Following Christ conference

We'll be there!

Whatever happened to the courtesy wave?

Zipping westbound on I-94 today, I slowed slightly to let a signalling Camry in to my lane of traffic. No great sacrifice, I'll grant you. Still, I watched the driver as he/she entered and settled into "my" lane, thinking there might be some acknowledgement for my politeness. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Of course, I'm one of those people who, having had this experience, then begins to ruminate upon it. First, I thought about how often I give courtesy waves. I'll bet, on an average week, I give anywhere from three to 10 courtesy waves. For me, it's nearly a given whenever I'm merging onto a busy interstate, which accounts for at least half of the occurrences. Then there's the awkward "who-was-here-first?"-s at stop-sign controlled intersections, the driver who stops the line-up of traffic to allow me to turn in front of them, and just generally anytime a driver shows even a small degree of courtesy (hence the name).

But I've noticed lately that, for all the courtesy waves I give, I receive very, very few. In fact, I can't remember the last time I got one...and I'd classify myself as a fairly courteous driver. That said, I think I'm going to go on a hunt--a hunt for the courtesy wave. I wonder how many I can "obtain" by, say, Thanksgiving? Watch this space. I'll keep count.

Now, if I was the cynical type, I might suggest that this dearth in courtesy waves is just one small, symptomatic factor of the ever-growing disease of individualism, self-centeredness, and entitlement pervasive in our American society today. But rather than ranting about that, let me draw a life-analogy...

In a way, traffic patterns around metropolitan areas are fair examples of how cooperation and interdependence work. Out on the highways, we all have similar basic goals (to get where we're going) and similar basic values (to travel expediently, if not speedily; not to have an accident). By virtue of the planning of the Department of Transportation, we are forced to share the same roadways, hence interdependence is not simply an option, it is, for all intents and purposes, a given. We depend on other drivers to pay attention (hang up and drive!) enough to avoid accidents that will slow us all down, to keep up with the car in front of them, to generally obey all the traffic laws, and yes, even to show courtesy now and again. While we recognize that there are some instances where legitimate emergencies (recognized by their sirens and flashing lights) will demand us to slow and pull over, we justly feel wronged when someone disregards the unwritten (and written) "codes" and obtrusively drives on the shoulder, butts in line, or otherwise puts him/herself above the cooperative spirit of the highway. It's when this spirit of self first dominates and exceeds the cooperative spirit that the whole system--not just a few inconvenienced drivers--begins to erode.

In short, on the highway, we depend on one another to restrain our self-centeredness in order to keep the system working best for all involved. We ought to simply expect that we cannot drive 90 mph, rapidly switching between lanes--not just because it's illegal, but because as drivers, we depend on other drivers not doing the same.

It occurs to me that while this analogy may be helpful in terms of contributing to a sense of social ethic, it falls far short of the demands of Christ. As the Church, we are bound to live our lives in sacrificial love (Mt. 22:36-40, pars.; Jn. 15:12-13), putting the needs of others before our own (Php. 2:1f.). In this is love perfected, the putting to death of the self, being made regenerate in the likeness of Christ, and subsequently living a life of humility, kindness, gentleness, faith, and goodness, in deference to others. It's a tall order, one which far surpasses our meager abilities. Hence, in life, we must continually turn to, acknowledge our utter dependence upon, and live our lives in surrender to our loving Heavenly Father.

On the highway, I'll settle for a courtesy wave.



For now.

An Historic Moment

I offer my congratulations to Barack Obama on being elected the 44th President of these United States. I also offer my prayers for him--that he may lead, enriched by the godly virtues of love, wisdom, and grace, duly seeking justice and serving truth--and for his family.

There is no doubt that this is an historic moment in the history of our nation, and indeed, the world, as an African American has become our President-elect. Whilst our long war to end oppression, prejudice, and racism is far from over, the results of this election has dealt a hitherto unparalleled, staggering blow to these enemies. For that, at least, we should all be able to be grateful.

A New Freedom

I've been reading some stuff lately that continues to reinforce my idea that modernistic individualism has run rampant in our society, particularly evidenced by the substance and meaning we attach to that all-surpassing term, "Freedom".

