps Koester will deal with this – whether Armageddon is not so much a picture of one final-and-for-all-time as it is a symbol for the great, current, existential battle that the community of faith in a particular time and place faces for itself. And, on this view, then, Armageddon is not one battle, but several throughout history.)
Prof. Koester speaks beautifully of the “end” of history. He helped me to see that we must use the word “end” carefully and deliberately. For the Apocalypse deals with the end of history, not in the sense of “end” as conclusion, but in the sense of “end” as goal, as “telos,” as fulfillment. History’s “end” is not a nuclear explosion – which could very well bring the history of the earth to a temporal end, I admit. History’s “end” – i.e., its goal or its point or its fulfillment – is in the gathering of the tribes and nations to worship “around the glassy sea.” John’s concern, then, is not to forecast or describe how the earth’s history will cease, but it is to describe how the Creator’s work of art is fulfilled when faithful recipients of his grace offer their praise and worship. Today, then, can as well be the end of history as some future point (whether vague or pinpointed). For Christians who place their ultimate trust in God-revealed-in-Messiah, history has – in a penultimate sense – reached its end, even if it does not stop.
When I gather with my congregation to sing God’s praises and to meet him face-to-face in the Eucharist, history has “ended” – i.e., be fulfilled. That there will be some final fulfillment beyond the contemporary is suggested by the language of the “first” and “second” resurrection. I’m not sure that that is an apt way to read that passage, so I have a question in mind for tonight’s class. For me, however, it fits.
A natural implication to draw from that is the recognition that Christians are not called to be violent participants in some kind of armed conflict (in the sense that the world understands that) – or even to relish the idea of violent Goetterdaemerungen. Rather, Christians are called to be non-violent resisters to the evil which the Word of God takes on – suffering servants, proclaimers and trusters of the Word of God, witnesses by their resolution to the faithfulness of God who promises not to abandon us. As I noted earlier, the armies of heaven are not armed, but merely (?) accompany the One who rides the White Horse. Those who face battle are not called to do battle, but to resist – to wear their white robes (bleached by the suffering of Christ) and to resist forces of violence, nihilism, hedonism, economic misdeeds, sexualism, “modernism,” less-than-seriousness, and all the other problems identified in the book as the works of the antagonists of God.
When I first met Stanley Hauerwas – one of the most combative and consistent pacifist theologians one is likely to meet or read – he autographed one of his books to me, encouraging me to faithful service in the “Army of God.” I questioned his use of a military term to refer to the life of faith. He responded that the people of God ought not to let others set the terms of discourse or to claim exclusive right to the use of certain well-established terms in the Christian lexicon. His point was that the Scriptures (especially the New Testament) speak of the army of God without in any sense intending to portray them as militarists. While there is a war to be fought, the weapons of that war are not swords, guns, or missiles; rather, the weapons are the Word of God (on our part, at least). I now see that he has a most apt apocalyptic view of the life of faith.
It was that that encounter with Hauerwas that set me to rethinking my feelings about the BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. Last week, Prof. Koester made much of that hymn. He pointed out that that hymn is really just a retelling of the Battle of Armageddon (more evidence that the Church best sings some of her theology). But even before hearing him say that, I had “rehabilitated” the hymn for my soul, with its warrior and conflict imagery, for the Church’s use. (Actually, I WAS REHABILITATED for the singing of the hymn by Prof. Hauerwas.. And, because the hymn’s call for and reassurance of justice has always gripped me in the voicebox and tear duct when I sing it, I am happy for the transformation.) Knowing that by singing the hymn, I am singing the Book of the Apocalypse makes it just that much better.
Resistance – the modus operandi of the Church – is exercised in numerous ways, I suppose. (That would make a really good topic for a series of adult fora in congregations: How can we avoid the Spirit’s indictments of the seven congregations at the beginning of the Apocalypse?) But military might (including individual armaments) is not one of them. On this I think the testimony of the Apocalypse is clear: Christ’s word is the sword; faith is the defensive breastplate; love is the battle plan – strategic and tactical.
That insight feels delightful: It confirms my political stance against Star Wars missile defenses, against apocalyptic-inspired warmaking (sometimes called “preventive war”), against reliance on military might for our “defense” (a political position I arrived at primarily on the witness of the Sermon on the Mount, but which now seems to have an even broader base). In the Church, promoting and/or justifying war, et. al., ought to be out-of-bounds thinking, so Christians ought also to vote against the same, I think. Blood-stained uniforms are not the dress of Christians – white linen baptismal gowns are. Only Messiah wears a blood-stained alb, and his is stained with his own blood, not that of his victims – sacrificial blood, not defensive-wound blood. (After reading this book, the Church ought to reflect on Lady Macbeth’s lesson: The stain of unrighteousness blood is indelible. And I have to say that I never expected to invoke the good – er, bad – Lady in any theological reflection!)
Just-war thinking: Are you next for the indictment of the Spirit?
In any event, thank you, Professor-brother Craig, if you happen to read this. You have excited me in a long-neglected (at least by me) aspect of the faith – one I shall be working on for a long time.
This last book in the Bible is a beautiful thing. We ought all to know it better. Happy reading, brothers and sisters.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
The Grammar of Faith
I know this drum gets beaten all the time, but I need to give it a couple of whacks today.
As a lawyer, I receive way too many announcements, via e-mail and snail mail, of continuing education events. (You lose your license if you don't stay current through cont. ed.) Today I received one entitled "Defending Domestic Crimes." I don't know whether to laugh or fume (actually, I've done both with colleagues).
Lawyers are word people: That's how we make our living. Whether those words appear on paper or in oral form, those words are what we do. Consequently, one expects lawyers to have some sense of the local language (in this case, English, although a smattering of law French and Latin come in handy, I suppose). People of words ought not so molest thought as to misrepresent what they intend to say. And that is what the announcement did.
The announcement meant to say (and for this I rely on the blurb for the seminar)is that this is a seminar in how to be effective in representing people who have been accused of domestic crimes -- e.g., domestic violence. Instead, the seminar title announced a rather scandalous promotion of domestic crimes -- perhaps justifying them or encouraging people to do them.
A perfectly good way to say what the sponsors intended would have been "Defending against claims of domestic crimes." Oh sure, it adds three words and may not be as pithy as the original, but the difference in meaning added by those words is immense. I expect better. (And much as I am tempted to attend the seminar to see what's actually offered, I shall not; my ethics do not allow it. I don't encourage false advertising.)
Lamentably, this incident simply highlights something that most lawyers know: Lawyers are very poor wordsmiths; they are negligent in what matters most -- the way in which they get their ideas and arguments across.
Such a lament is appropriate to the Church, too. For the people of faith are often poor wordsmiths, and that failing is significant.
We Christians are people of the Word: Indeed, our Savior was God's own Word incarnate. As the contemporary Body of Christ, we share in that Wordiness. The issue is communication and the relationships that make communication possible. As a consequence, words matter -- and the way we put those words together matters. (Remember the second commandment: I think its tentacle reach into the very nature of our use of language, implicating our vocabulary and grammar in the life of faith.)
It seems that grammar is not now considered important. In schools, there is not much emphasis on it -- and the practical effects run to near incomprehensibility when students write. (It doesn't matter how it's phrased if you know what is intended -- that's what we're often told. Well, that is simply rubbish.) Preachers-to-be are not taught grammar and their errors are not corrected. Lousy sentence structure, faulty connections, subject-verb disagreement, shallow vocabularies -- these are passed off as less important than the "meaning." But there is no meaning without the rest; that's much of what the Incarnation taught us. (In fact, Marshall McLuan gave us an evangelical hermeneutical tool with his aphorism: The medium is the message.)
A current bestseller makes an impassioned plea for renewed attention to punctuation (EATS, SHOOTS AND LEAVES). Of at least similar import is grammar. Read the book and laugh -- or hold your head in misery. Then listen to your preacher: Correct him or her, ask him or her about the language of the sermon. And watch your own tongue.
The Word became flesh, and that makes our language a meaty thing.
As a lawyer, I receive way too many announcements, via e-mail and snail mail, of continuing education events. (You lose your license if you don't stay current through cont. ed.) Today I received one entitled "Defending Domestic Crimes." I don't know whether to laugh or fume (actually, I've done both with colleagues).
Lawyers are word people: That's how we make our living. Whether those words appear on paper or in oral form, those words are what we do. Consequently, one expects lawyers to have some sense of the local language (in this case, English, although a smattering of law French and Latin come in handy, I suppose). People of words ought not so molest thought as to misrepresent what they intend to say. And that is what the announcement did.
The announcement meant to say (and for this I rely on the blurb for the seminar)is that this is a seminar in how to be effective in representing people who have been accused of domestic crimes -- e.g., domestic violence. Instead, the seminar title announced a rather scandalous promotion of domestic crimes -- perhaps justifying them or encouraging people to do them.
A perfectly good way to say what the sponsors intended would have been "Defending against claims of domestic crimes." Oh sure, it adds three words and may not be as pithy as the original, but the difference in meaning added by those words is immense. I expect better. (And much as I am tempted to attend the seminar to see what's actually offered, I shall not; my ethics do not allow it. I don't encourage false advertising.)
Lamentably, this incident simply highlights something that most lawyers know: Lawyers are very poor wordsmiths; they are negligent in what matters most -- the way in which they get their ideas and arguments across.
Such a lament is appropriate to the Church, too. For the people of faith are often poor wordsmiths, and that failing is significant.
We Christians are people of the Word: Indeed, our Savior was God's own Word incarnate. As the contemporary Body of Christ, we share in that Wordiness. The issue is communication and the relationships that make communication possible. As a consequence, words matter -- and the way we put those words together matters. (Remember the second commandment: I think its tentacle reach into the very nature of our use of language, implicating our vocabulary and grammar in the life of faith.)
It seems that grammar is not now considered important. In schools, there is not much emphasis on it -- and the practical effects run to near incomprehensibility when students write. (It doesn't matter how it's phrased if you know what is intended -- that's what we're often told. Well, that is simply rubbish.) Preachers-to-be are not taught grammar and their errors are not corrected. Lousy sentence structure, faulty connections, subject-verb disagreement, shallow vocabularies -- these are passed off as less important than the "meaning." But there is no meaning without the rest; that's much of what the Incarnation taught us. (In fact, Marshall McLuan gave us an evangelical hermeneutical tool with his aphorism: The medium is the message.)
A current bestseller makes an impassioned plea for renewed attention to punctuation (EATS, SHOOTS AND LEAVES). Of at least similar import is grammar. Read the book and laugh -- or hold your head in misery. Then listen to your preacher: Correct him or her, ask him or her about the language of the sermon. And watch your own tongue.
The Word became flesh, and that makes our language a meaty thing.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Music Criticism
Now for something completely different: I spent Friday evening simply enjoying myself with no responsibility for anyone else (my daughter was out and my wife was writing a paper for one of her graduate courses, so I was left to my own devices). I sat in my easy chair next to the amplifier and popped CDs in and out while I alternately listened intently and read with the music in the background. The music I chose was Richard Strauss' FOUR LAST SONGS, and I am confirmed in my opinion that it is simply the most fantastic music for voice and orchestra in the repertoire.
The SONGS were composed toward the end of Maestro Strauss' life, and together they constitute a meditation on the end of life. (Three of the songs are on texts by Hermann Hesse; the fourth Hesse song was never completed because of Strass' death. The fourth, on a text of an author whose name has escaped me, was added by the publisher to complete the cycle. It turns out to be a good decision -- both for profits and for musicality.) It is not maudlin, although it is romantic (what do you expect with Hesse?). I wouldn't mind hearing BEIM SCHLAFENGEHEN (on going to sleep) as I lay on my death bed. In fact, these four songs really help place life and death in proper proportion. It's quite sermonic!
I started collecting reocrdings of the SONGS twenty years ago, so now I have about ten or eleven different recordings of the piece (most on CD, some on vinyl and CD, but one or two still on vinyl only -- which I much perfer for the depth and warmth of sound), and I simply played through some of them, comparing the various interpretations, tempi, fluidity of line, and tonal qualities of the singers. And I played through the piece as sung by one diva, and then replaced it with another. And so it went for more than a couple of hours. (I was also reading, so I wasn't always listening to the music exclusively. Sometimes the music was in the same room as I, with my being aware of its presence, but not held captive -- as though a friend were in the room with me, perhaps reading as I read, but with no conversation.
