Beyond Justice to Mercy

This morning, I decided to catch up on some blogs, when I noticed this graphic at Episcopal Cafe. In the Lectionary, I've been concentrating on the Jeremiah/Lamentations passages in my sermons, and I couldn't help thinking how scary justice is. Justice is the setting of things right, the rectifying of wrongs. And as much as justice is necessary, by itself it destroys relationships because it sets an absolutist view of fairness as a priority over and above reconciliation. The Christian message has always proclaimed that justice has been ultimately taken care of by the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ upon the cross.

Thus efforts to minimize (or worse, abandon) a theology of the cross as necessary to how we relate to God and to others leaves open the clamoring of voices who won't be silenced until some human perception of "justice desserts" has been achieved--even at the expense of those things that make life worth living. But grace, with its attending dependence upon what Jesus did at Calvary, gives us the room to start over, to not be tied to mere human standards of right and wrong, and to enjoy both the time and growing strength of the Holy Spirit to be able to make amends in a way that flows from a place of love. As the old Susan Ashton song says, "We must reach out beyond justice to mercy."

Anne Rice and Hubris

Anne Rice's recent denunciation of the Church has brought to the fore, once again, Western culture's disaffection with organized religion. Any quick Google search on the effects of organized religion will produce a plethora of negative, even vindictive sites to wade through. And I will be the first to lament the tragic associations of religion with all sorts of vile evils throughout history.

Yet, there is an odd hubris in Rice's actions, and many others' like hers. In the quest for a pure spirituality, "organized religion" is cast away, as though the problem is an impersonal structural impediment. Yet the difficulty is not that religions have structure, teaching, norms of practice, rules, and so on. All collective human endeavors have those marks.

The real difficulty is that, even the most saintly of us, struggles with a broken human nature addicted to the tendency to sin. Ms. Rice's attack on the perceived injustices within the Church of her recent rejection ends up becoming an attack upon her own self. Is she so pure that she is immune to the inclination to think, feel, and do things contrary to God's will? This is not a criticism but a concern--for there is not a human being on this planet who can make such a claim.

The best spiritual practices always have a communal/corporate dimension to them. We need each other. And as a followers of Jesus, who placed top priority on loving God and neighbor, Rice cannot easily dodge the importance of having companions on any pilgrimage. Alas, that is where the proposition to discard "organized religion" breaks down. Because when we get together to share, worship, pray, serve, think, create, and mark milestones we do so after an inherited or improvised order. We develop structures, basic agreed upon teachings and wise practices, appoint leaders who are responsible for various aspects of the spiritual community's life. Thus, our sins become amplified through these necessary communal structures--yet, so does the good that results.

I could make all sorts of other arguments to defend the necessity of organized religion, but at its most simple is the proposition that "no man (or woman) is an island" (Donne). And while it can be the case that "hell is other people" (Sartre), Jesus does not give us the option to love only God. We need to love other people, too. And it is impossible to love without a community in which that love can be put into practice.

Glasspool Happened, and No Apocalypse Yet

Well, it's happened--the Episcopal Church once again acted upon its Communion-dismantling trajectory and did not hinder Mary Glasspool from being consecrated. Not that anyone expected it not to happen. And the whole thing went by with little attention, as noted in a less-than-charitable entry from Matt Kennedy. I've been combing to see if there are any official statements in reaction so far, and the only one I have thus encountered is from Anglican Mainstream. And while there may and should be consequences, I doubt they will look much like the three we see here. Let's address them in turn...and add my own prognostications.

Regarding recommended consequence #1, it will be a mixed bag. Rowan will likely say something. He may indicate that American bishops might be disinvited from Lambeth if he feels like being a hard-ass that day. But that's quite a few years away, and he will not do anything that violates the jurisdictional integrity of American Province, which is TEC. The Primates Meeting will have the strongest reaction and will be sure to unseat Katherine from their counsels. They will issue a strong statement and use whatever weight they have to have America publicly reprimanded, and most the Anglican Communion will officially cut ties with TEC (if they haven't already). The ACC will wobble. The American delegation will show up, the Global South delegations will move to have them excluded, but like last time (when section 4 of the Covenant was sliced off from the 2nd Draft) some political maneuvering will occur, causing the Global South to walk out--leaving the ACC, as an official instrument of the Anglican Communion, still "in Communion" with TEC. In short, it will be a mess, and likely halt the Covenant process.

Regarding consequence #2, the Primates meeting will probably give a nod to Communion Partners, not as though that will accomplish much. Many like me are sympathetic to the aims of Communion Partners, but they're not exactly batting down the doors to join. Unless it is seen as the clear Communion response for maintaining ties with the rest of the Communion, it will be seen as ineffectual, political, or some combination of the two. Rowan might push to create some new structure with Communion Partners as its base. But without the support of the ACC (as essentially a TEC "colony" within the Anglican Communion) and the antagonism the Primates' Meeting is likely to cause, it will be a long slog to come up with something functional. Again, look for no help from afar.

Regarding consequence #3, the Primates will heartily endorse the ACNA as the "new Province" in North America. Rowan will reject this and uphold TEC as the official American Province, as will the ACC. And no one from TEC or ACNA will be invited to Lambeth, punishing us both as the errant children we are.

Of course, miracles do happen...Maranatha!