My assigned reading from Anselm's Cur Deus Homo has led me to reflect on what necessity means for God (Anselm would argue that the only operative force on God is his own volition...hence nothing can be presumed to be a necessity for God, see CDH, ii, 17/18). Perhaps the wise, obedient, and "fitting" exercise of our human wills is another feature of our being created in the imago Dei. On the flip side, when we make decisions which serve our misguided senses of self-importance, entitlement, and ultimate autonomy, we essentially live into the very basis of our (and Adam's) sin.

Still, it seems that a popular, cultural definition of freedom panders to just this end: freedom is being able to do/choose what I want. And, of course, our corrupted desires are often molded and shaped most by self-benefit, pleasure, comfort, etc. Simplifying the equation, then, we reach the point that freedom is nothing restricting me from attaining those goods and circumstances which provide me with pleasure, comfort, etc.

Pope Benedict XVI has recently maintained that this assumption is a corruption of true freedom. " 'A redefinition of the meaning of liberty' is needed, the Holy Father said, noting that it is more and more conceived as an 'untouchable right of the individual' while the 'importance of its divine origins and communitarian dimension' are ignored. 'According to this interpretation, an individual alone can decide and choose the physiognomy, characteristics and finality of life, death and marriage,' he added. But, 'true liberty is founded and developed ultimately in God. It is a gift that is possible to welcome as a seed and to make it mature responsibly so as to truly enrich the person and society.' " (see http://www.zenit.org/article-24113?l=english)

Indeed, the Church must define liberty, freedom--and live it out--in God. It's no coincidence that self-serving autonomy flies in the face of the two greatest commandments. True freedom, rather, is not freedom from all captivity, but it is captivity to the right master (Rom. 6:15ff; cf. 2 Cor. 3:17; Gal. 5:1, 13; 1 Pet. 2:16). The hard part? Sometimes the freedom given by God doesn't feel good. Sometimes it doesn't serve my needs (read: wants).

But it is of great importance that we understand that our happiness, our ultimate fulfilment as human beings, our salvation depends on something outside ourselves. Given, that, it may even be in the interest of our happiness to accept circumstances which are much less than pleasurable, than comfortable. As Anselm put it, "...it is not unhappiness to take upon oneself a discomfort willingly, out of wisdom, not out of necessity" (CDH, ii, 12).

Freedom is decidedly not captivity to our own desires. Freedom is abandonment of our bodies and minds (Rom. 12:1-2), of our lives and ourselves (Mark 8:34-38) to the mastery of Christ, of God. Only the One who gave us life in the beginning can restore it to us once again.

Kýrie, eléison.

Political Disillusionment ...and Baseball

I enjoy baseball. Living in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area, I follow the Minnesota Twins. I’m not exactly the most devout, but I’d call myself a fan. I cheer them on, winning or losing. I try to make it to a few home games every season. I watch games or highlights online, note some statistics, and I could fairly well rattle off the starting lineup and pitching rotation, if it came to it.
I saw in our local newspaper today a small AP news story which, upon searching the internet, has made it all the way into BBC news. Succinctly, McCain is accusing Obama of backing National League World Series contender, the Philadelphia Phillies, when campaigning in Pennsylvania, and supporting the American League contender, the Tampa Bay Rays, whilst in Florida. Just one more reason I’ve become so disillusioned with politics.
Have we, the American citizenry, become so fickle, so shallow in our voting whims that we actually care what teams our candidates support? Is Obama’s appeal—if legitimate—to both sides of a baseball game actually good stumping practice? I certainly hope not. I certainly hope that I am with the majority of Americans when I say that a candidate’s sports allegiances don’t sway my political opinion one iota.
For what it’s worth, if anyone out there who might happen to read these words is actually is making his or her voting decision based on what baseball team the candidates do or don’t support, do me, yourself, and your country a favor and stay home on November 4th. Or better yet, take a few minutes to explore the issues and the candidates’ stances, and go the voting booth informed. I guarantee you that there are a lot of men and women who support the arch-rivals of your favorite teams who are very able politicians and can do America some good.

