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I am posting an extended post -- I'm even calling it an essay -- on Radical Orthodoxy. The post has been "brewing" for a year or so within me, as I both found great help but consternation in reading texts within the "Radical Orthodoxy" book series. The assessment has its roots in Rusty Reno's review in First Things. A brief conversation last spring with Steve Long, an author in the series, told me that I wasn't alone in sensing substantial theological differences within the series, and it was Steve who directed me towards the text of Jamie Smith.

It is a long post, and technical. Perhaps I should work it into a form for professional review before offering it on the 'less rigorous' form of the blog, both to protect the readers and to allow for my ignorance to be privately corrected rather than responded to 'publicly' on the blog. Yet I offer it to those who might be interested, not as a final work, but as provisional reflections, perhaps someday, if worthy, to offer to the professional guild in a more documented, thorough form. Your observations will be helpful, both in regard to content and perhaps also the context where such reflections might find an appropriate home for a "print" audience.

When Radical Orthodoxy is Neither
by John W. Wright
Professor of Theology and Christian Scriptures
Point Loma Nazarene University

Through the past several years, I have read a type of theological program called “Radical Orthodoxy”. Some of the books are rather obtuse and exotic, though always intriguing. They’ve been spurs for thought as I’ve recognized that the Christian tradition needs an adequate ontology to sustain the witness of the church within the Life of God the Father Who will fully restore creation through the Son by the power of the Holy Spirit. One review of my edited volume Conflicting Allegiances rightfully recognized the overlap between some of those involved in the project of rethinking the Christian university in the book and what came to be called Radical Orthodoxy.

Yet I have been dis-eased with some of the writings by those identified with this “programme”. It seemed to me that several different agendas are at work amidst the various writers within the book series. The phrase “Radical Orthodoxy” itself seems almost a clever public relations ploy for an edited volume of various articles and a book series, much more marketable phrase than John Milbank’s original “Postmodern Critical Augustinianism” with which he first “labeled” his programme. As a result, readers have tended to merge similar but divergent agendas together. I want to offer some tentative thoughts about a difference that I find within the series.

While the divergence is technical and seems minor, it has massive implications in the repetition of Christian thought, and thus, the distinctive witness of the church through the ages. I’d like to put together the thought of Hans Frei in Types of Christian Theology with some observations from James K. A. Smith’s volume in the Radical Orthodoxy Series, Speech and Theology: Language and the Logic of Incarnation.

Before his death, Hans Frei was working on a project to develop a typology of the relationship of Christian theological thought with philosophy – hey, he taught at Yale and developing typologies are what Yale theologians did in the 20th century! Frei’s students published these fragmentary grant applications and texts in a book, Types of Christian Theology.

Frei argued for a fivefold typology on the relationship of theology with philosophy within Christian thought. Interestingly, Frei placed Schliermacher (Type III) and Barth (Type IV) in adjacent categories, highlighting their similarity when compared to other approaches. Type III thought correlates theological and philosophical language so that universal philosophical categories provide the concepts to express the particular concrete self-description of the Christian community. Type IV insists upon the priority of internal Christian self-description for appropriate theological categories, yet can use the “outside” philosophical analysis in an ad hoc manner to clarify and express what the church already affirms.

In certain areas of reflection, language, and practice, the difference between these types become very minimal. For instance, both Schliermacher and Barth argue for the indispensability of the church as a ‘community’ for the writing of theology. Both see the indispensability of Christian theology as a means of ecclesial self-description. It seems to me, however, that the difference comes very crucial when one turns to Christology. In Type III, Jesus Christ (or to wax Tillichian, Jesus as the Christ or the “New Being”) become “representative” of what is directly accessible through other means. He may be seen as uniquely representative, or fully representative, or normatively representative, but Jesus reveals something about God or about the God-human relationship or about humanity; Jesus is not the Revelation of God. The knowledge that Jesus gives is available elsewhere from which one can then turn to understand Jesus in these terms. Liberation theology often exhibits this tendency. The Nicene Creed becomes an “expression” stated within Hellenistic philosophical thought that needs to be updated by a newer, more modern philosophical conceptuality. Salvation comes through Jesus, not necessarily in Him.

In Type IV, however, Jesus Christ fulfills no category found outside his own life, death, and resurrection as the Revelation of God. Jesus represents God in revelation because Jesus is unsubstitutably God in this one person. Jesus does not represent the “God-Human” relationship; Jesus IS the God-Human relationship, the full revelation of the true God and the full revelation of the true human. All philosophical categories fail to predict and cannot define the nature of this Revelation, and Revelation of God is found directly only through Christ by the Spirit. That is not to say that one cannot see the Revelation of God elsewhere – but it is always indirect, a knowledge mediated through Christ. The Nicene Creed is not determined by Hellenistic conceptuality, but as biblical revelation in light of the Revelation of God in Jesus that sets normatively for all times the relationship between the Word of God and God the Father as Light from Light, God from God, begotten not created. The Creed defines the fundamental difference between God and creation, whereby God is not a Being among beings, but Wholly Other than creation. Within this ontological grammar, the Word of God is eternally one with God as God. Therefore, Jesus is constitutive of God’s revelation, not merely representative. Salvation comes both through and in Jesus.

If this analysis holds (and I’m open to correction), it seems to me that the distinction between Frei’s Type III and IV is also a distinction between non-orthodoxy and orthodoxy, despite the close affinities, between a sophisticated Arian faith and an orthodox confession – which shows how close to orthodoxy Arius was. It also MAY (emphasis on the possibility) describe two profound differences in Radical Orthodoxy, a difference between a “materialistic Platonic trajectory” and an “Incarnational trajectory”. Here Jamie Smith makes relevant observations in his book in comparing his retrieval of Kierkegaard and Augustine with Catherine Pickstock’s retrieval of Plato.

Both Smith and Pickstock desire to “suspend the particular from transcendence.” Both argue that we must find the Transcendent (God) in the particular, rather than abstracting the Transcendent outside the material (and thus devaluing the particular and the material). Polemically against certain post-modern thinkers, they persuasively argue that the particular loses its particularity in indistinguishable pure immanence unless one understands the particular in light of the Transcendent.

Yet the (non)foundation for this account of the Transcendent found in the particular differs radically depending on whether one (un)grounds this in the philosophical concepts of a type of Platonism or in the unique, unsubstitutable body of Jesus. Smith writes “in contrast to Augustine (and yet, in the name of Augustine), who saw the logic of the Incarnation as that which distinguished Christianity from Platonism, these proponents of Radical Orthodoxy (particularly Milbank and Pickstock) wish to see this as the site of their communion” (p. 170). The incarnation of transcendence is seen in the particular of all materiality, including the materiality of Jesus, for these thinkers through a creative repetition of Augustine’s neo-Platonism. Smith recognizes that the “proposal for a ‘sacramental’ and ‘doxological’ account of language – by which the transcendent is ‘revealed’ in immanence – bears deep structural affinities with what I have been describing as an incarnational logic” (p. 175). Yet subtly and ironically, incarnation itself here becomes an abstraction, a concept separated from the body of Jesus. Jesus represents what is found philosophically elsewhere. For such supposed “Radically Orthodox” thinkers, the Word made flesh in Jesus represents the incarnational logic that one finds throughout creation by positing that Jesus (and Christ’s presence in the Eucharist) exemplify the materiality of the form found in the Transcendent throughout creation.

Smith rightfully has reservations “which stem from a more fundamental reservation about the supposed continuities between theurgical Neoplatonism and Christian ‘incarnational’ or ‘creational’ accounts of being-in-the-world” (p. 175). In the end Smith recognizes, though he does not develop the theological importance of the observation, that it is not because of an incarnational logic that we can avoid not speaking; rather “it is because of the Incarnation that we avoid not speaking” (p. 176), and thus, must develop an “incarnational logic.” Jesus does not merely represent a type of logic, He is the Logos made flesh, fully human and fully Divine in one person – insubstitutably so. One cannot correlate a type of Platonism with Christian affirmations concerning Jesus; one must start with the unique, particular body of Jesus and think about the relationship between God and creation through and in Him. If a certain reading of Plato might help us clarify these commitments, then we might use them. But we can’t craft Christian discourse to fit into this pre-existent scheme. For Christians, pre-existence is found in Christ, the visible image of the invisible God, not in philosophical concepts.

It seems to me that this has important philosophical, not merely theological, implications. Radical Orthodoxy has become significant by arguing that the post-modern, which attempts to focus sustain the importance of the particular by critiquing all transcendence, cannot sustain its emphasis on the particular by collapsing all [the nihil] into pure immanence. Radical Orthodox thinkers have responded by a vigorous “incarnational logic” to assert the significance of the transcendent to sustain the emphasis on the particular. Yet if this logic is not (un)grounded in the unique, unsubstitutable, particular bloody and resurrected body of Jesus but in a philosophical notion such as theurgic Platonism or the concept of “the gift,” then particularity itself becomes undercut through itself being made an abstraction. Derrida’s critique of “logocentrism” looms devastatingly large. The Good, the True, the Beautiful become constructs of social control, Feurbachian projections to ground various and conflicting political agendas in the world.

But if we understand the significance of all particular in and through THE PARTICULAR, Jesus Christ, if we develop our understanding of gift through THE GIFT, if we understand the unity of the Good, the True, and the Beautiful in the very particular body of Jesus that cannot be separated from the kingdom that Jesus taught and embodied and for which He was crucified under Pontius Pilate and resurrected by God the Father, to be lived in the similarly particular body of Christ, the church, as it witnesses to this kingdom through its engagement in the works of mercy in the very particular bodies of those who are poor, those to whom the kingdom belongs.

