Dithering Duties.....or why my students think I'm mean...

If you've read this blog for awhile, you're probably somewhat aware of the fact that I teach church history to seminarians. This term, I'm teaching "Church History II: Reformation to the Modern Era." By and large, feedback in the course is usually pretty positive. I try to be engaged with the learning process and create a vibrant and enjoyable course. All that being said, I require a real beast of a midterm paper. Mind you, I think it's an important topic and I've had students who've said they really enjoyed it once they stepped away from it; but I've yet to meet one who enjoys actually doing the paper.

The paper is, admittedly, a bit long and I'm rather stringent in my requirements over grammar, syntax, structure, and formatting. (As you might expect at the graduate-level!) Still, I think it's the topic which is both important and yet painful for most students. 

Let me explain:

At the beginning of the course -when we're knee-deep in the Reformation- I introduce my students to the writings of Martin Luther. No, not the "slightly crazy and full of himself" writings of later-Luther, but the decent early-Luther stuff; particularly his essay "On Temporal Authority."

If you've never read the essay -and  you SHOULD- it discusses how there are, in Luther's eyes, realms which necessitate the work of the church (morality) and realms which necessitate the work of civic governments (legality). The midterm project I ask my students to complete details what happens when one of these institutes shirks its responsibility, only to have it taken-up by the other. 

In this instance, the topic of responsibility revolves around slavery; specifically slavery as it was found in 19th century America. I ask my students to read David Walker's early abolitionist tract "An Appeal to the Coloured Citizens of the World." (Again, on the list of things everyone should read once....) Walker makes a very educated, very impassioned, and very spiritually damning case against slavery, slaveholders, and those who enable them. His writing is very much an admonishment to the church of the time -and its wider membership- to rectify their understandings, denounce slavery, and enable a society where all are seen as the children of God. 

I then ask my students to read Robert Ingersoll's post-Civil War piece: "An Address to the Coloured People." Ingersoll, writing about 2 years after the end of the war, produces a very thorough and interesting case, denouncing slavery in the sight of history and discussing how the march of progress and liberty almost guarantees the end of horrible blights like slavery. 

The question I then ask my students is: "Where was the church in all of this? What do the descriptions in these writings- and the clues they give off - tell us about the roll of the church in wider society at the time?" 

This is, I'll admit, something of a tricky proposition. It requires more than a little background research and some serious time mulling things over and trying to draw propositions together. (But hey, it's seminary...it's not supposed to be easy!) 

The answer is that we find the church at that time being not too different from the one we see today. The church was fractured and fractious over the issue of slavery. Folks were threatening and were also being threatened. 

"If you move against slavery, we'll leave and take our monies and abilities with us!" 

"The Bible is clear that the negro is lesser than we!"

"This is God's ordained order of humanity that whites are supreme and others less! Who are we to challenge God?!?!" 

Making a long story short, the church in America, as a whole, did very very little to correct the blight of slavery. Oh sure, there were those who made quite the effort in the abolitionist movement, but by and large, on a corporate level, the church dithered for decades about the issue. Eventually, as we know, the issue of institutionalised slavery in America was settled in the civic realm, not the spiritual, which, to be honest, has caused a century and a half of problems. 

Slavery, we must remember, was at its root a spiritual illness. That's not to say that civic measures didn't enable slavery and slaveholding to happen, because they certainly did. Instead, what that means is that, at its very heart, slavery was a denigrating of God's creation. It was the absolute epitome of NOT loving your neighbour as yourself. In sum, it was everything contra to the wider work and understanding of the Christian tradition.

Spiritual ills, such as slavery, require spiritual solutions to alleviate them.

Unfortunately, as you are all well aware, this is easier said than done; particularly when those with such illness also hold the ecclesiastic purse-strings. And so, the church dithered. It was well aware of the ills and wrongness of slavery, but rocking the boat would have been very costly and few were willing to do such things.

By the time of Ingersoll's writings, however, we find something of a different situation.Though the church has dithered on its moral responsibilities, civic society has reached a point where it cannot ignore such things -even if the church will not act on them. Slavery has been upended, however, it is not the church, but civic government -or liberty, as Ingersoll calls it- which has made good of this ill. In fact, as far as civic government is widely concerned, the issue is settled and closed! Civic government was not fighting for equal rights and treatments so much as it was fighting to end the institution of slavery. (Though, admittedly, the two camps do tend to bleed over into each other...) With the conclusion of the civil war and the abolition of the slave-trade, the battle was, in civic eyes, quite finished.

This, is where the problem becomes glaring. Civic institutions cannot heal moral illness, just as spiritual institutions cannot change legal inequalities. Slavery, as a profession, might have ended -which was both good and necessary on the part of civic government- but the situations which created slavery -the ills of heart and soul- were far from ended. Thus we had -and still do have- a large and long-running battle with racism, inequality, and injustice.

The moral of the story is this: when the church shrugs her moral responsibilities, society will, eventually, pick them up and try to rectify them in what ways they can. Unfortunately, this is a bit like going to the optometrist to treat kidney stones. They can definitely do a job at alleviating the symptoms and things which might be "on the surface;" however, they cannot deal with the underlying condition. This means that, rather than curing a situation, there will only be more and more problems until the source of the symptoms is properly treated by those who are able to do so. 

