What happened?
It might seem like an easy question, but behind its initial simplicity there is a tangled web that ensnares us often even without our knowing it. I would hazard to say that this is the question that religious individuals underestimate more than any other, because it is the question that non-religious individuals value above all others. Herein lies the problem. The religious person, out of a deep-seated faith tradition, is bound to give a creedal answer to an historical question. Then, the non-religious person will give a retort out of a modern understanding of history. They will follow by arguing in different languages, each claiming ultimate superiority--the theist on the grounds of divine authority and the atheist on the grounds of historical record. Both are trying to say what happened but both fail to acknowledge that the other is speaking quite a different language.
Today I find myself troubled by the seemingly boundless ability of religious individuals to throw the question under the bus. We do this when we say things like "The Bible says it, I believe it, that settles it"--the kind of blunt creed that most mainline Christians can laugh at. But we also give up the question when we act as if God cannot work through means that are visible and immediate. Even mainline Christians seem incapable of separating the question--what happened?--from historical events, like the creation story, the crucifixion and resurrection, or modern accounts of miracles. And as such we end up backing ourselves into a corner where God is only active in the most unlikely of circumstances. I believe God is active in those moments in history, but I would have a hard time justifying that if I didn't also believe that God is active here--today. Christian traditions have failed to acknowledge, let alone convey, the presence of God here and now. We focus on the miraculous in spite of God's overwhelming presence in the mundane.
There's a great interview that Louis C K gave on the Conan O'Brien show where he talks about how everything's amazing and nobody's happy. I can think of no better commentary on how we talk about God. Everything is amazing. Seriously, so much of life is insanely wonderful and we hardly stop to think about it. All of this is a great testimony to God. In modern times we've somehow managed to take God out of all of that by focusing on what sets God apart from the descriptive language that we use everyday. We focus on the contentious question of what happened historically in all sorts of critical moments of witness, all the while implicitly granting that nothing in the present matters; that God is somehow an active force only in the distant past and the unforeseeable future. Then, we wonder why Joe Bag-a-Donuts in the pew every Sunday has no ability to articulate where or how God is active in his life.
So, for the God-believers among us, I have some simple advice. Give up on the arguments about the past; not because you can't win them (though it would behoove us to wonder what "winning" such an argument would look like) and not because they aren't important, but because they aren't fruitful. Instead, begin to think about the blessings that you have and the grace of God that is visible everyday of your life. Then the question--what happened?--will begin to move out of the distant past and right into the stories of your life. It will live with you, as you live into it. The answers you give will no longer sound like creedal obligation but grace-drenched proclamation, and finally, God will not be an abstract question but a concrete reality.
So, what happened?
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Hunter: A 2012 Book Challenge Review (#6)
This year the goal is to read 60 books on a variety of
subject matter--fiction, non-fiction, philosophy, theology, the environment, pop culture, science, etc.
To see my progress or check my other reviews click the page link above entitled, "2012 Book Challenge"
 |
| 1952, HarperCollins |
Review
Though I come alive in the great outdoors, I have never really fallen for hunting. In fact, I would readily prefer a camera to a gun. So, the lifestyle J.A. Hunter writes about is one that is unfamiliar. And yet, the way he talks about it feels intimate even for one without the interest. This is the story of a man who has shot in the thousands of African game animals; a man who once killed over 100 rhinos in the span of a few months. It's honest, never sugar-coated. In a time period where this was seen as wholly necessary for progress Hunter adds an uncertain voice. Part of the appeal of the book is that there is no moral at the end of the story. There is no clear sense that what he had done was right or wrong. It merely accounts how it was in an era that Hunter called the greatest in the history of hunting.
Recommendation
This is a classic account of life in mid-twentieth century East Africa (especially Kenya and Tanzania) and the hunter who cleared a good portion of the land for progress. If you're interested in any of those things--East Africa, hunting, civilization-building, or colonialism--then here is a first person account of the times. It's not censored; it doesn't claim to answer the questions of morality; but it is lively and provokes great food for thought.
Grade:
B-
Friday, January 27, 2012
A few thoughts on 1 Corinthians 8
1 Corinthians 8
The implications here are diverse and I plan to stay in this passage for more than this Sunday. But a few questions come to mind right away: what are the stumbling blocks for the people? What am I willing to give on? Who are the weak ones? How about the strong ones? How am I to know?
There's some good food for thought here--pun probably intended. Right now I'm substituting "food" for bulletins, staff positions, communion practices, synodical support, the lectionary, the list goes on and on. How much of what is deeply embedded is also a stumbling block?
I'm not so ignorant as to believe that these things, even if stumbling blocks, are as easily malleable as Paul makes it. Nonetheless, I think there are fruits here worthy of discussing. Time to think...
1 Now concerning food sacrificed to idols: we know that "all of us possess knowledge." Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. 2 Anyone who claims to know something does not yet have the necessary knowledge; 3 but anyone who loves God is known by him.I realize this might sound strange, but I'm not sure there's a better chapter in the Bible for mainline congregations to dwell in than this one. Yes, Paul is talking about an archaic issue--eating food sacrificed to idols. But the implications are the same for every issue pertinent to life in the church. Paul knew the difference between good theology and good practice, and firstly he knew that the two are not always the same. Being in the right on an issue is not necessarily justification for acting upon it.