Distinctions made by Frei help us to see that some currents within “radical orthodoxy” are neither sufficiently radical nor orthodox. This is seen in the constant realm of abstraction that Milbank’s, Pickstock’s or Ward’s texts remain when compared, for instance, to the texts of Daniel Bell or William Cavanaugh or Michael Hanby or Tracey Rowland or Steve Long. The abstraction of the “theurgic Platonic” thinkers in Radical Orthodoxy that many find irritating is inherent within their thought that abstracts the incarnation into a principle away from the person of Jesus. We will not find our beginning and end in philosophical concepts, not even concepts that might be as conducive to correlation with Christian thought as a ‘theurgic Platonism’. It is the body of Christ, then, a very particular body that lives in and through the repetition of the unsubstitutable body of Jesus, in which we find the beginning and end of our very particular lives.

Posted by johnwright at 9:48 AM | Comments (9)

On Christmas morning we continued our celebration of the Feast of the Nativity. I've revised the sermon some from that morning, and want to share it with you, even if we are not to the fifth day of Christmas. The Luke story struck me anew. Much of the social history behind the reading comes from Richard Horsley's socio-historical work on the birth narratives of Jesus.

Peace to you!

Luke 2:1-20

I’ve never given birth. I’ve been present at the birth of several children. During those times I’m not even sure that my presence was deeply appreciated! It seems to me that the experience of bearing and birthing a child gives mothers a special insight into the wonder of the Incarnation, a special insight into Mary, the mother of the Son of God. I’d like to look at Mary in the Luke passage this morning as the model of the believer. The readings we did this morning extend the readings that we did last night. The story of the birth of Jesus presses on. While the passage ends with the shepherds returning back to work, we find right before a simple phrase about Mary: “And Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart.” I’ve always loved the quiet serenity of this verse. But in studying the text, the significance suddenly broke upon me for us today.

In Luke 2 from the perspective of his mother, Mary, Jesus’s birth has no marks of marvel around it: it is the struggle for survival.
We have images of angels, grand announcements birth, heavenly choirs, accompanying the birth of Jesus. We’ve seen nativity scenes with the whole group there, looking down on Mary and Joseph and the baby. The birth of Jesus seems set within the splendor and wonder of God.
But the text shows something different if we closely follow Mary. Oh yes, angels appear with an announcement of Jesus’ birth to Mary – but before the Spirit came upon her and she became pregnant. But in the birth narrative, what Mary experiences seems anything but one honored among women. First, there was the risk of pregnancy, not only the physical risk to her life by giving birth, but a social in being an unwed mother who continues with her pregnancy. An imperial census for taxation takes place. She has to travel by foot while pregnant. Do you have images of Mary riding on a donkey? No way. These people are to poor to have animals. When they get to Bethlehem, no extended family awaits them. They were isolated, alone, transients. Inns in antiquity were not nice places to begin with. If you knew anyone, you stayed with them in a house. Inns were dangerous, dirty places where people stayed who didn’t have any social reputation for others to want them to stay with them. Mary and Joseph are put with the animals, mostly likely in a cave. At least the heat of the animal bodies kept them warm amidst the stench of their bodies.
Then the text presumes Mary going into labor. No anaesthesia. No mention is made of a midwife to assist her, just Joseph. What about after delivery? Not to be crude, but births are pretty messy affairs, blood, water, placentas. She wraps the baby in clothes – most likely rags in that setting. Then she places the baby in a manger, an animal feeding trough. Would she even have had a change of cloths? Imagine the fatigue.

Where’s heavenly choirs cheering Mary on? Where’s God? God seems quiet to those who can’t see. God is fully there, not with angelical choruses, but in the fully human son of Mary, the Word made flesh. God is there to be tended to, cared for, nurtured, and fed, not as a cheerleader for Mary. The text presupposes that Mary is focused on survival throughout the birth narrative, her survival, her son’s survival. Mary has stayed true to her vow to God; she has been obedient. “I am the handmaiden of the Lord. Let it be to me according to your word.” The harsh reality of what that means becomes evident. There is nothing glamorous, heroic here. She is a poor young woman in conditions that calls for all the skills that she has merely in order to survive the poverty. The passage shows no special divine aura around Mary. She is alone with her husband to be, and her new born, Jesus, in squalid conditions.

As a matter of fact, Mary hears of the divine announcements about the birth of her Son, the messages celebrating the birth of Jesus from vagrant shepherds who show up to see what is going on.
There is no cyber birth announcements sent out by Mary and Joseph. They have no time, no funds, no resources. The birth announcement of of Jesus is given to them. Worse, it’s given to them by shepherds.
Shepherds? Catch the scene. Just after birth and strangers show up, persons you’ve never met before. It’s a nightmare scene, worse than the in-laws showing up when the baby is born!! Are they are shepherds! Forget the nice scenes from sanitized children’s programs. Everyone knew that shepherds were notorious losers. They were rough, uncouth, even dangerous. If they had any class, they would own land or at least have a trade. The shepherds are the ultimate in unskilled labor. We can’t trust what a shepherd says, everyone knows that!

“They made known the saying which had been told them concerning the child.” Wait a second -- the child? They say nothing about Mary. Mary’s done all the work; the child depends upon her. And did you hear their story? The glory of the Lord shown about them . . . sure, we know what they were smokin’. They have the experience of divine splendor while Mary’s giving birth. Mary knows that this was no evening at Disney Land. She lived it. She still struggling for survival with uninvited guests visiting amidst the animals. If we were Mary, can you hear our response? “Hey, I’m the mother. I just birthed this kid. This is dangerous – look, we’re so poor we’re stuck with the animals. You get the divine message about the kid? What’s in it for me? You are asking me to see my life in light of the child’s? No, this child should see his life in light of mine!” The only report Mary gets to interpret the event at the time of the birth of her Son comes from Shepherds, even as she still struggles for survival.

But the text says “And Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

We look for the resentment from Mary; we look for competition with her son; we look for the complaining; we look for Mary missing that God had just done the most incredible thing by looking to God for help to survive her circumstances. We look for more angelic communication to her to reassure her, to build her up, to keep her continuing in the path of her vow.

But that’s not what happens. The witness of the shepherds about her Son was sufficient for Mary. Amidst struggle for survival, the divine interpretation of the birth only comes to her through others, shepherds mind you. Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart. The divine Word had come to her in her Son. The baby was sufficient testimony to the witness of the shepherds about God. The shepherd’s words were more important, more reliable than any imperial ambassadors, for the shepherd’s words found fulfillment with God’s Revelation in this baby. In response to the words, Mary turns them over and over; She reflects on what God had done for her in her obedient, humble faith, and through her, what God had done for the world in her Son, the son of David, the Savior, Christ the Lord. She contemplates the mystery of God revealed in her Son, the baby Jesus, after the shepherd’s speak to her.

There was no time for contemplation, no possibility for quiet in the midst of the birth. It’s hard to ponder with contractions coming every 30 seconds; it’s hard to reflect when trying to find a place to give birth without being hauled off for vagrancy. But the fullness of time came in the witness of the shepherds; and Mary recognized that God had pulled her into God’s redemption of Israel, of all humanity. Contemplation at the beginning of the journey, not knowing what was ahead, but knowing and trusting that God had been gracious to her and to all humanity in the newborn baby, poor though they were. Mary had to rethink, contemplate, digest and understand her own life now in light of the gift of God, her Son. This child was not significant because of Mary; Mary’s life bore significant in light of her child’s. This demands some reflection.

Mary receives the words of the shepherds, the descriptions of the heavenly throng’s words. And she mulls them over and over and over in faith in the deepest parts of her being.

We see then how Mary becomes a model for our lives, to ponder these words, the news of the birth of Jesus, Mary’s son, in the deepest parts of our being. What happens when we see our lives in light of the message of the angels that the shepherds shared with Mary? Jesus’ birth does not become significant in light of our lives; our lives, like Mary’s, take on significance in light of his. Therefore, our lives bear more significance than we could ever think or imagine because God has revealed God’s very Self in Mary’s child.

This coming of the Son doesn’t displace the fact that sometimes life is just a struggle for survival. God is not absent at these times. We do what we must, the immediate good that lies before us. We eat; we clean up; we care for children, making a living. The demand that we place upon ourselves for constant feelings of contentment, well-being, significance, is one of the hardest demands that we place upon our selves. We demand to have a life – which means to build significance of our life by our choices and we want God to make these tasks significant.

Please understand the difference with Mary’s vow: “Behold, I am the handmaiden of the Lord; let it be according to your word”. This is not a fatalism, but a call to the deep engagement of life as we face it. Sometimes that means hard labor, survival not as an end in itself, but as a good that allows us to be thankful in the conditions that we live rather than forced into resentment, complaint, sin. Please understand this. Sometimes we just need to act for survival, for the task at hand. We don’t have to act to make our lives significant.

But even amidst the struggle for survival, the difficulties that are real, hear the messengers of God that come with the message, not about us, but about God’s becoming human in Jesus. Ponder, contemplate, these things in your heart. See your life in light of God, God as revealed in the Son by the Spirit’s power. These are not divine bells and whistles, no spectacles of experiences to keep us going. But there is the quiet serenity that comes from reflection that God has revealed God’s self as a human in Jesus. Therefore, God shows us who we are, the profound significance of each one of our lives, all human lives, especially the lives of the poor, not in themselves, not for what we can do or don’t do, but because God has become human and dwelt among us in the person of Mary’s Son, Jesus. And this calls for pondering, for reflection, for understanding our own lives in light of God’s Revelation, rather than God in light of our lives. As the first believer in Jesus, Mary gives us a profound approach to life, pondering our lives, contemplating who we are, in light of God’s revelation to us in Jesus. Come, let us adore him. Come, in the bread and the cup, ponder these things in your heart. Come, and be thankful.

Posted by johnwright at 12:12 PM | Comments (1)

I usually post sermons after the fact, but today I wanted to get tonights sermon posted. My prayer is to have my life enfolded into the wonder of the Incarnation.

Have a joyous and wonder-full Christmas.

