Who taught you the Faith?

All Soul's Day homily
Berkeley Morning Prayer
Hymn: "Be Thou My Vision"
Gospel Reading: Luke 12:13-31

Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest? –Luke 12:25-26

I could stand here, and tell you about how as graduate students in divinity school, you should take this message to heart.

That you should take and make of this message a shield with which to guard and protect your burgeoning and precarious practices of self-care, such as they are.

(sarcasm)
I could tell you that we third-years have been to the mountaintop!
And that as third-years we've seen the wisdom of Jesus’ teaching,
that we are experts in self-care,
that things no longer matter to us,
that we’ve shed all vestiges of worry,
and that we can impart this knowledge in pithy statements at Morning Prayer!
(/sarcasm)

I’m not going to tell you that.

I instead want to tell you about someone I knew, who taught me what this passage of scripture looked like in its living.

My great, great aunt Mable was born in 1916, within months of the end of World War 1. She was a poor farm girl from Mississippi who moved to Alabama.  She did not have any children of her own, but she was like a grandmother to me, having raised my mother and my mother's siblings.

She seemed ancient by the time I could start comprehending age.

Around 2006, she turned 90, and her health deteriorated fairly rapidly. She passed away in 2009, and I had the honor of officiating the graveside portion of her funeral.  This became the single most important event in discerning my call to ministry.

Over the 20+ years I spent with her, she showed me a living example of these words from Luke. She had seen much, experienced much, and displayed in her life a calm that comes from knowing what to worry about, and what to let go of.

Almost everything could be let go of.

She trusted in God in ways that I could not understand, and yet she was able to trust in ways that I came to recognize and appreciate, even when I had left the institutional church. In my more rebellious thoughts, I saw her faith as simple.  I’m slowly coming to see how profound simplicity in faith can be, even when one's theology is complex.

By the end, in her last two years, she was flipping this worrying business on its head.  She was ready to die before the rest of us were ready to let her go.  I am struck by how she faced each day in those final years. She did not worry. She faced each day not simply from the viewpoint of one waiting to expire, but as one waiting for a final appointment.

She wanted, more than anything, to finally see God face to face, and to greet God.

By the end, God was her vision. 
Her thoughts in day or night, 
Her wisdom, 
her inheritance, 
her treasure, 
her heart.

As I watched her in her living, I learned what it would mean to settle not for earthly things. From her I learned lessons about leaning on God in a faith that brings one not to worry, but to a longing for our better nature, which Christ exemplified.

I could talk to you about the passage from Luke, but instead I’d like to ask you a few questions.

Who in your life has already taught you this lesson?
Who taught you about longing for God instead of lesser things?
Who taught you to trust God?
On days like All Saints and All Souls, how could you best thank them for the gifts they have given you?

Amen.

Of White Privilege and Conversations about Race

Yesterday, Yale Divinity School held an all-day, all-school conference on race and inclusivity.  Over the course of the day, which saw students come and go due to classes or other, I estimated that about 1/3 of the Divinity School was present for at least some portion of the training.

The training was well-advertised, with a little bit of word-of-mouth peer pressure to attend thrown in.  The Dean of Berkeley Divinity School cancelled the Friday class for Berkeley seniors so that we could attend, which I think speaks to the institutional support this training had garnered.  Yet, I did not decide whether or not to go to the training until Friday morning.  Early in my deliberations, I considered that I had a mountain of work to do (and I still do, since I’m taking the time to write this); and I thought that as important as the training may be, it may also be important to pass my courses.  By Thursday, I considered attending a portion and skipping out to do the aforementioned work.

There were many good reasons to attend the training.  Sunday morning is still the most segregated time of the week.  We are training to be ministers with a theology that absolutely all people are made in the image of God, and therefore deserve our consideration.  We need to be able to navigate complicated situations in order to bring some healing to a world broken by racism.

In the end, I am incredibly grateful that I went to the training, and stayed the entire time.  I’ve seen large group conversations about race go very wrong (including at YDS) — conversations after which many people walk away emotionally and spiritually wounded.  While this program was not perfect, it was the healthiest conversation I have personally seen.  Typically, in large anti-racism programs, the ground rules for the conversation can be presented in such a way that people are scared to talk.  The high stakes lead to silence, and people end up in fear of making a mistake in conversation.  In contrast, the explanation of the guidelines in this program left me with a sense of hope.  I thought the facilitators did a good job of trying to develop a space for careful conversation, while allowing space for mistakes in a conversation that can be incredibly messy. 

Further, when a facilitator overstepped some boundaries with a participant, she and the participant modeled apology, forgiveness, and reconciliation. 

Over the course of the day, I was able to go back over some my personal history, and describe how being a straight white man has tangibly benefited me in concrete ways over my 29 years on earth.  I mean, tangibly benefited me— not just an anemic statement that whiteness has been good to me.  By this, I mean that because I am white:

·         I had a college recruitment officer tell what degree programs "would set me ahead of women and blacks.”  I didn’t take his advice.

·         There are conversations I have gotten to be a part of among other white people that nonwhites are not invited to. Typically these  conversations had been white men bemoaning loss of privilege  and how to maintain privilege (they do not use this language).

·         I avoided chemical burns on a construction job because the foremen sent the older, poorer black men into a hazardous situation.  To send me into that same situation would have been riskier because I had the social capital to say something.  Luckily, the foremen were caught sending people into a hazardous situation without the proper gear.

·         I am a safe hire in churches both traditional and progressive; whereas being a woman, nonwhite, or gay would limit the pool of congregations in which one can serve (in practice if not in policy).

I greatly benefited from the conversation yesterday, and yet the discomfort I felt during the program was not coming from the program.  My discomfort was coming from thinking about who was not at the inclusivity program.

I do not mean that I am judging everyone who was not at the training as being uncommitted to racial justice.  School work is important.  Other personal engagements called to people.

Still…

Friday morning, before the program, I overheard a white male pontificate to a few other people that he “hopes they take note of who is not there, and why.”  By context, I made—and hold—the assumption that he, as a white person, would not go the meeting.  And it would be the fault of the organizers of the meeting that he is not going, because white people tend to get “beat up” during those programs.  This man probably represented the position of a few others at YDS.  But more generally, it represents a position that white men may hold in regards to any conversation about race.

This man’s statement troubled me because a) I felt angry that the person was so dismissive of the program and b) I felt uncomfortable because I believe in bringing everyone to the table, and so I wondered if I would need to bring the narrative of the contrarians to the training.

I got over my discomfort of the lack of the contrarian position by mid-morning; by the afternoon, I came to greatly resent the statement that the person made.

Why?  The man's statement actually assumes his narrative of contrariness has a privileged place. And his statement that he “hopes they take note of who is not there, and why,” shows his assumption of personal privilege.  Even without his being present at the program, he hoped his narrative would factor into our conversation.  For the dominant group (white men) to absent themselves from the conversation about oppression—and thereby not listen to others—and then expect the rest of us to do the work of interpreting the absentee contrarian's narrative for them—and then to seriously consider it—is extremely upsetting to me.  I became even more upset  because I almost thought I carried the burden of making the contrarian position heard, particularly because it was couched in terms of ‘white victimization’ by others.

But, no.  Members of oppressive groups (and in the U.S., that is still white men as individuals and participants in social systems) do not have the right to absent themselves from conversations on race and expect their position to still be heard.  If there is a manner of white privilege to be dismantled, it is the belief that conversations white people choose not to attend must still reference white people’s objections to those very conversations.

To Everything, There is a Season

Last Wednesday night, a classmate--Adrian Dannhauser--and I team-preached at a weekly Eucharist for Berkeley Divinity School at Yale. The service was centered around the concept of harvest, based on the time of year and the fact that the society during the time of Jesus was agrarian. The harvest was a critical part of survival. And those with plenty were taught to share with those who had less than enough. Instead of two distinct sermons, I offered an introduction to a guided meditation Adrian led.

