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.
23 July 2008
15 July 2008
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.
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.
24 June 2008
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.
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.
01 April 2008
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.
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.
27 February 2008
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.
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.
23 January 2008
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!
Amen!
20 December 2007
Pursuing a supralapsarian soteriology...
Strange that going to an evangelical theological college can make one reconsider one's soteriology--the what and how of salvation. I've long been more tempted by a comprehensive view, claiming that Jesus didn't just come to "save our souls", but so that we might have life in abundance! (cf. Jn. 10:10), not just saving us up for Judgment Day, when we will begin to enjoy life eternal with the Father...but beginning to live out the inaugurated (by the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus) kingdom in the here and now. I guess this thinking is what's known as a supralapsarian (i.e., transcending the Fall) view. Terminology notwithstanding, it still beckons my thoughts and ponderings.
I ran across this paragraph that I think puts it well:
"Both the Bible and church tradition use different words and metaphors to describe and interpret God's mission of kingdom-building: re-captiulation, salvation, conversion, liberation, shalom-ing, reconciliation, transfiguration, etc. None of them should be 'reductive' of mission (RM 17). (Reductive examples: salvation applies only to 'souls', assumptions or only to those who are explicitly committed in faith and discipline to Jesus Christ as the Lord and Saviour; reconciliation, only to human or only to God relationships; liberation, only to political, social or economic conditions, or only to personal sinfulness; transfiguration, only to persons, and not to all cultures, humanity itself, indeed the whole of creation.) 'The kingdom of God is the manifestation and the realization of God's plan of salvation in all its fullness' (RM 15). It is not for us and our words to separate what the Father and the Spirit already hold together in the Word."
- Stransky, T. F., "The Mission of the Church: Post-Vatican II Developments in 'Official' RC Theology," in Evangelical Review of Theology, vol. XXIII, no. 1, Jan. 1999. NB: "RM" = Redemptoris missio, Encyclical Letter of Pope John Paul II, 7 Dec. 1990.
One major pragmatic issue is how we incorporate this comprehensive, holistic soteriology into our common evangel. Certainly, as in the previous post, in part it means living out the life of God's people as the Church.
I'll go on thinking...
I ran across this paragraph that I think puts it well:
"Both the Bible and church tradition use different words and metaphors to describe and interpret God's mission of kingdom-building: re-captiulation, salvation, conversion, liberation, shalom-ing, reconciliation, transfiguration, etc. None of them should be 'reductive' of mission (RM 17). (Reductive examples: salvation applies only to 'souls', assumptions or only to those who are explicitly committed in faith and discipline to Jesus Christ as the Lord and Saviour; reconciliation, only to human or only to God relationships; liberation, only to political, social or economic conditions, or only to personal sinfulness; transfiguration, only to persons, and not to all cultures, humanity itself, indeed the whole of creation.) 'The kingdom of God is the manifestation and the realization of God's plan of salvation in all its fullness' (RM 15). It is not for us and our words to separate what the Father and the Spirit already hold together in the Word."
- Stransky, T. F., "The Mission of the Church: Post-Vatican II Developments in 'Official' RC Theology," in Evangelical Review of Theology, vol. XXIII, no. 1, Jan. 1999. NB: "RM" = Redemptoris missio, Encyclical Letter of Pope John Paul II, 7 Dec. 1990.
One major pragmatic issue is how we incorporate this comprehensive, holistic soteriology into our common evangel. Certainly, as in the previous post, in part it means living out the life of God's people as the Church.
I'll go on thinking...
10 December 2007
Point to Ponder: Missional Ecclesiology
It seems a pragmatic hallmark of evangelicalism is (or can be) the subservience of all aspects of the Christian life to the priority of gospel proclamation, of seeing people "come to faith" or "get saved". It's difficult to question this tenet without opening oneself up to the criticisms of being unbiblical, deluded, or doctrinally unsound - questioning the uniqueness of Christ, the authority of Scripture, etc.
As I continue to be drawn to the study of ecclesiology, however, I feel that such a priority can not only propagate an individualistic and anthropocentric soteriology, it can render the Church less and less meaningful...relegating it, essentially, to being little more than "friends who can help me get the work of evangelism done". When in fact, I might argue that we are severely inhibiting our evangel by not living into our God-given calling to be one holy catholic and apostolic Church: to see our gospel proclamation lived out...not as simply something we must do, but as something we, collectively, essentially are.
But it is good to find allies once in awhile. In some reading I am doing today, I ran across the following thoughtful & helpful paragraph on missional ecclesiology:
"A missional ecclesiology is not a doctrine of the church in which everything is subordinated to a mandate for missionary activity which supposedly precedes, supersedes, and encompasses all community building. Neither does it refer to a theology that places everything that the church is and does under the umbrella concept of missio Dei. It is an effort to reconsider the theological self-definition of the church in the perspective of an emphasized eschatology and in that way to help concrete communities of Christians to relate their identity to their experience of the predicament of pluralism." - Hoedemaker, B. (1999), “Toward an Epistemologically Responsible Missiology,” in Kirk & Vanhoozer, eds., To Stake a Claim: Mission and the Western Crisis of Knowledge (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books), p. 227.
Granted, his last statement needs contextualizing to make more sense of it, but suffice it to say I was encouraged in some of my own ruminations by his assertions. Oh, well...back to it!
As I continue to be drawn to the study of ecclesiology, however, I feel that such a priority can not only propagate an individualistic and anthropocentric soteriology, it can render the Church less and less meaningful...relegating it, essentially, to being little more than "friends who can help me get the work of evangelism done". When in fact, I might argue that we are severely inhibiting our evangel by not living into our God-given calling to be one holy catholic and apostolic Church: to see our gospel proclamation lived out...not as simply something we must do, but as something we, collectively, essentially are.
