This past Ash Wednesday I had the occasion to walk into a bar wearing my clerical collar. I am not usually in the practice of doing such things, but I was between services and I needed to run to Manuel’s Tavern, in Poncey-Highlands to confirm the date and time for a night of Beer and Hymns. Atlanta is a pretty cynical place, in spite of the fact that its full of conservatives and it’s the buckle of the Bible Belt; maybe these things are related. Anyway, as I walked into Manuel’s I was accosted by a woman who grabbed me by my shoulders and began asking questions:
“Are you a priest? Can you give me ashes? Wait! What are you doing here?”
I was about to answer her when she said, “I am so far from God.” And then she stopped talking. Though my fingers were stained black from administering ashes just a short time before, I had none to give her except those that were on my own forehead. So, with my thumb I rubbed my forehead and then rubbed hers, and making the sign of the cross, I reminded her that she was dust and to dust she would return right there in the middle of the bar. It became holy ground. My new friend hadn't been to church in years, and didn't feel like she could go because she wasn't good enough. She would not go to church, but she had no problem stopping a minister in a bar and asking for ashes.
I tell this story because the day after the first Beer and Hymns, I walked into school and was greeted by some of my fellow classmates. I am a seminarian in Atlanta. I was asked by one student how the evening went, but another wanted to know the point of the whole thing. Did we just sit around, sing, and get drunk? There have been a few people who have shared skeptical sentiments regarding the fact that most of my evangelism involves beer, and usually my response is something like, “Well, it’s good to be Lutheran”. But, I don’t think a smart-alec response is really the way to go anymore.
Let’s be real with each other…
The Church as an Institution has messed up. There are people who would rather go to the dentist than walk through the doors of a Church. It doesn't matter how hip your minister of music happens to be, and it doesn't matter how cool your programming is, there are people who will never…ever…walk into your church.
So, here’s what I propose: Let’s get out of the church! And while we’re at it, let’s stop doing church for ourselves. By this I mean, let’s stop perpetuating the Institution for the sake of the Institution…and, ahem, clergy, our own employment security. Let’s stop looking at pie charts and bar graphs that toll the bells of decline and do something about it. In fact, let’s burn the damn charts. Let’s stop referring to people who are outside the church as spiritual but not religious. Since when is religion a good thing anyway? And we should probably stop using dichotomies like outside/inside, it’s just another way of saying them and us.
So yes, my evangelism does involve beer. It also involves conversation, conversation around a table. If this doesn't seem like the right thing for you, don’t come. There’ll be more beer for the rest of us.
If this seems like your kind of thing, please join us. We are a gathering of seekers, sinners, and saints. We bring our baggage and stand shoulder to shoulder with other people who share our same doubts, fears and religious PTSD, because some of us have experienced real trauma at the hands of the Church. We don’t have it all figured it out, but singing and sharing a drink together seems like a good place to start. All are welcome, and means all!
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Why My Grandmother Doesn't Need to Punch the Apostle Paul in the Mouth and Get Kicked out of Heaven
My grandmother, Georgia, is one of the great heroines of the Faith after which I try to pattern my life. She loved God and people, and she was a true biblical feminist. She used to say that when she got to Heaven, she was going to punch Paul slap in the mouth. Yes. That would be the Apostle Paul. The guy who gets blamed for a lot of stuff including marginalizing women and homosexuals.
I recently finished a several week study on the passage found in 1 Timothy 5:3-16. This passage talks about widows, old and young, and how they should be cared for by their families or other women, and what a real widow is, and how they should get married so they don't turn to Satan, and how they are idle gossips, and busybodies...If you're confused, there is a good reason. No one knows exactly what is happening in this letter supposedly written by Paul giving the early Church a set of instructions regarding Church order. But that's not what interests me in this passage. What does interest me is the author's use of language in his set of instructions. I won't bore you with all of the details of my research, but instead I want to lift up a pattern that I see happening in the 1 Timothy text that I think still happens today.
How we understand the use of language in an argument is key to how we, as modern readers of the Bible, should understand 1 Timothy 5:3-16. The side that takes possession of the language in a dispute can gain an unfair advantage. For example, calling an interpretation, feminist, infers a bias and thus an attempt to skew the argument. To label an interpretation as feminist demonstrates a microagression in regards to gender and makes the claim that the interpreter does not agree with the predominate point of view; in the case of 1 Timothy, a point of view that is historically patriarchal. Another example to consider is the phrase, high view of Scripture. This phrase was used by those who, during the Civil War era, claimed that the Bible supported their right to own slaves. Those who did not hold the same point of view were labeled as those who held a low view of Scripture. This same argument is used today. Recently, while listening to a lecture given by a visiting professor on Evangelical Tradition in the United States, I heard him describe Evangelical Christians, and those who hold a literal view of Scripture, as having a high view of Scripture. Why are those who hold the belief that the Bible is the inspired word of God, rather than the literal word of God, considered to hold a lower view? Why do those who hold the high view claim to speak with such authority?