If this were an episode in the life of the historic church which had happened, acknowledged, and learned from, it would be one thing. Unfortunately, this seems to be the modus operandi of the church regarding a great number of moral issues in today's world. Honestly, you can really pick your choice of issue. While the issues themselves are greatly important, it's the underlying principle which is more-so: 

Civic society can correct legal inequalities and it can do it very well; however, until the church takes action to mend and heal the hearts and minds which enable those actions.....

Well.....it's like taking aspirin for a broken wrist. The analgesic will certainly help and is a very good idea, but until the break in the bone itself -the source of the pain- is set and mended, there will continue to be pain. Even after the bone is set -which can be considerably painful, in and of itself- there might still continue to be residual and occasional pain, but there is the knowledge that "this is getting better, this is healing, I will be well." 

Is it asking too much that we, who comprise the church, learn a little after a century and a half? 

Ps:.....and now you know why seminarians hate my midterm......

Brushing off Lent......aka: No, I really didn't forget about this thing....

I'm sure most of you thought I'd forgotten about this blog. In fact, some of you probably even hoped I had. 

Sorry. 

Unfortunately, the stresses of Lent, Easter, a presentation for the Renaissance Society of America, teaching, and editing my doctoral dissertation have kept me a bit on the busy side as of late. 

My apologies! 

As we've now finished Lent and are now, thankfully, in the season of Easter, I figure it's time to wrap up this whole meditation on death and Christianity. 

I think, if you've read the previous two entries, you know that -to my view- it really seems that the problem Christianity has with death is that we view it as an ending. The big finale. The inevitable. That which cannot ever be escaped. 

In a way, this is all well and true. Physically, at least as we know it, this is the end and it is, entirely, inevitable. 

But, if you're part of the Christian tradition, that can't be all of the story. Death is just the beginning. Life is but a prelude. The end is the beginning is the beginning is the end. 

Certainly, I think we try to recognise this to some extent. We write pithy phrases on gravestones and enter cliched obituary notices like "Person X has gone away to God" or "went to be with his/her Lord." 

........but, usually, we tend to kick that to the way-side when the pain of our loss breaks through. 

Mind you, I think it's normal, real, and even good to recognise that our pains of loss are real and powerful. But, in the Christian tradition, this can't -no matter how cruel the situation- be the end note of things. 

I spoke about this a bit in my Easter sermon yesterday....


"If you’ve been around the church for a while, or perhaps even if you haven’t, you might have noticed that there seems to always be this theme of the unexpected bouncing about in the gospels. The divine plan, as it plays out in the gospels, rarely seems to correspond to notions of human logic and propriety. Whether it’s feeding the 5,000, prophesying in the temple as a youth, or dining with tax collectors and other unsavoury folks, this gospel, this story of the life and workings of Christ, which we so often encounter, was one of surprise and unexpectedness.

Easter, in and of itself, is perhaps the epitome of surprise; albeit one which is both bitter and sweet. Nobody in Jesus’ tribe expected things to turn out like this. They didn’t understand….and how could they be expected to? Here was a being who claimed to be the long-prophesied messiah! The one who would save the Hebrew nation. The one who would bring a new kingdom….which at that time obviously meant overthrowing the Romans and all who collaborated with them. It meant that the political and economic salvation which they had so longed for was about to be realised………

That is, until the events of the day which we now call Good Friday. Until this Jesus, this messiah, this Christ, was taken, tortured, condemned, and executed. This was, perhaps, the biggest and definitely the most cruel surprise which the gospel narrative had in store for those early followers.

This was not what they expected. This was not what they prayed for. This was not what they yearned and worked towards. This, this was just simply unthinkable. Everything that they had invested for the last few years had come crashing down. Everything that they had envisioned and fantasised about was dashed away on that hill of Golgatha.

And now, well, now who really knew what to say. They were scattered. Preparing for persecution and ridicule. Some denied ever even having known the man they once thought of as a messiah. But that was only externally, inwardly, there must have been even greater turmoil. It must have been horrible. Like a direct hit from an ultimate fighter or martial arts master combined with feeling of your favourite friend dying unexpectedly. It must have been almost unexplainable. And it is in this chaotic mess. This gut-wrenching and trying time, that we find two ladies who are about to be both surprised and help deliver the greatest surprise that the world might ever know.

Mary and Mary, in their sorrow, are found to be doing what many of us would do after the loss of one we cared about….they’re going to the grave. They’re probably doing the only thing they can think of at the time. Off to mourn for one they cared about and entrusted so much to. One in whom they thought the future rested, one who, unlike much of standard society, recognised in them the value that they held and were created with. But he was dead now. And death is the finality from which none escape. It was all well and truly over. Nothing made sense and nothing seemed like it would ever be right again.

Their grief is almost palpable, even 2000 years later.

But, as we know, this was not to remain. This gospel narrative which has, thus far, been so full of uncomfortable and tragic surprises reveals yet another unexpected something, but this time, the surprise is amazing, world changing, and universe shattering.

Mary and Mary are met with news which must have seemed incredible and impossible. Everything he had said HAD come true. He had escaped from death’s clutches. He had risen again. He was actually who he said he was. He was the messiah.


And then……there he was in all glory for them to touch and see…….all of Hollywood itself would have a hard time penning a better reunion scene.

