Theology
Perspectivalism
08/27/08 11:20
We need to read the Scriptures in a way that answers the questions that those Scriptures raise. For example, the purpose of Genesis 1, in terms of the questions that it is seeking to answer, has very little (nothing?) to do with the questions that we bring to the text, i.e., the modern scientific conflict of creation opposed to evolution. This text is premodern, and without any understanding of the scientific method, and so how can we import our scientific needs onto a text that has no understanding of that. I suppose the justification roots on Scripture being God’s Word, but that fully usurps the human level of Scripture. So, even if Gen 1 does correspond with the order of sciences’ understanding of creation (light made first, planets next, etc.) - though this is a tenuous correspondence with a necessary ad hoc component - we cannot and should not understand that the author if intended this seeming coincidence. I have only used Genesis 1 as an example of something that we do throughout Scripture.
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Jurgen Moltmann
08/26/08 09:06
From Experiences of God, p. 6-8, by Jurgen Moltmann:
“Born in Hamburg in 1926, I belong to the generation which consciously lived through the horrors of the Second World War, the collapse of an empire and its institutions, the guilt and shame of one’s own nation, and a long period as prisoner of war. Later we were called ‘the sceptical generation’. And those of us who survived those years and who came back from then on shunned the fire. We had learnt justifiable mistrust. But we were really neither sceptical nor resigned. We were weighed down by the sombre burden of a guilt which could never be paid off; and what we felt about life was ann inconsolable grief. It is understandable that there were some of us whose motto was ‘count me out’, and whose aim was to withdraw into private life for the future. But really we came back to Germany with the will to create a new, different, more humane world. Some of us found behind the barbed wire the power of a hope which wants something new, instead of seeking a return to the old.
“Our Abitur - the university entrance exam - was put forward so that we could be sent to the guns, as Air Force auxiliaries. At that time I really wanted to read mathematics and physics at the university. Of course I had become interested in these subjects at school because of some teachers I admired. The theory of relativity and quantum physics were the most fascinating secrets open to knowledge. At that time the idea of theology was as remote as the church itself. The ‘iron rations’ in the way of reading matter which I took with me into the miseries of war were Goethe’s poems and the works of Nietzche (army edition, India paper). In February 1945 I was taken prisoner by the British, and for over three years I was moved from camp to camp in Belgium, Scotland and England. In April 1948 I was one of the last to be ‘repatriated’, as the phrase went.
“The break-up of the German front, the collapse of law and humanity, the self-destruction of German civilization and culture, and finally the appalling end on 9 May 1945 - all this was followed by the revelation of the crimes which had been committed in Germany’s name - Buchenwald, Auschwitz, Maidanek, Bergen-Belsen and the rest. And with that came the necessity of standing up to it all inwardly, shut up in camps as we were. I think my own little world fell to pieces then too. The ‘iron rations’ I had with me were quickly used up, and what remained left a stale taste in the mouth. In that Belgian camp, hungry as we were, I saw how other men collapsed inwardly, how they gave up all hope, sickening for the lack of it, some of them dying. The same thing almost happened to me. What kept me from it was a rebirth to new life thanks to a hope for which there was no evidence at all.
“It was not that I experienced any sudden conversion. What I felt all at once was the death of all the mainstays that had sustained my life up to then. It was only slowly that something different began to build up in their stead. At home, Christianity was only a matter of form. One came across it once a year at Christmas time, as something rather remote. In the prison camps where I was I only met it in very human - all too human - form. It was nothing very overwhelming. And yet the experience of misery and forsakenness and daily humiliation gradually built up into an experience of God.
“It was the experience of God’s presence in the dark night of the soul: ‘If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.’ A well-meaning army chaplain had given me a New Testament. I thought it was out of place. I would rather have had something to eat. But then I became fascinated by the Psalms (which were printed in an appendix) and especially by Psalm 39: ‘I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred’ (but the German is much stronger - ‘I have to eat up my grief within myself’) ... Hold thou not thy peace at my tears: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.’ These psalms gave me the words for my own suffering. They opened my eyes to the God who is with those ‘that are of a broken heart’. He was present even behind the barbed wire - no, most of all behind the barbed wire. But whenever in my despair I wanted to lay firm hold on this experience, it eluded me again, and there I was with empty hands once more. All that was left was an inward drive, a longing which provided the impetus to hope. How often I walked round and round in circles at night in front of the barbed wire fence. My first thoughts were always about the free world outside, from which I was cut off; but I always ended up thinking about a centre to the circle in the middle of the camp - a little hill, with a hut on it which served as a chapel. It seemed to me like a circle surrounding the mystery of God, which was drawing me towards it.
“This experience of not sinking into the abyss but of being held up from afar was the beginning of a clear hope, without which it is impossible to live at all. At the same time, even this hope cut two ways; on the one hand it provided the strength to get up again after every inward or outward defeat; on the other hand it made the soul rub itself raw on the barbed wire, making it impossible to settle down in captivity or come to terms with it.”
“Born in Hamburg in 1926, I belong to the generation which consciously lived through the horrors of the Second World War, the collapse of an empire and its institutions, the guilt and shame of one’s own nation, and a long period as prisoner of war. Later we were called ‘the sceptical generation’. And those of us who survived those years and who came back from then on shunned the fire. We had learnt justifiable mistrust. But we were really neither sceptical nor resigned. We were weighed down by the sombre burden of a guilt which could never be paid off; and what we felt about life was ann inconsolable grief. It is understandable that there were some of us whose motto was ‘count me out’, and whose aim was to withdraw into private life for the future. But really we came back to Germany with the will to create a new, different, more humane world. Some of us found behind the barbed wire the power of a hope which wants something new, instead of seeking a return to the old.
“Our Abitur - the university entrance exam - was put forward so that we could be sent to the guns, as Air Force auxiliaries. At that time I really wanted to read mathematics and physics at the university. Of course I had become interested in these subjects at school because of some teachers I admired. The theory of relativity and quantum physics were the most fascinating secrets open to knowledge. At that time the idea of theology was as remote as the church itself. The ‘iron rations’ in the way of reading matter which I took with me into the miseries of war were Goethe’s poems and the works of Nietzche (army edition, India paper). In February 1945 I was taken prisoner by the British, and for over three years I was moved from camp to camp in Belgium, Scotland and England. In April 1948 I was one of the last to be ‘repatriated’, as the phrase went.
“The break-up of the German front, the collapse of law and humanity, the self-destruction of German civilization and culture, and finally the appalling end on 9 May 1945 - all this was followed by the revelation of the crimes which had been committed in Germany’s name - Buchenwald, Auschwitz, Maidanek, Bergen-Belsen and the rest. And with that came the necessity of standing up to it all inwardly, shut up in camps as we were. I think my own little world fell to pieces then too. The ‘iron rations’ I had with me were quickly used up, and what remained left a stale taste in the mouth. In that Belgian camp, hungry as we were, I saw how other men collapsed inwardly, how they gave up all hope, sickening for the lack of it, some of them dying. The same thing almost happened to me. What kept me from it was a rebirth to new life thanks to a hope for which there was no evidence at all.
“It was not that I experienced any sudden conversion. What I felt all at once was the death of all the mainstays that had sustained my life up to then. It was only slowly that something different began to build up in their stead. At home, Christianity was only a matter of form. One came across it once a year at Christmas time, as something rather remote. In the prison camps where I was I only met it in very human - all too human - form. It was nothing very overwhelming. And yet the experience of misery and forsakenness and daily humiliation gradually built up into an experience of God.
