I wanted to post a link to what is, in my view, on the best things I've read on General Convention so far. It is an entry on Rev. Fleming Rutledge's blog, Generous Orthodoxy which I think manages to take a balanced view of GC 2006. Whether you agree with her or not, I think she makes some excellent points.
I have to admit that I still am nowhere near ready to comment on GC 2006, mostly because the vitriol and bitterness of the debate has made me distinctly unwilling to get involved in it, even in this small corner of cyberspace. It is going to take weeks to figure out what has happened, so I'm just going to keep my trap shut until the dust settles. And, even then, I really don't know what there will be to say.
Peace,
Phil
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Monday, June 26, 2006
Why Patristics?
I wanted to pick up a comment I made in the previous blog entry in which I mention that Mike Aquillina's Way of the Fathers encourages me to make similar experiments in what has been called patristiblogging. Perhaps it may be all the Latin and Classical Civilization exams I've been marking, perhaps this is tapping into a long-term plan, I thought I might start off my experiments with a few comments about why anybody would want to do anything so odd as reading the Fathers in this day and age.
If you sense a little defensiveness in the my tone, I suspect it is because we are living at a time when the Fathers are distinctly out of vogue. That shouldn't be entirely surprising at a time when the Bible itself is facing unprecedented (well, at least, since the early patristic era) challenges to its authority, not only in an increasingly secular society, but even among Christians. Aren't we, the critics say, talking about those old, white males who have oppressed everyone so long? Why, then, bother?
Why, indeed. Perhaps it's just my own interest in the arcane and underappreciated. Perhaps it is my mis-spent youth as a graduate student in Classics which give me an affection to the Fathers and the ability to read them in the original (even if I get few chances to do it). Perhaps it is because, as my wife likes to say to new acquaintances, I'm one of the few people who can say that they converted (at least, partially) because of reading Augustine (that is a slight exaggeration, but I was taking a beginners, intensive Augustine course when I became a Christian). I'm sure all of these personal reasons have a place in figuring out why I'm interested in patristics, but, somehow, I'm not sure they're enough to convince others why it is important to read the writings of these ancient Christians.
So, what then? How do I justify reading patristics? Well, it depends on who I'm talking to, but I usually make three points.
First, the Fathers are, usually, fairly good theologians in their own right. I think we as moderns forget this because we are put off by expressions of Christianity which are very different from their own. The Fathers carry with them rather different cultural baggage and deal with very different issues than we do today, so it is easy to dismiss them as primitive and underdeveloped in comparison to our own more enlightened understanding of faith and theology. Yet, the Fathers had to work out how to view the canon, how to understand the Trinity and other similar foundational issues. I submit that that needed at least as much, if not more, theological acumen than many theologians today have. As a result, despite their almost foreign sounding expressions, the Fathers really do bear listening to, if only because they were not theological slouches.
Second, the Fathers are a link to the apostolic teaching which we all claim to honour as Christians. In fact, they are rather closer to the apostles, who were, after all, the eye-witnesses of our Lord's life and death than we are. One of the passages in Irenaeius of Lyons which I enjoy is when he comments that he had met a very old Polycarp of Smyrna, who had met and been taught directly by the apostles and, especially, John. The idea that we have writers who are only one or two removes from the eye-witnesses to our Lord's life, makes me sit up and take notice. Perhaps they know something we don't know about our faith. All too often we moderns (and, even more so, post-moderns) are engaged in a deliberate project to forget our Christian past. I think that is deeply wrong-headed because we miss so much when we forget that our theology has not emerged sui generis.
Third, since the Fathers are so foundational in the formation of our theology, we really do need to read them in order to figure out why they came to the conclusions they did. It isn't that the Fathers are infallible, but we owe it ourselves to read them first hand to figure that out. All to many people leave it to others to tell them what the Fathers say and there is a lot of misinformation out there (witness, The Da Vinci Code). If we really expect to do decent theology, we need to understand what they said and why.
Would this convince everyone? Probably not. My hope is that someone out there will take pause and wonder if they shouldn't learn more about the Fathers. I think that part of the anemia which has afflicted orthodoxy in its various forms (this is a rather broad concept of orthodoxy, I concede) is because even orthodox Christians aren't familiar enough with their tradition to make it make sense to their fellow Christians in the pew. If I can contribute even a little to making the Fathers make more sense, I will be content.
Peace,
Phil
If you sense a little defensiveness in the my tone, I suspect it is because we are living at a time when the Fathers are distinctly out of vogue. That shouldn't be entirely surprising at a time when the Bible itself is facing unprecedented (well, at least, since the early patristic era) challenges to its authority, not only in an increasingly secular society, but even among Christians. Aren't we, the critics say, talking about those old, white males who have oppressed everyone so long? Why, then, bother?
Why, indeed. Perhaps it's just my own interest in the arcane and underappreciated. Perhaps it is my mis-spent youth as a graduate student in Classics which give me an affection to the Fathers and the ability to read them in the original (even if I get few chances to do it). Perhaps it is because, as my wife likes to say to new acquaintances, I'm one of the few people who can say that they converted (at least, partially) because of reading Augustine (that is a slight exaggeration, but I was taking a beginners, intensive Augustine course when I became a Christian). I'm sure all of these personal reasons have a place in figuring out why I'm interested in patristics, but, somehow, I'm not sure they're enough to convince others why it is important to read the writings of these ancient Christians.
So, what then? How do I justify reading patristics? Well, it depends on who I'm talking to, but I usually make three points.
First, the Fathers are, usually, fairly good theologians in their own right. I think we as moderns forget this because we are put off by expressions of Christianity which are very different from their own. The Fathers carry with them rather different cultural baggage and deal with very different issues than we do today, so it is easy to dismiss them as primitive and underdeveloped in comparison to our own more enlightened understanding of faith and theology. Yet, the Fathers had to work out how to view the canon, how to understand the Trinity and other similar foundational issues. I submit that that needed at least as much, if not more, theological acumen than many theologians today have. As a result, despite their almost foreign sounding expressions, the Fathers really do bear listening to, if only because they were not theological slouches.
Second, the Fathers are a link to the apostolic teaching which we all claim to honour as Christians. In fact, they are rather closer to the apostles, who were, after all, the eye-witnesses of our Lord's life and death than we are. One of the passages in Irenaeius of Lyons which I enjoy is when he comments that he had met a very old Polycarp of Smyrna, who had met and been taught directly by the apostles and, especially, John. The idea that we have writers who are only one or two removes from the eye-witnesses to our Lord's life, makes me sit up and take notice. Perhaps they know something we don't know about our faith. All too often we moderns (and, even more so, post-moderns) are engaged in a deliberate project to forget our Christian past. I think that is deeply wrong-headed because we miss so much when we forget that our theology has not emerged sui generis.
Third, since the Fathers are so foundational in the formation of our theology, we really do need to read them in order to figure out why they came to the conclusions they did. It isn't that the Fathers are infallible, but we owe it ourselves to read them first hand to figure that out. All to many people leave it to others to tell them what the Fathers say and there is a lot of misinformation out there (witness, The Da Vinci Code). If we really expect to do decent theology, we need to understand what they said and why.
Would this convince everyone? Probably not. My hope is that someone out there will take pause and wonder if they shouldn't learn more about the Fathers. I think that part of the anemia which has afflicted orthodoxy in its various forms (this is a rather broad concept of orthodoxy, I concede) is because even orthodox Christians aren't familiar enough with their tradition to make it make sense to their fellow Christians in the pew. If I can contribute even a little to making the Fathers make more sense, I will be content.
Peace,
Phil
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Adventures in Blogosphere
This has been a very busy week. For myself, it has been the crazy season of setting exams, marking last minute assignments and marking summative assignments (exams are next week). In the Anglican Communion, the drama of the General Convention 2006 has been unfolding before our eyes in the U.S. As a friend as noted, GC is still in the silly season, (see Essays by Jim), but the Anglican corner of blogosphere has been chattering in a particularly crazy way, mulling over rumours, plots, self-congratulation and, very occasionally, hard news from this contentious and, likely, historic General Convention of ECUSA. Sifting through all that activity would be a full-time occupation, if one would have the time and the inclination.
This week, I've had neither. I'm content to look into the dust cloud from time to time, just to see if the dust looks like it is settling. It isn't, so I'm not really interested in contributing, even modestly, to the confusion.
Instead, I found myself thinking about what else is happening out there in blogosphere, away from Anglican-land. What I found in the approximately twenty seconds that I had to myself this week were three commendable blogs which I wanted to share with my readers and which are giving me ideas about where I want to go with this blog.
First, there is Fathers of the Church . I stumbled on this blog I know not how, but I'm ecstatic that I did. The writer on the blog, Mike Aquilina, is a (published!) Roman Catholic writer on patristics from the US. What is great about him is that he writes with evident love of patristics and with a readable writing style which makes the Fathers accessible even to those who may not have specialized in them. He has a particular talent in making the Fathers relevant which is a challenge in this very history mistrusting age. That attracts me and encourages me towards experiments in this area.
Second, there is Bibliocalia which also originates out of the States (California) and also deals with patristics and biblical literature. Here is a fellow who is trying to maintain his studies in patristics in 'real' life and uses this blog as a conduit to that. I sympathize with that because that is precisely what I'm trying to do. I'm still trying to work out what that is supposed to look like, but this site bears watching for its blend of faith and learning.
Third, what is arguably the mother-lode for theologians of all types (even amateurs like myself), Faith and Theology . Here we see discussion about theology and some extremely smart theologians talking in an accessible style. I enjoy the idea of the Theological World Cup (okay, that is an outside site, but this is where I heard about it) and the For the Love of God series (where contributors offer reflections on their favourite theologians) and have been working my way through this exciting well-established blog.
What these discoveries have helped me to realize is that I'm really not interested in staying in Anglican blogosphere. My real interest doesn't lie in Anglican ecclesial politics (not that I'm swearing off this topic, but really it isn't my focus), but rather in seeing the theological rubber hitting the ground and learning how to make my own theological ruminations hit the ground as well. In that sense, these blogs are excellent guides of how to do this with grace. If I could do as well....
Peace,
Phil
This week, I've had neither. I'm content to look into the dust cloud from time to time, just to see if the dust looks like it is settling. It isn't, so I'm not really interested in contributing, even modestly, to the confusion.
Instead, I found myself thinking about what else is happening out there in blogosphere, away from Anglican-land. What I found in the approximately twenty seconds that I had to myself this week were three commendable blogs which I wanted to share with my readers and which are giving me ideas about where I want to go with this blog.
First, there is Fathers of the Church . I stumbled on this blog I know not how, but I'm ecstatic that I did. The writer on the blog, Mike Aquilina, is a (published!) Roman Catholic writer on patristics from the US. What is great about him is that he writes with evident love of patristics and with a readable writing style which makes the Fathers accessible even to those who may not have specialized in them. He has a particular talent in making the Fathers relevant which is a challenge in this very history mistrusting age. That attracts me and encourages me towards experiments in this area.
Second, there is Bibliocalia which also originates out of the States (California) and also deals with patristics and biblical literature. Here is a fellow who is trying to maintain his studies in patristics in 'real' life and uses this blog as a conduit to that. I sympathize with that because that is precisely what I'm trying to do. I'm still trying to work out what that is supposed to look like, but this site bears watching for its blend of faith and learning.
Third, what is arguably the mother-lode for theologians of all types (even amateurs like myself), Faith and Theology . Here we see discussion about theology and some extremely smart theologians talking in an accessible style. I enjoy the idea of the Theological World Cup (okay, that is an outside site, but this is where I heard about it) and the For the Love of God series (where contributors offer reflections on their favourite theologians) and have been working my way through this exciting well-established blog.