This literal understanding of Scripture has led to some of the most problematic issues that the Church faces today. In 1972, the Reverend Eddie Fox, an ordained elder within the United Methodist Church, wrote a statement to be included in that denomination’s Book of Discipline regarding human sexuality. He wrote that “homosexuality was not in keeping with Christian teaching.” The words of Reverend Fox have been, for the UMC, an authoritative statement that has limited, and excluded, people on the LGBTQ spectrum, not only from answering and living out a call as clergy, but also from the larger Church body. Recent proposals to make changes to the Book of Discipline have brought further argument from Fox, “The UMC statement on human sexuality needs to be clear, concise and faithful to biblical teaching. Leaving out that homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching would be confusing, especially for members of the church outside of the United States.” These statements still control the argument regarding human sexuality in the United Methodist Church, a debate which spilled over in the Fall semester of 2013 into the student body of Candler School of Theology as Fox was awarded a Distinguished Alumni Award by the Candler Alumni Board. Letters were written to Dean Jan Love and a protest was held on the day of the awards ceremony. Many conversations were held in the halls and classrooms of Candler. Both sides of the argument were discussed and considered, but the side that preferred the statements written by the Revered Fox, the side that claimed to hold a biblical view in keeping with Christian teaching enjoyed preference within the debate. Those on the other side of the debate, especially those individuals on the LGBTQ spectrum felt as if their status as Christians, and even their humanity, were being questioned.
So, what meaning can the modern reader glean from this second-century text? 1 Timothy 5:3-16 is just as significant to the Church today as it was when is was written, for this reason: Today’s reader must ask questions of the biblical texts with which they engage and assess the role of authority with a critical eye, ear, and mind. This text is a part of an ugly history that has been used to control women; a history I know very well. As I child, I fell in love with the stories in the Bible. I loved Noah, Moses, Jonah, and Jesus. I used to pretend that I was a minister. I would stand in front of an imaginary congregation and preach, but growing up in a denomination that would not ordain women meant that I could tell these stories in a Sunday School class, not from a pulpit. By the time I was a teen-ager, I still loved the Bible and it’s heroes, with one exception, the Apostle Paul.
While studying this text, I have thought a lot about my grandmother and other women like her; women who have been told they cannot serve in leadership roles within the Church because of passages from the Bible like those found in 1 Timothy. Not only have I been thinking about the implications for women, but those who are on the LGBTQ spectrum, and anyone who has known discrimination because of irresponsible exegesis and biased interpretations. So, I write this blog as a letter to my younger self, to those who have known this special brand of discrimination, and to my grandmother.
Dear Grandma:
Before you go looking for Paul, I've got something to tell you...
This literal understanding of Scripture has led to some of the most problematic issues that the Church faces today. In 1972, the Reverend Eddie Fox, an ordained elder within the United Methodist Church, wrote a statement to be included in that denomination’s Book of Discipline regarding human sexuality. He wrote that “homosexuality was not in keeping with Christian teaching.” The words of Reverend Fox have been, for the UMC, an authoritative statement that has limited, and excluded, people on the LGBTQ spectrum, not only from answering and living out a call as clergy, but also from the larger Church body. Recent proposals to make changes to the Book of Discipline have brought further argument from Fox, “The UMC statement on human sexuality needs to be clear, concise and faithful to biblical teaching. Leaving out that homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching would be confusing, especially for members of the church outside of the United States.” These statements still control the argument regarding human sexuality in the United Methodist Church, a debate which spilled over in the Fall semester of 2013 into the student body of Candler School of Theology as Fox was awarded a Distinguished Alumni Award by the Candler Alumni Board. Letters were written to Dean Jan Love and a protest was held on the day of the awards ceremony. Many conversations were held in the halls and classrooms of Candler. Both sides of the argument were discussed and considered, but the side that preferred the statements written by the Revered Fox, the side that claimed to hold a biblical view in keeping with Christian teaching enjoyed preference within the debate. Those on the other side of the debate, especially those individuals on the LGBTQ spectrum felt as if their status as Christians, and even their humanity, were being questioned.
So, what meaning can the modern reader glean from this second-century text? 1 Timothy 5:3-16 is just as significant to the Church today as it was when is was written, for this reason: Today’s reader must ask questions of the biblical texts with which they engage and assess the role of authority with a critical eye, ear, and mind. This text is a part of an ugly history that has been used to control women; a history I know very well. As I child, I fell in love with the stories in the Bible. I loved Noah, Moses, Jonah, and Jesus. I used to pretend that I was a minister. I would stand in front of an imaginary congregation and preach, but growing up in a denomination that would not ordain women meant that I could tell these stories in a Sunday School class, not from a pulpit. By the time I was a teen-ager, I still loved the Bible and it’s heroes, with one exception, the Apostle Paul.
