Filed under: Booknotes, Theology | Tags: Dale Martin, Homosexuality, Interpretation, Saint Augustine, Sex and the Single Savior, Sexual Ethics
In chapter 3 of Sex and the Single Savior, Dale Martin begins to bridge his theory of interpretation with sexual ethics. His agenda is very clear and obvious. What is important to remember, however, is that Martin himself is honest about the bias he brings to the text. Recall that his critique is not of biblical scholars who disagree with his conclusions per se, but of those scholars (or any interpreters) who insist that their reading and/or interpretation of the biblical text is unbiased or is somehow consistent with “what the Bible says.” “The naïve attempts by conservative Christians to derive their ethics from a ‘simple’ reading of the bible,” says Martin, “have meant merely that they impute to the bible their own destructive ideologies (38).”
To give an example, Martin shows that there are more ways than one to read passages that are commonly quoted as condemning homosexuality. He does so by addressing the meaning and interpretation of arsenokoitês and malakos, from 1 Corinthians 6:9. Together, at least in the twentieth century, these words have been taken to refer to people who engage in homosexual sex. To exhaust the possibilities of meaning for these words, however, involves locating them in as many different contexts as possible. “The word ‘means’ according to its function, according to how particular people use the word in different situations (39).” With regards to arsenokoitês, Martin shows that this word is used most often in ancient sources (not least in 1 Corinthians 6:9-10) in vice lists – that is, lists of sins that have something to do with one another. He identifies a number of vice lists that occur in extra-biblical sources and use the word arsenokoitês (Sibylline Oracle, Acts of John, Theophilus to Autolychus). In these sources, it seems that arsenokoitês is listed among a host of vices related to economic injustice and/or exploitation, not (homo)sexual offenses (40).
Malakos, on the other hand, refers to anything perceived as being feminine. In the ancient world, “women are weak, fearful, vulnerable, tender. They stay indoors and protect their soft skin and nature: their flesh is moister, more flaccid, and more porous than male flesh…. The female is quintessentially penetrable (44).” By implication, any man that allows himself to be penetrated could be labeled feminine (malakos). This was not a matter of homosexual acts, but of sexism. Quite frankly, one cannot speak of malakos without referring “to the entire ancient complex of the devaluation of the feminine (47).”
At this point, you might have significant problems with Martin’s interpretation of arsenokoitês and malakos. However, keep in mind that Martin is not after an unbiased understanding of what these words actually meant in their ancient context. Rather, he attempts to blur the lines between a “plain and simple” reading of the text and one that has traditionally been labeled as being “misguided,” revealing that none of us can know what these words really meant. In fact, Martin explicitly states, “My goal is not to deny that Paul condemned homosexual acts (49).” He is instead interested in revealing how each of us bring cultural biases and assumptions to the text, often ignoring the manifold ways texts can and have been read.
Once again, the question remains, If we cannot know with certainty the meaning of any given text, what kind of theory of interpretation might we then apply to our reading of the Scriptures? To this question, Martin responds with a quote from Saint Augustine: “Whoever, therefore, thinks that he understands the divine Scriptures or any part of them so that it does not build the double love of God and of our neighbor does not understand it at all (Christian Doctrine 1.35.40).”
Martin closes chapter 3 with this appeal:
“If the church wishes to continue with its traditional interpretation it must demonstrate, not just claim, that it is more loving to condemn homosexuality than to affirm homosexuals. Can the church show that same-sex loving relationships damage those involved in them? Can the church give compelling reasons to believe that it really would be better for all lesbian and gay Christians to live alone, without the joy of intimate touch, without hearing a lover’s voice when they go to sleep or awake? Is it really better for lesbian and gay teenagers to despise themselves and endlessly pray that their very personalities be reconstructed so that they may experience romance like their straight friends? Is it really more loving for the church to continue its worship of “heterosexual fulfillment” while consigning thousands of its members to a life of either celibacy or endless psychological manipulations that masquerade as ‘healing’?
The burden of proof in the last twenty years has shifted. There are too many of us who are not sick, or inverted, or perverted, or even ‘effeminate,’ but who just have a knack for falling in love with people of our own sex. When we have been damaged, it has not been due to our homosexuality but to others’ and our own denial of it. The burden of proof now is not on us, to show that we are not sick, but rather on those who insist that we would be better off going back into the closet. What will ‘build the double love of God and of our neighbor’ (50)?”
Martin undoubtedly ends with an emotional (and compelling) appeal to reconsider our readings of the Bible through Augustine’s double love of God and neighbor. Is this kind of appeal helpful? If we were to embrace Martin’s conclusions, would this be a compromise? If so, could it be a compromise in the right direction – that is, towards the love and justice of God?
However you respond to those questions, I would like to highlight one of Martin’s statements that, in my opinion, is worth pause and reflection: If the church wishes to continue with its traditional interpretation it must demonstrate, not just claim, that it is more loving to condemn homosexuality than to affirm homosexuals.
Please share thoughts and concerns with grace and humility.
What words would you use to define GRACE?
What experiences come to mind when you hear the word GRACE?
These two questions reveal an inherent tension between the words we use to describe or define grace and those experiences of grace that seemingly avoid being reduced to our words. Some have insisted that our definitions of grace are of most importance. After all, do not our words give shape and meaning to our experiences? Others have suggested that it is our experiences that reveal the deficiency of our words. They say that the language we use in the formation of our definitions emerge first and foremost from our experience of the world.
Surely, when it comes to grace, we can debate long and hard whether it is our experiences that inform our words or if it is our words that shape our experiences. However, could it not be said that both our words and experiences are deficient, neither representing the totality (or reality) of grace? In other words, do not both our words and experiences leave us wanting? If this is the case, then whether we speak of grace or experience grace, we always speak of or experience less than grace.
But perhaps grace is not something to be spoken of or experienced at all. Maybe grace just is. With this in view, grace would not be an object that we could somehow hold at a distance, describing its properties from various angles and perspectives. Instead, grace would be likened to the air that allows us to breathe or the light that enables us to see. Just as we do not breathe air or see light (they are not objects for our consumption), we could not speak of or experience grace. Rather, grace would be that which changes the way we speak of and experience everything.
I admit that this could be a subtle, or even unnecessary, nuance. But I think it gets at a profound truth – that all of life is grace. It does not exist as part of the economy of being or exchange. That is, grace cannot be reduced to an object nor does grace know of the presuppositions of entitlement or obligation that saturate the free-market system. No, grace is what Derrida called a pure gift in which no(thing) is actually given. Grace is rather the reality in which we already “live and move and have our being”.
In the Scriptures, grace began with a subtle breath or wind (ruach) that hovered over a mysterious chaos in Genesis. Grace culminated in the journey of a man-God that started in a manger and ended on a Roman cross. And grace will be consummated when tears will be wiped away, when wolves will feed with lambs, when people will dwell in houses and eat the fruit of their vineyards, and when rivers will flow and be lined with trees of fruit that heal our divisions. Grace was, is, and always will be the air that enables us to breathe. The question is thus one of awakening – have we the eyes to see and the ears to hear (or perhaps the lungs to breathe) the reality of grace that permeates this good and beautiful world that God is still creating?
