For a while now, I’ve been wrestling with the concept of a “local” theology – a theology that is hyper-contextual – where context and environment play a larger role than doctrinal creeds, traditions, etc. What follows are some thoughts on the potential for a local theology, Christianity, and God in response to the work of Derrick Jensen, Vine Deloria, Jr., and Daniel Quinn. Also, the majority of what follows was taken from an earlier email to a colleague so my apologies if some of that slips in.
The self is not separate from the place it inhabits.
Any civilized religion, including Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Confucianism, and so on, is a religion of occupation. A religion is supposed to teach us how to live, which if we're to live sustainably, means it must teach us how to live in place. But people will live differently in different places, which means religions must be different in different places, and must emerge from the land itself, and not abstract themselves from it...(A) transposable religion means that it could not have emerged from the particularities of the landscape. A religion is also supposed to teach us how to connect to the divine. Yet it a religion is transposed over space, it won't - can't - be so quick to speak to the divine in that particular place. The bottom line is that civilized religions lead people away from their intimate connection to the divinity in the land that is their own home and toward the abstract principles of this distant religion. - Derrick Jensen, Endgame, Volume 1: The Problem of Civilization, p 186.
Meaning comes out of place/context. Deity will likewise spring out of place; a god of a single place and single people. A local Christianity would make no claim to universals. If a faith is based in a locale, its claims should be valid only for its adherents - the local inhabitants. The beliefs, stories, rites, and ceremonies of a tribal Christianity should be specific to location. A ritual should be based upon what is most present. Why should we care about or carry on liturgies, stories, etc., about the Jordan River when we have the White or Wabash Rivers in our own backyards? What care should we have for holy sites of Palestine? Do we have no holy or sacred sties around us? Perhaps we need to find/create them? We hear every Sunday stories of Abraham, Moses, Isaiah and Jesus. Do we have no holy women or men among us whose stories are more relevant to our needs?
We face the crises of environmental destruction, globalization, and consumption. Part of the remedy is to ground people in their own locales creating relationship between who they are and where they are. From this commitment to place will hopefully come a culture created not by hierarchical systems or by those in power or the corporations, but by the people themselves.
Religious actions should be understood (and thus constructed or created) as performing, reminding, reinforcing connection between the community and the local (what is nearby). There are no obstacles to overcome (no Fall, no Redemption). Religious activities should be seen as an integral part of a cycle - rather than a recreation of an historic event. We do this not for salvation, but because it is a recognition of mystery - of our being a part of the movement of the universe. It is a sense of duty. We do it because it keeps us grounded in the cycle and web of belonging.
To do then:
- Focus on specific, precise practices (non-transferable)
-Screw the Great Commission; we have no duty other than to the place we are.
- Bless and pray for the local environment - the streams, rivers, animals, people, and trees; incorporate what is local into our sacred stories.
- Un-deify Christ. The emphasis should be placed on his teachings and example, not his person.
- Start from where you are - physically, not mentally. What are the stories of where you live? What are the stories of your family? What is the story of the land you inhabit?
- Awareness (such an overused term; maybe attentiveness is better?) - get lost observing something living near or with you. Just watch it/them/whatever for at least ten minutes. Don't think about anything, just watch - like you would television. Let the sauntering of a ladybug be your sitcom.
- Do not see events or other things primarily or initially with concern to their significance to you. The thing is significant in itself. To paraphrase Jung - that this thing is extraordinary in and of itself - not because it is extraordinary to yourself.
- Who are your neighbors? What trees live near you? What streams, creeks, rivers, waterways flow nearby? What are the names of the physical landscape features near you? What animals, birds, bugs, live alongside you?
- Meditate upon what rights you do not have (ex: I do not have the right to seek or create pleasure at the expense of others, whether human or non-human).
- Let's be honest...we need new scriptures. The Bible - already a text that combines different messages from different contexts - may or may not contain stories or advice of import today. What we say and do should be a thousand times more important than anything Christ may or may not have done or said.
Primitive (sic) peoples do not differentiate their world of experience into two realms that oppose or complement each other. They seem to maintain a consistent understanding of the unity of all experience. "Among the primitives," according to Joachim Wach, "there is no clear distinction between the notions of spiritual and material, psychical and physical." Rather than seek underlying causes or substances, primitives report the nature and intensity of their experience. Carl Jung clarified this approach to experience somewhat when he wrote, "Thanks to our one-sided emphasis on so-called natural causes, we have learned to differentiate what is subjective and psychic from what is objective and 'natural.' For primitive man, on the contrary, the psychic and the objective coalesce in the external world. In the face of something extraordinary it is not he who is astonished, but rather the thing that is astonishing." – Vine Deloria, Jr., "Tribal Religious Realities" in Spirit and Reason: The Vine Deloria, Jr. Reader, pp 354-355
Now on to sacred places -
Deloria puts sacred spaces/places into three different classifications:
1) Places where the impetus is on the actions of persons. Peoples actions make the location sacred. "In this classification the site is all important, but it is sanctified each time ceremonies are held and prayer offered." (Deloria, 328)
2) Places where the "holy" was made manifest - something of spiritual significance happened. This could be a teaching, a revelation, a message, an insight or an understanding. "(T)he essence of the event is that the sacred has become a part of our experience...There is immense particularity in the sacred, and it is not a blanket category to be applied indiscriminately...(The sacredness of the sites) does not depend on human occupancy, but on the stories that describe the revelation (i.e. the lesson, the message) that enabled human beings to experience the holiness there." (Deloria, 329)
3) Objectively holy sites - a place where the holy is sensed regardless of actions. Perhaps this might be comparable to "thin places" as those places in classification #1 would be comparable to making places thin through action or construction. "The third kind of sacred lands are places of overwhelming holiness where the Higher Powers, on their own initiative, have revealed themselves to human beings...places of unquestionable, inherent sacredness on this earth, sites that are holy in and of themselves...These holy places are locations where people have always gone to communicate and commune with higher spiritual powers." (Deloria, 332)
So far, I've avoided engaging the touchy subject of terminology, in particular, "sacred," "holy," etc. There are two things I sense when thinking about this. 1) Human action - whether it be via ritual or liturgy, or mindfulness or awareness - is important. 2) There must be some sort of acquiescence to the power of the other, so different from a worldview shaped by scientific reductionism. Let me say before proceeding further that I believe the two, though divided here for practical reasons, are nevertheless inseparable and cannot be manipulated or engaged thoroughly on an individual basis.
Referring to human action - humans have unique abilities; unique not in the sense that they are in some way superior to the abilities of other creatures, but unique in the sense that they are particular to our species. The best description I can come to so far is used both by Carl Sagan and Deloria - the cosmos becoming aware of itself.
Referring to the power of the other- This second section is the more difficult, as it relies upon objective activity. I wish to stat that (and this may be obvious) the objective activity does not preclude individual or group awareness. We might say that some or part of the power by which the objective activity is possible is indeed possible at least in part by the presence of that unique activity of humans - cosmic self awareness. But what is it that distinguishes this second experience (the objective divine) from the former, subjective divine? It could be that it is a matter of scale - or that the awareness comes from without - that it in effect is so powerful that there is no action required on the part of the individual or group.
On the nature of the objectively holy - There is a dilemma: do we say that the holy/divine is something separate in essence or substance from the created order? In some ways, referring to places as areas where the sacred exists objectively would seem to require this. What I would like to argue is this: that existence is mysterious creativity (drawing from Gordon Kaufman) and that his mysterious creativity is the movement, the force, the power dwelling within the universe. It is not separate from it. It is not different in essence. Indeed creation or existence = creative movement, force, mystery. The two are one and the same and we cannot nor should not expect to be able to, through any ritualistic means, obtain or wrangle with a creative force that is divorced from existence in essence or substance.
This creative force/existence is prior to us and continues with or without us. In this sense alone, there is an objective nature to the creative mystery of existence. Returning thought to the action of the individual or group as the cosmos aware of itself, we possess that capacity to look or gaze upon this mystery, if only in part - nonetheless we can get some sense of it. This is our gift, our evolutionary niche. Through some methods we can scrape away - thinning out places through ritual, through teaching to illuminate this aspect of ourselves and the cosmos as a whole. At the same time, because of our capability of realizing, of sensing this out, it is possible to be overcome by the presence of the sacred or holy (the creative mystery that is existence or some other feeling) and it is this overwhelming which relates the power of this mystery to us. This still leaves a question in my mind - does this not make creative mystery, especially in this objective sense, dependent then upon our recognition or sensation of it? It is here that I will have to take a leap and live in a faith that the universe, the cosmos is much grander than I or any person, and this cosmos which brought about our species, is capable (though not in a sentient, intentional way - these are, after all, human attributes) of welling up in spatial places without our participation.
The presence of creative mystery is everywhere. It could not be otherwise because it is existence. Its presence is there regardless of our presence. Humans (but perhaps not only humans) can be aware of this creative mystery. We can a) scrape away to "thin things out" if you will, through ritual, action, meditation, etc. - in other words, our actions have meaning and significance, and b) become aware of the overpowering presence of creative mystery - this is passivity in the presence of the objective creative mystery.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
A Quote for Veterans Day
This was taken from today's edition of the New York Times.
"[We would] never be at the mercy of Providence if only we understood that we ourselves are Providence." - Vera Brittain, Testament of Youth
"[We would] never be at the mercy of Providence if only we understood that we ourselves are Providence." - Vera Brittain, Testament of Youth
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
A Spring Morning in the Universe
I've been thinking lately about perspective and orientation and how these terms might be used to shape the way I think about the term "God." As mentioned in my last entry, I feel that the term can still be used, but only when one is looking from a certain direction and trying to point out particular features of the world. I've imagined that our understandings of and appeals toward God are like yelling in a particular direction - or maybe even like the act of yelling itself. It's something done with a purpose or intent to raise attention to or about a certain condition.
To act upon this vein and this thread is a small flash in a great sea. The universe takes a gasp, cries its first cry. Perhaps there are thousands, millions of these cries going on throughout the cosmos - a chorus of chirps, buzzings, and hums - a spring morning in the universe. It is a spiral. It is out of control - a whirlwind birthing off eddies and swirls. Anima mundi.