The Gospel Reading: John 4:31-38

Meanwhile the disciples were urging him, ‘Rabbi, eat something.’ But he said to them, ‘I have food to eat that you do not know about.’ So the disciples said to one another, ‘Surely no one has brought him something to eat?’ Jesus said to them, ‘My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work. Do you not say, “Four months more, then comes the harvest”? But I tell you, look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting. The reaper is already receivingwages and is gathering fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. For here the saying holds true, “One sows and another reaps.” I sent you to reap that for which you did not labour. Others have laboured, and you have entered into their labour.’

Robert Berra:

How often it is in the Gospel of John that Jesus answers a question concerning the tangible and material with a pronouncement about a spiritual reality through metaphor. We see it with Jesus talking to the Samaritan woman at the well about living water.

In fact, the brief exchange between the disciples and Jesus we have just heard happens right as the Samaritan woman is returning to her village. She tells everyone about Jesus, and many, many of them come to seek him out and to believe in him. After Jesus stays for a two day visit, the people of the village rejoice:

“We have now heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Saviour of the world.’

A fruitful harvest indeed.

One of the lessons that the Gospel passage may have for us tonight is that —like Jesus invited the disciples to work in the harvest—we have all been invited to work for the kingdom of God in some way. Jesus’ observation that we enter into the labor of others breaks open the often too-simple, too-linear, and too-self-focused consideration that makes of spiritual reaping and sowing a project I take on and I finish.  Are we such islands unto ourselves?

As we think about reaping and sowing in terms of what we bring to communities we may serve, we may find ourselves weaving our own work into a tapestry of plantings and harvests begun, or in progress, or finishing in places where others also work. —Where we are not simply a solitary reaper or a sower, going from planting to harvest on our own.

Since many of us are in New Haven and the surrounding area for a short time, we may wonder how to best help in harvest fields others will continue to work once we leave. There is a certain spiritual maturity this lesson in practical ministry teaches; that someone else plants, we water, and wait for the growth that comes from God, which we may never see (St. Paul knew something of this; see 1 Cor 3:6).

As we work alongside others, we find that we are impacted by their work as well, sometimes finding within ourselves the seedlings they have planted; perhaps even when we were not looking.

This brings us to our own spiritual reaping and sowing. Our own discernment of the disposition of our spiritual life.

And we have found ourselves at Yale Divinity School. What a marvelous place to think about what we sow and what we reap and how we participate in the work of others as we contemplate the present and future of our own walk with God.

Tonight, we are doing something quite different from a traditional sermon. We instead wish to open a space for meditation, staying with the metaphor of harvest.

Let us take an opportunity to breathe deeply, 

Settle into our souls,

And recollect ourselves
As we remember why we are here.

Let us pray

Almighty God, from you we see the increase of the earth, and you bring forth spiritual fruits within us. Be present to us as we listen for your will in our lives. We ask this in the name of your son Jesus Christ. Amen.

Adrian’s Meditation

I invite you to take a deep breath. Close your eyes as you breathe out. And let your body relax.

I. Harvesting

Visualize a grove of trees. It is autumn. There is a slight chill in the air, and the leaves are changing colors. Look up to the sky and see the sunlight shining through colored leaves like a stained glass window – red leaves, yellow leaves, orange. You can smell the dampness of the earth after a recent rain.

It is time for harvest. It is time to gather pumpkins, gourds, baskets of apples, bushels of wheat.
“See how the fields are ripe for harvesting.”

What are you harvesting… now, in this season of your life?
-Are there fruits of the Spirit?
-Earthly blessings?
-Are you reaping justice fought for by those who have gone before you?
-Perhaps there are things in your life that you have sought out with God’s help.

Jesus tells us that doing the Father’s will is food. How is God’s will taking shape in your life?  What is ripe for the picking?

(Silence)

II. Sowing

After the harvest, there is more sowing to be done. Autumn is the time to plant seeds… for kale, for beets, carrots and beans. Imagine yourself tilling the ground. The sun warms your back, and a gentle breeze blows across your face. You can smell the scent of freshly upturned dirt.

What seeds do you drop into the earth?
-Are they intentions for this semester?

-Or the early stages of a new project?
-Is there a dream that God has laid upon your heart?
-What are the things you want to nurture to fruition?

(Silence)

III. Nurturing

As we nurture our sprouting seeds – our young little crops – we protect them. We shelter them from the harsh weather. We keep away the pests. We uproot nearby weeds or thorns that choke out life.

Is there something that might threaten the health of your crops?
Old habits?

New fears?
Maybe there’s an external obstacle.

Or a sin that’s taken root and needs to be cleared away.

How will you protect your crops to ensure that they flourish?

(Silence)

IV. Nourishment from God’s grace

The success of our crops does not hang on our efforts alone. As we nurture them – pruning back, weeding out – our crops access nutrients that we could never create. They receive the light of Christ shining down. They soak up the water that is living water.

Our crops – our intentions, our dreams, our pursuits – receive the outpouring of the grace of God, who labors in the field so that we might reap the harvest.

(Silence)

Amen.

"Just Love," Condemned.

It’s not every day that a book on my shelf is condemned by the Roman Catholic Church’s Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF).  It turned out to be the case last week, when the CDF condemned the book Just Love. A Framework for Christian Sexual Ethics (New York: Continuum, 2006) by Sr. Margaret A. Farley, R.S.M.  You can read the condemnation here.  A flurry of activity followed:  Yale Divinity School, where Farley is Professor Emerita, gathered an impressive list of theologians and ethicists to defend Farley’s work; Farley responded to the notification; and 24 hours after news broke of the Vatican censure, the book was propelled from an Amazon ranking of 142,982 to 16, and #1 in Religion. 

I had conflicted feelings about the entire story.  I was disappointed but not surprised by the censure.  It is no secret to anyone reading the book that Farley arrived at conclusions contrary to the teachings of the Roman Catholic Church.  Still, I have a great affinity for Farley’s book.  Since coming across the book in 2009, I’ve used it as my primary frame of reference for discerning responsibility and truth within my personal relationships.  I think considering Farley’s work has made me a better human being in relationship to others, especially my wife.  And while I’m not perfect, Farley’s framework gives me the ethical and theological language to speak of success and failure in relationships shaped by a concern for justice, duty, virtue, and my Christian faith, as well as giving due consideration to current social science research.  I would recommend the book to anyone, Christian or not, seeking the same goals in their relationships.

Being the people-watcher that I am, I’ve been observing the reactions to the Vatican censure filter through a couple of different sources and circles for the past week, from Facebook to the New York Times to blogs, and from Christians of varying denominations to those who profess no particular tradition.  To my dismay, it became clear that conversations about the censure were actually not about the censure, but opportunities to give litanies of everything one considers wrong with the Roman Catholic Church.

To take one incredibly hyperbolic example, Maureen Dowd’s op-ed piece “Is pleasure a sin?” throws a lot of un-careful rhetoric around and makes the Catholic hierarchy a monolithic entity that it is not, which managed to turn a piece I could agree with into something not worthy of careful consideration.  For instance, equating the CDF to the Saudi Committee for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice in terms of hostility to women is the kind of thing that should not be treated as self-evident, and certainly not as a throw-away comment in an op-ed.  Dowd also says that “The Vatican showed no mercy to the Sister of Mercy.”  That sounds like a very clever phrase; but while the censure was surely hurtful to Farley (and ill-advised in my opinion), the book was censured without any disciplinary action taken personally against Farley; that shows that the CDF had some restraint. 

Dowd then attempts to link the censure of the book (occurring in Rome) to the cover-up of sexual predation of children in the U.S., as though the workings of the USCCB---or individual bishops---and the CDF were one and the same.  Dowd suggests that:

 “The hierarchy should read Sister Farley’s opprobrium against adults harming vulnerable children and adolescents by sexually exploiting them; respect for the individual and requirement of free consent, she says, mean that rape, violence and pedophilia against unwilling victims are never justified.”  