Filed under: Booknotes, Theology | Tags: Bible, Dale B. Martin, Foundationalism, Homosexuality, Interpretation, Protestant, Protestant Reformation, Roman Catholicism, Sex and the Single Savior, Sexual Ethics
In the last post on Dale Martin’s Sex and the Single Savior, I discussed Martin’s attempt to expose the myth of textual agency – that is, the myth that somehow the text itself (apart from the activity of the reader) has the ability to “speak” to us. Related to the myth of textual agency, I also noted Martin’s effort to do away with textual foundationalism, the philosophical notion that the Bible is a secure, irrefutable foundation on which we can base all of our knowledge. That was the introduction.
In the second chapter, Martin continues his work of deconstruction by addressing the flaws in the modernist foundations of today’s biblical scholarship. To do so, however, he first takes us back several hundred years to the Great Reformation. For many Christians, the Protestant Reformation marks a period in church history when the Bible was finally freed from the shackles of hierarchy and tradition. However, the new so-called priesthood of all believers, the accessibility of Scripture made possible by Mr. Gutenberg, and increasing literacy rates together raised the question of interpretation. While the Protestants had replaced the authority of the Pope and the Roman Catholic magisterium with Scripture alone (sola scriptura), the question remained, how would people now interpret these sacred texts?
Before long, the original meaning of Scripture was understood as its correct meaning. But how would Christians come to know a text’s original meaning? This was determined by understanding its literal sense (sensus literalis). This literal or plain sense of the text’s meaning would then be defended by methods of historical study and research along with grammatical analysis. It was thought that, once the historical meaning of the text was arrived at, it would “eventually command consensus among all reasonable Christians of good will (17).” If you are not laughing at this point, I forgive you. It is no secret that, despite the best methods of historiography, we have yet to (and never will) arrive at such a consensus. The truth is that our methods “simply cannot provide the security or controls for reliable interpretation they have promised (17-18).”
Martin attributes this inability to arrive at a consensus to the complex nature of shared meaning derived from culture. “All human communities have culture,” says Martin. “Culture is the very way human beings make meaning of our existence (21).” Hence, when we are talking about reading texts, there is no reading that can be divorced from the shared meaning we have arrived at through culture. In other words, Martin believes that both sola scriptura and sensus literlis are myths. They simply break down when we recognize just how influential culture is on the ways we use language and thoughts to discern, or dare I say create, meaning. It should be noted that Martin not only attributes this to our reading of texts, but also of the ways we observe and interpret “nature” and reality. In fact, he goes so far to say, “all our notions of [both] nature and Christ are cultural (21).”
Lastly, it must be said that Martin is not against all historical biblical scholarship. After all, he himself is such a scholar. Instead, he is determined to expose the myth that, by way of better and more accurate methods, we can somehow arrive at what the text actually says, what the author’s intention was, or some nugget of truth hidden behind layers of interpretive bias. As we will see, this will be of utmost significance in his argument for how we apply our use of Scripture to sexual ethics. The focus in ethical debate will necessarily shift from the mythical meaning of the text itself to the activities of the interpreter.
As with the introduction, chapter 2 of Sex and the Single Savior leaves us with no foundations for truth or knowledge. Instead, it seems that Martin is opting for genuine uncertainty in our understanding of meaning. But if “all our notions of nature and Christ are cultural” are there some notions that are more “correct” than others? Or is that question misguided? Rather than placing emphasis on a “correct” meaning or interpretation, could it be more important that we arrive at a meaning and interpretation that produces lives of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23)? And maybe that is a false distinction to make. Perhaps the “correct” meaning is always the meaning that produces such character.
As you consider your responses to questions like these, please share them as we continue our journey through this thought-provoking book.
Filed under: Booknotes, Christ and Culture, Emergent, Theology, World Christianity | Tags: Denominations, Evangelical, Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, Philip Clayton, Protestant, Religion, Transforming Christian Theology, Tripp Fuller
“Over the last years all of us have watched the geography of the American church undergo a radical transformation,” says Philip Clayton.
“According to the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, only 51 percent of Americans still report that they are members of Protestant denominations. Evangelical Protestant churches, together with historically black Protestant churches, make up 33.2 percent of the overall adult population, whereas mainline Protestant churches now represent only 18.1 percent of that population. Moreover, the ‘graying’ of the mainline continues; roughly half the members of mainline churches are age fifty and older (13-14).”
Not only has the proportion of the population that is Protestant declined, but according to the 2008 Pew report, “the proportion of the population that is not affiliated with any particular religion has increased significantly” (14).
What is the cause of this shift?
Clayton answers, “One obvious reason is that the range of religious options and identities has exploded for Americans today. Most of us know friends, colleagues, or acquaintances who are Christian, Jewish, Muslim; Buddhist, Hindu, Taoist; atheist, agnostic, “doubting believers”’ pantheist, panentheist, neo-pagan; Mormon, Jehova’s Witness, Church of God; Bahá’í, Zoroastrian, perennialist – the list goes on and on. Faced with such a confusing array of options, more and more Americans are choosing not to choose…. I think a lot of Americans feel like the six-year-old who finally convinces her parents to take her to Baskin-Robbins: it’s so overwhelming to encounter that huge range of flavors that you just can’t decide which one to try. Some try them all; others stop coming (14-15).”
Things have changed. The church is no longer at the center of American social life. And religion is becoming less and less appealing to a generation that has a spiritual smorgasbord available for their picking at any moment. The questions I want to ask are:
How are we already being shaped by these shifts? Can we claim independence from the emergence of this new cultural landscape, or is it simply the water we now swim in?
In a world where we are predominately shaped and influenced by the interconnectivity provided by various media outlets and web-based networks, will churches hold tightly to the modernist structures of the past or will we embrace the changes in twenty-first century American life? Do we have a choice?
As we undergo significant change and transition, what kind of challenges will this present for intergenerational churches?
What would it mean for the church to have a prophetic voice amidst these cultural shifts, not simply getting on board in an effort to be “relevant”, but embracing the role as a vanguard movement that, while being shaped by culture, also serves to give shape to culture?
I realize that is a lot to sort through. But as we are finding, we are living in a time of significant socio-cultural change. These questions and more are not only helpful; they are necessary if the church is ever to understand her role in this new world we find ourselves in.
