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.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
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
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Perfectionism and Serving
I've been thinking about the next post for this blog for the last few days. A bad cold and a busy day on Monday prevented me from doing much about it till today which, I think, was a good thing. One of the dangers that I sense myself falling into is far too much ecclesialogical controversy and not enough focusing on what really matters. I almost feel that I've fallen into that danger in my first few posts.
Now, don't get me wrong, it isn't that the current controversies in the Anglican communion are irrelevant or pointless. I really do think that the implications behind the controversies are of first-order importance: how do we read Scripture, what is God's justice, how do we deal with the marginalized and oppressed? But, when we tie ourselves up with our divisions, we all too often forget our God. We live in an age where, all too often, the fruits of the Spirit (love joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control) (Galatians, 5, 22) are lacking in our Communion, in our churches and, if I am to be ruthlessly honest, in myself.
It is that last point that I have been thinking about since Sunday. In the rather Anglo-Catholic parish where my wife and I worship, I act, about once a month, as a server. Over that time, I've carried torches, carried the cross, waved incense as the thurifer and, recently, acted as the Master of ceremonies. I admit to being amused at a turn of events that has led me, a evangelical, to take on the role of a server at an Anglo-Catholic parish, but I have learned so much about liturgy and about worship that I can't say that I've ever regretted agreeing to help.
Yet, on this particular Sunday, I was up for Master of Ceremonies, which is a relatively new job to me, so I was feeling nervous. That isn't new in the sense that every time I serve, I have to work hard to pray away my perfectionism which is usually manifested in my case as picking out every single error I've made and scolding myself for it. Thus, I try to remember two things when I serve: that serving is my gift to the parish and God and that my perception of my own mistakes is more acute than anybody elses.
Still, I wasn't having the best day that day. I was still fighting a cold. I had gotten in rather later than I wanted. I felt rushed getting things organized. I couldn't remember how to arrange the table at the side of the alter. I positioned myself in the wrong part of the procession to enter....Well, you get the idea.
I was, of course, keeping track of all these errors and letting them bother me. Yet, I prayed to remember that, errors and all, this was my offering to the God who loves me. I prayed to give up the self-centeredness that my perfectionism hides. And I prayed for the people and clergy of my parish as we took communion. I can't say that all my self-criticism fled from me in the face of these prayers, but I knew I was profoundly in the right place and that my prayers were part of my struggle to keep perspective, to be humble before God, who is, after all, the only perfect person in our own life. And that was also okay.
Back at the vestry after the service, the grace which had escaped my attention in the service stayed around to remind me that not everything is as I make it out to be. A sub-deacon apologized for her harsh words at a certain point in the setting of the table (she wasn't anywhere near as harsh as I was being to myself) and we discussed in a constructive way how to avoid that problem again. I was able to listen to other suggestions from other more experienced servers without taking them as failures on my part. And I realized why I liked being at this parish. The Spirit moves here too.
It is that realization which gives me hope for myself, for my parish and for the Anglican Communion as a whole. Somehow, if we let it, this whole church thing actually works; the Spirit stays among us and we work through difficult things somehow. I grieve that all too often we don't listen to the Spirit's voice. Yet, sometimes that voice breaks out for us and we remember what has brought us all together.
Peace,
Phil
Now, don't get me wrong, it isn't that the current controversies in the Anglican communion are irrelevant or pointless. I really do think that the implications behind the controversies are of first-order importance: how do we read Scripture, what is God's justice, how do we deal with the marginalized and oppressed? But, when we tie ourselves up with our divisions, we all too often forget our God. We live in an age where, all too often, the fruits of the Spirit (love joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control) (Galatians, 5, 22) are lacking in our Communion, in our churches and, if I am to be ruthlessly honest, in myself.
It is that last point that I have been thinking about since Sunday. In the rather Anglo-Catholic parish where my wife and I worship, I act, about once a month, as a server. Over that time, I've carried torches, carried the cross, waved incense as the thurifer and, recently, acted as the Master of ceremonies. I admit to being amused at a turn of events that has led me, a evangelical, to take on the role of a server at an Anglo-Catholic parish, but I have learned so much about liturgy and about worship that I can't say that I've ever regretted agreeing to help.