But what does this have to do with we today? It’s a nice story and all. A moving story even, but it was so long ago. What does it mean for us in our times of loss? Can it even mean anything to us?"

These are all fair questions, I think. 

Ultimately, Easter displays to us that, if we are to be part of this tradition called "Christianity" we need to accept loss just as much as we accept gain. Death, is just as central and pivotal a part of Christianity as life. Without death, arguably, there would be no transcendent Christ. Just as, without the life of this Christ, there would arguably be nothing so special in his death. 

And so, I think it is with us, really. 

Death, so often, is the time where we stop speaking of and to others. They're done. They're gone. Kaput. However, I think that both cheapens our faith in Christianity and in other people. 

If a stitch of what we say about Christianity, at its core, is true, then we have to believe that those who have departed are, just that, departed. Beginning a new journey that we have not yet scheduled to take. Moreover, to ignore who they were, what they meant, and where they've gone, is to cheapen their time with us. 

It doesn't mean we can't be sad that we're not on the journey with them. Nor does it mean we can't be a bit anxious about reaching the point in time where we too will jump out into the unknown. 

It simply means that we must remember that, in Christ, the end is the beginning, just as much as the beginning is the end. The known is that which is unknown, just as much as the unknown might be know. 

The end.....or the beginning.....or the end......or the beginning.....(But seriously, the end of this post!) 

Prt. 2: S'cuuuuuurrrrd to Death.....

Another week, another muse upon.....death? 

Yeah, okay, I know, this might seem more than a bit macabre to some of you. Trust me, I'm well aware of that. In fact, there is very much a small voice in the back of my mind asking: "Dude, are you REALLY writing a series on this? Seriously? Maybe it's time to up your meds.....?" 

And who knows, maybe there is some truth to that? Still, I think the fact that I have those questions and you have those questions is perhaps reason to go ahead and write this. 

Again, like I said last week, as a society, we have some serious issues with death. (And not just the fact that it's been inescapable for the last...well....forever?) In the realm of Christianity, we seem to especially have some issues with death. Lay, clergy, bishop or pew-person, we all have something of a nagging unease about death. 

So what is it which scares the bejeebus out of us? Which makes us squirming-ly uncomfortable? 

Honestly, I don't think it's the thought of rotting or mouldering corpses. We, as a society, are pretty good with graphic gore and graphic...well...everything, really. It's also not the fact that dear Uncle Joe can no longer speak with us or respond to our affections. Though, certainly, this is a huge part of the grieving process and it's really incredibly freaking difficult at times. In fact, I don't know that there is a pain quite like knowing that you will not hear a loved one's voice ever again. That's gut-wrenching. Entirely destroying, really. 

Still, I don't think that's where we have a problem or why we have a problem with death. 

Instead, I think it all comes down to the fact that death equals out to the greatest uncertainty of all.....and we HATE uncertainty. 

Oh sure, in Christianity we tell ourselves and each other "When you die, you go to heaven or you go to hell and that's how it works." (Though, there's some considerable debate on that last part!) The problem is that we don't quite know if this is actually how it goes as the Bible and Judeo-Christian tradition are more than a bit convoluted on this. 

Heaven, Hell, Sheol, Hades, Gehenna, Tartarus, etc.....unfortunately, when you start digging into them, they all sorta' blend together in times, places, and spaces. And so we're left going "Uhm.....?" 

Mind you, we're not alone in this one. Most religions have something of a problem with what happens in the afterlife. (Seeing as it's rather impossible to book a ticket to the afterlife and still remain alive.....nasty little rub, that!) Our friends in some of the Eastern religions have it easier as, sure, the afterlife remains a mystery, but it's also something you come back from. It's the eternal work-depot where you pop by to get your assignment for your next job on earth; maybe even get a few hundred years off for a job well done. Still, it's a place where you come and go from. Christianity doesn't really roll like that. We like to say that it's a one and done type of deal. (Though, this is up for debate, depending on your interpretation of St. John's Revelation.) The problem, is that we really don't know if that's how it actually is. 

Oh sure, we say that's how it is. We might even have some pretty strong faith that things are as we believe. However, we don't actually know....and that tends to drive us nuts and/or scare the pants off of us. 

"What if I wind up in an eternal slumber? I mean? Will I dream?" 

"What if I don't get my body back in the afterlife? Will anyone recognise me?" 

"What if I .....<insert your own personal fear here>"

Let's be honest, the thoughts cross all of our minds, and so in an effort to keep from facing those fears, we do just about everything we can to keep away from death. 

We have air-bags and all sorts of safety systems to keep us safe. Cutting-edge healthcare to monitor our ageing, prevent problems before they occur, and even sometimes to bring us back to life after we die. Organic diets, crazy workouts, etc, etc, etc, all with the intention (express or not) of delaying us from death. 

Mind you, I'm not saying these are bad things, per-se, just that they're things which can keep us from a healthy and realistic understanding -both practically and theologically- of death. Again, I'm not saying we shouldn't engage all these things. It's great to take care of yourself by going to the gym, by getting regular physicals, and by driving a car which isn't a death-trap! Just don't think that any of these will save you from death. They won't. Sorry. 

By this point, I'm sure you're thoroughly depressed/frustrated/enraged to a level of just wanting to shout: "Okay, Adam, I give, what's the proper theology for death, already?!?!" 

