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While in Philadelphia I purchased Jaroslav Pelikan's new commentary on Acts in the Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible -- the first volume I'll be able to share some with you from this over time.

Concerning this brief passage to get us back into our study after my missing a Wednesday and Thanksgiving, Pelikan briefly notes "the total reversal of his [Saul's] life through divine intervention, from persecutor to persecuted" (p. 127). This could set up some real interesting conversations about the impact in the group concerning the real life impact of Christian conversion!

V. 20: This verse sets the whole basis for the events to follow. Notice the "immediately". Has the intensity of Saul changed? What has? What is it that he preaches in the synagogue? This is the first time that Saul goes to the synagogue in Damascus -- he hadn't made it yet when he came blind into the city. By whose authority does he speak in the synagogue from the perspective of those there (cf. 9:2)? What is the relevance of this message for the synagogue in Damascus?

Vv. 21-22: These verses list the response of the synagogue. Why are the people amazed? What had they heard of Saul before he even arrived? Why would they mention the high priest? Why would it be such a big deal? Why would Saul increase in strengh? To what would Saul appeal to "prove" that this Jesus is the Christ? Would Saul receive the same type of reaction if he spoke of the necessity of "faith in God" or in "discovering your spirituality in Jesus"? Why or why not? What is Saul really saying in the synagogue?

Vv. 23-24: These verses represent a cat-n-mouse game. Why would the Jews plot to kill Saul? What benefit would they get from Saul's murder? What is he doing that is so threatening that he needs silenced? Why is Saul more dangerous than the other Jewish believers in town? Meanwhile, how would Saul have found out about the plot? What does this suggest about how some responded to his proclamation? Why would some Jews from the synagogue watch the city gates to grab Saul as he left the city? Why not grab him in town? What does this tell you about what they are trying to do in relationship to Saul and his message?

V. 25 tells of the resolution of the incident. First, the text speaks of "his [Saul's] disciples" helping him escape. From whence would he have gotten his own disciples? Why would they know how to get Saul out of the city without being caught? How does Saul deal with the opposition that he receives in the city? What does this tell you about his focus? What internal dispositions is he going to have to develop as a result of his conversion?

This is still part of Saul's conversion story. Within our world we often tend to think of conversion stories as making life easier. "Faith" is supposed to make life smoother, to appeal to have God help us when we get in a tight spot. Does this understanding of conversion work for Saul? Why does his life get more difficult as a result of his conversion? What does this tell you about the nature of Christian conversion? Can you think of ways that your allegiance to Jesus Christ has "complicated" your life? What sort of internal vitues do believers need to develop as a result of their conversion, or better, as part of their conversion?

Posted by johnwright at 9:15 AM | Comments (0)

Robert Wilken, Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Virginia, wrote a wonderful article in the September issue of First Things called "The Church's Way of Speaking". Professor Wilken was the first one to introduce me to the work of George Lindbeck when his Nature of Doctrine came out in Spring of 1984. I was in a PhD seminar with Professor Wilken at the time, a class on "Early Christian Interpretations of Romans." I read the book in one evening. Suddenly options that I did not know existed theologically opened in front of me.

I mention this because Wilken shows in this article indirectly that Lindbeck's "cultural-linguistic model" is not a form of modernist apologetic translation of Christian theology into Wittgensteinian language-games, but instead, represents a ressourcement, a return to the sources, from the early Christian mothers and fathers. He shows in this article, in the wonderfully accessible way that Professor Wilken writes, that Augustine noted that Christian language cannot be "translated" into another language without severe loss. As Wilken writes, "Augustine called Isaiah’s language 'the Lord’s style of language,' and he recognized that if he were to enter the Church he would have to learn this new tongue, hear it spoken, grow accustomed to its sounds, read the books that use it, learn its idioms, and finally speak it himself. He had to embark on a journey to acquaint himself with the mores of a new country. Becoming a Christian meant entering a strange and often alien world." I mention this because we are now entering a time of year when we, as Christians, are in severe danger of losing the church's language, 'the Lord's style of language'.

Calendars are human constructions. Even the church's liturgical year is the result of human custom. Yet it is a custom that the Spirit has used through the years to form us into people who recognize, because we have been sanctified by the Spirit, the world around us itself is really the strange and often alien world.

This struck me when I went to a grocery store on Friday. A Salvation Army bell-ringer was outside the door. As I dug in my billfold for a dollar bill (big contributor that I am), the ringer told me "Happy Holidays". It reminded me that the day before that the Salvation Army had begun its "holiday drive" at the halftime of the Dallas Cowboys game. As I drove home, I heard a radio news reporter discuss how retailers hoped that "consumers" would buy their gifts early this year, before they received their heating bills. Indeed, it is the "holiday" time, so we will be told over and over again.

Of course, we're told to use such "generic" language so as not to offend those who do not share the same celebrations as ourselves. Yet this is a lie. There is no such thing as a 'generic language. All language is particular and specific, embedded in institutions and practices and polities. Such language is not a more generic, non-specific language, but instead, is the particular language that tries to take away the language use of Christians (and Jews as well) to enfold it within the strange, alien world of political liberalism and its capitalist economic system. It is a sign of the bold attempt to turn our language over to the pagan theology of liberalism (much like the language of "faith communities" and "spirituality" also try to do), and morally condemn those who will not consent that this particular, exclusive language is in fact inclusive. Advent and Christmas, and Hanukkah for our Jewish friends, become absorbed into a new reality for the economy called "the holidays". It is nothing more than an attempt to colonize the church by taking our calendar away through the use of our language, and move us from repentance during Advent and the twelve days of celebration of the nativity of our Lord, by making us modern liberal consumers, rather than the faithful awaiting the return of our Lord in light of his incarnation.

So tomorrow marks the first Sunday of Advent -- to the coming of our Lord. It is a time of looking in repentance to Christ's second coming in light of his first coming. That is why John the Baptist dominates the church's readings during this time: "Prepare the way of the Lord!" We recognize that our conviction of living "to the coming" is grounded, not on the latest "Left Behind" interpretation of the Book of Revelation, but on Jesus's birth by Mary, the mother of God (itself a statement, not primarily about Mary, but about Jesus). We prepare for the celebration of Christ's nativity by focusing on repentance from sin that besets us in order to celebrate as well Christ's second coming.

The first Sunday in Advent, therefore, represents the new year. We start the year looking to our telos, our end, our purpose: "And may the God of peace sanctify you wholy, and keep your spirit, soul, and body sound and blameless at the coming of our Lord. Faithful is the One who calls you; God will do it."

