Trying Not to be Scared of Doing Theology
Published on 1 Jul 2009 at 9:00 am.
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As The Lead reports, the Theology Committee of the House of Bishops has released its report on the practice of offering Communion to people without Baptism, often called “open communion,” or referred to by the acronym CWOB (Communion Without Baptism). The report is entitled on their site. It’s not long, about 8 pages, and is well worth a read.
This issue is where my carefully honed “non-anxious presence” begins to fail, something about it touches a nerve deep inside of me. It may perhaps be my upbringing in the Churches of Christ, where baptism is seen as the normative rite by which we enter the church and which necessarily precedes our participation in Communion. Indeed, growing up in that tradition I found myself consistently on the defensive, having to articulate over and over again to my Baptist or “non-denominational” friends why baptism is central to our life as Christians. The Episcopal Church’s high view of baptism is one of the things that drew me to the tradition in the first place.
I suppose those who advocate CWOB touch an open nerve with me because I see it as a part of a broader theology which sees baptism as an optional part of a person’s life with God, rather than an integral part of the Christian journey. And, admittedly, the unthinking part of me, the part that responds reflexively and emotionally to subjects, is a bit afraid that there are some in TEC who would love to see that theology become normative.
However, the difficulty with that anxiety is that it is doing theology on the basis of fear. Furthermore, a central part of my own ecclesiology is that the church is in danger whenever theology is predicated on its fear of what might happen. Rather we are called to do our theology and agree on our communal practice based upon what shows the greatest fidelity to Scripture, Tradition, and Reason, allowing that whole process to be bathed in the Spirit.
THAT is why I am so very grateful for the Theology Committee paper. It is not at all based in fear of “what might happen.” Rather, it is good Anglican practice, as if this group of people sat down with their Bibles and books of theology and had a nice discussion over a cup of tea. It is a terrifically fair and balanced approach to the issue, even in its preliminary introduction,
No one, as far as we can tell, advocates that churches establish checkpoints on the way to the altar. Nobody wants to be the baptism police and nobody denies that clergy must exercise appropriate pastoral discretion in specific cases. Nevertheless, the canon with regard to baptism and communion is quite clear: “No unbaptized person shall be eligible to receive Holy Communion in this Church.”
The committee goes on to note the Covenantal questions involved. That is, the canons and vows of obedience to the bishop are descriptions of the covenants in which we live with one another as priests, deacons, bishops, and laity. To quote them again,
Regardless of one’s views about whether this canon should be followed, we all agree that it should not be willfully violated in arbitrary, secretive, or idiosyncratic ways, where clergy and parish become a law unto themselves. This is not so much for the sake of the canon as for the sake of the covenantal relationships between bishops, priests, and people.
The committee makes the point that our liturgy, particularly our Eucharistic prayers, presume that baptism precedes Eucharist. If it was indeed necessary to open the doors to Eucharist without baptism preceding it for the participants, there is worry that it might diminish the intelligibility of baptism. If that change was made, both our baptismal and eucharistic liturgies would need to be significantly revised.
On the question of Jesus’ practice of open table fellowship with his followers, one of the most common Scriptural reasons cited by those who advocate CWOB, the committee is not at all convinced. They note that the open table fellowship he practiced in his ministry (eating with “tax collectors and sinners”) was likely still limited to Jews, albeit ones who were apparently no longer practicing the tradition. Furthermore, they cite early Christian controversy over table fellowship with Jews and Gentiles as a clue that open table fellowship had likely not been a center part of Jesus’ ministry. “Indeed, it would seem that it is baptism and not communion that enables the diverse yet unified body imagined in Gal.3:27-29.”
When it comes to the mission imperative assumed by those who advocate CWOB, here the committee finds some merit, acknowledging that we must always be reminded of the mission imperative of our community. However, they are doubtful that CWOB actually produces more disciples or baptisms than canonical practice. Furthermore, current practice among those who advocated CWOB reveals a variety of approaches to inviting people to communion. The committee is concerned that if one does choose to practice CWOB, they still are careful about the invitation, acknowledging that there are rather significant implications for participation in the eucharistic meal. Acknowledging the argument that baptized children can receive communion in our church, though they may not fully understand the implications, the committee sees here an important point the broader church should heed, “This is an argument for more thorough catechesis of parents and godparents as well as the congregations who make rather extravagant promises to those who are baptized.”
