Music, Faith, and Skepticism

Using the English composer Ralph Vaughan Williams as a starting point, Terry Teachout asks, “How can skeptics make convincing works of art?” His answer? Of Vaughan Williams’ work he writes:

an artist need not be an orthodox believer—or, indeed, any kind of believer—to be inspired by the eloquence of scripture and the transforming power of faith. You can, I suppose, dismiss that message as purest Victorian hypocrisy, but to listen to the G-Minor Mass and the Fifth Symphony is to know that the greathearted genius who made them was the truest of believers in the power of art to uplift and ennoble the souls of his fellow men. We should all be such hypocrites.

Vaughan Williams is an interesting case, because of the popularity of his hymns among Anglicans (and, indeed, English-speaking Christianity). How many people have come to faith, or had their faith strengthened, by “For all the Saints” (Sine Nomine) or “Come Down, O Love Divine” (Down Ampney)?

Jeff Warren is exploring the relationship between music and religious faith from a slightly different perspective in a series of essays on BioLogos, specifically, with reference to human evolution. In the first essay, he writes:

considering music as culturally embedded lets us recognize something quite different from the arguments that musical meaning is either subjective or encoded within the music itself. Music does allow for subjective response, but not truly autonomous response—our experience of music occurs within the bounds of cultural norms.

The tendency in Western thinking about music to conceive composition as creation from nothing (creatio ex nihilo), not only seems to put the composer on the same level as God the Creator, but it also seems to deny the importance of community and relationship.

In the second essay, he looks more closely at what neuroscience is learning about music. According to Warren, neuroscience also points to the importance of cultural appropriation. Working with the ideas of Eric Clarke:

Clarke – an Oxford scholar trained as a psychologist and musicologist – offers an ecological theory of listening that examines organisms listening in their environment. He argues that “we all have the potential to hear different things in the same music – but the fact that we don’t (or at least not all the time) is an indication of the degree to which we share a common environment, and experience common perceptual learning or adaptation”.5 This runs contrary to at least the popularized versions of the neuroscience of music — which attempt to unlock a singular biofunctional “key” to understanding music — and moves us back toward the essential idea that music, for all its neurological components, is also a cultural phenomenon that must be examined in terms of human relationships.

In the third essay, Warren draws on the work of Ian Cross, who

Cross asks if music might have been the most important thing we ever did.2 The key to his argument is that music’s “floating intentionality” allows for a kind of mutual participation among different individuals that he calls “entrainment,” opening the possibility of shared emotional states that may have been critical to the evolution of culture.

From this brief survey, he concludes:

I have approached various topics relating to music and science to show that encountering other people is foundational to musical experience. If music is fundamentally inter-relational, then all musical experience has ethical implications, and that needs to be considered in any scientific investigation. But how might this understanding contribute to the charged discussions on the role of music in worship services?

Or to put it another way, “musical encounters can and should be enactments of loving your neighbour.”

This puts the “worship wars” in a completely different perspective.

Welcoming the Stranger, Part III: What is outreach, anyways?

A conversation among some members of Grace has prompted me to reflect on the meaning of outreach. What do we mean by that term? What is the relationship of outreach to our overall ministry and mission? Often, we tend to think of it as something we do, out there, by supporting programs in foreign countries, or over there, in the local service agencies we support. But that’s the wrong way to think about.

As L. Gregory Jones and Benjamin McNutt write:

Too often we Christians tend to think of the church’s service efforts as outreach (emphasis on “out”) — the extra activities we do in addition to being regular, everyday Christians who worship the triune God in communities of discipleship.

Thankfully the New Testament reminds us that the early church believed provision for the widow and the orphan, the sick and the poor, was not simply an extension of the church’s mission but at its core.

Are worship, coffee hour, even Christian formation part of our outreach efforts? Should they be? A couple of months ago, a piece written by Mike Rinehart, Bishop of the Gulf Coast Synod of the ELCA, made the rounds. Reflecting on decline among mainline denominations, Rinehart called for a new focus on outsiders. He wrote:

So here’s the plan. New policy. Every decision, every single decision made by staff, council and every committee is made on behalf of those not yet here. Every sermon choice, every hymn, song and musical choice, every building and grounds choice, every spending choice is made with outsiders in mind.

When we become a church for the world, the outsider, when the pain of staying the same (and dying of irrelevance) for those already here exceeds the pain of changing (and sacrificing old ways) for those not yet here, we will be the church for which God incarnate came to this earth and gave his life.