Yet, on this particular Sunday, I was up for Master of Ceremonies, which is a relatively new job to me, so I was feeling nervous. That isn't new in the sense that every time I serve, I have to work hard to pray away my perfectionism which is usually manifested in my case as picking out every single error I've made and scolding myself for it. Thus, I try to remember two things when I serve: that serving is my gift to the parish and God and that my perception of my own mistakes is more acute than anybody elses.
Still, I wasn't having the best day that day. I was still fighting a cold. I had gotten in rather later than I wanted. I felt rushed getting things organized. I couldn't remember how to arrange the table at the side of the alter. I positioned myself in the wrong part of the procession to enter....Well, you get the idea.
I was, of course, keeping track of all these errors and letting them bother me. Yet, I prayed to remember that, errors and all, this was my offering to the God who loves me. I prayed to give up the self-centeredness that my perfectionism hides. And I prayed for the people and clergy of my parish as we took communion. I can't say that all my self-criticism fled from me in the face of these prayers, but I knew I was profoundly in the right place and that my prayers were part of my struggle to keep perspective, to be humble before God, who is, after all, the only perfect person in our own life. And that was also okay.
Back at the vestry after the service, the grace which had escaped my attention in the service stayed around to remind me that not everything is as I make it out to be. A sub-deacon apologized for her harsh words at a certain point in the setting of the table (she wasn't anywhere near as harsh as I was being to myself) and we discussed in a constructive way how to avoid that problem again. I was able to listen to other suggestions from other more experienced servers without taking them as failures on my part. And I realized why I liked being at this parish. The Spirit moves here too.
It is that realization which gives me hope for myself, for my parish and for the Anglican Communion as a whole. Somehow, if we let it, this whole church thing actually works; the Spirit stays among us and we work through difficult things somehow. I grieve that all too often we don't listen to the Spirit's voice. Yet, sometimes that voice breaks out for us and we remember what has brought us all together.
Peace,
Phil
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Alcoholism and the Bishop
I should have my head examined. When I started this blog, I really had the intention of steering clear of THE issue as long as possible. And, it seems I haven't even lasted the first week.
So, the spark for this comment is Bishop Gene Robinson's letter to the Diocese of New Hampshire, admitting his alcoholism and his admission into a rehab facility (see http://www.nhepiscopal.org/). For conservatives, this situation seems so emblematic, yet it seems so uncharitable to comment on it. Not that that has stopped people, but it almost stopped me. Almost.
I'm not interested in making mean-spirited comments about Bishop Robinson. A man in recovery from an addiciton doesn't deserve that, especially when he is currently working through withdrawl and the gut-wrenching early days of recovery. That would be kicking a man when he's down. And that is hardly charitable. Not to mention presumptuous.
Addictions happen. And they tend to happen because they are escapes from the painful realities of one's life. I'm sure Bishop Robinson has had his share of these in his life. The problem with addictions is that they take over and they become more important than everything in one's life, including one's connection to God. I won't claim to know Bishop Robinson's spiritual state, but I do note that it is perfectly possible to maintain faith and be helpless against addiction. If this is true in Bishop Robinson's case, he will have the resources to recover, given hard work at rehab and with a spiritual advisor.
Yet, what prompted me to write about this topic is that it struck me earlier today that the state of the Anglican Communion is oddly parallel to the spiritual state of an addict-- not that the whole Communion needs to go into rehab and cut out the communion wine. I really think that the defensiveness that both sides in the Anglican Communion has morphed into idealogies as a means to protect themselves against the (presumed) attacks of their theological and ecclesialogical opponents. It is this committement to ideologies on the extreme edges of the two 'sides' of this debate' which risks blocking our communal connection to God. When we use those ideologies as an excuse to be uncharitble to a fallen enemy (as in the case of Bishop Robinson) or to rage against stronger opponents, we have forgotten charity and, if we have forgotten charity, we have forgotten God. Our desire to defend God becomes the means by which we separate from him.