“It was the experience of God’s presence in the dark night of the soul: ‘If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.’ A well-meaning army chaplain had given me a New Testament. I thought it was out of place. I would rather have had something to eat. But then I became fascinated by the Psalms (which were printed in an appendix) and especially by Psalm 39: ‘I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred’ (but the German is much stronger - ‘I have to eat up my grief within myself’) ... Hold thou not thy peace at my tears: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.’ These psalms gave me the words for my own suffering. They opened my eyes to the God who is with those ‘that are of a broken heart’. He was present even behind the barbed wire - no, most of all behind the barbed wire. But whenever in my despair I wanted to lay firm hold on this experience, it eluded me again, and there I was with empty hands once more. All that was left was an inward drive, a longing which provided the impetus to hope. How often I walked round and round in circles at night in front of the barbed wire fence. My first thoughts were always about the free world outside, from which I was cut off; but I always ended up thinking about a centre to the circle in the middle of the camp - a little hill, with a hut on it which served as a chapel. It seemed to me like a circle surrounding the mystery of God, which was drawing me towards it.
“This experience of not sinking into the abyss but of being held up from afar was the beginning of a clear hope, without which it is impossible to live at all. At the same time, even this hope cut two ways; on the one hand it provided the strength to get up again after every inward or outward defeat; on the other hand it made the soul rub itself raw on the barbed wire, making it impossible to settle down in captivity or come to terms with it.”
2 Wishes
08/25/08 08:25
These days I have two wishes for/from the church. The first is a deeper engagement in silence during services. In my church experience silence is an uncomfortable time where folks have not been trained to seek inside themselves, sit in the depths of God, coming up face-to-face with our minuteness in the presence of a vast God...
My second wish really focuses on humility. Essentially, I wish we were more humble in our epistemology and grasp of truth. Suffice an example: the trinity. I have written about this before, and my point is almost the same. The trinity is an example of the supra-rationality of God and the tenuous nature of our knowledge. The three and one aspect of trinity defies human knowledge. One of the basic tenets of matter is that it cannot be in the same place as other matter, and thus the trinity, in some manner, shows the weakness of our understanding. (I am not so much putting God in the realm of matter, as trying to show how contrary to our experience of reality God is.) Yet, not only does the trinity show us how dimly we perceive reality, it also brings us (hopefully) to humility. Instead of being able to claim some sort of deeper knowledge or reality, we should admit that our knowledge is ever changing, ever being learned. This is the contrary mode of most church mindsets and (foundationalist) epistemologies (in my experience).
My second wish really focuses on humility. Essentially, I wish we were more humble in our epistemology and grasp of truth. Suffice an example: the trinity. I have written about this before, and my point is almost the same. The trinity is an example of the supra-rationality of God and the tenuous nature of our knowledge. The three and one aspect of trinity defies human knowledge. One of the basic tenets of matter is that it cannot be in the same place as other matter, and thus the trinity, in some manner, shows the weakness of our understanding. (I am not so much putting God in the realm of matter, as trying to show how contrary to our experience of reality God is.) Yet, not only does the trinity show us how dimly we perceive reality, it also brings us (hopefully) to humility. Instead of being able to claim some sort of deeper knowledge or reality, we should admit that our knowledge is ever changing, ever being learned. This is the contrary mode of most church mindsets and (foundationalist) epistemologies (in my experience).
Qua Rationality
08/13/08 10:29
Lately I have been perusing Alistair McGrath and Richard Dawkins’ debates/interviews on YouTube. They have been deeply disturbing, namely because Dawkins reveals in a very obvious manner the irrationality of Christianity. This is an extremely difficult aspect of Christianity. We try as hard as hard as we can to maintain our rationality with mixed results. Let me layout the problem, propose some underlying theses, and some (potential) solutions.
The essential problem revolves around the Resurrection. If we understand rationality as logical thinking (logical meaning able to be tested in terms of validity), then how can the resurrection (much less the incarnation) ever be a rationally understood enterprise? This is particularly true from our station as humans! Perhaps if we had some supernatural vision of the world, then we could use different tests of validity than those at our disposal. This sort of wishful thinking may not be pragmatic, but hopefully it reminds us, as thinkers, that the greatest pursuits we can engage in are limited. I stray from my point.
Dawkins cornered McGrath on the issue of God’s action. It is a deeply inexplicable problem, and one of many that Dawkins could have used. In this particular case, Dawkins asked how one can be rational while holding the proposition that God saves (in a very real sense, such as from the catastrophe of 9/11) some people and not others while at the same time believing that God had no direct action in the death of the thousands of other. If God is really God, why would he save that one person, or this few people, and let the many die? This appears inherently irrational.
The essential problem revolves around the Resurrection. If we understand rationality as logical thinking (logical meaning able to be tested in terms of validity), then how can the resurrection (much less the incarnation) ever be a rationally understood enterprise? This is particularly true from our station as humans! Perhaps if we had some supernatural vision of the world, then we could use different tests of validity than those at our disposal. This sort of wishful thinking may not be pragmatic, but hopefully it reminds us, as thinkers, that the greatest pursuits we can engage in are limited. I stray from my point.
Dawkins cornered McGrath on the issue of God’s action. It is a deeply inexplicable problem, and one of many that Dawkins could have used. In this particular case, Dawkins asked how one can be rational while holding the proposition that God saves (in a very real sense, such as from the catastrophe of 9/11) some people and not others while at the same time believing that God had no direct action in the death of the thousands of other. If God is really God, why would he save that one person, or this few people, and let the many die? This appears inherently irrational.
What do we really know?
08/06/08 18:02
In the Old Testament, there is only one God. Yahweh. The evidence is not monolithic, and some point to different hintings at the Trinity, but truly any good Jew knows that the Lord is one. However, in the New Testament, we learn a deeper truth - a deeper revelation of reality. God is one, but in a very mysterious way - the trinity. He is one and three at the same time. Is this the final revelation? Certainly not.
In the Old Testament, the Messiah seems to imply someone who is going to come from the line of David and establish the kingdom of Israel again (like David). When Jesus shows up, those are not his intentions at all (at least in the sense of creating an earthly Kingdom). The Jews are not able to recognize him as the Messiah for that very reason!
My point is this: what do we know? What of our understanding of God is a bit off (or significantly off in the case of political power!)? What if our traditional understanding of salvation is not quite right? What if the traditional understanding of God as a warrior or as a peacemaker is not quite right.
If the New Testament is a partial corrective to the Hebrew Scriptures (and Jesus very much see himself as a corrective, i.e., when it comes to the understanding of Sabbath), then how much can we trust the Bible? Moreover, Paul’s own philosophical and theological musings - how are they more accurate than Calvin or Barth? I do not mean that in an arrogant sense, but were not Calvin and Barth followers of Christ seeking God’s purpose/will? Couldn’t Paul be slightly mistaken in his understanding of eschatology, soteriology or salvation?
In the Old Testament, the Messiah seems to imply someone who is going to come from the line of David and establish the kingdom of Israel again (like David). When Jesus shows up, those are not his intentions at all (at least in the sense of creating an earthly Kingdom). The Jews are not able to recognize him as the Messiah for that very reason!
My point is this: what do we know? What of our understanding of God is a bit off (or significantly off in the case of political power!)? What if our traditional understanding of salvation is not quite right? What if the traditional understanding of God as a warrior or as a peacemaker is not quite right.
If the New Testament is a partial corrective to the Hebrew Scriptures (and Jesus very much see himself as a corrective, i.e., when it comes to the understanding of Sabbath), then how much can we trust the Bible? Moreover, Paul’s own philosophical and theological musings - how are they more accurate than Calvin or Barth? I do not mean that in an arrogant sense, but were not Calvin and Barth followers of Christ seeking God’s purpose/will? Couldn’t Paul be slightly mistaken in his understanding of eschatology, soteriology or salvation?