While studying this text, I have thought a lot about my grandmother and other women like her; women who have been told they cannot serve in leadership roles within the Church because of passages from the Bible like those found in 1 Timothy. Not only have I been thinking about the implications for women, but those who are on the LGBTQ spectrum, and anyone who has known discrimination because of irresponsible exegesis and biased interpretations. So, I write this blog as a letter to my younger self, to those who have known this special brand of discrimination, and to my grandmother.
Dear Grandma:
Before you go looking for Paul, I've got something to tell you...
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Something About Mary
From Good Friday's Seven Last Words of Jesus. This is my homily for word number 3, Behold Thy Mother.
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mothers sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home.
John 19:25b-27
As Protestants, I think, we have have lost some of who we understand Jesus to be because we don’t really talk about Mary.
Mary shows up at Christmas, in TV specials and maybe in a Christmas pageant,
very pregnant, and uncomfortable, riding a donkey looking for a place to have her baby.
She and Joseph find a stable,
the baby is born, angels sing,
there’s a star,
shepherds come,
wise men visit from the east,
somewhere in there, there is a little drummer boy,
finally the family flees for Egypt.
And then we don’t really talk much about Mary until the next Christmas; where she shows up pregnant…AGAIN,
riding that same donkey.
It all fits very neatly into our liturgy and then we move on.
I’m not really sure why this happens. At times, I have thought this was because talking about Mary and honoring her for being the mother of god was entirely too Catholic; for us Protestants, that’s big C.
But what if it’s something else?
What if we don’t talk about Mary because Mary makes us remember that this whole story about Jesus is just really messy?
Because when we bring Mary back into the story we have to remember that Jesus was someone’s son, not just the son of God.
It was Mary who intimately knew Jesus. It was Mary who felt the pains as she labored in childbirth, and then in the moments after he was born counted his fingers and toes. Mary changed his diapers, and held his pudgy little hands as he learned to walk. She intuitively knew the difference in his cries; she knew if he was crying out in pain or in fear, knew if he was hungry, or cranky and just needed a nap.
In Luke’s Gospel, we read about how Mary’s heart raced in a panic when she and Joseph could not find him as they headed home from Jerusalem and then made a three day journey back to find Jesus sitting in the temple. For three days Mary did not know where her son was...
And then she hears him say to herself and Joseph that they should have known where he would be.
Now, Luke’s Gospel says that Mary and Joseph didn’t understand what he was saying to them, but as a parent, I have to tell you that I read between the lines here, and I think that Mary understood all to well what had happened and didn’t appreciate being worried by a smart-alec, teen aged boy.
In the Gospel of Mark, we read about how some of Jesus’ family go to get Jesus while he is preaching because they though that he had lost his fool mind. Was this because Mary had said to her sons, “I'm worried about Jesus, go get him”?
Back to the Gospel of John, it is at the wedding in Cana where Mary tells her son that they have run out of wine. She approached Jesus with expectation that he could fix the disaster of the moment. She settles things with Jesus and then tells the servants, with a mother’s pride, “do what he tells you”.
Mary treasured in her heart those times of joy, but she also had recall of those moments that were painful.
And now, we read that she is standing near the cross watching the unthinkable happen because there is no other place she could possibly be.
The time that Jesus walked among humanity on earth may have only been around 33 years, but after Jesus dies, Mary is still his mother.
So, I think that, maybe we don’t talk all that much about Mary because she makes us feel uncomfortable. She reminds us that there are people who suffer. That there are mothers who watch their children die. She reminds us that there is injustice and that innocent people lose their lives.
In our culture we can separate ourselves from the suffering of other people, from the suffering happening in our world. We can change the channel on the television or the radio, we can chose not to sit with people who are suffering, we can walk away.
In like fashion,
We’ve sanitized the stories in the gospels:
the birth the narrative,
the crucifixion,
and even the resurrection because they’re too messy and too painful.
We would prefer to cast these messy stories in an angelic glow
like some medieval painting,
everyone looks a little sad, but they’re all still pretty clean.
We would rather leave out details that make the stories real.
I think that Mary is one of those details.
Because it’s easier to think about the pregnant woman on a donkey waiting to have a child
than a broken woman standing by a cross as she watched her son die the humiliating death of a criminal.
When we reclaim the story of Mary, we reclaim the humanity of Jesus. And as we reclaim the humanity of Jesus through the messiness that was his story, we reclaim the humanity of ourselves, and the humanity of other people. Amen.