The Irony of Valuing Unity

Just recently, a meeting of Global South Anglicans produced a document in which they uphold ACNA and Communion Partners as the two official ways they recommend maintaining ties of intercommunion with Anglicans in North America. It's kind of funny. ACNA was formed as a means of maintaining a "pure" expression of faith (sounds like every other church split since the Reformation, heck since 1054 when Rome and Byzantium split). Yet they are not formally recognized by the Anglican Communion. At the same time, TEC maintains official recognition in the Anglican Communion, yet most in power have espoused and actively endorsed actions that are clearly against the mind of the Communion and at significant variance with traditional Christian faith and practice.

The Global South represents the statistical majority of active Anglican adherents and have come into their own within the last 25 years as faithful, dynamic leaders of the Church. But it is with broad brushstrokes and curious blindness that the document they released paints a vision of unity and faithfulness that are willing to embrace.

I suppose the appeal to the Communion Partners was supposed to be a way of endorsing recognition for those in TEC who remain faithful to traditional Christian orthodoxy. Yet, that is a somewhat faulty proposition. First, they aren't really an organization or "party" as much as they are a loose affiliation of bishops (and rectors now?) who have signed onto certain documents affirming a more interdependent life within the Anglican Communion, but with little real effect. Second, supporting Communion Partners is either superfluous (especially in places like the diocese of Central Florida) or something that requires too much political capital for the faithful to muster (in places like Los Angeles, or even Pittsburgh, which is still healing from the re-alignment).

To me, unity is a first order priority. Jesus prayed that we would be one as he and the Father are one. Unfortunately, (and with all due deference to my Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic friends) there is no church has never split. So I see TEC's formal ties to the Anglican Communion in a positive light. So it is distressing to me when, on the one hand, some Christians leave and form their own church, and on the other hand, other Christians renege on promises they made to their fellow brothers and sisters (and it doubly hurts when those Christians seem to be the ones "in charge").

I think the Global South is justified in decrying TEC's continued impertinence, because those actions show a tendency towards schismatic thinking. But they are also shortsighted in rewarding ACNA (who are, frankly, equally as schismatic--they formed their own new church!). They are also shortsighted in looking to Communion Partners, as currently constituted, as a viable entity through which to relate to Episcopalians who are faithful in heartfelt belief and practice to the shared doctrine, prayer, ethics, and mission of the wider Communion. It's almost like saying, "Your continued faithfulness isn't enough, you have to do something more than the rest of us Anglicans elsewhere do to prove you are truly Anglican." It's a double-standard.

That's why I like the Anglican Covenant--we all have to sign it, and it has enough teeth to pinch the hands of those who sign it with the their fingers crossed. I only wish there was some provision--and protection--for dioceses, parishes, and individuals who sign on to it yet remain in bodies (Provinces, dioceses, parishes) which may not endorse it, in order that the fullest possible unity might be maintained. I guess there's no place for those who place a high value on unity in any church anymore.

Meandering Thoughts on the Event of the Glasspool Consents

The Rev. Mary Glasspool, a partnered non-celibate lesbian priest, was elected by the Diocese of Los Angeles back in December to be their Suffragan Bishop. The Episcopal News Service, has announced that she has received the necessary number of consents from bishops and standing committees to move ahead with her consecration on May 5. This has severe ramifications in terms of further strain on our relationships within the Anglican Communion and, to a lesser extent, our ecumenical partners. There are both enough soap boxes condemning and toasts celebrating this event. But in reality, I do not think it will change things too much.

Why not?
1) She's not going to be a bishop with jurisdiction. She won't be at the Queen's Tea at Lambeth. She won't be making the hot and heavy decisions at House of Bishops meetings.

2) We already broke the mold with Gene Robinson. All told, this election was pretty much under the radar. No one is really surprised; there's no shock value, just grins on the left and head-shaking on the right.

3) It is a symptom of the larger problem of disunity that has largely existed since the inception of the Episcopal Church. This is a fact of history. After the Revolution, the Church of England was not really interested in keeping any formal connection with the colonial churches she birthed. It was only through the tireless efforts of people Samuel Seabury and Anglicans in Scotland that made it possible for us not to be Presbyterians, Congregationalists, or Methodists by default. Americans don't like being an equal (and never less important) partner. After the revolution, we ran our Church and kept our nose out of other national Churches' business as long as they left us alone. As the revivals of the 19th Century and new impetus for world missions was gaining momentum, we were in the front lines, heading up the charge--especially in Latin America and Asia. In the late 19th and early 20th Century, when ecumenical fever swept our hearts, we were leading the movement. Again, as the Church became more socially charged in its spirituality after the 1960s, we considered ourselves leaders, pioneers in justice. And that is what informs our actions--independence.

But the world is changing. Global Christianity's vibrant center is now in Africa and Southeast Asia, not the West. And we really aren't world leaders anymore, as developing nations have come into their own. So when ideas like the Covenant come along--an idea we aren't leading in or originating--we fold our arms and harrumph like the kid who normally gets picked first being passed over for the new neighborhood superstar. We want to take our ball and bat and go home. So passive-aggressive nose-thumbing is the order of the day until we grow up and learn what unity in the Body of Christ is all about now that almost 250 years have passed.

Sermon: March 14, 2010

The Greatest Universal Hero (Lent 4C)

When I was a kid, I used to love watching the Greatest American Hero. Ralph a teacher with a group of students on a desert field trip is given a suit by aliens in order to save the world. Of course, he loses the instructions in the desert, and the silliness ensues as he learns to use the suit by trial and error to fight the bad guys.

