Would the Real Jesus Please Stand Up?

So we have two natures of Jesus – God and Man. This is a basic argument that has been battered that tossed and discussed quite a bit among the greats of theology. Some have claimed that Jesus was fully God, although perhaps a little less than the God, and other claim that he was fully man, although more than ordinary people. Tradition has done its part and insured that both lines of thinking were chased out of the church with burning torches and the like. Instead we have great metaphysical terms, Greek words and multi-syllable approaches to understanding the nature of Jesus.
P.T. Forsyth eschews such terms and concepts (specifically in The Person and Place of Jesus Christ). He is writing from a early 20th century context, wrestling with liberalism, orthodoxy and from time to time Catholicism. Forsyth argues that there are two natures to Christ, but one should not use the cumbersome metaphysical language of the early church fathers. Instead, one should look to the moral (his word) aspect of Christ and how it relates to us. According to Forsyth, there are basically two motions occurring – there is “the upward movement of man’s quest for God and the downward of God’s conquest of man” (335). In the upward movement from the point of humanity we have faith, and in the downward movement from the point of God we have grace. Forsyth describes these two movements as basic to creation. Both are moral acts; humanity – faith and God – grace. In Christ we have the union of the moral acts; in Christ we have, “the union of God and man… as the mutual involution of two personal movements raised to the whole scale of the human soul and the divine.”
Forsyth claims that such is possible because in Christ we have kenosis or a self-emptying and plerosis or a self-fulfillment.
Now I could go into further detail about Forsyth’s understanding of these terms, he approach to scripture, and understanding of “moral” doctrines. What I find fascinating is the idea that in Christ there is a constant pulling. There is a pulling to be with God, and to lead others to be with God. Christ understands our basic desire to have communion with God, because that basic desire is a part of him, and so shows us the way to fulfill that desire. Yet at the same time there is a desire to be with us. There is a desire to be in our presence, to care for us and to share grace with us. When Christ forgives the sins of the sick, he is offering the grace of God. He is incarnating God’s desire to be with us. So rather than thinking of two natures, or two persons, Forsyth offers one person with pulling desires. There is a desire to be with God, and a desire to be with us.
Here is my thought. Far be it from me to assume that we can be Jesus, but what if we follow such desires ourselves? What if we still follow our desire to claim faith in the grace of the Lord and grow closer to God, but at the same time yearn to share God’s grace with others? What if we see our mandate not only to believe but to bring others to believe? I think there may be scripture to back up such a crazy idea (Mt 28). I am not suggesting that we become Jesus, but perhaps we follow more closely his ministry and his life with such an approach.

Does Size Matter?

This past Wednesday (Ash Wednesday) I went to the local Methodist church – St. Luke United Methodist – for their Ash Wednesday service. There were not a lot of people attending, only slightly more than were in the choir. I could relate to the pastor’s feeling of disappointment in the size – I know what that is like. Just the night before we had a Shrove Tuesday pancake dinner and gospel service and I was a little disappointed with the turnout. I let wondering if people were really committed to the church and if it was worth having such programs if “no one” was going to attend. Maybe size does matter.
On Wednesday, I felt differently. Perhaps it was because I was not leading the service, but sitting in the congregation. Perhaps it had something to do with the solemn focus of Ash Wednesday, but I felt a connection with the Spirit in the service. I didn’t care how many people were around me, it didn’t matter. It did matter that I was in a gathered community, but numbers weren’t as important. Instead, it felt like a very meaningful, moving and intimate service that could not be replicated with the masses. So maybe size does not matter.
I think Wed’s lesson speaks for itself. I think it is very easy to fall into the counting game. I hope I can find the strength and conviction to worship God and lead others in worship regardless if there are 2 or 200 or 2,000. Perhaps size doesn’t matter.


Afterthought: all of this is based on the premise that the smaller the group the less it has to offer. Perhaps one should consider the inverse; the larger the group the less it has to offer.

Miracles

The other night I was meeting with some college students talking about miracles. We discussed the skeptic’s point of view, the believer’s point of view, and so on. After a while it seemed that miracles were not necessarily a tool of evangelism, it would not bring on to faith, but something for those who already believe. If someone doesn’t believe in God, than that individual will no doubt look for another reason for the miracle.
Here is the interesting thing that happened. We were discussing the early Pentecostal movement, and what seemed to be a great need of people to experience miracles. People in the lower to middle economic spheres needed help that they could not afford were looking for miracles. With this in mind, I asked, “what are miracles that you hope for?” The answers ranged from the unity of the church (pan-denominational), to reconciliation between family members, to world peace. I was taken aback by such answers, for they seemed to point to things that many of us desire, but feel as if they are beyond our control. They seemed to point to things that without God’s presence would be seen as beyond hope. So perhaps a miracle is something that reaches beyond our hope in ourselves to our hope in God. Perhaps our hope in miracles is what keeps us all engaged in the work and ministry of the gospel. I am not going to bring peace to the world, but God will, and so I work towards being a part of that miracle.
Perhaps, then, the miracle is not what we see, but what we hope to see and place in the hands of God.

Crossing the Line

A number of the scholars that I have been attracted to have been described as “Catholic-Baptists.” Look at some of my pervious postings and you will see what I mean. They are born and raised Baptists who hold to many of the time-tested convections of Baptist life, yet liturgically, theologically, and ecclesiology yearn for something more. It seems that they are yearning for a depth and a richness that many would perceive to be lacking in the greater Baptist movement. Hence the push for sacramentality in Baptist life. In many ways I agree with these scholars. I agree that our ecclesiology could use development and depth. I agree that we could be more honest with what is happening in our worship (i.e. the actions of the Holy Spirit), and should claim the sacramentality that is already occurring. I agree that we become to immersed in our own understanding of the Word rather than how God is speaking to us through the Word. I agree on many points with these “Catholic-Baptist” folks. Yet there are times when I feel they may go to far.
I am thinking in particular of John Colwell’s book Promise and Presence: An Exploration of Sacramental Theology. Colwell admits that he is crossing a line with his thoughts and suggestions. While for the most part I do not think he needs to be so hard on himself, there is one place where I would halt his progress – ordination (granted, this is the area that I am working on, so there may be a reason that I quibble with Colwell on this particular issue). Colwell speaks in favor for viewing ordination as a calling by God, a promise by God to work through the minister as an agent and instrument of God’s grace. It is, for Colwell, an ontological change that is indelible. Competence to preach and administer the Sacraments can only come from God. This is where I get uneasy. Colwell uses the imagery of the minister as a midwife birthing the growth of the church, and that is an image I like. Yet the idea of an ontological change which is indelible, the idea that competence comes from God leans to far towards the Catholics. My struggle is saying why. We claim that God gives us gifts, and perhaps the gifts to do ministry come from God: competence. We claim that we are all changed through our baptism (while Colwell makes this claim, he does not stress it as strongly as others do, especially in the Catholic circles). What I think concerns me is the idea that the minister is called to a ministry of Word and Sacrament. This is not something, at least to my knowledge, that is a part of the Baptist movement. It feels like a transplant from the reformed/ Presbyterian tradition. Perhaps that is the rub, the understanding of the purpose of ministry. This is something I will have to think about and study further.
Another reason why I may find myself hesitant from joining whole-heartedly this “Baptist-Catholic” movement is because of the method. So far, the majority of the folks that I have read have been offering a top-down theology. Granted, some have used the patristic, but that is top-down for most Baptists. I want to offer a bottom-up theology. I want to offer a theology that is based on theory, but also and what Baptist have been doing and are continuing to do, and how God’s presence can be found within such actions. I think the difference is from offering new or different theories and approaches to ecclesiology (as the Baptist-Catholics are doing), or offering a nuanced articulation of what is already happening (as I hope to do). With such an approach, hopefully I will not cross the line to something that can no longer be recognized as Baptist.

What do you do all day?

