Much like the underwater Jesus picture I posted yesterday, this is just another lovely image that I found somewhere online. I don’t remember where, which means it was probably Facebook.
What you see behind the church is what I like to call “the best view in the galaxy”. You’re looking out across the galactic core of the milky way. This is our neighborhood. It is the slightly larger speck of dust within which the speck of dust that the speck of dust that we specks of dust inhabit revolves around rests.
I’ll leave you to unpack that sentence at your leisure.
I also really like the church in the foreground. Something about it resonates with where I am in relation to my own spirituality right now. About a year ago, I made a conscious decision to start verbalizing a shift that had been slowly happening for almost a decade. The traditional metaphysics of orthodox evangelicalism have ceased functioning as part of my internal theological process.
These days, I consider myself a “recovering evangelical”. Not because all evangelicalism is evil, but because I can’t handle it responsibly. I know of many evangelicals who manage to live intelligent, compassionate, and healthy lives within that tradition. For whatever reason, I could not.
In it’s place, I’ve adopted the label “liberal Christian”. Some might also justifiably call me a “progressive Christian”, but I prefer the “liberal”. I’ve written about that choice of words elsewhere on this blog. I love my church, as well as the Bible, and the symbols & rituals of Christianity. Jesus continues to be a ubiquitous and central presence in my life, although I’m still figuring out how to articulate exactly what that means to me.
What I like about the above picture is its composition. The church sits in the foreground but off to the side. The big picture is the galaxy itself, of which the church is a part. In the same way, the Christian tradition continues to be a part of my big picture. It’s a big part, a dominant part, and the part in which I live, but it’s still just a part.
I’ve recently come to accept a series of possibilities that would have scared the hell out of me only a few years ago: There may come a day when Christianity ceases to be a living religion on this planet, a day when the human species goes extinct, a day when this planet is no longer capable of supporting organic life, and yet another day when the sun itself goes dark.
Jesus once told his disciples, “You see all these, do you not? Truly I tell you, not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.” He was speaking of the great Jewish temple in Jerusalem. His disciples thought that the temple and the nation of Israel were eternal institutions that would outlive history itself. God would never allow these things to be destroyed. Alas, the disciples were wrong. I can hear Jesus uttering these same words in relation to my congregation, my denomination, my country, my religion, my planet, my solar system, and my galaxy, ad infinitum.
“You see all these, do you not? Truly I tell you, not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”
Some parts last longer than others, but everything is is only a part of everything, and it’s all mortal. This wisdom of Jesus empowered his followers with the faith they needed to survive the razing of their ancestral home. They were ready for the Diaspora because they believed that, come what may, God would never be thrown down.
These days, I’m settling into a deeper trust that, even though my best ideas about God (including the word itself) will one day pass out of existence, the reality to which that word refers never will.
Today, the first Sunday after Pentecost, is Trinity Sunday: the holiday in our church calendar when we’re supposed to talk about the Trinity. Trinity is our name for the traditional Christian idea that we worship one God in three persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. God is three. God is one. That’s the textbook Sunday school answer. Are you confused yet? Is your head hurting? Good.
I had lunch this week with my friend, Mother Linda Logan, the priest at Trinity Episcopal Church, and she joked that Trinity Sunday is typically the Sunday when most clergy try to schedule their vacations. Who can blame them? The idea of the Trinity is so bizarre and abstract, it’s hard to preach about in a way that feels relevant to everyday life. Alas, I seem to have miscalculated this year because my vacation doesn’t start until next week. Don’t worry though, I’ve given it some serious thought this week and I think I’ve found a way to spice it up.
You see, people didn’t always think of the Trinity as an academic theological concept. There was a time when people would literally start riots in the streets about it. They said that, during the early 4th century, you couldn’t even ask a baker about the price of bread without getting into an argument about theology.
The debate got so heated that the Roman emperor, Constantine (himself only a recent convert to Christianity), convened a conference of bishops at his lake house in a town called Nicaea. They argued back and forth ad nauseum until the emperor decided that enough was enough and promptly put his foot down in favor of the position that we now refer to as the Trinity. Shortly thereafter, the Nicene Creed was adopted as a trophy for those who had won the debate. Needless to say, it’s not a very noble beginning for this idea that most orthodox theologians now regard as central to the Christian religion.
Obviously, you won’t find the Trinity mentioned anywhere in our scripture readings for today (because it hadn’t been invented yet). The idea of the Trinity, as such, does not appear anywhere in the Bible. Nevertheless, most Christians for the last 1,700 years have kept the Trinity as their main idea about who God is and how God works. Something about the mystery in this incomprehensible puzzle has compelled Christians to hold onto the Trinity for almost two millennia.
Mystery is a troubling word for folks in the modern era. We’re not so good at mystery. Modern people much prefer concrete facts and figures. We like being able to find the answers and solve the problems. To the modern mind, then, the Trinity is infuriating. By its very definition, it can’t be figured out.
Ever since the Enlightenment in the 18th century, our species has learned how look farther and deeper into the nature of the universe than our ancestors ever dreamed of. We have accomplished feats of strength and intelligence that boggle the imagination. Looking through his telescope at the moons of Jupiter, could Galileo ever have imagined that we would one day send spacecraft to see them up close? Yet, in spite of all our achievements, human beings have also managed to discover new ways to systematically inflict death and destruction on each other with ruthless efficiency. Hitler’s holocaust, two world wars, and the nuclear arms race have opened our eyes to that reality. Reason has not purged the animal from our collective being as we had hoped. Indeed, if it weren’t for the baffling presence of mystery, our species would have given up hope long ago.