Filed under: Booknotes, Emergent, Random Musings | Tags: Christianity, Church, Grace, Kingdom of God, Orthodox Heretic, Peter Rollins, Transformation
Two brothers embraced faith together at an early age. One of the brothers took his commitment very seriously and wrestled diligently with the Scriptures. When he became a man he gave up all of his worldly possessions and went to live in the poorest and most dangerous area of the city. Many of his friends deserted him, and, because of his uncompromising dedication to the oppressed, he lost the one woman he truly loved, forsaking the possibility of marriage for the sake of his work.
iiiiiiiiiiThe pain of this separation haunted him all his days. And because of the conditions in which he lived, he was frequently ill. When he died, no one was present, and only a handful of people showed up for his funeral.
iiiiiiiiiiIn contrast, the other brother never took his faith seriously at all. As a man he became very settled, satisfied, and influential. He married the woman he loved, had many children, and lived in a beautiful home. As his satisfaction grew, his thoughts of God dissolved into nothing. He gave little to charity, unless it was prudent to do so for the sake of his reputation, and he paid little heed to those who suffered around him. After a long, happy, and successful life, he died in the arms of his loving wife with his children surrounding him.
iiiiiiiiiiIn heaven God called the two brothers before him, embraced them both warmly, and to each gave an equal share of the kingdom.
iiiiiiiiiiAs one might expect, the brother who had been faithful all his years was surprised – he had given up everything to live what turned out to be a tortuous life of hardship.
iiiiiiiiiiHowever, his surprise was a joyous one. He turned to his brother, smiled deeply, and said, “Today my joy is finally complete, for we are together again. Come, let us break bread together.” In response, his brother said nothing, but began to weep over the wasted life that he had led.
i
I have been thinking a great deal about the nature of God’s grace lately and how offensive it actually is to those of us who insist on thinking that it somehow requires action on our parts for it to be effective. For the most part, evangelical Christianity has embraced the rhetoric of grace. But has it truly embodied this radical notion of unmerited acceptance and favor? In my experience, the rhetoric of grace among Christians (including myself) has always been bent on including some sort of qualifier. But it seems that the nature of God’s grace is of a wholly different economy – the economy of gift.
In the above parable, the gift of inheritance is given without prior qualifications. It draws upon a similar theme of one of Jesus’ parables in Matthew that tells of a landowner who hires workers for his vineyard. While these workers are hired at different times throughout the day (therefore putting in different amounts of work), in the end the landowner pays them an equal wage. As one might guess, the workers hired earlier in the day are offended that their pay would equal those who were hired late in the day. Nevertheless, the landowner responds, “Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous.” Jesus concludes the parable by saying, “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”
The economy of the kingdom is downright offensive to those who refuse to truly embrace it. And I fear that, in response to just how offensive the nature of God’s grace is, we Christians insist on outlining a host of qualifications for entrance into God’s kingdom under the rhetoric of grace. All the while, the rest of the world continues to see past our facade and remains distrustful of our gospel.
In light of such a thought, I guess my hope is that God’s radical grace will always transform lives in spite of our inability (and perhaps unwillingness) to understand and share that kind of grace with each other.
Filed under: Booknotes, Theology | Tags: Bible, Christ, Dale Martin, Faith, Foundationalism, Gender, Interpretation, Sex and the Single Savior, Sexuality, Textual Agency
I just finished reading Sex and the Single Savior: Gender and Sexuality in Biblical Interpretation by Dale Martin. This book took me on quite an adventure. Rather than nodding in full agreement with his work or shaking my head in dismay, Martin has left me with a host of thoughts and questions with which I am wrestling at this very moment. What a better place to explore those musings than here on this blog. This will take quite some time as I will be posting on each chapter of the book. So I ask your patience and invite you to join me as we explore a fascinating work that will certainly not disappoint.
To begin, Martin is adamant about exposing the myth of textual agency, an assumption that many of us bring to our readings of the Bible. Textual agency suggests that somehow the text itself (apart from a reader) has something to “say” or “communicate” to us. However (and this may be a shock to some), the texts in our Bibles do not “speak”. As human agents, we have to read the texts, and in so doing, interpret their meaning. In other words, we do not passively sit back and “receive” something that the Bible has to “say”. As human beings, we are active agents, and are therefore always necessary for meaning to take place. We simply cannot interpret otherwise. According to Martin, “one of the most serious impediments to the ethical use of Scripture, especially with regard to issues of gender and sexuality, has been the myth of textual agency (2).”
Related to the myth of textual agency is its underlying principle of textual foundationalism. Foundationalism, keep in mind, is a big word used for the philosophical assumption that all of our knowledge can be derived from some sort of secure, reliable foundation of irrefutable fact. Textual foundationalism is then referring to the notion that the Bible is indeed that foundation on which we can base all of our knowledge. For most Christians, they would most likely nod their head in agreement that the Bible is indeed our foundation of knowledge. However, even if the Bible was this foundation of irrefutable fact (which I strongly disagree with), as human interpreters it would be ludicrous to suggest that we could somehow know it as such. In my opinion, however, foundationlism itself is a myth. All of our assumptions regarding truth, fact, and/or the nature of reality are faith-based and never irrefutable. Such knowledge is reserved for God alone.
If we do away with both textual agency and textual foundationalism, acknowledging that our readings of the text are acts of interpretation that are themselves informed by our own experiences and biases, this raises the question of “how can we then know what any given text “says” or “means”? But notice how even that question itself assumes that the text has the ability to “say” or “mean” something apart from a reader’s interpretation.
This surely seems like the “slippery slope” to an “anything goes” relativism, right? Not so fast, says Martin. “The fear expressed by many scholars that ‘anything goes’ if we do not assume that texts control their own interpretation simply ignores that there are many other factors that control and constrain human interpretations of texts (15).” Among those factors, he includes “the contingency and socialization of readers,” “the cultural formation of the self,” and “other people and institutions (15).” In other words, our readings cannot be divorced from the boundaries created by our social life in the world we live in.
This would seem to suggest that our readings of the Bible are 1) always interpretive, 2) never divorced from our experiences and biases, and 3) reflective of the boundaries created by our social life. While Martin doesn’t say this explicitly, I think he would agree that our best readings of Scripture will always be communal, taking into account the interpretations that all of us bring to the text. And the more diversity present in those communal readings, the more it will reflect the ability of the Spirit to work in and through the diversity of our socio-cultural settings and belief traditions.
That is a lot to sift through for an introduction. While Martin hardly addresses the issue of gender and sexuality here, he believes that to do so we must first understand what is at the heart the issue – the nature of reading and interpretation.
To conclude, there are some questions that I would like us to consider. Feel free to respond to any or all of them.
i
What would it mean for us to release ourselves of the burden of certainty and/or secure foundations for knowledge?
How could we possibly embrace assurance in Christ if there are literally no objective facts or interpretations on which we could rely?
If we are willing to bring ourselves to consider that perhaps there are no secure foundations in this world and that faith in Christ (or anything for that matter) may be just that (faith!), how might we learn to live faithful and ethical lives in such a world?
How would this change our understanding of the nature of Scripture and how we read it?
Filed under: Emergent Church, Emerging Church, Theology | Tags: Christianity, David Fitch, Jesus, Kingdom of God, Philip Clayton, Theology, Transforming Christian Theology, Transforming Theology
It seems that there are many movements (and rumors of movements) emerging these days from the landscape of post-Christendom here in the West. Whether or not these so-called movements will prove influential in years to come has yet to be settled. Without a doubt, some of these movements will be “here today and gone tomorrow.” Others may last a bit longer, but will slowly run out of steam. However, there will undoubtedly be a few that not only “carry their weight,” but actually become stronger and more influential over time. David Fitch has written about this in more detail over at Reclaiming the Mission.
Nevertheless, there is a project that has recently caught my attention. This project is called Transforming Theology. Whether this will prove to be a movement by David Fitch’s standards or not, only time will tell. However, in my view this is a project that has the potential to be a movement that brings about significant change and transformation in the academy, church, and society.