But it is good to find allies once in awhile. In some reading I am doing today, I ran across the following thoughtful & helpful paragraph on missional ecclesiology:
"A missional ecclesiology is not a doctrine of the church in which everything is subordinated to a mandate for missionary activity which supposedly precedes, supersedes, and encompasses all community building. Neither does it refer to a theology that places everything that the church is and does under the umbrella concept of missio Dei. It is an effort to reconsider the theological self-definition of the church in the perspective of an emphasized eschatology and in that way to help concrete communities of Christians to relate their identity to their experience of the predicament of pluralism." - Hoedemaker, B. (1999), “Toward an Epistemologically Responsible Missiology,” in Kirk & Vanhoozer, eds., To Stake a Claim: Mission and the Western Crisis of Knowledge (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books), p. 227.
Granted, his last statement needs contextualizing to make more sense of it, but suffice it to say I was encouraged in some of my own ruminations by his assertions. Oh, well...back to it!
13 October 2007
Sermon: Unity of the Church
Below is the text for a sermon I gave for preaching class.
Lesson: Ephesians 4:1-16
One. The number is perhaps unmatched in its rhetorical and conceptual power.
One. Mathematically speaking, it is the root of all we can know or surmise, existing as a numerical concept even before “0”.
Lesson: Ephesians 4:1-16
One. The number is perhaps unmatched in its rhetorical and conceptual power.
One. Mathematically speaking, it is the root of all we can know or surmise, existing as a numerical concept even before “0”.
One. Were we to survey the poetic ponderings, musical musings, and philosophical reflections on this expression of singularity, I would imagine we would find an enormous wealth of speculation as to its nature, its potency, its essence.
One.
And here, in our Scripture passage, the author of Ephesians, seeks to do that which is mathematically paradoxical: through a strikingly eloquent exhortation--“…one body, one Spirit, one hope, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God…”—he seeks to superimpose this one-ness, this singularity, upon that which is, by its very nature, pluralistic: he claims that the Church of Jesus Christ, is meant, ideologically, to be a unity. And this unifying vision saturates the remainder of the epistle.
But many factors war against this vision of unity in the Church. In the first century Near East, factions were manifold: some political, some religious, some ethnic. Embodying all three was the well-known division of Jew and Gentile. Those who bore such labels, even those who were members of the Church in Ephesus, were nonetheless more susceptible, from a human perspective, to division than to unity.
Today, we face challenges similar in poignancy, if not in kind. Our society lauds a spirit of independence and individualism. Differences of race, gender, ethnicity, political affiliation, and yes, even sexual orientation tear at the seams of the Church. We see profound expressions of disunity in the worldwide Church, in our own Anglican Communion, and even very close to home.
And it bears mentioning that our own theology can affect our understanding and practice of unity. Consider carefully the misleading, even if unintentional, emphases embedded within the standard evangelical approach to the Christian life: YOU become a Christian when YOU invite Jesus into YOUR heart, accept him as YOUR Saviour, and make him Lord of YOUR life, thus beginning a PERSONAL relationship with Jesus, and thus YOU are saved. Discipleship, too, is often centred about a PERSONAL “walk with the Lord” and “quiet time”. What is troubling about these emphases is not so much that they are misplaced, but that they are seen as ends, rather than means.
And it is here that Ephesians offers a wider perspective, a farther-reaching theology. While not seeking to minimize the substantial differences between Jew and Gentile, the author of Ephesians works diligently—as we see in chapters 2 and 3—to outline an ecclesiology, a Christology that surpasses these significant schisms in view of a transcendent unity. For he seems desperate not to allow the Ephesian church to remain in the individualistic infancy of their faith.
“Yes, it is true,” he writes, “that Christ has apportioned grace in certain amounts to each of us…and yes, each of us has been given differing gifts but this favour of Christ is operative, meant to be utilized to accomplish God’s purposes: to equip the saints for ministry, to build up the body of Christ in love, to bring the church to maturity, attaining to the fullness of Christ.”
The fullness of Christ: these words cast an astounding eschatological vision. But it is not merely one which is granted to us at the consummation of all things, rather the vision is also an ecclesial vision for the here and now. The author unleashes this vision from his chains, whence he begs the churches of Asia Minor to live a life worthy of the calling they have received. A calling that seems as preposterous and paradoxical as it is profound: that the many should become One.
But if the concept of “One” is poignant in philosophical and mathematical reflection, it is all the more saturated with meaning in theology. “Hear, O Israel, the Lord your God, the Lord is One.” Arguably, what the author of this epistle envisages for the Church is nothing less than this: the indissoluble intimacy of Triune God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, to which he alludes in his “one” rhetoric: One Spirit (v. 4), One Lord (that is, Jesus, v. 5), One God and Father of all (v. 6). And hence, the Church is called to the task
- of reflecting, yet not merely reflecting,
- of portraying, yet not merely portraying,
- indeed, of embodying, of actualizing the mystery of hypostatic union to the world.
And this, this is why the Church in Ephesus is exhorted to live in humility, gentleness, patience, and love. This is why, in the latter half of chapter four, the Church is admonished for living in the old ways of darkened understanding, in futility of mind. This is also why today we must be wary of making our soteriology purely individualistic and moral, for we are, through our election by God the Father before the foundation of the world, through our seal of the promised Holy Spirit, and through our baptism into the death and resurrection of Christ—through all these things—we are inextricably bound to one another in the indissoluble intimacy of the Triune God.
We are One.
And this call to move from individualistic infancy to indissoluble intimacy is the calling we, as the Church, have received. This is the unity of the faith, the knowledge of the Son of God. This is the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.
04 September 2007
Scripture in the Community of Faith
An interesting quote I ran across while reading for my long essays lies below. I am becoming increasingly convinced of the primary need of an interpretive community when interacting with scripture, over everyone primarily serving as his/her own hermeneut:
“…All this [he has just talked about scripture in the worship tradition of the Church], then, belongs to what may be called the liturgical use of scripture, rooted in the rich context of corporate worship to which it focally belongs. It is only at this point that the question of the so-called ‘devotional’ use of scripture can be faced. That it is introduced at the end, and not at the beginning, is not accidental. It might seem logical to start discussion with the picture of the individual Christian with the Bible in his hand, but the logic of the Gospel points in other directions. Scripture locates itself at the heart of the Christian community and at the centre of its worshipping life. Its liturgical use remains primary. When the community disperses, the Tradition goes with it, to write new commentaries in individual lives.” Clark, Neville, “Scripture in Liturgical Perspective”, in Gray, Donald, ed., The Word in Season (Norwich: The Canterbury Press, 1988), p. 27.