The final, and to me most powerful, point made in the paper deals with the question of hospitality. Once again, this is an important point that the broader church always needs to be reminded. However, “making open communion the occasion for our demonstration of hospitality can undermine the really radical hospitality of opening our homes and families and tables. One can open one’s house without advocating open communion, but it is not clear how one can advocate open communion without a concomitant obligation to open one’s home or church to hospitality around shared meals.” Amen and amen and amen.
I’m sure that those who advocate CWOB will respond to this paper, indeed the Committee requests their response. For my part, I will breathe a small sigh of relief, reminding myself that even when my own background and hangups makes it difficult for me to engage a theological question without a fearful posture, the beauty of the church is that there are other parts of the Body who can engage those questions on my behalf.
O God, you have bound us together in a common life. Help us, in the midst of our struggles for justice and truth, to confront one another without hatred or bitterness, and to work together with mutual forbearance and respect; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Laughing at God
Published on 30 Jun 2009 at 10:33 am.
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I’ve written before about how much I love Regina Spektor’s music (see, for example, Don’t Divorce Them or No Longer Samson). Over the past week I’ve been soaking in Regina’s new album Far. It’s good. It has her typical playful yet provocative lyrics matched with creative instrumentation and acrobatic vocals. It’s just good Regina.
This morning, however, I caught a post by PreacherMike, about how he was still chewing on the video of one of the songs from that album, “Laughing With,” and asking for comments. I hadn’t yet taken the time to slowly work my way through the song with the lyrics in hand, and since he had posted the video for the song, I figured I’d take a few minutes to see what the song had to say. Go ahead and listen yourself, if you’d like:
I think it’s a song about how we see things related to God, what we take seriously and what we don’t take seriously. The song plays with the elasticity of our world, in which God is sometimes an afterthought or caricature and is at other times the most powerful being imaginable. Richard, a commenter on PreacherMike’s post, had the following to say:
I think she’s saying the true God can’t be laughed at. The true God meets us where the bone is exposed (No one laughing at God in a hospital / No one’s laughing at God in a war / No one’s laughing at God when they’re starving or freezing or so very poor). So if we are laughing at “God” what we are really laughing at is a false image of God. Her examples:
The trivialization of God:
But God can be funny
At a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed jokeGod sanctioned hate:
Or when the crazies say He hates us
And they get so red in the head you think they’re ‘bout to chokeThe self-centered nature of American Christianity:
God can be funny,
When told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa ClausWhen we laugh at these things it appears that we are laughing at God when, in fact, we are laughing with God over against these things. It’s a prophetic move: Standing with God over against a false image of God. Thus:
No one’s laughing at God
No one’s laughing at God
No one’s laughing at God
We’re all laughing with God
I think Richard is right about the prophetic move in this song. Part of the difficulty of evangelism from an Anglican perspective is that there are so many cultural pictures of God that are out there, pictures that people have been fed by their churches, religious leaders, or society. Indeed, to tell someone about the God that I worship it’s often first necessary to clarify that when I speak of God I’m not talking about this or that preconception.
People in our society hear people talk about God with these preconceived notions, they hear talk of a God who instigates hate and division, who blesses those who get the formula right, or who does slight of the hand and wish granting, and they find it ridiculous. They laugh.
And the trouble is, too often people in the church get anxious. They start trying to protect God—though the God of popular culture, mocked above, is, as Paul Tillich would say a God “justly denied by honest atheists.” That God of popular culture that is far from the God of Abraham and Sarah, the God who exists in a mystery of divine love, one in three and three in one. And I have no problem denying the God of popular culture because it is the living God that I serve.