Therefore, it seems to me that we should ban the language of "happy holidays". As a matter of fact, we shouldn't celebrate "the holidays" at all. Let's not even celebrate Christmas before the feast of the nativity of our Lord that begins on what we now call "Christmas eve." We'll have twelve whole days to celebrate Christmas then -- the days from the nativity to Epiphany, the liturgical celebration of the visit of the Magi. Let's start a New Year tomorrow by observing a "holy advent", a time of repentance from inward sin so that the Spirit might cleanse us and renew the image of God in which we are made. This is the older language; this is the truer language. This is the language that we share in solidarity with the saints throughout the ages, rather than solidarity with those who want us to spend money before we pay our heating bills.

Perhaps such exhortations sounds petty, sectarian. Surely if we use particularly Christian language, people might look at us as if it is we who are strange and alien. And perhaps we are. Yet as Wilken notes, "Without the distinctive Christian language there can be no full Christian life, no faithful handing on of the faith to the next generation. For that reason, the words that embody what we believe and practice—words given us by those in whom Christ was present—cannot be frivolously tampered with, translated into another idiom, or discarded. As Augustine taught us centuries ago, the appropriate metaphor for the Church is a city. Language is a defining mark of the Christian polis. And, like a city, the Church draws its citizens into a shared public life, one marked by its central cultic activity, the Eucharist, and by other rituals, such as Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, and Corpus Christi. The Christian society has its own calendar that sets the rhythms of the community’s life, offices, institutions, laws, architecture, art, and music, its own customs and mores, history and memory."

So, Happy New Year! Maranatha. Come Lord Jesus. Amen.

Posted by johnwright at 8:47 PM | Comments (9)

I'm finally back after two weeks of preparation for travel, travel, and recovery from travel. First Kathy flew to Kansas City to participate in a children's bible study program. On the way home, however, she got stranded in Phoenix at midnight because of fog (it actually cleared here when American West canceled the flight, but they had already sent the crew home). Then I took an all-night flight to Philadelphia for the Society of Biblical Literature meeting (more on that at a later time). When we arrived, our luggage did not (again, compliments of American West). I chaired a session with a University of Oxford professor (H.G.M. Williamson) and others, such as my friend Gary Knoppers, on Oded Lipschits new book, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem, in a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans, not to mention, big glasses with lenses that occasionally fall out (like when I was talking for the first time with Jamie Smith on Sunday night). It was quite the fashion statement.

But that was then. Today is thanksgiving.

I like Thanksgiving. It provides a time for me to regroup after the SBL meetings every year. Now it's a bit more precious because the four kids gather with us together. We withdraw into the nuclear family for a few moments before the pace picks up with the end of the school semester and the Advent season. I usually grade and read and sleep a lot.

I'm reading an interesting book by Steven Bullock, Revolutionary Brotherhood: Freemasonry and the Trasnformation of American Social Order, 1730-1840. I'm trying to get a detailed picture of the role of the Masons in the formation of the United States -- basically as a means of the institutional transmission of enlightenment political thought and its relationship to Christianity. When I finish, I'll summarize the book and its significance.

Yet what has caught my eye today is the overlap but caricature of historical Christian rites by the freemasons. After the writing of the Constitution, the participants in the Masons saw little distinction between masonry and Christianity (itself an interesting phenomenon). Masonry might be called the first civil religion of the American Republic:

"On September 18, 1793, President George Washington dedicated the United States Capitol. Dressed in Masonic apron, the president placed a silver plate upon the cornerstone and covered it with the Masnic symbols of corn, oil, and wine. After a prayer, the bretheren performed 'chanting honors.' Volleys of artillery punctuated the address that followed. Like the entire ceremony, the silver plate identified Freemasonry with the Republic; it was laid, it stated, 'in the thirteenth year of American independence . . . and in the year of Masonry 5793" (p. 137). The Capitol still stands architecturally as a monument to masonry and the de-ecclesialized form of enlightenment Christianity that it represents.

Which brings me back to Thanksgiving. It is good to be thankful -- but for the right things and the right times with the right intensity. To be happy for the suicide bomb explosion by the US military vehicles outside a hospital in Iraq today shows that one is very malformed. It's good that the society that inhabits what is called the United States takes a day out to be thankful. Yet it is also interesting to note the relationship of this to the Christian celebration of thanksgiving, that is the Eucharist or the Lord's Supper.

What takes place on Thanksgiving is the movement of a Christian virtue, embedded in the practice of the church, into leisure time provided by the state, in order to "give thanks". It then is celebrated by the gathering of an extended family around a table where a prayer of blessing is given, and then the food is consumed. This meal looks very much like what Christians practice in the Eucharist -- a thanksgiving without the presence of Christ.

It is interesting in these days that it has become fashionable within certain Protestant, and even some Roman Catholic circles to see the Eucharist in a similar light. The consecrated bread and the wine represent a certain type of sociality, a type of economic order, a symbol that re-presents the kingdom of God that Christ taught. The Eucharist is to form a certain type of 'community' that takes Christ's presence into the world. The formation of 'community' is the significance of the Eucharist -- much like a Thanksgiving meal. As it forms this non-globalized, anti-capitalist economic system symbolically, the "Christ" then becomes present wherever such a communal system takes form. The Eucharistic table represents the call to embody Christ's teachings, and therefore, to manufacture Christ's presence through engaging in this certain type of 'community'.

This understanding reacts against the pietistic, individualistic form of sacramental piety, both in Protestant and Roman Catholic forms. Rather than the individual pole formed by the liberal society represented in the pietistic form, the emphasis shifts to its communal pole, the form of a civil society for benevolent action in the society -- ie, like a Masonic rite. The Eucharist is emptied of the real presence of the body and blood of Jesus in which the believer participates in God through a personal encounter with Christ in the consecrated bread and wine. The Eucharist, thanksgiving, becomes distinct from the presence of Christ. Christ's presence must be generated by works, rather than a gift of God by the Spirit.

This is why the real presence of Christ in the Lord's Supper, the real thanksgiving feast, the true Eucharist, is so important. Here the supernatural takes on the natural in the elements so that we human beings might participate in the very life of God by the Spirit through the bodily presence of the Son. It is a gift of God, lest anyone boast.

