Monthly Archives: January 2012

Theology and the NFL

Posted on by
Reply

Of course, there have been countless articles written about Tim Tebow and Christianity. But only one includes the following:

(Since theology plays such a large role in these playoffs, Foster is worth a brief digression. He was not, unfortunately, named after Arius, founder of Arianism, the most important Christian heresy: If he had been, he and Tebow would have been on opposite sides of the Christological questions debated at the Council of Nicaea in 325 AD. But their trademark poses do constitute a theological throw-down. Tebow’s famous “Thinker” pose is a prayerful Christian attitude. By contrast, the little bow that Foster takes after scoring is derived from eastern religions. “It’s a Hindu greeting that means ‘I see the God in you,’” Foster said. “It’s a Namaste. It means respect. It’s me paying my respect to the game of football.” Unfortunately, since their teams are both in the AFC, the world will not be able to witness the clash of religious gestures that would take place if Tebow and Foster scored in the same game.)

Read it all here.

For the perspective of a scholar of religion on the Tebow phenomenon, including mentions of Mircea Eliade (the Religious Studies equivalent of Vince Lombardi or George Halas), read this.

Why should there be an Episcopal Church?

Posted on by
1

Why should there be an Episcopal Church? Why should there be any particular denomination? Is there something vital, authentically bearing witness to the good news of Jesus Christ in our fractured denominationalism? I remember a Roman Catholic professor and friend once saying that if he were in the business of creating a church, he would have the liturgy of the Roman Catholics, the theology of the Lutherans, and the polity of the Presbyterians. As a historian, I see the denominations as products of particular historical contexts, but also seeking to embody and preserve the truth of the gospel in those historical contexts, and deserving of survival and health insofar as they continue to bear witness to the good news of Jesus Christ in their particular forms.

After nearly two weeks of discussion around the Episco-web, we’ve finally come to the core question. On the surface, it may seem rather self-centered. After all, the Episcopal Church was not founded by Jesus Christ (the Roman Catholics make this claim, “You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church;” the Orthodox also make the claim). We cannot. We were founded in the new United States by a group of Christians who found themselves alienated from their spiritual roots in the Church of England, yet desirous of rooting new shoots of that tradition in the soil of American democracy.

We can claim the marks of the true Church–for the Protestant Reformation it was “where the Word of God is truly preached and the sacraments rightly administered.”

We can also make claims to apostolic succession, although I would ask whether that is an ex post facto defense of authenticity and catholicity, rather than being central to the Anglican tradition (Richard Hooker, for one, thought that matters of church organization like the episcopacy were not central to the faith).

So what are we left with? Comments on facebook and the Episcopal Cafe focus on what makes the Episcopal Church, or Anglicanism, distinctive. And many of the comments stress liturgy, the Book of Common Prayer, the three-legged stool. What these comments point to is an Anglican (or Episcopal) ethos. It may be that in this case it is better to use Episcopal than Anglican, for there are unique elements in the Episcopal Church that help to explain some of the current conflicts we have with other Anglicans–namely, our mixed governance that includes laity as well as clergy in the decision-making process, the election of bishops, et al.

What is the Episcopal ethos? In a word, Anglicanism shaped by its American context. And that is decisive. I’m not flag-waving here. Rather, I want to point to the things that would prevent me from ever becoming Roman Catholic: papal supremacy, clerical celibacy, and the all-male priesthood. Those are symbols of something else, an understanding of authority and the nature of the church that is deeply problematic in the twenty-first century: centralization and hierarchy, sexism, and a lengthy historical development that have created the papacy in existence today. It did not always look like this; it did not always assert primacy, nor infallibility.

It’s interesting that a Mennonite convert to Roman Catholicism blogged today about her discomfort with the “Roman” piece of her Catholicism. But I do think that in the US, many of the challenges Roman Catholicism faces have to do with the American context and culture.

I believe deeply that the Episcopal Church as Episcopal bears truthful witness to Christianity–in its openness to intellectual inquiry, in the beauty of our worship, and in the way we try to be the body of Christ–with bishops, priests, deacons, and lay people, all commissioned ministers of Christ.

Are there other Christian traditions that bear truthful witness to Christ? Of course, and many of them have their unique charismata. In fact, one of the stumbling blocks that delayed my becoming Episcopalian was that I believed the denomination in which I was raised and baptized, the Anabaptist-Mennonite tradition, is a powerful, prophetic witness to other Christian communities, including Anglicanism.

