Saturday, April 23, 2011

Good Friday into Holy Saturday

In 2005, St. Paul's-on-the-Green in Norwalk, CT commissioned a set of paintings depicting the stations of the Cross. The paintings can be found here.  The paintings juxtapose Christ's trial, torture, crucifixion, and burial with modern scenes of conflict.

For instance, this particular painting is based on a photo of the abuses in Abu Ghraib; as you can see, it is eerily accurate (here, especially).  Seeing these paintings while on a tour were what ultimately led me to work at this particular parish.

I'm of the opinion that these paintings get to the heart of the crucifixion in a way that few other stations of the cross do.  The stations traditionally remind us that the crucifixion of Jesus--the torture and murder of the Son of God-- was a one-time event in the history of our salvation that never needs to be repeated.  They tell that solitary story of the decisive moment in history.

The paintings go further.  They show us the hard truth that humankind is still in the business of falsely accusing, torturing, and killing Christ by our actions toward our neighbors; yet we may say we would never do such a thing to Jesus if we were in Jerusalem, even while we yell "Crucify him!" on Palm Sunday. But we must consider who we are willing to crucify in our daily lives.  Who are we willing to let be crucified on our behalf, or because we are told we will be safer?  From whom do we deny the image of God that they bear?

The paintings, and the span of history, remind us that even with the work of salvation done-and-yet-ongoing, human nature is still warped in a way that no one, not even the Church, can fix without God.  Unfortunately, the drums of war and the banging of gavels are sometimes loud enough to drown the still, small voice calling us to forgo the calculations that keep us estranged from everyone around us.

There is hope.  But that is for tomorrow and the Resurrection.  Just for today, the world has won.  At least, the world thinks it has won.  The rebel is humiliated, crucified.  Dead.




Friday, April 22, 2011

Maundy Thursday II

The following is a letter I sent to a person from a different liturgical tradition, in which I try to explain why I was at church on a Thursday.
________________________________
You seemed surprised that I was going to church last night.  I feel obliged to explain why, because in the church year, the Thursday night before Easter is a very difficult and emotional night for me.

In a lot of denominations (Roman Catholics, Episcopalians, Lutherans, Methodists, Eastern Orthodox, etc.), we go through the year by what is known as the liturgical calendar, which divides the year into seasons based on when things happened in the Gospel stories.  We commemorate Christmas and Easter; but we also commemorate Pentecost, Epiphany (Christ’s manifesting of himself with the visit of the Magi, Christ’s Baptism, and the miracle of water into Wine at Cana), his Transfiguration, Ascension, and other events.

What this has meant for me is that I live my life in two different times:  The normal Gregorian calendar, but also a calendar made sacred by entering into the God’s story of the salvation of the world.  In some ways, the sacred calendar is also timeless.  I have found that if you allow yourself to fully enter into the cycle, then when you commemorate the events in the Christian story, you are actually there.   

The week before Easter is known as Holy Week.  The week starts with Palm Sunday, in which we remember Christ’s triumphant entering of Jerusalem before his death.  Starting on Thursday night and going until Easter, we tell the story of Christ’s last supper, betrayal, interrogation, torture, death, and resurrection, according to the day it happened.  This is coming at the end of Lent, a period of the year in which we are more intentional about thinking about who we are as individuals, and who we are as human beings.

I know you don’t worship according to the same type of liturgy/ritual that we do, but I’m going to try to explain why the night is very difficult for me.  It will be helpful to remember that when I worship, I’ve entered the story.  In our rituals, every action (should) have a symbolic meaning that points to God or to the Gospel story in some way.  Here is a link to the Maundy Thursday service that we used in Arizona, which was a little different than last night’s. But I’m going to tell you about last night.

According to John 13:1-17, what we commemorate on Maundy Thursday is the night in which Jesus washed the disciples’ feet.  It is also the night in which he instituted the Holy Communion.  We do the same; we wash each other’s feet and we celebrate Communion.  All of this is pleasant, but it isn’t the end of the night.

After Communion, which represents the Last Supper, everything left over is either consumed or gathered.  Two choir members begin to chant the entirety of Psalm 22 (My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?).  Since the parish in which I will work is Anglo-Catholic, we believe that Christ is really present in the bread and wine.  That bread and wine is then taken into a smaller chapel, where an all-night vigil will be held.  This represents Jesus in the Garden at Gethsemane.  Where the sons of Zebedee failed to stay awake, we attempt to watch and pray with Christ.  While this happens every candle in the sanctuary is extinguished.

