Christmas Re-membered

Often today, many feel "caught" in an uncomfortable tight space generated by the disparities between traditional religious and modern thought.  For more than 200 years now, "higher" biblical criticism has progressively made untenable many former biblical "sureties."  No figure has suffered more from a historical strip down than has the person of Jesus.  In the search for the historical Jesus, as it has evolved for more than a century now, we have progressively discovered that many "facts" about the life and words of Jesus can no longer be understood to be historically "factual" in the sense that they might have been recordable on a video camera had technology of that sort been available at that time.  This is particularly apparent to us in an historical examination of the birth narratives of the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. Not only do they appear to belong to a relatively late layer of the Jesus gospel tradition, but also the accounts of these writers are profoundly different, not just in small details but in general outline and internal "message." (I invite you to read this year the Matthew and Luke accounts separately, not conflating them together into one unified story as we usually do, but considering each one individually, if you are in doubt about this.) It is plainly the case, even at the simplest level, that if one of these narratives is accepted as the "true" story in a literal sense, then the other must be plainly false, and vice versa.  An insistence then, on an historically factual birth narrative of Jesus, inevitably "lets us down" unless we are particularly fond of paradox.

What then are we to do with these narratives?

In their recent book, The First Christmas, historical Jesus scholars Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg set aside very quickly any obsessive preoccupation with trying to discover "factual" information in the birth narratives, and quickly pass to questions of "meaning," looking at the stories from the perspective of myth or parables that we understand to be "true" in the same manner that we find "truth" in the many parables spoken in the gospels accounts by the person of Jesus.  Which of us, when considering the parable of the Good Samaritan, for example, would assert that the validity of that particular story depended on a factuality that events "really happened" exactly as described?  We note, on the contrary, that the parable's truth resides at a level that is more than any simple retelling of historical fact, in the message that it conveys in story form. In a similar manner, when we relax our anxieties generated by a futile attempt to view the nativity stories as historical fact, we can open up to the deeper truth of the messages that they contain.

As Episcopalians (along with Lutherans, Roman Catholics, Eastern Orthodox and other Christians retaining strong liturgical traditions) we can enter into a particularly intense experience of these narratives as we participate in the rituals and liturgies of the Advent and Christmas cycle.  Just as with the narratives of Lent and Easter where we ritually walk the "way of the cross," the rites of Advent and Christmas invite us to walk "the road to Bethlehem" and symbolically re-enact  the truths of the nativity stories not as written and received records of a distant past, but as experiences made present to us today.   We can assume, liturgically, mentally and symbolically, the roles of the many characters in these stories– standing in the cold wintery fields with the astonished shepherds, feeling the anguish of Joseph in the presumed infidelity of his engaged spouse and the wonder of a dream that reveals a miraculous and unbelievable alternative, following with the Magi behind the star to Bethlehem, escaping by the warning of a portentous dream the murderous intent of King Herod, and like Mary, pondering the "meaning of these things" "in our hearts.

In the early development of our English Prayerbook tradition, some of those with more Puritan attitudes objected to the inclusion of canticles such as that recorded in today's Gospel reading, which we know as the Magnificat or "Song of Mary," on the grounds that such texts were properly understood as being appropriate only to those historical persons who had "originally" uttered them. Their position was the same as that of many so-called evangelicals and fundamentalists today who insist that the only "true" understanding of these narratives is the literal acceptance of these texts as historical facts and "proofs" that thereby legitimate the proclamation of Jesus as Messiah and Lord.  Fortunately for us, however, traditional practice prevailed, and the texts came down to us not merely in our Bible, but in our Prayerbook rites as well.   When we sing the Magnificat in a ritual setting, we "assume the role" of Mary as she marvels at the "great things" that "the Almighty has done."  We do not sing "Mary's soul proclaimed the greatness of the Lord," but "My soul proclaims (noting the use of the present tense) the greatness of the Lord." Taking on the persona of Mary, we affirm our own hope and trust in the rule of God in which the tyrant is made into a subject and the humble ones exalted to power, the hungry in spirit and flesh are fed and the prideful are brought low. The ritual and liturgical "making present" of the narratives of our faith tradition begins then to reveal levels of deeper understanding and leads us into a more profound form of "belief" ( as trust / confidence / commitment, rather than an intellectual assent to a collection of facts to be affirmed as "true") than any literal reading of these stories as events past could ever accomplish. Our use of these foundational stories and texts in liturgical settings becomes part of the larger "incarnational" character of our religious practice where the narrative is not just stuff from the "elsewhere past" but our narrative in the here and now.  In theological terms, this is akin to the belief that the presence of God in Jesus the Christ is experienced as the presence of God/Christ in us and in the world today. (In the words of the apostle Paul, "It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.") We thus may engage in a special form of symbolical and liturgical "re - membering" in the Advent and Christmas narratives in a way similar to that in which we celebrate the Eucharist, as an "anamnesis" in Greek, or in approximate English equivalent  a "re - presentation" of the narrative as a present and active reality, not just a fond recollection of things past.

This Christmas, once again then, I invite us to become like "little children" and "re-live" the stories of these birth narratives, and in this re-living, find ourselves transformed by the truths and messages that they incarnate in a symbolic and parabolic way.  To close, I invite you particularly to look as you sing them this year for the many present tense and personal references that we find in even our more modern songs of the Christmas season, starting you off with a few examples here (my emphasis added):

"O Holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us we pray.

Cast out our sin, and enter in.

Be born in us today...."

"How far is it to Bethlehem? Not very far.

Shall we find the stable room lit by a star?

Can we see the little child, is he within?

If we lift the wooden latch, may we go in?"

"Yea, Lord, We  greet thee, born this happy morning..."

Yes, Lord, we greet you, born this and every other happy morning into our lives by faith. Help us to get beyond the superficiality of misguided literalism, and lead us to truth that begins and ends only in life lived within and filled by you. Amen.

9This post originally was published in the Integrity @ Trinity weekly newsletter, The Sunday Roundup for 20 December 2009. 

The Odes of Solomon

I had posted this week a couple of comments to Nick Knisely’s blog where he and some others are “struggling” with the doctrines of “the fall” and “the incarnation” as they might apply to the future discovery of non-terrestrial intelligent life.  I have twice advanced the opinion that “the fall” is overemphasized in Western Spirituality thanks to Augustine and Anselm of Canterbury.  I have also suggested that the “incarnation” is a doctrine that is not necessarily tied tightly to “the fall” nor ideas of human “sinfulness.” 

I was re-reading this week from a book by Philip Jenkins entitled The Lost History of Christianity.  This is a commentary-loaded history of the Christian East in the areas of Syria, Iran, Iraq, India, Tibet, China, etc.  These so-called “Nestorian” Christians had a vibrant culture and, in their day, far outnumbered the Christians of Europe and the Mediterranean.  

