You begin this way:
this is your hand,
this is your eye,
that is a fish, blue and flat
on the paper, almost
the shape of an eye.
This is your mouth, this is an O
or a moon, whichever
you like. This is yellow.

Outside the window
is the rain, green
because it is summer, and beyond that
the trees and then the world,
which is round and has only
the colors of these nine crayons.

This is the world, which is fuller
and more difficult to learn than I have said.
You are right to smudge it that way
with the red and then
the orange: the world burns.

Once you have learned these words
you will learn that there are more
words than you can ever learn.
The word hand floats above your hand
like a small cloud over a lake.
The word hand anchors
Your hand to this table,
your hand is a warm stone
I hold between two words.

This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world,
which is round but not flat and has more colors
than we can see.

It begins, it has an end,
this is what you will
come back to, this is your hand.

Copyright © 1978 by Margaret Atwood.

I love that poem - the simplicity that hints at the vast complexity of language and knowledge. Teaching words to a child - naming the world and defining the boundaries. At this stage it feels like I am restricting Emma's world. This word, this symbol, is this. Eye, hand, rain. The words are the thing itself. We struggle through this, this naming of things.

Emma - What happened to the mouse?
Me - The mice?
Emma - No, mouse.
Me - When there are more than one, they are called mice.
Emma - No, that's not nice. Mouse.

Mice and Nice. We're working on that one. The naming continues. Words are what she knows and there is power in words. I define the world for her, answer her "what is it?" question with a name - the right answer. Abstract words are harder. She knows saying please is associated with getting what she wants, but hasn't quite realized that it isn't a magical spell one casts that always results good things. She orders her world with the phrases she knows. She's heard Dora when getting on a boat say "lifejackets - so we can be safe" enough times that as she played with her Noah's Ark toy recently each animal had to put on a lifejacket before entering the ark. Words define, they set boundaries, they are secure.

But I see her from time to time breaking free of the constraints of language I have set for her. She is discovering the power to create with language - to be involved in her own process of naming. Tonight the space under the table became the realm of Puddleduck where the caped hero Gobbleguck attempted to escape from lions, tigers, dinosaurs and the mommy tickle monster. The world is not flat in reality, language does define and constrain, but there is still the power to create. Perhaps with just these nine colors we can create infinite shades.

Labels: Emma, poetry reflections, Reflections

Are all blessings truly only from God? We talk about being "blessed" and invoke God's blessing on America (or the whole world if you are of a more generous bent), but are such blessings solely from the divine?

I was thinking about that today because something recalled to me a conversation I had with my best friend back in Jr. High. To give a bit of context to the conversation I should say that my friend was (is?) an atheist. She had grown up in India as her father did research on ancient Sanskrit texts. Having witnessed the effects of organized religion on creating such horrors as the Caste system, she refused to ever follow any religion. That soon led to a disbelief in God altogether.

One day our botany class was outside tending the school garden and she happened to notice the school sign. In typical early nineties feel-good self-esteem public school parlance it read - "We Are So Blessed." My friend took serious offense at it. She starting ranting about how it violated the separation of church and state to be proclaiming such a religious statement on public school property. Most of us around her were a bit confused. None of us had assumed that the statement had any religious connotation whatsoever. I figured it meant something like "we are blessed to have such great students." But my friend argued that the entire concept of blessing was a religious one and that blessings could only come from deities. Since she didn't believe in said deities that sign was forcing religion upon her. She left then to go complain to our teacher who happened to be a rather militant atheist. I don't remember what happened after that, if the sign was changed or not, but I remember vividly the oddity of that conversation.

So I wonder now if I too trace all blessings to God. If I believe that all that is good comes from God, then all blessings no matter who bestows them are from God as well. If we have been blessed to be a blessing (as the covenant describes), we then are indeed God's avatars. God's mystery of working behind and within all things encompasses the goodness of blessing. As a Jr. Higher I brushed such an idea aside in favor of a secular interpretation, but my atheist friend saw the hand of the divine there nonetheless.

Labels: Reflections, Theology

Kneeling
by R. S. Thomas

Moments of great calm,
Kneeling before an altar
Of wood in a stone church
In summer, waiting for the God
To speak; the air a staircase
For silence; the sun’s light
Ringing me, as though I acted
A great rôle. And the audiences
Still; all that close throng
Of spirits waiting, as I,
For the message.
Prompt me, God;
But not yet. When I speak,
Though it be you who speak
Through me, something is lost.
The meaning is in the waiting.


In reflecting on prayer recently I have been drawn to this poem. Prayer in my life at the moment is something that is in many ways undefined. I pray, but often in ways that seem contrived or hollow. It is when I sit in those moments of silence that my communion with God seems most authentic.

To hear from God and to be inspired to speak words of truth and encouragement from God is often something I rush into. My ideas stumble over each other in the burning passion to have something to say. I might throw in a perfunctory prayer - a ritual to be performed - out of obligation rather than intentional worship. Real prayer, real communion, goes much deeper than that and is full of silence.

Silence is nebulous. It is uncomfortable. It can't be quantified. I can't check off that I spent x number of minutes for my "Quiet Time" and prayer. I can't go through the mental checklist of praying the ACTS (or CATS) acronym. It was easier when I could, but it still felt hollow.

So I'm learning to accept silence. I don't understand it. I don't "do it" well. But I have learned that there is meaning in the waiting. And so I wait in silence.


For other contributions to this synchroblog on prayer check out Lyn or Erin's blogs.

Update - here's the list of participants.

Cindy Bryan Teach Me to Pray…Again?
Lyn Hallewell God, Prayer and Me
Erin Word Prayer=Sex with God
Rick Meigs Prayer Helps that Get Me Deeper
Alan Knox Pray without Ceasing
Julie Clawson Prayer Synchroblog
Heather Synchroblog Prayer
Alex (Heather’s Husband) Prayer Synchroblog II
Lydia How Do You Pray
Che Vachon My Thoughts…
Paul Mayers Praying and Learning to Pray Again
Sonja Andrews The Appearance of Holiness
Jon Peres How Do I Pray?
Paul Walker One Congregation Experiments with Emerging Prayer
Susan Barnes Synchroblog: How Do You Pray?
Brother Maynard Fear Not the Silence
Nate Peres How Do I Pray?
Barry Taylor Synchroblog:How Do You Pray?
Emerging Grace Clearance Sale on Intercession Books
Jim Lehmer Synchroblog - How Do You Pray?
Lew A How Do You Pray? - Synchroblog
Jon Hallewell When I’m Spoken To
Deb Prayer Synchroblog
Barb Prayer without Throwing Things
Patti Blount How Do I Pray
Doug Jones How I Pray
Glenn Hagar Prayer Phases
Pam Hogeweide The Art of Blue Tape Spirituality
Mary How Do I Pray?
Rhonda Mitchell Prayer SynchroBlog
John Smulo Praying Naturally
Rachel Warwick How Do You Pray?
Barbara Legere How to Not Pray
Jonathan Brink Posture - Sitting With My Daddy
Andy How Do I Pray
Cynthia Clack How Do I Pray
Makeesha Fisher The Mystery of Prayer

Labels: Reflections, Synchroblog, Worship

The Bright Field
by R. S. Thomas

I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying

on to a receeding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.


