. . .looking back, the me that woke up the morning of September 11 seems so charmingly naieve - I could not in my wildest dreams have imagined the horrendous crash and burn that was about to happen, not only in New York, but in my own life.
I was up early. I had an 8 am class, which I typically tried to avoid, but it couldn't be helped that semester.
Pauline Epistles with Dr. Craig Koester.
That's where I was when it happened.
Blissfully oblivious.
I don't remember which epistle Koester was lecturing on that day.
I do remember the second class was over, Dr. Diane Jacobson calmly walked in to the room and somberly told us "There has been a terrorist attack on the United States, airplanes have been hijacked and flown into the World Trade Towers and the Pentagon. It is not certain whether there are other planes or what their targets may be. We are gathering in the chapel."
WHAT?
I went to chapel. I don't remember exactly what we said and did. . .a lot of praying, and speaking and singing lament psalms, I think.
My memories of the day are like that - certain things are crystal clear, while others are vague and hazy.
I do remember - clearly - it felt like time slowed down and the day would never end.
I was supposed to go to God, Evil, and Suffering next.
Ha.
But my neighbor Dana was expecting her cousin Sebastian to land later that day, coming to visit from Germany. But everything had been shut down, and who's to say where he was? And Dana didn't speak German. I went and explained the situation to Drs. Sponheim and Fretheim, and they said, by all means, go help your friend find her cousin.
His plane was halfway over the Atlantic Ocean when the pilot abruptly announced the United States had closed its borders and its airspace, they were turning around for Europe immediately.
I can't imagine what it must have been like for him to hear that, sitting on that plane, halfway through a long journey he'd been planning and looking forward to for months. I would have asked myself, "What do you mean, they closed the borders? WTH is happening on the ground?"
But at least he was safe, and made it back to his family alright.
From there I must have eaten something for lunch, though I doubt I had an appetite. And I must have finished out the very full day of class, with Lutheran Confessions, and Preaching. . .but honestly those parts of the day are also fuzzy.
I was working for Pilgrim Lutheran at the time, and they pulled together a prayer vigil that evening. I do remember going to that.
And I distinctly remember yelling at God the entire drive to the church: "Where were you? Where ARE you? Do you not care that we are perishing? Do you not understand what this means. . .with THIS President in particular at the helm?. . ."
I distinctly remember praying for our enemies at the service, because I could not fathom what kind of hell a person must live in, day in and day out, that would lead them to see such a suicide mission as their best and only way forward.
I distinctly remember all the hope and joy of the summer being sucked completely out of me in a matter of moments, as if a Dementor had followed Dr. Jacobson into the room, then grabbed hold and followed me out of it.
For me, September 11 was the beginning of a year of absolute hell, and an epically dark night of the soul. That journey was long, and is a story for another day.
Today in her sermon, Jen asked us, 10 years later, where do we find hope?
Which was a hard question because over the past few months, the devolving state of various situations in the world, which we never seem to gain traction on, have left me feeling increasingly hopeless and fearing we are, collectively, hell-bent on getting to a Fahrenheit 451/Clockwork Orange kind of world as fast as we possibly can.
Perhaps my old Dementor has been lingering a little too close lately, but I really had to think about this question.
I decided - I find hope in the people who choose life, who live life abundantly, who relentlessly rebuild this world even as others actively tear it down.
And I find hope in the God who continues to create beauty and truth and goodness, even out of the chaos and the rubble.
I give thanks to God for both Jen and Jeni, two of the saints in my life who give me hope, and for the brilliant sermons they each preached this morning.
And I leave you with this prayer, which we sang in worship today (though I thank another hopeful saint, Choral Girl, for this particular link):
Showing posts with label theology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theology. Show all posts
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Arguments I Don't Hear Much Part 2
The gospel lesson this morning reminded me that I had not yet written this post. To refresh your brains, part 1 was the political argument. This part is the biblical/religious argument.