People have all sorts of heroes for all sorts of reasons. A Harris Poll from 2009 listed Barak Obama, Jesus Christ, Martin Luther King, Ronald Reagan, and George W. Bush as the top five. Jesus dropped from first place, which he held in the 2001 survey, but God, as a separate answer from Jesus, actually entered the list at #11 from not being listed before. Some of the reasons people gave of what makes someone a hero are:

Doing what is right regardless of personal consequences.
Not giving up until the goal is accomplished.
Willingness to risk personal safety to help others.
Changing society for the better.

When we consider our Lord Jesus, we see these very qualities manifest as if in bright neon lights.

And for myself personally—maybe this is because I read too many comic books growing up—I see a hero as someone who swoops in to make the dramatic rescue just in the nick of time. And that is something our lessons have in common. The God who loves us, does whatever it takes to come to the rescue—whether it’s rescue from desert wandering, rescue from our own twisted self-interest, or rescue from the sins that so easily beset us.

When Joshua brings Israel over the Jordan, they put their past behind them. No more Egypt. No more desert. They celebrate the Passover, and from then on eat from the produce of the Promised Land. God rescued them from the misery of slavery. God delivered them from the disgrace of their parents’ unfaithfulness in the desert. God opened the door to their obtaining, finally, the promise first announced to Abraham hundreds of years earlier. But it was rough and winding road getting there.

Many of us have had times of wandering, times of doubt, times of disgrace, times of complaining to God with a less-than-perfect trust in him. St John of the Cross, in his classic mystical work, The Dark Night of the Soul, notes that in our quest to grow closer to Christ, we might encounter times when God’s love and presence seem absent. It seems like our Lord has forsaken us, abandoned us. Even the comfort of our devotions—prayer, worship, eucharist—can flee away. But the stripping away of these modest rewards is meant as a means of driving us to the virtue of loving God for himself. So God may remove these side benefits, because they have grown to distract us from God. The point of any spiritual exercise is less about any peace, satisfaction, or ecstasy that may result. The point is to grow to genuinely love God for who he is. So when the Lord rescues us, bringing us across a spiritual Jordan from those desert times, we begin to experience viscerally once again the attending goodness of pursuing God. We can genuinely rejoice for the Giver and not just the gifts.

The two sons of the generous father in Jesus’ famous parable, in a more pronounced way than the pious mystic St John of the Cross, experience a similar struggle. Whereas in the Dark Night of the Soul, we have already been seeking to love God wholeheartedly, the two brothers, in much too familiar ways, choose the gifts over the Giver. The younger brother is brash—asking for his share of the inheritance, running away, squandering it, then humbly returning when he realizes what a mess of his life he made. The older brother is self-righteous—feeling cheated when his father throws a party for his returning brother. Both brothers have issues. As Tim Keller in his recent book The Prodigal God puts it:

Jesus uses the younger and elder brothers to portray the two basic ways people try to find happiness and fulfillment: the way of moral conformity and the way of self-discovery. Each acts as a lens coloring how you see all of life, or as a paradigm shaping your understanding of everything. Each is a way of finding personal significance and worth, of addressing the ills of the world, and of determining right from wrong.

So both brothers got it wrong; they were looking to themselves. The younger brother sought to redefine the rule book and returned a broken man with empty pockets. The elder brother stayed and did everything by the book, biding his time till when the old man would die and he would get everything that was left—only to have those plans dashed when his brother returned and was welcomed back with full perks.

The younger brothers among us attempt to impose their own rules on the world, only to have the world chew them up and spit them out. The elder brothers among us attempt to impose their own desires on the rules in a kind of spiritual arm-twisting contest, only to find their plans dashed on the Rock of Ages who is crazy about forgiving people. Neither of them sought to have their happiness center on their relationship with their father at the beginning. The younger brother finally has a change of heart, but the last time we see the elder brother, we are left with him fuming at his father.

Jesus wants us to move beyond the self-centered attempts to pursue happiness we see in these two sons. Neither hippy-style hedonism nor holier-than-thou histrionics will bring us closer to happiness. We are only most truly happy when we have made our home in Christ. God needs to be foremost in our affections, aspirations, contemplations, decisions, and daily actions. And that takes humility enough to acknowledge we aren’t what it’s all about, and repentance enough to recognize our need for the Holy Spirit to come and set things right.

Graciously, God is committed to the ministry of reconciliation. God wants to remove the barriers that stand between us and him. Our loving Father deeply desires to restore a loving relationship where we freely receive his love, and we freely love him and others out the overflow of that love. And considering the depth of disorder in our hearts and lifestyles, that means reconciliation requires not simply a stamp of approval, or even just a clean slate. Reconciliation necessitates a completely new life. St. Paul’s calls this the “new creation.” When Jesus talked to Nicodemus, he talked about being “born again.” And this is all language we find connected with baptism. It’s resurrection language. We are buried with Christ and risen with him by faith. A new being. A new person. A new heart.

But what about the myriad of people who are drizzled with water from the font and there seems to be no change? Two realities are going on. God’s grace is there—
God is doing the work, and the lack of human agency makes God no less present, nor less active, in extending his grace to us. But any extension of grace from God must be activated by the faith of the person to whom it is given. Recently, the Breens gave me a gift certificate for my birthday for a meal at the Inn at Georgian Place. Now with all the wonderful new things about settling in, meeting new people, and generally trying to get into a consistent groove, I have been waiting to use it. Is the gift certificate rightfully mine? Absolutely. Will it do me any good until I take it to the Inn? Not in the slightest. Similarly, to be reconciled to God, we need to “activate” that gift by faith.