After the bread and wine are placed in the chapel.  The priests return.  They strip the outward vestments that they wear, the ones that set themselves apart as priest.  Then the altars are stripped of all candles and linens, leaving the sanctuary bare.  This represents two things:  Christ’s own forced nudity on the cross (he was stripped of his garments), and his absence because of the three days in the tomb.  With the candles gone, the absence of light is symbolic of the absence of the light of the world and the hour in which the earth was dark.
The chanted psalm ends.  Next, the Betrayal and arrest of Jesus is read aloud.  The last words were from Mark were “Then all the disciples deserted him and fled.”   Immediately, the overhead lights go out, and the ministers and choir scatter and walk away as the disciples did.  The congregation leaves in silence, or goes to keep vigil with Christ in the chapel throughout the night (the only light in the building). 

So begins the darkest part of the Christian year, and human history.  The days in which we all killed God.  We won't see the light again until Saturday night/Sunday Morning, when Christ is risen.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Getting out of the way

As I was walking from lunch to the library, I felt pulled to the music coming from Marquand Chapel.  There was no scheduled service at that time, but the set-up looked as if the class on funerals was walking through a funeral service.  As I looked through the small windows to see what what going on, behind me a door opened and a rather lost-looking young woman walked in from the chilly, overcast day.  Today is 'admitted student day', when gaggles of students come to visit and discern if YDS is right for them.   

She rather nervously picked up a program from the 10:30  Marquand service and then looked as though she would sit down in the hall (and it was noon).  She seemed very uncomfortable.

I asked if she was visiting for admitted student day.  She replied that she was a freshman from Yale College, and that she was seeking somewhere quiet (from Yale College to Yale Divinity is a pretty long walk just to  find somewhere quiet).  She seemed to want to go into Marquand but because of the class going on (and because silence would be hard to come by), I suggested that she follow me down to the library, to Nouwen Chapel.

Marquand Chapel
Nouwen Chapel



















On our way to the library, I struck up conversation.  She is considering religious studies as a major, but freshmen do not have to declare for a while.  She appreciates the friendliness of the divinity school students (we're pretty counter-cultural for the Ivy League's highly competitive messiness).  She doesn't know much about this "Christian thing,"  But she attends Compline at Christ Church, New Haven on Sunday nights.  She asked how long Christians have been praying Compline.  Centuries.

Nouwen is an out of the way chapel in the back of the basement in the library. It's often very quiet but for a hissing noise from heating system.  There is natural light from windows in the high domed ceiling, but it is still an appropriately dark space if it needs to be.  It's also a small and intimate setting, with seating for about twenty (and the potential to fit 10 more) as opposed to Marquand, which fits a few hundred. 

"Wow," she said as she walked in.

"Would you like more light?" I asked as I pointed to the lightswitch. No.  "Stay as long as you like, and if you would like someone to talk to, I'll be nearby." I then left to work on a paper, but took a workstation near the door to the chapel.

About thirty minutes later she emerged, looking thankful and somewhat relieved.  She seemed in a hurry, perhaps to get to a class downtown.  I told her that she is welcome to come back to either chapel anytime she needs them and that the community gathers for services at 10:30 am, Monday through Friday.  She thanked me and walked away.  Maybe the heaviness she walked in with was gone.  Maybe it was lightened.  It seems that something holy happened, and I do not get to know what it was.

So, part of me wonders what more I could have done.  But part of me is pretty sure that the answer is "nothing more today."  My presence--where I was, and when--was enough.  It is an exercise in humility to know that I may simply be a small stepping stone on the Way.  I don't save people.  I don't rescue people.  I merely set the conditions for others to meet the Holy.  God works on the heart in manners that are delicate or sharp, but always profound.  Not knowing when we need to step back can sometimes drown out the 'still, small voice' of God with earthly pontifications.  My task is to be present, and trust God to guide; but it also means that I have to know when to get out of the way of the Spirit.

Oddly enough, this reminds me of a line from the fine sermon I heard last night from a fellow seminarian, Kino Vitet:  "Jesus wasn't crucified so you could be a spiritual guru."
 Who then is Paul, and who is Apollos, but ministers through whom you believed, as the Lord gave to each one? I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase. So then neither he who plants is anything, nor he who waters, but God who gives the increase. Now he who plants and he who waters are one, and each one will receive his own reward according to his own labor.  For we are God’s fellow workers; you are God’s field, you are God’s building.  According to the grace of God which was given to me, as a wise master builder I have laid the foundation, and another builds on it. But let each one take heed how he builds on it.  For no other foundation can anyone lay than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. (1 Corinthians 3:5-11, NKJV)


P.S.:  Now that this happened, and with the prospect of Clinical Pastoral Education this summer, ordering business cards is now on my to-do list.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

My theological influences

I expect that I will find it helpful to write an intellectual biography and return to it occasionally in order to see where I have been and where I am going theologically.  I was inspired to consider this task by rereading Martin Luther King Jr.'s own short autobiography.  I don't think I would start such a thing until after seminary since I'm going to be inundated with theological material over the next few years.  But as a preliminary task it would be good to start a list of my theological influences that formed me from 2006-2010, the years before seminary.