What these discoveries have helped me to realize is that I'm really not interested in staying in Anglican blogosphere. My real interest doesn't lie in Anglican ecclesial politics (not that I'm swearing off this topic, but really it isn't my focus), but rather in seeing the theological rubber hitting the ground and learning how to make my own theological ruminations hit the ground as well. In that sense, these blogs are excellent guides of how to do this with grace. If I could do as well....
Peace,
Phil
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Being Anglican
The last few shots across the bow have or are being fired in blogosphere as ECUSA approaches its General Convention; the first since the contentious and controversial GC 2003 which has helped to trigger a major crisis in the Anglican Communion. Along with, I'm sure, every other Anglican blogger, I wanted to make my own comments before all sorts of things hit the fan.
I should note that I write not as a member of ECUSA or even as particularly knowledgeable about internal ECUSA politics, short of knowing about the issues and some of the personalities involved. Yet, I am an interested observer because my own province, the Anglican Church of Canada is about a year away from its own General Synod which likely is going to be contentious as well and for much the same reasons. The situation up here in Canada (excepting, of course, New Westminster) has been calmer and less divisive. I think the reason for that is that there is a perception that the no irrevocable decision has been undertaken. The furthest General Synod did, after agreeing to study the problem for a few more years, was to affirm the integrity and sanctity of same-sex unions. That was far enough, thank you very much, but it did stop short of open defiance of Lambeth 98 etc, etc.
Yet, what is fascinating about this last series of articles is how much liberal articles have been drawing a line in the sand and claiming that what is at issue is our very identity as Anglicans. Now, this argument plays out in various ways, but the dominant way has been to argue that the changes to the Communion suggested by Windsor Report and by the recent Covenant proposal will change our Anglican identity. I understand the argument and I concede that these commentators are right. Constitutionally, these documents are asking for substantial change. Yet, I must confess to finding these constitutional arguments a bit tedious because, at the end of the day, I don't think they are central to our identity as Anglicans at all.
So, what, if not constitutions, is the core of our communal identity? I think we can start approaching by recognizing that Anglican is really not a noun, but actually an adjective. When we are using the word Anglican, we are really talking about the Anglican (Communion), the Anglican (Church) and Anglican (Christians). Being Anglican is not the central part of our identity. At least, it shouldn't be. We are a church who worships using a rite derived from the Church of England as it emerged out of the Reformation of the 16th and 17th centuries. We are Christians who worship and theologize out of this tradition which we believe is linked to the apostolic traditions in an unbroken line (yes, Roman Catholics beg to differ, but this is our claim, not theirs).
So, what does that mean? It means that the last court of approval is not the constitutions of our individual churches, or even any Covenant which might emerge out of the Windsor Report process. The last court of appeal is how we've learned to be the Church, first from Scripture and from a long history of being the Church (the good, the bad and the ugly) in the world. This is one reason why I like the Windsor Report is that it referred the issue of our division to precisely the right area; the ecclesiological instead of the constitutional. It helps, I suppose, that I happen to think the ecclesiology of the Windsor Report is bang on and consistent with what the Bible tells us about how we are to be the Church.
I'm not saying that constitutions and covenants are unimportant. I am saying that they are only secondary to ecclesiological considerations because they flow from them. Now, I'm sure that some readers may think I'm quibbling here, but I do think the distinction is important because it settles down to how do we work out this argument. As you might expect, I don't think it helpful to merely play dueling constitutions or to argue that each individual province is functionally independent and can proceed on its way regardless of what other provinces think. I'm very unclear how we could say that is a body of anything, much less of Christ.
We are bound by ties of affection and support, as the New Testament makes clear, which means we have responsibilities to each other to maintain the communication lines and to do nothing that will cause the others to stumble. We have forgotten that and the place to remind us are Paul's Letters or Jesus commission of the disciples in the Gospels. Scripture is our foundation, and, then, only secondarily, constitutions, prayer books and the like. So, Scripture is precisely where we all, liberals and conservatives, need to start from. We are, ultimately, Christians before we are Anglicans, so we need to go back to the basic level to work out how this Anglican Communion is supposed to work.
I will continue to pray for ECUSA as it enters General Convention that wisdom and the Spirit will prevail in its deliberations. Amen.
I should note that I write not as a member of ECUSA or even as particularly knowledgeable about internal ECUSA politics, short of knowing about the issues and some of the personalities involved. Yet, I am an interested observer because my own province, the Anglican Church of Canada is about a year away from its own General Synod which likely is going to be contentious as well and for much the same reasons. The situation up here in Canada (excepting, of course, New Westminster) has been calmer and less divisive. I think the reason for that is that there is a perception that the no irrevocable decision has been undertaken. The furthest General Synod did, after agreeing to study the problem for a few more years, was to affirm the integrity and sanctity of same-sex unions. That was far enough, thank you very much, but it did stop short of open defiance of Lambeth 98 etc, etc.
Yet, what is fascinating about this last series of articles is how much liberal articles have been drawing a line in the sand and claiming that what is at issue is our very identity as Anglicans. Now, this argument plays out in various ways, but the dominant way has been to argue that the changes to the Communion suggested by Windsor Report and by the recent Covenant proposal will change our Anglican identity. I understand the argument and I concede that these commentators are right. Constitutionally, these documents are asking for substantial change. Yet, I must confess to finding these constitutional arguments a bit tedious because, at the end of the day, I don't think they are central to our identity as Anglicans at all.
So, what, if not constitutions, is the core of our communal identity? I think we can start approaching by recognizing that Anglican is really not a noun, but actually an adjective. When we are using the word Anglican, we are really talking about the Anglican (Communion), the Anglican (Church) and Anglican (Christians). Being Anglican is not the central part of our identity. At least, it shouldn't be. We are a church who worships using a rite derived from the Church of England as it emerged out of the Reformation of the 16th and 17th centuries. We are Christians who worship and theologize out of this tradition which we believe is linked to the apostolic traditions in an unbroken line (yes, Roman Catholics beg to differ, but this is our claim, not theirs).
So, what does that mean? It means that the last court of approval is not the constitutions of our individual churches, or even any Covenant which might emerge out of the Windsor Report process. The last court of appeal is how we've learned to be the Church, first from Scripture and from a long history of being the Church (the good, the bad and the ugly) in the world. This is one reason why I like the Windsor Report is that it referred the issue of our division to precisely the right area; the ecclesiological instead of the constitutional. It helps, I suppose, that I happen to think the ecclesiology of the Windsor Report is bang on and consistent with what the Bible tells us about how we are to be the Church.
I'm not saying that constitutions and covenants are unimportant. I am saying that they are only secondary to ecclesiological considerations because they flow from them. Now, I'm sure that some readers may think I'm quibbling here, but I do think the distinction is important because it settles down to how do we work out this argument. As you might expect, I don't think it helpful to merely play dueling constitutions or to argue that each individual province is functionally independent and can proceed on its way regardless of what other provinces think. I'm very unclear how we could say that is a body of anything, much less of Christ.
We are bound by ties of affection and support, as the New Testament makes clear, which means we have responsibilities to each other to maintain the communication lines and to do nothing that will cause the others to stumble. We have forgotten that and the place to remind us are Paul's Letters or Jesus commission of the disciples in the Gospels. Scripture is our foundation, and, then, only secondarily, constitutions, prayer books and the like. So, Scripture is precisely where we all, liberals and conservatives, need to start from. We are, ultimately, Christians before we are Anglicans, so we need to go back to the basic level to work out how this Anglican Communion is supposed to work.
I will continue to pray for ECUSA as it enters General Convention that wisdom and the Spirit will prevail in its deliberations. Amen.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Pentecost Learning
Happy Pentecost!!
I've always liked Pentecost. Part of that liking is that this is when I was baptized as an Anglican which represented a culmination of a busy year of conversion about fourteen years ago. That conversion really was a turning point in my life and having my baptism happen on Pentecost made a lot of sense then and now. The rushing of the Spirit among the disciples always seemed to have been enacted in my life with the changes which my life took in that year of conversion and which continued to this day. I'm grateful for those changes because I recognize that I had been on a very different, much more self-destructive course before that. Each Pentecost is a reminder of God's intervention in my life, just as it should remind us of the Spirit's intervention into human history through the lives of the disciples.
This Pentecost has also been interesting because of where we're living. Last fall, we moved into a very Jewish area in Toronto, so we've been spectators to the rhythms of Jewish life in the city. We've been lucky enough to be very good friends with a modern Orthodox couple and have had the opportunity to explore the links between Judaism and Christianity in a unique. In particular, my wife has been off to shul a few times including this week as the Jewish community has been celebrating Shavuot (Pentecost)which is the fiftieth day from Passover. The holiday is celebrated with all night Torah learning and, as with any other Jewish holiday, food. My wife managed to make it out to a few of these events (in full frum gear: long skirt, long sleeve shirt and hat). She enjoyed the events and learned quite a bit.
One of the events had focused on learning Torah and why it was important to study it for God's sake, not for the purpose of grinding theological axes, but to learn more about God himself. My wife's description of the event made me wonder how it was that we Christian lost that sense of learning about our faith, about Scripture and about God. Why do we use the Bible as a mine for pithy quotations to use against our enemies, but not really study it? Why do we study theology only for creating sharp weapons to use against those who we perceive as our enemies? Why do we figure that, unlike every other area in our lives, we don't have to know anything about our faith, about our Scripture?
Of course, I'm not the only person to have noticed this. Bishop Tom Wright makes similar comments in his Hebrews for Everyone, when he notes, with some perplexity, that people who in other areas pride themselves on their knowledge almost boast of their lack of knowledge about theology, church history and scripture. Somehow, we Anglicans seem to think that this is okay. Doesn't this fly in the face of the oft-repeated slogan of the Anglican church allowing people to worship with 'heart, mind and soul' if we refuse to learn about our faith, not just through experience, but also through learning about what God is like through Scripture and theology or learning about what has worked in the faith over the centuries of church history?
I don't have any answer for that, of course, but I wonder if we shouldn't take lessons from the Jews here in their transparent love of learning Torah. I wonder what would happen if we imitate the example of, say, Lauren Winner in Girl Meets God, who, on Pentecost night, stayed up with friends to study Scripture all night? Or, if that is too ambitious, if we took a little time out each day to read Scripture, read theology or about the great examples of faith in the past?
I'm not saying that this will solve all our problems as people or as a church. Clearly, study will not, by itself, bring us closer to God. We have to experience God in our lives, through others and through prayer, but I put it to you: if you love someone, don't you want to get to know them better? And wouldn't you use whatever methods were at hand to do that?
On this Pentecost eve, I commit myself anew to Christian learning for its own sake. I pray that, through this study, I learn more about the God I love. May that rushing Spirit of Pentecost sweep us up further into God's presence and may we seek to learn more about our divine Lover.
Peace
Phil
I've always liked Pentecost. Part of that liking is that this is when I was baptized as an Anglican which represented a culmination of a busy year of conversion about fourteen years ago. That conversion really was a turning point in my life and having my baptism happen on Pentecost made a lot of sense then and now. The rushing of the Spirit among the disciples always seemed to have been enacted in my life with the changes which my life took in that year of conversion and which continued to this day. I'm grateful for those changes because I recognize that I had been on a very different, much more self-destructive course before that. Each Pentecost is a reminder of God's intervention in my life, just as it should remind us of the Spirit's intervention into human history through the lives of the disciples.