4 Hence, as to the eating of food offered to idols, we know that "no idol in the world really exists," and that "there is no God but one." 5 Indeed, even though there may be so-called gods in heaven or on earth—as in fact there are many gods and many lords— 6 yet for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist.
7 It is not everyone, however, who has this knowledge. Since some have become so accustomed to idols until now, they still think of the food they eat as food offered to an idol; and their conscience, being weak, is defiled. 8 "Food will not bring us close to God." We are no worse off if we do not eat, and no better off if we do. 9 But take care that this liberty of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak. 10 For if others see you, who possess knowledge, eating in the temple of an idol, might they not, since their conscience is weak, be encouraged to the point of eating food sacrificed to idols? 11 So by your knowledge those weak believers for whom Christ died are destroyed. 12 But when you thus sin against members of your family, and wound their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. 13 Therefore, if food is a cause of their falling, I will never eat meat, so that I may not cause one of them to fall.
The implications here are diverse and I plan to stay in this passage for more than this Sunday. But a few questions come to mind right away: what are the stumbling blocks for the people? What am I willing to give on? Who are the weak ones? How about the strong ones? How am I to know?
There's some good food for thought here--pun probably intended. Right now I'm substituting "food" for bulletins, staff positions, communion practices, synodical support, the lectionary, the list goes on and on. How much of what is deeply embedded is also a stumbling block?
I'm not so ignorant as to believe that these things, even if stumbling blocks, are as easily malleable as Paul makes it. Nonetheless, I think there are fruits here worthy of discussing. Time to think...
Friday, January 20, 2012
Fire Season: A 2012 Book Challenge Review (Book #5)
This year I have challenged myself to read 60 books on a variety of
subject matter--fiction, non-fiction, philosophy, theology, the environment, pop culture, science, etc. For each book I plan
on posting a short-and-to-the-point review (1-2 paragraphs), a
recommendation and a grade. Hope you enjoy!
To see my progress or check my other reviews click the page link above entitled, "2012 Book Challenge"
 |
| 2011, HarperCollins |
Fire Season: Field Notes from a Wilderness Lookout by Philip Connors
Review
In my experience, there are books that tell a story about the natural world, there are books that remind you of your place in the natural world, and then there are books that bring the natural world to you in all its solitude and splendor; Fire Season is the last of these. Connors does not overly romanticize the out-of-doors, instead simply relating what he sees--everything he sees--with exactly the kind of prose that draws you into the story and keeps you enthralled until the very end. Never flowery, never overdone, and yet never distant or meaningless, this is a powerful account of the natural world through the eyes of one who lived it.
Recommendation
In an age that has separated man from nature with frightening efficiency and ruthlessness this is the kind of story that can recenter us. It is not overtly spiritual and yet it is spiritual; it is not overtly poetic and yet it is poetry. It is everything the modern reader needs and cannot get from the blogosphere and the 24-hour news cycle. It is, in short, one of my new favorite books.
Grade:
A
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Asking the Right Question: Notes on the languages of faith and science
I was sitting around the table at the local Men's Bible Study today when I heard an anecdote, which I will paraphrase here:
This is part of the bigger struggle between those of a scientific background and those from a background of faith. One seeks to explain how everything works, the other seeks to explain why everything works, and both too often assume that the how or the why are more important than the other instead of two parts of the more important: So what?
To use the monarch story as an example, the scientist may rightly ask how it is that a butterfly who has no living memory of a place can find its way home. The answer may be in the stars or in pheromones or in some other uniquely monarch trait. To answer the question "how" is to give language to describe some of the behavior that makes a monarch a monarch. It does not make a value judgment on the monarch; it is neither good nor bad. Nor does it say why there is such a thing as a monarch in the first place.
A person looking at the monarch story from the perspective of faith may say that the butterfly has a miraculous ability to find its way home, as the story told above suggests, but it is equally important that we realize this is not an answer to "how" the monarch is, well, a monarch. The monarch does not find its way to Mexico because of a miracle, unless by "miracle" we instead mean something closer to "wonder." Instead, the fact that the monarch makes it to Mexico is a miracle; i.e. an event that gives meaning, that gives us a "why."
The question underneath the surface is not a why or a how at all. In fact, it is the big question of whether the monarch has anything to say about God. Again, this demands neither a how or a why; instead it wonders about the origin behind the thing, the creator behind the creation, or the absence thereof. The monarch's journey may be a sign, but it does not preclude the laws of physics, biology or chemistry from working as they are wont to do. The how and the why are not mutually exclusive. A science-only perspective may try to answer by explaining how the monarch is capable of making the journey without the necessity of the divine. A faith-only perspective might say that the miraculous nature of the trip is evidence of God's handiwork. Yet, both remain incapable of coming to a simple concern, finding it easier to answer their own begged questions than figuring out where the rubber really meets the road.