The End of Time
07/31/08 00:15
We know that one day the universe will end. This is not just the theological conjecture of someone who has read the book of Revelation. It is more or less an undeniable fact of physics. So, knowing that there is an end to the universe, that has some serious implications at how one looks at life. Assuming one is a theist, and more so a Christian, this thought may not be so alarming. Most Christians expect some sort of an end to come with the return of Jesus to setup the full-blown Kingdom of God. At that time Christ will judge everyone (though I will not speculate into the specifics of that judgment now). Essentially, the hope in another life, another world, that Christians have is crucial to looking forward to the end of time. We hope, trust and believe that there is a heaven - there is another place for us to go, and it is going to be even better than this beautiful earth.
The problem that I envision for the certainty of the end of time is that of the conundrum set before atheists and deists who do not think that God cares about us at all. For, due to this inevitable end, what meaning does life have? Not only is it hard to live everyday knowing that humanity has the capacity to blow itself to smithereens with a few nukes, but now we know that even if we manage note to blow ourselves up, it will all come to an end nonetheless! This is a very deep question on a great number of levels: it forces us to ask what life is all about. Not only in the very pragmatic sense of what legacy one wants to leave behind, or engaging in that most pedestrian need to propagate one’s genes (to put it... bluntly?), but in the philosophical and theological senses of purpose. I suppose what it really breaks down to is a question of ethics: How should we live knowing what we know?
This is a not a new question of ethics, but it is a different question than one asked in the millennia before us because now we know that there is an end. No longer does the humanist-modernist idea of perfecting humanity matter. Even if we gain perfection, it ends. No longer does the arrogant quest for immortality matter (it is still very much alive), because there is an impenetrable end to immortality.
Oddly enough, this question is one that was entertained in Scripture. Qohelet, the author of Ecclesiastes, came head-to-head with this very question. His conclusions are not necessarily for enlightening, but they definitely ring true: Hevel hevel, everything is hevel. Hevel is often translated meaningless, but it could mean so many things! It could mean wisp, or fleetingness, or a breath... The point being that even this writer from at least a score of centuries ago was able to realize that what we do on earth, but for very few of us, will have little lasting impact. (However, what we all do together can have a great lasting impact - such a global warming or deforestation, etc.). My point is this: the purpose of living life cannot be found in anything other than living it. That is, when God gives you blessings - enjoy them. When God allows your trials, endure them. It is not for the present that they matter - they matter because who you are, and what character you have, is being created, shaped and refined by those experiences. Life is lived best because who you are is eternal, and what you do now does affect who you are in that eternity.
The problem that I envision for the certainty of the end of time is that of the conundrum set before atheists and deists who do not think that God cares about us at all. For, due to this inevitable end, what meaning does life have? Not only is it hard to live everyday knowing that humanity has the capacity to blow itself to smithereens with a few nukes, but now we know that even if we manage note to blow ourselves up, it will all come to an end nonetheless! This is a very deep question on a great number of levels: it forces us to ask what life is all about. Not only in the very pragmatic sense of what legacy one wants to leave behind, or engaging in that most pedestrian need to propagate one’s genes (to put it... bluntly?), but in the philosophical and theological senses of purpose. I suppose what it really breaks down to is a question of ethics: How should we live knowing what we know?
This is a not a new question of ethics, but it is a different question than one asked in the millennia before us because now we know that there is an end. No longer does the humanist-modernist idea of perfecting humanity matter. Even if we gain perfection, it ends. No longer does the arrogant quest for immortality matter (it is still very much alive), because there is an impenetrable end to immortality.
Oddly enough, this question is one that was entertained in Scripture. Qohelet, the author of Ecclesiastes, came head-to-head with this very question. His conclusions are not necessarily for enlightening, but they definitely ring true: Hevel hevel, everything is hevel. Hevel is often translated meaningless, but it could mean so many things! It could mean wisp, or fleetingness, or a breath... The point being that even this writer from at least a score of centuries ago was able to realize that what we do on earth, but for very few of us, will have little lasting impact. (However, what we all do together can have a great lasting impact - such a global warming or deforestation, etc.). My point is this: the purpose of living life cannot be found in anything other than living it. That is, when God gives you blessings - enjoy them. When God allows your trials, endure them. It is not for the present that they matter - they matter because who you are, and what character you have, is being created, shaped and refined by those experiences. Life is lived best because who you are is eternal, and what you do now does affect who you are in that eternity.
Dark Knight
07/22/08 11:43
My birthday and the opening of Dark Knight were the same day. Ergo, it was inevitable that I hsould see the newest Batman movie on my birthday. The day before I saw Batman Begins as a prep and refresher with some friends. As good as Batman Begins was, Dark Knight not only did not disappoint, but even exceeded the high expectations I put on it. There are three main reasons why to movie was phenomenal.
The first reason is Heath Ledger. Ledger’s acting was almost literally otherworldly. He was unrecognizable for most of the movie. The cute Australian accent was gone, the boyish good looks wrapped up in disturbing makeup, and any friendly gestures swallowed in diabolical Nietzchean will-to-power. In short, there was nothing about the Joker that resembled Heath Ledger. I was not able to connect the person of Ledger with the personage of the Joker until a scene an hour and half into the movie where, riding in a cop car, he is leaning out the window and runs his fingers through his hair. In the midst of the tragedy of death surrounding Ledger, this was a brilliant last performance. And, though I do not like to draw such connections, I would not be surprised to find out that his death was connected to the twisted role that he not only played, but took on in this movie. There was power in his acting because he believed he was the Joker.
(This article is just a minor sketch of my thoughts on the movie: a very good thematic sketch which I also resonate with can be found here.)
The second reason is the writing and directing of the story. I do not mean the actual lines, but the real emotions that were drawn out. One of the base themes of this movie is the maturing of Bruce Wayne as he comes to realize the price of being Batman: the price of fighting such twisted evil; namely, the inability to save all lives. The torment was real, and it was devastating - the point clear: we are unable to do everything, we are unable to heal the world completely. In essence, this movie can be used to connect to the idea of why bad things happen to good people: within the confines of life, those who work for evil are able to cause more chaos than those who work for good can solve. And though the temptation in the midst of the massive destruction, pain and meaningless violence is capitulation, the only real solution is having the courage to take the pain.
In this, we come to the most powerful part of the movie, which is the Christological nature of Batman. This comes to the fore in two primary modes: first is the rejection of Batman. Though his work is as much for good as he can do, he is still shunned. The second, more powerful mode, is a line at the very end of the movie by Gordon and his son. Batman has saved them, and is taking the blame for wrongs he did not commit (sound familiar?). As he flees the approaching police, Gordon’s son asks why. Why is it this way? He has done nothing wrong. Gordon answers: He is taking the blame, because he is the only one who can. It was at this point that I lost it: the reality was too crushing. Jesus is the one who can take it. The only one who can take it.
Knowing God
07/14/08 12:18
Having been raised in the solid culture of evanglicalism, I have been often taught that Christianity is not a ‘religion’ but a ‘relationship’ - meaning that it is not a set of rules to be followed, but about ‘knowing’ God through Jesus. I have always had a hard time with such understandings of what it is to be in a ‘relationship’ with God. God is... well, God. As Barth notes, he is HOLY, meaning different, other, not-likes-us! And yet he comes to become as like as as possible - even taking on flesh.