I have been thinking about this as it intersects with the life of our congregation. The center of our life must be the Eucharist, that is, the personal encounter by faith with the body and blood of Christ in the elements of the bread and the wine, an encounter that sends us out to do good works in the world, the works of mercy and devotion together as a people. By enfolding us in Christ, the Eucharist indeed forms the church -- but only because of the gift of Christ's presence by the sanctifying power of the Spirit. Christ is the center. The Eucharist is our true thanksgiving feast, celebrated on the day of the resurrection of our Lord as the church.

Benedict XVI noted this same tension in his introduction to de Lubac's book, Catholicism: Christ and the Common Destiny of Man. He wrote:

"It is now almost forty years since, in late autumn of 1949, a friend gave me de Lubac’s book Catholicism. For me, the encounter with this book became an essential milestone on my theological journey. For in it de Lubac does not treat merely isolated questions. . . . He shows how the idea of community and universality, rooted in the Trinitarian concept of God, permeates and shapes all the individual elements of Faith’s content. The idea of the Catholic, the all-embracing, the inner unity of I and Thou and We does not constitute one chapter of theology among others. It is the key that opens the door to the proper understanding of the whole.
What is most engaging, however, is that de Lubac is not expressing his own private opinions, which would fade as they had blossomed, but lets the Fathers of our Faith speak so that we hear the voice of the origin in all its freshness and astonishing relevance. Whoever read de Lubac’s book will see how much more relevant theology is the more it returns to its center and draws from its deepest resources. . . .

It was not only for me that de Lubac’s book marked such a turning point. It fascinated theologians in the fifties everywhere and his fundamental insights quickly became the common patrimony of theological reflection. The narrow-minded individualistic Christianity against which he strove is hardly our problem today. Everyone is teaching about the social dimension of dogma. Nevertheless, even today this book is much more than a witness to a constellation in the history of ideas that has now been surpassed. For the very spread of his ideas in popular theological thought has unfortunately led to their being considerably simplified and flattened. The social dimension which de Lubac saw rooted in deepest mystery has often sunk to the merely sociological so that the unique Christian contribution to the right understanding of history and community has disappeared from sight. Instead of a leaven for the age, or its salt, we are often simply its echo.
If previously there was a narrowing of the Christian vision to an individualism, we are now in danger of a sociological levelling down. Sacraments are seen merely as celebrations of the community where there is no more room for the personal dialogue between God and the soul – something many greet with condescending ridicule. And so there has been a kind of reversal of the previous individualism that itself has fundamentally constricted the theological perspective and has also spread from central theological themes to the most concrete and practical applications" (pp. 11-12).

It is interesting that Bullock speaks of the tension between individualism and the commom good in masonry, a tension that ultimately led to its implosion. Yet we must remember that individualism vs. communalism form a tension only within liberalism. "You (pl) are the body of Christ, and individually members of it". This requires a commitment to the Good that is the Triune God, a commitment that allows us, by the Spirit, to order our goods.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving as we prepare for the new year -- to begin this Sunday on the First Sunday of Advent.

Posted by johnwright at 4:58 PM | Comments (2)

I am not a pacificist; I am a Christian. I do not want any other label to override my commitment. Don't get me wrong. I do not believe that God wants those who are followers of God's Son to kill. I believe that the New Testament prohibits returning evil for evil -- and killing is an evil. The kingdom of God will not come in its fullness by violence. I don't know why I'm so dull, but today I noticed in Matthew 5 that love of enemy directly leads to the command to be perfect as our Father in heaven in perfect. Come to think of it, Augustine had noticed that in On Christian Doctrine. To be committed to the doctrine of Christian perfection, perfect love, it seems to me that one must embrace Christ's teaching of enemy love.

Modern warfare is especially atrocious. Technology and strategy do not allow a proper distinction between civilians and military force. Such blurring of lines make it impossible to apply without moving to a Clinton-esque distinction of terms that ultimately show the moral bankruptcy of the position.

One case of this has been the use of chemical weapons in Iraq, particularly white phosphorous incidenary weapons in Fallujah (we could talk about napalm in Baghdad as well). During the punitive massacre and destruction of Fallujah, I was aware that these had been used -- ignored by the American press. But the story is slowly coming out -- in Europe, and ever so slowly in the US. Below is an editorial from The Guardian (http://www.guardian.co.uk/comment/story/0,3604,1642575,00.html) -- whose coverage of the US aggressions in Iraq has been among the best in the English language. Barry Venable, after long denial by the US military that such weapons had been used, admitted that they had. Note his justification: "We use them primarily as obscurants, for smokescreens or target marking in some cases. However, it is an incendiary weapon and may be used against enemy combatants."
(http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20051115/pl_afp/usiraqbritainitaly_051115220512). If you read below, you can see the moral/legal Clintonesque reasoning -- it is not listed as a chemical weapon when used in a certain way; however, as employed, it must certainly functioned as a chemical weapon. If one searches, one can find pictures of the incinerated human bodies from these weapons. Warning: they are obscene, but perhaps we need to see the atrocity that is war. Perhaps Christians can then understand why it is so important to follow the words of Jesus, rather than engage in cycles of violence to establish a human 'justice' today.

The US used chemical weapons in Iraq - and then lied about it

Now we know napalm and phosphorus bombs have been dropped on Iraqis, why have the hawks failed to speak out?

George Monbiot
Tuesday November 15, 2005
The Guardian

Did US troops use chemical weapons in Falluja? The answer is yes. The proof is not to be found in the documentary broadcast on Italian TV last week, which has generated gigabytes of hype on the internet. It's a turkey, whose evidence that white phosphorus was fired at Iraqi troops is flimsy and circumstantial. But the bloggers debating it found the smoking gun.
The first account they unearthed in a magazine published by the US army. In the March 2005 edition of Field Artillery, officers from the 2nd Infantry's fire support element boast about their role in the attack on Falluja in November last year: "White Phosphorous. WP proved to be an effective and versatile munition. We used it for screening missions at two breeches and, later in the fight, as a potent psychological weapon against the insurgents in trench lines and spider holes when we could not get effects on them with HE [high explosive]. We fired 'shake and bake' missions at the insurgents, using WP to flush them out and HE to take them out."