Creativity evolves and thereby God evolves. God is not God at the beginning. In the beginning there only IS. When we howl, when we yell - then God is born because we have taken notice. We have sensed the mystery of the one and the many, the whole and the part, and must name it. But it is not separate.
To act upon this vein and this thread is a small flash in a great sea. The universe takes a gasp, cries its first cry. Perhaps there are thousands, millions of these cries going on throughout the cosmos - a chorus of chirps, buzzings, and hums - a spring morning in the universe. It is a spiral. It is out of control - a whirlwind birthing off eddies and swirls. Anima mundi.
Creativity evolves and thereby God evolves. God is not God at the beginning. In the beginning there only IS. When we howl, when we yell - then God is born because we have taken notice. We have sensed the mystery of the one and the many, the whole and the part, and must name it. But it is not separate.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Can the Term "God" Still Be Used?
Here is another entry stemming from my discussion over lunch with a good friend from seminary. We both were commenting on the use of the term "God" and how we managed successfully or unsuccessfully to handle situations in which the Deity was invoked. We each proffered substitutes such as mystery, the holy, ground of being, etc.
This may sound all a bit silly but it is serious enough to the us as we both find ourselves embedded in religious traditions that are ordered around and based upon the term "God" and the connotations specific to our respective traditions. And, while in theological circles there may be plenty of impetus for the gradual replacement of the term, it is doubtful that "God" is going away any time soon.
I am a Roman Catholic who likes to sometimes attend High Church Episcopal services (I like the smells and bells). In either setting there is no escaping "God" in the theistic sense - not that I would expect otherwise. What I do then is try and interpret liturgy, hymns, and the scripture in light of my own beliefs - a process that I don't think is that far removed from what any other parishioner might do in trying to find portions of the mass or homily that apply to their own life.
When I hear or read of God referred to as a person, I perceive it to mean the whole of creation. When I hear or read of God's power or action, I perceive it to mean creativity and the things which have brought myself and the world the this moment. When I hear of requests or petitions made to God to bring about or cause a certain end or result, I perceive it to be first, an expression of hope and longing and secondly, a reminder that the faith in which these statements are made requires action of myself and of the community to live out and work toward those things we would pray to be accomplished.
And when I hear or read of worship and praise to be given to God, I perceive my own sense of awe, of existence, of humility, and of gratefulness in being. In this way then I can take part fully and honestly in pray, in liturgy, and in worship and devotion.
This may sound all a bit silly but it is serious enough to the us as we both find ourselves embedded in religious traditions that are ordered around and based upon the term "God" and the connotations specific to our respective traditions. And, while in theological circles there may be plenty of impetus for the gradual replacement of the term, it is doubtful that "God" is going away any time soon.
I am a Roman Catholic who likes to sometimes attend High Church Episcopal services (I like the smells and bells). In either setting there is no escaping "God" in the theistic sense - not that I would expect otherwise. What I do then is try and interpret liturgy, hymns, and the scripture in light of my own beliefs - a process that I don't think is that far removed from what any other parishioner might do in trying to find portions of the mass or homily that apply to their own life.
When I hear or read of God referred to as a person, I perceive it to mean the whole of creation. When I hear or read of God's power or action, I perceive it to mean creativity and the things which have brought myself and the world the this moment. When I hear of requests or petitions made to God to bring about or cause a certain end or result, I perceive it to be first, an expression of hope and longing and secondly, a reminder that the faith in which these statements are made requires action of myself and of the community to live out and work toward those things we would pray to be accomplished.
And when I hear or read of worship and praise to be given to God, I perceive my own sense of awe, of existence, of humility, and of gratefulness in being. In this way then I can take part fully and honestly in pray, in liturgy, and in worship and devotion.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
A Short Creedo...for now
Yesterday I had lunch with a friend from seminary and our conversation made realize both how long it has been since I had an blog entry of any sort and that also it would be a good time to try and get down some positive thoughts about my own beliefs. So, here's a short credo statement.
I believe that there is no God, if by that term one means an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent being that is both transcendent of and immanent to the world (whether solely through the person of Jesus of Nazareth, or via the panentheism of Process Theology, or both).
I believe there is a creative force at work within the universe which is mysterious but also knowable. I believe this creativity is at work within creation precisely because creativity is an inherent capability and quality of existence. To be is to be creative - to impulsively engage in complexification, to have properties emerge that, once achieved, cannot be reduced to their origin.
I believe that we and the universe we inhabit are as we should be. We are neither an accident nor the result of a plan from before time. We are, to paraphrase Stuart Kauffman, expected. It is this expectancy that points us toward the creativity inherent in us and the world.
Is this pantheism? I admit that at first glance it does appear to be the case, however I would argue that the term pantheism does not adequately describe what I am proposing. It would be far too easy to pigeon-hole it as pantheism and move on. I do not believe either myself or my personal theology to be pantheistic in that there is no theism from which to make reference. Pantheism (just like the terms monotheism, polytheism, panentheism, etc.) is defined by its relation to the root term theism. I do not believe that the theistic attributes can be distributed to all of creation rather than be bundled up into one or multiple creators. I cannot direct toward animals, plants, or other persons, prayers of intervention or supplication as they have nothing to offer to me other than what they are. There are no magical or supernatural powers or realm to be tapped within the things of the universe.
As I do not subscribe to theism then, it is hard for me to say I am a pantheist. There remains though creativity, which is the power and property of all the universe. There remains awe, reverence and humility before the universe, before that which has come to pass and that which has brought me here to this very moment.
I believe that there is no God, if by that term one means an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent being that is both transcendent of and immanent to the world (whether solely through the person of Jesus of Nazareth, or via the panentheism of Process Theology, or both).
I believe there is a creative force at work within the universe which is mysterious but also knowable. I believe this creativity is at work within creation precisely because creativity is an inherent capability and quality of existence. To be is to be creative - to impulsively engage in complexification, to have properties emerge that, once achieved, cannot be reduced to their origin.
I believe that we and the universe we inhabit are as we should be. We are neither an accident nor the result of a plan from before time. We are, to paraphrase Stuart Kauffman, expected. It is this expectancy that points us toward the creativity inherent in us and the world.
Is this pantheism? I admit that at first glance it does appear to be the case, however I would argue that the term pantheism does not adequately describe what I am proposing. It would be far too easy to pigeon-hole it as pantheism and move on. I do not believe either myself or my personal theology to be pantheistic in that there is no theism from which to make reference. Pantheism (just like the terms monotheism, polytheism, panentheism, etc.) is defined by its relation to the root term theism. I do not believe that the theistic attributes can be distributed to all of creation rather than be bundled up into one or multiple creators. I cannot direct toward animals, plants, or other persons, prayers of intervention or supplication as they have nothing to offer to me other than what they are. There are no magical or supernatural powers or realm to be tapped within the things of the universe.
As I do not subscribe to theism then, it is hard for me to say I am a pantheist. There remains though creativity, which is the power and property of all the universe. There remains awe, reverence and humility before the universe, before that which has come to pass and that which has brought me here to this very moment.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
To watch or not to watch
Our daughter is almost four months old now and as each day passes it becomes more apparent to me how the values of my wife and I will shape my daughter's. What and how we eat, the language we use, our priorities, our concerns will most likely become hers.
Lately I've been concerned about television. Where I work I am able to observe a lot of children's television and I am considering how much exposure my daughter should have, if any at all. When I grew up, the options were much more limited. Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, Sesame Street, and 3-2-1 Contact were the main options. Of course there were only three networks to choose from, cable being a thing that our family couldn't afford. Cartoons were mainly reruns of Loony Tunes with fare such as the Smurfs, He-Man, and GI Joe coming along a little later.
Still my parents, being staunch Fundamentalist Baptists, found ways to whittle down even those limited choices. In time I wasn't allowed to watch the Smurfs (the character Gargamel was a warlock) or He-Man (there was only one "master of the universe" - God). Finally, 3-2-1 Contact was given the axe when my mother watched an episode with me that discussed plate tectonics and therefore gave the estimated age of the earth, 4-5 billion years old, which went against the creationist views of our faith (10,000 years old).
I'm not sure what effect all of this censoring had on me as I would allow my daughter read the Harry Potter series and I readily accept the scientific understanding of the evolution of the universe, solar system, and life on earth. Nonetheless, I do think this was a valuable lesson my parents gave me if only in that it provided an example of the duty of parents to be aware of the content of shows their children watch and to control what their children are allowed to view. And it was most likely this decision on their part that led me to read more than I might have if I had not been limited in my viewing choices.
So now here I am a parent in my own right and being faced with the same dilemma - to watch or not to watch. I am taken back by the amount of marketing directed towards children for movies that are, in all probability, far to violent for younger viewers. Case in point- the latest Indiana Jones movie. I like the Indiana Jones movies. And I did view them when I was younger. However, I was probably 10 years old before I saw the first one and then it was done in the company of my parents who made me cover my eyes during the more violent or scary parts. Also, I do not remember there being much marketing of the film towards children. There were no Indiana Jones toys, no Indiana Jones commercials run during times that children would be watching television. With this latest installment though the airwaves of children's channels such as Nickelodeon and The Disney Channel have been saturated with advertisements for the movie or toys, food products, etc. associated with the film.
Last night, my wife and I were watching Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest and noting how much violence was contained in the film, again one that was heavily marketed toward children without discrimination to age. I enjoyed the film, but my mind kept wandering to wondering what impact its images might have had younger viewers.
I know that this marketing trend will most likely not cease. The only possibility for change is if those in the positions of power and wealth sense blood in the water for some other target demographic. Yet the choice available to my parents still remains one open to me. The hard part is that it will require a discipline on my part that I am not sure I yet possess. I am inclined to think that maybe it will begin with small steps - limiting the time I spend in front of the idiot's lantern each week, maybe progressing on to further steps such as trying a week without watching television. Who knows?
Lately I've been concerned about television. Where I work I am able to observe a lot of children's television and I am considering how much exposure my daughter should have, if any at all. When I grew up, the options were much more limited. Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, Sesame Street, and 3-2-1 Contact were the main options. Of course there were only three networks to choose from, cable being a thing that our family couldn't afford. Cartoons were mainly reruns of Loony Tunes with fare such as the Smurfs, He-Man, and GI Joe coming along a little later.
