A thought and a question

As a result of posting a link to "God's Kingdom, a place of unimaginable hospitality" on Facebook, a bit of a friendly dialogue ensued. The fruit of this exchange for me was realizing, yet again, that a fairly large number of those Christians who are accusatory towards people who engage in homosexual activity themselves engage in unnatural sex, which is what employing contraception as well as engaging in certain other activities basically amount to. This sounds harsh, but let's speak the truth in love among ourselves before we set about correcting everyone else, especially when it involves attempting to apply a double standard, to live an outright contradiction, which is the antithesis of truth and so in nowise loving; something about splinters and beams comes to mind (see Matt 7:3-5).

I am not among those who insist, like the disgraced disciple of creation spiritualist Matthew Fox, the former leader of Sheffield's Nine o' Clock Service, the de-frocked Church of England vicar, Chris Brain, who, though married, was having relations with some 40 women from his congregation (shades of Smith, Koresh, et al), that we must discover "a postmodern definition of sexuality in the church" (I use this example not to be obscure, but because it's something I have been reading about this past week). One of the beautiful dimensions of so-called post-modernism is that everything old is new again. I have no problem suggesting that Christians might benefit tremendously from re-discovering the pre-scholastic understanding of our humanity, familiarizing ourselves with pre-Thomistic theological anthropology, which extends to matters of human sexuality (reaching back before scholasticism is one reason for my on-going interest in St. Bernard and Luther).

I am always struck by this passage from Archbishop Rowan Williams' 1989 essay The Body's Grace (which essay I critiqued here several years back): "in a church which accepts the legitimacy of contraception, the absolute condemnation of same-sex relations of intimacy must rely either on an abstract fundamentalist deployment of a number of very ambiguous texts, or on a problematic and non-scriptural theory about natural complementarity, applied narrowly and crudely to physical differentiation without regard to psychological structures."

Painting by Pelagio Palagi (1775-1860)

While I stand by my 2010 critique, I think Williams' insight bears keeping in mind, at least as a check on our propensity to be exclusively ideological, that is, fearful about such matters. As many commentators who are better informed than I am have observed, the unraveling of conjugal marriage began a long time ago, certainly before 2013, with Christians being quite complicit in the unraveling.

To make all of this a bit less abstract, When is the last time you heard of a married teacher or administrator being fired from a Catholic school for using contraception (let's not even discuss married clergy in this regard), or being divorced and remarried without first having their previous marriage declared null? I wonder, does this constitute a double standard, one that violates what the Catechism teaches, namely that "Every sign of unjust discrimination" towards people who are homosexual "should be avoided"? (par. 2358)

God's kingdom, a place of unimaginable hospitality

Since the topic of judging the wounded came up in the lyrics of Casting Crowns' "Jesus Friend of Sinners," I read something yesterday that is worth passing along and perhaps commenting on a bit. It is a blog post by Dr. Mike Wittmer, who teaches theology at Grand Rapids Theological Seminary in Grand Rapids, Michigan, entitled "compelling conversion." The subject of his post is Rosaria Butterfield's memoir of her improbable conversion, The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert.

As Dr. Wittmer notes, "For those who may not know, Butterfield was a tenured professor in the English and Women’s Studies department at Syracuse University, and an influential lesbian." His post is not a review of her book, but consists of several take-aways, not about "evangelism," or anything like that, but just about being disciples of Jesus and what that means for how we relate to people.

I don't want to paraphrase, or simply re-post Wittmer's piece, which I urge you to read in toto, and so I'll simply grab what he wrote that struck me because it resonates so much with my own experience, both personal and pastoral, with friends, even family, as well as those who have sought my prayer and counsel, namely the second of the three things he greatly appreciated about Rosaria's story:

The homosexual community often excels at hospitality in a way that puts some churches to shame. The gays and lesbians in her world supported each other and supplied a safe environment for each other. Reading her story reminded me that homosexuals are real, and often kind people, who want many of the same things that I want out of life. We disagree about the most important thing in life—who is Jesus?—but we will make more progress in reaching them, and be enriched ourselves, if we start with the values and concerns that we share in common

While I don't believe that it is true that all people who are homosexual, even ones who are actively so, see Jesus differently than I do, I would agree and even go further by saying their hospitality puts almost every church to shame.

There's one other point, which comes towards the end of Dr. Wittmer's third take-away, that bears repeating: "A subtext of the book was how even the ardent homosexuals in her world realized they were 'queer.' The attraction for many, the reason they remained gay, was because that was the one community that loved them. There is a lesson here for us. I know that after reading this book, I am convicted to lead, maintain, and end all of my relationships with love."

