A Fire That Binds

This past year, my home state of Texas, along with much of the Southwestern United States, has been suffering from a drought of crippling severity. Farmers have abandoned their crops and ranchers have been forced to sell off their herds. The dryness has led to several wildfires, burning many homes, forests, and bringing about mass destruction throughout the region. Despite this damage, a few biologist friends of mine have been quick to remind me how natural and necessary fires are. In fact, some plant and animal species are actually dependent upon periodic fires for propagation and survival. From this phenomenon, I am reminded of lyrics from a Leonard Cohen song entitled “Anthem.” They read, “Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.”[1] Here Cohen points to both the imperfect, often broken, state of things in this world, as well as the potential for redemptive healing that is sometimes borne of such brokenness.

It is this very same potential that I believe the theologian Rowan Williams highlights in his article, “On Making Moral Decisions.”[2] In it, he discusses the nature of inter-Christian disagreement and the need for Christians to temper their differences with an overarching commitment to that which bolsters Christian unity, but he also speaks of how an awareness of past failures can become a fertile foundation for future growth.[3] As an example of warring Christian values, Williams cites his own struggle to understand how Christians of yesteryear condoned slavery.[4] He also stresses the need to remain in relationship with fellow saints, seeking understanding one another, rather than attempting to sever ties.[5] Williams grounds this assertion in St. Paul’s notion of the Church as the Body of Christ. As is implied by the metaphor, some amount of cohesive unity is necessary for effective bodily function.

Given this need for unity and the fact that all Christians, by the very nature of their identification as such, share in a scarred, unsightly past, Williams reminds us to be gracious to one another, remembering that our perspectives and values are flavored by the “local accent” of the society/culture to which we belong.[6] By saying this, he reminds us that the variables of status, location, class, etc., do influence our perspectives on moral issues. As such, we would do better as a body to focus on the common themes binding us together. He adds that, “To remain in communion is to remain in solidarity with those who are wounded as well as wounding the Church, in the trust that within the Body of Christ the confronting of wounds is part of opening ourselves to healing.”[7] By holding fast to the Christian story from which we draw our common identity, we press our roots deep into history’s rich, fertile soil. Thus, as the lyrics of Cohen’s song allude to and much like a fire whose heat is useful for opening the seed-bearing cones of a Lodge-pole pine tree, the imperfections and destructive choices of our Christian forbearers can provide us with a fruitful place for self-examination and mutual discovery. But for these rewards to be possible, we must learn to see these shortcomings in ourselves and come together in a spirit of humility seeking to glorify God.  

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[1] http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/leonardcohen/anthem.html

[2] Williams, Rowan. “On Making Moral Decisions.” Anglican Theological Review 81:2 (Spring 1999): 295-308

[3] Rowan Williams, “On Making Moral Decisions,”p.299

[4] Rowan Williams, “On Making Moral Decisions,”p.302

[5] Rowan Williams, “On Making Moral Decisions,”p.302

[6] Rowan Williams, “On Making Moral Decisions,”p.300

[7] Rowan Williams, “On Making Moral Decisions,”p.302

Seeking Goodness As A Communal Endeavor

Over the years, I have come to disdain “No Trespassing” signs.  As a nature lover who enjoys both brisk jogs and slow evening strolls, I crave roaming through beautiful scenery. Here in Texas, due to a near absence of public land, I frequently find myself strolling along sidewalk-less roadways, amongst spent beer cans, Styrofoam cups, and a kaleidoscope of plastic bags. Unlike many nearby states, Texas lacks land for public uses like hiking, hunting, camping, etc. My frustration with this came to mind recently, when reading the theologian Ellen Charry’s article entitled, “On Happiness,” in which she posits that today’s culture has privatized happiness.[1] By this she means to highlight the seeming disconnect between one’s personal happiness and the broader society’s need to thrive. She goes on to contrast the ancient Christian construal of happiness with today’s fickle conception, concluding that our impoverished understanding  of happiness has rendered life less enjoyable and fulfilling for all. Below we will look at a few key points Charry makes as they relate to land use to illustrate the benefit of adopting a refined vision for happiness.    

