As far as I can tell, being honest with ourselves requires us to confess that we now live in a world where it is impossible to recognize any infallible, completely trustworthy authorities. Or, even if we grant the existence of any such authority (as I actually do), we must confess that we have no unmediated access to that authority. What access we have is always mediated by that which is inevitably fallible and not completely trustworthy. Thus, we are all in the same boat, whether or not we affirm the existence of any infallible, completely trustworthy authorities.
So, for example, although I believe in a God who is, in my opinion, infallible and trustworthy (I’m willing to give God the benefit of the doubt!), I can never claim direct access to God, or knowledge of God, or God’s will, or whatever else. Access to God is always, in some way, mediated. Thus, things like Scripture, tradition, reason, and experience all function as mediators — but neither Scripture, nor tradition, nor reason, nor experience is completely infallible or completely trustworthy.
Let us explore this point.
Although Scripture functions as an authority for Christians, it cannot be treated in an overly simplistic or naive manner. Sometimes Scripture is inscrutable, sometimes it is contradictory, and sometimes it’s a crap shoot as to how we are to relate to the two or four thousand year old events contained therein. Besides, God didn’t write Scripture — people, with all of their foibles and limitations did, and no matter how fancy your exegetical footwork (Scripture in its original [but now lost] form was perfect, God actually dictated the original [but now lost] biblical texts to the authors verbatim, etc.) the point remains that, Scripture as we know it, cannot be treated as infallible. This does not mean we must then go on to refuse to recognize Scripture as an authority. Far from it, Christians can recognize Scripture as an authority — but it is an authority we must engage critically.
I think that the complexities involved in both understanding and applying Scripture are becoming increasingly obvious, even to those who have tried to remain rooted within premodern views of Scripture. This, in my opinion, partially explains why Evangelicals who previously had fairly loose ecclesiologies and little regard for Church history are now becoming increasingly fascinated with Roman Catholicism and the Christian Tradition (just note all of the contemporary Evangelicals who have taken to calling themselves ‘Augustinian’!). Thus, for various Christians, Tradition (capitalized and in the singular) is treated as an infallible and completely trustworthy authority. However, it is worth questioning if this is really the case. When we ask this question, it quickly becomes apparent that it is difficult to see how this could be true. First of all, an honest look at Christian history requires us to note that there is no single authoritative ‘Tradition’; rather, there are many different, often competing and contradictory, traditions. Consequently, any who propose a single authoritative ‘Tradition’ are engaging in a highly selective reading of history that ends up being (intentionally or not) rather dishonest.
However, the case could be made that, despite differences, there are some elements of Christianity that appear consistently throughout history. Therefore, one might wish to argue that these elements are the part of the Christian traditions that is authoritative and infallible. However, this cannot be the case as, for example, the oppressive use of power (in order to abuse, marginalize and oppress women, children, people with disabilities, and other minority populations) is a fairly consistent thread running through many Christian traditions over the last two thousand years. We cannot simply appeal to majority views, as majorities (yes, even majorities within the Church, and over the course of Church history) are often mistaken. Futhermore, the Bible itself teaches us that the majority of those who call themselves ‘the people of God’ have often lost their way. Thus, there are constantly minority movements arising to correct the majority (for example, schools of prophets in the Old Testament and the Jesus Movement in the New Testament).
However, this does not mean that majorities are always wrong and that minorities are always right. Indeed, I believe that the Spirit of God can move in such a way that a majority of people can — independently of one another — come to the same appropriate conclusion for any given situation. It also doesn’t mean that minorities are always right. Often minorities fracture off of groups and spiral into self- and other-destructive behavior.
Therefore, we are once again required to critically engage with the Christian traditions. What we cannot do is simply accept ‘Tradition’ as a single, infallible, completely trustworthy source.
This then leaves us with reason and experience. But neither of these can be treated as infallible, completely trustworthy authorities.
Reason, in my opinion, is the least trustworthy of all. More than any of the other authorities mentioned here, ‘reason’ is an almost entirely amorphous cultural construct. Simply stated, what is ‘reasonable’ is only reasonable to particular people, at a particular place, during a particular moment in history. At different places, in different moments of history, it was completely reasonable to think of the earth as flat, as created in seven days, or as existing on the back of a turtle. Nowadays, many people consider this sort of thinking unreasonable and find it reasonable to think of the earth as round, as coming into being over a very long amount of time, and as existing in time/space (which it is now reasonable to think of as a single ‘thing’).
Of course, by highlighting this I am not suggesting that we abandon reason as an authority. To do so would be next to impossible, given that all of us are culturally-conditioned people, and will remain culturally-conditioned, in one way or another, regardless of our best efforts. ‘Reason’ ends up being an authority, whether we like it or not. However, this line of thought does require us to critically engage reason (which, by the way, is what Wittgenstein does when he encourages us to talk non-sense).
We are then left with experience which, in my opinion, actually exists in something of a privileged place, especially when it comes to how we relate to God as an authority. After all, one may read about the God of the Scriptures, one may learn about the God revealed in the Christian traditions, and one may come to some positive conclusions about God based upon reason, but if one has no experience of God, then all of that reading, learning, and thinking, will likely be for naught. So, by saying experience exists in a ‘privileged place’ I am not saying that it is more authoritative than these other sources; rather, I am saying that it needs to be recognized as authoritative (at least in some way) before any of the other sources can be meaningfully engaged as authoritative.