The spin-offs of this are manifold and fascinating! What does it mean for our evangel? Our soteriology? Our lives of discipleship?
“…All this [he has just talked about scripture in the worship tradition of the Church], then, belongs to what may be called the liturgical use of scripture, rooted in the rich context of corporate worship to which it focally belongs. It is only at this point that the question of the so-called ‘devotional’ use of scripture can be faced. That it is introduced at the end, and not at the beginning, is not accidental. It might seem logical to start discussion with the picture of the individual Christian with the Bible in his hand, but the logic of the Gospel points in other directions. Scripture locates itself at the heart of the Christian community and at the centre of its worshipping life. Its liturgical use remains primary. When the community disperses, the Tradition goes with it, to write new commentaries in individual lives.” Clark, Neville, “Scripture in Liturgical Perspective”, in Gray, Donald, ed., The Word in Season (Norwich: The Canterbury Press, 1988), p. 27.
The spin-offs of this are manifold and fascinating! What does it mean for our evangel? Our soteriology? Our lives of discipleship?
13 August 2007
Circuit City comes through
I suppose there are a plethora of blogs out there which have been utilized by disgruntled customers to lambast products and retailers. May I actually offer a recommendation?
Not long after I purchased an HP notebook last year, I found the A/C port was faulty. Being a student in England, I was told HP UK would not touch it, that I'd have to get it fixed in the US. Well, to make a loooong and extraordinarily frustrating story short, I attempted to interact with HP for about 7 months to get the problem resolved. No result.
So, I turned back to Circuit City in Roseville, MN, where I bought the unit and their own extended warranty protection. After patiently listening to my entire story, the store director, called Mark, said to bring the unit in and he'd have one of his techs take a look. The next day, I did so, and a tech named Jason removed about 5,000 screws from it only to discover that the A/C connector was completely fried. The store director knew I am headed back the UK at the end of the month, and didn't have time to go through the 4-6 wk. repair process through HP (he also knew how frustrated I was with them). After some covert chatting with some of his colleagues, Mark returned to me, offering to apply the full purchase value of my HP notebook against a brand-new notebook of anything they had. A sales rep named Chris, who was very helpful, took over. After selecting a Toshiba that is quite obviously an upgrade, and getting the 4-year protection plan, I ended up owing Circuit City a grand total of just over $40.
I couldn't believe the generosity and kindness of the folks at Circuit City. This is customer service at its absolute finest. For anyone reading in the Mpls/St. Paul metro in the market for electronics, please stop in to Circuit City in Roseville. And if you happen to see the store director named Mark, a tech named Jason, or a sales rep named Chris (who was wearing a nametag with "Kurt" on it), mention that you read this blog, and thank them again for me.
18 June 2007
Ecclesiology & Women Priests
My friend over at Priests & Paramedics tipped me off to a thoughtful article at pontifications on women priests. I’ve just read the article (pt I, at least) for the first time, but my initial responses, as I rehearse them, seem to be bound around one particular thought, which has less to do with the ordination of women, perhaps, and more to do with the Church:
It should come as given to any Catholic that anyone born into the tradition must accept that what is, as far as the Church is concerned, is what is. While we may be able to speak in ideological terms, if we hold to any expression of a visible Church, it seems we cannot allow ourselves to imagine that the Church is any more or less that what it actually is. Certainly, this was true across “the globe” up until 1054, or perhaps until the early 1500s. But what of now? After 1054, or after 1500, do we accede that the Roman Catholic Church is the “One, True Church”? (It is, after all, popular lingo within Roman Catholic circles.) I guess what I mean is, is only the Roman Catholic Church that which God has intended? Is she the sole keeper of orthodoxy? Although those are not the same question, I believe them to be related, and I find it very difficult to answer “yes” to either. Of course, this raises further questions. How do we find any semblance of an answer to these questions? True, they may not be “Catholic” questions, but that doesn’t do me much good, as I am not a Catholic. Five hundred years of “Protestant” thought has served to shape and mold the philosophical, epistemological, social, educational, etc., etc. context in which I entered life and grew up. And, of course, to say that I must abandon all my “Protestant” thought in order to become a “true Christian” (i.e., member of the One, True Church) seems tantamount to Muslims saying the only way I can really read the Qur’an is to have grown up speaking Arabic.
Let’s face it, though, the Church (and here, I am speaking of many denominations, including Roman Catholicism) has problems. To their credit, Catholics and Orthodox have retained an overall institutional structure (which is needed, in my opinion) that has survived with great integrity. I admire that. But I must also admit that I admire the missional fervor of the Southern Baptists. I admire the Scriptural saturation of many evangelicals. I admire the mystery of Eastern Orthodoxy, the liveliness of Pentecostalism, and the salt-of-the-earth nature of many Lutherans I’ve met. But all of these denominational expressions have severe problems, too. I doubt anyone seriously denies that.
A huge question, for me, then becomes: “how do we map ecclesial change—whether it’s appropriate or inappropriate?” Oh, what a muddled, muddled question. As a “good Anglican”, my default authority structure (inherited as it is) is Scripture, tradition, and reason. And now, finally, coming to the issue of women in the priesthood: you’re right…I’m still considering it. I may always be considering it. Currently, I’m willing to say that it may have been a reform that was long in coming, but was likely made the standard too quickly. I shudder at the rate of change in lots of Protestant denominations around such issues. It could be that it was instituted erroneously, as some would argue it shatters all three legs of my “authoritative stool”. But I have to land somewhere, and, for now, it’s here:
1. I don’t think it violates Scripture. Yes, there are troublesome verses to this stance, to be sure. But I don’t think, applying the same (or very similar) hermeneutical method, that one must consequently be in favor of the ordination of homosexuals (a common argument these days). In fact, if I were mounting a case for homosexual ordination, I don’t think I’d lobby for the same hermeneutical method.
