I caught a glimpse of a vision today. I was in a seminary standing before a 19th century chapel in the middle of a gardened, gated enclave. Standing proud and strong, the chapel, as the enclave, was built in the height of 19th century optimism--rampant enthusiasm about the progress of the church and the new country. The chapel, and the gated community, portrayed a strong front to the broken, dangerous world outside of it.
And, as I watched, nearly two centuries later, the chapel began to crumble. The enclave was in disrepair. The buildings were worn out and dilapidated having rested still for many years beyond their enthusiastic inception. The grounds around the chapel was capitulating to the outside world, being sold out from underneath the seminary’s keeping. The doors to the grounds were open, but barely. And before me stood this noble chapel. For so long it had desperately clung to hope for a day when it would be repaired, renewed, recommissioned. It longed for a day when enthusiasm and hope would return. But before me, it could hold no longer. With great effort, it released its burden, and crumbled to pieces.
The seminary community was up in arms. They were upset. How dare the grounds fall to such disrepair! How could we let the integrity falter? How could we let the enthusiasm wane? But the school could not manage to keep the buildings in the most basic state. Hope was diminishing. And, at the center, this great symbol of strength, of integrity, and of otherness could hold out no longer.
Those outside laughed and jeered. They mocked the fall of the great chapel, the beautiful grounds, and the school it supported. They ridiculed it for its inability to bring about the great hope that it preached.
All of the expectations. All of the optimism. All of the earthly desire for a community that embodied progress, political change, healing, reason, justice, mercy, and proclamation fell down with it. That desperate, last grasp for a political kingdom disappeared with its destruction. All of that history, simply dust. The enthusiasm was for none.
And those outside came quickly to auction. They violently tore up the land upon which the chapel stood. They desecrated the space to build their own little kingdoms, full with big screen televisions, and plenty of square feet. Angrily they consumed to fill an exacerbated appetite.
And it was, for a while.
But then the earth rumbles, and the earth splits. And everything that stands on the land is torn down and falls into the river. And out from the space emerges people, shining white, the sheer glare made the old chapel pale as the moon pales to the sun. Out from the earth emerges generation upon generation who stood before the chapel and wept, and cried out. Walking in its place stood those who begged, and pleaded, who hoped, longed, hungered and thirsted. Out emerges a people who have long forgotten their visions, their agendas, and their politics. Out emerges a group that care little for the chapel in its former glory, because, filling them with such wholeness as could never be brought, filling them with such justice as could never be achieved, filling them with such integrity as could never be managed, filling them with such mercy as could never be replicated, filling them with such joy and enthusiasm as could never be mustered stood the King, shining so brightly that all hints of former glory and ambition waste away to nothing.
And all cried, “Holy, Holy, Holy! Holy is the lamb who sits upon the throne. Worthy is he, and he alone to be praised.”
Christ, plus . . .
Anglicanism is trendy. Canterbury is in almost every young adult group’s title. I’m not sure if it’s a recent trend, or one that has existed for some time and that I just haven’t noticed, but I see quite a few people coming from other denominations into the Episcopal church. At General Theological Seminary, a good 60 percent of the incoming class is new to Anglicanism (straw poll). Some of this has to do with the social, political, and theological issues that our Church is purportedly more open to facing. Some of this has to do with other traditions simply pushing them out. Some come because of the aesthetic appeal to what John Henry Hobart in the early 19th century referred to as our “religious affections” and which he used as one of his major claims against the predominant evangelical majority.
I wonder though if there is another reason, or perhaps if this reason is partially infused with some of the above. It’s the idea of Christ, plus . . .
The liturgy that shapes us into . . .
The calendar year redeems time and brings us . . .
The daily office reminds us and patterns . . .
The communal nature of worship that de-emphasises the individual and . . .
The regular emphasis on the sacraments that . . .
The history and tradition that keeps us in contact with . . .
The monastic resources that allows us to . . .
Christ’s disciples wrestled with being the first, the ones to sit at his right and left side. Not too long afterwards, the patristics began to wrestle with the notion of the perfect life. The competing opinions of those dedicated to the active or contemplative lives roused rancorous debate, and varied depending on the tradition to which you belonged--both had bibilical basis for their opinions, while some, notably Augustine, argued that the perfect life required both types. The major point was individuals asking the question, "what more do I have to do?" "How do I make myself even more perfect?!"