If one looks for it, a common theme pitting personal happiness against the good of the whole can be found on nightly news shows and throughout public discourse. Rather than seeing the meeting of needs and proper care for one another as goals requiring communal cooperation, happiness and one’s ability to thrive is often framed in zero-sum terms. Here, there can only be winners and losers, haves and have-nots. “This attitude,” Charry claims, “is socially dangerous, because on [these] terms there is no reason for people to want to contribute to the common good…”[2] The destructiveness of this arrangement is easily seen when looking at the ways societies manage their public space. Mindsets, such as Charry describes, lead to the classic tragedy-of-the-commons dilemma, in which public space, such as town squares, pocket parks, and roadways, become dilapidated, litter-covered eyesores, rather than treasures of a local community. But this needn’t be the case, as other possibilities exist. One approach attempting to remedy this, which happened to be the prevailing philosophy at this nation’s founding, dictates that nearly every square foot of space be available for purchase. Here, private ownership is seen as a remedy to ensure the upkeep and care for land.  But as has been demonstrated by countless environmental calamities, this assumption is flawed. So, where does all this intersect the theological notion of happiness?

Relevant to the above scenario is the fact that those in society who lack the resources to purchase property are left with no place to make use of or cherish. People can spend their entire lives walking on roadways between parcels of fenced off land. Injustices like these which leave many longing for things like land, which is needed by all to live and thrive (whether for enjoyment or subsistence farming), evidence social barriers revealing flaws in our present arrangement. Such factors are taken into account by Charry, who defines happiness as the byproduct of peace, justice, equality, and wisdom, in contrast to the mostly modern idea that happiness is a momentarily felt emotion.[3] These qualities bring fulfillment because they are, “properties we understand to characterize God.”[4] As such, we should chase after them, rather than fleeting fancies of “mild euphoria.”[5]

As is demonstrated by the land example, the privatization of happiness occurs at the expense of everyone. Although some may suffer more than others, no one participating in an inequitable society leaves unscathed. The moral applications of this more broadly defined understanding of happiness and the social good are limitless. With each new ethical choice we face, we are given an opportunity to embody the qualities of peace, justice, equality, and wisdom. In doing so, we seek to become more like the God we follow and desire union with.

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[1] Charry, Ellen T., “On Happiness,” Anglican Theological Review. (86:1), 21.

[2] Ellen T. Charry, “On Happiness,” 21.

[3] Ellen T. Charry, “On Happiness,” 20-21

[4] Ellen T. Charry, “On Happiness,” 27

[5] Ellen T. Charry, “On Happiness,” 20

Liturgics Scholar Patrick Malloy On Emergent Christianity and the Episcopal Church

In his article, “Rick Warren Meets Gregory Dix,” liturgics scholar Patrick Malloy describes the unfolding trend of “Emergent” Christianity as a movement seeking to escape the model of Modernist, Evangelical mega-churches, in hopes of re-capturing the transformative medium of ancient, sensory-engaging Christian worship.[1] This, he believes, is being guided by a culture-wide, philosophical shift towards Post-modernism, which has resulted in a prevailing distrust of absolutes.[2] Malloy sees this disposition as a shared commonality between Episcopalians and “Emergents.” The Episcopal Church has a long history of embracing a spectrum of differing theologies, while clinging to a unity firmly tethered in ancient Christian beliefs and practices.[3]  

            Malloy raises these points to lay the groundwork for discussing a point that has been noted by numerous scholars from both inside and outside the “Emergent” movement—an unsettling lack of solid theological foundation underpinning “Emergent” Christianity’s aim to reengage sensory worship. Although many of the practices used by Roman Catholic, Anglican, and Eastern Orthodox churches (weekly celebration of the Eucharist for instance) have been adopted by “Emergents,” rather than taking on the corresponding theology supporting these practices, “Emergents” have, as Malloy puts it, “unreflectively retained dominant theology[ies] [from] the tradition[s] from which most of them [have] emerged.”[4]

 

            Malloy’s ringing critique is issued as a reminder to “Emergents” that, with liturgy, “the medium is the message.”[5] His aim is to stress that liturgical worship is more than just the weekly production of a gripping, emotionally moving worship experience—it is a statement of and participation in a greater Divine reality.[6] As such, Malloy believes the Episcopal Church is well poised to reach out to “Emergents” searching for what he calls a, “grand framing story.”[7] It has the “ancient anchors—creedal, structural, and liturgical (all intertwined)—[which] allow the Episcopal Church to move forward with roots planted deep in the past, and that, it seems, is the quest of emergence.”[8] He concludes by noting that “Emergents” too have something to share with Anglicans—their lack of “institutional ties” may allow them to “see the [spiritual] landscape more accurately,” which could be helpful for a church seeking to minister to people where they are.[9]    

*For those interested in reading the original article, you can find it here: http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qa3818/is_201007/ai_n55067962/

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[1] Malloy, Patrick. “Rick Warren Meets Gregory Dix: The Liturgical Movement Comes Knocking at the Megachurch Door,” Anglican Theological Review, (Volume 92: Number 3), 439.

