Immanuel Kant once wrote that the Enlightenment could perhaps be summarised by a single imperative: Sapere aude! Think for yourself!
A few hundred years later, we would do well to consider whether or not thinking for ourselves is all it is cracked up to be. We all think for ourselves, and, consequently, we refuse to recognise the thoughts of others as more truthful, valid, or persuasive, than our own.
Enlightened Western culture set out to liberate itself from religion and Nietzsche proclaimed this liberation to be so complete that we even managed to kill God. Yet, I don't think that this is the case. Our liberation, our commitment to thinking for ourselves, has not turned us into atheists. It has turned us into pantheists. We are all gods in our own minds. I am the sole authority in my life. God is not dead — I have replaced him.
Of course, a return to pre-Enlightenment forms of domination is hardly appealing (although post-Enlightenment forms of domination are just as lacking in appeal). Thinking for ourselves is not a completely worthless exercise. Therefore, I simply want to suggest that we continue to think for ourselves but that we don't take our own thoughts too seriously. This corrective is especially important for those of us who are pursuing Christianity within the academy. We need to heed Paul's injunction in Romans 12: “do not be wise in your own estimation.”
So, I'll think for myself, but, when push comes to shove, I'll submit my thoughts to other authorities and allow them to correct me.
See no evil? [Loving Enemies]
During my time journeying with people on the margins I have known many people who have done horrible things. I have known, and been known by, crack dealers, pimps, pedophiles, rapists, torturers, and murderers. That’s a pretty horrible string of actions and titles.
But here’s the catch — of all the people I have known I have not been able to hate any of them. That is to say, I have learned to love every person I have met. Not because I have turned a blind eye to the things that they have done, but because I have seen something worth loving in each person. I have found it impossible to not show compassion to any of them — even though I tried hard to hate some of them at first. In all of these people I have caught a glimpse of somebody loved by God — despite the life-shattering violence they have experienced and the life-shattering violence they have inflicted on others. I have met broken people who have done evil things, but in all these relationships I have not met a single evil person. It is easy to call these people evil from a distance, but I challenge you to journey with them face to face and come to the same conclusions.
Furthermore, I think that this compassionate love is the way that Christians should respond to these people. After all, we are called to love even our enemies, and pray for those who persecute us. And this is premised upon the very character and actions of the Christian God. Here is a God who transforms enemies into friends, who loves so deeply that he loves and forgives even those who rejected him, mocked him, striped him, and crucified him. It is this, perhaps more than anything else, that sets the Christian God apart from all other gods. What other God was willing to undergo this humiliation? What other God takes evil seriously and still loves in a way that extends beyond evil, making evil impotent? As worshipers of this God, Christians are called to love even these people.
This is one of the reasons why I tend towards a hopeful universalism. If I, in all my fallenness, can love these people in my small way, does not God love them far more? If I am called to journey with them, to commit myself to loving even my enemies, and the enemies of my loved ones, is not God even more committed to this? It makes no sense for God to call us to love our enemies (because he loves his enemies) and then for God to go on to damn his enemies. It especially makes no sense when we come face to face with our enemies, and the enemies of our loved ones, and discover that there is something lovely within them. If I can see that within them, surely God can see far more. I suspect that I am only giving them a small taste of a far greater love. A love that is still to come. A love that will come when God comes down and heals all wounds, dries all tears, and makes all things new.
Question
Can somebody explain to me how putting a “Make Poverty History” banner on your blog helps to make poverty history?
The Need for Authorities
Only those who follow the church have a sure guarantee for the fact that, in their obedience to Christ, they have not really followed just their own know-it-all wisdom.
~ Hans Urs von Balthasar, The von Balthasar Reader
Or, to put it in a more Protestant manner:
It is better to submit to an authority that is sometimes wrong, than it is to submit to no authority whatsoever.
Charity as the Exchange of Consumer Goods and The Commodification of Homeless Youth
[W]hat has been absent for us is the affirmation of a possible apprehension of this world beyond that as a field of objects considered as pragmata.
