Memorare

Non esse auditum a saeculo, quemquam ad tua currentem praesidia,

tua implorantem auxilia, tua petentem suffragia,

esse derelictum.

William (Bill) "Buck" Milton Brigman

Kingdom Come

My grandfather stepped into eternity at 12:15 Tuesday morning. So, eternity is where (or when) I will start. In a room full of family and friends last night, I started to have an odd realization. I looked around a room full of old friends, blood relatives and in-laws. Talking music, eating, telling stories; my uncle impersonating (very well) the classic Bill Brigman laugh. In that moment I felt more clearly than almost ever the intermingling of Heavenly and earthly reality. Pop was the epicenter of every single relationship in that room. Today's closest of friends for decades, brought together through mutual acquaintance with Bill. Husbands and wives along with their offspring and the life shared between them, given existence out of the gift of his life with my grandmother. It was honestly very hard to feel the lack of Pop's presence in that moment. Our Lord teaches us to pray, "Thy Kingdom come," because the nature of our universe is such that the co-mingling of the Kingdom and this present world are constant. We often hear the clichéd statement of a passed-on loved one being always present in spirit, but I believe that now more than ever. Eternity is all-encompassing and infinite. It envelopes and embraces our being in-time. Therefore, in a very real way, in this overlapping, we were all of us uniquely in the presence of our grandfather, our friend (and Brother), our father, our husband and lover. I do not doubt that Pop was more aware of this fact than we were. But, I couldn't help but sense that the spirit in that room, the bond of companionship and love we shared, was identical to the spirit of my grandfather who, in the story of his life, bound and wrote us all together.

Life of Questions

This week (as I have been almost every week of my college and post-college life by some person or another) I was asked by a friend of Pop's what kind of market a major in Philosophy puts me in. I tend to think the answer is the marketplace of questions. Few subjects that I know of trade in volumes of questions outnumbering that of Death. Chief export among them being: "Why?" Why was this person taken from us and why now? Today during the funeral, however, I started asking myself different questions. Why did my grandmother's father pass away when she was a child, leaving my great-grandmother to raise 4 kids on her own in a tin-roofed, hand-built house with no indoor plumbing or electricity? Why did Miss Tessie have to become such a strong matriarch? Why did my grandmother watch her and learn how to be a strong woman who loves fearlessly? Why was my grandmother a strong enough woman to reign in a wild Buck of a sailor like my grandfather? Why did my grandfather grow up with a strong mother whose husband left their family behind and learn to appreciate strong women? Why did my grandmother already have apprentice's experience to raise 4 kids on her own and hold the family together while my grandfather was away serving two tours in Vietnam? Why wasn't Pop physically able to pack his bag for one specific shore-leave and get on the helicopter that ended up crashing into the sea? Why did an officer who out-ranked him force him to give up the seat he always sat in on river patrol the very day its occupant would be hit directly by a rocket in an ambush? Why has the fabric of reality spanning generations, continents, and families been stitched together to lead us to this moment in this church, surrounded by a palpable and tangible spirit of Love lynch-pinned by the marriage of my grandparents?

Remember

The opening Latin lines of this entry are from a 15th century prayer. They read: "Never was it known that anyone who fled to Thy protection, implored Thy help or sought Thine intercession, was left unaided." Those words beautifully describe the lasting lesson I will take from my grandfather, and I think every person privileged enough to know him would say the same. My uncle spent a lot of time putting together a collage of photos and images from Pop's life. He made the comment to me that in studying my grandfather's life through these pictures you can watch him change profoundly through the years. Rather than growing sad and cynical through the years like so many, the opposite was true in him; joy took root in such a profound way that one can see a man who found happiness. Where did he find it? What about his life caused his happiness to be continually compounded? My grandfather's greatest joy and most profound happiness was found in the giving of himself to the people he loved. The more people the more family the more friends, the more he was able to give. This is the part of his legacy I hope we all can remember. Happiness is directly proportional to the giving of oneself.

One of Pop's all-time favorite songs. One of the enduring lessons he taught me is that any 60s compilation lacking this song is not worth your time.

Incline My Heart and I Shall Desire

The people above have been waiting hours upon hours upon hours, braving the elements, anxiously awaiting the moment when the Apple store will open its doors and graciously allow them the privilege of dishing $500+ for the iPad2. This year I chuckled and shook my head as I saw families camping outside the doors of Best Buy...on Thanksgiving morning. Sacrificing time. Sacrificing family. Sacrificing dignity. Longing for the advent of Black Friday.

Whether it is the thrill of the deal, an insatiable desire to consume, or the fruits of a wider capitalist zeitgeist, one thing seems clear: people will do whatever it takes to spend their money on newer, better, bigger, sexier, totally-awesomer stuff. We love our stuff. Our stuff--having our stuff--pleases us. So, it is perfectly reasonable for us to go to whatever lengths necessary in order to acquire more, experience more acquiring.

We will wait as long as is required to experience again that which we find most fulfilling.

I can't help but visualize the weekly procession of church-goers slowly filing forward to receive the Blessed Sacrament of communion. I wonder how long we would be willing to wait in this line; fifteen minutes? Half an hour? Two hours? All morning? Would we pitch our tents like pilgrims on the mount? What would we be willing to give up in exchange for the Blood of Christ: the Cup of Salvation?