This is all well and good. In fact, it is very good, but I am still very fuzzy on the practical working out of what a ‘relationship with God’ means. Let me illustrate my point. I have a good friend and wife, Emily, and my relationship with her is very easily defined: I talk to her, she talks to me. When either of us is troubled we can see it on each other’s faces and in our actions. We can comfort each other with a hug (or chocolate). We can do fun things together, like riding our bikes, watching Lost, going to the beach (ok, I’ll throw in shopping for her sake...). In essence, our relationship is extremely tangible. But I don’t think that such a tangible relationship is what we mean with God.
I suppose I have some friends who would disagree with me - there relationships with God are very tangible via a very active role that they see God taking in their lives. Now, I’m not saying that they are wrong, I have a very hard time with the sort of activity that they claim God is behind. One of the most common activities that God seems to bring about is putting them in a certain place, surrounded by people who love, care and bless them (and often where they are in positions to love, care and bless others). The bottom line is that I have a hard time knowing/understanding that such was God’s work - that because of some special relationship with Him these things occured, which would not have occured had not this relationship with God been a reality in these Christian’s lives. For if these things would have happened, these people known, without a relationship with God, then how is a relationship with God made in manifest in the glorious blessings of relationships?
This is only one example, though there are many other possibilties. So, the question remains: what is it to have a relationship with God?
This is all well and good. In fact, it is very good, but I am still very fuzzy on the practical working out of what a ‘relationship with God’ means. Let me illustrate my point. I have a good friend and wife, Emily, and my relationship with her is very easily defined: I talk to her, she talks to me. When either of us is troubled we can see it on each other’s faces and in our actions. We can comfort each other with a hug (or chocolate). We can do fun things together, like riding our bikes, watching Lost, going to the beach (ok, I’ll throw in shopping for her sake...). In essence, our relationship is extremely tangible. But I don’t think that such a tangible relationship is what we mean with God.
I suppose I have some friends who would disagree with me - there relationships with God are very tangible via a very active role that they see God taking in their lives. Now, I’m not saying that they are wrong, I have a very hard time with the sort of activity that they claim God is behind. One of the most common activities that God seems to bring about is putting them in a certain place, surrounded by people who love, care and bless them (and often where they are in positions to love, care and bless others). The bottom line is that I have a hard time knowing/understanding that such was God’s work - that because of some special relationship with Him these things occured, which would not have occured had not this relationship with God been a reality in these Christian’s lives. For if these things would have happened, these people known, without a relationship with God, then how is a relationship with God made in manifest in the glorious blessings of relationships?
This is only one example, though there are many other possibilties. So, the question remains: what is it to have a relationship with God?
Sacrifices of War
05/27/08 14:44
“The greatest sacrifice of war is not the sacrifice of life, great as such a sacrifice may be, but rather the sacrifice of our unwillingness to kill. That sacrifice, that is, the sacrifice of our unwillingness to kill, is why war is at once so morally compelling and morally perverse.”
- Stanley Hauerwas, “Sacrificing the Sacrifices of War”, CTR, Spring 2007, pp 77-96
- Stanley Hauerwas, “Sacrificing the Sacrifices of War”, CTR, Spring 2007, pp 77-96
Seeking Truth
05/15/08 08:09
Maybe life is not so much about figuring out what is truth. Maybe it is more about figuring about what is false. There is little truth that is in any sense ‘provable’ in any ultimate or definite sense. Berkeley’s solipsism is difficult to refute, though I have never met anyone who actually believes in it. Even pragmatism does not function well as a decisive rubric for analyzing truth claims - there are a great many truths that are deeply impractical. The first that comes to mind is to love others as yourself, which truly leads to a better way of living life. At first, it is apparent that the most pragmatic way of doing life is to only look out for oneself, but the resulting life is disastrous (eventually). Nietzche’s Ubermensch would be another example - Hitler is not exactly the sort of person that few would morally tolerate, but according to Nietzche’s ethic, he is a perfectly moral character.
On Reason and God Speak
05/02/08 13:14
It is most interesting that the God of Scripture is so clearly unable to be discerned by any human endeavor. He can only be known by his coming and revealing Himself to us. There is no possible way that we can reason to Him.
Furthermore, even when we do get to meet Him, there is no implication that we ‘get’ him - that we can understand Him. If we doubt this and think that we have some fullness in our knowledge of God, we need only be reminded of the Trinity - one of the many aspects of God that has been revealed to us and to which we were not able to reason.
This should give us much humility in how we approach all theological knowledge. In particular, it should lend great modesty to the Academy where the intelligentsia particularly try to fathom the mysteries of God by way of intellectual pursuit and reason’s analysis of the experienced presence of God in Scripture.
However, there is still necessity and great value in the Academy, particularly when it pursues its purpose with humility and as a product for the enrichment and help of the Kingdom of God. Scripture is confusing, and Jesus in particular legitimates human reason both by his learning at the Temple and his own faith in his followers to continue to teach what they had learned from him.
Furthermore, even when we do get to meet Him, there is no implication that we ‘get’ him - that we can understand Him. If we doubt this and think that we have some fullness in our knowledge of God, we need only be reminded of the Trinity - one of the many aspects of God that has been revealed to us and to which we were not able to reason.
This should give us much humility in how we approach all theological knowledge. In particular, it should lend great modesty to the Academy where the intelligentsia particularly try to fathom the mysteries of God by way of intellectual pursuit and reason’s analysis of the experienced presence of God in Scripture.
However, there is still necessity and great value in the Academy, particularly when it pursues its purpose with humility and as a product for the enrichment and help of the Kingdom of God. Scripture is confusing, and Jesus in particular legitimates human reason both by his learning at the Temple and his own faith in his followers to continue to teach what they had learned from him.
Do the means justify the ends?
03/10/08 08:18
I am surprised by how often this simple idea comes to bear. Do the means justify the ends? Does the result justify how we get to it? I suppose this concept is most easily broken up into its three main linguistic groups: the subject, verb and direct object.
The Ends
It is fascinating how those who would vehemently deny this ideology are tempted by it when the ends are so productive and positive. When the end enables solving world hunger, when it reduces violence by preventative means (phone tapping), or other such positives. Sometimes the ends are so attractive, that the means become irrelevant. In evaluating the means, should we take into account the ends? There is necessity in teleological thinking, particularly in terms of moral development, but for any goal minded individual. If the ends of decisions are not considered, then the means are completely unimportant. The ends are, ultimately, the goal. (Although the means are exceedingly important, they must be secondary otherwise no direction, progress or organized movement could be achieved. Even BASE communities, house churches, and the most organic organizations have a mission.) So, the question then is not “Do the means justify the ends?”, but “What sorts of means are acceptable for the ends that we have in mind?”
The Means
We most often think of means in terms of direct actions that conclude in results. I want to suggest the means as more intimately connected with the character of the individual or organization which is pursuing some sort of telos. The ends and the means are so tightly connected together that they cannot be taken apart to evaluate separately. The means dictate the sorts of ends that are possible to achieve. Peace cannot be achieved with a sword. Love cannot be attained by coercion. The sorts of means we engage directly defines the sorts of ends that result.
The Justification
This idea of the entwined nature of means and ends leads to a reinterpretation of justification. Justification is not solely focused on the result, but on the way to achieve that result. This is part of the ideas of being vs. becoming. The becoming is the end: who we are becoming is intensely important, but who we are now (our being) defines in part who we become. (I leave here only a mention of the supernatural, though at the moment I am unsure how God works in these ways.) So, if one wants to become a virtuous person, or if a community wants to engage in peace and reconciliation, or if a nation desires economic justice and international cooperation, how they are acting in the present defines how those teleological goals will or can come into being.