Unfortunately, that's not something I really have an answer to. Generally, in theology, you need to have some experience with an issue before you can start to develop a proper theology upon it. As I'm still living -and hopefully will be for some time....as I've got a really nice house's worth of $$$ invested in this bloody PhD- I can't say I actually know what to say about death. 

What I can say however, is that a fear of death, while understandable, doesn't jive with Christianity. While Christian writings about death might be a bit murky, there's pretty darn clear teachings on fear. 

We are not meant to live in fear. We are meant to live engaged. 

We are not meant to live in worry. We are meant to live in trust. 

Trust in a God who is the source of life. Who is beginning and end and yet without end. Who is both with us in life and with us in death.

If God is even a shred of who we say God is, then there's no reason to think that God might end a relationship shared with humanity just because humanity doesn't walk on the earth. 

Mind you, maybe that relationship changes. (As all relationships do over time...)

Maybe it's a shared dreamscape. Maybe it's a literal encounter. Maybe it's, I don't know.....? 

And again, just like in relationships upon earth, maybe it's a bit of a struggle to adjust. Maybe it's frustrating or maddening, I don't know. But maybe, like other relationships which grow, stretch, and change, it becomes something incredibly better than might ever have been originally thought? 

Just like we can't live our relationships with friends, family, and lovers, in fear of those relationships to evolving or changing -even though we know they will- we can't live a relationship with God in fear of it changing via death. 

So yes, death is inevitable. And yes, it is an uncertainty. But if God is to be who we say God is to be. If God is involved with humanity in the relationship which we in Christianity seem to think God is, then we must live with God in that relationship. Knowing that the relationship will indeed change, but change does not mean "bad" and change does not mean "end." 

Change, just might be the beginning of the greatest part of the relationship......

(Just in case that whole post was too heavy.....and because the Harlem Shake, itself, needs to die......)

Lent will be the Death of Me.....

Well, here we are again. Another year, another season of Lent. Of course, oodles of folk are giving up something for the next 40 days. If that's you, please see my blog from last year. Trust me, Lent is not so much about giving up something for God as it is about giving in to the divine! (i.e.: Is giving up Starbucks, chocolate, coffee, or booze REALLY going to aid your spiritual discipline? Or is it just going to make you a grumpy sod that the rest of us dread dealing with?)

Anyways...

As I consider Lent to be a time of change, reflection, growth and learning, I've decided to bring up a topic which most of Christianity -and the wider Western world- really needs to give some thought to: death.

Yeah, I really did just type that.

Yes, I am totally serious.

Let's be honest, death is a topic which is a hot-mess in the Western world. Death is something we never talk about -at least until we have to! Conversing with and about death is something which is awkwardly avoided like that great-uncle with the bad toupee and the foul breath. We run in the opposite direction of death whenever we can and however we can.

But let's just cut to the core: death scares the s*** out of us. (Sometimes literally, as my friends in the death-care industry tell me.)

It's ironic, really, as death is one of those things which we KNOW for sure and for certain that we are going to experience. You'd think we'd be a bit better versed and/or prepared to handle death when it comes knocking. Sometimes, we are. Occasionally someone has been clear, concise, and upfront about what they'd like to happen to them should they die. They might even have a family which has a great social and emotional support system to aid them through their time of loss. Butttttt....it's probably more likely that Hilary Clinton will spend her final years as a swimsuit model. (Not out of the realm of possibility, but highly unlikely, ya' know?)

I can't speak for the wider-world of Western civilisation, but I can pretty thoroughly say that Christianity has more than a bit of a problematic relationship with death.

Think about it: how many horrible things have you heard said at a funeral? People of faith might mean well and might be exceptionally loving and caring persons -or not- but there's nothing like a funeral/death to bring about a wave of cringe-inducing bad theology. Like, really, really bad theology....

"God just wanted them home with him." -Oh, so God's some kind of needy jerk who needs my loved ones more than me?

"This was God's plan...." - I won't necessarily argue with this one, as I haven't seen God's play-book, but I will say that unless you've seen that book yourself, you should probably -no, definitely- not be saying this.

"They're out of pain  now...." - Yeah, we all know that, but the rest of us are in life-changing pain, so again, why don't you shut it? Mmm'kay?

It's not just the world of laity which gets this type of blame laid at its feet. Ministers, of all shapes and sizes, are also just as tin-eared with death-care. Actually, we're probably the source of laity saying such horrible and inept things. Strike that "probably," I can't deny it, we are the source. <sigh>

Part of this isn't our fault, really. We're just as much wrapped up in the "running away from any thought or mention" of death game as anyone else. And let's be honest, nobody really LIKES to think about their mortality. At best it's the starting-line of the ultimate adventure, at worst it's the end of, well, everything. In sum, it's the biggest uncertainty in all of life...and if there's one thing we as humans hate -even more than Justin Bieber- it's uncertainty. (Though the Biebs might be a close second....)

Also, we're not trained for this stuff. At least, not usually.

Most credentialed ministers across the world have had some pretty rigorous education. As I teach at a seminary, I actually have the angst-y e-mails from students to prove this. We're trained in public speaking, philosophy, history, theology, and even basic pastoral care and counselling. What we're NOT trained in -usually- is a healthy and appropriate way to deal with, understand, and explain death. It's something of a disservice to both us and those we minister to. Don't get me wrong, a number of seminaries offer courses on death and dying, but I've yet to see one which requires it as part of their programs.