The Psalmist writes, "Sacrifice and offering you do not desire, / but you have given me an open ear. / Burnt offering and sin offering you have not required" (Ps. 40:6). "He calls to the heavens above and to the earth, that he may judge his people: / 'Gather to me my faithful ones, who made a covenant with me by sacrifice!' / Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving, / and pay your vows to the Most High" (Ps. 50:5, 14).

I cannot even attempt to fathom the public response if the Apple corporation made the following announcement: "Tomorrow, Apple will be giving iPad2s to every individual who comes to Apple stores and asks for one. The sole condition is that any individual receiving an iPad2 express sincere gratitude. Our supply is unlimited, and all stores will remain open until every person seeking this gift has received it." Pandemonium I think would be accurate. Utter, joyous chaos.

Why, then, is it so easy for us to approach the Eucharist with such morose indifference, or if we're generous with ourselves, gracious entitlement? I suppose that it's human nature in a way. We grow accustomed; even to miracles. I can't remember ever in my life praying, "God of creation, thank you for hydrogen." Without hydrogen, the universe as we know it would not exist. The very fabric of space and time would be utterly unrecognizable from the reality we find ourselves in. Without the fusion of hydrogen a few minutes after the big bang, the most basic building blocks of matter itself never would have come to be; our fate sealed billions of years before our most distant of ancestors even had a solid piece of rock to take a single step on. While I'm thinking about it...Dear God, seriously, thank you for hydrogen. Amen.

This, however is the beauty, the mystery, the reality of what is taking place before us on the altar every time we participate in the Eucharist, or in English, the Thanksgiving. The fabric of our existence, the building block, the cornerstone of our reality, the Divine Logos by which all that is (seen and unseen) came to be, makes Himself present for us to hear, to love, to eat. Eternal fulfillment.

A prayer of St. John Chrysostom:

O Lord my God, I know that I am not worthy nor sufficient that you should enter under my roof into the habitation of my soul, for it is all deserted and in ruins, and you have no fitting place in me to lay your head. But as you humbled yourself from the heights of your glory, so now bear me in my humility; as you did deign to lie in a manger in a cave, so deign now also to come into the manger of my mute soul and corrupt body. As you did not refrain from entering into the house of Simon the leper, or shrink from eating there with sinners, so also vouchsafe to enter the house of my poor soul, all leprous and full of sin. You did not reject the sinful woman who ventured to draw near to touch you, so also have pity on me, a sinner, approaching to touch you. And grant that I may partake of your All-holy Body and Precious Blood for the sanctification, enlightenment and strengthening of my weak soul and body; for the relief from the burden of my many sins; for my preservation against all the snares of the devil; for victory over all my sinful and evil habits; for the mortification of my passions; for obedience to your Commandments; for growth in your divine Grace and for the inheritance of your Kingdom.

This red blotch is the most distant object ever viewed in the universe. To reach this compact galaxy of very hot, very massive, young stars, just jump in your car and drive non-stop at 700 million miles per hour. It will take you 13.2 billion years to get there.

With Fear and Trembling

I have always been intrigued by a device featured in Søren Kierkegaard's pseudonymous work, Fear and Trembling, which re-frames the Biblical story of Abraham and Isaac. I share his fascination with the story itself and sense that the theme of faith as illustrated in the Torah is much more rich and complicated than the way it is traditionally told lets on. So, mimicking his project, I have layed out two aspects of the story that have haunted me of late. Kierkegaard's intention in his retelling of Scripture (and mine here) is not sacrilegious, but worshipful. My hope is that these alternate stories invoke contemplation on an often neglected aspect of faith which Kierkegaard sought to bring to light: The faith of Abraham is unique in that it allowed him to believe as true and act upon not only logical impossibilities, but seemingly oppositional commands, contradictory voices. He walked so closely with God that he was able to discern that the same voice which commanded him to love commanded him to sacrifice; the same God who told him to sacrifice was the same God who told him to spare. And in all this, Abraham's faith held fast. He was not shaken or disheartened or confused, and I believe all these things should trouble us to our core as we examine the role of faith in our own lives. 

Abraham, the old man, was awoken from a deep sleep by a familiar voice. The voice was יהוה‎ (YHWH) calling to him, "Abraham!" In the night, יהוה‎ delivered unto him a stern command. Our father Abraham lay perfectly still, eyes fixed, awake until the early hours of the morning. Gathering two young men and his beloved son of promise, Isaac, he set out for the land of Moriah. As the days passed, Abraham rode on in silence, unable to move his lips to confess to his companions his purposes in leading them across the desert. During this time his face grew ever darker, eyes deep and empty. On the third day, he looked up and saw the mount in the distance, cursing it from the depths of his heart. "יהוה‎, You have brought into existence everything that is; nothing is beyond the depths of Your knowledge or the breadth of Your power. You do not forsake your people, yet you ask this thing of me. From the dust I beg you, that it may not be so." When father and son came to the place God had shown Abraham, he built an altar to the Lord. Clutching the knife at his side, his arm shook violently. As Isaac gazed at his father, his heart trembled, "The fire and the wood are here, but we have brought with us no lamb for a burnt offering." Abraham was unable to reply. "Father?" Isaac cried. Abraham answered him, "And yet this is what our Lord has required."As Abraham took the weapon, reaching out his hand to slaughter his son, an angel of the Lord called from Heaven, "Do not lay your hand on the boy. I know now that you fear God, since you have not withheld your only son." Abraham fell to the ground, gnashing his teeth with a loud moan. "You have counted my faith towards You as righteousness, and yet You see fit to test me and destroy my heart!" As they returned down the high mountain, Isaac saw a ram caught by the horns in a thicket. Gently, he placed his hand on the animal's head and set it free. From that day Abraham called his God אהיה אשר אהיה (Ehyeh asher Ehyeh), for the Lord stayed hidden behind Himself. 