Ok, no book to review today, just some thoughts. It is almost cliche to talk about the assumption that all a pastor does is preach on Sundays, but it is something that comes up every once and a while. Not just the work that is done on Sundays, but the work that is done during the week. I think it is a question of the tasks of the pastor. What is a pastor supposed to be doing all week.
I think some would prefer the pastor to visit the sick and leave it at that. I wonder about such an assumption. It is important to visit the sick, but that can't be all. What does it say theologically if the role of the pastor is to just visit the sick and preach? What does such a visit do for the person visited. If I were part of a high church movement, then I might be able to draw upon the sacramental traditions, especially in a healing ministry. Yet I shirk away from the idea that the pastor brings special powers to the side of the sick. On the other hand, I do feel that the presence of the pastor can help the sick be aware of God's presence - this is good. So visits are good.
At the same time there is much more to do. I believe the pastor is in many ways the face of the church to the community. The pastor is the one who is in the community serving the needy, helping those in distress and sharing the gospel. This is vague, and the specifics can take time.
The pastor is to pray for the people.
The pastor is to prepare meetings, to prepare budgets, to answer mail, and take care of the nitty gritty stuff of the church. If it is a large church, then that is a totally different issue (then the pastor is to raise money). It is important for the pastor to do this work because it is part of the forming of a community.
I think this is closer to the crux of what the pastor does. The pastor forms a community. The pastor calls the members of the congregation to visit the sick, to answer phones, to be present in the community, to pray, and to study. The pastor leads the formation and to a degree is a part of the formation. Theologically, I would argue that this sets the pastor apart. Theologically I would argue this is why the pastor is ordained. The pastor leads the community on behalf of God/Holy Spirit. The pastor guides the community as he or she has been called by God. This is a big trust issue because sometimes the way the Holy Spirit leads may not seem to be the best way according to many. This itself is a topic for another time.
The point is, the pastor has to do a lot during the week that at times seems to very much be church work, and at other times seems to be "busy work." Yet if the pastor is connected to the Holy Spirit, then it all is good work. I hope.

evil exists.... deal with it

There is a long line of people who have attempted climb a Mount Everest of human existence – why do we suffer. Or perhaps to reference the good rabbi – “Why do bad things happen to good people?” The question of theodicy has taken down many worthy theologians and philosophers and yet the line of individuals waiting to climb the mountain wraps around the mountain again and again. I recently read an article that attempts to tackle this very problem. John Schneider’s article “Seeing God Where the Wild Things Are: An Essay on the Defeat of Horrendous Evil” is the article in question. It is part of a larger work Christian Faith and the Problem of Evil edited by Peter van Inwagen (a collection of theologians and philosophers all making a group expedition up the beguiling mountain of theodicy).
Schneider starts by charting out the current landscape of discourse concerning theodicy, specifically in the Christian Orthodox arena. He begins referencing J.L. Mackie’s article “Evil and Omnipotence” as a ground braking work. I have not read the article yet, but will try to get to it. Regardless, Schneider’s article is one that can be read without previous knowledge of Mackie’s work.
Schneider starts by making a number of theistic claims: God exists, is good, is omnipotent, etc…. and then invites Christians theologians to return or stay involved in the philosophical debate of evil and the rationality of a deism in the human experience. It reminds me of Abraham’s epistemological claim for the sake of Christianity in the discussion of epistemology. It is good that Schneider is being honest about his claims. He then considers the idea of “horrendous evils,” which is an evil that makes one question one’s purpose of life. This is the evil that causes unrest in the conscience of humanity. Schneider discusses other Christian responses to theodicy, pointing out their faults and failings. There is a problem with giving not enough power to God (Hick), or taking free will away from humanity. There is the question of the suffering of God and how that can occur with an all powerful, all perfect God. Schneider surveys the landscape well before turning to the crux of his argument.
The argument starts with the book of Job. It starts with a common interpretation of Job (especially the end of the book), and then considering some alternative options for understanding the biblical book. Schneider’s interest is in the final conversation between God and Job. Many understand that conversation as God telling Job to not question and accept that some things are just beyond understanding, and Schneider is not happy with this reading and offers another reading suggested by other scholars. This reading considers the symbolic aspect of God controlling the Leviathan, the chaos and the hope which it gives to Job. In this particular reading of Job, the author is claiming that God is in control of the chaos. Job was finding chaos in his life, and God was suggesting that never was Job out of the Lord’s care.
Schneider finally takes this reading of Job to the gospel of Mark. In Mark, Jesus is depicted as one who is in control of the chaos through a narrative reading of the text. Even in the chaos of the cross itself, we should find some hope that God is ultimately in control, hence the resurrection.
Unless I have missed something, Schneider is offering a understanding to the issue of evil that many have considered before. To claim that God is in control, and has tamed the chaos of the horrible evil does not seem that removed from the Calvinistic claim that God is in control of all of our lives. How is this answer different from a soft predestination? Hartshorn has criticized such a response, as has Caputo and others. They have argued for a weakness of God that does not force a happy ending out of the most horrendous situation. Schneider is offering a good synopsis of current creative exegetical work of Job and Mark, but is not offering anything new to the larger discourse of theodicy.
Further, I do not find the same kind of hope that Schneider offers in his understanding of Job. The only hope I can find is that even those whose lives are lost in horrible evil (i.e. the holocaust) are not lost in vain. God can make that life worthwhile. This does not answer the problem of evil, but find hope in the face of evil. I fear this could lead toward the cheap answer to suffering: this is all done for a reason. Or to look for a silver lining in the horrendous situation.
I agree with Schneider’s entrance of Mark. Mark give us the Trinitarian foundation of hope that God suffers, and find hopes in the suffering. This gives some hope without a pie-in-the-sky kind of Pollyanna sunshine. It does not offer a good answer for why evil occurs, but does if it does one can find some hope in the suffering. In the end it is a good essay, but nothing new in this climb up the question of theodicy.

Catholic Baptist? or Calling a Duck a Duck

I have been accused of being to Catholic for my Baptist colleagues. I guess that is what you get for studying at a Catholic University. Many a jokes have been made (at my expense) with someone looking for my ring, or my bishop’s hat. In my defense, I turn to Steven Harmon’s work Towards Baptist Catholicity. Harmon is suggesting n many ways what my friends are simply joking about, that we retrieve our deeper “catholic” roots in the Baptist community. Harmon actually goes beyond Vatican I, or the Council of Trent to the Patristic as a source of tradition. He is arguing that a resourceement of the Patristic writers in the Baptist movement will lead to a deepening of worship and theology in the local churches. I like his argument, he approach and even some of his conclusions. One of the questions I have is “why?” (even though I think I know the answer). Why do we need to change, why do churches need to develop their worship? Why do we need to look beyond scripture and the pastor for an understanding of our faith? Harmon hints as reasons, criticizing the vapid mindless worship that millions of Baptists engage in each Sunday. He hints at the weak theological identity and self understanding that many Baptist churches have, but I did not find an overall argument for change via the negative. There is a lot of positive that one can glean from such a resourceement. There is a deep and rich tradition. The positive argument is strong, but I think the negative needs to be made stronger. If one really wants to push for change, the point out the weak theology and even the heresy that is being practiced in many churches today. Make the argument that Baptist need to change to be true to Christ (if that is an argument one can make). Perhaps I am calling Baptist to offer a critical critique of the “Baptist life.” I am calling Baptists to come out and say how churches and Christians are not staying true to the faith. If something is heritical (like the prosperity gospel), then call it heretical. Let’s work for change, but not simply for the sake of change itself. Rather, lets work for change because our salvation, our faith, our life in the community depends upon it. (a little harsh, but then again isn’t such polemical writing the norm for blogs?)

An afterthought: In his book, Harmon states that one of the major reasons he couldn’t become Catholic is because they do not ordain woman. An admirable reason, but what about baptism? Does Harmon believe infant baptism is acceptable? Is believers baptism simply as secondary aspect of Baptist life? I contend (I think Brackeny does as well) that all other aspects of Baptist life can come out of the theological stance of believer’s baptism. I certainly hope Harmon is not so quick to throw the baby into the bathwater as he romantically looks across the isle at the liturgical life of the Catholic.