So yeah, we usually hit our first parish and get slapped with a death -or 5...or 10- in our first six months. Annnnd if we're lucky, we'll awkwardly plod through our book of worship or perform a disjointed service as we try not to think about the corpse a few feet from us, how that makes us feel, and what in the hell we're supposed to say to the sobbing widow(er) in the front row.

In other words: please forgive us as we forgive you. (Unless we're real idiots about something....than feel free to smack us. Trust me, we deserve it and we can take it.)

But it's more than just training.....Christianity has a real theological problem with death. We are a faith predicated upon life and the living; to the point that our founder rises from the dead. It's kinda' hard to be more anti-death than that. The problem is that none of us, that I know of, are Jesus and we won't be rising three days after our death. So, death is again, inevitable, but something of an awkward party guest whom we'd rather not socialise with.  (Unless there's a zombie apocalypse....but then we're all screwed....)

Therefore, as Lent is to be a learning journey -and I need SOMETHING other than my doctoral dissertation to write upon- I'm going to be spending the next few weeks trying to construct a brief theology of death. How might we view death? How should we interact with death? How should we talk about death?

In the words of the Crypt-keeper: "Won't you join me, kiddies? We'll have a gruesome time!" ;)

(And I promise not to use horrible puns like that......too much.....)

Arrrrrrrizona, where the ignorance comes rollin' down the plains......

I had a really cool idea for blogging on things I have come to learn since graduating from seminary....and then Arizona had to go and get all sorts of crazy on me.

<sigh>

Maybe next week.....

Okay, so, Arizona. Where do I even start?

For those of you who have no idea what the heck I'm speaking of, the US state of Arizona passed a law this previous week allowing businesses to deny service due to "religious ideology." This was, largely, in response to the recent widening of GLBT marriage rights through the judicial system. Because clearly this -not the plight of Syrian refugees, aid to Africa, human trafficking, access to education, nor anything else- is the most important thing facing faith and society today. <sigh>

Obviously, I'm a bit dumbfounded by this law. For starters, who defines religious ideology and/or religious conviction? If I'm a devout Aryan, does this mean that I can now deny service to Jews? What about Jewish fundamentalists, can they now deny service to Arabs? (And vice-versa.) And -here's the kicker- how is this any different from the Jim Crow laws of the early-mid 20th century? This has got to be one of THE most short-sighted laws to come down the pipe in recent memory. Oy!

Don't get me wrong, I understand that GLBT issues are very sensitive to a number of people on both sides of the proverbial aisle. Honestly, it's that way in my own family; we have some very different and differing perspectives upon the topic, depending upon who you're speaking with. And honestly, that's okay. Maybe it's not right, but it's okay.

It's okay to have differing ideas on topics. It's okay to be passionate about those beliefs. I would even say that, to an extent, it's okay to surround yourself with folks that have similar beliefs to your own. (Though, getting outside the box now and then certainly can't hurt, non?) What's not okay, however, is to employ politics to validate your passionately held religious ideologies and vice versa.

This is something which has, believe it or not, been a lynch-pin of Protestant theology since its inception. Even in more theocratic locales, such as Reformation Geneva, there was, in essence a difference between the rule of state and the rule of church. (Though, admittedly, the two did overlap in areas.) Perhaps the most convincing argument for the separation of church and state came from none other than Martin Luther. Luther's essay on "Temporal Authority" was resolute that there were two different realms within this world: moral authority and temporal authority. The former was the realm of the church, the latter was the realm of the state. The two could -and should- work together closely to ensure a well-regulate and just society, but they should not intrude upon one another. (Government was, to Luther, given and provided by God. However, this was the day of autocratic princes and kings. We might question whether Herr Luther would see things as such today!)

Why not?

Well, honestly, the construction of the state, to Luther, didn't lend itself to the work of morality and the same for the church. The church, by its very constitution, was not built to handle matters of the state. This is, I fear, something which we have forgotten over time.

Good government cannot, ever, be an exercise in a particular type of faith for the very reason that there will always be those outside of a given faith within that governmental realm. Faith can never be an exercise of government as it will then cease to be a belief in the unseen and unknown and become a reliance upon that which is tangible and now.

In sum: if your government needs faith to support it, it's bad. If your faith needs government to support it, it's also bad.

So, instead of passing asinine laws, what might we do which would be productive for the situation?

Again, I understand that GLBT issues are sensitive, particularly to people of differing ideas of faith. Keeping with Martin Luther, perhaps, it's time for a new round of dialogues and discussions both inside and outside the realm of faith? One of the things which infinitely helped the reformation was its commitment to dialogue both outwith and inside of itself. The Diet of Worms, The Marburg Colloquy, The Synod of Dordt and others -even when they did not come to conclusion or came to conclusions which were debatable- were incredibly helpful in elucidating and conceiving beliefs in the new world of Protestantism.

Maybe we, today, are in a world which is too big to hold over-arching conferences such as these, but maybe, just maybe, we can still commit to talking, explaining, listening, and hearing?