Peace,
John

Isaiah 9:2-4, 6-7
Luke 2:1-14

Introduction: How do we catch the wonder of Christmas amidst the sentimenality of the year? There is a profound difference between wonder and sentimentality. Sentimentality a cheap imitation of wonder, a passing affectional over the trivial. Wonder, on the other hand, is a human response to the Transcendent, the Mystery that encounters us in the world around us. Sentimentality comes from what we can buy – "I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.” Wonder cannot be purchased, but comes only as a gift -- holding a new born for the first time. Wonder is full of Mystery, Grandeur, Beauty. Can our readings this evening from the Scriptures help us to be filled with wonder at God revealed to us in the birth of the Word of God, the Son, Jesus Christ? Let’s look at Isaiah 9 and see how it helps us to understand Luke 2

1. Isaiah 9 tells a story, a story that pulls us into it. The story begins with “the people” – those who walked in darkness, who dwell in a land of deep darkness, have seen a great light.
It’s interesting to hear the nouns in this passage. The passage includes us, directly pulls us into its story. The people – us, everyone, have walked in darkness. Ever been walking around in without light? One cannot judge the direction of one’s walk. A person cannot see the beginning, let alone the end of the journey. Darkness causes stubbed toes. Without light we can be lost and not even know it.
The Isaiah passage includes us by describing the world in which we, the people, live. The people walked in darkness, those who dwell in a land with deep darkness. This is the "normal" world that surrounds us. Turkish papers reported yesterday that the CIA director has been in Ankara, asking to use Turkish bases for a US attack on Iran. The Iranian president has said horrible things about Israel, even denying the extermination of the Jews by Germany. Got more war? Violence, vengeance, conflict seemingly rule, whether it’s behavior that surrounds us at work, in our families, in our pasts, a lack that is seemingly all around us. The lack becomes embedded literally in our skin and life overwhelms us with its nothing. We strain our eyes to see our beginning and our end, yet merely having eyes, capabilities, are not enough. Defined by the land of darkness, we just can’t see. The people, including us, dwell in a land of deep darkness.

Yet into this darkness, the Light has shown. It’s there, shining upon the people, us, dwelling in darkness.
I once was given a plaque which said: “Not all the darkness in the world can hide the light of a single candle.” Darkness is a lack; but light is. Darkness is absence; Light is Presence. Darkness causes the lack of sight; Light provides the means that we can we what really is. Isaiah 9 proclaims that the light has shown in darkness. The text echoes Genesis 1 where God speaks through the Word light into existence. An amazing thing about light – the darker it is, the brighter light is. Light is stronger than darkness; light shines forth in the darkness so that it might be seen, and illuminate the world around us so that we might see what it really is.
Darkness cannot stand before light, for it is nothing. We can’t see the stars while the sun out – the light of the sun illuminates the world with its light, and the stars disappear. But in the dark, the light of the stars shine upon us, and we see in the light they provide. Yes we see the darkness, yet in its midst Light! And light shines.
Darkness, light: the story of Isaiah 9 pulls us into its pages, describing our world as a place of darkness, but recognizing that in this darkness, light has shown.

But what is the light? The passage directly addresses us with the answer: Unto us, a child is born; a son is given.
Notice that the text shifts here. The text no longer speaks of us as part of a larger group, the passage enfolds us, you, me, we, personally into its pages. The metaphor of Light takes on the body of a child, a baby. For us, amidst the darkness, a baby, a son given to us. Light amidst darkness? Hey, I’ve been there, done that with babies. The light we need with babies is that which we turn on so we don’t trip over what’s left on the floor in response to the crying!
Suddenly the story of the text begins to sink in. This child, the one whom is born, the one who is given, amidst a world of darkness, of absence, of lack, of sin, of war, of hunger, or exploitation, of meanness, of greed, a world where we cannot use the natural desire that God has given us for God to see because we are surrounded by lack. This child is the Light, this child is the answer to the question that we didn't even know how to ask, because we were in darkness. This child is the One to illuminate our path, in Whom we can see our beginning and our end.
And this light is for us . . . to see . . . so we can really participate in the world in its lack, not getting sucked into the lack but being made who we really are. To walk our path in the Light, that which shines amidst the Revelation given by the Light. This child, the light shining in the darkness, is our guide to our true humanity, the fullness of life that really is life. Light amidst the land of darkness has shown into the world in the body of a child, a baby, a son.

See the wonder! See the grandeur! See the mystery! See the beauty! This Child is not merely the Guide to our true humanity, a representative of what already is in us. This Child is the very, unsubstitutable Revelation of God. The Light, the child, is the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace, the baby, dirt poor, wrapped in rags, laid in a feeding trough, because there was no place for his poor parents in the inn.
The Light, the child, bears titles, political titles, divine titles. He is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government there will be no end and upon the throne of David, and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forth and forever more! This Light is no flash in the pan, no strobe, no sparkler that amuses and then fades, no firework that raises sentiment. This Light is power and might and glory and honor. We see in the Light, in the Child, the true ruler of humanity and the true God.
We see this Light, this Child’s birth described in the Gospel of Luke. The passage seems to be a story of tragedy, the type that newscasts show to increase sentimentality this time of year. A poor mother gives birth amidst domestic animals; housing was not adequate in the city. Sound familiar? The mother wraps the child in rages. In her poverty, in the baby’s poverty, the newborn finds himself in a feeding trough for the animals. Amidst the poverty, at the very margins of the land of darkness in which people dwell, God becomes human and dwells among us, and we have seen His glory, the glory of the only begotten Child. The Light shines in the darkness. Unto us a child is born.
God has sent God’s own Self into the land of darkness in which we dwell as this poor Jewish child, born of a displaced, poor Jewish woman. As Benedict XVIth said yesterday, “God our Lord did not use the outer trappings of power against the threats of History as we men do in keeping with the norms of our world and might have expected from Him. God wields the weapon of kindness; revealed Himself as a babe in a manger; and so uses His power against the destructive might of violence. Thus, God saves us and shows us what He saves.” Amidst the darkness God has sent the Light, God's very Self, the Word made flesh that has dwelt among us.

Conclusion: Can you see? In Jesus we see the beginning and end of our journey, our true humanity and God’s true nature. We realize that we are called to live in this story, live in this Light, to walk according to the Light, not the darkness. We realize that God is with us, for God has become one of us in Jesus. Respond in faith in God – darkness is not the last word; Light is! Unto us a child is born! Let God enfold you into the very life of Love that is God the Father shown to us through the Son by the power of the Holy Spirit. Come to participate in the very life of Jesus Christ in the bread and the cup this evening, and therefore, participate in the very Life of God. And be thankful. Forget sentiment. Experience the wonder!

Posted by johnwright at 1:31 PM | Comments (0)

In a few days we will finally begin the Christmas season. I kind of like the fact that the 25th falls on a Sunday, as we will gather as a church for the First Christmas service (which we call the Christmas eve service). The Christian year harkens back to earlier Jewish time systems in which the day begins at nightfall. Thus what we call Christmas eve is really Christmas I. When we gather on Christmas morn, the Gospel readings differ. The narrative of Luke melds into the Gospel of John. The babe born in a manger is the Word made flesh. One encounters in the dual gospel readings the full wonder of the Incarnation.

Of course, between those services other practices will unfold in our household. We will celebrate the Feast of the Nativity through a meal together in the evening, and a sharing of gifts in the morning. Yes, we are completely and unabashedly and unashamedly bourgeois in this exchange of gifts. As I age, I understand the depth of this practice as a celebration of Christ's nativity, as well as it's dangers. I am very thankful for the time to be together as a family, and share in a material exchange of gifts in honor of our Lord. Amidst a society that would fragment and individuate us even as a family into different market groups, the economics of gifts come to us appropriately in honor of our Lord. I am particularly thankful about this year, as the time will be wedged between the times when we gather as a congregation in observance of the Nativity of the Word of God.

Yet, of course, this gift exchange has become the basis for the consumer culture in which we live. As Eric over at ericisrad.com quoted to me, persons like Bill O'Reilly invert the whole structure of gift giving at the Nativity by saying something to the effect that all business owners should thank Jesus for being born. In other words, God did them a favor for providing the spur to increased consumer spending that pays off in higher dividends for the owners.

How do we then celebrate?

David Jones at ressourcement.blogspot.com linked to an article in the online journal, The Other Journal," by Daniel Bell on "What's Wrong with Capitalism? The Problem with the Problem with Capitalism". Bell argues that "Christian critiques of capitalism are hindered because the problem of capitalism is typically posed empirically instead of confessionally, and it is posed empirically in a flawed manner". By making the argument over capitalism as it's effects on the poor or the worker, we miss the point. The issue becomes what is the alterative? Shifting power to the worker? State-socialism? Yet these operate according to the same atheism as capitalism.

Bell responds with an alternative:

What is the alternative to capitalism? Surely the alternative is obvious. It is the Kingdom of God, where those who build, inhabit, where those who plant, harvest, and where all are filled and the agony that currently besets us ceases. This is to say, the question of alternatives is finally the eschatological one of the appearance of the Kingdom. Which implies that the question of alternatives is rightly answered only confessionally. Why? Because the Kingdom is not something we build; it is something we receive. It is finally not a product of our labor, but is, instead, given to us as a gift. All of which is to say that the alternative to capitalism is not something that we construct; rather, it is something we confess. And, it is worth noting, because the Kingdom is something we confess, the rejoinder about “the best we can do” loses its punch entirely as it is revealed to be thoroughly beside the point. The interesting question never was, “what can we do?” but the eschatological one of “what is God doing?”

Here the confessional does not escape but recovers the empirical. The confession advanced against capitalism and its Christian courtiers is that the alternative to capitalism has already appeared, even if it is not yet present in its fullness. The ages are not juxtaposed; they overlap (1 Cor. 10:11). God has given and continues to give here and now more than capitalism’s Christian proponents can see.