I have a firm postion on the same-sex issue and I've been arguing it for more than five years on various bulletin boards. I don't think we can find biblical support for it nor can we dismiss the biblical testimony. Nor can we justify hatred either. I fear that, through the very course of this debate, we have fallen into that hatred. And both sides are implicated by that.
My solution? I have no idea. Short of prayer and trying to live a Christian life, even amid controvery and debate, I can't see what else we do.
Meanwhile, I pray for the man, Gene Robinson, as he stays in rehab, facing the demons of alcoholism. May God remain with him and bring him healing. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen
Peace,
Phil
So, the spark for this comment is Bishop Gene Robinson's letter to the Diocese of New Hampshire, admitting his alcoholism and his admission into a rehab facility (see http://www.nhepiscopal.org/). For conservatives, this situation seems so emblematic, yet it seems so uncharitable to comment on it. Not that that has stopped people, but it almost stopped me. Almost.
I'm not interested in making mean-spirited comments about Bishop Robinson. A man in recovery from an addiciton doesn't deserve that, especially when he is currently working through withdrawl and the gut-wrenching early days of recovery. That would be kicking a man when he's down. And that is hardly charitable. Not to mention presumptuous.
Addictions happen. And they tend to happen because they are escapes from the painful realities of one's life. I'm sure Bishop Robinson has had his share of these in his life. The problem with addictions is that they take over and they become more important than everything in one's life, including one's connection to God. I won't claim to know Bishop Robinson's spiritual state, but I do note that it is perfectly possible to maintain faith and be helpless against addiction. If this is true in Bishop Robinson's case, he will have the resources to recover, given hard work at rehab and with a spiritual advisor.
Yet, what prompted me to write about this topic is that it struck me earlier today that the state of the Anglican Communion is oddly parallel to the spiritual state of an addict-- not that the whole Communion needs to go into rehab and cut out the communion wine. I really think that the defensiveness that both sides in the Anglican Communion has morphed into idealogies as a means to protect themselves against the (presumed) attacks of their theological and ecclesialogical opponents. It is this committement to ideologies on the extreme edges of the two 'sides' of this debate' which risks blocking our communal connection to God. When we use those ideologies as an excuse to be uncharitble to a fallen enemy (as in the case of Bishop Robinson) or to rage against stronger opponents, we have forgotten charity and, if we have forgotten charity, we have forgotten God. Our desire to defend God becomes the means by which we separate from him.
I have a firm postion on the same-sex issue and I've been arguing it for more than five years on various bulletin boards. I don't think we can find biblical support for it nor can we dismiss the biblical testimony. Nor can we justify hatred either. I fear that, through the very course of this debate, we have fallen into that hatred. And both sides are implicated by that.
My solution? I have no idea. Short of prayer and trying to live a Christian life, even amid controvery and debate, I can't see what else we do.
Meanwhile, I pray for the man, Gene Robinson, as he stays in rehab, facing the demons of alcoholism. May God remain with him and bring him healing. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen
Peace,
Phil
Sunday, February 12, 2006
I respectfully disagree.
Okay, introductions are over. What else is there to talk about?
I thought a thematic quotation might be a good place to start. Okay, the writer isn't Anglican or even Episcopalian. He is a Mennonite, but I like Mennonites. My wife is half Mennonite, so I had better.
So, the quote
"Love of enemy must include love of the intellectual adversary, including intellectual respect for the holders of positions one must in conscience reject" John Howard Yoder.
I first read this quote about four or five years ago and realized that this is the way that I want to approach my discussions with other Christians with whom I disagree. Too often, we are so focused on refuting our opponents in the church that we not only stop listening, but we stop treating them like human beings. This doesn't mean that we have to just smile and nod when someone says something we disagree with. It means that we take seriously what the other person says and deal with it, not deal with what we want to deal with.
Time and again, I see people trying to discuss important issues and arguing past each other, wondering why the other side is being so obtuse and so offensive, without considering that their assumptions are not the assumptions of their opponents. They probably will still disagree, but perhaps they will understand each other more.
One can hope.
Peace,
Phil
I thought a thematic quotation might be a good place to start. Okay, the writer isn't Anglican or even Episcopalian. He is a Mennonite, but I like Mennonites. My wife is half Mennonite, so I had better.