                           ************************************** 

At night, the clouds hid the light of the moon as Abraham slept. A voice crept to his ear and spoke, "Abraham." The elderly man heard this as the voice of the Lord and, casting a protective arm across his wife, replied, "Here I am." And again God spoke. "Fetch your only son, Isaac, the one you love. Bring him to the land of Moriah, to a mountain that I will show you. There you will sacrifice him as a burnt offering to your God." In fury Abraham rose from his bed shouting, "Adversary, you are not the Lord, but הַשָׂטָן (ha-satan), come to oppose me! Has יהוה brought me out of Ur of the Chaldeans that I might curse my duty as a father and slay my child as the pagans do? Get behind me, accuser, for I will not allow you to obstruct the covenant the Lord has made with me for the blessing of all!" 

Deconstructions of the Fourth Kind: The Church, Apologetics, and Horror Flicks

1.

I think we often underestimate the horror/sci-fi genre. I recently watched The Fourth Kind, a film about alien abductions starring the equally underrated Milla Jovovich. The film is fairly unique in that its aim is to present itself as a direct portrayal of actual events by interspersing 'actual footage' and 'real audio' compiled from various events surrounding a series of fourth kind encounters in the city of Nome, Alaska. Often, 'actual' and 'dramatized' scenes are shown on screen simultaneously. Jovovich even appears on screen at the beginning of the film, giving a sort of public service disclaimer:

I'm actress Milla Jovovich, and I will be portraying Dr. Abigail Tyler in The Fourth Kind. This film is a dramatization of events that occurred October 1st through the 9th of 2000, in the Northern Alaskan town of Nome. To better explain the events of this story, the director has included actual archived footage throughout the film. This footage was acquired from Nome psychologist Dr. Abigail Tyler, who has personally documented over 65 hours of video and audio materials during the time of the incidents. To better protect their privacy, we have changed the names and professions of many of the people involved. Every dramatized scene in this movie is supported by either archived audio, video or as it was related by Dr. Tyler during extensive interviews with the director. In the end, what you believe is yours to decide. Please be advised, that some of what you're about to see is extremely disturbing.

This opening scene is striking to me in that it really (whether purposefully or not) speaks to the entire philosophical crux of the film. On the surface, when the audience is told that what they believe is theirs to decide, the question seems to concern whether or not they will choose to believe that intelligent life exists elsewhere than earth and that these life forms have indeed been encountered and interacted with.

However, the underlying issue illustrated by this scene is not a decision regarding the facts, but rather, the filmmaker.

2.

As a kid, I picked up slight-of-hand card tricks as a hobby and still enjoy doing them, though I don't dedicate the same amount of time to it that I used to. One of my favorite tricks, and one that consistently baffles people despite its simplicity, owes its success to me, the magician, blatantly lying about what is transpiring without the knowledge of you, the observer; the shocking reveal as the desired cards are produced at the end of the trick is only amazing if you believe that I have indeed done what I said I did in order to get there--and you always do.

The reveal in the film--increasingly intense 'actual' footage and audio--is more than convincing if it is accepted as such; it would take a lot of explaining to describe why one would not believe the conclusion the film logically leads us to. The real question the audience is faced with in the film is whether or not the filmmakers are lying when they say that this is 'actual footage,' etc; certainly the film is much scarier if the observer believes it is. Herein lies the brilliance of a horror film like Michael Haneke's Funny Games: While it has become a trend in the genre to rely on the perceived reality or realness of the events to elicit the desired response from the audience, Haneke bucks this impulse at every turn and constantly reminds the viewer of the interpretive process.

The film constantly reminds you that it is a film, and that it, not you, determines what you see and when. It is without this crutch that Haneke finds a way to freak you out regardless.

3.

I've always had an aversion towards apologetics; at least the kind of apologetics used either to 'convince' unbelievers of the validity of Christian doctrine, or to frame Christianity in such a way as to make it appear 'reasonable' to those who do not adhere to it. Let it be known that I would not reject the usefulness of apologetics altogether; we of course ought to know the Scriptural reasons why we believe what we believe. But, there seems to be a line that systematic theology almost always steps over, where apologetics seems to merely subjugate the narrative nature of our faith to the modern Enlightenment's ideas of how pure (i.e. male, white, etc.) reason can break free of its own contextuality in order to grasp--on it's own--'universal' truth.

Even in this compromised state, apologetics fails in its task of 'convincing.' Christian apologetics consistently (and necessarily) fall back on the Holy Scriptures as their starting point. However, this appeal, while having the benefit of being simple, is nonetheless seen as circular to one who does not accept those Scriptures as authoritative, inspired, infallible, or true. In other words, at some point, traditional apologetics, like The Fourth Kind, require the audience to accept certain notions about the starting point itself. One must first accept that the filmmaker not only has correctly interpreted all the necessary information, but is also telling the truth about it.