What is it that they fail to see? For one thing, the way that God has and continues to gather persons together into a body called the church where, by means of the divine things in our midst – Word and sacrament, catechesis, orders, and discipline, human desire is being healed of its capitalist distortions and set free to partake of a different economic ordering, one ruled not by scarcity and struggle, debt and death, but by a charitable logic of donation, gift, and perpetual generosity. They fail to discern the divine economy that is already taking form in our midst as persons enter into new economic relations, giving and receiving, exchanging, not according to the rhythm of capital’s axiomatic of production for the market but animated by the Spirit of faith, hope, and love. In more recognizably political and economic terms, this divine economy takes the form of what the Christian tradition identifies as the Works of Mercy. The corporal and spiritual Works constitute the beginning of God's reordering of human polity and economy in accord with the Kingdom. In other words, the Works of Mercy are the ecclesial instantiation of the divine economy and this economy is already taking shape in our midst in countless ways and communities – in various alternative markets and co-op’s, houses of hospitality, sanctuary and jubilee movements, and gleaning projects, all of which engage in and encourage economic production and exchange according to a logic other than capitalist.

It is interesting to see the familial exchange of gifts as a sign of the Kingdom come in Christ, a sign open to perversion and parody, but a sign of participating in the Works of Mercy that God has shown to us in the gift of the Son by the power of the Spirit.

How do we keep the sign of the Kingdom rather than a parody through unfettered materialism? First, we have to be personnally involved in the works of mercy for the Spirit's sanctifying power to form us in love of God and neighbor, and to renew us in the image of Christ. Honestly, I cannot separate my family's gathering around a tree from my love and concern for Shadow, who shared his depression this time of year because he has no family with whom to gather. I am praying for guidance here. Frivolous spending has no place, though, when my friend is excluded from such an exchange of goods, and therefore, family.

Second, we have to get to the real problem of capitalism: the subtle but powerful way that it malforms our desires away from God to things. To wax Augustinian, a capitalist familial gift exchange uses God to enjoy things (see Bill O'Reilly!) in order to bond a family together in sentimentality provided by things, rather than using things given to each other in love to enjoy God, and thus, to have the family itself witness to the peaceable city of God that God began in the Incarnation.

Bell again speaks wisely:

Because capitalism is wrong not only on account of its failure to aid the poor and needy, but also because of what it does succeed in doing, namely, deforming human desire. As Augustine noted long ago, humans are created to desire God and the things of God. Capitalism corrupts desire. Even if capitalism succeeds in reducing poverty, it is still wrong on account of its distortion of human desiring and human relations. As Alasdair MacIntyre has noted, “although Christian indictments of capitalism have justly focused attention upon the wrongs done to the poor and the exploited, Christianity has to view any social and economic order that treats being or becoming rich as highly desirable as doing wrong to those who must not only accept its goals, but succeed in achieving them. . . .Capitalism is bad for those who succeed by its standards as well as for those who fail by them, something that many preachers and theologians have failed to recognize.” Capitalism is wrong not simply because it fails to succor the impoverished, but also because where it succeeds it deforms and corrupts human desire into an insatiable drive for more. Capitalism makes a virtue of what an earlier era denounced as a vice, pleonexia or greed – a restless, possessive, acquisitive drive, but which today is celebrated as the aggressive, creative, entrepreneurial energy that distinguishes homo economicus. Diagnoses and critiques of this cancerous desire and its effects abound and need not be repeated here.

Relationships do not exist for the distribution of goods; goods exist for the good of human relationships. May all of our practices increase the desire for God and God's kingdom, celebrated in the gather of the congregation and even in the exchange of gifts in the context of a family on this coming feast of the Nativity.

Posted by johnwright at 11:40 AM | Comments (1)

I got caught up with my grading today, and have all grades in except for my Christian Tradition class, that, as usual, seems to think due dates are human constructions, and not ontologically real. Imagine that.

I hope to get caught up in some blogging. Between my Society of Biblical Literature trip, the program on the Psalms by Luigi Giussani, finals, the beginning of Tasha's and Carl's high school soccer, time has been sparse. I hope to blog daily as we head into this weekend and throughout all twelve days of Christmas.

To renew I am reading Tracey Rowland's Culture and the Thomist Tradition After Vatican II in the Radical Orthodoxy series. Her work has an extreme analytic and constructive importance, not merely for Roman Catholics, but for both mainline and evangelical Protestants as well. I'd just like to leave you with a little quote that seems so important for congregations to embrace:

"The tendency to market Christianity by reference to its 'relevance' for the world, rather than explaining its role in the salvation of the soul, is ultimately counter-productive. The prophetic mission of the Church which includes its responsibility for the evangelisation of whole societies, becomes increasingly marginalised. No public relations campaign driven by spin-doctors is able to substitute for the witness of saints" (p. 32).

The reason this is so important is that as soon as one accepts the category of 'relevance' provided by the society rather than the justification and sanctification of sinners, the society ultimately assimilates the church into categories based on 'usefulness' rather than truthfulness. Relevance, even if it sounds 'prophetic' at the moment, leads to the absorption of a congregation into the society. As soon as the church is no longer 'useful' for the society and its members through the changes in the time, the church will then be shed by the society and even a congregation's own members like someone who suddenly realizes that his/her glasses frames are not fashionable, and thus run out to buy a new pair.

Posted by johnwright at 8:12 PM | Comments (2)

Perhaps the blog post that has drawn the most comment was my post a few weeks ago about the United States use of white phosphorous at Fallujah. I have watch Fallujah for several years now, from the atrocities whereby contractors were murdered and their corpses desecrated to the punitive response of the United States that led to its destruction with various war crimes committed -- such as attacking a hospital, not allowing civilians out of the area, and, of course, the use of chemical weapons -- white phosporous.

It is easy to dismiss me as a "liberal" in such situations, as this material has been cited largely by the left to attack the Bush presidency. Yet yesterdays address by Benedict XVI, hardly a "leftist", rightly expresses the necessary concerns of all Christians, whether one is a pacifist or a just war person. All Christians must stand together in condemnation and non-participation in such actions. Here is Benedict's address from yesterday's World Day of Peace.

Message of His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI
for the Celebration of World Day of Peace
1 January 2006

In Truth, Peace

1. In this traditional Message for the World Day of Peace at the beginning of the New Year, I offer cordial greetings and good wishes to men and women everywhere, especially those who are suffering as a result of violence and armed conflicts. My greeting is one filled with hope for a more serene world, a world in which more and more individuals and communities are committed to the paths of justice and peace.

2. Before all else, I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude to my Predecessors, the great Popes Paul VI and John Paul II, who were astute promoters of peace. Guided by the spirit of the Beatitudes, they discerned in the many historical events which marked their respective Pontificates the providential intervention of God, who never ceases to be concerned for the future of the human race. As tireless heralds of the Gospel, they constantly invited everyone to make God the starting-point of their efforts on behalf of concord and peace throughout the world. This, my first Message for the World Day of Peace, is meant to follow in the path of their noble teaching; with it, I wish to reiterate the steadfast resolve of the Holy See to continue serving the cause of peace. The very name Benedict, which I chose on the day of my election to the Chair of Peter, is a sign of my personal commitment to peace. In taking this name, I wanted to evoke both the Patron Saint of Europe, who inspired a civilization of peace on the whole continent, and Pope Benedict XV, who condemned the First World War as a ''useless slaughter''(1) and worked for a universal acknowledgment of the lofty demands of peace.

3. The theme chosen for this year's reflection -­ " In truth, peace" -- expresses the conviction that wherever and whenever men and women are enlightened by the splendor of truth, they naturally set out on the path of peace. The Pastoral Constitution "Gaudium et Spes," promulgated forty years ago at the conclusion of the Second Vatican Council, stated that mankind will not succeed in ''building a truly more human world for everyone, everywhere on earth, unless all people are renewed in spirit and converted to the truth of peace."(2) But what do those words, ''the truth of peace,'' really mean? To respond adequately to this question, we must realize that peace cannot be reduced to the simple absence of armed conflict, but needs to be understood as ''the fruit of an order which has been planted in human society by its divine Founder,'' an order ''which must be brought about by humanity in its thirst for ever more perfect justice.''(3) As the result of an order planned and willed by the love of God, peace has an intrinsic and invincible truth of its own, and corresponds ''to an irrepressible yearning and hope dwelling within us.''(4)

4. Seen in this way, peace appears as a heavenly gift and a divine grace which demands at every level the exercise of the highest responsibility: that of conforming human history ­- in truth, justice, freedom and love -­ to the divine order. Whenever there is a loss of fidelity to the transcendent order, and a loss of respect for that ''grammar'' of dialogue which is the universal moral law written on human hearts,(5) whenever the integral development of the person and the protection of his fundamental rights are hindered or denied, whenever countless people are forced to endure intolerable injustices and inequalities, how can we hope that the good of peace will be realized? The essential elements which make up the truth of that good are missing. Saint Augustine described peace as "tranquillitas ordinis,"(6) the tranquility of order. By this, he meant a situation which ultimately enables the truth about man to be fully respected and realized.

5. Who and what, then, can prevent the coming of peace? Sacred Scripture, in its very first book, Genesis, points to the lie told at the very beginning of history by the animal with a forked tongue, whom the Evangelist John calls ''the father of lies'' (John 8:44). Lying is also one of the sins spoken of in the final chapter of the last book of the Bible, Revelation, which bars liars from the heavenly Jerusalem: ''outside are ... all who love falsehood'' (22:15). Lying is linked to the tragedy of sin and its perverse consequences, which have had, and continue to have, devastating effects on the lives of individuals and nations. We need but think of the events of the past century, when aberrant ideological and political systems willfully twisted the truth and brought about the exploitation and murder of an appalling number of men and women, wiping out entire families and communities. After experiences like these, how can we fail to be seriously concerned about lies in our own time, lies which are the framework for menacing scenarios of death in many parts of the world. Any authentic search for peace must begin with the realization that the problem of truth and untruth is the concern of every man and woman; it is decisive for the peaceful future of our planet.