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mothers sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home.
John 19:25b-27
As Protestants, I think, we have have lost some of who we understand Jesus to be because we don’t really talk about Mary.
Mary shows up at Christmas, in TV specials and maybe in a Christmas pageant,
very pregnant, and uncomfortable, riding a donkey looking for a place to have her baby.
She and Joseph find a stable,
the baby is born, angels sing,
there’s a star,
shepherds come,
wise men visit from the east,
somewhere in there, there is a little drummer boy,
finally the family flees for Egypt.
And then we don’t really talk much about Mary until the next Christmas; where she shows up pregnant…AGAIN,
riding that same donkey.
It all fits very neatly into our liturgy and then we move on.
I’m not really sure why this happens. At times, I have thought this was because talking about Mary and honoring her for being the mother of god was entirely too Catholic; for us Protestants, that’s big C.
But what if it’s something else?
What if we don’t talk about Mary because Mary makes us remember that this whole story about Jesus is just really messy?
Because when we bring Mary back into the story we have to remember that Jesus was someone’s son, not just the son of God.
It was Mary who intimately knew Jesus. It was Mary who felt the pains as she labored in childbirth, and then in the moments after he was born counted his fingers and toes. Mary changed his diapers, and held his pudgy little hands as he learned to walk. She intuitively knew the difference in his cries; she knew if he was crying out in pain or in fear, knew if he was hungry, or cranky and just needed a nap.
In Luke’s Gospel, we read about how Mary’s heart raced in a panic when she and Joseph could not find him as they headed home from Jerusalem and then made a three day journey back to find Jesus sitting in the temple. For three days Mary did not know where her son was...
And then she hears him say to herself and Joseph that they should have known where he would be.
Now, Luke’s Gospel says that Mary and Joseph didn’t understand what he was saying to them, but as a parent, I have to tell you that I read between the lines here, and I think that Mary understood all to well what had happened and didn’t appreciate being worried by a smart-alec, teen aged boy.
In the Gospel of Mark, we read about how some of Jesus’ family go to get Jesus while he is preaching because they though that he had lost his fool mind. Was this because Mary had said to her sons, “I'm worried about Jesus, go get him”?
Back to the Gospel of John, it is at the wedding in Cana where Mary tells her son that they have run out of wine. She approached Jesus with expectation that he could fix the disaster of the moment. She settles things with Jesus and then tells the servants, with a mother’s pride, “do what he tells you”.
Mary treasured in her heart those times of joy, but she also had recall of those moments that were painful.
And now, we read that she is standing near the cross watching the unthinkable happen because there is no other place she could possibly be.
The time that Jesus walked among humanity on earth may have only been around 33 years, but after Jesus dies, Mary is still his mother.
So, I think that, maybe we don’t talk all that much about Mary because she makes us feel uncomfortable. She reminds us that there are people who suffer. That there are mothers who watch their children die. She reminds us that there is injustice and that innocent people lose their lives.
In our culture we can separate ourselves from the suffering of other people, from the suffering happening in our world. We can change the channel on the television or the radio, we can chose not to sit with people who are suffering, we can walk away.
In like fashion,
We’ve sanitized the stories in the gospels:
the birth the narrative,
the crucifixion,
and even the resurrection because they’re too messy and too painful.
We would prefer to cast these messy stories in an angelic glow
like some medieval painting,
everyone looks a little sad, but they’re all still pretty clean.
We would rather leave out details that make the stories real.
I think that Mary is one of those details.
Because it’s easier to think about the pregnant woman on a donkey waiting to have a child
than a broken woman standing by a cross as she watched her son die the humiliating death of a criminal.
When we reclaim the story of Mary, we reclaim the humanity of Jesus. And as we reclaim the humanity of Jesus through the messiness that was his story, we reclaim the humanity of ourselves, and the humanity of other people. Amen.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Advent 2 Sermon
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9CgPHR_wuc
A link to my Advent 2/Preaching Final sermon. Preached at Lutheran Church of the Redeemer on December 11, 2013.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
A Letter to Dean Jan Love of Candler School of Theology Regarding the Distinguished Alumni Award that will be given to the Rev. Eddie Fox
The following is a letter that I sent to Dean Jan Love of Candler School of Theology regarding a Distinguished Alumni Award that will be given to the Rev. Eddie Fox of Tennessee on September 27th. The Rev. Fox has been an outspoken opponent of the inclusion of homosexuals in the United Methodist Church.
Dean Love:
I am writing to you as a concerned member of the Candler community, a future alumna of Candler School of Theology, and as an ally of the children of God who identify as LGBTQ . I am saddened and disappointed to learn that a Distinguished Alumni Award will be given to the Rev. Eddie Fox, an individual who has chosen to stand against the inclusion of homosexuals in the United Methodist Church. The decision by our institution to honor an individual who has been so vocal, and instrumental, in keeping those who have been marginalized away from the Church sends a disgraceful message of unwelcome to our past, present, and future students who identify as LGBTQ.
