The Death of Postmodernism? Inquiring minds want to know

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Blogger Tony Jones points us to a brilliant article by Alan Kirby: The Death of Postmodernism And Beyond | Philosophy Now.

Jones, a leader in emergent Christianity continues to fight battles with conservative Christians and deploys Kirby on his side. However, what I found most interesting in Kirby’s piece was the last paragraph:

This pseudo-modern world, so frightening and seemingly uncontrollable, inevitably feeds a desire to return to the infantile playing with toys which also characterises the pseudo-modern cultural world. Here, the typical emotional state, radically superseding the hyper-consciousness of irony, is the trance – the state of being swallowed up by your activity. In place of the neurosis of modernism and the narcissism of postmodernism, pseudo-modernism takes the world away, by creating a new weightless nowhere of silent autism. You click, you punch the keys, you are ‘involved’, engulfed, deciding. You are the text, there is no-one else, no ‘author’; there is nowhere else, no other time or place. You are free: you are the text: the text is superseded.

It’s a scathing analysis of contemporary culture and the contemporary self, with devastating implications for Christianity, beginning with his notion that the typical emotional state is “the trance” and the concluding riff: there is nowhere else, no other time or place. You are free: you are the text: the text is superseded.

And speaking of postmodernism, the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of Thomas Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions recently passed. An assessment of its impact on science, philosophy, and culture by David Weinberger.

 

What a friend we have in Jesus–Lectionary Reflections for the 6th Sunday of Easter, Year B

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This week’s readings are here.

“What a friend we have in Jesus
All our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry
Everything to God in prayer.”

This familiar hymn from my child (text by Joseph Scriven) always comes to mind when I think of Jesus as “friend.” The promise of friendship here is that of protector and shield, someone to turn to when times get tough and when you’re rejected by those around you. It’s full of the piety of nineteenth century Evangelicalism and I remember how total my reaction against it was as I was growing up. The hymn emphasizes human frailty, sin, and weakness, and depicts Jesus as someone who

Jesus as friend evokes all of those images of someone like oneself but stronger; someone whose love persists in spite of whatever I might do. I also find it somewhat problematic to think of God in terms such as friend–after all, the intimacy implied in the term seems to bring God down to an all-too-human level.

So I find thinking of Jesus as friend deeply problematic. This week’s gospel reading challenges us to rethink that imagery, what it means and how we use. It’s not that John 15 provides biblical warrant for “What a friend we have in Jesus;” rather, it articulates a much deeper understanding of that relationship.

In a culture where “friending” and “unfriending” can be as casual as it is on facebook, recapturing the appropriate meaning of friendship can be a powerful theological, and ecclesial obligation. What greater contrast to facebook is there than:

“No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

The gospel of John sees a developing relationship between Jesus and his followers, from master and servant, teacher and disciple, to friend. The intimacy of the relationship implied in that simple, common term, is much more than a facebook friendship or even the relationship of two people who have grown up together or gone to school together. It is the intimacy of love; again, of abiding in one another. It is the intimacy of the Trinity–the inter-relationship of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

It is also the intimacy of the Last Supper, when the Beloved Disciple reclined next to Jesus, when Jesus took up towel and basin, and washed his disciples’ feet, when he told them, “A new commandment I give to you, that you love each other as I have loved you.” It is the intimacy of John’s gospel, the intimacy of John 13:1 “Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.”

The friendship of Jesus is not the easy breezy relationship with someone who you like to have a beer with. Jesus’ friendship, his love, culminated in the cross. Our friendship, our love for Jesus, calls us to lay down our lives as well, for him and for the love of the world.

Abiding in the vine: A Sermon for the 5th Sunday of Easter, Year B

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May 5, 2012

Most of you know that my wife is an avid gardener. What you don’t know is that over the years, I have provided most of the sweat and muscle involved in our gardening projects. I’ve made raised beds, moved tons of rock around, planted trees in hard red clay. She’s got a whole list of things for me to do when I get time off again (hopefully, in a couple of weeks). Having done most of our gardening in the south, Corrie is having to learn new things about growing seasons, hardiness zones, what plants will work and what won’t. So azaleas, which are almost ubiquitous in the south, are very rare in Wisconsin, and we hadn’t seen or smelled a lilac in bloom for over fifteen years when we moved back north.

