Everett's warnings especially confused me, because I knew he wouldn't lie, but he was so full of anger and hate this his truths just didn't feel true.
~ Irwin, in The Brothers K by David James Duncan
So the question becomes one of truth-telling — or, more accurately, the possibility for a truth told to be received and accepted by any given audience. Must truths be free of anger in order for them to “feel true”? Surely there is a place for anger in truth-telling; after all, anger is often but a manifestation of broken-heartedness. And how can some truths not break our hearts? How can I speak of my people — and what is done to them — without sorrow, and anger, and hope, and delight all intermingled? Must truths told in such a way be rejected because of how they feel? And if they are rejected what hope do we have? For this is the only way that truth can be told truthfully.
I think that this might be why the prophets — those miserable tellers of truth — often have the paradoxical commission of summoning the people to return to the ways of YHWH and of hardening the hearts of the people (even though the prophet will also be broken in that process).
Introductory Reading List
I’ve recently been reading a series of bloggers that have been posting what they consider to be “essential” introductory reading for people who want to enter into theological studies. So, I thought I would post a list of my own and, to the best of my ability, I tried to keep it short and easily readable.
1. Is There Meaning In This Text? by Kevin J. VanHoozer. [Hermeneutics]
2. Christian Origins and the Question of God: Part I (The New Testament and the People of God) and Part II (Jesus and the Victory of God) by N.T. Wright. [NT Intro/Gospels]
3. The Theology of Paul the Apostle by James D.G. Dunn. [Paul]
4. Theology of the Old Testament by Walter Brueggemann. [OT]
5. The Nature of Doctrine by George Lindbeck. [Intro to Theology]
6. The Trinity and the Kingdom by Jurgen Moltmann. [Trinity/Doctrine of God]
7. The Shape of the Church to Come by Karl Rahner. [Ecclesiology]
8. On Being a Christian by Hans Kung. [Anthropology?]
9. The Peaceable Kingdom by Stanley Hauerwas. [Ethics]
10. The Story of Christianity by Justo Gonzalez. [History]
Intimacy in Forsakenness II
she’s not quite as empty
when he moves inside her
puts cash in her pocket
and a point in her arm
he’s not quite so helpless
when he is on top
and she does what he says
to get what he has
and we’re not really thinking
we’re just barely surviving
my friends and my lovers
are all motherfuckers
and who has time to give a damn
yeah who has the time
and why should it matter
to me
it’s fullness and power
it’s a happy disease
it’s a picture of us
unsure if we’re dreaming
it’s the lie that they tell us
that each life is worth living
that each action has meaning
but not these no not these
and we’re not really thinking
we’re just barely surviving
my friends and my lovers
are all motherfuckers
and who has time to give a damn
yeah who has the time
and why should it matter
to me
whether a light that’s too bright
or a darkness too deep
i will place myself here
and not look away
no don’t look away
although it might blind you
don’t look away
though there’s nothing to see
don’t look away
Intimacy in Forsakenness
There are legitimate experiences of absence within this ever-present world of God's grace, but they are forms and modes of love. Such were the experiences of the prophets of the Old Covenant, of the Son of God on the cross and in the darkness of his descent into hell; such are the experiences of all those who, in their several vocations, follow the Son. These are the redemptive paths of love as it traces the foot-steps of sinners in order to catch up with them and bring them home.
~ Hans Urs von Balthasar
Balthasar neatly sums up what I have been trying to say for the last few years now. Yes, godforsakenness is very real — even as an experience of the people of God. But, thanks to the victory won by Christ on the cross, and to the presence of the eschatological Spirit, Christians transform forsakenness into intimacy. We have been saved from hell so that we can now descend freely into the depths of hell to bring God to those who have rejected him. There is such a thing as intimacy in forsakenness — and we are to be the living proof of that.
A Few Eclectic Thoughts…
1. I've been thinking about how Christians that go from the West to the two-thirds world are often struck by the generosity of the people who live there. Here are people who have only enough for each day and yet they are willing to share the only food they have, to part with whatever little items they might own, etc. It is a humbling experience for wealthy Christians who are inclined to horde and accumulate material goods, as well it should be. However, I've also been thinking about how the same type of hospitality exists among communities of homeless drug-users in the inner-city. These are people who have nothing but the clothes on their backs. Yet whenever they get enough for a point of heroin or a $5 crack rock they don't hesitate to share it with their friends. Literally the only thing they have, and the only thing that gives them any sense of joy or peace or ability to survive, and many of them don't even think twice about sharing. This too should humble us.