If we could become more comfortable with the chorus of Regina’s song, laughing along with the living God at these false pictures of God, then perhaps when people enter the Valley of the Shadow, the places where no one laughs at God, then people would take us more seriously when we said that our God has something to say to them. Because God exists most profoundly in those limit moments, in a hospital, or in a war, or in any of the points of pain and isolation that Regina identifies.
So laugh away at the false pictures of God. Laugh so that when the Valley comes, you have more than a cardboard deity to cling to and, perhaps, to offer to those who suffer.
Grant us, Lord, not to be anxious about earthly things, but to love things heavenly; and even now, while we are placed among things that are passing away, to hold fast to those that shall endure; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Orthodoxy, Irenaeus, and The Action of Recapitulation
Published on 24 Jun 2009 at 11:20 am.
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Over at Daily Episcopalian, it appears that the theological differences unearthed by the previous months’ debate over Fr. Forrester’s election as Bishop of Northern Michigan are still rumbling. Most lately, Fr. Donald Schell, founder of St. Gregory of Nyssa in San Francisco, has articulated an affirmation of Fr. Forrester’s views that he believes is steeped in traditional orthodox understandings, particularly as articulated by Irenaeus. I know that Fr. Schell has a lot of good things to say and do, but this particular article is a misuse of what orthodoxy, particularly as defined by Irenaus , actually means.
Fundamental to Fr. Schell’s argument is that orthodoxy embraced an open and public approach to the church’s teaching over and against the close tradition of the Gnostics. Indeed, Orthodoxy has always embraced an open and public approach to the church’s teaching over and against the closed tradition of the Gnostics. Here I believe Schell is drawing on an argument made by Justo González in Volume I of The Story of Christianity, at the conclusion of his section on the Church’s response to Gnosticism and Marcion.
When first developed, late in the second century, the principle of apostolic succession was inclusive rather than exclusive: over against the closed and secret tradition of the Gnostic teachers, it offered an open and shared tradition that based its claim, not on a single favorite disciple of Jesus, but on the witness of all the apostles. Page 66
It is thus, perhaps, ironic that some would use the “open tradition of orthodoxy” as a precursor for jettisoning key Christian teaching—often without much rationale. The point of González and others is that orthodoxy does not choose “favorite doctrines” and then exclude ones you don’t like. Rather, orthodoxy and catholicity requires that we seek to hold together the truth and tradition of the broader church. It is not that Irenaeus and the other Church Fathers and Mothers didn’t draw lines. They just choose to draw those lines in such a way that they bore witness to the whole of catholic truth: Jesus is human AND divine, for all of our sake he was crucified AND we practice one baptism for the remission of sins, God is three and one, etc. Thus they drew lines and, though Irenaeus believed that all things had been summed up in Christ, he also had no problem saying that the Gnostics were outside of Christ’s body while they held their special secret tradition contrary to the broad orthodoxy of the Church.
The difficulty with Fr. Forrester and others is they are seeking to hold only one part of what the church has said is the catholic view. There is a desire to emphasize one view of one part of salvation (theosis) and downplay others (Jesus’ action on the cross, however defined). In holding only to one part of the tradition they are, ironically enough, too narrow. Rather, the truly inclusive and orthodox do not cherry pick doctrines that suit them, but seek to engage all of the Christian tradition, often finding truth revealed in carefully held tensions.
Furthermore, when one pushes on the understanding of patristic teaching by this crowd, other difficulties quickly arise. For example, take the development of theosis, as articulated in the article. Fr. Schell makes the connection between Irenaeus open and broad tradition and his articulation of “recapitulation.” Fr. Schell argues that “recapitulation” means that since Christ has summed up all things in himself, that the door is opened for universal salvation. However, context here is important.
Whereas Fr. Schell’s concern with recapitulation seems to be primarily horizontal (all humans in different religious traditions today), Irenaus’ concern was temporal. That is, Irenaeus was arguing against those who did not believe in the pre-existence of Christ, insisting that in the incarnation the pre-existent Son of God summed up the long line of humanity (Adv. haer. III. xviii and Adv. haer. V. xxi.). This is a philosophical question, insisting that Christ opened the door for the salvation of humanity by drawing the human into the divine. It is not a declaration that all of creation is now fully saved. Rather, our salvation has now been authored.
