Metacentricities

Real Live Preacher is a blog by a real Baptist minister. I’ve been reading it pretty consistently since I discovered it quite a number of years ago (pre-seminary).  He even used to have a chat room I would visit on occasion. That’s where I met Rev. Sean, a UU Minister (and on the board of Starr King) whose blog, Ministrare, I also read pretty consistently.

Anyway, so RLP (or Gordon Atkinson, his real name) is very brave, and quite interesting, too. He has taken on issues of gay marriage, his battle with depression, and a broad range of issues. He has now decided to take on the question of whether or not the Bible really says that non-Christians are going to hell.

THE CHALLENGE:

Okay, so here’s the deal: if you believe in hell, I want you to help us understand why. I invite anyone who believes that non-Christians are going to an eternal hell to make your case. We’re going to play by your rules too. Bible arguments only. Don’t explain why you think there should be a hell. Don’t tell us that your preacher told you there is a hell. Show us in the scriptures you say you love so dearly.

Because if you’re talking about hell, you better damn well be able to open your holy book and show us why. And if you can’t…well, maybe you shouldn’t be talking so much.

You really should go read the whole post. It’s great.

What I think is great about this is unlike the general progressive/liberal Christian strategy, which basically (for good reason) questions the whole premise of the Bible being the literal truth, thus allowing us to basically throw out things we don’t like, RLP is asking people who believe in hell to play by their own rules - that is, prove it using scripture. I can’t wait to hear the results.

If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you probably have picked up that the classic Christian theological concept of the trinity: Father, Son (who was an embodiment of the Father, and died, and was resurrected, etc.) and Holy Spirit is a construct of God that I find hard to embrace.

In some ways, I still am pretty much a Unitarian Christian, even though I now attend a church that is part of a trinitarian denomination (UCC). And because of that, the Trinity is in my consciousness quite often. During service, we always sing that Doxology (thankfully, using inclusive language) “Glory be to the Creator, and to the Christ and to the Holy Ghost …”

Today, the pastor of my lovely church, Rev. Andrea Ayvazian, preached a great sermon (as usual) and in it was this nugget: The qualities of water at what is called the “triple point” of water (which is 0.01 degrees C) is where the three phases can coexist in an equilibrium.

I love the metaphor - the idea of God, and the qualities of God, being in equilibrium - present all at once - it’s all the same substance, like water, but it has three different qualities.

I once wrote a paper in seminary about the concept of the Trinity by Julian of Norwich. About one of Julian’s metaphors of the Trinity, I wrote:

The triad nature, mercy and grace is very much how I experience God, and God’s love. I see God everyday in the natural world. I see the love of God in every leaf, in every rock, in the moo of a cow, the babble of a brook, the flame of a candle. God’s nature is what is so close to my eyes and ears, on a daily basis. God’s grace I experience in my life. When I find myself in the right place at the right time, I see that as grace. When it’s winter (in New England), and I hate the cold, and I look up in the sky, and see the constellation Orion, I feel God’s grace.

It seems like this is a theological concept that I’ll be chewing on for a while.

I’ve been watching the whole saga of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (or FLDS). It is a very interesting situation, for sure. There is no question that polygyny (polygamy is a broader term) is oppressive to women and girls (and, also oppressive to boys, since many of them are kicked out of the church so that there is less competition among men for multiple wives.)

And, of course, since many of the girls are married off well below the legal age (as young as 14) certainly this practice amounts to institutionalized statutory rape, supposedly legitimized by revelation from God.

I don’t believe that the FLDS is necessarily any worse than the general population when it comes to child abuse (that is to say, I’m sure the prevalence is as just high, but not necessarily much higher.) And, for me, polygamy (or polyamory - the broad terms meaning sexual and marriage relationships between multiple adults) isn’t something that should be regulated by the state. In my opinion, the state really doesn’t have any business regulating what consenting adults choose to do.

Of course, that’s the rub. The girls in the FLDS, even those who are over the marriage age are not likely consenting - or if they are, it is a “consent” born of life-long brainwashing. What if, for example, the FLDS had the same polygynous practices, but women only got married at 18 or older? What do I think about that? Even though I would abhor that situation, I’d have to say that the state should have nothing to do with it.