Dowd’s rhetorical tactic is to implicitly say that the hierarchy is completely uncaring toward children, or to suggest that because the CDF condemns the book the hierarchy is not concerned about sexual abuse.  My guess is that, since the CDF didn’t mention that part of the book in the censure, they had no problem with Farley’s statement condemning the harm of children, and most likely agreed with it.  And since they are not the entity (in a huge institution) dealing with the sex abuse scandals (where more to bring perpetrators to justice indeed could be done), I don’t expect the CDF to make reference to the scandals when talking about sex.  But if one is keen to disagree with the Roman Catholic Church, it’s easy to pass over or relish in rhetorical phrases that seem to cut opponents deeply.  The unfortunate thing is that op-eds like this do nothing to hold open a place for any type of civil conversation; instead of dialogue, opponents entrench themselves.

Now, that is the limited defense I will give to the CDF.  I think Farley’s book is brilliant; it is certainly not a risk of “grave harm to the faithful” (some of the things Farley is concerned about are graver harms to the faithful:  like injustice or oppression which affect both one's material and spiritual well-being); and the CDF missed an opportunity for fruitful dialogue on the subject of sexual ethics.  I’ll come back to this in a moment.

Because of my appreciation of the book, I’m also disappointed that the media missed an opportunity to go deeper into the divide over sexual ethics. Farley’s book is about what the basic level of justice in romantic and sexual relationships should be; it isn't simply---as the New York Times put it--a book of "theological rationales for same-sex relationships, masturbation, and remarriage after divorce." There is much more to this story.  The book is not simply a reworking of what is permissible that was not permissible before.  The book Just Love takes as its central question:  "With what kinds of motives, under what sorts of circumstances, in what forms of relationships, do we render our sexual selves to one another in ways that are good, true, right, and just?"  Farley's answer rests on the fundamental notion that morally appropriate sexual relationships, heterosexual as well as same-sex, must be characterized by justice.[1]  This is a different sort of project than simply overthrowing traditional Catholic teaching.  This is the project I wish the media would focus on, and the propagation of the project of promoting justice in relationships is what I hope the increased book sales will allow to happen.

Still, perhaps it is understandable that the book was short-changed in the media.  Reporters probably did not have time to read the book before reporting on the censure, and the media’s reporting reflected the CDF’s censure’s priorities.  And---it must be noted---the censure’s priorities also missed the point of Farley’s book.  As Farley noted in her official statement:

“I can only clarify that the book was not intended to be an expression of current official Catholic teaching, nor was it aimed specifically against this teaching.  It is of a different genre altogether…. I only regret that in reporting my positions on select “Specific Problems” in sexual ethics, the Notification does not also consider my arguments for these positions.  Nor does it render my positions in terms of the complex theoretical and practical contexts to which they are a response.  Hence, I fear the Notification–while clear in its conclusions–misrepresents (perhaps unwittingly) the aims of my work and the nature of it as a proposal that might be in service of, not against, the church and its faithful people.”    

It’s worth noting here that there is a fundamental difference in what the CDF does and what Farley does.  The CDF determines whether something matches the prescribed answers to sexual questions according to established Church teaching; Farley is suggesting an ethical framework for discerning answers in one’s own context:

"This book was designed to help people, especially Christians but also others, to think through their questions about human sexuality.  It suggests the importance of moving from what frequently functions as a taboo morality to a morality and sexual ethics based on the discernment of what counts as wise, truthful, and recognizably just loves.  Although my responses to some particular sexual ethical questions do depart from some traditional Christian responses, I have tried to show that they nonetheless reflect a deep coherence with the central aims and insights of these theological and moral traditions." 

There are a few ways of thinking about the divide between the CDF and Margaret Farley’s work.

1. The CDF has already determined the morally acceptable answer to actions and situations that is true in all times and in all places based on the moral tradition of the Church.  Margaret Farley is providing a framework for examining one’s own life and the answer is not necessarily a given. This is a divide over the process and the end result of moral deliberation. 

2. Another major difference is that the CDF is critiquing Farley from an understanding of ethics based primarily on the Natural Law, and Farley is not really working in that tradition in the book.  There were bound to discrepancies between the two systems.

3. A matter of genre, which Farley mentioned above.  The CDF notes that the book cannot be used as a reflection of Roman Catholic teaching.  Farley notes that she was not attempting to write such a book. 

4. Different pastoral concerns are evident.  The CDF wants to be clear on what the Church’s teaching currently is, and sees Farley’s work as an aberration from that teaching.  The Roman Catholic Church has an interest in being correct morally (whether one agrees with their positions or not) and enforce a clear teaching that can unify Catholics across time and cultures.  Margaret Farley is responding to the on-the-ground realities of gender oppression and injustice.  Her framework offers a way of thinking through what justice would require in personal and social relationships regardless of one’s status as religious or not, and in careful consideration of modern research. 

5. Others are noting that the CDF’s censure is happening in the context of a crackdown on American women Religious. I’m certain that plays some role, but I’ll refrain from trying to quantify or comment on this aspect.  I’ll leave that to others more capable, except to say that it does represent a divide in motive between Farley’s writing and the CDF’s censure.

In the end, I recognize the CDF acted within their ability, but I think it is a shame that the CDF will not interact with the book in dialogue, or with more clarity and depth in conversation.  There was an opportunity to speak of the promise of seeking justice in relationships, to affirm parts of the book that are in accord with traditional Church teaching.  Instead the CDF took an easier (and a bit lazier) way that showed them reticent to engage modern ethical conversation from one within their own tradition.  To those not within academia or the Catholic faith, I have seen that this left the Roman Catholic hierarchy looking unnecessarily dismissive of modernity and disconnected from reality.  Within academia, the hierarchy appeared anti-intellectual and dismissive of excellent scholarship.  This could have been avoided...it should have been avoided.

And regardless of whether the Roman Catholic Church chooses to engage Farley’s work in ethics, I hope her project of advocating a framework that will help people continually discern the just and unjust in their own relationships will continue.  To that end:

A quick, quick review of the framework in Just Love

(That should leave you wanting to buy the book for the massive amount of awesome detail I do not add)

The framework moves through six principles.  Farley is proposing a standard to which individuals could hold themselves and measure their partners.  These duties are: doing no unjust harm, free consent, mutuality, equality, commitment, fruitfulness, and social justice.

Do no unjust harm.  Given that Christians (although certainly not only Christians) tend to see themselves as having both a body and soul and that the two are closely linked, the concept of doing no harm holds two meanings:  do no unjust physical harm (rape, battery) and do no unjust spiritual/mental harm (deceit, betrayal, disparity in committed loves).[2]  This is presented as a duty, but the prohibition on unjust harm requires, and in many ways may inculcate, the virtue of (at least) nonmaleficence when dealing with others.

Free consent  Those in the relationship should respect the other as an end in himself or herself.  This also reinforces the above duty of not harming the other, since lying/deceit truncates the ability of the other to make informed decisions about the nature of the relationship; free consent asks that we beware of forms of coercion.[3] 

           

Mutuality  Farley speaks mainly of sexuality when enumerating the characteristics of just relationships.  She sees both giving and receiving of both partners as necessary (contrast with the image of the active male and the passive female).[4]  Still, the concept of mutuality in relationships extends well beyond sex and into the everyday requirements of living in relationship.  Consider division of household chores—there can be agreement of who performs what duties, and they can be divided among lines of traditional gender expectations, but no task in itself is beneath a man or above a woman to do.  The very nature of life together makes it a project in which there must be give and take.

Equality  This is a radical equality that goes beyond merely saying that one is equal to the other.  One must be mindful of power differentials in play throughout the relationship and try to mediate the differentials in order to keep from treating the other as property or commodity, not to mention endangering the others’ autonomy and sense of self by the inordinate use of power by one partner.[5] 

Commitment   As Farley says, sexuality is something that needs to be “nurtured and sustained, as well as disciplined, channeled, and controlled.”[6]  Sexuality is an important part of human identity and constitutive of our nature.  Sexuality is also powerful, given its procreative potential and intimate nature.  What commitment offers, then, is an outlet for partners to know, and be known, by each other and deepen that relationship.  The advantage that commitment offers over the novelty of seeking many sexual partners is that seeking other partners runs the risk of treating others as a mean to a selfish end instead of ends in themselves.  