At this point I think my favorite recording is by the American soprano-superstar Renee Fleming. (In what I say, I am aware that she benefits from recording technology that earlier vocalists did not, so that the general presentation is more satisfying. But that's not what I'm really focussing on when I listen. As I said, if I were a true audiophile, I would listen only to vinyl recordings -- and I'd never hear the new singers.) She has the most fantastic voice -- full, rich, almost mezzo in its quality (except that it stays rich and full and even more alluring as she hits the highest notes -- not something that is true of all the interpreters). I have had the great honor to meet the Diva and speak with her just after she finished performing the songs with the Minnesota Orchestra. She is charming as well as talented! And her interpretation (along with Chrisoph Eschenbach and the Houston orchestra -- marvelous instrument, there) is, I think, flawless -- it's not "arty," or contrived or melodramatic. (I would like to instruct the violin soloist in the BEIM SCHLAFENGEHEN, but I have yet to establish my musical conservatory credentials.)
Up to hearing her recording and her live performance, I had considered Elizabeth Schwarzkopf's recording the best (she actually has two). Madame Schwarzkopf is a singer's singer -- immensely committed to making music as good as it can be. She is bright, enormously talented, very attractive (and lamentably retired), and working with her husband, producer Walter Legge, has produced some of the most precise and accurate recordings you can imagine. (I think one critic once called her/their recording of THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO "pristine.") Schwarzkopf is often accused of being too perfect -- mannered (I think a little), self-conscious (perhaps in some lieder, certainly NOT in her opera recordings), "precious." But, man, can the woman sing. (She relates, in her memoir, a scene in a restaurant when Maria Callas came up to her at the dining table and insisted she teach her a technique for holding high notes. It's a howler-- the very staid Madame Schwarzkopf and the devil-diva Callas going at high Cs while a roomful of startled diners probably didn't know whether to cry or shout "brava".)
It turns out that Madame Fleming also considers Schwarzkopf's SONGS the most interesting and precise. (I learned this because I asked her, point blank.) After listening to all extant recordings, as a part of preparing to sing the piece herself, Ms. Fleming concluded that hers was the best. (I, of course, felt confirmed in my taste -- if not in my knowledge -- by that information.)
But my experience is that there is no "bad" recording of the SONGS. It is a fabulous piece of music, also fabulously difficult (the range alone is deadly), and most singers have had the good sense to avoid it.
Everyone should have two or three different recordings of the SONGS (I'd like to remain the only person I know who has almost all the extant recordings).
By the way, supposedly Madame Fleming was the model for the opera singer in the novel BEL CANTO (a book I can also recommend). I have not sensed the rawness in Ms. Fleming that is apparent in the singer in the novel, but the novel's singer is known for her performances of RUSULKA (Dvorak's opera), and Renee Fleming is about the only one who sings it these days. (In fact, the aria to the moon from that opera was Ms. Fleming's encore the night she sang SONGS with the Minnesota.) I think it's so neat when two of my great loves, literature and opera, come together.
Happy revels!
The SONGS were composed toward the end of Maestro Strauss' life, and together they constitute a meditation on the end of life. (Three of the songs are on texts by Hermann Hesse; the fourth Hesse song was never completed because of Strass' death. The fourth, on a text of an author whose name has escaped me, was added by the publisher to complete the cycle. It turns out to be a good decision -- both for profits and for musicality.) It is not maudlin, although it is romantic (what do you expect with Hesse?). I wouldn't mind hearing BEIM SCHLAFENGEHEN (on going to sleep) as I lay on my death bed. In fact, these four songs really help place life and death in proper proportion. It's quite sermonic!
I started collecting reocrdings of the SONGS twenty years ago, so now I have about ten or eleven different recordings of the piece (most on CD, some on vinyl and CD, but one or two still on vinyl only -- which I much perfer for the depth and warmth of sound), and I simply played through some of them, comparing the various interpretations, tempi, fluidity of line, and tonal qualities of the singers. And I played through the piece as sung by one diva, and then replaced it with another. And so it went for more than a couple of hours. (I was also reading, so I wasn't always listening to the music exclusively. Sometimes the music was in the same room as I, with my being aware of its presence, but not held captive -- as though a friend were in the room with me, perhaps reading as I read, but with no conversation.
At this point I think my favorite recording is by the American soprano-superstar Renee Fleming. (In what I say, I am aware that she benefits from recording technology that earlier vocalists did not, so that the general presentation is more satisfying. But that's not what I'm really focussing on when I listen. As I said, if I were a true audiophile, I would listen only to vinyl recordings -- and I'd never hear the new singers.) She has the most fantastic voice -- full, rich, almost mezzo in its quality (except that it stays rich and full and even more alluring as she hits the highest notes -- not something that is true of all the interpreters). I have had the great honor to meet the Diva and speak with her just after she finished performing the songs with the Minnesota Orchestra. She is charming as well as talented! And her interpretation (along with Chrisoph Eschenbach and the Houston orchestra -- marvelous instrument, there) is, I think, flawless -- it's not "arty," or contrived or melodramatic. (I would like to instruct the violin soloist in the BEIM SCHLAFENGEHEN, but I have yet to establish my musical conservatory credentials.)
Up to hearing her recording and her live performance, I had considered Elizabeth Schwarzkopf's recording the best (she actually has two). Madame Schwarzkopf is a singer's singer -- immensely committed to making music as good as it can be. She is bright, enormously talented, very attractive (and lamentably retired), and working with her husband, producer Walter Legge, has produced some of the most precise and accurate recordings you can imagine. (I think one critic once called her/their recording of THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO "pristine.") Schwarzkopf is often accused of being too perfect -- mannered (I think a little), self-conscious (perhaps in some lieder, certainly NOT in her opera recordings), "precious." But, man, can the woman sing. (She relates, in her memoir, a scene in a restaurant when Maria Callas came up to her at the dining table and insisted she teach her a technique for holding high notes. It's a howler-- the very staid Madame Schwarzkopf and the devil-diva Callas going at high Cs while a roomful of startled diners probably didn't know whether to cry or shout "brava".)
It turns out that Madame Fleming also considers Schwarzkopf's SONGS the most interesting and precise. (I learned this because I asked her, point blank.) After listening to all extant recordings, as a part of preparing to sing the piece herself, Ms. Fleming concluded that hers was the best. (I, of course, felt confirmed in my taste -- if not in my knowledge -- by that information.)
But my experience is that there is no "bad" recording of the SONGS. It is a fabulous piece of music, also fabulously difficult (the range alone is deadly), and most singers have had the good sense to avoid it.
Everyone should have two or three different recordings of the SONGS (I'd like to remain the only person I know who has almost all the extant recordings).
By the way, supposedly Madame Fleming was the model for the opera singer in the novel BEL CANTO (a book I can also recommend). I have not sensed the rawness in Ms. Fleming that is apparent in the singer in the novel, but the novel's singer is known for her performances of RUSULKA (Dvorak's opera), and Renee Fleming is about the only one who sings it these days. (In fact, the aria to the moon from that opera was Ms. Fleming's encore the night she sang SONGS with the Minnesota.) I think it's so neat when two of my great loves, literature and opera, come together.
Happy revels!
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Reflections on the Book of Revelation
I am taking a continuing education course, sort of, at Luther Seminary on the Book of Revelation (Apocalypse), taught by Craig Koester. It is a fascinating reminder of – in my case, it is all but an introduction to – the subtle and hope-filled theology in that most troublesome of books in the Bible.
First, some immediate reactions. Craig Koester is a dynamic, informed, engaging, and most competent instructor. It is clear that he has studied this book seriously (he does, after all, teach it to pastors-to-be). But he has a style of presenting the book that is, to say the least, engaging. He is able to communicate relatively sophisticated insights into how the book is structured and how it does not say what it is often portrayed as saying in ways that even the most unsophisticated auditor can grasp. Furthermore, when he takes on bugaboo interpretations of the book, as he does when he highlights the weaknesses of the “Left Behind” series of novels, he does so without any sense of rancor or defensiveness. One has got to love that kind of a presentation, and I do.
Second, Professor Koester has published the accompanying “recommended reading” text: REVELATION AND THE END OF ALL THINGS (Eerdmans, of course, 2001). It is, so far as I can tell, a splendid book. It is chockablock with details and analysis: It provides a very helpful “read” of the book and an interpretation that takes account of misreadings of the book. But, again, it is written on a very popular level: It is not at all difficult to penetrate. And it is vivid and to-the-point.
Third, Professor Koester’s method is not restricted to lecture, illustrated lecture (he’s really into electronic technology to enhance his presentations), discussion, or any combination of the three. He includes singing. Now, I am not a very “participative” class member, but he has gotten me singing “Holy, holy, holy” and other hymns, as well as parts of the liturgy. He does so to illustrate that Revelation may be the single most cited book in the Church’s hymnody and liturgy. What the Church has not been able to teach (and he makes the point that virtually none of the book is included in the Revised Common Lectionary – probably so as not to stir up questions that preachers can’t deal with), it has sung – and in so doing, has communicated the message of the book probably far better than a different theological treatment could have done. (Much of that latest musing is my interpretation, not Professor Koester’s!)
If that is all that could be said of the class, it would be enough to encourage others to take it. And I do so encourage people to do when it is next offered.
But I am developing a sense of the book that leads to a wonderful myriad of theological theses. Let me try out a couple.
First, the book is a wonderfully “Lutheran” celebration of the grace and power of God to good things. There is a remarkable structure to the telling of John’s “visions” that contrasts what John has “heard” and what he “sees.” For example, John writes that he has heard – meaning it has been reported in prophecy and/or been taught – that only 10 percent of the people of the world will be saved once God enters final judgment. And John reports that just as he is about to present a vision. Then John “looks and sees” and finds that what he had “heard” – i.e., the tradition and traditional interpretation of the prophecy – in undone by what he now “sees.” Rather than only 10 percent’s being saved, John sees that 90 percent are saved and only 10 percent lost – and in that latter case because they fought off the salvation.
That all suggests a theological method that does not too literally read the prophecies (however one wishes to define that term) in a way that limits God’s grace and power to be graceful. Rather, be alert to ways in which the grace of God is munificent. God is always abroad to surprise – and his surprise is always on the side of goodness and mercy for the human condition.
Thus, the Book of Revelation contains within its own narrative a hermeneutic and method to fight off the “left behind” and other “millennialism” (pre- and post-) readings that forecast vengeance and wrath and violence and that do not adequately reflect the hope and encouragement contained in the book. For the book is ultimately not a forecast of world events but a diagnosis of the human condition (showing it fraught with challenges to the god-ness of God) and a witness to the ultimate faithfulness and effectiveness of God. Thus, the narrative itself demonstrates that the very bloodthirstiness evident in “apocalyptic” novels and theological treatises is part of what is to be defeated by the faithful God who took on human nature in Messiah Jesus.
Without Professor Koester’s guidance, I doubt I would ever have made that out.
There is in the book, too, a clue to what the nature of Christian life is meant to be. As I read the book and Professor Koester’s book, I am led to see that suffering faithfulness is itself a salvific lifestyle. The people of God are not shown to be the battlers or the ones on whom rests the responsibility to “save the world.” Rather, the “function” of the people of God is simply to exist and persevere in faithfulness in the world – put down, oppressed, not even respected, as the case may be – as a witness to the faithfulness and love of God. The mere existence of the people of the God – which is to say, the Church – is that witness. When the Church maintains its liturgical life with integrity and sings the praise of God (“around the glassy sea”), even though the world would silence her and scatter her and tempt her to the praise of some other power, then that very maintenance becomes the ministry of salvation. The world sees and is won over – at least ultimately.
In chapter 13, for example, the “testimony” of the “saints” becomes the means by which Satan is conquered: “Hold out and hold on,” seems to be the message. Do not (to put it in the context of the first chapters of the book) become too comfortable with the world’s order or too comfortable with one’s “mission” so that one becomes slovenly in one’s practices. Don’t be lukewarm or too accommodating or assimilated. For then, you lose the “testimony.” And even if persecution comes – and it will likely come – then know that you will come out on the other side victorious over Satan and the dragon and on and on.
Of course, significant in all this is not a personal, individual address, but rather an address to the Church – i.e., to congregations (remember that the book begins with addresses to the “seven churches” in Asia Minor – churches in the sense of congregations) and to the entire Church (for the seven are meant to stand for the entire Christian community). The basic unit of consideration is the community. Oh, the book does not ignore individuals – witness the frequent references to the numbers of individuals involved. But the primary focus of the book is on the “gestalt” of the Church. The book is, thus, a wild-and-crazy call for the Church to take up its own cultural identity, in the mode of Willimon and Hauerwas’ book, RESIDENT ALIENS.