In his view, everything we do in a church is or should be about outreach, in the sense that our focus should not be on ourselves, but on those beyond the doors of our buildings.

Today, I read an article about the closure of Hull House, the famous settlement house founded by Jane Addams. An article in The Nation attributes its demise to its reliance on government funding. With the cutbacks of the last decades, it simply couldn’t make ends meet, or raise enough private money to balance its budget.

But government funded social service was not how Hull House began. It started out as a place where, in an age of enormous economic inequality, people of different classes lived together, and came together to work and socialize.

Louise Knight, the author of the article, wonders whether there is something in the Settlement House model that deserves reviving:

Today, we have all kinds of nonprofits, including non-residential settlement houses, foundations, religious organizations, and research, government and university programs focused on solving (or sometimes studying) particular social injustices. To inform us of these efforts we can turn to a rich array of magazines, newspapers, websites, books, TV and radio shows, and documentaries. Thus we have a situation in which specialists are doing the work while the rest of us read and listen to words upon words about what they are doing. But learning about these entirely worthwhile efforts does not transform us because we encounter them only through our minds. Our bodies stay in our chairs.We make no human connections, except at an imaginary remove.

Addams was so successful in raising private dollars to fund all of Hull House’s work because of her skill in connecting donors to the life of Hull House. Donors were often there as guests at dinner, as volunteers, as attendees at lectures, concerts, and plays (mostly involving people from the neighborhood). Not all nonprofits can offer their donors such opportunities for connection, and others could but do not encourage it.

Is the original settlement house method—having every day citizens of one socio-economic class live among those of another—a legacy that we should bring back to life? We may or may not need to such places, though I admit I would like to see the model tried again. But we could benefit from finding new ways, in Addams’s words, to come together “on the common road.”

It seems to me that in the first paragraph quoted above, she is describing the way we often think of outreach in churches:

Thus we have a situation in which specialists are doing the work while the rest of us read and listen to words upon words about what they are doing. But learning about these entirely worthwhile efforts does not transform us because we encounter them only through our minds. Our bodies stay in our chairs.We make no human connections, except at an imaginary remove.

But in fact, our churches, especially urban churches, are places where people of diverse backgrounds and socioeconomic status come together regularly to worship and to share together in the life of the body of Christ. We are places where a millionaire might kneel next to a homeless person at the altar rail, or share coffee and community at coffee hour. Being more intentional about that is outreach, too.

 

More hijinx in Anglicanland

The General Synod of the Church of England will be meeting next month. It offers to be fun for those of us interested in matters Anglican. The big issue will be the ordination of women bishops. In the run-up to the meeting, various reports and position papers will be produced. Just released is a document published with the signatures of the Archbishops of Canterbury and York discussing the relationship of the CoE and the Anglican Church of North America. This was produced in response to a motion that originally was intended to express the CoE’s ongoing commitment to relationship with ACNA. Here’s the document: gs misc 1011 – acna

It’s short, rather odd and a classic example of episcopal (i.e, of bishops, not of our church) fence-sitting:

18. We would, therefore, encourage an open-ended engagement with ACNA on the part of the Church of England and the Communion, while recognising that
the outcome is unlikely to be clear for some time yet, especially given the strong feelings on all sides of the debate in North America.

19. The Church of England remains fully committed to the Anglican Communion and to being in communion both with the Anglican Church of Canada and the Episcopal Church (TEC). In addition, the Synod motion has given Church of England affirmation to the desire of ACNA to remain in some sense within the Anglican family.

Just what is the ACNA? And in what way is it Anglican in structure and polity? Mark Harris goes through some of the jurisdictional quagmire that exists among the dissenting Anglican communities in North America here.

Of course the core problem is that ACNA, CANA, AMiA, ex Recife, all believe these interventions by Provinces in the jurisdiction of The Episcopal Church and the Anglican Church of Canada are “jurisdictional participation in a way that is fully Anglican.”
Where the hell did they get that idea?  One hopes not from Lambeth Palace, but if not there where?  Who knows?
But one thing is for sure. Who ever thought that propping up deposed bishops under new flags in jurisdictions already having Episcopal / Anglican oversight was “fully Anglican” was full of it.
If ACNA bishops are not in “jurisdictional participation in a way that is fully Anglican” well, the deck of cards begins to collapse. And they are not. Archbishop Duncan admits as much when he writes, “The present reality is brokenness. The vision, however, that governs our fledgling Province remains unchanged…”
ACNA is not yet a “province” of anything, no matter that the Episcopal Church in the Sudan recognizes it as and “orthodox” partner and the GAFCON / Global South folk considers ACNA a full fledged partner.  This is because not being a recognized province these bishops and people understand that to be “fully Anglican” they need to be under the jurisdiction of an existing Province.