~ George Grant, In Defense of America
In an essay entitled The Question Concerning Technology, Martin Heidegger argues that technology is far more than a mere tool used by people to accomplish certain tasks. Technology is actually a means of revelation (an “enframing”) that shapes how we see and understand the world. And the problem with technology is that it causes us to see things only in terms of their usefulness as means to certain ends (everything becomes a “standing-reserve”). Thus, as the quote from George Grant argues, things are only meaningful if they are useful, they are considered as “pragmata”. Consequently, in Technology and the Character of Contemporary Life, Albert Borgmann argues that we have transformed meaningful things into commodities. Things do not have any sort of transcendent being or inherent meaning, they are only meaningful to the extent that they can be used or consumed.
However, this enframing does not only impact the way people treat the world of objects outside of themselves. It also becomes the way in which people understand other people, and even the way in which people understand themselves. As a result of this enframing people are treated as commodities, as objects of exchange, as goods to be consumed — and people who cannot be fit into this grid are further dehumanised and ostracised. Consider the crisis of meaning involved in our interactions with the handicapped and with seniors. Consider the crisis of meaning undergone by those who become terminally ill.
I believe that this reduction of people to goods within an ever increasing mentality of consumption has had a significant and negative impact upon how we journey with homeless youth. There are two consequences that I want to highlight: (1) the way in which society treats charity as an exchange of goods; and (2) the way in which social service agencies treat homeless youth as commodities. Sadly, Christians are just as implicit in all this as people of other faiths. So let me draw out each of these consequences a little.
1. Charity as the Exchange of Consumer Goods
Within modern technological and capitalist societies, charity is primarily understood as donating money to certain causes. Of course this is already problematic from a Christian perspective. Jesus calls us to not only give alms, but to also clothe the naked, feed the hungry, visit those in prison, and invite strangers into our homes. Yet somehow the Church has decided it would be best to outsource these activities to homeless shelters, soup kitchens, and social workers. No wonder the Western Church is in crisis. When we outsource activities that are so central to our identity we can hardly go on living Christianly in other areas. We find the demands of Christianity too demanding, so we pay others to act Christianly for us. And it is this that we call charity.
But our charity is even worse than this. Because we have such a broad selection of charities to choose from, we look for the charity that will give us the most bang for our buck. We want to give money to successful charities, we want to give our money to a shelter that is getting kids off of the streets, off of drugs, and into the workforce — we don’t want to waste our money on an agency that isn’t very good at those things. This decision making process makes charity into the exchange of goods. We do not give money freely, we expect something in return. This is why social service agencies regularly put together booklets of stories for donors. They provide us with money and we provide them with pictures and success stories “from the front-lines” and, voila, the exchange of goods is complete. Sad stories, stories of failure or loss, are deliberately edited out, so we are left with a satisfying, but essentially fictional, exchange.
2. The Commodification of Homeless Youth
This fictionality then goes on to impact the way homeless youth are generally treated in social service agencies. Homeless youth are treated as commodities, not as persons. Youth are put onto sobriety plans, job plans, and housing plans. Should such plans be too difficult for them, they are expelled from the program and sent back onto the street. And this is done because donors won’t provide money for agencies that aren’t getting kids clean and sober, getting kids jobs, and getting kids housed. Thus, youth that cannot be turned into commodities in this exchange are kicked out of the program. Unfortunately, this means that far more kids are kicked back on to the street than are housed. This is so because these kids generally need a lot more than a shelter bed and a plan.
These kids need to be treated as persons, loved as persons, and respected as persons. And that means we should engage with them with humility, following Christ’s model of suffering love, vulnerability, and helplessness. This means journeying with kids in the midst of their addictions, loving them in the midst of their violence, and suffering with them in the midst of their brokenness. And, if we are committed to these things, chances are we’ll have trouble convincing donors that we are “successful” as an agency. So we don’t commit to these things.
Becoming Jesus
The Spirit is given so that we ordinary mortals can become, in a measure, what Jesus himself was: part of God's future arriving in the present; a place where heaven and earth meet; the means of God's kingdom going ahead. The Spirit is given, in fact, so that the church can share in the life and continuing work of Jesus himself.
~ N.T. Wright, Simply Christian
When this is the nature of our faith and of our being in Christ how can we not be overwhelmed by both wonder and longing?
Another Child is Lost
The good news is that he came back.
Three days without sleeping, bingeing on crack, and reeking of sweat and smoke and piss.
But he came back.