Are the things which make the Episcopal Church unique available in other denominations (or in non-denominational congregations)? Many of them, yes, but not in the particular combination and with the unique history that has made us who we are. Will the Episcopal Church, will Anglicanism survive until the Parousia? I have no idea, and I don’t really care. What matters to me is that it is the place in which I can express my faith, and experience Jesus Christ, and that I believe others can do so as well. So long as that latter statement is true, the Episcopal Church, or the Episcopal ethos in so form, should survive, indeed continue to thrive. It is when we no longer bear witness to the continued vitality of that historical manifestation of the good news, that there is no reason for us to exist.

What’s non-negotiable? Love of God and of Neighbor

Posted on by
1

The ongoing debate at Episcopal Cafe about the future of the Episcopal, couched in terms either of “What’s up for grabs?” or “What’s non-negotiable?” continues to generate thoughtful responses. Here’s one from Derek Olsen in which he argues that the Book of Common Prayer 1979 is one of those non-negotiables. He means not the book itself, of course, but the liturgy and spirituality that are laid out in it: the centrality of the Eucharist and the Daily Office.

Of course, for many the BCP has been up for grabs, tinkered with in efforts to be more culturally or theologically relevant, or to compete with the multimedia extravaganzas of the megachurches.

Olson says something else of great interest to me. He says that a primary goal of liturgical spirituality is “a disciplined recollection of God,” that parishes have a responsibility to be a witness to that recollection both to the larger world, and to its members:

Are we forming communities that embody the love of God and neighbor in concrete actions? Not just in what programs the institution is supporting, but are we feeding regular lives with a spirituality that not only sustains them but leads them into God’s work in a thousand different contexts in no way related to a church structure? Are our parishes witnessing to their members and to the wider community in their acts of corporate prayer for the whole even when the whole cannot be physically there?

 

I was struck by what he said as I reflected on two phone calls that came into the church this afternoon within a few minutes of each other. Both were from non-members. One came from a woman who belonged to a congregation from another denomination but knew about our work with the homeless and wanted to make regular contributions to support that work.

The other came from a woman who called ostensibly to find out why no Madison Episcopal churches had service times listed in the Saturday newspaper. I explained that all of us thought our limited publicity budgets could better spent elsewhere. I then asked about her. It turns out she too is a member of another mainline denomination, but finds their worship becoming “too folksy” for her taste. I encouraged her to visit us.

What’s non-negotiable? Beautiful worship that allows people to experience God–to love God; and active outreach, sharing God’s love with those around us.

They didn’t ask me!

Posted on by
Reply

Results of a survey done by the Southern Baptist Convention:

When asked if “God used evolution to create people,” 73% of pastors disagreed – 64% said they strongly disagreed – compared to 12% who said they agree.

Asked whether the earth is approximately 6,000 years old, 46% agreed, compared to 43% who disagreed.

Scary stuff!

Football and Religion: Or, the Religion of Football

Posted on by
2

I grew up in small town Ohio. Football in the seventies was not an industry. Basketball was still more important. I played in the marching band, cheered on my high school team, though it wasn’t particularly successful. Basketball mattered more, so much in fact, that the traditional rivalry with the closest town had to be suspended in 1968 because passions ran so high. We didn’t pray before games; I don’t think anyone believed that God cared whether Archbold or Pettisville won the game, no matter how much it mattered to us.

I’ve probably posted about this before, because over the years I have become less and less interested in sports contests. Yes, in part it was because I found myself teaching at colleges that had athletic programs. And at those institutions, the values always seemed skewed. For example, one year, members of the volleyball team couldn’t make it to the first class of the term because of an away game (I’ve actually been surprised by my wife’s experience teaching at UW Madison with starting players from the football team in her class).

But the whole Tebow thing takes it to another level. No, God does not care who wins a football game. As the prophet Amos makes clear:

I hate, I despise your festivals,
and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.
Even though you offer me your burnt-offerings and grain-offerings,
I will not accept them;
and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals
I will not look upon.
Take away from me the noise of your songs;
I will not listen to the melody of your harps.
But let justice roll down like waters,
and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

Let’s face it. An NFL game, or a college bowl game, is as close to a festival as we get in the USA.

It’s pathetic that identification as a Christian seems now to be connected with a mediocre quarterback who makes ostentatious display of his piety:

‘And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

The Great Awakening: if only

Posted on by
Reply

Over the weekend, a gathering was held in Chicago sponsored by the Episcopal Diocese of Chicago and Seabury-Western Theological Seminary. It was entitled, rather boldly, the Great Awakening.