Fruitfulness  This has traditionally been associated the procreative nature of sexual relationships and marriage but there is another way to think about fruitfulness.  Those who are in relationships are not only responsible for the creation or raising of their own children; wider community also makes a claim on couples.  American culture holds individualism in high regard and to a certain extent rightly so.  However, humans are social and need relationship. Those in relationship (a couple) offer nourishment to a larger community by providing avenues for resources, just as the community provides resources to the couple.

Social justice   The respect for persons as sexual beings in society.[7]  Since humans are always in relationship to one another, humans must realize that their personal decisions have consequences that affect others in a ripple effect.  As Farley puts it, “at the very least…social justice requires of sexual partners that they take responsibility for the consequences of their love and their sexual activity…No great love, is just for “the two of us.””[8]  Certainly this includes children who are born of such relationships.  Social justice expands even further outwards in hope of addressing global sexual and gender injustices.  People contribute to realizing this global social justice by acting in such a way that their relationships, characterized by virtue and duty, become a standard to which they hold themselves and others.

---

[1] Taken from http://notesfromthequad.yale.edu/response-vatican-reproach-fellow-theologians-rally-support-margaret-farley.

[2] Farley, 216-17.

[3] Farley, 218.

[4] Farley, 221.

[5] Farley, 223.

[6] Farley, 224-225.

[7] Farley, 228-231.

[8] Farley, 229.

"What's Your Story?" : The Whys and Hows of Spiritual Timelines

How good are you at telling your own story?
Would you like to get better at it?
Are you a writer, or keep a journal?
I have found that spiritual timelines might help you identify events to talk about and to write about.

Timelines are quick ways to organize information, particularly about autobiographies.  And I’m a visual person so it is particularly helpful for me.  Looking at your life in a linear way brings memories to the surface as you think about how you may have gotten from point A to point B.

I was introduced to spiritual timelines as a class assignment/icebreaker this past fall.  Thinking that it was a simply a bit of busy work, I completed the assignment in about 2 hours.  But, looking at it over the past year, the timeline has opened up to be something more. The timelines have helped me practice telling my stories and help me reflect on my life.

Why care about our own stories?  To make a general observation, the Bible is first and foremost a collection of stories of peoples’ encounters with God.  It does not speak with one voice or present a single theology.  The Bible is a library of individual books with the writing spread over thousands of years.  When you come to the Bible looking for some bit of knowledge about God, the Bible--in a way--replies, "Let me tell you a story."

Likewise, we can think of our life as a library and events as books.  Or perhaps of our life as one story, with many chapters.  You can pick your own metaphor here.  But, typically when people ask you a question about yourself, it is an invitation to tell a story.

The spiritual angle: 

Working with a timeline helps in being able to identify with other people’s stories by knowing your own story better, and getting a sense of how you would tell your story in relation to theirs.  Practicing telling your stories also helps you think more deeply about your own relationship to God; because it will bring up some questions that will ask you to look harder at what has happened.  To return to the metaphor:  it helps you pull books from your library when you need them or want them, and therein discover something you had not noticed before.

My timeline can be an example.
Panel 1.
Panel 2.
__________________________________________________

Making your Timeline

Overriding Rubrics:  Freedom, honesty, and integrity.  It is your timeline, you can make of it what you will as long as you are honest with yourself.

So, here are some recommendations instead of instructions:

1.      Create at least three lines for world events, life events, and spiritual events.

2.      Examples of things to put on the timelines:

a.       World Events: presidents, civil rights movements, memorable deaths, meetings, wars, etc.

b.      Life Events: Birth, other births, moves, schools, illness, marriages, coming out, first loves, following loves, accidents, family events, deaths, happinesses, etc.

c.       Spiritual Events: baptism, Churches (going to/leaving), time in different/no religions/denominations, time not knowing what you are spiritually/religiously, first time taking communion, particularly powerful spiritual moments (in nature, with someone, etc.)

                                                              i.      These often connect to life and world events, so connect them if they seem to fit.

d.      Other things you could include:  formative songs, movies, quotes, friendships, meaningful biblical stories.

e.       See below for a way to illustrate the closeness or distance/hiddenness of God.

f.       Your life is more than one color; you timeline should be colorful too!

Another Option --or-- you can combine these two projects

1.      On one line, mark off 5 or 10-year increments of your life.

2.      Using one color, mark the ‘highs’ above the line and “lows” below the line, in each time period— “external events or experiences when you were surprised by delight, changed, stuck in a rut, or dismayed by loss (births, deaths, job changes, health issues, relationships)

3.      Using a different color, mark the spiritual “highs” and “lows” — Times of closeness to God, times of distance, inner turmoil and transformation, meaning, belonging, purpose (these may or may not have taken place in connection to a church).

4.      Highlight/write in 3 or 4 places where you sense a story you might want to develop for your library.

Some things to ask of your timeline

1.      Try looking at your timeline as if you were a stranger.  Do you see something that you think would make (or already has made) a good story?  How do you tell the story of points on the timeline, the transitions?

2.      Are there any biblical stories that mirror your life? 

3.      Are there biblical stories that you took strength from in a time in your life?

“Homework”

1. Share timelines and stories when you have a chance.
2. Don’t be afraid to mess up and have to start over.  It is your timeline. You might discover things you need to reconsider… and space is an issue... Timelines, like life, can be messy.
3. Similarly, you might decide that a period of time needs its own separate timeline!  You can make more than one.
4. Practice telling some stories over the next few weeks.  See if, in conversation, an avenue comes up to share something of yourself.
5. If you like to write, perhaps pick a story to write out in detail.

Christians who like the Idea of Concentration Camps

There is a video that has been haunting me for the past eight days or so.  I’ll post the video below, but for the sake of context, I’d also like to mention that this video comes out of the past five weeks in which anti-lgbtq malice has gotten more press, either because homophobic churches are increasing their own rhetoric, or their normal homophobia is simply making it into the mainstream much faster.

For example, a preacher advocated physical abuse toward children.   Another suggested they go into what would be best described as concentration camps.   Another flat-out advocates a government extermination program.   And this last week a video surfaced of a church teaching/allowing a toddler to sing "Ain't no homos gonna get to Heaven".

I’ve written a short Christian response to homophobia/heterosexism that you can find on Facebook, so I will not repeat that response’s argument except to say the pastors linked above are peddling sickening stuff not worthy of the Gospel of Christ.

The video that has been haunting me is related to the sermon of Pastor Charles L. Worley who advocated putting gay and lesbian men and women into electrified fenced-off areas until they die.  As bad as that is, even more chilling and cringe-worthy is the video of Anderson Cooper interviewing a congregant of Worley's church.

(I do a "close viewing (?)" of the video, so it's up to you if you want to watch it now or return to it later.)

The rest of this post is my reflection about this video, which utterly fascinates me.  I'm broadly putting my reflections under the headings of "the failure and marginalization of Christian language" and "studies in how to cultivate the conditions for the elimination of entire peoples."

The utter failure and marginalization of Christian language

There reaches a point where Christian language--the language that Christians and the Church uses to describe reality--fails.  Part of this development is simply part of one generation passing on the language, propositions--and, more importantly, the unresolved questions--of the Faith to the next generation.  The next generation then has the task of making sense of and engaging the Faith in a way that is able to be heard in their own time and place.  This is a messy process and occurs unevenly.  It is work that is never finished because the world in which we live and move and have our being in relationship to God is always changing (which is why a Christian who claims to have all the answers is a liar).  Christian language fails when Christians give up the task of reinterpreting the tradition and do not bother to make it understandable to those outside the Church.

While we in the Church try to describe the reality we experience, other things are going on.  In this particular time in human history, it is increasingly clear that the "burden of proof lies on believers and the life they lead" in terms of whether the Faith adequately describes reality.  The Church is rightfully under the judgment of the world--and God--on this point, because it is the world--and God--that points to the Church's own inconsistencies and calls the Church to account.  The Church rightfully loses credibility in the world when the Church's language becomes incomprehensible to anyone but ourselves, and at the same time the transformation--and the reality we try to bear witness to--is not forthcoming. We forget that the Church must continually earn the right to speak about God. Further:

The weightiest criticisms of Christian speech and practice amount to this:  that Christian language actually fails to transform the world's meaning because it neglects or trivialized or evades aspects of the human.  It is notoriously awkward about sexuality; it risks being unserious about death when it speaks too glibly and confidently about eternal life; it can disguise the abiding reality of unhealed and meaningless suffering. [1]

I would also add that Christian language is also co-opted to legitimate terrible violence against a variety of "others."