AMiA bishops who have left Rwanda are clearly not under jurisdiction now. ACNA bishops in Fort Worth, Quincy, San Joaquin and Pittsburgh are not with the Southern Cone. If not there where are they?

Confused? Don’t worry. You should be. It’s all quite confusing. The structures and jurisdictional relationships of these various dissenting Anglican bodies have never been clarified, and in the last few months, things have gotten even more jumbled. That the Archbishops could have written a document concerning the relationship of the CoE to ACNA without addressing ACNA’s origins, history, and current status is mind-boggling.

Quick update on the Porchlight fire

We’re still working to put everything in place; but it looks like things are coming together. According to last reports, four women were supposed to spend last night at St. Francis House; eight more will move in today.

For info on how to donate to help these women who lost everything in the fire, go to http://www.porchlightinc.org

Thanks again to Steve Silverberg and LZ Ventures, Jim Stopple of Madison Property Management, and St. Francis Administrator Beth Wroblewski who have been working hard to make this happen

Downton Abbey: Where’s the Church?

I fell in love with Downton Abbey in its first season, largely because of the lines Maggie Smith was given: “What’s a week-end?” for example. And I was delighted to see how many of my facebook friends were equally enthralled. The first episode of the second season seems to have been as popular among Episcopalians as the Presiding Bishop’s latest fashion statement.

That being said, I realized half-way through last season that there was no evidence of religious practice in the show. Neither the upstairs nor downstairs contingent were shown attending services or practicing private devotions.

Trailers for the new season featured prayer prominently, perhaps because of the outset of war.

In spite of the absence of any Anglican presence in the series so far, it hasn’t stopped commentators for speculating on the spiritual lessons we might learn from watching it. Here’s the take from Spirituality and Practice.

Perhaps now that Tim Tebow and the Broncos were soundly defeated and we won’t have to speculate on the religious meaning of football until next July, the commentariate will find new topics to analyze, such as the religious significance of Downton Abbey. I wait with bated breath.

In the meantime, there is no dearth of political and cultural commentary on the popularity of DA on both sides of the pond. From Salon: Why liberals love Downton Abbey. From Slate: The very serious looks of Downton Abbey. Simon Schama writes in Newsweek about its cultural necrophilia. And Kathryn Hughes explores its popularity in America from a London perspective.

But still, the only praying we’ve seen so far (correct me if I’m wrong) comes from Lady Mary, whose pure motives are hardly to be trusted. My knowledge of the Church of England in the 19th and early 20th centuries extends no further than Chadwick’s 2 volumed The Victorian Church, so I’ve got little to go on, but I should think that the country aristocracy would have made a regular show of attending services. Perhaps its a sign of the decline in Christianity’s importance in 21st century England that the show’s writers didn’t feel a need to make even a nod in that direction.

But why are progressive Episcopalians as enamored of the show as everyone else?

Loving Jesus, hating religion

There’s a video making the rounds in which someone I’ve never heard of recites poetry about the contrast between (true) Jesus and (false) religion. It’s received publicity from Sojourners, among others.

Nadia Bolz-Weber’s response is here.

So…I believe in Religion AND Jesus.  I believe in the Gospel.  I believe in the transformative, knock you on your ass truth of what God has done in Christ.  I believe that I can only know what this following Jesus thing is about when I learn it from people I would never choose out of a catalog when we all gather together as the broken and blessed Body of Christ around the Eucharistic meal.  I believe that I am the problem at least as often as I am the solution. I believe in participating in sacred traditions that have a whole lot more integrity than anything I could come up with myself.  I believe I need someone else to proclaim the forgiveness of sins to me because I cannot create that for myself.  I believe that Jesus is truly present in the breaking of the bread and that where 2 or more are gathered he is there.   That’s religion AND Jesus.  May God make us worthy of it all.

