General Conference, Matthew Perry, and a show you didn't watch

It's a modern day Romeo and Juliet. It's one of the most important tv shows of the last decade. And it completely explains what we're seeing these two weeks at General Conference. And I don't blame you for not watching it. No one did. Which is why it was canceled after just one season.

People who know me will not be surprised to hear its an Aaron Sorkin show: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.  While many would be right to suggest I overhype anything done by Aaron Sorkin, I truly think this one season of television was incredibly important for its portrayal of the culture wars.  While the show is about a late night sketch comedy show, the real focus of the show is the divide between different segments of culture told through both personal and corporate levels.  The corporate level looks at the president of the network's dealings with the chairman and the board as her less than saintly life is paraded through the press.  The personal level is two-fold: both in the love story between the conservative-evangelical cast member, and the liberal-agnostic head writer, and in the story of the head writer and head producer's firing years before told in reverse.  Initially the show presents the cultural problem and deep divide facing our country, particularly on religious and political fronts.  It ultimately asks the question: can these divides be bridged?  On a personal level it seems to answer yes, with the cast member and head writer coming together and love conquering all.  On a corporate level the answer is much more ambiguous.

As I watched General Conference this year, I was struck by how the culture wars have not stopped in the years since Studio 60 or the years since Bush left office.  Instead, I think they've only gotten worse.  Studio 60 cast part if not all of the culture wars as being shaped by religion.  Can evangelicals in this country talk to people who could care less about religion?  But even in a room full of Christians, it seemed as if we couldn't talk to each other.  In the last five years, we have become even more segmented, even more entrenched in the culture and viewpoints of our little corner of the world.

Young and old.  Male and female.  American and international.  Liberal and conservative.  Protestant liberal and evangelical (fundamentalist).  Southern and northern.  Eastern and western.  South east Jurisdiction and everyone else.  The culture wars are no longer fought on one battlefield.  Instead, we have countless skirmishes on any issue we can.  We have countless alliances between different demographic groups.  But those alliances are as tenuous as the chord keeping us all together.  As I watched General Conference I felt sad that the more we talk about things, the farther and farther we seem to get.  As I watched General Conference I was depressed that as the demographic distinctions grow, so does the mistrust.

At the end of his documentary on the Allen Iverson Trial, Steve James says, "Maybe Allen Iverson's troubled life also holds a mirror up to us: when it comes to our own complicated struggles over race and class, justice and injustice, retribution and redemption, what do we want our children to see?"  To that end, maybe General Conference is holding a mirror up to us.  And maybe the general discomfort we are all feeling is that we do not like the church we are showing our children, the church we are showing our congregants, the church we are showing the world.  Maybe we don't like the culture wars to which we feel ourselves becoming submissive.  Maybe we don't like the trenches in which we find ourselves living and for which we find ourselves fighting.  Maybe we don't like what we see.

At the end of the day I think Aaron Sorkin wrote Studio 60 for two reasons.  I think Steve James made a documentary on the Allen Iverson trial, a trial that's almost twenty years old at this point, for two reasons.  I think both of these men wanted to dramatize the situation, to dramatize reality, to present reality to us in no uncertain terms.  But I also think these men did this because there is something about naming that allows situations to move forward.  There is something about naming a political, religious, or racial divide that provides a future for us to bridge the divide.  There is something about naming the problem that allows for hope.

We need to name our differences.  We need to name our divides.  We need to name our mistrusts and our fears and our anxieties.  We need to be able to name the assumptions we carry.  We need to be able to name our concerns.  We need to be able to name the elephant in the room because that is the only way forward.

I don't know what it would look like to name who we are, where we come from, and what we really care about at General Conference.  But I believe that the only way for us to grow as a healthy community and to begin to cross some of these divides it to name our disagreements.  Let's create a healthier church, because I'm tired of what this mirror is showing me.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Human Sexuality

I should say from the outset that the conclusions I will draw on Human Sexuality are my own and do not represent the ethics, beliefs, or theology of Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  The method, however, will be his.  The conclusions will be mine.

If you have ever heard of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, chances are you know he tried to kill Hitler.  Well, more accurately he was involved in a plot to assassinate Hitler.  The plot was discovered by the SS, Bonhoeffer was identified as a part of the conspiracy, and then he was placed in a Concentration Camp and ultimately killed for his role in the conspiracy.  If you have ever heard of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, chances are you already knew that.  What you might not know is that Bonhoeffer was a committed pacifist.