One text that we owe to the earliest days of Syrian Christianity is the so-called “Odes of Solomon.”  Clearly not Solomonic, but Christian in origin, they should not be confused with the similarly named Psalms of Solomon that are a pharasaic Judaic creation.  The Odes have been criticized by some for “gnostic” content (they mention “knowledge” here and there), but classical elements of developed gnostic thought are plainly missing (e.g. the “evil” nature of the physical world/creation for example).  In the translantion by James Charlesworth, they are incredibly beautiful poems/hymns and demonstrate a theology rather more akin to the Johanine tradition than anything else in our current corpus.   These odes were “discovered” in the late 19th/early 20th century and have since been found in multiple manuscript traditions.  Scholars have dated them to about the 2d century (some minority opinions say late 1st century) of the common era making them about contemporary with the Didache.  Had these texts been widely circulated in the Christian West, I think that they would have stood an excellent chance of inclusion in the New Testament canon of scripture. 

Since our canon is long-since “closed,” that is “water under the bridge,” but they are nevertheless beautiful pieces of Christian poetry.  They reveal a gentle and kindly God who, like a divine mother, offers “his breasts” for milk for his children.  They describe a view of the incarnation that is both ancient and fresh, singularly lacking in the dark colorations given that doctrine by Augustine and Anselm and their adherents in the west.  

There is a free online version of the Charlesworth translation that is available at the link: The Odes of Solomon

I’ll also “paste in” a copy of the segment that I quoted in Dean Knisely’s blog, Entangled States

From Ode 7

"For there is a helper for me, the Lord. He has generously shown himself to me in his simplicity, because his kindness has diminished his dreadfulness.

He became like me, that I might receive Him. In form he was considered like me, that I might put him on.

And I trembled not when I saw him, because he was gracious to me.

Like my nature he became, that I might understand him. And like my form, that I might not turn away from him.

The Father of Knowledge is the Word of knowledge.

He who created wisdom is wiser than his works.

And he who created me when yet I was not knew what I would do when I came into being.

On account of this, he was gracious to me in his abundant grace, and allowed me to ask from him and to benefit from his sacrifice.

For he it is who is incorrupt, the perfection of the worlds and their Father.

He has allowed Him to appear to them that are his own; in order that they may recognize him that made them, and not suppose that they came of themselves.

For towards knowledge he has set his way, he has widened it and lengthened it and brought it to complete perfection.

And has set over it the traces of his light, and it proceeded from the beginning until the end.

For by him, he was served, and he was pleased by the Son.

And because of his salvation, he will possess everything. And the Most High will be known by his holy ones:

To announce the coming of the Lord, that they may go forth to meet him and may sing to him, with joy and with the harp of many tones...

Let the singers sing the grace of the Lord Most High, and let them bring their songs.

And let their heart be like the day, and their gentle voices like the majestic beauty of the Lord.

And let there not be anyone who breathes that is without knowledge or voice.

For he gave a mouth to his creation: to open the voice of the mouth towards him, and to praise him."

I found this, frankly, to be stunningly beautiful.  What's more surprising is that all of the Odes are like this.  How did we "miss" this text in the West, and why are they not more popular? 

Christological Confusion.

It is becoming increasingly common to think of faith in the Christian West as going through a time of great change.  In the simile proposed by Phyllis Tickle, we have torn open the covering of the "cable" to the anchor of faith and are examining the cords/threads within.  The source of our modern "predicament" has been variously conceptualized, and I am drawn to the hypothesis proposed by Karen Armstrong that, in the post-reformation period, the Christian West has abandoned too much of the "mythos" in religion, opting for a  more purely "logos" approach, creating a new synthesis out of the interaction of traditional faith with the ideas of the enlightenment and the growth of modern science. This approach asserted the "understandability" of religious faith in rational terms in much the same way that the discovery of the "laws" of physics had rendered the physical world intelligible and understandable.  As the discoveries of science have rapidly rendered a literal understanding of at least the cosmology of the bible untenable, however, the "cracks" in the old religious synthesis have continued to appear in ever greater number and size.

Somewhat less credited, it would seem, in Armstrong's work, has been the influence of the so-called higher biblical criticism.  Shunned by conservative evangelicals who continue to espouse a "literalist" approach, it has become rather standard stuff in a modern seminary education for mainline protestants and also Roman Catholics. Although it is not frequently referred to in explicit ways in most Sunday sermons, it underlies a great deal of the public preaching in the mainline Protestant churches and lurks underneath the surface in more Catholic settings.  Currently, the "debate" between radical atheism and religious faith has focused on questions such as the "existence" of God and the attacks by the atheist activists on the literalist/fundamentalist form of Christianity that has arisen as a response to the tide of the degradation of the old-paradigm, post-reformation Christian synthesis. As in any bitter divorce, there is acrimony aplenty flowing in both directions between the now-atheist scientists and the Christian fundamentalists.  This has become further complicated by the "culture war" causes of civil rights for persons of color, women and GLBT persons.

One more subtle thread, however, often lost in this drama that plays out on the more public stage, has been what I might term the "Crisis of Christology." Traditional histories of Christianity relegate the great Christological debates to a long-past period of the first centuries of Christian development. The "settled question" of Christology, however, has begun  to resurface following assaults on many fronts: questions about the literal/factual nature of the resurrection,  "historical" Jesus research and the rediscovery of ancient "alternative" Christologies such as those found in the Nag Hammadi texts to name a few.  As an Episcopalian in a church where fundamentalist biblical literalism is a decidedly minority opinion, the Christological controversy is likely to prove much more divisive and destructive, and it is something that we would be well-advised to watch very carefully. It has already surfaced in a practical sense in the recent controversy over the consent to the election of the Rev. Kevin Thew Forrester in the Diocese of Northern Michigan.  It was implicit in the furor over the sermon of the Most Rev. Schori with her supposedly "universalist" comments at recent General Convention.  For conservative Evangelicals, little of their faith life has been grounded in any conscious/careful understanding of traditional Christology, although it "assumes" some of the basics.  For Episcopalians, however,  traditionally both reformed and catholic, continuing to affirm the Nicean-Constantinopolitan Creed and possessing an historical liturgical tradition, our whole religious life "reeks" with complex Christological underpinnings. In online debates I have seen this surface in what I might call a "mining" or rediscovery of more "eastern" orthodox traditions. We find quotes trotted out from the earliest fathers of the Church: Athanasius, the Gregories, Basil and others as "defenses" in a way that has not been seen in Christian theological debate for more than a millennium.  This reassertion of the complex Christologies to which they contributed has been countered by a contrary school of reaching back to more mystical traditional ideas with elements from Origen, Duns Scotus, Eckhart, pseudo-Dionysius and others revered for their works on religious experience/practice and some of them villified for their "defective" Christologies.  In a more profound way than the debates that have arisen over biblical literalism, this has touched the heart of more "catholic" strains of Christianity such as exist in Anglicanism and TEC and has contributed to the present unhappy marriage of biblical-literalist evangelicals and traditionalist Anglo-catholics. We saw this earlier this year in a debate in The Episcopal Cafe in which I participated in which the "meaning" of the incarnation and its "orthodox" understanding was a topic of lively debate.  It has resurfaced this past week on Dean Nicholas Knisely's Blog, Entangled States, where he was noted to have quipped, "Ugh. Who says the Christological controversies are fully behind us?"