2. I was watching The Shawshank Redemption the other day while I was reading and this line jumped out at me — “The walls here… at first you hate them, and then you depend on them”. The inmates were talking about how a person gets institutionalised so that they depend on the structures of prison to such a degree that they cannot function outside of it. So that got me thinking about fellows that I knew from the shelter in Toronto that had been institutionalised, but then I started thinking about how the disciplines and “walls” of the Church should perhaps function in this way for Christians. Maybe we too should be institutionalised to the Church so that we cannot survive apart from her. Besides, I think we are only fooling ourselves when we think we can survive apart from her. So should we be institutionalised to the Church? What would that look like? My oh my, how my thinking has changed in the last few years.
3. Another line jumped out at me the other day, this time from an Ani DiFranco song. Ani sings this: “I may never change the entire fucking world, but I can be the million that you'll never make”. Now Ani's singing about not selling out to the man (and good for her for taking that stand) but I got thinking about how Christians would benefit if they adopted a similar attitude. We are continually trying to change “the entire fucking world” and so we try to maximise our efficiency and our profits. However, I wonder if following Jesus on the road of the cross means having an entirely different attitude, one that doesn't seek to “fix” everything by adopting a Western paradigm of efficiency. Maybe we are far more effective if we embrace powerlessness…
January Books
Well now, an interesting month. Lots of reading for class but I’m still managing to read a few books.
1. The Last Word: Beyond the Bible Wars to a New Understanding of the Authority of Scripture by N.T. Wright. This is a great, short, and very readable work. Tom traces the history of hermeneutics, re-examines the Wesleyan quadrilateral (which argues that interpretation takes places through four elements: Scripture, tradition, reason, and experience), and argues for an understanding of Scripture’s authority rooted in a narrative approach. Scripture is authoritative because it tells us the story that shapes our identity. It reveals the previous acts of the play, and also tells us the ending of the play, thereby providing the bookends of our improvisation within this act of the play. Bravo, Tom! This book is excellent.
2. Enchiridion on Faith, Hope, and Love by St. Augustine. This little handbook is Augustine’s attempt to explain Christian worship through the lenses of the three central virtues of (surprise, surprise) faith, hope, and love. It is in this work that Augustine lays out his view of evil as the absence of good — a view that I have found to be especially convincing over the years. This approach allows good to exist apart from evil but requires goodness to always be present for evil to exist. I like it! I actually really enjoyed this book and Augustine has been growing on me lately. I used to associate him with Constantinianism but, thanks to some other authors, I’m beginning to see him in a new light.
3. After Christendom: How the Church is to Behave If Freedom, Justice, and a Christian Nation Are Bad Ideas by Stanley Hauerwas. I love Hauerwas, I love his books, and this one is no exception. Here he provides some of the rational for his argument in Resident Aliens, and he argues that true transformation is created through the disciplines of the Church, which is the only locus of salvation.
4. Technopoly: The Surrender of Culture to Technology by Neil Postman. This is my second time reading this book (I have to review it for class) and I must say that I like Postman quite a lot. Within this book he argues that technology has come to play such a role in our society that all other things that used to provide us with meaning (politics, religion, philosophy) have become subservient to technology or have just disappeared from the picture altogether. Postman examines how all technologies have certain implicit biases that impact our culture, our ways of thinking, and our world-views.
5. Bobos in Paradise: The New Upper Class and How They Got There by David Brooks. This is a great book, an excellent examination of contemporary North American culture. Brooks examines how the bourgeoisie have blended with the bohemians to create a new ruling class — the bobos. These bobos now guide society and set the boundaries for appropriate language, behaviour, and attitudes. This has serious implications for business life, intellectual life, pleasure, spiritual life, and politics — and Brooks examines all of these. This book is recommended reading.
6. Dialogue with God: Opening the door to two-way prayer by Mark and Patti Virkler. This was one of the worst books I’ve read in a long time (I had to read it for class). While there is some useful, basic, practical ideas here to aid in one’s prayer life, much of what the author says borders on Montanism, and some of it is just plain idiocy (like his section on authority). Sigh. I really want to embrace more of the charismatic movement but it’s hard to when these are the books they are writing. Don’t read this book.
7. The Way to Language by Martin Heidegger. Well, a dense little booklet but quite intriguing since I’m getting more and more into linguistics. Heidegger argues that the essence of man [sic] consists in language, which is a form of presencing. Presencing is “saying” [Sagen] not just “speaking” for sometimes it is accomplished through silences. Thus saying is showing [Zeigen] , or letting something appear. Language as saying is pointing, and this pointing is, therefore, preceded by a thing’s letting itself be shown. Thus, we do not only speak language, but we speak out of it, and are only capable of doing so because we have listened to it. Thus, speech, as listening to language, is reiterating the saying we have heard. That means that we can only say as much as our own essence has been granted into the saying. Therefore, the showing of saying is owning — propriating. Yet we only understand if we too are propriated by language. Therefore, our saying is always relational. So is that all clear as mud? I actually think this essay, coupled with Lindbeck’s work on religion as language, has huge implications for theology and the revelation of God in the Word. For example, if Heidegger is right, this would be a strong support for the argument that only Christians can do Christian theology. Of course, there are several other implications but I want to sit on this for awhile.