6. Peace is an irrepressible yearning present in the heart of each person, regardless of his or her particular cultural identity. Consequently, everyone should feel committed to service of this great good, and should strive to prevent any form of untruth from poisoning relationships. All people are members of one and the same family. An extreme exaltation of differences clashes with this fundamental truth. We need to regain an awareness that we share a common destiny which is ultimately transcendent, so as to maximize our historical and cultural differences, not in opposition to, but in cooperation with, people belonging to other cultures. These simple truths are what make peace possible; they are easily understood whenever we listen to our own hearts with pure intentions. Peace thus comes to be seen in a new light: not as the mere absence of war, but as a harmonious coexistence of individual citizens within a society governed by justice, one in which the good is also achieved, to the extent possible, for each of them.

The truth of peace calls upon everyone to cultivate productive and sincere relationships; it encourages them to seek out and to follow the paths of forgiveness and reconciliation, to be transparent in their dealings with others, and to be faithful to their word. In a particular way, the followers of Christ, recognizing the insidious presence of evil and the need for that liberation brought by the divine Master, look to him with confidence, in the knowledge that ''he committed no sin; no guile was found on his lips'' (1 Peter 2:22; cf. Isaiah 53:9). Jesus defined himself as the Truth in person, and, in addressing the seer of the Book of Revelation, he states his complete aversion to ''every one who loves and practices falsehood'' (Revelation 22:15). He has disclosed the full truth about humanity and about human history. The power of his grace makes it possible to live ''in'' and ''by'' truth, since he alone is completely true and faithful. Jesus is the truth which gives us peace.

7. The truth of peace must also let its beneficial light shine even amid the tragedy of war. The Fathers of the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council, in the Pastoral Constitution "Gaudium et Spes," pointed out that ''not everything automatically becomes permissible between hostile parties once war has regrettably commenced.''(7) As a means of limiting the devastating consequences of war as much as possible, especially for civilians, the international community has created an international humanitarian law. In a variety of situations and in different settings, the Holy See has expressed its support for this humanitarian law, and has called for it to be respected and promptly implemented, out of the conviction that the truth of peace exists even in the midst of war. International humanitarian law ought to be considered as one of the finest and most effective expressions of the intrinsic demands of the truth of peace. Precisely for this reason, respect for that law must be considered binding on all peoples. Its value must be appreciated and its correct application ensured; it must also be brought up to date by precise norms applicable to the changing scenarios of today's armed conflicts and the use of ever newer and more sophisticated weapons.

8. Here I wish to express gratitude to the international organizations and to all those who are daily engaged in the application of international humanitarian law. Nor can I fail to mention the many soldiers engaged in the delicate work of resolving conflicts and restoring the necessary conditions for peace. I wish to remind them of the words of the Second Vatican Council: ''All those who enter the military in service to their country should look upon themselves as guardians of the security and freedom of their fellow-countrymen, and, in carrying out this duty properly, they too contribute to the establishment of peace.''(8) On this demanding front the Catholic Church's military ordinariates carry out their pastoral activity: I encourage both the military Ordinaries and military chaplains to be, in every situation and context, faithful heralds of the truth of peace.

9. Nowadays, the truth of peace continues to be dramatically compromised and rejected by terrorism, whose criminal threats and attacks leave the world in a state of fear and insecurity. My predecessors Paul VI and John Paul II frequently pointed out the awful responsibility borne by terrorists, while at the same time condemning their senseless and deadly strategies. These are often the fruit of a tragic and disturbing nihilism which Pope John Paul II described in these words: ''Those who kill by acts of terrorism actually despair of humanity, of life, of the future. In their view, everything is to be hated and destroyed.''(9)

Not only nihilism, but also religious fanaticism, today often labeled fundamentalism, can inspire and encourage terrorist thinking and activity. From the beginning, John Paul II was aware of the explosive danger represented by fanatical fundamentalism, and he condemned it unsparingly, while warning against attempts to impose, rather than to propose for others freely to accept, one's own convictions about the truth. As he wrote: ''To try to impose on others by violent means what we consider to be the truth is an offense against the dignity of the human being, and ultimately an offense against God in whose image he is made.''(10)

10. Looked at closely, nihilism and the fundamentalism of which we are speaking share an erroneous relationship to truth: the nihilist denies the very existence of truth, while the fundamentalist claims to be able to impose it by force. Despite their different origins and cultural backgrounds, both show a dangerous contempt for human beings and human life, and ultimately for God himself. Indeed, this shared tragic outcome results from a distortion of the full truth about God: nihilism denies God's existence and his provident presence in history, while fanatical fundamentalism disfigures his loving and merciful countenance, replacing him with idols made in its own image. In analyzing the causes of the contemporary phenomenon of terrorism, consideration should be given, not only to its political and social causes, but also to its deeper cultural, religious and ideological motivations.

11. In view of the risks which humanity is facing in our time, all Catholics in every part of the world have a duty to proclaim and embody ever more fully the ''Gospel of Peace,'' and to show that acknowledgment of the full truth of God is the first, indispensable condition for consolidating the truth of peace. God is Love which saves, a loving Father who wants to see his children look upon one another as brothers and sisters, working responsibly to place their various talents at the service of the common good of the human family. God is the unfailing source of the hope which gives meaning to personal and community life. God, and God alone, brings to fulfillment every work of good and of peace. History has amply demonstrated that declaring war on God in order to eradicate him from human hearts only leads a fearful and impoverished humanity toward decisions which are ultimately futile. This realization must impel believers in Christ to become convincing witnesses of the God who is inseparably truth and love, placing themselves at the service of peace in broad cooperation with other Christians, the followers of other religions and with all men and women of good will.

12. Looking at the present world situation, we can note with satisfaction certain signs of hope in the work of building peace. I think, for example, of the decrease in the number of armed conflicts. Here we are speaking of a few, very tentative steps forward along the path of peace, yet ones which even now are able to hold out a future of greater serenity, particularly for the suffering people of Palestine, the land of Jesus, and for those living in some areas of Africa and Asia, who have waited for years for the positive conclusion of the ongoing processes of pacification and reconciliation. These are reassuring signs which need to be confirmed and consolidated by tireless cooperation and activity, above all on the part of the international community and its agencies charged with preventing conflicts and providing a peaceful solution to those in course.

13. All this must not, however, lead to a naive optimism. It must not be forgotten that, tragically, violent fratricidal conflicts and devastating wars still continue to sow tears and death in vast parts of the world. Situations exist where conflict, hidden like flame beneath ashes, can flare up anew and cause immense destruction. Those authorities who, rather than making every effort to promote peace, incite their citizens to hostility towards other nations, bear a heavy burden of responsibility: in regions particularly at risk, they jeopardize the delicate balance achieved at the cost of patient negotiations and thus help make the future of humanity more uncertain and ominous.

What can be said, too, about those governments which count on nuclear arms as a means of ensuring the security of their countries? Along with countless persons of good will, one can state that this point of view is not only baneful but also completely fallacious. In a nuclear war there would be no victors, only victims. The truth of peace requires that all -­ whether those governments which openly or secretly possess nuclear arms, or those planning to acquire them ­- agree to change their course by clear and firm decisions, and strive for a progressive and concerted nuclear disarmament. The resources which would be saved could then be employed in projects of development capable of benefiting all their people, especially the poor.

14. In this regard, one can only note with dismay the evidence of a continuing growth in military expenditure and the flourishing arms trade, while the political and juridic process established by the international community for promoting disarmament is bogged down in general indifference. How can there ever be a future of peace when investments are still made in the production of arms and in research aimed at developing new ones? It can only be hoped that the international community will find the wisdom and courage to take up once more, jointly and with renewed conviction, the process of disarmament, and thus concretely ensure the right to peace enjoyed by every individual and every people. By their commitment to safeguarding the good of peace, the various agencies of the international community will regain the authority needed to make their initiatives credible and effective.

15. The first to benefit from a decisive choice for disarmament will be the poor countries, which rightly demand, after having heard so many promises, the concrete implementation of their right to development. That right was solemnly reaffirmed in the recent General Assembly of the United Nations Organization, which this year celebrated the sixtieth anniversary of its foundation. The Catholic Church, while confirming her confidence in this international body, calls for the institutional and operative renewal which would enable it to respond to the changed needs of the present time, characterized by the vast phenomenon of globalization. The United Nations Organization must become a more efficient instrument for promoting the values of justice, solidarity and peace in the world.

For her part, the Church, in fidelity to the mission she has received from her Founder, is committed to proclaiming everywhere ''the Gospel of peace.'' In the firm conviction that she offers an indispensable service to all those who strive to promote peace, she reminds everyone that, if peace is to be authentic and lasting, it must be built on the bedrock of the truth about God and the truth about man. This truth alone can create a sensitivity to justice and openness to love and solidarity, while encouraging everyone to work for a truly free and harmonious human family. The foundations of authentic peace rest on the truth about God and man.

16. At the conclusion of this Message, I would like to address a particular word to all believers in Christ, inviting them once again to be attentive and generous disciples of the Lord. When we hear the Gospel, dear brothers and sisters, we learn to build peace on the truth of a daily life inspired by the commandment of love. Every community should undertake an extensive process of education and witness aimed at making everyone more aware of the need for a fuller appreciation of the truth of peace. At the same time I ask for an increase of prayers, since peace is above all a gift of God, a gift to be implored incessantly. By God's help, our proclamation and witness to the truth of peace will be all the more convincing and illuminating. With confidence and filial abandonment let us lift up our eyes to Mary, Mother of the Prince of Peace. At the beginning of this New Year, let us ask her to help all God's People, wherever they may be, to work for peace and to be guided by the light of the truth that sets man free (cf. John 8:32). Through Mary's intercession, may all mankind grow in esteem for this fundamental good and strive to make it ever more present in our world, and, in this way, to offer a safer and more serene future to generations yet to come.

From the Vatican, 8 December 2005.