2. Tradition is, admittedly, the toughest of the three for my case. Of course, it is an innovation introduced only in the last half-century. This is the one that most often “keeps me thinking” on this issue. But it should be noted that my cultural context again speaks loads into the way in which I process this information…and my ecclesial cultural context (as well as my ‘secular’ one) was one saturated with women in all sorts of roles formative to my development as a man of faith.
3. Not currently subscribing (totally, at least) to a Roman Catholic understanding of the priesthood, I believe that the ordination of women is actually more reasonable than their non-ordination. Although more discussion is here warranted, I defer to my explanations above for now.
Finally, I would address the two quotes in the article, responding in the way my brain often does, with follow-up questions:
I find Pope John Paul II’s quote interesting, because I still don’t understand the papal role. It seems that in order for him to speak thus, he must have authority over (and thus outside) the whole church. But evidently his authority is enough to make such declarations, but not enough to institute that level of reform. This is puzzling to me, not least because it again insinuates to me that there is no papal accountability to the church. I must be reading it wrong.
I find Fr Alexander Schmemann’s quote puzzling, unless either the “speaking for all Orthodoxy” is incorrect or that the word “dialogues” was only in reference to dialogues on the issue itself, as there continue significant Anglican/Orthodox dialogues into the present day (click here).
Thoughtful and helpful comments are, as always, welcome!
It should come as given to any Catholic that anyone born into the tradition must accept that what is, as far as the Church is concerned, is what is. While we may be able to speak in ideological terms, if we hold to any expression of a visible Church, it seems we cannot allow ourselves to imagine that the Church is any more or less that what it actually is. Certainly, this was true across “the globe” up until 1054, or perhaps until the early 1500s. But what of now? After 1054, or after 1500, do we accede that the Roman Catholic Church is the “One, True Church”? (It is, after all, popular lingo within Roman Catholic circles.) I guess what I mean is, is only the Roman Catholic Church that which God has intended? Is she the sole keeper of orthodoxy? Although those are not the same question, I believe them to be related, and I find it very difficult to answer “yes” to either. Of course, this raises further questions. How do we find any semblance of an answer to these questions? True, they may not be “Catholic” questions, but that doesn’t do me much good, as I am not a Catholic. Five hundred years of “Protestant” thought has served to shape and mold the philosophical, epistemological, social, educational, etc., etc. context in which I entered life and grew up. And, of course, to say that I must abandon all my “Protestant” thought in order to become a “true Christian” (i.e., member of the One, True Church) seems tantamount to Muslims saying the only way I can really read the Qur’an is to have grown up speaking Arabic.
Let’s face it, though, the Church (and here, I am speaking of many denominations, including Roman Catholicism) has problems. To their credit, Catholics and Orthodox have retained an overall institutional structure (which is needed, in my opinion) that has survived with great integrity. I admire that. But I must also admit that I admire the missional fervor of the Southern Baptists. I admire the Scriptural saturation of many evangelicals. I admire the mystery of Eastern Orthodoxy, the liveliness of Pentecostalism, and the salt-of-the-earth nature of many Lutherans I’ve met. But all of these denominational expressions have severe problems, too. I doubt anyone seriously denies that.
A huge question, for me, then becomes: “how do we map ecclesial change—whether it’s appropriate or inappropriate?” Oh, what a muddled, muddled question. As a “good Anglican”, my default authority structure (inherited as it is) is Scripture, tradition, and reason. And now, finally, coming to the issue of women in the priesthood: you’re right…I’m still considering it. I may always be considering it. Currently, I’m willing to say that it may have been a reform that was long in coming, but was likely made the standard too quickly. I shudder at the rate of change in lots of Protestant denominations around such issues. It could be that it was instituted erroneously, as some would argue it shatters all three legs of my “authoritative stool”. But I have to land somewhere, and, for now, it’s here:
1. I don’t think it violates Scripture. Yes, there are troublesome verses to this stance, to be sure. But I don’t think, applying the same (or very similar) hermeneutical method, that one must consequently be in favor of the ordination of homosexuals (a common argument these days). In fact, if I were mounting a case for homosexual ordination, I don’t think I’d lobby for the same hermeneutical method.
2. Tradition is, admittedly, the toughest of the three for my case. Of course, it is an innovation introduced only in the last half-century. This is the one that most often “keeps me thinking” on this issue. But it should be noted that my cultural context again speaks loads into the way in which I process this information…and my ecclesial cultural context (as well as my ‘secular’ one) was one saturated with women in all sorts of roles formative to my development as a man of faith.
3. Not currently subscribing (totally, at least) to a Roman Catholic understanding of the priesthood, I believe that the ordination of women is actually more reasonable than their non-ordination. Although more discussion is here warranted, I defer to my explanations above for now.
Finally, I would address the two quotes in the article, responding in the way my brain often does, with follow-up questions:
I find Pope John Paul II’s quote interesting, because I still don’t understand the papal role. It seems that in order for him to speak thus, he must have authority over (and thus outside) the whole church. But evidently his authority is enough to make such declarations, but not enough to institute that level of reform. This is puzzling to me, not least because it again insinuates to me that there is no papal accountability to the church. I must be reading it wrong.
I find Fr Alexander Schmemann’s quote puzzling, unless either the “speaking for all Orthodoxy” is incorrect or that the word “dialogues” was only in reference to dialogues on the issue itself, as there continue significant Anglican/Orthodox dialogues into the present day (click here).
Thoughtful and helpful comments are, as always, welcome!
04 June 2007
The Holy Father and the Roman Catholic Church
The picture above was taken on a vacation/pilgrimage that friends Adam, Erik, and Abu Daoud, and wife Kendra and I took to Rome last week. The experience has left much on which to reflect. Benedict's message was on Tertullian, and moreover how this Church Father's engagement with "secular" philosophy could be a guide for how we, as 21st-century Christians, can engage with our culture.But I find myself ruminating more on the essence of the Roman Catholic Church. Help me out, here, readers: I know the Pope is held to be the "Vicar of Peter"...apostolicity incarnate, through succession, tracing back to Christ's institution of Peter as the Rock on which Christ would build his Church.