Dean Love, I ask that you and the board members responsible for this decision will consider, in addition to the above, the following:
For Candler students who will someday engage in parish ministry, how will this type of association reflect upon us as ministers of the Gospel to our congregations; congregations that will most surely include dear ones who have been turned away from the Lord's Table because of their sexuality?
How will honoring Rev. Fox be perceived by future students who are considering Candler School of Theology?
Will Candler choose to honor someone who stands so defiantly against the inclusion of ALL God's CHILDREN in the body of Christ?
I came to Candler because I believed that I would receive not only an excellent theological education, but because I believed that I would be part of a community that was working to repair the tears that have occurred in the fabric of Church. By honoring the Rev. Fox as a distinguished alumni of Candler School of Theology we are not drawing the circle wider. We are not working to repair the negative image earned by the Church so widely held in today's society. We are not opening hearts, minds, or doors. We are, once again, caving to pressure from those loudest of voices that perpetuate fear and exclusion.
Thank you for taking the time to read this communication. It is my hope that you, and those responsible for this decision, will choose to deliver the message of radical welcome that was exhibited by our Lord, and Savior, Jesus Christ by rescinding your decision to bestow this award.
God's Peace.
Karen Stephenson Slappey
http://www.umc.org/site/apps/nlnet/content3.aspx?c=lwL4KnN1LtH&b=3082929&content_id=%7B45E5D40C-0D18-46F7-B40B-BD2F0B9F528F%7D#.UjCgvcYsk1J
http://www.interpretermagazine.org/interior.asp?ptid=43&mid=13383
http://www.toledoblade.com/Religion/2004/05/05/Split-Methodists-affirm-stand-on-homosexuality.html
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
the wild goose after party
"now, what kind of festival are you going to? and what is this wild goose thing, anyway?"
i must confess that rather than to try to explain exactly what the wild goose was to friends and family of a different theological expression, i sent them to the festival website. i'm not to afraid to have theological discussions with those whom i do not see eye to eye, i'm just tired of having them. on the wild goose website there are catchy tag-lines about the intersection of spirituality and justice, however this does not translate to the folk at home who think spirituality is new age, or that justice is something that is done by a judge with a gavel.
i'm not alone in my quandary regarding how to explain my alternative religious lifestyle and related experiences. i had conversations with many people within the wild goose community who are struggling about how to explain this movement, and, even more, wondering how they can carry the spirit to their people at home and proclaim it. 97.24% of the individuals i met at wild goose 13 have some sort of denominational affiliation, and happily so. i did not meet anyone who was like," yeah, i'm here this weekend to decide whether or not i'm leaving my church." what i did encounter were lots of people asking how questions in those woods by the french broad river. "how do i share this with my family and friends? how do i engage in this kind of work when i'm back home? how do i use this brand of theology to reconcile my relationships? how come i have to pee every five minutes?" (actually, this last one was my question and the answer came to me at 3am one morning when i awoke in my soggy tent to the sound of the river and realized i had never spent so much time in the presence of running water and RAIN.)
seriously though, so many questions that began with this how...
now, i am a "why" person. i remember reading in a a book by donald miller a few years ago about how it was easier to be a how person than it was to be a why person. being a how person is easy. they spend their happy existences wondering things like "how am i going to get paid?" or the equally important "how am i going to get laid?" to be a why person is much more complicated. why people question the purpose of the universe, themselves, and related intrinsic processes. but what happens when why people get around to being how people? and eventually, i would like to posit, it happens to the best of us why-ers. especially when we want to know how to share something as profound as the wild goose movement with with those we love as well as those who, theologically, annoy the hell out of us.
one of the more intriguing how conversations i had last weekend was with a guy named j. j is a 2nd year divinity student who studies at a university far north of north carolina. he and some of his traveling companions were part of the supper group that formed in my camping location next to the river. j and i talked about great seminary-esque topics like kathryn tanner, and atonement theories, but the most constructive conversation had more to do with the aspect of what next, a variation of this how thing. as this was my first time at the wild goose festival, i am not privy to things that have happened at past events beyond videos and writings by various speakers. but now, having attended a goose, i have to say that while the speakers and the music are incredible they are not the most generative aspect of this gathering. the most generative aspect of this gathering are the hundreds of conversations that happen around campfires, in the sharing of group meals with people who were strangers less than 24 hours before, and ideas exchanged between volunteers as they serve the children of the festival in the kid's tent. back to the how do i carry this home and my conversation with j...j wondered, "as this movement grows, when will it become appropriate to become self-critiquing?"