The second, in California's North County Times, was by a reporter embedded with the marines in the April 2004 siege of Falluja. "'Gun up!' Millikin yelled ... grabbing a white phosphorus round from a nearby ammo can and holding it over the tube. 'Fire!' Bogert yelled, as Millikin dropped it. The boom kicked dust around the pit as they ran through the drill again and again, sending a mixture of burning white phosphorus and high explosives they call 'shake'n'bake' into... buildings where insurgents have been spotted all week."
White phosphorus is not listed in the schedules of the Chemical Weapons Convention. It can be legally used as a flare to illuminate the battlefield, or to produce smoke to hide troop movements from the enemy. Like other unlisted substances, it may be deployed for "Military purposes... not dependent on the use of the toxic properties of chemicals as a method of warfare". But it becomes a chemical weapon as soon as it is used directly against people. A chemical weapon can be "any chemical which through its chemical action on life processes can cause death, temporary incapacitation or permanent harm".

White phosphorus is fat-soluble and burns spontaneously on contact with the air. According to globalsecurity.org: "The burns usually are multiple, deep, and variable in size. The solid in the eye produces severe injury. The particles continue to burn unless deprived of atmospheric oxygen... If service members are hit by pieces of white phosphorus, it could burn right down to the bone." As it oxidises, it produces smoke composed of phosphorus pentoxide. According to the standard US industrial safety sheet, the smoke "releases heat on contact with moisture and will burn mucous surfaces... Contact... can cause severe eye burns and permanent damage."

Until last week, the US state department maintained that US forces used white phosphorus shells "very sparingly in Fallujah, for illumination purposes". They were fired "to illuminate enemy positions at night, not at enemy fighters". Confronted with the new evidence, on Thursday it changed its position. "We have learned that some of the information we were provided ... is incorrect. White phosphorous shells, which produce smoke, were used in Fallujah not for illumination but for screening purposes, ie obscuring troop movements and, according to... Field Artillery magazine, 'as a potent psychological weapon against the insurgents in trench lines and spider holes...' The article states that US forces used white phosphorus rounds to flush out enemy fighters so that they could then be killed with high explosive rounds." The US government, in other words, appears to admit that white phosphorus was used in Falluja as a chemical weapon.

The invaders have been forced into a similar climbdown over the use of napalm in Iraq. In December 2004, the Labour MP Alice Mahon asked the British armed forces minister Adam Ingram "whether napalm or a similar substance has been used by the coalition in Iraq (a) during and (b) since the war". "No napalm," the minister replied, "has been used by coalition forces in Iraq either during the war-fighting phase or since."

This seemed odd to those who had been paying attention. There were widespread reports that in March 2003 US marines had dropped incendiary bombs around the bridges over the Tigris and the Saddam Canal on the way to Baghdad. The commander of Marine Air Group 11 admitted that "We napalmed both those approaches". Embedded journalists reported that napalm was dropped at Safwan Hill on the border with Kuwait. In August 2003 the Pentagon confirmed that the marines had dropped "mark 77 firebombs". Though the substance these contained was not napalm, its function, the Pentagon's information sheet said, was "remarkably similar". While napalm is made from petrol and polystyrene, the gel in the mark 77 is made from kerosene and polystyrene. I doubt it makes much difference to the people it lands on.

So in January this year, the MP Harry Cohen refined Mahon's question. He asked "whether mark 77 firebombs have been used by coalition forces". The US, the minister replied, has "confirmed to us that they have not used mark 77 firebombs, which are essentially napalm canisters, in Iraq at any time". The US government had lied to him. Mr Ingram had to retract his statements in a private letter to the MPs in June.

We were told that the war with Iraq was necessary for two reasons. Saddam Hussein possessed biological and chemical weapons and might one day use them against another nation. And the Iraqi people needed to be liberated from his oppressive regime, which had, among its other crimes, used chemical weapons to kill them. Tony Blair, Colin Powell, William Shawcross, David Aaronovitch, Nick Cohen, Ann Clwyd and many others referred, in making their case, to Saddam's gassing of the Kurds in Halabja in 1988. They accused those who opposed the war of caring nothing for the welfare of the Iraqis.

Given that they care so much, why has none of these hawks spoken out against the use of unconventional weapons by coalition forces? Ann Clwyd, the Labour MP who turned from peace campaigner to chief apologist for an illegal war, is, as far as I can discover, the only one of these armchair warriors to engage with the issue. In May this year, she wrote to the Guardian to assure us that reports that a "modern form of napalm" has been used by US forces "are completely without foundation. Coalition forces have not used napalm - either during operations in Falluja, or at any other time". How did she know? The foreign office minister told her. Before the invasion, Clwyd travelled through Iraq to investigate Saddam's crimes against his people. She told the Commons that what she found moved her to tears. After the invasion, she took the minister's word at face value, when a 30-second search on the internet could have told her it was bunkum. It makes you wonder whether she really gave a damn about the people for whom she claimed to be campaigning.

Saddam, facing a possible death sentence, is accused of mass murder, torture, false imprisonment and the use of chemical weapons. He is certainly guilty on all counts. So, it now seems, are those who overthrew him.

Monbiot.com

Posted by johnwright at 10:11 PM | Comments (69)

The last 12 days have been rather hectic. Last week I worked on a little paper that I will give at a "Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah" group in Philadelphia this weekend on commentaries on Chronicles -- my area of focused academic expertise. I'll try and post it by the end of the week. With teaching loads what they are, this has pushed everything behind some. Blogging has become less a priority. I do want to make some comments -- possibly later today, on some of the material that I've been reading.

Sunday I was back in the pulpit after a bit of a hiatus. I want to post the sermon. In it one can probably feel my talking and reading with the Communion and Liberation friends, Karl Barth, and Jamie Smith's book, Speech and Theology and the slow grinding of contemplation, reflection and prayer. Among other things that I'm recognizing is the importance of the theological work of Søren Kierkegaard that holds these folk together. More on that later!

Zephaniah 1:7,12-18
Matthew 25:14-15, 19-29

Perceptions are interesting. Our perceptions are anchored in our own histories. We see, experience, understand, and interpret within our own interactions, out of our own experience. Our perceptions might hold much in common, depending how much we share with each other a cultural or geographical closeness. Then again, sometimes closeness shows the depths of differences that we experience. It is interesting to look at this morning’s readings in this light. Our texts all speak of God’s judgment.

To speak of God’s judgment makes us uncomfortable. Some of us maybe come from revivalist backgrounds or maybe real authoritarian relationships where judgment loomed over us like a lightening bolt ready to strike us for giggling in the back of the car as children. God’s judgment was used to control, to force a denial of our own perspectives through guilt to submit to some false authority. Perhaps, though, more of us really are convinced that God is Love, and that as Love, God cannot judge. God exists to affirm. God’s perspective is really our perspective writ large – God understands and cares. Truth, Beauty, Goodness do not really find themselves as One in God; God shares in our own perspectives – our own histories, our own personal truth, beauty, and goodness, shares in a give and take relationship with us so that God has no Life outside our lives, our histories, from which to judge. Judgment is really passé, a relic of a psychological uninformed world.