Fast-Track Christianity

Hungry? Then don’t read this next entry. Kent Berghuis’ work Christian Fasting: A Theological Approach will drive you to consider skipping the next meal. That is why I read it during T-Day, in hopes that maybe I would temper my appetite and not overeat. It didn’t work. I have to be kind with Berghuis’ work, he is a friend of mine. Even if he wasn’t a friend, I don’t think I would trash this work. Berghuis does a good job following the practice of fasting through the OT, NT and Christ history. He raises the question, “why do evangelicals shy away from spiritual practices such as fasting.” His answer comes out of his survey and analysis, and he concludes by offering a theology towards fasting; Berghuis suggests that fasting focuses on Christ, unites the community, anticipates the return of Christ, and is connected with the well-being of the body.
The whole question of fasting seems to beg the larger question of the evangelical relationship with Catholicism/history and the larger church. The anti-Catholic reaction, largely a reaction to excess and corruption has led many groups of evangelical Protestants to reject anything that slightly smacks of high church and a rejection of a larger Christian tradition for the sake of Sola Scriptura (yet in Steve Harmon’s work Baptist Catholicity he makes the claim that even the claim Sola Scriptura is a claim to a specific traditional way of understanding community and practice). Berghuis shows how fasting is Biblical, but challenges a deeper assumption: not everything the Catholics do is anti-bible. Catholicism is deeply rooted in scripture, but a specific way of understanding and explaining scripture. A blind rejection of all things “papist” is a rejection of a rich part of the Christian story lived out. Secondly, just because the popular practice seems hypocritical does not mean it is, at its root, wrong. The popular practice of fasting has, from time to time, gone astray, for example, monks breaking their fast with a 4,700 calorie meal. Yet one should not judge the practice itself based on the way it is practiced. I know many evangelicals who misuse the extemporaneous prayer, pushing for their own agenda in a public setting, yet I would still advocate the un-scripted, free section of worship when one is praying on behalf of the congregation without the restriction of previously worded prayers. We need to follow Berghuis’ example, look at the practice in scripture, and in tradition before coming to a place where we accept or reject anything.
So in the end, I will fast, I will observe the liturgical calendar, I will engage in other spiritual disciplines that my colleagues may label as “papist.” There is a richness, an articulate devotion and a focus that is helpful and uplifting that I will embrace. I’ll not be so quick to judge…. isn’t such an approach biblical?

Jab

saw this in the Christian Century (that libral smut...) and thought it was clever:

"I'm not sure who'll invent the cure for cancer, discover a new energy source, or genetically engineer a plant that will end starvation, but I bet it won't be an anti-Darwinian Christian"
- Philip Gulley, Porch Talk (HarperSanFrancisco)


From the Christian Century, November 13, 2007. pg. 7.

The stories we tell....

I like to preach. I think preaching is a central part of my identity as a pastor, and a person. It is as Rob Bell (from Mars Hill Church) described an art form. So to work on my preaching, I felt it would be good to learn about other preachers, and who better than to learn about St. Dominic. Ok, so there are many others to consider, but something about the Catholic understanding of chrism and preaching as a spiritual gift pulled me to Dominic. So I have been trying to learn a little bit about Dominic and his ilk. To start, I read St. Dominic by Eliza Allen Starr. This is an exert from a larger book, Patron Saints. It is an older and not at all academic work. The work swoons over Dominic, the wonderful miracles he performed, how perfect he was, etc... On the one hand, this wasn't exactly the bio I was looking for - there is probably some truth in the story, but a lot of apocropha. On the other hand, this portrayal offers to me a depiction of Dominic that is understood on the popular level (remember the difference between "popular Catholicism" and "Official Catholicism"). The stories told about Dominic, while they may not be true, speak to the ideals and images that many people celebrate about him. The stories we tell about anybody may or may not speak to the reality, but certainly speak to our own image of the reality. Truth be told, we cannot get a completely accurate bio; bias will always play a part. Yet we are called to own our bias and name its source and purpose. Starr's account claims a part of the Catholic tradition's embrace of Dominic.

With all of that said, not much was made of Dominic's preaching. So I didn't get much out of the work on that end. Dominic was said to take his studies very seriously and that is something I can relate to. So not a waste of time. I have one other, longer, work to read which I am sure will give me more to chew on.

the mess we call Baptists

It is no secret that the Baptist (specifically the American Baptists) are organizationally a mess. It is no secret that without a central power, an administrative hierarchy with power and authority over the local churches one will find chaos. This is not a secret because of the recent hullabaloo over the stance, or lack of a stance that the denomination has or has not taken via homosexuality. If only we had a bishop, or a pope, or even a governing board that could make doctrinal decisions, then we would be more streamlined, more focused, and would be better able to witness to the world; or at least some would argue.
What is a secret are the reasons why we (Baptists) exist in the manner in which we do. We claim to ideals and “distinctives” as if they were given to us by Christ, but seldom speak to the social-historical context from which they derive, or to the theological foundations upon which they are based. Such a weak claim to central identifying characteristics will make it easy to chip away at such ideas as church autonomy and priesthood of the believers (which I believe a hierarchy would be opposed to).
Enter the recently deceased Paul Harrison’s book Authority and Power in the Free Church Tradition. While this book was originally published in 1959, it still is relevant in many ways today. Harrison speaks of the idea of freedom, reminding the reader that the original focus of the Baptists was to focus on the freedom of God; he analyzes the confession to demonstrate this early stance of the Baptists. He then offers a sociological study of the Convention (now it is a denomination). The weakness is that his study was done in the 1950s, before the infamous, (and deadly) SCODS decision, yet his analysis of the 1907 formation of the denomination is apt and still current. Harrison is looking at the role of the executive minister in the denomination, but his analysis goes beyond that focus. Harrison questions the very foundation and nature of the denomination. Based on his analysis of the 1907 denominational formation, I wonder if he would be celebrating the centennial of the ABC, or instead scoffing and quoting Francis Wayland’s spiteful description of the festering carcasses of institutions on the landscape of Christendom. The sociological descriptions and sharp and to the point, his historical analysis is brilliant, and his overall analysis of Baptist polity of worth reading by every seminary student, pastor, and denominational stooge (executive).
In his conclusion, Harrison states that the priesthood of the believer, soul freedom, and local church autonomy must be held in tension with associational interdependence, and the rule of the community. It is a both/and, not an either or. So the mess is necessary and appropriate. It is a way to ensure not that we are allowing the believer to be free, but that we are staying out of the way of God. If God is not free, then we cannot be free. To ensure that the church does not become an burden, a barrier to the movement of the Lord, we need the chaos and the mess. Only then can the Holy Spirit be free.

a diversion

This is a prayer that a Luthern friend shared with me. I thought it was pretty good...

"A Sacristy Prayer" by Martin Luther

Lord God, you have appointed me as a pastor in your church, but you see how unsuited I am to meet so great and difficult a taks. If I had lacked your help, I would have ruined everything long ago. Therefore I call upon you: I wish to devote my mouth and my heart to you; I shall teach the people. I myself will learn and ponder diligently upon your word. Use me as your instrument - but do not forsake me, for if I should ever be on my own, I would easily wreck it all. Amen

How do you know?

How do we know what we know? The question of epistemology has been bantered back and forth, back and forth. It is a question that has been left to the philosophers, the Cartesians (we know because we think), the realists (we know what we see) the Kantians (we can conceive of the possibility…. and see glimpses of things), the linguists (we know what the grammar of the community gives us language to know), and on and on. It is a question that theologians seem to stay away from because what can we say – we know because God said so. We know that creation is good because God said it is good, or at least we have decided to take the Bible as a source of knowing the words of God. Philosophically, this sounds weak. Yet William Abraham, in Crossing the Threshold of Divine Revelation, suggests that theologians should embrace the question of epistemology and discuss how we know what we know.
Abraham is not a novice to the conversation in philosophical circles, nor is he unaware of theological conversations. He footnotes offer a wonderful side-conversation around the meat of his text. Yet he seems to set his bar to high and then offer the platitude that we know about God through the divine revelation of God. We believe because God told us to believe, we saw God, we had an experience, etc. This seems weak.
Abraham claims that we know our faith through “canonical theism” – the knowledge of Christianity is based upon scriptures, early Christians, and tradition. It is almost Catholic (Scripture and Tradition). Yet that one crosses the threshold of that knowledge via divine revelation. We come to believe the substance of canonical theism because of a revelation of the Lord. Terry Tilley, suggests in Inventing Catholic Tradition that we come to know our faith through the grammar and rules of our faith. One does not need an intervention from on high to believe, one only needs to learn the language. Abraham is suggesting that someone could learn the who language, but will not have complete knowledge of God without God’s intervention – which he claims is rational. I find nothing rational about looking to a higher power for knowledge. Just as we mock those who look to aliens for that greater knowledge, I think it is appropriate for others to mock Christians who look to God for greater knowledge. When we are all on the rooftop, with our arms outstretched, asking for guidance, is there a difference? Our faith and knowledge of our faith is foolishness to the world (I think Paul said something about this…).
What I think Abraham is offering that is useful is a way to speak of epistemology from within the community. How do we know what we know? If we approach the issue from simply a philosophical standpoint, or even from a Wesleyian standpoint, all we have are tradition, reason, experience and scripture. Yet there is something that brings us to a point when we can say, “I believe in God, and thus view scripture, tradition, etc… as agents of the divine revelation.” Tilley would not look for that moment of revelation for knowledge, claiming that a part of our grammar is to claim a divine revelation. Abraham is claiming that the divine revelation is necessary for us to be able to speak and understand the grammar. Hence the issue, is the revelation of God necessary for knowledge or a part of the tradition? Chicken or egg?