The next question rightly becomes: How can a committed pacifist have been involved in a plot to assassinate Hitler?  And the crazy thing is, Bonhoeffer's actions were entirely consistent with his ethics.  In order to explain this, I'll have to turn to his essay, "Christ, the Reality, and the Good."  I do this not as an academic exercise for intellectual curiosity (although there is merit in that), but because I think Bonhoeffer's Christian ethic is exactly what's needed at this point in time and might help bridge the divide we see in the debates on Human Sexuality in the Christian church.

Bonhoeffer begins the essay saying, "Those who wish even to focus on the problem of a Christian ethic are faced with an outrageous demand--from the outset they must give up, as inappropriate to this topic, the very two questions that led them to deal with the ethical problem: 'How can I be good? and 'How can I do something good?'  Instead they must ask the wholly other, completely different question: what is the will of God?"  He is right on.  Oftentimes in Christian ethics we seek to do the good, to do the right thing.  But, as Bonhoeffer explains, "When the ethical problem presents itself essentially as the question of my own being good and doing good, the decision has already been made that the self and the world are the ultimate realities.  All ethical reflection then has the goal that I be good, and that the world--by my action--becomes good."  However, for Christians, that is not the correct starting point.  The self and the world are not the ultimate realities, no matter what the Enlightenment and modernity attempt to tell us.  For the Christian, the ultimate reality is God and God's revelation of God's self in Jesus Christ.  That is the center of everything for Christians.

It is this concern, the centrality of God in Jesus Christ, that leads Bonhoeffer to assert positively that, "If it turns out, however, that these realities, myself and the world, are themselves embedded in a wholly other ultimate reality, namely the reality of God the Creator, Reconciler, and Redeemer, then the ethical problem takes on a whole new aspect.  Of ultimate importance, then, is not that I become good, or that the condition of the world be improved by my efforts, but that the reality of God show itself everywhere to be the ultimate reality."  The implications of this completely change the center of ethical reflection, which is shown in the way Bonhoeffer concludes this introduction.  He writes, "Where God is know by faith to be the ultimate reality, the source of my ethical concern will be that God be known as the good, even at the risk that I and the world are revealed as not good, but as bad through and through."  When this is the beginning and end of Christian ethics, new freedom and imagination becomes possible.  Freedom and imagination that I am not seeing as I watch the United Methodists gather at General Conference.

Before switching gears completely to modern issues, I want to stay in Bonhoeffer for a bit to further highlight how his ethic lives and works in real life.  Because of the way Bonhoeffer interprets the center of Christian ethics, his focus is not on doing good, but on acting responsibly.  "Responsible action" becomes almost a technical term in Bonhoeffer's ethics and it is rooted in the original question at the heart of Christian ethics: what is the will of God?  For Bonhoeffer, the will of God is not just a stand in for 'good', but rather touches on the the Christological center of his argument.  He writes, "We said at the beginning that the question of the will of God must take the place of the question about one's own being good and doing good.  But the will of God is nothing other than the realization of the Christ-reality among us and in our world.  The will of God is therefore not an idea that demands to be realized; it is itself already reality in the self-revelation of God in Jesus Christ.  The will of God is neither an idea nor is it simply identical with what exists, so that subjection to things as they are could fulfill it; it is rather a realty that wills to become real ever anew in what exists and against what exists."  The will of God is the Christ-reality continuing to take form in our world.  As Christians, we are called to announce and celebrate the Christ-reality in our world.  We notice the will of God as it takes shape in the crucible of lived reality.  Christian ethics is not discerning and determining the will of God as if it existed ethereally.  Instead, it is a positive statement of where the Christ-reality is taking shape in the world.

Then what is the Christian to do in the crisis moments of lived experience?  Act responsibly.  Again, this is a technical term in Bonhoeffer that represents how Christians ought to act in the world.  Essentially, responsible action is following the conscience.  It is doing what we believe to be right in a given situation.  Except there is one caveat: an admission that we might be wrong.  It is an ethical codification of Luther's (probably apocryphal) maxim, "Here I stand, I can do no other."  About responsible action, Bonhoeffer writes, "The man who acts out of free responsibility is justified before others by dire necessity; before himself he is acquitted by his conscience, but before God he hopes only for grace."  This is most helpfully explained by looking at Bonhoeffer's decision to engage in the plot to assassinate Hitler.