Unless the Church hangs together, Christians will hang separately. (Sorry, but I couldn’t resist that.) It is as and in community that individual Christians find their place in God’s reign – this is fundamental assumption of John’s preaching. As a community, we find the resources to resist or endure or defeat the onslaughts of dragons, beasts, Satan. Whatever the outcome, God is present in the event. And in the process the very existence of our community becomes witness to the great things that God – that is, the One who was and is and is to come – has done, is doing, and will do.
This is an exciting portrait of evangelism – or more broadly, of ecclesiology. It takes seriously the mandate of Our Lord to “make disciples” – not intellectual converts. It emphasizes the life of faith more than the recitation of the name of “Jesus.” It recognizes the need for Christian “formation” – for unless one is prepared through worship, catechesis, and example to endure the coming tribulation, one will not likely withstand it. In all of this, it urges reform of the all-too-common individualism and moralism of modern Christianity.
This is really exciting stuff.
And all this after only 2 of the 5 classes. Now, I suppose that my perspective can be shown to be nothing but my own projections onto the text (and into the mind of Professor Koester) of my own pet themes. (The best teaching in the world is hard pressed, I think, to dislodge that impetus.) But so far, I love what I am getting.
First, some immediate reactions. Craig Koester is a dynamic, informed, engaging, and most competent instructor. It is clear that he has studied this book seriously (he does, after all, teach it to pastors-to-be). But he has a style of presenting the book that is, to say the least, engaging. He is able to communicate relatively sophisticated insights into how the book is structured and how it does not say what it is often portrayed as saying in ways that even the most unsophisticated auditor can grasp. Furthermore, when he takes on bugaboo interpretations of the book, as he does when he highlights the weaknesses of the “Left Behind” series of novels, he does so without any sense of rancor or defensiveness. One has got to love that kind of a presentation, and I do.
Second, Professor Koester has published the accompanying “recommended reading” text: REVELATION AND THE END OF ALL THINGS (Eerdmans, of course, 2001). It is, so far as I can tell, a splendid book. It is chockablock with details and analysis: It provides a very helpful “read” of the book and an interpretation that takes account of misreadings of the book. But, again, it is written on a very popular level: It is not at all difficult to penetrate. And it is vivid and to-the-point.
Third, Professor Koester’s method is not restricted to lecture, illustrated lecture (he’s really into electronic technology to enhance his presentations), discussion, or any combination of the three. He includes singing. Now, I am not a very “participative” class member, but he has gotten me singing “Holy, holy, holy” and other hymns, as well as parts of the liturgy. He does so to illustrate that Revelation may be the single most cited book in the Church’s hymnody and liturgy. What the Church has not been able to teach (and he makes the point that virtually none of the book is included in the Revised Common Lectionary – probably so as not to stir up questions that preachers can’t deal with), it has sung – and in so doing, has communicated the message of the book probably far better than a different theological treatment could have done. (Much of that latest musing is my interpretation, not Professor Koester’s!)
If that is all that could be said of the class, it would be enough to encourage others to take it. And I do so encourage people to do when it is next offered.
But I am developing a sense of the book that leads to a wonderful myriad of theological theses. Let me try out a couple.
First, the book is a wonderfully “Lutheran” celebration of the grace and power of God to good things. There is a remarkable structure to the telling of John’s “visions” that contrasts what John has “heard” and what he “sees.” For example, John writes that he has heard – meaning it has been reported in prophecy and/or been taught – that only 10 percent of the people of the world will be saved once God enters final judgment. And John reports that just as he is about to present a vision. Then John “looks and sees” and finds that what he had “heard” – i.e., the tradition and traditional interpretation of the prophecy – in undone by what he now “sees.” Rather than only 10 percent’s being saved, John sees that 90 percent are saved and only 10 percent lost – and in that latter case because they fought off the salvation.
That all suggests a theological method that does not too literally read the prophecies (however one wishes to define that term) in a way that limits God’s grace and power to be graceful. Rather, be alert to ways in which the grace of God is munificent. God is always abroad to surprise – and his surprise is always on the side of goodness and mercy for the human condition.
Thus, the Book of Revelation contains within its own narrative a hermeneutic and method to fight off the “left behind” and other “millennialism” (pre- and post-) readings that forecast vengeance and wrath and violence and that do not adequately reflect the hope and encouragement contained in the book. For the book is ultimately not a forecast of world events but a diagnosis of the human condition (showing it fraught with challenges to the god-ness of God) and a witness to the ultimate faithfulness and effectiveness of God. Thus, the narrative itself demonstrates that the very bloodthirstiness evident in “apocalyptic” novels and theological treatises is part of what is to be defeated by the faithful God who took on human nature in Messiah Jesus.
Without Professor Koester’s guidance, I doubt I would ever have made that out.
There is in the book, too, a clue to what the nature of Christian life is meant to be. As I read the book and Professor Koester’s book, I am led to see that suffering faithfulness is itself a salvific lifestyle. The people of God are not shown to be the battlers or the ones on whom rests the responsibility to “save the world.” Rather, the “function” of the people of God is simply to exist and persevere in faithfulness in the world – put down, oppressed, not even respected, as the case may be – as a witness to the faithfulness and love of God. The mere existence of the people of the God – which is to say, the Church – is that witness. When the Church maintains its liturgical life with integrity and sings the praise of God (“around the glassy sea”), even though the world would silence her and scatter her and tempt her to the praise of some other power, then that very maintenance becomes the ministry of salvation. The world sees and is won over – at least ultimately.
In chapter 13, for example, the “testimony” of the “saints” becomes the means by which Satan is conquered: “Hold out and hold on,” seems to be the message. Do not (to put it in the context of the first chapters of the book) become too comfortable with the world’s order or too comfortable with one’s “mission” so that one becomes slovenly in one’s practices. Don’t be lukewarm or too accommodating or assimilated. For then, you lose the “testimony.” And even if persecution comes – and it will likely come – then know that you will come out on the other side victorious over Satan and the dragon and on and on.
Of course, significant in all this is not a personal, individual address, but rather an address to the Church – i.e., to congregations (remember that the book begins with addresses to the “seven churches” in Asia Minor – churches in the sense of congregations) and to the entire Church (for the seven are meant to stand for the entire Christian community). The basic unit of consideration is the community. Oh, the book does not ignore individuals – witness the frequent references to the numbers of individuals involved. But the primary focus of the book is on the “gestalt” of the Church. The book is, thus, a wild-and-crazy call for the Church to take up its own cultural identity, in the mode of Willimon and Hauerwas’ book, RESIDENT ALIENS.
Unless the Church hangs together, Christians will hang separately. (Sorry, but I couldn’t resist that.) It is as and in community that individual Christians find their place in God’s reign – this is fundamental assumption of John’s preaching. As a community, we find the resources to resist or endure or defeat the onslaughts of dragons, beasts, Satan. Whatever the outcome, God is present in the event. And in the process the very existence of our community becomes witness to the great things that God – that is, the One who was and is and is to come – has done, is doing, and will do.
This is an exciting portrait of evangelism – or more broadly, of ecclesiology. It takes seriously the mandate of Our Lord to “make disciples” – not intellectual converts. It emphasizes the life of faith more than the recitation of the name of “Jesus.” It recognizes the need for Christian “formation” – for unless one is prepared through worship, catechesis, and example to endure the coming tribulation, one will not likely withstand it. In all of this, it urges reform of the all-too-common individualism and moralism of modern Christianity.
This is really exciting stuff.
And all this after only 2 of the 5 classes. Now, I suppose that my perspective can be shown to be nothing but my own projections onto the text (and into the mind of Professor Koester) of my own pet themes. (The best teaching in the world is hard pressed, I think, to dislodge that impetus.) But so far, I love what I am getting.
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Voter Education
I am overdue for a couple of rants and raves, so the continuity of this post will likely not be obvious.
It has seemed increasingly clear to me that the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (the only church body I know at all reasonably well -- and even her I do not know well) has been untrue to itself in this country by failing to teach its faithful how to live with and in the "two kingdoms" that it touts in its doctrinal texts. I speak especially of its refusal or its inability to teach the members how to vote in elections at all political levels.
Now let me say right up front that I don't know much about the so-called "two kingdoms" or "two realms" in Lutheran teaching. I have tried to education myself, since I didn't get much of that in my formal training (there was, after all, a whole lot of other stuff to cover). But it seems to me to boil down to a fundamental uncertainty of how to deal with the widely-defined political realties of human life. Since we do not live in a theocracy (for which many of us give thanks, mistrusting as we do even the bishops to establish a political realm of order according to the Word of God seen by their lights), we have to figure out how to deal with other people who share our air, our space, our intangibles (freedom, liberty, aspirations).
Lutherans say, I think, that God has given over the kind of day-to-day management of human sin and possibility in the world to governments, which in turn have the authority to impose order and restrain human sinfulness by the use of the sword -- i.e., by force, either physical or suasive. Such an order is God's will, and because that is true, Christians are bound to respect and obey the civil authorities as having been placed, in some sense, in their offices by God. (There is provision for opposing the governing authority -- Luther himself has offered permission -- but the general "tilt" of Lutheran politics has been an acknowledge of the legitimacy of the public authority, I think it safe to say.) In other words, God's authority or reign is exercised indirectly by or through the powers-that-be.
God's direct authority is gospel-focussed. He does not use force to make things happen; instead grace is his modus operandi. He is, of course, the object of our ultimate obedience and loyalty. So if there is a conflict between the civil authorities and the Gospel authority, obviously the Gospel authority wins.
But Lutherans have not been very cleaar about more than that, so far as I can see -- no matter at what length they have discussed the "two realms."
I am not a great fan of the teaching, mostly because I don't understand it and partly because I am not convinced by it. But because I do not understand it, I do not fight it -- very much -- except to suggest, along the lines offered by Hauerwas, that the Christian community contitutes its own polis, its own political reality, its own "culture." And as such, the Church may at times find the political authority irrelevant and even antithetic to the Church's life -- which is to say, believers' lives. (I am intrigued by the debate among solid theologians of the Hauerwasian persuasion, and many others who root in different traditions and theological points of view, who argue whether Christians ought even to vote in American elections. I'll read and think about that more before offering even a synopsis.)
Well, if we take as a given that Christians may -- indeed, must -- live in two realms (even if God is final authority over both and has not abandoned the civil to its own fate), then discourse about how one is, at minimum, to balance the responsibilities of these two realms -- not exactly accurately described as "church" and "state" -- is a pressing issue. At this time of this year, the most pressing issue is how do I make up my mind about which, if any, of the presidential candidates do I vote for?
And here we come to my point: If God is ultimate authority over the civil realm, and if the Church is where one is trained to life the life of faith obedient and celebratory of that authority, ought not the Church have some involvement in educating or forming the faithful into living faithfully in the civil sphere? In short, ought not the Church teach me how to vote?
Now by "teach me how to vote," I don't mean tell me which candidates or causes to support -- at least necessarily. But the Church -- at the congregational, synodical, and national level -- ought to be involved in helping voters who are members of the Church balance concerns, identify priorities, and articulate principles.
Obviously I operate with certain assumptions about how Christians reach ethical decisions: I believe that voting involves making ethical decisions. I believe that Christians are expected to use their minds, as informed by the teachings of the Church, to reach ethical conclusions. I believe that not all decisions we are called to make are black-and-white clear. And I believe that Christians of good faith may come to different conclusions on ethical issues -- though I am often bewildered when Christians reach different conclusions from mine.
Now I know that the Church is very active in formulating "policy statements" -- on everthing from the environmen to sex. But those grand statements are, as it were, released into the atmosphere -- with no serious efforts either to be sure that they are properly disseminated among the congregations or to bring the policies to bear on particular issues or campaigns. There is an almost gnostic tendency to act as though merely releasing the wisdom is enough, that to go farther and try to help people apply the wisdom to their mundane lives is unnecessary.
I suspect that is so because we fear, like the plague, conflict in parishes and across the Church (and I guess we should do so, since we are so bad at knowing how to deal with conflict). I suspect, too, that a certain level of self-interest governs: We don't want to alienate givers by articulating stances that seem at odds with one or another political candidate's positions. After all, we must minister to Democrats and Republicans -- and never question whether Christians ought to be knee-jerk Republicans or Democrats at all!