But vines, vines we know about. There’s our experiment with a trumpet vine that we planted in front of a fence near our house. It tripled in size in one year, and by the third year, we realized we had to get rid of it before it attacked the house, foundation and the entire neighborhood. We dug up what we could and surreptitiously put it out on a railroad bed. We continued to dig up roots and suckers from that vine for the next two years, when we moved north.

Still, when one thinks of vines in the south, one thinks of kudzu. We happened to live in the area where kudzu was first introduced after the Civil War to help with soil erosion. What a mistake that was! It grew on anything, and took over everything. We used to see along side the road small areas , test plots introduced by the kudzu eradication project, in which they tried various means of eradicating or limiting the growth of the noxious vine. Some years ago, the city of Chattanooga experimented by buying some goats to try to keep the kudzu suppressed on steep hillsides.

Now, Jesus is not talking about kudzu when he says, “I am the vine, you are the branches.” Like the images of sheep and shepherd we heard last week, the vineyard is a theme with deep resonances in the biblical tradition. In the Hebrew Bible, the vineyard often symbolizes the people of Israel but here it is taken in a new direction. Coupled with another Johannine emphasis, “abiding,” the figure of speech used here, Jesus as the vine, his followers as the branches, stresses the relational aspect of life in Christ.

The language can seem violent, even terrifying; as anyone who has had to root out a vine knows. To cut the branches and tendrils of a vine means killing those branches, and often one needs considerable effort to extract the vine from the trees or trellises or walls on which it is growing. On the other hand, as any gardener knows, pruning is often necessary, not just to make sure the plant grows in the shape and direction desired, but in order to ensure its robust growth, and to ensure that it will bear fruit. An unpruned fruit tree, an unpruned grape vine will provide little fruit.

So too with our life in Christ. When Jesus describes himself as the vine, and the Father as the vinegrower, and speaks about the vinegrowers actions’ to prune the branches in order to ensure an abundant harvest, he is reminding us that we cannot live abundantly without him. The branches that are pruned from the vine wither and die; the vine itself thrives.

Throughout the gospel of John, the gospel writer uses imagery of “abiding” to describe the life we share in Christ. It’s an odd word, and its use in this reading obscures how common it is in the gospel as well as in John’s letter. Every time we see the words “staying” or “remaining,” it is worth remembering that the same Greek word underlies those translations as well as “abiding.”

In fact, the theme of abiding appears first in the very first chapter of John. When Philip and Andrew follow Jesus, he asks them, “what are you looking for?” They reply, “where are you staying?” Jesus tells them, “Come and see.” The gospel writer then tells us, “they stayed with him all day.” It was by staying with him, by abiding with him, that they came to know him.

Of course, it’s not just about getting to know who Jesus Christ is. Abiding means much more than that. It means living, thriving in that relationship, gaining strength and life in it. We may think that when Jesus is talking here, that he is describing a personal relationship between himself and you or I, but it’s more than that, too. The “you” in this passage is always plural. The relationships that Jesus models for us, is not a relationship between two people. It’s Trinitarian, the relationship, the community of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Our relationship with Christ is a relationship lived in, experienced, shared, in community. We abide in Christ, and he abides in us, when we abide together in love.

Today’s reading from I John stresses this point. Love, the author says is from God. God is love. But again, this is not some hazy, Hallmark sentimentality. It’s much deeper and stronger than that. Whoever loves, knows God. But love is perfected and fully experienced only in community. We are urged not only to love God, but to love one another, because love comes from God. Loving and abiding are related to one another. Whoever abides in God loves and is loved by God. This may seem abstract, but it’s not, for we know and experience God’s love first and foremost through the Son whom he sent to us, to love us. We know and experience God’s love above all in Christ’s gift of himself to the world on the cross. It’s that love that we know and are called to share with others.

I’ve used the image of “hanging out” to describe what Philip and Andrew did with Jesus on the day they met him. They stayed with him, hung out with him. And it’s easy for us to imagine our life in community with Christ in just those terms, as a passive experience, in which time passes unnoticed, people simply enjoying time spent together. But the image of vine and branches reminds us that it is more than that—abundant life in Christ means bearing fruit, expressing that love by sharing it with others and offering them nourishment from the same vine through which we are nourished.