However, just as with the other authorities mentioned above, experience cannot be treated as an infallible, completely trustworthy authority. No matter how dramatic (or traumatic!) our experiences of God, we must critically engage every experience. What if we are mistaking something for God that is not God? What if we are being emotionally manipulated by our environment? What if we are mentally ill (I’ve worked with many schizophrenic people who refused to take their medication because ‘God stopped talking’ when they were on the medication — but refusing to take the medication also led these people to be trapped in cycles of poverty, homelessness and violence)? What if we are just using ‘God’s still small voice’ to justify our preconceived notions or to allow us to indulge in harmful or selfish desires? And so on and so forth. Thus, although experience is an authority, it cannot be considered infallible.
Consequently, we remain stuck in the state I described at the opening of this post. We must confess that we no longer have any infallible authorities, and even if God is recognized as just that kind of authoritiy, we must confess that we have no infallible, unmediated access to God.
What then is the result of this? The loss of certitude. An honest confrontation with our situation requires us to confess that we can no longer be certain… about anything. Maybe we are eisegeting the Scriptures. Maybe we are highlighting the wrong parts of the Christian traditions. Maybe our reason is fatally flawed. Maybe we have misunderstood ourselves and our experiences. Maybe that which we have taken to be God, is not God at all. We must confess that any and all of the above is possible.
So we must abandon certainty, and we must flee from anyone who promises us certitude lest we become lured into false comforts and a world of illusions.
This, I think, is what it means for a person to ‘walk humbly with God’ (cf. Mic 6.8). Walking humbly with God means confessing that, hey, maybe we’ve got it all wrong. Maybe, instead of being part of the solution, we’re part of the problem. Maybe we’re just making one giant mess of everything. So we pray: ‘Lord, have mercy’.
Finally, I have recently come to the conclusion that this movement into uncertainty is actually an expression of one’s maturation in one’s faith. This goes against what I was led to believe about faith when I was growing up. When I was younger, I though that uncertainty was a sign of ‘spiritual immaturity’ and that ‘spiritual maturity’ would be expressed in an increasing sense of certainty. Indeed, I think many Christians were led to believe that this is how ‘spiritual maturity’ is expressed. I no longer believe this. I now believe that it takes a great deal of maturity to confess that one is uncertain (about everything), and the reason why we have difficulty confessing this is because we remain in places of immaturity. This, at least, has been my own (neither infallible nor completely trustworthy!) experience: the more deeply rooted I have become in my faith, the more I have been able to abandon certitude in order to walk humbly with God — and with my neighbours as we, together, strive to do justice and love mercy (Mic 6.8, again).
Who is the True Neigbour? Discussing Sexuality with Evangelicals
In all my time within the GLBTQ community, I have never once felt rejected or discriminated against because of my (hetero)sexual orientation or my (Christian) religious beliefs. Even though most members of the GLBTQ community have had extremely negative, oppressive, or hurtful encounters with people who are (most often) straight, male Christians, I have never felt judged or discriminated against because of how others who look like me have acted. Far from it — I have always felt welcomed by members of the GLBTQ community, and have always felt as though I was respected for believing what I do.
Perhaps this was most evident during the time when I was volunteering at a drop-in centre for male and transgendered sex workers. In the ten year history of this centre, I was the only straight male volunteer and the only Christian volunteer as well. This was not because the centre discrimated against straight males or against Christians — far from it, many of the sex workers who came to the drop-in were both straight and Christian, and I was embraced with open arms by the other volunteers — rather, I suspect that this was because Christians tend to keep the hell away from the GLBTQ community in general, and from male and transgendered prostitutes in particular (because, you know, helping female prostitutes lets Christian men feel like macho/noble knights in shining armour and all that, whereas male prostitutes are just a bunch of ‘faggots’ or something like that).
In sum, even though I have my origins in an oppressive group that has deeply and personally wounded many people within the GLBTQ community, I have still been treated with respect, greeted with openness, and welcomed with love.
In contrast, when I have spoken of my respect for members of the GLBTQ community, and of my faith that these expressions of human sexuality are a part of God’s wonderful and ongoing creative activity within the world, I have been treated very differently by many who claim to be followers of Jesus. Far from being treated with any respect, I have had my words twisted beyond recognition, I have been called everything from a ‘heretic’ and a ‘schismatic’ to a ‘bully’ and a ‘dog’, and I have listened as those who have stated these things have compared my gay friends to pedophiles, murderers, rapists, and people who have sex with animals. There has been little to no respect shown here. No openness. No embrace. No love.
In all of this, recalling Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan, it has become pretty obvious to me as to which group in my life has acted as a true neighbour to me. Members of the GLBTQ community are those who have acted as the ‘Good Samaritan’ — a person from an oppressed minority who shows Christlike love, even for a member of the oppressive majority. Unfortunately, members of Conservative Evangelicalism have acted, at best, like the Priest and Levite who pass by the wounded and, at worst, like the robbers who beat others and leave them for dead.
Why Both the 'New Atheists' and Traditional Christian Apologists Get it Wrong
Recently, I’ve become increasingly fascinated with the theories and trajectories that are being expressed in contemporary physics. Now granted, I don’t understand much of the math and notation involved, but what I am able to grasp of astrophysics, quantem mechanics, Einstein’s reflections on space/time, and so on, is absolutely mind-blowing.
However, one of the things that has struck me as I have been digging into all of this is just how much science in general, and physics in particular, are misrepresented at the popular level. At the popular level, science is presented as though it is based upon universal laws, empirical evidence, irrefutable conclusions, and concrete ‘facts’. Often, this is then contrasted with religious faith, which is said to be counter-intuitive, counter-empirical, and insubstantial (or unsustainable). Science, in other words, is said to be entirely sensible, while faith is said to be entirely nonsensical.
In response to this charge many Christians, have engaged in a form of apologetics that has tried to demonstrate that faith is also a sensible enterprise based upon certain laws, proofs, empirical evidence, and other facts. Now, I’m not convinced that any apologist of this type has actually converted his or her opposition, but I think that these apologists have probably at least convinced a few people in the public that, at the very least, people of faith aren’t complete morons. I guess that’s something.