A Subversive text

I have finally read some Ellul (for a book group that I belong to). A friend of mine has been bugging me for about three years to read the dead frenchman. The Subversion of Christianity is an interesting text which make broad and powerful claims about Christianity today. Ellul is arguing that all has been marred in Christianity (kinda) and that what we call Christianity is really just an “ism”, “denoting an ideological or doctrinal trend deriving from a philosophy” (pg. 10). He claims that true Christianity is;
1. the revelation and work of God accomplished in Jesus Christ
2. the being of the church as the body of Christ
3. the faith and life of Christians in truth and love

Being true to his French roots, Ellul decides to call true Christianity “X” and Christianity is the bastardized practice that many of us are involved in today. It all started with the entrance of philosophy into Christianity, or actually into Judaism. Ellul almost one-up’s Milbank Theology and Social Theory (posthumously and preeminently) claim that Christianity lost its way with the Reformation. Ellul claims that Hellenization of Judaism and Christianity was the beginning of the end. From there, even a rightly thought out idea or theory would still veer in the wrong direction because of the rotten foundation. Yet further in the book Ellul uses scripture from the Hellenized New Testament to argue against other subversions of Christianity (the drive for political power, for example). Hmmm, can one use flawed sources to argue against a flawed system? Ellul makes some great critiques of Christianity’s compromise with the state, with Islam (a fascinating chapter), with the separation of the sacred and the secular (again driving one to think of Milbank), with morals, and a drive for power. Ellul also has a great chapter about powers, and evil akin to Walter Wink’s work on the Powers and principalities.
Where I am unsettled is with Ellul’s conclusion. The Holy Spirit will make everything right, even if it is just for a moment. Is this a realized Eschatology resting on a wholly pnumatological causality? Or in other words, if we have f**ked up Christianity so much, do we have any hope of getting it right, or do we have to completely relay upon the actions of God, specifically the Holy Spirit, to experience the true Christianity that was intended? How much can we do, and how much is out of our hands? I think it is important to rely upon the Holy Spirit. I think it is important to get messy, not have things under control, to let go of our own desires and see where things lead. Yet I would also like to think that there is a relational nature to the Holy Spirit. I would like to that that not only does the Holy Spirit act, but we respond. I would also like to think that at times, despite ourselves, we act in a good and almost pure way, and the Holy Spirit can respond. It is a messy ecclesiology, theology, eschatology, but it is one where we can’t place all of the control in the hands of humans who have a tendency to screw up everything that is touched.

Flannery O'Connor - Dirty, gritty Spirituality

Here is my first official post post-exams. Maybe not exciting for anyone else, but for me….. So, to relax, I read the complete stories of Flannery O’Connor. I have already written about one of O’Connor’s stories (a Good Man…), but I think the entire volume deserves some attention. I will not presume to write as a critique, for that is not my training. I cannot speak to O’Connor’s literary style, influences, technique, etc… I will not presume to think that I really have anything to offer to the world of literature concerning O’Connor, so I write about her book with some humility. I do write as a Baptist theologian who has been studying the American Catholic experience for a number of years, and I think that brings a specific insight to O’Connor’s writings (a catholic who uses Baptist as her subjects in the south). The only thing I am missing is the Southern background, but I can only do so much.
Before I go any farther, I should remind the reader(s) and myself that we cannot try to read O’Connor’s mind. After writing my bit on “A Good Man…” I realized that I was working hard to try to understand what O’Connor was trying to say in her powerful story. This is a pursuit that will drive all mad, including the author. Need I remind the post-modern audience that the writer’s intent is a modernistic truth that is illusive. Read Stanley Fish (early or late) and you will know what I mean (hopefully). I cannot read O’Connor’s mind, nor can I ask her (she is in no position to answer) what she intended (she may not know herself). All I can do is react to her writings from my own horizion of experience.
It is good to get that off my chest.
I don’t think any of the stories were bad, but a couple really stood out as I read them:
The Turkey
Enoch and the Gorilla
A Good Man Is Hard to Find
The Life You Save May Be Your Own
The River
The Displaced Person
Good Country People
A View of the Woods
Everything The Rises Must Converge
The Partridge Festival
Revelation
Parker’s Back

O’Connor seems to end many of her stories with a sacramental moment when reality blurs with the kingdom of God; sometimes this feels forced, and sometimes this moves well. Her Catholicism is clear and obvious in a subdued (and sometimes not so subdued) kind of way. Her theology is deeply sacramental, often occurring in the mundane and the profane. It seems that O’Connor is putting down those who see themselves as religious and pious and lifts up the honest and authentic. The Misfit in “A Good Man….” may actually be the good man as he kills the grandmother. There is something gritty and earthy about O’Connor’s spirituality that transcends to the kingdom of God.
After reading the volume, I find a picture of the Kingdom of God challenged, deconstructed and reconstructed by O’Connor’s stories. The Kingdom of God does not seem to be a place where the pious, the holy, the socially acceptable will live, but a place where the poor, the cripple, the simple and the sinful will be found (see the end of Revelation). When I talk to some of my parishioners, I hear an image of heaven that is all white and perfect and full of only the holy people. O’Connor is challenging this. O’Connor is challenging the gritty and dirty and profane aspects of life as places where God’s presence can actually be found. O’Connor is challenging the sanctuaries as clean places and showing them as only half-saved. O’Connor is challenging the class, economic, societal structure that is so prevalent in the church as something that is upside down when it comes to the Lord’s economy of grace and salvation. Her stories are rich, engaging and challenging. Someone once told me (I think it was my sister-in-law) that a good writer can be read again and again. O’Connor is this kind of writer, who I know will continue to challenge and push me again and again.

New Feature - Library

You'll notice on the right (my left...) a random selection of books from my library. I haven't entered all of my books in the program yet, but am working on it. If you are interested in one of the books that I have, let me know and I'll share a bit about it. I have books to give the impression that I might know what I am talking about.

VICTORY!

I passed the exam!!! Now I am officially a Doctoral Candidate! ABD (all but dead)

A Good Analogy is Hard to Find

I am in the midst of exams – on Thursday I took the written section of the exam, and I will take the oral on Monday. All the while, in order to hold onto some semblance of my sanity, I have been reading some of the stories of Flannery O’Connor. She writes with power, depth, and sacramentality (and good, dark humor).
One of the stories that has really stuck in my head is her well known, “A Good Man is Hard to Find.” I recommend reading it – it shouldn’t take to long. With my first read of the story, I had to get over the shock of the ending – something in me really wants the best for people, and didn’t want the family to die. Something in me wanted the Misfit to make a radical decision and not kill any of the family. No doubt there is something to be said for the desire to find the good in people. Perhaps that is one of the driving points of the story, and something to keep in consideration. I have read the story a couple of times since then, I have talked to others about the story, and have read one review online (which I will try to keep out of my head so that it will not unduly influence my own musings).
I am sure that many, many people have written volumes and could offer a very thorough analysis of the story (and I invite your interpretations via comments), so I offer my thoughts with humility. The Misfit doesn’t fit. He went into the “hole,” the solitary confinement and came back the same person. He is in prison paying for some sin which he doesn’t remember but is sure that he committed and when he emerges from the hole he is still paying for the sin. Christ went into the hole and came up a new person – the Misfit didn’t fit. Or, Christ went into the hole and forgave all sins, and now all sins are equal – all people deserve to be punished/forgiven regardless if they kill someone or steal a tire iron. I know there is more but I am intrigued by the consideration of Christ. If Christ makes all sins equal, then should we start to treat all sinners in an equal way? Should we offer the harshest punishment for the smallest crime, or should we look at the other side of the coin and offer the greatest forgiveness to the greatest crime?
Or, should we assume that after going through a “rehabilitative” experience of one sort or another that we should be changed. The Eastern State Penitentiary was designed with the theory that if one would only take some time to sit and think about the wrongs he or she committed, then the person would change his or her ways. Time in isolation, in “the hole” should lead towards change.
These are just some initial thoughts that are rough and brief. Hopefully, when this hell of exams passes, I will be able to offer more substance and coherence. In the meantime, I will continue to study, read, and every now and then think more about “A Good Man is Hard to Find.”

New Baby

We had a new Baby on August 6, and I am still planning on taking the exam... I think I am crazy.

now I am committed

Well, my questions, prospectus and reading list have all been sent to my committee. So I have to keep on studying and be ready for the fateful date. I am a little nervous.