So, the real question systematic theology fails to ask, and the question the Church should be a living answer to in my opinion, is not "How can we prove that our beliefs are true?" but rather, "How can we show that we believers (and the tradition we follow) are truthful?" Perhaps the distinction is a subtle one, but I hope what I'm getting at is fairly clear. If we go back to Funny Games, in contrast, we can perhaps see the benefit of not requiring as a prerequisite that those outside first buy into any number of background assumptions that we within have learned how to accept. Perhaps we can find a way to say, "This is not a documentary, this is a horror film. If the Christian faith were as simple as finding the right objective information to prove its reality, then it wouldn't be a faith at all. So let's be up front and honest about what's going on here."

This is why I am far more attracted to the notion of creeds, as opposed to a bulleted list of propositional truths. There is one line in particular from the Nicene Creed that I think will perhaps tie all of these things together nicely:

We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church.

This may get me into hot water with my Reformed-leaning friends, but to me, this seems to sit prior in importance to doctrinal tools such as sola Scriptura. I say this because the Word does not hang in a vacuum where any logical person will find and accept it on their own. I think even Scripture is self-aware of this. Here, Paul--perhaps the most black and white, type-A, right-brained, logical thinker in the canon--describes our faith not as an objectively perceivable truth to be proven, but rather as a powerful mystery to be proclaimed. (I would encourage you to read through 1 Corinthians 1-2 once now and again after finishing this article for a better sense of what I'm aiming at, as this passage illustrates much of this perfectly.)

In the creed, we not only affirm that we believe one holy catholic and apostolic church exists, but also that we believe and practice faith in--within--the same. There is one gospel (catholic), and that narrative has been preserved (holy) throughout history by being passed on from those who witnessed with their own eyes (apostolic) the fullness of its mystery. Recalling the transfiguration of our Lord, Peter reminds us to hold onto and embrace this, not dismiss it in favor of rhetorical arguments.

If the Church is to shed outdated notions of how salvation is a matter of using human wisdom to convince people of the truth, we must start by embracing our own identity; a unified, communal identity instituted at the cross. This identity is embodied in the Church, where the many are welcomed as one body, the Body of Christ, into God's presence. The union is not a logical social contract and there are no legal or scientific means to describe or prove what we have experienced in our lives and what the apostles witnessed with their eyes.

We might simply point to the Eucharist and invite others to partake. To me, the Eucharist is the greatest testament to the mystical union that has taken place between Christ and those who want to know him as Messiah. Not only is there immense power in receiving the Body and Blood, united with one another in spirit, but the great mystery of Christ made present adds what I think is a very real physical aspect to our collective identity of being His Body.

This is so much more beautiful and real than bulleted apologetic arguments. And hopefully, by calling the world into this picture, we won't have to rely on fooling them into thinking Christianity is something it is not; namely, some sort of rationalized scientific system. (This is not to say that faith lies in opposition to science; quite the contrary.) We are called to stand out from the world and its systems that have been tried and reinvented ad nauseum throughout the millenia. We hope that if nothing else, we are seen as truthful when with full conviction we proclaim the great mystery of our faith:

Christ has died.
Christ is risen.
Christ will come again.

Rediscovering the Good: or, The Black Eyed Peas Made Me Think??

I've been hearing a lot of the Black Eyed Peas at work lately; my boss is convinced their new album is really good. Undoubtedly, the quartet is one of the most over-exposed pop groups of the last several years, and under normal circumstances I would advise against taking the time to think intelligently about any of their songs, as this could result in a wide range of side-effects from self-inflicted violence to loss of faith. However, a particular section of the song, 'One Tribe,' did stand out to me and I thought I'd throw out a few thoughts:

Compositionally, the lyrics of the song are absolute rubbish, but I was intrigued by one passage which chanted:

Forget about all that evil, evil / That evil that they feed ya, feed ya / Remember that we're one people

I think in a lot of ways The Black Eyed Peas can be seen as representative of (or at least, their success can be seen as a result of) our current over-stimulated, hyper-consumptive, ultra-modern culture. A scary thought, I know, but let's run with it.

It is interesting to me that even in the shallowest cultural outlets of our society, there is this acknowledgment of the existence of evil; and beyond acknowledgment, a condemnation of it. My mind also jumps back to the foreign policy speeches of President George W. Bush, which were not shy about pointing out exactly who and what was evil.

I often hear (and am peeved by) individuals within the Church who, in pontificating vaguely about the destructive influence of (what they call) post-modernism, talk about how the advent of post-modernism has resulted in a moral relativism which causes people to think that anything a person does or believes is 'okay for them.' The essential claim is that there is no longer any recognized concept of sin, evil, etc. I think in rare cases, this may be true for a very small segment of society. However, I think if we look at cultural outlets such as the Black Eyed Peas song in question, we can see that the rise of post-modernism--rising out of modernity--has actually had the opposite effect.

After witnessing widespread, systematic, and cataclysmic violence resulting from the radical culmination of modern ideals, post-modernism, if nothing else, is keenly and tragically aware of the presence and effects of evil in our world.