This Pentecost has also been interesting because of where we're living. Last fall, we moved into a very Jewish area in Toronto, so we've been spectators to the rhythms of Jewish life in the city. We've been lucky enough to be very good friends with a modern Orthodox couple and have had the opportunity to explore the links between Judaism and Christianity in a unique. In particular, my wife has been off to shul a few times including this week as the Jewish community has been celebrating Shavuot (Pentecost)which is the fiftieth day from Passover. The holiday is celebrated with all night Torah learning and, as with any other Jewish holiday, food. My wife managed to make it out to a few of these events (in full frum gear: long skirt, long sleeve shirt and hat). She enjoyed the events and learned quite a bit.
One of the events had focused on learning Torah and why it was important to study it for God's sake, not for the purpose of grinding theological axes, but to learn more about God himself. My wife's description of the event made me wonder how it was that we Christian lost that sense of learning about our faith, about Scripture and about God. Why do we use the Bible as a mine for pithy quotations to use against our enemies, but not really study it? Why do we study theology only for creating sharp weapons to use against those who we perceive as our enemies? Why do we figure that, unlike every other area in our lives, we don't have to know anything about our faith, about our Scripture?
Of course, I'm not the only person to have noticed this. Bishop Tom Wright makes similar comments in his Hebrews for Everyone, when he notes, with some perplexity, that people who in other areas pride themselves on their knowledge almost boast of their lack of knowledge about theology, church history and scripture. Somehow, we Anglicans seem to think that this is okay. Doesn't this fly in the face of the oft-repeated slogan of the Anglican church allowing people to worship with 'heart, mind and soul' if we refuse to learn about our faith, not just through experience, but also through learning about what God is like through Scripture and theology or learning about what has worked in the faith over the centuries of church history?
I don't have any answer for that, of course, but I wonder if we shouldn't take lessons from the Jews here in their transparent love of learning Torah. I wonder what would happen if we imitate the example of, say, Lauren Winner in Girl Meets God, who, on Pentecost night, stayed up with friends to study Scripture all night? Or, if that is too ambitious, if we took a little time out each day to read Scripture, read theology or about the great examples of faith in the past?
I'm not saying that this will solve all our problems as people or as a church. Clearly, study will not, by itself, bring us closer to God. We have to experience God in our lives, through others and through prayer, but I put it to you: if you love someone, don't you want to get to know them better? And wouldn't you use whatever methods were at hand to do that?
On this Pentecost eve, I commit myself anew to Christian learning for its own sake. I pray that, through this study, I learn more about the God I love. May that rushing Spirit of Pentecost sweep us up further into God's presence and may we seek to learn more about our divine Lover.
Peace
Phil
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Covenants and the Anglican Communion
It has been just over week since the Proposal for Anglican Covenant has come out, just enough time for the initial blast of publicity and visceral reactions to ease down and, perhaps, just time to start to think about the implications of this move. What I offer here is hardly a systematic review of the document (which can be found at Covenant Proposal ), but rather a series of impressions based on my reading of the proposal and the reaction to it.
First, I think this is a good idea. One of the most frustrating aspects of the last few years is the almost total lack of accountability in how provinces act towards each other. I am the first to recognize the effective independence of each province of the Anglican Communion and to recognize that this means that there is considerable scope for different practices from province to province. These differences are a good thing, but we also have to remember that, as a Communion, we are also affected by other provinces' decisions. A covenant to recognize that interdependence and to work out ways to appropriately deal with problems between provinces is long overdue.
Second, this idea of a covenant which binds us as a Communion is a biblical one. Indeed, implicit in the ecclesiology of the Bible, is an assumption that the churches of St. Paul's day, while effectively independent in most areas, are bound by the good news they share and by the bonds of affection with which they are bound. The generous assistance of the Macedonian churches to Jerusalem is only on example of these ties. If we are looking for a model to retain independence and the sense of belonging to each other, we would do worse than the Pauline churches or even the churches of the sub-Apostolic age. We don't need an imperial bishop to accomplish this, but we do need forbearance and wisdom among ourselves.
Third, I recognize that this covenant is viewed by both sides with considerable suspicion and, to some degree, rightly. There has been so bad blood between the two sides in this conflict that it should be unsurprising that both sides cannot trust each other not to manipulate the mechanisms set up by this covenant to drive the other out. Yet, this covenant has been implicit in the logic of the Windsor Report and really is a measure to cool the conflict. I pray that we can bear that in mind.
Lastly, I recognize a certain amount of fatigue around this issue. Over the last year, we have been increasingly seeing both moderate liberals and moderate conservatives muttering about wanting this issue to just go away. Rightly, moderates point out that there are other serious issues in the Communion and it is time to get on with things. Yet, I do want to caution that, now that this issue has been exposed to the light, we can't sweep it under the rug. I certainly wish the New Westminster crisis and the Robinson ordination crisis never happened, but they have and we need to deal with those issues. Before we can even get going, we need to figure out what are our common bonds and how do we deal with provinces which disregard those bonds. I get that ECUSA and the diocese of New Westminster believe they are at the forefront of a prophetic call to open the church to homosexuals (I dispute that, but that is the subject of another blog), but we have to recognize that the prophets tend to cause as much conflict as they solve. If this is true prophecy, we will look back on this time and say that the divisions created needed to happen. If it was not, then both New Westminster and ECUSA have to answer for that. The jury is out on the prophetic call, but we had better figure out how to discern these calls or we're just asking for further division and conflict.
Peace,
Phil
First, I think this is a good idea. One of the most frustrating aspects of the last few years is the almost total lack of accountability in how provinces act towards each other. I am the first to recognize the effective independence of each province of the Anglican Communion and to recognize that this means that there is considerable scope for different practices from province to province. These differences are a good thing, but we also have to remember that, as a Communion, we are also affected by other provinces' decisions. A covenant to recognize that interdependence and to work out ways to appropriately deal with problems between provinces is long overdue.
Second, this idea of a covenant which binds us as a Communion is a biblical one. Indeed, implicit in the ecclesiology of the Bible, is an assumption that the churches of St. Paul's day, while effectively independent in most areas, are bound by the good news they share and by the bonds of affection with which they are bound. The generous assistance of the Macedonian churches to Jerusalem is only on example of these ties. If we are looking for a model to retain independence and the sense of belonging to each other, we would do worse than the Pauline churches or even the churches of the sub-Apostolic age. We don't need an imperial bishop to accomplish this, but we do need forbearance and wisdom among ourselves.
Third, I recognize that this covenant is viewed by both sides with considerable suspicion and, to some degree, rightly. There has been so bad blood between the two sides in this conflict that it should be unsurprising that both sides cannot trust each other not to manipulate the mechanisms set up by this covenant to drive the other out. Yet, this covenant has been implicit in the logic of the Windsor Report and really is a measure to cool the conflict. I pray that we can bear that in mind.
Lastly, I recognize a certain amount of fatigue around this issue. Over the last year, we have been increasingly seeing both moderate liberals and moderate conservatives muttering about wanting this issue to just go away. Rightly, moderates point out that there are other serious issues in the Communion and it is time to get on with things. Yet, I do want to caution that, now that this issue has been exposed to the light, we can't sweep it under the rug. I certainly wish the New Westminster crisis and the Robinson ordination crisis never happened, but they have and we need to deal with those issues. Before we can even get going, we need to figure out what are our common bonds and how do we deal with provinces which disregard those bonds. I get that ECUSA and the diocese of New Westminster believe they are at the forefront of a prophetic call to open the church to homosexuals (I dispute that, but that is the subject of another blog), but we have to recognize that the prophets tend to cause as much conflict as they solve. If this is true prophecy, we will look back on this time and say that the divisions created needed to happen. If it was not, then both New Westminster and ECUSA have to answer for that. The jury is out on the prophetic call, but we had better figure out how to discern these calls or we're just asking for further division and conflict.
Peace,
Phil
Sunday, May 14, 2006
N.T. Wright, Creation and the Church
I'm past due for a post, but life, which tends to get a little too quick for me this time of year, has been busier than usual this last couple of weeks. A combination of a student conference and a basically busy week has conspired to prevent me from blogging.
The highlight of this week, however, was getting a chance to see Bishop N.T. Wright (of Durham) speaking at a conference put on by my wife's college. Before I proceed, I have to say that I'm an N.T. Wright fan. I've read his Christian Origins series (I'm even slowly acquiring it for myself--the books are a little expensive) and several other books and articles by him. I find him one of the more thoughtful and insightful New Testament scholars and theologians in recent times. If any of you have read the much maligned (by both sides) Windsor Report, you'll find N.T. Wright's fingerprints on it throughout. His ecclesiological vision, by itself, if we bothered to listen and act, is sufficient to stabilize our fragmenting Communion and allow us a chance to settle our difficulties with each other. That is a heady vision, I know, but the trick is that many don't accept that vision for various reasons.
Bishop Wright delivered three keynote addresses last week. Unfortunately, time and money meant that I could really only catch one which dealt with Romans 8, 18-25 and the topic of the Creation. I really don't have space to transcribe my notes on this, but his argument emphasized our responsibility for Creation which has been marred by the fall and our failures to live up to our calling at God's image bearers who reflect God's glory and care into Creation itself. Thus, by the Fall, Creation has been afflicted with decay and death which continues to hold sway. The good Creation, like the Promised Land before the Exodus, is held captive by the powers of decay and death, but has been released by Jesus' victory over death; a victory in which we participate now, but for which we still await the final consummation. And we are a people who are called to live in the hope and expectation that we are only living through the labour pains of the new age to come.
None of this is particularly new, mind you. I've seen similar arguments before. Yet, I enjoyed this reminder as well as the elegant and clear exposition of it (which I don't think I've even come close to conveying). And I enjoyed Bishop Wright's elegant refutations, especially his brief excursus on the Da Vinci Code, the Judas Gospel and their popularity. His definition of Gnosticism is masterful: (rough quotation)"At the heart of Gnosticism is the belief that Creation is evil, created by a stupid God". With Bishop Wright, I set myself against that view because I do believe that Creation was and is a good thing, even if it is currently in travail.
What I found particularly appealing about this talk, and which made me wish I could see another, is that Bishop Wright spoke with hope. Hope about the world as we find it. Hope that the evil afflicting Creation and us has already been beaten and undermined. And even hope that our Communion can get through our current crises and survive to pass on these other two, more important, sources of hope to the world around us. In some ways, this last hope is the one that feels the strangest. We can all, I think, grant the first two sources of hope because they are so general and so central to our faith. Yet, this third hope is harder because it is more intimately personal to the life of our Communion and is a place where emotions are rubbed raw. Yet, Bishop Wright's call for patience at a time in which our church travails is just as grounded in our communal hope as Christians. If we can have hope for the world in the state that it is in, how can we note have hope that we can work out our quarrels, whatever they are, in our Church?
Bishop Wright is a precious voice in our Communion today. He is learned. He is clear and firm in his opinions. His call for patience should slow us down, move us from our rigidly defended beliefs so that we can start trying to sort out what God wants of us. Our only chance as a Communion is to bring down the temperature and finally talk about what God wants of us. I pray that, in this corner of cyberspace, we can manage, even a little, to do some of these things in our discussions.
