Monthly Archives: September 2009 - Page 3

More on the Voluntariness of the Church

According the free church tradition, only those who believe in Christ as Lord should be baptized into the church as members of his body. As such, for this tradition membership in the body of Christ is voluntary. It is not imposed, but rather is given to those who come to baptism out of a desire to follow Christ.

The majority tradition of the Christian faith labels this an unacceptable form of modern voluntarism, claiming that it places the priority on the self-determining autonomy of the human subject rather on the free grace of God. Now, clearly a whole discussion could be had about the nature of grace and how it draws human beings toward the church. Let us leave that aside for the moment.

If we cut through the fog generated by the scare word of “voluntarism,” it seems to me that there are only two possible construes of how baptism ought to go down. If the voluntary baptism of believers is illicit as the normative practice, what is the alternative? The only alternative to voluntary baptism is involuntary baptism, is it not?

Now, everyone agrees that voluntary baptism is acceptable and right. No on is opposed to converts being baptized upon profession of faith. The question, as I see it, must rest on what theological reasons  we have for baptizing those who do not believe in Christ and do not have the ability to consent or dissent from baptism? What theological reasons are there for involuntary baptism? That seems to me to be a reasonable question. I have yet to see, theologically, why involuntary baptism should be the norm of the church’s practice.

New Lectionary Reflection

I have another post up at the Ekklesia Project blog, bLogos, reflecting on the Epistle reading for this week’s lectionary.

A Creed for the Modern Church

Jason shares a pretty incisive creedal formulation for the modern church from Andrew Bradstock:

We believe in one Market, the Almighty,
Maker of heaven on Earth,
Of all that is, priced and branded,
True growth from true growth,
Of one being with the Economy.
From this, all value is added.

We believe in Deregulation, once and for all,
The only way to prosperity.
For us and for our salvation,
Reagan and Thatcher were elected
And were made gods.
In their decade they legislated
To take away our economic sins.
They were crucified by the Liberal Media,
But rose again, in accordance with their manifestos.
They ascended in the polls
And are seated at the right hand of Milton Friedman.

We believe in the Invisible Hand,
The giver of economic life.
It has spoken through our profits.
It proceeds from the Law of the Deregulated Market,
And with the Market is worshipped and glorified.

We believe in one Globalised Economy.
We believe in one key business driver
For the increase in Gross Domestic Product.
We acknowledge one bottom line
For the measurement of wealth.
We look for the resurgence of executive compensation packages
And the life of the financial years to come.

Amen.

The Voluntary Church

John Howard Yoder often gets critiqued (the work of Oliver O’Donovan is a good example) for his alleged “voluntarism.” Yoder, being an Anabaptist is, of course, opposed to infant baptism and insists that membership in the church must always be a voluntary, free, and uncoerced reality. Thus, the baptism of children is suspect for Yoder as it is an act totally void of active participation on the part of the baptized.

Now, whatever we might think of this I just want to make one point. Yoder is not guilty of voluntarism in any sort of modern sense. Yoder and Anabaptism as a whole does not emphasize the voluntary nature of the church for the sake of enshrining the freedom of the individual to be self-determining. Indeed, this is impossible on the basis of the Anabaptist vision of ecclesial discipleship which always involves strong communal commitments and mutual submission.

The only point Yoder makes in emphasizing the voluntary nature of the church is that membership in the body of Christ cannot be coercively imposed. That is all. The church is voluntary in Anabaptist theology, not because the modern self requires it, but because unilateral coercion cannot be used to make disciples. The one and only point of speaking of the church as a voluntary community is to say that no one is either forced into it or born into it. Rather persons are drawn into it through Christ’s to discipleship.

Judaism and the State of Israel

John Howard Yoder’s The Jewish-Christian Schism Revisited is helpful on many levels, but one of the most imporant points he makes therein is the way in which Christianity brought about what we know today as Judaism. Rabbinic Judaism as we know it today was not around in the time of Paul and Jesus. Rather it is precisely the relationship between the church and the Jewish people in the centuries after Jesus that have brought about what we know as Judaism.