So I'll list a name and the field through which I've found the person most helpful. I'm presenting them in no particular order of importance, but instead with a two-tiered approach.  The top tier represents the most influential.  The bottom tier represents from whom I've grabbed bits and pieces.

__________________
  1. Catherine Keller:  process theology, feminist theology; Methodist
  2. Martin Luther King Jr.: Social protest/activism, economic justice, faith/secular divide, nonviolence, the nature of love; Baptist
  3. Howard Thurman:  theological precursor to MLK Jr., mysticism; Baptist
  4. Stanley Hauerwas:  ecclesiology, narrative theology, ethics, pacifism, realism; Methodist(?)
  5. William T. Cavanaugh:  ecclesiology, church/state divide, liturgical protest/social activism, Eucharistic theology, theology of torture; Roman Catholic(?)
  6. Reinhold Niebuhr:  Christian Realism, the nature of love and justice, social critique
  7. John MacQuarrie: existential and systematic theology; Anglican
  8. NT Wright:  Eschatology; Anglican
  9. St. Thomas Aquinas; virtue, just war tradition; Roman Catholic
  10. Rabbi Irving Greenberg:  theodicy; Jewish
  11. Melissa Raphael:  theodicy, attributes of God, feminist theology; Jewish
_________________
St. Augustine of Hippo, Peter Gomes, Marcus Borg, John Howard Yoder, Hans Jonas, Martin Buber, James Turner Johnson, Jean Bethke Elshtain, Thomas Merton, Margaret Farley, Michael Ramsey, Desmond Tutu, Eric Reitan...

The stated-unstated: The Bible and the Books of Common Prayer are my theological primary texts.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Re-Learning Evangelism (part one)

      I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior when I was ten years old.  I’m not sure that I remember why. 

It was a long time ago, and I wonder what my mindset was when I was sitting in that pastor’s office.  Did I love Jesus or did I want to avoid a painful eternity in Hell?  Most likely, I think I saw loving Jesus as the way to avoid Hell.  Through tears and prayer, I bought myself fire insurance.

I also grew up a premillenial dispensationalist, believing in the imminent rapture of Christ’s followers and the tribulation that would herald Christ’s return to Earth.  Sometime between the ages of 8-12, it was not uncommon to hear that, during the Tribulation, anyone who was 'left behind' would watch their families being tortured by the forces of the antichrist in an effort to get them to renounce Christ or swear allegiance to Satan.  The greatest fear of a child is the threat of losing one’s family.  Salvation was a way to avoid this fate.

In the end, I’m left to wonder if my entrance into Christianity was based on love or fear, the divine lure or threat of pain.  The manipulation of fear that I witnessed growing up, and continuing in parts of the Church today, paralyzed any sense of doing evangelism that I had.

I left Christianity when I was seventeen because of the hypocrisy I saw in the Church.  What cemented the break was a conversation with my old preacher. I asked what the Bible had to say about interracial dating because I was considering asking someone out and I was looking for some sort of comfort from the flak I was taking at home. My parents were not absolutely against the concept but were telling me not to put on the strain or the particular set of problems that an interracial relationship can bring. I suppose was hoping that I could be offered some strength from the Word, but found condemnation. “Interracial dating is against the Bible,” I was told. I decided that what I was hearing was not the Bible, but the denomination's—or maybe just that preacher's—line.  Still, that was it.  I was done.  In fact, when I received a scholarship at the high school baccalaureate that the church gave in honor of graduates I promptly turned it down on same day because I wanted nothing to do with that particular expression of racist Christianity, which maintained barriers between people while “there is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free man, there is neither male nor female… in Christ Jesus (Gal. 3.28).”

Being outside of the Faith was a great gift; the perspective I gained has been nothing but beneficial to me.  In the world I left, evangelism was taken to mean that one goes out to tell people about Jesus.  It was from that time outside the faith that I observed that what passes for “Good News” is actually not good news; it’s often manipulation of people’s fears.  Watching evangelism felt like watching someone trying to make a transaction—a profession of faith gets you into Heaven!  And who wouldn’t want to go to Heaven!  Eventually, if it was a hard sell, the threat of Hell would make an appearance.  At that point, the Christian traded the loving God for the wrathful God, and traded Good News for ultimatums and coercion.  Implicitly, it shows that the Christian is more certain about God’s wrath than God’s love.

What was worse, and I still see this weekly, is seeing something that is supposed to be evangelism, but it is actually fulfilling a need for Christians.  Yelling “You are all going to Hell!” on a street corner is called evangelism by the people who are yelling, but it is actually a way for them to confirm their own image of themselves:  a persecuted minority bravely standing against the wickedness of the world.  Taking delight in believing atheists will deserve what they get in Hell also falls in this category; the Christian whose evangelistic efforts are rebuffed wants to feel vindicated in the afterlife—Hell will show the atheist who was right(!).  Christians who publicly say they need to evangelize quickly turn around and disparage the person they seek to talk to, which shows a lack of respect for the very person—another child of God— the Christian wants to talk to. 