Peace,
Phil
The highlight of this week, however, was getting a chance to see Bishop N.T. Wright (of Durham) speaking at a conference put on by my wife's college. Before I proceed, I have to say that I'm an N.T. Wright fan. I've read his Christian Origins series (I'm even slowly acquiring it for myself--the books are a little expensive) and several other books and articles by him. I find him one of the more thoughtful and insightful New Testament scholars and theologians in recent times. If any of you have read the much maligned (by both sides) Windsor Report, you'll find N.T. Wright's fingerprints on it throughout. His ecclesiological vision, by itself, if we bothered to listen and act, is sufficient to stabilize our fragmenting Communion and allow us a chance to settle our difficulties with each other. That is a heady vision, I know, but the trick is that many don't accept that vision for various reasons.
Bishop Wright delivered three keynote addresses last week. Unfortunately, time and money meant that I could really only catch one which dealt with Romans 8, 18-25 and the topic of the Creation. I really don't have space to transcribe my notes on this, but his argument emphasized our responsibility for Creation which has been marred by the fall and our failures to live up to our calling at God's image bearers who reflect God's glory and care into Creation itself. Thus, by the Fall, Creation has been afflicted with decay and death which continues to hold sway. The good Creation, like the Promised Land before the Exodus, is held captive by the powers of decay and death, but has been released by Jesus' victory over death; a victory in which we participate now, but for which we still await the final consummation. And we are a people who are called to live in the hope and expectation that we are only living through the labour pains of the new age to come.
None of this is particularly new, mind you. I've seen similar arguments before. Yet, I enjoyed this reminder as well as the elegant and clear exposition of it (which I don't think I've even come close to conveying). And I enjoyed Bishop Wright's elegant refutations, especially his brief excursus on the Da Vinci Code, the Judas Gospel and their popularity. His definition of Gnosticism is masterful: (rough quotation)"At the heart of Gnosticism is the belief that Creation is evil, created by a stupid God". With Bishop Wright, I set myself against that view because I do believe that Creation was and is a good thing, even if it is currently in travail.
What I found particularly appealing about this talk, and which made me wish I could see another, is that Bishop Wright spoke with hope. Hope about the world as we find it. Hope that the evil afflicting Creation and us has already been beaten and undermined. And even hope that our Communion can get through our current crises and survive to pass on these other two, more important, sources of hope to the world around us. In some ways, this last hope is the one that feels the strangest. We can all, I think, grant the first two sources of hope because they are so general and so central to our faith. Yet, this third hope is harder because it is more intimately personal to the life of our Communion and is a place where emotions are rubbed raw. Yet, Bishop Wright's call for patience at a time in which our church travails is just as grounded in our communal hope as Christians. If we can have hope for the world in the state that it is in, how can we note have hope that we can work out our quarrels, whatever they are, in our Church?
Bishop Wright is a precious voice in our Communion today. He is learned. He is clear and firm in his opinions. His call for patience should slow us down, move us from our rigidly defended beliefs so that we can start trying to sort out what God wants of us. Our only chance as a Communion is to bring down the temperature and finally talk about what God wants of us. I pray that, in this corner of cyberspace, we can manage, even a little, to do some of these things in our discussions.
Peace,
Phil
Sunday, April 30, 2006
United 93 and the "Bonhoeffer Clause"
Well, there has been a certain amount of buzz around the release of United 93, the first movie to depict the events of 9/11. My wife and I went to see it on Friday. We came out reasonably impressed, almost despite ourselves. We both liked that no stars were cast, but rather unknown actors/actresses (the most we managed was 'Wait a minute, he/she looks familiar. Can't quite place them...'). Indeed, many of leading figures in the various air controls, FAA and NORAD headquarters were the actual people who were on duty that day. The style lets the action just flow and you do really get a strong feel for the chaos and 'fog of war' which beset both the civilian and military agencies struggling to work out a response to the 9/11 attacks. The frantic efforts of all parties to figure out just what was happening, how many planes were under the control of hijackers and what rules of engagement were possible in so novel a situation explains many things about the apparent paralysis in the hour and a half that it took for the attacks to unfold. That and having only four aircraft (only two of which were actually armed!!) to defend the entire Eastern seaboard. I think we sometimes forget how unexpected and how suddenly things happened that day.
The movie, of course, focuses on United flight 93, the only hijacked plane which failed to reach its target (now believed to have been the Capitol) because, according to reconstructed accounts, of the brave actions of the passengers and surviving crew. That knowledge made this movie very difficult to sit through, since the action seems to creep at a snail's pace (actually, it is closer to real time than any Hollywood thriller would get). What was interesting about that pacing is the effect it had on both my wife and I. By about half way through the movie, we were both ready to jump up and yell 'Stab somebody already!!! Get this thing started!" Ironically, as my wife pointed out later, we were very much feeling the same emotions that the hijackers themselves were feeling because we, the audience, and the hijackers were the only people who really knew what was going to happen. So, all these scenes of people eating their breakfasts, chatting with each other or just quietly reading which are so normal were simply jarringly eerie because we know where all this will end. So, we found ourselves understanding the younger hijackers who were getting really twitchy as they awaited the signal for them to seize the plane.
The other really striking element of this movie was the comparative lack of jingoistic rhetoric. When the decision was made to storm the cockpit, there was no 'America is the greatest' rhetoric, just a recognition that, in all likelihoold, everyone on that plane was already dead (since they already knew about the WTC and the Pentagon attacks, this wasn't a surprising conclusion), but all they could do was to make sure that no one else need die. To be sure, the passengers in the movie had a faint hope and planned for it (they had a small plane pilot and a retired air traffic controller), but they are shown to realize that any chance to save their own lives was slim at best. They weren't fighting to save so much their own lives as the lives of others. They were ordinary people caught in an impossible situation and responding bravely and sacrificially.
This analysis, of course, should be surprising to those of you who have been reading my posts on pacifism. Yes, I do see some need to climb down a bit in conceding that, in this extreme situation, a resort to violence was likely the best option available. In a sense, we have to invoke the "Bonhoeffer Clause", when faced by an evil beyond our ability to persuade or restrain short of violence, violence is an justifiable tactic. I note, in passing, that, if we read Bonhoeffer's diaries from prison, he continued to regard his involvement in the plot against Hitler as a sin, albeit a necessary one. In a sinful and brutal world, that is sometimes the situation we find ourselves in.
(Now, before anyone jumps up and says, 'Ah ha, this invalidates your entire argument about pacifism', my only answer is that this case is so extreme that no one can seriously take it to impugn a reluctance to use violence. It may justify just war theory, but I'd also argue that, if we actually consistently followed the historical Christian doctrine of just war we wouldn't a. be able to fight them with modern weaponry and b. we'd have a lot fewer wars! Does that make me a crypto 'just warrior'? Maybe, but, if so, I would insist on applying it far more rigorously than it is currently employed, making me functionally a pacifist)
And a last comment on an already too long post. After we finished watching the movie, we were among the last people to leave the theatre (my wife likes looking at the credits). As we were leaving, a young Muslim man approached us, wanting to chat about the movie. So, we, two observant, if pacifist Christians, and a reasonably observant Muslim compared notes. We were both struck by the opening scene in which the hijackers got ready to go to the airport as one of them prayed from the Koran. Understandable, our Muslim acquaintance found it hard to watch what he felt was the distortion of his religion, even or perhaps especially because it was at the hands of his co-religionists. My wife remarked that she has a similar reaction to media portrayals of mafiosi "devoutly" attending Mass.
We were also struck that, just before the passengers on United 93 moved to overtake their hijackers, that the film makers very clearly juxtaposed the hijackers praying in the cockpit to the passengers, almost to a one, praying the Lord's Prayer, setting up an opposition that we all felt was invidious. Where were the Jewish prayers or prayers of other faith traditions?
Yet, those were mild criticisms and we found ourselves agreeing in our sorrow and shock, even after five years, at the events of that day. We relived what we were doing that day and how it had affected us. We talked about the impact of that day on peaceful Muslims and all of us. Then, we shook hands and parted, conscious of that grace which allowed us, even if for a moment, to bridge a divide that our media and our fear tells us should be unbridgeable. And it is that grace which gives me hope that we'll find our way through the mistrust and fear that still linger between we Christians in the West and Muslims. Amen.
The movie, of course, focuses on United flight 93, the only hijacked plane which failed to reach its target (now believed to have been the Capitol) because, according to reconstructed accounts, of the brave actions of the passengers and surviving crew. That knowledge made this movie very difficult to sit through, since the action seems to creep at a snail's pace (actually, it is closer to real time than any Hollywood thriller would get). What was interesting about that pacing is the effect it had on both my wife and I. By about half way through the movie, we were both ready to jump up and yell 'Stab somebody already!!! Get this thing started!" Ironically, as my wife pointed out later, we were very much feeling the same emotions that the hijackers themselves were feeling because we, the audience, and the hijackers were the only people who really knew what was going to happen. So, all these scenes of people eating their breakfasts, chatting with each other or just quietly reading which are so normal were simply jarringly eerie because we know where all this will end. So, we found ourselves understanding the younger hijackers who were getting really twitchy as they awaited the signal for them to seize the plane.
The other really striking element of this movie was the comparative lack of jingoistic rhetoric. When the decision was made to storm the cockpit, there was no 'America is the greatest' rhetoric, just a recognition that, in all likelihoold, everyone on that plane was already dead (since they already knew about the WTC and the Pentagon attacks, this wasn't a surprising conclusion), but all they could do was to make sure that no one else need die. To be sure, the passengers in the movie had a faint hope and planned for it (they had a small plane pilot and a retired air traffic controller), but they are shown to realize that any chance to save their own lives was slim at best. They weren't fighting to save so much their own lives as the lives of others. They were ordinary people caught in an impossible situation and responding bravely and sacrificially.
This analysis, of course, should be surprising to those of you who have been reading my posts on pacifism. Yes, I do see some need to climb down a bit in conceding that, in this extreme situation, a resort to violence was likely the best option available. In a sense, we have to invoke the "Bonhoeffer Clause", when faced by an evil beyond our ability to persuade or restrain short of violence, violence is an justifiable tactic. I note, in passing, that, if we read Bonhoeffer's diaries from prison, he continued to regard his involvement in the plot against Hitler as a sin, albeit a necessary one. In a sinful and brutal world, that is sometimes the situation we find ourselves in.
(Now, before anyone jumps up and says, 'Ah ha, this invalidates your entire argument about pacifism', my only answer is that this case is so extreme that no one can seriously take it to impugn a reluctance to use violence. It may justify just war theory, but I'd also argue that, if we actually consistently followed the historical Christian doctrine of just war we wouldn't a. be able to fight them with modern weaponry and b. we'd have a lot fewer wars! Does that make me a crypto 'just warrior'? Maybe, but, if so, I would insist on applying it far more rigorously than it is currently employed, making me functionally a pacifist)
And a last comment on an already too long post. After we finished watching the movie, we were among the last people to leave the theatre (my wife likes looking at the credits). As we were leaving, a young Muslim man approached us, wanting to chat about the movie. So, we, two observant, if pacifist Christians, and a reasonably observant Muslim compared notes. We were both struck by the opening scene in which the hijackers got ready to go to the airport as one of them prayed from the Koran. Understandable, our Muslim acquaintance found it hard to watch what he felt was the distortion of his religion, even or perhaps especially because it was at the hands of his co-religionists. My wife remarked that she has a similar reaction to media portrayals of mafiosi "devoutly" attending Mass.
We were also struck that, just before the passengers on United 93 moved to overtake their hijackers, that the film makers very clearly juxtaposed the hijackers praying in the cockpit to the passengers, almost to a one, praying the Lord's Prayer, setting up an opposition that we all felt was invidious. Where were the Jewish prayers or prayers of other faith traditions?