I lost my kitchen

Nothing to do with anything, but we are adding onto our home - with child number four, we need more space! To build up, we must tear down, and now my kitchen is gone.

Righteous Pricks

I’m working on my sermon, while preparing for my Comp’s. So I am a little bit stressed. This is one of the times when it would be nice to take a break from church and just focus on studies. But, I need to pay the bills, so I will continue to work.

Thoughts on Psalm 52 – a psalm of a bitter person.

When I read this psalm, I get a vision of a righteous-pious person preaching “I’m better than you” to the sinful bastards of the world. I get a vision of some tie-wearing, bible toting person standing on a rock, looking down at the mightaly wicked and saying – “I told you so.” This is not a great picture of Christianity in my mind.
Who would want to worship with this kind of prick, who is always looking for ways to put people in their place? I know I am not that righteous, and I am certainly not that pious. I don’t think the psalm is giving us permission to act high and mighty, but gives a real view of a common human reaction. Some people are better off in life with finances, etc than other. Some people gain their possessions through underhanded and evil ways. We need to name the acts as evil, but when we name the person as evil, then we lose a part of the essence of Christ. Yet even as I write this, I have a dream that someday I will be standing up on that rock, looking down on those who were the pious, righteous pricks and say “I told you so.”
Catch 22?

One final thought – Baptists have a spirituality/theology/liturgy, it just has not been articulated

sermon thoughts: good samaritian

The sermon text I am pondering is from Luke 10:25-37

A man is walking down the road, and is accosted by robbers…. A familiar story, perhaps to familiar, because it is very easy to just hear the story and respond with a surface, acceptable kind of response. It is very easy to just say, “yes, yes, I will be kind to other people.” It is easy to just read the word on one surface level and not go any deeper.
Yet we are called to let the text engage us, and we need to let the text take us to a deeper place that challenges us, forms us and shapes us. So we could stay safe with the story or let the story be dangerous in our lives. We could let the danger of the bible enter into our lives.

Here is an outline:

We are comfortable with this familar story
We are comfortable with a familar faith
We are called to take a deeper, more dangerous approach to the story
Really love the Lord your God.....
A dangerous love of the neighbor
A dangerous faith that one engages again and again

freedom and memory

Note: Currently working of a sermon based on Psalm 77:1-2, 11-20; influenced by Metz (dangerous memory), “Instruction on Christian Freedom and Liberation” by the CDF (Ratzinger), and the upcoming 4th of July

What do we have to lament in our nation today? Is it the just out of reach feeling we have as a church influencing the society? Is it the supposed lack of freedoms we enjoy (although I don’t think I could list any right now… liberal mush). Is it the supposed lack of religious freedoms we enjoy (although I don’t think I could list any of those right now… conservative mush). What do we have to lament in our nation today. For what does the memory of the Fourth of July give us hope? For what does the idea of independence, sacrifice, and nationalism give us courage?

Are we free? If we are held down by any physical illness than we are not free. If we are held down by any mental malaise or spiritual malcontent than we are not free. We walk as if held down by borders, held down by our own inadequacies and misfortunes; we are not free. But can we blame the leaders of our nation for such shackles? Can we blame the politicians for such barriers?

Are we free? If we hold back in questioning and critiquing, than we are not free. If we fear criticism and judgment for our budding beliefs and growing faith than we are not free. If we cannot challenge the government from our foundation of faith, even as others reject our challenge from their foundation of faith than we are not free.

Are we free? If we believe that “I” am important, the be-all, end-all and community is secondary than we are not free. If we believe that the nation serves us, and not us the people of the nation (watch the wording there), than we are not free. We cannot be free as “I”. We cannot be free as individuals. We cannot be free without the support, the demands and the relationships of communities. Alone we are not free.

Where can we look to remember our freedom? Look to our memory. Remember the passion of the English Separatists who desired a higher standard of the government. Remember the typological vision of Roger Williams who say Rhode Island as the Kingdom of God becoming. Remember the passion of Madison and Jefferson who believed that religion, practiced freely, could be a positive and necessary moral influence on government. Remember the Baptists who believe that God’s salvation must be accepted freely. Look to the Lord God who freed the Israelites from the bondage of Israel, who parted the waters and let the shackles of oppression fall into the hardship of Egypt.

Remember Christ who calls us to transcend our malaise, our malcontent, our illness, our shackles of sin and truly live. Remember Christ who calls us, sends us, and directs us to be free. Remember Christ, let the memory of Christ be our future banner, and we will begin to be free.

Thoughts on a Title

The title “theosnob” is a bit pretentious. It is a title that almost begs a fight. Yet it is something that I think is true to who I am as a person. All through college, seminary, and in my doctoral work, I have been someone who would live passionately. In college, my passion was music. I could talk to someone for hours about composers, methods of composition, and the philosophical implications that one could consider in music. I was (and still am to a lesser degree) very passionate about music. My passion was at times annoying. I would call others to a high level of appreciation, of enjoyment. I never liked crap, and would scoff at composers like Susa or John Williams. I was a music snob.
Then I went to seminary, and began to study theology, history, bible and ethics. My passion for thinking about God and speaking about God grew, developed and emerged in a similar, annoying way as my passion for music. I would expect that others would have a high level of theological sophistication, understanding and appreciation. I especially expected this of other pastors (boy was I let down!).
But here is the thing. Not everyone needs to understand the difference between polyphonic modal counterpoint, and harmonic fugues in the style of Bach. Yet people think about God. People ask the infinite questions, struggle with the caverns of the divine and think theologically. Whether we want to or not, we think from time to time theologically.
In those moments of anguish and despair, when one looks for hope and the presence of the divine, if all one has in his or her arsenal of theological thoughts is crap, then the theological understanding is crap. “God has a plan for killing you son” – that’s crap. So I am going to be a snob and call people, especially other pastors, to a higher level of theological competency. Be consistent with your crap if you really need to hold onto it, or take a chance, trust in God, and try to find something that might just deepen your relationship with the Lord.
So hopefully I will be annoying with my theological snobbery, with a large dash of humility, because a lot of the ideas I have are also crap and I have a lot of learning and growing to do. What I will look to and rest upon is a consistent passion to learn and grow with the Lord.

Something New

I think I am going to try a different approach to my blog. I’ll continue to write about the works that I have read (although I have missed a couple), but I feel as if my blog is not as honest or as helpful as it could be. I have been compartmentalizing my doctoral work, separating it from the rest of my life, and I feel as if I am starting to wear myself out. I am finding that I am tired more and more, and that one part of my life is not necessarily fueling the other – this is the road to burn-out. One of the reasons I decided to pursue the doctoral track was because I felt it would positively influence my ministry. Yet in the past couple of months I do not feel as if this has been the effect. So, I am going to try to have a little more breath over all of my life, as well as some more depth over my own struggles and concerns, challenges and joys.
My hope is that it will offer a platform for me to express my own questions in an honest way, and at the same time offer more to the public (all 5 of you) an approach to ministry.

Medical Ethics and Truths

I am working slowly, but moving forward because my exam date is set for August. With that said, I just read some clippings from the New England Journal of Medicine, in the Correspondence section (May 3, 2007, 1889-1891) "Religion, Conscience, and Controversial Clinical Practices." They were in response to an article about doctors choosing or not choosing to provide options for treatment if they had a "conscienciance objection" I have not yet read the article, but plan to. Anyway, here was my response to the person who gave me the articles:


