Resident Theology

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Czeslaw Milosz

2012-01-28T16:53:00.000-05:00

If last year was the year of R.S. Thomas, this will be, at least in part, the year of Czeslaw Milosz. Before Christmas I began his complete New and Collected Poems (1931-2001), and I'll be slowly making my way through it as the months go along. Expect this post, therefore, to be the first of many. Blessings.

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Flight

By Czeslaw Milosz

When we were fleeing the burning city
And looked back from the first field path,
I said: "Let the grass grow over our footprints,
Let the harsh prophets fall silent in the fire,
Let the dead explain to the dead what happened.
We are fated to beget a new and violent tribe
Free from the evil and the happiness that drowsed there.
Let us go"—and the earth was opened for us by a sword of flames.

Goszyce, 1944

On Christians and Modernist Poetry

2012-01-25T12:29:00.000-05:00

This week a friend passed along Mark Signorelli's recent article, "The Meaning of Modernism." In it Signorelli argues, first, that artistic (and specifically poetic) form is inseparable from content; though not a propositional statement, the form of a work embodies the philosophical (or political, or religious) perspective of the artist, and more broadly the artist's culture, who created it. He goes on to argue, second, that modernist poetry naturally embodies the philosophy undergirding it, a philosophy whose conception of freedom is damaging and untrue, masking and choking thereby whatever beauty one might otherwise have hoped would emerge in the art. Signorelli believes the temptation to ignore this fact, and to submit to the modernist paradigm anyway, is especially perilous for Christian poets today.

I want to comment briefly on this, though I admittedly need to learn more about the precise terminology in play; "modernist" may be specific enough to mean a particular sort of self-consciously methodological poetry in the vein of T.S. Eliot, or generic enough to mean most meter-less poetry in the last 100 years. If Signorelli means the latter, I think he's missing something important.

For example, the poetry of someone like Franz Wright is formless, meter-less, without predetermined shape, precisely as an embodiment of Wright's central concerns: beauty in brokenness, grace amidst pain, light in darkness. The shape of his poems does embody his content, and from one vantage point (though not the only one), it consequently tells the truth of the gospel better than rigorously defined, beautiful-with-a-capital-B classical poetry.

Moreover, it seems to me that in a real sense, once one's culture has fragmented to the extent that ours has in the last century, so that the world in many ways lacks the kind of fundamental, ordering beauty taken for granted in previous times, the proper response needn't be to impose a towering alien transcendental on it. Rather, Christian poets ought to practice their art from the ground up, within the welter as it stands (and trembles), speaking truth and beauty in the table scraps recognizable by ordinary, fractured people. Mary Karr, Andrew Hudgins, and Li-Young Lee, among others, come to mind in this regard.

I will have to think more about the issue of freedom and form, and the interplay between them in recent non-metered poetry. I suspect there is a substantive answer here, but because it is an important issue, I will leave it there for others to consider rather than suggest a hasty solution.

My Spring 2012 Course Load

2012-01-19T12:25:00.001-05:00

As I do at the start of each semester, I have shared below the courses I am taking this spring, with whom, and the respective book lists. I am especially excited about this semester, as three of my four classes are directed readings focusing on theological texts that are either crucial to know or ones I have not read before. In related news, I may not be coming up for air until spring break, given the reading requirements. We'll see.

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Medieval Christology and Atonement Theory (Junius Johnson)

There are two guiding questions for this course: 1) What, according to Scholastic theology, is the work that human salvation requires Christ to accomplish, and 2) what sort of person must he be in order to accomplish that work? This course will examine the answers of thinkers from Anselm (1033-1109) to Luther (1483-1546) on these questions.

Anselm, Basic Writings
Bonaventure, Itinerarium Mentis in Deum
John Dillenberger, ed., Martin Luther: Selections from his Writings
Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love
Damian McElrath, ed., Franciscan Christology
Eugene R. Fairweather, ed., A Scholastic Miscellany: Anselm to Ockham

Readings in Patristic Trinitarian Theology (Christopher Beeley)

This course focuses on four decisive patristic figures in fourth-century trinitarian theology: the Cappadocians -- Basil the Great, Gregory of Nyssa, and Gregory of Nazianzus -- and Augustine of Hippo. We will be reading both primary and secondary texts the better to understand these foundational theologians, the particularities of their reflections on and conceptions of the Trinity, and more generally the trinitarian faith itself in its early formulation.

Khaled Anatolios, Retrieving Nicaea
Augustine of Hippo, De Trinitate
Lewis Ayres, Augustine and the Trinity
Christopher Beeley, Gregory of Nazianzus on the Trinity and the Knowledge of God
Basil the Great, Against Eunomius
Basil the Great, On the Holy Spirit
Gregory of Nazianzus, Select Orations
Gregory of Nazianzus, Theological Orations
Gregory of Nyssa, Against Eunomius

Readings in Historical Theology (Miroslav Volf)

This course, like the next one, is in service to preparation for comprehensive exams, both on the horizon and farther down the line. We will be reading a large number of smaller, discrete texts from important thinkers in three eras -- patristic, medieval, and reformation -- regarding four loci: biblical interpretation, faith and reason, Christology, and politics and society.

Patristic: Justin Martyr, Tertullian, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Diodore of Tarsus, Theodore of Mopsuestia, Gregory of Nazianzus, Augustine of Hippo, Cyril of Alexandria, Leo the Great, Maximus the Confessor, John of Damascus
Medieval: John Cassian, Gregory the Great, Bernard of Clairvaux, Hugh of St. Victor, Bonaventure, Thomas Aquinas, Nicholas of Lyra, John of Salisbury, William of Ockham, John Wyclif
Reformation: Martin Luther, John Calvin, Cornelius a Lapide, Johann Gerhard, Desiderius Erasmus, Francisco de Vitoria, radical reformers

Readings in Systematic Theology (Kathryn Tanner)

This course, like that above, is aimed at filling gaps and providing space for reading texts which will come up in our comprehensive exam on contemporary theology (i.e., post-Kant); unlike it, though, we are reading multiple works in full from only about a dozen or so influential figures. The three areas organizing the texts and concerns of the course are: theological methodology, the nature and interpretation of Scripture, and ecclesiology.

Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics I/1; I/2
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Sanctorum Communio
William Cavanaugh, Torture and Eucharist; Theopolitical Imagination; Being Consumed; Migrations of the Holy (selections)
Henri de Lubac, Medieval Exegesis (selections)
Hans Frei, The Identity of Jesus Christ; The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative
Nicholas Healy, Church, World, and the Christian Life
David Kelsey, Proving Doctrine; Eccentric Existence (Chapter 3B)
George Lindbeck, The Nature of Doctrine
Gerhard Lohfink, Does God Need the Church?
Friedrich Schleiermacher, The Christian Faith
Kathryn Tanner, Theories of Culture
Kevin Vanhoozer, The Drama of Doctrine
John Webster, Holy Scripture; Word and Church; Confessing God

On Cultivating Virtues in the Academy: Sabbath

2012-01-17T12:49:00.001-05:00

The deeper I went into Master's work, the more my Saturdays became homework days. By my third and last year, it was an ideal work day, particularly if my wife was planning on doing something with friends. Sunday was already a work day, but usually better for reading; Saturday, as it turned out, proved great for writing: no responsibilities other than the yet-to-be-written paper sitting before me on the blank computer screen. By spring of last year, writing my thesis, I could apportion a piece of my writing schedule -- one chapter per week -- to every day of the week; so if a chapter was about 25 pages long, I need only plan 3-4 pages of writing per day.

Needless to say, when I began doctoral work in the fall I went into it with the unquestionable assumption that, given what would assuredly be a sizeable increase in workload, weekends would be work days as much as weekdays -- with slight allowances made for fun (Saturday) and church (Sunday). In theory this would relieve each day's work by some slight but meaningful percentage, thus creating post-work time within each day for other things (whether relational, marital, practical, etc.).

A few weeks into the semester I noticed that my fellow first-year in theology, Ross -- he and his wife already fast friends of ours -- was keeping a sabbath day each week. Sundays were intentionally free of homework, so as to create unintruded, unintrudable space each week for worship, family, exercise, leisure, fun, and rest.

Initially, this seemed appealing in the abstract, but impractical in reality -- a nice idea, like how we'd all appreciate an eighth day of the week. Unfortunately, there are only seven.

However, the appeal only grew with time, and I realized -- in discussion with Ross as well as with my wife -- that its impracticality rested entirely on my decision to make it so. If I decided that one day a week was off limits (you know, like an entire people group has done for 3,000 years), then it simply would be.

So I tried it.

And I never looked back.

Since mid-October I have practiced a homework sabbath every Saturday, without exception, and I cannot exaggerate how much of a blessing it has been. I chose Saturday instead of Sunday for a number of reasons, but it has had a significant, though unintended, rest-extending consequence: Because I usually finish my school reading sometime Friday afternoon (always by 6:00 pm), and I don't pick it back up until after lunch on Sunday, the sabbath actually regularly approaches something like 42 hours in total, even some weekends spanning a total of two full days in real time.

Academics are a notoriously anxious bunch, and I am no exception. There is always another book to be read, another article to print, another paper to write, another proposal to submit. What a specifically school-work sabbath does is what the sabbath does more generally: remind you that you are not the still center of the spinning cosmos. (Reminding you also, of course, who is.) Just as the world will keep turning without your busily working self -- and this is good news! -- your academic career (or semester grades, or final paper, or . . .) will, without fail, not collapse in a heap of failure if you take a day off.

Most of us need this reminder.

Among other benefits, it is difficult to describe, in this my eighth consecutive year of post-secondary education (following 13 years of primary+secondary!), what a psychological relief it is to spend an entire day -- or two -- at rest, utterly carefree, sans work commitments and the guilt that ordinarily accompanies leaving them unattended. It is simply extraordinary.

So I commend the same to others: choose some specific amount of time each week, set it aside for whatever you like except academic work, and keep it holy. It may seem like law at first, but rest assured that it will be pure gospel. What seems to constrain will invariably work to free you. Try it.

On Cultivating Virtues in the Academy: Introduction

2012-01-16T13:52:00.001-05:00

These past few weeks I have spent some time reflecting on the sort of habits I want to be cultivating as a doctoral student. The fall semester, like all first semesters in PhD programs, was one long exercise of learning as I went, adapting on my feet to the new and unique challenges present in this next stage of graduate study. Following that, the Christmas break afforded a bit of sustained time to reflect on the experience and make intentional plans for how to grow and succeed in substantive ways this semester and on.

I have already begun to share some of those reflections, in the form of goals for becoming a better reader and setting aside time each day for quiet and prayer. The nice thing about being a graduate student and preparing for a career in the academy is that the habits and virtues developed at this point in the track are largely transferable into life as a professor (granting all the various differences between them).

I also understand the challenges the academy poses to its members to be distinctively pernicious to those of us seeking, at the same time, to be faithful Christians. The temptations run in every direction: ambition, narcissism, snobbery, elitism, greed, deification of knowledge, idolatry of this person or that idea, sacrifice of family for career, lack of belonging to any particular place, locating value in others' esteem rather than God's, substitution of talk for action, entitlement mentality, loss of ability to listen to others, relentlessly critical attitude to the exclusion of gratitude or joy, homogenization of what matters in life in terms of what matters to you (and "your field"), and so on and so forth.

So I thought that, since I'm already thinking about these issues, and apparently writing about them without larger intentions, I would share my reflections in a little ongoing series. Life in the academy today is a strange and unwieldy thing, and I know I have benefited from others' wisdom before me. Hopefully my own small contribution will be similarly helpful, along with the comments of friends and colleagues (prospective and actual) who find themselves on the same path.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: A Prayer for Concluding Prayers

2012-01-14T13:23:00.001-05:00

One of my regular spiritual disciplines is to spend time in silent prayer after lunch every weekday. I have always struggled to find a time "set aside" specifically for stillness, quiet, and prayer, as mornings are out of the question and evenings invariably find a way to intrude with alternatives. But since I spend much of my time each day during the week reading or writing in my office at home, often eating lunch there alone, I discovered early last semester that committing to daily prayer after lunch was both a good idea (spiritually) and a realistic idea (practically).

My praying often takes different forms, whether meditative, intercessory, freewheeling, or whatever. One constant, however, has developed entirely organically, and to my happy surprise: a sort of fixed concluding prayer to close my time in prayer as a whole. Unwritten, pieced together ad hoc as various phrases and petitions came forth naturally, it has coalesced into something like a set liturgical denouement -- even to the point of crossing myself when I end with the triune name, something I had never done before but just felt fitting one afternoon, and which I have continued ever since.

As I have with other similar compositions, I thought I might share this prayer for prayers' concluding for whatever benefit others might gain from it. Enjoy.

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A Prayer for Concluding Prayers

Speak to me, Lord;
help me to listen;
make me to hear your voice.

Let me come to know you as you are,
O God of infinite and perfect love --
you who made the sun and the stars,
and came near in Christ.

Forgive me my sin,
and deliver me into new life.

Free me
from the fear and the power of death.

Make me your servant,
faithful to the way of Jesus.

For I do believe, Lord;
help me in my unbelief.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen.

The Week's Reads: Marilynne Robinson, Guantanamo Nightmare, Intelligent Design, and More

2012-01-13T14:52:00.001-05:00

Here's some of what I enjoyed reading this past week:

The great Marilynne Robinson writes in the New York Times about the Bible, "the book of books," and its relationship to the Western literary heritage. My favorite turn of phrase: her description of "religious thought," in contrast to "religious propaganda," as "an attempt to do some sort of justice to the rich difficulties present in the tradition."
Another NYT piece, this time on Haiti's slow recovery from the earthquake two years ago this month.
A final piece, much more personal, from the Times: Lakhdar Boumediene, an Algerian immigrant seized from Sarajevo in late 2001 and held illegally (and unjustly) by the U.S. for more than seven years without charges, on his "Guantanamo nightmare."
Friend and fellow Candler alum Paul Wallace on Christian faith, scientific endeavor, and the swift death of "Intelligent Design." (H/T: David Congdon.)
A deeply insightful piece by Jay Caspian Kang on "Kwame Brown, basketball player, and Kwame brown, symbol of failure."
Adam Kotsko with two thoughtful posts this week: the first an interrogation of the apparent gap in compassionate activism relating to food and animals versus that relating to labor conditions of those who make cheap American clothing; the second an affecting, surprisingly autobiographical reflection on class and anxiety in the academy.
From back in December, friend of the blog and all-around renaissance-theologian Peter Kline analyzes Lady Gaga's music video, "Marry the Night."
Finally, check out PST graduate student Kait Dugan's blog, KYRIE ELEISON, which I have only recently happened upon. It's worth your time.

Karl Barth on (Not) Attending to the Center of the Church's Life

2012-01-10T17:20:00.000-05:00

"How disastrously the Church must misunderstand itself if, on whatever pretext, it can dream of being able to undertake and achieve anything serious in what are undoubtedly the important fields of liturgical reform or social work or Christian education or the ordering of its relation to state and society or ecumenical understanding, without at the same time doing what is necessary and possible with reference to the obvious centre of its life, as though it were self-evident, as though we could confidently count on it, that evangelium pure docetur et recte administrantur sacramenta! as though we could confidently leave this to God and in the meantime busy ourselves with the periphery of the Church circle, which has perhaps been rotating for long enough around a false centre! as though we could put ourselves in God’s hands without a care in the world for what happens at this decisive point!

"Again, how disastrously the Church must misunderstand itself if it can imagine that theology is the business of a few theoreticians who are specially appointed for the purpose, to whom the rest, as hearty practical men, may sometimes listen with half an ear, though for their own part they boast of living 'quite untheologically' for the demands of the day ('love'). As though these practical men were not continually preaching and speaking and writing, and were not genuinely questioned as to the rightness of their activity in this regard! As though there were anything more practical than giving this question its head, which means doing the work of theology and dogmatics!

"Again, how disastrously the Church must misunderstand itself if it can imagine that theological reflection is a matter for quiet situations and periods that invite contemplation, a kind of peace-time luxury for which we are not only permitted but even commanded to find no time should things become really serious and exciting! As though there could be any more urgent task for a Church under assault from without than that of consolidating itself within, which means doing theological work! As though the venture of proclamation did not mean that the Church permanently finds itself in an emergency! As though theology could be done properly without reference to this constant emergency!

"Let there be no mistake. Because of these distorted ideas about theology, and dogmatics in particular, there arises and persists in the life of the Church a lasting and growing deficit for which we cannot expect those particularly active in this function to supply the needed balance. The whole Church must seriously want a serious theology if it is to have a serious theology."

--Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics I/1, 76-77 (originally a single paragraph)

On (Not) Being a Good Reader: Making Goals, Resisting Bad Habits, and Re-Reading Good Books

2012-01-05T11:39:00.000-05:00

I am not a very good reader. Though my chosen career entails a life of reading, reading itself does not come naturally to me. Or at least, not always, and not in the same way.

For example, I am an extremely poor reader of novels. I just did not learn the requisite skills in high school, and more or less degenerated in college. Since then I have been trying to recoup what I lost, and gain what I never had.

Furthermore, I am an extraordinarily slow reader. My wife, if "hooked," can finish a 400-page novel in a day, two or three at most if other commitments override. That sort of loss of self, that forgetfulness of the painstakingly slack page-turning rate which swells up in my brain in perfect proportion to the amount of pages staring me down -- it's near impossible to imagine.

However, I do enjoy reading, and have always enjoyed it; moreover, I love my subject of study, so I enjoy reading theology in particular -- and that is fortunate, given that my vocation consists overwhelmingly of reading theology before doing anything else.

Setting aside theology, then, my stamina, and speed, and (at times) motivation have for some time been sorely lacking, alongside a paucity of diversity in both my literary interests and reading skills. I have, therefore, for the last few years made annual goals with attendant strategies in order to slowly address these areas of weakness (or, in PC parlance, "potential growth").

To begin, in 2008 and 2009, which included the end of college and my first three semesters of graduate school, I remained stuck at around 50 books per year, which averages out to a mere book per week. In 2010 I was able to increase that to two books per week, and this past year up to three. Part of that was simply the greater demands of Master's work; another part was intentionally reading more; and still another was introducing variety into my theology-only reading diet. Two genres in particular proved especially appetizing: poetry and essays. I discovered both that I could read these fairly quickly and that I derived great pleasure in doing so.

My newest genre of interest is memoirs (or biographies, though less so), closer to the DNA of a novel while for various reasons containing more appeal as well as an easier dynamic of entry, sticking with it, and finishing.

This year I have three goals: to increase from three to four books per week (or at least somewhere in between); to read at least one novel per month; and to begin the practice of re-reading especially beloved or formationally foundational books.

This last goal is a new one to put into practice, but one I have been working toward for some time. I've heard it said that being an academic means never having to read the same book twice. That may be true in some ways -- for example, as a description of the intellectual capacities of the truly great scholar, or as a prescription of the limited time available to lifetime readers of ever-increasing publications -- but I see it as a mistaken impulse. The life of the mind, the life of reading, ought to be precisely that of refusing to "finish" books once for all before moving on to the next thing. Books, or at least those most worth reading, are there to be chewed on, digested, meditated on, memorized, internalized. For the very few who can recite lines from once-read books, perhaps this is unnecessary. But for the great majority of us who are consistently forgetful of what we have read, in a lifetime of six or seven or eight decades, how can a once-read book actually do the work it is capable of if placed on a shelf forever thereafter?

For that reason I see the practice of re-reading as the height and fulfillment of the academic life, even as it is an active resistance of the institutional habits encouraged by the academy today.

So I chose 12 books to re-read this year, from various genres and of disparate lengths and ages, books which were either important to my development as a thinker or person, or worth re-reading and so knowing well just because.

In poetry: A Timbered Choir by Wendell Berry; Sinners Welcome by Mary Karr; and Walking to Martha's Vineyard by Franz Wright. These are collections of poems which I would be delighted to read annually for the rest of my life.

In fiction: Gilead by Marilynne Robinson (already read twice, each time broken open anew); The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien (in preparation for the film this December, as I haven't read it since middle school); and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis (no explanation required here).

In academic theology: The Priestly Kingdom (because I want to re-read a different book by Yoder every year); Death and Life by Arthur McGill (because it's that good); and Confessions by Augustine (again, because it's worth it -- and because I've never read Books 11-13).

In pleasurable or formational works: Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton (because it's been a while); The Way of the Heart by Henri Nouwen (because this book fundamentally reshaped my practice of spiritual disciplines); and Sex, Economy, Freedom, & Community by Wendell Berry (because reading this book four years ago radically transformed my way of thinking and living for good).

I'm sure others -- including even the most scholarly of scholars -- have similar stories with regard to reading or other related challenges. The felt expectations (to read everything, to remember everything, never to be out of date) combined with their patent insurmountability (no one has or will ever have read everything, much less remember it all or live a meaningful life besides) can prove isolating, suffocating, even brutal. Consider this my small contribution, in via, to the possibility of a common sanity in this odd way of life called academic.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Wendell Berry (Christmas Day)

2011-12-24T18:00:00.001-05:00

Merry Christmas!

It's not often that Christmas falls on a Sunday. And what better way to celebrate than with a poem by Wendell Berry, his sixth Sabbath poem -- and so unnamed, the title below being mine -- of the year 1990.

Blessings on this day of happy celebration.

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St. Vith, December 21, 1944

By Wendell Berry

Cut off in front of the line
that now ran through St. Vith,
the five American tanks sat
in a field covered with snow
in the dark. And now they must
retreat to safety, which they
could do only through gunfire
and flame in the burning town.
They went, firing, through the fire,
GIs and German prisoners
clinging to the hulls, and out
again into the still night beyond.
In the broad dark, someone
began to sing, and one by one
the others sang also, the German
prisoners singing in German,
the Americans in English,
the one song. "Silent night,"
they sang as the great treads
passed on across the dark
countryside muffled in white
snow, "Holy night."

Just Because: Predictions for the 2011-2012 Lockout-Shortened NBA Season

2011-12-21T10:28:00.000-05:00

It's usually an annual October tradition -- see the last three years' iterations -- but, of course, the lockout has delayed and contracted this year's season; so now, the week of Christmas, I offer my usual predictions for how things are going to shake out in the National Basketball Association.

It's odd: continuity and experience take on a bigger role in this sort of season, even as youth and depth absorb the toll of 66 games in 120 days. (You read that right.) All in all, things look basically similar to last season, with the ascension of the Clippers to NBA royalty and my premonition that Indiana will make a leap. Note also the asterisk for Orlando and New Jersey: my pick for the Magic presumes the presence of one Dwight Howard, while if he leaves, they will almost certainly bottom out while their trade partner (the Nets?) will take their place in the playoff picture.

I'm also gunning for a first round Staples Center showdown between the Lakers and Clippers, though I have Kobe's maniacal competitiveness winning out over Lob City's inexperience. (Also a repeat of last year's Boston-New York series, with the same result.) And while the good guys won the prize last year, I have the Heat triumphing in the Finals over the ultimate good guys, the Thunder. LeBron and Wade holding a trophy while the camera pans to Kevin Durant in tears? That sounds just tragic enough to become true. Just know that, after the Spurs, I'll be cheering for OKC all the way.