I don't have yet have the perfect question; let alone an answer. I haven't yet stumbled upon the conversation starter that allows everybody in. But I'm getting closer. With each of these encounters I'm finding myself more and more sure that there is language that can synthesize the how and the why and give us a big so what, but for now I'll keep thinking and stop typing. I'm usually better for that anyway :-)
So there I sat, uneasily taking the story in. In another setting I would have argued against this kind of faith/science dichotomy, but this was my first time at the Bible Study and I really, really didn't want to be the know-it-all pastor. So I said nothing. Then, I thought about it some... and thought about it some more. Finally, hours after the study I began to see the problem with the monarch example, and it wasn't a problem of the truth or fiction of science or faith. The problem with the statement is the language of exclusion that does not allow for both the scientific explanation and the miraculous.
"Did you know that it takes three to four generations for the monarch butterfly to return to Mexico and find the trees that its grandparents or great-grandparents left? Now scientists try to say that butterflies travel by the stars, so I asked my grandkid, 'Can you count to ten?' 'Yes,' he said. 'One... two......ten.' 'Good. Now, can you travel by the stars?' 'No.' 'Can a butterfly count to ten?' 'No.' 'OK, then can a butterfly travel by the stars?' 'No.' Right, there's no way a butterfly can follow the stars. Scientists don't know how to explain how the monarchs make it to Mexico, but they don't want to admit that it's a miracle so they come up with this explanation."
This is part of the bigger struggle between those of a scientific background and those from a background of faith. One seeks to explain how everything works, the other seeks to explain why everything works, and both too often assume that the how or the why are more important than the other instead of two parts of the more important: So what?
To use the monarch story as an example, the scientist may rightly ask how it is that a butterfly who has no living memory of a place can find its way home. The answer may be in the stars or in pheromones or in some other uniquely monarch trait. To answer the question "how" is to give language to describe some of the behavior that makes a monarch a monarch. It does not make a value judgment on the monarch; it is neither good nor bad. Nor does it say why there is such a thing as a monarch in the first place.
A person looking at the monarch story from the perspective of faith may say that the butterfly has a miraculous ability to find its way home, as the story told above suggests, but it is equally important that we realize this is not an answer to "how" the monarch is, well, a monarch. The monarch does not find its way to Mexico because of a miracle, unless by "miracle" we instead mean something closer to "wonder." Instead, the fact that the monarch makes it to Mexico is a miracle; i.e. an event that gives meaning, that gives us a "why."
The question underneath the surface is not a why or a how at all. In fact, it is the big question of whether the monarch has anything to say about God. Again, this demands neither a how or a why; instead it wonders about the origin behind the thing, the creator behind the creation, or the absence thereof. The monarch's journey may be a sign, but it does not preclude the laws of physics, biology or chemistry from working as they are wont to do. The how and the why are not mutually exclusive. A science-only perspective may try to answer by explaining how the monarch is capable of making the journey without the necessity of the divine. A faith-only perspective might say that the miraculous nature of the trip is evidence of God's handiwork. Yet, both remain incapable of coming to a simple concern, finding it easier to answer their own begged questions than figuring out where the rubber really meets the road.
I don't have yet have the perfect question; let alone an answer. I haven't yet stumbled upon the conversation starter that allows everybody in. But I'm getting closer. With each of these encounters I'm finding myself more and more sure that there is language that can synthesize the how and the why and give us a big so what, but for now I'll keep thinking and stop typing. I'm usually better for that anyway :-)
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
The Bigger Question Behind the SOPA Debate: Are we entering the technological Dark Ages?
If Facebook and Twitter are any guide, two bills (SOPA and PIPA) that are slated to go before the US legislature may in fact signal the death knell for the internet as we know it, granting the government the authority to shut down sites participating in or linking to copyrighted material, as well as limiting search engines to only those sites that are legalized under the same terms. I am not in tune with the finer legal points of the bills so I'll have to trust TheOatmeal.com when they say, "This is like dealing with a lion that escaped from the zoo by blasting some kittens with a flamethrower."
This seems bad. In fact, it probably is bad, or at the very least it's an overreaction, mis-reaction, or reaction that does not address the root causes of the problem. Still, I'll let others detail the problems and potential solutions. I'd rather think about why this is such a big deal. Why does it matter that we are so connected? And perhaps more pertinently, is it a good thing or a bad thing?
These are two very critical questions, but they are also misleading. There is this assumption that the internet serves the grand and universal purpose of connecting us, demonstrated by Facebook, Wikipedia, Youtube and Twitter bringing us closer to news, information and each other. In some ways this is rather obviously correct. I learn about people who I haven't seen since high school and interact with them on an occasional basis on Facebook; I read articles on wide-ranging subjects on Wikipedia; I follow news outlets that are thousands of miles away. I can find information that used to take hours of perusing through books (if you were lucky enough to have a suitable library) in seconds on Google or Wikipedia and, in spite of what many have claimed, the information is most often fairly reliable. If I wanted to meet new people I could do that on an online dating service or chat board (well, maybe not in Hallock, Minnesota... but that's another story). Nowadays you don't even need a computer to do this. Smart phones, tablets, and other devices have made it impossible to play a fair game of bar trivia, or for that matter find a moment's peace away from email or texts.
The problem I have isn't that these are bad things. They aren't. Instead they are good things that are mistakenly construed as ends to themselves. Facebook can strengthen relationships, but it is the human beings behind the web that create the relationships in the first place and give them any depth or breadth that they achieve. You can meet a new friend on a chat board, but that person does not exist on the Internet; they are a living, breathing human being whose consciousness has extended into "the cloud," though their person, in fact, remains in Bangladesh--or wherever they may physically be.