Rather than being "fully behind us," I believe that the question of the place of Jesus in post-modern Christianity is very much an open one at present.  As someone who has moved in a non-theistic and more "mystical" direction in the "understanding" of religious faith and practice but who has also absorbed a great deal of the "higher criticism," I have been trying, so far, to "let the question ride."  Inasmuch as a "mystical" or "experiential" approach to the numinous requires a liturgical and ritual context, I had decided that it would be best to loosen my crossed fingers and just "do" the liturgy rather than placing each prayer, response and action under the analytical microscope.  I have also been drawn, as a response to the dreaded "Anglican Covenant," to the idea advanced by the V. Rev. Knisely of the idea of the BCP as a de facto covenant and one that precludes the need for the one under present consideration.  I have, therefore, been a bit "agnostic" of late in my own Christology.

It is clear, however, that the liturgical life of our branch of the church, so essential to our corporate identity, is strongly rooted in a "high"  traditional Christology.  The centrality of the eucharistic observation is tied up with dogmatic formulations such as the so-called doctrine of penal substitution.  The doctrine of the Holy Trinity and the problematic "God the Son" is so pervasive that one can scarcely find a single paragraph of the prayerbook that does not touch on it- explicitly, implicitly or formulaically.  In general, I think that the church will be better served by anticipating these controversies at this comparatively early stage and starting to deal with them in a conscious and considered manner rather than engaging in our usual practice of waiting for it to become an overwhelming and destructive tidal wave. We need to begin to consider that we may have to re-answer the old question from the Gospels of "Who do you say that I am?" regarding the Christ of Faith, if we are to be able to "save" Jesus for the next synthesis.

I would suggest that this has the potential to be far more divisive than the present hot-button issue of sexuality about which there is currently so much angst.  Admittedly, the "Christological Crisis" has not come fully to the attention of the everyman in the pew, but it is being heard increasingly in more liberal-minded circles in the church.  I find, in addition, that this type of "issue" begins to divide even the so-called "liberals" at a deep level.  There are clearly those who are ready to move forward on issues of morality/sexuality but are deeply suspicious of opening the Pandora's box of re-examining our Christology. Many otherwise "liberal" and intellectual persons in the church have begun to engage  in what I have tended to call "heresy cataloguing" in which the response to a "suspect" Christological statement is to "name the heresy" and slam the door shut on debate.  That a middle-of-the-road clergy person such as Dean Knisely could suggest that Christological controversy is not "fully behind us" suggests that the questions are widespread and deep, even if we do not talk about them.  I would hope that we could continue to exercise our Anglican/Episcopal open-mindedness in debate and discussion and allow some of this to "come out" into the open, particularly after the "sexuality storm" has settled down a bit. So far, much of the "Emergent Church" movement has come from a post-evangelical perspective, and seems little interested in resolving these issues or even discussing them, presumably as high Christology was never a strong "evangelical" concern to start with.  I would hate to see, however, the development/evolution in these new churches continue without the input of those of us from more traditional "mainline" backgrounds who are better equipped to deal with the Christological questions, having historically had a "high" Christology to start with, but we shall see....

Anyone ready to debate the "two natures?"  Don't be chicken!

The Church as a Sponge

I recently posted a reply to a posting on The Episcopal Cafe's Section, "The Daily Episcopalian," in which Adrian Worsfold wrote an essay entitled Anglican No Longer . He describes complicated reasons as to why he no longer feels comfortable calling himself Anglican or Christian for that matter. I oddly felt that I had "been there done that" and that, as one of the few non-theistic Episcopalians that I know, I needed to post some of my own ideas. I suspect that, as I took several days to put my thoughts together for that post, it will not get much notice. I did, however, want to incorporate it into my own blog, as it contains some ideas about what I have recently been thinking about church and the world. I am attracted, I think, to some of the "emergent" Christianity movement's ideas, but I often get the feeling that the persons writing in that area are coming from an Evangelical background and that their foundational assumptions and language "do not go far enough" to move away from that source. Another voice from both a more "catholic" as well as "pluralist" perspective is needed. As I read it over, I think that I "jump" a bit from the metaphor of the sponge to the metaphor of pilgrimage, and I could probably "clean it up," but I think that I will post it as I originally wrote it for now:

As an a-theistic (non-theistic) Christian/Episcopalian, I somehow feel that I should comment. Ultimately, however, paths like that which Adrian has taken cannot be walked by another, no matter how much sympathy I feel for many of his views. I can only wish him well on his journey, and I hope that his pilgrimage will be one of fulfillment and meaning.
I have thought a great deal recently about "what does it mean" to be Episcopalian/Anglican in this time of re-examination of our foundational "truths" and the inevitable anti-explorational reactions that this invokes. Somehow, I feel that, while I applaud our moves for "fuller inclusion" of LGBT persons and women, we are missing the mark. What Christianity and TEC/Anglicanism does not need so much is "inclusivity" (and certainly not more "exclusivity") but more "porosity." We need for the church to be more "porous" in terms of its experience of/with the world and creation, the "numinous" and the stories and perspectives of other religious traditions and how we understand and allow that to meaningfully interact with our own traditions and history. I was thinking recently that, in spite of our attempts to formulate positions/doctrines, Jesus in the Gospels often seemed to resist firm definitions. "What is the Kingdom of heaven like?" was answered mostly in parable and metaphor, not in creed/covenant/doctrine. "Covenant" Anglicans need to appreciate the irony of what they are trying to accomplish.
How about a new parable? "The Kingdom of Heaven is like a sponge. When it is taken out of water, it dries out, hardens, breaks and disintegrates. But when it is put into water, it takes up the water and grows and absorbs it. And when you take it out again, it drenches everything around it. "
The Church, I think, needs to be more sponge-like. It needs to absorb the concerns and needs of those that it encounters. It needs to avoid having firm boundaries and borders. It needs to be drenched in the experience of the world as it is, not as we wish it to be and also the possibility of the numinous that we may find/encounter in ways unlike any that we have known before. Scripture needs to be a springboard for experience/thought, not a wall around our minds and lives to fence them in. We need to break the canon open, not fence it in. The church needs to be immersed in the water of the numinous and the world, not out of the water and drying out on a storage shelf. It needs to "leak" the numinous and its reflections and experience back into the surrounding water and world.
At this point, I am more "optimistic" than Adrian that the churches, Anglican and Episcopal and others, can still possibly do this. It will not be easy, but what real thing is ever easy? In the year 2000, the liturgy for the opening of the Holy Door at St. Peter's in Rome was accompanied by a prayer containing a line that still resonates with me: "The Church is on a pilgrimage through time to eternity." Each of us is journeying in this Pilgrimage for such an infinitesimal time with no end in sight. We walk, yes, but wither none of us really can say nor can we say that there is some "end" at which we will arrive. I hope, though, that while we live and walk together or apart, we may find meaning in the journey itself.

True Anglican Unity-arguments against an Anglican covenant and magisterium

Although I have been spending the last few weeks (indeed last couple of months) running from one task to another, it has also been a time for growth and reflection, particularly as regards the recent events at TEC's general convention the ordination to all levels of ministry of LGBT persons as well as the resolution calling for an interim local pastoral solution on blessings as the Standing Liturgical committee collects liturgical resources for the next GC in 2012.