As I got used to seeing bad evangelism, evangelism as a concept became a problem for me.  I wondered about my own coming to “salvation,” I still hold disdain for the reliance on fear, and I watch Christians show utter disrespect for those we are supposed to love as we love God and as God loves us.  None of this is news; non-Christians have been onto this game for a long time. Even when I re-entered the Church, I felt that I had few models of what I would consider to be healthy, natural evangelism.  What’s more, I have feared that some of the embedded theologies with which I grew up would mean that I would fall into the same bad habits as those noted above if I tried to evangelize.  I think quite a few others who are refugees from other denominations felt the same way.  Entering the Church again was sometimes like going through spiritual triage; it takes time for wounds to heal.  (It was literally last week before I could bear to call myself an evangelist in a way that resonated with my soul and not just my head.)

Eventually, I came to a broader understanding of evangelism.  I needed to; evangelism is a primary responsibility of a Christian.  It took a while to come to the understanding that evangelism is not about converting others, it’s about living in a way that shows how faith in Christ makes a real difference in the here-and-how.  In the broader sense, evangelism is one’s expression of the Word and the sacraments using one’s life as an example.

The Episcopal Church has in recent decades relied on social witness as their primary method of evangelism.  This is certainly not wrong; the Good News of Jesus was not just who He was and that believing in Him lands you in heaven, it is also about what he did as He lived.  When Jesus was asked if he really was the messiah, he replied that “The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor (Mt 11:5).”  The Good News of the Kingdom of God is that love and justice are to hold sway in our relationships with our neighbors and our enemies.  Christians need to bear witness to that reality.  So we clothe the naked, sate the thirsty, feed the hungry, and comfort and visit the ill and the imprisoned.  Along the way, Episcopalians continued to do the work of the Kingdom, but (so the story goes) spoke less forcefully about why we were doing it in the first place.  So, part of reclaiming evangelism needs include to learning how to tie the stories of our life to the story of the Faith.  Part of living an intentional life is making these connections and being open about them. 

Here are some ways I make the connections. 
  • Because of my faith in Christ I denounce the use of torture, particularly by the American government. 
  • Because of my faith in Christ I do not think we should turn a blind eye to violence against women and children.
  • Because of my faith in Christ I support the creation or reformation of just social systems, from education to prisons.
  • Because of my faith in Christ I think men are women are equal, and the Church should reflect this equality.  “Separate, but equal” doesn’t cut it.
  • Because of my faith in Christ I think that God cares about the quality of our love for others and not the configuration of our genitals.
  • Because of my faith in Christ, I don’t worry about Heaven or Hell.  I instead worry about the hells we are so good at creating here on Earth.
  • Because of my faith in Christ, I ask why there are poor people.
  • Because of my faith in Christ, I recognize sin in myself and in our society and yet I believe in forgiveness and redemption.
  • Because of my faith in Christ, I think we should rely on God instead of superior firepower.
  • Because of my faith in Christ, I try to see Christ in everyone I meet.

These are not political beliefs that I, as a Christian, happen to hold.  These beliefs flow out of my theology and understanding of who God is.  Each one holds a story of a journey I have taken in my relationship with God and with other people.  Humans are storied creatures.  Evangelism is telling our stories to others, not for an anticipated reaction but out of a genuine desire to share the deepest parts of one’s life.  Evangelism is also learning how to listen to the stories of others out of a sincere love for the person.  Learning to do that takes work well worth the effort.

Friday, February 11, 2011

The Monastery


The experience at Holy Cross Monastery was lovely! The pictures I took can be seen on facebook.
It seemed to me most of the “events” I would write about were internal, and I’ll talk about them in a different post (it’ll be long—I connected with some deeper parts of my enneagram type in powerful ways).  Instead of writing a travelogue, I’d rather give a quick list of what I found meaningful.

·         The junior class shared themselves and their thoughts in some wonderful ways.
·         Relatedly, I got to know some awesome people in ways I never had before.  It was powerful to share many of our stories in informal settings.
·         Learning about Benedictine spirituality in a monastic setting does add to the experience.  The simplicity of the way of life makes for a great antithesis to the larger world. 
·         Antithesis is not too strong a word either.  If one sees the pervasiveness of power, sex, and greed as operative in the world (and I certainly do), the Benedictine call to stability, chastity, obedience, and conversion of life offer an antidote to many of the world’s ills.
·         Much to Laura’s relief, it is clear that I do not have a monastic vocation.  My vocation is to be a secular priest, but find ways to infuse a Benedictine spirituality into life outside of the monastery.
·         The brothers opened up and were truthful in ways that impressed me.  As a group they modeled health—not perfection and certainly not a facade—in ways that were honest and forthright.  And by their honesty, the brothers did not allow us to keep our idealized vision of “the holy monk.”  For that, I’m grateful.
·         I’m now convinced that Compline (prayers before bedtime) is my favorite office.  Particularly in the order’s breviary, the prayers hold an authenticity in its reminders of our human condition and dependence on God.  The liturgy also includes a striking confession of sin, remembrance of those absent, and a reminder of baptism in the form of asperges. 
·         Silence is both scary and glorious.  The monastery observes a “Great Silence” from 9pm-9am.  That doesn’t sound so bad since we sleep through part of it, but it is all the more striking when the first thing one hears in the morning is the peal of a bell and the chanted phrase “Lord, open our lips.”  In the meantime, you wait to hear the Spirit; She never ceases to speak.  