[2] Patrick Malloy, “Rick Warren Meets Gregory Dix,” 446.

[3] Patrick Malloy, “Rick Warren Meets Gregory Dix,” 451.

[4][4] Patrick Malloy, “Rick Warren Meets Gregory Dix,” 449.

[5] Patrick Malloy, “Rick Warren Meets Gregory Dix,” 441.

[6] Patrick Malloy, “Rick Warren Meets Gregory Dix,” 443-444.

[7] Patrick Malloy, “Rick Warren Meets Gregory Dix,” 445.

[8] Patrick Malloy, “Rick Warren Meets Gregory Dix,” 452.

[9] Patrick Malloy, “Rick Warren Meets Gregory Dix,” 452.

Golden Streets Just Weren't Doing It For Ya?

When I was younger, I remember spending a great deal of time mulling over questions about God, the Universe, and how everything fits together. It’s no wonder that years later I enrolled in seminary. I remember two of the questions I found particularly nagging were “Why God would create people to praise Him (does He crave adoration for an unquenchable ego)” and “Why should I look forward to heaven, if all we are going to do there is praise God?” Wouldn’t that get boring? Although my thinking on these matters has shifted mightily since childhood, I must admit that, occasionally, I catch myself falling back into these arguments only to wind up confused. Much to my amazement, the renowned, Anglican theologian C.S. Lewis struggled with these same quandaries and he addresses them in his book, “Reflections on the Psalms.”[1] Below, I will share with you some of his conclusions, which I find compelling in light of the questions above.

Lewis begins by highlighting a troubling, yet frequent theme found throughout Psalms (eg. Psalm 50) in which God is depicted as shamelessly demanding praise from humanity.[2] Misunderstood, this behavior can leave readers seeing God as needy and attention-starved. This only worsens when reading the many seemingly manipulative passages where the psalmist promises to praise God if saved or conversely when God offers salvation to those who will praise Him.[3] Lewis proposes that these verses trouble modern readers because we hear them differently than their authors intended. Instead, he suggests that when we hear the word “praise,” we ought to think “admiration,” as in the proper response to witnessing something grand.[4]

Lewis believes this kind of praise is wholly natural when encountering something of wondrous splendor (think being stunned by a radiant sunset or hearing a nimble violin solo). Lewis concludes it is only natural for us to want to share such wonders with others, which is precisely what he sees the psalmist as doing. But for this idea to carry the gravity Lewis believes it should, one must grasp his notion that worship can be a revelatory—a way of encountering the Holy God.[5] In fact, sometimes it can lead us into a sacramental unity with God. Once one has experienced this, no prodding or urging is needed to encourage our return, as we all possess an in-built hunger for such transcendence.[6]

Reflecting on such encounters, we learn that the goodness and beauty tasted in these moments is such because it is of God. In short, our pleasure comes from a unity with the Divine and our mystical participation in God’s goodness. Following these occasions, we inherently desire to share them through story with others, which Lewis views as a natural consummation of the event.[7] In fact, he claims it can be downright frustrating not to be allowed to share these things—a feeling that might be unavoidable, at least wholly, because, as Lewis claims, in our present state (referring to our imperfect human finitude), our expressions of such truths and realities to one another are prohibitively inadequate. 

This brings me back to my childhood question about why anyone would want to go to heaven. Lewis proposes that heaven can be thought of as a place/reality in which we will be able to praise God fully and perfectly for the first time, without need of pulling away. Rather, we will live in constant communion and sweet adoration, participating eternally in God’s goodness.[8] Hearing this, I envision a life endlessly awash in wave after wave of inconceivable awareness of and connectedness to God’s glory. Suddenly the concept of heaven seems much more compelling.  

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[1] C.S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms, (London, Geoffrey Bles, 1958).

[2] C.S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms, 91.

[3] See Psalm 54

[4] C.S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms, 92.

[5] C.S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms, 48.

[6] C.S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms, 51.

[7] C.S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms, 95.

[8] C.S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms, 96-97.