A more encouraging response (to me at least), is that taken by those who argue that many of these apologetic Christian approaches have allowed themselves to be dominated by the limitations and paradigms of ‘modern science’ (by that I mean science as it developed from the Enlightenment until the start of the 20th century). As a result of this many contemporary (or ‘postmodern’ if you prefer that term) Christians now feel like apologetics that persist in that paradigm are still reflecting a type of Christianity that was overly conditioned by a particular culture and moment in history (‘modernity’). And so, in many ways, contemporary Christianity has moved beyond this apologetic engagement with the laws, proofs, methods, and conclusions of modern science. Instead, they have tried to make Christianity credible by living more Christianly. I reckon this is a good step to take.
However, just as significantly, contemporary (or ‘postmodern’) science has also moved beyond the culturally conditioned reason, method, and certitude expressed within the science of modernity. At the moment, contemporary physics requires us to move beyond certitude, beyond laws, beyond empiricism (even, in a way, beyond logic) in order to grasp the workings of the universe. For example, the rules and conclusions of astrophysics (which works with bodies with large amounts of mass) cannot be applied in the realm of quantem mechanics (which works with bodies with tiny amounts of mass), and vice versa. These two areas of science cannot be brought together into a single system without contradicting each other, yet each in isolation seems to provide workable conclusions for their own areas of study. So much for universal truths or the law of non-contradiction. Or, to take a second example, in astrophysics it seems as though a vast amount of ‘dark matter’ is required to exist so that we can explain the movement of galaxies (amongst other things). However, the existence of ‘dark matter’ is taken on faith — we cannot (yet) prove its existence… but we can’t explain things without it. Similarly, quantem mechanics now requires us to speak of ‘probabilities’ and not ‘laws’, while also leading us to think that there maybe be a good deal many more dimensions (11+?) than we first imagined. Or, to provide a fourth example, Einstein’s theories require us to think of space and time as a single unit — space/time — thereby collapsing what empirically (and logically?) strike us as two distinct ‘things’. And on and on it goes. Examples like these could be multplied almost endlessly (string theory, anybody?).
Therefore, if many Christian apologists get it wrong because they still continue to think of Christianity in the terms established by a culturally-conditioned moment in Western history, many of those now classified as the ‘New Atheists’ get science wrong for precisely the same reason! Oddly enough then, members of both of these opposing parties are (perhaps unwittingly) simply longing for the world (or, um, the West) as was 150 or so years ago. Many Christian apologists seem to want to get back to a time when Christianity was in a more dominant position in our society, and many ‘New Atheists’ seem to want to get back to a time when science claimed to possess certitude.
However, probably for the best, that world has come and gone. So now, when we listen to this or that ‘New Atheist’ debate this or that Christian apologist, we can consider ourselves lucky to witness a reenactment of what it might have been like to discuss these matters if we lived 150 years ago. It is almost as if we get the chance to witness two dinosaurs who, unaware that they have become extinct, are putting on a spectacular show fighting each other.
Clinging to Tradition or Encountering God-as-Event
Sometimes I wonder if those who barricade themselves within certain interpretations of ‘Traditional’ or ‘Orthodox’ or ‘Conservative Evangelical’ Christianity are actually doing so because they are desperate to believe in God… but have never actually tangibly experienced God-as-Event (in Badiou’s sense of the word ‘Event’). When ‘Tradition’ is all that you have of God, then it is no wonder that challenges to ‘Tradition’ (or how that ‘Tradition’ is narrated and interpreted by this contingent) appear to be so threatening.
I sometimes wonder this, not because I think that these so-called ‘orthodox’ Christians are more closed to God than the rest of us, but because I spent 7 summers working with teens and young adults who came from Conservative Evangelical families. During those 7 summers, I discovered that, although Conservative Evangelical kids are taught to speak of having a ‘personal relationship with God’ almost all of them have never actually encountered God in any meaningful, transformative or concrete way. I remember when I first awakened to the observation that I was actually an oddity for believing I had actually had such experiences and this so surprised me that my first thought was: “Well, why the heck are you guys Christians then??”
Not surprisingly, it turned out that many of these people only identified as Christians because their parents had trained them to do so. Consequently, when they moved on to independence and to other environments, their Christian faith (sometimes quickly, sometimes gradually) disappeared.
However, others could not face the trauma of walking away from their faith and so, in the absence of a lived encounter with God, went on to immerse themselves in apologetics, and the history and doctrines of various (in this case, Reformed or Evangelical) Christian denominations.
Several of these people have ended up within the walls of the Christian Academy. Consequently, it does not surprise me that Christian academics often end up speaking condescendingly of those who talk of having a ‘personal relationship’ with Jesus or, to provide another example, those who speak of the notion of exploring ‘God as a lover’. Thus, those who have never experienced God-as-Event end up building theological systems that downplay the significance of one’s personal encounter with God (i.e. one’s personal experiences are not to be trusted or treated as any sort of authority), and end up overemphasizing the history of Christian doctrine (although it should be noted that this narration of history is almost always fraught with value judgments and acts of exclusion in order to end up confirming previously established views).
However, those who have encountered God-as-Event cannot view this (fictional!) Tradition with the same urgency or authority. Granted, the various streams of Christianity, and the multiple traditions that trace their way throughout the last two thousand years, are an important witness to the activity of the Word of God in history… but one has now been freed from the need to desperately cling to one particular ideological interpretation of that history — in fact, one can even more critically engage with these things because, after the Event, one’s faith in God will remain regardless of what one discovers in the traditions or in Christianity’s many orthodoxies.