The Episcopal Cafe, as it should, posted info about this in order to engage conversation. Here’s the comment I wrote:

I don’t want to sound snarky, really. I have enormous respect for Bishop Lee, Diana Butler Bass, and Brian McLaren. But I’m at the point in my life and ministry where I would like to see conversations about the future of the church, the future of Christianity, the future of communities of faith, to involve people who are actually involved in the day-to-day struggle of creating community in this post-Christian culture. I would like to see a conference where the pundits and analysts had to engage those of us who are trying to deal with the realities of elderly, homebound people who expect regular pastoral care, homeless people who spend the night in our shelter, the ongoing life of our parish, and young adults who are so stretched they lack the energy to attend Sunday morning services.

The Great Awakening? Please, spare me.

Come and See: Lectionary Reflections for the Second Sunday after Epiphany, Year B

Posted on by
Reply

In year B of the RCL, the gospel readings are taken from Mark, but because Mark is rather short, from time to time, the Gospel of John is also used. Often, the use of John extends over several weeks, as in the reading of much of John 6, or the Lenten and Easter gospels. Other times, we seem to jump back and forth, with no apparent logic, nor any warning.

We’ve already read portions of John 1(1:6-8, 19-28 on the Third Sunday of Advent; John 1:1-14 on Christmas Day); but it’s unfortunate that we’ve not had the opportunity to read the whole of chapter 1 because v. 19-42 provide the first scenes in a drama that help to explain what is going on in the text for next Sunday. John 1:29-42 is the gospel reading for the Second Sunday after Epiphany in Year A; go figure (Here’s my sermon from last year on that text).

The drama begins with questions about who John the Baptizer is. He denies he is the Messiah, Elias, or one of the prophets. The next day, he and two disciples encounter Jesus. He points to Jesus, and says to his disciples, “Behold, the Lamb of God.” They follow Jesus, and when he asks them what they want, they reply, “Where are you staying?” Jesus responds, “Come and see.” And they stayed with him that day. One of those disciples is Andrew, who goes to tell his brother Simon that they have found the Messiah. Simon comes and sees.

Then comes the reading for this week. Jesus encounters Philip and says, “Follow me.” Like Andrew, Philip goes to find someone else; this time it’s Nathaniel, who gives a cheeky response. But Philip, too, says, “Come and see.”

One of the recurrent images in these verses is “to see.” While different Greek words are used from time to time, and Jesus’ “come and see” is phrased differently from Philip’s, the same word is used for John’s “Behold” and Philip’s “see.” In our culture, seeing is believing, except when we don’t believe our eyes. We are so attuned to special effects, computer graphics, and the like, that I suspect over time the idea that “seeing is believing” will lose its appeal. And indeed, in the gospel, it’s not just about “seeing.” It’s about seeing in a particular way, often guided or informed by faith, or by God’s miraculous power.

In Jesus’ encounter with Nathaniel, this seeing is also knowing. Jesus identifies Nathaniel, saying something crucial about who he is. Nathaniel asks Jesus how he knew him, and Jesus replies, “I saw you under the fig tree.” When Nathaniel comes to know Jesus, naming him as the Son of God, Jesus replies, “You will see greater things than these.”

Seeing, knowing, believing. These three are all wrapped up together in John’s gospel, offering a complex sequence of how one comes to true faith in the one who is Jesus Christ. But it all begins with, “Come and see.” And our eyes are opened when we “stay” with Jesus as Andrew and the other disciple did.

 

“It’s like the Roman Catholics have declared war on the Episcopal Church!”

Posted on by
1

I had started a post about the Ordinariate a few days ago, but didn’t finish it because I’m never quite sure how many people are really interested in matters Anglican and Episcopalian. Then a parishioner caught me at coffee hour, asked me about the Ordinariate, and said, “It’s like the Roman Catholics have declared war on the Episcopal Church!”

He had read the article in The New York Times and wanted my take on it. Unfortunately, about the time I got wound up in my response I was asked about something else by someone else and couldn’t complete my brilliant ad lib response.

The article he mentioned can be read here. The Washington Post also covered the story, quoting friend Tom Ferguson, who offered thoughts about this development on his blog, Crusty Old Dean. Ferguson offers background, including the significance of the change from the “Pastoral Provision” which allowed for conversions of priests and whole congregations on a case-by-case basis, and the Ordinariate, which is a nation-wide structure.

Ferguson also addresses the “spin” being put on this development by some as “the fruit of decades of Roman Catholic/Anglican dialogue. In fact, it is nothing of the sort. Ferguson points out two issues–1) it is not ecumenical at all, in the sense that it was a one-sided declaration with no dialogue among the parties; and 2) that the Roman Catholic Church assumes ecumenism is incorporation into the Roman Catholic Church. Ferguson writes passionately from the perspective of a decade-long involvement in ecumenical relations.

But there is also the reality on the ground, and a pastoral response in particular situations. Several bishops have commented about the Ordinariate.