wait. what? we're all having such a good time and you want to self-critique?
i was a participant in several conversations where i learned in some way, or another, about how people had been wounded by the denominations of their childhood, and for some, denominations of which they were still members. they were critical, and rightfully so. a few times during the festival i told my own stories about how when i was 16 years old one of the ministers of the fundamentalist church where my family were members tried to cast a demon out of me (um, it didn't work), and about how i was "asked to leave" the private bible college of the same denomination for certain sins that were committed with a partner of the opposite sex who was allowed to stay and finish his degree. i did my share of eye rolling, face palming, and #SMH-ing in reaction to stories i heard about infractions committed by conservatives, fundamentalists, and crazies. i heard myself offer words like "wow, i hope you can find some healing and experience reconciliation." now, maybe this makes me sound like i am wise and super jesus-y, but now that i am at home and i have had time to reflect upon my experiences at the goose, i realize my words are hypocritical. you see, i am guilty of making people, those who so differ from myself, politically and theologically, the other. even though i treasure the wild goose festival for the beautiful, safe space that it is, and my spirit was soaring even though my tent was flooded and i was slogging everywhere through the mud, it took coming home to figure out what j meant when he talked about self-critiquing. and for me, it means that i have to examine myself and decide whether or not i want to keep cloistering myself behind books by progressive theologians or make attempts at conversation and communion with the other side.
so, my personal how is not just about sharing with my people back home what the wild goose festival is all about. my how question is how do i keep this same brand of wild goose freedom when i enter into those spaces where i share air and break bread with the people who think my following this particular path toward god is akin to a trick of the devil? how do i share the spirit of the goose with those that have made themselves the "other" to me, and with those whom i have made the "other"? participating in marches and protests for equality and social justice in the name of christ is the easy part. harder to do is figuring out how to engage in reconciliation with those, who because we see the mission of the church and the person of jesus very differently, there have been harsh words, separation, and alienation?
i need to find some sort of balance. there has to be some middle ground that can be found that honors the prophetic words spoken at the wild goose festival by the rev. dr. william barber who said, "speak so the haters will know they hate" and the civil, interfaith dialogue that i witnessed between brian mclaren, ani zonneveld, and stuart davis; a christian, a progressive muslim, and a zen buddhist. for me this will take place by becoming, once again, engaged with individuals from whom i have removed myself, with boundaries of course. the most fantastic thing about the wild goose festival, like i said, is not the planned venue events, but the spontaneous community that comes in shared food, drink, and conversation. but, similar to the frequent critiques i have made of my theologically other brothers and sister regarding their tendency to cloister themselves inside gated, conservative communities, i know that i am just as guilty. i do not actively seek out communion with those that i do not share the same set of beliefs.
as i looked around the campground, the festival attendees, and the crunchy little town that is hot springs, nc, i was thinking that this is what the kingdom of god looks like. but, unless i, and maybe i can even say "we", are willing to go off the proverbial reservation, we are in danger of becoming nothing more than a community hiding behind that proverbial gate, hanging out in our own country club, with our own set of rules for membership. this thing, this movement, is too good not to be shared. just like the communal meals and spontaneous dance parties that happened at wild goose, we need to actively invite the theological other to eat and drink and pick up glow sticks and dance.
i must confess that rather than to try to explain exactly what the wild goose was to friends and family of a different theological expression, i sent them to the festival website. i'm not to afraid to have theological discussions with those whom i do not see eye to eye, i'm just tired of having them. on the wild goose website there are catchy tag-lines about the intersection of spirituality and justice, however this does not translate to the folk at home who think spirituality is new age, or that justice is something that is done by a judge with a gavel.
i'm not alone in my quandary regarding how to explain my alternative religious lifestyle and related experiences. i had conversations with many people within the wild goose community who are struggling about how to explain this movement, and, even more, wondering how they can carry the spirit to their people at home and proclaim it. 97.24% of the individuals i met at wild goose 13 have some sort of denominational affiliation, and happily so. i did not meet anyone who was like," yeah, i'm here this weekend to decide whether or not i'm leaving my church." what i did encounter were lots of people asking how questions in those woods by the french broad river. "how do i share this with my family and friends? how do i engage in this kind of work when i'm back home? how do i use this brand of theology to reconcile my relationships? how come i have to pee every five minutes?" (actually, this last one was my question and the answer came to me at 3am one morning when i awoke in my soggy tent to the sound of the river and realized i had never spent so much time in the presence of running water and RAIN.)
seriously though, so many questions that began with this how...