I cannot help but feel that, should we do such things, we will no longer have to resort to any short-sighted and knee-jerk dependence upon government to support matters of faith.

(Not so) Creative differences.....

So, apparently, something monumental happened this last week in the worlds of science and Christianity.

No, nobody cured cancer. No, nobody ended world hunger. Nobody ended human trafficking nor did they find the cure to the common cold. Instead there was a large and well publicised debate between the schools of creationism and evolution. Because, clearly, this is a very pressing issue within the world. <sigh>

I think you can probably pick up my attitude towards all this via that opening paragraph. This was, in my opinion, a waste of time for a topic which very well might be, in totality, beyond any scope of human comprehension. None the less, it happened, and there's been quite a bit of discussion come up afterwards.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, let me try to explain. On the one side, there was Ken Ham, founder of the "Answer in Genesis" movement. As a creationist, Ham and others advocate for a very young earth. (Aprox. 6000 years old) This earth is the one which is spelled out, literally, within the Biblical book of Genesis. As such, Ham, very much, dismisses evolution as a system of biology.

On the other side, was Bill Nye, a popular television presenter over science. Nye was representing the view that science, as a system, has proven, to a reasonable degree that earth is millennia old and that life has been an evolutionary concept gaining and changing over time.

The debate was billed as the "Great Creation Debate." That descriptor, IMHO, couldn't be farther from the truth. There was nothing great about this debate.


To start with, neither of the presenters is an expert in their field. Yes, they know a lot, but both only have bachelors degrees. Don't get me wrong, a bachelor's degree can provide a really good foundation for a lot of things, but it doesn't make one an expert by any means. (Esp. when we're talking about things on an infinite spectrum.) Mind you, again, you can learn a lot of facts as an undergraduate, but you don't necessarily learn the tools to question, probe, or engage those facts of theorems. (That's what graduate and postgraduate work are meant to do.) So, thus, at it's base, this debate was really a situation where, in affect, it was simply two parrots chattering back and forth.

In fact, I think that's pretty much summed up in one of the quotes for the night. When asked what would change their minds given their respective views, Ham responded "nothing." Nye, responded "evidence."

And therein lies the problem. Both of these gents, well meaning though they might be, are incapable of actually engaging with the other. Ham, wants nothing to do with anything which might  challenge his concepts of faith and actuality. Nye, wants nothing to do with anything which can not be explained via theorem and systems. The problem is that neither the world of faith nor the world of science are ever so cut and dry.

I'm not a scientist, I'll admit that upfront. However, I know quite a few scientists and I know that there are a slew of things in the world of the scientist which are inexplicable and require examination, comparison, and sometimes even a good dose of faith. Being a theologian, however, Ham's arguments are another story entirely. To be honest, it's one of those moments of "Oh lord, where do I start?" So, so, so many theological problems to cover...but I'll try to hit a few big ones here.

Foremost, you can't pick and choose which scientific theorems you like and which you don't. I sometimes half expect Mr. Ham to come out and say that he rejects the theory of gravity because that would mean that God wasn't holding us to the earth. What's the difference between that and evolution? Also, there seems to be a grande discontinuity in engaging and benefiting from some parts of science (medicine, technology, etc) and rejecting others. (Evolutionary theory.)

Second, arguing creationism, or Mr. Ham's style of creationism, is really a gross misuse of Hebrew literature. You think Genesis is literal? Okay, I can live with that. But how do you get around the rest of the book? I mean, okay, you can have a literal creation story, but so much of the rest of the book is a, as they say, "hot mess." (i.e.: It's been said to the point of triteness, but it's still a valid point: if Genesis is literal, then God seems to have been okay with populating the earth through incest. And no, you can't throw out the line of "Well, that was a different time, God's not cool with that now..." Nu-uh, doesn't work like that. You can't proclaim a God who's "immortal, invisible, God only wise..." and then say "But that God changed plans." Doesn't work like that. Biiiig problem here.) The thing, which Mr. Ham seems to forget, is that the Hebrews -much like other ancient societies- were oral traditions first and written ones only much later. That means that the representations of Genesis old though they might be -and we do have some VERY old scripts- are themselves only second generation sources. They were handed down by oral tradition over time and space. Certainly, I can't be the only one who likes to mess with "oral tradition" when I tell my own stories, now can I? (Not that I've ever told any whoppers at my local pub or anything.....ever.......at least this week...)

Finally, there's a glaring problem with your concept of God in Mr. Ham's world: You've figured out and defined how God must and did work. You, as the finite, have figured out that which is infinite. You have, in effect, set down parameters and boundaries for who God must be and how God must be. Call me crazy, but -esp. if we're taking Genesis literally- that sounds like a sure-fire way to get a lightning bolt on your arse in a hurry. The fact of the matter is that it doesn't work like that. Infinite defines finite and not the other way around. To paraphrase Augustine, "We see God as though looking through a dirty lens." That doesn't mean we can't have knowledge of God, just that we don't see the whole picture clearly and we must be cognisant of that. We must be continually searching, seeking, listening, and learning from God as to who God is and who we are in light of that.

To wrap it all up, I'm not saying either side is right. Really, I don't know. I'm getting older, but I'm not old enough to have been there in the beginning of all things. So honestly, heck if I know how we got here. To me, it's really not so important in comparison to some of the other things I mentioned earlier. All I know is this: for me, personally, my concept of God is big enough that I have no problem with a God who instituted and worked through evolution. I also trust and believe in science enough to think that it very well might be one of those guiding voices which is leading us to better consider who we are in light of that which is infinite.