I just read the “Correspondence” from the NEJM that you sent to me. Very interesting stuff asking a very good question. The way I think of it is in terms of “truth.” Which “truth” should prevail in patient-doctor relationship. One of the contributors stated that an individual should not have to forfeit his or her conscience when joining a profession. Yet another stated that there is a class difference between the physician and the patient, and the onus is on the physician to assume the mantle of responsibility in offering the very best care (M. Foucault would have some interesting insights on the relational power differential).
Here are my thoughts. As far as I know, there is a code of ethics for the medical profession, starting with the Hippocratic oath and developed through time and tradition. If this is the case, than this code, as it has been passed down, is a kind of “truth” under which one practices medicine. While that “truth” may at times be vague and amorphous, it is still present in the practice of medicine. At the same time, a physician may come from a faith or community context where another set of “truths” are practiced (Christianity, Judaism, Jehovah Witness, etc). The values and ideals of the two “truths” may overlap and at times they may clash. When a patient visits a physician he or she may not come from the same community context as that individual physician, but may be expecting that the “truth” of the medical profession will be observed and practiced. This is why Jews should be able to use Muslim doctors without worry – the “truth” of the medical profession prevails in that particular context. Thus, I would argue that a physician can hold onto his or her “truths” as long as they do not clash with the “truth” of medicine, realizing that in the context of the exam room, the “truth” of medicine prevails over the “truth” of the physician’s particular faith community.
In my own context, I have had to compromise what I hold as my own “truth” for the sake of the larger community. When I took on the vows of ordination, I realized that I would not be able to fully and freely speak the truth of Christ as I understand it. Instead I would have to speak it in a way that the community can hear it and grow into it. The truth of my profession (to help lead churches, and share Christ) prevails over the particular truths found within my own relationship with Christ. (With that said, the dissonance is far less than the congruence; otherwise I would not be able to serve at all. When finding a church, one needs to find something that matches up fairly well, realizing that a perfect match will only be found in heaven.)
This may not seem do different from what others have in the clipping, except that I have used the word “truth” instead of “conscience.” This is a deliberate choice in terms. Conscience suggests that the individual physician is just that, an individual physician who thinks on his or her own without any input from any outside source. I would argue that one does have a conscience, but only within the context of a community. Within that community are truths, and the individual conscience dictates how he or she interacts with those truths. I wonder if naming the truths of the medical profession, the truths of the individual’s community and then comparing will help the physician prepare for those moments when he or she is faced with the individual ethical dilemma.
Just some thoughts, feel free to reply – thanks for the articles!

Peace,
Jonathan

Moving right along - McGreevy's work Parish Boundaries: The Catholic Encounter with Race in the Twentieth-Century Urban North. This is an excellent work, a great example of a "thick description" of a large part of our Nation's history. McGreevy takes the issue of race relations and focus in on Catholics in the Urban North and their reactions and tensions. It is a great reminder that none of us have clean hands, and how systematic racisism can be. It is also a great example of considering closely how one group of people were involved in a larger event. I strongly recommend.

Next up, John Mahoney's The Making of Moral Theology: A Study of the Roman Catholic Tradition. As far as a historical work goes, this one was fine. Mahoney showed the conflicts withing the tradition and the development of moral theology that emerged out of those conflicts. The whole idea of "moral theology" is still a little new to me as a Baptist. We are so focused on the word that the idea of developing understandings of morality seem different. Yet we do have a developing moral theology that has ememrged through our particular readings of scripture. It would not be bad to look at the development of the Baptist moral theology based upon interaction with scripture and see what has changed and what has stayed the same over time.

What Paul might have meant if he had a good advocate

It’s been a while – I’ll blame Easter. I’m going to try to catch up with the works that I have read/reviewed as best as I can. First, let’s look at What Paul Meant by Garry Wills. Harvey Cox wrote a review of this work that I think was kinder than necessary. After reading Wills’ work, I am left wondering what his agenda might be, and who his audience might be. Wills is trying to make Paul out to be a decent person, but doesn’t use any substantial scholarship or background to support his claim. He continually trashes Luke as historically suspect, unless it supports his own claims that he wants to make about Paul. Wills’ use of scholarship is weak at best (Cox makes this point), and his exploration of issues is surface level and quickly jumps to conclusions. It feels like Wills is making a classic interpretation error, forcing a text (or in this case a cannon of texts around a person) into a category that fits his agenda. Not quite scholarship, nor is it devotional, nor is it inspirational. I wouldn’t recommend the book to anyone.

That tricky, tricky Bible

The Bible is a tricky thing. It is devious, misleading, contradicting, and tends to add fuel to the fire of violence. Yet it also teaches a profound love, a profound sense of justice, mercy, grace and peace. It is a tricky thing. Hyper-conservatives who lean towards reading the Bible literally tend to take the literal words that are convenient to his or her life situation, or agenda. Wishy-washy liberal who hold the Bible like a hot-potato tend to hold up the aspects and parts of scripture that will lead toward that idealist picture of everyone in the world holding hands and singing some kind of throw-back greasy song like “Give Peace a Chance,” or “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing.” As a Baptist, I strive to hold the Word as an authoritative source for my faith, yet I come out of that wish-washy background, and read with a hesitancy towards the “dangerous” texts.
Here is the book that I read – The Moral Vision of the New Testament by Richard B. Hays. This work offers a comprehensive methodological approach to the NT that avoids the flawed and irresponsible approach of literal inerrancy. Yet Hays does not fall into the whining liberal trap of only historical context as the balm for the “dangerous” texts. Hays considers the rules, the practices, the paradigm and the symbolic world that is offered, holding reason, tradition and experience (Methodists rejoice!) in tension with the text. It is an approach that looks to the canonic value of the entire NT and does not let one text trump over another (this means you can’t hate the homosexual… sorry Phelps, but you are just an --- ---- who is misusing the text).
Yet I wonder if bias still plays a part in interpretation. Hays considers the issues of divorce, homosexuality, Jewish-Christian relationships and abortion. He gives us the impression that he is approaching the text with an objective eye to let the Bible guide him in his discernment. In his conclusions, while well reasoned, and consistent with his methodological, he falls on the conservative side of the issues. Now I must wonder if he fell on those sides because that is where the “moral vision” of the NT is leading him, or because it was where he started. Or, is my pause to find myself completely embracing Hays’ conclusion because of where I have started? Hays critiques Hauerwas’ claim that the Bible is read within one’s tradition, claiming that the Bible should always lead and guide tradition (that is a good Baptist claim). Yet can we ever escape our context? I read Hays chapter on abortion, and I read it as a stronger indictment against poverty – that is due in large part to the context from which I emerge.
The Bible is a tricky thing, one that I strive to hold as an authority. Yet I do not believe it is possible to remove the Bible from the context of the reader and life it up as an objective source guiding us in all that we do. In the end, as Hays suggests, we must rest on the Holy Spirit to guide our reading of these dangerous and liberating text.

afterthought: I read this text for my book group, not the doctoral work - but it is still a worthwhile book to read

Speaking of God...

How do we speak of God? I have just finished two works that approach the question from different points of view. Peter Rollins' book, How (Not) to Speak of God suggests that we really can’t say anything about God, and at the same time we need to strive to say something about God. He is coming out of the emergent church movement, and seems to be offering a theology for that movement (which is interesting for a movement that claims to be a-orthodox). Maybe because I previously read Caputo’s work and had that in my mind, or maybe because Caputo recommended the work that I have this feeling, but it seems to be Caputo, light. Specifically The Weakness of God. Rollins offers a nice view of his favorite theologians and theological movements, but does not seem to be offering any deep or profound kind of thoughts. While he does not reference the idea of apophatic and cataphatic theology (he does reference Dionysius), this seems to be the theology that Rollins is advocating. He claims to be apolitical and atheological specifically with different movements, but considering the way he treats the fundamentalists and the evangelicals, and the fact that he would consider talking about “queer” folk in Christianity suggests that he leans towards the progress, open side of theology. Not that their’s anything wrong with that. What I enjoyed about Rollins work is this emphasis on the journey and the space between the words in finding God. God is not found in our concepts, ideas or boxes. We cannot speak of God, and so must rest in the yearning to speak of God. It is a humbling reminder to all of us who strive to do theology.
On the other hand, a bunch of Catholic feminist theologians are trying to suggest different ways to speak of God. I am referring to the work, Freeing Theology, edited by Catherine Mowry LaCugna. It is not specifically the content of the book that is fueling my musing, but the agenda of the feminist movement (and many other theological movements for that matter). They are arguing about how to speak of God. Is God a “He” or a “She?” Elizabeth Johnson suggests that Jesus Christ needs to be understood as the incarnation of the spirit. Mary O’Neil argues that the relationship between many and woman needs to be lifted up over the idea that man and woman complement each other. They are arguing for a specifically way to speak of the church and to speak of God.
Even with Rollins book in mind, I cannot find fault with the feminists. They are not so much trying to define God, but trying to change the language that speaks about God. Language that is confining and demeaning effects the spirituality and the experience of many women in the church. To say that we must change the way we speak about God is not to try to force God into a box, but to free people from boxes. To go immediately to silence ignores the experience of the oppressed. I believe that one must move from the language of restriction to the language of liberation to the silence of God. The feminists are making that move towards the silence of God by first freeing their own experience.

a weak posting

Caputo – The Weakness of God. I finished this book about a week ago, but haven’t had a chance to mention it. It is for my book group, so I haven’t felt the same kind of necessity to write about it. It is a great book with some interesting points. Basically – God is weak, Process Theology, French deconstructionism, and fun writing style. Our group meet with Caputo and find him to be very passionate about topic. That is always encouraging.