So this is my first contribution to the SynchroBlog community. I always enjoy reading the posts this group puts out and am glad for the chance to contribute. And as luck would have it (another strange serendipitous occurrence), this month's topic is one that is closely related to my recent musings on sacred places and the longing for home - Utopia.

Back in the summer of 1998, I participated in my college's study abroad program in England and Ireland. Basically I got to spend the whole summer reading great literature, visiting literary places, and discussing literary things. It was in its own indulgent way - heaven. We spent one afternoon wandering around Coole Park - the rich lush gardens where Irish poets (like Yeats) would come to escape from it all. A number of us expressed our delight at being in nature after a few weeks in Dublin. (a heartfelt sentiment from a number of us girls especially, who after being sexually attacked on one of our first nights there decided to remain in our dorms rooms after dark each night. We never got dinner and life was rather dull). Prompted by our expressions of contentment and the nature of the setting, one of our professors sat the group down in the middle of a field to discuss the temptations of Arcadia and Utopia. There are those who long for edenic Arcadia - to return to the innocence of nature and be content in a natural paradise. This of course was the appeal of Coole Park for those poets (and us college girls) wishing to escape Dublin. Then there are others who seek perfection through progress in the creation of Utopia - the master city as it were. We were warned that day of the dangers in either temptation and instructed in the need to place our hope in Heaven alone.

I see the dangers of centering our hope in Arcadia or Utopia, or Nostalgia and Progress as it were, but I can't just sooth such longings with the opiate of escapism. We are rooted beings existing here and now on this earth. That is why I love R.S. Thomas' poem The Bright Field. Perhaps the rugged Welsh landscapes breeds a different sort of poet than the Irish, but Thomas calls for a centering in and celebration of the present. "Life is not hurrying onto a receeding future, or hankering after an imagined past." It is not dreaming of idyllic days in Arcadia or pursuing the construction of Utopia, but finding contentment in living life day to day. That is real life - where the passion, the love, the hard work, and the sorrows commingle. Thomas found that contentment in the present in his role as a parish priest in rural Wales - as difficult as it could be at times.

Instead of seeking God in the past or future, we need to turn aside like Moses to the burning bush and see God in the present. I love how Elizabeth Gilbert describes this need in her book Eat, Pray, Love. She writes, "Like most humanoids, I am burdened with what Buddhists call the "monkey mind" - the thoughts that swing from limb to limb, stopping only to scratch themselves, spit and howl... [the] problem with all this swinging through the vines of thought is that you are never where you are. You are always digging in the past or poking at the future, but rarely do you rest in the moment... if you are looking for union with the divine, this kind of forward/backward whirling is a problem. There's a reason they call God a presence - because God is right here, right now."

I remember in my youth being taught that certain parts of the Bible (like the sermon on the mount) didn't matter because they would only be fulfilled in Heaven (the Kingdom of God). My whole worldview shifted when I encountered emerging thought that paid attention to the "kingdom of heaven is among you" verses. If God's Kingdom is a present reality, life become so much more than a longing for the past or future (Arcadia or Utopia). Living in God's presence is an everyday occurrence. We don't have to wait for a future perfect Utopia, but can live in the Kingdom now. It's an overwhelming idea.

The difficulty of course is understanding how exactly that plays out in each person's life. There are places on this earth that do seem like an Arcadia (fewer that resemble Utopia). Are these sacred places just meant to be places of refreshment and respite? And what about being content in one's present place? Is it just a matter of the will to find contentment whatever one's circumstances, or is the longing for "home" actually God calling a person to where she can serve God best? Are all of our desires for Arcadia and Utopia just a longing for a far off heaven, a call to follow God's kingdom now, or God pushing us to where we are meant to be?


Read other SynchroBlog Entries at -
Steve Hayes at Notes from the Underground
John Morehead at John Morehead's Musings
Nudity, Innocence, and Christian Distopia at Phil Wyman's Square No More
Utopia Today: Living Above Consumerism at Be the Revolution
Nowhere Will Be Here at Igneous Quill
A This-Worldly Faith at Elizaphanian
Bridging the Gap at Calacirian
The Ostrich and the Utopian Myth at Decompressing Faith
Being Content in the Present at One Hand Clapping
Eternity in their Hearts by Tim Abbott
Relationship - The catch-22 of the Internet Utopia at Jeremiah's Blog
U-topia or My-topia? at On Earth as in Heaven
A SecondLife Utopia at Mike's Musings
Mrs. Brown and the Kingdom of God at Eternal Echoes

Labels: Emerging Church, poetry reflections, Reflections, Synchroblog, Theology

As I continue to ponder the idea of sacred places and a longing for home, I keep coming back to the Celtic idea of "thin places." CAOL AIT - spots in the world where the physical world and the spiritual world come close, the barrier between them is thin. This idea often refers to holy sites, but also refers to in-between places and times (dawn, dusk, forest edges, the seashore). Apparently in these landscapes that are not quite one thing or another the spirit world has an easier time breaking through. As much as I find the concept of thin places appealing, I'm not entirely sure what I really think.

I remember hearing a very evangelical pastor say in a sermon once that dusk was useless. At dusk one has neither the light of day or the darkness of night, so its obviously useless. My reaction to his words was to invoke the Celtic ideas of thin places - dusk is an in-between time, the time when the fey and fairies enter our world, a time when magic can happen! Not that I necessarily believe in faeries, just in the beauty of the concept. I like the idea of there being specific places or times where one finds it easier to connect with spiritual things, but I also have some theological issues with it.

If I don't believe in a gnostic dualism that separates the physical and the spiritual and I think that God is present everywhere, how can there exist "thin places"? Would not all places and all times be equally as conducive to spiritual experiences? That is what I've always been taught - one can pray whenever and wherever. Pray in the car, pray while you run. One can even apparently find God in a state of the art, aesthetically empty, contemporary church. God truly is everywhere. But even with that theologically concept firmly in my mind, I still see evidence of "thin places."

Certain circumstances and specific places are known to help people connect with God. Is it all just psychological, and if so what does it really matter? If escaping from the ordinary to a special place helps one put aside the clutter in one's mind that crowds out God, then yes, God is more accessible in that place. If a person feels more at home - more at peace- in a certain physical location, then yes, they will mostly likely be able to experience God there. So is it just the results of our collective unconscious or consensual imagination that have us all naming the same places as functional "thin places" for us all? Is that how sacred places are formed?

I know I'm just thinking aloud here. And that these are only lighthearted musings in my attempts to reconcile my theology with my romanticism. But there is too much truth in both approaches for this to be a clear either/or. I see this in the resurgence of contemplative practices and experiential worship practiced in many emerging churches. The answers are more complex than many of us protestants were taught to believe. So I will continue to ponder and occasionally think aloud.