There has been for some time (if not always) tiers of Christianity--the lay and the professional. As much of Protestantism and a changing attitude towards religion has eroded the monastic tradition, this tiered notion has predominantly shifted towards notions of piety and worship. Sunday, or whichever day this takes place on, begins to matter more than notions of active or contemplative, and we can measure piety for the depths of the perfect life. No liturgy? Not very deep--beginner Christians or fundamentalists. Simple music? Not very deep--provincial and lacking. Ornate liturgy? Deeper, and rich with tradition. Beautiful and majestic music? Very sophisticated and imbued with meaning.
Full artistic liturgy, proper catholicity of clergy, regular dialogue with monastic tradition and historical resources to develop and shape individuals? Very deep, very sensual, very moving, compelling us to be drawn us into dialogue with Christ.
Plato believed everything needed an ultimate. Everything needed ends. The actions that we perform always exist for the sake of the final product. This affected the early notions of the perfect life, since what we do is resulting in a final product. All of our actions and all of our contemplations, leads to us becoming a refined product of our process. Since one never becomes perfect, this is a constant process. Grace, and redemption were important, but assumed. More important in practice were notions of becoming and growing into this. It is the methodology for becoming a top-tier Christian.
I wonder if this is what we continue on with today? Notions of tiered Christianity. Notions of entering the perfect life by any other means that repentance, prayer, humility, the Eucharist, and lifting ourselves to heaven for heavenly things? I wonder if we’ve added layers of complexity to determine how this is measured? The more historical, the more liturgical, the more monastic, the more catholic, the more educated, the more ordained, the more Canterbury-ish this process is, the closer it appeals to the perfect life.
I wonder if it really is much simpler than this, and this is our own developed systems, deceptive philosophies and human traditions, out of our own need to compete or feel holier. Have we weighed down the gospel and our ecclesiology--a city on a hill whose main priority is the reconciliation of all people to one another and to God in Christ Jesus our Lord--out of our need for "more" tangibles that we can master . . . Christ is great, but we desire Christ, plus . . .
I wonder though if there is another reason, or perhaps if this reason is partially infused with some of the above. It’s the idea of Christ, plus . . .
The liturgy that shapes us into . . .
The calendar year redeems time and brings us . . .
The daily office reminds us and patterns . . .
The communal nature of worship that de-emphasises the individual and . . .
The regular emphasis on the sacraments that . . .
The history and tradition that keeps us in contact with . . .
The monastic resources that allows us to . . .
Christ’s disciples wrestled with being the first, the ones to sit at his right and left side. Not too long afterwards, the patristics began to wrestle with the notion of the perfect life. The competing opinions of those dedicated to the active or contemplative lives roused rancorous debate, and varied depending on the tradition to which you belonged--both had bibilical basis for their opinions, while some, notably Augustine, argued that the perfect life required both types. The major point was individuals asking the question, "what more do I have to do?" "How do I make myself even more perfect?!"
There has been for some time (if not always) tiers of Christianity--the lay and the professional. As much of Protestantism and a changing attitude towards religion has eroded the monastic tradition, this tiered notion has predominantly shifted towards notions of piety and worship. Sunday, or whichever day this takes place on, begins to matter more than notions of active or contemplative, and we can measure piety for the depths of the perfect life. No liturgy? Not very deep--beginner Christians or fundamentalists. Simple music? Not very deep--provincial and lacking. Ornate liturgy? Deeper, and rich with tradition. Beautiful and majestic music? Very sophisticated and imbued with meaning.
Full artistic liturgy, proper catholicity of clergy, regular dialogue with monastic tradition and historical resources to develop and shape individuals? Very deep, very sensual, very moving, compelling us to be drawn us into dialogue with Christ.
Plato believed everything needed an ultimate. Everything needed ends. The actions that we perform always exist for the sake of the final product. This affected the early notions of the perfect life, since what we do is resulting in a final product. All of our actions and all of our contemplations, leads to us becoming a refined product of our process. Since one never becomes perfect, this is a constant process. Grace, and redemption were important, but assumed. More important in practice were notions of becoming and growing into this. It is the methodology for becoming a top-tier Christian.
I wonder if this is what we continue on with today? Notions of tiered Christianity. Notions of entering the perfect life by any other means that repentance, prayer, humility, the Eucharist, and lifting ourselves to heaven for heavenly things? I wonder if we’ve added layers of complexity to determine how this is measured? The more historical, the more liturgical, the more monastic, the more catholic, the more educated, the more ordained, the more Canterbury-ish this process is, the closer it appeals to the perfect life.
I wonder if it really is much simpler than this, and this is our own developed systems, deceptive philosophies and human traditions, out of our own need to compete or feel holier. Have we weighed down the gospel and our ecclesiology--a city on a hill whose main priority is the reconciliation of all people to one another and to God in Christ Jesus our Lord--out of our need for "more" tangibles that we can master . . . Christ is great, but we desire Christ, plus . . .
