(Ir)religiosity

This is the text of a sermon I will give later today in one of my classes. It is based on Ezekiel 37:1-14.

Do you believe in ghosts? I remember being asked this question often as a kid. My and my friends used to go on camping trips during the summer and we would stay up all night telling each other spooky stories. And when we finished we would sit for a while in silence around the campfire and inevitably someone would always ask, “So, do you believe in ghosts?” Then we would proceed to have this detailed, in depth metaphysical discussion — okay, so maybe we didn’t know it was metaphysical at the time — about whether or not ghosts existed, until someone would pop out of the woods and scare us half to death. It didn’t much matter if we actually believed in ghosts. What mattered was that we were able to be scared by something, to be disturbed by something even if it was just one of our friends with a bed-sheet over his head.

In this passage from Ezekiel we are confronted with a ghastly and disturbing scene. Ezekiel enters a valley that is littered with dry, brittle and bleached bones, the remains of bodies that were slaughtered in the Babylonian exile. As surprising as it may seem, scenes like this weren’t out of the ordinary for Ezekiel. Israel had been conquered by what was at the time the world’s largest superpower.[1] The Babylonians took them captive, sacked their cities and led them away from their homeland as slaves with chains around their necks. Jerusalem was destroyed, the temple razed, and the Davidic kingship lost. To say that this was period of oppression and tyranny is almost an understatement. Under this exile people were living at the extremity with no hope and no sense of the future. It seemed as if history had come to an end. Image the most vivid and graphic cataclysmic movie or novel you can think of and you may have a sense of Ezekiel’s context. This is as post-apocalyptic as it gets. For all intents and purposes the world had come to an end. It is within this context that Ezekiel was a prophet — a prophet to a people without hope, to a people experiencing a deep collective trauma in the loss and fragmentation of each other and their communal identity.[2] Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve been reading more reviews of McLaren’s newest book and assessments of emergent, both positive and negative.  And still, I find myself a little disappointed with the tone, the rhetoric and the posturing coming from both sides.  For all its emphasis on “the postmodern” and getting beyond all the old binaries, it seems that, in some ways, the conversation is still beholden to modernist forms of thinking and theologizing.  Or maybe that’s just part of the human condition.

A I lecture attended last night at BUSTh sent me to some of John Wesley‘s sermons (something I’m sorry to say I haven’t done in a while).  I guess I still had these latest developments on my mind because I found myself drawn to “The Catholic Spirit.” I almost feel like Wesley is commenting on the blogosphere. Here are a few choice quotes.

[A]lthough a difference in opinions or modes of worship may prevent an entire external union, yet need it prevent our union in affection? Though we cannot think alike, may we not love alike? May we not be of one heart, though we are not of one opinion? Without all doubt, we may. Herein all the children of God may unite, notwithstanding these smaller differences. These remaining as they are, they may forward one another in love and in good works. [...] Every wise man, therefore, will allow others the same liberty of thinking which he desires they should allow him; and will no more insist on their embracing his opinions, than he would have them to insist on his embracing theirs. He bears with those who differ from him, and only asks him with whom he desires to unite in love that single question, “Is thy heart right, as my heart is with thy heart?”[...] And how shall we choose among so much variety [of opinion]? No man can choose for, or prescribe to, another. But every one must follow the dictates of his own conscience, in simplicity and godly sincerity. He must be fully persuaded in his own mind and then act according to the best light he has. Nor has any creature power to constrain another to walk by his own rule. God has given no right to any of the children of men thus to lord it over the conscience of his brethren; but every man must judge for himself, as every man must give an account of himself to God. [...] I dare not, therefore, presume to impose my mode of worship on any other.  I believe it is truly primitive and apostolical: but my belief is no rule for another.

[A] man of a catholic spirit is one who, in the manner above-mentioned, gives his hand to all whose hearts are right with his heart…one who, retaining [God's] blessings with the strictest care, keeping them as the apple of his eye, at the same time loves–as friends, as brethren in the Lord, as members of Christ and children of God, as joint partakers now of the present kingdom of God, and fellow heirs of his eternal kingdom–all, of whatever opinion or worship, or congregation, who believe in the Lord Jesus Christ; who love God and man; who, rejoicing to please, and fearing to offend God, are careful to abstain from evil, and zealous of good works. He is the man of a truly catholic spirit, who bears all these continually upon his heart; who having an unspeakable tenderness for their persons, and longing for their welfare, does not cease to commend them to God in prayer, as well as to plead their cause before men; who speaks comfortably to them, and labours, by all his words, to strengthen their hands in God. He assists them to the uttermost of his power in all things, spiritual and temporal. He is ready “to spend and be spent for them;” yea, to lay down his life for their sake.