Oh yeah...I'm going back when I can.  Good thing it's only two hours away.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Johari Window results


To see the completed window, click here.

First of all, I want to thank everyone who participated in my window! 

Second, I’d like to explain why I ran this experiment again.  In the summer of 2007, I first created a Johari window to see what would come up.  The results from that window are here.  A week ago or so, I created the new window to see both what I would choose as traits that define me now and how my “presentation of self” has changed with the new friends I’ve made in the past few years.  (For the record, I did not consult the older window when I chose adjectives for the newer window.)  I’ve also recognized massive internal changes in myself, and I wondered if these changes that seem so tangible present themselves in my everyday life.

Sociology folks and anyone that has taken a “theory of knowledge” course may be familiar with the dramaturgical approach from Ervine Goffman’s “The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life.”
It’s most simple explanation runs something like this:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts…
- Shakespeare

We all put on an act in our everyday life, but that doesn’t mean we are all lying. Playing a truthful role in everyday life, which you yourself believe, is called a “sincere” role. The opposite is called a “cynical” role. I have tried hard to keep my “roles” sincere because the idea of manipulation and simply using people strikes me as repugnant.

We all set stages, using a front stage and back stage. If you have ever cleaned your house, had someone over, and claimed that “it’s a mess,” you have presented an image to someone by playing a role. If you have ever cleaned your living room for guests and thrown stuff all around back bedrooms, then panicked when your guest wanted a tour, you’ve experienced a crisis in your presentation of self.

I use the dramaturgical approach to look at my own individual interactions and to see how I present myself to others. There were not many surprises (though a few), and it quickly became clear that the roles and traits others present to me figured prominently in their choices of how to define “me.” Trends appeared within groups of individuals.

The psychological side is what I think focuses strictly on “me.” I assume that if more people claim to see a certain trait, then they are the traits I have most internalized and they cut across any discrepant roles I play. They are then my true “self” and my most reliable traits.

So, here is what I noticed. 

In both windows, “intelligent” is rated as my most dominant trait.  The reason for the difference/ discrepancy between the two ratings is that I consciously decided not to choose ‘intelligent’ in 2011.  I remembered choosing that one in 2007, but for a variety of reasons I did not want to own it this time around; I went with “knowledgeable” instead.  Some of those reasons include an attempt at humility and a sense that I have intellectually plateaued.  This does not necessarily deny intelligence, but I felt more comfortable with knowledgeable.—probably due to the meaning with which I load ‘intelligent’ instead of adhering to an objective definition.  Perhaps this means I need to own both ‘knowledgeable’ and ‘intelligent.’ 

Reflective is the second highest trait in the 2011 window—with over half choosing that trait.  I chose it for myself in 2007, but only one person noted it then.  I think this indicates that I am becoming openly reflective and sharing in a way I was not earlier in my life.  Still, it is interesting that I did not choose that trait in 2011…

So, the two most dominant traits in 2011 ended up in my blind spot, and I had chosen both for myself in 2007.  One was a conscious choice not to claim the trait; the other was a true blind spot.

Oh, and ‘religious’ showed up in 2011 with about half choosing that trait, as opposed to one person in 2007.  I was expecting this shift.  I found it interesting that ‘spiritual’ is not an option, and I wonder if that would have an effect on my own window.  In any case, ‘religion’ is a word that is loaded in a way that it was not in the 1950s.  Any test that wants to identify transcendent/ immanent spiritual experience or adherence to a faith cannot rely on solely on ‘religious’ to name it.

That’s all I’ve got to say for the moment...

…But, because I can take criticism and because the Johari window is only the warm and fuzzy stuff, I present you the link to my Nohari window.  It’s the same principle as the positive Johari window, only with the Johari window’s antonyms.  Feel free to criticize me either in name or anonymously!

Monday, January 17, 2011

A secular holiday for a religious figure?

This is not an original thought, but someone once observed that the best way to domesticate a threat is to give the threat its own holiday. Yesterday and today, last week or this week, many people will be observing Martin Luther King Jr. Day with little attention given to how much of a threat his thought was—and still is— to the American status quo. For instance, we celebrate the nonviolent civil rights movement exemplified by King… while maintaining two wars and barely mentioning that King was an opponent of the Vietnam War in particular and all war generally. Racism and prejudice still affect many groups of people, although its explicitness is less evident. Racism and prejudice show up in more slippery and coded ways—as well as institutionally.