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Western Conference
1. Oklahoma City Thunder (53-13)
2. Dallas Mavericks (49-17)
3. Los Angeles Clippers (47-19)
4. San Antonio Spurs (45-21)
5. Memphis Grizzlies (44-22)
6. Los Angeles Lakers (42-24)
7. Denver Nuggets (40-26)
8. Portland Trailblazers (36-30)

9. Minnesota Timberwolves (34-32)
10. Phoenix Suns (33-33)
11. New Orleans Hornets (27-39)
12. Utah Jazz (23-43)
13. Houston Rockets (19-47)
14. Golden State Warriors (13-53)
15. Sacramento Kings (10-56)

Eastern Conference
1. Miami Heat (56-10)
2. Chicago Bulls (53-13)
3. Orlando Magic (44-22)*
4. New York Knicks (40-26)
5. Boston Celtics (39-27)
6. Indiana Pacers (37-29)
7. Atlanta Hawks (34-32)
8. Philadelphia 76ers (33-33)

9. New Jersey Nets (32-34)*
10. Washington Wizards (30-36)
11. Milwaukee Bucks (29-37)
12. Detroit Pistons (18-48)
13. Toronto Raptors (13-53)
14. Cleveland Cavaliers (9-57)
15. Charlotte Bobcats (8-58)

Western Conference First Round
Oklahoma City Thunder (1) over Portland Trailblazers (8) in 5 games
Dallas Mavericks (2) over Denver Nuggets (7) in 6 games
Los Angeles Lakers (6) over Los Angeles Clippers (3) in 6 games
San Antonio Spurs (5) over Memphis Grizzlies (4) in 7 games

Eastern Conference First Round
Miami Heat (1) over Philadelphia 76ers (8) in 5 games
Chicago Bulls (2) over Atlanta Hawks (7) in 6 games
Indiana Pacers (6) over Orlando Magic (3) in 6 games
Boston Celtics (5) over New York Knicks (4) in 7 games

Western Conference Semifinals
Oklahoma City Thunder (1) over San Antonio Spurs (5) in 7 games
Dallas Mavericks (2) over Los Angeles Lakers (6) in 6 games

Eastern Conference Semifinals
Miami Heat (1) over Boston Celtics (5) in 7 games
Chicago Bulls (2) over Indiana Pacers (6) in 6 games

Western Conference Finals
Oklahoma City Thunder (1) over Dallas Mavericks (2) in 7 games

Eastern Conference Finals
Miami Heat (1) over Chicago Bulls (2) in 6 games

NBA Finals
Miami Heat (1) over Oklahoma City Thunder (1) in 7 games

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: G.K. Chesterton (Advent #4)

2011-12-19T09:26:00.002-05:00

A bit belated, but better late than never. My assumption is, apart from one more Sabbath post next Sunday, it's going to be tumbleweeds around here for a few weeks. If so, have a blessed rest of Advent, and Christmas, and holiday break for the academics. I hope it's a good end to a good year, as it is for us.

The neat little poem below is taken from Chesterton's 1900 collection, The Wild Knight and Other Poems. And while you're at it, go check out Richard Beck's two recent posts on Christmas carols as resistance literature.

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A Christmas Carol

By G.K. Chesterton

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
  His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
  But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast,
  His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
  But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
  His hair was like a fire.
(O wear, weary is the world,
  But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee,
  His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
  And all the stars looked down.

Christopher Hitchens: Rest in Peace

2011-12-16T10:05:00.001-05:00

Christopher Hitchens passed away last night. Having done serious battle with the debilitating Stage 4 esophageal cancer that overran his life some 18 months ago -- as he put it, "There is no Stage 5" -- he finally lost the fight he knew would be a losing one.

A lifelong political journalist, Hitchens didn't hit the national spotlight in America until after 9/11, an event that changed his life in more ways than one. Once a card-carrying communist -- literally: in his memoir there is a picture of his "commie card" from the late 1960s -- Hitchens remained a leftist of some sort all his life; but 9/11 marked a line in the sand his former comrades found themselves on the wrong side of. Thereafter he became a recognizable spokesman for two things above all: the West's war on Islamist terrorism, as led by the U.S.; and a radical secularism bent on exposing the poisonous evils of religion.

This is largely how Hitchens' death will be received: as that of the secular fundamentalist who betrayed his politics in order to back an imperial invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq. And that description is no doubt earned. (Though I do wonder about the extent to which his politics were ever so far from where he eventually landed.)

However, Hitchens' death raises a different set of issues, and feelings, for me. See, Hitchens was (is!) one of my favorite writers. Though our politics were (are -- tense is challenging here) opposed, our worldviews disparate, our convictions contradictory, I loved the man's work. Over time I developed that curious feeling for his writing -- and so for him -- that is somehow capable of attending signs on a page or screen: affection. Whether reading his weekly piece in Slate, his longer monthly essay in Vanity Fair, his random book reviews and speeches to fellow atheist believers, or his fascinating memoir, Hitchens' writing brought me what I know he sought to occasion -- namely, pleasure. The literary world for Hitchens was not unlike a vast and unending pleasure machine; if we learn and grow, enculture ourselves in the process, all the better. I'm happy to know that, churning out material even in his final dying weeks, Hitchens the man succeeded in the singular thing he knew his life was preeminently given and ordered to, that which he so evidently loved with an almost religious fervor. Writing was his life, and he died one of the half dozen or so best living essayists in the English-speaking world. A happy thing, to die having fulfilled your call.

The second set of issues raised by Hitchens' death, hinted at by some of my language in the preceding sentences, is his radical atheism. I am a Christian, and a theologian in training. What does it mean to have affection for Hitchens, a man who in no uncertain terms ridiculed any and all who belonged to the Christian faith, as well as the God of that faith? And what does it mean to remember him in his passing, given traditional Christian convictions about postmortem consequences for those without faith?

The first question, though problematic for some, is not for me. As I knew and know him in his writing, Hitchens was and is a friend -- one gained, to be sure, from books and essays and speeches, and so an odd sort of friend, but a friend nonetheless. Therefore there is nothing strange in having affection for him and his work, just as I have had and do and will have friends in life with whom I disagree fundamentally about ultimate matters. I would have been happy for Hitchens to know while living that he had a Christian theologian -- a "true believer"! -- for an admiring reader. I'm sure he would have laughed, and got on with it. Fine by me.

The second question seems to me the more pressing. How do Christians pronounce the blessing Requiescat in pace on behalf of a man like Hitchens without some irony, doubt, or even hypocrisy nagging at their conscience? Not because we do not want him to rest in peace, but because the overwhelming claim of the tradition is that he will not in fact do so.

The challenge is not solved by a resolute universalism. For, as Hitchens was quick to point out to his still-evangelizing Christian readers, would it not be better for him to retain the integrity of his convictions to the end, rather than abandon them out of fear and self-concern? From the Christian vantage point -- this is perhaps the voice of C.S. Lewis -- should we not afford an unbeliever like Hitchens, following God's own lead, the courtesy of his commitments and so not relegate him to heaven's dark corner of unwilling converts?

I don't have a quick fix for these theological problems. Christians trust the God of cross and resurrection to act in exact accordance with the love, mercy, and grace revealed in Christ. In this way -- in a profoundly freeing way -- the fate of the departed is simply and completely out of our hands. It is just not up to us.

Given this position, then, what are we we left with? What is our "stance" in such a situation? I have two suggestions.

The first is an absolutely steadfast faith in the victory of God's love in Christ. Christopher Hitchens was as subject as you or I to the vagaries and consequences of a world filled with sin, violence, falsehood, and death. And the God who created Christopher Hitchens, who upheld him at every moment of his life, who quite literally loved him into being and sustained him in love for more than six decades -- this God came near in Christ and acted once for all to deliver all things from bondage to death. If Christian faith excludes the Christopher Hitchenses of the world from the scope of God's redemption, it might as well give up the game.

My second suggestion is much smaller in focus, a rather homely theological gesture. I shared above of my affection for Hitchens. Though it did not take much effort -- and, of course, required zero cost -- this could be interpreted as a kind of literary love of enemy: Hitchens' distaste with me-and-mine could not win out against my genuine fondness for him. In the face of the rhetorical violence he perpetrated against "religious people," and even the actual violence he commended against those he deemed unworthy of life, I sincerely desired Hitchens' well-being; I wanted him to flourish, to succeed, to know love and health and long life. (I also hoped he would lose his enchantment with the Enlightenment, and open a book of real theology, and reject the myth of redemptive war -- but then, those are forms of loving him, too.)

In other words, my affection for Hitchens the atheist fundamentalist overwhelmed any other feeling or attitude I might have had for him. And I suspect this is something like the stance Christians should take in relation to all the (radically) unbelieving departed; for when I say "rest in peace," I really mean it. Not because I have worked-out ideas about the afterlife, or a backdoor deal with God, or secret hope that Hitchens was "right with the Lord" when he died -- although, to reiterate the first point above, Christian faith should presume and pray for the universal victory of God's love. No, my blessing on the life of Christopher Hitchens, and on his passing, comes not from intellect or doctrine, but from a love that overrules these other instincts. And my sense is that something like this overruling love is closer to where we ought to be than sure knowledge of any person's eternal fate.

A last time, then: Rest in peace, Christopher Hitchens. May the wordy affection your work inspired in this believer be a testament to your lifelong gift, and a lasting irony you would have enjoyed to no end.

Capitalism at its Best: Google Chairman Eric Schmidt on the Purpose of Social Networking

2011-12-13T17:18:00.000-05:00

Last week Slate published an interview with Google Chairman Eric Schmidt, and I thought I'd pass along the concluding back-and-forth, which is both telling and damning. Ask yourself: Why is Google et al in the social networking business? Hint: It's not for the sake of social networking.

Slate.fr: You’ve launched three social networks in two years with Wave and Buzz and Plus…

Schmidt: I’m not sure Wave is a social network. Wave was a different version of e-mail. But yes.

Slate.fr: Why would Google+ succeed where Wave and Buzz didn’t?

Schmidt: Well these things are hard to do. I want to say that what Facebook has done is very difficult to do and they should be given credit for that.

It’s hard to get the privacy right, it’s hard to get the scale right, it’s hard to get people to spend time on it and so forth. In Wave, the product simply didn’t work, from the moment we announced Wave, its adoption declined. In Buzz, we had problems with privacy because it was centered on email, and we made some mistakes there. So we canceled them both.

With Google + we learned from those two experiences. I use Google+, and I find the quality of the comments are very sophisticated because there is more trust inside of Google+ than there is inside of Twitter and Facebook for example.

Slate.fr: Would you consider not pursuing the social network if this doesn’t work?

Schmidt: We need the information about yourself and your friends to make our products work better so we will always, I think, have something like that.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: R. S. Thomas (Advent #3)

2011-12-10T17:50:00.001-05:00

It's been an R. S. Thomas year for me, in terms of poetry, so what better way to mark Advent than one more poem from the Welsh master? Especially fitting, given Advent's penitential character, is the poem below, "Christmas Eve." An anti-consumerist indictment of the so-called holiday season from the pen of a priest born the year before World War I began, it was written during Bill Clinton's first term.

Thomas was a great poet, and -- as should by now be clear -- part of that greatness is his enduring, almost absolute relevance. Enjoy.

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Christmas Eve

By R. S. Thomas

Erect capital's arch;
decorate it with the gilt edge
of the moon. Pave the way to it
with cheques and with credit --

it is still not high enough
for the child to pass under
who comes to us this midnight
invisible as radiation.

The Week's Reads: Incarnation, Christmas, Wendell Berry, and more

2011-12-09T11:14:00.001-05:00

As school takes the time for writing I would otherwise use for blogging, I thought I would at least share what I'm reading this week (and perhaps going forward). Here goes:

Peter Leithart reflects on the Word made flesh, but in particular, the Word made martyr.
Rowan Williams asks, in light of Christmas, "What would Jesus do?" Perhaps surprisingly, even as an Archbishop, he doesn't so much like the question.
Speaking of Williams, Ben Myers excerpts from his new book on the great Anglican theologian -- which, incidentally, I had the opportunity to flip through at AAR -- regarding Shari'a law in Great Britain and "the politics of the empty church."
Wendell Berry was in my hometown, Austin, Texas, last week, for a public conversation with his old friend Wes Jackson. (Where was I? 1,800 miles away, that's where.) Here are some highlights, along with an interview about Berry and an announcement and FAQ about a new book of essays on Berry's work.
Ted Grimsrud asks how pacifism works as a core Christian conviction.
Melissa Florer-Bixler preaches profoundly on adoption. (Best line: Jesus "doesn’t just want our stuff; he wants us to nail it to the ceiling." Trust me, it makes sense in context.)
My friend Jimmy -- officially, as of this month, ABD -- rails against Tony Perkins in not one but two posts: "Jesus Was Not a Free-Marketer" and "Jesus Was an Occupier."
Last but not least, always be reading everything Richard Beck writes. You'll thank me later.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Andrew Hudgins (Advent #2)

2011-12-03T18:45:00.002-05:00

This past Thursday Yale Divinity School hosted poet Andrew Hudgins as part of its ongoing Literature and Spirituality series. (Past guests have included Barbara Brown Taylor and Franz Wright, among others.) It reminded me how much I enjoy Hudgins' work, from which I have shared at least one poem before in this space.

Per request, Hudgins concluded his reading with the poem below, "Piss Christ: Andres Serrano, 1987," published first in 2000 in Slate Magazine. I had read it before, but to hear it again was deeply powerful in a new way, not least due to our being in the YDS chapel. The poem also reminded me of an anecdote I have shared often with others. When I first saw and learned about Serrano's "Piss Christ," I assumed without a second thought that he was a Christian, and the work of art was a deeply faithful reflection on the mystery of the incarnation. People had to clue me in after the fact that the work was considered "outrageous" and "blasphemous" by the general Christian community upon its arrival, and caused all sorts of public outcry.

Fortunately, even as my naivete about popular sentiment can know no bounds, I find solace in the fact that Hudgins gets it, too. As we prepare for the unaccountable miracle of Bethlehem during the season of Advent -- as we wait for none but God to act -- let us be mindful of what Serrano and Hudgins will not let us forget: "if there was a Christ," then Christ, too, like us, was "born between the urine and the feces." If we affirm anything less of the incarnate one, we might as well be silent.

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Piss Christ

Andres Serrano, 1987

By Andrew Hudgins

If we did not know it was cow's blood and urine,
if we did not know that Serrano had for weeks
hoarded his urine in a plastic vat,
if we did not know the cross was gimcrack plastic,
we would assume it was too beautiful.
We would assume it was the resurrection,
glory, Christ transformed to light by light
because the blood and urine burn like a halo,
and light, as always, light makes it beautiful.

We are born between the urine and the feces,
Augustine says, and so was Christ, if there was a Christ,
skidding into this world as we do
on a tide of blood and urine. Blood, feces, urine—
what the fallen world is made of, and what we make.
He peed, ejaculated, shat, wept, bled—
bled under Pontius Pilate, and I assume
the mutilated god, the criminal,
humiliated god, voided himself
on the cross and the blood and urine smeared his legs
and he ascended bodily unto heaven,
and on the third day he rose into glory, which
is what we see here, the Piss Christ in glowing blood:
the whole irreducible point of the faith,
God thrown in human waste, submerged and shining.

We have grown used to beauty without horror.

We have grown used to useless beauty.

Read: (Film Critic) Charles Taylor on "The Problem with Film Criticism"

2011-12-02T13:19:00.000-05:00

Charles Taylor, New York film critic (and not eminent philosopher), has written a sterling piece in Dissent Magazine entitled, "The Problem With Film Criticism." Go read the whole thing, but here's a teaser:

The same progressives who bemoan the way Fox News has polarized political discourse in America, masquerading as news while never troubling its followers with anything that would disturb its most cherished and untested convictions, happily turn to the satellite radio station of their preferred genre or subgenre of music or seek out the support group or message board that fits their demographic, the political site that skews their way. Entering the realm of the other seems done solely to express rage.

The rigorous division of websites into narrow interests, the attempts of Amazon and Netflix to steer your next purchase based on what you’ve already bought, the ability of Web users to never encounter anything outside of their established political or cultural preferences, and the way technology enables advertisers to identify each potential market and direct advertising to it, all represent the triumph of cultural segregation that is the negation of democracy. It’s the reassurance of never having to face anyone different from ourselves.

Noting the Additions and Replacements in the New Second Edition of the Blackwell Companion to Christian Ethics

2011-11-29T14:43:00.000-05:00

I was both excited and dismayed to notice at AAR that a second edition of The Blackwell Companion to Christian Ethics (edited by Stanley Hauerwas and Samuel Wells) has been published. (Excitement at potential new or edited material; dismay because I already shelled out money for the first one!) This may be old news to some, but I had no idea, so I was especially surprised when I realized not only that new chapters have been added, but also that some have been removed and replaced by new versions by different authors. Since I haven't seen this sort of comparison anywhere else, I thought I would make note of it if anyone else is interested.

Excised chapters from the first edition

Part V: Re-Enacting the Story

27. Breaking Bread: Peace and War (Gerald W. Schlabach)
28. Receiving Communion: Euthanasia, Suicide, and Letting Die (Carol Bailey Stoneking)
32. Being Thankful: Parenting the Mentally Disabled (Hans S. Reinders)

New chapters in the second edition (whether in addition or replacement)

Part II: Meeting God and One Another

11. Praise: The Prophetic Public Presence of the Mentally Disabled (Brian Brock)

Part IV: Being Embodied

20. Interceding: Standing, Kneeling, and Gender (Lauren F. Winner)
21. Being Baptized: Race (Willie Jennings)
25. Sharing Peace: Class, Hierarchy, and Christian Social Order (Luke Bretherton)

Part V: Re-Enacting the Story

31. Breaking Bread: Peace and War (Stanley Hauerwas and Samuel Wells)
32. Receiving Communion: Euthanasia, Suicide, and Letting Die (Kathryn Greene-McCreight)

Part VI: Being Commissioned

40. The Virtue of the Liturgy (Jennifer Herdt)

The additions all look wonderful, of course. The only question is why the three excised chapters were replaced by newly written ones by different authors. Assuming the best (i.e., not weird academic politics, but rather reasons of mutual agreement or subpar quality or lack of fittingness or whatever), at the very least it should make for useful and interesting comparison.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: John Mason Neale (Advent #1)

2011-11-27T16:05:00.000-05:00

On this the first Sunday of Advent -- worshiping, as we are, for the first time with a strongly liturgical church -- my wife and I . . . slept in. After criss-crossing the last 10 days from New Haven to San Francisco, then on to Texas and Mississippi for Thanksgiving before returning late last night to Connecticut, our bodies were exhausted enough, and our internal clocks disordered enough, that we missed the alarm. Oh well.

In any event, it's still time to celebrate. Each Advent season I usually try to share a hymn or a poem that is thematically fitting, and so I thought I would begin this year's with one everybody knows and sings. Blessings in this (all too often) hectic but happy time of the year.

- - - - - - -

O Come O Come Emmanuel

Translated from the Latin by John Mason Neale

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan's tyranny
From depths of Hell Thy people save
And give them victory o'er the grave
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, O come, Thou Lord of might,
Who to Thy tribes, on Sinai's height,
In ancient times did'st give the Law,
In cloud, and majesty and awe.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

It's Business Time: AAR/SBL Thread

2011-11-16T22:21:00.001-05:00

This is the weekend when hundreds upon hundreds of contentious (not to say sententious) scholars of religion, theology, and the Bible descend upon some unsuspecting city's hotel district with all the force of a shy, swag-dangling hurricane. I'll be there (neither interviewing for a job nor glad-handing for PhD admissions: that happy golden mean of doctoral studies), so I thought I'd let this be an open thread for anybody who'll be there or presenting.

Either way, see you there! San Francisco's not a bad place to spend a few days in mid-November.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Alena Synková

2011-11-14T01:07:00.000-05:00

A friend of ours performed with the Chamber Chorus of the Yale Camerata this afternoon, and the very last piece was an adaptation of a deeply powerful poem. Written by a 14-year old deported from Prague to Terezin in 1942 -- she survived and eventually returned home -- its simple, affecting words take on added resonance given the young girl's experiences.

What hopefulness against what surely seemed so hopeless. May it bless you as it did me.

- - - - - - -

Before Too Long

By Alena Synková

I'd like to go away alone
Where there are other, nicer people,
Somewhere into the far unknown,
There, where no one kills another.

Maybe more of us,
A thousand strong,
Will reach this goal
Before too long.

Coining a Neologism: Pneumaterialism

2011-11-11T16:27:00.000-05:00

A couple nights ago a colleague asked a question concerning "the new materialism," but I misheard him and thought he said "pneumaterialism." By happy accident, however, isn't this a wonderful theological term? I recall Nicholas Lash talking somewhere -- much more eloquently, of course -- about "Spirit" not being opposed to "matter," but rather death. For Spirit is in fact the life of all matter, the animating force, principle, energy, Person behind and beneath and within all that lives, all creaturely material existence everywhere at all times.

In this sense, then, we might say that "pneumaterialism" names the theological conviction and rule that pneuma contrasts not with matter, but death. In fact, matter that is not pneumatized is no matter at all, for it has no life, no connection to the living God who is Spirit.

The term could also serve to remind us that the rule goes both ways: materiality is not bad, is not "merely" itself but as it were wistfully disconsolate about not being the "better" stuff, namely insubstantial, immutable, incorruptible spirit. The cosmos as God's creature is matter all the way down, and just so good. At exactly the same time, it is not independent of the Creator, divorced from God because not God, but rather (in Hopkins' words) is "charged with the grandeur" of the Spirit's enlivening power.

In short: it is -- because all that is, is -- pneumatic matter.

And now we'll never forget, thanks to the brilliant shorthand: pneumaterialism.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Ben Knox Miller

2011-11-06T21:07:00.000-05:00

The Low Anthem has been one of the more pleasant musical surprises of the last few years, a band gentle or abrasive depending on the song, but always thoughtful in its lyrics and themes. The following is the first track off their 2008 album Oh My God, Charlie Darwin, which you can listen to here and (thus) follow along if you like. As it happens, I wrote about OMGCD as one of my favorite albums of the year back in 2009:

The album as a whole is equal to its beginning, an energetic mix of acoustic harmonies and electric hooks. But the lyrics are the biggest draw, evocatively interlocking -- as the album's title suggests -- God and world in an intimate dance. Consistent water imagery overlays the music with the sense of a threatened narrative, a worldview under siege, waters rising but somehow stayed. Time and life "float above the storm," and "them ghosts who write history books" look back at the chaos and pen the songs that tell the story of a world that keeps marching along. The Low Anthem's music and words themselves become the means through which that chaos comes to order.

Sounds like some legit music criticism to me. And yes, I did just quote myself from a previous blog post. My blogging credentials are now complete.

(Note: The song may be co-written by fellow T.L.A. co-founder Jeff Prystowsky. I don't think it is, but just in case: now you know.)

- - - - - - -

Charlie Darwin

Ben Knox Miller (of The Low Anthem)

Set the sails: I feel the winds a-stirring
Towards the bright horizon, set the way
Cast your reckless dreams upon our Mayflower
A haven from the world and her decay

Who could heed the words of Charlie Darwin?
Fighting for a system built to fail
Spooning water from the broken vessels
As far as I can see there is no land

Oh my God, the water’s all around us
Oh my God -- it’s all around

Who could heed the words of Charlie Darwin?
Lords of war just profit from decay
And trade their children’s promise for the jingle
The way we trade our hard-earned time for pay

Oh my God, the water’s cold and shapeless
Oh my God -- it’s all around

Oh my God, life is cold and formless
Oh my God -- it’s all around

Who Forgot to Tell Me That Jenson Has a New Book Out?

2011-11-02T23:27:00.001-04:00

Ben Myers, that's who. Or maybe the American Lutheran Publicity Bureau. (Is there some kind of online Jenson fan club we can bookmark for all new RWJ news?) In any case, it's called Lutheran Slogans: Use and Abuse, apparently in the same style (and by the same publisher) as his A Large Catechism from 1991. Looking forward to a quick and provocative and no doubt wry read.

(While you're at it -- "it" being following links from here, where no actual content to read can be found -- go check out this piece about Jürgen Moltmann visiting Candler School of Theology in Atlanta and, in the process, speaking at the graduation ceremony for the women's prison seminary program there.)

(P.S. My stylistic preference for blog post titles with every word capitalized, like the title of a chapter, article, or book, comes out oddly in a post like this one, doesn't it? In my liberal gobs of free time, I'll have to give that some serious thought.)

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Franz Wright (V)

2011-10-30T00:25:00.000-04:00

Sometimes it likely appears as if I don't read any poets except Wendell Berry, Mary Karr, R. S. Thomas, and Franz Wright -- but as I'd rather share something rather than nothing, and this poem struck me this week in a re-reading of Wright's Earlier Poems, this is what you get.

The following is from Wright's 1989 collection Entry in an Unknown Hand. Enjoy.

- - - - - - -

North Country Entries

By Franz Wright

Do you still know these early leaves, trans-
lucent, shining, spreading on their branches
like green flames?

And the hair-raising stars flowing over the
ridge late at night.

No one home in the house by itself on the
pine-hidden road,

or the 4-story barn up the road, leaning on
its hill.

The two horses who've opened the gate to their
field, old, wandering around on the lawn.

The sky becoming ominous.

Which is more awful, a sentient or endlessly
presenceless sky?

Kathryn Tanner on the Trinitarian Shape of Christian Service to God's Mission for the World

2011-10-26T17:20:00.001-04:00

"It is as workers of the Father's will in the world that we go out or descend from the Father empowered by the Spirit in Christ's own image. The Spirit that is to sanctify us, make us holy as Christ is, is a commissioning Spirit, empowering us to participate in Christ's own mission of loving service to the world. 'As the Father has sent me, so I send you . . . Receive the Holy Spirit' (John 20:21-2). Receiving from the Father the gifts of Spirit-filled Sonship in unity with Christ, we are to do as he did when sent out from the Father.