Unlike how we have come to think of Judaism, the Judaism that was present in the time of the early church did not automatically consider belief in the messiah a reason to be excluded from the synagogue, nor was it closed off to gentiles. Rather Judaism in the first century was a decidedly missional religion (cf. Matt 23:15; Acts 2:9-11). Only after the church became decidedly identified as a gentile movement did the hardening of the lines between Judaism and Christianity truly take hold and culminate in the sort of ethnic definition of Judaism we know today. Yoder describes the phenomenon in this way:

It may be  that ‘Christians’ progressively differentiated themselves from from Jews in order not to suffer persecution, and thereby diverted the anger of Gentiles toward the non-messianic Jews. Yet this in itself would not explain Jews’ abandonment of their missionary openness. In fact it could well have had the opposite effect. Jews no less than ‘Christians’ could argue that they had no secrets, that thier God was for everyone, that their law was reasonable, open to others, as their thinkers were doing at that time anyway.

In any case the outcome is that Judaism will be an ethnic enclave, less missionary than before, at some points in fact practically discouraging the accession of Gentiles to membership in the synagogue. This abandonment of missionary perspective on the part of Judaism is an adjustment not to the Gentile world but to Christianity. Non-missionary Judaism is a part of, a product of Christian history. For Jews to renounce mission means that they have been contextually ‘Christianized.’ They have accepted their limited slot within a context where telling the Gentiles about the God of Abraham is a function left to others and the Jews are willing to leave it that way. (p. 153-54)

The Christianization of Judaism ends in reducing Judaism to the non-missionary religion of an ethnic group. It turns the formerly universal message of the God of Abraham who created all nations and peoples, to the provincial religion of a sectarian enclave. However, this is only the begining. Yoder describes the culmination of the event of the Christianization of Judaism:

If the abandonment of openness to the Gentiles was the first stage of Judaism’s being influenced by Chistianity, one of the latest is the acceptance of the Jews of their assimilation into western pluralism. Protestants, Catholics and Jews are seen as the three equally legitimate forms of moral theism called ‘the Judaeo-Christian heritage.’ In some cases this has lead to a degree of theological assimilation, but the same tirpartite division of labour within pluralism can also be appealed to by Jews (or Protestants) who are much more orthodox. (p. 154)

The abandonment of missionalit culminates in the assimilation of Judaism into the tapestry of western pluralism, and specifically into the ideological construct known as the ‘Judaeo-Christian heritage.’ Where does this finally leave us?

The culmination of the Christianization of Judaism is the development of Zionism. Zionism creates a secular democratic nation state after the model of the nation states of the West. It defines Jews, for the purpose of building the state, in such a way that it makes no difference if most of them are unbelieving and unobservant. In America the Jews are ‘like a church’ with a belief structure, lifestyle commitments, and community meetings; in Israel Judaism is a nation and the belief dimension no longer matters. To be born in the State of Israel makes one less a Jew, in the deep historical sense of the term, than to be born in a ghetto. This is of course exacerbated by the fact that the Zionist state has taken on the challenge of governing subject populations who are not even ethnically Jewish. Committed Judaism, i.e. people who visibly order their lives around the Torah, is a minority sect in Israel just as are the Christians. (p. 154)

The upshot of all this is that the form of life embodied in and fostered by the secular state of Israel is the polar opposite of what the deep historical definition of Judaism entails. In fact, it is a betrayal of it. As such, support for the state of Israel cannot be construed as support for the Jewish people, let alone Judaism as a faith. Indeed supporting Israel should be seen as fundamentally anti-Jewish in nature. The state of Israel is, in fact the antithesis of the Judaism from the time of Jeremiah through the second century. To support the state of Israel is to continue the Christian mistake that began with the Jewish-Christian schism. Indeed, supporting the state of Israel is the most anti-Jewish act Christians can take, as it constitutes a hyperextension of the Christian (indeed, Constantinian) disciplining of Judaism. To the extent that the church supports Israel (as much of it rabidly does) the church commits itself to a most despicable form of anti-Judaism that should be repudiated by all.

A Real 9/11 Reflection

Dan has what I’d consider to be a reflection on 9/11 that really has some substance:

As today, is September 11th, I thought I would engage in a bit of remembering — it is, after all, important to recall moments of our history, for this is the story in which we live.

On this day in 1973, Augusto Pinochet’s American-backed coup overthrew the democratically elected government of Salvador Allende. This resulted in seventeen years of torture, terror, and disappearances in Chile, and (according to people like Milton Friedman, who saw Chile as a textbook example of the type of world he wished to create) set a precedent for the way in which the United States acted in Latin America (particularly in the ’70s and ’80s… although they are at it again, as Obama’s government backed the Honduran coup which overthrew the democratically elected government of Manuel Zelaya in June of this year).