But then again, the more I learn, the less I seem to know, so who's to say?

Can I have a Coke with My Haggis?

I missed the Super Bowl this year. Over here in the UK, the game doesn't come on until 23:30. The stress of trying to finish out my doctoral dissertation has played havoc with my sleep-schedule as of late. Thus, there was pretty much no way I was making it past 8pm on Sunday. Apparently, I didn't miss much of a game. Though, I've heard the halftime show was something to enjoy! (?)

I also seem to have missed this wee Coke advertisement which has set the inter-webs on fire.

If you haven't seen it, look here: http://youtu.be/A8iM73E6JP8


There's a lot that has been said and could still be said about the uproar over the commercial. I'm going to skip talking about the commercial itself and try to focus more broadly here. The problem that some folk have with this commercial is not about language, it's about difference. And really, we shouldn't judge them too harshly. We ALL have a big problem with difference.

No matter who you are, no matter where you are, no matter how little or how great your education, there will inevitably be some type of difference which confronts you -at some point- and which makes you uncomfortable to some level and degree.

Sometimes it's language.

Sometimes it's colour.

Sometimes it's sexuality.

Sometimes it's culture.

The list is really rather infinite.

Again, it's something I think we all experience. Whether or not we give public voice to our feelings is another thing entirely, but we all can be a bit uncomfortable with differences.

But why?

We, as a species, are really a very sensitive and unsure people. Oh sure, we're taught to develop a tough skin and to "roll with the punches," but, deep down, we're all really a jumbled mess of questions, fears, desires, and doubts to some degree or another. Often we work very hard to masque what we consider to be our flaws, to paper-over our insecurities. We create a small web where we have decided what is normative and what is right and we find ourselves at peace in that.

Then difference comes along, rears its head, and starts to shatter our carefully crafted web of safety. We're left with questions about ourselves, others, life, and our place in this world. These questions are rarely ones which are fun nor easy to answer and so we can find ourselves very put off by differences. We try to paint that which is different as that which is problematic. Remove the difference and you remove the problem. Unfortunately, history seems to show that's rarely been the case. Usually, the problem or that which is creating the unpleasant feelings is not in that which is different, but, again, in we ourselves.

I think, perhaps, you can see where I'm going with this. I won't tell you that you shouldn't be uncomfortable, at least to some degree, with the differences which confront you in this life. But I will tell you that, perhaps the question in your mind should be "Why do they make me feel uncomfortable, what does that say about me?" instead of "Why can't they just be like me?" Mind you, I'm well aware that accepting differences isn't an overnight process. Often, it involves a somewhat long and prickly journey, but one which can teach us very much about ourselves and our world.

Personally, I never understood what it was to be a minority or an immigrant until I moved to another country. Mind you, I'm an American living in the United Kingdom, so my experience pales in comparison to many others. Still, moving to Aberdeen was a huge eye-opener about difference. For the first few weeks or so I was here, I would literally have to stop and ask folks to repeat what they just said. There were times where I would be on a bus or in a pub and think to myself "I don't understand a damned word any of these people just said?!?!?!" The UK is a melting-pot of nationalities from all over Europe and the wider world, it's nothing to hear a half dozen languages while on the bus. (Which can be very unsettling to someone from mid-west America where Spanglish is about as multi-lingual as we get.) Not to mention the fact that I had no clue as to how anything really worked -what do you mean I need an NHS number?!- and no clue how to navigate the systems which make life function. (Trying to get a bank account and/or a cell phone was a couple of week's worth of amazing frustration!)

I'm not going to lie, I got very frustrated with all these differences. I like to think of myself as a pretty tolerant person and I was very much at points where I was tempted to say "bugger this." (To quote the locals!) Thankfully, that didn't happen. I learned a lot about myself, via differences, in my first year at Aberdeen. The things I learned are things which, I think, made me quite a better person. At the very least, they made me a more self-aware and self-understanding person.

Before I get too preachy on this, let me sum it up: it's okay to be uncomfortable with differences. Let's all agree to be honest about that and not judge others too harshly for things we all experience. At the same time, perhaps we can remember that encountering differences is not bad, in fact, if we let it, difference is almost like a gateway to a better self-understanding.

Think of it like haggis. Wonderful, delicious, and often misunderstood haggis. Haggis is one of those things which you hear about and go "Uh...eww....no, just no...." especially if you're an American. But when you stop to think about all the other crazy things we eat -hotdogs, sausages, etc- haggis isn't that crazy. In fact,  if you like those other things, I almost guarantee you'll find that 6 million Scots can't be wrong! You might also realise a few things about exceptionalism -at least culinary-wise- and privileging your preferences above others....but hey, more importantly, you'll get some haggis. Which is always worthwhile.

....and it makes me wonder.....

Maybe it's the Led Zepplin kick I've been on today, but I've been in a contemplative mood.


Sometimes I wonder what it would be like:

*if academic theologians would focus more on translating their research into the pew than into a journal?

*if pastors focused more on learning and applying their theologies with the seriousness that physicians practice medicine?