Yet, those were mild criticisms and we found ourselves agreeing in our sorrow and shock, even after five years, at the events of that day. We relived what we were doing that day and how it had affected us. We talked about the impact of that day on peaceful Muslims and all of us. Then, we shook hands and parted, conscious of that grace which allowed us, even if for a moment, to bridge a divide that our media and our fear tells us should be unbridgeable. And it is that grace which gives me hope that we'll find our way through the mistrust and fear that still linger between we Christians in the West and Muslims. Amen.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Peace and Jesus Redux
This is the long awaited (sic!)followup post to the Jesus and Peace post. What I'm trying to do is set out a few ideas about how the ideas in that post look like when the theological rubber hits the ground.
But, first, a caveat. When I admit to Christian pacifism (sometimes, it feels like that, what I am emphatically not saying is that evil should be endured, not resisted. That is all too commonly believed because people want to relate pacifism with passivism. That won't work on many levels. The words themselves bear no relationship between the roots of either word, short of the fact that they are both derived from Latin (pacifism from pax=peace; passivism from patior=I endure, I suffer). Nor is Christian pacifism about being led to the slaughter for the sake of suffering.
The point of Christian pacifism is that we emulate what Jesus did. He confronted the powers and principalities in his day, but refused to use violence against them. Instead, he used his cosmic judo move and let the contradictions of their own evil destroy them.
So, how does this look in real life? On the individual front, I think it means two things. First, it means being willing to confront evil wherever we see it, partly by naming sin as sin, evil as evil in our every day life. That means, being willing to stand up and be counted when we see something happening in our daily life that is wrong, even if that move is risky as far as career or whatever. That is scary and difficult. And God knows that I'm personally not perfect at this, since going along with systemic injustice is the easier root to take. That is setting aside the problem of discernment because most situations do not see a simplistic evil vs good kind of a situation. That may mean that we will have to criticize both parties in a dispute and risk the ire of both sides.
Second, it also means the rejection of violence as a means of human interaction. That means getting into a fight should not be an option, even if provoked into it. This is, of course, difficult and I'm not sure I would succeed at it either. Yet, at the very least, I would say it also means seeing violence, not as a tool of interpersonal interactions, but as a personal failure. Evading violence while maintaining one's integrity constitutes, to me, a greater victory than fighting my way through a situation.
Okay, now that might work, in a relatively peaceful country on an individual basis, but how does it work in the international scene (the last of anglifan's questions). I suspect that, in the world as we have today, quite badly. What is likely to happen to a country adopting a non-violent foreign policy is that, sooner or later, it will be overwhelmed by a more aggressive neighbour. Mind you, in this scenario, the rules are rather skewed to this answer and it shouldn't surprise anyone that sinful humanity would, in these conditions, be unable to sustain such a foreign policy. In a world where sin seems natural, none of this should surprise anyone.
Yet, I think we have to recognize two things. First, non-violent resistance has proven itself to be effective in wearing down even brutal regimes. The non-violent resistance campaigns for independence in India, against apartheid in South Africa and against the Communist regimes in Eastern Europe succeeded where violent revolution could not. Yes, these campaigns are long and often costly, but, sooner or later, evil falls apart when it realizes that its primary weapon (violence) is no longer feared.
Second, a consistent non-violent foreign policy (and here I mean economic and social violence as well as military violence)would aim to resolve grievances between nations before they burst into conflict. That may still not be enough to prevent true evil from attacking a country, but that kind of evil is not common and really need a soil of perceived oppression and hatred to grow in (thus, Hitler's rise to power happened because of the perceived evil of the Verseilles Treaty, acerbated by the Great Depression).
Okay, I think that is the broad outline of what I'm trying to argue. I hope it makes sense.
Peace,
Phil
But, first, a caveat. When I admit to Christian pacifism (sometimes, it feels like that, what I am emphatically not saying is that evil should be endured, not resisted. That is all too commonly believed because people want to relate pacifism with passivism. That won't work on many levels. The words themselves bear no relationship between the roots of either word, short of the fact that they are both derived from Latin (pacifism from pax=peace; passivism from patior=I endure, I suffer). Nor is Christian pacifism about being led to the slaughter for the sake of suffering.
The point of Christian pacifism is that we emulate what Jesus did. He confronted the powers and principalities in his day, but refused to use violence against them. Instead, he used his cosmic judo move and let the contradictions of their own evil destroy them.
So, how does this look in real life? On the individual front, I think it means two things. First, it means being willing to confront evil wherever we see it, partly by naming sin as sin, evil as evil in our every day life. That means, being willing to stand up and be counted when we see something happening in our daily life that is wrong, even if that move is risky as far as career or whatever. That is scary and difficult. And God knows that I'm personally not perfect at this, since going along with systemic injustice is the easier root to take. That is setting aside the problem of discernment because most situations do not see a simplistic evil vs good kind of a situation. That may mean that we will have to criticize both parties in a dispute and risk the ire of both sides.
Second, it also means the rejection of violence as a means of human interaction. That means getting into a fight should not be an option, even if provoked into it. This is, of course, difficult and I'm not sure I would succeed at it either. Yet, at the very least, I would say it also means seeing violence, not as a tool of interpersonal interactions, but as a personal failure. Evading violence while maintaining one's integrity constitutes, to me, a greater victory than fighting my way through a situation.
Okay, now that might work, in a relatively peaceful country on an individual basis, but how does it work in the international scene (the last of anglifan's questions). I suspect that, in the world as we have today, quite badly. What is likely to happen to a country adopting a non-violent foreign policy is that, sooner or later, it will be overwhelmed by a more aggressive neighbour. Mind you, in this scenario, the rules are rather skewed to this answer and it shouldn't surprise anyone that sinful humanity would, in these conditions, be unable to sustain such a foreign policy. In a world where sin seems natural, none of this should surprise anyone.
Yet, I think we have to recognize two things. First, non-violent resistance has proven itself to be effective in wearing down even brutal regimes. The non-violent resistance campaigns for independence in India, against apartheid in South Africa and against the Communist regimes in Eastern Europe succeeded where violent revolution could not. Yes, these campaigns are long and often costly, but, sooner or later, evil falls apart when it realizes that its primary weapon (violence) is no longer feared.
Second, a consistent non-violent foreign policy (and here I mean economic and social violence as well as military violence)would aim to resolve grievances between nations before they burst into conflict. That may still not be enough to prevent true evil from attacking a country, but that kind of evil is not common and really need a soil of perceived oppression and hatred to grow in (thus, Hitler's rise to power happened because of the perceived evil of the Verseilles Treaty, acerbated by the Great Depression).
Okay, I think that is the broad outline of what I'm trying to argue. I hope it makes sense.
Peace,
Phil
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Holy Saturday
Well, we're on the edge of Easter now.
My wife and I are at home, resting before our Easter Vigil service at 8:30 p.m. I love this time of year; this Triduum triathalon of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil which culminates in Easter Sunday tomorrow. We have already ridden that wild ride from the calm, but ominous Maundy Thursday service with its stunning affirmation of our service to each other found in the liturgy of the feet washing to the stripping of the altar and our silent departure into the night. Then, we get to the sombreness of Good Friday, as we recall that the horrible death that Jesus suffered on the Cross is really the decisive moment in human history: that, in the face of apparent defeat and ruin, the power of sin and death are broken forever. Yet, by the time we leave in silence again, you wouldn't know it. Christ has died, but where is the rising? We grieve for the death, but we await his rising; the token of his victory over death.
Today is a day of waiting, a day of expectancy. Like the apostles, we haven't realized what has happened the last few days and we think all is lost. Then, we get to the Vigil. We watch that small flame in the brazier at the back of the church grow. We watch candles lit by the acolytes as the light spread through the whole church and the whole church seems to awaken from a disturbed sleep. And, finally, we reach the Gloria, when our voices, restrained by Lent and the experience of Good Friday, almost shout out "Glory to God!" amid frantic bell ringing as we try to convey our joy and astonishment that, contrary to all expectation, God's grace has won out, after all. It is a glorious and joyful moment.
So, we wait, but we wait in a different way than the apostles. We wait confidently because we know how this drama turned out so many years ago. And we know that this is how it turned out last year, last Easter Vigil. I often wonder how the apostles were able to stand it as news trickled in about the odd things that were happening around Jesus' tombs. I certainly don't know how they stood, when Jesus came into the Upper Room for the first time. All our Glorias and bell-ringing is nothing compared to that.
I'm still waiting, of course, but, before I go off and wait some more, I want to wish all of you a wonderful Easter. I pray that you experience the Risen Christ in all his wonder this Easter and into the coming year!
Peace,
Phil
My wife and I are at home, resting before our Easter Vigil service at 8:30 p.m. I love this time of year; this Triduum triathalon of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil which culminates in Easter Sunday tomorrow. We have already ridden that wild ride from the calm, but ominous Maundy Thursday service with its stunning affirmation of our service to each other found in the liturgy of the feet washing to the stripping of the altar and our silent departure into the night. Then, we get to the sombreness of Good Friday, as we recall that the horrible death that Jesus suffered on the Cross is really the decisive moment in human history: that, in the face of apparent defeat and ruin, the power of sin and death are broken forever. Yet, by the time we leave in silence again, you wouldn't know it. Christ has died, but where is the rising? We grieve for the death, but we await his rising; the token of his victory over death.
Today is a day of waiting, a day of expectancy. Like the apostles, we haven't realized what has happened the last few days and we think all is lost. Then, we get to the Vigil. We watch that small flame in the brazier at the back of the church grow. We watch candles lit by the acolytes as the light spread through the whole church and the whole church seems to awaken from a disturbed sleep. And, finally, we reach the Gloria, when our voices, restrained by Lent and the experience of Good Friday, almost shout out "Glory to God!" amid frantic bell ringing as we try to convey our joy and astonishment that, contrary to all expectation, God's grace has won out, after all. It is a glorious and joyful moment.
So, we wait, but we wait in a different way than the apostles. We wait confidently because we know how this drama turned out so many years ago. And we know that this is how it turned out last year, last Easter Vigil. I often wonder how the apostles were able to stand it as news trickled in about the odd things that were happening around Jesus' tombs. I certainly don't know how they stood, when Jesus came into the Upper Room for the first time. All our Glorias and bell-ringing is nothing compared to that.
I'm still waiting, of course, but, before I go off and wait some more, I want to wish all of you a wonderful Easter. I pray that you experience the Risen Christ in all his wonder this Easter and into the coming year!
Peace,
Phil
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Palm Sunday Bus Ride
Now, we're in the homestretch for Easter and the busyness of Holy Week beckons. I love Palm Sunday and this whole week. Palm Sunday is the first day of the dramatic week to come. I enjoyed the procession into the garden (and it was a beautiful day!), the reading of the passion narrative by the congregation and, of course, palm crosses. We start with the high point of Jesus ministry, but, in the passion narrative, we remember the dark edge to the coming week. Easter may be coming, but Good Friday is first.
This Palm Sunday, so far, is a little different. My wife and I usually drive to our church because it is a bit of a distance from our apartment. This year, however, our car is in the shop, so we took transit. No big deal, of course, but it did remind us that Palm Sunday is one of the more visible Christian holidays. While we were returning from church, we kept running into people carrying palm crosses sheepishly smiling because we know what service they were just at. Sometimes little conversations start up as we wish each other a Happy Easter (yes, early, but the thought is there).