So, one of the major critiques often launched against "liberal" positions on homosexuality within the church is that those who hold such opinions are antinomian (aka anti-law). Because Leviticus and Romans and yadda yadda yadda all clearly state this is wrong, so if you want to say it's not wrong you clearly just want to torch the Bible and dance on its grave. Or (less dramatically, and perhaps more nerve-wracking) you're setting up your own arbitrary criteria for what we follow and what we don't, and (this is the real concern) where will it stop? If you're wiling to "pitch" some parts of the Bible, whats to stop you from pitching the whole thing?
This is a very "brick wall" mentality regarding the Bible - every "brick" (verse) has equal size, weight, and value, and is rock solid, not flexible at all - and the fear is if you punch out enough bricks you compromise the integrity and stability of the whole structure.
A lot of people have this understanding of the Bible. But it's not the only way to think about it. A contrasting image is that of a trampoline, and thinking of the verses as the springs that hold it together. You can take a few springs out of a trampoline and it will still function, but more importantly, springs have give, they are flexible.
(we interrupt this post to give props to Rob Bell's Velvet Elvis, because that's who I'm stealing these images from - if you haven't read this book yet, you should)
Now before anybody gets all "You're pulling springs out of the trampoline? That's antinomian!" on me, please let me clarify that I'm NOT pulling springs out of the trampoline, and I'm not advocating that anybody else should either. I AM advocating that we should all be thinking of Bible verses as more like springs and less like bricks.
And I advocate that in part because that's kind of what we'd been doing for centuries. The law has never been so black and white, so cut and dried, as some folks like to make it out to be. You'd think something like "Thou shalt not steal" would be, but there are volumes of rabbinic debates and commentary as to when this law is bound and when this law is loosed.
Let me explain: let's say you are walking along and you spot a $100 bill on the ground. If you pick it up, is that stealing? It depends, say the rabbis. If you just pick it up and put it in your pocket without making any effort to look around and seek out who may have dropped it, then the law is bound, and yes, you are stealing from your neighbor. But if you make every good faith effort to return the money to its rightful owner and cannot find them no matter how hard you try, then the law is loosed, you may keep the money and you are not breaking the commandment.
This is a broad generalization of the kinds of reflection and rabbinic debate that would happen all the time. In reality it would go much deeper and in greater detail, but hopefully with this small example you get the picture.
Jesus himself was steeped in this tradition. In fact, we see him engaging in it in Matthew 12 when the Pharisees come after him and the disciples for plucking grain (aka doing work) on the Sabbath, a clear violation of their cut and dried understanding of the third commandment, to remember the Sabbath and keep it holy. Jesus counters with arguments as to why the law in this case should be loosed, and like a good case lawyer, he even cites historical precedent (King David, no less).
(we interrupt this post once again to give props to Mark Allan Powell's How Lutherans Interpret the Bible, because that's who I'm stealing these examples from - if you haven't yet watched this DVD series, you should)
Ok, so what does all this have to do with arguments you don't hear much and the gospel from this morning?
Namely this: in this morning's gospel, Jesus gives the church the power to bind and to loose. My Catholic brothers and sisters interpret this passage as giving only Peter and Peter's successors (aka the Popes) this authority, but we Protestants interpret it more broadly as the body of Christ, the church, having this power.
And we've used it. Repeatedly. I love ham and pork and bacon, others love shrimp and lobster, and we all eat these things freely because collectively the body of Christ decided to loose the Levitical kosher laws. The laws (which are pretty clear cut) are still sitting there in the Bible, no one has thrown those springs out, no one is "against" them, but we have decided they've got give and they are no longer binding upon the community. Similarly, I am a woman who is ordained and regularly speaks in worship, because the part of the body of Christ that is the ELCA collectively decided to loose the "law" in the Pauline letters that forbids women from speaking in church (though I am cognizant that several other members of the body have declared this law is still bound).
To me, it makes logical sense to extend this power to bind and to loose the law to the passages forbidding homosexuality. And to me, that is essentially what certain members of the body (the ELCA among them) have done, declared collectively (if rather contentiously) that these laws are indeed loosed. They are still sitting there, right next to the kosher laws in some instances, we have not thrown them out, but we have decided they are no longer binding.