But our current lack of practice is not a faithful way of being Church. As Christians, we are called first and foremost to be loyal to God -- him who has been ultimately faithful to us. To be faithful to God is to be in his Church and to be faithful to our fellow members of the Body of Christ. To be faithful means to be in constant dialogue. It means to consult and advise. (It may be irreverent, but I have often described the intercessions in the mass as the Church's advising God about how to rule his world. In a relationship, the parties may not be equal, but they do engage in dialogue and listen to one another.)
Christians ought to be talking together about this and every election. We ought not split up into our various interest groups and reinforce one anothers biases (and I'd say that even if I fit into a caucus; however, the socialist, pro-life, non-violence, historically critical-Biblical literalist caucus is so small as not to require a meeting). We need and should be talking beyond or without party lines because in Christ there is neither "conservative" (usually meaninglessly defined) or "liberal" (usually inaptly defined), neither hawk nor dove -- there is the one Body of Christ in union with all the other manifestations (instantiations, as my teacher Jenson is fond of saying) of the Body in the oneness of the Holy Trinity. We ought to be trying to reach consensus (whether or not we do is another matter) on matters of local and national and international life together -- and if not agreement on whom to vote for, at least some consensus on what matters and on what is true and on what is irrelevant.
So why are we not talking about the war in Iraq in adult fora across the ELCA? That topic is never absent from any other gathering -- social or professional -- of which I am a part, yet it has never been discussed in my parish's education offerings. What about tax breaks? Those are not only -- if even -- a matter for "economics majors"; they are of basic importance to how we structure the entire range of programs that we offer through government and non-government organizations, and they have enormous implications, if one is to believe the Old Testament prophets (check out Amos, for starters).
I know: The problems are complex. Well, so is the doctrine of the Holy Trinity or of the Two Natures of Christ. Yet we have taken those on. If we have to take six months to understand trickle down economic theory or socialist doctrine, so what? If we have to ask people to do some research, so what? And if it gets touchy to draw the Bible's witness to bear on the discussion, so what: Why else do we have pastors?
But, I am told: Our adult fora frequently feature people who are advocating for affordable housing, and care for people with AIDS, and new styles of judging and disciplining petty crimes in the neighborhool, and food programs. We're doing the job.
And I guess to some extent that is true. But where is the part of the prgram that makes clear that this particular concern is or should be of concern to Christians? Where is the rubber-hits-the-road discussion of whether this ought to be of concern to the legislature so that Christians should write letters or picket or vote for Candidate A? Ought Christians honestly be satisfied that we offer a cafeteria-style assortment of feel-good projects?
But, we are told, people are not interested in "politics" in church. Not true, I answer. What they don't want is partisanship in Church. (The Sojourners fellowship, known for its Christian-faith-based political action, sells a fabulous bumper sticker that says, "God is not a Republican -- or Democrat!) But it is not partisanship to analyze the platforms and performances of politicians and determine whether they meet muster. But, further, if people don't want to deal with political issues in Church, they are not being faithful to the Gospel. For the Gospel mandates a certain level of involvement in the world.
No, I suspect that the church has settled for being a religious ghetto or relatively meaningless proportions in order to carry on its "religious" duties. And just so the Church has ceded the civic realm to some other influence and has effectly abandoned its teaching (whether true or false) about the two realms of Christian life. There is only one, practically speaking -- the non-Church. Come to church, which has a niche carved out for it on a limited-time basis; come as a Republican, as a Democrat.
And unless we face that and begin to change, all other efforts, my brothers and sisters, is just so much rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.
It has seemed increasingly clear to me that the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (the only church body I know at all reasonably well -- and even her I do not know well) has been untrue to itself in this country by failing to teach its faithful how to live with and in the "two kingdoms" that it touts in its doctrinal texts. I speak especially of its refusal or its inability to teach the members how to vote in elections at all political levels.
Now let me say right up front that I don't know much about the so-called "two kingdoms" or "two realms" in Lutheran teaching. I have tried to education myself, since I didn't get much of that in my formal training (there was, after all, a whole lot of other stuff to cover). But it seems to me to boil down to a fundamental uncertainty of how to deal with the widely-defined political realties of human life. Since we do not live in a theocracy (for which many of us give thanks, mistrusting as we do even the bishops to establish a political realm of order according to the Word of God seen by their lights), we have to figure out how to deal with other people who share our air, our space, our intangibles (freedom, liberty, aspirations).
Lutherans say, I think, that God has given over the kind of day-to-day management of human sin and possibility in the world to governments, which in turn have the authority to impose order and restrain human sinfulness by the use of the sword -- i.e., by force, either physical or suasive. Such an order is God's will, and because that is true, Christians are bound to respect and obey the civil authorities as having been placed, in some sense, in their offices by God. (There is provision for opposing the governing authority -- Luther himself has offered permission -- but the general "tilt" of Lutheran politics has been an acknowledge of the legitimacy of the public authority, I think it safe to say.) In other words, God's authority or reign is exercised indirectly by or through the powers-that-be.
God's direct authority is gospel-focussed. He does not use force to make things happen; instead grace is his modus operandi. He is, of course, the object of our ultimate obedience and loyalty. So if there is a conflict between the civil authorities and the Gospel authority, obviously the Gospel authority wins.
But Lutherans have not been very cleaar about more than that, so far as I can see -- no matter at what length they have discussed the "two realms."
I am not a great fan of the teaching, mostly because I don't understand it and partly because I am not convinced by it. But because I do not understand it, I do not fight it -- very much -- except to suggest, along the lines offered by Hauerwas, that the Christian community contitutes its own polis, its own political reality, its own "culture." And as such, the Church may at times find the political authority irrelevant and even antithetic to the Church's life -- which is to say, believers' lives. (I am intrigued by the debate among solid theologians of the Hauerwasian persuasion, and many others who root in different traditions and theological points of view, who argue whether Christians ought even to vote in American elections. I'll read and think about that more before offering even a synopsis.)
Well, if we take as a given that Christians may -- indeed, must -- live in two realms (even if God is final authority over both and has not abandoned the civil to its own fate), then discourse about how one is, at minimum, to balance the responsibilities of these two realms -- not exactly accurately described as "church" and "state" -- is a pressing issue. At this time of this year, the most pressing issue is how do I make up my mind about which, if any, of the presidential candidates do I vote for?
And here we come to my point: If God is ultimate authority over the civil realm, and if the Church is where one is trained to life the life of faith obedient and celebratory of that authority, ought not the Church have some involvement in educating or forming the faithful into living faithfully in the civil sphere? In short, ought not the Church teach me how to vote?
Now by "teach me how to vote," I don't mean tell me which candidates or causes to support -- at least necessarily. But the Church -- at the congregational, synodical, and national level -- ought to be involved in helping voters who are members of the Church balance concerns, identify priorities, and articulate principles.
Obviously I operate with certain assumptions about how Christians reach ethical decisions: I believe that voting involves making ethical decisions. I believe that Christians are expected to use their minds, as informed by the teachings of the Church, to reach ethical conclusions. I believe that not all decisions we are called to make are black-and-white clear. And I believe that Christians of good faith may come to different conclusions on ethical issues -- though I am often bewildered when Christians reach different conclusions from mine.
Now I know that the Church is very active in formulating "policy statements" -- on everthing from the environmen to sex. But those grand statements are, as it were, released into the atmosphere -- with no serious efforts either to be sure that they are properly disseminated among the congregations or to bring the policies to bear on particular issues or campaigns. There is an almost gnostic tendency to act as though merely releasing the wisdom is enough, that to go farther and try to help people apply the wisdom to their mundane lives is unnecessary.
I suspect that is so because we fear, like the plague, conflict in parishes and across the Church (and I guess we should do so, since we are so bad at knowing how to deal with conflict). I suspect, too, that a certain level of self-interest governs: We don't want to alienate givers by articulating stances that seem at odds with one or another political candidate's positions. After all, we must minister to Democrats and Republicans -- and never question whether Christians ought to be knee-jerk Republicans or Democrats at all!
But our current lack of practice is not a faithful way of being Church. As Christians, we are called first and foremost to be loyal to God -- him who has been ultimately faithful to us. To be faithful to God is to be in his Church and to be faithful to our fellow members of the Body of Christ. To be faithful means to be in constant dialogue. It means to consult and advise. (It may be irreverent, but I have often described the intercessions in the mass as the Church's advising God about how to rule his world. In a relationship, the parties may not be equal, but they do engage in dialogue and listen to one another.)
Christians ought to be talking together about this and every election. We ought not split up into our various interest groups and reinforce one anothers biases (and I'd say that even if I fit into a caucus; however, the socialist, pro-life, non-violence, historically critical-Biblical literalist caucus is so small as not to require a meeting). We need and should be talking beyond or without party lines because in Christ there is neither "conservative" (usually meaninglessly defined) or "liberal" (usually inaptly defined), neither hawk nor dove -- there is the one Body of Christ in union with all the other manifestations (instantiations, as my teacher Jenson is fond of saying) of the Body in the oneness of the Holy Trinity. We ought to be trying to reach consensus (whether or not we do is another matter) on matters of local and national and international life together -- and if not agreement on whom to vote for, at least some consensus on what matters and on what is true and on what is irrelevant.
So why are we not talking about the war in Iraq in adult fora across the ELCA? That topic is never absent from any other gathering -- social or professional -- of which I am a part, yet it has never been discussed in my parish's education offerings. What about tax breaks? Those are not only -- if even -- a matter for "economics majors"; they are of basic importance to how we structure the entire range of programs that we offer through government and non-government organizations, and they have enormous implications, if one is to believe the Old Testament prophets (check out Amos, for starters).
I know: The problems are complex. Well, so is the doctrine of the Holy Trinity or of the Two Natures of Christ. Yet we have taken those on. If we have to take six months to understand trickle down economic theory or socialist doctrine, so what? If we have to ask people to do some research, so what? And if it gets touchy to draw the Bible's witness to bear on the discussion, so what: Why else do we have pastors?
But, I am told: Our adult fora frequently feature people who are advocating for affordable housing, and care for people with AIDS, and new styles of judging and disciplining petty crimes in the neighborhool, and food programs. We're doing the job.
And I guess to some extent that is true. But where is the part of the prgram that makes clear that this particular concern is or should be of concern to Christians? Where is the rubber-hits-the-road discussion of whether this ought to be of concern to the legislature so that Christians should write letters or picket or vote for Candidate A? Ought Christians honestly be satisfied that we offer a cafeteria-style assortment of feel-good projects?
But, we are told, people are not interested in "politics" in church. Not true, I answer. What they don't want is partisanship in Church. (The Sojourners fellowship, known for its Christian-faith-based political action, sells a fabulous bumper sticker that says, "God is not a Republican -- or Democrat!) But it is not partisanship to analyze the platforms and performances of politicians and determine whether they meet muster. But, further, if people don't want to deal with political issues in Church, they are not being faithful to the Gospel. For the Gospel mandates a certain level of involvement in the world.
No, I suspect that the church has settled for being a religious ghetto or relatively meaningless proportions in order to carry on its "religious" duties. And just so the Church has ceded the civic realm to some other influence and has effectly abandoned its teaching (whether true or false) about the two realms of Christian life. There is only one, practically speaking -- the non-Church. Come to church, which has a niche carved out for it on a limited-time basis; come as a Republican, as a Democrat.
And unless we face that and begin to change, all other efforts, my brothers and sisters, is just so much rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
What is it to be the or a Christian Church?
In a recent adult forum in my congregation, a friend who is a theology professor (and former missionary) reminded some of us of the existence of numerous “churches” (his focus was on Africa) which are independent of any of the historic branches of the Church catholic and of relatively recent institutional origin. There are, of course, numerous ancient branches of the Church which one or another of the other branches consider unorthodox. The Nestorian churches, for example, have long been dismissed as heretical, but recent ecumenical dialogue has revealed that they may be less at odds with the decrees of the ecumenical councils than we have supposed for centuries. But these churches are of a different breed. They are not “mainstream” in any historic sense. Akin to storefront or side-pasture “Bible churches” that spring up all over the United States, these congregations and even networks of congregations have little concern for the ancient dogmatic structure of the Church (which, of course, also raises the issue of how they heard the Gospel in the first place).
The great ecumenical dialogues of the twentieth century have highlighted the importance of distinguishing (to employ a Lutheran term) “adiaphora” (i.e., debatable non-essentials in the Church’s life, which do not of themselves affect the purity of the Gospel’s proclamation) from the essentials. Thus, to employ a radically simplistic example, it is adiaphora whether a eucharistic minister vests in cassock, business suit, alb, or chasuble. What has seemed undebatable is that the eucharist must be celebrated. (Recent American Lutheran dialogues – with various Reformed churches – arguably seem to suggest that the nature of the presence of the Lord in the eucharist is also an adiaphoron, despite centuries of assertions that “real presence” is a given in eucharistic theology praxis. But I can’t afford the energy to take on that battle right now.)