Dirty Sources

I have finished two different works, but I put each in their own post. One is “Instruction on Certain Aspects of the ‘Theology of Liberation’” It is a document that comes out of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, and written by then Ratzinger.
The main concern for the CDF is the source of Liberation theology, which they consider to be Marxism. In the CDF’s estimation, Marxism can only lead to despair. As an alternative, the CDF suggests that the liberating nature of the Gospel be enough for those theologians who might be looking for more.
I’m not going to get into the argument between the CDF and liberation theologians, but I am going to consider this idea of sources. Can one use an idea that is secular in nature, and use it for the good of Christianity? Does the source ruin the product? The Baptists have had this argument with the Modernist/Fundamentalist debate. The Fundi’s argued that the Modernists were being corrupted by the ideas of the secular world. Yet the irony is, so were the Fundi (see Fri’s Eclipse of Biblical Narrative). The Reformers yelled sola scriptura, but also gathered around nominalistic philosophies. Can one connect only to the Gospel? Can one have the purest of sources? Probably not. Yet I do not think we want to move to an ends focused consideration of theology as well.
There is no way I am going to solve this in one posting, but here is a suggestion. We are part of something larger – historically, socially, politically, theologically, etc. We can neglect that of which we are a part, or we can connect, and be true to where we come from, how we are influenced and where we are going. We are a part of a narrative. And if we are even going to divert course of the narrative, we need to be clear why. I believe the Liberation Theologians were offering a course change to the Catholic Church, that was not accepted because of sources. Liberation theologians were not trying to become Marxist, but were trying to stay true to their context, their narrative, and were using the best tools they could find to offer a change. The story, the story, the story.

the way of life

Ever find yourself mired in the muck and you ask, “what am I doing here?” As I struggle with this expletive degree, every now and again, I find myself asking just that question. It is a question that also emerges as I struggle as a pastor (have I mentioned that I am a pastor?), trying to balance my studies and my ministry. Granted, my studies are a part of my ministry, but there is a separation between the two.
A question of vocation, or of life, was thrust upon me as I read Parker Palmer’ Let Your Life Speak. It is not an academic work, and not for my exam. I read this book in preparation for a gathering of young clergy serving small churches called the First Parish Project. It is a short book with some good insight. While I disagree with the Quaker influenced theology (God is our inner-light), I think Palmer does offer some good points. Primarily the emphasis on doors closing, ways closing and death. Palmer claims that out of death, new life emerges. Out of closure and rejection new paths open. Not only is Palmer right, but it is refreshing to hear this idea in a way that does not look for the “silver lining” on every cloud. That is weak. Palmer, instead, is looking to stay with the cloud until the necessary time passes. That is better.
It reminds me of an essay in the book The Ties that Bind comparing Glenn Hinson’s works with Blackbury’s work (I think). The point I remember is Hinson focusing and staying with the despair, hurt and darkness. Blackbury looked to the sin that caused the despair and how to “fix it.” Hinson stayed with the despair.
So, when I am in the muck and wondering why I’m here, I’ll try to stop wondering and just keep moving. Studying for a doctorate will cause pain, there is no way to avoid it. Having children will cause pain. Serving a church will cause pain. Yet, we look for the presence of God in the pain, the joy in the tears, and the moment when the pain passes. This is the way life leads.

Dialogue of Dissent

Ever have those days when life gets in the way of studying? This has been my experience the last couple of days, but I should have expected this in the midst of the holidays. So I feel like I have slowed up a bit, but hopefully after this last festival (New Year’s Eve), I can get back to the routine.
I have recently finished Michele Dillon’s work, Catholic Identity: Balancing Reason, Faith, and Power. Dillon is looking at “pro-change” groups in the American Catholic context, and they ways in which they stay connected with, interact with, and try to differentiate from the greater Catholic tradition. All of the groups are more progressive, groups (gay rights, women’s ordination, and reproductive choice). What Dillon concludes is that it is not reason which allows small groups to stay connected and to continue to push for change (contra Habermas). Nor are groups relegated to silence, or risk being undermined in attempting to forge new ideas and practices while staying connected to a larger institutional tradition (contra Foucault). Dillon concludes that faith and power along with reason fuel, drive, and keep the efforts of these groups alive.
I found the work to be well research and done, but with a noticeable progressive bias. Dillon makes it seem like there are not any pro-change conservative groups. It is as if the Catholic tradition is so monolithic in its conservative leanings, that never would a less progressive individual want to push for change. Granted, the issues that Dillon is considering have been controlled by the conservatives, yet one could not argue that they are completely satisfied with change. Since Vatican II, many conservative thinking individuals have been pushing for a change in doctrine, liturgy, and hierarchy. Perhaps the most recent Pope, and his predecessor have pushed for much of that change, yet not all are satisfied.
A strength of Dillon’s work is that one could apply similar questions and conclusions to pro-change conservative groups (to a degree).
Now for a Baptist reflection. There are many point that have caused me to wonder. Dillon looks at the use of doctrine to counter doctrine among groups. I suppose Baptists do that with scripture, and to a lesser degree with our distinctives. The problem with using scripture is the variety of hermeneutics. Unless all are reading scripture in the same way, one cannot compare different passages, readings, or ideas. A literalist may quote a scripture, while a non-literalist would speak of the overall ethos and focus of the gospel. This is comparing apples to oranges.
The problem with the dinstictives is that they do not hold an authoritative place in the Baptist movement. They are guiding, and telling. They tell who we have been and where we have come from, and they can guide where we are going. Yet one does not often hold up church autonomy with the same doctrinal weight as a Catholic might. Clearly we need to continue the conversation among Baptist concern who we are and how we can understand and identify ourselves.
Finally, I hold up the idea of dissent. The dissenters in Dillon’s book (the pro-change group) are not willing to leave the church. They love Catholicism enough to put themselves through the strain and the challenges to try to change the institution. As Baptists we claim to tolerate dissent (I use the word “tolerate” deliberately). Ideas will prevail, but we will always tolerate the dissenting voice. I criticize those who claim to be Baptist, but will not continue in the dialogue of dissent. I question if they truly love the history and the ideals found within the Baptist movement. I also criticize the denomination that does not create a true platform where a dialogue of dissent can occur. Unity is important, but not at the expense of the whole body. Dissent is also important, but not at the expense of the whole body. We must find a way to give those who dissent full voice and a place at the table. We must continue to stay committed to the movement and the church enough to stay in dialogue with our dissent. So many of us have failed in so many ways.

the grammer of Baptists

I have just finished reviewing Lindbeck’s The Nature of Doctrine. It is a book that has become a classic of sorts for many theologians in the last decade. I planned on using it as a secondary or supplemental source, but things have changed. I have heard from one of my professors that my understanding of Wittgenstein is not up to par. He suggested that I look more at Lindbeck than at Wittgenstein – Witt is a dangerous person to us, because it is very easy to get him wrong. This was disappointing news, but I think my professor is right. Now, what I need to focus on is getting this !#*(& degree. So I can forgo Witt for now. I do not plan on forgetting about him, because I did think that Witt offers a powerful method to do theology that would have great implications for the Baptists.
But for now I turn to Lindbeck, who offers much to work with. Lindbeck is looking at doctrines within particular communities, and they ways in which those doctrines emerge. One of his concerns is towards the ecumenical movement, (which is not a concern of mine right now), but his theories are brilliant. Lindbeck looks to Geertz’s understanding of a “thick description” as a way to discern the doctrines and the theological grammar of a particular community. This is exactly what the Baptists need to do; we need to look closely at ourselves currently and historically to discern our doctrines and our theological grammar. It seems bold to claim that the Baptists actually hold doctrines, and it is something that needs to be considered. This is where I struggle; do Baptists actually hold to doctrines? I would venture to say “yes,” and even suggest that they come out of our baptism. A believer’s baptism suggest that the individual has the soul competency to make his or her own decision – freedom. It means that the churches must be free to allow the individual to discern his or her own call from God – Church autonomy. It means that the minister (priest) cannot tell the individual if he or she is or is not saved – priesthood of the believers. Yet there is a flaw in believer’s baptism if one ascribes to the doctrine of original, or at least there is a weakness. How soon until you gently persuade the individual to be baptized? Now we run the risk of sacramentiality. Lindbeck’s rule-theory et al offers much to consider for the Baptists. I will let Wittgenstein rest for a while, and follow the path Lindbeck sets before me (understanding full well that Wittgenstein influences Lindbeck).