Bonhoeffer never said he was right.  Bonhoeffer never said that violence was against God's will unless the person was realllllllllllly bad.  Bonhoeffer never wavered on his stance that to kill was sin.  But in that moment, he could not do anything other than be a part of the plot to kill Hitler.  Given the situation, the responsible thing to do was to take part in the conspiracy.  It wasn't good.  It wasn't right.  But it was the only thing he felt he could do and still be able to look himself in the mirror.

So we see that there are sometimes when we can't do 'good'.  Or at least to say we are doing 'good' is merely a veiled attempt at justifying ourselves before God and the world.  But the Christian message is we have no justification for ourselves.  We aren't good.  We don't do good.  But if our concern was that God would be the good, if our concern that God would be seen as the good, then we would be free to attempt to be responsible.  Bonhoeffer did what he thought was necessary all the while knowing that the Sermon on the Mount stood in direct opposition to his actions.  He did not attempt to justify himself or his actions before God.  Instead, he did what he had to do and hoped (even to say trusted would be too far) that God would have grace for him.

I wish we could do the same.  What Bonhoeffer's ethics enable him to do is to say two things that we Christians find so difficult to say: "I don't know" and "I might be wrong."  Bonhoeffer knew that Jesus said "Do not kill."  Rather than cheapen the words of Christ in order to save himself, he damned himself in order to keep the words of Christ.

I watched this morning as a petition was defeated at General Conference.  This petition (actually there were two of them) wanted to add language to the Book of Discipline that United Methodists disagree on issues of human sexuality.  I wish we could admit that officially.  I wish we could admit we disagree.  I wish we could admit that we are torn.  I wish we could admit that we don't all speak with one voice.  I wish we could admit that we don't know.  And that we could be wrong.

I know what Scripture says.  I know what Scripture says about human sexuality, what Scripture says about love, what Scripture says about acceptance.  I know all the arguments on all sides.  I also know that the love that couples of the same sex and gender have for one another is real.  I know that LGBT Christians are incredibly faithful and committed.  Their witness is right and true and faithful and holy.  I also know that progressive and conservative Christians are faithful and committed and their witness is right and true and faithful and holy.  That is what  I know.

Where should we go from here?  Who should be allowed to do what and where?  Who is right and who is wrong?  What do we make of Scripture?  Those are the things I don't know.

I don't know.  But I can't tell anyone they aren't wanted.  I can't tell anyone they aren't loved.  I can't tell anyone that a core part of who they are as a person is wrong.  I can't tell anyone that the love the feel for another is tainted and against nature.  I cannot do that and still look at myself in the mirror.

So here I stand, and I can do no other.  This is where I am, this is how I feel.  But yet, I admit that I might be wrong.  Can no one else admit the same?

Praise be to the one who alone is good, the almight and all loving God.  One day he will sort this all out...

Prelude to the Passion

I want to begin by saying "It's one of the toughest passages in the Bible theologically" but I feel like we say that so much it has become trite.  But yet, the story of God demanding Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac truly is a bear.  Preach on it at your own peril.  Bring it up in a Bible Study only if you dare.  The safest bet with a story like this is to just stay away.

But yet, there it is.  Of all the words about God that have not been canonized, this one has.  And it was only in reading Hans Urs Von Balthasar's classic Mysterium Paschale that I was struck by the beauty of this passage.  To convince you that there is beauty to be found within this passage, I'll have to do some explaining.

First, the objections.  On the surface this story isn't very pretty.  Let's synopsize.  When God makes a covenant with Abram, the sign and promise of the covenant is that Abram and his wife (though real old) will have a son.  Eventually they do have the child, named Isaac.  When the time our particular story picks up, Abram is now called Abraham and Isaac has grown up a bit.  The story begins, "After these things, God tested Abraham."  Already we are theologically uncomfortable.  "God testing" is typically something we reserve for bad conservative theology, a fundamentalist notion that hardly renders the image of God unequivocally pro nobis.

But God nevertheless decides to test Abraham and says to him, "Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you."  As modern people we read this and say, "Well that's just messed up."  God asks Abraham to kill Isaac, the only son, the son of the covenant, the promise.  God even admits that this son is one whom Abraham loves.  Our modern sensibilities cannot fathom this request.  Remember this point, we'll come back to it in a minute.