Interestingly enough, polygyny is not something that is especially problematic for the writers of the Bible. It was completely normal to the writers of the Hebrew Bible, and it’s acceptability or lack thereof in the early Christian church is debated. Of course, no other forms of polygamy (multiple husbands, or other kinds of combinations) aren’t a part of the picture at all. At some point, polygyny became unacceptable, and polygamy is still considered such by our society as a whole.

Joseph Smith thought that plural marriage was ordained by God, as a part of his whole idea that believers needed to get back to the Old Testament ways. It was, apparently, not accepted by all followers originally. It eventually became a central part of Mormon religious practice. It was, of course illegal, and eventually, the legal pressure to conform was so great, that the church gave it up. This also lead to the schism which resulted in the FLDS.

So to the bigger question - when does the state (and, by extrapolation, the population at large) get to say when a religious practice is not acceptable? I don’t think for a moment that the arguments against polygyny in the late 19th century had much to do with women’s empowerment - even though that would be more of the argument today. And when does the prevailing morals of the majority, even if not involving laws relating to harming of individuals (such as regulations of relationships between consenting adults) infringe upon the freedom of religious expression? All good questions.

For the last six weeks or so, I’ve been making a Sunday morning trek of about 30 minutes almost directly due south from Shelburne Falls, to Haydenville Congregational Church (a member of the UCC, and an Open and Affirming congregation). HCC is pastored by the Rev. Andrea Ayvazian, a local hero to peace activists (and lots of others) in the valley.

Starting to get to know a new church community is always a bit of a twitchy experience for me. All of my shy quietness comes out. And then, add to that, my own complex relationship with the religion of my birth, and it makes for an interesting experience. I’ve been doing some church shopping over the past few months, and finding the right fit felt like an impossible task. There’s the challenge of hearing “he” and “him” all the time for God. The challenge of doctrine of various sorts. There is the challenge of my judging mind. Having been to seminary, and having been a bit of a bible geek, it’s really hard for me to sit through exegesis that isn’t that good (I remember, with some cringes, of a sermon at another church I sat through with about the worst exegesis I could imagine of my favorite parable - the good Samaritan. I felt like I could have done a much better job, and I didn’t even take preaching!)

I have felt really at home at HCC. It’s a very diverse crowd, in age, background and sexuality. And, I’m usually not the only African American there, which is a nice plus for a Congregational church in New England. Everyone really tries hard to be welcoming, and it is truly genuine. And it is clear from what Andrea says (and the way things are done) that people with a very wide range of views are welcome. And, to top it off, Andrea is a great exegete, and a really good preacher.

Today was the day that I finally, really felt like this was a community I could become a part of. I was looking forward to going this morning, I have begun to get to know a few faces and names, and the noise in my head finally yielded to just being in the presence of the Divine. Today, Andrea gave a sermon based on the story in Luke about Jesus’ appearance to some folks on the walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus. And for the first time, I think I actually got a tiny, tiny little hint about what resurrection means to me.

I remember two years ago, when I was trying my best to approach the concept of Easter - the Christian concept that I think I probably have the hardest time with, and my very well-intentioned but ill-fated spiritual director said that I needed to experience the presence of the risen Christ. I think I flew out of that room about as fast as I could, under the circumstances (I’m exaggerating, but you get the point.) Today, I think I got a tiny little inkling of what that means to me (and it doesn’t really have much to do with any human being actually rising from the dead.)

There are several folks I knew from the Unitarian Society in Northampton, which I find really interesting, considering how secular USNF is. Perhaps those folks have been on a similar kind of journey as I. I look forward to talking to them about what drew them to HCC. And I look forward to becoming part of the community.

It’s interesting to think about the press, and the bias the press has, especially in this time. What the press says, and how it says it, is pretty darned important - it’s the way that most people get their information about politics, and the presidential campaigns.

I’ve been thinking some about the Obama/Huckabee victories in Iowa, and what people are saying about it. In particular, I’ve been interested in the whole issue of how faith is playing out - Obama’s faith, Huckabee’s faith, and the faith of voters. Faith in Public life had this recent post about what was missing.  Two separate polls of Democrats and Republican caucus-goers asked different questions of the Dems and the Republicans. They asked Republicans whether or not they were evangelical, but didn’t ask that of the Democrats. Was that because they didn’t want to know? Or didn’t think it was important? Or didn’t care?