Thankfully, there remains something within our subconscious minds that spurs us on toward an encounter with that which is unknown and unknowable. We get the sense that, in the darkness of ignorance and uncertainty, we are not alone. Our scripture readings from this morning, while they mention nothing of the Trinity, have quite a bit to tell us about mystery. In each passage, someone comes face-to-face with the infinite mystery of the divine and is permanently transformed by it.
In the first reading, the Jewish prophet Isaiah has an ecstatic vision of God’s glory. The prophet tells his readers how his senses were overwhelmed,
I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. And one called to another and said: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke.
I love the dramatic imagery in this story. It reminds me of a similar passage in a classic Indian poem called the Bhagavad Gita or “Song of the Lord”. In this poem, a prince named Arjuna is having a philosophical chat with his chariot driver named Krishna. Slowly, it dawns on the prince that there is more to this chariot driver than meets the eye. Krishna, it turns out, is actually a divine messenger who was sent to teach the prince eternal wisdom. At one point in the story, Krishna allows Prince Arjuna to see his true form:
with many mouths and eyes, and many visions of marvel, with numerous divine ornaments, and holding divine weapons. Wearing divine garlands and apparel, anointed with celestial perfumes and ointments, full of all wonders, the limitless God with faces on all sides. If the splendor of thousands of suns were to blaze forth all at once in the sky, even that would not resemble the splendor of that exalted being. Arjuna saw the entire universe, divided in many ways, but standing as One in the body of Krishna, the God of gods. Then Arjuna, filled with wonder and his hairs standing on end, bowed his head to the Lord and prayed with folded hands. (Bhagavad Gita 11.10-14)
I love how similar these visionary experiences are, even though they come from very different cultures and religions. In both stories, human beings are left standing in awe before the eternal mystery. In Isaiah’s story, the one that Christians are more familiar with, even the angels cover their eyes and sing, “Holy, holy, holy”. That word, holy, is one that we use in church a lot. People use it outside of church too, sometimes combined with an expletive, in order to express amazement. No one is more famous for doing this than Burt Ward, who played Batman’s sidekick Robin in the 1960s TV series. Robin had all kinds of unique exclamations: “Holy Hallelujah, Batman! Holy Fruit Salad, Batman! Holy Uncanny Photographic Mental Processes!” Holy was Robin’s catchphrase. Given the startling nature of what Isaiah and Arjuna were experiencing in their respective visions, I can just imagine Robin standing beside them, shouting, “Holy, holy, holy, Batman!” But, in Isaiah’s case, it was the angels who were saying it.
The word holy, as we tend to use it, typically means sacred or blessed. However, on a more general level, it literally means special or different. Something is holy when it is other than what one would expect. Therefore, it is entirely appropriate for Robin to use it as an exclamation when he is caught off guard (which seems to happen a lot). In the Isaiah passage, it seems that even the angels are amazed at the appearance of God’s glory in the temple. They repeat “holy” three times as a way of communicating ultimate emphasis: it’s not just holy, it’s not just holy holy, it’s holyholy holy! Special, special, special! Different, different, different! Amazing, amazing, amazing! If we’re not caught off-guard by God’s presence like Isaiah, if we aren’t filled with wonder with our hairs standing on end like Arjuna’s, then we’re not really paying attention.
In our New Testament reading this morning, Jesus intentionally confuses a religious scholar named Nicodemus. The latter comes to Jesus in private with an honest question: “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” And what does Jesus do? Does he take this opportunity to clarify himself and maybe even start a theology class? No, he alienates Nicodemus and leaves him with even more questions than he started with. Beginning with a cryptic statement, “You must be born from above” (or “born again” as some translations say), Jesus finishes with an outright insult: “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?” The philosopher in me feels indignant on Nicodemus’ behalf! Can’t Jesus see that this is an honest and intelligent person who is simply trying to make sense of things in his own mind? But rational understanding is not what Jesus is after in his conversation with Nicodemus.
Instead, Jesus seems to be giving Nicodemus a koan. For those who are unfamiliar with that term, a koan is a Zen Buddhist riddle that cannot be solved by rational thinking. Zen masters will often give their students a koan to fuel the students’ meditation and spur them toward enlightenment. The most famous Zen koan is one we’ve probably all heard before: “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” If you immediately started thinking about your hand just now, then you don’t get it. When it comes to the koan, if you can answer the question, then you haven’t answered the question. Why? Because the question is the answer. The question itself is the point of the exercise. Let it take you beyond the realm of what you think of as normal reason. Sit with it a while. Let it free your mind and expand your consciousness. Only then will you be able to appreciate the mystery.
Neither Isaiah nor Nicodemus knew anything of the Trinity. That wasn’t yet part of their culture or religion. The Trinity is a human idea that tries to express the mystery of God as we have experienced it. Like a Zen koan, the Trinity is a riddle that cannot be solved by rational thinking. But if we sit with it and meditate on the mystery, we might just find ourselves in the state of holy confusion that some might call enlightened.
In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna says to Arjuna, “You are not able to see Me with your physical eye; therefore, I give you the divine eye to see My majestic power and glory.” With that “divine eye”, it says that the prince “saw the entire universe, divided in many ways, but standing as One in the body of Krishna, the God of gods.” This is not all that far off from Isaiah’s vision, wherein the prophet realized that “the whole earth is full of [God’s] glory.”
If you’re confused about the Trinity, that’s a good thing. It means that you’re paying attention. Confusion is the first step on the path toward a free and enlightened mind.