But what, exactly, is the Pope's relationship to/with the Roman Catholic Church? Is the Pope seen to be the representation of the Church entire? Or merely the apostolic head thereof? Or am I erring greatly in my usage of such terms?
I guess one of the things I'm trying to figure out is how one "evaluates" (yes, a very Protestant way of thinking--see post below) the Roman Catholic Church, perhaps most especially in terms of practice. Does one consider merely the Pope himself? The full magisterium? Clergy and lay persons alike? Some representative cross-section?
These concepts are important to my seeking understanding of the essence of the Roman Catholic Church. Admittedly, I am very much influenced by my Protestant and American bent toward pragmatism (something I'm dealing with in another corner of my mind)...but for the present, it's where I am. Helpful advice welcome!
21 March 2007
Anglican thought?
A small group of close friends and I meet every Wednesday night in a local pub to talk theology over a pint of ale. A frequented topic within our discussions is the Catholic/Protestant division(s), a topic (hopefully) quite expected amongst Anglicans. In our discussions, it has become increasingly apparent that said divisions are far from being only dogmatic in nature, but are (or perhaps, have become) manifested in the philosophical/epistemological realm. Often, when one of us makes a point for one side, another will respond, "But you're thinking as a Protestant, not as a Catholic," or vice versa.
For me, as one who is very much hoping that Anglicanism is (or can be) a legitimate Via Media (a sort-of "middle road" between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism), such a realization brings with it definitive points for exploration. What, indeed, does it mean to "think as a Protestant"? as a Catholic? And, significantly, does "Via Media Anglicanism" necessarily fall into one camp or the other, or is there (or can there be) a distinctly Anglican way of thinking? And, of course, how would such a way of thinking be expressed?
It seems that our little group of theologians (and I use that word lightly, at least in my case) have appropriated the usage of the terminology, "a RC/P way of thinking" based on certain methodologies of philosophical development born, at least in part, in denominational dogma regarding specific doctrines, not the least of which being ecclesiology, as well as its role (or lack thereof) in hermeneutics. Can there exist a substantive understanding of these doctrines specific (although perhaps not unique) to Anglicanism?
It seems that a quick glance at the current (highly) politicized debates within the Anglican communion would say, "no". Of the loudest voices on both ends of the debate, there are mainly those who, despite their lip service to the inherent goodness of maintaining unity (which conceptually may prove nonsensical in a Catholic way of thinking, anyway), are quite obviously arguing in a very Protestant manner. And perhaps those (like +++Rowan) who are working hard to maintain a sense of catholicity (note--small "c") about the Communion are incapable of or unwilling to bring to fruition the implications of a more Catholic understanding of ecclesiology.
Giving further weight to the "no" answer is the claim of John Henry Newman's Apologia Pro Vita Sua. While I am only in the midst of my first time through this engaging work, I am well aware that Cardinal Newman's conclusion was that the Via Media was an untenable position, which ultimately led to his conversion to Roman Catholicism.
But some of the parenthetical notations of my first two paragraphs should reveal the quiet hope that I hold: that this time of crisis in the Anglican Communion could eventually be precisely the vehicle for (re-?) establishing a Via Media, most especially in thought. If nothing else, provided there exists an Anglican Church beyond these debates, Anglicans should emerge with a greater--not lesser--sense of who we are. Doctrinal assumptions should become more--not less--nuanced to a particular "standard". And perhaps Anglicans across the globe may have to "opt in" to a particularly Anglican expression of the Christian faith, which, please God, would be actualized in our episcopal structure, in our bishops. Perhaps then we might have the building blocks to a genuinely Anglican way of thinking.
Seem like a long shot? Hmmm...I would say, "More like impossible." But surely my faith in a Lord who rose from the dead teaches me that "impossible" never rules out hope. Hope that is seen is no hope at all.
For me, as one who is very much hoping that Anglicanism is (or can be) a legitimate Via Media (a sort-of "middle road" between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism), such a realization brings with it definitive points for exploration. What, indeed, does it mean to "think as a Protestant"? as a Catholic? And, significantly, does "Via Media Anglicanism" necessarily fall into one camp or the other, or is there (or can there be) a distinctly Anglican way of thinking? And, of course, how would such a way of thinking be expressed?
It seems that our little group of theologians (and I use that word lightly, at least in my case) have appropriated the usage of the terminology, "a RC/P way of thinking" based on certain methodologies of philosophical development born, at least in part, in denominational dogma regarding specific doctrines, not the least of which being ecclesiology, as well as its role (or lack thereof) in hermeneutics. Can there exist a substantive understanding of these doctrines specific (although perhaps not unique) to Anglicanism?
It seems that a quick glance at the current (highly) politicized debates within the Anglican communion would say, "no". Of the loudest voices on both ends of the debate, there are mainly those who, despite their lip service to the inherent goodness of maintaining unity (which conceptually may prove nonsensical in a Catholic way of thinking, anyway), are quite obviously arguing in a very Protestant manner. And perhaps those (like +++Rowan) who are working hard to maintain a sense of catholicity (note--small "c") about the Communion are incapable of or unwilling to bring to fruition the implications of a more Catholic understanding of ecclesiology.
Giving further weight to the "no" answer is the claim of John Henry Newman's Apologia Pro Vita Sua. While I am only in the midst of my first time through this engaging work, I am well aware that Cardinal Newman's conclusion was that the Via Media was an untenable position, which ultimately led to his conversion to Roman Catholicism.
But some of the parenthetical notations of my first two paragraphs should reveal the quiet hope that I hold: that this time of crisis in the Anglican Communion could eventually be precisely the vehicle for (re-?) establishing a Via Media, most especially in thought. If nothing else, provided there exists an Anglican Church beyond these debates, Anglicans should emerge with a greater--not lesser--sense of who we are. Doctrinal assumptions should become more--not less--nuanced to a particular "standard". And perhaps Anglicans across the globe may have to "opt in" to a particularly Anglican expression of the Christian faith, which, please God, would be actualized in our episcopal structure, in our bishops. Perhaps then we might have the building blocks to a genuinely Anglican way of thinking.
Seem like a long shot? Hmmm...I would say, "More like impossible." But surely my faith in a Lord who rose from the dead teaches me that "impossible" never rules out hope. Hope that is seen is no hope at all.