Faith in Public Life says:

So why are CNN and NBC still treating evangelicals as the Republicans’ property? Their polls don’t even account for the possibility that evangelicals can play a significant role in the Democratic caucus. That’s some serious institutional bias.

It is, indeed. Especially given the fact that progressive evangelicals have been getting a higher profile lately.

I’ve been thinking a lot about spiritual authority lately. Having decided not to move toward ordination, that realm where you are given “official” spiritual authority, I have wondered what my own spiritual authority might be. In thinking about doing teaching around spiritual topics, I have not felt sure that I had the “right” - not sure that I had the credentials necessary.

What is “spiritual authority”? Is it something that you can claim, or is it given to you? Of course Christians have their own perspective of it - and it’s quite hierarchical (and patriarchal) in essence. It is authority delegated by God, onto some people. Watchman Nee, who literally wrote the book on spiritual authority said: “If God dares to entrust His authority to man, then we can dare to obey. Whether the one in authority is right or wrong does not concern us. The obedient one needs only to obey. The Lord will not hold us responsible for any mistaken obedience, rather He will hold the delegated authority responsible for his erroneous act.” <insert big cringe here>

Of course, progressive Christians don’t hold to this perspective, and movements like the Emergent Church, where there are flat hierarchies, and many leaders aren’t ordained, are repudiations of this perspective. But for many Christians, it is important to obey the delegated authority of God. And there is, for many people of many faiths, the feeling about “obeying” God’s will for them - often coming in the form of messages from those with spiritual authority.

But that perspective of spiritual authority is, fundamentally, hierarchical, with the perspective that God is “on top” and through a tree of spiritual authority, your average person is underneath, obeying those above (and obeying God). I’m not really down with that perspective (yeah, I know you are surprised.)

What would a view of spiritual authority be in a non-hierarchical context? I can’t help but think of the Buddha, who basically said “don’t just believe what I say - experience it yourself.” We all have our own spiritual authority we can claim - in our experiences, and in whatever wisdom we have gained or can tap into. Of course, we also give others authority. A guru would be nothing without followers - a teacher nothing without students. People choose to give other individuals spiritual authority - they feel that person has something useful and important to share with others.

I think, optimally, it’s a mix - we can give people spiritual authority so that we can learn from them. We can claim spiritual authority, because we have our own experiences, and we have our own inner wisdom. But in both the claiming and the giving, there has to be openness. Being open to understand that we, or the person we are giving authority to, can’t be perfect, can’t know all of the answers, or hold the truth. In fact, we, or they, may be severely flawed in one way or another. But that openness means that there is always more to learn, more places to find wisdom, both in others, and in ourselves.

I was reintroduced to the Rule of St. Benedict recently by a photoessay done by a PSR colleague, published this month in Ochre Journal. It’s a great view of a Benedictine monastery in Idaho, the Monastery of St. Gertrude. One of the most interesting aspects to me of Benedictine spirituality is the concept of Conversatio Morum - which basically means that one is always on a journey of conversion - there isn’t just a moment of conversion. The nuns at St. Gertrude have an interesting interpretation of this:

This promise is a commitment to change within a tradition that is often viewed as static. The balancing of the promise of stability with that of continual change has produced gradual adjustments in the sisters’ understanding of their responsibility to the land. It is also a powerful alternative to the rapid and destabilizing shifts that mark much change in the world today. … True to the process of conversatio morum, the sisters’ focus on the land was not a sudden decision, but a gradual conversion. Building on their history with the land, they realized that their retreats, land stewardship committee, gardens and orchards, and interactions with neighbors built a foundation of care and concern for the land.

It has wonderful photographs, and it’s a great read. Check it out.

You may, or may not, recall the little tiffle I got into with the folks at Talk2Action last year about the Left Behind Game. What’s interesting is that according to Public Theologian, the makers of the game are threatening legal action against people who speak against the game, because they are coming out with an “expansion pack”.  He says:

Christians should not sit silently while  corporate money-grubbers make a buck out of perverting the Christian faith.  Nor should we sit silently when a game is marketed to children promoting religious violence while American soldiers are dying overseas in the middle of a religious and ethnic civil war. We should not have anything in our possession which would hinder us from speaking the truth about what is happening.  Better to have nothing and be honest than well-off and complicit with evil.