Jonathan D. Fitzgerald is scathing in his response:

See the problem is, Bethke doesn’t mean religion either, but he’s rehearsing a popular evangelical trope, that the freedom that Christians find through Jesus is freedom from structure, organization, and authority. Of course, Bethke, like all Christians, is a member of a religion, he holds “a set of beliefs concerning the cause, nature, and purpose of the universe, especially when considered as the creation of a superhuman agency or agencies, usually involving devotional and ritual observances, and often containing a moral code governing the conduct of human affairs,” as Dictionary.com defines it. What Bethke is actually railing against is people whose expression of religion doesn’t look like he believes it should. Thus, rather than discounting religion, he is just discounting other religions, or even just other manifestations of his own religion.

Read it all: “Lame Poetry, False Dichotomies, Bad Theology.

My question, as someone with an academic background in theology–Haven’t we heard all this before? Remember Karl Barth? Of course, Barth’s critique of religion focused on its human origins, to which he contrasted the divine origin of the Word of God. On a lighter note, as Fitzgerald points out, this critique of religion is something of a trope in Evangelicalism. I would only add that the rise of nondenominational churches is in itself a product of the Evangelical critique of religion.

Whew! Another day in the life of a (well, two) priests

I woke up this morning looking forward to a leisure-filled day. I don’t have to prepare a sermon for tomorrow so I thought I might work on a couple of projects around the house, do some reading, and maybe watch some football or a movie.

Then I read about the fire at Porchlight’s facility on Brooks St. last night. I thought about calling Steve Schooler to see if there was anything I could do, but I figured he would be inundated with phone calls of all sorts and having to deal with the crisis. I thought of the woman who I had just written a check for downpayment for an apartment in one of Porchlight’s facilities, and wondered if she was affected. I thought about St. Francis House, the immediate neighbor to the north of the Brooks St. building and whether we could do anything. Then my attention turned elsewhere.

Around 11:00, I got a call from my colleague, Andy Jones. He had just received a call from Steve Silverberg of LZ Ventures who were scheduled to take over St. Francis House for the redevelopment project that I’ve mentioned before on this blog. They volunteered to delay the handover so that Porchlight could use St. Francis House to house residents displaced by the fire. Bishop Miller approved the offer, and the board was polled via email.

Meanwhile, I was deputized to contact Porchlight because of my working relationship with them. I phoned Steve Schooler and drove over to St. Francis to show them the building. We discussed logistics and what not. They have found space for six of the residents in Porchlight facilities, but ten were still homeless. All sixteen have lost all of their possessions. We’ve been working on vacating St. Francis House for the redevelopment and the move, so much of the lower level of the building is in a mess, to put it mildly. I also made a call to the pastor of Luther Memorial Church, another neighbor of ours, to let us know what we had in mind.

I went home, began planning those projects, and drove off to Home Depot to buy some things I needed. In the parking lot, I got another call from Andy, letting me know that Madison Property Management has volunteered to help in any way with getting the space ready for occupancy, including staff to clean, and furniture.

Now that’s ministry. I don’t get those projects done today, however.

Occupy Trinity Church, Part III

The debate goes on and on. Apparently the actions by #OWS over the weekend, the interventions by Bishop Sisk and Presiding Bishop Jefforts Schori, and the arrest of Bishop Packard have aroused passions. One only need read the comments thread on Jim Naughton’s Episcopal Cafe article to see that things have gotten interesting.

Naughton referred to “An extremely insightful essay” written by Tom Beaudoin at America in which he ponders the theological meaning of private property when it comes to churches:

I think we have a very important theological matter before us when Occupy, through its religious-leader allies, is saying to Trinity Wall Street: We in Occupy — as a multifaith, interreligious, spiritually pluralistic movement that is also and equally a nonreligious, secular movement — can better meet your mission as a Christian church in this particular time, and this particular place, with negligible negative financial impact (Trinity is a verywealthy community), and with a rare and time-sensitive influence, by using this particular private property to host the next stage of Occupy Wall Street, and let’s meet to talk about the liability issues and any other concerns you have, let’s have that dialogue starting immediately, but in principle we have a substantial theological point worthy of your consideration.

The presumption in this theological claim, which I think is correct, is that no Christian church is – on the very terms of its theological existence – permitted to fall back on the mere invocation of “private property” without also a theological conversation about the spiritual significance of what that concept means and how it is being used.

There are several interesting issues in this statement. The first has to do with how “private property” relates to the property of an Episcopal parish, which as we all know to well by now, is held in trust by the parish for the diocese, and by the diocese for the national church. It may be different in Trinity’s case because of its unique history with an immense land grant coming from Queen Anne in 1715. Nonetheless, even here there is a question of “who owns the property.”