"The Christian experience of service to God's mission for the world in this way assumes a properly trinitarian shape. 'The formula of the Christian life is seeking, finding, and doing the Father's will in the Father's world with the companionship of the Son by the guidance and strength of the Holy Spirit' [Leonard Hodgson]. More specifically, service takes the form of trinitarian descent: from the Father to become the image of the Son in the world by way of the power of the Spirit, or from the Father to live a Spirit-filled live with Christ in his mission for the world. Those are two ways of saying the same thing.

"Son and Spirit are sent out to us in order to enable our return to the Father. But returned to the Father we are sent out with Son and Spirit again to do the Father's work of service to the world. The return brings with it another going out because in returning we are incorporated into the dynamic trinitarian outflow of God's own life for the world.

"Descent could be understood as service to the world that follows the ascent of service to God. There would then be two sequential movements here in different directions, distinguished by their respective goals or objects: a movement toward God in worship or toward the world in service to it. Worship itself models the relationship between the two. At the end of worship comes the benediction and we are then sent out like Christ into the world to do the Father's business in the power of the Spirit.

"Just as they did in the life of the trinity itself, however, the two movements should properly coincide. Worship—explicitly God-directed action—is an essential dimension of the task we are given for the world's sake. And in serving the world we turn ourselves to God, in service to the God who loves it. The whole of our lives, inclusive of both worship of God and service to others, becomes in this way an offering to God, a form of God-directed service (see Romans 12:1). The two coincide for this reason in Christ's own human life. Christ is both worshipper and worker of the Father. Both his prayers and his life's work are offered by him to the Father; and they both come back from the Father to him, in the power of the Spirit transformed—completed, perfected in the end."

—Kathryn Tanner, Christ the Key (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 205-206

Links: Thinking Through Religious Critique in America

2011-10-20T00:23:00.000-04:00

Doctoral life comes as advertised: time does not merely evaporate, it is consumed, stolen before it even seems to appear. Thus the serious lack of substantive content around these parts lately.

And for the immediate future, as I only have a few worthwhile links to pass along at the moment. I've been reflecting on the hubbub surrounding the question of Mitt Romney's being a Mormon and running for national office, prompted recently by a conservative Dallas politicopastor publicly labeling the Church of Latter Day Saints a "cult." (And so, of course, unfit for the Presidency -- because here in these United States, Christians only allowed on top!)

Three bits worth reading in this case. First, William Saletan's article on Slate claiming that anti-Mormonism is today's acceptable prejudice, akin to (in the past) racism and heterosexism. ("Overblown" and "uncomprehending" are two words that come to mind.) Second, Christopher Hitchens' article on Slate a week later on the (supposed) evils of Mormonism, and (so implicitly as well as explicitly) on the normative openness of inter- and extra-religious critique in any public situation, and especially in a political one such as this. Third and finally, Adam Kotsko's impassioned post on the whole question of inter-religious critique in America and the ways in which (the religion of) secularism disallows it in principle.

Good stuff all around, and certainly better (or at least more) reading than you'll find here these days. Enjoy.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Steven Delopoulos

2011-10-15T19:00:00.002-04:00

I was surprised to realize that I haven't yet shared anything from Steven Delopoulos, one of my favorite contemporary singer-songwriters. Delopoulos came onto the scene in the late 90s as the front man for Burlap to Cashmere, a wildly talented motley crew that offered an energetic mashup of acoustic guitars, mountainous harmonies, and relentless drumming. Unfortunately, they broke up after just one album, Anybody Out There?, which led Delopoulos to the solo gig for nearly a decade (producing two albums himself in the process: Me Died Blue and Straightjacket). The band has gotten back together, however, and released a self-titled album just this year.

Delopoulos's lyrics are not the most conducive to poetry, as the form they take in the rhythm and cadences of his guitar-voice combo is essential to their odd beauty. However, the lyrics below, taken from my favorite song off the new album, are complete enough in themselves to offer a taste; do check out the song, though, if you like.

(Pre-final note: I forgot that I wrote up a post for 80 Minutes For Life about Delopoulos a couple years ago -- worth checking out, especially if you'd like an introduction to his best songs.

And a final note: Apparently the song's title and chorus refrain -- "I see the other country" -- is taken from the last words spoken by a dying family member of Delopoulos's. Opens up the song quite a bit more, I think.)

The Other Country

By Steven Delopoulos

Your eyes see the shining city
Your love heals the poisoned mind
When the journey ends
There’s a new beginning
When the risen man
Heals the weight of time

I can feel it over the line . . .

I see the other country
I see the other side
Do not be afraid of this earthly city
Do not be afraid when the pharaoh's nigh

Draw near, the lamb's awaiting
Where the river runs through, the skies align
From that painting of a ship
We have all been chosen
To the painter's creation
In his dream design

I can feel it over the line . . .

I see the other country
I see the other side
Do not be afraid of this earthly city
Do not be afraid when the pharaoh's nigh

When I was a child, I walked like a child
But now I’m a soldier
Like the bride and groom I will be married

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Even though I sink through the ocean
You will rescue me

I am standing in the fire, but I can hear the choir singing
I was a blind man stumbling
But now I see

I was blind, blind, blind, blind
But now I see

I was blind, blind, blind, blind
But now I see

An Appeal to End the Death Penalty: Signed by Christian Theologians and Ethicists in the U.S.

2011-10-14T09:11:00.000-04:00

There is a new petition online drafted by George Hunsinger and Steffen Lösel, and signed by dozens of the most prominent Christians theologians and ethicists in the U.S., which calls for the end of the death penalty in America in the name of Jesus. It's clear, to the point, and correct. Go join Stanley Hauerwas, Cornel West, Serene Jones, James Cone, Nicholas Wolterstorff, J. Kameron Carter, Carol Newsom, Mark Taylor, Ian McFarland, et al -- and sign it:

We believe that the execution of Troy Davis on September 21, 2011 was a grievous wrong.

We reject the grotesque idea that mere "reasons of state" could ever be more important in death penalty cases than the accuracy of its verdicts.

Powerful and mounting doubts about the accuracy of the verdict against Troy Davis led many observers -- including Amnesty International, the European Union, a UN Special Rapporteur, a former FBI director, a former U.S. president, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and Pope Benedict XVI -- to call for a stay of execution. The decision not to grant clemency despite worldwide protests is a terrible stain on our country.

We oppose the death penalty for both principled and pragmatic reasons. In practice death penalty cases have been riddled with misdeeds like prosecutorial misconduct, police coercion of witnesses, misidentification of suspects, and not least racial prejudice -- all of which seem to have played an appalling role in the Davis case, as they have in so many others.

More fundamentally, as Christians, we would call upon our churches and our nation to heed the example of Jesus.

• Jesus rejected the law of retaliation ("an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth") commanding us instead to treat anyone who may have wronged us with a measure of dignity and compassion.

• He intervened to prevent capital punishment when he challenged those who would put to death a woman accused of wrongdoing: "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her."

• Above all, he taught the Golden Rule, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

• The One who forgave his enemies while dying for their sins on the cross -- "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do" -- is the One who shows us the way.

• Finally, Christians worship a Savior who died by capital punishment. That puts them at odds with any who think capital punishment is a necessity (for the state).

Those who adopted the slogan "I am Troy Davis" were exactly right. Someone we care about might one day be sentenced to death on the testimony of eyewitnesses who later recanted.

We call for an immediate end to the death penalty in the United States, we ally ourselves with all those who work toward this long overdue goal, and we challenge our churches and church leaders to join in this public witness.

Read: Andrew Krinks on Social Movements, Vulnerability, and Solidarity with the Marginalized

2011-10-11T15:08:00.000-04:00

My friend Andrew Krinks, a second-year MTS student at Vanderbilt and all-around superman writer-cum-activist in Nashville, has written a wonderful piece for Vanderbilt Magazine. In it he tells the story of his journey over the last few years with injustice, institutional power, homelessness, and vulnerable solidarity, as only a poet-theologian can. Here's a snippet, but go read the full thing:

A friend once said that there are at least two kinds of social movements in the world: the kind you sit down and start from scratch, and the kind that comes like a river to sweep you away. I found myself advocating for Nashville’s homeless community as a 20-year-old college student not because I possessed any sort of unique virtue, but because, faced with the reality of thousands of people spending night after night without shelter in my own backyard—people who, as I was beginning to understand, bore the very image of God in the lines of their faces—I had no other option.
Part willing, part eager and perhaps part foolish, I let the river guide me, and before I could think twice, I was standing with more than 100 other students and faculty before our city’s seat of power trying, as best I knew how at the time, to proclaim some fragment of good news to those who bear the burden of homelessness in our city.

Four years later I am still trying to echo, as concretely as possible, the words that Jesus of Nazareth proclaimed to the crowd in his inaugural sermon: good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and freedom for the oppressed. Indeed, I will only ever be trying to echo and embody this proclamation. I am, as I have come to understand it, a laborer in a vineyard not my own. Grand outcomes and solutions are good and fine, but they’ll only ever matter if I’m willing to get my hands dirty.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: R. S. Thomas (V)

2011-10-09T23:07:00.002-04:00

The fourth and final poem from R. S. Thomas for 2011. (Though it should be clear by now that we could just keep going -- the only thing stopping us being copyright law.) Enjoy.

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Waiting

By R. S. Thomas

Yeats said that. Young
I delighted in it:
there was time enough.

Fingers burned, heart
seared, a bad taste
in the mouth, I read him

again, but without trust
any more. What counsel
has the pen's rhetoric

to impart? Break mirrors, stare
ghosts in the face, try
walking without crutches

at the grave's edge? Now
in the small hours
of belief the one eloquence

to master is that
of the bowed head, the bent
knee, waiting, as at the end

of a hard winter
for one flower to open
on the mind's tree of thorns.

A Clarifying Note for Committed Essentialists Regarding Discussions About Gender and Identity

2011-10-07T11:35:00.002-04:00

Not a single person or group involved in discussions about sex, gender, and identity contests the incontestable fact that there is both a biological and a social difference between women and men. The only question is whether, and to what extent, the former ought to determine the latter. Or to put it differently: Given that the former does shape and determine the latter in various ways, and has in all societies everywhere throughout history, should it in a normative way -- today, in our society -- or are there factors to consider related to context, time, place, polity, religion, etc.? And to whatever extent that it (possibly) should, ought it to bracket or peremptorily define societal role, personal value, and/or social opportunity?

Even the most committed of essentialists cannot rule out these questions, if for no other reason than the equally incontestable fact that modern patriarchalists and complementarians allow and even encourage certain social roles, forms of life, and cultural participation (for both women and men) that were considered unthinkable just a century ago. The discussion, therefore, is a legitimate one, and has not been answered once and for all time, and is, so to speak, discursively up for grabs.

Must Read: Richard Beck on Lady Gaga, Little Monsters, Gays, and the Church

2011-10-03T09:25:00.002-04:00

Go check out Richard Beck's extraordinary post from this past weekend, ostensibly about Lady Gaga, but in truth about hospitality, the socially and sexually marginalized, and the prophetic call of the church.

Seriously, go read it now.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Jeff Tweedy (II)

2011-10-02T00:52:00.001-04:00

This past week was, if you did not know, Wilco Week -- at least in the East household -- as Tuesday heralded the release of the great Chicago band's tenth studio album (eighth if you discount the Mermaid Avenue sessions with Billy Bragg -- which you should not), The Whole Love. As expected, it's excellent.

Ask yourself this question: Apart from Radiohead, is there another band that's been around longer than 15 years which both has sustained a stable output of quality (and diverse!) music across that time and continues to do so? I'm all ears.

In any case, Jeff Tweedy isn't often theological, but every once in a while he deigns to be, and especially on 2004's A Ghost is Born. (For his most explicit, see my post from a couple years ago on the song "Theologians." According to Tweedy, we don't know nothin' about his soul.) Here's a bit of that album's melancholy dissonance in lyrical form for your Wilco-loving pleasure on a restful October Sunday.

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Hell is Chrome

By Jeff Tweedy (of Wilco)

When the devil came
He was not red
He was chrome, and he said:

"Come . . . with me . . ."

You must go
So I went
Where everything was clean
So precise and towering

I was welcomed
With open arms
I received so much help in every way
I felt . . . no fear . . .
I felt . . . no fear . . .

The air was crisp
Like sunny late winter days
A springtime yawning high in the haze

And I felt like I belonged

"Come with me . . ."

"Come with me . . ."

"Come with me . . ."

"Come with me . . ."

Kosuke Koyama on Subordinating Great Theological Thoughts to the Needs of the Farmers

2011-09-30T17:21:00.000-04:00

Re-posting a wonderful quote from my brother Garrett's blog:

“I decided to subordinate great theological thoughts, like those of Thomas Aquinas and Karl Barth, to the intellectual and spiritual needs of the farmers. I decided that the greatness of theological works is to be judged by the extent and quality of the service they can render to the farmers to whom I am sent. I also decided that I have not really understood Summa Theologiae and Church Dogmatics until I am able to use them for the benefit of the farmers. My theology in northern Thailand must begin with the need of the farmers and not with the great thoughts developed in Summa Theologiae and Church Dogmatics. . . . The reason is simple: God has called me to work here in northern Thailand, not in Italy or Switzerland. And I am working with neither a Thomas Aquinas nor a Karl Barth. . . . The theology for northern Thailand begins and grows in northern Thailand, and nowhere else.”

-Kosuke Koyama, Water Buffalo Theology (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books: 1999 [1974]), xvi

Wondering What Will Campbell Would Say About Last Night's Two Executions

2011-09-22T12:58:00.002-04:00

Last night two men were executed. You've probably heard of the first, Troy Davis, a man whose guilt has become more and more questionable every year since his conviction in 1989. The other is a man you may know less about: white supremacist Lawrence Brewer, who by all accounts is absolutely guilty of brutally murdering a black man in 1998 by dragging him from the back of his truck.

The publicity that the sentencing and the (for so long pending, for so long prolonged) execution of Davis garnered across the nation as well as internationally is -- despite its tragic failure -- something to be celebrated. A profound injustice was planned, coordinated, and enacted in spite of the evidence and massive public outcry, and to have highlighted this as flagrantly and prophetically as possible is nothing but good news for advocates of the end of the death penalty.

But in light of the odd, awful coincidence of the execution of both these men on the same night, and in such politically and socially inverse situations (clearly guilty racist murderer, questionably convicted African American), an enormous question arises for anyone concerned with the question of the justice of capital punishment.

Are we willing to fight for a world in which both Troy Davis and Lawrence Brewer would still be alive today?

That is a hard question to answer. And we should resist the temptation to be rash in answering "radically," as if we don't have, deep inside us, a vengeful satisfaction in the death of a white supremacist. I know I do. Troy Davis's case is so clearly and profoundly a matter of injustice that it overwhelms me that people had to fight for him at all -- and that they lost!

But Lawrence Brewer? I don't know how to "fight" for him. I don't know if I could.

So I'm wondering, today, what Will Campbell would say about all this. Campbell is that extraordinary apocalyptic minister of the gospel of radical reconciliation, present in solidarity with oppressed blacks in the 50s and 60s and on, and somehow equally present in solidarity with white racists and killers. Not, mind you, in solidarity with their bigotry or actions, but with them as human beings for whom Christ died, whose sins are not too great for the work and love of the God of the cross.

What would Campbell have us say about last night's executions? Some have made a start in that direction. For myself, the question is shattering; it reduces me to ungrasping, unknowing prayer -- prayer, in this case, to the God whose own human life was lived in solidarity with such men, even to the point of death. To the point, that is, of being executed himself at the hands of an unjust state.

Kyrie eleison. Lord have mercy.

Politics All the Way Down: On Rick Perry's "The Response"

2011-09-21T14:25:00.001-04:00

In early August, a friend of mine sent a message out to a dozen or so people he trusted to help him in a process of discernment. He lives in Houston and was drawn to attend (with his family) Ricky Perry's "The Response." However, he had heard vitriolic critiques leveled at the event, going so far as to call it a heretical event. He was honestly seeking to discern whether attending would be a wise decision, feeling as he did (and does) the moral and spiritual and political morass in which the nation finds itself today. Others replied, more or less unanimously in support of going -- even if not personally enthusiastic about it -- while I offered a different perspective. I thought it would be worthwhile to share it here, much after the fact, for reflection. (A bit of an epilogue is attached to the end.)

- - - - - - -

Thanks so much for your thoughtful message. As you might imagine, I have lots of thoughts, so I'll try to organize them in some kind of coherent way.

1. Regarding the event as "heresy," I can't imagine on what grounds someone would make that claim. And I'm not sure if the source (I couldn't find it on Google) is "left wing" (and so not liking this "right wing" event) or "super right wing" (and so not liking something that's to the so-called "left" of it). Either way, heresy is a big accusation, and doesn't just mean "bad idea," but is a categorical claim that some belief or practice stands in direct opposition to the gospel, such that a Christian could not share in it without thereby undoing their own Christian identity. "The Response" is something worth critically thinking about, but it's hard to imagine finding grounds to label it heresy, at least in my book.

2. Having said that, I do have real and serious concerns about the event, more or less all of which are in contrast to the responses I saw from others who responded to your message. Let's see if I can get them in a readable order...

a. I appreciate and admire your desire to get "beyond" politics, or to set politics aside, but I don't think that's possible in this situation. This event is inherently political: organized and led by the governor of Texas, bathed in American colors/language/etc., "by" and "for" Americans concerned about the status of their nation. I can't imagine anything more political!

b. This is more of an aside, but I am also working out of the assumption that there can finally be no clear line between "spiritual" and "political." By that I don't mean that "the spiritual" always picks a side in governmental policy -- there is always ambiguity and disagreement there -- but rather that "the political" names the thousandfold perspectives and practices that make for "living our life together," for ordering our shared life in the neighborhood, municipality, town, city, state, region, nation. So that even something as simple as worshiping Jesus as Lord is a political act, because, even though it seems normal or "only" spiritual, it says to the rulers and authorities that they aren't ultimately in charge, and that we serve a different master -- which means that they can't be sure of our obedience or loyalty, which in turn is an enormous political fact.

c. Returning to "The Response" (TR for short): my concern is that this event is political in a bad way. First, because it is spearheaded and advertised by the sitting governor of Texas, a profoundly conservative Republican politician who -- perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not -- is a potential presidential candidate. That fact alone "colors" TR in a certain way that, in my opinion, marks it out as a certain kind of political territory; and that kind of political alignment quickly becomes a popular alignment between "that party" and "those Christians," whether true or not, since it is a public event and so a matter of public perception. And that, to me, seems not to be a good thing.

d. Second, apart from the political partisanship in play, there is an extraordinary blurring of the lines between "Christian" and "American" (or "church" and "nation") here that makes me extremely uncomfortable. Notice the video ad by Perry: what is he standing in between? A cross and a communion table? Nope: an American flag and a Texas flag. Note also the confusion of "we" language in his address and in the longer video accompaniment: Who exactly is the "we"? Is it "we Christians," the "we" of the church? Or is it "we Americans," the "we" of the nation? The constant overlap seems to imply that "we" names a single subject, when there are always two; moreover, it suggests that the "dominant" identity is American, to which "Christian" is subordinate.

In other words, it is not the church that is gathering in Houston to pray for the country in which it happens to reside, but rather the nation as such, praying out of a fierce loyalty and overriding patriotism and identity-giving love for the country. But can Christians "be" and "feel" that way, when they know that America is merely one nation among others, a mere grain of sand or blade of grass before God, to be raised up and brought down at whatever point in history? "America" names something temporal and non-lasting, and so something which cannot ground our fundamental identity: nothing more (but also nothing less) than the concrete neighbors to whom we have been sent in mission, to witness to God's kingdom -- which mission and kingdom give us our true identity.

e. I also have concerns about something that seems to be less on the surface, but no less a part of TR. It is this subtle theme of "bad things happening to us recently," and that this is related somehow to "we" (again, as a nation) not being in proper relation to God. I have encountered this before, and while I realize it means well, it strikes me as somewhat of a bizarre notion. The implication seems to be that if "we" (Americans) get "back" (was there some previous golden age?) into a proper relationship to God, as a nation, then prosperity, or a lack of problems, or a lack of natural disasters, or other bad things will stop happening to us. Which then implies that those things are God's punishment of "us" for not being who "we" need to be.

To be honest, I can't make heads or tails of this, except as straightforward prosperity gospel. By contrast, the church-we, disciples of Christ, know that suffering and hardship and difficulty are not consequences of disobedience, but something we should expect just as much if not more so when we are faithful, as well as what happens "to the just and the unjust alike"! So how could we interpret "bad things happening" in themselves as God's judgment on us or punishment of us?

f. Besides what would it even look like for the nation as a whole to "get back on track"? Sometimes there is this notion that there was a golden age in the past when America was "more" Christian or more "faithful" -- but that is 100% false. It certainly wasn't in the first 90 years of horrific enslavement of black brothers and sisters, nor the following century of rampant abuse and exclusion and bigotry, alongside poverty, war, and mistreatment of women. (And this, no matter how many people were going to church or self-identified Christians.)

That leads us up to the last 50 years, which I doubt anyone would call an exemplary time of America's relationship to God. Hence my queasiness with these kinds of sentiment: they seem to posit a return to some kind of prior mythical "good" time, when there in fact was none; and they seem also, simultaneously, to suggest that if only we'd get our house in order, then bad stuff would stop happening. But unless we're willing to jump on the prosperity gospel train, I can't see endorsing that way of thinking.

f. Last two thoughts. First, regarding sincerity: I don't disagree at all with some others who replied to your message, talking about certain people organizing and involving themselves with TR, that they are sincere and well-meaning and faithful believers who only want to submit themselves to God on behalf of a tired and struggling nation. Nor do any of my comments above have anything to do with your own desire to participate, insofar as you are coming from a place of serious and authentic desire to turn to God, before anything else, for comfort and deliverance in times that are truly challenging for us and our neighbors and the nation in which we find ourselves.

My thoughts and comments have to do with the event itself, with what it "is" and "stands for," and with the implicit philosophy or worldview that seems to be driving it. My only critique of the claim to sincerity is the following: I don't think sincerity of heart is the only thing to evaluate in situations like this. People can be well-meaning and have good character and still be wrong -- or, at the very least, they can go about what they want to achieve in a less-than-wise way. That's not an indictment of the men and women themselves, only an indication of how ridiculously complex all this is.

g. Finally, I should be clear that I think many of the stated purposes and objectives of TR are worthwhile things I agree with: seeking God's leading; repenting of injustice; prayer for wisdom and guidance; communal expressions of worship and self-forgetfulness; etc. It would be interesting to imagine what faithful forms of these and other practices might be on the part of the church, and/or how those might intersect with something like a national (non-religious/non-Christian/inter-faith) expression of repentance/turning/changing/justice-seeking, if at all. My interpretation of "The Response" is simply that I don't think it succeeds on either front, but rather is a self-damaging blend of the two.

- - - - - - -

My friend ended up going, and afterwards wrote about how powerful and meaningful an experience it was. Other than what he perceived to be a couple minor exceptions, the event seemed to be apolitical, God-focused, and uplifting -- with Perry largely sidelined. Moreover, he said that the makeup of the attendees was as ethnically and socioeconomically diverse as anything he'd ever participated in, perhaps reflecting the political diversity present, too. In the subsequent weeks, however, I noted the essays and articles piling up in critique of the event, seemingly confirming my fears about it. I sent some along to him; he politely but firmly demurred, and again defended himself and the event; and so I replied with my concluding thoughts below.

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Thanks for your thoughtful reply. A brief reply of my own:

To some extent, it seems like this comes down to a question prior to the one about whether the event was authentic and God-glorifying "on the inside." That question is: How should Christians, particularly in America, evaluate and discern their participation in particular events whose image presented to society is likely to communicate something negative -- especially if what is communicated does not "match" what actually occurs within the event itself?

My open bias and inclination is always suspicion, particularly of events bound up with governmental politics. Hence, whether it was actually the case -- and from your report, which I of course trust, it sounds like (at least in some respects) it definitively was not the case -- the broad cultural image cast around the country of "The Response" was a kind of "warm-up with the evangelicals" for Perry as a lead-up to his announcement to run for President. And, to be honest, that remains my cynical (but sincere) reading.

Thus, the question now becomes: If all that is true, can the event have been as authentic and God-present as it seemed to you?

And I want to make clear that I think the answer to that second question can still be "Yes" even if the motivations and political machinations behind the scenes were as cynical as I suspect (or, better, fear).