Even White Sox fans.



One addendum: It’s also my hope that a time might come when candidates no longer appeal to the insignificant, flimsy factors that contribute to popularity but say nothing of personal character and ability. As a swing voter, my vote can be had by presenting political policy, legislative, fiscal, and social methodology, and demonstrating integrity. My vote can be lost by trying to be all things to all people in order to win a popularity contest.

Torah and contemporary societal hostility

A thought-inspiring quote in some Brueggemann I was reading:

"As the Western world has been perennially hostile to the claims of Jewish faith, so the emerging contemporary world of commodity grows more signally hostile to the claims of Christian faith as well. As has not been the case in the long Christian hegemony of the West, now the church is having to think and act to maintain a distinct identity for faith in an alien cultural environment. While the church will characteristically attend to the New Testament in such an emergency, a study of Torah already alerts us to the resources for this crisis that are older and deeper than in the New Testament. The Jews in exile reported themselves dismayed about singing of songs of Zion in a strange land (Ps 137:1-3). And now Christians face that same issue. The liberal Christian temptation is to accommodate dominant culture until faith despairs. The conservative Christian temptation is to fashion an absoluteness that stand disconnected from dominant culture. Neither of these strategies, however, is likely to sustain the church in its mission. More likely, we may learn from and with Jews the sustaining power of imaginative remembering, the ongoing, lively process of traditioning that is sure to be marked by ideological interest that, in the midst of such distinctiveness, may find fresh closures of reality not 'conformed to this world.' The preaching, teaching, and study of Torah is in order to 'set one's heart' differently, to trust and fear differently, to align oneself with an alternative account of the world (Little 1983)."
- Walter Brueggemann, An Introduction to the Old Testament (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003), p. 27.

It is finished.

I sit at the table which has been my workstation for about the last six weeks, gazing out the library window. A bird hops around on the grass outside. The leaves on the trees and shrubs are quiet on this still English day under an overcast English sky.

My last essay for my three-year Bachelor of Theology degree at the University of Oxford is done. It feels strange even typing the words. It has been such a tremendous, transforming time. There have been a number of long hours reading, writing, thinking, discussing, and learning. New relationships have been forged and have deepened quickly. But soon I, like most of my "new" friends, will be off to another part of the world, to put all I have learned to new tests and challenges.

The University of Oxford doesn't do closure well. The best adverb I can think of to describe the manner in which I bound and filed my last essay is "unceremoniously". Graduation ceremonies do not take place until March of next year. My college had a wonderful commissioning service back in early June, but that was before my work was done. Now, it is simply that: it's done. No parties, no celebrations, nothing outstanding to mark the occasion...it's just done.

When Jesus uttered the words "It is finished" on the cross just before he "gave up his spirit" (Jn. 19:30), what a profound utterance it was. "Unceremoniously" doesn't seem to describe Jesus' death at all, considering the supernatural events at the crucifixion recorded in the synoptic gospels: the sky being turned to darkness (Mt. 27:45/Mk. 15:33/Lk. 23:44-45), the earth shaking (Mt. 27:51), the temple curtain being torn in two (Mt. 27:51/Mk. 15:38/Lk. 23:45), the exclamation of the centurion (Mt. 27:54/Mk. 15:39/Lk. 23:47), many dead coming back to life (Mt. 27:52-53). Yet John doesn't give us any of that. He gives us: "It is finished." Simple, yet surpassingly profound: the focal point of human history expressed in three words.

I dare not equate these last three years of theological study with the earthly ministry of our Lord, much less the completion of my last essay with his crucifixion. Still, at this time when I feel such a sense of accomplishment, yet it goes relatively unmarked, I can't help wanting to steal his line.

I'm guessing he'll forgive me.

Singing Lullabies to the Giant

The Archbishop of Sydney, Peter Jensen, recently declared at GAFCON that the actions of the US and Canadian Episcopal churches awoke a “sleeping giant”—that of “evangelical Anglicanism” and “orthodox Anglicanism”. I understand the sentiment, Archbishop, I really do…but might we have chosen a better metaphor?