Labels: Emerging Church, Reflections, Theology, Worship

Sometimes it feels like the universe is conspiring to teach me something. When by seeming coincidence a certain idea presents itself to me in various forms over a short period of time. A call to consideration that if I claim to even pretend to be self aware I can't ignore. That's what happened this past week. In one form or another, I encountered the themes of faith, place, and longing. The idea that we are connected in some way to the land and that there are places in this world that resonate strongly with us - sacred places as it were. Or at least that we all suffer from a sort of "global homesickness" - the results of the disconnects present in modern society which leave us all longing for home.

It started this past week as I read Anne Bishop's novel Belladonna, the second book in her Ephemera series. It is a fantasy novel about a world where one must resonate with a particular landscape in order to live in harmony there. Being forced into landscapes not of one's heart leads to dissonance, depression, and destruction of the Light. People know intuitively what landscapes they resonate with because they feel content and whole in them - they feel at home. So as I read about resonating with the land I traveled to the beautiful woods of Northern Michigan. I found myself among family and towns that seems to share similar passions as I. So with this vague conception of connecting with the land playing through my mind, we drove the 7 hours home and by sheer coincidence ended up listening to two podcasts on that very topic. The first was Rob Bell's "Wine and Heaven" sermon (available for free download for a few more weeks here). It is an amazing sermon well worth listening to that covered a lot of ground, but in it he mentions how we have lost our connection to the earth. How we must go on vacations to get outside and be reconnected with nature (and each other). So with those words in mind we then selected to play a NPR podcast of Speaking of Faith with Krista Tippett about Pagans Ancient and Modern which brought all those themes together. The program interviewed Adrian Ivakhiv, an environmentalist at the University of Vermont and a scholar of Paganism. Who "was first drawn to Pagan literature because of its strong emphasis on ecology, the natural world, and a sense of place. He's studied how ancient Pagan ideas are woven together in Western culture and even mainstream religion. He describes a fascinating connection between magic and meaning, and between sacred landscapes and what he calls "our global condition of homesickness."

Our global condition of homesickness. A desire to reconnect and resonate with place. The idea that there is something mystical or even magical that calls us to certain places - some that we sense are sacred, others that just feel like that's where we are meant to be. I understand that desire, I feel that need to be at home. A few years ago if I had encountered such ideas, I would have immediately assumed them to be examples of what C.s. Lewis described as sehnsucht - a deep "inconsolable longing" in the human heart for "we know not what." As he put it (and then fleshed out in his famous sermon The Weight of Glory), "If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."

But I don't know if I agree with that anymore (or at least the common interpretation of it that I've been taught). I know its generally considered heresy for a Wheaton alum to question the wisdom of St. Jack, but I no longer believe that our hope is in a pie in the sky when we die sort of scenario. I'm not sure that's what Lewis was intending, but that it most assuredly how evangelicals have co-opted his words (just read John Eldredge). But our hope is not in escaping to Heaven, but in the bodily Resurrection and a New Earth (and yes I see the significance of "new" there). So, I wonder, how can we say that we are completely in exile here or that this earth is not our home? Beyond the environmental disasters such theology has permitted, it has also led to our disconnect from the land. We no longer live in the places we resonate with and long to return home (whatever that may mean). So what if the answer to that homesickness isn't some gnostic escape hatch theology, but a need to see the truth that the "pagans" have clung to all along - that we can resonate with creation, find God in the Sacred (thin) places, and actually feel at home? Or some blessed balance of both?

I want to explore this more, I need to explore it more. I have no answers just many many questions as once again assumptions I had about the nature of the universe are clouded with doubt. My journey into the emerging church conversation has led to many such questions and I appreciate the challenge to seek understanding as unsettling as it can sometimes be. I would love to hear other's thoughts on this as I work my way through it.

Labels: Environment, Personal, Reflections, Theology

Today is the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year. The day when we are blessed with the most light all year long. I love that the focus of the solstices is light not darkness. Today we celebrate the abundance of light and the life if brings to the earth. We give thanks for the first fruits of harvest and take pleasure in the warm days of summer. The focus is not on the return of the darkness but on appreciation of the light. In winter when the darkness is at its greatest, we celebrate the return of the light. We rejoice that light will always overcome the darkness.

We celebrated the Solstice with the alternative parents group I am a part of with a picnic and bubble extravaganza. (what better way to celebrate anything than to have laughing toddlers chase bubbles!) Here is Emma enjoying the occasion.

Labels: Emma, Personal, Reflections

A couple of fun things I came across that make a interesting points.

This was in today's comics. I found it amusing as someone whose car is covered in bumper stickers...



Then I found this on Facebook. It reminded me of this editorial I had recently read in the Chicago Tribune.

In The '60s, Students Conducted Sit-Ins...In 2007, We Make Facebook Groups!

A sit-in or sit-down is a form of direct action that involves one or more persons nonviolently occupying an area for protest, often to promote political, social, or economic change. Sit-ins were first widely employed by Mahatma Gandhi in Indian independence movement and were later expanded on by Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and others during the American Civil Rights Movement. In the 1960s, students used this method of protest during the student movements, such as the protests in Germany. The Young Lords in Chicago's Lincoln Park neighborhood used it successfully a full week to win community demands for low income housing investment at the Mckormick Theological Seminary.

In a sit-in, protesters usually seat themselves and remain seated until they are evicted, usually by force, or until their requests have been met. Sit-ins have been a highly successful form of protest because they cause disruption that draws attention to the protest and by proxy the protesters' cause. The forced removal of protesters and sometimes the answer of non-violence with violence often arouses sympathy from the public, increasing the chances of the demonstrators reaching their goal. Sit-ins usually occur indoors at businesses or government offices but they have also occurred in plazas, parks, and even streets.

A sit-in is similar to a sitdown strike. However, whereas a sit-in involves protesters, a sitdown strike involves striking workers occupying the area in which they would be working and refusing to leave so they can not be replaced with scabs. The sitdown strike was the precursor to the sit-in.

Sit-ins were an integral part of the non-violent strategy of civil disobedience that ultimately ended racial segregation in the United States (Wiki).

Today... Students' main strategy to oppose certain decisions and change is to create a Facebook Group. How times have changed...

The personal element is gone. More people are reached through technology, but we are not forming communities that care for each other as we care for a cause. I can just click "Add Cause" to my Facebook or add a link to my blog, but I rarely gather with those who are passionate about actually doing something about those causes. That's part of why I do my best to go to conferences and gatherings, it builds a more personal community. I can read all about debt relief and sign any number of petitions (and encourage all of you to do the same), but I think I will get a much wider perspective after I attend the JubileeUSA Grassroots Conference here in Chicago next week.

As much as I love blogging and online communities, being able to build relationships and share common passions is vital (and yes I've formed some great relationships from people I first met online). This whole issues reminded me on some of the lyrics from Jesus Christ Superstar where Judas (from the afterlife) asks Jesus "why'd you choose such a backward time And such a strange land? If you'd come today You could have reached the whole nation Israel in 4 BC had no mass communication." Reaching the whole nation in one fell swoop wasn't the point. The point was to build relationships with a group of committed followers who then could spread the message of hope of the Kingdom of God. Sure preaching and feeding 5000+ caused a stir and an emotional high for some, but it was less effective than the day to day wandering around with the disciples. That's what we need more of these days imho.