One of the best personal outcomes of this process, for myself as well as others, has been the chance to reflect and listen and respond to +Rowan Cantuar's own "reflection" on the issue of Anglican unity. (Here)

It has been heartening to hear the spectrum of dissenting response, not all necessarily from liberals/progressives, against his view of the structure that he is proposing for the Anglican Communion as a whole. In particular, it has invited a great deal of reflection on really what Anglicanism is, and what is our true "instrument" of unity.

Giles Fraser, in an insightful essay (here) in the Church Times writes:

"[T]he genius of the Church of England has been to allow different theological temperaments to worship alongside one other, united by common prayer and community spirit. This was how we recognised each other as members of the same Church. This was our particular charism, and we were widely valued for it." (emphasis added)

A Lutheran in-law of mine once stated a perspective of some other Lutherans about TEC that, "You can believe in a rock, as long as you use the prayerbook."

For those persons who see our faith lives as bounded by creeds and covenants and definitions, this conceptualization of the church is an offensive and heretical one. Anyone who knows the history of the post-reformation Church of England and the post-revolution Episcopal Church knows, however, that this way of "defining" who we are, who's "in" and who's "out," has not been the prevailing Anglican way. We have tried to do this in the past, but always with disastrous results.

I was reading a post by Trinity Cathedral Dean, Nicholas Knisely, last week about his own feelings about GC and the subsequent furor. In a post in his blog "Entangled States" entitled "We pray together. And that's enough." (here), he writes:

"The Elizabethan Settlement, which for me is modeled at every Eucharist when I present the host to a communicant with the paradoxical words (to a person of Tudor England) “the body of Christ, the bread of Heaven”, is fundamental to our identity as Anglicans. We are willing to be in relationship with people who will gather with us around Jesus; whether they by [sic] free or slave, man or women, Jew or Greek. We are the anti-puritans caring less about clarity of theological categories than we do about loving relationship. “If you will pray to Jesus with me, I will pray to Jesus with you.”

At least we try to when we’re at our best. Which isn’t always that often admittedly.

In my mind, as an Episcopalian of catholic leanings and ecumenical enthusiasm, if there’s one thing that argues for the continued existence of an Anglican witness in the Universal Church - it’s our charism of holding firm to praying with those with whom we disagree no matter how hard that is to do." (emphasis added)

I would agree, therefore, that one of the essences, perhaps the essence, of Anglicanism is our willingness to worship and pray together in spite of our differences. It is this sort of liturgical unity, an acting out of our spiritual unity as members of the Body of Christ, that is nearer to the heart of Anglicanism than is the misguided attempt to make us the English Branch of Roman Catholicism that some, such as the ABC +Rowan, seem to be trying to force upon us.

I have posted a quote from Edward Pucey elsewhere (in response to Nicholas blog post) from his "Eirenicon," itself an "answer" to questions of unity/relationship between the C of E and Roman Catholicism, but I believe that it bears repeating as it summarizes things so well:

"At Holy Communion we pray to God to 'inspire continually the Universal Church with the spirit of truth, unity and concord,' and for 'all Bishops,' not our own only. Certainly, since prayer is the voice of the soul to God, we express not our inmost belief only, but a loving belief, that the Church is one.
How it is one, the Church nowhere defines; but the faith is kept alive by prayer more than by definitions. Yet, whatever duties may follow up in the Unity of the Church, it is plain that no harmony of men's will can constitute a supernatural and Divine unity.
Unity, in part, is the direct gift of God; in part, it is the fruit of that gift in the mutual love of the members of the Church. In part, it is a spiritual oneness wrought by God the Holy Ghost; in part, it is a grace to be exercised by man, a consequence and fruit of that gift. In one way, it is organic unity derived from Christ and binding all to Christ, descending from the Head to the Body, and uniting the Body to the Head; in another, it consists in acts of love from the members one to another. Christ our Lord, God and Man, binds us to Him by the indwelling of His Spirit, by the gift of His Sacraments, administered by those to whom He gave the commission so to do, by the right faith in Himself. , We are bound to one another, in that we are members of Him, and by the love which He sheds abroad in our hearts through the Spirit which he giveth us, and by common acts of worship and intercommunion.
Of these, the highest and chief is that which binds us to Christ Himself. Our highest union with one another is an organic union with one another through union with Him." (emphasis added)

I would add, therefore, my argument that we neither need nor want a more defined "Anglican Covenant" nor an established international Anglican Magisterium set up in imitation of the Roman Church's model that we chose to abandon nearly 500 years ago. Those of us who oppose this model that is, for us, both reactionary and novel, need to speak up and be insistent. I agree that, although TEC has plainly articulated "where we are" as a province, it would be a sorry state if we did not support others throughout the Anglican Communion in their struggle to resist this kind of counter-productive and backward-looking "reform" that is being offered in the guise of a truly "catholic" Christianity.

"Summoned by the God who made us

Rich in our diversity,

Gathered in the name of Jesus,

Richer still in unity:

Let us bring the gifts that differ

And, in splendid, varied ways,

Sing a new church into being,

One of faith and love and praise"

Fearing the "where we are" option

I just "responded" to an article on Episcopal Cafe written by Richard Helmer under the title "Eyes on the floor: B033 – A Festering Wound"  I think that I should also place my worries in my blog as well, and I would invite any comments that any would like to make, hopefully to assuage my growing fears. 

I have had a growing sense of uneasiness that the "where we are now" option response to B033 has a potential for being the convention's response to the pain and problems that followed B033.  It is such a "liberal" and so "Episcopalian" response.  It is sincere in saying what we "all" believe.  My fear, however, is that this "where we are" will move full inclusion really little to no distance forward, but will be "just enough" to invite another aggressive response from the "other side."  Although we on the side of full inclusion seem to be trying to avoid an all out war, it seems that the "other side" has been preparing a preemptive and devastating strike.  

B033 accomplished little to nothing. We had no more LGBT candidates move forwards in the process of elevation to the Episcopacy.  We were, however, left with all the scars.  ACNA happened.  Extra-provincial Episcopal interventions happened.  The attempts to extort commitments from TEC and to put it under disciplinary actions continued. 

The recent meetings in the C of E show that the anti-inclusion persons are continuing to use the issue to push their own agenda forwards in an aggressive manner.   Do we really believe that, should we make a "modest" response, they will respond "modestly" as well?  "The last time" the schismatics had the bonfires all set and ready to go.  B033 was passed; they lit the bonfire anyways.  Who knows what "bonfire" or "bomb" is set and ready to be ignited when GC closes the door for another three years?

My fear this time is that we now have the momentum to really do something positive, but that we will, out of charity and a sense of trying to still "include" persons and groups who have no desire at all to be "included" in anything with us, take a "half measure."  There "where we are now" option will move us no forward from the status quo.  The "backlash" that is already likely set up to be let loose no matter what GC does, will not be moderated by our measure being a "half measure."  We will, once again, get all the "badness" with none of the goodness.  Already, some of us are getting the "jitters" because we fear that affirming the value of our (minority) LGBT brothers and sisters will harm more people than it helps if it impairs our ability to minister to the "poorest and the least."  (We will save a few LGBT people, but will consign many more to poverty and death.-- a net "loss" on the "debit and credit" model of salvation and ministry).  When the backlash comes (and it will), I fear that many of them will simply lose heart, choose to "cut their losses" and drop LGBT inclusion as a "lost cause" for now.  The ongoing "process" that the "where we are" option will come to a halt.  