It seems to me that while much of the Church--at least its conservative or evangelical (I hate that term) branch--is focused on harping at those outside it about what is Bad, what they really need to be teaching (practically and theoretically) is what is Good. I want to stray as far as I can away from talk of 'relevance.' But I do think what we are looking at is a disconnect between the biggest problems facing our world, versus the issues much of the Church is preoccupied with; we are not answering the right questions.

If we look at the work of post-modern philosophy, or the music of the Black Eyed Peas, foreign policy rhetoric, or the face of our culture, there is much agreement on the existence of evil; we see it in racism, warfare, poverty, etc. However, beyond this, what we are struggling to uncover is the existence of good, or at least an agreed upon universal sense of the Good which is more than giving to charities, or supporting local artists. For example, while George W. Bush was very clear on what was evil, he was seemingly very confused about what types of actions or inactions against it were good.

People do not need to be convinced that building up walls between ourselves is wrong; what we are desperately searching for is an answer to how to tear them down and why there is meaning in doing so. What does it truly mean to be 'one people' as the song says?

I am intrigued by the prospect of the Church preaching a radical sense of Christ's gospel message which can perhaps be summed up as, 'Turn from evil and do good!' Furthermore, what he chose to elaborate on at great length was what exactly is the good we are to do (and who gives us the power to do it, and especially why--but that's a topic for another time). When Christ took up John the Baptist's message of repentance, admission of guilt was only half of the equation. It seems the much bigger half (I'm sure there's some crazy mathematical way to show such a thing to be possible) is learning to embody and live out the life we turn towards. I am not saying we should do away with talk of sin, but I think once we have a clearer conception of our task as image-bearers to be salt and light, imitators of a perfect God, and heirs of a Kingdom, specific examples of the evil already recognized in general terms will be brought into stark contrast on their own.

Eschatological Musings

In recent weeks I've found myself part of or in the midst of numerous conversations about the so-called "End Times," or eschatology, which I prefer to think of more as the study of the eternal destiny of creation, rather than the "end" of it. I've also found myself constantly running across various articles, essays, and other writings dealing with the subject, some of which I find intriguing and enlightening, others destructive and annoying. Here, I just want to throw out some thoughts and frustrations that seem to frequently recur:

1. First, a pet peeve. The number of Christians whose views on eschatology are shaped primarily if not solely by a popular fiction series rather than Holy Scripture is disturbing. Alright...now I got that out of my system.

2. Second, a little nugget. A rich and helpful conception of a Christian approach to eschatology, perhaps typified by the neo-Calvinists, is that our entire Christian walk is predicated by our desire for the reality of the eschaton to insert itself into our present now. Indeed, Christ taught us to pray precisely this. In this sense, the Lord's coming is very much immanent; as immanent today as it was for the first century Christians St. Paul and St. John wrote their letters to.

3. I think too many people, because of given systems they have adopted, get so hung up on deciphering endless minutia such as what various items of prophesy might represent or point to, subsequently come to believe, or at least tend to lead others to believe, that eschatology is all about "End Times" and our job is to determine when, where, and how those times will come about. Not only do I not see much reason to think "End Times" prophesy deals strictly with Final Things, but we are told numerous times in Scripture that it is not our place to know the hows and whens. Our role is to be watchful and expectant of that future Hope. Being watchful and expectant seems to me to have dense and life-giving ramifications; the ramifications of the former stance seem to be suspicion (e.g. "World government is an evil concept"), false accusation (e.g. "Barack Obama is the anti-Christ"), and a shedding of responsibility (e.g. "Why take care of the earth or stop wars? They're signs of our ticket out of here!").

4. I get confused by the logic of the fundamentalist/dispensational line of thinking which, after declaring that it takes a "literal" view of Scripture, figures: Millennial Reign = literal 1000 years. Tribulation = literal 7 years. The 144,000 = symbolic/figurative number. I am certainly no Jehovah's Witness. Therefore my question is: If the 144,000 is not literal, upon what basis does one so adamantly insist that the Millennium and 7 year Tribulation must be literal numbers?

5. There are also overtones often, but certainly not always, present in the dispensationalist camp which are troubling in that they are more political than Biblical. By linking prophesies and other Scripture concerning Israel directly to its current manifestation as a modern nation-state, this interpretation promotes unquestioning support of the Israeli government to the level of a moral imperative good. I believe that the Christian Church indeed has an intimate link to Israel which demands our support of the Jewish people, but as I engage the pertinent prophesies, I always come out with the conviction that Zion never has and never will be confined by political boundaries.

6. I think it's important to keep in mind that God's end-goal for creation is redemption, not destruction. Redemption is a loaded term, I know, especially if you're not hip to church lingo. Basically, before sin entered the world, all of creation was in harmony with itself and with God. That harmony was subsequently disrupted; dire consequences ensued that still effect us today. I've never seen anything in Scripture that leads me to believe God ever messed up, nor any evidence to think our universe will be simply done away with and a do-over called. I disagree with the thought that sin and evil are powerful enough to utterly ruin what God declared to be Good. God's plan to welcome the universe back into harmony with Himself is a plan of restoration which will right past wrongs, not an apocalypse that will throw the baby out with the bathwater. Even today, God tells us, the power to live beyond the constraints of evil is ours because of the work of Christ.