Thankfully, this at least was the experience of a minority of the people with whom I worked for those 7 summers. Awakening to the realization that God could be known as Event, these few were lucky enough to look for that experience, and to be found by it. Would that we were all so fortunate!
On So-Called 'High' and 'Low' Views of Scripture
When a person crosses ideological boundaries in order to engage in discussions about Jesus, Paul, or any other aspect of biblical theology, it seems as though the more seriously one takes the context of the biblical authors, the ‘lower’ one’s view of Scripture is said to be. Conversely, the more one favours a ‘plain reading’ of the texts at hand, the ‘higher’ one’s view of Scripture is said to be. Not surprisingly, it is usually those who favour this ‘plain reading’ who tend to make this sort of statement.
Imagine, for example, the following discussion.
Party A wishes to suggest that Paul as a human person, is not simply an unbiased conduit of the divine Word of God but is, at times, influenced by other political or cultural factors (after all, what human person is not so influenced?). In order to illustrate this point, Party A points to 1 Cor 11.14-16, wherein Paul argues that ‘nature’ teaches us that it is disgraceful for men to have long hair or for women to have short hair. Surely, Party A says, this is not God’s general and eternal rule for how we wear our hair; rather, in this passage Paul is revealing one of the ways in which he has been influenced by his own historical context. Therefore, Party A concludes that there are times when properly respecting Paul means not applying what he has said to our contemporary context.
At this point Party B objects. No, Party B says, Scripture — whether written by Paul or anybody else — is the divine Word of God and means the same thing for us as it meant at the time it was written. If Paul makes a statement to one of his churches regarding the length of hair worn by men and women, then this statement must apply equally to us today. To do otherwise, Party B asserts, is to diminish the authority of Scripture — as though we can pick and choose which commandments to follow! Therefore, Party B concludes that Party A must have a ‘low view’ of Scripture, whereas Party B holds to a ‘high view’.
Now this conclusion is problematical for at least three reasons.
First, comments regarding ‘high’ and ‘low’ views of Scripture tend to actually operate as (veiled?) ad hominum attacks upon the other Party engaging in this discussion. The implication is that those who have a ‘high’ view treat Scripture with more reverence or respect than those accused of having a ‘low’ view. In my own experience, this has never been the case. What is at stake are two differing hermeneutical methodologies and not the reverence or respect with which Scripture is treated. Indeed, one cannot even say that those who claim a ‘high’ view of Scripture allow Scripture to operate with more authority in their lives. Once again, what one finds is that both of the parties are trying to live lives that accord with Scripture — it’s just that the parties differ over which elements of Scripture operate authoritatively. Thus, while members of Party A may not give much contemporary weight to what Paul writes about hair (based upon cultural and contextual grounds), they might give a whole lot more contemporary weight to Jesus’ injunction to the rich young ruler in Mk 10.21. Similarly, while members of Party B might disregard what Jesus says to the rich young ruler (based upon literary and contextual grounds), they might continue to affirm what Paul says about hair. Thus, the question is not who treats Scripture as a greater authority, the question is who treats what parts of Scripture as authoritative and why.
This points to the second problem with the conclusion drawn by Party B — it is fundamentally inconsistent with the way in which members of Party B tend to treat all the texts contained within the Canon. While members of Party B often want to defend a ‘plain’ reading of almost every sentence found within the Pauline and deutero-Pauline epistles, they most certainly do not apply the same rule to every other passage, observation, or injunction found within the Bible. Thus, while a member of Party B may choose to follow Paul’s advice regarding hair, that member likely won’t follow the Deuteronomic command to stone disobedient children (cf. Deut 21.18-21). This is not because the New Testament ever tells us that the command to stone disobedient children has been revoked (which is often the rational used by members of Party B to disregard other passages in the Old Testament — largely those related to food, circumcision, purity, and cultic acts). Rather, it is because members of Party B can see the ways in which the violent patiarchalism of the Ancient Near East (often reflected in the Old Testament) is not something worth applying within our contemporary context.
Or, to take a second example, let us look at Prov 26.4 and Prov 26.5. The first verse tells us not to answer a fool according to that person’s folly lest we become like the fool ourselves. The second verse tells us to answer a fool according to that person’s folly so that the fool does not become wise in his or her own eyes. What are we to do with this glaring contradiction? Well, I suspect that members of both Parties A and B would tell us that Proverbs belong to a certain genre of Wisdom literature wherein general but not universally applicable aphorisms are suggested. Thus, it is up to the person with wisdom to discern which aphorism applies to which context. What is clear (to both Parties, I think) is that both Prov 26.4 and Prov 26.5 cannot be equally applied at the same time in the same way.
Therefore, it actually looks like members of Party A and of Party B hold strikingly similar views of Scripture as a whole, but disagree on how this view is applied to certain passages. Given that this is the case, it seems like a cheap effort to gain power over the opposing Party by claiming a ‘high’ view of Scripture, or by charging the opposing Party with a ‘low’ view. (Or it could simply be a way of avoiding addressing the issue more substantially — i.e. by saying that a person’s view can be rejected, a priori, because that view belongs to a ‘lower’ view of Scripture.)
Third, and finally, claiming a high view Scripture is problematical because it is often a means of masking what is actually a rather disrespectful approach to Scripture. To illustrate this point take the way in which Mary is treated within the Roman Catholic Church. The Roman Catholic hierarchy can point to its veneration of Mary in order to suggest that it has a high view of women… and this then becomes one of the ways in which that hierarchy masks the way it oppresses and marginalizes women within the historical Church itself! Similarly, those who claim a ‘high’ view of Scripture often (intentionally or not) end up using this as a way of masking the ways in which they abuse Scripture by disregarding its contexts, its various genres, and so on. Sadly, the rhetoric of a ‘high’ view of Scripture is all too often employed to defend superficial readings that actually abuse the texts at hand. Thus, the language of ‘high’ and ‘low’ views becomes a propaganda tool and a means of deception.