Furthermore, recapitulation assumes that outside of Christ there exists a level of brokenness. It is not, as Fr. Forrester and it appears Fr. Schell articulate, a recognition that Christ is present in all things. Rather, recapitulation is an action. All of creation came to be through the Word, but it fell, and in Christ as the Second Adam, God has acted to once again renew, restore, and reorganize all things in Christ. And this action was not a one-time moment, but it is rather the ongoing work of God: drawing all things to Godself. It is not accomplished by us telling ourselves to realize that we are all summed up, but by engaging in the difficult work of reconciling ourselves with one another. It also does not affirm the Godliness of all things, it just clarifies from whence they come no matter how broken. Athanasius himself makes this clear in On the Incarnation, “For His being in everything does not mean that He shares the nature of everything, only that He gives all things their being and sustains them in it.”
As recapitulation was developed by Athanasius and others, it became clear that this was about more than a declaration of status which only needs to be realized by the followers of God. Rather, this is a ongoing change in our being, the slow healing of our sin. “The theosis that follows on the incarnation of the Logos is therefore a healing because it heals the estrangement from God brought about by the enmity of sin” (Kenneth Paul Wesche, “Eastern Orthodox Spirituality: Union with God in Theosis,” ThTo (1999): 32). Or, as another theologian puts it, ““Salvation is first and foremost an ontological event in our human nature that inaugurates the possibility of unobstructed communion with God” (Vigen Guroian, “Salvation as Divine Therapy,” ThTo 61.3 (2004): 309-321). The possibility is now inaugurated, the on-going work of our salvation is God’s accomplishing of that healing through the redemptive work of the sacraments, something no less a liberal Protestant than Tillich believed necessary to the church (see, e.g., The Future of Religions, 86-87).
Once again, I repeat my concern that our church remain fearful of orthodoxy because of the way it has been man-handled by some on the right. Orthodoxy, the work of finding theology that flows from Scripture, is true to tradition, and consonant through reason with God’s actions in the world, is a difficult task. But that task is not aided by throwing our hands into the air and just insisting upon inclusivity and openness, pretending that their was no fall and that we are not still, as a creation, in need of a healing that is more than a change in perception. Fr. Forrester and other’s voices are incredibly important to that work, they push us to consider carefully what we believe, to hold fast to that which is good. That is a good and noble vocation. However, I still believe (along with others) that this specific vocation, as expressed by Fr. Forrester, is not the vocation of a bishop in the church.
God and Any Goliath
Published on 21 Jun 2009 at 2:43 pm.
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Who doesn’t love the story of David and Goliath? David, the young supposedly unskilled shepherd boy who, on a visit to his brothers in the army, decides to stand up against the towering giant of the Philistines, Goliath. The story has resonance with us, it has sunk into our culture. Mark Twain’s character “Tom Sawyer” said that David and Goliath were the only two characters from the Bible he ever remembered.
Their names have become a sort of cultural short-hand for the little guy standing up against the towering giant. Perhaps some of you remember the famous “Mac” ad of the mid-80s, where one person, symbolizing little ol’ Mac, runs through a crowd of mindless drones and throws a javelin at the towering “Big Brother ‘PC’ Screen” towering above them. The little guy standing up and accomplishing victory despite all odds. This story-line is central to the American story. Movies are filled with allusions to this story and the end is always the same: the big giant lies dead on the ground and the little guy stands proud of his victory.
And so, preachers exhort us to consider the Goliath’s in our life. Think of the giants that tower above you. Because nothing will be beyond you, nothing will be too difficult for you. So, be not afraid: pull yourself up by your bootstraps, stand up against the powerful giant, and victory is most certainly yours.
But, the truth is, this story does not ring true. We’d like it to: but it does not always play just as one would expect. Make no mistake: there are giants in our life, towering giants that come to the lines of our life and roar and rage.