Let me give you a brief personal history that will hopefully reveal why this project is of particular interest to me. When I was a junior in college for the first time in my Christian life I was introduced to what I believe now is absolutely central to the teachings of Jesus – the kingdom of God. It was at this moment in my life when the way of Jesus truly became a living, breathing movement that invited not only my intellectual affirmations, but my participation and involvement as well. No longer was Jesus simply my “personal Lord and Savior” who saved me from my sins in order that I could go to heaven; he was now the God in human flesh who came as redeemer and restorer of all things. All of a sudden every part of my life mattered, because I was being invited by Christ to work with him in making all things new again. This revelation ignited a spark within me, and soon enough I was studying everything I could get my hands on that had to do with a theology of God’s kingdom.
It wasn’t until recently, however, that something occurred to me. I realized that everything I have given my life to studying and reflecting on over the past few years has been so intertwined with the academy and the work of professional theologians that, even if I wanted communicate what I was learning to friends and family, there are simply too many barriers prohibiting me from doing so. In many ways theological reflection has been taken captive by the ivory towers of academia, leaving most of my peers with little, if any, accessibility to some of the most progressive conversations happening in Christianity today.
Then I stumbled upon Transforming Theology.
In one of the first works attributed to the Transforming Theology project, Transforming Christian Theology for Church and Society, Philip Clayton expresses its key motivation:
We want to break the monopoly academic theologians have had on theology and to return serious Christian reflection to all who are drawn to walk the Way of Jesus (6).
He continues:
Imagine what will happen when pew-sitting Christians and those who have gradually drifted away from the institutional church – together with pastors, denominational leaders, and directors of social justice ministries – begin to share their personal faith stories and talk openly and passionately about their faith journeys. Imagine a church where every member is thinking deeply about the core Christian questions in light of our contemporary world. Imagine congregations where everyone can address the hot-button issues of our day out of the deepest resources of the Christian tradition – perhaps haltingly, perhaps with some radically new types of answers, but still with humility and deep reflection. That’s the goal of the Transforming Theology movement… (7).”
This is a compelling vision that is long overdue. And best of all, it is coming from a highly-esteemed academic philosopher and theologian who has had a radical conversion. Clayton is no longer willing to settle for the monopoly our academies have had on theology. He instead has opted for a renewed approach that is committed to “rekindling theological reflection” among the masses.
I invite you to join me over the next several weeks as I work through Transforming Christian Theology here on this blog. It is my hope that together we can think imaginatively for how we might embrace Christian theology as an adventure on which all of us are invited to travel.
Let the holy excursion begin…
Filed under: Faith and Science, Theology | Tags: Body and Soul, Dualism, Human Nature, Image of God, Joel B. Green, Monism, Nancey Murphy, Resurrection
While many would argue that the Western philosophical tradition assumes a dualistic view of human nature, we noted above that it can by no means be reduced to such a blanket assumption. Modern science, on the other hand, appears to be more unified in its assertion that human beings are strictly biological species. The question now is whether or not we can reconcile some of these philosophical and scientific issues regarding the nature of the human person with a theological perspective. It is without question that the existence of the soul has been an assumption regarding the nature of human persons throughout the history of Christian faith. The question that remains, however, is whether or not such an assumption is essential or even faithful to the biblical picture of humanity.
Let us begin by putting to rest the question regarding “what happens when we die”. Quite frankly, this was hardly the concern in Greco-Roman antiquity, and views pertaining to the afterlife were wide ranging.[1] Nevertheless, what we are addressing here is the biblical portrait of human nature. While this may seem like an arduous task, it would do us well to recognize that there is no one portrait of humanity in the Bible. Nancey Murphy agrees, stating, “The biblical authors, especially the New Testament authors, wrote within the context of a wide variety of views… but did not take a clear stand on one theory or another.[2] In fact, given the varying, and sometimes divergent, perspectives on the composition of human beings in the Bible, one might go so far to suggest that our understandings of human nature are not derived from the text at all, but instead are read into it.
However, if we are going to address the portrait of humanity from a biblical perspective, where else would we begin but in the beginning. Genesis 1:27 reads, “So God created human beings in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” From here we gather that inherent to human beings is the divine image. As covenantal partners, the concept of imago dei is fundamentally relational. Furthermore, this image is to be reflected in their vocation to fill the earth and take care of it. In other words, what separates human beings from the rest of creation is not the possession of a soul, but rather the capacity to relate to and partner with their creator.
Moreover, the appeal to a soul in Genesis is simply unfounded. In case we are tempted to reference the “breath of life” in Genesis 2:7 (as some have), the same breath is shared by beasts of the earth, birds in the sky, and creatures that move on the ground a few verses earlier in Genesis 1:30. The Hebrew term used in each of these passages to denote life is nephes, a term that can either be used to reference animals or the entire human being.[3] The closest we get to a dualism in the Hebrew Scriptures are when nephes is coupled with basar, a term used to refer to an expression of the spiritual. Nevertheless, together these terms “… are to be understood as different aspects of man’s existence as a twofold unity,” and not distinct parts.[4]
While scholars have long argued for a monistic (one substance) view of human persons in the Old Testament, the appeal to body-soul duality often comes from the New Testament. It is here that the language of body and soul is most prominent. The crucial question, however, does not pertain to our understanding of the words and their meanings. Rather, we must understand how these words would have been understood in the context in which they were communicated. While many contemporary scholars have drawn sharp distinctions between the monism of the Hebrews and the dualism of the Greeks, recent scholarship actually suggests “there was no singular conception of the soul among the Greeks, and the body-soul relationship was variously assessed among philosophers and physicians in the Hellenistic period.”[5] It is even said that, among these views was one that posited ‘the soul does not exist independently of the body in which it exists.”[6] In other words, one simply cannot reduce the language of body and soul in the New Testament period to a singular meaning.
If there is one passage in the New Testament, however, that does speak to the nature of bodily existence both in this age and the age to come, it is 1 Corinthians 15. Here Paul was writing to Christians in the city of Corinth who most likely had been influenced by various notions of bodily existence in this life and the next.[7] To clear matters up, he appealed to the resurrected Christ as “the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.”[8] There is a profound continuity here; as with Christ’s body, so it will be with ours. In Paul’s terms, as Christ’s body was sown perishable and raised imperishable, so it will be with our bodies. This is not to suggest that our bodies will be discarded. Rather, the language used here is that of transformation. “For human beings,” says Joel Green, “this… has to do with bodily existence. That is, Paul cannot think in terms of a free-floating soul separate from the body.”[9] For both Paul and Jesus, life in the age to come was about renewed bodily existence here on a restored earth.
These are undoubtedly brief sketches of issues (philosophical, scientific, and theological) that each deserves the length of a dissertation. However, it has been my intention to argue that a non-reductive physicalist account of human nature is a viable Christian perspective. I have attempted to do so on the grounds of the diverse perspectives on human nature in the Western philosophical tradition, some of the most recent (and compelling) discoveries in evolutionary biology and the neurosciences, and, despite their lack of consensus, the monist leanings of the Judeo-Christian Scriptures. It is my fear that the belief in an existing immaterial substance distinct from the body has become so deeply etched into our assumptions about human nature that most of us cannot imagine the Christian faith without it. If anything, however, my purpose here was to show that this need not be the case.
The End of the Soul? | Introduction
The End of the Soul? | Part I
The End of the Soul? | Part II
[1] Joel B. Green, “’Bodies – That Is, Human Lives’: A Re-Examination of Human Nature in the Bible” in Whatever Happened to the Soul? Scientific and Theological Portraits of Human Nature, ed. Warren S. Brown, Nancey Murphy, and H. Newton Malony (Minneapolis, Fortress Press, 1998), 153.