This banner beckons me as much, probably more, than those not like me

I also want to draw attention to a speech given by Justin Welby, who has the unenviable task of following Rowan Williams as Archbishop of Canterbury, to his fellow Evangelicals in England recently (let's not forget that Archbishop Welby bravely opposed the recently passed Same-sex Marriage Act, giving an eloquent defense of the bedrock importance of marriage to society and the overall welfare of individual people in Great Britain's House of Lords back in June). In his speech to the Evangelical Alliance, Archbishop Welby insisted quite strongly that Christians need to repent for the way we have treated people who are homosexual, for, to turn back to Casting Crowns, not only judging, but throwing rocks at them. I can't imagine how frightening it must be for men and women who are homosexual to decide to approach a church, almost any church.

Please put away your Jump to Conclusions mat and don't misconstrue what I am trying to articulate here. This not a case of trying to turn wrong into right, it is precisely the opposite: acknowledging our own sin and not excusing our own wrong-doing by saying we are acting in the service of truth. Just speaking the rock bottom truth does not in and of itself satisfy the exacting, selfless demands of love. In fact, sometimes even our well-intentioned efforts eviscerate love. This is articulated well in "Jesus Friend of Sinners"- "the world is on its way to you, but it's tripping over me."

It seems to me that the question we have to ask ourselves is, Do we trust that God is at work in peoples' lives, in our lives, in the Church, and in the world, or do we see society held together as the result of our own strenuous efforts? In other words, are we scared to embrace people who are homosexual because we see each and everyone one of them, not as a person beloved of God, for whom Christ died, but as an existential threat to our way of life? I would just encourage us not to mistake what is provisional for what is ultimate and to remind everyone that, at least according to the teaching of Jesus, the Kingdom of God, at least when judged by worldly standards, is a wild and zany place, one might even say a bit upside down. Because I am weak, forgetful, as well as full of pride, I never tire of reminding myself that following Jesus is not an ideological commitment.

As Jesus taught and, moreover, demonstrated, "No one is good but God alone" (Mark 10:18).

"You love every lost cause"

I really can't think of a better traditio for this final Friday in August than Casting Crowns' "Jesus Friend of Sinners." Of course, the first Psalm of the Church's Morning Prayer on Friday mornings is the Miserere mei, or, Psalm 51, which begins:

Have mercy on me, God, in accord with your merciful love;
in your abundant compassion blot out my transgressions.

Thoroughly wash away my guilt;
and from my sin cleanse me.

For I know my transgressions;
my sin is always before me.

Against you, you alone have I sinned;
I have done what is evil in your eyes
So that you are just in your word,
and without reproach in your judgment...

Let the memory of Your mercy bring Your people to their knees/Nobody knows what we're for only what we're against when we judge the wounded/What if we put down our signs crossed over the lines and loved like You did

As Jesus taught and, moreover, demonstrated, "No one is good but God alone" (Mark 10:18).

Morality, moralism, and missing the mark

I tire of those who think theology, especially their theology, or their preferred theology, trumps Sacred Scripture. Any "theology" that is clearly at odds with Sacred Scripture is not a theology.

Take this, for example: "For if we go on sinning deliberately after receiving the knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins, but a fearful expectation of judgment, and a fury of fire that will consume the adversaries" (Heb. 10:26-27- ESV). The words "sinning" and "sins" in these verses are translations the Greek word hamartia, which means "to miss the mark." After coming to faith in Christ, we can't go on missing the mark!

Yes, this verse has a context, as does every other verse in the Bible. The specific sin being referred to by the sacred author, who is a Jewish Christian writing to other Jewish Christians, is that of apostasy, specifically turning from Christ back to observing the Law as a means of salvation. In other words, not just missing the mark, but aiming at another target and still hoping to score a bullseye!

Can't this be applied to other situations and circumstances as well, to us today? If not, then what use is Scripture, why read it, let alone study it? If it only applies directly to those to whom it was originally addressed, then what makes Scripture different from other writings, in what way are they "God-breathed," as we read in 2 Timothy 3:16?

A blow-up from Luco Signorelli's fresco, Deeds of the Antichrist, ca. 1501

How we live and why we live the way we do matters. Why is that so difficult for so many to grasp? Why do people imagine that a "gospel" that seeks to reduce the significance of our lives, to rob us of our humanity, holds any appeal? Without presuming to know who, or how many, might ultimately be saved or condemned (only God knows), I have to ask, Why does the temptation to the heresy of universalism remain so prevalent? What, or who, will move us from being fleshly people to spiritual people, or does it even matter whether we continue living fleshly lives after we have come to faith in Christ? Is sanctification a myth, or, is what Chesterton asserted in What's Wrong with the World accurate, "The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and left untried?" Have we completely lost sight of the old and honorable seeking to cooperate with what God, by means of His grace, is doing by our lives?

