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!)