now, i am a "why" person. i remember reading in a a book by donald miller a few years ago about how it was easier to be a how person than it was to be a why person. being a how person is easy. they spend their happy existences wondering things like "how am i going to get paid?" or the equally important "how am i going to get laid?" to be a why person is much more complicated. why people question the purpose of the universe, themselves, and related intrinsic processes. but what happens when why people get around to being how people? and eventually, i would like to posit, it happens to the best of us why-ers. especially when we want to know how to share something as profound as the wild goose movement with with those we love as well as those who, theologically, annoy the hell out of us.
one of the more intriguing how conversations i had last weekend was with a guy named j. j is a 2nd year divinity student who studies at a university far north of north carolina. he and some of his traveling companions were part of the supper group that formed in my camping location next to the river. j and i talked about great seminary-esque topics like kathryn tanner, and atonement theories, but the most constructive conversation had more to do with the aspect of what next, a variation of this how thing. as this was my first time at the wild goose festival, i am not privy to things that have happened at past events beyond videos and writings by various speakers. but now, having attended a goose, i have to say that while the speakers and the music are incredible they are not the most generative aspect of this gathering. the most generative aspect of this gathering are the hundreds of conversations that happen around campfires, in the sharing of group meals with people who were strangers less than 24 hours before, and ideas exchanged between volunteers as they serve the children of the festival in the kid's tent. back to the how do i carry this home and my conversation with j...j wondered, "as this movement grows, when will it become appropriate to become self-critiquing?"
wait. what? we're all having such a good time and you want to self-critique?
* * *
i was a participant in several conversations where i learned in some way, or another, about how people had been wounded by the denominations of their childhood, and for some, denominations of which they were still members. they were critical, and rightfully so. a few times during the festival i told my own stories about how when i was 16 years old one of the ministers of the fundamentalist church where my family were members tried to cast a demon out of me (um, it didn't work), and about how i was "asked to leave" the private bible college of the same denomination for certain sins that were committed with a partner of the opposite sex who was allowed to stay and finish his degree. i did my share of eye rolling, face palming, and #SMH-ing in reaction to stories i heard about infractions committed by conservatives, fundamentalists, and crazies. i heard myself offer words like "wow, i hope you can find some healing and experience reconciliation." now, maybe this makes me sound like i am wise and super jesus-y, but now that i am at home and i have had time to reflect upon my experiences at the goose, i realize my words are hypocritical. you see, i am guilty of making people, those who so differ from myself, politically and theologically, the other. even though i treasure the wild goose festival for the beautiful, safe space that it is, and my spirit was soaring even though my tent was flooded and i was slogging everywhere through the mud, it took coming home to figure out what j meant when he talked about self-critiquing. and for me, it means that i have to examine myself and decide whether or not i want to keep cloistering myself behind books by progressive theologians or make attempts at conversation and communion with the other side.
so, my personal how is not just about sharing with my people back home what the wild goose festival is all about. my how question is how do i keep this same brand of wild goose freedom when i enter into those spaces where i share air and break bread with the people who think my following this particular path toward god is akin to a trick of the devil? how do i share the spirit of the goose with those that have made themselves the "other" to me, and with those whom i have made the "other"? participating in marches and protests for equality and social justice in the name of christ is the easy part. harder to do is figuring out how to engage in reconciliation with those, who because we see the mission of the church and the person of jesus very differently, there have been harsh words, separation, and alienation?
i need to find some sort of balance. there has to be some middle ground that can be found that honors the prophetic words spoken at the wild goose festival by the rev. dr. william barber who said, "speak so the haters will know they hate" and the civil, interfaith dialogue that i witnessed between brian mclaren, ani zonneveld, and stuart davis; a christian, a progressive muslim, and a zen buddhist. for me this will take place by becoming, once again, engaged with individuals from whom i have removed myself, with boundaries of course. the most fantastic thing about the wild goose festival, like i said, is not the planned venue events, but the spontaneous community that comes in shared food, drink, and conversation. but, similar to the frequent critiques i have made of my theologically other brothers and sister regarding their tendency to cloister themselves inside gated, conservative communities, i know that i am just as guilty. i do not actively seek out communion with those that i do not share the same set of beliefs.
as i looked around the campground, the festival attendees, and the crunchy little town that is hot springs, nc, i was thinking that this is what the kingdom of god looks like. but, unless i, and maybe i can even say "we", are willing to go off the proverbial reservation, we are in danger of becoming nothing more than a community hiding behind that proverbial gate, hanging out in our own country club, with our own set of rules for membership. this thing, this movement, is too good not to be shared. just like the communal meals and spontaneous dance parties that happened at wild goose, we need to actively invite the theological other to eat and drink and pick up glow sticks and dance.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
What Would Jesus Drink: Adventures in Missing the Point
So, I'm a seminarian. This means that during the school year I spend countless hours reading about, writing about, and discussing theology. The topics available for discussion are endless, yet one contentious debate continually rises to the surface: what would Jesus drink? There are, of course, other worthwhile debates about things like the incarnation, dispensationalism, and theodicy, but none of these debates bring about the same fervor and passion as that of pontificating upon what the son of god would drink while winding down at the end of long day. Now I know there are those of you out there who are thinking, "Hello? Jesus drank wine. Haven't you read John 2 and that whole wedding at Cana thing? There are probably even those of you who believe that the wine was not fermented, and to that I say... well, never mind.