When I wrote my blog entries about the game, I got a silly spammy comments from the game people in my blog. The game hasn’t sold well, and hasn’t gotten good reviews, so that should be enough to get rid of it, finally. It’s a silly implementation of a whacked premise from a series of books that are problematic at best, and certainly not something Jesus would find especially in line with his teachings.

I’ll quote a bumpersticker that I really need to find a copy of: “When Jesus said ‘love your enemies’, he probably meant not to kill them.” 

Even when I decided, about 2 years ago now, to call myself a Christian, I couldn’t accept the “Jesus as Savior” perspective. It just never worked for me - this idea of substitutionary atonement - that Jesus died on the cross because we are such sinful beings, and there had to be some sacrifice to God on our behalf. And the “Jesus as example” (or, in the words of a good friend, “moral teacher” - the “what would Jesus do?” kind of way of looking at him) worked, but felt, well flat, and not really expressing how I felt, or the depth of what I thought. But, I felt kinda stuck in that place. A place of having to reject one perspective, and take on one that felt inadequate.

A few days ago I thought about another way of looking at Jesus, one that Christians basically don’t: as a spiritual teacher. A spiritual teacher in a more Eastern sense - an incredibly wise, fully enlightened being that points to the truth in many different ways, because it’s not really possible to state the truth - the truth is unknowable except in our own experience. Pointing to the truths we already deeply know, but need to be woken up to.

This perspective kind of woke me up, in a sense. When I started studying Bible in seminary a couple of years ago, I felt that the approach of progressive Christian theologians and bible scholars to the bible was, in a sense, unfortunate, because it was a series of subtractions from the text. I had liked the Jewish tradition better - which felt additive. The text could mean this, or this, or that, or maybe even this …

And, of course, the approach to think of Jesus as a spiritual teacher leads to a much more additive/interpretive approach to his words - because if he’s not speaking “the truth”, but, instead pointing to the truth that we already  know inside us (which is what all true spiritual teachers do), then exactly what he meant is basically up to each of us to decide.  And, in a sense, it doesn’t even matter so much whether we think or know he actually said something - whatever can bring us closer to our own understanding of truth is what matters.

Of course, to some people, this sounds problematic - because they want there to be something that is the truth - an unchangeable, unshakable thing they can depend on - and they search for that in the Bible. But that kind of truth can’t be found there. It can’t because it doesn’t exist.  The truth really is in each of us, in our own experience - we deeply know it, but often aren’t willing or able to acknowledge it.

I while ago, when I was still part of the UU Blogosphere, I kept up with lot of UU blogs, like Philocrites, Chalice Chick, PeaceBang, and quite a number of others. After I left UUism, I didn’t read very many UU blogs. I think Boy in the Bands (Scott Wells) was one of the only UU blogs that I regularly read, partially because of the Universalist stuff he’d write, and partially because we are fellow Linux geeks. The other was Ministrare (Rev. Sean), because we’d first met in RLP’s chat room, and we’d just missed getting to hang out in real life, because he spent a semester on sabbatical at Starr King the spring after I’d left PSR - so there was a personal connection.

And every once in a while, I’d catch a whiff of a UU blogosphere conversation (like Beauty Tips for Minsters, and a much more recent one about Christian practices among UUs.) Interestingly enough, it was that most recent one that sent me back to reading some UU blogs, and I’ve added a bunch back to my “religion” tab on Netvibes (how I read RSS feeds.)

I find that I like the things I’m reading and the conversations people are having - especially the UU Christan folks. The kinds of questions and discussion seem refreshing and interesting to me.

After I left seminary, and in a space of real struggle with where I sat in terms of Christianity, I wrote a piece a while back (late last year) called “Sacrifice“:

I realize that I must sacrifice my desire to sit within Christianity, or any religious tradition – I must sacrifice that impulse, that drive, to find myself at home within some given structure or institution. I must sacrifice a comfort and familiarity of a known, an understood. I must sacrifice this all, in order to really be able to fully embrace the God I know. God is so much bigger than one faith tradition.

Cough. Sputter. Er. Sounds a bit like a UU doesn’t it? We’ll see.