But aside from that question, there is the question of “private property” itself and that is probably what Beaudoin is getting at. I used to enjoy telling my students that “God is not a capitalist.” No matter how hard conservative Christians try to spin scripture, to derive capitalism, or even the notion of private property from Hebrew or Christian scriptures takes considerable finesse and exegetical hijinks. In Hebrew Scripture, in fact, there is no sense of private property at all. The land is owned by Yahweh, distributed to the people, given a sabbatical every seventh year, and in the fiftieth year, the Jubilee, whatever land was alienated from its original inhabitants, for debt or sale, or whatever, is returned to its original occupants.

But the question is not what private property may or may not have meant in scripture. Beaudoin is challenging the use of “private property” as Trinity’s defense against the use of its property by #OWS. And here I think he is doing some theological legerdemain. For in fact, what he is arguing is not that #OWS is challenging Trinity’s claim to private property, but rather their mission. Read this carefully:

We in Occupy — as a multifaith, interreligious, spiritually pluralistic movement that is also and equally a nonreligious, secular movement — can better meet your mission as a Christian church in this particular time, and this particular place,

In other words #OWS, or Beaudoin’s articulation of it, is not challenging Trinity’s defense of its private property, but of its mission. And this is a different thing. I haven’t read Trinity’s mission statement, and I don’t think that matters much. Trinity has enormous wealth and has done enormous good across the world with that wealth. My guess is that all of those in #OWS would be supportive of Trinity’s work in Africa and elsewhere. But it also has a mission to its particular context and that is Wall Street. Among its members and among its lay leadership are people from all walks of life, including investment bankers and CEOs of banks and financial firms, yes, the 1%.

There is a great deal of discussion about how Jesus would respond to #OWS. Well, in fact, the gospels are quite clear. Jesus ate with tax collectors and sinners, and tax collectors were probably the first-century equivalent of the 1%.

My hackles are raised whenever anyone, someone on the outside, whether lay or clergy, attempts to define the mission of a congregation, church, or even denomination. It is the height of arrogance to do so. Mission should be contextual and reflect the life of the congregation. It may be appropriate to ask questions about that mission, to invite an expansion of that mission, but to say that an outside group “can better meet your mission” is nothing more than hubris.

On preaching to oneself in Advent

Yesterday was one of those difficult days in ministry. I was tired and frazzled. A funeral last Friday was followed by the usual Saturday and Sunday events and business. Sunday afternoon, I sat by the bedside of a dying parishioner, praying and reading Psalms as I listened to her labored breathing. Monday morning, I received word that she had died, so there was another funeral to plan this week. Monday also was our regularly scheduled vestry meeting. All of that meant I woke on Tuesday after little sleep, knowing that the day would be long, busy, and exhausting.

By the time I arrived at church yesterday, it was already full of activity. Members of the altar guild were decorating the nave for Christmas and full of questions about upcoming services, including the funeral. There were bulletins to prepare and questions from staff, lay leaders, and others about Christmas Eve and Christmas Day services. In the middle of all that, I paused for an hour to talk with family members and plan the Thursday funeral service. Then there was a staff meeting, and a walk-through of Christmas Eve with the thurifer.

I was physically and spiritually exhausted as I welcomed people to our evening Eucharist and began the service. But something miraculous happened, at least for me. As I spoke about the gospel for Tuesday in 4 Advent (Luke 1:26-38–the same gospel that we read on Sunday), I realized that the words I was saying were addressed not primarily to the congregation gathered there. They were addressed to me. I spoke about all that had been going on in my life the past few days, all that had been going on the world around us, and the difficulties many of us face in this season. Christmas is meant to be a time of joy and celebration, but for many it is a time of great stress, sadness, even conflict. It is often difficult to be open to God’s presence in such times, to welcome the coming of God into our midst.

As I was speaking, I sensed that all of the day’s–the week’s–stresses were leaving me and my heart was making room for God. As I looked at the faces in the congregation, it seemed as if something similar was happening to some of them. I left my burdens at the altar, received Christ in the bread and wine, and received strength for the journey. The words I preached changed me. I’m told from time to time that a sermon of mine has had a powerful impact on a hearer. This is the first time in my memory, that a sermon of mine has had such an impact on me.

Today, there is more bustle at church with workmen in the nave, arrangements concerning the funeral, pastoral appointments in the afternoon. But today, at least for a bit, I am prepared for the coming of Christ.