I see confusion as a virtue at this point in the modern age where absolute certainty has become an idol. We find ourselves these days surrounded by the cacophonous voices of politicians and advertisers, all of whom claim to possess the secret that will bring peace, security, and a successful end to our “pursuit of happiness”. Vote for this candidate! Buy that product! That’s the key to lasting joy!
In this environment, even religion and spirituality themselves become products for consumption. Fundamentalist preachers and cult leaders assure us that, if you simply sign on their dotted line and accept their dogmas without question, you too can secure your place in heaven for eternity. In spite of their claims to possess “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth” as revealed in ancient times, the fundamentalist commitments to absolute certainty and biblical literalism are very recent and modern ideas. They only came about during the last one hundred years or so as a reaction to developments in science and philosophy that led some to question and/or reinterpret parts of their faith. Their fear is understandable, but we don’t have to look hard to find the dark side of that kind of religion. The September 11th attacks and the Jonestown massacre, where almost a thousand people died after willingly drinking cyanide-laced Kool-Aid at their pastor’s insistence, demonstrate what can happen when religious fanaticism goes unquestioned.
Under circumstances such as these, confusion is a virtue that provides us with humility and reverence for the mystery of it all. The spiritually enlightened mind is one that can comfortably say, “I don’t know!” Zen masters call this “beginner’s mind”. Taoist sages call it “the uncarved block”. Jesus called it “faith like a child”.
When it comes to the koan of the Trinity, there is no answer because the question is the answer. The question leads us to confusion, confusion leads us to humility, humility leads us to reverence, and reverence leads us into a deeper experience of that great eternal mystery wherein we begin to see “the entire universe, divided in many ways, but standing as One” and “the whole earth… full of [God’s] glory.” Only then can we truly join with prophets, angels, and saints from every tribe, tongue, people, and nation under heaven who forever sing: Holy, holy, holy! Amazing, amazing, amazing!
Thanks to a post I published over a month ago, I’ve managed to build some good will and credibility capital with my evangelical brothers and sisters, especially those in the Presbyterian Church (USA). Today, I want to “cash in” on some of that capital.
We’re all well aware of the renewed heat underlying the debate about same-sex marriage that expands far beyond the boundaries of our own denomination. In recent weeks, North Carolina passed Amendment One and President Obama publicly endorsed marriage equality.
Most of the evangelical Christians I know are intelligent, compassionate, and dedicated people who despise the use of verbal or physical violence against any group of people. I wish that more of them understood the nature of systemic violence that forms the backbone of oppression and heterosexism, but I’m willing to accept that most of them are not conscious homophobes or bigots.
Over the last 25 years or so, evangelicals have evolved in their understanding of and fight against HIV/AIDS. In the early 1980s, it was more common for well-known preachers to deem the virus a plague of God’s wrath against the LGBT community. Since then, the majority of mainstream evangelicals have come to realize that this is a global health issue. Evangelical churches like Central Presbyterian Church in Baltimore have started outreach programs like Hope Springs to treat and prevent HIV/AIDS in their own communities. Like President Obama’s views on marriage, it’s fair to say that the mainstream evangelical perspective on the HIV/AIDS crisis has “evolved”.
Today, I would encourage evangelicals toward a similar “evolution” in the fight against homophobia. I repeat that most evangelicals are not homophobes. The vast majority of the ones I know are sickened by stories of physical violence levied against people because of their gender identity or sexual orientation.
This country needs a widespread call from evangelical pulpits that takes a firm stance against homophobia as a sin against God. This is not to say that such churches should immediately alter their views on marriage or interpretations of scripture. Keep those as they are for now.
But evangelicals should take seriously the ends and means that they already espouse. Their endgame is to lead the whole world toward greater wholeness through a relationship with Christ. They passionately believe in preaching the Christian gospel in word and deed wherever they go. They affirm that friendship is the single best method of evangelism.
What would it do for their witness to Christ if there was a large movement of traditional and orthodox evangelicals who, while maintaining their views on marriage, called for an end to homophobia and violence? What would happen if they, as entire churches, consciously nurtured personal relationships with folks in the LGBT community? What kind of gospel credibility would be built if evangelical pastors made a sustained effort at condemning homophobia from their pulpits?
Let me offer you a picture of the other side. This is a sample of what folks in the LGBT community are hearing from evangelicals:
The first video is Rev. Charles Worley of Providence Road Baptist Church, the second is Rev. Sean Harris of Berean Baptist Church.
Most evangelicals I know detest this kind of talk. They would agree that it does nothing but damage the entire church’s witness to Christ. However, the voices of these bigots are much louder than the voices of evangelicals I know. The message that folks in the LGBT community are hearing is not the one that says “Jesus loves you.” The voices being heard are the ones that say, “You’re disgusting. You’re an abomination. You don’t matter in this country. We wish you didn’t exist.”
It’s up to evangelical Christians to change all this, if they want to be effective witnesses for Christ. Even those evangelicals who limit their understanding of marriage to heterosexual couples need to stand up and add their voices to the fight against homophobia. Pastors, don’t keep silent out of fear of what your congregation will think. Your silence implies agreement with bigots and hate-mongers. What’s more important to you as evangelicals: not appearing “soft on homosexuality” to your congregants or effectively witnessing to the love of Jesus?
You don’t have to change your views on marriage or re-interpret your Bible, just be faithful to what you already believe the Bible is telling you.
Take a stand against violence and homophobia. Preach the gospel. Be the gospel.