Sponsoring terror, imposing military rule, depriving local populations of their rights, their food, their land, their livelihood, their health, their children and their lives… this is the way that the US continues to engage with the world at large. It is enough to make some people want to fly planes into buildings. Which, not altogether surprisingly, is what happened on another September 11th.

Why Men Shouldn’t be Ordained

To good to pass up re-posting this:

10. A man’s place is in the army.

9. For men who have children, their duties might distract them from the responsibilities of being a parent.

8. Their physical build indicates that men are more suited to tasks such as chopping down trees and wrestling mountain lions. It would be “unnatural” for them to do other forms of work.

7. Man was created before woman. It is therefore obvious that man was a prototype. Thus, they represent an experiment, rather than the crowning achievement of creation.

6. Men are too emotional to be priests or pastors. This is easily demonstrated by their conduct at football games and watching basketball tournaments.

5. Some men are handsome; they will distract women worshipers.

4. To be ordained pastor is to nurture the congregation. But this is not a traditional male role. Rather, throughout history, women have been considered to be not only more skilled than men at nurturing, but also more frequently attracted to it. This makes them the obvious choice for ordination.

3. Men are overly prone to violence. No really manly man wants to settle disputes by any means other than by fighting about it. Thus, they would be poor role models, as well as being dangerously unstable in positions of leadership.

2. Men can still be involved in church activities, even without being ordained. They can sweep paths, repair the church roof, change the oil in the church vans, and maybe even lead the singing on Father’s Day. By confining themselves to such traditional male roles, they can still be vitally important in the life of the Church.

1. In the New Testament account, the person who betrayed Jesus was a man. Thus, his lack of faith and ensuing punishment stands as a symbol of the subordinated position that all men should take.

But not so with you. . .

A quote for 9/11:

In his teachings and in his life Jesus stands completely opposed to all powers that victimize, to all energies of violence and rage throughout this world. He allows no ground for treating these forces as really good, to be affirmed as agents of God’s will and expressions of God’s power and, therefore, to be allowed to run their course. He sets himself against all those persons and realities which use their power to cause suffering.

The reason for this comes out very clearly in a passage in the Gospel of Luke. The disciples argue with each other about which of them is the greatest.

“And . . . [Jesus] said to them, ‘The kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them; and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you; rather let the greatest among you become as the youngest, and the leader as one who serves. For which is the greater, the one who sits at the table, or the one who serves? Is it not the one who sits at the table? But I am among you as the one who serves.’” (Ch. 22:25-27)

In this passage Jesus sets himself in contrast to the Gentile lords in terms of his relation to human weakness and need. For the Gentile world, neediness is precisely the condition in which a man may be violated by a superior power, and a lord is one who can exercise such power. The Gentile lords stand in authority and demand submission because of their capacity to exercise violent power. They may give richly to their subjects. Nevertheless, this is what undergirds their authority, their “greatness.”

Jesus makes clear that the divine power in him vindicates is powerfulness in the face of human need in just the opposite way. It does not dominate, threaten, or impose violence; it serves. In this connection it is no accident that Jesus undertakes his mission to the poor and not to the rich, to the sinful and not to the righteous, to the weak and not to the strong, to the dying and not to those full of life. For with these vessels of need God most decisively vindicates his peculiar kind of power, his power of service whereby the poor are fed, the sinful are forgiven, the weak are strengthened, and the dying are made alive.

Therefore, in the perspective of the New Testament, what is involved in the problem of violent suffering is no incidental matter, but touches the very nature of divine power. Jesus sets himself in total opposition to all modes of violence and to every kind of powerfulness that must establish itself in the Gentile way, that is, by being able to do violence to the weak and needy. Such so-called power is not an aspect of, but rather the very opposite of God’s power. And therefore, since God alone is the author and ground of all real power, this energy of violence is not actually powerful at all. Its power is only pretension.

At the hear of the Christian faith in Jesus is the knowledge that true power belongs only to God. The distinctive mark of God’s power is service and self-giving. And in this world such power belongs only to him who serves. In light of such a faith, the Christian has no final fear before the pretentious claims of violent power.

If there is a Christian solution to the problem of suffering, therefore, it lies in such an understanding of the power of God.

~ Arthur McGill, Suffering: A Test of Theological Method, 61-63.

On a day so shamelessly used to valorize power-as-violence and to unify a people through fear, it is fitting to reflect on the true nature of God’s power. The power that serves, heals, dies, and rises again rather than anxiously grasping for control of history.