Additionally, just like any gift of God, we have the responsibility to share that gift with others. God took the initiative first, sending Jesus as an “ambassador” from heaven. Then Jesus sent the disciples, who themselves passed on the joyful obligation of being ministers of reconciliation down to us. Now this shouldn’t be a challenge for us in terms of motivation. As we receive God’s love, and then learn to love him back, we begin to grow in our desire to show that same love with others—each of us in our own way. We have been wired with different personalities, equipped with special talents, and placed in a variety of relationships by God’s sovereign hand. As we grow in our understanding of what God has given us and among whom God has guided our steps, we learn to see where God is at work, and join him with our unique way of sharing the Good News of the Kingdom. Some of us are hands-on. Some of us are creative. Some of us are good listeners. The ways we interact with others to bring the light of Christ are as many as there are people who love Jesus. As Jesus has rescued us, so he sends us to tell others that their rescue is at hand.

Our Lord Jesus Christ is the Greatest Universal Hero. He rescues us from being too focused on the gift instead of the Giver through those times of deep shadow we sometimes walk in life. He sets us free from our misguided plans and self-centered attitudes, to find our greatest joy in him. He breaks the power of cancelled sin, reconstructing a relationship with us that motivates us to share such an amazing experience with others. I can’t account for why people choose the heroes they do. But I can stand before you this morning and declare—Jesus is my hero! If you claim Jesus as your hero, or if you would like to, I invite you pray with me…

Abba Father, through our Lord Jesus Christ you heroically rescued us—making us new creations who share a new relationship with you; so guide our hearts to earnestly seek after you when we’re in the dark places, to find our greatest happiness in you when we have lost our way, and to faithfully receive and proclaim the reconciliation you extend to us by your Spirit. This we ask for the sake of your love and glory. Amen.

Church Vitality

Recently some leaders in my church and I were at a meeting with other church leaders in our diocese who are "kind of" nearby. It was the first such meeting in about 10 years, and it was great to be able to catch up on news together, meet with one another, and be inspired for ministry. Yet, I was also scared as one my parishioners said wonderful things about me. I embarrass easily, and everything that was said caused someone else to say, "No pressure," in a tongue-in-cheek way. Took the words right out of my mouth. Please pray for me.

That being said, I am going to pitch to the Vestry looking into Natural Church Development. I have seen it work in other churches and it is based on good theological and universally testable foundations. The basic idea is to focus on quality and allow the Holy Spirit take care of quantity. I have high hopes for St Francis, as much as they have high hopes for me. But even more, I think we both have high hopes in the promises of a loving God who is the Ultimate Evangelist himself.

Hit the Reset Button

Okay, so I've been off the blogosphere for a while. I am hoping to hit the reset button with more success than American foreign policy has. Happy amidst. the mounds of snow in Somerset, PA here in the rectory of St. Francis-in-the-Fields. As are my wife Kelly and our two beagles. Here's to more fun in the near future!

Psychology and Sacrament

During CPE this Summer, I have been learning how chaplaincy in a non-sectarian institution (A.I. Nemours Children's Hospital in Wilmington, DE in this case) functions as an expression of common grace--the grace that is a sacramental extension of God's soteriological grace, but not intentionally aimed at preaching the Gospel directly. As I explained it to friend, common grace is like the perfume still filling the ballroom just after the duchess has departed--causing one to wonder, "Where did she go? I must have just missed her."

Of course, not everyone will want to follow after her, and some may despise her perfume, but she is the hostess of the feast we attend. In the same way, not everyone is receptive of the good gifts God gives to all of us, but he (and we as his Church) avails them anyway. So my intent in CPE is to help families and patients find a degree of emotional and spiritual wholeness during a time that is often difficult to have much of either. Some people embrace the gift of a caring ear to help them find solace. Some cannot or will not accept the opportunity pastoral/spiritual care providers offer. Sometimes, as chaplains, we fail to make the offer clear, accessible, or impose our own difficulties as unconscious barriers to what God wants to offer through us.

Psychological wholeness is a gift from God. And the means to that kind of grace is most usually through the chaplain listening--not giving advice, pontificating, or attempting measure up a broken soul to an external standard of emotional health and urging them to reach it by sheer force of will. Thus, the time spent simply being present, sharing in the story told by the client, and reflecting back that story to them is often the most important sacred act we can give. Sure there is a time for prayer, for searching Scripture, for responding to the client's invitation for input. But trust is the foundation earned to offer those additional gifts as the Holy Spirit directs. And trust is built when you can show you listen and make a real attempt to understand the reality of the client's situation.

So psychology is a sacrament of common grace that can help us become better pastors to the flock of God, better missionaries reaching out to broken people, even better evangelists--who know how to listen as much as we know how to talk.