These are two immediate and general ways of taking stock of where we’ve come from and where we are. But today I am instead interested in the secular/religious border that “MLK Day” transcends. I do not have any of my text books from my K-12 days with me, but it always seemed to me that the story of Martin Luther King (the civil rights leader, not necessarily the economic, social, or anti-war activist) ran like this: “King, who was a preacher/pastor, was an important figure in the civil rights movement.” I think that history books, either for brevity or due to a religious blind spot, give short shrift to much of the role King’s faith played in his thoughts on how the civil rights movement should proceed. Then again, religious historians often complain about religion being ignored in American history. The nonviolent stance of the marchers and protesters working with King was not a PR stunt to show the viciousness of southern whites (although it certainly did that thanks to television), but the logical outworking of a theological imperative.

I contend that the history should be amended to read more like this: “King, who was a preacher/pastor, lived out his religious philosophy (i.e. the Gospels) in the public square as an important figure in the rights movement.” At least this accurate portrayal will be heard in some churches. While I do not wish to go so far as saying the religious camp can claim King's legacy over secular society, it is most accurate to say that the nonviolent civil rights movement was a religious movement with profound secular implications; the perceived boundary between the secular and the religious were frequently breached.

“Aha! Robert, aren’t you just magnifying the role of religion since you are a Christian? Aren’t you trying to sneak theology into schools?”

I could be. I think it is necessary to keep King’s Christian context in mind every time he is mentioned. This is important precisely because distancing King from his theology leaves one with an impoverished sense of why and how he acted the way he did. Even though I greatly admire King because his Christian faith is meaningful to me, good history also demands that we be accurate.

An extreme example of distancing King from his religious faith is evident in reading the work of “new atheist” Christopher Hitchens, who writes that King’s “legacy has little to do with his theology.” While Hitchens and others (including King) are quite correct that Christianity was a major force in maintaining the racial status quo in America, divorcing King from his theology shows a profound ignorance of King’s intellectual biography. King was not a humanist when he stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, as Hitchens asserts in his false reading…you’d also have to ignore the content of the “I Have a Dream” speech to reach that conclusion. It is little exaggeration to say that Hitchens’ method of concluding if something is religious is directly determined by how terrible the thing is. Hitchens exemplifies how the legacy of King could be divorced from the man’s own thought, unless historians and Christians publicly hold to a more accurate reading of King.

Luckily, King did write a short, easily accessible intellectual autobiography in 1959, full of choice tidbits. I will offer the bits that stood out for me, but of course I think the piece bears full reading, and your doing so will be more rewarding for you than my abridgements. In this short reading, it should be apparent that King understood his social activism in profoundly religious terms…and aside from domesticating King by giving him a holiday he would not want, the danger of having a secular holiday for a religious figure is that we forget why he acted in the first place.
_______________________________________
Below are the tidbits. I’m going to let King speak for himself, but I’ll put some brief personal commentary in italics.

“Liberalism provided me with an intellectual satisfaction that I could never find in fundamentalism. I became so enamored of the insights of liberalism that I almost fell into the trap of accepting uncritically everything that came under its name. I was absolutely convinced of the natural goodness of man and the natural power of human reason.”

“Liberalism’s contribution to the philological-historical criticism of biblical literature has been of immeasurable value and should be defended with religious and scientific passion.”

“It was mainly the liberal doctrine of man that I began to question. The more I observed the tragedies of history and man’s shameful inclination to choose the low road, the more I came to see the depths and strength of sin. My reading of the works of Reinhold Niebuhr made me aware of the complexity of human motives and the reality of sin on every level of man’s existence.”
King and Niebuhr seemed to be on good terms even though they had some slight disagreements. King sent Niebuhr an inscribed and signed copy of one of his books, and Niebuhr, already having bought the book, gave the unsigned copy to his son and kept the signed copy.
“I also came to see that liberalism’s superficial optimism concerning human nature caused it to overlook the fact that reason is darkened by sin. The more I thought about human nature the more I saw how our tragic inclination for sin causes us to use our minds to rationalize our actions. Liberalism failed to see that reason by itself is little more than an instrument to justify man’s defensive ways of thinking. Reason, devoid of the purifying power of faith, can never free itself from distortions and rationalizations.”

“In spite of the fact that I had to reject some aspects of liberalism, I never came to an all-out acceptance of neo-orthodoxy. While I saw neo-orthodoxy as a helpful corrective for a liberalism that had become all too sentimental, I never felt that it provided an adequate answer to the basic questions. If liberalism was too optimistic concerning human nature, neo-orthodoxy was too pessimistic.”