7. In an effort to end on a symbolic number, perhaps representing the tribulation of reading this blog, I'll present a few random tidbits. >Yes, there will be animals in heaven; not the souls of animals, just your everyday soulless hyenas, chickens, aphids, and orangutans. The only difference will be that in heaven (the restored universe), they won't hurt us or each other and we won't hurt them. >No, I don't think there will be a rapture of the church before, during, or after the tribulation period. (Yes, I'm still allowed to be a Christian.) >I was once told there won't be any oceans in eternity. No, I don't agree. The idea comes from a frequently debated passage in the book of Revelation. However, I think a better interpretation than the "literal" one is the literarily informed one which remembers the ways in which oceans represented divine wrath in Scripture; for instance, when the evil Egyptian army was consumed by the sea, God's chosen people walked straight through it on dry ground. It makes sense that in a description of future Hope, St. John would point out that the wrath of God will disappear along with the corruption which necessitated it. >No, I don't have an eschatological timeline. (Yes, that's cheap.) I'm looking forward to the Bema Seat, but I think after either raising up out of my own freakin grave or watching Jesus descend out of the freakin sky, I won't be too concerned with schedules. Plus to me, timelines, much like systematic theology in general, do more in the way of restriction than they do illumination. >I honestly don't think eternity, heaven, the new earth, whatever you want to call it, will consist of us holding hands with angels singing Don Moen songs non-stop forever. Not that that wouldn't be cool, I just think our eternal activities will be indicative of our new ability to faithfully embody our roles as bearers of the image of God, all the time. I think we'll be eating awesome meals with St. Francis, painting portraits, watching the French Open, taking hot-air balloon rides, loving each other unquenchably, all as an act of worship in the presence of God.

2nd Week of Easter: The Woundedness of the Messiah

A great deal of my Scripture readings, thoughts, and conversations of late have begun to spin a dense web concerning the events following the resurrection of Christ. It has never struck me until now, how much attention is paid--by the characters within the narratives, and the authors themselves--to the physical wounds on Christ's body, and what this woundedness says about our God and our relationship with him. As I have continued to reflect on this concept, I want to bring up several areas I have been dwelling on for some time that this resonates with greatly, particularly the eschaton. I don't intend to explore them at length, so feel free to leave thoughts, questions, and concerns.

1. On the Bridegroom

I'd like to open this discussion by examining two very old paintings which depict Christ's ascension.

First, check out this rendering by Dali, and then this one as Rembrandt pictured it.

You perhaps noticed, especially in the context of this discussion, two very striking differences: the hands and feet of Jesus. To me there is something very powerful and compelling about the truth contained in Rembrandt's rendering. I would imagine that most of us, when we envision Christ seated at the right hand of the Father, don't picture Him with nail holes in his hands and feet, and a chunk of flesh missing from his side; an eternal reminder of the pain and horror he suffered for the people He loves. (For that matter, I wonder how many people think of Christ as even having flesh.) It's far less complicated to settle for Dali's picture in that regard.

2. On the Bride

The Church's union with Christ is referenced throughout scripture, notably here in St. Paul's letter to the Galatian Church, in which he locates the point of unity precisely at Christ's crucifixion. It has been discussed previously that the death of Christ allowed us to be free from the strangle-hold of sin in our reality. However, the other half of the equation is equally important, as St. Peter points out here. Again, we see this reference to the wounded Savior, and what is being alluded to here is not only our unity in death, but also our unity in the resurrection and life (characterized by righteousness). The wounds are precisely and paradoxically what bring healing.

I am intrigued by the ways in which the identity of the resurrected Christ seems to be so inextricably tied with his woundedness. St. Luke provides us with this interesting exchange between Jesus and his disciples. Indeed, a great deal of the way in which we relate to Christ and interact with him revolves around our desire to draw near to him and put our hands on the wounds which allow us to do so.

In another sense, Jesus blunty draws attention to a seemingly simple, but all-too-often misunderstood aspect of human existence (which He Himself experienced): our embodied nature as creatures made in the image of God is characterized, among other things, by our physical existence. We are not ethereal, anonymous ghosts. We are embodied individuals known personally by God and to one another.

Therefore, why should we think that our eternal existence will somehow be carried out apart from this embodied nature? I love the beautiful portrait the prophet Isaiah paints of this in his own poetic way.

3. On the Wedding Feast

This post-resurrection scene recounted by St. Luke is a wonderful image, I think, and a great place to end this discussion. I like to think that our eternal existence, dwelling in the full glory of a resurrected Messiah, bearing His wounds in full view, will be a lot like this.

Holy Week Day 3: Thoughts on Divine Child-Abuse

I remember hearing an interview on NPR some time ago with an espoused atheist (whose name has since slipped my mind) who wrote a book dealing with the violence of what he labeled the "Christian" God. He invited his audience to ask how an ever-loving, good God could condemn anyone to hell, and how a just God could murder his own son as payment for the sins of others. This latter question is the one I'd like to open up in light of Holy Week.

Though I think the author's perspective is rooted somewhere between an ignorance of and a misinterpretation of the Christian narrative, such questions are nevertheless valid for anyone seeking to understand these acts, especially those outside the Church who have legitimate concerns, hesitations, and suspicions about it. Furthermore, it is no surprise, given the plethora of violent interpretations of the Cross perpetuated among many Churches, that one would choose atheism over barbarism.