As a result of the failure of Christian language, our preaching loses power.  A religion based on the living Word (logos) of God in Jesus Christ loses its ability to transform.  The Church becomes Godless.  (Ironically, God can still be found in the world where Christians may least expect to find God.)    The challenge for the Church is to not to simply learn the Church's own language about God and Jesus, but to find the words that make people capable of transforming and renewing the world through the enabling of the work of God.  In those words are where one will find the Gospel, and they may not mention God at all.

That is a lot of introductory material to make a simple point:  Christian language--and basic Christianity--fails in this video.

Okay. To the video. I think I've identified two major rhetorical tactics the congregant (Stacy) tries. The first tactic is to claim that the statement was taken out of context; this tactic is used in three different ways by Stacy. The first way was to try to say that Pastor Worley surely "would never want [imprisoning gays and lesbians in concentration camps] to be done." She then continues to say that people will take what he said and use it any way they want to.

Anderson then brings a powerful observation to Stacy: "You said he doesn't want it done, but [Worley] said that he wanted it done, and he said it from the pulpit." Anderson is making an interesting and appropriate move here. Anderson accords a great deal of respect to the pulpit, and assumes that what is said in the pulpit by a preacher are not idle words. I would hope most Christians would agree that the pulpit is not a place for idle, rambling thoughts.

Stacy counters with, "Maybe that's what [Worley] felt like should happen...but to make the short of it, yes, I agree with him." The tactic fails. Stacy then begins to imagine the Worley's scenario playing out. Homosexuals "would not get the message that that's wrong....you know...they can't reproduce and eventually they would die out."

So, Stacy started the interview by trying to say that Worley didn't literally mean to put homosexuals into concentration camps, then within thirty seconds she is agreeing with Worley and imagining such a future. The head shake and the "...you know..." in her thought and speech passes over the imagining of homosexuals being rounded up over months and years, transported under armed guard to a facility they would never leave. But maybe she isn't imagining it. Maybe her hope is that it would happen with no claim on her conscience or attention. It's probably much easier for her to simply imagine a future without homosexuals than think about how they would be made to disappear.

The second attempt at tactic one comes; Anderson forces her to go deeper into her agreement with Worley and imagine how the crackdown would work. I think Stacy knows at this point that she's in over her head. She becomes increasingly belligerent and defensive. Anderson asks if she really thinks imprisoning homosexuals would keep others from being born. She concedes that more homosexuals would be born to straight parents (and I don't think she really meant to do this; because for her homosexuality is a choice, not something you are born with). She now says that they just meant the imprisoned homosexuals would die. Then she reiterates that all of this is being taken out of context. "The main point is always the same." For Stacy, homosexuality is wrong.

Anderson then asks about other categories of sin from the Old Testament and whether the death penalty should be applied. Stacy stumbles to answer but eventually simply says "yes." Did she just agree to expand the death penalty to promiscuous girls, disobedient children, and adulterers? It seems to be the case.

The third attempt at tactic one comes next. Anderson (rightly) asks if putting people in electrified fences seems Christian. Stacy rolls her eyes. She bemoans that "people keep harping, harping, harping on the electric fence, this and that...It's about the homosexuals and it's [sic] wrong." So, another attempt at downplaying what was actually said. Anderson asks her to consider why people may think it is a rather big deal that one group of people wants to put another group of people into a concentration camp. The point seems lost on her. She retreats to saying that no one is actually going to put people (particularly homosexuals? hard to tell...) in fences and kill them. Anderson rightly points out that this happens to homosexuals in other countries, which does not faze her except to increase her defensiveness.

Tactic two immediately follows, and it's an appeal to authority. "You know what?  This is a pastor who speaks the word of god [intentionally lower-case]. Anybody can take it any way they want to and if they don't like it they don't have to...they can turn around and go on!" Stacy has had enough, she pulls the God card, and retreats into a world that cuts off conversation. Her language about God had failed, and she gave up.

So, how does Christian language fail in this video? In the past four months I've seen Christians attempt moves like Stacy's first tactic. It is a weird argument for someone of such a text-centric religion [2] to make: that what the pastor said was harmless or meaningless, nevertheless the congregation defends his/her belief and support of a harmless and meaningless statement. In other words, these Christians claim that which they hold dear is meaningless, yet it is treasured by them. One should not simultaneously say something is meaningless, yet of ultimate concern. A person can go on believing such a meaningless statement, but the question that immediately comes to my mind is why I or anyone else should give any type of credence or respect to a belief that its adherents claim is meaningless. I cannot respect a meaningless statement. If that is what Christian language comes to--insider jargon that has no power to transform and transmit faith, hope, and love--it should be treated as unserious. It already is treated that way by most of the world. And the irony of it all is that these Christians participate in fostering their own irrelevance.

The second way Christian language fails is related. Advocating locking people up in concentration camps is not the transmission of the Gospel, and in any case, it is not harmless. It's always good and appropriate to remind people that words do have meaning and consequence. It is scandalous that Christians have to be reminded of the power of words, particularity when Christians should always be able to be called to account for the words they use.

In the end, I'm left with the conflicting feelings that what I'm watching in the video is simultaneously Christian and un-Christian. The Gospel has not worked to convince these folks that advocating concentration camps is something to take seriously, to be apprehensive about, or fosters a need for their own repentance. Christianity becomes the shell in which they place their own hate, bravado, defensiveness, and insularity.  Christianity is in this case nothing but a pious wrapping around the demonic.  What is terrifying for me is that this goes under the banner of Christianity in popular conversation in America, that this video will far exceed the reach of the people like me who write to denounce it, and that Christianity will only be known by what it is supposedly against. 

How to cultivate the conditions for the elimination of entire peoples

One doesn't have to have spent a significant amount of one's academic career on genocide, holy war, and post-holocaust ethics to be disturbed by this video.  But I think it helps and it certainly colors my view of what is going on.  This is ironic to me, because disapproval of concentration camps through an academic lens is a place where a Christian concept is found in the world, and this disapproval is missing from churches where people want to put other humans into concentration camps.  Where Christian language fails, (finding God in) the world can provide the words.  As I watched the video, Daniel Goldhagen's work on eliminationist policies came to mind.  His work details five distinct ways of eliminating a population:  transformation, repression, expulsion, prevention of reproduction, and extermination.  Pastor Worley's vision meets all five of the criteria of an eliminationist stance.  For Pastor Worley and Stacy, if homosexuals do not act the way they are supposed to (ultimatum of transformation), then they should be rounded up against their will (repression), placed in concentration camps (expulsion), where they "cannot breed" (prevention of reproduction), to eventually die (extermination).

There are a few points in the video where what Anderson was saying wasn't on a level Stacy could understand.  One of those levels was the gravity of someone advocating a dream of a group of people dying out in a concentration camp in a world in which it has already happened, is happening, and will happen again.  Elimination of populations is a real thing, and I think Stacy exemplifies the conditions of individuals that show how it can happen.  Like many others, Stacy doesn't think eliminations are possible, but they are.  The Third Reich proved it.  Rwanda proved it. [3]  Like many others, she will think the population to be eliminated--in this case homosexuals--deserve what they will get, particularly by refusing to change to meet the dominant groups demands and expectations.  As exemplified by Pastor Worley, there is a significant amount of disgust, to the point where imagining homosexuals' existence and its consequences (like, say, a kiss between two men) is deeply and personally offensive and repugnant.  These homophobic folks see the lgbtqia community as more than in error or sin.  They see gay folk as contaminating, an abomination.  This level of hatred, fear, and disdain is familiar to marginalized groups who have faced oppression from dominant groups. 