Reconciling the Economy
I am looking through job posts, and this is a common theme for many sales jobs: "Can you establish strong relationships with customers, create a sense of urgency, and close deals?" (Verbatim off of a New Home Sales Company's hiring page.)
"Creating urgency" means emotional manipulation, and it goes against every principle fundamentally rooted in Christ's ethic of "love your neighbor as yourself." It objectifies the other, consuming them as a means to our own ends in pursuit of our self-satisfaction. God recognized the spark of "divine" in the other in his creation. He respects the autonomy and beauty of the "other" establishing connection not through manipulation but through interdependence.
But when we have a whole economy of individuals trying to create a sense of urgency in others in order to manipulate and get out of them what they want, we are all victimized, community social capital and trust deteriorates. What we're left with is social neurosis: anxiety, mistrust, hoarding, and protection. Who is looking out for our interests? Who is concerned for us? Who loves us? Where is there security or stability but to submit ourselves and be protected at the feet of mammon.
Is this what Christians are to participate in? Is this a sense of a redeemed and reconciled economy?
"Creating urgency" means emotional manipulation, and it goes against every principle fundamentally rooted in Christ's ethic of "love your neighbor as yourself." It objectifies the other, consuming them as a means to our own ends in pursuit of our self-satisfaction. God recognized the spark of "divine" in the other in his creation. He respects the autonomy and beauty of the "other" establishing connection not through manipulation but through interdependence.
But when we have a whole economy of individuals trying to create a sense of urgency in others in order to manipulate and get out of them what they want, we are all victimized, community social capital and trust deteriorates. What we're left with is social neurosis: anxiety, mistrust, hoarding, and protection. Who is looking out for our interests? Who is concerned for us? Who loves us? Where is there security or stability but to submit ourselves and be protected at the feet of mammon.
Is this what Christians are to participate in? Is this a sense of a redeemed and reconciled economy?
Holy and Set Apart
I don't struggle with believing anything about the gospel and its promise.
I honestly don't.
N.T. Wright writes in Surprised By Hope that when it comes to such basic belief, it merely comes down to our epistemological assumptions about the world: Do we assume we live in a world where a loving creator cares enough to create life, and who cares enough to intervene and defeat the ultimacy of sin, raising Christ from the dead?
This is simple belief. And beliefs are easy.
What I really struggle with is developing the patterns of life and community that fully embrace and embody the gospel. I struggle with being the bold entrepreneur forging new paths and doubling his master's talents, or buying up the field in order to find the pearl of great worth--to stand apart from where others have tread before me.
The reality is, the majority of my patterns have been shaped by our prevailing culture and its assumptions. Our culture has made me who I am. My church life has mostly been preoccupied with altering some head knowledge and some Sunday practice--like taking the sacrament and helping out with Sunday School occasionally.
But how do I go beyond this? How do I begin to shape the patterns of my life so that they countervail the promises of our culture? How do I reshape my life and stand foursquare against overwhelming pressures? It seems, truthfully, I oughtn't be doing it alone at all. This is a church thing . . . a community thing, but I walk in the reality that community is broken. That I am broken.
How do I stand up and apart when other necessarily aren't? Is there a school for this?
I honestly don't.
N.T. Wright writes in Surprised By Hope that when it comes to such basic belief, it merely comes down to our epistemological assumptions about the world: Do we assume we live in a world where a loving creator cares enough to create life, and who cares enough to intervene and defeat the ultimacy of sin, raising Christ from the dead?
This is simple belief. And beliefs are easy.
What I really struggle with is developing the patterns of life and community that fully embrace and embody the gospel. I struggle with being the bold entrepreneur forging new paths and doubling his master's talents, or buying up the field in order to find the pearl of great worth--to stand apart from where others have tread before me.
The reality is, the majority of my patterns have been shaped by our prevailing culture and its assumptions. Our culture has made me who I am. My church life has mostly been preoccupied with altering some head knowledge and some Sunday practice--like taking the sacrament and helping out with Sunday School occasionally.
But how do I go beyond this? How do I begin to shape the patterns of my life so that they countervail the promises of our culture? How do I reshape my life and stand foursquare against overwhelming pressures? It seems, truthfully, I oughtn't be doing it alone at all. This is a church thing . . . a community thing, but I walk in the reality that community is broken. That I am broken.
How do I stand up and apart when other necessarily aren't? Is there a school for this?