I don't think that's being antinomian. I also don't think it's such a bad argument. My question is: why do I feel like I'm the only one I ever hear making it? In all the debates I heard leading up to the Churchwide Assembly in 2009, in all the debates I heard on the floor of the 2009 CWA (I volunteered as a page), in all the continued fighting and controversy in the wake of those decisions (in which many who have been leaving have gifted us with parting jabs about abandoning the Bible), I don't recall hearing anybody make this case. And I can't help but wonder why.
So, one of the major critiques often launched against "liberal" positions on homosexuality within the church is that those who hold such opinions are antinomian (aka anti-law). Because Leviticus and Romans and yadda yadda yadda all clearly state this is wrong, so if you want to say it's not wrong you clearly just want to torch the Bible and dance on its grave. Or (less dramatically, and perhaps more nerve-wracking) you're setting up your own arbitrary criteria for what we follow and what we don't, and (this is the real concern) where will it stop? If you're wiling to "pitch" some parts of the Bible, whats to stop you from pitching the whole thing?
This is a very "brick wall" mentality regarding the Bible - every "brick" (verse) has equal size, weight, and value, and is rock solid, not flexible at all - and the fear is if you punch out enough bricks you compromise the integrity and stability of the whole structure.
A lot of people have this understanding of the Bible. But it's not the only way to think about it. A contrasting image is that of a trampoline, and thinking of the verses as the springs that hold it together. You can take a few springs out of a trampoline and it will still function, but more importantly, springs have give, they are flexible.
(we interrupt this post to give props to Rob Bell's Velvet Elvis, because that's who I'm stealing these images from - if you haven't read this book yet, you should)
Now before anybody gets all "You're pulling springs out of the trampoline? That's antinomian!" on me, please let me clarify that I'm NOT pulling springs out of the trampoline, and I'm not advocating that anybody else should either. I AM advocating that we should all be thinking of Bible verses as more like springs and less like bricks.
And I advocate that in part because that's kind of what we'd been doing for centuries. The law has never been so black and white, so cut and dried, as some folks like to make it out to be. You'd think something like "Thou shalt not steal" would be, but there are volumes of rabbinic debates and commentary as to when this law is bound and when this law is loosed.
Let me explain: let's say you are walking along and you spot a $100 bill on the ground. If you pick it up, is that stealing? It depends, say the rabbis. If you just pick it up and put it in your pocket without making any effort to look around and seek out who may have dropped it, then the law is bound, and yes, you are stealing from your neighbor. But if you make every good faith effort to return the money to its rightful owner and cannot find them no matter how hard you try, then the law is loosed, you may keep the money and you are not breaking the commandment.
This is a broad generalization of the kinds of reflection and rabbinic debate that would happen all the time. In reality it would go much deeper and in greater detail, but hopefully with this small example you get the picture.
Jesus himself was steeped in this tradition. In fact, we see him engaging in it in Matthew 12 when the Pharisees come after him and the disciples for plucking grain (aka doing work) on the Sabbath, a clear violation of their cut and dried understanding of the third commandment, to remember the Sabbath and keep it holy. Jesus counters with arguments as to why the law in this case should be loosed, and like a good case lawyer, he even cites historical precedent (King David, no less).
(we interrupt this post once again to give props to Mark Allan Powell's How Lutherans Interpret the Bible, because that's who I'm stealing these examples from - if you haven't yet watched this DVD series, you should)
Ok, so what does all this have to do with arguments you don't hear much and the gospel from this morning?
Namely this: in this morning's gospel, Jesus gives the church the power to bind and to loose. My Catholic brothers and sisters interpret this passage as giving only Peter and Peter's successors (aka the Popes) this authority, but we Protestants interpret it more broadly as the body of Christ, the church, having this power.
And we've used it. Repeatedly. I love ham and pork and bacon, others love shrimp and lobster, and we all eat these things freely because collectively the body of Christ decided to loose the Levitical kosher laws. The laws (which are pretty clear cut) are still sitting there in the Bible, no one has thrown those springs out, no one is "against" them, but we have decided they've got give and they are no longer binding upon the community. Similarly, I am a woman who is ordained and regularly speaks in worship, because the part of the body of Christ that is the ELCA collectively decided to loose the "law" in the Pauline letters that forbids women from speaking in church (though I am cognizant that several other members of the body have declared this law is still bound).