Unexpected cancer.
The crippling loss of a job.
Persistent addiction.
Painful relationships.
Crushing debt.
Gaping loss.
Corrupting sin.
And as these giants come down into the valley with us, we hear the push for success, for overcoming that which is most difficult. And so we carefully gather our stones, slide them into the sling of our abilities, run as fast as we can and throw only to watch the stone go sailing past the giant’s head and fall on the soft grass.
David, it seems, does not always have the strength to conquer Goliath.
But what if we’d been reading this text wrong all our lives? What if the key to this text wasn’t the overcoming of a seemingly insurmountable obstacle but was, instead, a study in character, in being? What if the key to the story wasn’t the death of the giant?
At this moment, in the life of the people of Israel, there is a bigger crisis than the Philistine army. Indeed, the Philistine army is all over the place in First Samuel. They’re like SPECTRE in the James Bond films or the Nazi’s in an Indiana Jones film. In First Samuel, the Philistines are a naturally persistent difficulty as the boundaries and sovereignty of the new nation are gradually established.
The true crisis at this moment in the life of the people of Israel is one of leadership. After years of tribal leadership by Judges, the people of Israel clamored for God to provide them a king “to lead them into battle.” God responded through the prophet Samuel by anointing Saul as King. However, Saul’s ego coupled with his unwillingness to honestly confess his sin when he fails has resulted in God’s favor departing from him. The Prophet Samuel then finds and anoints the youngest son of Jesse, who we know as David, but David is not immediately made king; Saul retains his throne.
And so, in our text, as the armies of the Philistines are encamped throughout the valuable Valley of Elah, Saul’s leadership proves lacking. Though he is called to lead his people against the Philistines, he stays in his tent and does not answer the taunts of Goliath during the forty day stand-off. He is like his soldiers, the text says, afraid and dismayed. Then, David arrives, shocked that no one has ventured to stand up to this bully, and offers to do so himself.
But here is where it is important to play close attention to the story. Admittedly, the lectionary fails us a bit. In its attempt to fit the entire story into one reading, it has taken out some verses. For example, in verse 26, the reason David expresses shock that no one has stood up to David isn’t because of the strength of any person or of the army in general. Rather, it is because Goliath stands against “the armies of the living God.”
This is also made clear in the verses chosen for inclusion in the lesson. When Saul questions David’s abilities, David explains his background as a shepherd but, if we pay close attention, once again we see that the real reason David says he will succeed against Goliath is because Goliath defied the armies of the living God. And again, in verse 37, he reiterates the source of his confidence: “The Lord, who saved me from the paw of the lion and from the paw of the bear, will save me from the hand of this Philistine.”
And, then once more, at the risk of belaboring the point, when David speaks to Goliath he says the his victory over the giant is “so that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel, and that all this assembly may know that the Lord does not save by sword and spear; for the battle is the Lord’s and he will give you into our hand.”
The story of David and Goliath is not the story of the victory of the little guy over the giant. The story of David and Goliath is the story of persistent faith in times of difficulty. We read it and, in the shadow of the giants of our own lives, think the solution is to run at the problem full force, trusting in our own strength to overcome. But if we allow instead the text to read us, we find that in the shadow of giants is a place where chaff is burned away and faith is revealed: not faith in ourselves.
But still, given David’s talk, victory seems assured! Thus, when our giants don’t fall so easily, we begin to wonder if we have a defect of faith. And, once again, I suggest we need to turn the lens of Scripture just slightly to be sure we are seeing clearly. Because David did not have faith in victory. True, he was optimistic regarding the outcome, but his fundamental faith was in the living God.
Faith is the ability to stand in the shadow of any giant and still believe that the light of God burns brightly, though you cannot see it.
Because when the army saw Goliath, their vision was obscured. Even the king lost the ability to see the light of God once the giant arose.
