I'm in the Library reading a book (A History of Women in the West, Vol. 1, p. 366). In it, the author speaks of how a father would be taken to see a child after childbirth. If the father accepted the child, it was taken into the family. If the father did not, it was left exposed to die. A son was accepted and brought into the family only if the father accepted the child as "in his father's likeness" (i.e. proving it was his son).
This has tremendous implications for our own adoption into the family of God. When we are re-created in the likeness of the father through our new birth in Christ, it means that we are accepted into the family of God.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
The Trinity and Christology
Christology is the Christian name for the study of Jesus Christ. It studies who he was, who he is, what he has done, and what he will do.
In my last post, I suggested than an imbalanced approach could (and often does) lead to a skewed emphasis on Christian existence. Those who focus too heavily on the Father tend to focus on dogma. Those who focus too heavily on the Spirit tend to focus on presence and experience. Those who focus on the Son, I said, tend to focus too heavily on action. What we need, I said, is a Trinitarian Christianity that can balance action, doctrine, and experience.
Since that post, I've been reflecting on what I'd written, and I've decided things are more complicated. There is in fact a connection between Christology and the Trinity, and between our perspectives on both.
Consider the connection: God the Father is God as transcendent, hidden beyond the veil of infinity and eternity. God the Spirit is God as immanent, present and working in the world at all times. Jesus Christ is God as temporally transcendent and immanent. Through Christ, God acts in history, either present in the incarnation or absent in the ascension. And this temporal aspect of Christology is what connects Christology with my Trinitarian discussion last week. Because different aspects of Christ are revealed at different times in history, any focus on a single time period in the entirety of Christ's historicity will create an imbalance in our overall understanding of God.
For example, suppose one focuses too heavily on the cross. This creates a tendency (not a necessity, one can still find a balanced understanding despite an imbalanced focus) to focus on Christ in weakness at his highest point of submission to the Father, at the pinnacle of his inaction. Thus, to focus on Christ at the cross is, to a degree, to actually focus on the Father as the one who pours out wrath on Christ, whom Christ glorifies, and as the one to whom Christ reconciles us. In essence, it creates a risk (but not an inescapable one) of reducing theology to a discussion of God, to dogma.
Likewise, reducing a focus on Christ to a focus on the incarnation creates a tendency to focus on the action of God. Christ in the incarnation is, in some ways, the pinnacle of God's action in the world, the decisive inbreaking of God to dwell among humans in the flesh. It is the foretaste of the coming victory,the height of God's action, but it does not indicate the ultimate submission and passivity associated with the cross.
Likewise, were one to focus too heavily on the ascenscion, on the departure of God's immanence in a specific, particular, embodied location to be replaced by the universality of the Holy Spirit embodied in a global Church, then there would be a tendency to focus on immanence and experience. On the presence of God universally as the anticipation of the return of Christ during the end times, the inverse of the ascension.
I think this is a step closer to a balanced understanding of a Christian existentialism, an understanding of Christian being. Still, I would be wise to consider these things more, to compare my claims with historical manifestations of imbalances (which I have only done in a cursory fashion in my head), and to seek to understand why some imbalanced groups have been able to avoid imbalanced life in Christ.
In my last post, I suggested than an imbalanced approach could (and often does) lead to a skewed emphasis on Christian existence. Those who focus too heavily on the Father tend to focus on dogma. Those who focus too heavily on the Spirit tend to focus on presence and experience. Those who focus on the Son, I said, tend to focus too heavily on action. What we need, I said, is a Trinitarian Christianity that can balance action, doctrine, and experience.
Since that post, I've been reflecting on what I'd written, and I've decided things are more complicated. There is in fact a connection between Christology and the Trinity, and between our perspectives on both.
Consider the connection: God the Father is God as transcendent, hidden beyond the veil of infinity and eternity. God the Spirit is God as immanent, present and working in the world at all times. Jesus Christ is God as temporally transcendent and immanent. Through Christ, God acts in history, either present in the incarnation or absent in the ascension. And this temporal aspect of Christology is what connects Christology with my Trinitarian discussion last week. Because different aspects of Christ are revealed at different times in history, any focus on a single time period in the entirety of Christ's historicity will create an imbalance in our overall understanding of God.