In the end, who knows? I'm glad it was a good experience, and so cross-culturally edifying. I retain my doubts about Perry, even as I'm delighted to hear that he wasn't exactly center stage. In any case, glad to have the dialogue.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: R. S. Thomas (IV)

2011-09-18T21:19:00.003-04:00

Another -- perhaps final, perhaps not -- R. S. Thomas poem to continue my recent string of them. An alternative title, as you'll see by the end, might be "On Prayer." Whole theologies could be woven out of this extraordinary vision of Thomas's. So I'll leave you to it.

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Adjustments

By R. S. Thomas

Never known as anything
but an absence, I dare not name him
as God. Yet the adjustments
are made. There is an unseen
power, whose sphere is the cell
and the electron. We never catch
him at work, but can only say,
coming suddenly upon an amendment,
that here he has been. To demolish
a mountain you move it stone by stone
like the Japanese. To make a new coat
of an old, you add to it gradually
thread by thread, so such change
as occurs is more difficult to detect.

Patiently with invisible structures
he builds, and as patiently
we must pray, surrendering the ordering
of the ingredients to a wisdom that
is beyond our own. We must change the mood
to the passive. Let the deaf men
be helped; in the silence that has come
upon them, let some influence
work so that those closed porches
be opened once more. Let the bomb
swerve. Let the raised knife of the murderer
be somehow deflected. There are no
laws there other than the limits of
our understanding. Remembering rock
penetrated by glass-blade, corrected
by water, we must ask rather
for the transformation of the will
to evil, for more loving
mutations, for the better ventilating
of the atmosphere of the closed mind.

Martin Luther on "no other God than this incarnate and human God"

2011-09-14T18:51:00.001-04:00

"[T]rue Christian theology . . . does not present God to us in His majesty, as Moses and other teachings do, but Christ born of the Virgin as our Mediator and High Priest. Therefore when we are embattled against the Law, sin, and death in the presence of God, nothing is more dangerous than to stray into heaven with our idle speculations, there to investigate God in His incomprehensible power, wisdom, and majesty, to ask how He created the world and how He governs it. If you attempt to comprehend God this way and want to make atonement to Him apart from Christ the Mediator, making your works, fasts, cowl, and tonsure the mediation between Him and yourself, you will inevitably fall, as Lucifer did, and in horrible despair lose God and everything. For as in His own nature God is immense, incomprehensible, and infinite, so to man's nature He is intolerable. Therefore if you want to be safe and out of danger to your conscience and your salvation, put a check on your speculative spirit. Take hold of God as Scripture instructs you: 'Since, in wisdom, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe. We preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.' Therefore begin where Christ began -- in the Virgin's womb, in the manger, and at His mother's breasts. For this purpose He came down, was born, lived among men, suffered, was crucified, and died, so that in every possible way He might present Himself to our sight. He wanted us to fix the gaze of our hearts upon Himself and thus to prevent us from clambering into heaven and speculating about the Divine Majesty.

"Therefore when you consider the doctrine of justification and wonder how or where or in what condition to find a God who justifies or accepts sinners, then you must know that there is no other God than this Man Jesus Christ. Take hold of Him; cling to Him with all your heart, and spurn all speculation about the Divine Majesty; for whoever investigates the majesty of God will be consumed by His glory. I know from experience what I am talking about. . . . Christ Himself says: 'I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life; no one comes to the Father, but by Me.' Outside Christ, the Way, therefore, you will find no other way to the Father; you will find only wandering, not truth, but hypocrisy and lies, not life, but eternal death. Take note, therefore, in the doctrine of justification or grace that when we all must struggle with the Law, sin, death, and the devil, we must look at no other God than this incarnate and human God."

--Martin Luther, Lectures on Galatians: Chapters 1-4, trans. Jaroslav Pelikan (Luther's Works Vol. 26; St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1963 [1535]), 29

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Wendell Berry for the Anniversay of 9/11

2011-09-11T11:45:00.001-04:00

My intention was to post a Wendell Berry poem on the third anniversary of beginning this series, in the last week of August. As it happens, however, even though I've shared this particular poem before, these words are especially worth pondering today, on the tenth anniversary of 9/11.

What follows is the fifth in Berry's series of unnamed Sabbath poems written in 1995, found in A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997.

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Now you know the worst

By Wendell Berry

To my granddaughters who visited the Holocaust Museum on the day of the burial of Yitzhak Rabin

Now you know the worst
we humans have to know
about ourselves, and I am sorry,

for I know that you will be afraid.
To those of our bodies given
without pity to be burned, I know

there is no answer
but loving one another,
even our enemies, and this is hard.

But remember:
when a man of war becomes a man of peace,
he gives a light, divine

though it is also human.
When a man of peace is killed
by a man of war, he gives a light.

You do not have to walk in darkness.
If you will have the courage for love,
you may walk in light. It will be

the light of those who have suffered
for peace. It will be
your light.

A Q&A With a Closeted Christian Universalist

2011-09-08T00:28:00.000-04:00

In the recent hubbub surrounding Rob Bell's book -- to which I contributed my own (more meta) reflections back in March -- I got into a conversation with a friend who is an avowed, though closed, universalist. My own mind remains unsettled, and in a double sense: I am unsure of what, ultimately, to think on the matter, and the question itself is a kind of destabilizing force in my attempts to answer it. That being the (perilous) situation, I sent my friend some questions for my own personal benefit; but it turned out I appreciated them so much that I thought (with permission) that I'd share them here.

My questions, obviously, are in bold; universalistic answers follow.

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Who is the final arbiter of the conviction that all will ultimately be saved? Is it, or can it be, more than than merely the individual believer?

Who is the final arbiter of any Christian conviction other than God? I am not sure we have a "final arbiter" for anything until the eschaton when God makes everything clear. In the present, individuals must make choices and discern what to trust and where to place their faith, in conversation with a variety of sources and relying on those sources to varying degrees.

Doesn't it seem at least somewhat compromising/sketchy that universalism would seem most compelling to "us," a notoriously relativistic and pluralistic generation/culture, plus one that knows almost no suffering, sectarianism, isolation, persecution, encounter with evil, etc? Sure, as a person of almost complete privilege, who has never had to suffer seriously, it "sounds good" to affirm universalism -- but then again, I would!

In a sense, yes. But, it is not like this is a new doctrine. Of course, it has always been the minority view and that definitely counts against it, but it is not like it was only thought up today. Also, there are universalist accounts that bend towards relativism, but not all of them. And it would make sense that it would become appealing in a pluralistic generation/culture, when people are regularly confronted with people of other faiths. It is remarkable that anyone post-Constantine could formulate a doctrine of universalism, considering almost everyone was a Christian, except for their enemies!

In regards to our being a generation that knows almost no suffering/persecution/encounter with evil/etc., I don't think that is necessarily fair. In fact, I think many are drawn to universalism in light of the Holocaust. At least for me, that makes it very attractive. How can I say that Nazi Christians are going to inherit eternal life with God, while the tortured and slaughtered Jews are going to eternal hell? I would say it is in light of the horrible suffering people in the 20th century witnessed and heard about that makes universalism attractive. I (we) want God to make things right for every single Jew that was deprived of their humanity in the Holocaust, and I desire the same for their persecutors.

Richard Beck's recent post resonates with me big time: either God chooses people's eternal destiny or people choose their own. So either God sends people to hell or people choose to go there. But if God does, that seems messed up. If people choose, then it seems really unjust that I get to spend eternal life with God, in large part because where I was born and to whom I was born, while someone else was born in a different place and to different parents. I want to uphold a level of responsibility for human choices, which is why I believe in a limited judgment, but eternal condemnation seems a little disproportionate.

In the opening monologue to the film Gone Baby Gone, Ben Affleck says something like, "In this neighborhood people don't fall through the cracks, they are born in the cracks and then fall through them." If that is true, then it seems like God's grace ought to ultimately redeem those people.

Don't most New Testament texts seem to imply what's usually called "dual destiny"? How ought we to read these texts?

Indeed. First, you should read Beck's series on this because he devotes an entire blog post to it. Second, I think the texts that bend towards universalism seem closer to the center of the gospel (Philippians 2). Third, I think we could probably make sense of many of those dual destiny texts in light of universalism, as limited judgments. Fourth, I think there are super-strong extra-biblical reasons for universalism that need to be taken quite seriously.

What is hell?

Isn't this a question for a dual destiny person, like yourself? For me, I think of hell like purgatory, a place of purification and purging in the "refiner's fire" of God's love. I don't think I am happy with the "absence of God" interpretation of hell, but instead I like to think about it as the full presence of God overshadowing the evil in people's lives and cleansing them of it.

What are we to do with a belief/conviction that we refuse to proclaim? In what way is universalism, then, good news? Is it? Or is it just a largely unspoken hope?

It seems to me that there ought to be lots of beliefs/convictions that you, as a professional theologian, should refuse to proclaim, except when questioned. In fact, I would argue that plenty of things I (we) believe may be true, are not necessarily healthy for public proclamation in the church. I don't plan on talking to my children about universalism until they are old enough to understand and conceptualize it in a theologically sophisticated way. Universalism is dangerous for the developmentally, theologically, or spiritually immature.

I do think it is appropriate to share the doctrine of universalism for those who inquire, especially when those outside the faith are inquiring and dual destiny is a stumbling block to faith.

While I think the critique that the urgency for missions "is taken away" is a weak one, isn't there something to the idea that those who are persecuted and martyred, who hold to the good confession until the end, do so with exactly the same "reward" (biblical language!) as their torturers/murderers? Though this might be the very scandal/radicality of the thing, at the very least it seems to cut out from under the power and motivation on the part of the sufferer for Christ.

I hear you on this, but I guess I am inclined to a purgatorial view of things here. The martyr will be ushered immediately into the loving presence of God and will experience this as sheer joy and delight. The torturers/murderers will face that same loving presence as pain and judgment.

(Here I would highly recommend Marilyn McCord Adams' Christ and Horrors. It is excellent, and would be a great place for dialogue. She makes some fascinating philosophical claims.)

One last thing: It seems like the normative pattern for martyrs should be Jesus and Stephen: "Forgive them for they no not know what they do," not satisfaction that their tormenters are going to eternal damnation.

Oliver O'Donovan on the Indeterminacy of Understanding Scripture

2011-09-06T19:35:00.000-04:00

"The distance between the text and ourselves can never be, and should never be supposed to be, swallowed up by our understanding of it. Whatever it may be that I have concluded from reading the Scriptures, that conclusion must be open to fresh interrogation, since the Scriptures themselves will be its judge. If, after reading the Bible faithfully, I am confident enough to make some ringing declaration, this does not mean that my declaration is as good as contained within the Bible. In a faithful dogmatic formulation there is, of course, a proper authority. There are times and places where that authority allows for, or requires, a ringing declaration. Yet the question of whether the dogmatic formulation has in fact faithfully expressed the Scriptures' emphasis is always worth discussing, even if the outcome of the discussion is affirmative every time. The question 'What does the Bible mean, and how does it affect us?' can never be out of order in the church, as though the giving of well-founded answers in the past could make the whole question of merely antiquarian interest. We must not, then, in the supposed interest of a 'biblical' ethic, try to close down moral issues prescriptively, announcing that we already know what the Bible teaches and guarding against wrong answers by forbidding further examination. The church's leading institutions may, of course, properly resolve that it is inappropriate for them to invest further time and effort in study of a matter that may be considered closed for all practical purposes. But what the leading institutions may quite properly resolve not to undertake, the Spirit in the church may prompt other believers to undertake, for the word authority means, quite simply, that we have to go on looking back to this source if we are to keep on the right track.

"Why should we find this difficult to accept? The truth is that we resist admitting indeterminacy in our understanding of the text. Once such an admission is made, we fear, 'anything goes.' A host of false prophets will take advantage of our respectful distance; they will rush forward to wrest Scripture out of its plain sense, force it into authorizing what cannot be authorized. And of course in the short run, at least, this fear is likely to prove all too well grounded. False prophets are, and always will be, legion. We must simply expect to hear abominations and absurdities put forward in the confident claim that such are compatible with or authorized by Scripture. To this intense annoyance we, like generation of faithful believers before us, are called. The question is this: What sacrifice of our faith would we make if, to avoid the annoyance for ourselves and the disturbance for the church, we closed down on the reading and interpretation of Holy Scripture, declared that there was nothing to discuss? To our fears we have to put the question in return of whether the Spirit of the living God is a match for the perversity of humankind, whether Jesus' promise about the gates of hell being unable to prevail is seriously enough meant to be trusted."

--Oliver O'Donovan, "The Moral Authority of Scripture," in Scripture's Doctrine and Theology's Bible: How the New Testament Shapes Christian Dogmatics, ed. Markus Bockmuehl and Alan J. Torrance (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008), 174-75

My Fall 2011 Course Load

2011-08-30T17:50:00.001-04:00

It is finally here: my first semester as a doctoral student in theology. Perhaps the feelings will wear off as quickly as the first class session (scheduled for tomorrow), but I'm something of a Pollyanna Susie Derkins at the moment: one great bundle of gratitude and excitement. As I have the habit of doing, I thought I'd share the courses I'm taking this semester, which are an especially intriguing cross-section of theology, religious studies, philosophy, and sociology. No doubt themes and quotes and questions from the following will find their way onto the blog in the coming months.

I should also note that the course descriptions below are taken from the professors' syllabi, and so are not in "my" voice but rather in theirs.

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Theology Doctoral Seminar (Kathryn Tanner)

This is the required seminar for all doctoral students in theology. In keeping with the usual agendas for this required seminar, this year’s course is designed (1) to familiarize doctoral students with a faculty member’s current research—specifically, her methodology, rationale for research, and conclusions—and (2) to offer a broad overview of the contemporary theological landscape on selected themes, issues, and approaches of importance to theology today. The course this year will involve a close reading of Kathryn Tanner's most recent book, Christ the Key. One chapter of the book will be assigned each session, with supplementary readings to include (a) major historical sources in theology that inform her constructive work; and (b) contemporary theologies treating the same issues in theological anthropology, Christology, pneumatology, nature and grace, trinitarian theology, and atonement theory.

Gustav Aulen, Christus Victor
Basil the Great, On the Human Condition (ed. Verna Harrison)
Leonardo Boff, Trinity and Society
Henri de Lubac, Augustinianism and Modern Theology
Martin Luther, Lectures on Galatians: Chapters 1-4
Tuomo Mannermaa, Christ Present in Faith
John Milbank, The Suspended Middle
Janet Soskice, The Kindness of God
Dumitru Staniloae, Theology and the Church
Kathryn Tanner, Christ the Key
Michael Welker, God the Spirit
Delores Williams, Sisters in the Wilderness

The Life and Thought of Thomas Aquinas (Denys Turner)

This course is intended for those who would like to explore the reasons both why Thomas is a great theologian and why he is a saint, and is particularly addressed to those who would not be entirely surprised to discover that the reasons for the one are much the same as the reasons for the other. It is not a survey course covering his theology as a whole. It is a course designed to get to the place in Thomas’s mind and soul where theology and prayer, Dominican poverty and Dominican preaching, university professor and pastor priest, intersect so as to result in not only his best known work of systematic theology, the Summa Theologiae, but also in his Reportatio on the Gospel of John, in many ways his theological masterpiece. Something is canonized in 1323, and it is not a book. Nor is it a martyr. Nor is it a great preacher. Just a rather fat and balding theologian. There is hope for us all.

Thomas Aquinas, Reportatio (Commentary on the Gospel of John)
Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae (selections)
G. K. Chesterton, Saint Thomas Aquinas
Herbert McCabe, God Matters
Josef Pieper, The Silence of St. Thomas
Josef Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas
Denys Turner, The Life and Thought of Thomas Aquinas (draft monograph)

Theories in the Study of Religion (Dale Martin)

This course offers an introduction designed for doctoral students in religious studies to modern theories of religion from mainly the 20th century. The course includes study of major figures in anthropological, social-scientific, historical, comparative, and theoretical approaches to the newly created discipline of the academic and secular study of religion, which led in the latter part of the 20th century to “religious studies” and the creation during the past 50 years of departments of religious studies in American universities. That development will be traced as we also explore major intellectual and philosophical issues raised by its history.

Peter Berger, The Sacred Canopy
Judith Butler, Gender Trouble
David Chidester, Savage Systems
Jacques Derrida, Dissemination
Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger
Émile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life
Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish
Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures
Edward Said, Orientalism
Max Weber, The Sociology of Religion

Secularism: From the Enlightenment to the Present (Elli Stern)

Secular worldviews are said to have emerged in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries as the result of an attempt to find a lowest common denominator between various warring Christian denominations. Recent political events and social developments have brought historians, political theorists, and anthropologists to reexamine the nature of and relationship between secular and religious (or more broadly “traditional”) worldviews. This course examines the way secularism has been constructed and also the way it has shaped how we understand groups and ideas identified as traditional or religious. Specifically, it will understand the way contemporary scholars define, conceptualize, and in some instances critique “secular” notions of time, space, knowledge and self.

Talal Assad, Formations of the Secular
Jose Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World
Hans Frei, The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative
Marcel Grouchet, The Disenchantment of the World
Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere
Reinhart Koselleck, Futures Past
Marc Lilla, The Stillborn God
John Locke, A Letter Concerning Toleration
Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue
Saba Mahmood, The Politics of Piety
Charles Taylor, A Secular Age
Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self
Claude Welch, Protestant Thought in the Nineteenth Century

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: R. S. Thomas (III)

2011-08-27T23:07:00.000-04:00

A theodical poem -- the second in a row by R. S. Thomas -- for reflection in light of the present and potential suffering in the northeast. Living there ourselves, and on the coast, we pray for shelter for the homeless and safety for what matters (human lives) and wisdom for leaders called upon to make difficult decisions. Most of all, we pray for God to be present to and with and among us. See you on the other side.

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Ivan Karamazov

By R. S. Thomas

Yes, I know what he is like:
a kind of impossible robot
you insert your prayers into
like tickets, that after a while
are returned to you with the words
'Not granted' written upon them.
I repudiate such a god.
But if, as you say, he exists,
and what I do is an offence
to him, let him punish me:
I shall not squeal; to be proved
right is worth a lifetime's
chastisement. And to have God
avenging himself is to have
the advantage, till the earth opens
to receive one into a dark
cleft, where, safer than Elijah,
one will know him trumpeting
in the wind and the fire
and the roar of the earthquake, but not
in the still, small voice of the
worms that deliver one for ever
out of the tyranny of his self-love.

Herbert McCabe on What is Wrong With Capitalism

2011-08-24T13:42:00.000-04:00

"What is wrong with capitalism, then, is not that it involves some people being richer than I am. I cannot see the slightest objection to other people being richer than I am; I have no urge to be as rich as everybody else, and no Christian (and indeed no grown-up person) could possibly devote his life to trying to be as rich or richer than others. There are indeed people, very large numbers of people, who are obscenely poor, starving, diseased, illiterate, and it is quite obviously unjust and unreasonable that they should be left in this state while other people or other nations live in luxury; but this has nothing specially to do with capitalism, even though we will never now be able to alter that situation until capitalism has been abolished. You find exactly the same conditions in, say, slave societies and, moreover, capitalism, during its prosperous boom phases, is quite capable of relieving distress at least in fully industrialised societies -- this is what the 'Welfare State' is all about. What is wrong with capitalism is simply that it is based on human antagonism, and it is precisely here that it comes in conflict with Christianity. Capitalism is a state of war, but not just a state of war between equivalent forces; it involves a war between those who believe in and prosecute war as a way of life, as an economy, and those who do not. The permanent capitalist state of war erupts every now and then into a major killing war, but its so-called peacetime is just war carried on by other means. The recent [1979] strategic arms limitation talks (SALT II) have produced an agreement whereby the US should deploy a capacity to inflict 600,000 Hiroshimas on the human race. But at the heart of all this violence is the class war."

--Herbert McCabe, God Matters (New York: Continuum, 1987), 192-93

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: R. S. Thomas (II)

2011-08-21T14:05:00.005-04:00

Requisite heading as always: "no introduction needed from me." (Seriously: Search some variant of that phrase in my blog, and you'll find a dozen instances of my parroting that phrase, followed by an introduction in disguise.) So instead of enacting the unnecessary -- given that I've done so with him before -- here, without context or qualification, is a poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas.

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Kneeling

By R. S. Thomas

Moments of great calm,

Kneeling before an altar

Of wood in a stone church

In summer, waiting for the God

To speak; the air a staircase

For silence; the sun's light

Ringing me, as though I acted

A great rôle. And the audiences

Still; all that close throng

Of spirits waiting, as I,

For the message.

                               Prompt me, God;

But not yet. When I speak,

Though it be you who speak

Through me, something is lost.

The meaning is in the waiting.

On the Ways People Respond When I Say I Belong to the Churches of Christ

2011-08-18T18:00:00.001-04:00

For some time I've noticed something peculiar. Especially outside of the South, though often there also, people seem to have approximately four responses to my answer that the ecclesial tradition which my wife and I belong to is "the churches of Christ." They are as follows:

1. "Oh." [Ignorance.] "Which one is that again?"

2. "Oh?" [Six degrees.] "Yeah, yeah, a guy we knew who lived down the street from my aunt said he went to a Church of Christ. Never been myself though."

3. "Oh..." [Knowledge + apprehension.] Either: "You're the ones who (hate women / think no one else is saved but you / sing without instruments), right?" or: "I actually left the Church some years ago."

4. "Oh!" [Delight.] "Me too!"

I might be overreacting, but it seems safe to say this is not a good sign.

Adventures in Feminist-Grimacing Church Language

2011-08-16T10:34:00.001-04:00

Overheard eight weeks ago in a New Haven Presbyterian church, spoken off the cuff by the head pastor in a closing prayer, as a riff on the sermon's theme: "As a wife adores her husband, O God, so let us worship you."

And so it goes.

A Concise Definition of Repentance

2011-08-11T09:56:00.000-04:00

"Repentance does not mean to go back to the beginnings but to turn toward God's future."

—Wolfhart Pannenberg, Jesus—God and Man, 2d ed. (trans. Lewis L. Wilkins and Duane A. Priebe; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1968, 1977), 228

Glossing the Phrase "Personal Relationship With Jesus"

2011-08-08T16:30:00.001-04:00

Growing up in church, no memories stand out in which the phrase "personal relationship with Jesus" played any significant part. That is not to say that I never heard it, just that in what were my given ecclesial circles -- both youth and adult -- the expression exerted little to no formative weight.

However, and precisely for that reason, I was not immediately cognizant of the unfortunate uses to which the popular all-purpose phrase was put. It sounded to me both innocuous and generically (if blandly) correct, and so it took some time for me to grasp the offhand critiques and snide dismissals of those who paraded around such an (apparently) sappy and sentimental sense of faith. Since these were -- if not in congregational fact, then at least by the concentric circles of tradition, similar beliefs and practices, and sheer proximity -- "my people," I took the insults personally on their behalf, given what I knew many of them meant by the phrase. It was only when I realized what some others intended by it that I comprehended, and found myself in fullest agreement with, the critiques leveled by theological and other authorities.

My own language, personal and theological, remains more or less devoid of talk of a "personal relationship with Jesus" (or God), so I have no intention of rehabilitating a perhaps already irrevocably damaged expression (whether or not that spoiling deserves a cheer of "Good riddance!"). What I would like to do, instead, is to explicate the two chief alternative meanings behind uses of the saying, and so to defend one of them over against the other.

One use of "a personal relationship with Jesus" might be glossed as "an unmediated individual codependency with a self-validating ghost." All the key themes are there, for the phrase is deployed in an effort, first, to undercut connection to outward forms and to the church (warehouses of the bodily, by way of mediated living and communality); second, to engender an unhealthy independence from all other relationships except this one (thus making "this one" the far end of a continuum of ordinary "relationships," and so a case of soft idolatry); and, third, to facilitate a disembodied spirituality focused on an ever-present spooky companion who can always be relied upon to affirm me-and-my-decisions. And so we have it: the ever-reliant, ever-friendly, ever-smiling Jesus of American pop evangelicalism.

This Jesus is, of course, a terrifying (and quite new) hybrid creation of human hands, often innocent but at times deeply harmful in ugly and lasting ways, certainly to the gospel but no less to actual people's lives. Whole books have been written on the subject, so more of my two cents is unneeded.

My claim, however, is that there is another way of using the expression that both intends something substantially different than what is taken to be its more common use, and commends itself as theologically defensible, even valuable (in content if not in now-ruined parlance). This second glossing goes something like this: "personal relationship with Jesus" signifies that mediated but intimate relation, both communal and individual, to the risen crucified Messiah given to the church in the power of the Spirit.