With the introduction of the “new churches” of which my friend spoke, however, the old distinctions seem to turn grey. In many Pentecostal versions of the “new churches,” the eucharist may never be celebrated. Preaching, response, sanctification, and even rites carried over from other (pagan) religions hold the system together. But the standard “marks” of the Church seem not to exist among them.
I am moved to ask, then, how we are in the present age to discern whether a self-proclaimed “Christian” entity is “church”? Does naming the name of our Lord suffice? (I remember the words of our Lord: Who is not against us is for us.) What about the dogmatic perimeters set out in the decrees of the great ecumenical councils (the only ones that can legitimately be pointed to, because since them, the church has been in schism and has been able to articulate – on other than a parochial, chauvinistic and/or interim basis – virtually nothing about the nature of the Church and the faith.
How do Christians of good will, with a passion both for the unity (i.e., full fellowship, if not institutional union) of the Church and for the “right praise” (i.e., ortho-doxy) of God as that is enabled by concern for the theological heritage of the Church, determine whether to have truck with an organization that claims the name of the same Lord as do we?
Are the ancient dogmatic formulations open for debate? Is, for example, the two natures of Christ no longer an issue? (As I understand a distinction, “dogma” are those non-debatable claims about the nature of reality which govern the church’s teachings and practice. “Doctrine,” on the other hand, is a construct that explores the meaning and implication of a dogmatic statement or proposes dogma where the Church has not yet spoken on the subject.) Given the schisms that currently constitute the character of the Church, are we in any position at all to delineate the dogma binding on all Christians?
To cite my friend, can we reasonably expect self-described, Southern Hemisphere churches to buy in on dogmatic formulations that grew out of philosophical arguments that these newer churches have never faced – e.g., the Niceno-Constantiopolitan Creed, the Chalcedonian formulations (I suppose even the Augsburg Confession)? But if we do not hold them to such dogma, how do we know with any certainty that the Gospel they proclaim is “the one delivered from the apostles”?
It is easy when one’s focus is the long-established churches (East and West): One can reasonably hold churches, pastors/presbyters, theologians, and even laypeople (heaven forfend!) to standards of orthodoxy relatively easy to identify. Is that a naïve statement? There does seem to be an increasing debate about the very essentials of the Faith. There are thousands of blogs on the internet that muse on the relative heresies of this and that theological position juxtaposed with commentaries by those who would change or ignore those supposedly fixed formulations. Still, with all the controversy, there is still, it seems to me, consensus that there is some basic “inner core” to the proclamation of the Gospel that can be spelled out (perhaps the Apostles’ Creed or something similar.
And what about the liturgical practices of these churches? For many of them, there is no interest in the Eucharist at all. (They may have other rites of “fellowship” and they certainly pay great attention to their own rituals of conversion and baptism, but the Holy Meal seems not to be even marginally interesting to many of them.) Aidan Kavanaugh has said that “A baptized and baptizing group that never celebrates its death and life in Christ around the Lord’s Table may be a sect of some vigor, but it is not the Church.”
What about all these new “traditions” – which term seems most inapt to describe them, with their lack of a sense of historical succession? How are we to react or respond? Should we welcome them as brothers and sister in the faith? Or should we treat them as neophytes, who need to be nursed into the True Faith? Or do we stand fast by our principles and question their validity.
Now I know little or nothing about these new “Christian movements,” so I may be blowing this matter out of all proportion. But I’m quite confused about and by them. And I’m ready and eager to learn.
I admit that I am in a quandary. I want to be friendly and welcoming, but I can’t conceive of what welcoming means without strict confession of the ancient creeds and confessions and the practice of at least the minimum number of “sacraments,” not the least of which is the Eucharist.
How about some help?
Grace and peace to you.
The great ecumenical dialogues of the twentieth century have highlighted the importance of distinguishing (to employ a Lutheran term) “adiaphora” (i.e., debatable non-essentials in the Church’s life, which do not of themselves affect the purity of the Gospel’s proclamation) from the essentials. Thus, to employ a radically simplistic example, it is adiaphora whether a eucharistic minister vests in cassock, business suit, alb, or chasuble. What has seemed undebatable is that the eucharist must be celebrated. (Recent American Lutheran dialogues – with various Reformed churches – arguably seem to suggest that the nature of the presence of the Lord in the eucharist is also an adiaphoron, despite centuries of assertions that “real presence” is a given in eucharistic theology praxis. But I can’t afford the energy to take on that battle right now.)
With the introduction of the “new churches” of which my friend spoke, however, the old distinctions seem to turn grey. In many Pentecostal versions of the “new churches,” the eucharist may never be celebrated. Preaching, response, sanctification, and even rites carried over from other (pagan) religions hold the system together. But the standard “marks” of the Church seem not to exist among them.
I am moved to ask, then, how we are in the present age to discern whether a self-proclaimed “Christian” entity is “church”? Does naming the name of our Lord suffice? (I remember the words of our Lord: Who is not against us is for us.) What about the dogmatic perimeters set out in the decrees of the great ecumenical councils (the only ones that can legitimately be pointed to, because since them, the church has been in schism and has been able to articulate – on other than a parochial, chauvinistic and/or interim basis – virtually nothing about the nature of the Church and the faith.
How do Christians of good will, with a passion both for the unity (i.e., full fellowship, if not institutional union) of the Church and for the “right praise” (i.e., ortho-doxy) of God as that is enabled by concern for the theological heritage of the Church, determine whether to have truck with an organization that claims the name of the same Lord as do we?
Are the ancient dogmatic formulations open for debate? Is, for example, the two natures of Christ no longer an issue? (As I understand a distinction, “dogma” are those non-debatable claims about the nature of reality which govern the church’s teachings and practice. “Doctrine,” on the other hand, is a construct that explores the meaning and implication of a dogmatic statement or proposes dogma where the Church has not yet spoken on the subject.) Given the schisms that currently constitute the character of the Church, are we in any position at all to delineate the dogma binding on all Christians?
To cite my friend, can we reasonably expect self-described, Southern Hemisphere churches to buy in on dogmatic formulations that grew out of philosophical arguments that these newer churches have never faced – e.g., the Niceno-Constantiopolitan Creed, the Chalcedonian formulations (I suppose even the Augsburg Confession)? But if we do not hold them to such dogma, how do we know with any certainty that the Gospel they proclaim is “the one delivered from the apostles”?
It is easy when one’s focus is the long-established churches (East and West): One can reasonably hold churches, pastors/presbyters, theologians, and even laypeople (heaven forfend!) to standards of orthodoxy relatively easy to identify. Is that a naïve statement? There does seem to be an increasing debate about the very essentials of the Faith. There are thousands of blogs on the internet that muse on the relative heresies of this and that theological position juxtaposed with commentaries by those who would change or ignore those supposedly fixed formulations. Still, with all the controversy, there is still, it seems to me, consensus that there is some basic “inner core” to the proclamation of the Gospel that can be spelled out (perhaps the Apostles’ Creed or something similar.
And what about the liturgical practices of these churches? For many of them, there is no interest in the Eucharist at all. (They may have other rites of “fellowship” and they certainly pay great attention to their own rituals of conversion and baptism, but the Holy Meal seems not to be even marginally interesting to many of them.) Aidan Kavanaugh has said that “A baptized and baptizing group that never celebrates its death and life in Christ around the Lord’s Table may be a sect of some vigor, but it is not the Church.”
What about all these new “traditions” – which term seems most inapt to describe them, with their lack of a sense of historical succession? How are we to react or respond? Should we welcome them as brothers and sister in the faith? Or should we treat them as neophytes, who need to be nursed into the True Faith? Or do we stand fast by our principles and question their validity.
Now I know little or nothing about these new “Christian movements,” so I may be blowing this matter out of all proportion. But I’m quite confused about and by them. And I’m ready and eager to learn.
I admit that I am in a quandary. I want to be friendly and welcoming, but I can’t conceive of what welcoming means without strict confession of the ancient creeds and confessions and the practice of at least the minimum number of “sacraments,” not the least of which is the Eucharist.
How about some help?
Grace and peace to you.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Holy Friendship
It was a most wonderful weekend. My great friend Jim visited on his way back to the Lutheran seminary in Columbus, Ohio, after completing his year of vicarage (or internship, in most Lutherans’ vocabulary) in Portland, Oregon.
Jim is an amazing fellow – a gifted young theologian, a pastor-to-be who demonstrates in word, deed, and demeanor that he is both dedicated to and well-equipped for work in the Church for the well-being of the Body of Christ (and not for any self-serving or misguided motive), a man of gentility and warmth who connects with people he meets in warm and positive ways, and a loyal friend who came 7 hours (one way) out of his way to spend a couple of days with me so that we might confirm, face-to-face, a friendship that has been nourished solely this past year by frequent e-mails. We talked non-stop for hours on end (with some sacrifice of sleep habits) and constantly realized how similar and complementary our insights, questions, and convictions are.
It was the flowering of a most precious friendship-in-the-faith. But I do not want to suggest that it was one of those seminar-agreement kind of friendships – one of those relationships where the parties realize how much they think alike and find that they rather enjoy each other’s company as a bonus. It is a heart-to-heart, cheek-to-cheek, commending and rebuking kind of thing, We shared ideas and experiences, and also the stories of our lives and loves, of our confusions and misadventures. For me, anyhow, it is similar in nature to the fullness of the relationships I have with my wife and child, with the added bonus that he enjoys discussing theology more than they do (well, at least my child). I love Jim dearly for all the gifts he shares with me, and he has won a place in my heart that feels empty since he left. I am also encouraged for the Church that God’s call to ministry to the Church is still heard by people such as he is with obvious gifts for service.
I became most keenly aware of how close I felt to Jim and of how valuable his friendship is to me during the Sunday mass he attended with my family and me. As a result, this post will mostly be a most personal reflection on holy friendship and the Eucharist in my life. (I admit it is self-serving and self-important so to focus my reflections. But perhaps there will be something to spark some commentary. And besides, I started this blog in order to get help in sorting out some of my vaguer thoughts about the life of faith, so even if I don't want to treat it as a kind of therapeutic exercise, I'm going to use it to raise some concerns.)
I begin with a side-trip: I have always (literally: from the time I began to realize that people date and form significant personal relationships) wondered about “mixed-faith” relationships. My mother and father were of different branches of the Christian faith, but he eventually "joined" the Lutheran Church, so I didn't really face the issue in my childhood, except to the extent that my Catholic relatives from my father's side would't go to church with us. But I remember thinking that it would prove to be difficult to date a person from "a different church," because it would result in certain conflicts.
Today, I know a few people serving the Church who are married to people who do not share their faith or their “branch” of the faith. For example, Rusty (R.R.) Reno, a brilliant and passionate Episcopalian teacher of Christian theology and a very stern critic of those who would veer from utter fidelity to the historic faith, is married to an Orthodox Jew and my understanding is that they are raising their children as Jews. A friend of mine, a Lutheran pastor-in-training (not Jim), is married to a Roman Catholic, who to my eyes doesn’t seem particularly interested in becoming a Lutheran. Other friends include a Catholic married to a Baptist, a Catholic seeker married to an agnostic – you get the picture. I raise these illustrations because the people I know are keenly dedicated to their professions of faith; they are not culture Christians who go to church for the good music or the good influence on the children or whatever. They are believers, convicted believers, and yet their partners do not share that conviction – and in some cases forthrightly reject the truth (or importance) of that conviction.
I honestly don’t understand how they do it. How does one share the most intimate relationship outside the "gates" of one’s sincere religious fortress? I know that I’m limited by my own experience, but my relationships with my wife and child are so bound up with our participation in the Eucharist, that I am unable to “think outside the box” on this matter. My wife and I quite literally were brought together by the Eucharist: We met in church and our only contact for a long time (during some of which we didn't much care for each other) was at mass. Our marriage was in the context of a regularly scheduled Sunday mass of our congregation (no special time or costumes [except new suits for both of us and a hat for my wife]; everyone in the congregation thus invited). And we continue to include participation in the Eucharist in our self-descriptioni of our life together.