To me, it makes logical sense to extend this power to bind and to loose the law to the passages forbidding homosexuality. And to me, that is essentially what certain members of the body (the ELCA among them) have done, declared collectively (if rather contentiously) that these laws are indeed loosed. They are still sitting there, right next to the kosher laws in some instances, we have not thrown them out, but we have decided they are no longer binding.
I don't think that's being antinomian. I also don't think it's such a bad argument. My question is: why do I feel like I'm the only one I ever hear making it? In all the debates I heard leading up to the Churchwide Assembly in 2009, in all the debates I heard on the floor of the 2009 CWA (I volunteered as a page), in all the continued fighting and controversy in the wake of those decisions (in which many who have been leaving have gifted us with parting jabs about abandoning the Bible), I don't recall hearing anybody make this case. And I can't help but wonder why.
Monday, May 30, 2011
It's The End of the World As We Know It But I Feel Fine
This post is a week overdue - I was having too much fun the day of the supposed rapture to comment upon it. Which is actually the first thing I'd want to say about the supposed rapture, anyway. When it comes to the end of the world, I hold with my brother and forefather in faith, Martin Luther, who once said that if he knew the world was ending tomorrow, he'd go out and plant a tree today. I spent last Saturday enjoying a full "tree-planting" kind of day with my best friends and the bambino, so had the world actually come to an end Saturday night, I would have had no regrets.
But as it was, I had neither fear, nor joy, nor thought that the world was actually going to come to an end on Saturday. Now, don't get me wrong- as a practicing Christian, I confess weekly the belief that Christ will come again. But as a practicing Christian, I also have no pretense of understanding what that's going to look like or when it's going to happen. Jesus wasn't really the Messiah anybody expected back in his own day, so I have no reason to believe he's going to return in any form or manner that I might anticipate today. Better to forgo my own expectations and just pray for the wisdom to recognize him when he comes (including but not limited to his presence in the Other right this very minute).
The one thing I have a pretty strong hunch about is that when he comes again, he'll be coming down to us, to be with us. I mean, that was his M.O. the first time, and the Bible from start to finish is pretty consistent about God's passion for the whole of creation (not just humanity). What I'm trying to say is, despite what many have turned it into, Christianity is not a religion of escapism. It's not all about me and Jesus and my personal salvation, and it's not all about Jesus whisking all the Christians away to safety before the biggest proverbial pile hits the fan. Those are corruptions of a faith that from its beginning was thoroughly incarnational and communal, a faith that is about deep abiding in and with the neighbor and the world.
Which leads me to the second thing I'd want to say about the supposed rapture: that there isn't any. It's not biblical. It's certainly not in the book of Revelation. It is at best a twisted interpretation of a verse from 1 Thessalonians.
This bears repeating, so let me say it once again: there is no rapture in the book of Revelation. You don't have to take my word for it - read the book for yourself. Revelation is a letter, to seven churches in Asia Minor. Seven churches existing in radically different circumstances - running the gamut from being persecuted for their faith to being on easy street and completely lax in their faith practices. This one letter is attempting to address seven churches in all these varying contexts at the same time. It's looking to simultaneously afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted. At the very end of the letter (towards the goal of comforting the afflicted) it speaks of a new heaven and a new earth coming down. But nowhere within Revelation is there any talk of a rapture, period, let alone one that is taking people up up and away.
So where do the Millenialists (folks enraptured with the rapture - not to be confused with the generation known as the millenials!) get this idea from? 1 Thessalonians 4:17, "Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord forever." The wider context of this verse is:
A couple things to note:
1. Paul says to encourage one another with these words, not scare the crap out of each other with these words, and not hold yourself holier than all others with these words. This is pastoral theology addressed to those who are wondering "What's going to happen to all who have died before Jesus comes again? And what's going to happen to me if I happen to be alive when Jesus comes again?" - it's meant to be a comforting and hopeful vision of what that might look like.