Collect for Vocation in Daily Work
Almighty God our heavenly Father, you declare your glory and show forth your handiwork in the heavens and in the earth: Deliver us in our various occupations from the service of self alone, that we may do the work you give us to do in truth and beauty and for the common good; for the sake of him who came among us as one who serves, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
More Patterns . . .
Speaking of Patterns, I'm not sure this isn't a very relevant parallel to our patterns in other areas of our lives. Who do our liturgies proclaim ourselves to be as a people?
Tangible Opportunities
Psychologically, people don't relate to the generic but to the tangible.
Businesses understand this. It's why they have tangibles and next steps--concrete applications to further pursue their ends. They well know that without these tangible steps, goals and visions are lost to some ethereal realm of dreams and well wishing.
I'm still thinking about Shane Claiborne's interview and his challenge for the church to provide a means for young adults to tangibly develop in formation and discipleship. Are we providing concrete ways for individuals to pattern their lives around the Kingdom, or, because of the disconnect, is spiritually drifting towards the ethereal and the emotional?
Businesses understand this. It's why they have tangibles and next steps--concrete applications to further pursue their ends. They well know that without these tangible steps, goals and visions are lost to some ethereal realm of dreams and well wishing.
I'm still thinking about Shane Claiborne's interview and his challenge for the church to provide a means for young adults to tangibly develop in formation and discipleship. Are we providing concrete ways for individuals to pattern their lives around the Kingdom, or, because of the disconnect, is spiritually drifting towards the ethereal and the emotional?
The Language of God
I have kind of a weird confession: Leviticus is one of my favorite books of the bible.
It's true.
For whatever reasons, I love the rules. I love thinking about the cultural context, and the nation building that God was doing. I love reading and thinking about the systems being developed.
In reading through God's design of the sacrificial system, including burnt animal and grain offerings as well as everything that goes along with it, my mind is drawn back to the covenant that God made with Abram. In order to prove to Abram that his promises are true and that he is trustworthy, God uses one of the strongest cultural symbols of the day: God walks up and down, through the path of split animal carcasses (Gen. 15). This was a symbol that defeated peoples did in order to swear loyalty to their new king. They would walk up and down the path, in between split animal carcasses and say, in essence, "let it be done to me as it is to these if I break my promise." God took a significant cultural symbol and adapted it to communicate the depths of his promise with Abram. It's God's language and it's directed to us.
I wonder if this is relevant to the sacrificial system as well. Many who argue that Judaism is merely a copycat religion argue that many of their customs existed in the culture the greater culture. Maybe that's exactly the point. The sacrificial system wasn't about God, but was God's way of communicating with his people. He used the language that they were bound to already know. It was a way to develop a nation devoted to Godliness using a preexisting culture.
Later, with the prophets, we begin to see that the point is not, and may never have been, the sacrificial system at all but a heart and life devoted to the Lord and trusting on his promises. It was about a community sharing in faith. All God ever wanted to do was to communicate with us and he will always use our own language to do so.
"God always knows how to reach you and how to speak to you" someone once told me, "as long as you're willing to listen."
I wonder how applicable this continues to be in our current rituals?
It's true.
For whatever reasons, I love the rules. I love thinking about the cultural context, and the nation building that God was doing. I love reading and thinking about the systems being developed.
In reading through God's design of the sacrificial system, including burnt animal and grain offerings as well as everything that goes along with it, my mind is drawn back to the covenant that God made with Abram. In order to prove to Abram that his promises are true and that he is trustworthy, God uses one of the strongest cultural symbols of the day: God walks up and down, through the path of split animal carcasses (Gen. 15). This was a symbol that defeated peoples did in order to swear loyalty to their new king. They would walk up and down the path, in between split animal carcasses and say, in essence, "let it be done to me as it is to these if I break my promise." God took a significant cultural symbol and adapted it to communicate the depths of his promise with Abram. It's God's language and it's directed to us.
I wonder if this is relevant to the sacrificial system as well. Many who argue that Judaism is merely a copycat religion argue that many of their customs existed in the culture the greater culture. Maybe that's exactly the point. The sacrificial system wasn't about God, but was God's way of communicating with his people. He used the language that they were bound to already know. It was a way to develop a nation devoted to Godliness using a preexisting culture.
Later, with the prophets, we begin to see that the point is not, and may never have been, the sacrificial system at all but a heart and life devoted to the Lord and trusting on his promises. It was about a community sharing in faith. All God ever wanted to do was to communicate with us and he will always use our own language to do so.
"God always knows how to reach you and how to speak to you" someone once told me, "as long as you're willing to listen."
I wonder how applicable this continues to be in our current rituals?
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