For example, suppose one focuses too heavily on the cross. This creates a tendency (not a necessity, one can still find a balanced understanding despite an imbalanced focus) to focus on Christ in weakness at his highest point of submission to the Father, at the pinnacle of his inaction. Thus, to focus on Christ at the cross is, to a degree, to actually focus on the Father as the one who pours out wrath on Christ, whom Christ glorifies, and as the one to whom Christ reconciles us. In essence, it creates a risk (but not an inescapable one) of reducing theology to a discussion of God, to dogma.
Likewise, reducing a focus on Christ to a focus on the incarnation creates a tendency to focus on the action of God. Christ in the incarnation is, in some ways, the pinnacle of God's action in the world, the decisive inbreaking of God to dwell among humans in the flesh. It is the foretaste of the coming victory,the height of God's action, but it does not indicate the ultimate submission and passivity associated with the cross.
Likewise, were one to focus too heavily on the ascenscion, on the departure of God's immanence in a specific, particular, embodied location to be replaced by the universality of the Holy Spirit embodied in a global Church, then there would be a tendency to focus on immanence and experience. On the presence of God universally as the anticipation of the return of Christ during the end times, the inverse of the ascension.
I think this is a step closer to a balanced understanding of a Christian existentialism, an understanding of Christian being. Still, I would be wise to consider these things more, to compare my claims with historical manifestations of imbalances (which I have only done in a cursory fashion in my head), and to seek to understand why some imbalanced groups have been able to avoid imbalanced life in Christ.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
State of Being
What does it mean to be a Christian?
I've been wrestling with that question for a few months now. To some, it would seem that being a Christian is to think and believe the correct things. A Christian believes in and understands (as much as possible) the Trinity, the crucifixion, the resurrection, and the Kingdom of God. Such a perspective focuses on inerrancy, patristics, apologetics, philosophy, or dogmatics. Existentially, such a perspective focuses Christianity in the mind. One feels closest to God when one understands, thinks deeply, when the mind recedes away from the heart to contemplate the Holy One.
Maybe Christianity is a state of action. Words and doctrines are meaningless apart from their social implementation. These Christians might protest abortion or social injustice. They might volunteer extensively, give their belongings to the poor, or travel the world building wells for impoverished communities. Existentially, such a perspective focuses Christianity in the will and in society. One understands God through the encounter with the poor and needy. It is through the sweat of the brow, the herculean effort to overcome society's injustices, through the sense of satisfaction that one acts against the norm for others.
Maybe Christianity is an emotional state, the poise of remaining still in a chaotic world, of praying continuously, of worshipping in abandon the God who is present here and now through the Spirit. Such Christians as follow this perspective focus on the spiritual disciplines, retreats, praise music, and emotional control. Existentially, such a posture leads one to a state of sensitivity and awareness to one's own spiritual state, and to a paradox of isolation and communion with the world.
It occurs to me that each of these perspectives is, in a way, a distortion of the Trinity. The dogmatic approach would seem to emphasize the Father and our attempt to understand the transcendent through revelation. The social approach would seem to emphasize the Son, and our efforts to pick up our own crosses and follow him on his mission. The spiritual approach would seem to focus on the Spirit, in its daily guidance and direction.
My struggle has been to develop a Trinitarian perspective, where being Christian is to simultaneously experience Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It is a search for spiritual theology discovered amid the favellas or prisons or AIDS wards of the world. At least, that's what I imagine it to be. None of these isolated approaches seem sufficient. Nor is it sufficient to experience all three of these sequentially. If one is dogmatic in one moment, spiritual the next, and justice oriented the third, one would seem to have three disparate pictures of the triune God without any ability to piece them together, rather than a unitary experience of three-fold diversity, a singularity of knowledge, emotion, and action.
Does that make any sense?
I've been wrestling with that question for a few months now. To some, it would seem that being a Christian is to think and believe the correct things. A Christian believes in and understands (as much as possible) the Trinity, the crucifixion, the resurrection, and the Kingdom of God. Such a perspective focuses on inerrancy, patristics, apologetics, philosophy, or dogmatics. Existentially, such a perspective focuses Christianity in the mind. One feels closest to God when one understands, thinks deeply, when the mind recedes away from the heart to contemplate the Holy One.
Maybe Christianity is a state of action. Words and doctrines are meaningless apart from their social implementation. These Christians might protest abortion or social injustice. They might volunteer extensively, give their belongings to the poor, or travel the world building wells for impoverished communities. Existentially, such a perspective focuses Christianity in the will and in society. One understands God through the encounter with the poor and needy. It is through the sweat of the brow, the herculean effort to overcome society's injustices, through the sense of satisfaction that one acts against the norm for others.