Still my parents, being staunch Fundamentalist Baptists, found ways to whittle down even those limited choices. In time I wasn't allowed to watch the Smurfs (the character Gargamel was a warlock) or He-Man (there was only one "master of the universe" - God). Finally, 3-2-1 Contact was given the axe when my mother watched an episode with me that discussed plate tectonics and therefore gave the estimated age of the earth, 4-5 billion years old, which went against the creationist views of our faith (10,000 years old).
I'm not sure what effect all of this censoring had on me as I would allow my daughter read the Harry Potter series and I readily accept the scientific understanding of the evolution of the universe, solar system, and life on earth. Nonetheless, I do think this was a valuable lesson my parents gave me if only in that it provided an example of the duty of parents to be aware of the content of shows their children watch and to control what their children are allowed to view. And it was most likely this decision on their part that led me to read more than I might have if I had not been limited in my viewing choices.
So now here I am a parent in my own right and being faced with the same dilemma - to watch or not to watch. I am taken back by the amount of marketing directed towards children for movies that are, in all probability, far to violent for younger viewers. Case in point- the latest Indiana Jones movie. I like the Indiana Jones movies. And I did view them when I was younger. However, I was probably 10 years old before I saw the first one and then it was done in the company of my parents who made me cover my eyes during the more violent or scary parts. Also, I do not remember there being much marketing of the film towards children. There were no Indiana Jones toys, no Indiana Jones commercials run during times that children would be watching television. With this latest installment though the airwaves of children's channels such as Nickelodeon and The Disney Channel have been saturated with advertisements for the movie or toys, food products, etc. associated with the film.
Last night, my wife and I were watching Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest and noting how much violence was contained in the film, again one that was heavily marketed toward children without discrimination to age. I enjoyed the film, but my mind kept wandering to wondering what impact its images might have had younger viewers.
I know that this marketing trend will most likely not cease. The only possibility for change is if those in the positions of power and wealth sense blood in the water for some other target demographic. Yet the choice available to my parents still remains one open to me. The hard part is that it will require a discipline on my part that I am not sure I yet possess. I am inclined to think that maybe it will begin with small steps - limiting the time I spend in front of the idiot's lantern each week, maybe progressing on to further steps such as trying a week without watching television. Who knows?
Friday, May 30, 2008
A Passage from Rilke
Just some words from Ranier Maria Rilke's The Divine Hours: The Book of Poverty and Death, (III, 31) that spoke to me. Perhaps instead of the word "cities" one could substitue another term - consumerism, commercialism, or perhaps some other "ism." You decide...
The cities only care for what is theirs
and uproot all that's in their path.
They crush the creatures like hollow sticks
and burn up nations like kindling.
Their people serve the culture of the day,
losing all balance and moderation,
calling their aimlessness progress,
driving recklessly where they once drove slow,
and with all that metal and glass
making such a racket.
It's as if they were under a spell:
they can no longer be themselves.
Money keeps growing, takes all their strength,
and empties them like a scouring wind,
while they wait for wine and poisonous passions
to spur them to fruitless occupations.
The cities only care for what is theirs
and uproot all that's in their path.
They crush the creatures like hollow sticks
and burn up nations like kindling.
Their people serve the culture of the day,
losing all balance and moderation,
calling their aimlessness progress,
driving recklessly where they once drove slow,
and with all that metal and glass
making such a racket.
It's as if they were under a spell:
they can no longer be themselves.
Money keeps growing, takes all their strength,
and empties them like a scouring wind,
while they wait for wine and poisonous passions
to spur them to fruitless occupations.
Monday, May 26, 2008
On Cognitive Limit and the Ground of the Divine
I was recently reading a work on the metaphysics of Alfred North Whitehead by Thomas E. Hosinski (Stubborn Fact and Creative Advance). In the conclusion of the fourth chapter, Hosinski comments that Whitehead’s system is "an attempt to give basis for human particulars in the minutiae of the universe." My immediate gut response was to question why this was necessary? I guess I am not persuaded that we must have or find some rule or law in the depths of the cosmos to give legitimacy to what happens or occurs phenomenologically on the human level.
What is the source or basis for the need to find objective grounding for that which exhibits itself in humanity? Certainly there are the issues of being able to make objective claims about the universe, but why cannot the basis be simply in the fact that we exist? Why cannot our humanity, the fact that these things occur in us - product and part of the universe - give us enough "right" to assert claims, realizing that we do so as a particular, unique species and creation of the cosmos?
This, I believe, is part of the issue - recognizing our limit as humanity. Does this go back to the issue of epistemic distance and limit and the recognition of the other? Is this not a liberalizing tendency that perhaps points to the heart of a new interpretation of the gospel? I have no problem with objective claims as long as there is a distinction made in the type of objectivity that can be found. That is there are local, speciated objective interpretation and valuations and there are universal, meta objective interpretations and valuations. Objective claims then can be made about the world but only as local speciated objective claims. That is, we can only speak objectively when we, at the same time, realize the limit of this objectivity. Trying to find an ultimate basis within the universe for human values, etc. seems to say that these human particularities have no value nor worth unless they possess such deep rooted beginnings or sources such as in the "minutiae of the universe," or at the lowest levels. This, of course, is contrary to the idea of emergence and emergent properties.
As with all thoughts and ideas, I wonder how do I relate this back to the way of the Christ? I believe that it is at this limit, this cognitive and epistemic distance and limit , the area where we realize our inability to be all things - the limit of self, of understanding outside of self, where the possibility for a re-interpretation of what Christ is may be possible.
It is in our sounding out the depths and limits of our selves that we see return to us our acknowledgement of our finitude. And in the image that forms from this we can recognize the significance of “both/and.” It is this, what is seemingly a paradox, what can only be described as mystery, that is the ground from which the divine comes towards us. In recognizing our limit we also gain sight to that which we are. Our limits show us our interdependence, our createdness, and our possibility for further creative venture within and without our selves. “Through creativity, with creativity, and in creativity, unified by Spirit…” to paraphrase the doxology of the memorial acclamation. We find God coming not from us, but at the same time in us, from this limit of knowing that provides self knowledge.
We are reliant upon this; even if we do not at all times consciously recognize this fact. And it is when we build up our lives and systems upon the lie and error that knowledge, and therefore control, can be or is complete and within ourselves that we see the welling up of the demonic. The demonic in life is the illusion of control and omniscience manifesting itself in our actions and outlooks.
What is the source or basis for the need to find objective grounding for that which exhibits itself in humanity? Certainly there are the issues of being able to make objective claims about the universe, but why cannot the basis be simply in the fact that we exist? Why cannot our humanity, the fact that these things occur in us - product and part of the universe - give us enough "right" to assert claims, realizing that we do so as a particular, unique species and creation of the cosmos?
This, I believe, is part of the issue - recognizing our limit as humanity. Does this go back to the issue of epistemic distance and limit and the recognition of the other? Is this not a liberalizing tendency that perhaps points to the heart of a new interpretation of the gospel? I have no problem with objective claims as long as there is a distinction made in the type of objectivity that can be found. That is there are local, speciated objective interpretation and valuations and there are universal, meta objective interpretations and valuations. Objective claims then can be made about the world but only as local speciated objective claims. That is, we can only speak objectively when we, at the same time, realize the limit of this objectivity. Trying to find an ultimate basis within the universe for human values, etc. seems to say that these human particularities have no value nor worth unless they possess such deep rooted beginnings or sources such as in the "minutiae of the universe," or at the lowest levels. This, of course, is contrary to the idea of emergence and emergent properties.
As with all thoughts and ideas, I wonder how do I relate this back to the way of the Christ? I believe that it is at this limit, this cognitive and epistemic distance and limit , the area where we realize our inability to be all things - the limit of self, of understanding outside of self, where the possibility for a re-interpretation of what Christ is may be possible.
It is in our sounding out the depths and limits of our selves that we see return to us our acknowledgement of our finitude. And in the image that forms from this we can recognize the significance of “both/and.” It is this, what is seemingly a paradox, what can only be described as mystery, that is the ground from which the divine comes towards us. In recognizing our limit we also gain sight to that which we are. Our limits show us our interdependence, our createdness, and our possibility for further creative venture within and without our selves. “Through creativity, with creativity, and in creativity, unified by Spirit…” to paraphrase the doxology of the memorial acclamation. We find God coming not from us, but at the same time in us, from this limit of knowing that provides self knowledge.
We are reliant upon this; even if we do not at all times consciously recognize this fact. And it is when we build up our lives and systems upon the lie and error that knowledge, and therefore control, can be or is complete and within ourselves that we see the welling up of the demonic. The demonic in life is the illusion of control and omniscience manifesting itself in our actions and outlooks.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
The Parable of the Invisible Gardener
As promised Greg, here is the text I offered for consideration the other night. It is by Antony Flew from the book New Essays in Philosophical Theology.
“Let us begin with a parable. It is a parable developed from a tale told by John Wisdom in his haunting and revelatory article ‘Gods’. Once upon a time two explorers came upon a clearing the jungle. In the clearing were growing many flowers and many weeds. One explorer says, ‘Some gardener must tend this plot’. The other disagrees, ‘There is no gardener’. So they pitch their tents and set a watch. No gardener is ever seen. ‘ But perhaps he is an invisible gardener.’ So they set up a barbed-wire fence . They electrify it. They patrol with bloodhounds. (For they remember how H. G. Wells’s The Invisible Man could be both smelt and touched though he could not be seen.) But no shrieks ever suggest that some intruder has received a shock. No movements of the wire ever betray an invisible climber. The bloodhounds never give cry. Yet still the Believer is not convinced. ‘ But there is a gardener, invisible, intangible, insensible to electric shocks, a gardener who has no scent and makes no sound, a gardener who comes secretly to look after the garden which he loves.’ At last the Sceptic despairs, ‘But what remains of your original assertion? Just how does what you call an invisible, intangible, eternally elusive gardener differ from an imaginary gardener or even from no gardener at all?’…A fine brash hypothesis may thus be killed by inches, the death by a thousand qualifications.”