If you have had your finger to the pulse of the emergent conversation lately I would encourage you to read the whole sermon (it’s not too long) and I would submit it as a modest plea for more charitable and constructive dialogue.  As Wesley makes clear, this does not mean indifference of opinion nor does it require us to gloss over theological difference.  Critical theological engagement is a requirement — but it should be done with a catholic spirit.  And I find that lacking.  In many ways, social media and disembodied online communication only exacerbate the problem but I am confident that a more generous and mutually beneficial dialogue can take place.  And I hope it does.

The best example I have seen of this so far is Nathan Glimour’s review over at The Christian Humanist (also home of a podcast worth checking out).  Glimour raises so of the same issues I have wondered about in ANKOC, namely McLaren’s use of sources and his reading of history and the tradition.¹  But the point is he writes an critical evenhanded review that doesn’t fall into the various forms of rhetorical drama that seem to be popping up.

Emergent has always imbibed a catholic spirit.  I just hope it is not forsaken in favor of various dogmatisms.

1. For instance, I find McLaren’s description of Greco-Roman as a cultural monolith and his casting of Aristotle as some sort of Platonic heir rather than a supplanter a bit dubious.  I’m also beginning to wonder how useful it really is to place a narrative overlay on Scripture, whether it is the six-line Greco-Roman narrative McLaren castigates or his alternative.  What is lost when we circumscribe the entire canon to a singular arc?  Perhaps I’ll post on this soon. [↩]

Below is the manuscript — more or less, I tend to deviate quite a bit — of the sermon I will be preaching this morning, Transfiguration Sunday, at Quincy Community UMC.  It is based on the gospel text for this week (Luke 9:28-43).

In 1993, Greg Mortensen attempted to climb K2, the second highest mountain in the world.  For Greg, the way up was literally the way up the mountain, to the summit.  But Greg never made it to the top of K2.  There were problems with his crew and on the way back down the mountain Greg was separated from the rest of the group and wandered into a remote village in Pakistan called Korphe.  The people of the village cared for Greg and after spending time with them, Greg realized that the village had no school and no system of education for the children.  Once he returned to the States Greg decided to raise enough money to build a school for the children of Korphe.  This endeavor eventually grew into the Central Asia Institute, a non-profit organization which builds schools for remote villages in north-eastern Pakistan.  Greg recounts his journey in the best-selling book Three Cups of Tea which the Sunday School class has been reading over the past several months.  But these schools are only being built because Greg wasn’t able to reach the top of the mountain.  Three Cups of Tea was written because, in a sense, Greg failed.  Or did he succeed?  It seems that in the end Greg discovered that the way up, the real way up, was the way down — down into the village in Pakistan, down into a world were children had no access to education.  Down into the problems of the world where he could make a difference.

The way up is down.

We see a similar story in our text today.  In Luke’s gospel, Jesus takes three of his disciples — Peter, James, and John — to the top of a mountain to pray.  Now, I doubt that this mountain was as massive as K2 but it was high enough that Jesus felt he could be alone to pray.  This is something that Jesus does many times.  According to the Scriptures, Jesus would go alone, or sometimes with a few disciples, to a mountain or some other secluded place, to pray and mediate often.

But this time it was different, at least that is Luke’s version of the story.  According to Luke, while he is praying Jesus’ face begins to glow and his clothes begin to dazzle.  Then, suddenly, Moses and the prophet Elijah appear next to Jesus and Luke tells us that they begin to talk to Jesus about what he is to “accomplish in Jerusalem,” an obvious reference to Jesus’ passion and crucifixion.