30 January 2007
The Beauty Epidemic
I've been doing a bit of reflecting on beauty. I'm sure there exist volumes upon volumes of much more sophisticated reflections, and even libraries dedicated to aesthetics. But what are blogs for?
It is my firm conviction that beauty exists all around us. Yes, I'm willing to concede that it may be beauty marred by the ugliness of sin, but I would contend that there is still enough of the Creator's hand at work in our world and within us that beauty--real beauty--exists. My reflections, though, turn less on this point and more on how we then interact with this beauty.
I've noted that, for my own part, there are generally two stages that come about. First comes the observation of beauty. Something, be it a sunset, a painting, a recitation of a verse, a piece of music, etc., takes hold of me. But here, already, is my primary problem: I don't know how to appreciate these forms of beauty. Instead of doing whatever it is I now (upon reflecting) feel I should be doing, I move from observation (which often lasts an infinitessimal amount of time) to the second stage, consumption. I want to own it. I want it to be mine. I want to take a picture of the sunset, buy a print of the painting, or a book of the poem, or a CD of the music. I want to be able to access it whenever I want to. In short, I want to control it.
Another problematic aspect of this movement from appreciation to consumption is that it erodes my own sensibilities (if, indeed, I have any) toward what makes something beautiful. Surely, a rareness of occurrence can contribute toward making something more beautiful (e.g. a rainbow). So also must context and circumstance within which the beautiful is encountered play a role. But when I step in to control and dominate beauty, I find I cannot. The photograph of the sunset is never as striking as the real thing. The CD can play, nearly unheeded, not as beauty, but as background noise.
And this can lead to a third stage. The disappointment and perhaps frustration that comes from not being able to consume beauty can lead me to want to destroy beauty. I suppose the (sick) reasoning is that, "if I can't have it, neither should anyone else have it." I can't say that I have moved to this stage often, in fact I struggle to come up with a personal example at the moment. But the pervasiveness in our society of crimes like vandalism, desecration, and even rape speaks loudly to me of this third, consequential stage.
So, my prayer is simply that I would learn how to appreciate beauty. Not to own it, not to control it. Rather, that I would have the sense of mind and peace of spirit to pause, absorb, and give thanks when I am met by beauty. For beauty is, as I see it, an invitation to simply be, a vehicle into wonder, a reassurance that He Who Is Beauty remains.
It is my firm conviction that beauty exists all around us. Yes, I'm willing to concede that it may be beauty marred by the ugliness of sin, but I would contend that there is still enough of the Creator's hand at work in our world and within us that beauty--real beauty--exists. My reflections, though, turn less on this point and more on how we then interact with this beauty.
I've noted that, for my own part, there are generally two stages that come about. First comes the observation of beauty. Something, be it a sunset, a painting, a recitation of a verse, a piece of music, etc., takes hold of me. But here, already, is my primary problem: I don't know how to appreciate these forms of beauty. Instead of doing whatever it is I now (upon reflecting) feel I should be doing, I move from observation (which often lasts an infinitessimal amount of time) to the second stage, consumption. I want to own it. I want it to be mine. I want to take a picture of the sunset, buy a print of the painting, or a book of the poem, or a CD of the music. I want to be able to access it whenever I want to. In short, I want to control it.
Another problematic aspect of this movement from appreciation to consumption is that it erodes my own sensibilities (if, indeed, I have any) toward what makes something beautiful. Surely, a rareness of occurrence can contribute toward making something more beautiful (e.g. a rainbow). So also must context and circumstance within which the beautiful is encountered play a role. But when I step in to control and dominate beauty, I find I cannot. The photograph of the sunset is never as striking as the real thing. The CD can play, nearly unheeded, not as beauty, but as background noise.
And this can lead to a third stage. The disappointment and perhaps frustration that comes from not being able to consume beauty can lead me to want to destroy beauty. I suppose the (sick) reasoning is that, "if I can't have it, neither should anyone else have it." I can't say that I have moved to this stage often, in fact I struggle to come up with a personal example at the moment. But the pervasiveness in our society of crimes like vandalism, desecration, and even rape speaks loudly to me of this third, consequential stage.
So, my prayer is simply that I would learn how to appreciate beauty. Not to own it, not to control it. Rather, that I would have the sense of mind and peace of spirit to pause, absorb, and give thanks when I am met by beauty. For beauty is, as I see it, an invitation to simply be, a vehicle into wonder, a reassurance that He Who Is Beauty remains.
15 January 2007
In memoriam
As Kendra and I are settling back into life in Oxford, we were saddened to hear of the death of my dad's brother, Robert (Bob) Noel Conley. Uncle Bob passed away at about 3:30 PM CST at his home in Clay City, IL on Sunday, 14 January 2007 after a long battle with cancer. I remember Uncle Bob as a good-natured man, always ready with a smile or a joke. He knew how to enjoy life. He loved to tell stories, and to hear them, as well. He loved God, his family, and his country. He has served as the Conley family historian, and even recently put together a wonderful account of his service in the Army during World War II. His family would appreciate your prayers at this time of saying good-bye. Perhaps more especially as Uncle Bob's eldest son's (Mike's) wife, Tracy, is soon to be facing severe treatment for Leukemia.
Uncle Bob, I will miss your stories, your jokes, your fascination with what others would deem "small" things, and your contagious, cackly laughter. Rest in God's peace
Me with Dad (left) and Uncle Bob, enjoying the water from Sailor Springs, IL.
Uncle Bob, I will miss your stories, your jokes, your fascination with what others would deem "small" things, and your contagious, cackly laughter. Rest in God's peace
Me with Dad (left) and Uncle Bob, enjoying the water from Sailor Springs, IL.
14 October 2006
Dogma on Dogma
Recently, I’ve been contemplating the relationship between doctrine (or dogma, i.e. doctrinal reflection) and narrative. That is, the interaction between the systematized, structured, propositional form that dogma assumes versus the non-propositional, plot-driven, engaging flow embodied in story.