2. Paul is pretty clear that the dead will be raised first, and then God will deal with the living. This means that there is no rapture, no living people spontaneously getting whisked off to some heavenly safehouse to get front row seats to the immanent demise of the world. Even if you want to be incredibly generous in entertaining this as a possible interpretation of verse 17, the surrounding context makes it pretty clear that the zombie apocalypse will precede any rapturing of living people, and the verses immediately following (in the beginning chapter 5, which I did not quote above) are equally clear that no one will know, expect, or anticipate any of this ahead of time.
But, because prooftexting is one of America's favorite pastimes, Millenialists grab vs. 17 out its own context, put their own twisted spin on it (much easier to do out of context) and then tack it on to all the weird scary junk in Revelation [and only the weird scary junk, they conveniently ignore all the beautiful visions in Revelation of what it's like to be in the presence of God - I'm particularly fond of those parts because there's a lot of singing involved ;) ] To this abomination they also add some equally twisted selectively chosen verses from the book of Daniel and then huff and puff about knowing both the what and the when of the end of the world.
And because, as Mark Twain once said, "a lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes," way too many people are buying the selectively literalist highly proof-texted junk the Millenialists are selling.
As I've tried to point out here, just reading the Bible itself should be enough to debunk them. But if anyone would like to further equip themselves to take on the rapture, I recommend the following two books:
Revelation and the End of All Things by Craig Koester
The Rapture Exposed: The Message of Hope in the Book of Revelation by Barbara Rossing
Now I'm off to plant more trees. . .
But as it was, I had neither fear, nor joy, nor thought that the world was actually going to come to an end on Saturday. Now, don't get me wrong- as a practicing Christian, I confess weekly the belief that Christ will come again. But as a practicing Christian, I also have no pretense of understanding what that's going to look like or when it's going to happen. Jesus wasn't really the Messiah anybody expected back in his own day, so I have no reason to believe he's going to return in any form or manner that I might anticipate today. Better to forgo my own expectations and just pray for the wisdom to recognize him when he comes (including but not limited to his presence in the Other right this very minute).
The one thing I have a pretty strong hunch about is that when he comes again, he'll be coming down to us, to be with us. I mean, that was his M.O. the first time, and the Bible from start to finish is pretty consistent about God's passion for the whole of creation (not just humanity). What I'm trying to say is, despite what many have turned it into, Christianity is not a religion of escapism. It's not all about me and Jesus and my personal salvation, and it's not all about Jesus whisking all the Christians away to safety before the biggest proverbial pile hits the fan. Those are corruptions of a faith that from its beginning was thoroughly incarnational and communal, a faith that is about deep abiding in and with the neighbor and the world.
Which leads me to the second thing I'd want to say about the supposed rapture: that there isn't any. It's not biblical. It's certainly not in the book of Revelation. It is at best a twisted interpretation of a verse from 1 Thessalonians.
This bears repeating, so let me say it once again: there is no rapture in the book of Revelation. You don't have to take my word for it - read the book for yourself. Revelation is a letter, to seven churches in Asia Minor. Seven churches existing in radically different circumstances - running the gamut from being persecuted for their faith to being on easy street and completely lax in their faith practices. This one letter is attempting to address seven churches in all these varying contexts at the same time. It's looking to simultaneously afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted. At the very end of the letter (towards the goal of comforting the afflicted) it speaks of a new heaven and a new earth coming down. But nowhere within Revelation is there any talk of a rapture, period, let alone one that is taking people up up and away.
So where do the Millenialists (folks enraptured with the rapture - not to be confused with the generation known as the millenials!) get this idea from? 1 Thessalonians 4:17, "Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord forever." The wider context of this verse is:
But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died. For this we declare to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will by no means precede those who have died. For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel's call and with the sound of God's trumpet, will descend from heaven and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words. (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Translation: New Revised Standard Version).
A couple things to note:
1. Paul says to encourage one another with these words, not scare the crap out of each other with these words, and not hold yourself holier than all others with these words. This is pastoral theology addressed to those who are wondering "What's going to happen to all who have died before Jesus comes again? And what's going to happen to me if I happen to be alive when Jesus comes again?" - it's meant to be a comforting and hopeful vision of what that might look like.