*if pastor and serious academic scholar were not so often mutually exclusive?

*if we in both realms recognised the importance, brilliance, and creativity of our students and parishioners and quit trying to tailor things to the "pew punters" or "pew potatoes?"

*if we were less obsessed with sex and more concerned with love?

*if we were able to articulate our doctrine instead of being ashamed of it?

*if we actually voted with our hearts and minds and not simply our wallets?

*if we realised our discomfort with "difference" was so often our discomfort with ourselves?

*if we realised that prayer was less about actions and more about a lack of actions?

*if we were as accepting of wisdom from different parts of the world as we are of food?

and finally

*if we actually found out how much wood a woodchuck could chuck, would all woodchucks then be required to chuck wood? Would the be a quota for chucked woodchuck wood? :)

I got Ordained Once......it was Terrible......

(Yes, I stole the title from Grumpy Cat....)

Sooo.....it finally happened. After years of discernment, consideration, and more than a little "hoop-jumping," I finally got ordained.

Not, "licensed," or "approved ordination pending call," or anything else, but full "can do the magic with the bread and pour water on the baby's head" ordained.

It's all a bit surreal. In fact, I've been trying to wrap my head around it in the past few weeks. Though, I think that's probably normal with things that you work towards for a long time. You strive and you strive, usually with a few tears thrown in as well, and then when you get to your objective it's like "Whoa, where's the kaboom?!"

Don't get me wrong, I had an amazingly pertinent, funny, and fun ordination service filled with friends, family, and colleagues. I even joked with my parents that this was my "marriage to Jesus" and that I was hurt they didn't buy me a robe from Vera Wang. (That's a joke, I swear...) Still, all the same, I've found myself mulling over the concept of ordination and what it means to me.

The honest truth is that it doesn't mean a huge amount.

That's not to say that I don't take ordination or ministerial standing seriously. I do. It's not to say that I don't recognise ordination as a "setting-aside" and a special and sacred rite between a minister and the wider church. Again, I do. It's just that, well, I don't know that ordination means a lot with my own personal concept of ministry and the workings of the church.

There are some folks and some traditions where ordination is something of the penultimate step of ministry. The ordained are the certified and true leaders of the church. The ordained hold the power. The ordained set the agenda and the tone of the church. The ordained decide who's in and who's out.

Mind you, I'm not saying this is inherently wrong per-se. There is, in fact, some very serious sense and safety in letting the ordained do the things I just mentioned. We, the ordained, are almost always pretty well trained for this gig. Some of us even have doctorates in things like ministry, counselling, history, and exegetics. So, yeah, we do, often, know quite much about quite a lot and it's probably good to listen -somewhat- to the advice we give.

However, there are also some REALLY big problems with this form of ministry. The most glaring, to me, is that it sets up a situation where the minister becomes something of a demigod amongst their own congregation. This almost always leads to a slew of problems: from pastoral burn-out, to spiritual abuse, and even physical or sexual abuse. Moreover, this understanding often leads to a situation where the pastor "does" everything in and for the church. I almost think this is more dangerous than some of the other issues I mentioned as laity, within said church, never get to "spread their wings" with such a minister. They never get the opportunity to DO ministry. Oh sure, they definitely hear quite a bit about it and maybe are even involved in ministry to an extent, but so often they aren't really DOING ministry. They aren't provided the option or opportunity to lead, to dream, to dare, and to do. In sum, they're often taught to quash the still-speaking voice of the Almighty because "that's just not what we do here" or "our pastor does it differently."

In the business world, we might look at this as a vertical structure instead of a horizontal one. There are defined tiers of leadership and authority, in this world and those who have the power generally dictate what it is that the others, without the power, should do. Again, there are some benefits to this. There's a lot of order, habit, and understanding in this vertical structure. However, there's also not a lot of dreaming, input, or collaboration. (All things a healthy church needs, IMHO.) On the other hand, a purely horizontal structure, where all are equal and all participate in the leading, the dreaming, and the doing has some pretty huge benefits. It also has some pretty huge pitfalls in that it lacks all the things which are strengths in a vertical model. <sigh> So what's a Rev. to do?!?

Like I said, I've been giving this some thought as of late. I've come to the conclusion that neither a vertical, nor a horizontal, understanding of ministry can really work. Both are too inherently flawed. Instead, I think that ministry, in and out of community of faith, requires us -as in the ordained, the non-ordained, the believing, the unbelieving, and everyone in-between- to be involved in a circular covenant of ministry. Circles do not have a beginning or an end. There's not a distinct person who starts or ends one. (Though, yes, you could argue that the one doing the drawing does...but that's a theological discussion for another time.) In a circle, the minister might be the impetus for one activity, but be the conclusion for another. Or they simply might be a stop in the middle of things. Leadership can come from any spot in a circle, it just simply has to pass through the rest of the circle as it moves along.

Call it collaborative-leader-stry if you want, but I think it's one of the things which needs to be done -and is being done in a number of places- for ministry to be sustainable and productive. That may mean that, as an ordained minister, I take a role as more of a "spiritual coach" or "theological midwife" than as an "answer-book" or administrator. But I'm okay with that....

Besides, I'm pretty sure that a position as "spiritual coach" or "theological midwife" comes with a much better uniform than a burlap alb. (Which was the only actually terrible part of my ordination!)