Abraham arises early the next day and takes Isaac up the mountain.  Notice that Sarah, Isaac's mother, is mentioned no where in this story.  They go to the base of the mountain and leave behind the servant, while Isaac is forced to carry the wood for the fire that will consume him.  Isaac asks, as I'm sure any curious child would, "I see we have the wood and fire for the sacrifice, but where is the lamb?"  Abraham simply replies, "The Lord will provide."  They get to the top of the mountain and all the preparations are made.  Isaac is placed upon the altar and Abraham raises a knife in the air ready to sacrifice his son.  Then, at the final moment, God stays Abraham's hand and provides a ram to be sacrificed in Isaac's place.  Abraham and Isaac return down the mountain and this incident is never mentioned again.

We read this story as modern people and are appalled that God would require such a sacrifice.  We read the story and are more relieved than joyful when God stays Abraham's hand.  But what if we read this story as ancient people?  What if we read this story with the same reactions and surprises that people would have when the story was first written?  If we lived in a society that tolerated human sacrifice, that saw human sacrifice as necessary to please the gods, then we might not be so sickened by the notion that a god might require a servant to sacrifice a son.  If we lived in a society that would see the first half of the story as the norm and the end of the story as grace, what might this story do to transform the image of God we have in our hearts and minds?

But what if we went beyond that?  What if we went beyond reading it in light of ancient culture and practice?  What if we went beyond trying to read it withing a culture we don't live in or have any recollection of?  What if we read it in terms of something more important than history, sociology, and anthropology?  What if we read it in light of the action that is central to reality, the universe, and our lives as Christians?  What if we read it in light of the story of Jesus Christ?

This is where Balthasar comes in.  In Mysterium Paschale, he writes a section on the surrender of Christ, the handing over of Christ into the hands of sinners.  This comes during a chapter that looks in great detail at the theological complexity of the events that happened on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.  As Christ is handed over into the hands of the Romans for the rest of the passion narrative to unfold, Balthasar sees something else going on.  At first he notes that in every instance in the Old Testament, God is the primary actor whenever anyone is handed over to another person or group of people.  Continuing this theme and layering the Biblical narrative with Trinitarian theology, he writes, "From this point there arises the Trinitarian theme which develops in three forms: God the Father hands over his Son, thanks to his love for us, but it is also due to Christ's love for us, in such a way that in Christ's gratuitous self-gift the Father's unconditional love becomes plain" (111).  In essence, what we see going on when looking from a Trinitarian perspective is that God the Father hands over his beloved Son into the hands of humanity out of God's love for humanity.  The Son, in perfect obedience to the Father and out of love for humanity, obliges the Father in this action.  And as we know, humanity then kills the Son.

Let us now return to the story of Abraham, Isaac, God and sacrifice.  In this story, we see the exact same thing.  Abraham hands over his son, Isaac, to God out of love for God.  Isaac, out of love for his father and for God, obliges.  The result here is different: God spares Isaac, Abraham's son.

Abraham hands over his son Isaac to God and Isaac lives.  God hands God's son (Jesus) over to humanity and Jesus dies.

Now let's throw one last thing in the mix because I'm also reading God's Companions by Sam Wells.  In discussing baptism, Sam Wells talks about the stripping and dying to self that occurs in baptism.  There has always been an element of baptism that involves dying to self and being incorporated into Christ's death so that we might be incorporated into Christ's resurrection and new life.  If that is so, then every baby whom we baptize is handed over to God.  Every baby whom we baptize goes through the same process Isaac went through.  Sure, we don't use knives or come anywhere close to killing a child.  But if we actually believe the metaphors we use for baptism, then to talk about death with respect to baptism puts the person baptized in the position of Isaac.  We hand over the baby to God.

A vindictive God might do to the child exactly as we have done to God's son.  A vindictive omniscient God might have done to Isaac exactly what we would do to God's son.  But that is not the God we serve.

Instead, our God forgives.  Instead, our God reaches out in grace.  Instead, our God works to save even those people that would murder His son.

Which is precisely why we hand over our children to such a God.  We hand over our children to that God because we know our children are better off in His hands than they are in humanity's.

So instead of reading this story, the story of Abraham and Isaac and sacrifice, as a story of a blood thirsty God testing his helpless servant, let us instead read it as an incredible story of a God who refuses to do to us what we have done to Him.  Let us instead read it and be transformed by the incredible love and grace shown towards us in the face of our shame and guilt.  And as we approach Holy Week, let us remember who we are before God: the one who killed His son.