2. Paul is pretty clear that the dead will be raised first, and then God will deal with the living. This means that there is no rapture, no living people spontaneously getting whisked off to some heavenly safehouse to get front row seats to the immanent demise of the world. Even if you want to be incredibly generous in entertaining this as a possible interpretation of verse 17, the surrounding context makes it pretty clear that the zombie apocalypse will precede any rapturing of living people, and the verses immediately following (in the beginning chapter 5, which I did not quote above) are equally clear that no one will know, expect, or anticipate any of this ahead of time.
But, because prooftexting is one of America's favorite pastimes, Millenialists grab vs. 17 out its own context, put their own twisted spin on it (much easier to do out of context) and then tack it on to all the weird scary junk in Revelation [and only the weird scary junk, they conveniently ignore all the beautiful visions in Revelation of what it's like to be in the presence of God - I'm particularly fond of those parts because there's a lot of singing involved ;) ] To this abomination they also add some equally twisted selectively chosen verses from the book of Daniel and then huff and puff about knowing both the what and the when of the end of the world.
And because, as Mark Twain once said, "a lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes," way too many people are buying the selectively literalist highly proof-texted junk the Millenialists are selling.
As I've tried to point out here, just reading the Bible itself should be enough to debunk them. But if anyone would like to further equip themselves to take on the rapture, I recommend the following two books:
Revelation and the End of All Things by Craig Koester
The Rapture Exposed: The Message of Hope in the Book of Revelation by Barbara Rossing
Now I'm off to plant more trees. . .
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
My New Favorite Blogger
This woman can write. She's a fellow alto, and even though I haven't shown up to Schola since Ash Wednesday, I can tell you, she can also sing. But for now, just check out the writing.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Subversive Transfigurative Theology
I did a double-header of worship today, participated in my own congregation this morning, then over to the House of Mercy in the afternoon, where Debbie Blue preached this brilliant sermon that openly wrestled with and steadily deconstructed sacrificial notions of atonement.
The sermon powerfully transitioned right into the Supper, during which the band quietly played "The Old Rugged Cross" as everyone came forward for communion. They didn't sing the words, they just played the music, but it was obvious what they were playing and it felt very jarring to me at the time, because I usually think of "The Old Rugged Cross" as a hymn steeped in sacrificial atonement theory, so as I'm walking forward I'm thinking "What the. . .? She just picked this kind of stuff apart, why are they playing this song?"
I've been - consciously and unconsciously - stewing over it the rest of the evening. Finally, I looked up the words to the hymn, intent on analyzing them in more depth, and realized there's actually nothing directly about sacrifice in the lyrics, that was something I had been reading into them all these years (which was part of Debbie's point, that we are so steeped in notions of sacrifice that we read it into things we shouldn't and set it up as an ultimate frame, when maybe it's not the best frame to be using, and maybe it's not the direction God would have us go). It was a total creeper move, took me several hours of ongoing wrestling with the sermon and the music to get there, but the sermon has actually transfigured my hearing of the hymn. . .
Such is the House of Mercy, and welcome to it.
The sermon powerfully transitioned right into the Supper, during which the band quietly played "The Old Rugged Cross" as everyone came forward for communion. They didn't sing the words, they just played the music, but it was obvious what they were playing and it felt very jarring to me at the time, because I usually think of "The Old Rugged Cross" as a hymn steeped in sacrificial atonement theory, so as I'm walking forward I'm thinking "What the. . .? She just picked this kind of stuff apart, why are they playing this song?"
I've been - consciously and unconsciously - stewing over it the rest of the evening. Finally, I looked up the words to the hymn, intent on analyzing them in more depth, and realized there's actually nothing directly about sacrifice in the lyrics, that was something I had been reading into them all these years (which was part of Debbie's point, that we are so steeped in notions of sacrifice that we read it into things we shouldn't and set it up as an ultimate frame, when maybe it's not the best frame to be using, and maybe it's not the direction God would have us go). It was a total creeper move, took me several hours of ongoing wrestling with the sermon and the music to get there, but the sermon has actually transfigured my hearing of the hymn. . .
Such is the House of Mercy, and welcome to it.
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