But a young shepherd, the youngest of all his brothers, not sent to parade into battle, but left behind to tend to the farm, when that young shepherd entered the shadow of the giant, he could still see God’s light burning. And that, beloved, is the miracle of the story. It is not that Goliath fell, but that David believed. The miracle is that a shepherd boy reminded an army that, in the end, God’s will does indeed prevail in this world, regardless of whether the Goliaths of this world seem to triumph. No matter how dark the shadow of Goliath becomes, no matter how many times you appear to have failed, God’s will for this world and perhaps even for you will not be thwarted. Thus ends the story, not of David and Goliath, but of God and any Goliath.
The Children’s Epiclesis
Published on 15 Jun 2009 at 8:40 am.
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This past weekend our parish went on retreat to Shrine Mont in the Shenandoah Mountains. Shrine Mont was the location of a mineral springs resort founded in the late 19th century. The Episcopal Diocese of Virginia bought the land and buildings throughout the twentieth century and now owns it all. The retreat center is named for the Cathedral Shrine of the Transfiguration, an outdoor worship space up the hill that was constructed from rocks from the mountain. That Cathedral is the seat of the Bishop of Virginia.
On Sunday, the last day of our retreat, we celebrated Eucharist in the ball-room of the 19th century hotel that functions as the center of Shrine Mont. I was assisting the celebrant by serving as the “deacon,” setting the table and standing to her right. After the offertory, before the prayer began, she invited the children to come stand up around the altar. They quickly poured in from the seats, pressing against the table, all of them eager to be in front. We pushed them back just a bit, so they didn’t knock anything over, and then the celebrant began, “The Lord be with you.”
With no book or service bulletin in front of them, the children still responded with the rest of us, “And also with you.” I noticed and looked at them.
“Lift up your hearts,” she continued.
This time I watched the kids. “We lift them up to the Lord,” they all said in unison.
It went on like this for the rest of the Eucharistic Prayer. They knew the whole thing, it was written on their hearts. It was as easy as singing your A-B-C’s. Several times the beauty of the moment struck me and I felt a lump beginning to form in my throat, surrounded as I was by such brazen and unabashed faith.
In the tradition in which I was raised, children don’t take communion because we practiced adult baptism and also believed that only the baptized should take communion. I remember growing up and watching the juice and crackers go by, wishing I could have just a taste. When I was at home I’d get soda and Doritos and “play church” with my sisters, even at that young age still finding Communion to be the center of what church meant to me and the sermon important, but secondary. When I was eleven, I decided to get baptized. I spoke with my mother, answering her questions so she was satisfied I understood what I was doing, and then a couple of weeks later my grandfather came in and plunged me ‘neath the waters.
Then I got to take Communion. Then I felt like I had truly become a part of the community. I’m not quite sure how “adult” my baptism was at age eleven, but I knew that to full membership in the community was accomplished by baptism and rewarded by Eucharist. Strange how, all these years and degrees later, now in a denomination many would think is quite different, I have those same views.
Except that children are full members of our community. They have to be older to take their place in the governance of our church, or to enter discernment for Holy Orders, but they are still full members of the community. They join us in the Eucharistic feast, they share with us in telling others about their faith, and their faith instructs us, sharpening us as iron sharpens iron.
And the fact that iron of a seven year old’s faith, as she or he enthusiastically recites memorized words during the Eucharistic Prayer, can sharpen my own faith is part of the power of Christian community.
The clergy serve as the people’s presider, leading their prayers in Holy Eucharist. But the clergy cannot call the Spirit down upon bread and wine to effect the miracle of Eucharist alone. They need the consent of the people. The Spirit requires the people’s consent to quicken its movement in and around the gifts. And yesterday, as I stood beside a simple wooden table, surrounded by children who were fully my brothers and sisters in Christ, the fervor of their prayer caused the Spirit to rush among us with great force and power.
And I felt it.
And my faith was sharpened.
And they were once again my teachers.
O God, whose blessed Son came into the world that he might destroy the works of the devil and make us children of God and heirs of eternal life: Grant that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves as he is pure; that, when he comes again with power and great glory, we may be made like him in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where he lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.