Per this reading, "personal" stands in merely as antithesis to impersonal: God is no self-projected abstraction nor some generic numinousness, but rather living and acting, with a name and a story; a Person, not a thing -- or better, a communion of Persons, a personal communion, and therefore ripe for relation. (One encounters this emphasis especially in older church members who grew up in profoundly strict "religious" environments. The discovery that God is not a capricious and distant object to be appeased by formalized dead ritual is received as the genuine good news that it is.)

This brings us to the second term: "relationship" need not connote radical individualism or lack of mediation. It names, rather, the fact that what happens in the Christ event, in the incarnation of the living God among us, is the objective and subjective "new relation" in which humanity as a structural whole, and the church as a proleptic foretaste, stands before God. This "personal relationship" is neither islanded as an ideal nor alienated by distance, but, paradigmatically, is marked by the fellowship and mediation of life in community oriented "in both directions" by and to the God revealed in Jesus.

And who is this Jesus? Is it the ghost who puts to rest our fear that we might be wrong? No, this One is the crucified Jesus now risen in the power of God's Spirit -- and so the Jesus of both judgment and forgiveness, the true Jesus who speaks the divine No and the divine Yes, together and unseparated, on each of our lives. It is this Jesus and no other with whom we have, because we have been given, together, a "personal relationship."

Though the theological articulacy may be slight, and the terminology less than exact, and the usage at times slippery with ambiguity -- with the temptation never absent to adduce guilt by association -- this latter glossed meaning is, I propose, often as not the intended one. And whether it is or not, for those of us who hail from the tiny ranks of the theologically trained, ever ready with linguistic scalpel in hand, it seems a reasonable enough act of charity to let our first assumption be the better and the more respectable one.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Gillian Welch

2011-08-06T22:00:00.002-04:00

One of my favorite albums of the year so far is Gillian Welch's The Harrow & the Harvest, so I thought this week we'd take a break from poetry proper for some good ol' country lyrics. Note especially that vivid second verse, which contains my personal favorite of her mashed-up metaphors: "Working the lowlands door-to-door / Like a latter day saint." Nice.

The Way It Will Be

By Gillian Welch

I lost you a while ago
But still I don't know why
I can't say your name
Without a crow flying by
Got to watch my back
Now that you've turned me around
Got me walking backwards
In my hometown

Throw me a rope
On the rolling tide
What did you want me to be
He said it's him or me
The way you made it
That's the way it will be

It was seven years on the burnin' shore
With gatling guns and paint
Working the lowlands door-to-door
Like a latter day saint
Then you turn me out
At the top of the stairs
You took all the glory
That you just couldn't share

I've never been so disabused
I've never been so mad
I've never been served anything
That tasted so bad
You might need a friend
Any day now, any day
Oh my brother, be careful
You are drifting away

On Losing the Plot: Musings About a Historical Fall, Original Sin, and the Gospel Story

2011-08-04T17:25:00.000-04:00

Outside of certain self-consciously entrenched and/or conservative theological quarters, the notion of a historical "fall" into sin on the part of humanity is, to put it mildly, out of fashion. Even for those who want to identify a theologically sophisticated way of locating some "first" set or pair or community of identifiable human beings in the evolutionary tree, and so open a way to understand some kind of "fall" in their communal life together, do not -- so far as I know -- imagine a prior created order full of unmitigated bliss matched by an absence of sickness, biological death, and the like.

Thus, what seems to be most broadly assumed, for those seeking to remain within traditional ecumenical theological claims -- particularly having to do with sin's universality and its systemic deep-rootedness -- is that, in Kierkegaard's words, "sin posits itself." As David Kelsey expands on the phrase and on the concept, "original sin" is an acceptable term so long as it serves explanatory, not (what he calls) "genetic," purposes. (As it happens, I often misremember this latter term as "genital" -- which, in a real sense, identifies the traditional theme quite well in its own way.) That is, original sin names the condition of human being; whatever caused sin in the first place or causes sin at all is nothing for the doctrine to answer: as surd, as shadow of that which is good, there is nothing either to explain or to discover the origin of. It is simply there; it posits itself. In its very lack of origin and meaning it carries its essence as sheer negative, as death-dealing shatterer of meanings.

All this is well and good, but my sense is that the consensus mistakes a part for the whole. To be sure, one emphasis within the traditional "genetic" accounts of (original) sin was to find some explanation, some origin, some founding event that would help to make sense of how sin could be present -- seemingly omnipresent -- in a world Christians have always claimed God created good and without sin. On one side, it is an apologetic move, attempting to answer challenges from the outside; but it is also a catechetical move, seeking to find a way to raise up disciples who know that God is not the author of sin. So even if "finding a reason for sin" was inevitably a fool's errand, the attempt nevertheless does make sense on a number of accounts.

But the "search for a meaningful explanation" of sin is not the entirety of the "genetic" account. There is also what we might call the narratival aspect, and this is what contemporary theologians seem to elide or even to forget. In short, "the fall of man" was not merely a piece in a larger conceptual puzzle about God and human creation; it was also, perhaps even more so, a stage in the story of God and the world. Hence the great moments in the traditional theological narrative: creation, fall, redemption, glory. Yet in taking away anything like an identifiable (read: story-tell-able) event of humanity's falling into sin in the gospel story of God and God's creation, theologians, thinking they were being faithful to the historical record as well as amending a well-meant but wrongheaded philosophical predilection, have in fact swept the feet out from underneath the church's ability to proclaim a coherent salvific narrative.

Unfortunately (and unsurprisingly), I have no quick remedy for this situation. I am as baffled as any other Christian desiring to be faithful both to history (evolutionary biology; no pre-fall idyllic creation sans disease and death) and to the gospel story (a good creation; God not authoring sin; nevertheless: sin; God in Christ forgiving sin and reconciling sinners) as to how to fit the pieces together. However, I am convinced that we shouldn't leave the two apart, much less splice them up for separate discourses; and, moreover, that we can't just leave it at "sin posits itself," lest we abandon storytelling in missional, apologetic, and catechetical proclamation. I for one think this particular plot point to be too important to give up without further critical reflection; nor does it seem at all unripe for creative reformulation today.

The challenge, therefore: How might Christian theologians go about reformulating the doctrine of (original) sin, all the while remaining faithful to the essential plot points of the gospel story, including humanity's being created good yet proving sinful, without indicting God as the author of sin (and so proposing a creation created good-and-sinful), and simultaneously keeping true to the historical record?

Technical Difficulties

2011-07-31T15:49:00.002-04:00

A quick update: Our (one and only) laptop has been in the shop for the past week, with a few more days to go; hence the dearth of posts. Hopefully we'll be up and running in no time, but I thought I'd explain the recent radio silence. Until then!

Rowan Williams on the Time God Gives Us in Prayer

2011-07-18T08:52:00.002-04:00

During a recent visit to Grendon, an experimental therapeutic facility for convicted criminals in the U.K., one prisoner asked Archbishop Rowan Williams how he copes with the enormous media attention his position draws, particularly in the case of something like the royal wedding. His response:

"It's about the habits you try to form: making time every day to be quiet with God. That's what I am answerable to. It's very important to settle yourself and to remind myself that this is time God gives me, not just time I give to God. For me [prayer] is a matter of trying to a clear a space in my head."

He talked about this daily prayer in the most careful, practical way, almost as if it was therapy: "Breathe regularly, sit upright, breathe, and say some simple words. I will often say 'Lord have mercy' slowly, at intervals, and just let it settle into my stomach. It doesn't always seem to work. Sometime I can be there for half an hour and the thoughts just go galloping round like horses in the Grand National. Then I have to remind myself that this is time God gives to me, and not just time I give to God." Then, still in the same matter of fact way, he said: "You are trying to open the cellar door and be aware of the darkness underneath the water."

H/T: Jason

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: W. B. Yeats

2011-07-17T19:22:00.002-04:00

William Butler Yeats requires no introduction by me. Let me say only that the poem below is a personal favorite, as it seems at its deepest level to offer a kind of indirect poetic account of the power of nonviolence. All those in the right yet who find themselves on the wrong side of the victor's line, in Yeats' words, are "Bred to a harder thing / Than Triumph." For in the face of defeat, to refuse to resort to vengeance remains the righteous course, and just so "of all things . . . [the] most difficult." The connection seems both personal and generalizable, just as Yeats presumably intended. I hope you enjoy it as I do.

To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing

By W.B. Yeats

Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbour's eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.

Some Reflections on Christian Faith and Understanding/Teaching Theology

2011-07-13T13:31:00.001-04:00

In a thoughtful post over at AUFS, Anthony Paul Smith argues, over against some Christian theologians' claims, that one need not be a believer in order to understand, engage, or teach theology. His perspective is a helpful one, because it serves to challenge potentially closed-off or even fideistic stances within both the church and what we might call the believers' contingent in the academy. Moreover, it prompts increased clarity on the part of Christians who at once seek to practice critical theological thinking, believe that theology is open to nonbelievers (especially with regard to critique), and remain committed to there being something worthwhile, even defensible to the notion that faith and theology are in some way united.

For organization's sake, here are my brief reflections:

1) It seems to me that the first task is definitions. How is "theology" defined in this discussion? A succinct reply might be: "Critical reflection on Christian faith and practice." (I am assuming we are talking about theology in the Christian tradition; anyway, that is what I am talking about.) Per this definition, it seems rather obvious that anyone is free and able to understand, to dialogue, to critique, and/or to teach theology. Nor is it clear to me on what grounds anyone, Christian or otherwise, would dispute this claim.

2) Matters become more complicated if we expand or extend this basic definition. David Kelsey's differentiation between "primary theology" and "secondary theology" seems particularly germane in this case (though in what follows I am extending his categories for my own purposes, not in rigorous faithfulness to his own).

For Kelsey, primary theology names those largely ad hoc and immediate instances of ordinary thought, conversation, and reflection "on the ground" in the life of concrete ecclesial communities regarding matters of pragmatic and pressing commitments, convictions, beliefs, and praxis: Do we or do we not take Eucharist weekly? Do we or do we not recite the creed? Do we or do we not partner with this particular political organization? baptize infants? pray with members of other religious traditions? build a new sanctuary? refer to God with the masculine pronoun in the liturgy? Etc., etc.

Secondary theology, on the other hand, names the conceptually sophisticated, analytically complex, intentionally systematic (in the sense of seeing the whole, not of forming a system) practice -- "at a distance," we might say -- of conceiving, seeking to understand, working through, reformulating, criticizing, rejecting, processing, sifting, and otherwise testing for coherence the historic, contemporary, and normative claims, beliefs, and practices of Christian faith.

Per this schema, it seems to me that the latter definition carves out an inclusive place for both believers and nonbelievers to come to the table as equals, prepared to discuss and hash out why this or that conviction or command or idea is or is not coherent, moral, true, etc. The former definition, however, seems both to assume and to demand a self-involving commitment to a local community of Christian faith, such that it would be meaningless to say that a nonbeliever can or would engage in primary theology ("primary" construed not as naming order of importance but rather as closer-to-operations, that is, in-the-moment and unplanned, neither technically critical nor at a distance). I would be interested to know, but my guess is that persons like Anthony who are interested in theology yet who are not professed believers would not claim to practice (or to be seeking to practice) theology defined in this way and bound to this sphere.

3) A different but quite similar set of conceptual distinctions are those of Joe Jones, who speaks of "the grammar of Christian faith" as sub-categorized into three areas of focus: syntax, semantics, and pragmatics. Without needlessly going into precise definitions, the distinctions are similar: the first two are as spheres of knowledge and discourse open to all, while the third concerns questions of private and public practice on the part of believers to such a self-involving extent that it would nonsensical to say a nonbeliever could engage in it.

Thus, anyone can ask after the historical process leading up to the Nicene Creed, can conceptualize and understand it, can seek to discern its internal logic and meaning, can even say it out loud alone or in a group; but actually to confess it with others, to suggest that "we" say "and from the Son" (or not), to suggest that creeds are hermeneutically helpful but not equal to Scripture in terms of the truth of the faith, and so on, is something that, logically, is available only to believers.

Again, I take this distinction to be somewhat self-evident, and not what someone like Anthony is intending when he talks about understanding and/or teaching theology.

4) The problem, as I see it, is that Christian theologians (and Christians in general) are not always clear on what they mean when they speak of (or seek to engage in) "theology." So, as for Tony Hunt's review of Mark McIntosh's position (and at this point I am, via two blogs, quoting something technically third-hand, and so only as an illustration and not with regard to whatever the original point in the book is):

Can one understand theology and not be a believer?, he asks. His answer is, surprisingly, no, not really. One can come to acquire knowledge of a tradition and this can be taught, but McIntosh says to be truly taught by God, one’s own inner life must be made ready to receive this knowledge as a gift.

It seems that, whether McIntosh distinguishes between different forms of theology in the book, in this quote there seem to be multiple definitions fused into one. What we should ask back in challenge, therefore, is this: Isn't one proper (and not incomplete) form of theological practice "to acquire knowledge of [the] tradition" and to teach it, and so, presumably, to engage in robust critical dialogue with those who either agree or disagree with various pieces of the tradition (including the whole)?

It is not that what comes next in the sentence -- "to be truly taught by God," to have "one's own inner life . . . made ready to receive this knowledge [of God] as a gift" -- is not theology, only that it seems to be making claim to be the whole of it, or perhaps an essential component to the only form of it. As a Christian, I want to affirm the possibility and the actuality -- not to mention the draw and goal -- of this latter knowledge, but need this be the entire explication, or an absolutely essential component, of "understand[ing] theology"? I think not.

5) Two other items seem pertinent to this discussion. The first is the traditional Anselmian definition of theology as "faith seeking understanding," appropriated and extended by Barth in the last century. It is likely that, in the backs of the minds of "professional" theologians and "lay" theologians alike, this is the functional definition of theology. And if theology is faith seeking understanding, then to say that one without faith can do/understand/teach theology is a misnomer: the key piece, the properly orienting starting place, is absent from the get go. Thus, nonbelievers are free to go about seeking to understand "from the outside" what it is that "the Christian thing" is all about, but ultimately they are either doomed to come up short or are not, in fact, engaging in "theology" (whatever it is they are, in fact, doing).

Though I value and appreciate this historic definition of theology, the solution to this problematic is quite simple: to acknowledge that the Anselmian/Barthian definition is, first of all, only one definition among others (not "the" normative one), and, second, to place it squarely in the "primary/pragmatic" camp (per Kelsey's and Jones' labels) rather than at the top of an all-encompassing umbrella of every form of theological practice. It is fine for Christians to conceive of their own task as the self-involving one of faith seeking understanding; we ought merely to recognize that theology is not reducible to this definition alone.

6) Finally, I want to say something more about the notion of knowledge of God and the gift from God of theological understanding.

Much in this discussion seems to split on two related issues: whether or not Christian faith is actually true, and (thus) whether or not the One believers claim to know in prayer, worship, discipleship, and so on is in fact a living subject with whom human beings can have something like a relationship, and so One whom they can, in a real sense and in myriad ways, actually come to know.

It is these two interwoven questions -- the truth of the faith and the living personal knowableness of God, the object of faith -- that, on the one hand, can work in the direction of alienating nonbelievers in the practice of theology, and, on the other hand, can lead believers to want to protect, set aside, guard, or even secure some aspect of spiritual/theological knowledge that is not available to nonbelievers.

As I see it, believers should be able to affirm all that I have affirmed above about the openness of theology as a discipline and practice of critical reflection without sacrificing the core conviction that the God of Jesus Christ is true and living and therefore One with whom we can commune, come to know (and thus "know about"), and receive knowledge from. At root this is a pneumatological question: Is the Spirit real, does the Spirit truly reside within the church and believers, and is the presence and gift of the Spirit an epistemological encounter/event/process/relationship?

If the answers to these questions are Yes, then Christians must be able to say, in order to be consistent and coherent within their own convictions, that there is some kind of knowledge, some epistemological experience, that is unique to the life of the church's faith. And nonbelievers, especially those with rich theological knowledge -- often, no doubt, greater than the bulk of ordinary believers -- should also be able to affirm that, if the gospel is true, this epistemological difference (or whatever we choose to call it) is a real possibility and therefore unique to Christians in their personal knowledge of the (potentially) living and true God.

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In reviewing what I've written, it seems to me mostly unoriginal and uncontroversial, but as I am seeking to balance charity and openness to nonbelievers-in-theology as well as specifying just what kind of epistemological uniqueness is proper to believers (in-and-out-of-theology), I am aware that I am bound to have gaps and mishaps in the argument. I look forward to hearing from others on this; thanks to Anthony for beginning the discussion, and to others (like Evan) who've already extended it in meaningful directions.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Marie Howe (III)

2011-07-10T10:13:00.002-04:00

The first time I shared a poem by Marie Howe was exactly a year ago. [Update: Apparently also last January.] Until I picked up her latest collection, The Kingdom of Ordinary Time, I had forgotten just how evocative and emotionally wrenching her work is. The poem below, however, belongs less to her penchant for the heart-breaking than to her incisive insight into the self-contradictions of the spiritual life. One might even call this a poetic riff on Paul's rocking ship of desires in Romans 7. Enjoy.

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Government

By Marie Howe

Standing next to my old friend I sense that his soldiers have retreated.
And mine? They're resting their guns on their shoulders
talking quietly. I'm hungry, one says.
Cheeseburger, says another,
and they all decide to go and find some dinner.

But the next day, negotiating the too narrow aisles of
The Health and Harmony Food Store -- when I say, Excuse me,
to the woman and her cart of organic chicken and green grapes
she pulls the cart not quite far back enough for me to pass,
and a small mob in me begins picking up the fruit to throw.

So many kingdoms,
and in each kingdom, so many people: the disinherited son, the corrupt counselor,
the courtesan, the fool.
And so many gods -- arguing among themselves,
over toast, through the lunch salad
and on into the long hours of the mild spring afternoon -- I'm the god.
No, I'm the god. No, I'm the god.

I can hardly hear myself over their muttering.
How can I discipline my own army? They're exhausted and want more money.
How can I disarm when my enemy seems so intent?

William Stringfellow on the Apostasy of the American Churches

2011-06-28T13:25:00.000-04:00

"Where both or either the secular unity and the churchly unity of the church, as given in Pentecost, are dishonored and where, consequently, some secular distinction and/or some charismatic gift is idolized, the members of the church become apostate. As an idol, it resembles any ordinary principality or else becomes a satellite of some other idol. This was a variety of apostasy which evidently sorely tempted Christians in Galatia; it is popularized and gross among the American churches. The inherited churchly institutions in the United States are typically engaged in inducing people to join, support and attend church -- described and disclosed in this truncated and distorted sense -- in order to worship the church, not to glorify and enjoy God, and in order to enhance some churchly cult, not to esteem and enact the Gospel. The sanction for this appeal is a venerable one -- the sale of indulgences. Men are persuaded that by serving the church, by spending time and money and talent on the church, they can accomplish an exchange for merit and gain a justified status with God. Yet secreted in the idolatry of church is the same futile worship of the power of death inherent in any idolatrous relationship. And from that, even when it is shrouded in the trappings of church, has Christ set men free."

--William Stringfellow, Imposters of God: Inquiries Into Favorite Idols (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 1969, 2006), 59

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Søren Kierkegaard

2011-06-26T09:45:00.000-04:00

From time to time I like to share prayers as poems, or poems that are prayers, and the one below by Kierkegaard -- typically pugnacious in its unflinching clarity -- hit me this week in the gut; so now I pass along this prayerful suckerpunch to you as well.

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Not to Admire But to Follow

By Søren Kierkegaard

O Lord Jesus Christ,
Thou didst not come to the world
to be served,
but also surely not to be admired
or in that sense
to be worshiped.

Thou wast the way and the truth--
and it was followers only Thou didst demand.

Arouse us therefore
if we have dozed away into this delusion,
save us from the error of wishing to admire Thee
instead of being willing to follow thee
and to resemble Thee.

Reading Eccentric Existence: Reflections on Exceptionless, Unimpairable Anthropology

2011-06-21T12:20:00.000-04:00

There is plenty to dispute in each proposed marker of the class "human," but they all share one major drawback. Each relies on a property that undoubtedly characterizes most living human bodies, but only in varying degrees. Some of them, such as "rationality," "self-consciousness," and "language-using," appear to be missing in newborn human beings and only appear through a developmental process. Some disappear in the dementia of some of the aged, even though normal maturation may earlier have developed them to a high degree. Some are destroyed by accident or disease. Some never develop, through some malfunction of normal developmental processes. Were these characteristics employed strictly as the criteria of human beings' humanness, one would have to conclude that infants and profoundly damaged human beings were not human. But in that case, one would have to say that Christian theological anthropological claims do not apply to such living bodies, which is theologically unacceptable. To avoid that conclusion, it has regularly been necessary in theology to introduce mediating categories such as "potential 'human' living bodies" (e.g., infants) and "former" or "lapsed 'human' living bodies" (e.g., those who are profoundly damaged). These categories, mediating between the "genuinely human" and the "quasi-human," too easily appear to be euphemisms for "not really human." The advantage of a criterion based on Homo sapiens DNA is that it identifies in a more clear-cut way the subset of living bodies of which theological anthropological claims are made. (258; emphasis added)

Connect these remarks to what he later says in Chapter 15A:

There is no warrant for supposing that eschatologically transfigured or glorified nonphysical bodies are perfect bodies in which the imperfections and disabilities that were among the factors constituting their concrete particularity as pre-mortem physical bodies have been removed, healed, or corrected. Such a claim cannot be said to follow any trajectory of thought rooted in the narrative logic of accounts in canonical Christian Holy Scripture of God drawing humankind to eschatological consummation. . . . [Earlier in the book, I] set aside the traditional claim that God creates absolutely perfect living human bodies on the grounds that the concept of absolutely perfect human bodies is incapable of coherent explanation and exposition.

What is theologically at stake here, of course, is the status of imperfections (e.g., wounds) and "disabilities" as properties constitutive of the concrete particularity of eschatologically glorified human bodies. Is the concept of an eschatologically glorified human body inconsistent with the ascription to it of bodily imperfections and disabilities that could serve as some of the properties by which it is recognized in its concrete particularity as continuous with a pre-mortem human living body one had known? I urge that it is not. I suggest that there are no theological grounds for rejecting the proposal that eschatologically glorified bodies, spiritual bodies in Paul's sense, continue in their concrete particularity to have the imperfections and disabilities that were properties constitutive of their concrete particularities before death. (540-41; emphasis added)

I assume it is clear what I mean by "exceptionless" and "unimpairable." The former specifies the rule that one cannot make claims about what it means to be a human being that contain a single exception, the latter the rule that human persons cannot be damaged "in" their humanity (i.e., whatever it means to be human cannot itself be impaired).

From what I can tell, these sorts of parameters (E.U.A. for short) are becoming more common -- even a trend -- in anthropological work, whether theological, philosophical, or otherwise. In general, and certainly as evidenced by Kelsey's arguments in its favor above, the reasons behind the trend are sound and worthwhile, and so this broad turn in thinking may indeed by the right one. However, I want at the very least to raise some questions for it that are worth answering as we continue this line of thought.

(N.B.: I am a newbie to this discipline, and more or less clueless in the realm of disabilities studies, so for those with more knowledge and experience in those areas, please proceed with charity. I am sincerely looking to learn, not poke holes.)

1. Kelsey claims there is "no warrant" theologically nor a single "trajectory of thought rooted in the narrative logic of accounts in canonical Christian Holy Scripture" that would lead one to suppose that "imperfections and disabilities" will be "removed, healed, or corrected" in the eschaton. He combines this claim with another he opposes, namely, that eschatological bodies will be "perfect bodies." But need we make these two claims the same? Can we not say that, in some sense, there might be some imperfections or disabilities that might be "removed, healed, or corrected," without going so far as to say that "glorified body" equates to "perfected body"?

2. Is there any way to differentiate between various "imperfections and disabilities"? A martyr's wounds (like the paradigmatic stigmata of Christ) seem to be fundamentally different -- that is, on both a conceptual and a practical level -- than a person's being born with eyes that do not function correctly, and so cannot see. Is it inherently inappropriate to say that, at the resurrection, the former will remain as a constitutive component of that person's particularity, while the latter will somehow be healed? What if a person born blind has that hope herself? What are generous but critical ways in which to talk about such things without being either insensitive or prejudice-assuming?

3. Shouldn't the flow of time come into play as a theological factor in these discussions? What of a person physically unable to walk for years, but who (through medical and therapeutic means) comes to walk later in life? What of a person whose mental impairment comes through an accident late in life? What of those persons who lived prior to modern medicine whose disabilities or physical/mental challenges are addressable ("fixable") today?