“Let us begin with a parable. It is a parable developed from a tale told by John Wisdom in his haunting and revelatory article ‘Gods’. Once upon a time two explorers came upon a clearing the jungle. In the clearing were growing many flowers and many weeds. One explorer says, ‘Some gardener must tend this plot’. The other disagrees, ‘There is no gardener’. So they pitch their tents and set a watch. No gardener is ever seen. ‘ But perhaps he is an invisible gardener.’ So they set up a barbed-wire fence . They electrify it. They patrol with bloodhounds. (For they remember how H. G. Wells’s The Invisible Man could be both smelt and touched though he could not be seen.) But no shrieks ever suggest that some intruder has received a shock. No movements of the wire ever betray an invisible climber. The bloodhounds never give cry. Yet still the Believer is not convinced. ‘ But there is a gardener, invisible, intangible, insensible to electric shocks, a gardener who has no scent and makes no sound, a gardener who comes secretly to look after the garden which he loves.’ At last the Sceptic despairs, ‘But what remains of your original assertion? Just how does what you call an invisible, intangible, eternally elusive gardener differ from an imaginary gardener or even from no gardener at all?’…A fine brash hypothesis may thus be killed by inches, the death by a thousand qualifications.”
Sunday, May 11, 2008
A poem by Lee Carroll Pieper
I ran across this poem a while back...hope you enjoy!
Many are called
but most are frozen
in corporate or
collective cold,
these are the stalled
who choose not to be chosen
except to be bought and sold.
Many are called
but most are frozen
in corporate or
collective cold,
these are the stalled
who choose not to be chosen
except to be bought and sold.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Unititled Reflection
Creativity begets Life,
and Life begets Hope,
and Hope begets Faith,
and Faith recognizes this Mystery,
and this Mystery begets God.
and Life begets Hope,
and Hope begets Faith,
and Faith recognizes this Mystery,
and this Mystery begets God.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Where Faith Begins and Ends
Part of my thesis is devoted to the thought of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a twentieth century Jesuit priest, geopaleontologist, and theologian who wrote prolifically on the subject of evolution and Christianity. While the main thrust of his writing is aimed at creating a synthesis from orthodox Catholicism and evolutionary theory, other portions turn toward mysticism. My favorite passages come from the latter. I can’t help but wonder how his thought may have differed if he did not have the mental obligation to such a strict understanding of Catholicism?
Here is a passage from his 1934 essay, “How I Believe:"
"If, as the result of some interior revolution, I were to lose in succession my faith in Christ, my faith in a personal God, and my faith in spirit, I feel that I should continue to believe invincibly in the world. The world (its value, its infallibility and its goodness) – that, when all is said and done, is the first, the last, and the only thing in which I believe. It is by this faith that I live. And it is to this faith, I feel, that at the moment of death, rising above all doubts, I shall surrender myself."
Here is a passage from his 1934 essay, “How I Believe:"
"If, as the result of some interior revolution, I were to lose in succession my faith in Christ, my faith in a personal God, and my faith in spirit, I feel that I should continue to believe invincibly in the world. The world (its value, its infallibility and its goodness) – that, when all is said and done, is the first, the last, and the only thing in which I believe. It is by this faith that I live. And it is to this faith, I feel, that at the moment of death, rising above all doubts, I shall surrender myself."
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
A quote on communion
I ran across this in my reading and found it relevant to some of my current views. It is from the article "Cosmology and Consciousness" by John T. Brinkman, published in Buddhist-Christian Studies, vol 18. I hope it triggers some good thinking!
"(C)ommunion is the ultimate condition for (persons) to experience the mystery of things...to be present to things as they truly are...We do not deal with the human community over against the world. Indeed true wisdom is found in the effort to engage life, for example rain sound and moonlight, with a sustained sense of spontaneity. What is to be decided is the question of how to live in such a way as to not distance oneself from the immediacy of the experience."
"(C)ommunion is the ultimate condition for (persons) to experience the mystery of things...to be present to things as they truly are...We do not deal with the human community over against the world. Indeed true wisdom is found in the effort to engage life, for example rain sound and moonlight, with a sustained sense of spontaneity. What is to be decided is the question of how to live in such a way as to not distance oneself from the immediacy of the experience."
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
To those praying for vision or faith
Today I was driving down Michigan Road looking at the different signs for churches…you know, the ones that usually have some banal saying like “This church is prayer-conditioned,” or “Ch—ch. What’s missing? U-R.” I think the one I detest the most is “Know Jesus, know peace. No Jesus, no peace.” We’ve reduced Christ to the equivalency of a Tylenol capsule.
Anyway, I was looking at this signs as they passed, thinking about the faith of my late father. My wife and I saw visited him in the hospital about a week before he died. The whole time we were there he would slip into a thousand-yard stare during pauses in the conversation. I asked him what he was thinking about. He said he was trying not to think. The next time I saw him he was unconscious and remained so until he passed away.
I wish I had possessed the courage at the time to ask him the difficult question of what he was trying not to think about. I guess I know the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it. Perhaps I am reading into the experience what I need from it, but in his eyes I saw the same panic, the same existential terror that I have felt and still feel from time to time. I wanted to hear him say what he was feeling so I could commiserate with him, so that I could connect with him. My father was hard to get close to and here was this moment when I think we may have been closer than ever and yet it passed away because it failed to materialize. It failed to become truly shared.
I was thinking about this and about how so often we long for some sort of connection to God or the divine. Perhaps it is in the end a longing for relationship. If you consider it, no one can truly ever know the inner you. No one, no matter how close, can ever be present to that stream of consciousness that is yours alone. That is one of the limits of our humanity. A spouse, a friend, a lover…they may know how you think and they may be able to read your face very easily or be able to predict what or how you will feel at some instance or in some situation. But even in that closeness, we still remain separated by the vast gulf of different embodiments, different minds, by space. In some ways I think that the longing for God, for a “personal savior,” or for a simple faith is just that wish to have that inner being penetrated and broken into so that we are not alone. It is the wish, just for once, to hear a voice that is not one’s own speaking on the inside. Perhaps the insane are lucky?
I am reminded by a theologian that God, in a sense, is created. That we create God when we share, when we love one another. Communion is the closest we will come, at least on this side of mystery, to escaping subjectivity. To those longing for simple faith, I want to say that faith is anything but simple. Simple faith is a false promise and an illusion. Faith requires a series of assents, one of those being the acceptance of one’s limitation as a subjective being. Stop longing for voice or vision and begin to look around you and listen because it is in this dirty, brown, green, lush, blue, gritty, creature-filled earth that God will be found. Stop waiting for something outside of you to enter in to save you because you wait in vain.
Your faith will be composed of what you are. Your faith will be made up of your failures, your doubts, your weaknesses, your strengths. Your faith is not made strong by your commitment to beliefs. Your faith is made strong by commitment to your humanity, to your “you-ness.” It is a commitment to creatureliness.
Anyway, I was looking at this signs as they passed, thinking about the faith of my late father. My wife and I saw visited him in the hospital about a week before he died. The whole time we were there he would slip into a thousand-yard stare during pauses in the conversation. I asked him what he was thinking about. He said he was trying not to think. The next time I saw him he was unconscious and remained so until he passed away.
I wish I had possessed the courage at the time to ask him the difficult question of what he was trying not to think about. I guess I know the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it. Perhaps I am reading into the experience what I need from it, but in his eyes I saw the same panic, the same existential terror that I have felt and still feel from time to time. I wanted to hear him say what he was feeling so I could commiserate with him, so that I could connect with him. My father was hard to get close to and here was this moment when I think we may have been closer than ever and yet it passed away because it failed to materialize. It failed to become truly shared.
I was thinking about this and about how so often we long for some sort of connection to God or the divine. Perhaps it is in the end a longing for relationship. If you consider it, no one can truly ever know the inner you. No one, no matter how close, can ever be present to that stream of consciousness that is yours alone. That is one of the limits of our humanity. A spouse, a friend, a lover…they may know how you think and they may be able to read your face very easily or be able to predict what or how you will feel at some instance or in some situation. But even in that closeness, we still remain separated by the vast gulf of different embodiments, different minds, by space. In some ways I think that the longing for God, for a “personal savior,” or for a simple faith is just that wish to have that inner being penetrated and broken into so that we are not alone. It is the wish, just for once, to hear a voice that is not one’s own speaking on the inside. Perhaps the insane are lucky?
I am reminded by a theologian that God, in a sense, is created. That we create God when we share, when we love one another. Communion is the closest we will come, at least on this side of mystery, to escaping subjectivity. To those longing for simple faith, I want to say that faith is anything but simple. Simple faith is a false promise and an illusion. Faith requires a series of assents, one of those being the acceptance of one’s limitation as a subjective being. Stop longing for voice or vision and begin to look around you and listen because it is in this dirty, brown, green, lush, blue, gritty, creature-filled earth that God will be found. Stop waiting for something outside of you to enter in to save you because you wait in vain.
Your faith will be composed of what you are. Your faith will be made up of your failures, your doubts, your weaknesses, your strengths. Your faith is not made strong by your commitment to beliefs. Your faith is made strong by commitment to your humanity, to your “you-ness.” It is a commitment to creatureliness.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
A Prayer for Morning (Lauds)
Our Hope, within us and around us,
Today, may our lives give to and reflect your holiness.
Oh Creation, through us and through the world let your glory show.
Let us be open to the ways of mystery and creativity.
May we be blessed today with your spirit,
And given as much grace as we are willing to give to others.
Help us to act rightly and with reverence towards life in all of our doings,
And may we find our day filled with peace and safety.
Let it be so.
Today, may our lives give to and reflect your holiness.
Oh Creation, through us and through the world let your glory show.
Let us be open to the ways of mystery and creativity.
May we be blessed today with your spirit,
And given as much grace as we are willing to give to others.
Help us to act rightly and with reverence towards life in all of our doings,
And may we find our day filled with peace and safety.
Let it be so.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Further Reflections on the Nature of Prayer in a Non-Theistic Scheme
Again these are better described as snippets rather than well formulated ideas but here they are for better or for worse.
Once Jesus was asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God was coming and he answered, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is within you.”
- Luke 17.20-21
If we reject the “I-Thou” relationship between God, persons, and the world, then we must accept that, for whatever prayer is to be, whatever it is to accomplish, it must occur within the realm of creation alone, and more specifically within humanity. There is no supernatural Thou or realm towards which to direct prayer. This does not deny that there may be some such thing as spirit. Rather, spirit, or whatever it might be, remains mired in this world, in earthiness and in matter. It is at home in the universe, to borrow a phrase from Stuart Kauffman, just as are we humans and everything else that exists.