Therefore, in light of these things, I suggest that we abandon this language altogether.
Interview: Abe and the Commonists
[My brother, Abe, recently converted his family home into an intentional Christian community, modeled after the example of some other ‘new monastic’ communities. So far, their community consists of Abe, his wife Melissa, their two boys Ben and Chris, and two of their friends, Alexis and Nate. They are also exploring adding at least one more person to their community. Broadly, they have taken to referring to their community as “The Common Place” and to their house as “The Red House” (as it is made of red brick). This, then, has led them to refer to themselves as ‘Commonists’ — a title I quite like. I decided to interview Abe about this transition because I think there may be others who are interested in pursuing this lifestyle, but wo are unsure of how to proceed. Hopefully the example of Abe and the Commonists will help to inspire and encourage others to explore alternatives ways to love one another and share life together.]
Here is the exchange I had with Abe.
Dan: How has your Christian faith developed in such a way that living in community has become important to you? Were there significant moments or paradigm shifts along the way? Particular voices that you found especially convincing or convicting?
Abe: My Christian faith has gone through much transition over the years, from being raised in an ultra-conservative home, to now pushing on the boundaries of a liberal Christianity. Some of the major experiences that have facilitated this shift include: (a) chatting with [a close mutual friend]; (b) working at a health clinic for homeless persons; (c) taking Master’s and Doctoral studies in Nursing; (d) reading books by authors such as Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein, John Ralston Saul, N. T. Wright, Jim Wallis, Shane Claiborne, and others; and (e) meeting some like-minded people through a bible study connected to my current church. The tipping point was when we watched the video “Ordinary Radicals” and found out about many alternative Christian lifestyles. I joked that we should do this, a friend replied quite seriously that we should. That got the ball rolling.
Dan: What were the practical/actual steps that you took in order to bring this about?
Abe: There were a lot of logistics as we started with myself, my wife, our two young children, and 3 single friends (one who has now graciously stepped out and we are now ‘courting’ 2 other people). My wife and I are financially tied to our house courtesy of a large mortgage and plummeting house prices, and some other debts. So, although we all dreamed of getting a big property in the east end [the poorer part of the city] and setting up a drop-in centre for persons in poverty/curch(/bar?), we realized that we would have to just start where we were at. So, what actually happened is we decided to met on a Saturday following the discusion mentioned in the question above. We just chatted about the idea of intentional community, what we knew, what we dream about. We then gave it a week to think, study, read, pray, ask people like you about it, etc. I spent a lot of time talking to my wife, and researching intentional communities online and in books.
When we came together again the following Saturday we unanimously agreed we wanted to try it, and that we would just start with everyone moving into or (rather modestly sized) house. This has meant some ongoing renovations to add a couple of bedrooms. We have also spent a lot of time refining our mission, vision and principle statements and continuing to study and dialogue with others.
We have also decided to connect this to our local church, and so have been in dialogue with the Board there.
Another thing we did was purge a tone of stuff, we took 3-4 full truck-loads to Goodwill, as well as putting lots of stuff out at the curb.
We have also figured out the money stuff, where we all pay into a common account that pays the house bills, calculated to the reality that at the end of the day my wife and I still own the house. For more on the logistics you can look us up at our blog at http://thecommonplace.blog.ca/.
Dan: So it sounds like this whole process has moved quite quickly for you. How long did it take you to go from your first (joking) discussion of this topic to actually having people move into your house?
Abe: It was only three months, which does seem rather fast. However, we did spend a lot of time together within that three months. Also, it has taken much longer than that to find and work with other people, other than the core four to move in.
Dan: What is it that excites you about life in community?
Abe: Man, tons of stuff. The idea of being forced to be in intimate relationships with a broader community than your own family (we have a 1 year mandatory stay contract for the founders, so no ducking out if relationships get dicey), the idea of being scrutinized and supported by others who inspire you, the idea of living simply and consuming less, the idea of our kids being exposed to more parental figures, the idea of beginning a journey of living an alternative lifestyle to our horrible culture, and honestly, the attention of doing something this outside of the ordinary garners. There’s probably a lot of other things that don’t come to mind immediately. I have been quite elated about the whole process as my wife has mentioned. The idea of finally living the valuse I espouse is soul-soothing.
Dan: What scares you about life in community?
Abe: Honestly, the primary fear is telling other people about what we are doing, and worrying about misconceptions or poor opinions. There are still some people (who are quite close to me) who I haven’t told about this because I am afraid of what it will do to our relationship. Another thing that scares me is raising my kids up to either be weird or think we are weird, as this was a painful aspect of my own childhood, both rooted in and contributing to my own low self-esteem. I’m a pretty open person anyway, so the scrutiny of my personal life isn’t disconcerting at all.
Dan: What are some of the “misconceptions or poor opinions” that you anticipate encountering? What would you say in response to those things?
Abe: Actually, the one that we have gotten a lot is, “what about the kids?”, to which I usually reply, “what about the kids?”. People seem concerned somehow that the kids won’t have enough of their own space, or will be not as well raised with other non-relatives around. Our perspective is absolutely opposite to this; we believe that having other loving non-related adults in their lives is very healthy for them. As well, we believe that having our kids see us living out our values is very healthy for them. Lastly, having more people around will allow them to receive the personal attention that I feel sometimes Melissa and I are unable to provide them with.
Anwering this questions has been insightful for me. The more I think about it, the more I can’t see having trouble answering any particular questions. I guess it’s just a general impression that I’m worried about. A lot of my acquaintances admire my achievements and rive, and I’m worried their admiration would decrease if they saw me doing something that might limit my worldly success. I’m also a bit worried about telling the neighbours, who have a bit more of a vested interest in this.