Augustine Translations

Even though Augustine Week only produced a handful of posts, I’m still furiously reading all things Augustine. So far I’ve been quite impressed with the New City Press editions of Augustine’s works. Sadly they haven’t done The City of God yet, but the Cambridge University Press edition seems pretty good to me.

But, as a total dilettante at Augustine scholarship, I find myself wanting to ask the question: what translations of Augustine do people find to be the best? And why?

Against Potential

Jack Bernard’s book How to Become a Saint is quite a treasure as far as books on the Christian life go. His thoughts on humility are particularly helpful:

The downfall of attempts to become humble is that they are usually driven by the desire to become superior. . . . If you set out to get rid of pride or to develop humility you are going to fall flat on your face. If you are fortunate, you will fail at it in such a way that you can see not only that you have failed, but that you have within yourself no potential to do otherwise! The key word here is “potential.” The standard trick of pride is to protect oneself from facing reality by always claiming unrealized potential. We say to ourselves, “I could do it if only . . .” Therefore actual failures at spiritual achievement are not accepted as a true reflection of self. Before we can actually live in reality and advance in the spiritual life, we must rid ourselves of the notion that we have potential. We do not. We are spiritually bankrupt. Only deliverance from outside of ourselves will keep us out of the pit. (p. 38, 39)

Long story short: if you find yourself desiring to become humble, there’s a good chance you’re on the wrong track. What we should desire is simply the truth. Humility is simply recognizing and living in a manner that is consistent with what is true about us. Desiring to become humble in itself is usually a sign that we are still trying to shield ourselves from truth.

What freaking out tells us about Conservatism

The internet is all abuzz about how conservatives across the country are utterly flipping out about the fact that Obama is going to be addressing children in schools at the beginning of the school year. His speech amounts to nothing more than your standard “work hard, stay in school, you’re the future” line, but for some reason conservatives stand appalled. A simple presidential statement encouraging students to work hard and value education has immediately been compared to the actions of Charles Manson and Adolf Hitler by conservatives all over the place.

WTF? Why would anyone be mad about the president plugging a stay in school message? What could possibly be bad about that? Do they really think he’s going to get on the air and tell children to have abortions and euthanize their parents as soon as possible?

I would suggest that there’s really something quite different at work here. Conservatives in America simply cannot abide not being in power. Living out of perceived political and social control is so utterly frightening for them that they are literally foaming at the mouth and convulsing at the drop of a hat about things of no consequence whatsoever. I don’t see any other way to make sense out of the sort of irrational outrage that keeps cropping up. Conservatives just have a visceral aversion to not feeling like they are in control.

This is probably true of any political persuasion to one degree or another, but from a theological perspective it only further points out how conservatism in America is decidedly anti-Christian. Fundamental to the Christian political vision is Jeremiah’s appeal to “seek the peace of the city where God has sent you into exile.” Christians are called to live as a diasporic people, a people distinctly not in control who instead rely on and trust in God for survival and flourishing. The rabid outrage and fear among conservatives over not being in apparent control is just another manifestation of how profoundly anti-Christian American conservatism is at its very roots. It craves the very form of domination and power that Jesus rejected, the power to take hold of history, to save ourselves, to posess, control, and dominate. The current conservative outrage is just one more manifestation of its sub-Christian and semi-Pelagian nature.

The Doxological Self

To move towards something of a synthesis of my last two reflections on Augustine’s Confessions let us consider:

  1. Augustine’s act of recounting his life and accounting for his past “selves” is an act of self-construction in some sense. Augustine is becoming a person through telling the story of his conversion.
  2. The act of confession, of telling the truth about God and ourselves is ultimately, and in Augustine’s case manifestly, an act of joyful doxology, of delight in God. To confess is to joyfully speak how we have been radically de-centered and dynamically caught up into God’s own life.

As such, for Augustine, his act of “self-construction” is not what we think of in the modern sense of determining ourselves, becoming a pastiche of preferences and judgments on the basis of our desires. Rather, what Augustine is doing in narrating himself in the Confessions is fundamentally doxological (and missionary—more on this later). Thus the “self” that Augustine renders through his personal narrative is a distinctly unselfed self. A person whose center lies not in himself but in God’s radical intrusion radically transformative presence into his life. In short, the self that Augustin construct in confessing is a distinctly doxological self.

Thus, whatever we may make of Augustine’s relation to the rise of the modern self, Augustine himself had very little in common with it. Augustine ultimately discovered his “self,” his personhood through doxology—that is through being caught up in God’s radical grace which elicits the excessive response of praise and thanks in all of one’s actions. That is why Augustine’s autobiography cannot be cast in any other linguistic mode but that of doxology.