Poetic Theology

Today, my rector and I were formulating a plan for me to teach a special Lenten study on Christian Spiritual Classic Writers. We talked about Augustine (Hippo not Canterbury), Thomas a Kempis, John Bunyan, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and (from the contemporary scene) Rowan Williams. I must admit my lack of familiarity of Rowan's theology except the bits I have gleaned since he's been ABC. But I have been able to gauge a bit of his spirituality. He is a deeply sensitive and grounded Anglo-Catholic. He is considered by some a "liberal," however that is construed, but most people I know and read agree he is incredibly thoughtful and definitely a voice in Anglicanism that must be grappled with. In my initial readings today, I sense he is very much a poetic soul, not simply by the fact he writes poetry. Hallmark Card writers write poetry, but most I contend are not so poetic. His is manner is more akin to a monk on Mt. Athos than an Anglican bishop. His prose contains a lyric sense of hedgerows and heaths and rocky coastal seascapes. His poetry is intensely personal, immersing his readers with him into an encapsulation of his moments of experiencing God in Holy Scripture. I hear clear reverberations of Lancelot Andrews and George Herbert in his meditations. And I am now beginning to see how this contemporary mystic will prove to be a seminal figure in spiritual theology, enough so to include him in a study of "Classic" Christian Spiritual Writers.

Blue Christmas?

Not long ago, our Roman brethren celebrated the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and yesterday was the commemoration of Our Lady of Guadalupe. This got me thinking. I am not a typical Mary-bashing Protestant, being an Anglican evangelical. However, I have many reservations about those practices that are not grounded firmly in Scripture. I can affirm the Virgin Birth (talking about Mary being a virgin at Christ's conception), but not the perpetual virginity of Mary. I can say the Magnificat in the Daily Office, without wondering if I am giving too much focus on her. I can affirm that in some way the prayers of the martyrs (a la the Apocalypse) are in continuity with heaven and earth, without embracing a full on cult of the saints, and certainly with no pretensions in the direction of Mary being acclaimed Coredemptrix. There was an interesting paper about the place of Mary put out by the Anglican Communion/Roman Catholic dialogue, which I must admit not reading in its entirety. Certainly the life and faith of Mary is commendable, and Protestants generally do not give her enough credit. Many esteem Calvin, Wesley, and Luther to the same degree many Roman Christians hold Mary.

So here's a cyber-pint to Mary this Advent and Christmastide. May light perpetual shine upon her, as with all the faithful departed. Let us remember what amazing young woman she was a Godbearer. May we likewise bear the presence of God in the fullness of the Holy Spirit as a witness to the world.

Conflict and Sacrament

The news is always consumed with conflict--Iraq, Georgia, Afghanistan, the Anglican Communion, the ramp-up to the November election. Where is God to be found in this? Marcion was a heretic who denied a loving God could stomach much less instigate conflict. Yet we are remiss in our biblical and theological understanding if we do not look to reconcile the "war" imagery of ancient Israel with the "peace" imagery made known in Jesus Christ.

First, it is incorrect to find the opposite of peace in violence. The opposite of peace is anarchy, or theologically, the absence of God's rule. Violence is a tool. Some things need to be destroyed, swept away, overcome. I take antibiotics to destroy infection-causing bacteria. I sweep my house and use various cleaners to stem the build-up of dust and debris that would make my home a haven for insects and vermin. The difficulty arises when fallen human beings make use of so dangerous a tool as violence. Which is why we must never use words carelessly or take actions indiscriminately. I am not God, but I seek his direction to know when violence is needed, and know when violence is never justified.

Second, peace can only ultimately be accomplished by God himself. As much as I pray to be an instrument of peace, and as much as I pray for God's kingdom to come on earth, I know that what I can accomplish is limited. All is dependent on the Holy Spirit's carrying out of the salvation made real through Jesus Christ according to the will of the Father.

Third, God never backs down from a fight, but he doesn't always use violence to achieve peace. The ultimate example of this is Christ's self-abasement and sacrifice. Christ is the perfect model of restraint, but Christ's insistence to us to "turn the other cheek" is accomplished by Christ himself. That means it becomes more difficult to discern God's will in a given situation. Perhaps, pacifists are correct as a general rule of thumb, but as Dietrich Bonhoeffer discovered, there are circumstances that demand violent action to bring peace.

Fourth, understand that conflict is not eternal. As ubiquitous as fights are, as longstanding some hatreds carry on over the generations, they all must end. El Salvador, once ripped with sectarian violence, has former enemies celebrating the weddings of their children with one another. They basically, as a nation, just stopped killing. People eventually tire of fighting, and creative solutions to conflict that mirror God's heavenly rule emerge. Is this common grace? Does this point to perhaps a sacramental pain made accessible by violence that causes us to strive for peace? Is the violence that was experienced, as tragic as it is, the necessary precursor in some instances of a cleansing by blood of people's hearts--not in terms of vengeance, but to make them ready to accept peace?

I am still remain unconvinced of pacifism, though for me there is an attraction to the kind of logical consistency it carries. But life, as I've seen it, is a dirty, unpredictable business. And while I believe there are underlying foundations and principles that must guide our approach to conflict, originating in God, the fall-out of sin makes for a much less identifiably consistent outcome and means of approach.

So practically, I see how violence, as a neutral creation, can be used for good ends or ill. I also look to see how God might be using all means redemptively in the midst of conflict. In humility and prayer, I do what I can as best as I perceive it to minimize and squelch the conflict. Finally, I remember that conflict is temporary, and the longer I keep it on life-support, by action OR inaction, the worse it typically is for everyone involved. It's a less-than-perfect ethic for a less-than-perfect world, but I trust that God will forgive my shortcomings as I continue to seek him and live according to love.

Sacramental Pain

Perhaps one of the most disconcerting issues for Christians is how they are to address pain and suffering. We find promises in Holy Scripture about how God blesses His children with health, long life, wealth, and respect. At the same time we find the stories and psalming cries of those who suffer and are yet faithful to God. How is this to be reconciled?