The active force of prayer – what it may or may not bring about – exists in this realm alone as there is no other. This gives us an insight towards the nature of prayer. It is this worldly – bringing about some thing or things within this world.
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!
- 2 Corinthians 5:17
One issue to overcome is the notion that there is a great disparity between the end result of a person’s life of faith and their current state. Indeed this is not helped by the language of the New Testament, rife as it is with verses expounding on the new creation, etc. I do not with to say that there is error in this plethora of “newness,” yet I do feel that it is misunderstood or at least that this idea of the new creation must also be re-interpreted just as prayer should be.
The issue begins from a misconception of the nature of humanity. Due to the doctrine of original sin (along with others), so embedded within all of Christian thought, the new creation is seen to be something that overcomes a moral defect. The Christian life becomes then merely a challenge for the Christian to do good, to sin no more. While there is nothing wrong with this attempt, the focus upon sin as the impediment between God and humanity limits the potential for the creative transformation with the Christian. This new creature is limited to a being that merely attempts harder and harder to refrain from sin, becoming a moral athlete.
Importantly these sins are of a personal nature and this struggle to overcome personal shortcomings spirals downward leaving the Christian a sad depressed individual forever gazing upon their sins, constantly failing.
We forget that the new creation is still a creation. In following the Christ we do not lose our humanity. Rather our humanity is made aware of the potential for creative growth to explore afresh what it means to be human. Christ is not for us to become non-human but rather to become more human, to embrace those qualities that define us as such. Too often these aspirations are viewed as folly, being impossible or something that is to come in the future, implemented by God at the end of time. This is the worst possible interpretation available today. What is required of Christ today is a way for us to become through our humanity a new creature...a new human, but still so very human.
Pray without ceasing.
- 1 Thessalonians 5.17
It is in embracing this humanity that we look now at prayer. Prayer is a way of living. Due to the “I-Thou” misunderstanding of God, the format for prayer is often only conceivable as communication rather than action. One cannot pray to something as there is nothing to pray to. That is, it is commonly understood that prayer is simply a communication between the divine and the individual or group. So if we remove God from the equation we are left, if we continue only with prayer as conversation, a one-sided conversation. Clearly then, if we are to retain prayer as an important action of faith, we must redefine prayer.
What is it we want from prayer? What do we hope to get out of it? Can we delineate prayer from other things? I think we can because prayer, whatever our final definition may be, it seems to be different from other actions. But, if we are to take the injunction of 1 Thessalonians seriously, this separation could be a problem. Our faith should be something that is indistinguishable from the rest of our life. Our life should be our faith and our faith should be our life. How far then can we claim prayer to be an intentional act?
Unconscious/ Habitual Prayer and Intentional Prayer
I would like to say that prayer is an action. This is obvious I suppose, but I think that it is important to stress that prayer is something that one does. It is said that we are to pray without ceasing. Yet if prayer is an action, it seems an impossible task to be constantly engaged in an intentional act.
The life of faith is a series of assents to various propositions resulting in a commitment to a particular orientation of one’s life. Faith is not a separate thing to be distinguished from the person, bur rather is the entire constitution of the person. I have initially distinguished between two different manifestations of prayer, that of unconscious or habitual prayer and that of intentional prayer. Unconscious or habitual prayer could be equated to breathing. It is an action that occurs without any pre-conscious decision to engage in that act. And it is in this way that we can pray without ceasing. The essence of this prayer is awareness of existence through the paradigm of the Christ, the new creation. It is unconscious or habitual because as it is indistinguishable from our personal existence - it is who we are and how we see the world.
It is when we become focused and immediately aware of this orientation of our existence through the paradigm of the Christ - the new creation - that we can engage in intentional prayer. Personal prayer then is precisely these moment of intense, intentional, (or accidental) awareness of the new creation. Liturgical or group prayer could be understood as an opening up – a listening to and participation in- a communal conversation. In this act, the group is listening to and speaking to the shared communal beliefs, concerns, and orientation. In both personal and liturgical/ group prayer, the communicative act occurs through the orientation of the person/ group toward the Christ.
The paradigm of the new creation, of the Christ, is marked by empathy with life, appreciation of one’s position within it, forgiveness of others, and openness to the immense possibilities of creativity that exist within us and through us. When we are thus open to this way of seeing the world, when our thought or action become shaped by these, we are engaged in prayer as our entire being is at that time given definition and form by Christ. And it is through this that our creativity, the creative movement that is God, is able to be directed via the paradigm of Christ.
Once Jesus was asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God was coming and he answered, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is within you.”
- Luke 17.20-21
If we reject the “I-Thou” relationship between God, persons, and the world, then we must accept that, for whatever prayer is to be, whatever it is to accomplish, it must occur within the realm of creation alone, and more specifically within humanity. There is no supernatural Thou or realm towards which to direct prayer. This does not deny that there may be some such thing as spirit. Rather, spirit, or whatever it might be, remains mired in this world, in earthiness and in matter. It is at home in the universe, to borrow a phrase from Stuart Kauffman, just as are we humans and everything else that exists.
The active force of prayer – what it may or may not bring about – exists in this realm alone as there is no other. This gives us an insight towards the nature of prayer. It is this worldly – bringing about some thing or things within this world.
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!
- 2 Corinthians 5:17
One issue to overcome is the notion that there is a great disparity between the end result of a person’s life of faith and their current state. Indeed this is not helped by the language of the New Testament, rife as it is with verses expounding on the new creation, etc. I do not with to say that there is error in this plethora of “newness,” yet I do feel that it is misunderstood or at least that this idea of the new creation must also be re-interpreted just as prayer should be.
The issue begins from a misconception of the nature of humanity. Due to the doctrine of original sin (along with others), so embedded within all of Christian thought, the new creation is seen to be something that overcomes a moral defect. The Christian life becomes then merely a challenge for the Christian to do good, to sin no more. While there is nothing wrong with this attempt, the focus upon sin as the impediment between God and humanity limits the potential for the creative transformation with the Christian. This new creature is limited to a being that merely attempts harder and harder to refrain from sin, becoming a moral athlete.
Importantly these sins are of a personal nature and this struggle to overcome personal shortcomings spirals downward leaving the Christian a sad depressed individual forever gazing upon their sins, constantly failing.
We forget that the new creation is still a creation. In following the Christ we do not lose our humanity. Rather our humanity is made aware of the potential for creative growth to explore afresh what it means to be human. Christ is not for us to become non-human but rather to become more human, to embrace those qualities that define us as such. Too often these aspirations are viewed as folly, being impossible or something that is to come in the future, implemented by God at the end of time. This is the worst possible interpretation available today. What is required of Christ today is a way for us to become through our humanity a new creature...a new human, but still so very human.
Pray without ceasing.
- 1 Thessalonians 5.17
It is in embracing this humanity that we look now at prayer. Prayer is a way of living. Due to the “I-Thou” misunderstanding of God, the format for prayer is often only conceivable as communication rather than action. One cannot pray to something as there is nothing to pray to. That is, it is commonly understood that prayer is simply a communication between the divine and the individual or group. So if we remove God from the equation we are left, if we continue only with prayer as conversation, a one-sided conversation. Clearly then, if we are to retain prayer as an important action of faith, we must redefine prayer.
What is it we want from prayer? What do we hope to get out of it? Can we delineate prayer from other things? I think we can because prayer, whatever our final definition may be, it seems to be different from other actions. But, if we are to take the injunction of 1 Thessalonians seriously, this separation could be a problem. Our faith should be something that is indistinguishable from the rest of our life. Our life should be our faith and our faith should be our life. How far then can we claim prayer to be an intentional act?
Unconscious/ Habitual Prayer and Intentional Prayer
I would like to say that prayer is an action. This is obvious I suppose, but I think that it is important to stress that prayer is something that one does. It is said that we are to pray without ceasing. Yet if prayer is an action, it seems an impossible task to be constantly engaged in an intentional act.
The life of faith is a series of assents to various propositions resulting in a commitment to a particular orientation of one’s life. Faith is not a separate thing to be distinguished from the person, bur rather is the entire constitution of the person. I have initially distinguished between two different manifestations of prayer, that of unconscious or habitual prayer and that of intentional prayer. Unconscious or habitual prayer could be equated to breathing. It is an action that occurs without any pre-conscious decision to engage in that act. And it is in this way that we can pray without ceasing. The essence of this prayer is awareness of existence through the paradigm of the Christ, the new creation. It is unconscious or habitual because as it is indistinguishable from our personal existence - it is who we are and how we see the world.
It is when we become focused and immediately aware of this orientation of our existence through the paradigm of the Christ - the new creation - that we can engage in intentional prayer. Personal prayer then is precisely these moment of intense, intentional, (or accidental) awareness of the new creation. Liturgical or group prayer could be understood as an opening up – a listening to and participation in- a communal conversation. In this act, the group is listening to and speaking to the shared communal beliefs, concerns, and orientation. In both personal and liturgical/ group prayer, the communicative act occurs through the orientation of the person/ group toward the Christ.
The paradigm of the new creation, of the Christ, is marked by empathy with life, appreciation of one’s position within it, forgiveness of others, and openness to the immense possibilities of creativity that exist within us and through us. When we are thus open to this way of seeing the world, when our thought or action become shaped by these, we are engaged in prayer as our entire being is at that time given definition and form by Christ. And it is through this that our creativity, the creative movement that is God, is able to be directed via the paradigm of Christ.
Is Heaven Necessary?
(A quick caveat here…these thoughts are less organized and developed than I had hoped. Nevertheless I felt it would be good to get them out into their own realm of existence to grow or ferment for some time. Perhaps then I can come back to them to see how if and how they have grown or withered. There may be some repetition in the ideas so I apologize for any confusion that may cause to the reader.)
My father died this weekend from cancer that had spread from one of his kidneys to his liver and pancreas. In the end it was his body’s inability to remove toxins from his systems that took his life. When I last say him, his skin was jaundiced and had almost a greasy texture – the skin excreting poisons as his body’s last attempt to remedy itself. It was pure life struggling to continue on living at that point – assignments being given to organs and systems not appropriate for the given task.