4. How are we to understand both sickness and disease and the vulnerability of damageable bodies in connection to sin, death, and something like a "fall"? Kelsey argues (and I think him correct) that the vulnerability of embodiment and finitude appropriately belongs to a world created by God and deemed "good." But what of disease? Do Alzheimer's, HIV/AIDS, Cholera belong to a "good" cosmos? How are the ravaging consequences of such things taken into account as "removed, healed, or corrected" in eschatological consummation?

5. A related question involves profound mental and physical impairments, particularly for persons born with them. Do these belong to a world without sin, to an "unfallen" world? Do they, or their consequences, therefore belong or remain in a righted-world, a healed and restored cosmos purged of sin and the power of death?

6. Another similar question, related also to temporality, is the matter of complications that lead to the death of infants and children. In what ways can we speak coherently about the "imperfections and disabilities" that were involved in such tragic deaths without also speaking of their being (again, somehow) righted or undone or healed by God in glory?

7. As regards the biblical narrative, the single glaring instance of something like "imperfections and disabilities" being responded to eschatologically by God is of course the enormous repetition of stories of Jesus' healing in the Gospels. Kelsey does not deal with this in his argument, and I have seen at least some Christian theological arguments that claim we should seek to qualify (if not outright disallow) the import of these texts for normatively shaping the way in which Christians think about such things. If the latter approach is correct, why, and on what grounds? If the healing stories are germane to the question of resurrected life and eschatological transformation -- relevant as a picture of what happens when the reign of God comes near to the lives of people experiencing some kind of limitation on their personal flourishing in community -- how are they so? What do they say about both the "now" of persons living with some kind of "imperfection" or "disability" and their "not yet"? How, in other words, should they form our hope for life in God's kingdom?

8. Is it helpful at all to identify generic features of human life, not as markers of some human essence but as descriptors of what it is like, generally, to be in the midst of living human community? If one excludes such descriptive features on the grounds that they do not apply to everyone -- infants, in Kelsey's example, or elderly persons with dementia -- what are we left with to talk about regarding what actual human life is like "on the whole"? In other words, if aliens were to set down in the midst of nearly any human community on the planet, they would be bound to discover language-using, art-making, sex-coupling, food-eating, divinity-worshiping, child-rearing, violence-erupting, land-tilling, animal-relating, technology-creating, family-networking, story-telling, group-indwelling creatures we call "human." Of course, not every individual or community can claim every single one of these features. But do these features not tell us something about what human existence is like? Is there not a way to think about and discuss them without slipping into needlessly essentialist (and so prejudicial) talk?

9. Finally, is identification of human being by Homo sapiens DNA really a solution to the historically disputed anthropological alternatives? Was there really no sure way of telling what was human before the last 150 years? Can we not imagine some global catastrophe that would set human civilization back technologically (and thus scientifically) that would render this answer untenable? What of areas of the world where DNA is not a viable cultural idiom? Are their cultural ideas of how to identify human being translatable with this claim?

I'll leave my reflections/questions at that. I look forward to hearing others' thoughts, both those who have read the book and those who have not.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: Devendra Banhart

2011-06-19T15:39:00.002-04:00

I realized, while I was listening to this older (i.e., not from the last five years) favorite playing the other day, that I have never featured Devendra Banhart for a S.S.P. post. The lyrics are simple, the song equally so, but it's a wonderful song and worth passing along. Enjoy.

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Heard Somebody Say

By Devendra Banhart

I heard somebody say
That the war ended today
But everybody knows it's goin' still

Our motherlands and motherseas,
Here's what we believe

It's simple:
We don't want to kill

Oh, it's simple:
We don't want to kill

Oh, it's simple:
We don't want to kill

Learning the Difference Between Ads and Art from David Foster Wallace

2011-06-13T16:25:00.001-04:00

The following quote from David Foster Wallace -- with the point I'm highlighting found, predictably, in a footnote aside, here denoted by an asterisk -- jumped out at me this week as a particularly clear and helpful articulation of a point I've long struggled to put into words:

Whether it honors them well or not, an essay's fundamental obligations are supposed to be to the reader. The reader, on however unconscious a level, understands this, and thus tends to approach an essay with a relatively high level of openness and credulity. But a commercial is a very different animal. Advertisements have certain formal, legal obligations to truthfulness, but these are broad enough to allow for a great deal of rhetorical maneuvering in the fulfillment of an advertisement's primary obligation, which is to serve the financial interests of its sponsor. Whatever attempts an advertisement makes to interest and appeal to its readers are not, finally, for the reader's benefit. And the reader of an ad knows all this, too -- that an ad's appeal is by its very nature calculated -- and this is part of why our state of receptivity is different, more guarded, when we get ready to read an ad.*

*This is the reason why even a really beautiful, ingenious, powerful ad (of which there are a lot) can never be any kind of real art: an ad has no status as gift, i.e. it's never really for the person it's directed at.

(A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again: Essays and Arguments [New York: Back Bay Books, 1997], 288-89, 89n.38)

This seems to me exactly right. It is, on the one hand, an important point for those of us who find ourselves worried by -- and yet also concerned that said worry might by overly critical or moralistic -- the weirdly unreflective enjoyment of commercial advertisements by friends and family (and society in general). On the other hand, it is a sharp reminder for artists who dip their toes -- or more -- into the marketing world that there actually is something at stake in the crossing of that threshold. I am thinking especially of Christians who go into marketing, and of Christian artists involved in the creation and production of ads.

This is not even to mention the sad state (which is only to say the continued existence) of "Christian" as well as church advertising. DFW's indictment should land most squarely here: How can the gospel be artful -- be, as it in fact is and therefore should be presented as, a gift -- if "it's never really for the person it's directed at"? I'm not the first person to say this, but it's high time churches in America rethink their strategies of "getting the word out."

Update: Check out this pertinent exchange from a hitherto unpublished interview with DFW, in today's The New York Review of Books:

OK: Can pure art free of any commercial or propaganda value exist in your opinion?
DFW: I’m suspicious of the word “pure.” It’s a very, very high standard to attach to a word like “art,” given that the basic situation is a continuum. Let me give you an example: my wife is a fantastic artist and painter but she doesn’t attempt to sell her work for a great deal of money. She hasn’t made any attempts to get a lot of galleries or museums to buy her work. She’s had shows and she can sell stuff when she wants, but mainly she makes them as gifts for people. It’s very interesting for me to watch her work. There’s a whole art world in America, where you develop a name and a reputation and your art becomes more and more valuable, and you can end up very wealthy. She’s afraid of that whole process because she believes it will take something out of the art that will make it less fun for her to do. And for her it’s the most important thing of her life.

So she is for me—I’ve only been married two years—watching her work and then going into the garage where I work, and trying to do my work and trying not to think about, “Oh, what does this reviewer from The New York Times say,” to find myself preoccupied and distracted by all kinds of what are really petty and immature and vain distractions is very educational. It may be that the only way in America to produce pure art would be to remove oneself from the public sphere and produce that art only as gifts, where there’s no money involved and no attempt at publicity or publication involved. The problem is that if everyone does that, then there is no public arts here. So it all becomes really a paradox that I’ve spent a lot of the last years thinking about, and I don’t have an answer.

The rest of the interview is worth reading as well.

On the One Thing Needed to Secure the Church's Existence

2011-06-07T12:42:00.000-04:00

As we continue the move-in process and begin to get settled here in New Haven, the posts will remain scant around here for some time more. However, I wanted to offer a very brief comment that is in no way original, but bears repeating.

In Robert Jenson's Canon and Creed, he makes the statement that "the canon without the creed will not serve to protect the church against perversion of the gospel, and neither will the creed without the canon" (p. 32). Similar claims abound, and seem only to provoke counter-claims, concerning what is the "one thing needed" (whether it be an actual single thing or some combination) to somehow ensure, insure, protect, ground, establish, guard, or otherwise solidify the existence, endurance, and faithfulness of the church (or of the individual believer). Whether it be narrative, Scripture, discipline, creeds, creed + canon, magisterium, habits, locality, retreat, family, knowledge, activism, politics, whatever -- some thing or things, construed or combined, believed or possessed or enacted, will inevitably (and, however great a challenge, reliably) secure the life and faith of the church over time.

To repeat the one well-worn response to this omnipresent argument that is worth endorsing: There is no such thing, and never will be.

Not only is something like trustworthy security, however articulated, a mere illusion, a flat impossibility from the start; it simply does not belong to the church's form of life. Signing up for discipleship to Christ rids us at the outset of any expectation of security or enactable longevity. ("Just five easy steps to a faith/church/life you can count on.") Whatever solidity or perseverance our faith or community experiences (a better word would be discovers; the best: receives) will be, without exception, a gift from God beyond our plans and capabilities. Such a gift will itself not be an achievement we can claim, much less a possession we can get our hands around. And it will not be something like ground beneath our feet or a fence around our faith or a roof above our heads. Rather, it will be like birds which do not store away, but are fed, like flowers which do not labor or spin, but rise up beautiful and extravagant out of the soil.

There is, finally -- to conclude with an odd but, I think, representative euphemism -- nothing for the church to hang its hat on except God. All else is either a servant, a signpost, or a mirage thereof.

After 14 states in four days...

2011-06-04T08:45:00.001-04:00

...we are here.

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: R. T. Smith (II)

2011-05-28T20:00:00.002-04:00

Here is one more from Smith for good measure. Let's see if I can keep it up with a third in a row next week.

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Full Moon with Bells

By R. T. Smith

As the solstice moon
with its Latin landscape
rises waferlike
above the quay,

moonlight and frost
embroider the slate
with a guidebook
Irish beauty, and I shut

off the radio's report
of your sad story --
rape by a neighbor,
the court forbidding

a foreign abortion,
the power of Rome.
Where is mercy?
The boats are in,

the city still, the priory's
new bells summoning
all of Galway to vespers.
Now I imagine you

moongazing through lace
curtains as the tides
of your body ossify,
the first blue milk

forming intricate
as snowflakes high
in the winter air.
I want to reassure you,

but the words fail me,
and neither sweet
litany nor the Host
glowing can show me

anything holy
in the bishop's decree.
The faraway moon's
ancient names I whisper --

Mare Serenitatus
and Lacus Somniorum --
offer no solace,
while worshipers approach

the altar, their eyes
too filled with piety
to see. In Dublin
the state ministers

caucus over blue cigar
smoke and brandy,
but no absolution
echoes in the bronze

of those vernacular
bells, as the country
ices over, Patria
Incognita, cold core

of the heart, dark face
of the moon.

Reading Eccentric Existence: Chapter 7: "Personal Bodies: Meditation on Job 10"

2011-05-23T17:15:00.000-04:00

This post belongs to an ongoing series engaging David Kelsey's Eccentric Existence: A Theological Anthropology, as part of an online reading group for the year 2011. For more information, read the introductory posts here and here.

Previous posts: Chapter 1A: "The Questions"; Chapter 1B: "What Kind of Project Is This?"; Chapter 2A: "The One with Whom We Have to Do"; Chapter 2B: "The Kinds of Project This Isn't"; Chapter 3A: "The One Who Has To Do With Us"; Chapter 6: "To Be and To Have a Living Body"

Section of text: Chapter 7: "Personal Bodies: Meditation on Job 10"

Pages: 281-308

Guest reflection by Steve Wright:

Kelsey turns to consider how the human creature is personal. He reserves the notion of "person" for humans alone within the present consideration. In part this is out of a concern to avoid conflating trinitarian doctrine with anthropology through a univocal use of the language of "person" (pp. 286-87). This purely anthropological theology of personhood covers areas usually treated under the topic of the imago Dei. Kelsey has not eschewed the imago Dei, but has chosen to defer its presentation until later in the work. Likewise theology will be wary of uncritically adopting the dominant Western story of the human person, which often results in predicating "non-person" of human beings who do not fit within this narrative (p. 288-89).

In the previous chapter Kelsey read the story of Job's birth given in Job 10 in two ways: as the story of his being born with human DNA, and as the story of his being given a body which he is to regulate within its context of relation to God and other creatures. It is these two stories told contemporaneously which are the truth of human embodiment, the narrative of actual living human bodies. This unity is the "integrity" of the human narrative. But this integrity is frail and prone to dis-integration when either story is stressed at the cost of the other (p. 282). A human person's integrity is "frail through and through" and upheld only by the creative relating of God (pp. 283-86). The implication to be drawn from the previous chapter is that God's creative relating is the only condition of living bodies, without such a relation there simply is no life. This is not to say that God is then obligated to endlessly uphold these lives, Kelsey attempts to maintain God's transcendent freedom: "God creates dying life" (p. 284).

The uniquely personal aspect of the human creature, Kelsey argues, is not a quality or ability such as rationality or speech — though this latter ability has its place. It is, according to Kelsey's idiom, the human creature's ultimate context which makes one personal: God's relating. The relating by which God makes humans into persons is not identical to creative relating. God's creative relating is unmediated — this, Kelsey asserts, is the point of the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo — but God makes a human personal through the mediation of language (p. 291-93). "God, as it were, talks human living bodies into being personal" (p. 293). These two modes of relating are not entirely discrete, for God creates personal bodies, without which humans could not be persons (note the distinction between "personal" and "person" with the logical priority of the former). Being personal, then, is not our choice, though "it is a status out of which one may or may not intentionally live" (p. 296).

Making God’s relation to humanity the ground of the human “person” protects from the instrumentality of upholding human dignity simply for the sake of the common social good. This occurs through the marriage of classificatory and evaluative use of “person”. When the common good dictates that a certain subset of humans are detrimental to the ongoing life of the community they are stripped of their status as “persons” (p. 290). Rather than this, it is God’s address that makes us persons; we are persons because God relates to us as such.

There is also a distinction to be drawn between actual persons and perfect persons. Perfection is not required for personal actuality, but neither can it be discounted if Jesus was a personal human body (p. 297). Perfection here is not a created state, but how one relates to God. The correlate relation — to other creatures — is read through the so-called "mandate of dominion." This is a royal role, Kelsey explains, which arises from the intractable link to other creatures and entails their well-being (p. 305). Anthropocentrism is correct only so far as the human is "qualified by the remainder" and recognised as "the first among equals" (p. 305). That is, the actual personal living human body carries a vocation to promote the fecundity of creaturely existence.

Questions:

Is Kelsey's distinction between creative relating and the making of persons sufficiently delineated by the use of language, given that the primary mode of God's creative activity through theology tradition has been that of speech?

Is "person" utterly equivocal predicated of humans and of the divine persons? Is there nothing to learn about one from the other?

What are we to make of the status of death given Kelsey’s affirmation that “God makes dying life”? Is death finally a rival of life?

Do you think that Kelsey's use of the phrase "first among equals" helps or hinders his argument for the nature of the relation of human persons to non-human creation?

Is it just me, or is this discussion of personal bodies lacking some somatic weight?

Next reading: Chapter 8: "Faith: Flourishing on Borrowed Breath," pages 309-332

Sunday Sabbath Poetry: R. T. Smith (I)

2011-05-21T20:00:00.001-04:00

It has been 15 weeks -- an eternity in blog time -- since my last Sunday Sabbath Poetry post. Certainly this is by far the longest stretch of absence in the series, having consistently had something up almost every week for two and a half years, then . . . nothing. No doubt not a few may have wondered if I had given up the game.

Only busyness and business, however. As I have mentioned as explanations, but so often now as to have become creeping justifications, the perfect storm of thesis writing, application waiting, graduation walking, and out-of-state moving conspired to eliminate all regularity in my blogging plans.

As it stands, the final move is still a couple weeks off, so the boxes and indeterminacy will retain their unsteady effects on this space for another month at least.

That said, it's never a bad time to pick things up where they left off, however unceremoniously; so here you go. I'll post a favorite of R. T. Smith's (a recent discovery for me) this week and the next, each from his 2001 collection Messenger. Enjoy!

- - - - - - -

Fiddle

By R. T. Smith

Locked tight in blue
velvet as a fossil
saved in slate,

the fiddle my father
played in church,
on the courting porch

and for the Masons
of Griffin, Georgia,
is covered in dust.

Bridge missing, scrollwork
chipped and pegs
spoiled with chrome,

it harbors a secret
in its sound box:
Carlo Bergonzi,

fece in Cremona,
1733. An authentic
antique made

from bird's-eye
maple, fir, the glue
and varnish kin

to Guarneri and Strads,
it is, he says,
our single treasure.

The bow, now
missing, was tipped
with amber and fine

as heron bone.
The strings are
raveled to floss.

And yet, he lifts
the hourglass shape,
snugs the chin rest

and pretends to serenade
mother with ghostly
tones, his wrist

deftly turning, fingertips
gripping a shadow,
as rosin scent

somehow sweetens
the kitchen air.
Is it "Raglan Road"

that animates mother
or "Shady Grove"?
"The Kerry Trance"?

When she stops wiping
dishes to begin
her bashful shuffle,

I start to sway myself
and savor the legacy
they offer -- illusory

tunes, a past relived
with vigor, a vintage
Italian fiddle that kept

their story musical
until the marriage
melody became

their lasting dance.

Reading Eccentric Existence: Chapter 6: "To Be and To Have a Living Body"

2011-05-16T13:00:00.001-04:00

[Unfortunately, this series has taken a three-month break, what with finishing my thesis, hearing back from doctoral programs, graduating, and preparing to move. Along with others, I have kept up the reading, but have not been able to post about it. The post below and next week's are by a guest writer; after that I will likely trim the format to largely scattered reflections on broader sections and arguments in Kelsey's work. If you have a piece or your own thoughts you would like to contribute, by all means email me and I'll put it up.]

This post belongs to an ongoing series engaging David Kelsey's Eccentric Existence: A Theological Anthropology, as part of an online reading group for the year 2011. For more information, read the introductory posts here and here.

Previous posts: Chapter 1A: "The Questions"; Chapter 1B: "What Kind of Project Is This?"; Chapter 2A: "The One with Whom We Have to Do"; Chapter 2B: "The Kinds of Project This Isn't"; Chapter 3A: "The One Who Has To Do With Us"

Section of text: Chapter 6: "To Be and To Have a Living Body"

Pages: 242-280

Guest reflection by Steve Wright:

Kelsey’s goal in this chapter is to reflect on the human as a creature. He chooses to do this by putting forward a theology of birth. This reflection starts from a reading of Job 10. Job’s lament is that he has been born, that he exists at all. For Kelsey birth is the manner by which a human person comes into existence. Birth need not entail the passage of a baby through the birth canal. A human can be born without the thinning of the cervix at all. Job employs metaphors for gestation according to the science of his day: “Did you not pour me out like milk and curdle me like cheese?” – a reflection on the hardening of semen into a human body. God is the primary agent in this pastoral process, and the ancient metaphors were amendable to this divine role. Contemporary science need not banish such reflections on God’s creative work in human birth, but now the story is of “molecular exchanges among biochemical energy systems” (p. 248).

Utilising scientific insight, Kelsey explains, we can begin to refine our understanding of birth and embodiment. The boundary of a living body is not demarcated by the largest organ, but a living body can only be understood in its environment; biology and ecology together form our understanding of living bodies (p. 248, 265-270). This is the “proximate context” of human embodiment. Moreover, a body does not cede to entropy, but preserves homeostasis. Thus a body has a telos which interacts with its environment. A being has life to the extent that it participates in this interaction. This disallows the possibility of disembodied life which transcends all temporal and spatial conditioning. Such a being is as dead as a rock (p. 249). A body is “the singular manifestation” of life. This teleonomy includes fact that there is no physiological necessity for death. A body is resistant to thermodynamic decay, so the best explanation for death is evolutionary. An environment would need infinite resources and energy to sustain an eternal population.

So far for bodies in general, but what makes a creature human? Kelsey focuses on the DNA of the human creature as the point of identification and human continuity. This is not to say that all creatures comprised of human DNA are human bodies. But the DNA of a skin shaving or an embryo, while itself not a complete human being, holds the potentiality of a human being. Here is the centre of Kelsey’s argument: the actuality of a living human body comes of being born. (p. 254). It is God taking that potentiality and being the agent of its actuality. Theological anthropology has to do with such “actual living human bodies”, even though potentiality is a sort of actuality. This focus on DNA and birth, Kelsey argues, safeguards the content of anthropology against developments such as the possibility of machine or extraterrestrial intelligence (p. 259). Theologically, God creates at the point of birth, and what is created is simply a “newly born actual human living body” (p. 264).

There is a second story of birth to be told. One does not only “is” a body, but “has” a body. Because Job can protest his birth, he is distinguishable from his body (p. 271). Job does not tell the story of a dualist anthropology, but he has been entrusted to care for and regulate the body which he is in relation to God and other creatures. Just so he both has and is a body. This relation of the body to God, rather than interior individuality, forms the basis of the “unsubstitutability of human persons” (pp. 273-75). Kelsey describes this as a “theologically appropriate individualism”, by which he means that we are responsible for the way we respond to God’s creative relating, not as atomised individuals, but as members of social networks and proximate contexts. That God creates us within social contexts and neighbourly relations is the basis of our respect for the dignity of others (p. 279). Response to God’s creative action and upholding neighbourly dignity form a singular horizon in the Christian world.

Questions:

Do you think that Kelsey’s attempts to protect anthropology from the potential discoveries of machine intelligence or extraterrestrial intelligence by emphasising DNA and birth are adequate in the face of technological developments such as wetware and the prognostications of futurists that a human intelligence will soon be transferable to a computer system?

For a theological theory of embodiment, the major contextual theologies of body are conspicuously absent. What might Kelsey’s theology of birth gain from a more robust engagement with gender theory or black theology?

Kelsey’s definition of birth as a “temporally extended process” (p. 247) beginning with the fertilisation of an egg by a sperm and culminating in the ability to live independently of its mother is complicated by the fact that a sperm is no longer necessary for the fertilisation of an egg, and the moment of independent existence is exceedingly hard to identify in the case of a premature birth. And yet he stakes a large theological claim on this definition. Is Kelsey’s definition unambiguous enough to be theologically decisive in the way he intends?

Next reading: Chapter 7: "Personal Bodies: Meditation on Job 10," pages 281-308

Eucharistic Meditation and Prayers (with same for the Collection)

2011-05-08T18:05:00.000-04:00

Eucharistic Meditation

Since the earliest centuries of the church, Christians, when baptized, have engaged in a series of what are called denunciations. Just as baptism involves the positive profession of faith in Christ as Lord, so it also involves certain rejections. Typically, the question is asked in this way: “Do you renounce sin, death, and the devil and all his ways?”

Each of these is rightly taken to be an enemy of God and of God’s mission in the world. Sin names the disorder in the world that is opposition to God’s good will; death names the power that stands against God’s creative word of life; and the devil names the demonic forces that work against God’s purposes in the world

This morning we gather at the Lord’s table as those baptized into Christ, the Son of God, and having received the gift of the Holy Spirit we come at once as forgiven sinners and as children of God the Father. We are therefore gathered at the table of Christ as the body of Christ, members one of another, ready to receive from sister and brother the body and blood of Christ.

We do this at the very threshold and intersection of divine and human timelines. As Paul writes, “For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor 11:26). As we partake of Jesus’ broken body today, we remember Jesus’ wounded body in the past, even as we remember his future coming in his risen body. Communion, then, is the cross-section of past, present, and future in our life with God

So we come to this table this morning to remember: to remember that the one true God has come near in Jesus Christ; to remember that the same God who raised up Israel from Egypt has raised up Jesus from the grave; to remember that God is present among us even now by and through his Spirit.

Even more, as a people baptized into Christ, who have renounced sin, death, and the devil and all his ways, we come to this table to be reminded of God’s victory on our behalf: reminded that because of the Father’s mercy, all our sins have been forgiven—they are no more and no more have power over us; reminded that because Jesus is risen from the dead, we have been freed—freed from the fear and power of death, for Jesus reigns as Lord even over death; reminded, finally, that because the Spirit is with and among us, there is no power, no force, no authority or demonic enemy that can triumph over us—God has triumphed, once and for all.

And because God meets us at this table to remind us of these things, we remember also that there is no one—not a single man or woman in all of creation—who is excluded from the hospitality of the Lord’s table. All are sinners, are all lawbreakers, all deserve condemnation. Yet beneath the cross of Christ and at his table, there are no divisions or enemies, for here all are welcome, all are forgiven, all are one body. And we know that the Lord of this body loved and died for his enemies, and calls us to do the same after him. In response to love like that, what else can we do but follow, and give thanks.

Let us pray.

Prayer for the Bread

O God,
you are our God,
and by your grace
you have made us your people.