Just some thoughts. And yes, I am completely aware of the irony of using the medium of a blog to say these things. But sometimes when the kid is already in bed and all the local coffee shops close at 4 PM, this is the only available community. (which brings up the issue of the potential for those with very restricted lives - stay-at-home-moms - to actually get involved in anything, but enough rambling for now...)

Labels: Culture, Reflections, Social Justice

I was recently reminded of a faith encounter i had a number of years ago. When I was a sophomore in high school, my grandfather took the whole family skiing in Utah for Christmas. Being a Texas girl, that happened to be my first "White Christmas." Since I had never skied before, I needed some sort of instruction. We discovered that there was a Mormon group in Park City that offered free private ski lessons to the handicapped. So taking full advantage of their missional outreach program, I signed up.

My ski instructor was a young college age woman who obviously thought that getting to ski all the time was a great way to fulfill her mission requirement (sounds good to me). She reminded me of most of the zealous Christian youth I knew - excited about her faith, convinced of exclusive rightness of her religion, and generally ignorant about what she actually believed. In our ski lift conversations it became obvious that she wasn't a really intellectually aware. After discovering I was from Texas she asked me if there were actually cities in Texas and if everyone rode a horse to school. After assuring her that we do drive cars, she asked what books I like to read. I happened to be reading Thomas More's Utopia for fun over break and started telling her about it. I made the mistake of mentioning the commentary I had read that claimed that the book influenced the founding of Mormonism. She took issue with that, serious issue. God gave them their faith, no human book could ever have influenced it. I was wrong, faith is from God not man. I dropped the conversation and we got back to my pathetic attempts to ski.

Looking back I know that I would have had the same reaction if someone had told me then that there was more of Plato than Patriarchs in my faith. I came from the camp that our 20th century versions of Christianity were the way the faith always had been and always should be practiced (not that such was always explicitly taught, just that the alternatives were never mentioned). To concede cultural influences would signify change over time. I've since gone through the process of accepting the subjective nature of interpretation, the necessity for faith, and the cultural influences on my faith. Such things no longer herald the advents of the immanent destruction of my faith's foundation, but instead are fascinating avenues to be explored as I dig deeper into what I believe. But it scares some people to death. They react like the Mormon girl of the ski lift - denial and dismissal (and sometimes ridicule). It makes for difficult conversation. Not that I am any "better," I just react differently at this point in my life.

Labels: Reflections, Theology

At our church retreat this past weekend, we explored our conceptions of God. During one small group discussion the topic wandered to how our view of God affects our affinity for personal piety and missional living. Jen mentioned that in a recent class on Spiritual Formation her classmates had shared what activities shape their spiritual lives. In ranking a list of spiritual practices, social justice consistently appeared at the bottom of nearly everyone's lists. She had recently been reading Gary Haugen (IJM) who claims that God is a God of justice and that if we serve this God we will work for justice. Her question to the group was if God really is a God of justice then why is working for justice such a low priority for Christians? Who is getting it wrong?

There were of course more nuances to her question and I am reporting my perception of it as well, but it led to some good discussion. How we conceive of God - which attributes we deem most important, and which ones we ignore - has a huge affect on how we live. If we don't think that God cares about the poor (or if such a thought never crosses our radar) then why should we as Christians think that caring for the poor is a spiritual act? If we see God as most concerned with our personal relationship with him, as opposed to God being most concerned about the oppressed that is going to affect how we live. If it is all about our relationship with God, then acts of personal piety (reading our bible, praying, holy living) become most important. But if God's heart for the oppressed is focused on more then acts of justice (serving the poor, working for social change, lobbying to stop human rights violations) receive more attention. In the evangelical world that I am used to, the personal piety side has received the most attention often to the exclusion of justice issues. In fact, I've listened to sermons where the pastor said that God does not care about the poor and we should not be working to help them. But I've also heard that there are churches that focus so exclusively on justice issues that personal piety is ignored.

It would be easy to say that all that is needed is balance - equal doses of personal piety and justice - but I'm not convinced that is really the best approach. Neither approach should be ignored, but I continue to see more and more danger in the "it's all about me" approach to faith. God spoke into cultures and communities, the message of hope is for the world. If we think that we are the most important thing to God, it is a lot harder to get beyond our individualism and help others. But if we focus on God's compassion for the world, we will grow personally through the discipline of helping others. The personal piety has a place, but is something that I believe should be a natural result of our service to God and others and not the central focus of our faith.

The difficulty occurs in how to convey that message. Changing how we talk about God is a huge step. We also need to examine what cultural assumptions we bring to our interpretations of biblical texts. We can open people's eyes to themes of justice and God's compassion for the oppressed through the biblical narrative. Instead of seeing Ruth as the perfect example of the submissive and committed Christian wife (which has its own issues), we can see the sabbath practices that care for the poor being displayed.

But it has to be more than a matter of perspective. We need to stop living on the extremes. I know this approach will anger some, but I think we need to stop presenting everything as an all or nothing. Too often when faith groups talk about seeking justice they land on the "sell everything and give it to the poor" stance. We present the Shane Claibornes and Mother Teresas as our examples. And the choice becomes to either care and utterly and drastically change one's lifestyle, or to do nothing at all. The choice is so extreme that most people give up without doing anything. So while I know that there is needed discussion as to whether one can really live the American Dream and truly be seeking justice, why would doing nothing be preferable to helping people do what they can where they can? Baby steps right? So instead of telling people how evil American Idol is and telling us that we are messed up for caring more about it than the number of troops who die in Iraq (all of which may be true), I'm going to support efforts like "Idol Gives Back" that helps raise awareness and gets people doing something.

And I know this post has rambled all over the place, but I think that changing the perception of the evangelical church from a "me" centered faith to a "God/other" centered faith is a necessary step. Its a huge step that means changing our perception of who God is and changing the way we live. Missional living should be the goal, but it needs to be presented in ways that are comprehensible and doable for the average church-goer.

Labels: Reflections, Social Justice, Theology

Andrew Jones has an interesting post up about offensive language. He writes about recent offense that has been taken by the usage of certain words and then delves into the history of what offends. He proposes that in premodern times people were offended by words that were "excommunicatory in nature - offensive words were religious terms that threatened punishment and damnation." In modern times it was "words that cause most offense affront our personal and private sensibilities. These offensive words are normally associated with private body parts, bodily functions of a toilet nature, and sexual relations." In our postmodern times "it is exclusionary language that causes most offence. Marginalizing people due to their race, gender, disability or status is about the most offensive thing you can say." He then mentions the bible passages that refer to offensive language including "Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen." Eph 4:29.