I am not looking forward to his funeral. Even at the time of his death family members and friends were talking about how he had “gone home” or “gone on to a better place.” And I am almost certain that the sermon to be given at his funeral will include some sort of attempt to save the unsaved with a salvation message.
As we picked out a casket and went over other funeral arrangements the thought was reinforced in me at how all of these motions and preparations are for the living and not the dead.
I am thinking about all the ideas surrounding salvation and heaven and the afterlife. How comforting an idea it is that, whatever might occur to us while we are living, we can rest on some concept of heaven or a subjective afterlife.
As Christians we profess that there is some sort of afterlife or resurrection of the dead and the focal point of this belief is the resurrection of Christ. The comforting hope of an afterlife is all that we have and I should like to stress that it is exactly that – a hope. Nowadays though with so much of my personal theology up for grabs as it were there is not resting for me on the promise of an afterlife or resurrection. And so I see the promises and statements of faith regarding these as being there as hope for the living- hope to help us deal with the frightening thought of non-existence.
My theological struggles center around trying to find or develop a faith that I can claim as my own and that fits with my person including my worries, fears, hopes and earnest desire to live a proper life. And this struggle has ended up with a massing tearing away at those beliefs embedded within me from childhood.
I have remained intellectually quiet on the prospects of an afterlife for one because there have been so many other pressing issues to consider first. Nevertheless, the ramifications of some of my leanings in other areas have silently affected my beliefs regarding what happens after death.
The belief in an afterlife as some sort of reward or for any other purposes is (and others might be in agreement with this) a coping strategy for the existential fear of the prospect of not existing. More precisely, it is for the fear of not subjectively existing. We wish to know that our subjective consciousness will not end in death, that we will, in some form, retain our psychical sense of self beyond our death.
I cannot in good conscience make any faith statement about this issue as fact, but rather only as hope. Unfortunately, in ways often unspoken, this hope for an afterlife underpins the various Christian denominations in existence today. For them the security of the afterlife is obtained through practices and creeds and prayers.
This is a great stumbling block for our faith while at the same time it is the locus of our faith. Would it have been better if the Church arouse out of the ashes not of the Easter experience but something else instead? Yet I know and feel deep down that the notion of life rising out of destruction – of the hope placed in such possibility is central to our faith. Perhaps it is simply because it makes a shift from being a thing hoped for to a belief which gives a certainty to it that it does not deserve?
If heaven remains only a hope, then perhaps the focus could, as it should, be returned to this life and this world. When the object, the central premise of a faith is that of an afterlife then the faith, in my view, becomes useless. A faith, as an orientation of ones life, as the way ones life becomes constituted, should be focused on this world and this world alone.
As I more and more work towards building a personal faith that is focused and based in this world and as my view of God becomes that of an impersonal deity, I wonder how that central purpose of heaven – the promise of better things to come- fits in. Indeed the issue that it addresses – existential fear of non-existence – does not disappear. Therefore some answer regarding what happens when one dies must be reached.
What I want to say next may hot make that much sense. There is room for spirit, I believe, in any newer theology that emerges from explorations into a non-personal, non-agential concept of God and the world. However, the discovery of that spirit – rather than coming from some outer realms, the separate world of the old theistic God – will come from diving deep into existence, into the stuff of the universe. Spirit will emerge out of matter. And this will be extremely hard and it will in some way require the cataclysmic destruction of our current outlook on our relationship as a species to nature and the world. In order for spirit to arise we will need to demolish the mental separation that exists in our perception of ourselves as separate from the cosmos. Perhaps it is not unexpected that heaven is described as a city – as a human construction.
I feel, although I cannot hope to prove, that spirit will be found within, deep down entrenched in ourselves , our bodies, our matter, our earthiness. And I do not necessarily think that we can retain a view of a heaven that is the abode of spirit only. The other route is to find that a heaven is not necessary. It would require an antidote to the existential fear of non-existence for that is an issue that will never go away. Thus the persistence even today in the vision of heaven and afterlife as commonly understood.
Can we find a hope- a comfort- that does not require a heaven?
My father died this weekend from cancer that had spread from one of his kidneys to his liver and pancreas. In the end it was his body’s inability to remove toxins from his systems that took his life. When I last say him, his skin was jaundiced and had almost a greasy texture – the skin excreting poisons as his body’s last attempt to remedy itself. It was pure life struggling to continue on living at that point – assignments being given to organs and systems not appropriate for the given task.
I am not looking forward to his funeral. Even at the time of his death family members and friends were talking about how he had “gone home” or “gone on to a better place.” And I am almost certain that the sermon to be given at his funeral will include some sort of attempt to save the unsaved with a salvation message.
As we picked out a casket and went over other funeral arrangements the thought was reinforced in me at how all of these motions and preparations are for the living and not the dead.
I am thinking about all the ideas surrounding salvation and heaven and the afterlife. How comforting an idea it is that, whatever might occur to us while we are living, we can rest on some concept of heaven or a subjective afterlife.
As Christians we profess that there is some sort of afterlife or resurrection of the dead and the focal point of this belief is the resurrection of Christ. The comforting hope of an afterlife is all that we have and I should like to stress that it is exactly that – a hope. Nowadays though with so much of my personal theology up for grabs as it were there is not resting for me on the promise of an afterlife or resurrection. And so I see the promises and statements of faith regarding these as being there as hope for the living- hope to help us deal with the frightening thought of non-existence.
My theological struggles center around trying to find or develop a faith that I can claim as my own and that fits with my person including my worries, fears, hopes and earnest desire to live a proper life. And this struggle has ended up with a massing tearing away at those beliefs embedded within me from childhood.
I have remained intellectually quiet on the prospects of an afterlife for one because there have been so many other pressing issues to consider first. Nevertheless, the ramifications of some of my leanings in other areas have silently affected my beliefs regarding what happens after death.
The belief in an afterlife as some sort of reward or for any other purposes is (and others might be in agreement with this) a coping strategy for the existential fear of the prospect of not existing. More precisely, it is for the fear of not subjectively existing. We wish to know that our subjective consciousness will not end in death, that we will, in some form, retain our psychical sense of self beyond our death.
I cannot in good conscience make any faith statement about this issue as fact, but rather only as hope. Unfortunately, in ways often unspoken, this hope for an afterlife underpins the various Christian denominations in existence today. For them the security of the afterlife is obtained through practices and creeds and prayers.
This is a great stumbling block for our faith while at the same time it is the locus of our faith. Would it have been better if the Church arouse out of the ashes not of the Easter experience but something else instead? Yet I know and feel deep down that the notion of life rising out of destruction – of the hope placed in such possibility is central to our faith. Perhaps it is simply because it makes a shift from being a thing hoped for to a belief which gives a certainty to it that it does not deserve?
If heaven remains only a hope, then perhaps the focus could, as it should, be returned to this life and this world. When the object, the central premise of a faith is that of an afterlife then the faith, in my view, becomes useless. A faith, as an orientation of ones life, as the way ones life becomes constituted, should be focused on this world and this world alone.
As I more and more work towards building a personal faith that is focused and based in this world and as my view of God becomes that of an impersonal deity, I wonder how that central purpose of heaven – the promise of better things to come- fits in. Indeed the issue that it addresses – existential fear of non-existence – does not disappear. Therefore some answer regarding what happens when one dies must be reached.
What I want to say next may hot make that much sense. There is room for spirit, I believe, in any newer theology that emerges from explorations into a non-personal, non-agential concept of God and the world. However, the discovery of that spirit – rather than coming from some outer realms, the separate world of the old theistic God – will come from diving deep into existence, into the stuff of the universe. Spirit will emerge out of matter. And this will be extremely hard and it will in some way require the cataclysmic destruction of our current outlook on our relationship as a species to nature and the world. In order for spirit to arise we will need to demolish the mental separation that exists in our perception of ourselves as separate from the cosmos. Perhaps it is not unexpected that heaven is described as a city – as a human construction.
I feel, although I cannot hope to prove, that spirit will be found within, deep down entrenched in ourselves , our bodies, our matter, our earthiness. And I do not necessarily think that we can retain a view of a heaven that is the abode of spirit only. The other route is to find that a heaven is not necessary. It would require an antidote to the existential fear of non-existence for that is an issue that will never go away. Thus the persistence even today in the vision of heaven and afterlife as commonly understood.
Can we find a hope- a comfort- that does not require a heaven?
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
On the memory of friend who has died
Lately I've been taking note of how much effect my wife's pregnancy has had on me. I've gained a lot of weight myself, going up two waist sizes in the past few months. My sleeping habits have also changed and my dreams have become very strange.
Several years ago Tom, my best friend from high school, died in a car accident. It was unexpected as deaths go, the most personal encounter with it that I have had. I had never experienced a friend dying before. It hit me in its own way and to be honest I am still dealing with it, carrying the memory of my good friend and the knowledge that he no longer exists.
I didn't cry at his funeral. I couldn't cry. I even tried to make myself cry, thinking that it was appropriate and necessary, and in the attempt I ran through my mind every sad thought possible. No tears came though.
I mention all of this because the only time I see Tom now is in my dreams. He'll pop up in them every now and then and he has been making appearances more frequently now than ever. I think it is because my wife and I are getting closer and closer to the birth of our first child and there is that knowledge in the back of my mind that he will never share in that experience.
Tom was the most self-assured person I have ever known. To a lot of people that trait came off as a cockiness yet it was an endearing cockiness. While he had his own inner demons, as we all do, he possessed a strength that rubbed off onto others.
I miss him greatly.
We hadn't seen each other in a few years before he died. That's a hard thing...to never have that final goodbye, to wonder if the dead can ever know the impact that they had upon us, if they ever knew the love we felt for them. There are so many wishes left behind, never able to be fulfilled. And it is strange...our lives had parted since our last get together as I am sure is so common a thing. Not a parting out of hate or argument, but just the separation that comes with time, with people going about their different paths, having so many different experiences that they grow away from each other. It is the lack of shared experiences and it causes persons to move away from each other like flotsam being carried apart on tiny ripples and waves in a vast sea.
I dreamed about Tom again last night. I dreamt that I could go back in time and see him again, to try and prevent his death or to at least say goodbye. The dream hit me hard, harder than other have lately. Afterwards, I thought of how silly our lives are. How the important things and the scary things are really not that important or scary at all. I thought of how we are as children and about how my own child will soon enough experience going to school for the first time, make her own friends and enemies, and how those things will become so ultimate in importance for her.