So, what would I suggest?  I believe that it is not the time for a half measure.  I believe that we  are going to get the same "backlash" no matter what we do.  Let's make what we get out of it "worth it" by making a a clear and unequivocal statement for full inclusion. Agree?

I need Thee, O I need Thee...

This past week, I had to go home to Ohio.  I went, primarily, with the purpose of continuing the process of settlement of my parents' estate.  This has meant continuing to deal with issues of property, paying bills and making legal arrangements, but that has been the easy part.  The harder part has been dealing with their home, a house full of possessions, not only theirs, but their parents and grandparents.  These were not just possessions bought at malls but things that they made and created, objects that they saved as memories of their parents and their own lives.  It has been and continues to be a painful process that continues what happened in their deaths– the dissolution of the evidence of their lives.  Each envelope opened, every clamp in my father's workshop loosened, every tablecloth unfolded releases and dissipates more of the energy and evidence of their lives.  Their physical deaths made this necessary, but that was not primarily by my hand. This was by my hand, my complicity and active surrender to the finitude of theirs, and ultimately, my existence.  Here, I am not just the victim of entropy but the agent of it as well. 

On top of the "planned" tasks and events, I was greeted only hours after my arrival by news of the death of my Aunt Sally, my father's sister.  Although my father has still one half sister living, we were never very close, and this felt to me like "the end," the passing of the last person of my father's and mother's generation.  It was not just the end of the life of one person, a precious one to be sure, but the end of an "era."  It brought home again to me the "truths" of what the Buddhists call the "Five remembrances:" We will grow old; We will grow ill; We will die; We will lose what is precious to us; We will leave behind only the consequences of our actions. 

Sally's funeral was presided over by both a Baptist and a Mennonite minister.  It was full of scripture verses.  It was full of assurances that the "parting is only for a time" and "we will be together again" that characterizes the "hope" of supernatural theism and heaven--we will die, but that is only a physical body.  We will be together in the next world in paradise.  At the end of the funeral, we engaged in the "country" funeral practice where each of the persons attending filed by the open casket for "one last look," one last glimpse of the features of the dead one before the casket is closed and we see them no more forever in this life. My uncle Delmer, Aunt Sally's 90-year-old and physically unwell husband, collapsed as he was standing at his wife's casket.  A wheelchair was needed to allow him to leave and get to the car to go to the cemetery for the graveside service.  Their children did little better and were clearly overcome with tears and grief, and why should they not be?  As the ministers were helping my Uncle into the wheelchair, one of them, the younger one, kept repeating that it was "only for a little while,"  "only a little while."  I do not know if it comforted my uncle. Perhaps it did.  I am pretty sure that it did not comfort me. 

Before and after the funeral, a pianist played many of the "old hymns," primarily evangelical, American hymns, the kind of ones that are heard in Methodist, Baptist and other conservative Christian churches still (but fading in the face of growing "praise music").  One of them has continued to run through my mind this last week: "I need thee every hour." 

I need Thee every hour, most gracious Lord;

No tender voice like Thine can peace afford.

I need Thee, O I need Thee; 

Every hour I need Thee;

O bless me now, my Savior,

I come to Thee.

I need Thee every hour, in joy or in pain; 

Come quickly and abide, or life is in vain.

I need Thee every hour; teach me Thy will;

And Thy rich promises in me fulfill

I need Thee every hour, most Holy One;

O make me thine indeed, Thou blessed son.

I need Thee, O I need Thee;

Every hour I need Thee;

O bless me now, my Savoir,

I come to Thee. 

Thanks to the internet and the "cyberhymnal" (www.cyberhymnal.org), I was able to retrieve the whole text as well as a bit of the story behind it.  Apparently, it was written in 1872 by a woman, Annie S. Hawks, who had, at the age of 37 years, a "numinous" experience.  She wrote," Suddenly, I became so filled with the sense of nearness to the Master that, wondering how one could live without Him, either in joy or pain, these words, 'I Need Thee Every Hour,' were ushered into my mind, the thought at once taking full possession of me.'  Many years later, after the death of her husband, she wrote again, "I did not understand at first why this hymn had touched the great throbbing heart of humanity. It was not until long after, when the shadow fell over my way, the shadow of a great loss, that I understood something of the comforting power in the words which I had been permitted to give out to others in my hour of sweet serenity and peace." 

It brought home to me, perhaps, more clearly than before, that what I need, we need, we all need, is presence. It is not so important what we say to the person in pain, but that we be present to them. It is what we want of our community and especially our church or sangha. We want them to be present to us. It is this desire for "presence" I think, that makes us want God to be a "person" – the most focused kind of "presence" that we know. This is the "great throbbing heart of humanity."  If our religious practice and experience cannot "answer" this in some way (not necessarily confirming it in the way we are immediately inclined to want it), then it can do little for our real needs.  The lack of "presence" is what turned me away from supernatural theism.  I simply could not find such a "presence"  anymore in that context and way of thought.

In many ways, my "rebirth" in a religious sense has been a "turning the page." What I found, however, on turning the page, was not a new "answer" but page after page of blank paper.  I have taken only some tiny steps to write a few shaky lines on these new pages, like the first-grader starting to practice the basic shapes of the letters of the alphabet.  I can feel the "need" however, in myself for "presence" but how, or if, or in what form it may come, I really do not know.  Will it come in gently recognizing the "need" but understanding that the "need" has no answer:  We will grow old; We will grow ill; We will die; We will lose what is precious to us....there is no escape?  Will it come in a flash of light and a heavenly voice.? Will it come at all? I really and honestly do not know.  I know, at least, a bit more clearly what is the reality of this "great throbbing heart of humanity."  It is a tender place, and one that at least "softens" my own "hardness" as I encounter this need in everyone else that I meet:  "I need Thee, O I need Thee; Every hour I need Thee...." 

Trinitarian Reflections

Although much of my attention outside of work this last week has been focused on the preparation for the music for Trinity Sunday, there has been an undercurrent of "theological angst" that has been running just beneath the surface.  Quite honestly, although I enjoy making music, Trinity Sunday is not a feast day that I look forward to with great anticipation.  As we are all fond of saying, it is the only Sunday of the church  year that is devoted to a dogma, and this one is, of its nature, a difficult one, particularly for someone who has moved away from supernatural theism. 

Although the Bishop was careful to not delve too deeply into the "mystery" of the Trinity, he did bring up an idea that has been around in Western Christianity at least since Augustine, probably before, namely, that the Trinity of God is reflected in a Trinity in humanity.  The attribution is that, a humanity created in the image of God, would have a Trinitarian identity as a reflection of that divine "imaging" process. 