8. Foucault’s Pendulum by Umberto Eco. This was quite a fun book, and I actually enjoyed it more than In the Name of the Rose. Foucault has the ability to reveal the playful nature of serious subjects and I rather enjoy that — just like I enjoy his quest for meaning, even if I have a very different approach.
9. Siddhartha by Herman Hesse. This was my first time reading Hesse and I rather enjoyed his stark, basic style of writing. Nothing too profound in this book — sort of a stock story of Buddhist Enlightenment, but it was decent enough to make me want to read another of his books… perhaps Narcissus and Goldmund…
10. Postsecret: Extraordinary Confessions from Ordinary Lives compiled by Frank Warren. This is a compilation of postcards that Warren has received from strangers who have decided to tell him secrets that they have told nobody else. Poignant, beautiful, heart-breaking, and humourous. Check out the website which is updated weekly — www.postsecret.blogspot.com.
Hmmm, looks like my reviews are getting a little better. Hooray!
Identity Question II
Well, I had some interesting responses to the identity question. Some people got more profound than I expected. I was looking for “I am…” statements but instead I got some profound reflections on self, others, desires, etc. So, let me respond to a few of those before I jot down my “I am…” statement.
Chris argues that we are defined by our desires (and what do you desire, Chris?), Jord argues that we are defined by how we want others to perceive us (and how do you want others to perceive you, Jord?), and Robin basically argues for a more communal understanding of identity. We are not so much identified as individuals as we are by the culture in which we live.
Now all of these answers are good, and contain an element of truth, but I don't think that they entirely hit the nail on the head. I think all three of these answers are somewhat problematic because they suggest that our identity is merely a swirl of a number of characteristics with nothing tangible at the core. Thus, in response to Chris, I would say that I desire several things, so what is central to my identity? The thing that I desire the most? The fact that I desire? In response to Jord, I would say that I want people to see me as a number of different things. Which is central? And in response to Robin, I would argue that I take on a number of characteristics from culture (which you mention). Which is central?. All of these answers, lacking a centre, leave my identity as a somewhat arbitrary, intangible thing.
Therefore, in beginning to respond to the identity question, I want to argue that identity is something that is given to us, not something that we create ourselves. However, contra Robin (who argues culture gives us our identity), and contra Jord (who [sort of] argues that others give us our identity), I want to argue that identity is given to us by God. What is central to me is how God chooses to identify me. Jamie gets close to this when he defines himself as “a worshipper” but I think this is still too vague. My answer is closest to Eric's — who, alas, is still having trouble seeing himself through God's lenses. Understandably so though since I think all of us, especially Evangelicals, struggle with that. So the question of who I am is not ultimately about what I want, or how others see me, but how God defines me.
So how does God see me? Well, if I had to sum it up in one sentence, I think that I would say that I am a Spirit-filled member of the Body of Christ and a beloved child of God.
Thoughts?
Identity Question
Well, I'm not too sure how many people are still reading this since I've been rather tardy in the blog-world as of late. However, I have a question I would like to ask anybody that still reads this. I've been thinking quite about about how I define myself (or, to phrase that more accurately, how I am defined) and I've narrowed it down to a single sentence that I think encapsulates my identity. So here's the deal, I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Tell me, in one sentence, how you are defined. Please?
Bobos, Montanists, and Impotent Lovers: A Response
[This is an article I wrote in response to another article in the Regent paper.]
“All we can do with the Bible, if postmodernity is left in charge, is to play with such texts as give us pleasure, and issue warnings against those that give pain to ourselves or to others who attract our (usually selective) sympathy.”
~ N.T. Wright
It was with a sense of sadness that I read “Gender Adventures in Bible Land” by Sarah and Brian Marek. I can empathise with their struggle with traditional interpretations of Scripture that subordinate women – and I wholeheartedly agree with them that Christians must spend their time identifying with the victims of religion and society. Yet this is precisely why their article saddened me. I fear that the Marek’s culturally-conditioned approach to Scripture is one that ultimately makes their compassion impotent.