Dan: What are the vision and/or goals y’all have established four yourselves at this point (if any)?
Abe: You can find some of this in our mission/vision and principles statements on our blog [see here], but really at this point we wanted to just dive in there and start living it. We have dreams of connecting with our community, including those in poverty, those who are socially excluded, youth, and our immediate neighbours. We have dreams of being inspirationally different. In the long run, we have dreams of doing this way bigger like the Simple Way community. For now, like I said, we want to get used to living together in such an intentional way.
Dan: So for now will you be focusing on developing relationships amongst those living in the house, or do you already have plans to include others from outside into your activities?
Abe: The main focus is the internal relationships. However, it is quickly becoming clear that we will have a lot of external outreach as well. A large part of this is the number of people we have lined-up to invite over for a meal. These include neighbours, people from our church, friends, people we want to move-in, famil, etc. So, that will be a part of developing relationships — showing others what we are doing and hoping to excite them with our work.
The second one is that through Nate’s work at the church, we are now planning on hosting a weekly meal at a local subsidized housing complex. We are actually starting this Saturday, which should be a great experience. Everything else is pending.
Dan: What suggestions would you give to others who are interested in this sort of lifestyle but are unsure how to progress?
Abe: Honestly, just start where you are. Start in the neighbourhood you’re in, in the building you’re in, with the people you love. It doesn’t have to be as awesome as some of the other communities that are out there, these have taken 10, 15, 20 years to grow to what they are. Do lots of research, there a good books, a good lecture series from Charles Ringma at Regent [see here], lots of resources on the internet, and people you can talk to who are doing this or have done it before. Spend a lot of time discussing with each other to make sure everyone is absolutely on the samepage as much as possible, which includes considering writing up a contract to limit the pain involved in a potential community breakdown.
Dan: Anything else you want to say about all of this?
Abe: That pretty much covers it, though I’m sure that people might have more questions, and I would be happy to keep answering them.
Dan: Thanks for you openness and willingness to engage in this interview, Abe! I’m excited to see how this grows and develops in the life of you and the other Commonists. Much love.
Book Giveaway — Pastoral
Mel, Charles and I are back from our travels and getting settled in, once again, to life in Vancouver. That means I can now return to my ongoing book giveaways (which I’ve initiated as one way of celebrating the birth of wee Charlie). Just to remind everybody of how this works — if you want the books listed below (and you have to want all of them) just leave a comment and I will put your name in a random draw. If I draw your name, I will mail the books to you, free of charge. Simple, right? Here are the books up for grabs this time:
1. Joyful Exiles: Life in Christ on the Dangerous Edge of Things by James M. Houston.
2. The God I Don’t Understand: Reflections on the Tough Questions of Faith by Christopher J. H. Wright.
3. Can God Be Trusted? Faith and the Challenge of Evil by John G. Stackhouse Jr.
4. Spiritual Depression: Its Causes and Its Cure by D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones.
5. Forgive and Forget: Healing the Hurts We Don’t Deserve by Lewis B. Smedes.
6. A Tale of Three Kings: A Study in Brokenness by Gene Edwards.
Questioning (a few) Christian Truisms
Just a few scattered and questioning thoughts regarding a couple of statements that are treated as truisms within certain contemporary Christian circles.
First truism: ‘God loves everybody equally.’
Is this really true? Doesn’t it seem a little suspicious that this statement is one that is repeated ad nauseum by Christians who are well-situated in places of comfort and privilege within predatory and death-dealing societies?
So, even if this statement is true, shouldn’t we instead be emphasising that God’s love is one that calls the oppressed to liberation and the oppressors to repentance? Isn’t it a little irresponsible and self-serving to neglect to mention that God’s love calls us to particular historical actions and ways of being? Doesn’t this mean that, for those Christians mentioned above, it might be better to say: “God loves you, but God sure as hell hates what you are doing with your life”?
Second truism: “All sins are equal in God’s eyes.”
Is this a true statement? Does it really reflect the way in which God engages sin within the biblical narrative? In actuality doesn’t the biblical story show us that God thinks some actions are far worse than others? After all, to pick just one example, doesn’t God permit drunkenness amongst the poor, while simultaneously condemning the wealthy who spend their money on booze instead on sharing their wealth with others?
Once again, isn’t it a little suspicious that this sort of thinking is popular amongst Western Christians of status and privilege? Given that almost all areas of their lives are saturated with the blood of others, shouldn’t we think twice before we believe them when they tell us that ‘all sins are equal in God’s eyes’?
March Books
Well, I’m just barely keep my head above water with my reading. Here are last month’s books.
1. John and Empire: Initial Explorations by Warren Carter.
In my estimation, Warren Carter is one of the best New Testament scholars writing today. His knowledge of the New Testament, as well as all of the various contextual and intertextual possibilities related to it, is exceptional and makes for fascinating (dare I say ‘required’?) reading.
This is well illustrated in John and Empire, a study of the Gospel of John. Carter takes a Gospel that is generally perceived of as more ‘spiritual’ than ‘historical’, and places it firmly within the context of the Roman Empire in general, and Ephesus in the late first-century more specifically. Thus, the reader comes to understand John’s Gospel as a call to a particular way of negotiating the imperial realities of one’s personal and communal existence. In particular, Carter demonstrates that the author of John’s Gospel is calling the readers to create more distance between themselves and the values, ideologies, and structures of imperial powers (which, of course, has implications for the contemporary Western reader).
I highly recommend this book.
2. The Power of the Poor in History by Gustavo Gutierrez.
This book is a collection of essays written by Gutierrez. They reflect upon the historical development of liberation theology (within Latin America), and upon some of the major themes of that theology — notably, the transformative power of poor people and the importance of solidarity with them.