Interestingly, both such interpretations share a common presupposition: God’s judgment is about us. I’m not so sure. As I read our OT passage and the Gospel reading, it seems to me that God’s judgment is ultimately about God, and only then about us. Let’s look at the Zechariah and Gospel passages together.

The passage from Zechariah is a stark reminder that God will not be dismissed.

Have you ever been in a room, having a good time, and someone comes in and yells, “Shut up!” It’s shocking, scary. Or perhaps you’ve heard of a story, never been there of course, about a party when suddenly someone yells, “It’s the police.” Everyone starts to scatter. Judgment is at hand. I remember the dumbest thing I ever did. I stepped over a beaten down fence and, with a friend, ran down a live runway of an airport to get home. Suddenly we looked up and an airport security van was speeding directly at us and there was no place to hide.

How do such times occur? Such times happen when our own perspectives, be it inexperience, denial, or just plain stupidity, run straight into reality. Maybe it is kids just getting caught up in the moment – they don’t have the experience to think of the baby asleep in the next room. Maybe it is denial – hey, this party is cool; it’s fun. Maybe it’s just plain stupidity – it’s a beautiful Saturday morning. No one will care. Think how cool it will be to run down a runway. Judgment comes. Reality runs smack into our limited perspective. Truth crashes into our life. What we ignore, what we deny, what just doesn’t occur to us, suddenly smashes into our own reality. Our reality is brought into line with what is. Judgment.

Be silent before the Lord! God is at hand. Reality is breaking through. Wealth plundered; forced into exile; the sound of the Lord is bitter; that day will be a day of wrath. No denial now; no time to consider our own limits. It’s too late to run. Why? Why will this happen? They said in their hearts, “The Lord will not do good nor will God do harm.” The elect have dismissed God. Their history, their perspectives, their lives, whether from inexperience, denial, or just plain stupidity, had unfolded without consideration of God. Big mistake. Truth will impinge; Reality will break through. Suffering will shatter their perspective. Their mistake, miscalculation, repression or deceit, comes home to roost. Reality smashes into their own little reality. Judgment. The Truthfulness, the Goodness, the Beauty that are One in God comes into the lives of the people, as a group, and therefore, as individuals. And the falsity, the sinfulness, and the ugliness of their denial, their dismissal becomes evident for all to see.

The day of the Lord is at hand. God will not be dismissed.

The Gospel reading speaks to a similar situation: we will not project our own perspectives upon God; God’s Truth will come to us to shatter our projections about God.

This parable of Jesus, well, it seems to be everything that we are afraid of in judgment. Here’s the last gifted person, doing the best from within his own life history. Give the guy a break. We love a good underdog story. Here’s a chance for a remake of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Instead, “take the talent away, and give to those who have.” From those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.” Ouch. Mean ol’ god.

But let’s look at the story. The person is going on a journey. He gives his property away to three slaves. He comes home and immediately brings the first two into the joy of the master. They participate as slaves in the very wealth, the household, the very life of the master. The third one comes: “Master, I knew that you were a harsh man.” What? A harsh man? A harsh man entrusting his property to slaves? A harsh man making the first slave wealthy? A harsh man who treats the second slave the same way? Does reaping where he doesn’t sow and gathering voluntary crops mean that this is a harsh man? The third slave projects his understanding falsely on the master. Then he has to come to terms with the consequences of his perception. He projects what he wants onto the master, rather than seeing truly the gifts that the master gives. Catch the irony. What does the man lose? Nothing of his. Whose talent was it? Wasn’t it already given back to the man? More, did you catch the final saying? From those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. What is taken from them? What do they have? Nothing! Okay, everyone, please I want nothing from you. Please, give me nothing. A harsh man? Come on, get over it. See what’s going on.

Why did the servant see the master as a harsh man? More – why do we believe that he accurately described the man? So often we’re shaped by perceptions of God by the world around us, subtly shaped. You are a harsh man. You are nice. We miss that we can’t know God if God had not revealed God’s Self to us. And that in Jesus, the Mystery that is God has shown God’s Self to us. And this is no harsh man. This is no milk toast god. This is God who is Terrifying Love, a Love seen in the Son by the Spirit’s working in our lives who will take the nothing from the lives of those who live from their projections rather than by God’s own revelation of God’s own character – and leave them with what they are. Judgment comes – Reality breaks in. Our lives have to deal with the fact that we can lose nothing, the very nothing that our lives become when lived outside the Reality, the Mystery, the Love that is God. When we let our perspectives, our histories so determine our lives that we can’t see what is, the God Who Truly Is, and the Beauty, and Goodness of the Spirit working in and around us in the smallest, but most significant areas of our life, the Spirit who calls us to participate in this goodness to have God’s love shed abroad in our hearts, judgment comes. The nothing of our lives take over, and God leaves us with what we are – nothing.

Judgment comes when we insist on placing our perceptions before God’s revelation in living our lives.

God’s judgment is not bad news. Judgment is the Truth, Goodness and Beauty of the Spirit coming into our lives to heal the deceit, sin, and nothingness. Now or in the future, judgment will take place, for our lives, whether we admit it or not, only exist in relationship to God.

God is not like us. God does not have a history; God does not have a perspective. Is God a big, unresponsive blob? Oh no. All history is in God; all perspectives are found in God. God is the One in Whom we live and move and have our Being, the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End. God is the Eternal Movement of Love that is the Father and Son and the Holy Spirit. We can deny, we can repress, we can be inexperienced, or just plain stupid. But Reality, the Transcendent, the Mystery that is God will ultimately be made known to us in judgment through Jesus Christ by the Spirit.

God is not an Object for us to grasp, not a Subject into whom we must penetrate. We can find objects fully only in relation to God; we find subjectivity, our own selves, only in relationship to God. God is Creator, the One who brought all things into existence out of nothing. Of yes, we can dismiss God for a little while. But ultimately, the Truth of God, and therefore of our lives, we be known. We can project from the experiences of our lives onto God, but God will reveal Godself, and therefore, each one of us in stark truthfulness. The Truth of our life will come, for the fullness of God’s revelation will come to all creation in Christ.