Jesus was handed over to us.  As we remember and relive exactly what we did to him, let us be brought not just to a place of guilt and sorrow, but also to a place of awe and wonder about the love God has for us that he can endure such betrayal and respond, "I love you."

What's the Story (Morning Glory)? A Sermon

Text: John 3:14-21

Here’s something you’re going to wish you didn’t know about me: I am a huge fan of the hit reality TV show The Bachelor.  I don’t just mean I watch the show, as if that wasn’t bad enough.  My family and I have games and leagues and drafts about this show.  I watch every episode.  I talk about it weekly.  It’s sad.

But one of the things that truly fascinates me about this show is the way the show is able to define people.  Contestants that go on the show are given an identity by the way the producers and editors shape the show’s narrative.  Each year of the show there are certain character types.  There’s the girl next door, the girl seeking redemption, the bad boy with a good heart, etc. etc. etc.  And every year someone plays the role of the villain.  And whereas with the other sweet and charming character types where people will love them for 10 minutes and forget them in a week, with the villain the hatred remains.  Ask anyone who watches the Bachelor what they think of Vienna or Bentley or Courtney and you will get visceral reactions.

The thing about this that fascinates me is that we know nothing about these people.  We’ve never met them, we’ve never seen them, we’ve never had any interactions with them.  But yet we have clear opinions about these people based solely on what we see on television.  And while it is dubbed reality tv, it is producers and editors mediating what we as viewers see.  These editors and producers have determined these person’s narratives, their stories, and we buy it.  We hate people based on the story someone else tells us about them.

Now all of you that tuned out at the first mention of the Bachelor can come back.  I’m about to talk about Jesus, now.

John 3:16.  Probably the most famous verse in all of the Bible.  Words of comfort.  Words of hope.  For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whoever believed in him would not perish but have eternal life.  I remember memorizing this as a child.  I remember not knowing what it meant, but knowing it was important.

There’s another image from my childhood I have of this verse.  One day the preacher preached on this passage of John.  As I walked into Big Church that day to acolyte, I saw two huge banners hung on either side of the cross.  One read John 3:16, like what’s popular at sporting events.  The other was done in a similar style and read John 3:19.  The preacher talked about how we see signs for John 3:16 all the time at sporting events.  And why wouldn’t we?  It’s a profound verse of hope and love.  But we don’t often see signs for John 3:19.  That’s not a verse we memorize.  That’s not a verse we like to bring up.  Because it’s kind of a downer.

And this is the judgment: that the light has come into the world, and the people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil.

John 3:16.  John 3:19.  For God so loved the world.  And this is the judgment.  That he gave his only son.  That the light has come into the world.  That whoever believes in him will not perish, but have eternal life.  The people loved darkness rather than life because their deeds are evil.

What we have here are competing notions, competing worldviews, competing stories.  And which one is it?  What’s the story?  Is the world beloved by God?  Is the world saved by the coming of Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the Son?  Or is the world judged?  Is the world dark?  Are we ultimately evil people who will destroy ourselves?  What is it?  What’s the story?

That’s the big question isn’t it.  And there’s plenty of evidence for each.  We live in a world where we see love.  We live in a world where we see hope.  We live in a world where we see joy.  And from time to time we can look at the world and see that it is beloved by God, we can see that the love of Christ has come into the world, and that the world is being saved.  It’s like the opening lines of Love, Actually, “Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there.”  Each of us can think of a place where we see love, where we see evidence of Christ’s love being in the world and being reflected all around.  Maybe its in the selfless teachers or social workers.  Maybe its in your friends or neighbors.  Maybe its in your family.  Maybe its in news stories of sacrifice and altruism.  Maybe its in all of these things and more.  But we all know there is goodness, there is hope, there is love in this world.  We all know that God does love this world and God is in this world making it better for us all.

But we also see the darkness.  We also see the hatred.  We also see places where it seems as if hope is a foolish thing.  We watch CEOs and big businessmen steal pension money and take on bad risk that bankrupts companies and our economy.  We watch politicians become corrupt as power and greed gain more control over them.  We watch women and children die in genocide and war.  We see homeless people beg for basic necessity.  We see good people conned and swindled.  Even as we cry out for justice, even as we cry out for these evils to cease, we confront this same evil, hatred, and greed in ourselves.  We lie, we cheat, we steal.  And this is the judgment: that the light has come into the world, and the people love darkness rather than light because our deeds are evil.