Sometimes, our palm crosses open up the chance for seeing God's grace peaking into the world. On our way back, we had a conversation with an El Salvadorian woman, who frequently went out to Latin American countries on mission trips. She told us about those trips and about helping the poor people she encountered, reminded us how lucky we are here in Canada and told us about her children, who are flourishing and faithful here. I suspect it was our palm crosses which put her at ease enough to tell us about her life. When we got off the bus, we wished each other a Happy Easter to come. Then, my wife observed that there are all these little saints all over the place. Palm Sunday is just one of those holidays which brings them out.
Happy Palm Sunday!
Peace,
Phil
This Palm Sunday, so far, is a little different. My wife and I usually drive to our church because it is a bit of a distance from our apartment. This year, however, our car is in the shop, so we took transit. No big deal, of course, but it did remind us that Palm Sunday is one of the more visible Christian holidays. While we were returning from church, we kept running into people carrying palm crosses sheepishly smiling because we know what service they were just at. Sometimes little conversations start up as we wish each other a Happy Easter (yes, early, but the thought is there).
Sometimes, our palm crosses open up the chance for seeing God's grace peaking into the world. On our way back, we had a conversation with an El Salvadorian woman, who frequently went out to Latin American countries on mission trips. She told us about those trips and about helping the poor people she encountered, reminded us how lucky we are here in Canada and told us about her children, who are flourishing and faithful here. I suspect it was our palm crosses which put her at ease enough to tell us about her life. When we got off the bus, we wished each other a Happy Easter to come. Then, my wife observed that there are all these little saints all over the place. Palm Sunday is just one of those holidays which brings them out.
Happy Palm Sunday!
Peace,
Phil
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Peace and Jesus
I owe this post (and likely the next few) to anglifan, who asked me in the Iraq and Peace thread what I meant by my comment that I was writing in the tradition of Stanley Hauerwas and the Mennonites. So, I will attempt to explain what I mean by this, although I caution I am relying heavily on my understanding (such as it is) of Hauerwas's The Peaceable Kingdom and John Howard Yoder's The Politics of Jesus to make these comments. So, here we go.
I think the starting point I have to use is the person of Jesus and his relationship to the powers and principalities of this world. Okay, that needs unpacking to, but, patience. folks, I'll get to it. Behind this starting point is an assumption which I want to make clear. I'm assuming that one of the objects of the Christian life is the imitation of Christ, especially during his earthly ministry. That means that we have to pay close attention to what Jesus did and how he reacted to the people and institutions around him.
That brings us to the powers and principalities. These are, of course, referred to in Ephesians 6:12. The language is very KJV, but Yoder, for instance, makes a big deal about these. To some degree, it is slightly obscure what is meant there, but what I think they probably mean is not only the flesh and blood powerful people, but the institutions of the state and the world. While, certainly, Romans 13 makes it clear that those in power exercise that power which was instituted by God, it is all too common for our human institutions and our human leaders to attempt to usurp more power than they actually have. They have a tendency to try to set themselves up in a position which either ignores or tries to supplant God. This, in its extreme form, can produce certain kinds of idolatry such as leader worship or worship of country. In order to maintain this idolatry, violence emerges in part to coerce the wills of those entrusted to these powers.
Jesus' response to these powers is complex, but it involves the rejection of this idolatry. So, when Satan tempts Jesus in the wilderness (Matt. 4, 8-11), his last temptation is to offer power, all the kingdoms of the world. Jesus rejects that by telling Satan "Worship the Lord your God and serve only him". That is a radical rejection of the idolatry of power.
Yet, what complicates Jesus' situation is that, from the very beginning of his ministry, he is regarded as the Messiah of Israel which had several meanings. Its primary meaning is that of the warrior king, who would drive out the pagans and restore Israel to independence. So, he kept getting people coming around, expecting Jesus to lead a violent revolution against the Romans. Yet, he refuses and not because of a lack of power. So, even when he is arrested, Jesus rejects the use of force by commenting to Peter (who draws his sword and wounds a servant of the high priest)
That fulfillment is, of course, Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection. I like to think of the crucifixion and resurrection as God's cosmic judo move. That is, Jesus accepts the worse that the powers and principalities can throw at him: a humiliating death and the emphatic disproof of his Messiahship. Yet, by using this horrible death, he breaks the power of sin and death. In essence, he uses the power of sin, the strength of the idolatrous powers and principalities of this world, to destroy them.
Now, of course, we live in an in-between time in which, while we know the power of sin and of powers and principalities is broken, the end has not come. We continue to struggle against evil in this world, but, I would argue, Jesus' example is that we do not return violence for violence, but we try to use the cosmic judo moves that Jesus taught us. Violence and evil will eventually destroy itself, especially if confronted by a refusal to play the power game. Look at Gandhi, Martin Luther King and the collapse of the Soviet bloc, if you want to see the power that this kind of non-violent, but still confrontational approach has.
Okay, I do think that is more than enough for one post. I think I'll need to pursue the personal implications of this belief in another post.
Peace,
Phil
I think the starting point I have to use is the person of Jesus and his relationship to the powers and principalities of this world. Okay, that needs unpacking to, but, patience. folks, I'll get to it. Behind this starting point is an assumption which I want to make clear. I'm assuming that one of the objects of the Christian life is the imitation of Christ, especially during his earthly ministry. That means that we have to pay close attention to what Jesus did and how he reacted to the people and institutions around him.
That brings us to the powers and principalities. These are, of course, referred to in Ephesians 6:12. The language is very KJV, but Yoder, for instance, makes a big deal about these. To some degree, it is slightly obscure what is meant there, but what I think they probably mean is not only the flesh and blood powerful people, but the institutions of the state and the world. While, certainly, Romans 13 makes it clear that those in power exercise that power which was instituted by God, it is all too common for our human institutions and our human leaders to attempt to usurp more power than they actually have. They have a tendency to try to set themselves up in a position which either ignores or tries to supplant God. This, in its extreme form, can produce certain kinds of idolatry such as leader worship or worship of country. In order to maintain this idolatry, violence emerges in part to coerce the wills of those entrusted to these powers.
Jesus' response to these powers is complex, but it involves the rejection of this idolatry. So, when Satan tempts Jesus in the wilderness (Matt. 4, 8-11), his last temptation is to offer power, all the kingdoms of the world. Jesus rejects that by telling Satan "Worship the Lord your God and serve only him". That is a radical rejection of the idolatry of power.
Yet, what complicates Jesus' situation is that, from the very beginning of his ministry, he is regarded as the Messiah of Israel which had several meanings. Its primary meaning is that of the warrior king, who would drive out the pagans and restore Israel to independence. So, he kept getting people coming around, expecting Jesus to lead a violent revolution against the Romans. Yet, he refuses and not because of a lack of power. So, even when he is arrested, Jesus rejects the use of force by commenting to Peter (who draws his sword and wounds a servant of the high priest)
"Put your sword back in its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then would the scriptures be fulfilled, which said it must happen in this way" Matthew 26, 52-54What strikes me about that passage is that not only does Jesus reject violence, but he makes it very clear that he had the power to wreck the Romans. Remember that the Romans had about 25 legions at the time and only about six to eight of those were in the East. If Jesus decided to unleash his power, he would have destroyed what stood in his way. Yet, he refuses in order to fulfill God's purposes in a very unexpected way.
That fulfillment is, of course, Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection. I like to think of the crucifixion and resurrection as God's cosmic judo move. That is, Jesus accepts the worse that the powers and principalities can throw at him: a humiliating death and the emphatic disproof of his Messiahship. Yet, by using this horrible death, he breaks the power of sin and death. In essence, he uses the power of sin, the strength of the idolatrous powers and principalities of this world, to destroy them.
Now, of course, we live in an in-between time in which, while we know the power of sin and of powers and principalities is broken, the end has not come. We continue to struggle against evil in this world, but, I would argue, Jesus' example is that we do not return violence for violence, but we try to use the cosmic judo moves that Jesus taught us. Violence and evil will eventually destroy itself, especially if confronted by a refusal to play the power game. Look at Gandhi, Martin Luther King and the collapse of the Soviet bloc, if you want to see the power that this kind of non-violent, but still confrontational approach has.
Okay, I do think that is more than enough for one post. I think I'll need to pursue the personal implications of this belief in another post.
Peace,
Phil
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Disorientation in Blogsphere
I am disoriented.
Well, a few hours of hunting around the blogsphere (now, there is a grammatical question, is it blogsphere or the blogsphere?) will do that to you. I've flipped around, skimmed, puzzled over and even, occasionally, read from Christian blogs from all over the theological spectrum. Now, I know, a guy can get the theological bends from all this reading, which probably means that it is a good thing that I don't indulge in this kind of surfing very often.
Yet, all this surfing has led me to a couple conclusions.
First, I really don't know what I'm doing with this blog. Mind you, this is not uncommon out here, but my inner prefectionist is getting impatient. Of course, whether that is anything to worry about, I'm not sure. As I tell my students, perfect is the enemy of the good. I'm not pefect, but, hopefully, I'm writing something useful here and, hopefully, I'll get better at doing it as I continue.
Second, you can waste a whole lot of time in blogsphere. Given the stack of Latin marking sitting next to me as I write this, that is not a minor consideration. There is almost an infinite number of writers out there and it is almost impossible to know just where a blog fits in. After this session, I have a few ideas of blogs that I want to follow. I'm sure I'll post some of these as links as I sift and think. Still, I really need to keep some balance.
And with that thought in mind, I'll sign off.
Peace,
Phil
Well, a few hours of hunting around the blogsphere (now, there is a grammatical question, is it blogsphere or the blogsphere?) will do that to you. I've flipped around, skimmed, puzzled over and even, occasionally, read from Christian blogs from all over the theological spectrum. Now, I know, a guy can get the theological bends from all this reading, which probably means that it is a good thing that I don't indulge in this kind of surfing very often.
Yet, all this surfing has led me to a couple conclusions.
First, I really don't know what I'm doing with this blog. Mind you, this is not uncommon out here, but my inner prefectionist is getting impatient. Of course, whether that is anything to worry about, I'm not sure. As I tell my students, perfect is the enemy of the good. I'm not pefect, but, hopefully, I'm writing something useful here and, hopefully, I'll get better at doing it as I continue.
Second, you can waste a whole lot of time in blogsphere. Given the stack of Latin marking sitting next to me as I write this, that is not a minor consideration. There is almost an infinite number of writers out there and it is almost impossible to know just where a blog fits in. After this session, I have a few ideas of blogs that I want to follow. I'm sure I'll post some of these as links as I sift and think. Still, I really need to keep some balance.
And with that thought in mind, I'll sign off.
Peace,
Phil
ECUSA's Choice- Rev. Phillip Turner
Over this past week, I've been thinking about an article I ran into by Rev. Phillip Turner on the Anglican Communion Institute pages. Entitled ECUSA's Choice, it sets out an argument which I think is an important one. So, I want to spend a little time unpacking the argument a bit. I do encourage my readers to read the full article, but, hopefully, my comments will also be helpful.
The core of Rev. Turner's position is that, while we claim to act as a catholic communion, most of those who want to preserve that claim, 'progressive' or conservative, actually subvert and distort that reality beyond recognition.
'Progressives', while they are right to ask questions about what are and are not 'church-dividing' issues, presumes, in their concept of communion; a theological/ethical pluralism which suggests that "the demands of enculteration require adaptations in one part of the communion that may not be appropriate in other parts..." So, the key words emphasized by 'progressives' are love, service, respect (including dialogue in the face of disagreement) and hospitality. Doctrinal and moral agreement are, thus, not central to the basis and nature of communion. This encourages the autonomy of local churches and, hence, as I would suggest, the claim by ECUSA and the Anglican Church of Canada's claim that they can legislate on same-sex issues without consulting the rest of the communion.