While reading this book, I was struck by the distance that has grown up between the original Latin American liberation theologians and many of those in the West who have adopted the rhetoric of liberation theology. It seems to me that many Western copies pale in comparison to the original. Specifically, while those like Gutierrez call us to the lived experience of poverty, concrete movement into places of oppression, and solidarity that is expressed in all areas of one’s life, Western voices have taken the language of Gutierrez and used it to support a more bourgeois, liberal democratic focus upon matters related to equality and inclusivity.
Of course, things like equality and inclusivity aren’t bad things, but the way in which these things are pursued tend to be quite superficial in comparison to the depth of the commitments of the Latin American liberation theologians. Nowhere is this more evident than in the means by which these theologies are developed. Latin American liberation theology is developed out of concrete solidarity at ‘the underside of history’ whereas Western appropriations tend to come out of places of privilege and power over history.
Thus, I persist in thinking that liberation theology continues to be an untested thesis in the West. It is not the sort of theory that one can simply engage cerebrally. To truly test the thesis of liberation theology requires the inquirer to engage in an embodied active experiment. Sadly, I know of very few Western theologians who have been willing to do this.
So, I recommend reading Gutierrez, but I even more strongly recommend trying to live in alternative ways, so that one can properly read Gutierrez.
3. Fugitive Writings by Peter Kropotkin.
Hot-diggity-damn, this is one helluva good book. It is a collection of essays written by Kropotkin on the theme of anarchism (its vision, principles, philosophy, ideals, morality, and relation to the State) and if you are not open to being an anarchist after reading it, then I might be inclined to think that you are also not open to being a Christian! Indeed, it is precisely because I am a Christian that I am drawn to anarchism in general, and to Kropotkin’s expression thereof in particular.
Now, I could rant and rave some more about this collection, but perhaps a few quotes might be more helpful.
From the essay, “Anarchist Morality”:
[T]his principle of treating others as one wishes to be treat oneself, what is it but the very same principle as equality, the fundamental principle of anarchism? And how can one manage to believe himself [sic] an anarchist unless he practices it?
We do not wish to be ruled. And by this very fact, do we not declare that we ourselves wish to rule nobody? We do not wish to be deceived, we wish always to be told nothing but the truth. And by this very fact, do we not declare that we ourselves do not wish to deceive anybody, that we promise to tell the truth, nothing but the truth, the whole truth? We do not wish to have the fruits of our labour stolen from us. And by that very fact, do we not declare that we respect the fruit of others’ labour?
By what right indeed can we demand that we should be treat in one fashin, reserving it to ourselves to treat others in a fashion entirely different?
…
By proclaiming ourselves anarchists, we proclaim beforehand that we disavow any way of treating others in which we should not like them to treat us; that we will no longer tolerate the inequality that has allowed some among us to use their strength, their cunning or their ability after a fasion in which it would annoy us to have such qualities used against ourselves.
Of course, what makes this so different than so much bourgeois rhetoric is the way in which the anarchists realise that this belief is tied to pratical solidarity (just like the Latin American liberation theologians). Thus, I quote from the essay, “Must we Occupy Ourselves with an Examination of the Ideal of a Future System?”:
The necessary and primary condition of any success whatsoever… is the full renunciation of any signs of nobility, the lowering of one’s material circumstances almost to the level of that milieu where one intends to act. And one must work, do actual work, which each worker and each peasant can understand precisely as work… A person unable to renounce these comforts when he [sic] sees the usefulness of such renunciation, is not capable of presistent, tedious labour, and never will be capable of persistent revolutionary activity. He might be the hero of the moment, but we have no need of heroes; in moments of passion, they appear of themselves, from amongst the most ordinary people. We need people who, once having come to a certain conviction, are for its sake ready to withstand all possible deprivations day in and day out. But activity amongst the peasants and workers demands precisely this rejection of every comfort of life, a lowering of one’s prosperity to a level attainable by the worker.
Of course, many people are unable to hear these words because they are afraid of the word ‘anarchy’ and have confused anarchy with ‘disorder’. Kropotkin addresses some of these fears in the essay, “Anarchist Communinism: It’s Basis and Principles”:
We know well that the word “anarchy” is also used in current phraseology as synonymous with disorder. But that meaning of “anarchy,” being a derived one, implies at least two suppositions. It implies, first, that wherever there is no government there is disorder; and it implies, moreover, that order due to a strong government and a strong police is always beneficial. Both implications, however, are anything but proved. There is plenty of order–we should say, of harmony–in many branches of human activity where the government, happily, does not interfere. As to the beneficial effects of order, the kind of order that reigned at Naples under the Bourbons surely was not preferable to some disorder started by Garibaldi; while the Protestants of this country will probably say that the good deal of disorder made by Luther was preferable, at any rate, to the order which reigned under the Pope.
Yet isn’t the anarchist vision one that is too ‘utopian’ and impossible to work out in real life, due to the fallen nature of humanity? Kropotkin reverses this challenge in “Anarchism: Its Philosophy and Ideal”:
Far from living in a world of visions and imagining men better than they are, we see them as they are; and that is why we affirm that the best of men is made essentially bad by the exercise of authority…
Ah, if men were those superior beings that the utopians of authority like to speak to us of, if we could close our eyes to reality and live like them in a world of dreams and illusions as to the superiority of those who think themselves called to power, perhaps we also should do like them…
All the science of governments, imagined by those who govern, is imbibed with these utopias. But we know men too well to dream such dreams. We have not two measures for the virtues of the governed and those of the governors; we know that we ourselves are not without faults and that the best of us would soon be corrupted by the exercise of power.