This is because we are distinct from the Internet. Now this may seem a simple statement of fact, but as we progress deeper and deeper into the messiness that is relationship with one another and technological innovation it behooves us to wonder: Could the internet someday be all there is? Today, the internet is only part of our existence, if often a big part, but one day might we all do our jobs at a computer, live at a computer, workout at a computer, interact with one another by computer, receive meals via computer; in fact, might we one day simply be computers? Some (Raymond Kurzweil, for example) have suggested so.
This gives me great pause for several reasons, some theological and philosophical to be sure, but my overwhelming reservations don't regard whether such a thing is possible but whether such a thing is ethical. There's an uneasiness in my gut that tells me this is a rather crude understanding of human being. We tend to look back on the Dark Ages as a time when arts, culture, Democracy and progress gave way to disease, filth and warring nation-states; but I wonder if such a world isn't exactly what we're heading for with our people connected with the vacuousness of the Internet at the cost of connection with the physical things that previously defined our selves. Might it not be that the technology we so love, and seem now to require, has imperceptibly been making us worse people little by little?
I don't know, but I have some guesses. I find that communion not just with the abstract but with the physical is always much more centering than the quasi-relationality of being "logged on." It is always better for my spiritual, emotional and physical well-being to have moments, days or even weeks devoid of Internet connectivity. I am always more refreshed, always better able to see God at work in the world and always more in love with life with those times separated from the big connector that is the worldwide web. With that said, I acknowledge that I am a single person and no universal indicator of emotional or spiritual well-being, but I have a sense that I am not alone in this sensitivity.
There is something profoundly different about visiting a mountain top compared to viewing a panorama of the same vista on Flickr, and the reason for this is in no small part due to the effort it took to get there. Life is, in no small part, about striving for goals, for bettering relationships, for working at the challenges that come our way and interacting with the physical world that fuels us. Someday it may be possible to grow a garden online and taste the food it produces, but this is at the cost of the work to get there. Our techno-crazy world seems to have forgotten the blessing that is the toil to move from point A to point B, assuming that a super-highway, physical or technological, is always the best road. Yet, I think not. In fact, I know not. Life is sometimes best served by putting around, by disconnecting from the tools that have made things easy and reconnecting with the earth and everything it gives us--not least of which is one another.
So I have deep reservations but not about some bill before Congress. My surpassing concern is that we are assuming too much about what is good and what is bad, about what builds up humanity and what destroys it, and finally about what makes us human and what degrades human being. The Internet is a tool but one that is often too easily wielded. The irony of reading this on a blog is not lost on me, and I hope it is not lost on you either. May we be connected, but truly so, authentically so, emotionally, spiritually, mentally and also physically so. And may you see that logging off isn't disconnecting at all, but reconnecting with a locale that has been your primary place of residence all along.
This seems bad. In fact, it probably is bad, or at the very least it's an overreaction, mis-reaction, or reaction that does not address the root causes of the problem. Still, I'll let others detail the problems and potential solutions. I'd rather think about why this is such a big deal. Why does it matter that we are so connected? And perhaps more pertinently, is it a good thing or a bad thing?
These are two very critical questions, but they are also misleading. There is this assumption that the internet serves the grand and universal purpose of connecting us, demonstrated by Facebook, Wikipedia, Youtube and Twitter bringing us closer to news, information and each other. In some ways this is rather obviously correct. I learn about people who I haven't seen since high school and interact with them on an occasional basis on Facebook; I read articles on wide-ranging subjects on Wikipedia; I follow news outlets that are thousands of miles away. I can find information that used to take hours of perusing through books (if you were lucky enough to have a suitable library) in seconds on Google or Wikipedia and, in spite of what many have claimed, the information is most often fairly reliable. If I wanted to meet new people I could do that on an online dating service or chat board (well, maybe not in Hallock, Minnesota... but that's another story). Nowadays you don't even need a computer to do this. Smart phones, tablets, and other devices have made it impossible to play a fair game of bar trivia, or for that matter find a moment's peace away from email or texts.
The problem I have isn't that these are bad things. They aren't. Instead they are good things that are mistakenly construed as ends to themselves. Facebook can strengthen relationships, but it is the human beings behind the web that create the relationships in the first place and give them any depth or breadth that they achieve. You can meet a new friend on a chat board, but that person does not exist on the Internet; they are a living, breathing human being whose consciousness has extended into "the cloud," though their person, in fact, remains in Bangladesh--or wherever they may physically be.
This is because we are distinct from the Internet. Now this may seem a simple statement of fact, but as we progress deeper and deeper into the messiness that is relationship with one another and technological innovation it behooves us to wonder: Could the internet someday be all there is? Today, the internet is only part of our existence, if often a big part, but one day might we all do our jobs at a computer, live at a computer, workout at a computer, interact with one another by computer, receive meals via computer; in fact, might we one day simply be computers? Some (Raymond Kurzweil, for example) have suggested so.