Call me a stereotypical postmodern, but I understand the pre- and postmodern views on offensive language, but just can't justify the modern. Biblically if the point is not to use the Lord's name in vain (which referred to making flippant curses or oaths) or not to tear anyone down, the modern sensibility just doesn't fit. In fact the modern approach does just the opposite - instead of building people up, modern bans of "offensive language" exist to exclude and ridicule. Most of the language that is offensive under the modern sensibilities (bodily and sexual references) is called vulgar. While we have come to perceive of "vulgar" as anything bad, dirty, and lower, it was originally just a term of derision used for the lower classes. So anything associated with the poor, uneducated masses (including their language) was considered vulgar and inappropriate for civilized folk.

So usage of terms that implied that one didn't subscribe to classism, racism and the like became taboo. Proper people don't use the germanic/anglo language of the poor (shit, fuck) they use the latinate language of the rich and powerful (excrement, fornicate). Over time the taboo took on mythic dimensions. Certain words came to hold almost magical powers. Say a certain word (incant this spell) and you have sinned (cursed yourself to hell). I doubt that most Christians actually stop to think about what sort of theology they are promoting when they insist that just saying "fuck" is a sin.

The fact that for most Christians it's okay to use language of hate and derision (making fun of homosexuals, women, and other religions), but its sinful to say certain "vulgar" words displays a seriously messed up theology in my opinion. We are told to build others up with our language and encouraging language of hate while forbidding the language of the poor achieves the exact opposite. So label me as just being postmodern, but I see the more constructive (and biblical) option to be to avoid language that excludes, tears down, and ridicules. So I really don't care if someone drops the "f-bomb" but I won't abide "you throw like a girl."

So it has nothing to do with wanting to be hip and cool or selling out to the culture if I choose to use a word that for a certain period of English history was considered taboo. It has more to do with actually considering my theology of sin, understanding the call to love my neighbor, and living accordingly. But that just pushes the walls of the box a little too far for most people...

Labels: Church, Culture, Emerging Church, Reflections

My Mother's Day gift was tickets to a play of my choosing. So yesterday we dropped Emma off at a babysitter and went down to the University of Chicago's Court Theater to see one of my favorite plays - Tom Stoppard's Arcadia. We also got to wander around the campus stopping at Chicago Theological Seminary (my top choice in my wishful thinking return to school). It was a fun day and a great production of the play (read the Chicago Trib's review here).

Arcadia published in 1993 was written by Tom Stoppard (most commonly known for his play Rosencranz and Guildenstern are Dead and the screenplay for Shakespeare in Love). As explained by Wikipedia - "Arcadia explores the relationship between past and present,order and disorder, and the certainty of knowledge. It looks at the nature of evidence and truth in the context of modern ideas about history, mathematics and physics. It shows how the clues left by the past are interpreted by scholars. The play refers to a wide array of subjects, including mathematics, physics, thermodynamics, computer algorithms, fractals, population dynamics, chaos theory vs. determinism (especially in the context of love and death), classics, landscape design, romanticism vs. classicism, English literature (particularly poetry), Byron, 18th century periodicals, modern academia, and even South Pacific botany. These are the concrete topics of conversation; the more abstract philosophical resonances veer off into epistemology, nihilism, the origins of lust, and madness.

Arcadia is set in Sidley Park, an English country house in the years 1809 and 1989 alternately, juxtaposing the activities of two modern scholars and the house's current residents with the lives of those who lived there 180 years earlier. In 1809, Thomasina Coverly, the daughter of the house, is a precocious teenager with ideas about mathematics well ahead of her time. She studies with her tutor, Septimus Hodge, a friend of Lord Byron, who is an unseen guest in the house. In 1989, a writer and an academic converge on the house: Hannah Jarvis, the writer, is investigating a hermit who once lived on the grounds; Bernard Nightingale, a professor of literature, is investigating a mysterious chapter in the life of Byron. As their investigations unfold, helped by Valentine Coverly, a post-graduate student in mathematical biology, the truth about what happened in 1809 is gradually revealed. The play's set features a large table, which is used by the characters in both 1809 and 1989. Props are not removed when the play switches time period, so that the books, coffee mugs, quill pens, portfolios, and laptop computers of 1809 and 1989 appear alongside each other in a blurring of past and present. "

The title refers to the pastoral ideal of Arcadia and to the memento mori spoken by Death: "Et in Arcadia ego" ("Even in Arcadia, I exist"). This theme presented itself a few times as I reflected on the play. The concept of determinism is a constant theme in Arcadia. Are our lives determined? If we had a big enough computer (or enough time, paper, and pencils) could a formula be written that tells the future and explains the past? We can program fractals - why not everything? But if populations are "determined' to follow a formula even taking into account small fluctuations of nature (the populations of goldfish regulates) where does that leave the concept of justice? If everything (even tragedy and death) can be explained mathematically there can be no room for grief or outrage in the face of an inevitable determined universe. But death intrudes even in Arcadia and we are grieved. The influences of human emotion and love contradict the faith in an all encompassing deity of science. Romanticism and Classicalism collide.

Death also enters the play in a more concrete form. We learn that the mathematical genius Thomasina dies in a fire on the night before her seventeenth birthday (the age her mother insists she should be married by before she is "educated beyond eligibility"). Her tutor then takes up the pursuit to prove her theories, become a lunatic hermit to do so. But the death of a woman "condemned" by genius in a fire has direct parallels to the "madwoman in the attic" theory. Referring to Bertha, Rochester's insane wife in Jane Eyre, who died in a fire, this concept was adopted by feminist literary theorists as a metaphor for the madness imposed upon women when they were denied using their talents because of their sex. Here Thomasina on the verge of great discovery and threatened with the cage of conventionality finds that even in Arcadia, death exists. Paradise has its flaws (especially a paradise of human creation). For all the talk that the universe is determined - demands of society and the accidental tipping of a candle intrude to shatter dreams and introduce chaos to the mix. Understanding the fluctuation of populations of pigeons and goldfish through math and science doesn't see death as a bad thing (unless you are the pigeon), but the death of a friend and family member has a more serious effect.

Not that death is the main theme of the play, it just struck me during this encounter with the work. I was also intrigued and amused by the exploration of interpretation and truth. Our assumptions in the present influence our reading of the past. Texts takes on new meaning and small bits of evidence become the shaky foundation for entire theories. Our postmodern humility in accepting the limits of our understanding was clearly illustrated in the negative examples of characters' hubris. The discovery of knowledge and the fame in brings them prevents them from actually seeing the truth and leads to their downfall. It is a much more relevant theme to me now than it was a decade ago when I first encountered this play.

Anyway, it was a fun day and great play. It's run has just been extended if anyone in the Chicago area in interested in attending.

Labels: Book Reviews, Entertainment, Reflections

Mike has been spending a lot of time recently responding to the "Ask a Christian Pastor" series over at the Friendly Atheist blog. (go here for links to his responses). He addressed questions on biblical interpretation, hell, and why he's a Christian among other things. It has of course sparked some lively debate.

So if your interested in an emerging pastor's response to atheist's questions, go check it out. I personally don't have the patience for that sort of thing. While there are a majority of people interacting with those questions that are truly thoughtful and open-minded people, there is the vocal minority that drive me nuts. Its the same reason why I avoid most Christian message boards these days. There is a small group that thinks that their take on life, the universe, and everything is the absolutely only right way to think forever and ever amen. They are enamoured with the sound of their own voice and never actually engage in dialogue, just drown out intelligent conversation with their navel gazing (how's that for some mixed-up metaphors). Christian or atheist, it doesn't matter, I really don't have the patience for it.