I must say that I found the Trinitarian reflections less personally simulating than the restatement of the idea of the "divine" image in humanity.  For the traditional supernatural theists, the incarnation of God in Jesus cum Christ is a, if not the unique event in the history of the universe.  For some eastern incarnational theologians, the incarnation is the purpose of all creation.  For a non-theistic Christian, this is much harder, but I might get to "the same place" as my supernatural theistic friends by another route.  If I see the universe as not a "creation" of God but as a "birth" from the "substance" of God (i.e. a pantheist or panentheistic or pandeistic view), then the "incarnation" was not something "added on" to creation in Christ, but a pre-existent "fact" that is at the very nature of the world itself.  The "incarnation" is, therefore "before all worlds."  We find, therefore, the incarnation in all of "creation," ourselves included.  Not just Jesus, but every human is a unique "son" of God. To take it a step forward (which is where I would lose my theistic and orthodox friends), all humanity (not just Jesus Christ),  is fully God and fully human, as this is what, in essence, humanity is.  In the same, but different way, my cat Charlie is fully God and fully feline.  My sock is fully God and fully sock.  Each element of creation is a reflection of the image of God, because it is, in its deepest essence God/part of God because all of the universe is "God." 

In my mind, then, I hear directed at me the question that was posed to Father Telemond in the film, Shoes of the Fisherman, when he (playing the role of Father Teilhard de Chardin) is asked "What think you of Christ?"  As I have been trying to reconstruct, as it were, a new way of faith out of the shards of the one that I lost, I must truly ask, what is the place of "Christ" in this "non-theistic Christianity" that I and others are exploring? I am not sure, frankly, what I want to say in answer to this question, at least as regards a fully developed "Christology" to accompany the developing "Theology."  A partial answer may be that, it was in the human Jesus (fully God and fully human) that we were given a first or "unique" view of this pre-existent reality.  We, meaning the community of Christian believers, were given a unique glimpse or demonstration or revelation of the incarnation.  Jesus, in his own person, "showed us the Father." Because we have "seen" Jesus, we have also "seen" the "Father."  By walking in the way of Jesus or following him as his disciples, we too can be brought to a more complete or "higher" awareness of the unity of humanity and God  and experience it i ourselves.  This "Theosis" is not something to "achieve" as it were, but is an "epiphany," a revealing of something that we had all along, but of which we were, largely, unaware.  We might find, then, a correspondence or a point of communication with our Buddhist brothers and sisters who look for "Buddha nature" in themselves and the universe.  In Taoism, we might look to the concept of "pu" the "uncarved block" or "original essence."  In a "missional" or "evangelistic" sense, the Christian believer has something worthwhile to offer the non-Christian world if it helps potential believers to "self-realize" their "divine" nature. 

I know that, for "orthodox" Christians, this is the "one step too far."   It is also the step that so many mystics have taken who have been condemned as heretical.  It was, I think, the "error" of Eckhart and Origen.  But is it an "error?"  It is a truism that, often, today's orthodoxy is born from yesterday's heresy.  We shall see....

Idolatrous Meat and Having a Coffee

Last night, Integrity @ Trinity had a very productive and, dare I say, satisfying exchange and sharing with the Bishop of the Diocese of Arizona and the Dean of Trinity Cathedral Phoenix.  Naturally, a great deal of discussion was centered around concerns for moving forward on the issue of full inclusion of LGBT persons in the life of The Episcopal Church (TEC) but also the conflicts and difficulties that have been brewing in the larger Anglican Communion.  

One very valuable piece of information confirmed my suspicions that certain conservative persons have very consciously been using this issue to precipitate schism and division in TEC.  While TEC has, for the most part, held to its commitment to abide by the provisions of B033, it is quite clear that some leaders of the conservative movement have simply ignored all pleas for "restraint" such as those urged by the Windsor Commission.  To discover that one of "their" (formerly "our") bishops spoke quite openly before the consecration of V. Gene Robinson about his intent to use this issue to provoke a division of TEC, is exceedingly disheartening.  If "listening" and "dialogue" seemed to meet no response from this individual and others closely associated with him, I should not be particularly surprised about that, inasmuch as the actions were not a "reaction" to events, but a carefully plotted and "premeditated" strategy to do just what has been done.  It is, frankly, a shame that this is not more widely known. 

At the same time, it encourages me to think that persons with such ill-begotten motives cannot represent all of conservatism in TEC.  Clearly, some persons on the "right" are behaving in stunningly un-Christian ways as they defend views that really have little to do with Christianity.  At the same time, I have known committed Anglo-Catholics who have deep religious convictions and lives of prayer who simply see the world in another way.  I would hope that we may find room in TEC for both liberal and conservative individuals who are not simply motivated to do as Bishop Kirk put it,  "blow the church apart." 

I must also put in a voice of gratitude to Bishop Kirk for bringing up the one biblical passage that has troubled me most as we move forward to the formal recognition of full inclusion for LGBT individuals, specifically the discussion from St. Paul in his letter to the Corinthians centering around eating meat offered in pagan temples.  Paul quite specifically seems to agree with the position that, as the "idols" do not really "exist,"  there could be no harm in eating the food.  Meat was simply meat and could nourish just as well whether it had been offered in a pagan ritual or not. The difficulty seemed to come when those without scruples were critical of those who were not so clear on the issue and perhaps did not as clearly understand the distinction between the "false" gods of the pagan temples and the "true" God whom they now served and acknowledged.  He urged that the "eaters" should have compassion for their "weaker" brethren.   There is no doubt that this passage is on the minds of many of us who, at the same time as we wish to move forward "once and for all"  on LGBT inclusion,  do not wish to harm our "weaker brethren" who have, perhaps, simply not had enough time to understand and to reflect.  We do not want, as it were, for our practice to become a "stumbling block" for them.  

Quite frankly, this is a moral dilemma which has no pat solution that I can see.  There is no doubt in my mind that the church needs to move forward with the "courage of its convictions" about the worth of LGBT persons and allow full access to all of the sacraments of the church.  At the same time, we need to exercise compassion towards those who are shocked or surprised by this move.  In a practical sense, I tend to suspect that many within the groups that have fragmented away from TEC were "looking for an excuse" to move out, and they probably would have done so over some other issue, if not this one.  Once that dust has settled, I hope that we can continue to dialogue with those who have chosen to remain within TEC and try live in unity if not in unanimity.  To that end, if we can do what the presiding bishop has suggested, that is to  make a positive statement of inclusion, then we must also  include those for whom this, hopefully inevitable forward movement, causes pain and continue to offer them the full support and resources of the church.

Ending with an anecdote.  There is a person at Trinity Cathedral, an eastern European immigrant, who has been a member of the cathedral congregation for many years.  Philip and I met her and have had a cordial relationship with her for over 10 years now.  She has, it would seem, a very deep spiritual life and believes most strongly that her relationship with God has made her "clean all over."  It is also clear that she reads the bible frequently and intensely and quite frankly believes that homosexuality is a sin.  When she encounters groups of LGBT persons after the Sunday Eucharist, she will often give a "blessing" with a prayer that these sinful persons will be cleansed of their sin. (Sort of an involuntary exorcism) For some in the LGBT local group, this is quite frankly offensive.  I suspect that, had we not already had a cordial relationship with this person, I might have found that also to be the case.  It was, however, our relationship  to one another, that neither of us is willing to abandon, which keeps our disagreement from being disagreeable.  I simply thank her for her blessing in the spirit of compassion in which it is (from my viewpoint misguidedly) offered, and offer my own intentions to pray for her and her family as well.   Once that is past, then our relationship continues to carry us on together, we share a coffee and talk about our families and other things that we hold in common.  I hope that TEC can work to do something like this on the larger level as well. 