I don’t mean to suggest a kind of sanctimony or piety that gives us claims to greatness; I don’t mean, either, that our friendship enjoys some kind of insulation from sin and sins. But I do mean to suggest that there is a kind of friendship – in a typology of friendships – that one may call “holy.” Holiness, at root, implies a rootedness in God and his Way, a coming-to-being in his call. That may exist in one's solitary life, or in family life, or in religious vocation, or in friendship. And I celebrate that Jim and I enjoy such holy friendship.
To illuminate by contrast: I have friends who are vitally important to me in ways much different from the importance Jim holds. Some of those friends are not believers; some are too religious – but of a different “piety” from mine; some are members of other (Christian) traditions. Those relationships do not suffer from the fact that the friends are not “religious” or Christian or in communing fellowship with the ELCA or completely uninterested in anything smacking of “theology.” I love those friends probably no less than I love Jim. (And let me clarify: I have a few – though only a few – other friends with whom I share a similar relationship to the one I celebrate here, one that is a blending of personal, intellectual, and “soul” or spiritual aspects of life; here I use Jim’s name to personalize my musings primarily because I am still celebrating his visit and, thus, his visage is still fresh on my memory’s optic nerve).
But the friendships are of a different nature: Prayer (usually limited to dinner times, if at all) is less important; we do not seek each other’s opinions on matters of great spiritual concern (other than politics or music – other of my passions); we may worship together, but it is with a sense that it’s good that we can extend our friendship to the nave of the Church, but it lacks a kind of existential awareness that the friendship is not quite complete until we have communed together. (Somewhere I have, and I must locate it, a quote from Tertullian, given me by the late Blessed Godfrey Diekmann, OSB, which celebrates Christian marriage. Tertullian speaks in some of the same terms I use here to rejoice in the fulfillment of his marriage in the life of the Church and specifically at the Eucharist. I acknowledge that the kind of friendship I here celebrate is akin to a marriage. As another aside: I wonder whether Boswell, in his claims to have discovered liturgies for the sacralization of homoerotic unions, was misperceiving this kind of spiritual friendship for a sexual relationship. It’s easy to see how that misinterpretation might come about. But I haven’t looked at his book in decades, so I’d best drop that line of thought!)
Now understand what I am not saying. I am not someone who appreciates using the Eucharist to “sacralize” gatherings, to cement fellowships at retreats, to add a measure of holiness to social gatherings. So, for example, I found it beyond the pale when, a few years ago, the pastor celebrated Eucharist on Saturday night at a retreat of the parish council (“vestry” in our anglophilic congregation), when there was the community Eucharist the next morning. Neither do I think much of having a Eucharist at a wedding simply on a beliefe that to do so renders the marriage more likely to succeed. That is pure superstition and, as such, anathema to me. But those are different from finding in the Eucharist the appropriate “place” for the fulfillment of a relationship -- as was also true for my wife and me in our marriage. (Does that make any sense?)
Life in Christ, it seems to me, drives one to the Eucharist. (I’m sorry if that betrays a certain insensitivity to some branches of the Christian family. I lament that I am still pretty tone-deaf to those branches for whom the Eucharist is not the sine qua non of Christian life. I’m working on understanding, but I have a long way to go.) To be in Christ is to be overcome with gratitude, which compels one to prayer and praise – and, given God’s unfathomable and ironic grace, as one prays and praises (as one is brought to do by the work of the Holy Spirit), one is met by the Gift (Christ himself) for whom one has been praying and praising, who gives of himself again, resulting in the need to pray and praise more. (“How Can I Keep from Singing?” is simply a phenomenological expression of this fact.) In the Eucharist, one meets and feasts on Christ and sees, tastes, smells, and swallows the Gospel. One integrates into one’s physical structure the promises of God of fulfillment and meaning and of transformation into godlikeness. (Augustine, somewhere: We eat ordinary bread and it takes on our nature. But in the Eucharist, we eat the Bread of Life, and we take on His nature.)
In Christ, there is a special place for the friendships that center on that life in Christ. Remember Jesus’ sentiment to his disciples on the eve of Passover, How I have longed to share this meal with you? It’s like that. A meal at Palomino, a bottle of fine wine, conversation lasting hours, and a late night stroll with no other particular point than to extend the time together are but the preparation for joining at the Eucharist at 9:30 the next morning. That is, for me, holy friendship.
I do not mean here to set out norms for gauging friendship. I mean only to reflect on and to rejoice in those special circumstances when the whole structure of Christian life seems to come together in some fabulous gestalt – where one’s “faith commitments and convictions” and one’s emotional ties and one’s human nature converge with someone else in splendid moments of holy coherence. Jim, by his forcing me to think self-consciously about these experiences, has enabled me to see this. For that I give God thanks for this most special friend.
And I give God thanks, too, for opening my eyes to this reality. I am able now to focus some of my thinking about church life. The Ecclesia Project, here, sets as its goal the revitalizing of the Christian Church through the development of congregations sites of “subversive friendships.” You’ll have to see what they mean by it, but my new perspective (i.e., new to me) gives me a context for understanding that.
But here I’ll end. I have been told that I plant in long rows. Likely that is so. In North Dakota, whence I hail, we have big farms. (My godfather-uncle farms something over 8,000 acres right now.) This has been another long stretch. But for that I can only seek your prayers for concision and keener insight.
Bless you.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
The Political Side
I have announced my intention to make this a site for the discsussion of the intersection of Christian faith and everyday life. One of the obvious points of intersection of those two concerns (and I'm trying hard wth this enterprise to argue that there is no "intersection," but rather that Christian faith is a matter of everyday living -- but today, we'll accept "intersection") is the realm of politics. And one can hardly think of "religion" and "politics" without raising two journals: First Things is Richard John Neuhaus' distinctly right-leaning journal and comes at matters from a distinctly progressive-prophetic posture. The two couldn't be more different -- and I must say honestly that I much prefer the company of Jim Wallis (Sojourners' executive director) than RJN. The snideness and political bias of First Things I find galling; the evangelical fervor of Sojourners overcomes, for me, the hint of political bias. (Note for the record, I neither intend nor want this blog to become a politics forum. I am a political independent, but I confess to a kind of knee-jerk socialist-progressive, pro-life, non-violence agenda. That results from my reading Abraham Josuha Heschel's fabulous two-volume work The Prophets and the encouragement of numerous friends. But I don't intend to campaign through this blog. Read my law signs if you want to know whom I support.) Both offer on-line access to resources -- Sojourners fellowing is at http://www.sojo.net/, and First Things, at http://www.firsthings.com/\.
In any event, it seems appropriate for me to solicit other resources that are available on-line. I seek my own edification, primarily. But who knows: Once I get into the swing of things (with Sister Dash's help), I may list links to such resources. For now, though, why not contribute a Comment (and make it look like I have a great community linked here.)
One thing about the Sojourners site is that it affords you the chance to subscribe their e-mail newsletter (weekly and free of charge). It's full of good stuff from which to pick and choose.
Salaam,
In any event, it seems appropriate for me to solicit other resources that are available on-line. I seek my own edification, primarily. But who knows: Once I get into the swing of things (with Sister Dash's help), I may list links to such resources. For now, though, why not contribute a Comment (and make it look like I have a great community linked here.)
One thing about the Sojourners site is that it affords you the chance to subscribe their e-mail newsletter (weekly and free of charge). It's full of good stuff from which to pick and choose.
Salaam,
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Living the Resurrection
I apologize in advance (even though Emily Post said NEVER to begin with an apology.) This post is going to be long. I don’t know how to separate it into smaller doses. This is big stuff for me, and one of the points of this blog is to get discussion of this perspective into play. (That is not to suggest that I have worked out a systematic presentation. I deny that absolutely. It is an impressionistic approach to dealing with the issue of how we live the life of faith.)
I have said numerous times to my fellow Christians at Mount Olive Church in Minneapolis (who allow me to lead adult ed conversations on occasion) that the chief "problem" facing the Church is something no church bureaucrat can identify: It’s not a lack of “growth” and it’s not battles over bishops or sexuality or war. What plagues the Church (and results in those penultimate problems) is an inability of Christians to live the Resurrection. We do not see (mostly because most pastors don’t preach it and most teachers don’t teach and most evangelists don’t announce it) that the point of the Gospel is that salvation is not just a future reality, but a present one as well. The theological, ethical, liturgical aspects of this problem seem so clear.
Sunday, on the Feast of Dormition of the Theotokos (or in Lutheranism: Mary, Mother of our Lord), in his "farewell" sermon, our vicar ("intern pastor" to many, but beloved brother and friend to me) preached on the Magnificat. (Someday, I’ll rage about the difference between preaching “on” something and preaching something. But that’s not today.) He anticipated Advent a little (as was perfectly appropriate given the text) by urging us in the congregation to "read the future into the present."
His point was to take seriously "eschatology" – i.e., to see that what is promised in the Gospel has already come true in the world and in our lives. On that view, we can already begin – and have already begun – to live the reign of God, as envisioned by Mary in her song – where and when the hungry are filled with good things and the rich are sent empty away; where the proud are scattered in the imagination of their hearts. Daniel noted that the verbs used by the Virgin are in the past tense. (He didn’t say what the tenses of the verbs are in the Greek – surprisingly, since he both values and flaunts his Greek. I took a minor in Greek as an undergraduate, so I am neither offended nor impressed. But, especially if the Greek shows present perfect, there would have been great possibility to underscore his theme.) In English, the verbs are in the present perfect, so his sermon made perfect sense, because present perfect suggests the on-going influence and importance of an action in the past. (It’s not over-and-done; it’s a present reality because it happened in the past – like with “Christ has been raised.”)
God did not call a halt to human history with the death and resurrection of Jesus, but rather he allowed and allows it to continue (with all the grace and wrath that that implies). He did, however, tip his hand to reveal what the outcome of that history will be. With the Resurrection, God essentially guaranteed that what Jesus said would be vindicated at the end of time, and then to add emphasis to guarantee, he brought that end of time back into time by raising Jesus from the dead within time.
(Discursus 1: As I am coming to sense more keenly, the fact that history did not end with Jesus is a real problem for intellect and faith [not to mention preaching]: If Jesus was the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, then history ought to have come to an end and/or the kingdom of God ought to have been established unquestionably and finally. But the Holocaust, if nothing else, gives credence to the Jewish reason for rejecting Jesus as Messiah: He didn't do what God said He'd do. Thus, either God did not keep his promise or Jesus was not Messiah. Since God doesn't lie, Jesus must not have been Messiah. The Christian answer, of course, relies on eschatology, but it does not yet convince the Jews -- something I think we may bald-facedly say, based on God's promises, will happen eventually, so we don't have to worry about convincing them now.)
Christians (both naïve and sophisticated) get pretty well the future stuff, but when it comes to this life, it gets cloudy. Good Lutherans want to avoid any suggestion that they are being “works righteous.” So any call to moral living, any insistence that the Christian lives and should live differently from the average American is greeted with theological dismay and nationalist resentment. When I once suggested that the Ten Commandments were still God’s instruction for how his people – including Christians – ought to structure their personal, congregational, and political lives, I was accused by a Lutheran pastor of sounding “Methodist.” (My response was a glib, “Well, if that’s Methodism, then maybe the Methodists have something to teach Lutherans.”)
If the Gospel is true (as Mary was the first to sing), then the world has changed – and because of the mighty acts of God, we have changed. We must – because we can – give up our idolatries and immoralities. We are empowered (here’s the Holy Spirit piece) to live the new life we have been given in anticipation of the final consummation of God’s plan – anticipation both in the sense that we live eagerly expecting it to happen and in the sense that we live it almost prematurely before it happens. The Gospel – in a kind of Trinitarian way – speaks in three tenses at once: God has acted, He is acting, and He will act – and that is all going on today in your hearing, in your presence, in your life.
The effect of this, of course, is to make of Christian faith an existential reality – nothing that remotely hints at pie-in-the-sky-in-the-sweet-by-and-by (except insofar as that points to the ultimate vindication of the Resurrection life lived today). Various theologians make a good case – e.g., Stanley Hauerwas and Will Willimon, Reinhard Huetter, Miroslav Wolf, Telford Work, John Chryssavgis – even Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, if you read him closely. In addition, communities, institutes, networks, and think-tanks are springing up to lend volume to the call – e.g., the Center for Social Holiness (of the Church of Nazarene), The Ekklesia Project, The Valparaiso [University] Project on the Education and Formation of People in Faith (how’s that for a mouthful?), and in its own way The Bruderhof.