And I don't have the time for games of online "Taboo." You know the game where you can't say certain words or else you get buzzed out and eliminated. That's what some of these dialogues are like. So many of the atheists have the a priori assumption that all forms of faith are just stupid and utterly unreasonable (of course ignoring the multitude of ways they make use of faith...). So when a Christian starts discussing his faith, they freak out, pull out the buzz, point the finger and say "see you talked about faith and not just reason (by which they mean science), you're out." my response - of course I'm going to talk about faith when I talk about my faith - that's a freaking no-brainer so just get over it! But of course that never happens which is why I really don't engage in those dialogues much anymore. It boils down to the fact that the biggest gap between us is not the atheism/theism divide but the modern/postmodern divide. I find the concept of scientific objective knowledge just as far-fetched as they find belief in God.

Anyway, just some random thoughts spilling out of my head as it tries to cope with a lot of other crap right now. If you're up for dialogue and learning from others, go check out Mike's posts.

Labels: Reflections

In continuing to read N.T. Wright's Evil and the Justice of God, I am intrigued by his rationale for why he dislikes the modern notion of progress. In his view, the concept of progress that sees the world as basically a good place with its problems eventually to be eradicated through technology, education, development, and Westernization has lead to the three major issues with the problem of evil in out day.

1. We ignore evil when it doesn't hit us in the face. For example, we know Al-Queda was a threat, but didn't take it seriously until it was too late. This of course raises the question as to how our ignoring the issues of third world debt and global warming will eventually play out.

2. We are surprised by evil when it does hit us in the face. We expect places to be safe and people to be good. We have removed death from our homes to the hospitals. So when evil, harm, and death appear it takes us by surprise and we do not have the means to understand it when it intrudes in our life.

3. As a result, when evil appears we react in immature and dangerous ways. We either

a. Project evil on to others and blame them for our woes. It's always then someone else's fault - it's society's fault, it's the government's fault, and I am an innocent victim. Society's ills are caused by terrorists, illegal immigrants, drug dealers, and criminals.

or we

b. Project evil on to ourselves and blame ourselves. The terrorists are terrorists because of what we allowed to happen in their countries, illegal immigrants are fleeing the effects of our foreign policy...

Wright acknowledges the elements of truth is both extreme views, but asserts that it should not be an either/or. Wright recommends that we take to heart the view of Alexander Solzhenitsyn that the line between good and evil is never between "us" and "them." The line between good and evil runs through each of us.

I generally like his criticism of the current way of viewing evil. I see how I have leaned to far into both of the "immature" responses at various points in my life. But I find myself wondering if being surprised by evil is really such a bad thing.

I understand the need not to be naive or innocent in regard to evil. I fully admit that evil exists and that it is a seriously problem. But I think that becoming callous to evil is just as dangerous as not expecting evil to happen to you and then being surprised. So perhaps surprised isn't the word I am looking for. Offended might be a better choice. Offended that evil occurs and hurts people. In taking offense at evil, one still cares but is not so overwhelmed by evil that one is too paralyzed to respond. Accepting that evil exists should never cause us to forget that this is not the way the world is meant to be.

Labels: Book Reviews, Reflections

This is the concluding post in my series of responses to the questions I posted as part of last month's book discussion on Colossians Remixed by Brian Walsh and Sylvia Keesmaat over at the Emerging Women blog. (read my other responses - here).

Question #8 -

"We can argue until we are blue in the face that Colossians is good news for an oppressed and marginalized community at the heart of the Roman empire, but unless this good news is for those truly at the margins - slaves, children, and women- it is nothing but a noisy gong and a clanging cymbal." (p201). But the household codes in Colossians 3:18 -4:1 have more often been interpreted as justification for oppression of those groups instead of good news. The authors address this issue through a fantastic expanded account of Onesimus (the slave) and Nympha (who had a house church) - the whole book is worth just this story imho. The authors propose that the household codes can be interpreted as (1) Just an affirmation of the imperial view of the household, the Aristotelian hierarchy of man over women and all that (not likely if this letter is about subverting empire and not being captive to the philosophies of men). (2) A loving patriarchy when the wives and slaves choose to submit and husband (amazingly enough) love and not beat their wives (wow - that seems full of hope). or (3) Paul is challenging the status quo by promoting the freedom and full rights of women and slaves. He couldn't of course say so directly because to commit that to writing would lead to serious persecution from the empire for such revolutionary practices. But the language he uses connotes the themes of inheritance and jubilee. Remember that Colossians was delivered and read with Philemon (about treating a slave as an equal), the subversion is evident. Are we willing to challenge systems that oppress others if it means questioning the philosophies and assumptions of empire (ending global slavery, grant equal rights to women, not treating children as commodities)?

This is of course one of the most controversial parts of the book (bring up equality for women and you’re bound to find controversy). The idea that Paul was intending a certain meaning through his use of allusions to inheritance and jubilee that he couldn’t say outright challenges the assumptions of many contemporary Bible readers. The average reader is so used to assuming that their 21st century cultural lenses and vague familiarity with English versions of the Bible is all they need to fully grasp the Biblical text. Try to suggest that there may be elements there that a 1st century reader would hear, but which require a tad more complex reading from the reader today and one is met with cries of “the Gospel is simple enough for a child to understand, how dare you assume the masses need education and intellect to understand God’s word!” (a claim that I have issues with, but which is believed as gospel truth by many).

But assuming that the household codes listed here and the language that surrounds them really does claim a revolutionary inclusion of all, then what does that mean for us now? Perhaps to forget these passages as confining the church to rules and philosophies that don’t even make sense in our culture today and instead see them as messages of hope that can alter our world for good. To recall the language of jubilee and shalom they connote and actually put that into practice. To live in this subversive and revolutionary way.

I always laugh when I hear Christians tell me that I’m just being influenced by the world when I stand up for women’s rights. In what universe do they live in where women actually have equal rights in the dominant culture? Where do women actually receive equal pay and benefits? Where do women not have to live in fear of being raped or trafficked into sexual slavery? Where are women appreciated as people instead of sex objects? Where do women get the same publishing and speaking opportunities as men? I’m not giving into the world - I’m trying to subvert the world by promoting women’s equality. It’s the church that has sold itself to the lies of hierarchy and inequality.

And it gets worse when slavery is brought up. The fact that our clothes, our food, our junk is made at best by underpaid workers in sweatshops and at worst by abused slaves doesn’t seem to bother most people. It keeps our stuff cheap and helps our economy. To care about those people would just be hurting ourselves and our country. Phrases like “you can’t change the laws of economics” or “those jobs are better than what they had before” get thrown around as poor excuses for not giving a damn. (and don’t even get me started on the people who say that if those poor people would just live morally, then they would have better options available to them). When it’s our greed that brought about most of the conditions for slavery worldwide and it is our greed that sustains it, it is up to us to fix the mess we created.