[2] Murphy, Bodies and Souls, 22.
[3] Green, Whatever Happened to the Soul, 157.
[4] Ibid., 157-58.
[5] Joel B. Green, Body, Soul, and Human Life: The Nature of Humanity in the Bible (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008), 53.
[6] Ibid., 53.
[7] Green, Whatever Happened to the Soul, 170.
[8] 1 Corinthians 15:20
[9] Green, Whatever Happened to the Soul, 170.
Filed under: Prayers | Tags: Damon Winter, Earthquake, Haiti, Hatians, James Estrin, LENS, NY Times, Prayers in the Dark, Suffering
The picture below is from a post titled On Assignment: Prayers in the Dark by Damon Winter and James Estrin over at LENS, a photography blog of the NY Times
There was one thing that didn’t really make pictures. It was my first night here last night. We were staying at a hotel on the edge of a pretty heavily damaged neighborhood and at night, you could hear people singing.
People are out on the street at night. It’s really hard to photograph because there’s no electricity. It’s pitch black. But all night you could hear them singing prayers. It’s pretty amazing the ways that people are dealing with this tragedy. It says a lot about the Haitian character. They are an amazing people.
As the night went on, we had earthquakes. We had a small tremor. Then, in the middle of the night, there was a really big tremor. At that point, most people had gone to sleep. It was pretty quiet out. I was lying in my bed. I couldn’t really sleep. It was so eerie because that silence was broken by screams. You could just feel it. Everyone was so scared, probably just thinking back to what had happened and reliving that moment.
You see people out on the street because they’re scared to go back into their houses at night. They’re really taking solace in each other and the company of their families and friends. It’s pretty amazing to have the strength and energy to be out singing.
James Estrin
i
In times like these, many within my Christian faith tradition insist on attempting to provide answers for people who are asking difficult questions. We want so desperately to be able to explain that which is unexplainable. But our words fail. And they fail miserably. Worst of all, however, is that some of us are not even remotely aware of this.
But for those of us willing to listen, James Estrin’s experience (above) beckons us to listen. His experience reminds us that those who are suffering the greatest have something to teach us who look on from around the globe, staring in awe at the graphic images on our computers and TV screens all the while aching with pain and confusion. We have no clue how to respond. Yet the Hatian people crying out from their streets of dead bodies have something to tell us if we will hear them.
Sing.
Sing songs filled with tears that are flooded with both pain and hope. Pain because this is hell on earth. Hope because together we want desperately to believe that heaven gets the last word. And Cry out, asking, “God where are you?” And if he answers, sing his response. Sing it aloud from this valley of death… because, damn it, nobody else can hear him right now!
Filed under: Prayers | Tags: Celtic Christianity, Celtic Prayer, Daily Office, Northumbria Community
The following is an excerpt from the Celtic Daily Office at the Northumbria Community
Psalm 51:6 Surely you desire truth in the inner parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.
Proverbs 4:5-9 Get wisdom, get understanding; do not forget my words or swerve from them. Do not forsake wisdom, and she will protect you; love her, and she will watch over you. Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get understanding. Esteem her, and she will exalt you; embrace her, and she will honour you. She will set a garland of grace on your head and present you with a crown of splendour.
Ephesians 1:17 I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better.
Canticle
Christ, as a light
illumine and guide me.
Christ, as a shield
overshadow me.
Christ under me;
Christ over me;
Christ beside me
on my left and my right.
This day be within and without me,
lowly and meek, yet all-powerful.
Be in the heart of each to whom I speak;
in the mouth of each who speaks unto me.
This day be within and without me,
lowly and meek, yet all-powerful.
Christ as a light;
Christ as a shield;
Christ beside me
on my left and my right.
Filed under: Booknotes, Emergent Church, Theology | Tags: Philip Clayton, Transforming Christian Theology
I have been reading Philip Clayton’s Transforming Christian Theology. I am soon going to devote an entire series of posts to this project. Until then, this is a passage that both inspires and convicts…
The invention of “theologians” as the professional authorities on Christian belief may turn out to be one of the really damaging things that have occurred in the history of the church. This invention doesn’t get as much press as the invention of clergy – which has tended to undercut the “priesthood of all believers” – but it’s right up there in importance. As long as there are professional theologians, those who don’t carry this honorific title begin to assume that they can’t do theology or aren’t allowed to. The result was almost inevitable: intelligent, thinking people tend to sit in pews and wait for someone else to tell them what they should believe. If what they hear from the pulpit or from other sources of theological authority matches what they happen to believe, then they feel confirmed in their sense that they are right (and others must be wrong). If what the theological authorities are saying does not match what they believe, their recourse is to leave the church, convinced that they have no place there. Or, they may stay, but with a vague feeling of unsettledness or even guilt, worrying that their own religious intuitions and experiences don’t quite fit in. Some become rebels, with no recourse but to protest against the church establishment from outside. Others just give up their own beliefs, bow to authority, and begin trying to believe what the professional theologians tell them they ought to believe.
How do we return theology to the people?
Thoughts or feedback?
Filed under: Faith and Science, Theology | Tags: Biology, Brain, Consciousness, Determinism, Emergent Systems, Evolution, Malcolm Jeeves, Nancey Murphy, Nueroscience, Philip Clayton, Physics, Science, Soul, Warren Brown
In the last post, we assessed some of the perspectives of the human person rooted in the Greek philosophical tradition, a tradition that has greatly influenced the Western world. Nevertheless, we discovered that this tradition is by no means homogeneous in its views of the nature of humanity and the relationship between body and soul (material and immaterial substances). Moving on, I want to take a close look at some of the more recent developments in evolutionary biology and the neurosciences and consider the potential impact these developments could have on our understanding of the human person.
Before we explore some of the more recent work in science, however, it is important to recognize that this does not somehow appeal to higher faculties of reason or knowing. Whether philosophical, theological, or scientific, our views of human nature are always subject to change. And because we are no longer slaves to the Enlightenment (I concede that this may be wishful thinking on my part), it is necessary that we give mention to the ways these fields often intersect and overlap. Nonetheless, some of the more recent findings in evolutionary biology and neuroscience are undoubtedly important contributions to this ongoing conversation.
Disclaimer: for the purposes of this series, I am going to consider that perhaps there is some truth (if not more than some) to the claims of evolutionary biology. I am not a scientist. And most likely, neither are you. So I invite you to join me and hypothetically assume that evolution is a viable scientific (and theological) perspective.