This gives me great pause for several reasons, some theological and philosophical to be sure, but my overwhelming reservations don't regard whether such a thing is possible but whether such a thing is ethical. There's an uneasiness in my gut that tells me this is a rather crude understanding of human being. We tend to look back on the Dark Ages as a time when arts, culture, Democracy and progress gave way to disease, filth and warring nation-states; but I wonder if such a world isn't exactly what we're heading for with our people connected with the vacuousness of the Internet at the cost of connection with the physical things that previously defined our selves. Might it not be that the technology we so love, and seem now to require, has imperceptibly been making us worse people little by little?
I don't know, but I have some guesses. I find that communion not just with the abstract but with the physical is always much more centering than the quasi-relationality of being "logged on." It is always better for my spiritual, emotional and physical well-being to have moments, days or even weeks devoid of Internet connectivity. I am always more refreshed, always better able to see God at work in the world and always more in love with life with those times separated from the big connector that is the worldwide web. With that said, I acknowledge that I am a single person and no universal indicator of emotional or spiritual well-being, but I have a sense that I am not alone in this sensitivity.
There is something profoundly different about visiting a mountain top compared to viewing a panorama of the same vista on Flickr, and the reason for this is in no small part due to the effort it took to get there. Life is, in no small part, about striving for goals, for bettering relationships, for working at the challenges that come our way and interacting with the physical world that fuels us. Someday it may be possible to grow a garden online and taste the food it produces, but this is at the cost of the work to get there. Our techno-crazy world seems to have forgotten the blessing that is the toil to move from point A to point B, assuming that a super-highway, physical or technological, is always the best road. Yet, I think not. In fact, I know not. Life is sometimes best served by putting around, by disconnecting from the tools that have made things easy and reconnecting with the earth and everything it gives us--not least of which is one another.
So I have deep reservations but not about some bill before Congress. My surpassing concern is that we are assuming too much about what is good and what is bad, about what builds up humanity and what destroys it, and finally about what makes us human and what degrades human being. The Internet is a tool but one that is often too easily wielded. The irony of reading this on a blog is not lost on me, and I hope it is not lost on you either. May we be connected, but truly so, authentically so, emotionally, spiritually, mentally and also physically so. And may you see that logging off isn't disconnecting at all, but reconnecting with a locale that has been your primary place of residence all along.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Short-and-to-the-point book review #4 - Bringing it to the Table
This year I have challenged myself to read 60 books on a variety of
subject matter--fiction, non-fiction, philosophy, theology,
environmental issues, pop culture, literature, etc. For each book I plan
on posting a short-and-to-the-point review (1-2 paragraphs max), a
recommendation and a grade. Hope you enjoy!
To see my progress or check my other reviews click the page link above entitled, "2012 Book Challenge"
 |
| 2009, Counterpoint |
Bringing it to the Table: On Farming and Food by Wendell Berry
Review
As a word of caution, this review cannot possibly be nonpartisan due to my unapologetic philosophical love for Wendell Berry. I've never read an essay of his that I didn't find worth pondering and often they deeply influence my own understanding of the world and our role therein. So, this book has essays along those lines. They are good, thoughtful, even prescient. In short, it's another collection of Wendell Berry essays.
Recommendation
But herein lies the problem. If you've never read Berry before pick up this book, or pick up another book--any collection of essays really. But if you've read Berry then you can probably skim over parts that are familiar. Berry's charm and brilliance is that he can take a complicated subject like agrarianism and make it so imminently understandable that reading more seems unnecessary. So even I found myself skimming from time to time. The nuggets of wisdom are there, and this book changes nothing of my admiration for the author, but it was more of the same. So, in short, read Berry if you never have. In fact, let me know and I'll buy you a book. I think it's that important. But if you know Berry well, then maybe you can pass.
Grade:
B
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Budget and the Body
I have ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, two ears, one mouth and at any given time around 1x10^28 atoms (this is a number of atoms greater than all the planets in the universe, an achievement in itself if I may say so) that have assembled themselves in such a hodgepodge way as to create me. I am the product of many, most invariably, largely static numbers. Most of these will stay the same--or in the case of the atoms, roughly the same--for the better part of my life. Then, I will die and the quantifiable nature of things that make up me will gradually wither away. Within a couple hundred years my atoms will be strewn all over the world. Did you know that each of us has atoms within us that once made up historical figures that have long since died? You quite literally have a bit of David, Josephus and even Nero inside of you, though you might want to be careful which parts of you these are. You also have atoms from people who history does not recount, though I'm getting myself off-track.We can parse our own existence by these static numbers, but it would get old pretty fast. Unless you lose an ear or a toe we don't often need to enumerate our own atomic density or praise our blessed accumulation of digits and limbs. No, we most often define ourselves by numbers that are dynamic, changing and most often growing. If the money in our savings account is declining then that is a problem. If our investments are flat, then we would be well off seeking other investments. Even the Bible seems to have a problem with financial flat-lining (cf. Matthew 25:14-30).
So we look for growth, for capital, for income, to increase our numbers. Whether it be a credit score or a 401K, a batting average, yield ratio, or fantasy football standing we are working toward better and higher numbers. The great American mantra is "We're #1."