Do you ever watch those TV documentaries that follow the lives of celebrities from days gone by and ask, “Where are they now?” I must admit that I find them fascinating. Obviously, some of them are more fun to watch than others. It’s always sad to hear about those who get swallowed up by fame and lose themselves in an ocean of drugs and revelry. But then there are those who somehow manage to outlive their own fame. Many of them go on to lead perfectly normal lives with spouses and families. Others go on to do even bigger and more important things than when they were in the limelight.
My favorite example of this kind of celebrity is none other than the unforgettable Shirley Temple. Shirley was the sweetheart of the silver screen in the 1930s and is still the youngest person to ever receive an Academy Award. What most people don’t know is that, since then, Shirley Temple has had an illustrious career as an American diplomat. She was a delegate to the United Nations and the Ambassador to both Ghana and Czechoslovakia at different points in her life. All in all, I’d say that she’s had a pretty successful post-show-business career!
It’s kind of the same way with Jesus. Today, we’re celebrating Christ’s Ascension into heaven where he “sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty”, according to the Apostles’ Creed. The Ascension represents the early Christian church’s way of answering the question, “Where is he now?” when it comes to Jesus. After all, they claimed that he had risen from the dead, so they had to have some kind of response ready when people asked, “Well, if he’s really alive, why then can’t we see him?” So then, the Ascension, on one level, is kind of a cheap cop-out. But, on another level, it expresses a truth that goes much deeper than mere historical fact.
The Ascension is kind of a hard topic to write a sermon about. It’s so abstract and mythical-sounding that it’s hard to pull anything useful or relatable out of it. Have you ever seen a Jewish rabbi come back from the dead and then fly off into the wild blue yonder like Superman? I can’t say that I have.
Biblically speaking, we read about the Ascension in two different places in the New Testament: at the end of Luke’s Gospel and at the beginning of the Acts of the Apostles. This is more appropriate than you might think because Luke and Acts are actually related to each other. They were probably written by the same author(s). Acts follows Luke like the sequel to a blockbuster movie. The first movie (Luke) tells the story of Jesus’ life. The second movie (Acts) picks up right where the first one left off and tells the story of what happened in the early church immediately after Jesus’ earthly lifetime. The Ascension event serves as a kind of fulcrum or turning-point between these two stories. Jesus continues to be an important and active presence in the book of Acts, but, like Shirley Temple, much of his most important work takes place after he exits the spotlight.
The Ascension represents an expression of the earliest Christian belief that Jesus is more than an historical figure who lived two thousand years ago. For Christians, Jesus is a living reality and an icon of the divine (which is a fancy way of saying that Jesus shows us what God is like). This amazing person who worked as a carpenter and rabbi in Nazareth during the first century is, when seen from the Christian perspective, the king of the universe and the revealer of all that is sacred.
Jesus holds an iconic, even cosmic, status for us Christians. What does it mean for us to hail him as the ascended king of the universe who “sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty”? There are many who say that, as king of the universe, Jesus is in charge of every little event that happens. It’s easy to see why people might think this when things are working out for the better (e.g. during times of prosperity, happy coincidences, and chance encounters with opportunity). But this same idea becomes a big problem when we think about things like disease, disaster, and death.
Do these events fall under the sovereign rule of King Jesus? Some say yes. They try to comfort suffering people with pithy phrases like, “God is in control” and “everything happens for a reason.” If you’ve ever heard someone say that to you in the middle of a crisis, you’ll know how much it doesn’t help. In fact, it’s downright offensive. Phrases like that do more to comfort the speakers than the hearers. It’s something people tell themselves in order to dismiss the suffering of others.
So, when I think about Jesus as king of the universe who reigns in power at the right hand of God, I don’t think of him controlling everything that happens in this world. If we believed that, we would have to blame Jesus for a whole lot of horrible things that happen.
If we believed that, we would end up asking the very question that the story of the Ascension was meant to answer: Where is he now?
When we get that cancer diagnosis: Where is he now?
When we lose a job: Where is he now?
When accidents and disasters happen: Where is he now?
When children are made to suffer and die: Where is he now?
That’s why the idea of Jesus as “the king of the universe who controls everything” is so unsatisfying for me. It leaves me asking the very question it was meant to answer.
When I think of Jesus as ruler over the cosmos, I think of him ruling from within rather than without. The throne of the risen and ascended Christ is not on some cloud in an alternate dimension, but within our own hearts. The power of Christ is the power of persuasion rather than coercion. Christ works with our free will, not against it. When we, as Christian people, freely follow Jesus and choose to live our lives in accordance with his spirit and words, the risen Christ lives and reigns in us. The spirit of Christ is embodied again in us. This is what it means for the risen and ascended Christ to rule from within rather than without, by persuasion rather than coercion.
Where is Jesus now? Jesus is in you. Christ lives and reigns in you.
When people are suffering, Jesus is in those who work to offer comfort and relief. Even when the pain is too great to be healed by human hands, the spirit of Jesus is alive in those who sit by the bedside or on the other end of the phone, holding hands, listening, and offering the comfort of companionship so that those who suffer don’t have to do so alone. That’s where Christ lives and reigns in power today and his work continues, long after he has physically left the spotlight. That’s where his kingdom comes “on earth as it is in heaven”.
We are the ones who must be Christ’s hands and feet in this world. Our risen Lord and Savior sets his throne in our hearts. Will we pledge our allegiance to his kingdom? Will we walk through our life in this world as he did: doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with our God?
Will we prize our citizenship in Christ’s kingdom of heaven-on-earth above every other conviction and commitment? Will we take risks that put as odds with the interests of the powers-that-be?