Many Visions

I am not sure where this "thought" will take me, but as I was having my walk this morning, I did some more reflection about the current conflict in TEC and the Anglican Communion.  It seems fairly clear that the "sides" in this current debate have different visions of themselves, God and the church.  Inasmuch as these visions guide us as we walk, it is inevitable that we will walk in different ways and different directions.  The only practical solution that I can see, is to allow those with different visions to be guided by those visions and to walk in the directions and ways that those visions lead them.  For those whose vision is of a "Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today and forever" whose vision guides them to preserve the "deposit of faith" as they have received it, they must do as that vision compels them to do.  For those of us who hear the voice of the Spirit calling us to full inclusion, openness and exploration of the many faces of the life of the Spirit, we must walk in the way that this vision compels us as well.  The best we might hope for is that, even if we do not walk in lock step and in each other's footsteps, we may still share the road together as civil companions, if not as "husband and wife."  We may still converse and point out to each other the sights that we see.   If our roads divide, then perhaps we may still say farewell with civility and hope that our paths may converge again after a time, as we surely do not know where all paths and roads lead.  Too metaphorical?  Probably, but metaphor may be the only way to cope with a reality that is too painful too experience emotionally and to "contrary" to experience logically. 

Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.
Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

Jeffrey Shy

"Visions in Arizona?"

J

The pain of dialogue and the ACC

I have been a bit reluctant to delve into church polity and events, but as a new subscriber to Twitter and as one following the Episcopal Cafe, I have been following as well the events of the current ACC meeting in Jamaica. It has taken so much time in my internal conversation, that some sort of reflection might be helpful, to me if to no one else.  Some of the news has been as "bad" as it might be.  The continuing Windsor report basically asks for a continuation of the "freeze" on the consecration of LGBT bishops and the blessing of same-sex unions as well as a cessation of extra-provincial incursions.  It does, of course, encourage more dialogue and listening, which is a good thing.  It also leans towards putting some "teeth" it would seem into the "instruments of unity" in the form of the so-called Anglican Covenant. 

It is hard for me to sort out how I "feel" about all this.  On the first blush, it makes me feel hurt and angry.  It seems to continue to delay the full inclusion in the life of the church of LGBT individuals.  I imagine this is somewhat like the feeling of a person caught in an abusive family relationship.  We wish to remain part of the family, and our desire to remain a part has trapped us in a relationship with certain persons who are not so much conservative in attitude (yes they are that) but also authoritarian.  There is so much here that seems to be "really" about authority and power, that one begins to feel like a convenient pawn in a power struggle about just who can claim to be "in charge."  Those who espouse a conservative and authoritarian view seem to be struggling to hold onto their authority.  The deposed bishop of Pittsburgh had barely received notice of his removal when he was immediately elevated again to a new position of authority.  The recent legal challenge to the metropolitical status of the presiding bishop and the general convention seems yet another attempt to assert authority.  Perhaps I am self-blinded by my closeness to these issues, but the consecration of V. Gene Robinson and the church's movements towards the blessing of same-sex committed relationships seems more of a "bottom up" growth than a "top down" authoritarian development. 

I am, of course, in favor of dialogue, but does that mean that we must resign ourselves to an open-ended and seemingly endless paralysis of action?  Must we wait for the entirety of global Christianity to give its assent before moving?  I would tend to suspect that, if we had chosen this pathway with regard to inclusion and ordination of women, we would still be waiting and dialoguing, not celebrating the enrichment of our lives that has come from our women deacons, priests and bishops. There is an even more important question to ask, of course, whether it is even possible to have a meaningful dialogue with someone who comes to the conversation with strongly-held authoritarian convictions? When we marry surety of belief with authoritarian power structures, can there ever be any progress in discussion.  I would like to believe that "all things are possible" but I must be realistic that not "all things are probable."  B033 was passed in a guilt-saturated attempt to "hold us together" and was followed by nearly immediate schismatic retaliation from the very people to whom it was offered. 

It is not clear that I even have the concern all for myself.  If the Episcopal and Anglican church should choose to marginalize and condemn, this would be no more than I have come to expect through my last 40 years and more.  I and others like me would, likely, simply turn inwards, regroup and continue to work.  I worry more, however, for those who are not so "hardened" to this.  What of the young LGBT people, the teens and 20-somethings who desperately need the welcome and nurture of a church that accepts them fully and wholly?  What irreparable harm will we do to them as we convey to them that they are "not quite" as good as the rest of the world? What of those who are older, who have "fought the good fight" and look to leave this life still without a reward for all their long labors?  I worry as well about the harm that will come to the Episcopal Church should we walk down this path of never-ending waiting.  TEC in North America is simply not the church of Uganda or the West Indies.  The "mainline protestant" churches in North America continue to fade, and it would be foolish for TEC to pretend that it is "something other."  We might be something other, but not if we walk backwards into ever more authoritarian structures.  So much of the growth in our church has been from those from outside the circles of "cradle Episcopalians." What do they come for?  The answer, I think, is a corporate experience of worship that is both traditional and new coupled with an openness to explore and develop our own spiritual lives and natures with the blessing, welcome and guidance of a church that "welcomes you."  Any backwards retreat will surely dilute the sincerity of that "welcome" and could, I fear, push us closer to the day of our demise. Finally, there is the issue of global justice and humanity.  It seems no coincidence that the Most Rev. Akinola presides over the church in a country that appears to be racking up one of the worst civil right records for LGBT persons in the Christian world.  What message do we send to them, if we do not challenge the positions of their religious and political leaders?  More appropriately, if we do not shine the spotlight on the horrors that appear to be happening there, we become silent conspirators to these human atrocities.  

So finally, where did this post get me?  A solution? Hardly.  A bit more clarity of my own conflict? Perhaps. 

The "Drawing" Power of Creation

Some of the writers in the mystical traditions urge us to turn away from creation to experience God in the formless interior silence.  The writer of the Cloud of Unknowing advises this.  While he lauds the worthiness of "lesser" thoughts, it is his argument that one must aim "higher" to the cloud of unknowing, that which is beyond thought and "pound at it" to move ever closer and into the cloud.  

Other authors, however, write about how God may be experienced through the contemplation of creation, the physical universe of which we also are a part.  Today's reading on "The Episcopal Cafe" for Monica, Mother of Augustine, suggests one such experience. In the quoted excerpt from The Confessions, Augustine, describes an experience which he shared with his mother, just before her death in which they were discussing and trying to imagine what the life of the world to come would be like.  I will indulge in an extended quote:

"...we laid the lips of our hearts to the heavenly stream that flows from your fountain, the source of all life which is in you, so that as far as it was in our power to do so we might be sprinkled with its waters and in some sense reach an understanding of this great mystery. As the flame of love burned stronger in us and raised us higher towards the eternal God, our thoughts ranged over the whole compass of material things in their various degrees, up to the heavens themselves, from which the sun and the moon and the stars shine down upon the earth. Higher still we climbed, thinking and speaking all the while in wonder at all that you have made. And while we spoke of the eternal Wisdom, longing for it and straining for it with all the strength of our hearts, for one fleeting instant we reached out and touched it."