BENEDICTUS PP. XVI

------------------------------

(1) "Appeal to the Heads of the Warring Peoples," (1 August 1917): AAS 9 (1917), 423.

(2) No. 77.

(3) "Ibid.," 78.

(4) John Paul II, "Message for the 2004 World Day of Peace," 9.

(5) Cf. John Paul II, "Address to the Fiftieth General Assembly of the United Nations," (5 October 1995), No. 3.

(6) " De Civitate Dei," XIX, 13.

(7) No. 79.

(8) Ibid.

(9) Message for the 2002 World Day of Peace, 6.

(10) Ibid.

Posted by johnwright at 8:52 AM | Comments (1)

Okay, it's finals week; after grading 50 book summaries of Jesus and Community, you'd be making bad puns too. Yet amidst such adventures, I've spent some time looking at the end of Acts 9, and become intrigued.

I'll have to check this with my colleague, Tom Phillips, who is an Acts scholar, but it seems to me that Acts 9:31 begins a new literary unit that runs all the way until 12:1 when a new persecution breaks out against the church. While scholars tend to see Acts organized by the spreading of the gospel (Acts 1:8), it seems that periods of persecution and rest also structure the events of the narrative. If this is so, Acts 9:31 provides an introduction to a whole narrative of life within the church following the close of the persecution that broke out against the church following Stephen's stoning. In some sense, this era begins and ends with Saul. The new interval is one when the church dwells in peace. The passages make clear that dwelling in peace is a good thing for the church. Because of the nature of the "Way", this seems not necessarily be the norm, and therefore, it is not a time to stand still.

V. 31: What is it that peace for the church allows? The word "edified" or "built up" has a sense of household management. Why would the text mention the fear of God? What would be the comfort of the Holy Spirit? What is the deal of mixing fear of God and the comfort of the Spirit? Are these contradictory or not? You might want to check out Proverbs 1:7.

Vv. 32-35: Why would Peter's visit to "the saints in Lydda" lead him to a man, paralyzed for eight years? Why are they not the Lyddian saints, but the saints who dwell in Lydda? What happens?

Perhaps you'd like to check Mark 2:1-12. How does this story shed light on the story of Peter and Aeneas? What was the result for the church? Why? What is the cause of people entering the church during this time of peace?

Vv. 36-43 tell the story of Peter and Tabitha (little girl) or Dorcas. Describe the character of Dorcas from the description of her and those who react to the mention of her death. Maybe think of Mike Patterson, and discuss your experience there. Why would the women show Peter the garments that she had made (v. 39)? What is the point? How does Peter recessitate her?

It might be good to read the story from Mark 5:38-43. What are the similarities and differences between the stories? Given these similarities and differences, what does it mean that Peter raised her, "in the name of Jesus"?

Now return to the introductory statement. What takes place while the church has peace? Why? Why is it that the church, even today, can witness more visibly to the kingdom when it is at peace, internally and externally? Why is it important for us to sustain the fear of the Lord and the comfort of the Holy Spirit during such times?

Have a wonderful evening! I'm hopeful to be blogging a little more very soon.

Posted by johnwright at 3:07 PM | Comments (0)

On Tuesday night at UCLA and last night at Pt Loma Nazarene University, I had the honor of participating in a dialogue with Father Meinrad Miller, a Benedictine monk from St. Benedict's Abbey in Atchison, Kansas over the work on the Psalms by Father Luigi Giussani. The common sponsor at both meetings was Communion and Liberation, the lay Catholic renewal movemet begun by Father Giussani. Father Giussani died last spring right before John Paul II's death.

I have found great friendship and hope in the Communion and Liberation friends that I have made. The movement represents the best of post-Vatican II catholicism, a reason for "Protestants" to stop protesting and join in conversation and unity, grounded not in a social program outside the church or in some transcendental human "faith", but in, to use Father Giussani's language, "the fact of Jesus Christ". Catholicity, not ecumenicity, becomes the crucial commitment within this relationship. I believe that the descendants of another renewal movement within the church catholic, that begun by John Wesley in 18th century England, share much, much in common with this "new" renewal group, Communion and Liberation. Who knows what God has in store for the future?

My essay is enclosed in the extended essay where I try to flesh out some this commonality.

I’ll Meet You in the Psalms:
The American Holiness Movement’s Lectio Divina and The Psalms by Luigi Giussani
By John W. Wright

Long before the modernist conquest of Western culture that contributed to the dissolution of the visible unity of the church, God sanctified common texts and common methods of reading for the upbuilding of the church, one, apostolic, holy, catholic church. One can literally watch this unfold historically in the recovery of decayed manuscripts at Oxyrhynchus in Egypt. In this massive cache of papyri we find scrolls and then codices of the Psalter. Interesting, we discover that this common book of the synagogue and church began to take different forms in the second and third centuries. Christians began copying the scrolls into codices, a form of writing that is easier to move from section to section. We discover here the transformation of the Book of Psalms into a form that empowers the communal worship and prayer of the early church. The formation of the Christian Scripture arises out of this Christian transformation of early Jewish holy scrolls into a book suitable for reading in the gathering of the church.

It does not surprise me, then, to find certain deep affinities between the reading of the Psalms offered by Luigi Giussani and my tradition in reading the Psalms as a person brought to faith in Christ within the Church of the Nazarene, an evangelical order that reaches back to John Wesley’s Methodist Societies in the eighteenth century. I would like to open up briefly Father Giussani’s approach to the Psalms as a contemporary example of a pre-modern Christian practice and then relate it to a similar example within the American holiness tradition within the United States. I hope to offer a means that the Spirit’s sanctification of the Scriptures for the upbuilding of the church through its witness to the Word of God, Jesus Christ, might bring us together into a common witness to the church catholic.

First, to Father Giussani’s work.

Father Giussani reminds us at the beginning of his book that “The Psalms are the form of a dialogue defined by God Himself for His relationship with the people He has chosen” (p. 9). This simple observation is very astute. The Psalms speak the voice of humans in their experience. There is no “objective narrator” who hovers above the text. The voice comes from within each psalm, asking the reader to identify with the human words spoken in the text. The words are human words expressed to God.

Yet such a description does not exhaust the voice in the Psalms as read in the synagogue and the church. Through God’s Spirit, these words are “defined by God Himself for His relationship with the people He has chosen.” The Psalm do not speak out of an unmediated human experience; through the gift of the text, the human experience of dialogue with God in the Psalms is experienced as gift from God. In the psalms, our dialogue with God does not begin with us, but with the very revelation of God. The Psalms as Scripture are God’s pulling us into dialogue with the Mystery of Life as a Gift. In Psalms we enter dialogue with God through God.

Thus, Father Giussani notes that “the Psalm represents the man with whom God has established the ancient covenant, to whom God has anticipated His coming – and so it is preparatory, an unfolding. One who does not read the Psalms does not understand the death and resurrection of Christ. But the sacraments are the cornerstone, particularly the Eucharist” (pp. 10-11). The Psalms for Father Giussani find their end, their goal, in Christ, the Gift of God, made ever new to us by faith in the celebration of Christ’s real presence with us in the Gift that is the Eucharist. We discover the same structure at work in the event of Jesus Christ and in the Eucharist as in the Psalms: humans enter dialogue with God only in and through God’s own Gift of God’s Word, Jesus Christ, by the Spirit’s power. Dialogue with God is not a human effort, but God’s gift of God’s own self that calls us to participation in the Divine Mystery that is Love.

By recognizing this form of the Psalms in its theological richness, Father Giussani takes the contemporary reader into an ancient Christian practice, a practice called, lectio divina. The modern world has eroded the conscious practice of this mode of reading the Scriptures. As in earlier ages, monasteries have largely provided the setting for its preservation and continuation. One way of understanding Father Giussani’s book on the psalms is as his attempt to offer to all Christians the ability to take this ancient practice out of the monasteries and past history of the church to be re-discovered for all the faithful in the contemporary world.
What is “lectio divina”? It is “a slow, contemplative praying of the Scriptures which enables the Bible, the Word of God, to become a means of union with God. This ancient practice has been kept alive in the Christian monastic tradition, and is one of the precious treasures of Benedictine monastics and oblates. Together with the Liturgy and daily manual labor, time set aside in a special way for lectio divina enables us to discover in our daily life an underlying spiritual rhythm. Within this rhythm we discover an increasing ability to offer more of ourselves and our relationships to the Father, and to accept the embrace that God is continuously extending to us in the person of his Son Jesus Christ” (http://www.valyermo.com/ld-art.html). As a dialogue from God to participate in the Love that is God, the Psalms provide a wonderful place to begin a retrieval of the Christian practice of lectio divina, a retrieval that bears great importance in the midst of the struggles of the contemporary world.

All this seems fine and good. But it also seems that I have strayed far, far, far away from my tradition. The Church of the Nazarene cut its teeth in revivalist tent meetings, not exactly a setting for the slow, rich contemplative practice of the Benedictines. Originating at the beginning of the 20th century in the United States, the Church of the Nazarene participated in the virulent anti-catholicism of the day in the United States. From the categories provided by today’s society, to enter a Church of the Nazarene is to enter a conservative evangelical Protestant world that has little, if any connections with the tradition in which and from which Father Giussani writes. Yet I would like to argue that such a perspective obscures deeper common roots that the Wesleyan/American Holiness Movement and the renewal movement within Roman Catholicism that is Communion and Liberation and its founder, Father Giussani, share together.

To follow traditions in the Church of the Nazarene is sometimes difficult. It is not a learned tradition, but a practical tradition, a tradition of activity more than thought. It is a tradition performed more than a tradition reflected upon. This has obvious strengths – we, as a tradition, have never been accused of over-intellectualizing the faith handed down to the saints; but it also has weaknesses – it is easy to loose who we really are. For reflection on the psalms, we do not have a contemplative tradition on the psalms, but rather, a homiletical tradition – a tradition of oral performance of the clergy in calling the faithful to deeper levels of Christian experience.