The cultural-conditioning that I suspect underlies this article is a “bobo” mentality. In his book, Bobos in Paradise, David Brooks explains that “bobos” are an amalgamation of the bohemians and the bourgeoisie – they are free-spirits who work for corporations, wealthy people who look down their noses at materialism, and sellers of goods who are not sell-outs. As the new ruling class bobos create the social codes and boundaries that structure our national lives and this has implications for everything, including spirituality. Thus, borrowing a term from Rabbi Winkler, Brooks calls bobo spirituality “Flexidoxy”. As proponents of Flexidoxy, bobos mix freedom and flexibility with rigour and orthodoxy. One of the major consequences of this approach is that bobos are no longer willing to recognise spiritual authorities. Bobos feel that it is important to be a part of a faith community but are not interested is any form of external authority. Thus, Flexidoxy is orthodoxy without obedience, morality divorced from any sort of established divine revelation.
The Marek’s article illustrates how this bobo mentality has influenced Christianity. They assert that Scripture is not an authority we are to wrestle with. We can simply “wink at Paul”, “turn the page”, and “disagree with some things written in an important [but far from authoritative] book”. Similarly, tradition is not something we need to come to grips with. We can simply “step outside” of it. This is the condescension of Flexidox Christianity – more temperamental than creedal, and more decent than saintly. The Marek’s, like most bobos, seem to have made themselves the sole spiritual authorities in their own lives. Of course, I’m sure that they would quickly reply that God is the sole spiritual authority in their lives but it seems that they are the one’s who have the authoritative revelation of what God approves of, and what God disapproves of. Thus, the Marek’s can be confident of the steps they have taken because they are possessed by the Spirit of God and “have felt God smiling in affirmation”.
However, the Marek’s article also reveals just how often a bobo-spirituality drifts into an old heresy. For, as Roger Olson writes in The Story of Christian Theology, whenever personal revelation from the Spirit is elevated to a level higher than Scripture we are, once again, confronted by Montanism. The early Church refused to give credibility to Montanus’ assertion that, due to the presence of the Spirit in his life, he possessed a greater authority than the Scriptures or the apostolic writings – and the contemporary Church would do well to learn from this. Indeed, it is essential that contemporary Christians learn to recognise authorities outside themselves. If we do not do so we will inevitably end up making God in our own image – instead of being transformed into the image of God. Faithfulness requires me to worship a God that I will sometimes disagree with. If I worship a God that ever only agrees with me than I am only worshipping my own reflection – which rarely stops “smiling in affirmation” whenever I look in the mirror. My point here is not to argue for a particular hermeneutic, but rather to emphasise that we must continue to struggle seriously with Scripture and tradition and this means that times will arise when we will have to submit to them even when we disagree with them.
Yet the most saddening element of the Marek’s article is the fact that at least part of the reason why the Marek’s have taken this approach to Scripture and tradition is because of their love for those who have been wounded by the Church and society. This is tragic because, by throwing aside all external Christian authorities, the Marek’s can offer little to those with whom they are seeking to journey (I suspect that this too is the result of a culturally-conditioned understanding of love and solidarity). Salvific transformation is found within the apostolic Church and the Word of God and, apart from those things, the love that I, the Marek’s, or anybody else, offers is incapable of making anything new. When we reject Scripture and tradition we end up perpetuating the very cycles of exile that our love seeks to overcome. Only when we are rooted in Scripture and tradition can we truly come alongside of the marginalised as Spirit-filled representatives of Christ. And if we are rooted in Scripture and tradition we must come alongside of the marginalised and declare the forgiveness of sins and the end of exile.
Whose selfishness? Whose fear?
There are two statements I have heard over and over that I often question. One is in relation to suicide, the other in relation to terrorism.
I have often heard it said that suicide is the supreme act of selfishness. The person who kills himself or herself escapes suffering — but at the cost of imposing suffering on his or her loved ones. How horribly self-indulgent!
Of course, the more I think about this the less I am convinced. It seems to me that this argument does more to reveal our own perpetual selfishness. A person who is driven to suicide has often been isolated and abandoned. He or she has been left alone in the midst of his or her suffering and we have been too self-absorbed to share in that. And so when a suicide occurs we would rather turn the argument around and place our own selfishness on the shoulders of the dead person. The fact that we object so strongly to the suffering that the death causes us only further reveals how committed we are to self-gratification. To suggest that the person who has killed himself or herself was acting selfishly only highlights our inability to empathise.
The second statement that strikes me as odd is the assertion that suicide bombings are acts of cowardice. I simply cannot see how this can be true given state definitions of heroism and courage. I suspect that this is just another example of how terrorism causes us to feel afraid and so we simply try to reverse the tables by calling our “enemies” cowards. The bombers who, practically unarmed, infiltrated a hostile country and flew planes into buildings were cowards but somehow our boys, decked out in body armour gunning down civilians, are heroes. It makes no sense to me.