I have seen more of this approach in Orthodox thinking than I have in Western Christianity. In contrast to the East, we in the West seem so bound up with a consciousness of sin (which either roots or results in an unfortunately self-centered ideology – which has been enthusiastically underwritten by the Enlightenment), that we seem never to actually believe that sin has been forgiven. (Note the present perfect, again.) The Orthodox are, by my lights anyway, more in tune with the reality proclaimed by the Gospel as a present realty and focus more on the cosmic implications of the Incarnation, Resurrection, and Ascension. They (or you, if any Orthodox ever see this post) see more clearly that heaven has broken into ordinary time and makes possible living out our salvation with “fear and trembling.” (See, for example, Schmemann’s book For the Life of the World and/or John Chryssavgis’ book Beyond the Shattered Image. I’ll later post a review I wrote of the book. But in fairness, I must confess that I consider Fr. John a friend, and while I tried to be objective in my treatment of the book, because I know him, I may be at either an advantage or a disadvantage in evaluating the book. I still think it’s great.)
Well, to begin to conclude. I think that the life of faith is not a life of “believing” as that word is often interpreted. Faith is not a “head trip” nor is it a “heart trip” unless you use those (dated and not very helpful) terms to indicate that faith claims the totality of one’s life in the here-and-now. Worship is not seeking haven from a heartless world. It is the practice of the future (I love to speak of the life of faith as “practicing the life of the future”), when we shall join that same choir that includes both Isaiah and the John of the Apocalypse. The future has invaded the present. We must begin to integrate that into our lives (lifestyles, decisions, whatever). Until we do, the Church will rightly see its numbers decline (which in and of itself may be a very good thing, anyway) and find itself increasingly torn asunder by frivolous disputes, private/personal tiffs, individualistic assertions – just as we see today.
The urgent need is for pastors who are mature enough in the faith to see this, to have caught the Good News. This is more than comforting people, although can anything be comforting than the promise and guarantee that salvation is already won? This is more than screeching moralism, although there is certainly a moral content to the endeavor. This is not group therapy or political organizing or voter registration or soup kitchens, although all of that may it in. It is fundamentally a matter of reading the Bible and listening with attentiveness (and probably not reading it alone, since the Bible was never meant, I think, as a personal-reflection aid; it was meant to be read in the assembly, among those whose preconceptions were at least addressable by the stories). And it is a matter of reading the entire Old Testament. For it is in the Old Testament that the referents in the Gospel are to be found. “Messiah” is not a cultural term; “freedom,” at least within the Biblical framework, does not mean license to write your own ticket; “salvation” is very different from images of harping souls sitting on clouds. How do we know? By reading the New Testament in terms of the “Old.”
(A theologian-friend of mine criticizes this line of thought as “realized eschatology” because he thinks it reads too much into the New Testament – and specifically into the Virgin’s song. But I think he sees things in too black-and-white a perspective – i.e., he tends to suggest that either the eschaton has happened or it is coming; no mixed bag. Yet he must come to terms with Jesus’ word in the Temple: “Today this word is fulfilled in your hearing.” The word was Isaiah, and unless we completely “spiritualize” the text, we must read the prophecy in Old Testament terms – and that means concrete fulfillment of very economic-political-social-personal realities.)
Brother Vicar Daniel was correct: The kingdom has already been established in our midst and all around us. We need only clear our vision and Q-Tip out our ears to be assured of it. He was also correct that a good place to start would be with the Magnificat and the Ave Maria.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Faith and Life
One of the main themes of this blog will be the intersection of the life of faith and life in the world. As a Christian, I don't find that the Gospel makes life easy. In fact, I envy those who find in the "faith" a kind of security blanket or cup of warm cocoa. For me it's not that way. For me, it's constant turmoil, trouble, questioning, guessing -- and yes, repenting, receiving forgiveness, communing.
What has become crystal clear to me -- and we can talk about the influences on me during my walk along the path of life -- is that the Church is in radical need of reform. By "Church," I mean my congregation, the Lutheran tradition, and all the other traditions who claim the name of Christ. The nature of the Church needs to be made clear to us (again -- if ever we knew it) so that we as believers can begin to live into that nature -- adopt it into our own lives and begin to manifest that reality, as the Spirit gives us strength so to do.
I think the Church (and, ironically, I think this critique, while directed mainly to the tradition I know -- viz., the Lutheran Church on the North American continent -- applies with equal force to all traditions, with the possible exception of the those emerging churches in Africa, about which I know nothing) has fallen prey to an almost Babylonian captivity to culture -- i.e., to the mores and assumptions, the images and values, of the milieu within which it finds itself planted. In my own tradition, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA), the predominant model for life and structure is that of the corporation. The ELCA -- and its member congregations -- are absolutely trapped by models borrowed from corporate governance: We understand our mission as being to "grow" -- not in faith, but in numbers and budgets; not in care for one aother, but in staff. Decline is represented, not by a failure to follow in the steps of Christ, but in declining membership or decreasing numbers of "programs." I could go on, but books have been written about this -- and I hope to say more about the reading list in the future.
Couple that corporate mentality with the complete cooptation of the American mind by the individualism of the Enlightenment (the great Problem interposed on Church life by the advance of learning -- how ironic!), and you have a situation in which people see the church as a provider of life-enhancing programs -- feel-good sermons, reimaging conferences where I design a God that meets my personal specifications, long-term memory loss, and the like.
It is time for a reformation -- for a reimaging of the Church, if you will. We must recover a sense of the Church as the "literal" Body of Christ. We need to get on board with Stanley Hauerwas and others (often evangelicals) who call for the Church to re-establish itself as its own culture -- with its own values, its own heroes, its own styles of doing "business," its own meanings.
The Ekklesia Project begins to make some sense of what I'm trying to say. The Project is one of those endeavors pretty much made possible by the Internet (and for this Luddite to commend the Internet is a feat!). It is, in the words of its "declaration," "a network of mutual support for the life of Christian discipleship ... . We believe that we can help one another to narrow the gaps between what we Christians profess and how we live. We call this The Ekklesia Project, in recognition of the fact that we are 'called out' of the world into a differnt mode of life."
I hope to learn from the Project as I support its work and participate in its activities however that is possible. Perhaps we can talk a little about some of the resources it offers and the issues that it raises.
Check out The Ekklesia Project at (here's a surprising address) http://www.ekklesia project.org/
Until next time,
Salaam.
What has become crystal clear to me -- and we can talk about the influences on me during my walk along the path of life -- is that the Church is in radical need of reform. By "Church," I mean my congregation, the Lutheran tradition, and all the other traditions who claim the name of Christ. The nature of the Church needs to be made clear to us (again -- if ever we knew it) so that we as believers can begin to live into that nature -- adopt it into our own lives and begin to manifest that reality, as the Spirit gives us strength so to do.
I think the Church (and, ironically, I think this critique, while directed mainly to the tradition I know -- viz., the Lutheran Church on the North American continent -- applies with equal force to all traditions, with the possible exception of the those emerging churches in Africa, about which I know nothing) has fallen prey to an almost Babylonian captivity to culture -- i.e., to the mores and assumptions, the images and values, of the milieu within which it finds itself planted. In my own tradition, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA), the predominant model for life and structure is that of the corporation. The ELCA -- and its member congregations -- are absolutely trapped by models borrowed from corporate governance: We understand our mission as being to "grow" -- not in faith, but in numbers and budgets; not in care for one aother, but in staff. Decline is represented, not by a failure to follow in the steps of Christ, but in declining membership or decreasing numbers of "programs." I could go on, but books have been written about this -- and I hope to say more about the reading list in the future.
Couple that corporate mentality with the complete cooptation of the American mind by the individualism of the Enlightenment (the great Problem interposed on Church life by the advance of learning -- how ironic!), and you have a situation in which people see the church as a provider of life-enhancing programs -- feel-good sermons, reimaging conferences where I design a God that meets my personal specifications, long-term memory loss, and the like.
It is time for a reformation -- for a reimaging of the Church, if you will. We must recover a sense of the Church as the "literal" Body of Christ. We need to get on board with Stanley Hauerwas and others (often evangelicals) who call for the Church to re-establish itself as its own culture -- with its own values, its own heroes, its own styles of doing "business," its own meanings.
The Ekklesia Project begins to make some sense of what I'm trying to say. The Project is one of those endeavors pretty much made possible by the Internet (and for this Luddite to commend the Internet is a feat!). It is, in the words of its "declaration," "a network of mutual support for the life of Christian discipleship ... . We believe that we can help one another to narrow the gaps between what we Christians profess and how we live. We call this The Ekklesia Project, in recognition of the fact that we are 'called out' of the world into a differnt mode of life."
I hope to learn from the Project as I support its work and participate in its activities however that is possible. Perhaps we can talk a little about some of the resources it offers and the issues that it raises.
Check out The Ekklesia Project at (here's a surprising address) http://www.ekklesia project.org/
Until next time,
Salaam.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Recommendations
I don't have all the skillls I need to handle this blog responsibility, and one of the duties that I haven't gotten my "hands around" is that of listing links to other notable spots. I offer a couple that I think are worth monitoring:
My blogster sister Dash writes at http://dashreads.blogspot.com/.
A rich vein of insights and quotes from the Great Tradition is available from the hand of\ Fr. Alvin Kimel at http://pontifications.classicalanglican.net/. (He got the name for his blog that I wish I could have claimed. Several friends and foes agree that it would have been more apt as MY handle.)
Camassia writes at http://camassia.notfrisco2.com/.
A collection of excerpts from really important Eastern Orthodox literature (not a blog) is available (thanks to John Burnett) at http://jbburnett.com/theology/. (This stuff will keep you reading and thinking for years!)
There'll be a lot more to come, but begin with these. Append your preferences and suggestions.
Salaam
My blogster sister Dash writes at http://dashreads.blogspot.com/.
A rich vein of insights and quotes from the Great Tradition is available from the hand of\ Fr. Alvin Kimel at http://pontifications.classicalanglican.net/. (He got the name for his blog that I wish I could have claimed. Several friends and foes agree that it would have been more apt as MY handle.)
Camassia writes at http://camassia.notfrisco2.com/.
A collection of excerpts from really important Eastern Orthodox literature (not a blog) is available (thanks to John Burnett) at http://jbburnett.com/theology/. (This stuff will keep you reading and thinking for years!)
There'll be a lot more to come, but begin with these. Append your preferences and suggestions.
Salaam
Mary, Mother of our Lord
Sunday is a day or the day (depending on your Christian tradition) to commemorate and celebrate the life and faithfulness of the Blessed Virgin Mary. My Eastern brothers and sisters call her the Theotokos, from the Greek for God-Bearer (or, roughly, Mother of God). Now, I'm a Lutheran, so for most of my life, I haven't had much to do with Mary. But I'm making up for lost time. It seems meet and right (and perhaps even salutary) that all Christians come to a renewed appreciate\ion for and devotion to Our Lady. To wit, these points and a commentary.
First, that the Western Church has all but abandoned the title Theotokos seems to me to be bizarre. At the Council of Ephesis (400-something -- sorry, my history is really bad), the Church Fathers (I know ... ) declared that the appropriate title for Jesus' mother is "Theotokos" and not (as some -- notoriously the Nestsorians -- would have had it) the "Christotokos'" -- the mother of (the) Christ. Last evening a theology-professor friend of mine argued on behalf of the Nestorian signifier because of it is less likely to offend and mislead non-Christians (notably Muslims) for whom the idea of God's being birthed is rank blasphemy. Now, I think that language is always a problem. But here doesn't language serve exactly the point we seek to make: That God took on human existence, thereby incorporating all that is human into the Godhead and all that is divine into humanity? (Remember: The "naming" controversy was not about Mary per se, but rather about Christology -- i.e., about who and of what nature/s Jesus Messiah was.)
But I think my friend does have a point on a decree of the Fifth Ecumenical Council (perhaps 500 -something) which declared the Theotokos "Ever Virgin". To the extent that that decree is used to argue that Our Lady's hymen was never punctured -- even during the birth -- seems to me to raise more questions about the humanity of Jesus than it answered. If Jesus' birth (we'll hold off on his conception, thank you) were so extraordinary that it violated all the laws of physiology, what does that say about his humanity (specifically, his " true" humanity)? Again, the Council was addressing, not the physical condition of the mother of Jesus, but rather the nature of his identity and being. But did they hand down something to us that is simply too much work to explain or revitalize or rehabilitate to be necessary? (Can anyone tell me the status of this decree in the Church?)