If we can do that, we will learn what it means to worship the risen and ascended Christ who “sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty”.
I would like to close by sharing with you a prayer that I love. It was attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, although he probably didn’t write it himself. It’s quite famous, so you may have heard it somewhere before. If you feel stirred by what we’ve talked about here today, if you find yourself asking “Where is he now?” in relation to Jesus, and you want to experience the risen Christ as a living reality and not just an historical figure, I invite you to join your heart with mine in praying this prayer:
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. Where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love. For it is in giving that we receive. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life. Amen.
This week’s sermon from Boonville Presbyterian Church.
John 15:9-17
If you were to ask the average person on the street to define the term ‘God’ (as it is often used in most contemporary monotheistic religions), you would probably get an answer similar to what the late Anglican Bishop John A.T. Robinson used to call the God “up there.” In his more cheeky moments, Bishop Robinson also referred to the God “up there” as “the Old Man in the Sky.” This idea of God was taken quite literally by superstitious people during the Medieval Dark Ages.
Folks these days, while they might use language about God that describes “the Old Man in the Sky” as being “up there,” will most likely admit when pressed that God (if they believe there is a God) is neither biologically male, nor does “he” exist in a physical location that just so happens to be directly vertical in relation to the speaker’s current point of reference. Most folks who believe in a traditional monotheistic deity these days tend to think of the God “out there” (to use Robinson’s words again). In other words, they think of God as a singular, intangible, all-knowing, and all-powerful Supreme Being who exists independently of the created universe. Depending on their overall outlook on life and religion, they may or may not identify this Supreme Being as benevolent or compassionate.
The attribute of God that people tend to name more than any other is omnipotence, which means “all-powerful” or “almighty.” Have you ever paid attention to how often people begin their prayers with the words ‘Almighty God’? We kind of take it for granted that God is almighty. We figure that a Supreme Being can do anything that comes to mind. This is a tremendous source of strength and comfort for those who face difficult circumstances. It’s helpful to know that God is in control, can handle any crisis, and has a plan to work everything out for the better. The downside to this idea is that there seems to be so much meaningless suffering in the world. How could God possibly bring good out of it? Philosophers and theologians have been wrestling with that question for thousands of years. If they ever come up with a single, universally acceptable answer, I’ll be sure to let you know right away.
I find it interesting that omnipotence has taken such a central place in our ideas about God. When you think about modern society, it kind of makes sense. Modern people are obsessed with power. In the last five hundred years, we’ve used the power of science and technology to accomplish things that our ancestors never dreamed of. We’ve come to see ourselves as the masters of our own destiny. We worship what we value, so it would be fair to say that modern people worship power. When we try to conceive of a Supreme Being, the first thing we think of is someone who possesses unlimited power. Thus, to the modern mind, God must be omnipotent. It is as the philosopher Voltaire famously said: “If God has made us in his image, we have returned him the favor.”
However, our faith in the power of power has been shaken as of late. The twentieth century, with its two world wars, the holocaust, and the threat of nuclear annihilation, gave us reason to doubt our ability to bring about utopia through science and technology. The current century, as young as it is, has already drawn our attention to the growing problems of global warming, international terrorism, and social stratification. The modern era’s faith in the power of power has left us feeling empty, helpless, and alone in a sea of political propaganda and consumer advertising.
The God of modern power-lust has also presented us with certain problems. I’ve already mentioned what philosophers call “the problem of evil.” How can an all-powerful deity allow such horrible things to happen in the world? Whole books have been written on that question, so I won’t get into it just now. The problem I want to focus on is a relational one. There is only one way to relate to a God who is primarily understood as all-powerful: servitude. Obedience is all that matters in a power-based relationship. This much is true, even when power is trustworthy and only exercised in the interest of our individual or common good.
This idea of God is quite popular among religious believers today. God is an all-powerful lawgiver with a plan for the world that must be obeyed to letter, or else…
The spirituality shaped by such a theology is characterized by crime and punishment, as well as guilt and forgiveness. Average people, uncertain of what an all-powerful Supreme Being wants of them, tend to vest the authority for moral decision-making in some tangible and supposedly infallible source like a church, a Pope, or a Bible. This infallible source, so they say, represents the will of God to the people. In their minds, questioning the words of the Pope or the Bible is disobedience toward God. One must either obey or face the consequences of eternal damnation in the fiery abyss of hell. As you can see, this is how religious fanaticism and fundamentalism are born.
So, the question I want to ask today is this: is there a way to relate to God outside of the modern obsession with power? The answer, in my opinion, is yes.
I have already noted how the only way to relate to the omnipotent God of power is as an obedient servant. So, with that in mind, I love how Jesus says to his disciples in today’s gospel reading, “I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends.”
Jesus was (in)famous in his day for challenging the authority of traditional orthodox religion in order to replace it with authentic and radical relationships. His own family called him insane, all the preachers said he was demon-possessed, and respectable folks called him a glutton, a drunkard, and “a friend of sinners.” Those who followed him were as diverse as they were dense. They were ancient versions of government workers with guerilla fighters, barstool brawlers with church choir soloists, adult film stars with senators’ wives. It was an offensive and unlikely collection of people that found friendship with this remarkable person and each other.
Jesus, in his teaching and his living, replaced the God of power with the God of love. He told his disciples, “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.” He makes it clear to them that his friendship with them is not based on religious observance or moral performance. He says to them, “You did not choose me but I chose you.” His love for them is a free gift of grace.