All of this has profound implications for the work of the church. When threatened with numerical decline--from loss of membership, budgetary concerns, or worship attendance--we assume that the existence of church is in jeopardy. Healthy things don't decline; they only go up after all. So, for the better part of five decades, churches have been fighting what they perceive to be a tide of secularization and laxity within the church. If the numbers are down, something must be wrong.
I don't doubt the diagnosis; I doubt the methodology.
Organizations have to budget, they have to keep records and due their diligence in assuring their numbers are up-to-date and accurate. This is the way that the world functions. It is quite literally the law at work. The church, as an institution, needs to know where it stands by the rules and stipulations of country, state, county and city; four secular authorities that bound the church institutionally to numbers.
But the church is not only an institution. In fact, it is only incidentally an institution at all. The church is a body, in some ways like my own, filled with fingers, toes, eyes, ears, and mouths. And yet, the church is a body in ways completely unlike I am a body. Where my body is static, the church body is dynamic. Where my body decays, the church body grows. Where my body is quantifiable, the church body is unbounded. And none of this has the least this to do with numbers.The body of Christ cannot be perverted by the numbers game. It refuses to fit the schema of any -ism that is captive to the premise that life is a more complicated version game of Life where the one with the most toys wins. No, the body of Christ consumes the numerical game. We are more than the sum of our parts, more than the atoms that define and separate us. Where our physical body meets its limitations in trying to exhort itself, the body of Christ catches our fall and brings us the kind of redemption that numbers, static or dynamic, can never achieve. The law and the gospel are this: We are not #1, but we are part of it.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Short-and-to-the-point book review #3 - The Pastor
This year I have challenged myself to read 60 books on a variety of
subject matter--fiction, non-fiction, philosophy, theology,
environmental issues, pop culture, literature, etc. For each book I plan
on posting a short-and-to-the-point review (1-2 paragraphs max), a
recommendation and a grade. Hope you enjoy!
To see my progress or check my other reviews click the page link above entitled, "2012 Book Challenge"
 |
| HarperCollins, 2011 |
The Pastor (A Memoir) by Eugene Peterson
Review
I could see why my bishop gave me this book as ordination present from the moment I began reading. This is a memoir of one of the most centered, and theologically-mainstream, pastors in America, Eugene Peterson. But it doesn't read like a memoir. It reads like good advice for those who would make for themselves a pastoral vocation. From his writing style alone it is obvious that Peterson is reserved in his importance, and cautiously bears the pastoring life not as a badge of honor but as nothing more or less than the entirety of his being. This is not a book to tout pastoring above other vocations or to suggest a single way of being pastor. Instead, this is wisdom borne out of years of making mistakes and growth in spiritual and practical theology. In short, this is the kind of book that should exist somewhere on every seminary curriculum.
Recommendation
If you're a seminarian, read this book. If you're a pastor, this is a perspective worth hearing. If you're a member of a church and interested not just in what your pastor does but in who your pastor is, then this book is for you as well.
Grade:
A
Friday, January 6, 2012
Short-and-to-the-Point Book Review #2: Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal
This year I have challenged myself to read 60 books on a variety of
subject matter--fiction, non-fiction, philosophy, theology,
environmental issues, pop culture, literature, etc. For each book I plan
on posting a short-and-to-the-point review (1-2 paragraphs max), a
recommendation and a grade. Hope you enjoy!
To see my progress or check my other reviews click the page link above entitled, "2012 Book Challenge"
 |
| 2002, HarperCollins |
I first started this book over a year ago on the advice of a friend. I got into it quickly. It's humorous and sarcastic; the kind of book you will not enjoy without a fair liking for sacrilege. The story follows Joshua (the Christ) and his buddy, Biff. In essence it serves as a humorous account largely of the time spent between Christ's birth and ministry (the area in which the Gospels are supremely lacking). Lamb is witty but also crude in spades. If you don't like thinking about sex and Jesus, again, it's probably not for you. The weirdest part of this story, however, is that it tries to be both sarcastic and serious. By the time we get to Jesus' life the humor strangely gives way to a semi-serious retelling of the passion.
Recommendation
There's a reason I put this book down and took well over a year to get back into it. It's long. Now I have no problem with reading a lot--hence this entire 60 books in a year escapade--but in this case the story feels like it just keeps going. I enjoy Moore's humor in small doses but here it seems to extend ad infinitum. I ended up feeling disjointed, a bit lost, and it seemed I had read something neither funny enough to make up for its senselessness or profound enough to make up for its sacrilege. There is certainly an audience for this book; I think it simply isn't me.
Grade:
D+
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Short-and-to-the-Point Book Review #1: The Ultimate Harry Potter and Philosophy
This year I have challenged myself to read 60 books on a variety of subject matter--fiction, non-fiction, philosophy, theology, environmental issues, pop culture, literature, etc. For each book I plan on posting a short-and-to-the-point review (1-2 paragraphs max), a recommendation and a grade. Hope you enjoy!
Review
My first book of 2012 was The Ultimate Harry Potter and Philosophy: Hogwarts for Muggles, another entry in the Blackwell Philosophy and Pop Culture Series. Like others in the series, this book strikes a good balance between interesting philosophy and Harry Potter-themed content. The articles are from experts in various philosophical fields who all have a particular interest in Harry Potter. It was a good read, though some chapters I found far more interesting than others. Of particular note are Tamar Szabo Gendler's article entitled, "Is Dumbledore Gay? Who's to Say?" and Charles Taliaferro's on "The Real Secret of the Phoenix: Moral Regeneration through Death." (Some may recognize that Taliaferro is a well-loved professor from St. Olaf).