Guess what. This might take sacrifice. To live for Christ and the values of the Kingdom just might mean having to deal with some hardships. Maybe we can stop seeing “carrying the cross” as not getting to pray in school or not having our candidate win and start having to actually identify with Christ by caring for those he cared about. By being willing to pay workers a fair wage, to not support the (cheap readily available) products that were made by slave using companies, to stand against sexism even when the church openly supports it (and labels you a liberal feminist). These are lessons, I’m still learning. To get over my sense of entitlement and wanting to be liked by everyone in order to actually live for Christ.

Labels: Colossians Remixed, Gender Issues, Reflections, Social Justice

This post is part of my ongoing response to the questions I posted as part of this month's book discussion on Colossians Remixed by Brian Walsh and Sylvia Keesmaat over at the Emerging Women blog. (read my other responses - here).

Question #7 -

If Christians are not to be at home in an empire characterized by sexual sin, greed, and violence, the authors ask what should the Kingdom look like? They proposed a life lived where the peace of the victim of an empire is spread, where community is lived, gratitude is practiced, and worship proclaims that Christ not Caesar is Lord of our lives. Practical suggestions the authors give include - pledging our allegiance to Christ not to the empire; investing as much each year in the hurtings present needs as we do in our future retirement; paying attention to where our food comes from and what's in it; setting up food co-ops where you can get food produced as locally as possible, in environmentally responsible ways, and that seeks to do justice to the producer of the food; be ecologically responsible by reducing our use of cars and start walking. biking, or using (or lobbying for) public transit; be good stewards of the ecosystem and stop dumping diapers (for babies or women) into the landfills (and hence streams and rivers). How do you react to those suggestions? What else could you add?

I like all of their suggestions. I care about those things. And yet I don’t always live that out. I’ve blogged on that issue before (here). Sometimes, I don’t know what exactly to do to change things. If I care about stuff like this and still have issues living it out, how can I ever hope to encourage others to live justly?

Plus most of the time I just really don’t know what to say. When my friends and family start going off on things that really contradict my values and understanding of the Kingdom I generally just don’t say anything. I’m torn. I want to share what I am passionate about, but I don’t want to do it in an argumentative way or in a way that invalidates the things they are passionate about. So I don’t say anything and let them assume I completely agree with them.

For example. Easter. We didn’t do the whole egg thing this year. I didn’t want to stuff plastic eggs with cheap crap made in Asian sweat shops nor with unhealthy unneeded candy made by child slaves. I also didn’t want to waste food by dying eggs nor spend money on cheap eggs that support environmentally and ethically harmfully practices. But all my friends were talking about those things. Who has the best price on eggs? On candy? When can we get together to dye eggs? I don’t know what to do in those situations. Do I explain my choices, do I question their choices, and do I endure the “OMG what a religious freak who won’t let her child enjoy life” accusations? (which I of course said about the families who banned the Easter bunny because it detracts from the real meaning of Easter. And shudder that I am coming to the same lifestyle conclusions as the fundamentalists but for completely different reasons)

So this isn’t really a real answer here. Just to say that I find it really easy to write about stuff like this on my blog, but find it a lot harder to consistently put it into practice or to share it with the people I interact with everyday.

Labels: Colossians Remixed, Reflections, Social Justice

The mass killing at Virginia Tech yesterday is on everyone's minds. It is hard to understand the why, but I found some of the information released in today's news to be disturbing -

The suspected gunman in the Virginia Tech shooting rampage, Cho Seung-Hui, was a troubled 23-year-old senior from South Korea who investigators believe left an invective-filled note in his dorm room, sources say. ...
A note believed to have been written by Cho was found in his dorm room that railed against "rich kids," "debauchery" and "deceitful charlatans" on campus....
Timothy Johnson, a student from Annandale, Va., said people would say hello to Cho in passing, but nobody knew him well.
"People are pretty upset," Johnson said. "He's a monster; he can't be normal. I can't believe I said 'hi' to him in the hall and then he killed all those people."

Two things struck me. How Cho's suppossed "reasons" for the attack parallel some of the reasons given for 9/11. And then the response of the fellow student. Just the assumption that to be nice to someone who is abnormal or even evil is so out of the question.

I in no way want to justify Cho's actions or blame the victim's for his choices. I know we don't know much about Cho and what other issues he was dealing with. But I have to wonder at how people like him are pushed to the edge. When normal people won't interact with the guy who's a bit off, when one sees valid concerns in the structure of society and feels powerless to have a voice against them - what then are constructive ways to work for change?

I know I get frustrated by how the normal response to me by my friends is just to roll their eyes or make fun of me when I go off on one of my liberal hippie jesusy rants. And on the national scale when countries don't change the way we want them to, we go on killing sprees with bombs. I guess that's what my rambling is leading to - trying to figure out how to change the world effectively without resorting to violence or despair. That's what's running through my head as I reflect in shock on the recent events.

Labels: Culture, Reflections

This post is part of my ongoing response to the questions I posted as part of this month's book discussion on Colossians Remixed by Brian Walsh and Sylvia Keesmaat over at the Emerging Women blog. (read my other responses - here).

Question #3 -

Poetry of subversion. The authors explore how the hymn presented in Colossians 1:15-20 is a hymn of subversion of Empire. It takes the language of Empire and proclaims the supremacy of Christ over Caesar - radical, subversive, dangerous. They then contribute a "targum" (an extended translation and expansion that reads our world through the eyes of the text) of this passage. You can read it on p.85 or here. (and a short article on the point they are making here). What is your reaction to the poem? Does this imagination of an alternative to empire make sense?

I love that poem/hymn. We do live in a culture of images vying for our attention, or allegiance, our time and our money. The numbers vary, but it is thought that an individual is generally exposed to around 600 advertisements per day. We pay companies for the right to wear their name brand on our chest or butts.

I watch TV, I buy stuff, I surf the web (a lot). I don’t see any of that stuff as evil in and of itself. In fact most of that stuff has and can be used for good. I see the value in patronage and support and sponsorship. Issues arise though when said images and economic structures dominate our consciousness. When we allow the greed promoted by our economic system to let us forget that Christ is the image we should focus on. As Walsh writes, “this means that the ideology of economic growth is not Lord over our lives. We are not subservient to the imperatives of consumerism, ecological despoliation, technological innovation, and seeking our own self-interested security because we are subjects of another kingdom. We are committed to submitting our lives - including our economic aspirations, consumer habits, ecological practice, political involvement - to the one in whom, through whom and for whom all things are created.”

So this is about being image bearers for Christ rather than for someone else. I personally don’t see this as a polemic against style but an attitude encouragement. And neither is the point to eschew name brands in favor of whatever the cheap brand is. The allure of Walmart is just as seductive as that of Abercrombie – when both challenge the supremacy of Christ’s love by using his children in sweatshops our patronage of either demonstrates our allegiance to an economic system over Christ.

I don’t do a very good job at this. I live in suburbia. So many days I really don’t stop to think if my economic purchases put Christ first. Scratch that, most days it is only about my needs and wants. The poem proclaims -
the church reimagines the world
in the image of the invisible God

I’m trying to figure that out. To see the good in stuff. To not be a slave to systems of greed. To think about if my purchases are just. To be an image bearer.