As your servant has said,
you stir us to take pleasure in praising you,
because you have made us for yourself,
and our heart is restless until it rests in you.

So we ask that in taking this bread
which is the broken body of your Son,
make us a people who remember;
make us your people of memory,
who remember the victory of the cross.

Help us to remember Jesus:
friend to the poor,
breaker of chains,
lover of enemies.

Make us faithful disciples
who follow his way,
who keep this feast of love’s memorial—
knit together as Christ’s body
even as we receive it from one another.

In his name and by your Spirit we pray,
Amen.

Prayer for the Cup

O God,
you are our God,
earnestly we seek you
as thirsty people long for water
in a dry and weary land.

You have told us that,
should even a mother forget the newborn at her breast,
you will not forget us, your children.
You have told us that,
in unbroken fidelity,
our very names are engraved on the palms of your hands.

Make us mindful, therefore,
of the great cost of your love,
and so make us people of your costly grace
who do not sin that grace may abound
but rather in thanks walk the path of the cross.

Wash us clean
and let us hear your word of forgiveness
sung over us in joy.

O God,
we ache with hope
for the coming of your kingdom,
where we will share this cup anew with him who is our life,
Jesus the risen Christ,
in whose name and by whose Spirit we pray,
Amen.

Comments on the Collection

Now is the time when we, as a community, share our resources for the sake of building up the body.

On the one hand, we do this, in Paul’s words, “not that others might be relieved while some are hard pressed, but that there might be equality” (2 Cor 8:13). In that spirit we gather together our financial means so that we might be more than the sum of our parts: that missions might be supported, that ministries might be sustained, that the hungry might be fed, that those in need might receive aid and those hurting might hear the good news of the gospel.

On the other hand, the order of having the collection after communion can be misleading, because the salvation we’ve received in Christ is not a matter of exchange. God does not give us his grace on the condition that we “pay up” afterwards. The gift of the gospel is precisely its lack of conditions. The good news is good because there is nothing we could have done, nothing deserving about us, and nevertheless God saves us sheerly out of his great love.

So as we give of our means this morning, for the sake of the mission of God in the world, give not out of guilt or compulsion, much less to “pay God back” for Jesus. No—give out of the overflowing joy of knowing God in Christ; give out of pure gratitude for being loved by the God of the universe; give out of the freedom that comes in knowing that wealth does not bring happiness, but often as not, temptation and greed, even idolatry; and so give because money can only be a means to an end—namely, the missional end of serving those in need to the glory of God.

Let us pray.

Prayer for the Collection

O God,
giver of all good gifts
and Father of the heavenly lights,
bless this collection of the gifts of your people.

We ask this day that you would
fill the mouths of the hungry,
clothe the bodies of the naked,
shelter those without home or family,
comfort those in prison.

We ask also this day that you would
bring your kingdom near to us,
make your will done on earth as it is in heaven,
build up your church in all the world,
come near in love for the sake of your glory.

Finally, we ask that you would do these things
both by the gifts we share together today,
and by the gifts of the Spirit
with which you have equipped your people.

Make us, Lord, a people of witness
whose lives reflect the life of your Son,
empowered to love and to service
in the way of the cross.

In the name of your gift to us, Jesus,
who gave us the gift of your Spirit,
Amen.

"Petition" by Franz Wright

2011-05-04T21:09:00.001-04:00

Petition

By Franz Wright

Kneeling
at the foot of the universe

I ask

from this body
in confusion

and pain (a condition

which You
may recall)

Clothed now in light
clothed in abyss, at the prow
of the desert
killed
into everywhereness—

have mercy

Mercy on us all

John Howard Yoder on the Political Strength of Renouncing Violence

2011-05-03T15:21:00.000-04:00

"We have always been taught to understand the nature of power in society so as to expect that the way to get useful things done is to find a place at the command posts of the state. We have suggested already that the man in power is not as free or as strong as he assumes, that he is the prisoner of the friends and the promises he made in order to get into office. But an even more basic observation is that he is not at the place in society where the greatest contribution can be made. The creativity of the 'pilot project' or of the critic is more significant for a social change than is the coercive power which generalizes a new idea. Those who are at the 'top' of society are occupied largely with the routine tasks of keeping in position and keeping balance in society. The dominant group in any society is the one which provides its judges and lawyers, teachers and prelates -- their effort is largely committed to keeping things as they are. This busyness of rulers with routine gives an exceptional leverage to the creative minority, sometimes because it can up the scales between two power blocs and sometimes because it can pioneer a new idea. In every rapidly changing society a disproportionate share of leadership is carried by cultural, racial, and religious minorities.

"What is said here about the cultural strength of the numerical and social minority could just as well be said with regard to political strength. The freedom of the Christian, or of the church, from needing to invest his best effort or the effort of the Christian community, in obtaining the capacity to coerce others, and exercising and holding on to this power, is precisely the key to the creativity of the unique Christian mission in society. The rejection of violence appears to be social withdrawal if we assume that violence is the key to all that happens in society. But the logic shifts if we recognize that the number of locks that can be opened with the key of violence is very limited. The renunciation of coercive violence is the prerequisite of a genuinely social responsibility and to the exercise of those kinds of social power which are less self-defeating."

--John Howard Yoder, "Christ, the Hope of the World," in The Original Revolution: Essays on Christian Pacifism (Scottdale, PA: Herald Press, 1971), 171-72

Garrett East on American Gun Ownership, Foreign Missions, and the Possibility of Martyrdom

2011-04-28T10:11:00.000-04:00

Go check out my brother Garrett's post on the disconcerting attitudinal difference between American Christians' willingness to own guns "here at home" versus overseas in a missionary context, the implicit reasoning behind it, and the consequences for the church's witness. Garrett is a member of a team of families planning to move to Tanzania in two years, and at the moment he lives in west Texas where -- I can assure you! -- gun ownership on the part of Christians is both high and, shall we say, uncontested. In other words, this is an immediately relevant issue for him, but also more generally for all Christians in America. Here's a first set of questions he asks:

[H]ow many Christians in America live in such a way that martyrdom is impossible? That is, if a Christian owns a gun and believes that they are allowed to use it in self-defense, under what condition would they ever submit themselves to martyrdom? Or, would they always be unwilling to go down without a fight? Has Christian teaching about violence set up a situation in which the last thing any Christian would let happen to him or herself is to become a martyr? What if an outbreak of persecution took place today like that under Nero, Diocletian, or Galerius? Would Christians take up their crosses or their guns? Without arguing that all Christians should become pacifists, I do want to argue that all Christians should live in such a way that martyrdom is a live possibility for a life lived in faithfulness to God.

If you are interested in reading more, I wrote something similar a couple years ago, except as a critique of just war, called "'To No Good End': Requesting a Coherent Account of Martyrdom."

Praying Psalm 22: A Collect for Good Friday

2011-04-25T16:07:00.000-04:00

O God of hiddenness and shadows,
You who hold life and death in your hands
You who see night as if it is day;
O God absconding from our grasp,
You who slip around the corner,
You who elude our glances and sighs;
O God of godforsaken places:

In you our ancestors trusted;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
To you they cried, and were saved;
in you they trusted, and were not put to shame.

And it was you who took us from the womb;
you who kept us safe at our mother’s breast.
Upon you we were cast from birth,
since our mothers bore us you have been our God.

You are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel.

Do not therefore be far from us, O Lord,
for trouble is near and there is no one,
no one to help.
We cry by day, O God, but you do not answer;
by night, but we find no rest.
Why have you forsaken us, O God?
Why are you so far from helping us,
so far from the words of our groaning?

Deliver us, O God,
and do not shift like so many shadows;
do not leave us barren and bleeding,
bones numbered and lips dry,
gloated over by rabid bulls and ravenous lions.

Deliver us and do not forsake us,
and we will not cease to tell
of your faithfulness to the weary and afflicted.
We will not cease to tell and proclaim such news
even to a people yet unborn,
a people gathered by your Holy Spirit,

by whose power we now pray,
through your servant, the anointed of Israel. Amen.

The Resurrection Power of Jesus the Messiah: A Sermon on Mark 5:35-43

2011-04-24T09:00:00.002-04:00

[This is a sermon I delivered two years ago, in the last week of February, 2009.]

- - - - - - -

While Jesus was still speaking, some people came from the house of Jairus, the synagogue leader. "Your daughter is dead," they said. "Why bother the teacher anymore?"

Overhearing what they said, Jesus told him, "Don't be afraid; just believe."

He did not let anyone follow him except Peter, James and John the brother of James. When they came to the home of the synagogue leader, Jesus saw a commotion, with people crying and wailing loudly. He went in and said to them, "Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep." But they laughed at him.

After he put them all out, he took the child's father and mother and the disciples who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, "Talitha koum!" (which means "Little girl, I say to you, get up!"). Immediately the girl stood up and began to walk around (she was twelve years old). At this they were completely astonished. He gave strict orders not to let anyone know about this, and told them to give her something to eat.

- - - - - - -

In just a few hours I’ll be in the air flying to Austin, Texas. My wife Katelin is already there waiting for me. Katelin and I both grew up in Austin, and her extended family is there as well. The reason we’ll be in Austin this weekend is because tomorrow is the funeral for Katelin’s grandmother, Jinx, whom we call Granj.

Just fifteen days ago we got the call that Granj, who would have been 70 next month, had had a freak accident—and within hours we were in the hospital room, surrounded by weeping family and friends, with a comatose body lying on a gurney in the center of the room, countless tubes and wires and machines keeping her alive. The next day, after Granj was taken off life support, we gathered around and waited 11 long hours until she took her final, labored breath.

For the 30 or so hours between when we got the call and when Granj passed on, and especially when we were physically with her, all we could do was pray. All of us, silently, loudly, through tears, through laughter, together, alone, whatever—all we could do was pray.

But pray for what? A miracle, for one thing. O God, won’t you wake her up? Won’t you wake her up? O God, Lord of all, open her eyes and breathe into her lungs and wake her up. But Granj did not wake up.

The world we live in today is a world devoid of miracles. We simply do not expect them to happen, and our not expecting them to happen reveals our functional unbelief. We don’t expect miracles because we know they don’t really happen.

And why would we? James says the prayer of faith will heal the sick. Well, people in my congregation keep dying. People in families I know keep dying. And faithful prayers don’t seem to be changing much.

But that isn’t all. It’s not just that our world is devoid of miracles, or that we don’t believe they can happen: our world has ruled out any need for miracles. We have become much too efficient, much too knowledgeable, much too evolved, to need anything like a miracle.

A miracle presupposes four things: need; impossibility; lament; and the action of God. But, by the sweat on our brow and the ingenuity of our minds, we have met all needs, solved every problem, forgotten lament, and thus replaced the power and presence and action of God. Keep moving along if it’s needs you’re looking for. We’ve done taken care of that.

As for death? It’s only a matter of time. The experts and the talking heads and Congress and the UN committees and the stimulus bill—they’re all taking care of it. It’ll come. In due time. We need only be patient, and wait it out.

The people of Israel beg to differ. The people of Israel know better. The people of Israel know that life, and death, and everything in between—all of it is in the hands of the one true God of the universe. In sickness or tragedy or crisis or the very throes of death itself, there is only one to whom Israel turns in lament, in tears, in mourning, in petition. The Lord, the God of Israel.

Hear the opening verses of Psalm 30, “O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me. O Lord, you brought up my soul from Sheol, you restored me to life from among those gone down to the Pit.”

Mark tells us four different times that Jairus was a leader of the synagogue. Jairus was a faithful member of the house of Israel. Undoubtedly Jairus knew Psalm 30 and other Psalms like it. In the grip of death-dealing forces, Israel turns to the only one capable of Exodus deliverance.

So Jairus comes to Jesus. His daughter is sick—and he has prayed the Psalms, offered the sacrifices, met with the elders, gone to synagogue. Nothing has changed. But this Jesus—people are saying he is the Lord’s anointed, the Messiah. The stories have made it to his town, and everyone’s talking. This would-be Messiah is casting out unclean spirits, commanding the waves, teaching with authority, giving sight to the blind and causing the lame to walk. Jesus even just came from healing a Gentile possessed by a legion of demons.

So Jesus’ boat makes it to shore, and Jairus, leader of the synagogue, high standing in the community, faithful Israelite—he falls at the feet of Jesus and begs him to heal his sick daughter…and just like that, Jesus obliges, and they’re off.

But the crowd presses in and it’s hard going. Something happens—Jesus turns—he’s talking to…a woman. A sick woman. A bleeding woman. This sick woman has stopped Jesus. She has no husband, and Jairus hasn’t seen her at synagogue. No children either. What is Jesus saying? What could possibly be so important as to delay healing a sick young daughter of Israel?

Finally they move on, but messengers arrive and deliver the fateful news: It’s too late. She’s gone. Jairus’ daughter is dead. Jesus seems unfazed though; he merely says, “Stop being afraid—only keep believing."

When they come to the house and see the mourners, Jesus does not respond like he does in John 11 when he sees the people mourning Lazarus and weeps with them. Instead, he asks them why they are mourning, saying the child is not dead but sleeping…and of course they laugh at him! What kind of nonsense is this? Jesus goes further, though, and here Mark uses the Greek verb for casting out unclean spirits and exorcising demons—literally, Jesus casts them out, exorcises them from the house, and takes Jairus and his wife upstairs with a few others, including Peter, James, and John.

And now, in the deep darkness of death, in the pit of Sheol, Jairus watches as Jesus the Messiah takes the hand of his little girl, his precious daughter, dead and ready for burial and already being mourned, and Jesus speaks his terse Aramaic command—and immediately, she gets up and walks around. Jairus’ daughter is alive again. Jesus has done it. God has worked a miracle.

Now. We are tempted to read this story through the lens of cheap grace, with the eyes of sentimentality and popular religion, or even with the trusty tools of technical scholarship, so helpful yet so potentially dangerous.

We want to say, perhaps, that what this story tells us is about something that happened “back then.” We know big words like “cessasionist,” and take refuge in the fact that Jesus the wonder-worker did something amazing 2,000 years ago in the holy land. Good for him.

Or we want to say, perhaps, that the girl really was only sleeping, that Jesus was being straight up about it all. We analyze the text scientifically and comb through it for evidence that can stand up to the tests of modern intelligibility. A happy end for a misunderstood situation.

Or we want to say, perhaps, that oh my wasn’t that Jesus something, raising the dead and all. And he can raise the dead attitude inside of me and make me something if only I name it and claim it and trust that he’ll prosper me. A spiritual metaphor.

Or some of us want to say, even, that this text applies 100% to today—word for word, detail for detail, like a family recipe for resurrection, just apply the ingredients to any situation, and voila, you’ll have instant healing.

But this story is not about a random Judean wonder worker. It’s not about demythologizing the pre-scientific elements. It’s not about how God’s going to resurrect my career or my bank account. And it’s certainly not about how to have enough faith so that no one you love ever dies.

This story in the Gospel of Mark is about one thing: The power of God even over death made manifest in Jesus the Messiah of Israel. In Jesus the same God who created the heavens and the earth has power to create new life. In Jesus the same God who breathed the breath of life into the first human being has power to breath back new breath into lifeless lungs. In Jesus the same God who called Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob has power to call a daughter of Abraham out of the silence of death. And in Jesus the same God who delivered a people out of deathly slavery has power to deliver the departed from bondage to darkness.

This is the mighty hand and the outstretched arm of the God of Israel: in the birth and life and ministry and healing and teaching and suffering and death and resurrection and ascension of Jesus the Messiah—the power to raise the dead and to give new life.

As followers of Jesus, we actually believe this to be true. We actually believe that the God we worship in Jesus Christ raises the dead. We might forget it, we might lean against it, we might shift uncomfortably in our pews…but our faith is, from beginning to end, a resurrection faith. And we are a resurrection people—the resurrection community of the resurrected Lord.

And that has implications. But the first implication is a question.

So what? So what if all this is true? Say Jesus did do something in that room with Jairus’ daughter, say Jesus was raised from the dead, say that has something to do with being a Christian—so what? People keep getting sick, people keep dying, and flapping our gums about coming back to life isn’t going to do anybody any good. Only more false expectations and superstitious hopes setting unsuspecting people up for failure.

I know these concerns intimately because two weeks ago Granj did not wake up. My belief that God could heal Granj, that she could return to life, did not seem to make a difference. She died.

So I know what it means to question the validity, the relevance, the import of these kinds of claims. I know that place. I know it because right now, it’s my home—and my wife’s home, and my family’s home. I know how vapid empty theology can be. Times like these do not call for Hallmark doctrine.

But the good news of this Gospel story is not that we get what we want when we want it, or that death has once and for all been abolished from the earth, or that Jesus having done it once should give us all the reassurance and comfort we need.

No, the good news is that God’s resurrection power in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ is real, is alive, and is a promise that God is going to keep. Resurrection is not merely the cessation of death or a return back to “normal” life—resurrection is eschatological. Resurrection is new life, new creation. Resurrection is forgiveness and restoration and wholeness—shalom, God’s good and final and abiding peace. That resurrection power is a reality, it is alive and present today in the power of the Holy Spirit in the life of God’s people. And it has a face.

It shows its face in the fellowship of the Eucharist. It shows its face in the loving fidelity of marriage. It shows its face in the second and third chances of a homeless ministry like MUST or Genesis. It shows its face when civil rights pioneer John Lewis forgives Elwin Wilson for beating him 50 years ago in a Rock Hill bus station. It shows its face when African Christians beat machine guns and machetes into sculptures of life and works of art.

And it shows its face in the friends and family, tissues and tears, hugging and heaving, dropped off groceries, text messages and emails, prayers and support when a grandmother dies. God did not have to heal Granji or raise her back to life to display his resurrection power. That power was and is clear enough in the community that surrounded and mourned together, and it will be no less present tomorrow when we celebrate her life.

And finally, without cheapness or sentimentality or easy answers, we remember too the “not yet.” Resurrection has come but is still coming. We await the day when all things will be made new, when resurrection will be fullest shalom and there will be no more death. The Aramaic command of Jesus to the girl in Mark 5—talitha koum—is a promise, a small deposit for the day when we hear the talitha koum writ large and bellowed wide and far and to all creation. And on that day we will say with the Psalmist:

“To you, O Lord, I cried, and to the Lord I made supplication: ‘What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the Pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness? Hear, O Lord, and be gracious to me! O Lord, be my helper!’

“You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, so that my soul may praise you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever.”

Amen.

The Church as the Soul of Society

2011-04-17T16:40:00.000-04:00

"What the soul is to the body, Christians are in the world." So the Epistle to Diognetus in the late second century. Reformulated for modern community, it has been altered to say: "What the soul is to the body, the church is to society [or the nation]."

But such a conception of the church is disastrous on any number of accounts. Schooled by Paul and by Jesus, we would be better to say: "The church is not a soul within the body of society or the nation, much less the soul of any one society or nation. Rather, the church is one particular and irreducible body politic within another."

Open Question: What To Read Before Doctoral Work?

2011-04-13T13:15:00.001-04:00

I've sent the following question to a handful of mentors, fellow students, and professors, and I thought I might extend it here as well:

I have approximately four months of class- and assignment-less freedom before dedicating at least half of the next decade to doctoral work in theology. If you were to recommend 3-5 books for me to read during that (precious interim) time as absolutely essential -- of whatever genre, in whatever discipline -- what would they be?

The Best of the Theological Blogosphere in 2010

2011-04-05T17:12:00.001-04:00

Last year, as I recapped 2009's movies and music by lists, I took the opportunity to do the same for the theology blogs I read. Given that blogging is itself oddly but internally a communal affair, I wanted to share (beyond the sidebar) which blogs I read, for what reasons, what they're about, and (if possible) further information about their authors. I enjoyed the exercise for its own sake, but I came to think also that perhaps in the process it might help render an ever-so-slightly more human face on what can otherwise amount to no more than screen-filtered fodder for anonymous RSS feeds.

Looking back at the post, I count 23 blogs. At the time of writing I already knew six of the authors, and in the year since I have met six more, on top of personal correspondence or plans to meet another half a dozen. I'm not entirely sure what that means, but it does offer some insight into the deeply paradoxical character of a medium that at times seems almost constitutionally impersonal, yet by all indications leads to increased personal interaction, both digital and face-to-face. For ease of use, I've appended last year's list to the end of this post.

There are 17 more in this year's list, and I should be clear that I have no expert methodology here: these are simply the blogs I read, and this list in particular consists of those blogs added to my Reader in the last 12 months. I welcome additions and suggestions in the comments; at the moment there is -- apparently -- no end in sight to high quality, engaging, substantive theological thought on offer in the blogosphere.

(And as a member myself of this curious guild, I steadfastly admit to the sheer weirdness of that last statement, and so to a happy ignorance of its larger meaning or implications.)

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Andy Rowell: Church Leadership Conversations — Andy is ThD student at Duke whose work is sparse but thorough when it appears, and whose voice is measured and highly informative. Though rarely concerned to "take a position" on any particular issue, much less to map out arguments, Andy seems interested instead in providing resources for theological and ministerial reflection and formation; and, accordingly, he is a wonderful source for just those things.

The Art of the Good Life — This is the blog of Jarrod Longbons, a midwesterner and fellow church of Christ-er who (not self-contradictorily!) is earning his PhD in philosophical theology. He uses his blog in general to think through, in a more conversation manner, issues of culture and theology that he encounters in his studies.

Becoming What We Are — In his own words this blog is the "random musings of a perpetual student." Its author James Walters is another (there are not many of us) fellow church of Christ-er who is a PhD student in church history at Princeton Seminary, as well as a fellow graduate of Abilene Christian University. I know of James through his wife Naomi, who is a notable and outspoken proponent of the full inclusion of women in the Spirit-gifted leadership and ministries of the church.

Boo to a Goose — Bruce Hamill is a creative pastor down under (yes?) who uses his blog as an outlet for his sermons and theological ruminations, and (pertinent to me) counts influences in theologians like Yoder and Hauerwas. It is good for my heart to see someone outside of the academy both "making it preach" and keeping his mind alive.

Connexions — The home of Richard Hall's rapid-fire mini-posts, and sometime host as well to Kim Fabricius of Faith and Theology fame, this is a great resource for links to politically serious as well as theologically humorous pieces around the internet, not to mention controversy on certain issues like Palestine and war, too.

Der Evangelische Theologe — Travis McMaken is a PhD student in theology at Princeton Seminary and, with David Congdon, hosted the Karl Barth Blog Conference last fall. Like all good Princeton theologians, Travis is interested in three things: Barth, Barth's influences, and those whom Barth influenced. Maybe more, but those for sure.

Flying Farther — David Horstkoetter is a PhD student in theology at Marquette who works at the intersection of theology and politics, and often engages in helpful (and fiery) polemical analyses -- or, perhaps better, takedowns -- of foolish or otherwise ridiculous theopolitical perspectives. His posts became sparse for a while, but since achieving ABD status (and joining another blog, Justice Outside the City), it seems that he might be more active now.

J. Kameron Carter — After reading through Carter's magisterial Race: A Theological Account last summer, I had the opportunity to hear him speak at AAR and to meet with him during a visit to Duke just a week later. His "rising star" status in the theological scene is well earned, and his blog serves as a kind of way station for his less scholarly, more immediate theological reflection -- to the great benefit of those of us impatiently awaiting his forthcoming publications.

Loretta's Basement — Adam McInturf's posts are as few and far between as they are creative in detail and in engagement of their subject matter. When he writes, it's worth reading.

Maggi Dawn — An author and blogging all-star who needs no introduction from me, Maggi Dawn is witty, knowledgeable, literary, and wide-ranging, a writer of felicitous facility and ease. Check out her blog if you haven't yet taken the time to do so.

Memoria Dei — A serious but not overwhelming group blog made up of four Notre Dame graduate students in theology (a kind of counterpart and forerunner to WIT below), these guys focus on a host of issues, including especially Christology, the Trinity, Catholic theology, and the place of theology in academia.

Per Caritatem — Cynthia Nielsen, doctoral student in philosophy at the University of Dallas, is an uber-scholarly blogger who does work with Foucault, Fanon, Augustine, and Frederick Douglass. To be honest, I have trouble keeping up with her thick series of posts, but not for want of content, only for lack of the time and energy needed to think through the serious stuff she's regularly putting up.

Pilgrim Pathways: Notes for a Diaspora People — Michael Westmoreland-White (one mouthful of a name) is an extraordinarily prolific blogger who has roots in radical peacemaking traditions along with personal connections to influential figures within them, such as John Howard Yoder and James McClendon. His writing is relentlessly politically activist, urging theological reflection always toward the goal of obedient praxis and faithful response to the gospel of the Crucified One.