Another book I strongly recommend.
4. Oblomov by Ivan Goncharov.
This is Goncharov’s story of Oblomov, a member of the Russian gentry who has good intentions but never seems to get around to doing anything meaningful. Indeed, Oblomov is the superfluous man, and functions as a representative of Goncharov’s generation (as perceived by the author). It’s a decent story and one that should be rewritten for my generation.
Response to Hauerwas
[At the ‘Amidst the Powers’ conference, I was invited to issue a five minute response to Stanley Hauerwas’ plenary, which was on the topic of war, its concomitant sacrifices, and the Christian alternative. This is what I said.]
First, of all let me say thank-you to the organizers of this conference for providing me with the opportunity to respond to Dr. Hauerwas. Secondly, let me say thank-you to Dr. Hauerwas himself for presenting us with a lecture that honestly confronts the realities of our war-torn world, from the perspective of the Christian faith.
As I find myself largely in agreement with what Dr. Hauerwas has said, I would like to spend the bulk of my response proposing one possible way of filling out his understanding of how the existence and worship of the Church brings an end to war. I would like to propose that embodying God’s preferential option for and with the poor is a practice that reforms the habits of our imagination and offers us the moral equivalent of war, so that war becomes superfluous to the narration of our life together.
However, before I pursue this thesis, I feel that it might be useful to emphasise that Dr. Hauerwas’ remarks are just as relevant to those of us who live in Canada as they are to citizens of the United States. It is important to emphasise this point because, ever since Lester B. Pearson, Canadians have tended to view their international military exercises not as acts of war but as an essential element of peacekeeping. Thus, while we may view the US as a war-mongering nation, we have tended to view ourselves as a peace-loving people, engaging in peace-building activities around the world. Unfortunately, this view is entirely false. As has been well-documented by independent journalists, media critics, and various non-governmental organizations, the language of ‘peacekeeping’ is all too often an ideological gloss used by the Canadian government to disguise overt acts of aggression and war. Thus, for example, in 2004 when Canada was instrumental in overthrowing the democratically elected Haitian government of Jean-Bertrand Aristide (in order to continue a brutal class war against the people of Haiti) operation “Responsibility to Protect” (R2P) was created and Canadian soldiers were sent in with a UN peacekeeping force. Now “Responsibility to Protect” sounds a great deal more admirable than operations like “Desert Storm” or “Shock and Awe” but the actions taken and the end results are the same. The same should be noted of other Canadian military exercises – from the Balkans to the Horn of Africa, our so-called peacekeepers have have been used to exploit local conflicts in order to advance the interests of the Canadian government and various transnational corporations. These are the same interests that Canadian forces are serving in Afghanistan today. Therefore, when we residents of Canada listen to Dr. Hauerwas speak of the moral practice of war, we should be looking at ourselves and not at our neighbours to the South.
Having said that, I return to my suggestion that embodying the preferential option for and with the poor is the way in which the worship of the Church puts an end to war. Dr. Hauerwas has argued that the worshipping Church, existing as a social ethic, offers us an alternative to war and its concomitant sacrifices. This, I think, is an excellent point to make, but we must ask ourselves: how does the Church exist in this way? This is a question Dr. Hauerwas does not address in much detail, although he does touch upon the importance of being shaped by the liturgy and of living in a manner that is consistent with participation in the Eucharist. Again, another important point to make, but without filling out the concrete details of what it might look like to be shaped by the liturgy in general, and the Eucharist in particular, we risk continuing to live inadvertently contradictory and compartmentalised lives. Thus, while I’m sure that Dr. Hauerwas does not wish to divorce the spectacular from the real, or the spiritual from the political, the manner in which he addresses this topic risks allowing the listener to engage in this divorce and think that he or she is acting as an agent of peace by partaking of the body of Christ on Sunday – even though he or she goes on to support acts of war and violence simply by participating in middle-class life from Monday to Saturday – for war is not simply a force that gives us meaning, amongst other things it gives us the stolen resources and the bloodied but cheap goods upon which our daily lives depend.
Therefore, I would like to fill out Dr. Hauerwas’ conception of the worshipping Church as a social ethic be making explicit that this requires members of the Church to embody God’s preferential option with the poor. This, after all, is what true catholicity requires – the unity of the Church only takes place when the confessing members of Christ’s body (the churches) are united with the crucified members of Christ’s body (the poor). It is in this practice of concrete economic and political solidarity that the Church comes to embody a moral practice that is equal to the compelling, fascinating, and perversely beautiful moral practice of war.
Now there are many stories I could tell to illustrate this thesis – I could speak of acting as a human shield in front of a young drug dealer and the gunman hired to kill him, of giving the clothes off my back to a woman who was stripped naked by her pimp, of hosting sex workers at our home for dinner, and of allowing an old bank robber to find sanctuary on our couch – and all these things would try to express the intimate bond created amongst those who pursue this trajectory, not to mention the passion, beauty, and genuinely cruciform sacrifice to be found in such people and places. However, much like war veterans mentioned by Dr. Hauerwas, those who try to live this way, often find it difficult to speak of their experiences in normal, even Christian, communities. Such stories are too alien, too easily romanticised and perverted by both the teller and the listener, to mean much to those who do not share in them. Indeed, I suspect that the listener only comes to know the compelling nature of such stories, when he or she chooses to move into those narratives and personally embody them.
Therefore, I believe that Dr. Hauerwas’ plenary needs to be complimented with an invitation – come, taste and see that the Lord is good and to be found in the company of ‘the least of these’. For I know this much to be true: members of the Church cannot come to the table of the crucified Christ if they are not also sharing a table with the crucified people of today. To try and do so is, as Paul says, to eat and drink judgment upon ourselves.
Thank you very much.