If the Church is intentional about how it engages in such conversations, there are as many benefits to answering these questions as there are to having them answered. Too often in certain Christian circles, staunch defenders-of-the-faith jump at the chance to dismantle piecemeal tenets of atheism, carelessly dismissing the idea of divine child abuse as yet another example of how heretical 'the world' has become. (Never addressing what such a continuous downward spiral of culture would reveal about the effectiveness of the Church.)

I also think it's important to espouse the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity without using it as another tool to dismiss the question. It is valid to say that since Christ is God, the cross is not divine child abuse. Yet while true (albeit incomplete), this 'defense' leaves itself open to being boiled down to divine self-mutilation, which is no more attractive. Luckily, however, it is also valid to say that Christ has a separate personhood from God. In a real sense, Jesus is the Son of God, and while simultaneously focusing on this distinctiveness is scarier for some, it is the only way to address the situation accurately and fully in the context of the Christian narrative. For, we know that rather than God simply acting as some sort of medieval flagellant, Christ, in individual expression, humbled Himself, obedient and subservient even to the point of death.

That being said, I'd like to move on to an interpretation of the Cross which I have found deeply compelling, and I don't want to frame it as a 'defense,' (at least in the overly loaded sense of the word) as much as an 'articulation.' I don't think it's helpful or productive to answer these questions merely in opposition to atheism, the ermerging church, or what have you. I think the 'challenge' of atheism calls us to affirm and know and claim our own story, rather than militaristically defend it, trench by trench, as if it were a piece of territory.

I want to draw from Rene Girard's rich, anthropological conception of the cross. What I find of value in his interpretation is that the responsibility for the violence of the crucifixion is rightly placed on human beings, not God. As a sort of cliff note, Girard's historical setting might read like this: the Roman and Jewish governments both desired absolute authority and were, at the end of the day, violently at odds with one another. However, what was found in the figure of Jesus of Nazareth was a suitable scapegoat, whose violent destruction would appease both sides, at least for a brief period. It seems reasonable to say that neither the Governors nor the Sadduccees believed that Jesus was the Messiah, yet both (and for similar reasons) saw his elimination as being advantageous to solidifying their own claims to power. This conflict is indicative of the cycle of violence which has been in motion since Cain and Abel.

"Part of the problem in the history of Christian interpretation, beginning already with the fathers, was that the Passion was for them a unique event. That is understandable of course. They saw it as a unique event, a single, unique event in worldly history. It is indeed unique as revelation but not as a violent event. The earliest followers of Jesus did not make that mistake. They knew, or intuited, that in one sense it was like all other events of victimization since the foundation of the world. But it was different in that it revealed the meaning of these events going back to the beginnings of humanity: the victimization occurs because of mimetic rivalry, the victim is innocent, and God stands with the victim and restores him or her. If the Passion is regarded not as revelation but as only a violent event brought about by God, it is misunderstood and turned into an idol. In the Gospels Jesus says that he suffers the fate of all the other prophets going back to Abel the just and the foundation of the world (Matt. 23:35; Luke 11:50)." - The Girard Reader

As the preeminent scholar and theologian, Brian Robertson, said in a sermon this past Sunday, God did not cause the events surrounding the crucifixion, he used them. I think it's dangerous to say that from the beginning of time, God's intention was to have his son murdered, and furthermore that such a murder is the only way forgiveness could happen. I know this will open up the proverbial can of worms, but I think what Girard offers is an interpretation which seeks to describe the overflowing, selfless nature of God's love.

Furthermore, it's an interpretation which takes into account the wider story of God's continual work of redemption and salvation in his creation. If we look at Christ's conversation with Nicodemus, we hear him directly address how mankind is to receive the gift of salvation. While Christ knew this work would literally culminate on the cross, he chose to explain it to Nicodemus, who was undoubtedly well-versed in the Torah, by comparing himself to the bronze snake in the book of Numbers.

Just like the poisonous snakes in the desert, God chose to use the violence which theretofore had justly condemned humanity to death as a means to save us. The fact that Jesus is the only human being who has ever been truly innocent, makes him the ultimate skapegoat toward whose death humanity might look to in order to see their acts of violence for what they truly are. Christ's words become clearer and we understand why those who refuse to look to the cross and recognize their own faults will be condemned.

So we see how God, rather than using his son as a whipping boy and an outlet for his wrath, in his infinite love and mercy chose to sacrifice his Son so that all who look upon him will find the salvation he desperately wants us to accept.

Urban Evangelism?

I read an article in the current issue of Comment magazine about Christian attitudes toward cities, and I was struck by a comment the author, Robert Joustra, made about the nature of urban mission work:

"If our urban activities as people of faith are consistently predicated on conversion, we shall quickly become very bad neighbours. I think of this as a kind of spiritual narcissism which grows out of an interior insecurity about our own faith and life."

He later goes on to suggest that rather than viewing missions work, particularly in our home cities of urban North America, in a truncated sense, with conversion and proselytization as its exclusive goal...

"...we learn to live and share the Gospel story in ways that far exceed a simple dualistic mission--we start to think of worshipping God and honouring him by building efficient transit [etc.]...the Gospel in the urban metropolis calls us forth into all the manifold spheres of city life, to enact justice, sustain and cultivate beauty..."