Gone is the sophisticated legal system of the Torah with its 613 commandments. Gone too are the famous tablets of the Ten Commandments. In fact, the only commandment that Jesus leaves his disciples is the commandment of love. “This is my commandment,” he says, “that you love one another as I have loved you.” The only thing Jesus asks us to do with this free gift of love is pass it on. And the end result, he says, of this extravagant love-fest is a lasting fullness of joy for eternity.
What Jesus knew on an instinctual level, and his friends learned by following him, is that God is love. The experience of a lived compassion and affection is more than just a fleeting emotion. It is divine. Love, as Jesus lived and taught it, is an expression of that which is the “Ground of all Being” and the very heartbeat of reality. Live like this, he says, and you will touch the face of God. For Jesus, God is not some all-powerful Supreme Being who rules the universe from a golden throne behind a pearly gate on a white, puffy cloud. The throne of God, the place from which God reigns, is much nearer to us than that. The kingdom of heaven, according to Jesus, is within you and among us.
If you want to find God, don’t look up, look deep. Look into your own eyes and those of your neighbors. Honor the relationships in your life and you will automatically be following the will of God for you. As the Christian theologian, St. Augustine, once said, “Love and do what you want.”
This is a radically different view of God than the one we get from religious fanatics, fundamentalists, and other modern folks who are obsessed with power. According to Jesus’ experience, love (not power) is the primary attribute of God. Everything else we might say about God must be understood in light of this first principle. This kind of God, the one revealed in and through Jesus, is Emmanuel (i.e. “God with us”). The life of Jesus represents a fundamental shift in the way we think about God. Going back to serving the demanding God of power after this would be an act of sheer idolatry.
Jesus’ God of love offers us a healing balm for the wounds and ailments of power-driven modern society. In spite of our incredible technological capacity for communication and information exchange, folks of all ages today tend to feel more isolated and lonely than ever. We are besieged by an endless invasion of barbarians who tear us and each other apart in the effort to obtain our money and our votes. We are horrified to discover, as Charlton Heston did at the end of the movie Soylent Green, that we are all destined to become mere consumers and products for consumption. But Jesus shows us that there is another way. There is more.
Jesus turns us onto the God of love and the subversive power of committed relationships. When we, as a community, begin to learn and practice this art, we find ourselves living the life of heaven on earth: the fullness of joy forever more. We might not be luckier, happier, or more prosperous than before, but we will have discovered the secret to living well.
I want to invite you then, whoever and wherever you are, to begin to look deeper into the relationships in your life. Take a second (or third) look at your family, friends, and neighbors. Take an especially good look at those you might consider your enemies. Take a look at those strangers you pass by in public and at the store.
If you’re listening to this sermon online or on the radio, I would invite you to take a break our culture’s individualism and consumerism to come visit us on Sunday at 10:30 and start exploring these relationships with us at our church. We don’t do it perfectly all the time, but we give it our best try. Come and get involved. See what love looks like in our little community of unlikely friends and ragtag disciples. Get involved and help us look for God in these little things. Maybe you’ll find the God of love while you’re helping Wally move chairs after the rummage sale, helping Vivien make sandwiches, or helping Rod put up the Christmas tree. These are the places and times when heaven comes to earth and the Spirit of God takes on flesh and bone again.
These relationships are sacred. Try to treat each person as you would treat Christ himself. Maybe you could memorize what Jesus said in Matthew 25:40 and recite his words silently to yourself as you interact with people, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” This is the secret to living well. This is the fullness of joy. This is how the kingdom of heaven comes to earth. This is how we come to recognize the sacred face of Jesus’ God of love.
“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:12)
“Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God… for God is love.” (1 John 4:7-8)
This is a follow-up to my earlier post. The results are in and the senseless act of institutional hatred called “Amendment One” has passed in my home state of North Carolina. There is much that I could say.
The tone of these two posts is consciously different from recent ones, where I have tried to cultivate a sense of commonality with evangelicals and conservatives. I still hope to do so, especially as my church (the Presbyterian Church) moves toward its consideration of same-sex marriage at this summer’s General Assembly. I maintain that there is much that is worthy of respect in the theological convictions of evangelicals and the political ideals of conservatives.
However, Amendment One is not representative of that which I respect and admire in them. This is an outright attack against liberty and equality. And, for the moment anyway, it appears to be a successful one. My conservative and evangelical brothers and sisters in North Carolina have bowed down before the demonic gods of fear and fanaticism. They have betrayed the very best that is in their traditions. I weep, not for myself but for them, as their idols will one day be their undoing.
And the real tragedy is that they look upon yesterday’s events as a victory for Jesus, who they have just re-crucified in hearts and minds of those who already feel nothing but alienation and rejection from the Christian church. I weep for you, my brothers and sisters, because you have hindered the cause of the gospel that I know you love so much. Just as you have done unto the least of these homosexual brothers and sisters of Christ, so you have done unto him.
But now, the deed is done, the votes are cast, and sun will rise today on a world that is a little less just than the one it rose over yesterday. But the sun will rise. And so will we.
We love you. And we will resist you. We bless you. And we will break your cursed laws. We will not bow our heads in silent resignation. Those who are truly free do not wait for the government to legitimate their freedom. True believers do not depend on institutional coercion to mandate the practice of their faith. Just ask any Christian in the People’s Republic of China, where the underground church flourishes in spite of persecution. I do not depend on the U.S. government to define the mystery of the Trinity for me, why then would I depend on them to define the covenant of marriage? Rosa Park was free long before she sat down in her seat on that bus. Even so, I declare to you in the name of every gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered child of God that we too are free believers. We will marry and be given in marriage. We don’t need your permission. Love speaks for itself. As Jesus once said, “Wisdom is vindicated by all her children.”