So which is it?  What’s the story?  We look around and see hope.  We look around and see evil.  But my brothers and sisters we gather here this morning on this day and in this place to hear this good news: God loves the world.  That is it.  That is the story.  God loves the world.

And because God loves the world, there is hope.  Because God loves the world we have a future.  Because God loves the world we have been reached out to, claimed, and loved by God in Jesus Christ.  Because God loves the world we can talk about and hope for a time when death, sin, hatred, evil, and darkness will be no more.  Because God loves the world we can believe.

That’s the Christian story.  That’s the story we come here today to hear and proclaim.  That’s the Gospel.

You have a choice this morning.  Unlike the contestants on the Bachelor who have no control over the story the show will tell about them, you have a choice.  You can choose your story.  You can choose how you view yourself, how you view the world, how you view God. 

So what is your story?  Has the light come into the world to judge the world?  Does the world live in darkness?  Do hate, evil, and sin win the day?  Do we love the darkness because our deeds are evil?  Is that the story?

Or is the story something else?  Is the world loved by God?  Is the world saved by God in Jesus Christ?  Have you come to believe that the light has come into the world and the darkness cannot stand against it?  Have you come to believe that God loves the world and that simple fact makes all the difference?

So what’s the story?  And, even better, how are you living your story?  How does the story shape you?  How does the story change your life?  Because it is our life and our actions that truly reveal which story we have chosen, which story we believe.

On Saturday April 14^th, you’ll have a chance to live your story.  On Saturday April 14^th, not even a full week after Easter, you’ll have the chance to make your faith a reality.  Here at the church we will have our semi-annual blood drive.  You can live your story, you can love the world.  You can give blood.  Also on Saturday April 14^th, for those of you that cannot give blood, there will be another mission opportunity.  The Missions Team has voted to partner with St. Matthew’s UMC in their Family Community Service Day, the principle part of which is a potato drop.  46,000 pounds of potatoes will be delivered to St. Matthew’s parking lot and they’ll need to be bagged.  These potatoes will go to food banks in our area and will give a meal to those begging for basic necessity.  46,000 pounds is a lot of potatoes.  We’ll need your help.  You can live your story, you can love the world.  You can give your time.

God loves the world.  God loves the world so much that he gave his only son.  If you believe that, if that is your story, then you too must love the world.  You must join in, you must love the world along with God. 

Usually I end my sermons with a pointed question and let the silence hang for a moment.  But this morning I want to end with a declarative statement.  Because we live in a world of love and hatred, of hope and despair, of joy and sorrow.  And because we live in a world of paradox and dichotomy we can become confused and cynical.  We can begin to question what’s going on, we can begin to wonder what the story really is.  So I don’t need to end with a question because when you leave here today the world will have plenty of questions for you.  But my brothers and sisters, hear this word, this statement, and take this word, this statement, with you as you leave this place: God loves the world.  And you should too.

Silent Christianity?

Something I wrote for my church's newsletter...

Recently I read a book by Duke professor Stanley Hauerwas called Working with Words: On Learning to Speak Christian.  The book is a collection of essays, sermons, and speeches Hauerwas has given over the past few years that, while written on many different topics, attempt to make a coherent point.  The point is this: Christianity is a language. 

Hauerwas argues that Christians are people learning to speak a new language.  We learn to speak this new language as we learn the tenets of our faith.  We learn to speak this new language as we read Scripture and the great theology of the past.  We learn to speak this new language as we come to worship and say the liturgy.  Hauerwas argues that the Christian life is first and foremost learning how to speak.

And as we learn this language and learn to speak this language, we are transformed.  As we learn how to speak of Jesus Christ, God made flesh out of love for us, we learn what love means.  And as we learn what love means, we become people of love.  As we learn the stories of the Apostles and their total devotion to the mission of Christ, we learn what faith means.  As we learn what faith means, we become people of faith who are able to live lives of faith.  We think because we read.  We speak because we think.  We do because we speak.  This, for Hauerwas, is the Christian life.

As a theology nerd, I love it.  It gives me a great excuse (as if I needed an excuse…) to read big, thick, nerdy theology books that no one else would ever want to read (Mysterium Paschale anyone?).  But  there is a part of me that struggles with it because I also saw the movie The Artist this year.  For those of you that haven’t yet seen this year’s Best Picture, it’s a silent film.  It’s a brilliant, moving, emotional story about a silent movie actor during the transition from the silent film era to ‘talkies’.  It tells of both the anxiety and the excitement of that era.  It tells a love story.  It tells one man’s Ulysses’ like Odyssey to find peace, fulfillment, and hope as his world is literally crashing down upon him.  It tells all these stories, yet uses no words.