I’m afraid that this “giant” metaphor is unwittingly (and informatively) revealing about the current status of the sharp personal, ethical, hermeneutical, and theological disagreements and fallings-out between the liberal and evangelical/orthodox ends of the Anglican Communion: for what sense can a “giant” metaphor convey except one of opposition, of strength, of domination, of intimidation, and of power?

Obviously, such qualities are hardly laudable from a biblical perspective. They seem to fly in the face of the Galatians 5 list of “fruits of the Spirit” (perhaps especially love, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, and self-control), the Beatitudes of Matthew 5 (“Blessed are… the poor in spirit, …the meek, …the merciful, …the peacemakers, …those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake…”), and the exhortation by Paul in Romans 12 (to bless those who persecute us, never to avenge ourselves, and ultimately not to repay anyone evil for evil, but to overcome evil with good). Indeed, such qualities pale in comparison to our Lord Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death-- even death on a cross.

What’s more, I would imagine that the term “giant”—even for those with a low level of biblical literacy—conjures up images of Goliath. Time and again, in both Old and New Testaments, we are given the examples of how the weaker, the meeker, and/or the more humble is granted victory, is delivered, or is otherwise justified (just off the top of my head, I think of Moses, Joshua, Gideon, Ruth, David, Peter, the women, Paul, and again, Jesus himself).

The giant needs to go back to sleep.

In my view, what needs to awaken further amongst evangelical and orthodox Anglicans is a spirit of prayer, of faith, of humility, of graciousness, of patience, of forgiveness, of sacrifice, and most of all, of love. The exceedingly difficult thing about such qualities is that they wrest power and control away from us. Yes, we may well feel like “we’re losing”. Yes, we will have to admit our own fallibility and culpability, even in the face of those with whom we so strongly disagree. But our refusal to send forth a champion, our defiance of the lures of the real Enemy, and our commitment to taking up our own cross will place these disagreements—this battle, if we must—exactly where it needs to be: in the hands of our God.

The Church and Politics, part 1

Let me admit from the very beginning that I am a rank amateur when it comes to politics, political science, and even political theology. Hence, I am genuinely interested in people's comments and opinions as to the content of this post.

As the US presidential election draws ever nearer, the media, popular discussion, websites and blogs (including this one, obviously!) become ever more saturated with coverage of the candidates, of opinions, of campaigning, etc., etc. (Incidentally, check out the polling map I've added on the sidebar!) As some of my comments over at my friend Erik's blog will reveal, I continue to ruminate on the role of politics from a theological viewpoint...not that there is just one way of thinking on this.

Succinctly, no one is campaigning on a "we're fine, let's keep everything the same" platform. Surely such an attitude would prevent one from getting out of the starting blocks in a would-be political career. We've got problems: as individuals, as communities, as ethnic groups, as states, as a nation, as societies, as a race. Some of these delineations are highlighted to a greater or lesser extent in the campaigns, presumably proportionally to how proposed solutions contribute to electability (or not). In very stereotypical and stark terms, the Democrats and the Republicans offer two different broad solutions: the Democrats claim that the government can best make things better; the Republicans claim that individuals/groups/businesses can.

Enter theology: God says he can...uniquely, and far better than any merely human endeavor.

As infinitely wiser and more knowledgeable and more powerful than humanity, God alone is the source of true Hope for our world...not merely in the age to come, but in the here-and-now. The Bible makes the audacious claim that the root of our problems lies ultimately in our rebellion against God: as individuals, as communities, etc., and that God is presently at work wooing back all of us rebels into relationship with him. As that relationship grows and deepens, God performs the incomprehensible: he transforms his people into the likeness of his only Son, Jesus. This transformation is in thought and deed, so that we might have the mind of Christ and enact and embody the Good News (Gospel) of God's holistic plan of salvation in our society today.

Holding as I do to a Gospel embodied in the Church, my default assumption would then be that the vehicle for "God making things better" in the here-and-now is the Church. Now, regardless of how you view "the Church", there are problems...huge problems. I'm aware. (Remember, I'm an Anglican!) But my immediate question is not so much in relation to those problems. Rather, I'm interested in how this Church--specifically its manifestation in the USA (or in "Western" society)--is meant to interact with the political process.