I think this observation is right on, and I think the practices of even the most adamant, unapologetic, and conservative Christians show that they agree. The most evident example of this that I see is the way in which most overseas missions work, especially when there is a language barrier, is carried out. I've never heard of a team memorizing the Romans road in Spanish or Chinese; but they do have faith that the Spirit of God will be evident in their work of building a home for a single mother, or teaching English to students.

I am not saying that I think preaching the gospel has no place in missions work. Obviously, even in the above example, for instance, the gospel is at the forefront. However, I am indeed suggesting that there are benefits to reexamining urban missions along the lines mentioned. Rather than conversion being our number one goal, what if our goal was to cultivate life-giving practices within an urban context so that the gospel can be embodied through our actions, rather than (often empty) words? And what would happen if we partnered with inter-faith non-profits, government organizations, and all resources at our disposal creatively and faithfully to do it?

I think implicit in Christ's command to go and preach the gospel to all nations is a call to constantly deconstruct the practices we employ to accomplish it. While it may have been appropriate and effective in St. Paul's context to walk into a city, head to the synagogue and start converting people, our own reality is much different.

While there are appropriate times to evangelize and a number of people who respond positively to it, I think one thing that is lacking in our Church culture is a desire to serve with absolutely no ulterior motives including the desire for the one served to come to Christ or attend a church service.

What if we serve selflessly, often, and creatively enough that we become known as lovers rather than preachers, and by the work of the Holy Spirit, our cities invite themselves to a Sunday service? Amidst a culture of death and violence, there is something so compelling about the Church, whose gospel offers life and peace.

On the Eucharist: A Few Quandaries (9/16/08)

The topic of transubstantiation is a complicated one and has been creeping around in the recesses of my brain for the last several months. The purpose of this note is to hear the opinions of as many respected friends and elders as possible, because at this point in my research and meditations on the subject I’m still left with more questions than answers.

Lately I’ve been working from the (in)famous John 6 discourse. If you’re not familiar with it, I’d recommend reading 6:23-58 and the surrounding context. Generally what this comes down to in the never-ending historical debate is whether we are to take Jesus’ words literally or figuratively; and I’ll also go ahead and just posit my own opinion that verse 63, which is often argued as Christ’s clarification that he was speaking metaphorically, does not point to the use of language, but rather to the nature of faith.

What also strikes me about this passage is that Jesus, as he does often in his teachings, seems to be drawing a parallel between the words he is speaking and the Old Testament canon. In this case, at least as I read it, he wants his listeners to identify themes of the current topic—which is his claim that he is the bread of Heaven—with the events in Exodus 16 where God provides the Israelites miraculously with manna from Heaven.

I think it’s also important to note how confused his disciples were after this conversation, so when we look ahead to the Last Supper in Luke 22, I wonder if light bulbs were going off for them at that meal. While at the time it had seemed so strange for Christ to tell them that those saved by him would eat his flesh and drink his blood, it must have finally clicked to see him holding the unleavened bread and the wine, saying “This is my body, broken for you, and the blood that I will spill for you to establish a new covenant between you and God. Remember me and what I have done for you every time you have this meal.”

So here again we are faced with this same question as to what sense Jesus was speaking in. Yet, whether figurative or literal, it seems to be clear that we are to understand the bread and wine of Holy Communion in a similar sense as the manna from Heaven.

Beyond this, I also wonder how important this issue is to our theologies. It was expressed to me by one pastor that he would rather err to the side of transubstantiation because he does not want to limit the power of God to perform such a miracle. To me, the strength of such a position would be that it provides room for the mystery of our faith in which we so often hope against hope, as Paul put it, that the impossible will be made possible. On the other hand, I am sensitive to the concerns of many denominations about this; namely ramifications leading to the bloated role of the clergy in Eucharistic prayer, versus the priesthood of all believers. I think this is the issue most important to Protestant Christians since we would obviously reject the need for the historical Roman Catholic re-presentation of Christ’s sacrifice on the cross, which is often used as another argument against transubstantiation. This idea, to me, does not seem to be essentially tied up with the notion of transubstantiation. What I mean to say is that in this context, I think it is necessary to distinguish the notion of transubstantiation from a particular denomination and its associated doctrines or traditions.

At this point it is perhaps appropriate for me to lay out my current position, however shaky or unfounded it may be, for the sake of feedback. Furthermore, I won't even attempt to organize the following into an organized series of points.

I do think that the nature of our faith is mysterious and not propositional, so I think that to some extent any beliefs about the Eucharist must reflect that. I believe that there is a miracle that takes place in the sacrament of Holy Communion; perhaps transubstantiation is part of it. However I think more importantly, we are recipients of grace in that any actions which are in accordance with God's commands draw us closer to him. Beyond that, I think the Eucharist is unique in that there are such obvious communal ramifications; not only do we draw nearer to God, but we also can sense his grace in our drawing near to one another unified in thankful remembrance of Christ whose body was broken and whose blood was poured out; our only means of salvation. I also think based on John 6 and Exodus 16 that if a transubstantiation takes place, the miracle is not because of a prayer or a priest, but because of God's drawing us deeper into a faith that can move mountains...

...or facilitate Christ's presence in the elements we receive at the Lord's table.