God’s judgment is nothing more than an encounter with God in God’s own revelation of the Truthfulness of the world, the Truthfulness of our life, the Truthfulness that is God. God’s judgment is that the truth of creation, the truth of our lives will be made known, has been made known in Christ. We will be either the truthfulness that participates in God, in the joys of God’s wealth, or we will be nothing – and this nothing will be taken from us.

Judgment is the encounter with God through God coming to us in Christ, by the work of the Holy Spirit, in which we might see the difference between who we really are in God and the lack, the nothingness, the limited histories and perspectives that govern our lives.

This is why judgment takes place at this Table. Here is an encounter with God the Father in Jesus Christ through the Holy Spirit. The Lord’s Supper is a token of Christ’s coming again, for here, again and again, by the Spirit, Christ’s presence comes to us by faith so that we might partake of the life of Jesus Christ. In Christ, judgment comes, for Christ comes, and in Christ, God comes. We are forced to encounter the Truth that our lives only find themselves fully in God, or continue in nothingness, denial, repression, inexperience, stupidity. Here we confront the lack of our lives with the fullness of Life that is God. Come, friends, to be judged, to encounter the Truthfulness of all life that is the Word made flesh, now present in the bread and the wine. Come in repentance; come in faith. Come . . . and be thankful.

Posted by johnwright at 8:59 AM | Comments (5)

The so-called "conversion of Saul" story continues in Acts 9. This Saul will become an active character, a major focus of Acts later on. We have seen him aggressively going after messianic believers, and him struck blind in judgment outside Damascus.

Yet as we read the text, we discover more and more how little this is like Paul Tillich's reading of the text. Tillich was an important 20th century theologian who argued that the Christian faith needed to be translated into terms more understandable to modern world. In his famous sermon, "You are Accepted", he refers to "Paul's Damascus Road Experience". He writes that this was "the most overwhelming ad determining experience of his lfie. In the picture of Jesus as the Christ, which appeared to him at the moment of his greatest separation from other men, from himself and God, he found himself accepted in spite of his being rejected. And when he found that he was accepted, he was able to accept himself and to be reconciled to others. The moment in which grace struck him and overwhelmed him, he was reunited with that to which he belonged, and from which he was estranged in utter strangeness."

Tillich represents a common reading of this text today that focuses on the inner psychological experience of Saul as a model for conversion. It is interesting to compare this reading with what the text actually says, and to think about our Christian life in this context.

Read the whole passage, and discuss how much the narrator focuses on Saul. How much description of Saul's inner life does the passage describe? How much direct description of Saul goes on and where is it?

We can divide the passage into two main sections: vv. 10-16 and vv. 17-19.

Vv. 10-16 is a classic prophetic call, from Ananias' response, "Here am I" to his objection to God's reassurance and call falling Ananias' objection.

Why does the text switch from Saul to Ananias? (BTW, I don't know!! -- but I find it interesting!) What is the significance of the Street name? What is Ananias to do once he arrives at the house of Jason?

What is the nature of Ananias' objection? Is it rational? What are his risks in fulfilling the commandment in the vision?

Does God respond to Ananias' objection directly? What is it that God wants ultimately to show Saul? How does this relate to Saul's earlier behavior and the initial voice in v. 4? If Saul follows Christ, what awaits him, according to the voice of the Lord?

Verses 17-19: What does Ananias do? What message does he give Saul? What happens immediately as a result?

What is the metaphorical significance of Saul moving from blindness to sight? What is the significance that it comes from a believer in Jesus?

What is Saul's response to receiving his sight? What does this tell you about the significance of baptism? What is going on in Saul's baptism? Why would the text describe this rather than Saul's inner experience?

What would be the practical function of the events as described in v. 19? Is Saul's vision, curing, and baptism mean that his formation is over in Christ? What is his experience really of?

Now it might be interesting to discuss how this compares with Tillich's reading. See if you can understand your life in the categories given by the text? How does this sound differently than if you talked in language given by Tillich?

Enjoy!

Posted by johnwright at 9:10 AM | Comments (1)

I have tried to keep away from discussions about the politics of the contemporary liberal nation-state called the United States. First, I don't want to get sucked into the left-right dynamics in living and thinking as a Christian. Second, I don't think that the United States is 'real' -- I've never met the United States; I've never even seen it. It is a projection of human imagination that helps authorize certain individuals to control violence in a certain geographical area without fear of sanction. It's reality is only what we give it -- unlike the church which is real, the bodies of the poor are real, Christ's presence in the Eucharist is real. This is why I don't understand immigration issues because it presupposes that there are real lines on the earth called 'borders' that divide one part of humanity from another. I understand migration, mind you, just not immigration. The contemporary nation-state is merely a projection of human imagination, upheld by certain interests who benefit from such an imaginary construct.

This week, however, I got involved in a discussion in another context that contested the moral superiority of the United States to the 'fascist and totalitarian nation-states' of the mid-20th century. While, to understate the obvious, I am not a big fan of Hitler, Mussolini, or Lenin, I tend to see the United States as the inverse of such totalitarian regimes, with its own version of totalitarianism, the totalitarianism of democratic free-market capitalism, that is at least every bit as pernicious because it is not as obvious in its totalitarian controls. The Serb philosopher Slavoj Žižek, in the past few years has helped me see this. Last week he published an article in a periodical "In these Times" concerning the misinformation about looting in New Orleans (available at http://www.truthout.org/docs_2005/printer_102205G.shtml) and its implications about the underlying power structures in the world. His commentary is biting, but very perceptive, it seems to me:

"In the much celebrated free circulation opened up by the global capitalism, it is "things" (commodities) which freely circulate, while the circulation of "persons" is more and more controlled. We are thus not dealing with "globalization as an unfinished project," but with a true "dialectics of globalization." The segregation of the people is the reality of economic globalization. This new racism of the developed world is in a way much more brutal than the previous one: Its implicit legitimization is neither naturalist (the "natural" superiority of the developed West) nor culturalist (we in the West also want to preserve our cultural identity). Rather, it's an unabashed economic egotism - the fundamental divide is the one between those included into the sphere of (relative) economic prosperity and those excluded from it."