Bishop Andrew Doyle of the Diocese of Texas has some useful things to say about this. Most important, perhaps is this:

I have no anxiety and I hope that the Ordinariate will be a place where some who feel spiritually homeless may find a dwelling place; and a place where others may come to a better understanding of their own Anglican heritage.

Here’s the Bishop of the Rio Grande, Michael Vono’s take. He is the successor of Jeffrey Steenson, who resigned as Episcopal Bishop to become Roman Catholic and has been named to lead the new Ordinariate.

Is it a declaration of war? I’m not so sure. To provide a place for those who no longer feel welcome or part of the Episcopal Church seems to me a generous act. To do it without consultation with the Episcopal Church (as the Ordinariate in England was announced without notifying the Archbishop of Canterbury) seems churlish. Most commentators agree that the overwhelming number of congregations and clergy that will enter the ordinariate are not part of the Episcopal Church, but rather belong to one or another of the splinter groups that have broken off since the 1960s.

Furthermore, as the recent experience of the AMiA bears out, many of these latter groups may be led by men who would prefer being big fish in small ponds, and chafe at coming under the control of other authorities. We will see how all of this develops.

The other thing to point out is that it is impossible to determine how many people are moving the other way, from the Roman Catholic church to the Episcopal Church. Priests move that way regularly, and lay people do as well, although in many cases, the latter have been estranged from the Roman church for years or even decades.

In sum, another sordid episode in the history of ecumenical relations.

The Terrifying Waters of Baptism: A Sermon for the Baptism of our Lord, 2012

Posted on by
Reply

January, 8, 2012

Water, darkness, light. These are things that are so familiar to us we can’t imagine life without them. In the case of water, we couldn’t exist without it. They are so universal to our experience that humans have made them symbols of other things, filling them with meaning and power. For us, that power is symbolic for the most part, not real. When we visit the ocean, we enjoy its beauty but few of us have experienced the terror of being on a boat in the midst of a raging storm. Similarly, darkness is easily dispelled with the flip of a light switch and the fear of unknown creatures wandering about in the dark is something little children grow out of as they age–unless they are Stephen King, who claims to still look underneath the bed before he gets in every night. Continue reading →

Random links on the Bible–the past and future of the text

Posted on by
Reply

We just ended 2011, the 400th anniversary of the King James Version (officially the Authorized Version) and there continues to be reflection on the translation and on its significance for the English language and on English-speaking Christianity.

An article from The Chronicle offers insight into the translation process and on the translation itself. The great Robert Alter is quoted:

Alter describes the King James Bible as a masterpiece, but a flawed one. “It is not as seamlessly eloquent as everybody remembers it is,” he says. “There are beautiful lines of poetry, and then lines which are clunky, lines which run on to a multiplicity of words and syllables, which is not only unlike the original but pretty much lacking in poetic rhythm. I don’t think they paid much attention to the sound.”

A review in the Washington Post of books by Harold Bloom and David Jeffrey on the text and its significance.

Alan Jacobs writes a provocative essay on the relationship of technology and scripture, from scroll, codex, and printing press, to the use of electronic media. Of the latter he has to say:

Thus the primary way many millions of Christians today encounter Scripture: seated a hundred feet or more from a screen on which they see displayed fifty or so foot-high letters. (Yes, these Christians know that they’re supposed to have their own personal Bibles and study them diligently when at home alone, during their “quiet time.” But how many do so?) When you consider how thoroughly such a presentation decontextualizes whatever part of the Bible it is interested in — how completely it severs its chosen verse or two from its textual surroundings — how radically it occludes any sense of sequence within the whole of the Bible — it becomes, I think, difficult to worry about the pernicious effects of iPads and Kindles. And impossible to see all screens as having the same effects.

 

And he concludes:

It is the book, largely as it emerged from the early Christian Church’s understanding of its own Scriptures, that has enabled much of the best that has been thought and said in the past fifteen hundred years. And its key virtues can be preserved, and perhaps even extended, in forms other than the paper codex. By contrast, screens that allow only minuscule chunks of text to be displayed at any one time — and that effectively remove from perceptual awareness context, sequence, and narrative — do violence to the book qua book. If Christians forget, or forget more completely than they already have, the integrity and necessary sequentiality of their holy Book, and of the story it tells, that would be a catastrophe for Christianity.

As much as I want to agree with him, my own experience is that I rarely access the text of scripture except in electronic form. He’s right that doing so decontextualizes it, but the ease of access, and of reading is so much better. And that’s not the case only for study or sermon-prep. I also do the daily office primarily on line.

For an example of violence done to the text, see John Shelby Spong’s recent piece.