In science, it is no secret that the prevailing view of human origins is that we are a biological species that has evolved from other nonhuman species. While our closest biological relatives are chimpanzees, the most distinctive traits that we have developed over time are erect posture and large brain. Of utmost importance to us is the brain. The human brain is not only largest among the great apes, but is the most complex. Like all biological life, the nature of brain function is to be constantly interacting with its surrounding environments and thus making necessary adjustments to move toward biological goals. However, due to the complexity and size of the cerebral cortex (see Wikipedia) in humans, not only do our neural systems adjust to surrounding environments in order to achieve biological goals, but we also have a distinct cognitive ability to “compare actual outcomes to intended outcomes, and, on the basis of this feedback, make adjustments to actions.”[1]
The question becomes, to what extent are these neural processes reducible to biological functions and laws of physics? The answer to this question is many-sided. For instance, in the brain of a human infant (under the age of two), the cerebral cortex “is to some degree functionally self-organizing.”[2] In other words, many of the nerve branches and connections made during this time are strongly influenced by genetics. However, as the brain develops and matures, a period of pruning these branches and connections ensues. And “it is generally believed that the braches and connections that remain are the ones that get incorporated into the networks created by the child’s experiences and learning.”[3] We might refer to these effects (genetic and environmental) as both upward and downward causation.
The problem with a purely biological (or physicalist) view of these events is that it only accounts for genetic (or upward) causation. This is essentially the issue of reductionism (reducing human beings to a set of chemical reactions). If humans are determined by a set of chemical reactions, how do we then account for the environmental factors that have a significant effect on our biological development? Furthermore, if genetically determined, what would this mean for our conception of human behavior and responsibility? Elving Anderson explains why a purely biological (or physicalist) account could not represent the relationship between genes and behavior in its entirety. He states, “at the biochemical level it has become clear that the pathway between genes and behavior is not in one direction only. Genes may indeed influence certain behaviors, but experience may also affect how genes are expressed.”[4]
This is why Nancey Murphy, among others, argues for a brand of physicalism that is non-reductive. What this means is that, while Murphy affirms that all human capacities can now be studied as “processes involving the brain” (a physicalist view), she can also (and does) hold to the view that such processes result from complex systems of interaction between biology and the socio-cultural world (a non-reductive view).[5] What sets humans apart then is not an immaterial entity altogether different from our bodies (e.g. an immaterial soul), but the conscious awareness of our response to external environments.
Malcolm Jeeves and Warren Brown go a step further, suggesting that, while primary consciousness is evident in many animals, what sets humans apart is a higher-order consciousness, which “is accompanied by a sense of self and the ability, in the waking state, to construct explicitly past and future scenes… [requiring] at minimum, a semantic capacity and, in its most developed form, a linguistic capacity.”[6]
The higher-order consciousness that Jeeves and Brown point to, however, hardly discounts the role of physics and biology in human development and behavior. They would certainly agree with Philip Clayton who acknowledges that the neurosciences undoubtedly “show us how deeply our subjective mental experience is controlled by physical inputs and processing.” Nonetheless, “the acts of referring and constructing a meaningful world, as well as the individual experiences… remain irreducible to those inputs and processes.”[7] The lower and even most basic level processes are not unaffected by higher-level emergent systems (e.g. consciousness). In fact, as higher levels of complexity develop, “genuinely new entities” (atoms, molecules, cells, organisms and finally conscious organisms) emerge and have influence over the organization of the lower level entities (genetics).[8]
Finally, given the cognitive abilities of human beings to both create and respond to higher-level emergent systems and modify our goals respectively, we escape biological determinism on one hand and account for brain functions that were once attributed to a nonmaterial entity called the soul on the other (e.g. sensation, moral reasoning, emotional responses to perceptions, etc).
While this account is perhaps overly simplistic, If we take an immaterial entity such as the soul out of the equation, how would this affect our understanding of what it means for human beings to relate to God? Furthermore, how would this impact our understanding of salvation?
To these questions and more we will turn in the next post as we discuss whether or not there are viable theological perspectives that work with a physicalist view of the human person.
The End of the Soul? | Introduction
The End of the Soul? | Part I
[1] Malcolm Jeeves and Warren S. Brown, Neuroscience, Psychology, and Religion: Illusions, Delusions, and Realities about Human Nature (West Conshohocken: Templeton Foundation Press, 2009), 41.
[2] Ibid., 49.
[3] Ibid., 49.
[4] V. Elving Anderson, “A Genetic View of Human Nature” in Whatever Happened to the Soul? Scientific and Theological Portraits of Human Nature, ed. Warren S. Brown, Nancey Murphy, and H. Newton Malony (Minneapolis, Fortress Press, 1998), 56.
[5] Nancey Murphy, Bodies and Souls, or Spirited Bodies? (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 56.
[6] Jeeves and Brown, Nueroscience, Psychology, and Religion, 51.
[7] Philip Clayton, “Neuroscience, the Human Person, and God” in Bridging Science and Religion, ed. Ted Peters and Gaymon Bennett (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), 107.
[8] Nancey Murphy, “Nonreductive Physicalism” in In Search of the Soul: Four Views of the Mind-Body Problem, ed. Joel B. Green and Stuart L. Palmer (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2005), 117.
Filed under: Random Musings, Theology | Tags: Advent, Christmas, Jesus, John Dominic Crossan, Kingdom of God, Light of the world
While advent is certainly a season to remember that God’s people are often called to wait, in the last post of this advent series I suggested that perhaps God also waits… on us. Now that God has come into the world, could it be that he is waiting for his people to actually be a force of change in the world he created? The following is a response to how our celebration of Christmas often dilutes the birth of Christ in such a way that it even breeds complacency and contentment with the world as it is.
I am convinced that the way we often celebrate Christmas lacks the element of participation. Every Christmas most of us strip Jesus’ birth of its meaning and significance for our lives by reducing it to an event of the past that calls for celebration in the present. We might describe our celebration of Christmas as passive remembrance. But the stories of Jesus’ birth refuse us this kind of response. Rather, the advent of Christ attested to in the Gospels invites us to participate in the light and life of God’s kingdom on earth. Quite frankly, these stories leave no room for simple observation, but beckon us to do something – to participate in making something beautiful of this world God is making new!
As Christians, during Christmas we talk a lot about Jesus being light of the world. This light came to heal the broken, the lame, the blind, and those with disease. The light came to restore and make all things new. The light is that which came to reconcile God and humanity. This light of the world has come, says the Gospel birth narratives. And now we are asked to join God in what John Dominic Crossan calls “the great Divine cleanup of the world!” This is what the Christmas story is all about. It is not simply about observing events that happened a long time ago. It is about joining God in his rescue of creation. And at Christmas, we are reminded that we get to be light, exposing dark and ushering in life.
It is fascinating that tradition locates the celebration of Jesus’ birth in the deepest darkness – in the middle of the night at the winter solstice. The symbolism is perfect. In the middle of the night, on the longest night of the year, Jesus is born as the light of the world. And for those of us in whom God’s Spirit now dwells, we share in this vocation. We are called to radiate the light and life of Christ in the world! I hope celebrating Christmas this year helps each of us remember our task as light-bearers in a world that remains, in many ways, in deep and profound darkness.
Filed under: Booknotes, Quotation Marks, Theology | Tags: Athiest, Blessing, Christian, It's Really All About God, Jewish, Muslim, Receiving, Religion, Samir Selmanovic
After adopting a practice of regularly stepping out of my evangelical religion and its meanings to look at them from the outside, here is what I have noticed. By and large, we don’t really love because we don’t know how to receive. We may love enough to take some help others have to offer in terms of material possessions, compliments, and friendships, but we are not willing to let them teach us anything about God, goodness, and grace – the stuff that really matters. Yes, we receive their kindness in a spirit of thankfulness, but in matters of God, we think they have nothing to add to our search for the eternal kind of life. In our minds, we are givers and they are receivers. And this is not just true of Christians.