The language of John’s gospel often leads us to imagine that Christian community is intensely focused internally, on the love  within the community, and the community’s love for God. As Jesus says at the last Supper: “Love one another as I have loved you.” But he goes on to say something else—“by this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” There’s a sense in which the commandment to love one’s neighbor, and one’s enemy, becomes in John, the commandment to love within the community.

But that’s misleading at best, for the love shared in community becomes a means for outreach. Abiding in God’s love does offer a witness to the world. Many of you know that we are about to embark on a process to think about how we might renovate and adapt our space. Although the process has begun with the Aesthetics committee, this is not primarily about how things look. Rather, it’s about mission and ministry. The question we have to ask ourselves is how can we adapt our space to the mission needs of our congregation? How can we make our space sacred space, not just for ourselves, for the community that worships here, but for our neighborhood, even the city? How can we make it a place where all can experience the love of Christ, where all might find it a place to abide in God?

On Sundays, we open our doors, inviting people in, but our building, our community must also be a place where God’s abiding love breaks out of these walls and enters the world, a place where our abiding love in God is experienced on the sidewalks and street corners, as well as in our worship and fellowship. If we abide in God’s love, if we are branches of the vine, we will bear fruit that will nourish the world.

Murders in the parish–Mission, Ministry and security

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My hearts and prayers go out to the families of the victims of the shootings at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Ellicott City, Md. The shooter is dead from a self-inflicted wound; the administrative assistant, Brenda Brewington is dead; the co-rector, Mary-Marguerite Kohn, remains on life support “to support the family intentions to provide the gift of life through organ donation.” More here.

It turns out the shooter was known to the parish, that he had accessed the parish’s food bank regularly, and that he had become belligerent in recent weeks.

It’s a shocking story, and it hits very close to home, given our own food pantry, the presence of the men’s drop-in shelter at Grace, and our regular traffic of homeless people in and out of doors.

I hate the security measures we have to take. I hate that it seems like we are a medium-security prison, that to meet me in my office, a visitor has to pass through at least three locked doors. I’ve preached about the message that level of security sends to people; I’ve preached about the mentality it creates in our staff and volunteers. And then I read this story.

We live in a dangerous world, with easy access to firearms and severely mentally ill people walking the streets. At the same time, our Savior calls us to minister among the homeless, hungry, and yes, the mentally ill. We want to open our doors and invite everyone in, never imagining that a horror like that perpetrated at St. Peter’s, Endicott City might strike us.

On Monday night, we will again welcome shelter guests and community residents to our Guild Hall for dinner and music. I will wonder, as I welcome them in, whether any of them might be capable of such heinous acts of violence.

Torture’s back in the news, and in our culture

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A 60 Minutes interview with Jose Rodriguez in which he defends the use of torture has largely passed unnoticed by the mainstream media. But Andrew Sullivan continues to force us to pay attention to crimes perpetrated in the name of the US.

Here’s Sullivan on why Rodriguez destroyed tapes of torture interviews:

watching live-action tapes of waterboarding would have brought the reality of torture – and the rank incompetence and brutality of the torturers – into stark relief. It would have destroyed any remnants of Bush’s and Cheney’s reputation and America’s moral standing in the world. It would have forced the American people to realize that their leaders really were and are war criminals.

Sullivan on the 60 Minutes interview itself, quoting Lesley Stahl: “we used to think waterboarding was a war crime.” Yes we did, when the Nazis and Khmer Rouge did it. Moral people think its a war crime when Americans do it, too.

And the argument that torture helped to get evidence used in the assassination of Osama Bin Laden is also refuted by the CIA and by members of the Senate Intelligence Committee.

The investigation by Democratic members of the Senate Intelligence Committee (The Republicans wouldn’t participate) has concluded “there’s little evidence that our so-called enhanced interrogation techniques produced key intelligence.”