So, the quote
"Love of enemy must include love of the intellectual adversary, including intellectual respect for the holders of positions one must in conscience reject" John Howard Yoder.
I first read this quote about four or five years ago and realized that this is the way that I want to approach my discussions with other Christians with whom I disagree. Too often, we are so focused on refuting our opponents in the church that we not only stop listening, but we stop treating them like human beings. This doesn't mean that we have to just smile and nod when someone says something we disagree with. It means that we take seriously what the other person says and deal with it, not deal with what we want to deal with.
Time and again, I see people trying to discuss important issues and arguing past each other, wondering why the other side is being so obtuse and so offensive, without considering that their assumptions are not the assumptions of their opponents. They probably will still disagree, but perhaps they will understand each other more.
One can hope.
Peace,
Phil
Blog? Me?
I admit it. I resisted blogging. Oh, I've been interested, but I couldn't figure out what I'd be doing it for. I'm not sure that I know what I'm trying to do now, but this is an evolving project. For now, I'll speak into a vacuum and declare myself.
Who am I?
I'm happily married.
I'm a high school teacher of Latin and Classical Studies.
I'm interested in patristics, theology and church history. And ancient Greece and Rome, of course.
I'm an Anglican of a moderately conservative variety. Perhaps I'm best described as a catholic evangelical Anglican.
I enjoy the give and take of debate on such bulletin boards as Episcopal Voices, the Orthodox Episcopal Board, and Ship of Fools Purgatory (my board name is Canadian Phil...long story)
I like to cook.
I am, in the last analysis, a geek. A proud geek, but a geek nonetheless.
Why hyperekperisou?
This is a sneaky reference to Ephesians 3, 21 and used commonly as a doxology at the end of Communion: "Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or image..." (Book of Alternative Services=BAS). The bits in italics are the part which express hyperekperisou (hard working word, isn't it?). I wanted it as a title partly because it is an expression of God's abounding grace offered to the world through Jesus Christ, but also because this verse has always had special meaning to my wife and I because we have both seen it in our own lives. In fact, we saw it as so important that we inscribed it on our wedding bands.
What do I intend to do here?
My intention here is to reflect on my life as a Christian and as an Anglican. I have no intention to transform this blog into another angry conservative screed, but I hope it serves as a bridge between Anglicans and Christians of differing opinions. Perhaps understanding won't solve the problems that we as Anglicans and Christians face in living with each other, but perhaps we can start seeing each other as people, not as positions to refute.
Does this strike you as something you'd like to read? Good, read on.
Peace,
Phil
Who am I?
I'm happily married.
I'm a high school teacher of Latin and Classical Studies.
I'm interested in patristics, theology and church history. And ancient Greece and Rome, of course.
I'm an Anglican of a moderately conservative variety. Perhaps I'm best described as a catholic evangelical Anglican.
I enjoy the give and take of debate on such bulletin boards as Episcopal Voices, the Orthodox Episcopal Board, and Ship of Fools Purgatory (my board name is Canadian Phil...long story)
I like to cook.
I am, in the last analysis, a geek. A proud geek, but a geek nonetheless.
Why hyperekperisou?
This is a sneaky reference to Ephesians 3, 21 and used commonly as a doxology at the end of Communion: "Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or image..." (Book of Alternative Services=BAS). The bits in italics are the part which express hyperekperisou (hard working word, isn't it?). I wanted it as a title partly because it is an expression of God's abounding grace offered to the world through Jesus Christ, but also because this verse has always had special meaning to my wife and I because we have both seen it in our own lives. In fact, we saw it as so important that we inscribed it on our wedding bands.
What do I intend to do here?
My intention here is to reflect on my life as a Christian and as an Anglican. I have no intention to transform this blog into another angry conservative screed, but I hope it serves as a bridge between Anglicans and Christians of differing opinions. Perhaps understanding won't solve the problems that we as Anglicans and Christians face in living with each other, but perhaps we can start seeing each other as people, not as positions to refute.
Does this strike you as something you'd like to read? Good, read on.
Peace,
Phil
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