We give because givers are in control.
We bless because blessers are in charge.
To receive, on the other hand, means to lose something. Gifts inevitably change relationships. As the Eskimos say hyperbolically, “Gifts make slaves.” The recipient is usually perceived as the weaker party in the transaction and can become obligated and lose independence. Giving, in contrast, keeps us in control, subtly communicating the superiority of our worldview. Since our religion or worldview is an expression of what we consider true, valuable, and beautiful, holding the meaning of our lives together, accepting a gift from the other feels somehow like losing face, control, power, or value. We think it exposes the weakness or neediness in our group, casting us as lesser, dependent, or incomplete in our relationship with the other.
To be helpful, loving, and caring is thus an “imperial privilege” of religion that sees itself as self-sufficient on earth. Yes, we have learned to tolerate one another to some extent; Jews, Christians, Muslims, and atheists have learned to live parallel lives. But to achieve a human community, we must learn to appreciate what others have and at times receive and, yes, depend on what they have to give us.
In the relationship between religions, the attitude of being a sole dispenser of the ultimate blessing becomes not only irrational and arrogant but crushingly counterproductive. Everyone wants to teach, and nobody wants to learn! Everyone wants to stay in power by giving, and nobody wants to seem weak by receiving. That’s why religions don’t know how to repent of their historical failures, usually taking half a century to get around to it, if ever. Repentance means one needs to receive forgiveness, embrace holy weakness, and stop pretending to be above the frailties of human existence.
It is in the act of receiving that we concede God’s presence in the other.
It’s Really All About God: Reflections of a Muslim Atheist Jewish Christian
Filed under: Faith and Science, Theology | Tags: Aristotle, Augustine, Body and Soul, Dualism, Greek Philosophy, Nancey Murphy, Plato, Thomas Aquinas
To begin our journey, I want to briefly address some of the philosophical roots of body-soul dualism. While we certainly find strong monist or holistic leanings in the Hebrew Scriptures, for our purposes I would like to begin with influential views derived from the Greek philosophical tradition in Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, and Thomas Aquinas. This is undoubtedly where many Christians today have inherited their strong dualistic view of the human person. Nevertheless, while this will be helpful in identifying some of our inherited assumptions concerning human nature, I hope to show that strong dualism is by no means a given when it comes to this particular philosophical tradition
Plato’s otherworldly theory of forms or ideas had a significant impact on his concept of the nature of humanity. As demonstrated in his allegory of the cave in Republic, the material world was seen as but a shadow of a more desirable immaterial world of forms or ideas. In relation to the human person, this was expressed by suggesting that the material body was at best a small glimpse of the immaterial soul that belonged to the world of forms. It was even said that the soul was imprisoned within the material body until death, when it would then return to its eternal home.
Aristotle on the other hand, a student of Plato, “thought of the soul not as an entity, but more as a life principle – that aspect of the person which provides the powers or attributes characteristic of the human being.”[1] While Aristotle held that the soul was indeed a form, his understanding of forms was a departure from Plato’s theory. For Aristotle, all that is material is composed of matter and form. In other words, Aristotle’s forms did not carry the metaphysical weight that Plato’s did. This makes it particularly difficult to reduce Aristotle to having a dualistic view of the human person. Simply put, his forms were integrated with material substance in ways that Plato would have outright rejected.
For the most part, early Christian philosophers followed Plato’s perspective of human nature, or some variation of his dualism. This was certainly the case with figures such as Origen, Jerome, and Augustine. Of these, the most influential was Augustine. His view was a modification of Plato’s, submitting that, “a human being is an immortal (not eternal) soul using (not imprisoned in) a mortal body.”[2] For Augustine, the soul was an immaterial entity that provided the higher capacities for knowledge of and relation to God. By implication then, the soul was understood to have been safeguarded from the lower faculties of the body.
However, it was Thomas Aquinas who would part ways from his predecessors keen on variations of Platonism to give an Aristotelian account of human nature. As with Aristotle, Aquinas developed a systematic account of the “hierarchically ordered faculties or powers of the soul.”[3] Humans, it was thought, shared most of these faculties with other animals (vegetative, sensitive, and appetitive). It was the rational faculties of the soul that set humans apart. Aquinas’ understanding of the soul was much more integrated than was the Platonist account. In other words, Aquinas placed strong emphasis on the unity of the human person (body/soul, material/immaterial, etc.).
While this may be a brief summary, it is clear that the Western philosophical tradition has given careful thought to the nature of human persons and, particularly, the relationship between body and soul. I maintain that many, if not most, of our inherited beliefs concerning the existence and function of the soul are derived from this philosophical tradition. With that said, it is important to note that this tradition must not be reduced to dualism as the views are simply too diverse to do so.
This post is only helpful to this series insofar as we concede that our inherited philosophical assumptions are deeply intertwined with the interpretive framework we apply to reading the biblical account of the human person. The question I want to ask is, Is such a blanket assertion reasonable or even valid in your opinion?
End of the Soul? | Introduction
[1] Nancey Murphy, Bodies and Souls, or Spirited Bodies? (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 13.
[2] Ibid., 4.
[3] Ibid., 5.
Filed under: Eschatology, Random Musings, Theology | Tags: Advent, Christian Calendar, Christmas, Meister Eckhart, Waiting
During Advent, we pause to remember our dependency on God to act in history, to mend what has been broken and make all things new. As Israel waited in darkness for nearly 400 years for the God of light and life to come and fulfill their longings to be made whole again, we also wait. We wait, remembering that it is only then that we encounter the God who breaks into our present to heal the fractures in our lives and in our world.
However, if we know anything of the nature of covenant in the biblical narrative we also remember the call God has placed on our lives to be partners with him, sharing in his ongoing mission of reconciliation and redemption. Surely waiting is central in the life of God’s people. But perhaps it is also key to understanding God’s life. What if, during this Advent season of hope and expectation, we remembered not only our call to wait on God, but God’s seemingly infinite capacity to wait on us?
When we read the Scriptures, it is difficult to remain blind to the reality that God has always been in search of human beings who would be faithful partners in making something beautiful of this world he created. Time and again the Bible testifies to the God who comes from creation restored to a people longing for hope and redemption. But this action of God is not akin to a divine intervention that imposes justice on a world that has rejected it. God’s transforming presence is more like a call or invitation, an aroma that beckons a people to live in their present in light of God’s kingdom to come.
The good news of Advent is that Christ has come into the world, as a weak and vulnerable infant, in order to shame the powerful perpetrators of pride and injustice. Do not hear me wrong; we most certainly wait for God to act again to consummate his restored creation and make all things new. Nevertheless, we must not wait at the expense of remembering the God who has come and now waits on us to be faithful covenant partners in his ongoing work to repair the world.
.
A short parable is appropriate for this reflection. This was inspired by a quote from Meister Eckhart who once said, “We are all mothers of God, for God is always needing to be born.”