I’ve become convinced of the necessity of both. There are perhaps some who would argue that dogma is an unnecessary, purely human construct that is laid over the top of the Scripture (which has much narrative) to somehow commandeer our thinking away from that which the narrative presents. And I do readily admit that dogma can become overemphasized, preferred in what is a somewhat false dichotomy between it and narrative, of which we shall see more below. Still, as has been recently discussed in my doctrine class, the rational mind cannot escape its learned (and some might say, God-given) pattern of thinking logically, propositionally, and because of this, everyone utilizes a dogmatic format (therefore, doctrine) when engaging with Scripture. It may well be a construct, but it is an unavoidable construct, if we are to be at all thoughtful about Scripture.
To return to the earlier point, however, in this age of the dying of modernity, when story is reemphasized and propositional truths are often treated as suspect, aren’t we compelled to explore once again the dangers of overemphasizing a purely dogmatic engagement with the Scriptures? I would argue that we, as the 21st century 
discovering a path that engages with both dogma and narrative as fully as possible. Truly, to reduce those narrative portions of Scripture (OT histories, NT gospels, Acts) to purely linear, dogmatic propositions steals away from the power of their original presentation in story form. Story grips us in a way that dogma cannot. Story compels us more than, engages different sensitivities than, and is more dynamic and organic than dogma. Further, if we purport to be calling people to be reconciled to God (2 Cor 5:20), to love God and their neighbor (Mt 22:34-39), then surely story piques those relational elements within us—in a very needful manner—more so than dogma, and therefore becomes a powerful evangelistic implement.
For instance, if you were just to meet someone called Josh, what would be more compelling, relationally: for Josh to tell you that he was a compassionate man or for Jack to relay a story from his past that demonstrated his compassion embodied? In this age, perhaps any age, the former methodology would be immediately regarded with suspicion: a claim is made that sounds boastful, inauthentic, and about achieving some purpose, like Josh wanting to gain favor and admiration. The second however, if presented well, can draw the audience in, present compassion as a characteristic trait of Josh’s, but leaves it nestled into the surrounding story. Its innate humil
ity leaves the hearer to pick out (or not!) the subtle flavor of Josh’s compassionate nature from the complex simplicity of the glass of wine that is his story.
Of course, the story is meant to achieve something, and it cannot do so without dogmatic engagement. Josh’s story that conveys a sense of his compassionate nature is nothing if I have no understanding of what it means to assign someone the label of compassionate. Hence, dogma is indispensable.
I suppose the concept I’m getting at is that modernity-driven evangelicals, much like me, have tended to place too much value on doctrine (perhaps because it was the best defense against enlightenment critiques of religion), relative to narrative. We’ve assumed that propositional truth is primarily what moves people forward in the call to Christ. We’ve forced our story to be nothing more than a vehicle to doctrine, instead of a necessity, which eventually, inevitably, led it to be obsolete.
Now, however, when film and television have paired their stories with images and music, the deliciousness of story has been taken to a new level, and we find ourselves struggling to keep up. It is a worthwhile struggle, though. God had foreseen that when he sent his Son to become part of our story, or rather, when we have been made a part of his.
The evangelists of this age may well be the storytellers.
01 October 2006
TWINS WIN!!!
Due to a come-from-behind tie, then win in the 12th by the Royals over the Tigers, the Twins are the AL CENTRAL CHAMPS!!!! WOO-HOO! Way to go, Twinkies! Wish I could be there, celebrating.
28 September 2006
In Search of Authority
Recently, I have been pondering just how influential certain media are when it comes to formulating our opinions, even knowledge, of various topics. Indeed, many people my age and 
younger tend to feel that they are "informed" about subject A because they've seen a movie (not documentary) about subject A. Case in point, and to illustrate my culpability along these lines: I would say that 90% of what I know about the Cuban Missile Crisis comes from my viewing of the film Thirteen Days (an excellent film, by the way).
Now, to a certain extent, I suppose this is grounded: filmmakers are often known to go out of their way to portray reality, especially when dealing with an historical topic. Remember, for instance, the testimonies of WWII veterans after the release of Saving Private Ryan? They said the portrayal of the landing at the beaches of Normandy was as realistic as anything they had seen put to celluloid.
What worries me, though, is that my, and subsequent, generations are being lulled into an attitude of regarding film as above reproach when it comes to information. "I saw a
movie about it" becomes an acceptable answer in stating one's authority. Quite clearly, the danger of adopting this stance toward film is profound: we unquestionably accept the words (and more notably, for my generation: the images) of MGM, WB, the producers, the directors, etc. as revelatory, even as truth. Consider the stir caused by The Da Vinci Code, albeit more from the novel than from the movie. Isn't it frightening that the platforms of fiction writing and film producing...each being largely profit-driven enterprises...are not susceptible to more scrutiny?
On the
other hand, our grand suspicion is exercised much more freely upon institutions that are allegedly designed to be committed to accuracy. Coming readily to mind, of course, is the Church. In addition to being a self-understood purveyor of truth, the Church also has the charge to be humble, and to admit freely its wrongdoings and error. Yet the unchurched of this generation has decidedly gone to regarding the Church with suspicion--at best--to all-out rejection.
So, what are we to say? Although a comprehensive solution is not easily crafted, it behoves us to utilize rightly some of the suspicion granted us by postmodernity, and to assess the influences behind the presentation (be it film, TV, newspapers, novels, Church, etc.): to read the message behind the message. But then, we must not believe we are then bound to reject
all portrayals and reports as completely false and erroneous and not worthy of our trust. In so doing, we become a people paralyzed in trust, and trust untried is trust that becomes weak, and more readily susceptible to being led astray. Instead, let us exercise trust, faith, and hope extravagantly, using them as the gifts of God that they are. But let us do so wisely, understanding that in as much as our sources may be flawed, so are we.
younger tend to feel that they are "informed" about subject A because they've seen a movie (not documentary) about subject A. Case in point, and to illustrate my culpability along these lines: I would say that 90% of what I know about the Cuban Missile Crisis comes from my viewing of the film Thirteen Days (an excellent film, by the way).Now, to a certain extent, I suppose this is grounded: filmmakers are often known to go out of their way to portray reality, especially when dealing with an historical topic. Remember, for instance, the testimonies of WWII veterans after the release of Saving Private Ryan? They said the portrayal of the landing at the beaches of Normandy was as realistic as anything they had seen put to celluloid.