I am fortunate enough to live 500 miles away from this most recent oppression. I live in a state that has already decided to recognize marriage equality (a recent development in which I am proud to have played a part). This summer, my church will decide whether or not to join that choir of angels. I have decided within myself that I will not wait for their decision. Whatever happens at our General Assembly, I will continue to solemnize same-sex marriages in the name of Jesus and I will refuse to call them anything other than what they are: marriages.
Worst case scenario: someone will successfully challenge the legitimacy of my ministry in a church court because of what I’ve written here. That’s okay. I’ve been defrocked before. There are other churches who will have me. I say this in writing here and now because I want to be on record as one who stood up for what he thought was right before it was considered proper to do so. I want my children to be able to look back and know the kind of man that their father was on this day.
I was touched and surprised tonight as I prepared to put my three year old daughter to bed just after reading the news about the amendment passing. I found her playing under the desk in the office. When I called her out to get ready for bed, she said, “Look what I found!” She emerged holding a rainbow pride flag in her hand. I take that as a sign of things to come. It gives me hope.
There is a song that I’ve played over and over again in my car as I’ve driven from errand to errand and meeting to meeting today. It sings like a hymn and rises like a prayer. I invite you to pray it with me now, as we begin a new day:
There are some living parables that simply tell themselves. Neither illustration nor explanation is necessary. Nevertheless, I’ll go ahead and engage in a little pedantic theological overkill, just to make sure the point is driven home.
Go ahead and read it. Then compare the results of that study to the words of the Dude himself (with all due respect to Jeff Lebowski):
[Jesus said:] ‘What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, “Son, go and work in the vineyard today.” He answered, “I will not”; but later he changed his mind and went. The father* went to the second and said the same; and he answered, “I go, sir”; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his father?’ They said, ‘The first.’ Jesus said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, the tax-collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax-collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him. (Matthew 21:28-32)
Finally, here’s a video from Derek Webb, one of the only ‘Christian’ artists I can stand to listen to anymore:
It seems to me that His Holiness is having a hard time of it as of late.
Apparently, having run out of every other kind of human being to alienate, he’s had to turn against his own once again. I wonder, at what point will ole’ Benny answer the question, “What’s wrong with Catholicism?” with the response, “All those damned Catholics!” or, better yet, “Jesus.”
When he first took office back in 2005, he blamed the pedophile priest scandal on gay men sneaking into seminaries (Benny likes to assume that every gay man is a card-carrying member of NAMBLA). It struck me then that those sounded like awfully strange words, coming from a man in a sequined dress.
Before that, during his days as the head of the Inquisition, he presided over the silencing of Fr. Leonardo Boff, a liberation theologian who dared to suggest that the hierarchy of the church existed in order to empower the laity, not vice versa. For this, Boff was branded as a communist and eventually excommunicated. Galileo is spinning in his grave.
These days, the newest threat to Catholicism comes from another unexpected source: nuns. I can imagine Jon Lovitz in papal regalia, shouting, “That’s the ticket!”
Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times has produced a fabulous column on Papa Benny’s latest witch hunt. Click the link below to read it for yourself:
Drawing from my years of experience working with the mentally ill and chemically dependent, I typically find that one is most insane when you think that you’re just fine and it’s everyone else that’s gone mad.
Having turned the spotlight of accusation on every other Catholic but himself, I think the rhetorical question, “Is the Pope Catholic?” is worth asking.
Today marks the end of a series of blog posts called Evangelical Lessons for Liberal Christians.
I’ve been looking at some of the things that evangelicals do really well and exploring some of the ways in which liberal Christians might benefit by taking seriously the gifts of our evangelical cousins. Life has been pretty rough as of late in the mainline Protestant churches. Battle lines have been drawn between evangelicals and liberals and the armies are loading and aiming. In some sections, shots have already been fired from both sides. I’m beginning to feel a bit like Prince Arjuna in the Bhagavad-Gita: parking my chariot between the two armies and imagining that there must be a better way than war. Perhaps that’s not the best analogy to use since, in the Bhagavad-Gita, Krishna ultimately advises Arjuna to fight and kill. Well, with all due respect to Krishna, maybe I’ll get better advice if I imagine Jesus with me in the chariot.
My colleagues tell me that they expect this summer’s General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church to be a bloodbath. I’m hoping that’s not necessarily the case. With blog posts like these, I’m hoping that we might be able to foster the growth of a more generous spirit within liberals and evangelicals alike. Perhaps, as it was for Arjuna, the end result will be the same, but maybe we can change the spirit of the split, so that the seeds of future reconciliation might be sown today.
Enough of that for now. This series isn’t about denominational schism. It’s about those qualities of evangelicals that liberal Christians can and ought to appreciate and imitate. Let’s get to it, shall we?
In the first installment, God Has No Grandchildren, we looked at the ways in which evangelicals do such a great job of taking personal ownership of their spirituality (a.k.a. their relationship with God). In the second post, Romancing The Book, we looked at the evangelical passion for the Bible. In this final chapter, I want to talk about the evangelical commitment to mission and what liberal Christians can learn from it.
In many ways, mission is at the very heart of what it means to be evangelical. The name evangelical comes from the Greek word euangelion, which means, “Good news.” Evangelicals are all about announcing good news to the world.