I don't like Jesus very much in this story from St. John's gospel. Lazarus dies because Jesus doesn't come soon enough to heal him. True, a few verses later he raises Lazarus from the dead, but I can't help but focus more on the emotional impact that his death had upon his sisters and other followers of Jesus. What sticks out most is the recorded interaction between Mary and Jesus. One can sense the anger she feels towards Jesus for not coming sooner. I think about that and I hope that the cries of Mary cut Jesus hard. I hope he felt guilty. The words of Martha and Jesus in this chapter remind me of a very traditional Christian response to illness, calamity, and death. This tragic thing has happened according to the greater will and glory of God. This thing has occurred for a reason and purpose known only to God. We cannot understand why it has happened but we must trust in God that there is some justifiable reason and purpose behind it all. I hate this response. I hate the blind trust of the sheep led to the slaughter.
I slip off to Tom's grave every now and then. I go because I am drawn to it by feelings I don't quite understand. When I arrive and stand in front of his tombstone I don't know exactly what to say or think and I fumble around trying to find something that feels appropriate. I'm not sure there is anything appropriate. The stones of the dead, mute and cold, are only there for us the living.
This is the puzzle of life and death.
Several years ago Tom, my best friend from high school, died in a car accident. It was unexpected as deaths go, the most personal encounter with it that I have had. I had never experienced a friend dying before. It hit me in its own way and to be honest I am still dealing with it, carrying the memory of my good friend and the knowledge that he no longer exists.
I didn't cry at his funeral. I couldn't cry. I even tried to make myself cry, thinking that it was appropriate and necessary, and in the attempt I ran through my mind every sad thought possible. No tears came though.
I mention all of this because the only time I see Tom now is in my dreams. He'll pop up in them every now and then and he has been making appearances more frequently now than ever. I think it is because my wife and I are getting closer and closer to the birth of our first child and there is that knowledge in the back of my mind that he will never share in that experience.
Tom was the most self-assured person I have ever known. To a lot of people that trait came off as a cockiness yet it was an endearing cockiness. While he had his own inner demons, as we all do, he possessed a strength that rubbed off onto others.
I miss him greatly.
We hadn't seen each other in a few years before he died. That's a hard thing...to never have that final goodbye, to wonder if the dead can ever know the impact that they had upon us, if they ever knew the love we felt for them. There are so many wishes left behind, never able to be fulfilled. And it is strange...our lives had parted since our last get together as I am sure is so common a thing. Not a parting out of hate or argument, but just the separation that comes with time, with people going about their different paths, having so many different experiences that they grow away from each other. It is the lack of shared experiences and it causes persons to move away from each other like flotsam being carried apart on tiny ripples and waves in a vast sea.
I dreamed about Tom again last night. I dreamt that I could go back in time and see him again, to try and prevent his death or to at least say goodbye. The dream hit me hard, harder than other have lately. Afterwards, I thought of how silly our lives are. How the important things and the scary things are really not that important or scary at all. I thought of how we are as children and about how my own child will soon enough experience going to school for the first time, make her own friends and enemies, and how those things will become so ultimate in importance for her.
John 11:1-6, 17-23,28b-37
Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, "Lord, he whom you love is ill." But when Jesus heard it, he said, "This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God's glory, so that the son of God may be glorified through it." Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was. When Jesus arrived (in Bethany), he found that Lazarus was dead and had already been in the tomb four days. When Martha
heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give to you whatever you ask of him." Jesus said to her, "Your brother will rise again." Martha went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, "The Teacher is here and is calling for you." And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. The people who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and went to him. They followed her because they thought that she was going to Lazarus' tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." When Jesus saw her weeping, and the people who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, "Where have you laid him?" They said to him, "Lord, come and see." Jesus began to weep. So the people said, "See how he loved him!" But some of them said, "Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?"
I don't like Jesus very much in this story from St. John's gospel. Lazarus dies because Jesus doesn't come soon enough to heal him. True, a few verses later he raises Lazarus from the dead, but I can't help but focus more on the emotional impact that his death had upon his sisters and other followers of Jesus. What sticks out most is the recorded interaction between Mary and Jesus. One can sense the anger she feels towards Jesus for not coming sooner. I think about that and I hope that the cries of Mary cut Jesus hard. I hope he felt guilty. The words of Martha and Jesus in this chapter remind me of a very traditional Christian response to illness, calamity, and death. This tragic thing has happened according to the greater will and glory of God. This thing has occurred for a reason and purpose known only to God. We cannot understand why it has happened but we must trust in God that there is some justifiable reason and purpose behind it all. I hate this response. I hate the blind trust of the sheep led to the slaughter.
I slip off to Tom's grave every now and then. I go because I am drawn to it by feelings I don't quite understand. When I arrive and stand in front of his tombstone I don't know exactly what to say or think and I fumble around trying to find something that feels appropriate. I'm not sure there is anything appropriate. The stones of the dead, mute and cold, are only there for us the living.
This is the puzzle of life and death.
By the rivers of Babylon-
there we sat down and there we wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
we hung our harps.
Psalm 137:1-2
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
On the Limits of Christianity and Prayer
I had lunch this week with a friend from seminary during which we commiserated over the usual suspects that trouble our personal theologies. I left our meeting that day feeling re-invigorated enough to struggle with them some more. Here are some of the results, although they are incomplete in that I feel I will need to return to them again and again.
I am struck by the centrality, the necessity of St. Paul’s words. If we do not have this belief, then everything is in vain, of no purpose, pointless. If there is no resurrection, then we are all just wasting our time. Was it easier for St. Paul to believe in miracles than it is for us today? Was there less cynicism? Was there still room enough in the minds of people for the miraculous to occur?
I cannot change that today there appears to be no room for miracles. I take it for certain that the violation of the laws of nature by any deity is impossible. Instead, these days I find my miracles in things visible. And this, I think, is neither good nor bad. It is simply where we are. Some Christians find themselves still waging war against this loss of the supernatural God. I wish them luck, and I pity them for theirs is a faith that is under assault on all sides. As for me, I am tired of trying to rescue this God. I am tired of performing mental acrobatics to try and find some escape clause, some loophole, and some syllogism to keep this God on continued life support. I have decided to pull the plug.
Is there a resurrection of the dead? I have no idea.
Does this mean there is no afterlife? I have no idea.
Perhaps there is hope, and I will allow for that. I will allow that God, the great whatever in the sky, the mysterious force driving the universe, has thus far provided enough evidence of the miraculous in and through the cosmos and nature to provide room for hope. And, yes, it is a scary place to find oneself. And yes, sometimes, I can find comfort in plain old hope…sometimes.
Yet I am still at odds with St. Paul’s declaration. I have heard the explanations of the historical context surrounding the passage. Still, I can’t help feel that what St. Paul is writing is not simply a response to a problem in Corinth. I have to permit that this is precisely what the saint says it is…a central tenet of the faith, without which there is no faith. And that is something that no historical critique of the passage can erase.
What follows from verse 2b to verse 4 is St. Luke’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. Another version is given to us by St. Matthew in chapter 6:9b-13 in his community’s gospel. There is no version given by St. John’s gospel and some scholars offer that a proto version of the prayer can be found in the gospel of St. Mark, 11:24-25. I will not attempt to expound at all on the differences between the versions as other persons with far greater academic pedigrees have done so on many other occasions and with better insight than I can offer. Instead, what I am proposing here is something completely different, going back to the question given in St. Luke’s account – “teach us to pray.” I hope to speak as honestly as I can in this little exercise.
Prayer is something that I struggle with, mainly because I find myself not knowing how to pray. While God is still a mystery to me (and always will be), at this point in my life I find myself trying to think of God in non-personal, non-agential, and non-theistic ways. Thus prayer, at least the concepts and traditions of prayer that I have grown up with, has been blasted to pieces and rendered utterly useless in this new spiritual country in which I roam.
Before I go any further, let me offer a little bit of a negative credo concerning God.
- I do not believe God is a separate being who exists somewhere “out there” beyond time and space.
- I do not believe that God hears our prayers of supplication and requests and then grants or denies them, depending on God’s will.
- I do not believe we can persuade God to do certain things through prayer.
- I do not believe that God can or does intervene in our affairs. God is not a cosmic superman, stepping in to deliver us from harm or evil.
- I am not certain that God can act as an agent in any way, moving or leading the universe towards any certain goal. It may be that God can do this, but I am unwilling to place any bets upon it, at least if in doing so one is required to allow that God has a prior vision of what the universe will or should look like and then, as an agent, works towards the fulfillment of this prior aim. The crux here is prior aim or goal. If I allow this, then I fear that I slip too easily back into the rut of viewing God as a person, going about, working toward a vision, just as you or I would go about working toward a goal or plan. When I consider the world and the cosmos, I am amazed at the struggle towards life, and towards complexity. At the same time, however, I wish to preserve the freedom of the cosmos and all its inhabitants and matter in its quest towards this complexity.
Is this complexification, expressed freely within and by the cosmos, precisely the cosmos’ response to a God that lures it towards something unexpected? Perhaps, but again, I am afraid of even granting this much to God as it again points toward a greater goal or aim of God. Gordon Kaufman has suggested that it is only the creative serendipitous movement of the universe that can be termed rightly as “God.” While I agree with Kaufman on this, still I am driven further from any traditional understanding by the work of persons such as Stuart Kauffman of the Santa Fe Institute who suggest that this ability to move towards complexity and life is an essential feature of the universe, existent from the moment of creation.
If this is so, then where does one draw a line of distinction between God and the world? Thus I find myself becoming more and more a pantheist rather than a panentheist, unless I remain firm in the idea that no one individual can claim to be the ultimate expression of God. God, rather, can only be glimpsed (and I would like to stress that this is a peripheral glimpse, remaining always out of focus) in the entirety of the creative serendipitous movement of the cosmos. Is this enough to base a God/world distinction upon? Perhaps it is.