Lutherans have solved the problems and lost the joy and awe associated with Mary and her place in the "economy" of salvation by simply ignoring her. An interesting development: We kept the baby and threw the mother out with the bath water. That is both unwarranted and unwise. Luther knew that, and (according to the translations in the American Edition of his works) advised calling on her with these words" "O Blessed Virgin, Mother of God, ... Hail to you! Blessare are you" (LW, vol. 21, p. 322). He insisted that such prayer is part of "accord[ing] her the honor that is due her" (ibid. p. 324).
So, then, why all the hullabaloo about praying to the Theotokos? It seems to me that "the great cloud of witnesses" that surrounds and supports us in our lives of faith is not limited to the saints of our own time and place. Rather, the saints of all times and places make themselves available to us -- both by their examples (renewed in recounting their faithful lives) and by their intercessions on our behalf. (The Lutheran Confessions grant that the saints pray for us; they are, of course I grant, less supportive of our praying to them for those prayers.) And just as we may and ought to request prayers from our brothers and sisters in our individual congregations (cf. the intercessions or prayers of the people), so may we invoke the prayers of the saints in heaven -- and pre-eminent among them the mother of our Lord. The vast majority of Christians in the world recognize this simple and not-necessarily-troubling fact.
I don't mean to suggest that the saints -- or even Mary -- offer any special favor or merit; nor do I suggest that they offer any kind of access to God unavailable to us through Jesus. And certainly don't believe or suggest that we have to work through some other channel to achieve direct access to God -- Father, Son, and Spirit -- than by our own prayer.
But isn't it time we get with the system, here. We're missing out on a whole lot of important stuff if we "children of the Reformation" continue our indignity toward the mother of the Lord of the Church.
As I once said, "I shall raise my daughter to join Father Martin [Luther] in his prayer, "Ave Maria!"
First, that the Western Church has all but abandoned the title Theotokos seems to me to be bizarre. At the Council of Ephesis (400-something -- sorry, my history is really bad), the Church Fathers (I know ... ) declared that the appropriate title for Jesus' mother is "Theotokos" and not (as some -- notoriously the Nestsorians -- would have had it) the "Christotokos'" -- the mother of (the) Christ. Last evening a theology-professor friend of mine argued on behalf of the Nestorian signifier because of it is less likely to offend and mislead non-Christians (notably Muslims) for whom the idea of God's being birthed is rank blasphemy. Now, I think that language is always a problem. But here doesn't language serve exactly the point we seek to make: That God took on human existence, thereby incorporating all that is human into the Godhead and all that is divine into humanity? (Remember: The "naming" controversy was not about Mary per se, but rather about Christology -- i.e., about who and of what nature/s Jesus Messiah was.)
But I think my friend does have a point on a decree of the Fifth Ecumenical Council (perhaps 500 -something) which declared the Theotokos "Ever Virgin". To the extent that that decree is used to argue that Our Lady's hymen was never punctured -- even during the birth -- seems to me to raise more questions about the humanity of Jesus than it answered. If Jesus' birth (we'll hold off on his conception, thank you) were so extraordinary that it violated all the laws of physiology, what does that say about his humanity (specifically, his " true" humanity)? Again, the Council was addressing, not the physical condition of the mother of Jesus, but rather the nature of his identity and being. But did they hand down something to us that is simply too much work to explain or revitalize or rehabilitate to be necessary? (Can anyone tell me the status of this decree in the Church?)
Lutherans have solved the problems and lost the joy and awe associated with Mary and her place in the "economy" of salvation by simply ignoring her. An interesting development: We kept the baby and threw the mother out with the bath water. That is both unwarranted and unwise. Luther knew that, and (according to the translations in the American Edition of his works) advised calling on her with these words" "O Blessed Virgin, Mother of God, ... Hail to you! Blessare are you" (LW, vol. 21, p. 322). He insisted that such prayer is part of "accord[ing] her the honor that is due her" (ibid. p. 324).
So, then, why all the hullabaloo about praying to the Theotokos? It seems to me that "the great cloud of witnesses" that surrounds and supports us in our lives of faith is not limited to the saints of our own time and place. Rather, the saints of all times and places make themselves available to us -- both by their examples (renewed in recounting their faithful lives) and by their intercessions on our behalf. (The Lutheran Confessions grant that the saints pray for us; they are, of course I grant, less supportive of our praying to them for those prayers.) And just as we may and ought to request prayers from our brothers and sisters in our individual congregations (cf. the intercessions or prayers of the people), so may we invoke the prayers of the saints in heaven -- and pre-eminent among them the mother of our Lord. The vast majority of Christians in the world recognize this simple and not-necessarily-troubling fact.
I don't mean to suggest that the saints -- or even Mary -- offer any special favor or merit; nor do I suggest that they offer any kind of access to God unavailable to us through Jesus. And certainly don't believe or suggest that we have to work through some other channel to achieve direct access to God -- Father, Son, and Spirit -- than by our own prayer.
But isn't it time we get with the system, here. We're missing out on a whole lot of important stuff if we "children of the Reformation" continue our indignity toward the mother of the Lord of the Church.
As I once said, "I shall raise my daughter to join Father Martin [Luther] in his prayer, "Ave Maria!"
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
My first question
There is no reason to pussy-foot around. I have one simple question based on about twelve very passionate discussions this week: Why has the issue of sexuality become THE hot-button issue in the Lutheran (and other) Church at this time? Normally rational people become apoplectic when the topic comes up. Normally thoughtful "liberal" people (and I want to explore that word over the course of these conversations) go red in the face in denouncing "gay marriage" and/or "gay ordination." Ordinarily relatively conservative faithful surprise by being in favor or and cheering the same things. But neither side can give, it seems to me, a quite convincing case for its position. My friends the liberals speak of assaults on "the family" -- language they pick up and parrot (or sincerly echo) from religious folks with whom they disagree on virtually every issue. My friendly conservatives spout sentiment: Well I got to know Joe and discovered that he's gay on that basis I can't believe there's anything wrong with his lifestyle.
Now, I'm the last one to say that sex doesn't matter.But my stars, we're at war (there seems to be some question just who the actual enemy is, but never mind); we face an unbelievable crisis in the well-being of our nation (in terms of health care, in terms of the security of pensions, in terms of the rapidly widening gap between rich and poor); the world is on the verge of treating the United States as irrelevant. And as a society, we American Christians are head-over-heels about who loves whom and does what.
My simple question is why this is such a big deal in the scale of things. (For those of my closest friends who want to say that the right-wing is just using this for political purposes, my question remains: Why are they able to do that? Why do they ring such a responsive chord in to so many? For my dear, persecuted Republican friends -- both of you: Why does this represent an assault on the basis of society? For my gunner theologians: Why?)
You see, I don't really want to go into whether gay marriage should be allowed in either the civic setting or the Church. Neither do I specifically want the prooftexts for or against the ordination of non-celibate homosextual persons. I'm more interested in the meta-question, if that's the term: Why is this the issue that gets people so hot?
Now, I'm the last one to say that sex doesn't matter.But my stars, we're at war (there seems to be some question just who the actual enemy is, but never mind); we face an unbelievable crisis in the well-being of our nation (in terms of health care, in terms of the security of pensions, in terms of the rapidly widening gap between rich and poor); the world is on the verge of treating the United States as irrelevant. And as a society, we American Christians are head-over-heels about who loves whom and does what.
My simple question is why this is such a big deal in the scale of things. (For those of my closest friends who want to say that the right-wing is just using this for political purposes, my question remains: Why are they able to do that? Why do they ring such a responsive chord in to so many? For my dear, persecuted Republican friends -- both of you: Why does this represent an assault on the basis of society? For my gunner theologians: Why?)
You see, I don't really want to go into whether gay marriage should be allowed in either the civic setting or the Church. Neither do I specifically want the prooftexts for or against the ordination of non-celibate homosextual persons. I'm more interested in the meta-question, if that's the term: Why is this the issue that gets people so hot?
Introduction
Today I set out on a glorious voyage of self-aggrandizement.
A friend has been after me to establish my own blog. I think, at heart, she is tired of my long tirades in response to her postings. And so I've set up my own space to set out some thoughts on a random basis (my daughter claims that my conversation is always heading in "random" directions -- apparently that's one of the hot words among her friends.
In any event, I shall be setting out some thoughts occasionally at this site. I have no idea what I'm doing or whether I'll be able to sustain this thing. I'm not particulary self-motivated. BUT this is a chance to try something that I have long wanted to do -- to engage on a semi-regular basis with brothers and sisters, known and not-yet-met, on various theological and political themes and issues.
It's strange to send thoughts out to no one in particular. Consequently, each post will likely be directed to someone who may or may not recognize himself or herself in the address.
So with those prefigurings, let's begin.
But first, this: "Versus Populum" means, as I understand it, "toward or over against the people." I pick it up because it is a hot-button item in liturgical theology right now. There is controversy, again, over whether the presiding minister (whether that be priest, presbyter, minister, elder, or whaterver) ought to face the congregation over the altar/table during the liturgy (mass, service, etc.). Vatican II began -- or arguably, reinstated -- the practice of "versus populum" -- i.e., of the presider facing the people. It caught on in all liturgical traditions -- to the point that churches were remodeled (in some cases, sacrificed) to accommodate the new "model." Now, with the help of Cardinal Ratizinger in the Vatican (arguably the most influential thinker in the Vatican hierarchy -- and probably the most brilliant), that model is being challenged. "Face East," the cry goes, because in so doing, the presider leads the people in their reverence, honor, and worship toward God. God is less "in our midst" than "on His way" from the seat of power.
It's a debate that has remarkably good and telling points to be made on both sides. And I chose the term for the name of my blog because it seems to me to raise the possibility of active disputation (my favorite way to relax). Where I worship, we have never gone versus populum; the pastor does, however, turn to elevate chalice and paten during the (words of institutioni) in the weekly Eucharist. So I'm used to one kind of practice. I was trained, however, by a theologian who insisted that the only sensible way to celebrate was versus populum. And since he was the theologian who made the biggest impression on me, that ideology has stuck.
I, thus, turn to the people with questions, with ranting, with thoughts; I set them out with the hope that somebody will respond with arguments, information, corrections -- and, of course, compliments for the tightness of my reasoning and the enlightment obvious in my expressions of my position!
A friend has been after me to establish my own blog. I think, at heart, she is tired of my long tirades in response to her postings. And so I've set up my own space to set out some thoughts on a random basis (my daughter claims that my conversation is always heading in "random" directions -- apparently that's one of the hot words among her friends.
In any event, I shall be setting out some thoughts occasionally at this site. I have no idea what I'm doing or whether I'll be able to sustain this thing. I'm not particulary self-motivated. BUT this is a chance to try something that I have long wanted to do -- to engage on a semi-regular basis with brothers and sisters, known and not-yet-met, on various theological and political themes and issues.
It's strange to send thoughts out to no one in particular. Consequently, each post will likely be directed to someone who may or may not recognize himself or herself in the address.
So with those prefigurings, let's begin.
But first, this: "Versus Populum" means, as I understand it, "toward or over against the people." I pick it up because it is a hot-button item in liturgical theology right now. There is controversy, again, over whether the presiding minister (whether that be priest, presbyter, minister, elder, or whaterver) ought to face the congregation over the altar/table during the liturgy (mass, service, etc.). Vatican II began -- or arguably, reinstated -- the practice of "versus populum" -- i.e., of the presider facing the people. It caught on in all liturgical traditions -- to the point that churches were remodeled (in some cases, sacrificed) to accommodate the new "model." Now, with the help of Cardinal Ratizinger in the Vatican (arguably the most influential thinker in the Vatican hierarchy -- and probably the most brilliant), that model is being challenged. "Face East," the cry goes, because in so doing, the presider leads the people in their reverence, honor, and worship toward God. God is less "in our midst" than "on His way" from the seat of power.
It's a debate that has remarkably good and telling points to be made on both sides. And I chose the term for the name of my blog because it seems to me to raise the possibility of active disputation (my favorite way to relax). Where I worship, we have never gone versus populum; the pastor does, however, turn to elevate chalice and paten during the (words of institutioni) in the weekly Eucharist. So I'm used to one kind of practice. I was trained, however, by a theologian who insisted that the only sensible way to celebrate was versus populum. And since he was the theologian who made the biggest impression on me, that ideology has stuck.
I, thus, turn to the people with questions, with ranting, with thoughts; I set them out with the hope that somebody will respond with arguments, information, corrections -- and, of course, compliments for the tightness of my reasoning and the enlightment obvious in my expressions of my position!
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