(Ir)religiosity

That is the all important question that Augustine occupies himself with in his Confessions.  Augustine is never really satisfied with any of his answers because those answers, for him, amount to nothing more the a visual image of an invisible God and ultimately fail to grasp God as God.

I think Augustine’s question has to become our question, a question that must always be lived out within our experience as the all important linchpin of all our theological discourse and reflection.  It is the question of religion.

What would your answer be?  What is it that you love when you love your God?

I could answer with many of virtues that we find so important in theology.  But each one seems to fall short.  What is that I love when I love my God?  Is it love itself?  Justice?  Hope?  Wisdom?  All these are legitimate answers, but each one seems to, when I name it, place restraints and limits on God as God.  Perhaps the best response is all these answers and more.  The more I contemplate possible answers the more I realize that I am wholly inadequate to formulate an answer.

Any answer to this question is provisional, and always arises ad hoc in wake of the event of God.  So my answer today will likely differ from my answer tomorrow just as it differs from my answer yesterday.  And the true paradox is that none of those answers — past, present, or future — is necessarily wrong, as it were.

So again, what do I love when I love my God? I will answer for today.

I am becoming more and more convinced that God is not an object to be contemplated or an external idea to be reflected upon but a reality to be participated in and a life in which we all share.

If that is true then perhaps the best way I can answer this all important question is to say that when I love my God I love you — yes, you.  Whoever you are, however you are, whenever you are and whatever you are doing…I. Love. You.  If you are reading this, if you are a human being and participate in the sharing of this life, then I…love…you.  That is what I love when I love my God.

How would you answer?  What is it that you love when you love your God?

Interesting.

[Ht. Nick Fiedler]

I ran across this quote yesterday:

“As a virtue solidarity becomes a way of life.  It becomes the new way of living out ‘the love your neighbor as yourself’ that up to now has been interpreted as giving out of largesse. Given the network of oppressive structures in our world today that so control and dominate the vast majority of human beings, the only way we can continue to claim the centrality of love of neighbor for Christians is to redefine what it means and what it demands for us.  Solidarity, then, becomes the new way of understanding and living out this commandment of the gospel.”

–Ada Maria Isasi-Diaz in Mujerista Theology

Interesting.  I’ve often been troubled by the common practice of giving — like the rich religious leaders in the gospel — and showing solidarity out of one’s abundance and excess.  I just wonder what that means when there is no cost, no sacrifice, and no real personal change.  Naturally, my next thought is to ask whether the giving and the solidarity are really authentic or simply cheap gimmicks to appease a guilty conscience either individual or collective.

The irony here of course is that I am often feel that I am doing exactly that; and I then have to ask myself: do I really care for the well-being of the Other?  Am I genuinely invested in acknowledging the mark of the divine that rests in my neighbor?  That’s tough.

I know it’s a little late for Holy Week fodder, but I’ve been busy over the last week and a half. The following is the text of a devotional I gave Wednesday of Holy Week at Village United Methodist Church, as part of a Holy Week breakfast series. The text that morning was John 15:1-17.

Today’s text is very interesting and even a little puzzling. This section of John’s gospel (chapters 15-16) is part of a larger section scholars have labeled the “Farewell Discourses.” Now, John’s gospel is known for its long, abstract, philosophical discourses and monologues wherein Jesus describes himself as “the bread of life,” “the good shepherd,” and so on. But today’s reading where Jesus likens himself to “the true vine” is the longest monologue in any gospel lasting until 16:17 when the disciples stop to question Jesus.

But even more puzzling is the fact that this section and the whole excursus about the vine and the branches seems to repeat and expound upon everything Jesus said in John 14. In John 14 Jesus says that he is the way, the truth, and the life, that in order to know God one must remain in him, living a new type of imperially subversive life, and he promises that the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, will come when he is gone to help. So, why would Jesus repeat himself in John 15? Why would he go out of his way to further explain himself with the image of the vine and the branches? This happens right after Jesus washes the disciples in John 13 and just before he is arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane. These are, according to John, Jesus’ last moments with his disciples, his closest friends with whom he has spent the last 3 years. Why would he spend so much time on this?

The fact that Jesus spends so much time here making sure he has made his point tells me that this was very, very important. This was essentially the last time he spoke to his disciples, as a group so whatever he told them here, I believe, is likely the most important part of his message.