They tend to mobilize quickly and effectively using grassroots techniques. Evangelicals were the ones, primarily through the Baptists and Methodists, who most effectively brought Christianity to the American frontier during the periods of colonialism and westward expansion. During the 19th and 20th centuries, they spearheaded international missionary efforts to Asia, Africa, and Latin America. In fact, evangelicals did such a good job at this that the churches they started a century ago are now sending missionaries back to North America and Europe to “re-evangelize” our increasingly secular societies.
Take my own denominational tradition (Presbyterianism) as an example. We have our historical roots in Scotland but, numerically speaking, the Presbyterian Church of East Africa has about twice the membership of the Presbyterian Church (USA) and more than eight times the membership of the Church of Scotland. The world’s largest Presbyterian congregation (Myungsung Presbyterian Church) is located in Seoul, South Korea. Say what you will about evangelicals, they know how to get things done!
Liberal Christians, on the other hand, have a tendency to be more self-critical, inward-focused, and reliant upon institutional infrastructure. The one thing that we constantly seem to forget is that the church is ever only one generation away from extinction. A church is never so well-established in a community that it can excuse itself from putting faith into action outside its own walls.
When liberal Christians talk about “doing mission,” they usually mean supporting various nonprofit organizations that do good work in a community. If you were to look at the various projects supported by the mission committee at my congregation, only one is operated in-house. Another was started by a former-pastor, but is now run by folks from other churches. Most of the time, they send money to other agencies. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a good thing. These agencies desperately need the support. Last winter, a low-income daycare provider in our county would have shut down or reduced services if it had not been for the last-minute financial support of congregations like ours. However, I worry about us when we limit our sense of “mission” to just giving money to nonprofit service agencies. I would like to see us also donating our time and talents to these groups.
Let our churches develop a reputation for the kind of hands-on care that made Jesus and the early Christians (in)famous. The Roman emperor Julian complained to the pagan high priest of Galatia that these “impious” Christians were winning converts because of the way they cared for the poor. This was particularly true during times of plague, when Christians would risk their lives by staying in the infected cities to treat the ill and bury the dead, regardless of religious affiliation.
St. Lawrence the Deacon, when ordered to turn over “the treasures of the church” to government officials, emptied the church coffers into the street and then gathered the poor and destitute together in front of the governor’s office saying, “Behold, the treasures of the church!”
Doesn’t this provide a stellar model for socially engaged, grassroots ministry among liberal Christians? We come to the mission field with a sense of self-awareness, cultural sensitivity, and respect for pluralism. At our very best moments, our acts of service and justice preach silent sermons to the lost souls of this world who are looking for a place to belong. In times more recent than those of Julian and Lawrence, pastors such as Walter Rauschenbusch (early 20th century Baptist) have found their social consciousness awakening as they serve churches in communities like Hell’s Kitchen in New York. The Social Gospel movement, of which Rauschenbusch was an early leader, is responsible for many blessings that we now take for granted: child labor laws, workplace safety regulations, weekends, paid vacation, retirement and healthcare benefits, and minimum wage, just to name a few. Later in the same century, Martin Luther King led his prophetic grassroots campaign against racism, poverty, and militarism. Dorothy Day and the Berrigan brothers led activist campaigns for labor rights, racial equality, and nuclear disarmament. The Catholic Worker movement, which they founded and supported, now has houses of hospitality in almost every major city in the United States. When liberal Christians get engaged in mission, we do it well.
Even though we don’t tend to go out with gospel tracts and religious sales pitches for “winning souls,” I consider these efforts of liberal Christians to constitute an effective witness for Christ. People are drawn to communities with open hearts, open minds, open arms, and open doors. In our individualist and increasingly isolated North American society, people are looking for belonging more than believing. They are attracted to churches that make a difference in this world. They want a spiritual community where they can feel welcomed and get involved in something that really matters.
That’s where folks are most likely to discover for themselves that God is real and Jesus is worth following.
We liberal Christians need to get a clue from our evangelical brothers and sisters. We need to get out of our pews and into the streets to share some good news in word and deed. The only way to save our lovely churches is to get outside of them. So, let’s get out there are let people know who we are and where we’re from. Speak up and act out in the name of your faith!
Just as the disciples left their nets in the boat to follow Jesus, leave your capital campaigns, steeple restoration projects, stained-glass windows, pipe organs, and hymnals. Take to the streets again!
The fact that the word “evangelical” means “good news” doesn’t mean that liberal Christians don’t have good news to proclaim as well. We do. In the same way, the fact that the word “liberal” means “freedom” doesn’t mean that evangelicals don’t value freedom of heart and mind. They do.
Some folks wonder why I’ve decided to be so intentional about using the loaded terms “evangelical” and “liberal.” Many think we should do away with labels and categories altogether. I’m not convinced that’s such a good thing. First of all, it’s just plain inaccurate. We have two very distinct versions of Christianity that are currently coexisting in our mainline churches. We’ve got to call them something, otherwise we won’t have an accurate picture of who we really are. The various attempts to hold “the middle ground” seem to have resulted in an amorphous and watery theology that fails to challenge or inspire anyone. Rather than eliminating our theological categories, why don’t we be honest about our diversity and focus instead on how our camps are relating to one another?
I don’t want to meet evangelicals on “the middle ground.” I want to be a liberal Christian who respects evangelicals and makes room for them to be who they are and do what they feel called to do, so long as we get to do the same. I hope this series of blog posts has contributed to making that dream a reality.
Much like the underwater Jesus picture I posted yesterday, this is just another lovely image that I found somewhere online. I don’t remember where, which means it was probably Facebook.
Hopping Hadrian's Wall 