This past Sunday I had the opportunity to preach on the story of Abraham and the Three Visitors and Romans 5 (using the lectionary readings). And without re-preaching, let me summarize to say that God uses suffering in a redemptive way. Suffering, as much as it seems to contradict what God expresses as His benevolent desire for our good, can be a wonderful opportunity to grow as we walk in genuine trust. Jesus Himself bore the tremendous grief of torture and crucifixion, and with that all the agonies we each endured, are enduring, or will ever endure--all out of love for us.

The truth of God's redemptive experience and permission of suffering can seem carrion comfort at the time. But if we allow God's love to become our focus, realizing that God Himself is present in our pains, manifesting grace often in a way mysterious to us, we open ourselves to receiving that pain sacramentally. It's then we begin to see the process St. Paul describes of moving from faith, to perseverance, to character, to hope, to its fruition in eternal life--and God's loving grace, His very presence, is there with us each step of the way.

Anglican Left/Right Battles and the Moral High Ground

I carry considerable despair concerning the future of the Anglican Communion and the Episcopal Church at times in light of what I'll call "the troubles." Dan Martins posted a suggested solution to the botched "abandonment" charges brought up against bishops Schofield and Cox, and Greg Griffith responded forthwith that the move was quite calculated. Then there is the ongoing legal battles over property. But here's the kicker. Neither side has done the right thing, in my opinion.

On the TEC side of things, in spite of claims of "fiduciary" responsibility, the moral high ground is to let parishes leave with the property. Whether as an example of "generosity," to further demonstrate acceptance of Windsor/DES stipulations, as an act that shows they trust the claimed new leading of the Holy Spirit regardless of the cost, to avoid public perception as vindictive business-as-usual Christians by those outside the Church, or simply as an imitation of God's own character (consider the father in Christ' parable of the prodigal son), the rationale for NOT seeking what may or may not be rightfully TEC's is substantial enough for all legal pursuits to cease and allowing departing parishes to keep the assets.

On the departing Anglican side of things, for similar reasons, letting claims to property and assets go are truly worthwhile. Many sacrifices are being made by departing parishes--no clear future within the Anglican Communion, longstanding relationships and ties (some for generations), leaving behind the institutional benefits of pensions and insurance by clergy, perhaps bearing the stigma of being "schismatic" or "homophobic," even internal disagreement with fellow congregants who want to remain with TEC. With these considerations in mind, what are buildings and assets, really? To leave behind buildings and assets demonstrates a full trust in God's leading to depart, or in some cases it demonstrates that such things are albatrosses that only inhibit getting about the business of God's kingdom.

Whoever will leave the keys without a fight will be taking the moral high ground, both theologically and in the court of public opinion.

But what if both sides parted with the buildings? What if both sides never claimed a penny of the assets that remained? I highly doubt it would happen, but it might stand as a testimony of a brighter future for both sides. If both sides demonstrate the kind of humility, repentance, and sacrifice needed to create the unlikely scenario of unclaimed property and money, then there is a chance that both the fast-moving drift toward heresy and schism could be reversed, relationships healed, and a (re)formed Anglican witness not merely remain but thrive once again.

I'm a pessimist, but I'm allowed to dream aren't I?

A Sacramental View of Scripture

If indeed all things in creation are ways by which God desires to engage us with grace, then it would make sense that Scripture is sacramental. There is a grace intended to be communicated to us through the the pages of the Holy Bible. What is that grace? The grace of God's decision to reveal his will, to speak to his people and his creation. we find the very "speaking" act of God foundational to creation itself (Genesis 1). And its continued sustenance by God's "powerful word" (Hebrews 1:3) shows that God's speech is intended for the beginning, upholding, and renewing of creation.

The analogy of Jesus as the Incarnate Word and the Bible as God's Word is very natural to make at this stage. As Jesus Christ is fully God and fully human, so is Scripture by its nature at the same time the words of God and the words of their human authors. This has ramifications for our hermeneutical views of Scripture. We recognize that Jesus in the flesh sufficiently and fully represented God, but was yet emptied of the full majesty due him. He was subject to death, pain, human limitations, and the very earthy constraints we would not normally associate with God.

Scripture, in like fashion, truly and full conveys what desires for us to know, that his creative power might work in us as we hear him speak in the pages of Scripture. Yet that Scripture has been subjected to very human conditions--limited vocabulary; progressive understanding of the authors, and thus revelation of truth; being conveyed via oral and written sources that are corruptible. Nevertheless, as the Holy Spirit both overshadowed Mary at the incarnation, and resurrected Jesus Christ from the dead, the Holy Spirit inspired the human authors, and breathes through Scripture into us new life.

Thus, the inheritance of Scripture is essential to our spiritual life. We cannot pick and choose the parts we like. We have to recognize that what is conveyed is intended, preserved, and vivified the Holy Spirit. As Christ in his hypostatic union is still one being in essence, though of two natures; Scripture contains a primary intent, found both in the heart of God and the ideas of the human writers. And as we obey one Lord Jesus Christ, taking the fullness of who he is upon our lives, we have no right to change the words of Scripture, neglect portions of it, or interpret Scripture in a manner that causes it to be self-negating.

And as we receive the grace of God in Scripture, our response should be one of thankful faith, manifested in obedience and worship. Then we will see the sacramental fruits of Scripture take root and bring life to our lives.