Pseudionysius similarly writes:

"Hence, with regard to the supra-essential being of God–transcendent Goodness transcendently there–no lover of the truth which is above all truth will seek to praise it as word or power or mind or life or being. No. It is at a total remove from every condition, movement, life, imagination, conjecture, name, discourse, thought, conception, being, rest, dwelling, unity, limit, infinity the totality of existence. And yet, since it is the underpinning of goodness, and by merely being there is the cause of everything, to praise this divinely beneficent Providence, you must turn to all of creation. It is there at the center of everything and everything has it for a destiny. It is there "before all things and in it all things hold together." Because it is there the world has come to be and exists. All things long for it. The intelligent and rational long for it by way of knowledge, the lower strata by way of perception, the remainder by way of the stirrings of being alive and in whatever fashion befits their condition."

I do not want to stray into murky territories of "scientific creationism" or arguments for God's existence, e.g. "design requires a designer," yet there is a "drawing" power, it seems, in the contemplation of the physical universe. The way of interior silence and formlessness may indeed be a way to the mystery of God, but as a sometime scientist and "amateur" naturalist, I find myself "drawn" to the beauty and mystery of the physical universe.  Our cathedral dean, in his sermon this Sunday, commented that "like so much of our faith," we find so much that is paradoxical.  We may experience God in the interior formless silence, but we may also find the numinous in the "longing" of creation as well. 

Spirituality and Brain Evolution

Today, I am a bit short on time.  Somehow, I just needed more sleep!  I have continued, however, to read How God Changes Your Brain and found this quote this morning:

"The cultural evolution of God follows the neurological evolution of the brain. The circuits that generate images of a wrathful God are closely tied to the oldest structures in the brain, and the circuits that allow us to envision a compassionate and mystical God are in the newest part of our brain. we can't get rid of our old limbic God, which means that anger and fear will always be part of our neural and spiritual personality.  however, we can train the newer structures in our brain to suppress our biological tendency to react with anger and fear." 

Divine Enlightenment from Pseudodionysius

Sometimes, I think that it is better to hear the voice of another than to talk so much myself.  Today, I'll be silent and let Dionusius speak from The Divine Names:

"This is the kind of enlightenment into which we have been initiated by the hidden tradition of our inspired teachers, a tradition at one with scripture. We now grasp these things in the best way we can, and as they come to us, wrapped in the sacred veils of that love toward humanity with which scripture and hierarchical traditions cover the truths of the mind with things derived from the realms of the senses. And so it is that the Transcendent is clothed in the terms of being, with shape and form on things which have neither, of what is an imageless and supra-natural simplicity. But in time to come, when we are incorruptible and immortal, when we have come at last to the blessed inheritance of being like Christ, then, as scripture says, ' we shall always be with the Lord.' In most holy contemplation we shall be ever filled with the sight of God shining gloriously around us as once it shone for the disciples at the divine transfiguration. And there we shall be, our minds away from passion and from earth, and we shall have a conceptual gift of light from him and, somehow, in a way we cannot know, we shall be united with him and, our understanding carried away, blessedly happy, we shall be struck by his blazing light. Marvelously, our minds will be like those in the heavens above. We 'shall be equal to angels and sons of God, being sons of the resurrection.' "

The Meditating Brain

I was tipped off a couple of days ago by a tweet from "The Episcopal Cafe" to a new book by Andrew Newberg, M.D. and Mark Robert Waldman, How God Changes Your Brain, Breakthrough Findings from a Leading Neuroscientist.  Although I have just started reading, the book is well-referenced with articles from respected peer-reviewed journals. It has been his finding that meditative techniques such as contemplative prayer and the like, produce measurable and distinct changes in the brain.  Of the effects that he describes, one is that the meditative techniques appear to enhance activity in a circuit involving the anterior cingulate, prefrontal cortex, basal ganglia and thalamus. The anterior cingulate "appears to be involved with emotional regulation, learning and memory." Increased activity in the anterior cingulate appears to have a role in "lowering anxiety and irritability, and also enhances social awareness." The prefrontal cortex is also activated by meditative techniques and, of course, appears to play a role in sustained attention. One thing that Newman is very careful to point out is that this provides no "proof" of the existence of "God" and that even atheist individuals using some of the meditative techniques can achieve similar changes in the brain.  Nevertheless, it does suggest that there is something that meditation/contemplation does to our brains and that it has the very real potential to change not only our internal millieu but perhaps through the thalamic regions, our perceptions of the world around us.  

Running and Returning

Can we even talk?

I have to admit that, as a "reader" and someone who has come to love discovery, learning, knowledge, it is a bit "unnatural" to try to move away from intellectual concepts to "pure" experience.  I know, of course, that experiences can never be "pure" as the "I" that experiences them has been conditioned/shaped/created by all the experiences, internal and external that went before.   Nevertheless, there is a great emphasis in so much writing on contemplation that warns against trying to "get to it" in an overly intellectual manner. 

From the Cloud of Unknowing: 

"For God limits his divinity to come down to our level and our souls find an affinity with him because we have the great distinction of having been created in his image and likeness.  And he alone and only he is able to fulfill the longing and intentions of our soul; by virtue of his grace, which re-creates us, our soul is capable of comprehending him completely by love, though God can never be comprehended by any created intelligence–either by a human being or by an angel. But by that I mean that they do not comprehend him in the understanding, not by means of their love. He is only incomprehensible to their intelligence, not to their love. "

Years ago, I read a book whose name I no longer recall that recounted the story of a Jewish woman who was trying to recover / participate in the mystical traditions of Judaism.  One of her questions was how to "remain" in the state of contemplation and not leave it.  The answer seemed to be that she could only "run and return."   She could "run" up the mountain to the more clear presence of God, but inevitably she had to "return" down the mountain again.  

Again from the Cloud of Unknowing: 

"..pay attention to his wonderful divine activity in your soul.  Properly understood, it is always an impromptu and unpremeditated impulse, which leaps up to God as a spark springs from the coal...Yet because we are fallen creatures, he can quickly fall prey after each impulse to some thought or memory of some deed that he has either done or left undone. But so what? The soul can immediately spring up again as unexpectedly as it did before." 

Perhaps an answer is that, at the top of the mountain, I can only "be still" in the presence of God.  When I return to the bottom, then there may be a place for talk.  One story I read at some point said that Moses on the mountain did not receive any commandments, but he heard only silence, but at the bottom of the mountain, he delivered the tablets of God's word.  No one, however, suggested that the tablets, however, were the "real thing" but in a modern idiom, only a "reflection" of the "real thing."  

A blog cannot be a place to have the real thing, but some reflection may be OK, as long as it does not become the "only thing." 

Jeffrey Shy

Mesa, Arizona

"Running and Returning"