“… I also gained a new appreciation for the philosophy of existentialism. My first contact with this philosophy came through my reading of [Søren] Kierkegaard and [Friedrich] Nietzsche. Later I turned to a study of [Karl] Jaspers, [Martin] Heidegger and [Jean Paul] Sartre. All of these thinkers stimulated my thinking; while finding things to question in each, I nevertheless learned a great deal from study of them. When I finally turned to a serious study of the works of Paul Tillich I became convinced that existentialism, in spite of the fact that it had become all too fashionable, had grasped certain basic truths about man and his condition that could not be permanently overlooked.”

“The gospel at its best deals with the whole man, not only his soul but his body, not only his spiritual well-being, but his material well-being. Any religion that professes to be concerned about the souls of men and is not concerned about the slums that damn them, the economic conditions that strangle them and the social conditions that cripple them is a spiritually moribund religion awaiting burial.”

“I do not want to give the impression that nonviolence will work miracles overnight. Men are not easily moved from their mental ruts or purged of their prejudiced and irrational feelings. When the underprivileged demand freedom, the privileged first react with bitterness and resistance. Even when the demands are couched in nonviolent terms, the initial response is the same. I am sure that many of our white brothers in Montgomery and across the south are still bitter toward Negro leaders, even though these leaders have sought to follow a way of love and nonviolence. So the nonviolent approach does not immediately change the heart of the oppressor. It first does something to the hearts and souls of those committed to it. It gives them new self-respect; it calls up resources of strength and courage that they did not know they had. Finally, it reaches the opponent and so stirs his conscience that reconciliation becomes a reality.”
This is what it means to be a realistic—dare I say almost pessimistic?—pacifist. King knew so very well that death and suffering could so easily come from his convictions.  It is something that all pacifists need to wrestle with.
“In recent months I have also become more and more convinced of the reality of a personal God. True, I have always believed in the personality of God. But in past years the idea of a personal God was little more than a metaphysical category which I found theologically and philosophically satisfying. Now it is a living reality that has been validated in the experiences of everyday life. Perhaps the suffering, frustration and agonizing moments which I have had to undergo occasionally as a result of my involvement in a difficult struggle have drawn me closer to God. Whatever the cause, God has been profoundly real to me in recent months. In the midst of outer dangers I have felt an inner calm and known resources of strength that only God could give. In many instances I have felt the power of God transforming the fatigue of despair into the buoyancy of hope. I am convinced that the universe is under the control of a loving purpose and that in the struggle for righteousness man has cosmic companionship. Behind the harsh appearances of the world there is a benign power. To say God is personal is not to make him an object among other objects or attribute to him the finiteness and limitations of human personality; it is to take what is finest and noblest in our consciousness and firm its perfect existence in him. It is certainly true that human personality is limited, but personality as such involves no necessary limitations. It simply means self-consciousness and self-direction. So in the truest sense of the word, God is a living God. In him there is feeling and will, responsive to the deepest yearnings of the human heart: this God both evokes and answers prayers.”
Take that Hitchens!

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Notes (and nothing more than notes) on a tragedy

 “We already know what form the analysis of the assassination attempt will be.  Everyone will say what a tragedy it is.  Then commentators will take sides.  Those on the left will blame the Tea Party's violent rhetoric and "Second Amendment solutions."  Those on the right will blame irresponsible individuals and Socialism.  Progressives will call for more gun control; conservatives will say more people should carry guns. Everyone will have some sort of spin that benefits their party, their platform, and their policies….This Sunday, many Americans will go to church.  A sizeable number of those people may be hoping to hear something that helps them make sense of the shooting of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and the others who had gathered at her sidewalk townhall in Tucson.  Some pastors may note the event in prayer and some may say something during announcements or add a sentence to their sermons.  But others might say nothing, sticking instead to prepared texts and liturgies.  Many will eschew speaking of politics.  That would be a mistake.” Diana Butler Bass [emphasis mine].

What would I say if I were in the pulpit today?  For my own part, I pray both for the victims and the shooter but I doubt I could handle the situation with the grace that Diana writes about.  And yet, as she says, something must be said.

In offering what the Christian response should be:
“At their best, American pulpits are not about taking sides and blaming.  Those pulpits should be places to reflect on theology and life, on the Word and our words.  I hope that sermons tomorrow will go beyond expressions of sympathy or calls for civility and niceness.  Right now, we need some sustained spiritual reflection on how badly we have behaved in recent years as Americans--how much we've allowed fear to motivate our politics, how cruel we've allowed our discourse to become, how little we've listened, how much we've dehumanized public servants, how much we hate.”

Diana does not say so, but by noting what we should learn through our spiritual reflection, we are indeed in the business of assigning some blame and offering critique.  The brilliance of her approach is that we are supposed to convict ourselves instead of shifting the responsibility to others.  She is offering an old-fashioned call to repentance… and that isn’t a bad thing, but ‘blame’ is an out-of-fashion word.