Revelations of God
02/24/08 23:00
Growing up I was very often told about how horrible the Pharisees were in Scripture. In the Gospels they often come across as Jesus’ enemies, and so they must be our enemies as well. Then, they were occasionally connected with the mainstream church, because they were the mainstream religious teachers of the day. During their time they were truly trying to seek God and live the way God commanded, just as mainstream Christianity today. Because Jesus had such harsh words for them, he would surely have harsh words for us so we must be sure to be even more righteous than the Pharisees. A good preacher would note that such righteousness is the righteousness we get from God through Jesus, and a poor preacher would connect it to striving harder than they did to be righteous.
There are some very good and wise aspects to this sort of teaching and application. I think the church-Pharisee comparison has its proper place, but the part we forget is how that should make us very uncomfortable and nervous about God. We forget that the Pharisees were doing the best they knew how, and the best God had revealed how, to live righteously.
The most nerve-racking aspect of our condemnation of the Jews is how they treated Jesus. But the point I want to make is that the way they treated Jesus is the way God had told them to treat Jesus. Colin Brown, a professor at Fuller Seminary, points out that they call Jesus a glutton and a drunkard (Matt 11:19). Brown argues that this is a term from the Old Testament which has some very specific consequences to it.
The Old Testament reference is Deut 21:18-21, which reads:
If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey his father and mother, who does not heed them when they discipline him, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the gate of that place. They shall say to the elders of his town, “This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.” Then all the men of the town shall stone him to death. So you shall purge the evil from your midst; and all Israel will hear, and be afraid.
It becomes clear hear that the Pharisees were obeying God’s orders. Jesus would not obey his family, even saying that they were not his family and that those listening were his family (a stubborn and rebellious thing to say). So, although the Pharisees did not follow this command exactly, and were not allowed to follow it because of the Roman occupation, they did as good as they could under the circumstances and had Jesus crucified outside the city gates. This argument, as I have relayed it, is very obviously incomplete, but hopefully it has been understood as more than plausible. The point I want to make is how faithful the Pharisees were living to the commands of God. They knew that Jesus was teaching a message that was not wholly compatible with their understanding of the Old Testament, that he was a prophet teaching a new prophecy (something also punishable by death). They had no way or reason because of their Old Testament context to move past the law as they had it to receive this new teaching of God.
So what does that mean for us? What does that mean for those of us trying to live out our current revelation of God? It seems at first glance that it is entirely possible for God to have further revelations of himself that seem to contradict what He has done and how He has previously revealed himself in history.
I suppose there are some considerations that may be encouraging in the light of this alarming and humbling view of God’s revelation. First is the very humility that it births in our views of our own certainties of God’s word to us. I do not mean this in some manner of doubt, but as death to our every resurrecting pride. The second is the stories of God’s grace and relationship to individuals in the midst of doing a new thing. It seems, when we see the stories about Paul, the throngs following Jesus, Nicodemus and other examples, that it was possible for those seeking to be aware of and engage with God’s movement. This deeper understanding was rarely something driven by their own righteousness, but out of a hunger for God. I must note right now that I do not know what God’s criteria of finding their hunger satisfiable, but not the hunger of the Pharisees. It seems that there was nothing done by them to merit revelation of God’s new activity. Paul was going around seeking out and killing Christians! He certainly does not seem to deserve any sort of revelation from God.
Ultimately, the point I’m trying to make is that it is not ours to judge other’s claims that they are engaging with the work of God. Continuity of purpose, goal and methodology makes it easier for us to understand God’s work in the world, but it is not something that is necessary for God to work in the world. It makes him intelligible to us, but intelligibility is not a prerequisite of God’s actions. (I suppose this could be argued, but I have to stand by it. Even physics really is not intelligible. We have no real reason for knowing why things work the way they do, we are only able to track how those things do work.) So, Lord have mercy on us as we attempt to pursue Him in the way that we have been taught!
There are some very good and wise aspects to this sort of teaching and application. I think the church-Pharisee comparison has its proper place, but the part we forget is how that should make us very uncomfortable and nervous about God. We forget that the Pharisees were doing the best they knew how, and the best God had revealed how, to live righteously.
The most nerve-racking aspect of our condemnation of the Jews is how they treated Jesus. But the point I want to make is that the way they treated Jesus is the way God had told them to treat Jesus. Colin Brown, a professor at Fuller Seminary, points out that they call Jesus a glutton and a drunkard (Matt 11:19). Brown argues that this is a term from the Old Testament which has some very specific consequences to it.
The Old Testament reference is Deut 21:18-21, which reads:
If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey his father and mother, who does not heed them when they discipline him, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the gate of that place. They shall say to the elders of his town, “This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.” Then all the men of the town shall stone him to death. So you shall purge the evil from your midst; and all Israel will hear, and be afraid.
It becomes clear hear that the Pharisees were obeying God’s orders. Jesus would not obey his family, even saying that they were not his family and that those listening were his family (a stubborn and rebellious thing to say). So, although the Pharisees did not follow this command exactly, and were not allowed to follow it because of the Roman occupation, they did as good as they could under the circumstances and had Jesus crucified outside the city gates. This argument, as I have relayed it, is very obviously incomplete, but hopefully it has been understood as more than plausible. The point I want to make is how faithful the Pharisees were living to the commands of God. They knew that Jesus was teaching a message that was not wholly compatible with their understanding of the Old Testament, that he was a prophet teaching a new prophecy (something also punishable by death). They had no way or reason because of their Old Testament context to move past the law as they had it to receive this new teaching of God.
So what does that mean for us? What does that mean for those of us trying to live out our current revelation of God? It seems at first glance that it is entirely possible for God to have further revelations of himself that seem to contradict what He has done and how He has previously revealed himself in history.
I suppose there are some considerations that may be encouraging in the light of this alarming and humbling view of God’s revelation. First is the very humility that it births in our views of our own certainties of God’s word to us. I do not mean this in some manner of doubt, but as death to our every resurrecting pride. The second is the stories of God’s grace and relationship to individuals in the midst of doing a new thing. It seems, when we see the stories about Paul, the throngs following Jesus, Nicodemus and other examples, that it was possible for those seeking to be aware of and engage with God’s movement. This deeper understanding was rarely something driven by their own righteousness, but out of a hunger for God. I must note right now that I do not know what God’s criteria of finding their hunger satisfiable, but not the hunger of the Pharisees. It seems that there was nothing done by them to merit revelation of God’s new activity. Paul was going around seeking out and killing Christians! He certainly does not seem to deserve any sort of revelation from God.
Ultimately, the point I’m trying to make is that it is not ours to judge other’s claims that they are engaging with the work of God. Continuity of purpose, goal and methodology makes it easier for us to understand God’s work in the world, but it is not something that is necessary for God to work in the world. It makes him intelligible to us, but intelligibility is not a prerequisite of God’s actions. (I suppose this could be argued, but I have to stand by it. Even physics really is not intelligible. We have no real reason for knowing why things work the way they do, we are only able to track how those things do work.) So, Lord have mercy on us as we attempt to pursue Him in the way that we have been taught!
Peace
01/14/08 16:10
Sometimes we think that peace is a state where there is no disagreement. Reality is necessarily far from such ideas. If peace is the disappearance of disagreement, then it is a reality that will never ever be possible. Peace is neither a lack of discussion. Not only is disagreement a reality, but for real peace then the conversations which highlight the root of the conflict must be engaged upon.