Obviously, a commitment to the catholicity of the church must call for very different commitments. This is why only the church can be the location for a true humanism, for such a humanism is suspended from the transcendent, from God who has revealed God's very Self in Jesus Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit. This is why our response must always be local, by personal direct action in the works of mercy, even as we have our eyes on the church catholic that transcends the local to the body of Christ spread throughout the world. This is why we must have our imaginations freed by the lives of those who have come before us, and those whose lives today show us creative actions, not to accept the way things are as natural -- they are not. We live in a sinful world, a world characterized by its lack. We act, as Pastor Jeff said last week in his sermon, not to be responsible, not to make a difference, but to be obedient to the kingdom of God that God has made known to us in the life, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus, a kingdom that we continue to catch glimpses of in the lives of the saints.

Although Žižek is an atheist, he interestingly has a much better grasp on the significance of the church and the Christian tradition than many Christian modernists and post-modernists that one to sustain Christianity as a sub-type of a human spirituality to help guide the fate of the nation-state. Obviously, if public opinion really mattered, the United States would be pulling out of its unjust occupation of Iraq today.

Posted by johnwright at 7:58 AM | Comments (28)

In Acts we've discovered already that being part of the people of God is dangerous, both in terms of the opposition of those who resent the believers allegiance to Jesus Christ and the redistributive economic practices of the church as well as placing oneself directly under God's judgment as in Ananias and Sappira's death as a result of their lying.

Acts 9 turns to the figure of Saul. We met Saul in Acts 7:58 as the one who watched Stephen's clothing while he was killed, approved the mob justice (8:1), and began a personal campaign to persecute believers (8:3) that resulted in the spread of the Gospel to Samaria and to the Ethiopian eunuch (8:4-40). God used Saul's personal vendetta to take the Messianic claims of Jesus outside of the Jews to begin to enfold others into God's messianic kingdom.

Acts 9 picks up with Saul continuing his opposition to the believers. We'll try to focus on the text and God's call in Christ to this Saul, rather than images we might bring with us already to the text. Acts 9:1-9 is a fascinating passage. We can divide the passage into three different sections: vv. 1-2; vv. 3-6; vv. 7-9.

Verses 1-2 speak of Paul's expanded agenda. It is important to see the precise program of Paul. To whom does he go for approval? What does this suggest about the relationship of the high priest to Jewish synagogues outside Judah? What is the significance of the request for a letter? What does Saul want to look for in Damascus? What does it tell you about that believers are here called "the Way" (or "the Path")? What does a path help you do? Why are these persons not called "Christians" yet? Where do they meet? Finally, why does Saul seek to bring these people back to Jerusalem? How are these Jews perceived by Saul and the High Priest? What does it tell you about Saul and the high priest in relationship to those in the "Way" that the high priest would give Saul such a letter?

In vv. 3-6 describes an encounter between the resurrected Jesus and Saul. First, where does this encounter take place? Why not in Damascus? What is the importance of the location in relationship to Saul's stated mission? Second, what is the significance of the light shining on Saul and Saul's falling to the ground? From whence is the Light? This is very important biblical imagery. Reading Genesis 1:3-4, especially in light (sorry, I couldn't resist the pun) of what follows, might be helpful.

Let's follow the layout of the story carefully. Is the source of the voice immediately identified? What is the concern of the voice? Whom might Saul think the voice is at this point? Why would Saul have to ask the origin of the voice? What does this tell you about the encounter? Who does the voice identify itself to be?

This gets really interesting here. Did Saul ever meet Jesus before his crucifixion? Was Saul involved in the crucifixion? How then has Saul persecuted Jesus? What does this tell you about the relationship between Jesus and his believers so far in Acts? You might discuss the implications about the believers and Jesus in that Saul has persecuted "Jesus" (notice, not the Christ; not the church; not the Son of God; but "Jesus"). This might help to understand why Saul is trembling and astonished. In his mind, had he been persecuting Jesus? From what we can tell, what had he been trying to accomplish? For whom?

What is Saul's response? Why this? What is the "Lord's" response?

Now this is remarkable. How would you describe this event? Has Saul "converted"? Where is he in the "Way"? So far, who is the passage really about? What is the Risen Jesus really wanting? How extensive and long is the instruction of the Voice in the Light? What do you think these instructions suggest is the concern of the voice for Saul?

Vv. 7-9 details the ractions of those to the scene. V. 7 gives the picture of those who accompany Saul. Why would they be speechless? (note the irony with the unseen presence of the voice!) What does Saul notice in v. 8 after the Light/Voice leaves. What is the relationship of this to the command given to Saul? Does he really have a choice to obey or not? Why? At this point, what does it seem that the Voice is up to in Saul's life? If the story ended here, what would you think?

Why would Saul not eat or dring while blind, given the situation? Is he told that he can't eat or drink? Can you think of other three day periods in the Scriptures, perhaps three days of going without sight, eating, or drinking? How is Saul's life being bound up in Christ?

The story is both dramatic, but amazingly sparse, especially in light of evangelical interpretation of the passage. It seems that the passage is a rebuff of Saul, a shot over the bow, so to speak, in which Jesus gets Saul's attention and then just leaves him to deal with it with amazingly sparse directions that he has no choice but to fulfill. This might be an interesting time to share how God has at times gotten people's attention in the group, and its aftermath. How does one deal with the sparse directions in the aftermath?

Enjoy your evening!

Posted by johnwright at 8:39 AM | Comments (7)

David Jones at ressourcement.blogspot.com posted an article from Communio and Liberation's journal, Traces. There is a summary of Hans Ur van Balthasar's work, given on the 100th anniversary of his death.

I have just begun to read some of Balthasar. I hope to read him in conjunction with Barth -- years probably to complete! There is a Christian vitality that I find in Balthasar that is somehow different from the beauty of Barth's work. To use a crass analogy, Barth is beauty of a geometric proof; Balthasar that of a Picasso painting (or a "In Reverent Fear" song!!!).

Here is a quote. You can read the whole in the extended entry. It is not that long, but a bit more technical.

"Christians, he said, are 'guardians of a metaphysics of the whole person in an age that has forgotten both Being and God.' They bear responsibility for keeping alive the wonder-filled love that is the point of origin for authentic human existence and includes the entire cosmos in its breadth. This wonder lies unacknowledged but alive in the child’s first opening of its eyes to its mother’s smile. Through that smile, the child learns that “it is contained, affirmed, and loved in a relationship that is incomprehensibly encompassing, sheltering, and nourishing.” The relationship, in other words, calls forth a wonder at being permitted to be. “This condition of being permitted cannot be surpassed by any additional insight into the laws and necessities of the world.”