Quo Vadis, Domine? — This is the blog of my brother Garrett, who is currently finishing the first year of his MDiv at Abilene Christian University. Garrett and his wife belong to a team that will be traveling to Tanzania in the summer of 2013 for a 5-10 year mission, and his posts accordingly reflect that set of concerns (evangelism, east Africa, multiculturalism, ecclesiology). Garrett is my chief theological interlocutor, and is a gifted thinker, lucid writer, and committed disciple. See more in my original commendation here.

Sign on the Window — Melissa is now in the first year of earning her MDiv at Princeton Seminary, having before been at Duke (I believe). Her posts span a happy range: from experience as a woman in the world of theology, to musings on motherhood, to reflection on Mennonite identity, to general constructive theological engagement. Melissa's blog is one more superlative beachhead in what is characteristically an overwhelmingly masculine field -- the theological blogosphere, in this case.

This Side of Sunday — I "met" Jon Coutts by being assigned to respond to his piece on Barth and the Coen Brothers for the Karl Barth Blog Conference last fall, and then had the opportunity to host (through his facilitation) three of his fellow Aberdeen doctoral students at AAR here in Atlanta. Jon is an aesthetically-minded, thoughtfully evangelical Barthian with interests in film and music, and -- to my heart's delight -- is a lover of Chesterton. I am delighted that my very first print/book publication will be, on the one hand, at the intersection between theology and film, and, on the other hand, a response to Jon's own playful bandying of the two before me.

Women in Theology — WIT came on the scene last October and quickly established itself as a premier source for theological reflection in specific relation to issues of gender, feminism, and modern ecclesial challenges. The all-female roster of contributors seems to be marked by shared roots in Catholicism and Notre Dame, but the writing and subjects addressed are not thereby limited. In short: this is one of the best places to be reading (unofficial/unpublished) theology on the internet; it is substantive, provocative, relevant, engaged, and close to the ground. Subscribe already, and start reading!

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The Best of the Theological Blogosphere in 2009

All That To Say... — Mark Love is the Director of Missional Leadership at Rochester College in Michigan. As a former preacher and professor at Abilene Christian, and having just finished his PhD course work at Luther, Mark's experience and training give him a wonderfully creative and playful approach to theology in general, and to reading biblical texts in particular. Also, I stole my "Sunday Sabbath Poetry" series from his "Dylan on a Sunday" series, which is hitting two years this summer.

An und für sich — Quite possibly one of the most prolific and thoughtful group blogs around, especially given that the authors aren't getting paid. Adam Kotsko & co. have created an engaging place for philosophical, theological, cultural, and textual conversations to be had; and Adam in particular is a kind of blogging force of nature, routinely offering innovative and off-the-wall comments and interpretations on any number of subjects. The snark rears its head from time to time, but it's usually in good fun. And even when it's not, it's no less worth the read.

The Church and Postmodern Culture — This one ebbs and flows, depending on recent releases or engagement with particular works, but when it's going, it's great. The contributors and books claimed and produced here are especially noteworthy.

Clavi Non Defixi — Evan Kuehn, though a long-time read for many, has been a recent discovery for me. Evan focuses primarily on matters academic, journalistic, ecumenical, historical-theological, and/or library-related. Though often reliable enough as a purely compendious source, Evan also offers constructive thoughts on a regular basis in relation to current events in his fields of interest. I should also add how impressive his levelheadedness is, given the waters he regularly wades into.

David Ayres: Prayers & Poems — David is a friend from Abilene Christian, and he's just now finishing up his undergraduate degree in Bible, on his way to an MDiv and a rich ministry of the word. He also happens to be one of my favorite poets, and it is a grateful marvel that such a gifted wordsmith is going into full-time preaching.

Experimental Theology — Richard Beck somehow finds the time in his busy schedule as a husband, father, professor, teacher, researcher, speaker, writer, and sometime-preacher not only to post on his blog daily, but to plan and execute complex, long-term series exploring such extensive subjects as purity and defilement, religious experience, and the theology of Calvin and Hobbes. Though I regret not getting to know Richard while in Abilene, it's been wonderful sharing various conversations back and forth since moving to Atlanta.

Faith and Theology — Ben Myers' blog is the premier theological entry in the genre for good reason. His easygoing, facilitator style creates space for conversation and cross-pollination, serving as an exemplary model for the medium, while his excerpts from papers and forays into constructive work are exceptional. Not that he needs one from anyone, much less me, but F&T comes with the highest recommendation.

The Fire and the Rose — David Congdon, PhD student of systematics up at Princeton, doesn't blog a lot anymore; but when he does, it's worth reading.

God's Politics — Though the flurry of posts bears weeding through, and I continue to have my worries that Jim Wallis has become a soft spokesman for the Obama administration (and/or thinks first in terms of "values" and "the global context" and not "the church"), there is still a great deal of penetrating thought and extraordinary work being done by, at, and through the Sojourners folks.

Inhabitatio Dei — Halden's blog is a warehouse of sincere ecclesial concern, rich theological depth, unyielding rhetoric, and constant cultural criticism. As it stands Halden is the regnant gadfly of the theological blogosphere, and even when exaggerating or targeting someone or something he deems blasphemous, his posts not only ensure you know where you stand, but the force of his arguments demands careful attention to one's own and clarifies the importance of the witness of the church in America. In other words, essential reading.

James K.A. Smith — Though I've been exposed to Dr. Smith's work in myriad ways, I haven't had the opportunity to sit down and read a book of his start to finish -- a lack I hope to remedy soon -- but it has been enjoyable to be able to read him in short bursts online. (And it is an overwhelming challenge to realize just how much out of his discipline, including fiction and poetry, he reads!)

Joshua Case — Josh is a fellow MDiv student at Candler, and I enjoy telling him that he is wrong on a regular basis. He is also an immensely talented thinker, writer, networker, dreamer, speaker, minister, and podcaster. Universities and seminaries prove their worth by creating space for people like Josh and I to argue matters out, at the very least with respect, hopefully in love. That has certainly been the case for us, and I'm glad to know the kind of work Josh is doing is being done by the kind of person Josh is.

Michael Gorman — Sitting in Austin's airport last January, I discovered to my surprise and delight that Michael Gorman -- the Michael Gorman, eminent New Testament scholar and hero of my brother Garrett -- had added me to his blogroll. I quickly returned the favor, not simply as thanks, but because I had long been reading Gorman's work (both on and offline) and continue to appreciate his various emphases in reading Paul, admiring his position vis-a-vis the interlaced Hays-Wright-LTJ schools of thought. It is a strange, and if anything a cool academic/ecclesial world we inhabit, where scholars like Gorman take up blogging. Hopefully others continue to follow suit.

Narrative and Ontology — Philip Sumpter is an Old Testament PhD student in Germany with a perpetual flow creative engagement of texts, the Psalms in particular, as well as what seems like a wholesale intimacy with the work of Brevard Childs. Good stuff here.

Paul J. Griffiths — Clearly the most erudite and learned spare-time blogger I am aware of, Griffiths' every-so-often posts -- on Catholicism, on Augustine, on literature, on politics -- are simply extraordinary fair.

Per Crucem ad Lucem — Jason Goroncy seems to me the most disciplined and unique blogger on offer: an Australian Presbyterian minister and theologian, with expertise in P.T. Forsyth and interests in cooking, the arts, and more. I enjoy especially his "Monthly Bests" that update us on his reading, watching, listening, eating forays. Fun, different, and always something new.

Peter Leithart — Leithart's attention to the text and -- not here a contradiction! -- theological readings thereof are unparalleled, and the quick shots across the bow that constitute his postings are concise, direct, and always on point. How are we so lucky that such a man blogs on a near daily basis?

Preacher Mike — Mike Cope was the preacher at Highland Church of Christ in Abilene for nearly two decades before leaving the position last summer. I had the privilege of being a member at Highland from 2004 to 2008, as well as both being a student in a class taught my Mike at ACU and taking a graduate course with Mike as a fellow student. Though God has graciously not called me to the pulpit, Mike Cope proved to me simply through the patient gracefulness of his own preaching that the proclaimed word continues to have power to shape God's people over time. My own understanding -- and understanding is surely too weak a word -- of Scripture, proclamation, women's roles, new creation, and the mission of the church are all profoundly grounded in four sustained years of attending to the weekly voice of Highland's pulpit. That Mike is no longer regularly preaching only means his other work, which most certainly includes his blog, has more attention.

Rain and the Rhinoceros — Another excellent blogger who only resurfaces from time to time, Ry Siggelkow (no less fake-sounding than his actual pseudonym, R.O. Flyer) does great work and always commands attention when he posts.

Seeking First The Kingdom — It has been an odd and unique pleasure to have come to know Jimmy McCarty first by way of reading one another, and then in person, and now in friendship. I first read him on Sojourners more than a year and a half ago; we learned of one another's blogs by way of our respective engagements with torture and with the homeless; then we discovered we each belonged to that strange American tradition called the churches of Christ. Jimmy finished his M.A. at Claremont last May, then moved here to Atlanta to begin his PhD in Religious Ethics at Emory. He and his wife now attend our church and belong to our small group, and it has been a happy accident of circumstance for our paths to converge in this way.

As for his blog, though I continue to be a faithful subscriber, unfortunately since doctoral work began Jimmy hasn't been able to write as often as before. I still encourage anyone interested to check him out, as he is an astute and contrarian observer of those forms of life reflective, as well as negating, of Jesus of Nazareth. Plus, I tell him just about every time I see him that he's got to start blogging again!

Theology Forum — This one is run by Kent Eilers, Kyle Strobel, and Steve Duby, and from what I can tell, attends to various theological topics from a decidedly Reformed/Protestant perspective. There have been some rich discussions here recently, and I always enjoy seeing a new post up, as I know I will inevitably be learning something new.

Theopolitical — Davey Henreckson, PhD student at Notre Dame, keeps things straightforward and on topic: intersections between theology, political theory, and historical practice, usually in the form of reviewing or walking through important books, never without personal or constructive comment. This is an area of which I am supremely ignorant but in which I am extremely interested, so Davey's blog is an indispensable resource.

Vita Brevis — I came to John Penniman's blog by way of Evan's link to his unbelievably helpful guide to applying to PhD programs -- which, I will have you know, I printed out and read twice over, with liberal underlining and highlighting. (It is my field guide for this fall's descent into application hell.) Since then I've come to realize that I barely missed John here at Candler (he left a year ago for Fordham), and have come readily to enjoy his entries in historical theology, particularly of late regarding the evolution of Roman primacy in relation to the Catholic Church's recent troubles.

Christopher Hitchens on the King James Bible

2011-04-04T13:02:00.000-04:00

For all his calculated attacks, misplaced facts, overwrought rhetoric, unswerving dogmatism, and unappetizing politics, I rarely miss a chance to read Christopher Hitchens. For a wonderful instance of all the above in full force (and so marked by a characteristically compulsive readability), see his recent article for Vanity Fair on the anniversary and history of the King James Bible.

I'm interested to know which historical facts (if any) he has wrong; but more, I'm intrigued by the questions he raises for biblical scholarship and modern translation practices. What do we lose when we trade literary beauty (and so rhetorical power and lasting impact) for the simplicity of a lowest common denominator readership?

Reflections on Universalism: Hermeneutics and Proclamation

2011-03-30T10:29:00.002-04:00

It seems to me that the question of universalism—a challenge to the church's thinking for more than 18 centuries: in other words, nothing new—is not finally about doctrine or discrete beliefs per se, but rather two crucial second order tasks for the church.

The first is hermeneutics, which names the way in which the Christian community goes about reading the texts of Scripture, the "lens" or "guide" or "key" by and through which our reading attends to and accords with what the Spirit would have us hear as the word of the living Christ spoken to us today. Of course, this is a highly contested theological question, and there are no simple answers; the more important point, however, is that prior to engaging the texts themselves, there is open disagreement about how we should do that at all. Nor is the hermeneutical challenge answered by the texts, for they can only be interpreted as they are read, and that returns us to back again to how we shall read.

The second task is proclamation, having to do not with what is read or argued about or even taught within the church, but with what is spoken and declared publicly as the very word of the gospel for all to hear as good news. Here the Reformation principle of lex proclamandi lex credendi—"the law of proclaiming is the law of believing"—is especially helpful. Rather than ask, "What does the church believe about such-and-such?" the question becomes, "What should the church proclaim as gospel regarding such-and-such?"

Universalism challenges us hermeneutically by sending us back to texts we thought we already knew, urging re-readings and openness to others' voices, communal discernment and a softening of views which may have been self-interested or immovably rigid. And we enclose and surround that messy job of reading and re-reading with the charge of asking questions about the nature of Scripture, its use in God's purposes for the church, its relation to the content of faith, its diversity and unity and intertextual connections, and so on.

Regarding the specific question of universalism and the Bible, the issue seems rather straightforward: many texts clearly expect a final and decisive judgment by God on the wicked; many texts presuppose or assert that severe punishment will follow this judgment; many texts speak of eternality characterizing this judgment and/or punishment. At the same time, many texts speak without apparent reservation of universal or cosmos-inclusive salvation/redemption/deliverance, and those particular texts that speak of gehenna (hell) or haidos (Hades) contain enormous ambiguities related to genre, rhetoric, and historical referent.

Hence, how one "solves" the problem of salvation and damnation, and so answers the question of universalism, will have everything to do with hermeneutical decisions made prior to the interpretive act, specifically regarding the extent of biblical diversity and internal disagreement, the overall eschatological vision, the freedom of God over against Scripture, etc.

This is why Christians of different theological stripes belonging to different traditions of interpretation are bound to simply speak past each other in these sorts of conversation; the answer is already given in the way they approach Scripture in the first place. That is where the conversation must be had, instead of the (seemingly open, but in fact predetermined) doctrinal question.

And here is where the lex proclamandi comes in. Wonderfully, it cuts both ways, because in this case the universalist and the dual-destinationist will alike—assuming they believe what they believe because they believe it to be true—seek to proclaim, respectively, universal salvation or limited salvation. That is what Christians are called to do, after all: proclaim the good news to all as the truth of the final destiny of all things.

But perhaps there is another way. Indeed, I contend that Christians should proclaim neither universal nor limited salvation.

To refrain from preaching either doctrine has to do primarily with humility of language and respect for the tradition. On the one hand, I think it perfectly fine for a Christian to believe that all will be saved, or indeed, that all may ultimately be saved. But neither of these affirmations entails that the matter is settled, only that (at any one time or place) it is acceptable for a Christian individual or group to assent to them.

The essential logic is that, with regard to a question so ambiguous, contested, and ultimately unknowable, Christians should have the humility to halt their proclamation either way at the point of saying definitively whether all will be saved or some will be damned. The humility of faith demands it, for just as we should not claim to know without a doubt who is “out,” so also should we refuse the temptation to speak with absolute confidence on behalf of God concerning who is “in.” On what grounds would we make such claims, and for what reasons would we state them as public truth?

The negative rule of proclamation is, therefore, to preach the gospel in such a way that one never claims that any human beings will not be saved, nor that all human beings will eventually be saved. The positive rule is, vice versa, to preach the gospel in such a way, on the one hand, that all persons hear that they are rightly the recipients of the message of God's free and gratuitous good news, and, on the other hand, that one's response to this message is of decisive and eternal import.

The humility required, then, is first of all toward God: we must respect God's freedom as regards both the justice of divine judgment and the sovereign mercy revealed in Christ. After all, Scripture could be summarized as the story of God's successive overturnings of faithful believers' confident interpretations of prior, seemingly clear revelation. Should we not anticipate a similar upending of our own finite understanding, particularly concerning a question of such enormous weight?

Our humility is directed also toward the dead—that is, Christians from past ages. If God's freedom mitigates our arrogance to presume we have a "read" on others' final fate, here confidence in our own interpretation is qualified by those who have come before. For there can be no doubt that the destination of hell as a real possibility for some human beings dominates the church’s tradition (though there have been minority voices throughout); and in Scripture, too, while ambiguity is present, it is difficult to avoid passages about eternal punishment, burning fire, and final damnation. That does not mean we ought not to hope—or better, to pray—for the salvation of all, believing as we do that God desires all to be saved; only that it is neither our mission nor our prerogative to proclaim it to the world.

Nancey Murphy on Reimagining Christian History Without Souls to Save

2011-03-29T12:55:00.000-04:00

"What might theology be like today, and how might Christian history have gone differently, if a physicalist sort of anthropology had predominated rather than dualism? It seems clear that much of the Christian spiritual tradition would be different. There would be no notion of care of the soul as the point of Christian disciplines -- certainly no concept of depriving the body in order that the soul might flourish. As some feminist thinkers have been saying for some time: dualist anthropology all too easily leads to disparagement of the body and all that goes along with being embodied. [. . .]

"Here are some questions: Without the Neoplatonic notion that the goal of life is to prepare the soul for its proper abode in heaven, would Christians through the centuries have devoted more of their attention to working for God's reign on earth? And would Jesus' teachings be regarded as a proper blueprint for that earthly society? Would the creeds, then, not have skipped from his birth to his death, leaving out his teaching and faithful life? Would Christians then see a broader, richer role for Jesus Messiah than as facilitator of the forgiveness of their sins? If Christians had been focusing more, throughout all of these centuries, on following Jesus' teachings about sharing, and about loving our enemies at least enough so as not to kill them, how different might world politics be today? What would Christians have been doing these past 2000 years if there were no such things as souls to save?"

--Nancey Murphy, Bodies and Souls, or Spirited Bodies? (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 27

A Brief Insight into Yoder's Understanding of Christian Ethics and Their Relevance for the World

2011-03-24T18:28:00.002-04:00

For John Howard Yoder, it is axiomatic that Christians ethics is for Christians; proposed alternatives tend to fall prey to unbelieving modes of moral discernment, whether Constantinian (thinking morally first of all from the position of the powerful) or Kantian (thinking morally first of all from what can be demanded of everyone).

This position is often taken to be sectarian, and therefore apolitical: the church does its thing, the state does its thing, and Christians accordingly have nothing to say to or to expect of the state.

This reading, however, confuses implementation and validation.

Implementation, on the one hand, names the actual possibility that the state, when addressed by the church (as the church is called in its life of witness to do in word and deed) to obey the form of life revealed in Christ as the will of God, really is able to respond, for whatever reason and in whatever way, in agreement with and enactment of the church's address. Hence: non-Christian or secular appropriations of Christian initiatives such as communal meetings of open dialogue, institutions for care of the sick, nonviolent resistance of oppression, privileging of the underdog, and so on.

Validation, on the other hand, names the (often unspoken) philosophical expectation or demand that Christian ethics be both applicable to and practicable for every person in any given society (including the ruler and the nonbeliever); if it fails this test, it is thereby rendered invalid. Yoder explicitly and vehemently rejects this approach to the so-called "relevance" or "responsibility" of Christian ethics, revealing it for what it is: a smokescreen for disallowing radical discipleship to be seriously expected of all who claim to be disciples, on the false grounds that it only "applies" to a "sect" -- for "we know" that the gospel is "political" and so concerns "everybody" and includes "all realms of life."

Indeed, the gospel is political and does concern all people and realms of life -- but in a peculiar way consistent with its own message and practice. Thus construed, Christian ethics, as the form of life of that particular people in the world called the church, constitutes a concrete and viable offer to the world which the world may in fact adopt, adapt, or otherwise appropriate. Whether or not the world does so, and in what way and for which reasons, bears no relation whatsoever either to the substance of the gospel's moral vision or to the expectation that the church obey it. To assume or allow such a determining relationship would be to presuppose that the world's internal possibilities encapsulate and so confirm or invalidate the command of God in Jesus Christ, rather than -- as Scripture and as Yoder so emphatically insist -- the other way around.

Resources for Thinking Through Western Intervention in Libya

2011-03-22T15:08:00.005-04:00

Some diverse (and ideologically disparate) resources for thinking through the West's -- and therefore the American-led -- intervention in Libya and of the extensive bombing campaign taking place.

First, Adam Kotsko has questions to ask, including:

Why is the alternative between a bombing campaign and somehow tacitly supporting Qaddafi? Shouldn’t this emotional blackmail in itself make us suspicious? Hard as it is to believe, there are some problems that perhaps can’t be solved through Western-led bombing campaigns — and some problems that could potentially be made worse, even after near-term gains. NATO air power is not the right hand of God. [. . .]

What sovereign country, no matter what its form of government, wouldn’t react forcefully to armed rebellion? I doubt Obama would be restrained if Texas seceded, for example, or if armed rebels took control of Alaska — nor would any of the pundits now demonizing Qaddafi (which, to be fair, seems like a fair portrayal) call for restraint in such a case. Qaddafi appears to thirst for blood to an unusual degree, but collective punishment is not unheard of even among Western nations (see: Israel). Why is this case of putting down a rebellion within one’s own borders considered to be so egregious while others have been passed over in silence? And why should Nicholas Sarkozy, for instance, be trusted to make the call of which case is intervention-worthy?

Second, Michael Walzer offers concrete reasons why the intervention is categorically unjustified:

First, it is radically unclear what the purpose of the intervention is—there is no endgame, as a U.S. official told reporters. [. . .]

Second, the attacks don’t have what we should have insisted on from the very beginning—significant Arab support. [. . .]

Third, opposition in the Security Council didn’t stop with Russia and China. [. . .]

None of this would matter if this were a humanitarian intervention to stop a massacre. But that is not what is happening in Libya today.

Third, The Daily Mirror on the deeper purposes behind the intervention and, as a consequence, its unique character as a war:

The military intervention in Libya has nothing to do with the humanitarian pretexts offered by the conniving Western powers. Innocent civilians are going to die in numbers in the coming days and UN Gen. Sec. Ban-Ki Moon and his cohorts should be pulled up in the War Tribunal to go by the common logic.
After Iraq, this could be the beginning of the war for the resources, may be the third World War by extension.
Military intervention in Libya, whose energy resources have made it the object of imperialist ogling for decades, is used both to secure access to oil and to bring a strong military presence in the region. A military presence in Libya would help the West to intimidate the Arab world -not the rulers of the Arab world whose faith and cultural conscience are more Western than Muslim.
The bombing would not protect human lives, but would transform the country into a battlefield with thousands of innocent victims just like in Iraq . . .

And fourth, Chris Bertram on the result of intervening in a popular uprising:

I’d certainly rather have a no-fly zone (if it works, which is a big if) than the uprising defeated and mass killings by the Gaddafi family in revenge. But a successful popular uprising is no longer a possibility either. Most of the Libyan people have now been cast into the role of passive victims rather than active agents of their own liberation. Some Libyans may rally to the Gaddafi regime out of a sense of wounded national pride at outside interference. And even if Gaddafi falls (which I hope he will) the successor regime will lack the legitimacy it might have had, and will no doubt be resented and undermined by nationalist Gaddafi loyalists biding their time and representing it as the creature of the West.

Feel free to share other helpful or critical articles and pieces in the comments.

Update: The New Republic has three articles up engaging and/or critiquing the intervention (the last of which, as it happens, is the same Walzer piece cited above, and the first of which supports the decision to intervene militarily).

Second update: David Ayres summarizes:

We are using our superior military capabilities to protect our interests against an inferior and aggressive military force who was using its superior military capabilities to protect its interests against an inferior and aggressive military force.

The Best Albums and TV Shows of 2010

2011-03-21T11:28:00.002-04:00

To continue my recent rash of non-theological posts, I thought I'd round out my picks for 2010. These are less comprehensive than my film list, as I make a concerted effort to watch as many worthwhile or acclaimed movies as I can, whereas I only have so much money and time for television and music. Especially lacking in TV are three shows that I assume would make the list, but which I will have to wait to watch on DVD: Treme, Boardwalk Empire, and Breaking Bad.

Otherwise, enjoy and feel free to discuss below. Theology should be making a belated return sometime later this week.

Top 10 Television Shows of 2010

1. Mad Men (AMC)
2. The Walking Dead (AMC)
3. Rubicon (AMC)
4. Friday Night Lights (NBC)
5. Parks and Recreation (NBC)
6. Community (NBC)
7. Justified (FX)
8. Lost (ABC)
9. Fringe (Fox)
10. Modern Family (ABC)

Top 10 Albums of 2010

1. Sufjan Stevens — The Age of Adz
2. The Arcade Fire — The Suburbs
3. The Tallest Man on Earth — The Wild Hunt
4. Kanye West — My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
5. The National — High Violet
6. Esperanza Spalding — Chamber Music Society
7. Patty Griffin — Downtown Church
8. The Black Keys — Brothers
9. Vampire Weekend — Contra
10. Jónsi — Go