Labels: Book Reviews, Colossians Remixed, Reflections, Theology

This post is part of my ongoing response to the questions I posted as part of this month's book discussion on Colossians Remixed by Brian Walsh and Sylvia Keesmaat over at the Emerging Women blog. (read my other responses - here).

So Question #2 -

Empires are defined here as (1) built on systemic centralizations of power, (2) secured by structures of socioeconomic and military control, (3) religiously legitimated by powerful myths and (4) sustained by a proliferation of imperial images that captivate the imagination of the population. In comparing how both the Roman and current Western empires maintain the status quo of privilege and oppression the authors give the examples of "most major corporations use the equivalent of slave labor to produce clothing, toys, tools and some foods. Most of this labor is done by people in Asia, Latin America or Africa. While cash-crops farmers include both men and women, the majority of those who work in sweatshops, on coffee plantations and in the sex trade are women and children. ... although our culture does not openly subscribe to an ethos of patriarchy, racism, and classism, the effects of the global economic market create the same kind of societal dynamic that was present in first-century Rome." (p 59-60). I want to ask the same questions the authors then ask - "In the face of an empire that rules through military and economic control, what is the shape of a community that serves a ruler who brings reconciliation and peace by sacrificial death rather than military might? If the empire elevates economic greed and avarice into civic virtues, while Paul dismisses such a way of life as idolatrous, then how does a Christian community shaped by Paul's gospel live life in the empire?" (p61).

Start calling America an empire and you get in trouble (even if you are the Vice President). Granted I’ve heard dispensational interpretations of Daniel’s vision that insist that Rome never fell so we are therefore still living in that fourth empire waiting for the seventieth week pre-trib rapture and all that, but even then the spin was pro-America.

I agree with Walsh and Keesmaat that America is an empire in the tradition of Rome and I don’t think that’s a good thing. The very raison d’etre of empire is power which directly contradicts the way of service and love preached by Jesus. But the systems and values of empire creep into the lives of its people, even those who ostensibly profess other values. Under the Roman empire the apostles had to combat warped values like it being okay to use people as slaves if it increased your profit or made your life easier; if you didn’t like another people group or wanted resources off their land, you liberated them of such land; sexual promiscuity and gluttony being considered natural indulgences of one’s appetites; and women being seen as mindless sex objects. But of course that’s all different today, right?

What really gets me is the subtle replacement of the values of the cross with the values of empire. The propaganda machines that push the virtues of the state have swayed Christians so that now civic virtues are promoted and Christian virtues questioned. When I can sit in a church and hear sermons in support of capitalism, preemptive war, racial discrimination, and sexism and fail to hear the words of Jesus actually preached, empire has won. When we sing hymns in praise of our country and think that forcing our children to say creeds of allegiance to an idol is a form of Christian witness, empire has won. When it is more important to be patriotic than care about the children we blew up, then empire has won. We have been taken captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world rather than on Christ.

So how do we live in this empire? How do we love and not fear and yet challenge that which promotes evil? How can we (and I am very much included in this) stop pointing fingers at individual sins and actually think about how we’ve bought into (been indoctrinated into?) the values of empire? Can we stop trying the mesh or replace the values of the Kingdom with the values of the empire? Basically can we take a step back and ask why? Why do I believe/buy/promote this? Is this really a good thing? Does this fit into Jesus’ message? What is Jesus’ message anyway? How do I need to change?

Labels: Book Reviews, Colossians Remixed, Reflections, Theology

In reflecting on Good Friday, I was reminded of W.H Auden's poem "Horae Canonica" which is a procession through the divine hours on Good Friday (in its own way). This section stood out to me -

From W.H. Auden's Horae Canonica -

What we know to be not possible,
Though time after time foretold
By wild hermits, by shaman and sybil
Gibbering in their trances,
Or revealed to a child in some chance rhyme
Like will and kill, comes to pass
Before we realize it: we are surprised
At the ease and speed of our deed
And uneasy: It is barely three,
Mid-afternoon, yet the blood
Of our sacrifice is already
Dry on the grass; we are not prepared
For silence so sudden and so soon;
The day is too hot, too bright, too still,
Too ever, the dead remains too nothing.
What shall we do till nightfall?


The wind has dropped and we have lost our public.
The faceless many who always
Collect when any world is to be wrecked,
Blown up, burnt down, cracked open,
Felled, sawn in two, hacked through, torn apart,
Have all melted away: not one
Of these who in the shade of walls and trees
Lie sprawled now, calmly sleeping,
Harmless as sheep, can remember why
He shouted or what about
So loudly in the sunshine this morning;
All if challenged would reply
-'It was a monster with one red eye,
A crowd that saw him die, not I.-
The hangman has gone to wash, the soldiers to eat;
We are left alone with our feat.


The Madonna with the green woodpecker,
The Madonna of the fig-tree,
The Madonna beside the yellow dam,
Turn their kind faces from us
And our projects under construction,
Look only in one direction,
Fix their gaze on our completed work:
Pile-driver, concrete-mixer,
Crane and pick-axe wait to be used again,
But how can we repeat this?
Outliving our act, we stand where we are,
As disregarded as some
Discarded artifact of our own,
Like torn gloves, rusted kettles,
Abandoned branch-lines, worn lop-sided
Grindstones buried in nettles.


This mutilated flesh, our victim,
Explains too nakedly, too well,
The spell of the asparagus garden,
The aim of our chalk-pit game; stamps,
Birds' eggs are not the same, behind the wonder
Of tow-paths and sunken lanes,
Behind the rapture on the spiral stair,
We shall always now be aware
Of the deed into which they lead, under
The mock chase and mock capture,
The racing and tussling and splashing,
The panting and the laughter,
Be listening for the cry and stillness
To follow after: wherever
The sun shines, brooks run, books are written,
There will also be this death.

Today we celebrate the goodness of the day God died. For Christians this day defines who God is, for others this day proves that our religion is untrue because gods don't die. What strikes me today is the ordinariness of this day. I had my morning coffee, I will fix dinner tonight, I will take my daughter to playgroup. Perhaps Good Friday doesn't disrupt my life enough. Our church is holding services/events on Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday this year. So Good Friday must be remembered in the ordinariness of everyday life.

But isn't that as it should be? That the death of Christ should influence and change everything? That enacting the ritual of the everyday should be imbued with the significance of Christ? That there is something different about changing the diapers, cutting the grass, or doing the dishes because of this death?

But that change occurs in two ways. At first those habits seem so ordinary as to be meaningless. In the shadow of cosmic redemption dramas, our daily actions seem so pointless and boring. Yet at the same time in light of the call that cosmic drama gave to each of us, those actions now take on new meaning. They become part of the drama, a way of identifying with the story. Acts of remembrance and service and hope.

So I will walk through my everyday rituals today in hope. In knowing that this day is good and that this death has changed the ordinary forever.

Labels: Reflections, Via Crucis Gridbllog