Recommendation
Certainly worth a gander if you like philosophy and Harry Potter, but even if you care nothing about philosophy this is not a bad option. If you care nothing for HP I think there are better options to read on pop culture and philosophy. Like Bernie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans, this is a mixed bag. The articles I mentioned above are great, especially Gendler's article, and I commend them to you. Other articles are nothing new in the HP universe. But overall, the book was a quick read, entertaining and a worthy companion to the HP corpus.
Grade:
B+
 |
| 2010, John Wiley & Sons |
My first book of 2012 was The Ultimate Harry Potter and Philosophy: Hogwarts for Muggles, another entry in the Blackwell Philosophy and Pop Culture Series. Like others in the series, this book strikes a good balance between interesting philosophy and Harry Potter-themed content. The articles are from experts in various philosophical fields who all have a particular interest in Harry Potter. It was a good read, though some chapters I found far more interesting than others. Of particular note are Tamar Szabo Gendler's article entitled, "Is Dumbledore Gay? Who's to Say?" and Charles Taliaferro's on "The Real Secret of the Phoenix: Moral Regeneration through Death." (Some may recognize that Taliaferro is a well-loved professor from St. Olaf).
Recommendation
Certainly worth a gander if you like philosophy and Harry Potter, but even if you care nothing about philosophy this is not a bad option. If you care nothing for HP I think there are better options to read on pop culture and philosophy. Like Bernie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans, this is a mixed bag. The articles I mentioned above are great, especially Gendler's article, and I commend them to you. Other articles are nothing new in the HP universe. But overall, the book was a quick read, entertaining and a worthy companion to the HP corpus.
Grade:
B+
Monday, January 2, 2012
Systematics are Not Enough: Toward a narrative theology
I came out of a seminary education, like most mainline pastors these days, that had a strong emphasis on systematic theology. This theory of pastoral training is predicated on the idea that pastors need to have a good grasp of what is heretical (and why) in order to better preach and teach their faith, but more than that, it teaches us to counter those kinds of theology that claim a line of reasoning that does not agree with our own. Lutheran Systematics attempts to explain Calvinism, Arminianism, Arianism, or any other -ism theologians have ever concocted, so that when we run across varying forms of these beliefs we have the tools to label them. If somebody is espousing Arminianism we can call it what it is and point out the standard arguments against it.
I want to suggest that this is a good starting point. It's important to know how our particular faith believes and why it believes it, but as I've seen far too often--on Facebook in the ELCA clergy group, on blogs and in conversation with pastors and seminarians sans internet--this has become something very near to the full expression of our faith. The assumption, it seems, is that correct doctrine allows us to come to a closer understanding of the true nature of God.
For example, we twist ourselves in knots when it comes to issues of theodicy (why God would allow/participate in/condone evil in the world), because theological words common to our culture's understanding of God end up looking mutually exclusive. God cannot be both omnipotent and omni-benevolent given the Holocaust. So, we rightfully have done away with some of this Greek terminology; it is after all non-scriptural. However, instead of replacing the stoic Greek terms with more nuanced words we have replaced them with categories. We might say that God is capable of curing cancer (omnipotent) but that God does not heal every cancer sufferer due to our free will (benevolent but self-limiting); and the cancer itself is a repercussion of the fall (thus, we are the cause of God's self-limiting benevolence in spite of God's omnipotence). This answer could be correct--if there is such a thing as "correct theology"--but it struggles to justify the hardline reasoning that brought us to this point.
I recently read an article that talked about the debate between Alvin Plantinga (a theist with Calvinist roots) and Daniel Dennett (an atheist) regarding the existence of God. It struck me in reading their arguments that my seminary education prepared me better to argue against Plantinga (a Christian, I might remind you) than it did to counter Dennett. I could point out the Calvinist reasoning of Plantinga, especially the subjected free will and the idea of the seed of belief. I could say why I disagreed with that. When it came to the arguments Dennett put forth I was armed, not because of my seminary education, but because I have a mild interest in apologetics. If it weren't for my own studies I would have very little vocabulary to speak Christ to a non-Christian. Strange.
Where Systematic theology leaves us is with a set of boxes. This is helpful in that we can define where we are, where others are and what makes us distinct. However, the reality of our shared life together on this planet should necessitate that eventually we move ourselves out of that 2-D landscape and add a third dimension. I want to suggest the best way to do this is with a narrative approach. On the one hand this is nothing new, Stanley Hauervas has argued for something very similar. But this is also somewhat radical in that it requires us to break down the rigidity of our theological systems, treating our doctrines not as rigid law but as "depth grammar" (the function of words in the life situation of their hearer/reader). This is how we treat the art of preaching, after all; we say that God's word is alive and it is the Spirit that gives us the gift of faith in the hearing of the Gospel. The word itself is depth grammar dependent on the Spirit. I learned this in seminary, but it never extended further than the ears of the hearer. So why are we so hesitant to ascribe to the Spirit (whose ability to work through the preached word is unquestioned) a faculty to work through our systems of theology?