What is Confession?

One of the interesting things about reading Augustine’s Confessions is the way it makes one reflect on what the practice of confession means in a full theological sense. Clearly Augustine’s act of confessing in his account includes what we normally think of, namely the public admission of sin. However it is clearly much, much more than that for Augustine. All throughout the Confessions the language is saturated with longing, prayer, inquiry, exultation, sorrow, joy, and hope. In short, the language of the Confessions is the language of the pslams, or more generally, of prayer.

Put even more succinctly, for Augustine, confession ultimately is centered in speaking the truth about God and creation in all its dramatic complexity and contingency. “Confession” means something like profession of the fullness of our faith, proclamation of the gospel in all its dimensions. Confession is the passionate commitment to speak the truth in all its beauty in the face of our own manifest slavery and contradiction. However for Augustine this task is not one of sheer moral resolve, let alone humiliation, rather it is an exercise of joy in God.

To boil it all down, confession must ultimately be seen as the articulation of our own doxological transformation. In confession we recount how we have been and continue to be caught up into God’s radical love which draws us away from sin and futility and towards the fullness of life and joy in sharing in the triune life. In short, confession is doxology. In confession we are drawn to speak (or sing) the truth of God’s intrusion into our lives of sin and slavery out of the excess of the joy that comes from knowing God and knowing ourselves and our neighbors in God.

Confession is not a difficult moral duty. Rather it is an exercise of doxological delight in the beauty of how God has seized in Christ and through the Spirit given us a share in the very life of the Trinity.

Augustine and Self-Constituting Narration

Brian Horne’s essay “Person as Confession” is an interesting look at what Augustine was perhaps “doing” in writing his Confessions. This has clearly been a source of debate among scholars of Augustine for some time, but Horne’s analysis certainly poses some interesting questions. Why, for example did Augustine assume that people would be interested in reading about his own spiritual development? Did he even have an audience in mind?

Horne suggests that Augustine’s unstated motivation in writing the confessions is actually quite different. Augustine was not primarily writing for others but rather for himself. What is going on in the Confessions is “the deliberate creation of a ‘persona’, the ‘I’ or subject of the narrative.” Horne goes on:

It is no accident that so many writers on ‘narrative theology’ go to Augustine’s Confessions as a primary text, the classical example (outside the biblical text) of the genre of ‘narrative theology.’ It does exactly what narrative theologians want a text to do: it presents a theology by telling a story, or, perhaps, to put it the other way around, it tells a story in such a way that the theological implications are unmistakable. We take this further: in the Confessions we have the attempt at discovering meaning in a life and imposing an order on chaos by means for relating and forming into a narrative (a human history) selected pieces of previous experience. It is, in a real sense, the re-creation of the person by the recollection of the past; and the process by which this is done is highly selective. (p. 68)

What Augustine in doing in the Confessions is an  act of constitutive self-narration. Augustine is constructing his persona, his very self in recounting his story. This is seen most clearly in the central role that memory plays in the Confessions. This trajectory reaches its apogee in Book X, chapter 17 when Augustine actually identifies personality with memory:

O my God, profound infinite complexity, what a great faculty memory is, how awesome a mystery! It is the mind, and this is nothing other than my very self.

Thus, for Augustine, personhood itself is found in memory. To be a person is to remember. As such, Augustine’s exercise in telling his story is, in a very real  sense, Augustine’s own exercise of becoming a person:

Memory and personhood are co-terminous, hence the necessity for the subject to tell his own story. The ostensible motive for Augustin’s writing of the Confessions was the ethical one: the encouragement of his readers in their struggle to live the Christian life; but might not the real, though unacknowledged, motive have been the ‘achievement’ of his own personality? Like Proust who has to relate the middle-aged Parisian Marcel to the Marcel who was a child in Combray, the Marcel who was an adolescent in Balbec, and the Marcel who was obsessed with Albertine; so Augustine has to integrate the various Augustines of the past (the Manichee, the neo-Platonist, the youth of powerful sexual energy and emotion) with the man who finds himself Bishop of Hippo. And it is only memory that can be used for this function: without memory the person cannot exist. (p. 71)

If this sort of reading is correct, perhaps we can say that Augustine is the first “pure” narrative theologian in the modern sense. And it also rasies questions about the nature of the Augustinian self and what relation it has to the modern self.

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