Maybe Christianity is an emotional state, the poise of remaining still in a chaotic world, of praying continuously, of worshipping in abandon the God who is present here and now through the Spirit. Such Christians as follow this perspective focus on the spiritual disciplines, retreats, praise music, and emotional control. Existentially, such a posture leads one to a state of sensitivity and awareness to one's own spiritual state, and to a paradox of isolation and communion with the world.
It occurs to me that each of these perspectives is, in a way, a distortion of the Trinity. The dogmatic approach would seem to emphasize the Father and our attempt to understand the transcendent through revelation. The social approach would seem to emphasize the Son, and our efforts to pick up our own crosses and follow him on his mission. The spiritual approach would seem to focus on the Spirit, in its daily guidance and direction.
My struggle has been to develop a Trinitarian perspective, where being Christian is to simultaneously experience Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It is a search for spiritual theology discovered amid the favellas or prisons or AIDS wards of the world. At least, that's what I imagine it to be. None of these isolated approaches seem sufficient. Nor is it sufficient to experience all three of these sequentially. If one is dogmatic in one moment, spiritual the next, and justice oriented the third, one would seem to have three disparate pictures of the triune God without any ability to piece them together, rather than a unitary experience of three-fold diversity, a singularity of knowledge, emotion, and action.
Does that make any sense?
Friday, July 1, 2011
You can't have my trash...
There is a church near where I live that has an interesting policy on giving. Recently, it added padlocks to the fence surrounding the dumpsters behind the church. I was told they were put there so that no one could get in to dig through the trash and take something. Now sure, maybe you are saying this is a policy to protect church confidentiality, so no one steals important documents. But all documents are already fed through a shredder, so this seems a bit extreme!
The same church has out door water spigots that do not have a handle to turn on the water flow. Instead, you need a wrench-like key. I was told this was done so that no one would steal the church's water to wash their car (or for any other reason). I can't even discern a valid reason for this security measure.
During a recent cleaning of the same church's under-used food pantry, about a dozen cans of soup were thrown away. I saw them, and looked at the expiration date on one of the cans. It expired in 2001 (ten years ago!). Now, I can think of two possible explanations for this. (1) The soup has been sitting in the food pantry since some time in 2000. (2) Someone just recently donated a can of soup that expired ten years ago and it was immediately caught. The first option would indicate to me that the church insufficiently distributes its food pantry goods, and also that it does far too little to monitor the food in its food pantry. The second option might be an oversight by the donor, or it might embody an attitude of "what's too bad for me should be plenty for the needy." I'm trying to come up with as generous of a reading as I can.
The question that really bothers me is this: how many ten-year-old cans of soup were given out before this cleaning? No matter how I look at it, the church seems to be sending a clear message to the needy: you can't have my trash, you can't have my water, but you are more than welcome to my ten-year-old soup.
The supreme irony of it all (or perhaps divine providence) is that the locks on the dumpster fence might save some impoverished dumpster-diver's life. Without the locks, he might find the disposed of ancient soup, consume it, and die.
The same church has out door water spigots that do not have a handle to turn on the water flow. Instead, you need a wrench-like key. I was told this was done so that no one would steal the church's water to wash their car (or for any other reason). I can't even discern a valid reason for this security measure.
During a recent cleaning of the same church's under-used food pantry, about a dozen cans of soup were thrown away. I saw them, and looked at the expiration date on one of the cans. It expired in 2001 (ten years ago!). Now, I can think of two possible explanations for this. (1) The soup has been sitting in the food pantry since some time in 2000. (2) Someone just recently donated a can of soup that expired ten years ago and it was immediately caught. The first option would indicate to me that the church insufficiently distributes its food pantry goods, and also that it does far too little to monitor the food in its food pantry. The second option might be an oversight by the donor, or it might embody an attitude of "what's too bad for me should be plenty for the needy." I'm trying to come up with as generous of a reading as I can.
The question that really bothers me is this: how many ten-year-old cans of soup were given out before this cleaning? No matter how I look at it, the church seems to be sending a clear message to the needy: you can't have my trash, you can't have my water, but you are more than welcome to my ten-year-old soup.
The supreme irony of it all (or perhaps divine providence) is that the locks on the dumpster fence might save some impoverished dumpster-diver's life. Without the locks, he might find the disposed of ancient soup, consume it, and die.
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