As I was walking out of the theatre, my mind turned back to Hauerwas’ book (no, seriously, it did; I’m that nerdy).  Do we need to be able to speak Christian in order to live a Christian life?  Or can we have a “silent Christianity” that loves others, honors God, and seeks to live in peace?  Ultimately, however, I’m not convinced we can separate them.  Why not have both?!  It is my hope that during this Lent you will be able to take an opportunity to learn more of the Christian language.  It is my hope that during this Lent you will be engage in concrete acts of mercy and charity.  And it is my hope that during this Lent you will discover that the two (learning and doing, theology and mercy, speech and action) are inseparable.

A Whole New World

Another book I'm in the middle of is Stanley Hauerwas' new book Working With Words: On Learning to Speak Christian.  It is a collection of essays that is not unlike the other 327 books Hauerwas has written.  In some ways this book explains why he has written so many (in that he reads a lot, reading makes him think, so he has to write to figure out what he thinks).  In some ways this book is a new way of looking at his general project and the way in which this project has developed over the last thirty years.  Being a Christian ethicist (whatever that term means) the particulars of his project have changed as the modern problems have gone from global-thermo-nuclear war to modern medicine and all its quandries.  However, his main point has remained pretty similar.

I do think this book, however, makes his whole project more understandable if you can read between the lines and get a sense of the general point made by the disparate essays.  The breakthrough came when reading his essay on greed.  He begins by talking about how we as a society believe that the economic crisis was/is/has been caused by greed.  However he questions whether or not we have enough of an understanding of greed to really make and understand such a claim.  It seems that if we did have a proper understanding of greed then we would be rethinking more about our economic system than just the past few years.

I have a good friend that, while being a pastor, was an economics major in undergrad.  It was talking to him that almost made me a fiscal conservative politically speaking.  In many cases I think the economy's job is to create the most amount of wealth possible.  I am a liberal because I believe other institutions ought to step in and look out for those whom the economy, in its pursuit of more wealth, leaves behind.  That's a pretty crappy view of economics, if I do say so myself.  But it shows how deep we have bought into the delusion that our lives are not sustained by greed itself.

Modern capitalism is dependent on changing greed from vice to virtue.  Our lives are sustained through a desire to have more.  To have more money.  To have more stuff.  To have more security.  To have more.  Hauerwas argues, convincingly I believe, that we cannot help but fall into greed.  He says that we have a little success in life and when that happens we become worried that what we have will go away.  So we work all the harder to get more so that we won't lose what we have.  But the problem is all this gets compounded exponentially as we get more and more and more.  And all of a sudden we're greedy bastards.

I think Hauerwas' account of all this is true because it resonates with the way I see others I know living their lives.  And if it applies to them, I am sure it applies to me.  Those that would sacrifice pay in order to do more noble things are called irresponsible.  We are told to be good, responsible parents we must fall into this trap of greed.  We are told that to be good, responsible citizens we must fall into this trap of greed.  All of it seems inescapable.

Which is where the thrust of Hauerwas' project comes in: Jesus creates a new way.  Jesus creates a new world in which it is possible to not be greedy.  Jesus creates a new world in which it is possible to not live through the lens of scarcity.  Jesus creates a new world where success and responsibility are not measured in dollars and cents, but in faithfulness to God.  Jesus creates a new possibility and a new world.

And this is where I find Hauerwas more helpful than Niebuhr or the Protestant liberalism.  Protestant liberals would look at life with its myriad crappy choices and say "Well What would Jesus do?"  Then in following that, the world would magically become better.  That's hopeful and optimistic, but doesn't really explain all the Christians in Congress.  Niebuhr, writing against the Protestant liberals, would look at life with its myriad crappy choices and say "Well, do the best you can and when it gets a little better, that's the best we can do."  That's helpful in the sense of helping us make sense of why the Kingdom isn't brought in when the CEO converts, but doesn't provide a real robust eschatological vision.  Hauerwas on the other hand looks at life with its myriad crappy choices and rejects them all in favor of the new world opened up by Christ.  The world might only get a little better, but that's only because we're greedy bastards.  The CEO might convert by that won't bring in the Kingdom because we can't bring in the Kingdom.  However, the Kingdom will be brought in.  There is not only a better way...there is a new and better world.  That's big.  That's true hope and optimism . That's the Gospel.