[Don’t let this fool you, I appreciate Diana’s column deeply.  I wouldn’t quote it at length otherwise.  It’s worth reading since I’m not addressing her central point.]

Along with many people on my Facebook feed, I think that the rhetoric coming from the Political Right in this country contributed mightily to the shooting yesterday.  Does that go into a sermon?  Like I said, I may not have the grace to leave that issue aside, and the desire for many to blame the Right may leave people disappointed if a condemnation is not forthcoming.  This does not necessarily make condemnation correct, it just means that strong words feel gratifying after such a horrific event.

And the to-and-fro of my thinking comes down to a central question:  in recent years people across the political spectrum have used martial and violent language, but how much direct responsibility do political figures and commentators really hold when a mentally ill individual decides to shoot people?  The Right is getting the blame on this one but they correctly point out that the Left has also resorted to violent language.  Perhaps the reason that the Right is seen as more prone to violence is because they are stereotyped as gun-toting looneys with hair-triggers while the Left is stereotyped as soft and cowering people afraid of guns.  Of course, it doesn’t help that tea party members come to events with signs that say “We came unarmed (this time)” and in some cases they do come armed.

Much is being made of Sarah Palin and her infamous map that put Rep. Giffords and other politicians in crosshairs.  At the time of its release, commentators predicted violence and this has come to pass. It is telling that websites supportive of Palin were quick to expunge the map from their archives yesterday, either out of respect for the victims or damage control.  Now the Palin camp is saying that the crosshairs were actually “surveying symbols,” even though the language of “taking aim” and “reloading” were common parlance during the same time period.  I can’t help but think that Palin and her supporters either 1) now realize that the symbols were irresponsible, but cannot say so because of the possibility of appearing weak to their constituency or 2) they still don’t see a problem with the map but know that the image is political trouble.  In any case, it is an implicit acknowledgement that words and symbols have a meaning beyond any original intent.

Most people are going to say that rhetoric needs to cool down, so I won’t harp on that, but I’m interested in what happens next in terms of rhetoric on the Left.  Keith Olbermann, a sanctimonious jerk who seems to me to be the Left’s equivalent of Bill O’Reilly (although Olbermann’s research dept. is much more accurate), gave a special comment last night in which he repudiated his own violent language and rhetorical excess.  He then issued an ultimatum to commentators on the Right to do the same, or give “silent approval” to what happened in Tucson   But, once again, I have to ask how much direct responsibility one must take for the actions of a mentally ill gunman, and more importantly, who determines that the line of violent rhetoric is crossed?  Is Olbermann willing to dispense his “Worst Person in the World” segment, since the 'worst person in the world' may arguably deserve to die at the hands of the state or vigilante justice?  Perhaps on Monday’s show, the “worst people in the world” will be the commentators on the Right who refuse even the slightest modicum of responsibility. Where will that leave us?

Rhetorically, I fear Olbermann’s ultimatum will be an exercise in maintaining a status quo.  If commentators on the Right refuse responsibility (even though they have undoubtedly contributed to the political climate) Olbermann has set them up to appear to his own audience as equally guilty of the deaths of the people at that shopping center as the shooter is.  I’ve already seen that opinion in my friends.  The ultimatum will most likely entrench commentators on the Right, who will refuse any responsibility instead of actually reflecting on their role.  I’ve seen that in other friends.

I can’t precisely answer how much responsibility a commentator using violent language has in the event that a mentally ill person decides to murder people.  But a good rule of thumb can be developed:  those who hold incredible influence with the public need to realize that the audiences they should worry about are the least rational people.  The problem is that toning down the rhetoric doesn’t make as much money, so we can’t expect the rhetoric to cool until audiences are willing to repudiate what appeals to our baser selves.  That is difficult to do when we are so invested in our worldviews and believe something deeply, whether it is that Obama is a Marxist bent on ruining the country or that conservatives are quite willing to maintain an American Empire while imposing theocratic rule (and this by no means exhausts the possibilities).

…Which is why Diana Butler Bass is correct.  The tragedy calls for a time to reflect on our own souls.  Christians (should) know we are flawed, so shifting the blame to others is the exercise of a slippery pride that takes ourselves out of the equation.  Reveling in Olbermann’s ultimatum is just as troubling and wrong-headed as pretending our words do not have consequences. Even as we call out others who act wrongly (because we dare not cede our ability to make decisions), we must keep a watch on ourselves so that our perceived virtues do not blind us to our vices.

If I were in the pulpit today, I would submit that there are questions we should all be asking ourselves:

1.      What am I afraid of? 
2.      How was I convinced to fear these things?
3.      What hope resides within me?
4.      How do Jesus’s examples and commands bear on my fears and hopes?
5.      What does it take to act according to the hope offered by Christ instead of the fear governed by the world?

Go, therefore, and proclaim hope to a world ruled by fear.