H. U. von Balthasar

Love Alone
Is Credible. Truth: an Event
The great Swiss theologian and his reading of Western culture, from the consciousness that every creature is a gift of God, a God to whom man must be grateful. On the hundredth anniversary of his birth, a remembrance by one of his disciples

by David L. Schindler*

“Love Alone is Credible”: these words, which appear as the title of one his books, sum up the lifework of Swiss theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar, the centenary of whose birth we celebrate this year. To some, the words may seem too simple to help in our present cultural situation, with its global power blocks, consumerist economies, and “compassionate” biotechnologies. Balthasar, however, was fully aware of the complexity of today’s problems. He nevertheless understood these words to contain that truth alone which was capable of addressing the problems at their roots and not merely in their symptoms.

Christians, he said, are “guardians of a metaphysics of the whole person in an age that has forgotten both Being and God.” They bear responsibility for keeping alive the wonder-filled love that is the point of origin for authentic human existence and includes the entire cosmos in its breadth. This wonder lies unacknowledged but alive in the child’s first opening of its eyes to its mother’s smile. Through that smile, the child learns that “it is contained, affirmed, and loved in a relationship that is incomprehensibly encompassing, sheltering, and nourishing.” The relationship, in other words, calls forth a wonder at being permitted to be. “This condition of being permitted cannot be surpassed by any additional insight into the laws and necessities of the world.”

Balthasar’s theology of gift-evoking-wonder and wonder-evoking-gift finds its theological form in the grateful obedience of the Christic-Marian-ecclesial fiat. The phrase he coined for the basic “method” of theology is “kniende theologie”–kneeling or praying theology. Such a theology does not exclude other (e.g., historical-critical) methods, but it nonetheless includes these only as it integrates them. It is the saints, insisted Balthasar–those in whom the word of God has truly taken flesh–who alone have warrant, finally, to speak about God.

Gather the treasures of Egypt
The arc of Balthasar’s work, contained in some 119 books, embraces the entire Western heritage of philosophy, literature, art, and theology. Nevertheless, as then-Cardinal Ratzinger stated in his homily at Balthasar’s funeral, this great theologian was not moved by a curiosity simply to know a great deal or by a sense of the power that comes from mastery of many skills. His interest rather was to “gather the treasures of Egypt into the storehouse of our Faith (to speak in the language of the Church Fathers)”–and he knew that “such treasures can bear fruit only in a converted heart.” In the end, theology lives not so much “from what one thinks [as] from what one receives.” Balthasar, therefore, said Ratzinger, was “in the deepest sense of the word... a man of the Church.”

It was Balthasar’s profound sense of gift, taking its beginnings from the divine communio revealed in Jesus Christ, that inspired his reading of Western culture. Indeed, Henri de Lubac, who once declared Balthasar “perhaps the most cultivated man of our time,” wrote that Balthasar’s “spiritual diagnosis of our civilization is the most penetrating to be found.” We understand the depth of this assertion only insofar as we see that the wonder lying at the origin of human existence also indicates the “logic” of that existence. That is what a creature is: a gift from God whose being unfolds most properly in grateful movement toward God, a movement meant to gather up in gratitude all that is thought, done, and produced.

The characteristic problems of our culture are thus seen just here, in the absence of gratitude or grateful obedience to God. Our politics, economies, and (bio-)technologies, in their characteristic liberal expression, lack the form of creatureliness. The truth, goodness, and beauty recognized in pre-modernity as first given (by God) are now seen as first made by man (Vico: verum quia factum).

Contemplation and action
Fr. Luigi Giussani was fond of these words of Romano Guardini: “Inside a great love, everything becomes an event of that love.” Balthasar understood the entire cosmos, including all of its human culture, as an event inside God’s love–an event of love not as a “pious” happening but as meaning, as the appearance of being itself. Thus, “the world as a whole, because of the presence of the incarnate Son who is the definitive Image of the Father, is transformed into a sort of sacrament of divine truth and love.” As Balthasar’s close collaborator, Adrienne von Speyr, put it, the trinitarian exchange of love within God “opens up to the world,” such that the world itself becomes an “exchange between heaven and earth.”

Balthasar was a contemplative, but not after the manner of one who was disengaged from the world. He understood that activity is empty and lacking in fruitfulness if it does not originate in contemplation, and he was thus a man of action in the Marian–and, indeed, Johannine and Ignatian–sense. Balthasar’s engagement with the world expressed itself primarily in three foundations. In 1945, together with von Speyr, he founded the Community of St. John, a “secular institute” (or “world community”: Weltgemeinschaft), a community made up of priests and lay men and women living a consecrated love that remains in the world. In 1947, he established the Johannes Verlag, a publishing house devoted to making available theological, philosophical, spiritual, and literary works that draw out the Catholic and catholic meaning of Gospel love.

Lastly, in 1972, with theologians Henri de Lubac and Joseph Ratzinger and others (Karol Wojtyla was instrumental later in bringing the journal to Poland), Balthasar founded the international theological-cultural review Communio, which now has fourteen different language editions.

Balthasar and the Council
Balthasar saw Communio as a way of clarifying conciliar teaching in the face of the controversies and widespread uncertainty that followed the Council regarding the historic Catholic faith and the meaning of human existence itself. Balthasar was criticized by some in the years following the Council for abandoning his earlier, preconciliar, defense of the Church’s openness to the world (cf., e.g., Schleifung der Bastionen, 1952) and retreating to an “integralist” vision (cf., e.g., Cordula, 1966). But the truth of his position, that is, the abiding core of his lifelong Church–and world–centeredness, can be seen in his classic article, “The Council of the Holy Spirit” (“Das Konzil des Heiligen Geistes,” 1966).
“Love Alone is Credible”: these words, in sum, signaled for Balthasar a “new” realism that would transform the boredom generated by the empty technocratic soul (“anima technica vacua”) characteristic of the modern, even as it resisted the “moralism” characteristic of the anti-modern. The mission of Christians today is to give witness, in all aspects of their existence, to the act of love whose form is given in the suffering fiat of Jesus Christ. Christians are to read the signs of the times in the light of the Gospel. The inculturation of the Gospel that results will be a new inculturation, not the mechanical imposition of some earlier one. The inculturation will be creative, formed in the freedom of the Spirit. All of this will happen so long as Christians do not cease to wonder, and to love.

* Dean and Gagnon Professor of Fundamental Theology John Paul II Institute for Studies on Marriage and FamilY Washington, D.C.
Editor, Communio (North American edition)

Posted by johnwright at 9:27 AM | Comments (13)