the theology of religious freedom

Is religious freedom a theological construct? Or is religious freedom merely a political necessity to keep different religions from killing each other. After reading John Noonan’s book, The Lustre of Our Country, I find myself asking this question. First, let me say that Noonan’s book of superb. He looks at religious freedom in the American context from a number of different perspectives and in a number of different ways. He offers a fun diversity in styles that pulls out different nuances of the question. Great book, I highly recommend it!
Noonan argues that religious freedom is a theological construct. First, in arguing against Durkheim, Noonan claims, “You shall substitute neither State nor society for God nor suppose that religion may be analytically reduced to the self-worship of society.” Noonan is arguing that religion is more than a “unified system of beliefs and practices relating t sacred things,…set apart and forbidden, beliefs and practices which unite into a single moral community…” (Durkheim). Noonan argues against Bellah’s concept of a civil religion. And while he does not criticize it overtly, Noonan does not seem to fall within the understanding of Geertz’s “system of symbols.” Instead, Noonan claims that religion is a relationship to God, that there is a necessary personal aspect to religion that transcends the corporate understanding of civil religion. Not because an individual cannot love his or her country, but because a country cannot love back. While he does not cite the work, Noonan seems to be taking up an argument that Milbank is making in Theology and Social Theory, that theology cannot be explained through observation and social analysis. Noonan refuses to let religion be explained as a phenomenon of society; God exists, and humanity is striving to connect with God.
It is here that the conscious comes into play. To allow the individual to fully and freely connect with God, he or she must have complete freedom of that consciousness. This is the $20 word of the work – consciousness (or at least the word that Madison loves). Noonan states, “You shall acknowledge that religion itself requires religious freedom. Heart speaks to heart, spirit answers Spirit, freely.” On cannot help but notice the Rahnerian influence of transcendence and individuality. The individual will be drawn to the divine, and hopefully the Christian understanding of the divine. We must stay out of the way.
Yet can we say with all authenticity that the political construct, the 16 words in the First Amendment, are indeed theological? If the Catholics were in control, wouldn’t they want to make sure that people are free to choose God, but the God as they understand it? Even if it was without overt coercion, wouldn’t a Catholic state really want to increase its numbers in the pew? This was the idea that John Courtney Murray was arguing against as Noonan nicely illustrates. Or let’s be honest with the Baptists. While some Baptists, like Leland, wanted strict separation for theological and typological reasons (the state was never to be understood as the realm of God… back to Milbank), others like Backuus (whom Noonan lifts up) would like a looser separation, with ultimately a Baptist influenced and run state. For Backuus, the separation was a necessity, but not a theological necessity.
If it is theological, then how do we understand freedom in contrast with evangelism? Evangelism, by nature, is meant to coercive and persuade. If you think you have found the best thing, do you really think it is best to sit back and hope others are attracted to your movement? Or, to consider the abolitionist movement, if you see the State moving in a direction that is country to every moral fiber in your faith informed understanding, shouldn’t you try to change the direction of the state, and those religious movement which support it (Noonan considers these questions with slavery, polygamy, and temperance)?
This is an issue that Baptists are struggling with in a very real way right now. Freedom, to what extent? Even in the individual churches, freedom to what extent? Can we take a chance and allow churches to move in the way they see as best, even if it is against what we hold dear? Now we are entering into the realm of ecclesiology.
With the experiment of religious freedom, it seems that one could consider it in at least two ways. (1) From a non-theological point of view, the separation is a political necessity to avoid bloodshed among the various groups. Yet it is appropriate for religious movement to have influence over the political machine, policies, and direction. As long as other movements are tolerated, then it would be appropriate for one to have more power than others. Case in point – the recent political aspirations of the Religious Right. (2) We need to trust that God will lead us as a people working through the variety of religious groups. We need to influence the government, but understand when we unduly influence the faith and practice of another group we have gone to far. We are to be persuasive with each other, to try to influence each other, but never enforce one view over the other; the Holy Spirit will lead us to truth.
In a pluralistic society, the second option has a number of problems theologically, unless you understand the state as sanctioned by God, and guided by God.
I now understand why Noonan wrote his work, and why it was not a brief work – this is a question/issue that is complex. To solve it, or even understand it briefly would be an amazing (impossible) feat!

a feminist offering

Just finished reading She Who Is, by Elizabeth Johnson, and I would describe it as an excellent work of theology that happens to have a feminist focus. It is a work that does not overly push a feminist agenda to a degree that loses its academic credibility. I would highly recommend the last couple of chapters for those who are wrestling with the idea of the nature of God in the trinity, and in the unity. Johnson does some excellent work with language in trying to find a name for God that would include the woman’s experience. Overall, it is an excellent work.
Here’s where I am in my thoughts. Johnson claims that her theology begins at the experience of the woman. I understand how theology can emerge from such an experience, yet how can I enter into this particular level of theological discourse? Can I rest on a Kantian epistemology and just conceive the possibility of the experience? Would such an attempt be seen and accepted as valid? Most likely not. I recognize how Johnson is trying to hold up the diversity of all humans, yet the name Johnson suggests for God, “She Who Is,” is a name that is truly coming out a woman’s experience. I understand how this name for God can resonate with women, and may even move towards freeing their theology. Yet, is it a name that I could also use? Probably if it is not the only name of God that I employ. If I use a variety of names to describe God, then I am not longer confining God to one specific attribute or theological method of thought. Thus, I could claim that God is the holy creator, She Who Is, the one who calls us into Being, the Spirit-Sophia, and on and on. Even then, I imagine I would still circle around the names that I am most comfortable with.
Perhaps that is the challenge, to always be critically considering the names one has for God, and questioning is those names are still appropriate. Or, more broadly, to always be questioning and developing one’s theology, looking for the holes, and the constrictions one has placed upon God. Maybe then theology moves from and academic endeavor to a spiritual endeavor.

Two sources for one!

How can we use our sources of scripture and tradition? As I reread Jamie Phelps article “Communion Ecclesiology and Black Liberation Theology” (found in Theological Studies, December 200, vol. 61 no. 4, pg. 672-699), this question came to mind. The focus of Phelps’ article on the broader spectrum to include the Catholics in the Black theology movement, and more specifically, to consider the Catholic understanding of Communion Ecclesiology as a way to inform and liberate the blacks in America (specifically Black Catholics). Phelps offers a good survey of Black theology from the Protestant camp, and begins to offer some challenging theological ideas for Black liberation, yet nothing that is earth-shattering or grossly profound. Yet what Phelps does do is demonstrate a turning to the sources of tradition and scripture. For example, Phelps surveys some encyclicals offered through Catholic tradition that compels Catholics to work for a society of justice, mercy, and equality (Populorum progression, Octogesimo advenies, and Rerum novarum for example). She doesn’t emphasis scripture as much, but does reference Cone’s Thurman’s and King’s understanding of the compelling message of Christ resurrection as found in scripture. The majority of Phelp’s article is based on Catholic tradition.
It is no surprise to me that the bulk of Phelps’ article reaches to tradition – she is Catholic, after all. If we were to read a Protestant theologian’s account it would most likely be rooted in scripture. What I am wondering is if there is a way to use both? In the Baptist movement, we have no problem looking at the scriptural basis. Yet what would we find from our tradition? The ABC/USA has a number of statements of concern, resolutions, and other “official” statements which hold very little power or punch. Can we use the examples of individuals as sources of our tradition? Can we use the statements of one or two theologians? Perhaps this is an example of a moment when our diversity (especially the diversity of the ABC/USA) can be a true strength. As a white Baptist, I have little history to look to and swell with pride – I have plenty to be ashamed. Yet can I be so bold as to turn to the heritage of my Black Baptist brothers and sisters, and clam that history as an informing history. It is a risky endeavor, but one that needs to be considered.

just an "ok" history

What makes a history book good, and what makes it excellent? This is something I was thinking about as I read The History of Black Catholics in the United States by Cyprian Davis. It is a good history that tells a through and detailed story of the history of black Catholics, but it is not excellent. The majority of Davis’ attention is spent on the role and actions of leadership with the back Catholics and the leadership in the Catholic church. It seemed that Davis we more concerned with the acceptance, or lack of, the evangelization, or lack of, and the integration, or lack of, of black Catholics with the larger Catholic movement in America. What I found missing was a story of the Catholics who joined and stayed with the Catholics. How did it feel to be isolated from White America due to race, and isolated from Black America due to religion? Did Black Catholics face the same kind of persecution and suspicion that white Catholics faced from Protestants? These are questions that Davis neglected to answer. It is good to tell the story of Black Catholics, but the surface has only been scratched by Davis. We have a good history book, why not an excellent one?