On the other hand, Turner points out that conservatives identify communion with compliance with the traditional formulations of Anglicanism: THe Book of Common Prayer, the Ordinal, the Articles of Religion and Canon Law. So the focus is on the creedal, confessional, liturgical and legal content of communion.
Rev. Turner argues that both positions, while they have some justification, are flawed. He notes in respect to the 'progressive' arguments that he can't quite see how one can be in communion within the body of Christ and still be in intractible disagreement about what that common participation atually means or how members of one body can be so autonomous that they are unwilling to concede a discipline designed to ensure unity of witness and purpose in that body.
Traditionalists, Rev. Turner argues, are making a similar, if opposite, mistake in that they dismiss the human instruments of accountability for a particular form of doctrinal position. He notes that the choice between these two positions is a choice between "a committment to God's open future and...dedication to God's sacred past".
The Rev. Turner argues for a different approach. He dismisses the alternative of just hunkering down and waiting for the storm to past as, he suspect, most individual churches and church members are currently doing. He argue that we can't ignore the issue of what communion is because it is central, not only to to our understanding of church, but also to our salvation. As he notes "God is after the redemption of all things and the "unity, communion, and radical holiness" of his people are, as it were, the first fruits of this redemptive plan" As a result, Rev. Turner argues that the view of communion in the Windsor Report, while not without problems, is more sound than either of the above alternatives because Windsor tries to hold the relational aspects of communion (placing the good of the body over the individual parts) and the aspect of upholding a common confession in tension. The separation of either of these elements is damaging to any concept of communion and, certainly, does not agree with the concept of the church that we have been handed down to us.
What I like about this article (to which this summary has not given justice) is that it really is interested in trying to work out what communion means. Rev. Turner points out, rightly I think, that both sides have decided to 'walk apart' from each other and that the pathway to unity is a hard and narrow road. Rev. Turner calls on us to walk it and I pray that we, the Anglican Communion, learn how do that.
Peace,
Phil
The core of Rev. Turner's position is that, while we claim to act as a catholic communion, most of those who want to preserve that claim, 'progressive' or conservative, actually subvert and distort that reality beyond recognition.
'Progressives', while they are right to ask questions about what are and are not 'church-dividing' issues, presumes, in their concept of communion; a theological/ethical pluralism which suggests that "the demands of enculteration require adaptations in one part of the communion that may not be appropriate in other parts..." So, the key words emphasized by 'progressives' are love, service, respect (including dialogue in the face of disagreement) and hospitality. Doctrinal and moral agreement are, thus, not central to the basis and nature of communion. This encourages the autonomy of local churches and, hence, as I would suggest, the claim by ECUSA and the Anglican Church of Canada's claim that they can legislate on same-sex issues without consulting the rest of the communion.
On the other hand, Turner points out that conservatives identify communion with compliance with the traditional formulations of Anglicanism: THe Book of Common Prayer, the Ordinal, the Articles of Religion and Canon Law. So the focus is on the creedal, confessional, liturgical and legal content of communion.
Rev. Turner argues that both positions, while they have some justification, are flawed. He notes in respect to the 'progressive' arguments that he can't quite see how one can be in communion within the body of Christ and still be in intractible disagreement about what that common participation atually means or how members of one body can be so autonomous that they are unwilling to concede a discipline designed to ensure unity of witness and purpose in that body.
Traditionalists, Rev. Turner argues, are making a similar, if opposite, mistake in that they dismiss the human instruments of accountability for a particular form of doctrinal position. He notes that the choice between these two positions is a choice between "a committment to God's open future and...dedication to God's sacred past".
The Rev. Turner argues for a different approach. He dismisses the alternative of just hunkering down and waiting for the storm to past as, he suspect, most individual churches and church members are currently doing. He argue that we can't ignore the issue of what communion is because it is central, not only to to our understanding of church, but also to our salvation. As he notes "God is after the redemption of all things and the "unity, communion, and radical holiness" of his people are, as it were, the first fruits of this redemptive plan" As a result, Rev. Turner argues that the view of communion in the Windsor Report, while not without problems, is more sound than either of the above alternatives because Windsor tries to hold the relational aspects of communion (placing the good of the body over the individual parts) and the aspect of upholding a common confession in tension. The separation of either of these elements is damaging to any concept of communion and, certainly, does not agree with the concept of the church that we have been handed down to us.
What I like about this article (to which this summary has not given justice) is that it really is interested in trying to work out what communion means. Rev. Turner points out, rightly I think, that both sides have decided to 'walk apart' from each other and that the pathway to unity is a hard and narrow road. Rev. Turner calls on us to walk it and I pray that we, the Anglican Communion, learn how do that.
Peace,
Phil
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Irony and Christian Peacemakers
Well, good news this week from Iraq. Well, qualified good news. A British and two Canadian members of a Christian Peacemaker's team were released by Canadian, British and American troops. Their American colleague was executed earlier this month. I was relieved by the rescue and, of course, remember the death with sorrow.
Yet, it is hard to avoid the irony of the manner of the rescue. It was, after all, the military of three countries which rescued these peacemakers; the very miltary forces they were in Iraq to criticize. Nor has that irony escaped commentators either. For example, the Star quotes a University of Toronto security expert, who argues "the peacemakers' "extreme idealism and naïveté" has to be weighed against the costs — not just to families and friends, but to the states that are obliged to intervene, regardless of peoples' prior instructions. "
This is, predictably, not the only voice critisizing the Christian peacemakers. Other writers have added their voices, depicting these peacemakers as dangerously innocent and reckless in the risks they undertake in the interest of peace. Much of the criticism has centred on the point that, while this operation was carried off without a shot fired, people could have died trying to rescue these people. In that case, they would have caused the kind of deaths which the organization is dedicated to avoid. And, yes, that is true and ironic.
Yet, can I point out that neither the hostages nor the Christian Peacemakers themselves ever asked for this raid? I'm sure they're suitably grateful for the release, but they did walk into the situation in Iraq with eyes open and ready to sacrifice if necessary. Indeed, I would argue that it is circular logic to accuse these peacemakers of risking other people's lives when they themselves have emphasized their willingness to take the consequences for their 'extreme idealism and naivite' without risking other lives. They have chosen this course out of faith and out of belief that this is what Jesus calls them to do, not to make trouble for the military.
I think that is precisely what critiques of the Christian Peacemakers don't get. All too often, our society's reaction to those seeking peace is that their efforts are laudable, but impractical. Yet, have a look around at the cost of the military intervention in Iraq and tell me that the resort to violence in this war has managed anything except driving out Saddam Husein (and I don't diminish that achievement) and Iraq's progressive slide into civil war. Like most resorts to violence, this war has proven self-defeating by creating more difficulties and strife than it resolves. If this is practical foreign policy, perhaps we need some impracticality.
Peace,
Phil
Yet, it is hard to avoid the irony of the manner of the rescue. It was, after all, the military of three countries which rescued these peacemakers; the very miltary forces they were in Iraq to criticize. Nor has that irony escaped commentators either. For example, the Star quotes a University of Toronto security expert, who argues "the peacemakers' "extreme idealism and naïveté" has to be weighed against the costs — not just to families and friends, but to the states that are obliged to intervene, regardless of peoples' prior instructions. "
This is, predictably, not the only voice critisizing the Christian peacemakers. Other writers have added their voices, depicting these peacemakers as dangerously innocent and reckless in the risks they undertake in the interest of peace. Much of the criticism has centred on the point that, while this operation was carried off without a shot fired, people could have died trying to rescue these people. In that case, they would have caused the kind of deaths which the organization is dedicated to avoid. And, yes, that is true and ironic.
Yet, can I point out that neither the hostages nor the Christian Peacemakers themselves ever asked for this raid? I'm sure they're suitably grateful for the release, but they did walk into the situation in Iraq with eyes open and ready to sacrifice if necessary. Indeed, I would argue that it is circular logic to accuse these peacemakers of risking other people's lives when they themselves have emphasized their willingness to take the consequences for their 'extreme idealism and naivite' without risking other lives. They have chosen this course out of faith and out of belief that this is what Jesus calls them to do, not to make trouble for the military.
I think that is precisely what critiques of the Christian Peacemakers don't get. All too often, our society's reaction to those seeking peace is that their efforts are laudable, but impractical. Yet, have a look around at the cost of the military intervention in Iraq and tell me that the resort to violence in this war has managed anything except driving out Saddam Husein (and I don't diminish that achievement) and Iraq's progressive slide into civil war. Like most resorts to violence, this war has proven self-defeating by creating more difficulties and strife than it resolves. If this is practical foreign policy, perhaps we need some impracticality.
Peace,
Phil
Blogging and Readership
I've been browsing around a bit at other blogs (especially Christian) out there, partly out of interest to see what other people are doing, but also because I wanted to get some sense if there was any kind of ways to get this blog out there a bit more. Now, don't get me wrong: I recognize that I've had a good launch in that I've had several comments on my early posts. That, as far as I can see from other blogs, is a bit unusual. I'm grateful to anglifan, Cheryle, sophie and anonymous for their comments and I hope they're stopping in every once in a while to see what is new. Yet, I hope to expand the readership of this blog some more.
So, the question I have for those who stop by is whether anyone knows of any uber-sites for Christian blogs with whom I can register? Any ideas out there?
Peace,
Phil
So, the question I have for those who stop by is whether anyone knows of any uber-sites for Christian blogs with whom I can register? Any ideas out there?
Peace,
Phil
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Iraq and Peace
I suspect that this is only one of many blog comments on the third anniversary of the most recent Iraq war, but I felt drawn to commenting on this occasion. We have, of course, seen all the news reports that this war is increasingly becoming as unpopular in the US as it always has been in much of the rest of the world.
I had that impressed on me earlier this week, when I was returning from a vacation in California. I had been diverted to Denver and had to stay the night in a hotel far, far away from the airport (long story!). My flight was very early in the morning and I was taking a cab back to the airport. The cabbie had a news program on which was doing a retrospective on the leadup to the war and he was giving a running commentary on how bad an idea this war had been. I, the polite Canadian, nodded and agreed, working very hard not to be smug.
I'm not interested in spouting anti-American rhetoric here, but I believe very much that the last five years have been tragic in many ways. Tragic, in the sense, that much of what we are seeing happening in Iraq and in America is precisely what people like Archbishop Williams, Stanley Hawerwas and others were warning about; namely, that , in the very understandible national trauma after 9/11, it was crucial not to lose sight of the need for truthful discourse. This means that we needed to ask the hard questions, not only about our enemies, but about ourselves. What have we done to contribute to this situation, what are we doing or planning on doing which will exacerbate it? What do we need to do to really undercut the forces of violence both among our enemies and among our friends?
The problem is, of course, that these are the hard questions and that, if we ask them only in the time of imminent war (as after 9/11 or just before the Iraq war), we are already too late. That is, when war threatens, our communal capacity for critical moral thought is seriously compromised. So, we jump into wars and into conflicts before we are cool enough to discern what morally is going on in a situation. This, I suggest, is precisely what happened in the US and the current tragedy (for both Iraqis and the Americans) is merely the inevitable playing out of that haste.