So what is peace when there is deep, even never ending, disagreement? I suppose peace then must be rooted in respect. That respect can be rooted in a great many things, but hopefully humanizing the other is enough. That is, refusing to dehumanize those who we disagree with is one of the main routes to peace. Instead of allowing ourselves to see those that we disagree with as foolish, irrational, or idiotic, we realize that there are aspects of our own thought processes that are foolish, irrational, and even sometimes idiotic.
I suppose the second necessity to peace is humility: the humility to admit that we do not have truth locked up in our own little box. Others have glimpsed truth, and are even living it out as well as they can. Thus the seeming ridiculous statement must be understood: even Hitler did not understand himself as evil. He thought that his goal was noble, pure and desirable.Is there a possibility of peace with the likes of Hitler? There seem to be two options: (1) hurt him before he hurts us; (2) allow him to hurt us. This is never a light and easy decision: the effects of both are disastrous. If we engage with (1), then we are forced to dehumanize the Hitlers of the world, which is exactly the evil which they are engaging in. This quickly leads to a discussion of whether the means justifies the ends. Does killing lead to peace? It seems that it only can when that killing is an annihilation of the other, otherwise there is some offspring of the violence, some relative or friend who has a vengeance to seek. Annihilation or nothing seems to be the only answer.
I suppose what really needs to be thought about is (1) how could Germany change so quickly? It seems that most people realized quickly, or maybe they always knew it, that the Aryan pursuit was very wrong. (2)What is it that allows humans to do so much wrong to others, particularly when commanded by someone ‘higher up’? (3) How do we, as peacemakers, re-teach humanity, or maybe just call attention to the humanity of the ‘other’ (the one being killed, i.e., the Jews)? What methods/actions have done that in the past? Most often the most effective actions seem to be real nonviolent resistance. When I allow you to do wrong to me, then I have been as fully human as I can: No one has greater love than this, to give up their life for a friend. That may be recognizing everyone else as my friend and refusing to kill, but to be killed instead in their place.
More on Nonviolence
11/28/07 07:04
A few quotes from Kurlansky’s book:
“The early Christians are the earliest known group that renounced warfare in all its forms and rejected all its institutions.”
“For 284 years… Christians remained an antiwar cult. Christian writers emphasized the incompatibility of warfare with Christian teachings.”
“Active practitioners of nonviolence are always seen as a threat, a direct menace, to the state.”
“…once the state embraces a religion, the nature of that religions changes radically. It loses its nonviolent component and becomes a force for war rather than peace. The state must make war, because without war it would have to drop its power politics and renege on its mission to seek advantage over other nations, enhancing itself at the expense of others. And so a religions that is in the service of a state is a religion that not only accepts war, but prays for victory. From Constantine to the Crusaders to the contemporary American Christian right, people who call themselves Christians have betrayed the teachings of Jesus while using His name in the pursuit of political power.”
Nonviolence
11/27/07 09:08
I am reading an excellent book by Mark Kurlansky entitled Nonviolence. Kurlansky writes, “The first clue… on the subject of nonviolence, is that there is no word for it…. while every major language has a word for violence, there is no word to express the idea of nonviolence except that it is not another idea, it is not violence.” There is, essentially, no ideological embodiment of nonviolence in language. Even the idea of peace is not the same as nonviolence, but it can suffice for this example. Imagine a world where instead of having war, we had ‘nonpeace’.Kurlansky is quick to point out that nonviolence is not the same as pacifism, which is associated with being passive. Nonviolence is a political means to an end, just as violence is, but it refuses to dehumanize others. Essentially, it tries to take seriously every great religions’ teaching of love your neighbor. If you do love your neighbor you will not invade, you will not wage war, you will not steal or cheat. The reason that we do invade, steal, bomb, kill is because we love ourselves more than our neighbors.The counter argument is an argument of justice. If you truly wish to love your neighbor then you must reveal the consequences of their actions. Thus when Iraq invaded Kuwait, we were loving not only Kuwait but showing Iraq tough love by invading. This is identified as the myth of redemptive violence: that performing a violent action can bring about nonviolent results.It is interesting that the first Christians never used the symbol of the cross, the symbol of violence against Jesus. They used the fish. That was their understanding of what Christianity was: following a fisherman, which often meant going to a cross. Now we follow the Christ of the cross, with few of us (in the West) ever going to one ourselves.
Alain Badiou
11/07/07 12:45
I’m just getting into Alain Badiou’s Ethics. Here are some quotes from Badiou:
“A Truth is the subjective development of that which is at once both new and universal. New: that which is unforeseen by the order of creation. Universal: that which can interest, rightly, every human individual, according to his pure humanity.”
“Evil is the interruption of a truth by the pressure of particular or individual interests.”
“Evil is the moment when I lack the strength to be true to the Good that compels me.”
“Liberal capitalism is not at all the Good of humanity. Quite the contrary; it is the vehicle of savage, destructive nihilism.”
“Our democracy is not perfect. But it’s better than the bloody dictatorships. Capitalism is unjust. But it’s not criminal like Stalinism. We let millions of Africans die of AIDS, but we don’t make racist nationalist declarations like Milosevic. We kill Iraqis with our airplanes, but we don’t cut their throats with machetes like they do in Rwanda, etc.”
“It is necessary to examine, in a detailed way, the contemporary theory of Evil, the ideology of human rights, the concept of democracy. It is necessary to show that nothing there leads in the direction of the real emancipation of humanity. It is necessary to reconstruct rights, in everyday life as in politics, of Truth and of the Good. Our ability to once again have real ideas and real projects depends on it.”
“The ethics of Truth always returns, in precise circumstances, to fighting for the True against the four fundamentals forms of Evil: obscurantism, commercial academicism, the politics of profit and inequality, and sexual barbarism.”
“Evil is the interruption of a truth by the pressure of particular or individual interests.”
“Evil is the moment when I lack the strength to be true to the Good that compels me.”
“Liberal capitalism is not at all the Good of humanity. Quite the contrary; it is the vehicle of savage, destructive nihilism.”
“Our democracy is not perfect. But it’s better than the bloody dictatorships. Capitalism is unjust. But it’s not criminal like Stalinism. We let millions of Africans die of AIDS, but we don’t make racist nationalist declarations like Milosevic. We kill Iraqis with our airplanes, but we don’t cut their throats with machetes like they do in Rwanda, etc.”
“It is necessary to examine, in a detailed way, the contemporary theory of Evil, the ideology of human rights, the concept of democracy. It is necessary to show that nothing there leads in the direction of the real emancipation of humanity. It is necessary to reconstruct rights, in everyday life as in politics, of Truth and of the Good. Our ability to once again have real ideas and real projects depends on it.”
“The ethics of Truth always returns, in precise circumstances, to fighting for the True against the four fundamentals forms of Evil: obscurantism, commercial academicism, the politics of profit and inequality, and sexual barbarism.”
The Ambiguous
11/06/07 11:34
It came to represent everything that postmodernity is. Theologically, the feminist, womanist, black, liberation and other theological movements have sought to treat the Bible like it is one of these pictures - it is wholly possible to read it and see a whole new aspect or picture depending on what lines you choose are dominant. As far as praxis goes, I really only have a couple things to say: on one level, this ambiguity downright sucks. It makes for arguments, it reduces everything from clearcut to unsettling, it can be a deep cause of doubt and uncertainty. At the same time, life would be miserable otherwise. How could we trade disagreements for uniformity? Rather, we must learn to separate the disagreement from the relationship - something that I am horrible at. It is completely possible, and necessary, to learn how to love, befriend and care for those that we completely disagree with and even dislike. Essentially, we become truly people of compassion when we are able to love those who are our enemies. We become people of love when we cannot only tolerate, but enjoy and engage with those who frustrate, annoy, and would try to make us hate. Moreover, then we truly become a light to the world - not only because our example is so wonderful, but we are showing another way of living which is akin to the way that Jesus lives.