Now, we have all been to the movies with all the new special effects, so let’s image what this scene might look like.  Jesus is on a mountain, his face and clothes are dazzling, and Moses and Elijah appear and start talking to him about his future trip to Jerusalem, the capital city.  Not exactly a calm, still event, right?  It seems to be pretty spectacular.  I mean, Steven Spielberg or Peter Jackson could probably do quite a bit with that on the big screen and I imagine it would be pretty true to the story, at least that seems to be Luke’s version of the story.  But where are the disciples during all this?  Luke tells us that they are so weighed down with sleep that they can barely stay awake!  Really?  Barely stay awake?  How could they miss this?  Moses, one the great heroes of their history who led their ancestors out of slavery in Egypt, has just appeared and Elijah, one of the great prophets is with him.  I mean, these are famous people that Peter, James, and John would have heard about growing up.  And to top it all off Jesus’ clothes are dazzling.  But yet the disciples can barely stay awake.  I mean, imagine it — what would it be like if Martin Luther King and John F. Kennedy suddenly appeared right now, right here in this church?  And what if Pastor Susan’s clothes started dazzling?  I think most of us would be wide awake.  But Luke tells us the disciples can barely stay awake.  In fact, they don’t even say anything until it is time to go back down the mountain and then Peter says something like, “Oh, but this is such a great experience, let’s stay.  And we’ll build a church here, in fact, we’ll build three churches, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”  It’s almost like Peter has woke up and realized what’s going on and he doesn’t want the experience to end.  We all know what that’s like don’t we?  Have you ever been part of an experience that you didn’t want to end?  Something that you wanted to prolong as long as you could?  Almost as soon as Peter says this a cloud appears and a voice says, “This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him!”  And then, just as fast as they appeared, Moses and Elijah are gone and Jesus heads back down the mountain.

For Jesus, the way up is down. Read the rest of this entry »

Below is the manuscript — more or less, I tend to deviate quite a bit — of the sermon I will be preaching this morning, the first Sunday of Advent, at Quincy Community UMC.  It is based on the gospel text for this week (Luke 21:25-36)

There are probably two great “Fridays” people in the United States can readily identify.  Good Friday, of course, two days before Easter, marking the transition from one season to the next, and, perhaps even more popular, Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, the biggest shopping day of the year marking the beginning of the Holy season of Consumerism leading up to Christmas.  Today, we are in the midst of a transition, a cultural in-between time between the Fall season and the hectic Holiday season, the season of consumption where, if you are like me, you are tempted to spend money you don’t have, to buy things you don’t need, to impress people you may not even like.  We are in an in-between time:  between Black Friday, the biggest day of physical shopping, on the one hand, and Cyber Monday, the largest online shopping day, on the other.  Last year even amidst the growing economic crisis, on this same weekend, Americans managed to spend over $41 billion, an average of $373 per person.

We are in an in-between time.

Yet, as Christians, today marks another transition, another in-between time.  Today marks the end of ordinary time in the Christian year and the beginning of Advent, the beginning of our anticipation and celebration of God’s breaking into history through Jesus Christ.  This Sunday in particular, the first Sunday of Advent, we acknowledge a larger period of transition, between Christ’s humble coming in a manager in Bethlehem and God’s complete restoration of all creation in the future.  Today we celebrate God’s coming in Jesus so many years ago and at the same time we anticipate God’s breaking into history again, looking forward to the future redemption and salvation of all things.

So while the culture around us marks the transition into a time of unhealthy and unbridled consumption, we, as God’s people, celebrate and anticipate God’s liberating work in the world.  The question that I would ask all of us today, including myself, is whether we are marking God’s time today, or the time of Consumerism.  Do we look different from the rest of the world around us during this Advent season?  What are we celebrating?  Who are we celebrating? Read the rest of this entry »

This is Peter Rollins at his best.  I love it:

In the ethic of Empire one looks out for ones friends (inside the circle) and punishes ones enemies (outside the circle). It is an ethic that looks out for those who look out for us and loves those who love us. It is an ethic of economy (where we mutually give to one another). It would appear however that Christ ruptures this by giving preference to the one outside our systems (the alien, the enemy, the exile) over and above those privileged within our systems. This counter-ethic shows how the Christ trajectory is one that pushes outside the circle to those beyond its borders. Privileging those on the outside over those on the inside and offering a radical, impossible hospitality.

In this way, every time we draw a circle of who is ‘in’ and who is ‘out’ who we love and who we hate the Christ-action involves pushing away from those who are ‘in’ and identifying with and helping the outsiders, the scapegoat, the stranger, the monstrous other. If the Empire ethic is an ethic that seeks to draw people into the circle of exchange the Christ ethic privileges the exception. Always pushing out to those who are excluded, who live beyond the fortified boundary.

By refusing to expand ourselves and our theology we limit our capacity to create space for The Other, constructing self-imposed boudaries that menace that which unites us.  We simply draw our circle too small.  Or, maybe the real problem is that we insist on drawing a circle in the first place.

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