And I had to tell him that he is no longer welcome here. The powers that be have decided that he isn’t following his plan adequately, so he has to go. We’re so glad you came back… now pack your bags and get out of here. It makes no sense to me. No sense at all. Yet he is the third youth that we’ve treated this way in as many weeks. And it breaks my heart.
But I’m glad that I was the one who told him. Because I’m letting him go to his room. I’m letting him take a shower and sleep here for one more day. I’m letting him know, as best as I can, that he is beloved, that he has a hard battle ahead of him but that the odds are not insurmountable, and there are people here that are committed to him.
I give him a hug and tell him there’s hope and he stuffs his hands in his pockets and heads to his room.
It’s hard to look into the eyes of a person who has just been shattered. It’s hard to stare hopelessness, shame, and brokenness in the face. But I have no choice. Again and again I sit and gaze upon the sufferings of those I love, knowing full well that I cannot heal their wounds or wipe away their tears. So I direct their cries to God and wonder how long we have to endure these things before our groans reach heaven and cause God to remember how much he abhors injustice and slavery.
So, here it is, God. Another groan, another cry. How long until you will see, hear, remember and come down?
Elijah mocks Baal for not hearing the groans of those who seek him. Perhaps Baal is asleep, perhaps he’s indisposed. But the Lord God is not like Baal, or so Elijah tells us. The Lord God hears and answers. The Lord God comes down.
And so, O Lord, I wonder why it seems like you are playing the role of Baal. Once again my prayers go unanswered and another child is lost.
But I keep on groaning to you anyway. I keep on praying and crying out. I keep on declaring that you, Lord God, are the Lord of all, full of mercy and abounding in love. I know that you have nothing in common with Baal even though I don’t understand the difference sometimes. Because, honestly, sometimes I don’t know if I need to repent because I have accused you, or ask you to repent because you stand by and do nothing for so many, even though we beg you to do something. And so, until you come, I will speak, I will groan, I will cry out. I will not put my hand over my mouth.
With Christ with the World
“It isn't so much that Jesus laughed at the world, or wept at the world. He was celebrating with the new world that was beginning to be born, the world in which all that was good and lovely would triumph over evil and misery. He was sorrowing with the world the way it was, the world of violence and injustice and tragedy which he and the people he met knew well.
From the very beginning, two thousand years ago, the followers of Jesus have always maintained that he took the tears of the world and made them his own, carrying them all the way to his cruel and unjust death to carry out God's rescue operation; and that he took the joy of the world and brought it to new birth as he rose from the dead and thereby launched God's new creation.”
~ N.T. Wright, Simply Christian: Why Christianity Makes Sense
Jesus was, and is, “God with us”. This is not a God who comes down while still maintaining a form of detachment. This is not a God so removed from us that he is incapable of sharing our joys and sorrows. No, this is God with us. This is God weeping. This is God laughing. This is God bleeding. This is God dying. And this is God overcoming death and dying, in order to bring about new life and provide us with the assurance that one day all wounds will be healed and all tears will be dried.
And we too, the people of God, should be “God with others”. We have been baptised into the death and resurrection of Christ and, in Christ and with the Spirit of the new age within us, we are elevated beyond our own joys and sorrows and now carry the joys and sorrows of those around us in a new way. We have not been saved from the world, we have been saved for the world. We share the joy of the kingdom, but we also carry the sorrows of those who suffer violence, injustice, and tragedy.
In this regard it is worth noting how our baptism is similar to the baptism of Christ. Theologians and biblical scholars have often gone to great lengths to distinguish between these baptisms. Certainly there are differences. Christ's baptism was part of his salvific incarnation by which he identified with sinners in order to save them. Our baptism is an act of identification with Christ, by which we proclaim that sin no longer has a hold on us. Christ was baptised to take on sin, we are baptised to be saved from sin. Yet this must be made clear: we are not saved from sin so that we can then be elevated beyond sin. We are saved from sin so that we can, like Christ, begin to enter into the sins of others and carry the burdens of others' sins in a redemptive manner. Thus, we are baptised in order to be in Christ, but, once in Christ, we also go on to be with the world as Christ was with the world. Knowing the joys and sorrows of Christ, we also laugh and cry with those around us. We suffer and die with them while simultaneously proclaiming that the kingdom of God is among us and revealing the new creation as it bursts forth in the present.