Yes. John 2. I have read it. Several times. But I should have mentioned earlier the specifics included in the "what would Jesus drink" controversy revolve around a certain brand of brew... PBR. Pabst Blue Ribbon is currently recognized as the hipster drink of choice and is popular among the college crowd, for its $2 price tag in your bar of choice on aTuesday Saturday night.
Now it's time for me to confess. I am a beer snob. Well, I was, until I quit two well-paying jobs and enrolled in grad school as a full time student.
Some say that seminary is a calling, and following a calling usually involves some kind of sacrifice. One of my sacrifices is that I now drink beer that I would not have touched a year ago, but I digress, sort of...
More important to this whole seminary journey is a dying to self. As this is not a super sexy concept, it's preferable to become distracted. I cannot blame my fellow seminarians for attaching a theological significance to Jesus' beer of choice. While this may seem like a concept of great significance, Paul, the guy who wrote a good portion of the New Testament, seemed more concerned with the whole dying to self thing. Jesus would probably agree. (I'll let you know after I finish my New Testament survey class that comes in my second year.) So, every day, if I am taking my journey through this chapter of my life seriously, and some days I actually do, I have to make the decision to die to myself and my to ideas regarding god; especially those ideas that are my own creation.
What does this have to do with PBR?
The "what would Jesus drink" argument isn't new. It is an argument that has raged in many forms throughout Christian History. People have been labeled a heretic over much less than believing that Jesus drank a certain kind of beer, and certainly, many were labeled heretics over much more. So, you see, this brew-ha-ha has just been repackaged for this time and cultural context. Thus, I think it's less about what Jesus drank and more about how we want to re-create god in our own image and make god more like us. The question we might want to ask ourselves is not "what would Jesus drink?" We might want to ask "Do we want to be more like Jesus or do we want Jesus to be more like us? Are we guilty of assuming that Jesus only loves the people that we want him to love? Does he really judge those that we choose to condemn? Are we really in charge of such things?" Granted these questions will probably not be debated with the same zeal and intensity as whether or not Jesus would drink PBR, but I think they are good place to start if we really want to start being a community that accepts everyone, even those that don't act or think (or drink) like us.
Yes. John 2. I have read it. Several times. But I should have mentioned earlier the specifics included in the "what would Jesus drink" controversy revolve around a certain brand of brew... PBR. Pabst Blue Ribbon is currently recognized as the hipster drink of choice and is popular among the college crowd, for its $2 price tag in your bar of choice on a
Now it's time for me to confess. I am a beer snob. Well, I was, until I quit two well-paying jobs and enrolled in grad school as a full time student.
Some say that seminary is a calling, and following a calling usually involves some kind of sacrifice. One of my sacrifices is that I now drink beer that I would not have touched a year ago, but I digress, sort of...
More important to this whole seminary journey is a dying to self. As this is not a super sexy concept, it's preferable to become distracted. I cannot blame my fellow seminarians for attaching a theological significance to Jesus' beer of choice. While this may seem like a concept of great significance, Paul, the guy who wrote a good portion of the New Testament, seemed more concerned with the whole dying to self thing. Jesus would probably agree. (I'll let you know after I finish my New Testament survey class that comes in my second year.) So, every day, if I am taking my journey through this chapter of my life seriously, and some days I actually do, I have to make the decision to die to myself and my to ideas regarding god; especially those ideas that are my own creation.
What does this have to do with PBR?
The "what would Jesus drink" argument isn't new. It is an argument that has raged in many forms throughout Christian History. People have been labeled a heretic over much less than believing that Jesus drank a certain kind of beer, and certainly, many were labeled heretics over much more. So, you see, this brew-ha-ha has just been repackaged for this time and cultural context. Thus, I think it's less about what Jesus drank and more about how we want to re-create god in our own image and make god more like us. The question we might want to ask ourselves is not "what would Jesus drink?" We might want to ask "Do we want to be more like Jesus or do we want Jesus to be more like us? Are we guilty of assuming that Jesus only loves the people that we want him to love? Does he really judge those that we choose to condemn? Are we really in charge of such things?" Granted these questions will probably not be debated with the same zeal and intensity as whether or not Jesus would drink PBR, but I think they are good place to start if we really want to start being a community that accepts everyone, even those that don't act or think (or drink) like us.
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