What worries me, though, is that my, and subsequent, generations are being lulled into an attitude of regarding film as above reproach when it comes to information. "I saw a
movie about it" becomes an acceptable answer in stating one's authority. Quite clearly, the danger of adopting this stance toward film is profound: we unquestionably accept the words (and more notably, for my generation: the images) of MGM, WB, the producers, the directors, etc. as revelatory, even as truth. Consider the stir caused by The Da Vinci Code, albeit more from the novel than from the movie. Isn't it frightening that the platforms of fiction writing and film producing...each being largely profit-driven enterprises...are not susceptible to more scrutiny?On the
other hand, our grand suspicion is exercised much more freely upon institutions that are allegedly designed to be committed to accuracy. Coming readily to mind, of course, is the Church. In addition to being a self-understood purveyor of truth, the Church also has the charge to be humble, and to admit freely its wrongdoings and error. Yet the unchurched of this generation has decidedly gone to regarding the Church with suspicion--at best--to all-out rejection.So, what are we to say? Although a comprehensive solution is not easily crafted, it behoves us to utilize rightly some of the suspicion granted us by postmodernity, and to assess the influences behind the presentation (be it film, TV, newspapers, novels, Church, etc.): to read the message behind the message. But then, we must not believe we are then bound to reject
all portrayals and reports as completely false and erroneous and not worthy of our trust. In so doing, we become a people paralyzed in trust, and trust untried is trust that becomes weak, and more readily susceptible to being led astray. Instead, let us exercise trust, faith, and hope extravagantly, using them as the gifts of God that they are. But let us do so wisely, understanding that in as much as our sources may be flawed, so are we.
19 July 2006
My Country, 'Tis of Thee?
As I was at home in Minnesota for the 4th of July for the first time in many years, I took some time to reflect a bit on the role of patriotism from a Christian perspective. Thoughts continued to bubble and brew, but the 4th became more and more distant and the communal swelling of patriotic pride—if any—that came with it seemed all but extinct around me.
Then, there surfaced an article in Christianity Today online by David P. Gushee called “What’s Right About Patriotism” (weblink: http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2006/007/4.48.html). It brought all the thoughts back, so I thought I’d try to succinctly write them down, partially in response to Mr. Gushee’s article.
My thoughts originated from posing the question to an imaginary discussion group, “What is patriotism?” and/or “What does it mean to be patriotic as an American?” and then contemplating possible answers. Some I thought of:
American patriotism means:
- Supporting our troops/serving time in the military. Likely a popular answer, these days, and as equally controversial as popular. Current situations aside, this answer is, I would argue, unanimously refutable by imagining a situation in which “our troops” were—without exception—guilty of all manner of heinous war crimes and human rights violations. Would anyone argue that, in such a situation, it would still be more patriotic to “support” our troops rather than decry their wrongdoings?
- Supporting the president/administration. Fair enough claim (for some). But again, what if the president/administration turned against the American people and the democratic process and sought to—for instance—establish a totalitarian regime? How could one argue that it would still be more patriotic to support such a president/administration?
- Proudly displaying the American flag. I’m not sure if this would really be someone’s answer…but given the number of American flags within a five-mile radius of my current location, I’m guessing it would cross a lot of minds. But to return to our thought experiments, what if a certain woman embodied all of the other things we could mention that contribute to one’s patriotism, but did not—perhaps could not (e.g. she felt she couldn’t show the flag the proper respect by displaying it properly)—fly the flag. Would any rational person declare her unpatriotic?
- Living the American dream. Get educated, work hard, live frugally, save, and (ostensibly) enjoy your retirement. Hmmm…there are lots of questions to this one: what about unequal opportunity? Discrimination? Selfish motivations? The equating of money and happiness? The general rejection of unforeseen and/or external circumstance? Would any of these—and many other—uncontrollable influences render one unpatriotic?
In dealing with other answers in a similar fashion, two things became clear:
- Any individual criterion for American patriotism could be refuted through the basic execution of simple thought experiments, and
- what dwelt beneath each of the criterion (to greater and lesser degrees) were a set of values.
Hence, I then turned my thoughts to these values—maybe obvious to many from the beginning. These values are sketched out over lauded American documents and speeches:
- …all [people] are created equal…
- …life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness…
- …conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all [people] are created equal…
- …the only thing we have to fear is fear itself…
- …free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we’re free at last…
- …truth, justice, and the American way… (I had to throw Superman in…see my last blog entry below)
…and the like. So, perhaps to be patriotic means living by and upholding these values. Personally, I duly hope so.
However, the problem with looking no further for direction and affirmation of our “American” lifestyle than our own patriotism is that each of these values then takes on an inherently subjective element that can be twisted and shaped—both actively and passively—by one’s own experience, knowledge, intent, etc. Ultimately, there is no influential, authoritative standard to these values beyond what the general public (and/or the authoritarian structure) will affirm or oppose, and we all, I think, have realized the fluidity therein.
Where must we then go? I would argue we are driven back to God. From a Christian perspective, one of the wonders of God’s relational nature is that we interact neither with passive generalizations of virtue and values that are able to be subjectively manipulated nor with a hard-and-fast unhearing, unfeeling objective standard. Rather, we relate with a dynamic, relational God who both embodies and transcends these ethereal concepts of virtue and value and is ultimately responsible for revealing their true nature to us. What a shock to find that indeed justice and mercy discovered a cross-shaped intersection where both could not only coexist but intermingle!
So, finally, what does this say about our American patriotism? I am grateful that our nation—among many others—continues to call into play the godly values of freedom, justice, truth, etc., and to the extent that doing so makes one patriotic, I am happy to be called a patriot. Still, I vow to avoid the error of confusing my loyalties…my primary allegiance lies not with my country, not even with the values it purports to pursue and that, embodied, would make it great. My allegiance, my love, goes first to my King. The rest, as they say, is just details…the details of being remade in his image.
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