I have Christian friends who are dyed-in-the-wool Democrats; others who are staunch Republicans; others who consistently vote for third-party candidates. Still others seem to have eschewed the political process altogether. And here sit I, trying to reason through the Church's rightful role (if there be only one): do we seek to enact the Gospel primarily within and through the political system, or without it? Are we so daunted by the enormity of the problems we face, and so dismayed at the disunity in the Church, that we see only government as holding promise for addressing the issues? Do we see the Gospel as primarily for the individual, and less for the other strata of human society?

Much more to be said, but perhaps it's best to let others in on the conversation before proceeding. A couple of disclaimers I would make at the outset of any ensuing discussion: I am not an anarchist, nor am I in favor of whatever people might posit which would draw us closer to a theocracy.

The gift of time

One of the topics I've done a bit of reflecting on in the last few weeks has been time. I think it all started when we had a sermon in chapel by Regent's Park chaplain Myra Blyth, who eloquently told us of the Hebrew notion of what she called "intuitive time". In the West, where we are so driven by the clock, intuitive time is more cognizant of the daily, weekly, and seasonal rhythms of life. We still have it, to some extent: we can "intuit" bedtime or naptime, dinnertime, and even time to exercise, to get out of bed, to work, to rest, to be alone, to reflect, etc.

The clock is not inherently an enemy of intuitive time, but unchecked, it does facilitate the loss of our ability to intuit such time. We lose touch with our bodies, with creation, with our relationships. Earmarks of this loss of touch often smack of excess: working too much, eating too much, sleeping too much, relaxing too much, and generally living life at an unsustainable pace. In addition, our heightened dependence on the clock and rejection of intuitive time brings about all new means of justification of one's inability to keep pace, such as the incredible (not in a good way) Gmail custom time.

In one way, this recognition has heightened my appreciation for Church practices all the more. Through the daily office, Morning and Evening Prayer, I find myself more attuned to the rhythm of living in dependent relation to God from day to day (Mt. 6:34). Through following the liturgical calendar, my life is set more to the seasonal rhythm of the life of Christ. Through honoring the Sabbath, I come to recognize the importance of rest--not for the sake of "efficiency"--but for a whole host of theological reasons, from recognizing my own limitations and dependence on God, to acknowledging my relation to the divine, and being a "co-creator", to a foretaste of the true rest offered in Christ.

Without these or other, similar disciplines (and no mistake, they require attention and effort!), I fear the Church runs the risk not only of becoming chronologically indistinguishable from the world, but also of becoming wholly incapable of understanding--and living into--the vast riches of the variance of the biblical seasons...a time for every matter under heaven (Ecc. 3:1)...and therefore the ability to follow our Lord's injunction to "interpret the times" (Mt. 16:3/Lk. 12:56).

Time is a gift of God to us. Would that we might always grow in our acknowledgement and appreciation of it.

A River Runs Through It, embodiment, and the consummation of all things

I have always liked the story of A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean. I read the book a number of years ago, and have watched the film numerous times thereafter. The film would easily fall into my top ten most-liked films.

I suppose many people get a general sense, whether consciously or unconsciously, of whether they like or dislike films based on how well the philosophy put forth by the story coincides with the viewer’s. Unfortunately, I am not quick-thinking or well-read enough to be able to understand—much less verbalize—my reasoning pertaining to my estimation of a film immediately after watching it. This has the disadvantage of giving me no ready answer to the question of why I liked (or disliked) a film in the short-term, but it has the advantage of allowing me to discover previously undisclosed treasures about a film that I have watched (and perhaps re-watched) some time afterwards. Such is the ongoing case with A River Runs Through It.

Today, I was ruminating on the propensity I would think all humans have to desire—even seek out—(a) normative principle(s) behind the meaning of life, of existence. Even the proposal that no such principle(s) exist(s) is, in itself, a bold example of such a principle. When contemplating such things from a Christian standpoint, I have personally always been drawn to Ephesians 1:8b-10:

“With all wisdom and insight 9 [God] has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ, 10 as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.”