The Priesthood of all Believers
On of the basic principles of Protestantism (over against Roman Catholicism) is the affirmation of the priesthood of all believers. The Reformers stressed this point especially in light of the sacrament of penance and absolution. They declared that all believers have the authority to proclaim the forgiveness of sins. One did not need to go to a priest to be absolved. One could go to a brother or sister in the body of Christ, confess that one had sinned, and receive forgiveness.
There are two reasons why I find it especially interesting that this doctrine was so emphatically upheld in relation to forgiveness. These reasons are rooted within an odd paradox that is present in contemporary North American Protestantism.
One the one hand, the proclamation of forgiveness is noticeably absent. Who among us has felt that they could go to anybody and say,”Your sins are forgiven”? Such a declaration seems either exceedingly presumptuous, or exceedingly ignorant, to our ears — after all, only God is the judge of human hearts, and who am I say proclaim forgiveness for sins not committed against me?
On the other hand, there is an overabundance of assumed forgiveness. That is to say, each individual believer has become an expert in forgiving himself or herself. I do not need to confess my sins to a priest, nor do I need to confess my sins to any other person. I can confess my sins to God in the privacy of my own heart, and claim his forgiveness as my own. So, although I cannot say to anybody else, “Your sins are forgiven,” I can, without hesitation, think to myself, “My sins are forgiven”.
Returning to the Reformers understanding of the priesthood of all believers helps us to find our way out of this problematic situation. On the one hand we gain the boldness and the folly to proclaim forgiveness to others. On the other hand, we learn the humility that requires us to go to others and confess our sins to them. These things (confession, and proclaiming forgiveness) are at the heart of Christian living, and what it means to exist as the Church in, and for, the world. We must, once again, recover their significance.
Sure of God
“Paul's 'we do not know how to pray as we ought' has probably never been as relevant as it is today… The images of the world which in former times spoke of God have become obscure ciphers and riddles, the words of scripture have been whittled away by rationalistic skeptics, human hearts have been so crushed and trampled on in this age of the robot that they are no longer sure that contemplation is possible. Prayer finds them basically full of doubt, insecurity and despair; they creep along close to the ground and dare not stand upright. They feel drawn to every negative act; ready not only to doubt God but also to resist him, perhaps even to hate him for letting the world carry on as it does, for being so high and aloof, above the need to intervene. For he is so sure of himself that he can expose his children to fear and darkness in this vast, unbounded universe, giving them no hope but nothingness, no consolation but the certainty of death… Nowadays the temptation to say No, to yield to weariness, is very strong.”
~ Hans Urs von Balthasar, Prayer
“Thus, while for the short time we wander away from God, Christ stands in our midst to lead us little by little to a firm union with God.”
~ John Calvin, Institutes
Yes, the temptation to grow weary and say No is very strong. I suppose I have been drawn to 'every negative act', but, in my own defense, I was drawn there because of my love for the people surrounded by those actions. When one journeys with those on the margins of society such acts are inescapable. And, being surrounded by such things day after day — such things as rape, torture, murder, suicide, oppression, and sickness — I have doubted God, I have resisted God, and, although I have never hated God, I have often raged against him. I have crept along close to the ground, not daring to stand upright, for I have tried that once before, and was only beaten back down again. Sometimes it has been all I could do to just creep forward; it was all I could do to not stand still, to not turn around, to not collapse under it all.
And yet…
And yet Balthasar tells us that, somehow, God is so sure of himself that he can expose his beloved ones to fear and darkness, nothingness and death. I cannot help but pause at the thought of something so terrible and yet so comforting. Perhaps we need to learn to stand knowing that our beloved will not escape the darkness. Perhaps we need to learn to surrender our beloved ones to nothingness and death. Instead of constantly trying to draw others back from suffering, from sorrow, and from sickness, maybe we need to learn to confidently walk with them into suffering, into sorrow, and into sickness. We must learn to be sure of God in the same way that God is sure of himself. I wonder how that would change things. Perhaps then we would not bring a message that proclaims, “Hold on, God will come to save you” but rather will proclaim, “God is already here with you. In this hell Christ is beside you and he has already saved you.” I don't know. What I do know is that, when we are sure of God as he is sure of himself, we will then know how to intercede for those who are scattered, and slaughtered, like sheep without a shepherd.