This is perhaps seen in traditional holiness interpretation of Psalm 51, a psalm, interestingly, not commented upon in Father Giussani’s book. The psalm represents one of the strongest penitential statements in all of the Scriptures:

Have mercy on me, O God, in your goodness;
In the greatness of your compassion wipe out my offense.
Thoroughly wash me from my guilt and of my sin cleanse me.
For I acknowledge my offense, and my sin is before me always:
Against you only have I sinned,
And done what is evil in your sight--
That you may be justified in your sentence, vindicated when you condemn.
Indeed, in guilt was I born
And in sin my mother conceived me;
. . .
Cleanse me with hyssop, that I may be purified;
Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.
Let me hear the sounds of joy and gladness;
The bones you have crushed shall rejoice.
Turn away your face from my sins,
And blot out all my guilt.
Create in me a clean heart, O God,
And renew a right spirit within me.
Give me back the joy of your salvation,
and a willing spirit sustain in me.

The psalm takes the voice of a person, crying out to God. The psalm speaks to God. It is remarkable for its horrible pessimism concerning the sinfulness of humanity, a pessimism matched by its confidence in God’s Spirit to address completely and solve this sinfulness. It speaks, in one place, of the utter degradation of the human being by sin, and the utter exaltation of a human being open to the complete work of the Holy Spirit in one’s life. The holiness movement’s interpretation explicates and emphasizes precisely this movement.

This movement of Psalm 51 can be seen in disparate comments made throughout the Church of the Nazarene’s premier theology, written by H. Orten Wiley, in the middle of the 20th century. Wiley reads Psalm 51:5, emphasizing its brutal description of human life dominated by sin. He writes, in Ps 51:5 “the word iniquity as used here, cannot under any circumstances refer to actual sin, but carries with it the thought of a perverted or twisted nature from the very inception of life” (Christian Theology, II, p. 99). Wiley recognizes, however, with the catholic tradition, that sin is not primeval, or essential to human nature. Sin is not natural. It is “an alien principle which falsifies the beginning of individual life (Psalms 51:5), and brings men into bondage through the law of sin and death which is in their members (Rom 7:22)” (p. 148). For Wiley, the words of Psalm 51 depict the existential situation of humanity, a situation that we experience in our lives: “man is born in a state of spiritual death; and while full provision is made for remitting the guilt and condemnation for which man is not directly responsible, it still remains that he is liable for the consequences of this sin. We make this statement in order to show the actual condition [not the actual nature] of man apart from the mitigating influence of divine grace” (p. 98). Wiley leads us to identify with the speaker in Psalm 51 in owning, not only our sins, but our sin – the alien principle that falsifies our lives at their deepest level. The holiness movement’s reading of Psalm 51 offers little wiggle room for the lack, the deprivation, the lie, to use Father Giussani’s word, that is sin at the basis of our lives.

Yet Wiley recognizes more is going on in the psalm than the identification with sin. He recognizes that there is a calling upon the Holy Spirit in the passage, a movement within the deepest levels of the speaker. He pays particular attention to vv. 10-11:
Cleanse me with hyssop, that I may be purified;
Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.
Create in me a clean heart, O God,
And renew a right spirit within me
The holiness tradition calls this “awakening”: “Awakening is a term used in theology to denote that operation of the Holy Spirit by which men’s minds are quickened to a consciousness of their lost estate. In this quickening, the Spirit not only works through the medium of objective truth, but by a direct influence upon the minds and hearts of men” (Wiley, II, p. 341). Praying the Scriptures become a means by which individuals actually participate in God through the Spirit’s calling to us in our sin.

Yet the Spirit’s work does not end with awakening. When the Spirit is not resisted, the believer moves to repentance: “Repentance is the result of the gracious work of the Holy Spirit upon the souls of men . . . In the OT, this condition was known as ‘a broken and contrite heart’ (Ps 51:17), the heart being the inmost personality and not merely the affections, the intellect or the will” (p. 361).
The psalmist voice does not stop with repentance either. Since this is a dialogue with God in language provided by God, what the psalmist asks, God will do –for we talk with God through God’s Gift, the Spirit. The holiness movement has confessed that God will answer the prayer of the psalmist for purity of heart, the cleansing of iniquity, the sin in which one is born. God will “cleanse me with hyssop that I may be purified”, and thus restore the image of God in which we were created, the fullness of salvation from sin, the completeness of the Christian life – i.e., holiness. “We mean by this that we are cleansed from all sin, only as through faith, we are brought into a right relation to the atoning blood of Jesus Christ, and only as there is a continuous relation to atoning blood by faith, will there be a continuous cleansing, in the sense of preservation in purity and holiness” (Wiley, II, p. 484). “From the negative point of view is a cleansing from all sin, from the positive standpoint it is in infilling of divine love” (Wiley, p. 491), that is, participation in the Spirit, the Love of the Father and the Son.

The holiness movement, in its core convictions, therefore shares in a lectio divina of the Psalms: a type of “praying of the Scriptures which enables the Bible, the Word of God, to become a means of union with God. . . . Within this rhythm we discover an increasing ability to offer more of ourselves and our relationships to the Father, and to accept the embrace that God is continuously extending to us in the person of his Son Jesus Christ” by, one might add from the holiness movements perspective, the work of the Holy Spirit.

Such concerns are not foreign to Father Giussani’s book on psalms. The work is not blind on the depth of sin in human life, not merely sinful acts, but the lack that keeps us from who we are in God: “The first evil is inside of me, weakness, contradiction, boredom: that heart that does not respond to the Voice that made it arise out of nothingness and called to Himself” (p. 139). In a similar way, by participating in God the Father through Christ by the Spirit as articulated, for instance in Psalm 132, we discover that we become the actual dwelling place of God: “The dwelling place is where we find God, the path to our destiny. It is where everything in us is reborn. A dwelling place is the place where everthing is for you, where nothing is against you, where everything is for your gladness, where everything is a sure path to the threshold of happiness and completion” (p. 151).

As in the holiness movement, engaging in a lectio divina with the psalms leads us to a grace that does not annul our nature, is not added upon our nature, but perfects our nature. Later on Psalm 147, Giussani writes, “The Mystery is God who has entered the world to sum up all things in Himself (see Eph. 1:10), as Saint Paul said. Thus may He grant that we be summed up in Him, that we penetrate everything that we do with faith.
The pure heart is the heart that is not centered on self, and the free heart is the virginal possession of people and things.
Our relationship with God and with Christ is in the event, that is, in the circumstance of the instant, now, not a minute before or a minute after: loving being in the instant, loving the living God in the instant, loving Christ in the instant. The relationship with Christ is in the instant!” (p. 166)

What then is the difference? The Wesleyan tradition, presupposing the catholic faith, has concentrated largely on human participation in salvation, rather than God as the salvation in which humans participate. Wiley devotes much time and attention to the human movement from awakening to entire sanctification. Father Giussani, on the other hand, emphasizes the God in whom we participate. Giussani speaks often of God as the Mystery or the Presence. To even try to describe such a God is dangerous: “The more often the Presence is laid out for us, the greater the danger that we will not accept it, or qualify it with our ‘ifs,’ ‘ands,’ and ‘buts.’ We want, we set the measure of time; we set the method of responding to it” (p. 86-7), and Giussani makes it known throughout the book that this tendency to set the measure or method is a bad thing.
The Wesleyan lectio divina can slip easily into a form of modernism, a theological humanism in which the divine is collapsed in the human. Yet it does push to decision, to commitment to faith that leads to an active, if sometimes unwise, witness in the world. The slow, contemplative lectio divina of monasticism, even one as faith-full as Father Giussani’s, can lead to an inactivity through transforming God into an object for adoration, but not participation in through love. By an interaction with each other, a joining in a lectio divina of the Scriptures, we can celebrate together God’s dialogue with us, in which God the Father pulls us in to participation in God’s Word by the power of the Spirit.

Posted by johnwright at 7:51 AM | Comments (0)

Acts 9:26-31 completes the initial account of Saul's "conversion", as v. 32 moves the story to Peter. Reading the text carefully opens some very simple, but profound instruction on conversion and the basis of the church on friendship and testimony for each other. Quite simply, Saul's very life depends upon those who surround him, those who protect him from his past and from his present through a type of "protective custody."

v. 26: Following the rather rushed night time departure from Damascus, Saul returns to Jerusalem. Having gone on an assignment from the high priest, he returns to report, not to him, but to the disciples. They don't exactly welcome him. One sees that the gathering of the disciples was not an open affair -- but required their approval. Why would this be so important? Why would the fear Saul? Why would one need to be a disciple to gather with the disciples (probably a short hand version for gathering in worship for prayer, instruction, and participation in the Lord's Supper -- the 'breaking of bread' in Acts)?

V. 27: How is Saul incorporated into the disciples in Jerusalem? Does he do it himself? Is this a good thing or a bad thing? What does it tell you about the type of people these disciples are? Check Acts 4:36-37 about Barnabas. Why would his witness for the sake of Saul be received? What is the nature of the witness of the individual about which the church is concerned? Why is the issue left in the hands of the apostles?

V. 28-29: Why is it that the notification of Saul's preaching occurs after he had been brought to the apostles, not before? What would it be to speak out boldly in the name of the Lord? Why would he engage particularly the Greek speaking Jews in Jerusalem, and why would they seek to kill him?

V. 30: Who finds out that the Hellenists are out to kill Saul? How does Saul get out of Jerusalem?

It is interesting to see how inactive Saul is throughout this narrative, especially in matters concerning his acceptance to the church and his safety from attack. What are the things that Saul actually does? What is done for him? Who is responsible for Saul?

Why would the author conclude Saul's "conversion narrative" here? When is the first stage of his "conversion" complete? Why? What does this tell us about the nature of our lives as disciples today? Can you think of similar dynamics as Saul experienced in his rejection/acceptance in Jerusalem and the safety then that this "brothers" give him that you or others have experienced?