I cannot stress this enough:  Pastor Worley said he was not joking; Stacy eventually admitted that she agreed with him; there were plenty others in the congregation saying 'amen' to what Worley was preaching.  There are people in this country who can imagine--and like the idea--of putting other groups of people into concentration camps.  This is not a small matter or a joke in a world that has seen such things happen.  It is odd but true that wanting to eliminate people and claiming it cannot happen is exactly how you go about eliminating a people.  It takes time and a complacent populace to create the conditions for an eliminationist policy.  I'm not willing to give these folks that opportunity.

This is not the kind of thing Christians should let pass in silence, which is a sort of consent.  Christians ought to be getting loud about the cultivation of this type of behavior in a church, and be quick to denounce anything that degrades others' very humanity.  Christian silence, particularly progressive Christians' silence, leaves a void where Christians who like the idea of concentration camps become the ones who define our faith for the rest of the world.  And that ain't the Gospel.

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[1] The three opening paragraphs under this heading are based on the essay "The Judgment of the World" by Rowan Williams, found in On Christian Theology. The quote is on page 39.
[2] Christianity is a "bookish" religion, but I also mean 'text' in a much broader way that includes a range of symbols and symbolic actions.
[3] To name two of many, many 20th century examples.

"What Just Happened!?" -- Looking Back at Ordination

This post proceeds through three sections.  In the first, I give some personally formative quotes I keep in mind when I speak of ordination.  In the second, I keep to my own experience.  In the third, I try my hand at a personal theology of ordination, and it necessarily touches on concepts of being and ontology.


Quotes on my mind

“If you’re not a priest the day before ordination, you won’t be the day after.” - An unidentified Jesuit.

"Ordination recognizes and brings to fruition a process that has been going on for some time in a person’s life." --Richard G. Malloy, SJ

"As in the case of Baptism and Confirmation this share in Christ's office is granted once for all. The sacrament of Holy Orders, like the other two, confers an indelible spiritual character and cannot be repeated or conferred temporarily." --#1582 Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC)

"...The character imprinted by ordination is for ever. The vocation and mission received on the day of his ordination mark him permanently." --#1583 (CCC)

"In calling the act "sacramental," we are recognizing that it is not just the authorizing of certain persons to perform distinctive functions in the Church, but it is a conferring of grace on these persons themselves.  The special ministries are not to be understood exhaustively in functional terms; they also have an ontological dimension, they are ways of being in the Church.  The call of  a person to the ministry and his response, and then his solemn ordination, affect him in the depth of his being." --John MacQuarrie, Principles of Christian Theology

"The word that has been traditionally used by theologians to designate this ontological dimension of ministry is "character".   There is nothing magical about such character, nor does it fall ready-made from heaven at ordination.  Ministerial character...is a formation of the person, the building of a distinctive pattern of personal being...the functional and ontological understandings of ministry are complementary, not competitive.  It is through doing the acts that character is formed, then character in turn informs acts.  Ministerial functions without the depth of ministerial character would be only an outward appearance." --John MacQuarrie, Principles of Christian Theology. See CCC #1582 above for an example of the use of character.

"We stress again that there is nothing magic about such character; and just as the calling to the ordained ministry can be understood as an extension of the election that belongs to all Christian experience, so ministerial character can be understood as a special development of the character which baptism opens to all Christians." --John MacQuarrie, Principles of Christian Theology

((Disclaimer: Gender exclusivity in the quotes are par for the course in the Roman Catholic Church regarding ordination.  MacQuarrie wrote in 1966 and revised 1977, so his language is exclusive but he could entertain the idea of women's ordination.)) 

"Something happens.  Robert will still be in this community, he will still be who he is, but some things will change." -- Gil

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Seminarians and divinity school students loooooooooooovvvvvvvvveeee to talk about what happens at ordination.  If you have nothing to do for an hour and a half, find yourself a Baptist, an Episcopalian, a Methodist, a Pentecostal, a Roman Catholic, a non-denominational rep, a theologian not in an ordination process, and an atheist; put them at a table (alcohol optional but preferred); utter the phrase "ontological change" and "ordination" and sit back;  they will take it from there.

Yes, we love to talk about it...and talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, and talk...I'm making the talking motion with my hand.

Okay, both hands back on the keyboard. On to writing about it.

We tend to talk a lot about "ontological change."  That's a fancy way of saying that God does something to a person during the ordination that changes the person's very existence in the world and in relation to the world.  The debate, in its simplest terms, is whether such a change happens, or whether we are asking God's blessing on someone "set apart" for ministry but does not make the person  something "other" than as human as a lay person.

(There are good reasons to debate this, and I'll give two questions that seem to drive the debates but I will not address them here.  First, does the idea of an ontological change seem verifiable in the life of ministers?  Second, does this concept of ontological change create a "specialness" about clergy that necessarily denigrates the ministry of the laity, or implies the laity are not as close to God?)

I used to join in these conversations, but as ordination approached I got to a point where I did not want to talk about what "happened" at ordination.  I could talk about being excited about ordination, about plans for after ordination, but I dreaded the conversation about what "happened" at ordination. 

The dread reached a high point the Monday before the ordination.  I went out with a few friends after a final exam was finished.  Thanks to me and Emilie (another Arizonan ordained on the same day as me)  being there, the conversation turned to ordination, and the conversation eventually turned to what "happens" at ordination... as it does.  A friend who was there has a fairly low sacramental theology while I have a fairly high sacramental theology.  This makes for a lot of playful banter back and forth.  That particular day his banter was well-intentioned goading, but goading all the same.  I wasn't feeling it that day.  Any other day-- especially, say, three months ago--it would have been fine; that day it was a bit rougher on me.  I didn't bite the bait he left.

I am a reserved person in the first place, but that day my reservedness was notable, and people asked if I was okay with the conversation.  In general I was 'okay' but a tad troubled.  It seemed to me that day to be a lot of people talking with some definitiveness about a speculative matter of theology that was soon to be part of my concrete experience.

When one person asked me if I was okay, I answered (in some form) that I had no idea what would happen at ordination, but I would be happy to talk about what the two months before ordination had felt like.  I was experiencing the run-up to ordination at a personal level -- in mystical relationship to God -- that called me to silence, solemnity, and openness instead of trying carve out an a priori understanding of what was going to happen to me in the ordination service, or following the service.  I did not want to create a certain expectation for God to fulfill, given how often in my life God has preferred to surprise me.

And it made so much more sense to talk about what I could talk about:  my experience of God that had seemingly ramped-up since January--more frequent, more intense.   Parts of my life opening to God in new, deeper ways.  I didn't think some of the things were coming.  From February to mid-April I experienced sleepless nights, nightmares, the gnawing of inadequacies and impurities that hung about me.  Dreams blended segments of my life and my new-coming identity.  I sought Confession, received absolution, and was spurred to do so by God much sooner than I had planned.  I experienced in a very real way the simultaneous "yes" and "no" of God's judgment that affirmed my belovedness and kept (and keeps) calling me to the fullness for which I was made. Orientation. Disorientation. Reorientation.  My identity, my being, was shifted before I landed in Phoenix.

Then I was in Phoenix.  And I was there a few days before the ordination, so I worked in wonderful conversations, quiet, prayer, and worship with St. Brigid's Community.  Dinner with St. Brigid's Community was wonderful and affirming in that it gave me an opportunity to reflect aloud about my formation.  In honesty I think the formation of seminary is the same as every other Christian's formation.  The only difference is that seminary offers an accelerated experience in hopes that the program moves people to a position where they are able to faithfully and maturely exercise spiritual servant leadership once they graduate.

I was ordained on May 5th at 10am.  We ordinands needed to be there at 9am to get ready for the procession, but more importantly to sit in prayer.  Sitting in prayer took me a while to do; pushing the excitement and nervousness back enough to quiet myself was difficult, but aided with a rosary.  After completing the rosary, in the silence, I began quietly weeping for a reason I cannot fathom.  The call affirmed? Nothing pointed me to think otherwise...  Sadness?  Definitely not...

Peace... love... healing... gratitude to God and all who have walked this journey with me... the womb of God...that is close enough.  And there was nine of us being ordained, so there were nine different experiences of that silence.

We sat in prayer until the bishop came in to give a short talk.   "There is no secret handshake.  Just love the people."