But since its a new world it takes a whole new way of living.  And seeing.  And speaking.  We have to learn how to live in this new space.  That's what the church is all about.  So if you want a real alternative from all the crap in our society and in this life, pick up Working with Words and learn to speak truth.

Hello, my name is...

I just finished part 1 of R. Kendall Soulen's new book The Divine Name(s) and the Holy Trinity.  Well, actually I finished part 1 of volume 1 which is itself entitled Distinguishing the Voices.  123 pages in and I can say with confidence that this is a must-read for any student of theology.  However, 123 pages in and I think he structured the book wrong.  Allow me to explain.

In the first half of the book Soulen stated his premise in the introduction and then went into a broad sweep of the history of Christian thought from the Bible (kind of) until the modern day.  He primarily focused on representative thinkers through different epochs, namely the Gregory of Nyssa, Pseudo-Dionysius, Augustine, Thomas, Luther, Barth, Robert Jenson, and Elizabeth Johnson.  Having arrived at the end he restates his premise and gives a hint that the next part will be more constructive than descriptive.  I wish he had done it the other way around.

His basic premise is that there exists a three-fold pattern of naming the persons of the Trinity in the history of Christian thought.  The first, which he dubs a theological pattern, is based on reference to the Tetragrammaton.  The second, the christological pattern, is based on the male kinship relations Father, Son and Holy Spirit and is thus called christological because it is based upon the specific existence of the human Jesus.  The third pattern, called the pneumatological pattern, is based on a multiplicity of names that are context-specific coming out of the Holy Spirit's outpouring on Pentecost.  Soulen outlines these patterns in the introduction/first chapter.

In the second chapter, Soulen attempts to show how the first pattern is evident through the nomina sacra, a group of terms that were given a special orthography in antiquity.  Very early on, Jewish scribes began using special orthography for the name of the Tetragrammaton.  New Testament scribes took on this practice when composing and copying the New Testament writings, but instead of using special orthography for the Tetragrammaton alone, they also applied the practice to Jesus, Christ, Spirit, etc.  Soulen argues that this was perhaps the earliest creed of the church and visually argued not only the divinity of Christ, but also God's Trinitarian nature.  Soulen then argues that the pattern and creeds formed by the nomina sacra can be seen copied into the Nicene Creed.

In the chapters that follow, Soulen argues that immediately following Nicea and Constantinople, the first pattern of naming the Trinity was dropped.  He then goes through an expansive historical-theological outline in order to show how we have arrived at the current modern debate over inclusive language in naming God.  While these chapters serve as an impressive primer in Trinitarian theology, I feel that another way of organizing the book would have allowed Soulen's argument to function better.

At this point, halfway through the book, Soulen has set up a methodology for Trinitarian naming.  However, at this point, halfway through the book, that methodology seems relatively trivial.  He has not built a case for why this three-fold pattern of naming is more true to Scripture, the historic Christian witness, or will help mitigate current ecclesial and theological debates.  The reader assumes and anticipates Soulen will do this at some point.  Yet when critiquing the vast history of Christian thought it is best to have your alternative already in place.

Ultimately, Soulen is asking us to trust him.  Essentially, right now Soulen has built a case for a three fold pattern of Trinitarian naming based off of an esoteric pattern of writing a few words and one particular way of reading the Nicene Creed.  The special orthography, which to this point is the only thing he has to build his case, was so ubiquitous that by the late 4th and early 5th century, the Bishops of the church had no idea it existed.  All the giants of the Christian church (Augustine, Thomas, Calvin, Luther, Barth, Anselm, Gregory, etc.) are all said to be in error and the only thing there to convince us is orthography.  

This is not to say that Soulen is wrong or that his thesis will ultimately prove without merit.  In fact, I imagine the second half of the book constructs a wonderful argument for his proposed three-fold naming system that will help mediate current ecclesial debate as well as allowing theology to be more true to Scripture.  Elizabeth Johnson herself calls the book "One of the best books on naming God in years" so on that recommendation alone there is hope.  However, I wish Soulen had done the constructive work up front.  That way we would have in mind a fully developed three-fold naming pattern when judging and critiquing the tradition.