But let me get back to the original question: How are we to pray? Here is my offering. Several years ago, I ran across a Buddhist blessing to be used before meals. I and others have since adopted it, feeling that if prayer is to be an intentional, conscious act of opening oneself up to understanding and living within the world in a spiritual manner, then any prayer must become an expression of this orientation. Likewise, for me a prayer must avoid becoming a laundry list of requests, pleading for God to do what God is incapable of doing. Prayer is to be in part a remembrance, calling to mind to needs of others in such a way that those needs become our needs. In our prayer we must become the other so that we share in their pain, suffering, joy, and pleasure. So, after all these caveats, here is the prayer that I try to use, adjusting it when necessary (as I mentioned, it is a blessing for use before meals) to reflect the situation at hand. When you pray, say:
I have been thinking about this verse lately, precisely because I find myself doubting the “resurrection of the dead,” whatever that may ultimately mean. Those last words symbolize my disposition. And that is the last thread I hang onto…the uncertainty of what resurrection of the dead may ultimately mean. But how does one base a faith upon pure uncertainty? Oh, how so many of my past tenets of faith have become vestigial organs now. And I don’t mean it to sound as if I am glorying in that, either. I mourn for them…I am to some extent lost without them.1 Corinthians 15:12-14; 19
Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from
the dead, how can some of you say there is no
resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain…If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
I am struck by the centrality, the necessity of St. Paul’s words. If we do not have this belief, then everything is in vain, of no purpose, pointless. If there is no resurrection, then we are all just wasting our time. Was it easier for St. Paul to believe in miracles than it is for us today? Was there less cynicism? Was there still room enough in the minds of people for the miraculous to occur?
I cannot change that today there appears to be no room for miracles. I take it for certain that the violation of the laws of nature by any deity is impossible. Instead, these days I find my miracles in things visible. And this, I think, is neither good nor bad. It is simply where we are. Some Christians find themselves still waging war against this loss of the supernatural God. I wish them luck, and I pity them for theirs is a faith that is under assault on all sides. As for me, I am tired of trying to rescue this God. I am tired of performing mental acrobatics to try and find some escape clause, some loophole, and some syllogism to keep this God on continued life support. I have decided to pull the plug.
Is there a resurrection of the dead? I have no idea.
Does this mean there is no afterlife? I have no idea.
Perhaps there is hope, and I will allow for that. I will allow that God, the great whatever in the sky, the mysterious force driving the universe, has thus far provided enough evidence of the miraculous in and through the cosmos and nature to provide room for hope. And, yes, it is a scary place to find oneself. And yes, sometimes, I can find comfort in plain old hope…sometimes.
Yet I am still at odds with St. Paul’s declaration. I have heard the explanations of the historical context surrounding the passage. Still, I can’t help feel that what St. Paul is writing is not simply a response to a problem in Corinth. I have to permit that this is precisely what the saint says it is…a central tenet of the faith, without which there is no faith. And that is something that no historical critique of the passage can erase.
Luke 11:1-2a
(Jesus) was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John (the Baptist) taught his disciples.” He said to them, “When you pray, say…”
What follows from verse 2b to verse 4 is St. Luke’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. Another version is given to us by St. Matthew in chapter 6:9b-13 in his community’s gospel. There is no version given by St. John’s gospel and some scholars offer that a proto version of the prayer can be found in the gospel of St. Mark, 11:24-25. I will not attempt to expound at all on the differences between the versions as other persons with far greater academic pedigrees have done so on many other occasions and with better insight than I can offer. Instead, what I am proposing here is something completely different, going back to the question given in St. Luke’s account – “teach us to pray.” I hope to speak as honestly as I can in this little exercise.
Prayer is something that I struggle with, mainly because I find myself not knowing how to pray. While God is still a mystery to me (and always will be), at this point in my life I find myself trying to think of God in non-personal, non-agential, and non-theistic ways. Thus prayer, at least the concepts and traditions of prayer that I have grown up with, has been blasted to pieces and rendered utterly useless in this new spiritual country in which I roam.
Before I go any further, let me offer a little bit of a negative credo concerning God.
- I do not believe God is a separate being who exists somewhere “out there” beyond time and space.
- I do not believe that God hears our prayers of supplication and requests and then grants or denies them, depending on God’s will.
- I do not believe we can persuade God to do certain things through prayer.
- I do not believe that God can or does intervene in our affairs. God is not a cosmic superman, stepping in to deliver us from harm or evil.
- I am not certain that God can act as an agent in any way, moving or leading the universe towards any certain goal. It may be that God can do this, but I am unwilling to place any bets upon it, at least if in doing so one is required to allow that God has a prior vision of what the universe will or should look like and then, as an agent, works towards the fulfillment of this prior aim. The crux here is prior aim or goal. If I allow this, then I fear that I slip too easily back into the rut of viewing God as a person, going about, working toward a vision, just as you or I would go about working toward a goal or plan. When I consider the world and the cosmos, I am amazed at the struggle towards life, and towards complexity. At the same time, however, I wish to preserve the freedom of the cosmos and all its inhabitants and matter in its quest towards this complexity.
Is this complexification, expressed freely within and by the cosmos, precisely the cosmos’ response to a God that lures it towards something unexpected? Perhaps, but again, I am afraid of even granting this much to God as it again points toward a greater goal or aim of God. Gordon Kaufman has suggested that it is only the creative serendipitous movement of the universe that can be termed rightly as “God.” While I agree with Kaufman on this, still I am driven further from any traditional understanding by the work of persons such as Stuart Kauffman of the Santa Fe Institute who suggest that this ability to move towards complexity and life is an essential feature of the universe, existent from the moment of creation.
If this is so, then where does one draw a line of distinction between God and the world? Thus I find myself becoming more and more a pantheist rather than a panentheist, unless I remain firm in the idea that no one individual can claim to be the ultimate expression of God. God, rather, can only be glimpsed (and I would like to stress that this is a peripheral glimpse, remaining always out of focus) in the entirety of the creative serendipitous movement of the cosmos. Is this enough to base a God/world distinction upon? Perhaps it is.
But let me get back to the original question: How are we to pray? Here is my offering. Several years ago, I ran across a Buddhist blessing to be used before meals. I and others have since adopted it, feeling that if prayer is to be an intentional, conscious act of opening oneself up to understanding and living within the world in a spiritual manner, then any prayer must become an expression of this orientation. Likewise, for me a prayer must avoid becoming a laundry list of requests, pleading for God to do what God is incapable of doing. Prayer is to be in part a remembrance, calling to mind to needs of others in such a way that those needs become our needs. In our prayer we must become the other so that we share in their pain, suffering, joy, and pleasure. So, after all these caveats, here is the prayer that I try to use, adjusting it when necessary (as I mentioned, it is a blessing for use before meals) to reflect the situation at hand. When you pray, say:
“This food is the gift of the whole universe,What I appreciate about this simple blessing is that it avoids pleading with a God that I believe cannot hear. Rather, it serves to focus one's attention on the present moment, realizing both that nothing should be taken for granted, and that one should, as much as possible, become completely empathetic toward the complex web of actions, misfortunes, struggles, and successes that comprise the universe.
the earth, the sky, and much hard work.
May I live in a way that makes me worthy to receive it.
Many beings will struggle for food today.
May they all have enough to eat.”
Monday, December 31, 2007
Excerpts
Nothing much here...just some excerpts from Sophie's World by Jostein Gaardner that I turn to now and then for reassurance. Enjoy!
"A lot of people experience the world with the same incredulity as when amagician suddenly pulls a rabbit out of a hat which has just been shown to them empty.In the case of the rabbit, we know the magician has tricked us. What we would like to know is just how he did it. But when it comes to the world it's somewhat different. We know that the world is not all sleight of hand and deception because here we are in it, we are part of it. Actually, we are the white rabbit being pulled out of the hat. The only difference between us and the white rabbit is that the rabbit does not realize it is taking part in a magic trick. Unlike us. We feel we are partof something mysterious and we would like to know how it all works...As far as the white rabbit is concerned, it might be better to compare it with the whole universe. We who live here are microscopic insects existing deep down in the rabbit's fur. But philosophers are always trying to climb up the fine hairs of the fur in order to stare right into the magician's eyes.
"The only thing we require to be good philosophers is the faculty of wonder...The world itself becomes a habit in no time at all. It seems as if in the process of growing up we lose the ability to wonder about the world. And in doing so, we lose something central...for somewhere inside ourselves, something tells us that life is a huge mystery. This is something we once experienced, long before we learned to think the thought...For various reasons most people get so caught up in everyday affairs that their astonishment at the world gets pushed into the background. All mortals are born at the very tip of the rabbit's fine hairs, where they are in a position to wonder at the impossibility of the trick. But as they grow older they work themselves ever deeper into the fur. And there they stay. They become so comfortable they never risk crawling back up the fragile hairs again. Only philosophers embark on this perilous expedition to the outermost reaches of language and existence. Some of them fall off, but others cling on desperately and yell at the people nestling deep in the snug softness..."
"A lot of people experience the world with the same incredulity as when amagician suddenly pulls a rabbit out of a hat which has just been shown to them empty.In the case of the rabbit, we know the magician has tricked us. What we would like to know is just how he did it. But when it comes to the world it's somewhat different. We know that the world is not all sleight of hand and deception because here we are in it, we are part of it. Actually, we are the white rabbit being pulled out of the hat. The only difference between us and the white rabbit is that the rabbit does not realize it is taking part in a magic trick. Unlike us. We feel we are partof something mysterious and we would like to know how it all works...As far as the white rabbit is concerned, it might be better to compare it with the whole universe. We who live here are microscopic insects existing deep down in the rabbit's fur. But philosophers are always trying to climb up the fine hairs of the fur in order to stare right into the magician's eyes.
"The only thing we require to be good philosophers is the faculty of wonder...The world itself becomes a habit in no time at all. It seems as if in the process of growing up we lose the ability to wonder about the world. And in doing so, we lose something central...for somewhere inside ourselves, something tells us that life is a huge mystery. This is something we once experienced, long before we learned to think the thought...For various reasons most people get so caught up in everyday affairs that their astonishment at the world gets pushed into the background. All mortals are born at the very tip of the rabbit's fine hairs, where they are in a position to wonder at the impossibility of the trick. But as they grow older they work themselves ever deeper into the fur. And there they stay. They become so comfortable they never risk crawling back up the fragile hairs again. Only philosophers embark on this perilous expedition to the outermost reaches of language and existence. Some of them fall off, but others cling on desperately and yell at the people nestling deep in the snug softness..."
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