Peace to you. Among other things, please pray for the members of the Christian Peacemakerswho have been taken hostage in Iraq. There is a petition at http://www.petitionspot.com/petitions/freethecpt if you would like to sign it.

Posted by johnwright at 8:06 AM | Comments (0)

Yesterday's sermon was hard to give. As I look back over it, it was probably hard to hear as well. To speak of that which is to come is difficult, without a whole lot of stutterings and qualifications.

Yet I am more and more convinced that the way forward is by returning to the very roots of the Christian tradition, rather than learning to translate it into contemporary language and categories. We have to understand our lives fundamentally different for the Spirit to shape us. To live so that justice and the baptism with the Holy Spirit, the sanctification of believers, are the same thing is a fundamental mission for our ocngregation as we live in connection with the Church of the Nazarene. This is what happens when we return both to their proper setting within the Scriptures and the history of the church. The sermon struggles to find a way of speaking outside the malformations that the politics that a liberal society places upon the church to return justice to its home within a Christian language of the Spirit's sanctifying work in our lives.

Your comments and observations, either about its oral version yesterday, or written here, are always welcome.

Second Sunday of Advent 2005

Isaiah 40:1-11
2 Peter 3:8-15a, 18
Mark 1:1-8

As I prepared for this week, the passage from 2 Peter wouldn’t leave me. I tried – after all, it’s 2 Peter. I love Isaiah 40 – it is one of the most beautiful passages in Scriptures. The Gospel reading focuses on John the Baptist. It speaks of Jesus’ coming to baptize with the Holy Spirit – a very important phrase within the tradition of the Church of the Nazarene. But I couldn’t get away from 2 Peter. I’d like to begin there, move to the Gospel, so that we can hear the Word of God in Isaiah 40 this morning. But let’s begin with the 2 Peter passage.

The passage speaks of our hope – a new heavens, a new earth, where justice is at home.

End times speculation is rampant within certain segments of American Christianity. People support wars in the Middle East, even the practical elimination of Christians from the land where Jesus walked, on the basis of new readings of the bible outside the tradition of the church, the saints who’ve gone before.

The text speaks of Christ’s coming like a thief in the night – by definition, unpredictable. The texts speaks of a melting, a dissolving of the elements – language taken from popular philosophy of the time for a cataclysmic ending to the world. The language describes the indescribable – the culmination of all things, a rift in time that lies ahead, a time not brought about by human efforts, but by God, as creation, a new heavens, a new earth that finds its true life in God; a new heavens that finds its true being in God. In advent we look forward to that which is absolutely future, and thus, utterly unpredictable, utterly free because it is absolutely in God.

The text speaks of a future irruption of a world where justice is at home. On the basis of the Incarnation and Resurrection of Christ, we boldly proclaim the coming irruption of justice into the world where justice really is at home. You know, kick off your shoes, put on the shorts, wrap up in a blanket at home. In the in-coming age, God will bring forth the world as it really is in God. Justice does not come slowly through human effort -- state run economies, free market global capitalism, United Nation’s policy or First World Colonialism. It will come only from God and in God.

2 Peter speaks of our hope: in a rift in history, a rift already seen in the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ, when God will bring forth a creation where justice is at home.

"And everything will be revealed." Justice emerges as the revelation of what really is. The real truth, goodness, and beauty of all things become evident. No more Fox News, no more reporting on weapons of mass destruction by the New York Times or the Washington Post. No more personal arguments over whose interpretation really describes reality. All these things will be dissolved. Everything will be revealed. Good news! Yet it raises a certain question: What sort of persons ought we to be?

The call of the Scripture becomes clear: in light of the Advent of our Lord, we are called to holiness and godliness.

As soon as we mention God bringing forth justice, a massive cultural gap arises within the sanctuary. We live in a world that doesn’t even know how to talk about justice. Shoot, I don’t know how to speak of justice. The whole concept of justice seems impossible to me, an impossible possibility that even now breaks into our world only by the gift of the Spirit in glimpses of what is to come, like in the gaze of an infant into the face of her mother, even as the mother smiles back. I see it, but before I can name it, comprehend it, put it into words, it seems gone. I just don’t know justice.

But this I do know. A Christian account of justice differs from what our modern society teaches us. Unlike the New Testament, we’ve learned that there is justice on one side, a public side, and righteousness on another, a private side. We can’t even speak of justice any more; we have to speak of social justice, the formulation of policy the right way for the society in the right way. Righteousness is private, personal, basically being nice, upholding the main moral tenets of society: don’t cheat, tell the truth, don’t make waves, drink and have sex responsibly, pay your taxes, support the troops, and don’t use coarse language. By dividing righteousness from justice, the private from the public, by thinking that the world can ever be just without just people, and that it is possible to have just people without a society committed to justice, we will only contribute to the domination of sin in the world and in our lives.

We won’t be the sort of people that we ought to be in light of God’s coming, the advent of justice in the advent of Christ by centering our lives on social justice or personal righteousness. The text uses different words to speak of who we ought to be to prepare for the coming: holiness and godliness. How old fashioned! How backward! I don’t know. These terms presuppose that the problem with the world today, the problem of our lives, is sin, the absence of holiness, the absent of godliness. Injustice is itself sin-ful – full of the nothingness that is the lessening of God’s creation. And yes, sin makes its nothingness evident. Sin duplicates its perversion by persons who seek to profit from the lack, like a pimp profits from the perversion of sex through controlling the body of a prostitute, through arranging relationships to support the perversion. We as followers of Jesus Christ cannot support a lack, the nothing. But we have to recognize, as moral, as righteous, as committed to justice, to righteousness that we are, that the nothingness that is sin cuts through our lives. We don’t see justice fully. We don’t see humanity fully except through Jesus Christ, Incarnate and Coming. To commit to justice, to commit to righteousness, without this commitment traveling through and staying within Jesus Christ will lead to being coopted by the very nothing that sucks out the goodness of the creation that God has brought forth. To live justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God, to live and prepare for the coming, to be the sort of people that we ought to be, our call is to holiness, to godliness, to a cleansing of the sin within us so that we might witness to the fullness of life, of creation that will come over all things in the coming of Christ, the coming of God, the coming of Justice.

What sort of people ought we to be in preparation for the coming? A holy people, a kingdom of priests, a people cleansed from sin in order to live the coming.

Maybe that’s why, at the very beginning of the Gospel of Mark, John the baptizer introduces the coming one as the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit. Through the baptism of the Holy Spirit, the baptism of the One who is to Come, God prepares creation for the coming of God, the coming of a new creation where Justice is at home.

John came baptizing with water for the forgiveness of sins. Baptism is a cleansing, a bath. It is a means of purification to open one to the coming reign of God. Water baptism seals our faith by initiating us into God’s people through dying and being raised with Christ. It is a baptism for the forgiveness of sins. One receives water baptism only once, and we always live from our baptismal confession of faith as we live towards the future. In all that you do, remember your baptism and the life to which you are called through being initiated into a people, the church. Preparation for the coming of Christ reaches a first culmination at the font. If you have not repented of your sins, believed in Christ, and been enfolded through water into the body of Christ, you risk being unprepared for the Advent of God. Water baptism is for the forgiveness of sin.

Yet Jesus comes baptizing with the Holy Spirit. Like water baptism, the baptism of the Spirit is a cleansing of sin. But sin here is inward, the absence of who God created us to be as human beings made in the image of God for God, a life lived in love of God and neighbor. The baptism of Christ, the baptism of the Spirit, is the perfecting of who we really are in God, the removal of the perversions, the lies that have become encoded into our bodies, a perfecting by the coming of Christ by the power of the Spirit. The baptism of the Spirit immerses our bodies in God as water baptism immerses our bodies in water. Living in the Spirit of Jesus Christ, the Spirit works continuously, re-forming us from the nothingness that distorts our perspectives, pulls us into conflicts that don’t matter, the patterns of falseness that rip at our bodies and the bodies of others. Unlike water baptism, we don’t come up for air, but we learn to breathe in the Holy Spirit, the breath of God. We live for the coming of God in the Spirit, continuously, every second, time and time again, the coming of the very Love that is God to make us who we really are. The baptism of the Spirit prepares for the coming of God, the coming of Justice, because it is the coming of God, the coming of justice, into our lives, a coming that will reach its fullness in the advent of Christ as the advent of the new creation, where justice is at home.

The baptism of the Spirit is the baptism of Jesus. The baptism of the Spirit cleanses us, fills us. Therefore, we engage in the works of Christ, what we have come to call the works of mercy, feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, clothing the naked, visiting the imprisoned, giving shelter to the homeless, staying with the sick, burying the dead as part of a particular people, a congregation pulled together by the Spirit in Jesus Christ. This personal involvement, an involvement that sees that people are people, not causes, helps us hear the nothingness that is injustice, that shows how that nothingness has come to our lives, rather than always looking to blame others for everything. The works of mercy done in the Spirit bring forth repentance, and therefore cleansing and holiness and godliness that prepares not only us, but all of creation, for the coming of God, the coming of justice into the world in the coming of Christ. The baptism of the Spirit takes us beyond social justice and personal righteousness to holiness, to godliness, the constant in-coming of God through the Spirit in our lives that forms us as a whole into the body of Christ in the world. This is our witness to the kingdom of God, the kingdom of justice that God will bring to the world at its consummation!

The baptism of the Spirit prepares us for the coming of God, the impossible possibility of the coming of the new creation, where justice is at home.

“Comfort, O comfort my people. We have served our term, our penalty is paid, we have received from the Lord’s hand double for all our sins. Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become a plain. Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together.” Come to the presence of Christ today by the Spirit at this Table. See here the in-coming of God, the impossible possibility of justice in the coming of Christ in the bread and the wine. Come in repentance; come in faith. Come, and please, be thankful.

Posted by johnwright at 9:15 AM | Comments (2)