Components of a Sacrament

In order to understand our Sacramental God, we must understand all that is necessary for something to be sacramental. I'll be honest in saying that I do not purport in portraying a comprehensive view of sacraments. And frankly, I am uncertain as to how connected my beliefs are with any let alone Anglican view of sacraments. My draw to Anglicanism has been chasing the reverberating echo I sent out signaled back to me from Anglicanism that I heard as I have tried to follow Jesus.

Some minimum requirements are needed for a sacrament to "happen." First and most important, you need God. Second, you need something created by God (something that isn't God, material or not, even a mere idea). Third, you need God's operating by means of the created thing to convey an aspect of his benevolence and, in some manner, presence/grace. From this minimal definition, literally anything can be a sacrament. In fact, I would even suggest everything is sacramental in some manner. But the purpose of each sacrament is not the same in scope and effect. All sacraments make holy something may not ordinarily be counted holy, thus making it a vehicle of God to express his divine nature and intentions toward creation and humanity.

Finally, all sacraments demand a response. Whether we are talking Newtonian physics ("for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction"), or relational interactions between us with God and one another, the Sacramental God acts in ways that make it impossible to for there to be mere stasis. Creation must respond. We must confront the reality of the Living God as the Holy Spirit moves within us and outside us. God is wooing us, summoning us, seeking our greatest good and his ultimate glory, which coincide with one another again and again. Perhaps it is time for us to open up our eyes to the workings of the Heavenly Father, revealed in Jesus Christ, and still at work among us through the Holy Spirit.

The Sacramental God

I have been taking a class on John Henry Newman, focusing on when he was still an Anglican, reading primarily from his Oxford sermons and his Parochial & Plain Sermons. For my most recent paper, I read his sermon on the Eucharistic Presence of Jesus in holy communion. And it got me thinking about how I have been framing my theological ideas for some time now, at least the past 5 years. I truly believe that God interacts pre-eminently with creation sacramentally. But I would qualify that what I mean by sacrament is not limited to the 2 Gospel sacraments or the Roman 7.

I believe every manner by which God interacts with creation is a sacrament. Wherever grace is found touching the physical world, that is where God is, and that is a sacramental act on God's part. Sacraments also, by their nature, demand a response to fully apprehend the benefit they are intended to give. Perhaps this would be a good topic to address in the next few posts, concerning how our sacramental God engages us to win us and creation back into a restored relationship with Him.

Finding the Core

Kelly and I got into a discussion yesterday about whether certain beliefs/actions were necessary to be a Christian (and maybe which ones). Particularly the centerpiece was the idea of a kind of pluralism, potentially embodied in a pop culture icon like Bono who in many circles would be discounted as a genuine Christian, in others a wishy-washy Christian, and in still others a model of Christian faith and practice. The basic idea that we are all sinners, have an incomplete and usually distorted view of God, but yet were recipients of grace opens a unique can of worms when it comes to issues such as salvation, faith, Church membership, etc. There is definitely a body of teaching that can be seen as essentially the core of Christianity. But it begins to blur at the edges, as we make allowances for debatable issues. As Anglicans we even have a "doctrine" of via media to embody a tolerance for a degree of theological fuzziness, originally so England wouldn't fall into the sectarian post-Reformation warring chaos, but in effect permitting a wide degree of opinions on almost concept or practice in the Church.

There is a central core to Christian faith and practice. There is such a thing as special revelation by which God reveals Himself to us. But immediately natural questions come up. What is the source of this revelation? How reliable is it? How much and what kind of authority should be ascribed to/recognized in it? How does this source rank among other possible sources? How do I make a determination among these sources? Do I really even have a right to make such determinations and ask such questions?

Yes there is a core. And the closer one comes to the core, the more one sees through the fuzziness at the edges. That core has been attested to for millennia by God's people. Echoes of it reverberate in the galaxy of other other faiths, but the central fullness, including the mystery it encompasses, is found as we become more rooted in Holy Scripture, more aware of the consistent strains that weave through tradition of the Church, more committed to the historic practices of devotion and service, and more intentionally loving of others starkly different than us. We also come closer to the core as we become more humble, more silent, more penitent, and more giving. There is a point we cross over from death to life, when we "become" Christian. But that point is not so discernible to many. The point is keep traveling to the center. Because it is there where we will meet God face to face.

What Kind of God Is Worth It? (part 5)

Last post, I tried to tackle the goodness of God as one of two assumptions for the basis of my argument in favor of a relational plurality within the unity of God. Today I would like to address the other assumption: that human beings are made in the image of God.

This is perhaps more difficult without relying upon revelatory sources for drawing such a conclusion. I do believe, however, that there are three naturally discernible universalities which strongly infer that human beings are creatures who bear the imprint of the Divine nature in a representational manner.

First, human beings have with some variation affirmed anthropic characteristics in the divinities they have worshiped. In both polytheistic and monotheistic influenced cultures, we find deities which to various degrees take on human form, engage in human types of interaction, and are interacted with in an analogous way as one would with another human being (and vice versa is claimed as well). Whether, an ancient Hebrew invokes the curse of a "jealous" God upon his enemies, or a Hindu bows before a very human looking icon of Shiva; whether, an Aztec craftsman creates a grotesque relief of a deity with an animal's head upon a human body, or a neo-pagan in Iceland calls upon Thor--a god who can die just like any mortal person--we see an innate drive to identify humanity and divinity very closely.

