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 a Tuesday 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.

Why I Don't Want to Say the Creeds. What I learned in seminary, Part 2.

So, if you read my last blog, the one where I give a very tongue in cheek account regarding what I learned during my first year in seminary, I need to warn you: You're about to think I'm schizophrenic.  I want to say, first, that while I enjoy incredible community among my colleagues and I have never felt so affirmed regarding my call into ministry, I spent the majority of my first year in seminary really pissed off.  I was prone to bouts of foulness and one never knew when I would just up and start howling at the moon.  And now, about three weeks past clicking send on that email to my professor containing my final paper for the semester, I thought I could just  move past the "angry me", but I'll be damned if she didn't show up again today...of all places on my front porch...while I was reading...theology.

I should explain. One of the sources for my anger during this past year was a class called History of Christian Thought, better known to Candler students as HT501 and HT503; don't ask me what happened to 502 because I have no idea.  Anyway, during semester number one we had the laborious task of muddling our way through 1500 years of church history...Two. Times. You would think that once would be enough, but after we had a skeletal framework of the historical timeline, we then went back and read primary documents from the Church fathers with a few female voices like Mechtilde of Magdeburg mixed in so we could hear about how she mystically made love to the Divine and wrote some trippy God porn, but I digress. It was during this time that we studied the church early church councils.  Now, I know that no one really likes church assemblies or synod meetings, and these councils were no different.  The Council of Nicaea that happened way back in 325CE was called not to celebrate Christian unity and charity but to codify the rules surrounding Christianity.  These rules were crafted by the powerful lest any "heretics" go around spreading some "bad" theology.  Decisions had to be made regarding who was in and who was out. Unfortunately, this action of in-ing and out-ing never stopped.  It still happens, it is still ridiculous, and it still sucks. So, to be at a place where I'm supposed to be learning how to be an instrument for unity, a place where we're all like "rah-rah we're all one body", and be confronted with a history of heresy was to say the least, frustrating.

Fast forward back to today and me being pissed off...again.  I have been reading "Take This Bread" by Sara Miles.  Miles converted to Christianity in a unique way.  She is Episcopalian, founded several food pantries in the San Francisco area, and is a proficient swearer.  Thus, I loved her book. Anyway, as Miles was not a cradle Episcopalian, and did not attend a traditional church that followed a formal liturgy, she never said the creeds.  Not the Nicene, not the Apostle's, she did not say them, nor does she.  Reading about the experiences of Sara Miles was liberating.  Someone else out there did not say the creeds because they found them divisive.  During worship over the past six months when it came to the place in the liturgy where the congregation recites the creeds together, I have either not been able to breathe, or I have said them through gritted teeth and tears in my eyes.  People may want to argue for the communal aspect of saying the creeds, but one cannot deny that these statements which some see as beautiful statements about what the church, catholic, believes about our Lord and Savior are codifications. They represent rules that have become fetishized rituals that often serve to separate more than they unite.  So, while I'm not entirely sure how this will play out with an ordination board I do not think I will be able to say the creeds.  There have to be other people for whom going through the motions because of tradition is not an option.  I don't think I'm the only one. There have to be more people like me out there.  I hope there are.

When "Feet' Just Mean Feet

So, I just finished my first year in seminary, and while that feels like a major accomplishment, I realize that 1) I am not even half way through this crazy endeavor; there are two more grueling years ahead of me, and b) I don't know anything. Really.  I mean, I learned lots of stuff.  Good stuff.  Stuff that might help me in bar trivia, or in a Bible verse search competition, but the really hard stuff? Nope. There was no "hard stuff you will be asked by your parishioners" class, and Candler School of Theology is definitely not like Hogwart's.  I did not get a wand and spell book to help me make problems like injustice, poverty, war, or prejudice disappear.

So, when I told my friend Alisha that I wanted to guest blog in her what I learned in seminary series I was excited for...about 5 minutes. Then I was like well, what the hell did I learn in seminary because it sure as hell wasn't how to give easy answers? 

 If I can say one thing for sure it is that faith is full of ambiguity, and because of that ambiguity, because I know for sure that I do not, and never will, have all of the answers, God will have to work through my weaknesses.  A few years back, I remember hearing a commencement address delivered to graduating seminarians at Iliff School of Theology by Nadia Bolz Weber, an ELCA pastor in Denver, and a total bad ass.  In addressing the anticipation by the graduates of being let loose on the Church, and their questions about whether or not they were ready to face all of the challenges that entering ministry was sure to bring, the answer was "of course you're not ready".  Bolz Weber reminded those seminarians of what the seminarians I know, as well as a few, ahem, practicing clergy need to hear: play to your weaknesses. When we play to our strengths we get cocky.  We think we know the answers and this is where things go terribly wrong.  So while this may seem to some a huge waste in tuition money, it's what I got.

Well. Wait.  I did get a few more things out of the year.  They are listed below.  Some of them may make sense.  Some of them I'm still trying to make sense of myself.  For your reading pleasure, I present "Other Seminary Stuff That I Learned":

• Don't think meat.  You'll only hurt the ball club.
• The mere mention of Real Madrid can unite a room full of refugees from all over the world.
• Academics make shit up, and you can, too.
• Being in seminary and starting the ordination process is akin to a ticking, biological clock.  
• Don't be like Elihu (from the book of Job). That guy is a jerk.
• If you don't like the denominations out there, start your own.
• Gluten free wafers are bigger than you think and will stick to the roof of your mouth.
• References to feet, sometimes really just mean feet.
• Christianity cannot be lived in a vacuum, and neither can seminary.  You need community.

Peace.