Belief and Unbelief
11/01/07 10:42
Sometimes it is really hard to believe in God - at least intellectually. I look around and I have a hard time thinking that there is other than my eyes can see, my senses can detect, my experiments can discern. I know that is a fallacy - we are not able to detect everything that we think exists, so why shouldn’t God be like that? But what really trips me out is that this God, who I may at the time be struggling to intellectually affirm, would really, actually do something crazy like love us enough to come down and die. God came down and died. What the hell? That is not how this God business should work. If God is really God, his will should rule and so if he wants something, like saving us, that shouldn’t cost him everything. But it does. It really leads me to one conclusion: my view of power, how it works, what it means, and how it runs must be very different from how I think it runs and from how it seems to run in the world. Here those with power and wealth distance themselves from pain if possible. God embraced it! What a mind blowing reality! Evidently how I think must continue to change.
Hauerwas
10/31/07 09:24
For the Longest Time
09/12/07 10:58
I have not posted in a long time. The main reason is working at Maranatha is taking a huge toll on me. It is really hard. I feel discouraged most of the time because my students don’t seem to understand what I am trying to teach them. But the really hard thing has been my faith. I feel like I have lost it. I’m not exactly sure what I mean by that, but I know that I am going through some pretty significant stages of doubt.
I wonder if this isn’t part of death that we all experience. We have to die, both physically, but in many other ways. Jesus tells us to die daily. Is part of that death include how I view the world, the death of my epistemology, my certainty. If so, I hope beyond hope for resurrection. That is the promise right? That we will be resurrected.
I was reminded in conversation last night of Colin Brown’s writing. He points out that we treat miracles like they are the answer to our hurt. We expect God to heal us miraculously so that we are whole. His point is that we are not going to be whole in this life. That is not part of the promise from God. The promise is that we will be whole in the next life, whatever that looks like. So, although I don’t feel like I can say that I have faith right now, I do have hope. I hope that those things in which I have had faith in are true and willl come to pass.
Rugged Individualism
08/10/07 12:50
So, Emy and I got in a bit of quarrel yesterday (I was wrong again). One of the issues brought up was the nature of leadership, and it has led me to reflect on my own individualism. Emily had rightly accused me of not taking her opinions seriously enough in my decisions, and sometimes not even considering her when making decisions that impact both of us. Not only is she right, but I noticed that I have this tendency with all people: I consider my opinion on a subject (generally one I feel qualified or knowledgable about) better than anyone else’s. Obviously there are a great many problems with this thought process, but I’d like to focus on the individualistic aspect of it.
When I consider my own decisions as more valuable (to me) than anyone else’s opinions about the situation, I have engaged in the heart of individualism. I have denied the authority or importance of the community, be it my communing with an individual (like Emily) or with a larger group. Essentially, a part of individualism seems rooted in mistrust: mistrust of the decision of the community (both its elders/leaders and/or the community itself). This jives with the attitude that we are the only ones who can make right decisions for ourselves. (Sidenote: that would be why arranged marriages seems so horrible (not that I’m condoning them), but the idea that your ‘life-partner’ would be chosen by someone other than the you yourself seems absolutely preposterous in an individualist context. There may be some great wisdom in arranged marriages, but I don’t really know enough about the subject)
It is interesting that our country is so individualist. We do not trust others to lead. It may be argued immediately that such is not the case, but I would argue elseways: we are happy to vote in officials and whatnot because we generally have a disconnect in our understanding: we think we have no power or real political authority as the voters. We elect the officials and then do not worry about the situation because we cannot do anything about it (whatever that situation is). Sometimes, we agree, if enough people get fed up (like Iraq), then maybe some change will happen. But even right now most people in the country do not want to continue the war and it is still going.
At our work places, and economics in general, the authority system is authoritarian (we do not choose our bosses). We do not have a system that allows for it, and so our individualism is merely ignored. This does not do anything to encourage or hinder it, but our attitude to our bosses (”I could do it so much better” etc.) leads to our self-enforcing the superiority of our own decisionmaking.
There is an interesting counter culture move in the Mennonite church to individualism. The church only makes decisions if they are in unanimous agreement. If someone disagrees with the decision (even if it is that same single person every time), they do not make it. Only if everyone is content to at least try it does the decision move forward. I am not sure that this sort of decision making could occur in a larger church body (although it wouldn’t hurt to try I’m sure), but the point is that a small community can together fight against individualism. The point is that there is a way, though we have to have be willing to make the necessary sacrifices (particularly those in power) to give up our personal authority for the communal authority (this does not mean that there is no place for wisdom: but wisdom is recognized by others not insisted in oneself).
For those who would question whether individualism or communal worldviews have a moral nature, I am not sure that I can answer such a question for anyone other than myself (odd, but MacIntyre does say that individualist choice in Ethics is inevitable, at least for now). And in myself, I find both the desire and need for community. Both because the of the closeness of the trust in relationships formed this way. That trust is not able to be built in individualistic systems to the same degree. But also, it is evident how much my individualism hurts others, and so I can see a need for correction in my own life. My only solution right now is humility: pursuing humility through prayer and consciously asking the question, “Am I thinking myself superior, or am I actually treating others as equals?”
A Little Bit Incoherent? The Journey of Faith
07/29/07 17:19
So, there are many questions to be asked in life. Some important. Some not. Some I’m interested in. Some I’m not. What an intro! I better redeem this by writing something good.
So, as events of life conspire I am forced to ask a question: what sort of faith does God call us to? I suppose this is the sort of question that cannot be written ‘in general’. It must be fixedly pointed into a context, into a personality, into a person. Thus, what sort of faith is God calling me to?
This comes up from noting a good friend who understands faith in a very different way than I do. This vision of faith seems to me to be oriented around trying to hear what God is saying and then following that. Alone, this seems like a good policy for living a life of faith. But then there is a conjunctive assumption: that God is always speaking, that there is always, or nearly so, a path to which God is calling. This may well be the case for my friend, but I have come to find this sort of following of faith impossible for my own life, and even more, I find it undesirable.
It seems to me that the way of faith is a way of growing into a personality distinct but co-creative, co-redemptive and co-righteous with God. We are created to pursue creativity, to pursue redemption not only in our lives but helping others to heal and forgive and be forgiven, and to be righteous. These are co-activities with God, not only activities of God or activities on our own. It should be readily obvious that we cannot accomplish these on our own, but should it actually be the case that these are solely matters for God to be concerned with and shape in us? That is a tempting conclusion to come to, and it is enticing. At the very least though, I think we have to be receptive to God’s work. We have to give our yes (not always, but often), or else God will not work. That is why faith is critical to healing: we have to yell after Jesus sometimes and demand that he heal us. That is why the poor father comes to Jesus begging for belief: if he does not ask, he does not receive.
We are in this together. Not only us and God, but us and each other. The pursuit of God, the pursuit of faith is something that requires others. A dear friend, Jay, once told me, “A friend is someone who reminds you of the song of your heart when you have forgotten it.” We all forget our heart-song sometimes. We all need friends to help us on the way.
Donny reminded yesterday of the parable of the talents. The story says that God gives us some talents and then leaves. We are then left two options. We can use those talents as well as we can and try to multiply them. Or we can walk the path of fear. We can bury our talent, so at least we won’t lose the little we have. This path of fear is deeply condemned by Jesus. We are to live lives of risk, lives seeking to use our creativity in order to walk the paths of redemption and righteousness.