For thousands of years, the Spirit of God hovered the earth, searching for one through whom he would give birth to salvation. Generation after generation had passed, but God’s attempts to find a people humble enough to labor in pain for the rescue of the world were unsuccessful. But after looking deep into the hearts of many, he finally found the one he was looking for in a teenage girl named Mary. Mary grew up among Jewish peasants in the Galilee region of Nazareth. One would say she was the least likely of candidates for the immense task at hand. However, she proved willing to endure – willing to endure the uncertainty, the scorn, and the pain that came with being a virgin chosen to give birth to the hope of the world. Because of her faithful obedience and submission to the dreams of God, Mary gave birth to a Son who reconciled all things in heaven and on earth and ushered in a new age of hope and promise.
Today it is rumored that the same Spirit of God that hovered the face of the earth thousands of years ago, searching for one through whom he would give birth to salvation, still hovers today in search of people through whom God’s loving presence can continue to be birthed. It is even said that, if sensitive enough, the ache of God’s longing can be felt in the gust of the wind, in the setting of the sun, and in the cry of the oppressed. And so… God waits.
Filed under: Politics | Tags: Brian McLaren, God's Politics, Nobel Peace Prize, Peace, President Obama, Violence, War
The following is an excerpt from an excellent post on the God’s Politics blog over at sojo.net. The post was written by Brian McLaren and is titled Obama’s Nobel Speech, Violence, and Nonviolence: Who’s Naive? Who’s Realistic?
Now I am the first to admit that heads of state have responsibilities and are privy to “intelligence” that the rest of us can’t imagine. I respect the president’s straightforwardness in saying, “We are at war, and I am responsible for the deployment of thousands of young Americans to battle … Some will kill. Some will be killed.” I have never felt a tiny fraction of the burden of responsibility he must feel in making those sorts of life-and-death decisions. Perhaps this is what happens when a movement leader or idealistic campaigner becomes an institutional leader, seated at the desk where the buck stops: idealism evaporates into a haze of naïveté and “realism” rises like a cold flood. (As I imagine that transformation, I can’t help but recall a former governor and VP candidate dismissing a lowly community organizer back in 2008; he didn’t have “actual responsibilities,” she snarled, as did even a small-town Alaskan mayor.)
These conflicted thoughts of war and peace, naïveté and realism were churning in my mind a day or so after the speech as I walked through a plaza in Riverside, California. Who is more naïve, I wondered, those who believe violence can overcome violence, or those who believe violence always creates new and more complicated problems? By chance, at that moment in my musings I came upon a monument to Gandhi that stands between the city’s Convention Center and old mission. As I slowly circled the monument, it wasn’t the quotes from Gandhi that seized my attention, but rather this quote from General Douglas MacArthur:
In the evolution of civilization, if it is to survive, all men cannot fail eventually to adopt Gandhi’s belief that the process of mass application of force to resolve contentious issues is fundamentally not only wrong but contains within itself the germs of self-destruction.
To read the entire post, click here.
What were your thoughts on President Obama’s Nobel speech?
Filed under: Faith and Science, Theology | Tags: Human Nature, Jesus Creed, Joel B. Green, Kevin Corcoran, Materialism, Nancey Murphy, Nonreductive Physicalism, Science, Scot McKnight
Recently, over at the Jesus Creed blog Scot McKnight wrote a series of posts titled Science, Body, and Soul that focused primarily on issues raised in Kevin Corcoran’s book Rethinking Human Nature: A Christian Materialist Alternative to the Soul. I encourage you to check out those posts, as they provide a helpful starting point for some of the more recent developments in science and theology as they relate to human nature.
In these next posts, I would simply like to add to the conversation by including some of the philosophical, biological, and theological issues at stake when arguing for a nonreductive physicalist view of the human person (a position held by Nancey Murphy among others). While Scot focused on Kevin Corcoran’s work, I will be borrowing primarily from the works of Nancey Murphy and Joel B. Green. Although their views are not identical, Corcoran, Murphy, and Green share the fundamental conviction that human persons are not best understood as dualistic, but rather as one substance, fully integrated as both biological and relational beings. They find it redundant to argue for the existence of an immaterial soul when many of the functions once attributed to the soul can now be explained biologically (as functions of the brain).
My assumption is that most Christians do believe in the existence of a soul. Thus, before we begin this series, I want to ask a couple questions…
1) Have you ever given thought to what the soul might be, what it is made up of, or how it might relate to the body?
2) What is at stake when some suggest that perhaps the soul doesn’t exist?
The End of the Soul? | Part I
The End of the Soul? | Part II
The End of the Soul? | Part III
Filed under: Random Musings, Theology | Tags: Advent, Christian Calendar, Christmas, Waiting
I wait for the LORD, my whole being waits… (Psalm 130:5)
The word advent comes from the Latin adventus, which means “coming.” During the Advent season, the Christian church remembers the coming of our Lord, Jesus Christ into the world for the rescue and salvation of all people. Advent, however, is more than simply celebrating the coming of Christ. During the weeks leading up to Christmas, the church inhabits time with a posture of waiting. We remember the deep and profound longings of a world enmeshed in darkness, and we too wait. We wait for a savior to come and make all things new. We wait for the hope of new life to break into our lives, transforming them to be fit for the kind of world that God is creating before our very eyes.
But waiting has become a strange notion in the world we live in, a world that reduces that which is possible to what is readily made available. If you’re anything like me, you have already put up your Christmas tree and decorated your home for the holidays. This is of course encouraged by the Christmas trees that go up in department stores the day after Halloween, the holiday cups introduced in coffee shops at the beginning of November, and/or the Christmas commercials that seem to air earlier and earlier every year. This “Christmas before November” phenomenon (of which I would be a victim if not for my wife) has led me to suspect that we do this, not in anticipation of Christmas “to come,” but in order that we might bring Christmas forward. We don’t want to wait for Christmas. We want Christmas now.
This inability to wait is surely due in part to the fact that we live in a credit-driven society that thrives off instant accessibility. Some of our advertising campaigns even ask us the question, “Why wait?” And perhaps that is a good question. Why would we wait if the alternative is immediacy?
I want to suggest that the kind of waiting we participate in during the Advent season reminds us that when we lose our ability to wait, what follows is an inability to be fully present in the now. Instead of embracing waiting as a necessary component of our being-present-in-the-moment, we either settle for recalling a euphoric vision of the past or desperately grasping to make available a utopian vision of the future. And in so doing, we miss the present reality that God desires to heal, transform, and make new.
Waiting is not an easy task. It strips us of our reliance on that which is available and thrusts us into a posture of dependency on that which is beyond all that is available. This is undoubtedly a place of weakness and vulnerability. But it is in that place where God meets us in the most profound of ways. It is in that place that God reminds us that our identity rests in him alone.
Lectio Divina is Latin for divine reading. It is an ancient way of reading Scripture that has been kept alive for centuries by the Christian monastic tradition. Lectio Divina is simply a rhythm of reading a given text, meditating on it, entering into prayerful dialogue with God, and creating space to contemplate in stillness.
It is my understanding that the Word of God must never be objectified and thus approached as something we can rationally explain. Rather, the Word is a mystery that invites us into a relationship. For when reading Scripture, it is not in the words where we find God, but in our encounter with them.
Thus, Lectio Divina beckons us to delve into the mystery with the hope that we might be transformed by an encounter with the living God.
Isaiah 55:8-13
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the LORD.
“As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
it will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.
You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.
Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,
and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.
This will be for the LORD’s renown,
for an everlasting sign,
that will endure forever.”