Perhaps we're afraid that should we enter a third dimension we will lose control over the beliefs of our people. Well... good. Controlling what people believe should never be the goal of clergy. The spiritual convictions of our members are far more expansive than we would readily admit, but this is not a failure. Even the most crotchety believer is likely to have an understanding of God that would make us cringe in its apparent inaccuracy, and this is well and good. Their life experience brought them to this realization, whether it is true or not. Our job is not to create the bounds of the faith but to nurture the word of God so that the Holy Spirit continues to move in our midst. It's not our control over good belief and bad belief that matters; it's the Spirit that engenders all manner of belief in the first place.
When we present the basics of the faith and assume that the words we speak are sufficient for understanding and coming to love the God who created us we do a disservice to what Christ demonstrated throughout the Gospels. He so often spoke a word that was counter-intuitive, counter-cultural and even counter-theological. He spoke words that sometimes disagreed with other words he had already spoken. His mission was to speak, to teach, to share the Word of God, quite literally, in his very person. My meager argument is that we are called to do the same, which requires us to enter a three-dimensional world that builds upon our systematic education. It's a narrative world that takes seriously the depth grammar of the Gospel, the work of the Spirit and our lives together. Lord knows we need it.
I want to suggest that this is a good starting point. It's important to know how our particular faith believes and why it believes it, but as I've seen far too often--on Facebook in the ELCA clergy group, on blogs and in conversation with pastors and seminarians sans internet--this has become something very near to the full expression of our faith. The assumption, it seems, is that correct doctrine allows us to come to a closer understanding of the true nature of God.
For example, we twist ourselves in knots when it comes to issues of theodicy (why God would allow/participate in/condone evil in the world), because theological words common to our culture's understanding of God end up looking mutually exclusive. God cannot be both omnipotent and omni-benevolent given the Holocaust. So, we rightfully have done away with some of this Greek terminology; it is after all non-scriptural. However, instead of replacing the stoic Greek terms with more nuanced words we have replaced them with categories. We might say that God is capable of curing cancer (omnipotent) but that God does not heal every cancer sufferer due to our free will (benevolent but self-limiting); and the cancer itself is a repercussion of the fall (thus, we are the cause of God's self-limiting benevolence in spite of God's omnipotence). This answer could be correct--if there is such a thing as "correct theology"--but it struggles to justify the hardline reasoning that brought us to this point.
I recently read an article that talked about the debate between Alvin Plantinga (a theist with Calvinist roots) and Daniel Dennett (an atheist) regarding the existence of God. It struck me in reading their arguments that my seminary education prepared me better to argue against Plantinga (a Christian, I might remind you) than it did to counter Dennett. I could point out the Calvinist reasoning of Plantinga, especially the subjected free will and the idea of the seed of belief. I could say why I disagreed with that. When it came to the arguments Dennett put forth I was armed, not because of my seminary education, but because I have a mild interest in apologetics. If it weren't for my own studies I would have very little vocabulary to speak Christ to a non-Christian. Strange.
Where Systematic theology leaves us is with a set of boxes. This is helpful in that we can define where we are, where others are and what makes us distinct. However, the reality of our shared life together on this planet should necessitate that eventually we move ourselves out of that 2-D landscape and add a third dimension. I want to suggest the best way to do this is with a narrative approach. On the one hand this is nothing new, Stanley Hauervas has argued for something very similar. But this is also somewhat radical in that it requires us to break down the rigidity of our theological systems, treating our doctrines not as rigid law but as "depth grammar" (the function of words in the life situation of their hearer/reader). This is how we treat the art of preaching, after all; we say that God's word is alive and it is the Spirit that gives us the gift of faith in the hearing of the Gospel. The word itself is depth grammar dependent on the Spirit. I learned this in seminary, but it never extended further than the ears of the hearer. So why are we so hesitant to ascribe to the Spirit (whose ability to work through the preached word is unquestioned) a faculty to work through our systems of theology?
Perhaps we're afraid that should we enter a third dimension we will lose control over the beliefs of our people. Well... good. Controlling what people believe should never be the goal of clergy. The spiritual convictions of our members are far more expansive than we would readily admit, but this is not a failure. Even the most crotchety believer is likely to have an understanding of God that would make us cringe in its apparent inaccuracy, and this is well and good. Their life experience brought them to this realization, whether it is true or not. Our job is not to create the bounds of the faith but to nurture the word of God so that the Holy Spirit continues to move in our midst. It's not our control over good belief and bad belief that matters; it's the Spirit that engenders all manner of belief in the first place.
When we present the basics of the faith and assume that the words we speak are sufficient for understanding and coming to love the God who created us we do a disservice to what Christ demonstrated throughout the Gospels. He so often spoke a word that was counter-intuitive, counter-cultural and even counter-theological. He spoke words that sometimes disagreed with other words he had already spoken. His mission was to speak, to teach, to share the Word of God, quite literally, in his very person. My meager argument is that we are called to do the same, which requires us to enter a three-dimensional world that builds upon our systematic education. It's a narrative world that takes seriously the depth grammar of the Gospel, the work of the Spirit and our lives together. Lord knows we need it.
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