So what does it mean for me to walk the path of faith? A small bit of the answer is this: I need to live open to the moving of the Spirit, but also God desires for me to be a dependent, rational human fully engaged in the responsibility of my decisions (ethically and otherwise), by which I am also invited and able to do and be the work of the kingdom.
On the Supernatural
07/16/07 12:40
So the other day I was asked what the explanation was of the manna in the desert. The manna was a bready sort of food that seemed like it was made of coriander that God sent every night with the dew, and the Israelites collected it in the morning to eat for the day. The point of the question is not simply about the nature of this manna, or why God had to send it (they were wandering across the desert and had no food). The point of the question is about worldview, about the miraculous, about how and if God acts in this world. It is a necessary question. It is necessary because I have never seen manna. I have never seen anything so blatanct. There are things that I would consider God acting, stories and experiences that were so coincidental.
The problem seems to remain though: we have so many stories of God acting in such, well, blatant ways. Ways that are impossible to ignore or deny. The Bible is replete with them, but where are they now? I do not mean that they do not occur now, though for most people in the States we never witness them. There are stories from Africa, Latin America, Asia. But we condiser these folks pre-scientific, less sophisticated. There ahve been numerous scientific studies into miracles and all have come up with the same result: they could be explained in physical ways. Now, I have no problem with this sort of a conclusion. Just because something can be explained in physical terms does not mean that it was an act of God. The philosophers of the 1900s showed us that we have no reason to expect God to act in any other way (interventionist vs. immanentism, cf. Nancey Murphy’s Beyond Liberalism and Fundamentalism).
The real question is does God that way? Can we really believe that these miracles occur? Can we really believe that in history manna fell in the desert? Most important of all, can we really believe that Jesus rose from the dead? Not just a rising in a metaphorical sense in his follower’s minds and hearts, but in a bodily, I’m-walking-around-and-eating sort of way.
This really seems to come down to worldview. If we believe in God… if we think that S/He is personal, caring, loving… if we believe these things, it would not be a question of whether these sorts of miracles happen. It would be a question of why they do not happen more. It all breaks down to different worldviews, and these worldviews require the same amount of faith as each other. This is something that perhaps we don’t talk about enough. It takes just as much faith in the scientific worldview/tradition as in a religious worldview/tradition. So then it becomes a choice. A choice between which faith is the better faith, the more rational faith, the more believable faith. And that choice takes time, intentional pursuit, and hope that we are able to settle on an answer.
Using Silence
07/09/07 14:48
Currently Emily and I don’t have a church. There are a great many reasons for this unfortunate happenstance, but all of them still amount to the same thing: we don’t belong to a church. Lately we have been hanging out at Basilea, which is an awesome, haphazard community of believers who are loosely connected. It might be called a house church, but that is implying more structure than there is. Although I find the community at Basilea is amazing an awesome, there is a part of me that also wants that good, consistent sunday morning worship (or sunday night, or saturday night…) I think the main thing is the consistency (both on our part and on the community’s part) of meeting weekly. Of singing some good worship songs that are not self-centered, of praying for each other, of being together intentionally communing with God.
The funny thing is that all of that is just a segue into what I really wanted to talk about. Silence. There are two points here. When we have looked at churches, one thing I like to do is check out the statement of faith. So often churches try to define very rigidly what they believe and why they believe it (generally Bible references). There is a lack of silence in our beliefs. This is further emphasized by a lack of silence in our church services. Let me expound.
It has been an attempt of theologians since… forever to try and systematize our belief system into propositions about God and humanity and Jesus, the trinity and the church, about sin and forgiveness. We have spent hundreds of years trying to sort everything out like the perfect solution would be a theology that looked more like an equation. Then, when you want to figure out what you believe about something or what to do in some situation, it has been systematized such that you plug in the variables and out pops the solution. Slowly but surely we have been realizing that this is impossible. Moreover, God doesn’t seem to be very interested in it either. If he was, then Jesus might have taught a bit more systematically. The most systematic teaching we get is the Sermon on the Mount which is anything but!
Thus my plea for silence. Instead of trying to input so many beliefs, we should just rest on the four or five or six solid truths that are non-speculative (as far as the Bible is concerned). I’m not sure what those would be but something like:
God made us (Note this can be creation or directed evolution)
God loves us
Jesus died for us (I don’t know how his death serves as propitiation or expiation or any other atonement theory)
Jesus was resurrected (the only miracle that we must insist upon - although once you believe this, others become more plausible/believable)
There is a heaven (is there a hell? Probably, but I sure hope not. Or if there is, I hope Satan is the only one in it. I like Moltmann’s idea that because of Jesus, God sees all of humanity through the eyes of forgiveness - that is, why do you have to affirm Jesus to be saved by his death? Does that death not work for all sin for all humanity? The point here is that all this stuff in the parentheses is speculative and should not be understood as authoritative.)
This sort of a silence in our theology affirms that there is much that we do not know. It affirms our humanity. It affirms our finite nature. It affirms that we are not God or gods. In a very similar way, silence (done well) can be just as helpful in church. Not only between prayers, but also intentional moments/spaces of reflection. Maybe this is especially so in America where life goes too fast, where we have cars and trains and planes and high-speed internet. A little time for the soul, a little time for rest, relaxation, relationship… well, that sure sounds good to me.
This sort of a silence in our theology affirms that there is much that we do not know. It affirms our humanity. It affirms our finite nature. It affirms that we are not God or gods. In a very similar way, silence (done well) can be just as helpful in church. Not only between prayers, but also intentional moments/spaces of reflection. Maybe this is especially so in America where life goes too fast, where we have cars and trains and planes and high-speed internet. A little time for the soul, a little time for rest, relaxation, relationship… well, that sure sounds good to me.
Hello Web
07/03/07 16:45
So, here it goes. I’m starting a blog. I am not sure why. Everyone is doing it? I suppose part of it is that I wish I had a more documented history of my thoughts (yeah, i’m like that). I’m almost done with two years of seminary, and I am ambivalent when I look back on the experience. Don’t misunderstand - I would never change my decision to go to Fuller, I’m more ambivalent about my intellectual development. I wish I had questioned more. I wish I had pushed and delved and considered and gotten to the heart of issues. I wish I had thought a bit more critically - but then, that may be a legitimate concern for the rest of my life. So, here I am. About to push out into a job, but still feeling… unsure, not fully capable. Well, such is life.
So, I suppose it is always helpful to a mission/purpose for new ventures, otherwise they seem to lose focus and dribble out of view. So, what is my purpose? I think it is to try and wrestle on paper. Get sweaty, smelly, and otherwise silly looking for the purpose of seeking truth. I don’t have any expectations of anyone else reading this stuff. I think it is mainly for me and if it blesses others, sweet!
A secondary purpose might be to try and connect my thoughts, iron out my intellectual inconsistencies and ponder the mysteries of the universe!
That said, I’m going to take a nap. This is all very tiring.
So, I suppose it is always helpful to a mission/purpose for new ventures, otherwise they seem to lose focus and dribble out of view. So, what is my purpose? I think it is to try and wrestle on paper. Get sweaty, smelly, and otherwise silly looking for the purpose of seeking truth. I don’t have any expectations of anyone else reading this stuff. I think it is mainly for me and if it blesses others, sweet!
A secondary purpose might be to try and connect my thoughts, iron out my intellectual inconsistencies and ponder the mysteries of the universe!
That said, I’m going to take a nap. This is all very tiring.