Robert de Neufville comments:

We should not continue to look the other way. We may no longer be torturing people. But now we have established a precedent that we can torture with impunity. Torture doesn’t work, but if we aren’t honest with ourselves about it, we will inevitably torture again.

Greg Sargent wonders whether a President Romney would reverse Obama’s executive order forbidding its use.

Torture In the Game of Thrones: http://prospect.org/article/blood-and-guts-and-fluff

I raise the issue of torture regularly because it is a religious issue.

William Cavanaugh, the author of the brilliant Torture and the Eucharist has this to say about torture:

Torture is a part of the Christian past. From a Catholic point of view, the Church does indeed have penance to do for the Inquisition. But how? I propose that the way to do penance for the Inquisition is to speak out and resist torture as it is practiced now.

The examination of conscience that would precede such penance would require rejection of the many ways that we try to distance ourselves from realization of our own sins. Chief among these in this case is the attempt to put distance between ourselves and torture by relegating it to the past or to the remote Other. Confession of our sin would require not simply the admission that torture has been done in our name, but the confession that only God is God, and not any nation-state that claims to save us from evil.

Christians worship a God who was tortured to death by the Empire. It is this God who saves by saying “no” to violence on the cross. Our penance, then, would take the form of resisting the idolatry of nation and state and its attendant violence.

 

You never know what you might find in an old book

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When I was a student at Harvard Divinity School, one of my work study jobs was cataloging ephemera, a vast array of sermons, pamphlets, and other printed material chronicling the religious history of New England in eighteenth and first half of the nineteenth centuries. There were sermons preached on Fast Days, sermons preached to the Ancient and Honourable Artillery Company, sermons preached on the death of Washington, and on the deaths, of well, pretty much anyone. We noted titles, joked about them from time to time, and occasionally were interested enough in a document to leaf through it or even read it.

There’s a charming story in the New York Times about a lowly minion working in the library of Brown University, who discovered a print by Paul Revere. The story is fun, and here’s the print:

It had probably been in the book for two centuries, never noticed, because no one was interested in the book’s contents.

Speaking of libraries, and especially of rare book libraries, they’ve isolated the smell that collections of old books create. Perhaps they’ll come up with a cologne and market it to librarians, archivists, and historians.

LGBT inclusion in American Christianity

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While The Episcopal Church continues to struggle toward full inclusion of LGBT Christians, other denominations do as well. The United Methodist General Conference voted down by 61% to 39% a proposal to drop language from its Book of Discipline that reads:

“The United Methodist Church does not condone the practice of homosexuality and considers this practice incompatible with Christian teaching.”

One reason for the lopsided vote is that United Methodist General Conference includes delegates from other United Methodist conferences throughout the world. More here.

Meanwhile, Billy Graham has put his stamp of approval on the proposed North Carolina Amendment 1, that would enshrine discrimination against LGBT citizens in the state’s constitution.

 

Revisionist History: The Anglican world marks 350 years of the Book of Common Prayer

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Who wrote that headline? Sure, it’s the 350th anniversary of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, but there were several others before it: 1549, 1552, 1559; and The Episcopal Church’s BCP is more dependent on that of the Scottish Episcopal Church than the 1662; which is why those documents that claim the 1662 Book of Common Prayer is shared by all Anglicans is just wrong.

The “genius” of the Book of Common Prayer is not in the 1662 edition, but in the work of Thomas Cranmer who was largely responsible for the 1549 and 1552 versions and in the 1559 book that tried to balance the more Protestant and Catholic tendencies of the two earlier ones.

Roger Ebert on the “Ten Best Films of All Time”

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Every decade, Sight and Sound polls critics and directors for their list.

Here’s what Ebert had to say before selecting his 2012 list.

Here’s what he has to say about how he ended up voting in 2012.

Here’s how he voted:

Aguirre, Wrath of God (Herzog)
Apocalypse Now (Coppola)
Citizen Kane (Welles)
La Dolce Vita (Fellini)
The General (Keaton)
Raging Bull (Scorsese)
2001: A Space Odyssey (Kubrick)
Tokyo Story (Ozu)
The Tree of Life (Malick)
Vertigo (Hitchcock)

Pretty good list, I would say, but I’ve never understood people’s preference for Vertigo among Hitchcock’s films.