Such promise lies within these words! All of creation is being and will be swept up into Christ. As humans, we have the extraordinary privilege of sharing in that promise—even now, in our present life—in a very special way through being incorporated into Christ, as the next verses portray:

“11 In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance, having been destined according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will, 12 so that we, who were the first to set our hope on Christ, might live for the praise of his glory. 13 In him you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and had believed in him, were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit; 14 this is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption.”

Inasmuch as this is a plan for all of creation, so it relies heavily upon creation theology. Notably, the creation assertion that human beings are created in the image of God (Gen. 1:27, 5:1, 9:6; cf. 1 Cor. 11:7; Eph. 4:24; Jas. 3:9) plays a major role in our understanding of the mystery of being conformed to the image of his Son (Rom. 8:29; 2 Cor. 3:18), the firstborn of all creation (Col. 1:15).

But also, our doctrine of creation ex nihilo (out of nothing) and creation through Christ (John 1:3), suggests that even in the goodness of creation, the “plan for the fullness of time” was at work. And though it may be a bit of a doctrinal extrapolation, it seems within reason to think that the combination of our unified destiny as sharing in Christ with the wonderful diversity of creation would uphold, even stress—against a rather Gnostic assertion—the importance of the everyday matters of our lives.

We evangelicals (perhaps read: Protestants?) tend to downplay the significance of anything that doesn’t appeal to our sense of “gospel” importance. Being at seminary, my thoughts here turn primarily to the theological: the sacraments; the visible, institutionalized church; principles such as fellowship, dialogue, unity; some ethical considerations; even the practice of theological study itself, just to name a few, are often denigrated as inconsequential or arbitrary to the purely pragmatic undertaking of “preaching the gospel”. (e.g., cf. Melanchton: “It is necessary to distinguish from the episcopal polity, bound to place person and due succession, offices and human regulations—the ministry of the gospel instituted by God and continually restored by his great mercy which perpetually serves the Church and is not bound to certain places, persons and human laws but to the gospel (CR 5.627; cf. 559).” (emphasis mine)) As if the gospel is anything if not embodied!

Is it right to say that the gospel (which I understand best as the person and action of Jesus Christ, I’m not sure how Melanchthon defines it) transcends these things? Of course. We see but dimly (1 Cor. 13:12). But we still see (note St. Paul using the same verb for what we do now (see dimly) and what we will do then (see face to face)—in fact, in the Greek, the verb appears only once), and the extent to which we see is a shadow of the things to come, whose substance is Christ (cf. Col. 2:17). The historicity of the incarnation—that Jesus came as a real person to a real world in actual history—is of central importance. So, too, is our continued embodiment of the gospel, as we pray: “not only with our lips, but in our lives”. So, too, is the “plan for the fullness of time” relevant to the whole of creation—which waits with eager longing, by the way, for the revealing of the children of God, that it may obtain the freedom of our glory (Rom. 8:19-23).

In Revelation, we are given a brief, apocalyptic glimpse of what this final glory, this consummated plan, looks like. It looks, so far as it can be described, like a city, resplendent in the glory of the presence of the living God. And here, at long last, is where I have come to appreciate the film A River Runs Through It all the more. It’s closing line is: “Eventually, all things merge into one…and a river runs through it. I am haunted by waters.” But the apocalyptic thrust of Norman Maclean’s words, how the memories of loved ones passed on—their words, under the rocks in the bed of the stream—fills him with the sense of his loneliness and a dire longing for being reunited with them…that longing is precisely what is afforded to all who are swept up into Christ—we are united intimately with him and with each other, sharing in glory, for all eternity in the new Jerusalem.

And guess what? A river runs through it.

Revelation 22:1-2: Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb 2 through the middle of the street of the city.

Collect for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany

Almighty God, whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ is the light of the world: Grant that your people, illumined by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of Christ's glory, that he may be known, worshiped, and obeyed to the ends of the earth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, now and for ever.

Amen!