And what does he say? He uses the image of a vine and its branches to illustrate the relationship of his followers and himself to God. Now, this is an image we have a hard time relating to, but Jesus’ disciples would have been very closely attuned to it. Grapes, vines, and vineyards were an integral part of their culture. Wine was a staple commodity. So Jesus uses the visceral image to convey his message. Jesus is the vine, God is the vine grower. The disciples—then and now—are the vine branches. God is the source life and ground of being. Jesus serves as the conduit of that life exemplifying and embodying the best possible way to live life. Our trajectory emerges from that, from the life of Jesus. Through Jesus’ example, were are enabled to participate in God’s life and God’s process of creativity and restoration. Jesus is the vine, we are the branches and God is the caretaker. Through relationship with Jesus and synergetic interaction with the divine life, we in time bear fruit.

This was Jesus’ final message to his disciples. This is obviously very important. Finally, to cap it all off Jesus says we are to above all, love one another. Love one another. The last message that Jesus gives to his disciples is about love. It seems so easy, but it is so hard. It is especially hard for us because we use the word ‘love’ to mean a number of things from a personal preference, as in “I love pizza,” to a strong feeling of affection and commitment, as in “I love my wife” to everything in between. We have so many meanings for love that we don’t even know what it means anymore. But Jesus had a very specific meaning for this higher type of love and the best example of that is Jesus’ willingness to nonviolently confront the powers that be knowing that he would likely be executed. To say of his executioners “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” To turn to the terrorist being executed beside him and say “Today you will be with me in paradise.”

When you look closely you see that Jesus entire life was an example of this higher type of love and what Paul Tillich called “ultimate concern for ‘the other.’” Jesus exercised radical love and concern with everyone he came in contact with: tax collectors, prostitutes, the unclean, the damned, the broken hearted, the neglected, the outcast, and the marginalized. Those that society holds at arms’ length, Jesus welcomes with arms wide open (insert cheesy Creed song here). Jesus’ message, at the core was about love, love for God and love for people, because after all, God is love. As the great activist and preacher William Sloane Coffin wrote:

“God is love as Scripture says and that means the revelation is in the relationship. God is love means God is known devotionally not dogmatically. God is love does not clear up old mysteries, it discloses new mystery. God is love is not a truth we can master, it is only one to which we can surrender. Faith is being grasped by the power of love.”

So for Christians love is a verb not a noun. Which presents us with a problem because we Christians like to preach, we like to talk and we like to listen (at least most of us do). We like to read and write books about this gospel business. We like to come up with cute curricula.  We like to plant churches. We like to play the game. But this life of love that we are called to live as branches of the vine, this love that we participate in with God is not something to be heard or talked about. No, instead it is something to be seen, something to be done. It is, as Jesus showed with his life an action and a relationship. “They will know we’re Christians by our love” is much more than a songs title, it is the essence of our faith. If we fail at living out love with our actions, we have failed the entire Christian project. It has become quite cliché to say “actions speak louder than words,” but for disciples of Jesus there isn’t a more powerful truism. Indeed, love wins, but love cannot win if love is not alive. We must bring love alive. We must give love a body, and a face. God grant us the courage to bring love alive.

About 15 years ago, controversial historical Jesus scholar John Dominic Crossan wrote a book about Jesus’ life. It’s a more accessible digest of his much thicker, much more provocative book on the historical Jesus. Rarely, if ever in scholarly, academic books like this do we ever hear about the author’s personal faith journey or catch a glimpse of their spirituality. I think that’s unfortunate. I wish they would write about themselves more often. I understand why they don’t, but I wish they would. Anyway, in the prologue of this book, we catch one of those rare glimpses. Dominic writes a hypothetical dialogue with himself and Jesus about his book that I think especially speaks to the Christian problem of speaking without acting and the tension of love as a noun versus love as a verb. It goes like this:

“I’ve read your book Dominic, and it’s quite good. So now you’re ready to live by my vision and join me in my program?”
“I don’t think I have the courage, Jesus, but I did describe it quite well, didn’t I, and the method was especially good wasn’t it?”
“Thank you, Dominic, for not falsifying the message to suit your own incapacity. That at least is something.”
“Is it enough Jesus?”
“No, Dominic, no it is not?”

Let us pray.