The rest of the service was in turns an exercise in concentration through a whirlwind of activity, a fight to keep composure, and a holy experience from which I try remember every detail.  (Ordinations are more like weddings than many suppose.)  We were greeted by many people; we had lunch with friends, and then Laura and I returned to our friends' home for a quiet night in. 

The next morning I woke up to my first full day of ordained life. Things had changed...  but the trick is separating these changes into the perceived and the concrete, the external/institutional and the internal/ontological/spiritual (and don't let the dualisms I've hastily constructed fool you, none of these are as mutually exclusive as they appear).  I'm not done with this work yet.

Externally, things are taking some getting used to.  There is a collar around my neck.  Friends and strangers are calling me by honorifics.  I put on more or different vestments.  I am now classified as "associated clergy" at my internship parish; blanket references to clergy now mean me.  There is an authority that I need to sort out as I exercise it.  There are people to serve, and I am finding that ministry's expression in my life.  The freedom to use my own discretion encompasses a greater range of possible actions within a hierarchical Church.

In clericals, I am now no longer a stranger to most people, but a person to be actively ignored or engaged... and I never quite know how that is going to go as I walk by.  Maybe what has changed for me is the effort I take to make eye contact and seem accessible.  I ask people their names if we talk.  I let people talk to me (at me?) on the train from Norwalk to Bridgeport.  I don't mind listening; but I'm lucky to be out of school, so there is little that I feel like absolutely needs to get done that would cause me to close myself off in public.

But internally, I find it difficult to discern any major difference in myself between May 4th and May 6th apart from the fact that I have an authority, a servant ministry, and the discretion to explore both in ways that will leave me changed.  I cannot yet sense an enhanced sense of holiness/sacredness that is not somehow tied to my experience of life in this world, which does not bother me at all.  This world is the realm of God's action, and so I trust that God acted in the ordination.  Personally, my experience of God months and minutes before the ordination point to the certainty of God's presence at the ordination.  In the end I'm willing to accept Gil's statement I quoted above as a sufficient explanation of a mystery I am experiencing.  And maybe it as simple as saying that the grace of God continually finds a way to affirm where I've been and where I am.  If ordination added to that -- and I'm rather sure that it did -- then I am immeasurably blessed.  And I am opening to discovering more about it.
________________________________________________________

In terms of a theology of ordination, I follow much of what John Macquarrie has written, which I provide in quotes above.

I guess I need to say something about ontological change.  Let's start with definitions!  (Philosophers and theologians may need to forgive my brevity on these.)
Being (two meanings):  1) (v.)the act or energy of existence and 2) (n.)the existent entity in which this act expresses and manifests itself. 
Ontology:  The study of the nature of being, existence, and reality.
Ontological Change: a change in a way of being, a la John Macquarrie above.

My understanding of ontological change is that it is roughly synonymous with the processes of sanctification and Theosis, through which Christians grow into the fulness of Christ.  I would take this to mean that Baptism is also an ontological change in which the person is brought into unitive Being with God.  Every action that furthers that unity-- which is the human conforming oneself to Christ -- is then in some sense a change in being to the fulness of that which humanity was created to be.  An ontological change.  What the Church has done in naming sacraments is recognize particular actions of common and individual life, actions given by God in Christ to the Church or recognized for its exceptional character, as arenas in which our ways of being are reordered.  The processes of sanctification/deification and our turning  to the fulness of that God created us to be is not simply a static state waiting for dramatic movement (although growth in Christ sometimes happens like that), but a continuous process.

The first two quotes I placed above-- from the Jesuits-- bring to bear a truth that seems to go unmentioned too often in the  conversations I have about ordination and what "changes."  The work of God is not often an instant occurrence, but a process that works within our own history and our relationship to the Divine.  It may be that the ordination service imposes an artificial point on a liminal process that lasts much longer.  The ordination service asks the ordinand to commit to a formation that has begun and will continue, and asks that God's grace be bestowed upon the person so that the work of formation can be furthered  (BCP 545).  The service is where the community recognizes formation and asks God's blessing upon it, after which the church will consider the blessing given and the action done.  The service is the work of the Church and God which becomes the outward sign of a spiritual grace that has been garnered over years of prayer and experience and will (hopefully) continue into the future.   Being "made" a deacon/priest/bishop is not the work of an instant...and it seems to me to be better expressed as being made deacon as opposed to being made a deacon.

This view is, I think, consonant with what I've said above:  that my own experience of ordination was a process of purgation and reorientation that lasted months and is not yet completed, and I've experienced this entire period as a shift in being.  I think I was "deacon" the day before my ordination.  On the day after, I could begin to act as "deacon" in its fullest expression with the authority and blessing of the Church through the grace of God.  The external changes have been more obvious and, in terms of being, I continue to discern further what God calls me to be.

 

Jesus Came to Thomas Anyway, part II: The Underlying Theology

I preached on Thomas this past weekend, and lo and behold, many other of my seminarian colleagues did as well; there is an old joke that seminarians and curates can always count on preaching Thomas, the transfiguration, and the trinity.  It has been wonderful these past two weeks to hear about the different directions people took.  It's also obvious that preachers make choices, and they are the type of choices that frustrate any attempt to say that biblical texts mean only one thing. Community matters as well.  The sermon I preached at St. Paul's on the Green was a sermon for that community; if I wrote a sermon for All Saint's Episcopal Church in Mobile, AL or St. Augustine's in Tempe, it may have looked much different.

Even before I preached my sermon, and definitely after I preached it, a couple of things came to mind.  First, I just make an initial observation that the two 'major' sermons I've preached at St. Paul's have both made reference to doubt, questioning, disbelief, or my time outside of the church.  My preaching in other places has not done this.  I doubt all of my sermons at St. Paul's will make mention of these themes, but I have found it personally helpful to show that a healthy life of faith is also one that can admit to times of trouble and question; this does not show weakness.  When properly done, an honest appraisal or openness of one's life of faith shows integrity.*  There have been people for whom such integrity coming from the pulpit has been helpful.  Second, preaching on the subject of doubt in the life of the community is difficult, and requires more than one sermon.  It is always becoming clearer to me that preaching involves making choices and sometimes relying more on one's underlying theology than one may be comfortable with. 

In some ways what follows is an exercise in laying bare my own underlying theology.  And I will begin by asking why admitting doubt is a good thing in a Christian context.  This will mean taking some educated guesses as to why people think doubt is a bad thing, and some replies.  Then we need to look at doubt itself because the term means a few different things, not all of them bad.  Third, I'll come back around to why the community matters.   

I opened the sermon by saying that I have been haunted by the phrase "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe (Jn 20:29)."  I’ve always heard this phrase as a condemnation.  This passage is easily used as a bludgeon; and a person can use this bludgeon on herself, or someone can use it on her.  If one have doubts or questions, one may be left with the sense that Jesus is no longer talking to Thomas, but in one's mind's eye, Jesus turns points his finger, revokes his blessing, and one is no longer welcome or worthy to stand among those who believe.  A person in doubt or with questions can then experience church as something of an exercise in endurance, abuse, and uselessness; where the obviously more righteous and believing people gather.

..."Or," thinks the doubter, "they are all wearing a facade of faith; the hypocrites."

Relationships corrode at this point.  Since others may not admit doubt, the person with questions loses the sense that the community will understand them.   The person in doubt can no longer be honest, which is unhealthy. One can only stay in that type of situation for so long.

The community can further make the person with questions uncomfortable.  Pastors can take the story of Thomas as an opportunity to preach that the congregation needs to stay faithful with an implicit 'or else.'  This creates a further sense of isolation for the person in doubt.  "I'm on thin ice with God, if there is a God."

The community may go so far as to promote itself to an instrument of God's judgment, and pronounce the penalties of disbelief.  The community by its actions or its preaching may, in effect, say to the doubter that God will no longer listen to them until their faith is increased.  

Why would a community do this?  The most charitable guess I can make is that the community thinks this is what faithful living means, and that complete submission to God is paramount and required for God to be gracious.   When I am less charitable, I think some communities fear doubt and questions as "contamination."  These communities cannot handle someone who disrupts the narrative.  Sometimes it's just a spiritually immature snobbery.