I am, mind you, a pacifist in the tradition of Stanley Hauerwas and the Mennonites, so I'm constitutionally unwilling to accept the necessity of war. Yet, it strikes me that, in retrospect, attempting to formulate a non-resistant policy at a time when an attack has been made is analagous to the the problem with WWJD boxer shorts and teenagers (if you're down to the WWJD boxer shorts, your chastity pledge is some jeopardy). At the time, the rush to war after 9/11 seemed to me sickeningly inevitable and, I regret to say, the invasions of Afganistan and Iraq did not come as a shock when they were launched. Nor did the inevitable quagmires which have resulted. The desire for vengeance then drowned out those few, courageous voices which tried to warn that these wars were not just and, perhaps, we need to face up to our own moral failings before punishing those of others around us.
That is the perennial lessons of periods of national madness like the one experienced by the US after 9/11. As a Christian pacifist, I recognize that the real time for work is not in these crises, but rather now, as we come out the madness and try to discover what is true again. I pray that we all take this time to think and pray about where our communal sins have worsened an already bad situation. (I say this as a Canadian because I don't believe for a second that we Canadians can stand unimplicated in the madness of the last five years, even if we refused to join the war in Iraq). That takes courage and it takes faith that God will lead us through the difficulties of this age to the peace He promises.
I had that impressed on me earlier this week, when I was returning from a vacation in California. I had been diverted to Denver and had to stay the night in a hotel far, far away from the airport (long story!). My flight was very early in the morning and I was taking a cab back to the airport. The cabbie had a news program on which was doing a retrospective on the leadup to the war and he was giving a running commentary on how bad an idea this war had been. I, the polite Canadian, nodded and agreed, working very hard not to be smug.
I'm not interested in spouting anti-American rhetoric here, but I believe very much that the last five years have been tragic in many ways. Tragic, in the sense, that much of what we are seeing happening in Iraq and in America is precisely what people like Archbishop Williams, Stanley Hawerwas and others were warning about; namely, that , in the very understandible national trauma after 9/11, it was crucial not to lose sight of the need for truthful discourse. This means that we needed to ask the hard questions, not only about our enemies, but about ourselves. What have we done to contribute to this situation, what are we doing or planning on doing which will exacerbate it? What do we need to do to really undercut the forces of violence both among our enemies and among our friends?
The problem is, of course, that these are the hard questions and that, if we ask them only in the time of imminent war (as after 9/11 or just before the Iraq war), we are already too late. That is, when war threatens, our communal capacity for critical moral thought is seriously compromised. So, we jump into wars and into conflicts before we are cool enough to discern what morally is going on in a situation. This, I suggest, is precisely what happened in the US and the current tragedy (for both Iraqis and the Americans) is merely the inevitable playing out of that haste.
I am, mind you, a pacifist in the tradition of Stanley Hauerwas and the Mennonites, so I'm constitutionally unwilling to accept the necessity of war. Yet, it strikes me that, in retrospect, attempting to formulate a non-resistant policy at a time when an attack has been made is analagous to the the problem with WWJD boxer shorts and teenagers (if you're down to the WWJD boxer shorts, your chastity pledge is some jeopardy). At the time, the rush to war after 9/11 seemed to me sickeningly inevitable and, I regret to say, the invasions of Afganistan and Iraq did not come as a shock when they were launched. Nor did the inevitable quagmires which have resulted. The desire for vengeance then drowned out those few, courageous voices which tried to warn that these wars were not just and, perhaps, we need to face up to our own moral failings before punishing those of others around us.
That is the perennial lessons of periods of national madness like the one experienced by the US after 9/11. As a Christian pacifist, I recognize that the real time for work is not in these crises, but rather now, as we come out the madness and try to discover what is true again. I pray that we all take this time to think and pray about where our communal sins have worsened an already bad situation. (I say this as a Canadian because I don't believe for a second that we Canadians can stand unimplicated in the madness of the last five years, even if we refused to join the war in Iraq). That takes courage and it takes faith that God will lead us through the difficulties of this age to the peace He promises.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
God and the Bookstore
A few days ago, my wife and I found ourselves browsing in one of the big chain bookstores. That, in itself, doesn't happen that often, largely because I try to keep myself out of bookstores too much in case I want to buy the store. For someone who enjoys reading as much as we both do, book stores can be a little too tempting. Still, we're going on a trip on Saturday and we decided some reading material would be nice.
I should say here that I have a 'hit and run' style of book browsing. That is, I hit the areas that I'm particularly interested in, browse carefully and run. That way I'm not as tempted by my old habit of convincing myself how essential a book is to me. Believe me, given the convoluted reasons I've used to convince myself to buy books, hitting and running is a positive financial necessity. Don't give me a chance to decide why I need a book. I'll come up with one.
So, the first section I hit on this visit was the Christianity/Religion section. My visits to this particular section have always been something of the triumph of hope over expectation. I have found some excellent books in the big box bookstores, but these stores are not my primary stop for good sound Christian books. Still, I find it fascinating to stop in this section because they are an index of where the book-buying public is in this subject area. Or, at least, of what the book-sellers think the book-buying public want. So, we get an interesting mix of a few sound evangelical books mixed with a large number of anti-Catholic, liberal and radical takes on Christianity; all promising that they are the best approach to Jesus.
The variety is amazing, if bewildering. I recall as a new Christian being very bewildered by the vast array of books in front of me, not knowing how to choose helpful books. Over the years, I've learned what to look for and what to avoid. I do worry a bit about the message that many of these books give, but I think it is enlightening to see that these are the books that are on offer.
Yet I found myself worrying on that visit. What really set off my worry is that increasing number of heretical gospels are being published. We're getting editions of the Gospel of Thomas, or of Philip or the Gospel of the Nazarenes showing up in the Christian sections of these mainstream bookstores. Or we're getting Beliefnet guides to Gnosticism as if this was a viable option for Christians. Heresy sells, it seems, and I find that worrying.
I am an unapologetically orthodox Christian, so I am not going to apologize for saying that I find this trend to Gnosticism to be pernicious. I also have to say I'm puzzled by it. Given the widespread caricature of traditional Christianity as condemning matter and insensitivity to the natural world, I just don't get how anyone could argue that Gnosticism (a dualist heresy which identifies matter with an evil creator distinct from a good, immaterial God) could possibly offer a better alternative. Nor can I understand how people, who argue that the Gospels could not really give a clear sense of Jesus' earthly ministry and teachings because they were written within 60-80 years after Jesus' death, can accept Gospels which are one to two centuries older yet. If this is not the 'itchy ears' which Paul talks about (2 Timothy 4,3), I don't know what is.
I'm not saying that we should censor these books or these bookstores. I think that would be counter-productive and unrealistic. We can't dig our heads in the sand. These "gospels" (for instance) are out there and we have to deal with that. I've tried to do that. As part of that effort, I have read those heretical gospels and found them unhelpful in the extreme. Whatever good they have is derivative from the Gospels. Wherever they are original, they express a concept of the world which I think is just flat out wrong. Jesus did not seem to die; he died and was raised on the third day. There is not one God and a evil angel who created matter; there is one God, the Creator. Yet these books are there and, as distressing as it is, I think we'll continue to deal with these ideas. And we need to be ready for that.
Peace,
Phil
I should say here that I have a 'hit and run' style of book browsing. That is, I hit the areas that I'm particularly interested in, browse carefully and run. That way I'm not as tempted by my old habit of convincing myself how essential a book is to me. Believe me, given the convoluted reasons I've used to convince myself to buy books, hitting and running is a positive financial necessity. Don't give me a chance to decide why I need a book. I'll come up with one.
So, the first section I hit on this visit was the Christianity/Religion section. My visits to this particular section have always been something of the triumph of hope over expectation. I have found some excellent books in the big box bookstores, but these stores are not my primary stop for good sound Christian books. Still, I find it fascinating to stop in this section because they are an index of where the book-buying public is in this subject area. Or, at least, of what the book-sellers think the book-buying public want. So, we get an interesting mix of a few sound evangelical books mixed with a large number of anti-Catholic, liberal and radical takes on Christianity; all promising that they are the best approach to Jesus.
The variety is amazing, if bewildering. I recall as a new Christian being very bewildered by the vast array of books in front of me, not knowing how to choose helpful books. Over the years, I've learned what to look for and what to avoid. I do worry a bit about the message that many of these books give, but I think it is enlightening to see that these are the books that are on offer.
Yet I found myself worrying on that visit. What really set off my worry is that increasing number of heretical gospels are being published. We're getting editions of the Gospel of Thomas, or of Philip or the Gospel of the Nazarenes showing up in the Christian sections of these mainstream bookstores. Or we're getting Beliefnet guides to Gnosticism as if this was a viable option for Christians. Heresy sells, it seems, and I find that worrying.
I am an unapologetically orthodox Christian, so I am not going to apologize for saying that I find this trend to Gnosticism to be pernicious. I also have to say I'm puzzled by it. Given the widespread caricature of traditional Christianity as condemning matter and insensitivity to the natural world, I just don't get how anyone could argue that Gnosticism (a dualist heresy which identifies matter with an evil creator distinct from a good, immaterial God) could possibly offer a better alternative. Nor can I understand how people, who argue that the Gospels could not really give a clear sense of Jesus' earthly ministry and teachings because they were written within 60-80 years after Jesus' death, can accept Gospels which are one to two centuries older yet. If this is not the 'itchy ears' which Paul talks about (2 Timothy 4,3), I don't know what is.
I'm not saying that we should censor these books or these bookstores. I think that would be counter-productive and unrealistic. We can't dig our heads in the sand. These "gospels" (for instance) are out there and we have to deal with that. I've tried to do that. As part of that effort, I have read those heretical gospels and found them unhelpful in the extreme. Whatever good they have is derivative from the Gospels. Wherever they are original, they express a concept of the world which I think is just flat out wrong. Jesus did not seem to die; he died and was raised on the third day. There is not one God and a evil angel who created matter; there is one God, the Creator. Yet these books are there and, as distressing as it is, I think we'll continue to deal with these ideas. And we need to be ready for that.
Peace,
Phil
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Ash Wednesday
I almost missed Ash Wednesday.
Well, not really. I knew what day it was. I knew I'd be at the 7:30 service. Why, I even knew I'd be thurifer.
But, I still almost missed it in the busyness which is my life this week. Last minute marking, report card comments, deadlines for various things and a professional development session have conspired to make it difficult for me to focus on anything but work this last week or so. So, Ash Wednesday and Lent has only been at the back of my mind.
What brought it back to the front of my head (and, hence, this blog) was our service for Ash Wednesday. I have always liked Ash Wednesday. There is something in the somberness and the recollection of my sins, shortcomings and weaknesses which calls me back to reality in the midst of what is usually a busy time. It is, I fear, too easy to skate along, managing my life with all its joys and complications and not engage with what separates me from God. Ash Wednesday service, for me, is an exercise in humility; one that I need regularly. And that is good because that is part of what Lent is about.
Welcome to the Lenten season.
Peace,
Phil
Well, not really. I knew what day it was. I knew I'd be at the 7:30 service. Why, I even knew I'd be thurifer.
But, I still almost missed it in the busyness which is my life this week. Last minute marking, report card comments, deadlines for various things and a professional development session have conspired to make it difficult for me to focus on anything but work this last week or so. So, Ash Wednesday and Lent has only been at the back of my mind.
What brought it back to the front of my head (and, hence, this blog) was our service for Ash Wednesday. I have always liked Ash Wednesday. There is something in the somberness and the recollection of my sins, shortcomings and weaknesses which calls me back to reality in the midst of what is usually a busy time. It is, I fear, too easy to skate along, managing my life with all its joys and complications and not engage with what separates me from God. Ash Wednesday service, for me, is an exercise in humility; one that I need regularly. And that is good because that is part of what Lent is about.
Welcome to the Lenten season.
Peace,
Phil
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