Can this simply be a human tendency to anthropomorphize? It could, were this an isolated feature and no other dynamics were at work. However, there are at least two more tendencies to consider.

Second, there seems to be an unabated desire in human beings to connect with "the other" or "the holy." Typically, this manifests itself as prayer or worship or meditation. Somehow, human beings are driven to make genuine contact with something greater than oneself. Even in atheistic or nontheistic worldviews, there is a constant search for enlightenment and a pursuit of wonders which are in some respect greater than human capacities and understanding. There is an innate sense in humans that there must be something more and greater than what is seen or experienced, and we want to become intimate in some way with this "other" thing. St. Augustine would likely classify it as a God-shaped hole in the human heart, but whether one accepts this classification, one cannot escape the universality of this desire.

This desire, being universal, indicates it is part of the creative purpose of God. God wanted human beings to reach out beyond themselves. God created us to do that very thing. This does not ensure we are successful at it, nor does it preclude other desires from interfering with or superseding our longing for God. We can misinterpret what the desire is, or suppress it. But it is there nonetheless.

Since we have this desire from God to be in contact with him, it should help us realize that God desires some sort of communion with us. However, God can only have genuine communion with something like himself. Because we a still creatures and God is the creator, we cannot in our creatureliness alone truly be able to interact with God. In fact, we likely would not have such a desire for contact with God, or "the holy," or enlightenment if we were simply of the same nature as other creatures. A dog may desire to be with her human master, but there is a similarity in our creaturely status shared with the dog that spurs in the dog her desire. Therefore, humanity must possess something of the nature of God within it. Otherwise, we would not have the desire we have.

Third, human beings are moral creatures. C.S. Lewis refers to the shared sense of morals and ethics across cultures as the "tao." Roman Catholics would regard this as natural theology. Some have attempted to disparage any innate morality in humanity, making it simply an evolutionary or cultural construct. But we cannot get away from the fact that humans still beleive some things are right and some things are wrong when it comes to behavior. Murder may be defined more narrowly by a group of cannibals than a Western lawyer, but no cannibal would ever eat anyone from his own tribe. Adultery, even though it has been taken lightly in modern America, still hurts. Children are expected to listen and learn from their parents in every society. We cannot escape such moral strictures. They serve as absolutes to keep us from veering into destructive patterns of behavior.

The universality of moral desire, of the desire for palpable intercourse with the other, and the manner in which divinity has manifested itself in anthropic ways serve as strong signs that we are in some way like God. Humanity must bear a likeness to God, especially in ways which are universal. We can infer such from these natural occurrences, but likely would not have done so without the aid of revelation. Many, perhaps most, human beings do not necessarily come to the conclusion that they are like God in some way without being taught via a claimed revelatory text. Yet, these three arguably primal universal behaviors in humanity suggest the distinct possibility of our being created in God's image. And it is just such a God, one who would make me like him enough to interact with me, that draws from me both thanks and adoration.

What Kind of God is Worth It? (part 4)

In part 3, I argued for the necessity of a plurality in unity due to the relational nature of God based upon the propositions that 1) God is good, and 2) God made human beings in His image. However, is it possible that God is not good? Or is it possible that human beings are not created in God's image? Today, I only want to touch on the first question.

Let us consider whether or not God is good. Human beings of all cultures have a sense of good and evil. How each is defined may vary, but we each have those categories consistently expressed. They are universal categories and can potentially be attributed to God. Is it proper to do so?

First, let us consider the difference between good and evil. Dualism is the belief that good and evil are polar opposites, two equal and opposite forces. We find this in ideas such as yin/yang (in which good and evil, like all other opposites, ebb and flow, neutralizing in a seeking of balance) or Manicheism (which saw the two in a pitched battle, hoping for yet never certain of good's eventual triumph). However, if they are equal opposites, what is to say which should be "winner," so to speak? Why do humans almost consistently affirm good over evil? If they are equal opposites, the very ideas of good and evil are left without moral force. They would be merely preferences--hardly any different than saying, "I prefer my coffee black," instead of "I'll take cream and sugar, please."

The conflicts around good versus evil among humans come from weighing the relative value of goodness of certain things, sometimes done errantly. A murderer enjoys killing. Pleasure is a good. Wanton killing is not. But the murderer in his twisted logic weighs the relative good of his pleasure over the good of another person's continuation of life. So we see that good still remains in some way, even though an evil act may occur. However, in the absence of an evil act, the good is seen that much more, and no evil is present. In other words, good is a force superior to evil, making evil derivative. Evil does not "exist" as a force so much is a manifestation of the misappropriation of good things for misguided ends. Evil then is the intent to promote an imbalanced sense of goodness for the sake of a preferred good.

How does this apply to God? We can say that God isn't evil, since evil is derivative, whereas God, by definition, is the source, original. That leaves goodness as being inherent in God's nature.

But what if God is neutral? What if good is created, but not necessarily part of what God is? The ramifications are critical. A neutral God would be neither good nor evil. In such a God, the two things would simply cease to exist. However, they would, once again be relegated to a place of preference.

But the way evil and good interact, in that evil is dependent upon good, implies a formal precedence of good over evil. That means goodness is not dependent, nor does it demonstrate in its nature that it could be. And in any definition of God, that which is foundational must be found within the nature of God. In platonic terms, God is the primary form from which all things are derivative. Therefore, since goodness is foundational, it must be by default part of the nature of God. Thus, God is good. I am more than happy to worship a God who is good.