There are biblical texts for this sort of exclusivism.  The passage above may be one, but as I notice in my sermon, to pronounce a blessing does not automatically come with a curse.  We still have to make sense of the fact that Thomas, in his disbelief, spends an entire week with the rest of the disciples. They do not make Thomas leave.  They do not berate Thomas.  They stay in relationship to Thomas and Thomas also stays with them.  Then a week later, Jesus, who could have written Thomas off in his unbelief, returns.

Blessed may be the one who believes yet has not seen, but Jesus shows a grace by the personal encounter that demonstrates that he will go to great lengths to make himself—and God—known to all.  And it is in this personal return of Jesus to Thomas that we see the point of the encounter.  We start of see the nature of God in Jesus, who is the expression of God’s love in the flesh.  A love that continues and is not simply bound to how much love the disciples can return to God.  This is the love of a God who desires and yearns to be in relationship; and in relationship, to open the eyes of the disciples to the way the world should be.  This is why the disciples, after having received the Holy Spirit, do not turn Thomas out of the community.

 This theological understanding should serve as a reminder to the community of their own proper role in the life of faith and doubt.   

But what about those in the community who look down on those without faith, some of whom may even desire that there be an accounting that leaves some condemned?  And what about those who think that the community is too easy on those who do not believe?  There are a few replies.  One reply that is biblically grounded is to look to the story of the prodigal son (Lk 15:11-32).  The story might be familiar.  A man has two sons, one gets his half of the inheritance early and squanders it, his father welcomes him back when he returns.  A metaphor for God and us (and much, much more to be said about that at some point).  What is less well known is the latter part of the story:

  ‘Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.” Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, “Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” Then the father said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.” ’(Lk 15:25-32

The other son feels slighted by his father's generosity.  Have you ever experienced something like this?  When someone you know was forgiven way too easily while you did everything right?  It's a difficult thing to see.  Yet, it is also how God works.  When communities forget the lesson of God's abundant love and grace, and set themselves up as the older brother, we do a disservice to God and to those who experience doubt and questions.

To stay in the parable:  imagine what would happen if the the older brother met the younger brother first, and said that 'the father' cares nothing for him.  The younger brother turns around and leaves, with no moorings to what gave him meaning and hope in the past.  So too, the church that does not seriously consider how best to stay in relationship to one who doubts or questions drives people away from God.

Finally, it is also probably common for churches to be gentle with people who question or doubt for a short time, but then the patience runs out.  Personally, this seems like a symptom of an impatience with the lack of control one can exert over the will of the other when we should instead trust that God is doing work through us in God's good time [but this isn't to say that skillful pastoral care is important].  We are called to hold open the space for an experience of the holy and name it when we see it.

Suppose one finds a community in which it is safe to admit doubt, and one finds a community in which one can still experience love and belonging after admitting doubt, what does one do about the doubt? There are spiritual perils here; but there are bright sides to both of these experiences, and a mature community can help.  Indeed communities need these experiences to mature. Doubt is often the crowbar God uses to pry through old ideas and comfortable ways of being to expose an entry into a deeper place in one's soul.**

Now, there are probably more than two classes of doubt/questionings of the faith, but I'm going to limit myself to two.  The first is the questioning of tenets of the faith.  In terms of questioning of the tenets of faith, it is always worth the community's time to ask whether the presentation of the faith is in a language that people can find intelligible.  The immature community may say "why don't you get this? We will repeat it to you again and again until you can repeat it back to us."  The immature community may then say, "we tried, but something is wrong with you."  The mature community stops, and considers. Does our language even work here...in this time and place?  The community of faith should be continually seeking to discover the proclamation of the Gospel in a way it needs to be heard by the context in which the community finds itself.  This does not guarantee success in convincing people about the truth of the Christian Way, but the community should never forget that, as the faith passed on through the generations, each generation needs to find its own voice and way of expressing its experience of God.  The mature community will also let people who wish to be in relationship stay in relationship.

The other form doubt and questioning can come in is the loss of the sense of God's presence.   In mystical theology, saints and theologians have known since early times that the Christian walk means a time of 'spiritual dryness.' More liberating than the freedom to admit doubt is the knowledge that Christians have experienced doubt as a specific part of the life of faith for a long, long time.  The loss of the historical memory and appreciation of tradition in American Christianity, and particularly the mystical tradition (especially in some parts of the mainline), means that the spiritual resources available to the community in times of doubt and questions are impoverished.  I wonder how many people experience this stage of the development of their faith and cannot find a community or the resources to push through to the other side.  But one needs a community that values the spiritual maturity and vulnerability to allow people to admit to questions before it can help people through the "dark nights of the soul."

I know this post is getting long, but bear with me as I take a quick detour through The Christian Way, in a very, very brief form.

Christian mystics have different numbers of stages to the pinnacle of Christian life, which mirrors Christ's life of loving regard for all. (See the Rule of Benedict, Chapter 7, the steps of humility in which one goes from the fear of God to a perfect love which casts out all fear; St. Bernard of Clairveaux's On Loving God, which details the Christian's move from loving one's self, to selfish love, to loving God as God, to finally loving one's self in God; and the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola).  I'll mention three rough stages: the illuminative, the trying/dark night, and the unitive/contemplative/stable.

Christian mystics often speak of illumination or conversion as the awakening to God by which people come to experience the love of God.  This can happen before or after a profession of faith.  This is the part of the life of faith that feels like a honeymoon.  Everything is roses, fervor, warmth, liveliness, and elation.  In very traditional terms, this is the experience of God which awakens people to the gulf between God and themselves in terms of holiness and goodness.  This stage may also jump-start the turn of the persons god-given gift of desire to the good, and the long process of growing into the fullness of Christ begins.

Then come the rough times; the fervor dies down, the warmth one experienced at doing good goes away.  God may seem far away, hidden.  Christians experience conflict and testing.  In traditional terms, this is sometimes called purgation and purification.  The true motives of our actions and beliefs are revealed--Do we seek heavenly reward or do we really love God and neighbor?  God is leading a person to the latter.  The paradox is that God is as close to the person in this stage as the first.   A person may experience this process and label parts of it, particularly the second stage, as doubt and questioning, and the trouble is that immature Christian communities see this and get nervous.  They think the conversion "didn't take."  Communities can fail people in this stage.  This is also precisely when community is so important.

Finally, there is the unitive/contemplative/stable stage, where the person gains a clarity about their life in God and continue in growing into the fullness God created him or her to be.  Discernment and humility typically characterize this stage, and contemplation becomes action embodied as second nature.  BUT, this is not a linear progression; folks sometimes cycle back through the dark night.  This is where, as I said above, doubt and questions represent God's way of calling us deeper.  The life we live is too small for the soul God is reworking.

Back to Communities. The Christian tradition has acknowledged that God is present to people even in their doubts and questions, or in the initial seeking of God. This is true even when Christians feel uncomfortable around people who do not believe the same way that they do (this is a sign of spiritual immaturity, which can be remedied by seeking God's face in the 'other').  But, the entire point of the church is to offer God’s welcome and to not hold back the good things of God from anyone. The Church acknowledges that all belong with God regardless of whether or not one believes, and the Church exists so it can be a place in which believers and nonbelievers can experience Christ together.  And even if some Christians feel a bit funny about caring for people who are so different, God calls us into this experience of walking through life in the light of a radical love.  We are called into relationship with God and the world, which is to be characterized by an indiscriminate loving regard-- for God, neighbor, and stranger.  Doubter and Questioner.

If a community has a choice between entertaining a doubt/question or distancing itself from those who have doubts and questions, the greater sin is to distance people.  When a community distances itself, the community forgets that a more profound fact about God can be found in a question, not an exclamation.

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*By 'properly done,' I mean that a pastor is not using the sermon as a moment of purely private reflection and personal pastoral care.  Pastors encounter the Biblical text on behalf of the community, and the community should be reflected in that work.  Also, the core of the Gospel is hope in the midst of trouble; if the pastor snuffs any sense of hope, the gospel is not being preached.
**I think I owe Hal Roark for this phrasing.