Beyond that, is every moral exhortation an exercise in being "moralistic?" If so, then we find moralism in Scripture, even falling from the lips of Jesus Himself. Can it be that there should be no shoulds, no "thou shalts" and no "thou shan'ts?" Of course, our reason for obeying is a response of faith, one that flows forth out of love and gratitude.

How about the good old Catholic both/and? What we do matters and why we do what we do matters. Is it possible to live this way, in the manner of a Christian, which, among other things, means to live humbly acknowledging our sins and failings and experiencing God's goodness and mercy while trying to act justly and mercifully towards others, not as a way to gain God's favor, or earn our salvation, but in gratitude for what God has done, and keeps doing for us in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit?

The fearful prospect of judgment disappears through repentance. Repentance, derived as it is from the Greek word metanoia, works brilliantly in this context, as it means to turn around.

God as good Father

In today's readings we are faced with Jesus saying yet more difficult things. Foremost among these is Jesus' insistence that not everyone who claims to believe in Him will enter the Kingdom. He says that some who strive to enter the narrow gate will not be strong enough to do so. What does He mean? What can He mean? Are we expected to enter into God's Kingdom by our own strength, our own effort? If so, we can't be left with much confidence because we know ourselves. We know our own hearts.

I think our reading from Hebrews provides us with a key to unlock what Jesus is telling us. If we do not "disdain the discipline of the Lord," but see what comes our way in life, the stuff of life, experience, as the means we use to achieve the end of accomplishing what we are (presumably) hoping for, namely everlasting life in the God's Kingdom, then we become strong in the way the Lord indicates, strong enough to enter through the narrow gate. One way of stating this is that we conquer through submission.

When discussing these things I believe it is important to bring up the issue of causality. In the normal ebb and flow of life, God is not the immediate cause of what happens to us. In other words, when bad things happen it is not God testing us, or chastising us for some wrong we've done. Seeing things that way, at least to my mind, is the hallmark of an immature faith and can easily lead the person who holds such a view to take a superstitious approach in her/his relationship with God, constantly trying to appease God, who loves you more than you can imagine, which love is made manifest in the sacrifice of His only begotten Son, whose sacrifice appeased whatever wrath we had coming our way (see John 3:16-18 and Romans 5:1-8).

I think a more accurate way of viewing this is to understand that the all-powerful God of the universe, while not actively causing bad things to happen to us, certainly allows such things to happen. Yes, God could intervene and stop anything, to change the course of any and all events in the world. I believe sometimes, according to His will and purpose (I avoided the word "pleasure" on purpose because in this context it makes God sound arbitrary), He does. I believe in miracles because I've witnessed a few things that I believe were miracles.

I like that the sacred author of the Letter to the Hebrews makes the analogy between God and a human father. I would be a terrible father if, especially as my children grew older, I constantly intervened to shield them from the consequences of their actions, or even from those things in life that happen to them unexpectedly and not as a consequence of a decision they made. But I would also be a bad father if I abandoned them completely in such circumstances. Hence, our trials, our struggles, our failures, our disappointments are opportunities, not only for us to see clearly our great need, but to acknowledge our need and to experience for ourselves how near the Lord is to us, how compassionate He is, how He meets our need. Let's not forget that, at root, the word "compassion" means to suffer with another.

In our Gospel reading from several weeks back, teaching about our need to be persistent in prayer, Jesus said, "If you then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the Father in heaven give the holy Spirit to those who ask him?" (Luke 11:13). Let's not forget, the Holy Spirit is the mode of Jesus' resurrection presence in us and among us. In other words, the Holy Spirit is the way the Lord is present to us now.

It's Sunday, let's eat the bread for our journey, keeping in mind that the word "companion" is derived from a the compound Latin word com + panis= "with bread." So, the source of our companionship is our partaking the Eucharist together.

"There's a city in my mind"

Our traditio for this Friday is Jars of Clay covering the Talking Heads' "Road to Nowhere":

And it's very far away/But it's growing day by day

Memorial of Saint Bernard, Abbot and Doctor of the Church

Today the Church celebrates the liturgical memorial of the great Doctor of the Church, St. Bernard of Clairvaux. The abbot Bernard was the first Cistercian to be canonized. Being just about finished with Franz Posset's book about Bernard's influence on Martin Luther, the Church's observance of St. Bernard's memorial this year means quite a lot to me. He was born in 1090 and died in 1153 and raised to the altar in 1174, a little over 20 years after his death, by Pope Alexander III.

Bernard lived most of his life in the twelfth century. Because it is easy in the internet age to find biographical information on St. Bernard, I will just note that what Martin Luther admired about him was his non-scholastic theology, which was rooted in biblical exposition. Most of all Luther admired Bernard unabashed preaching that salvation comes by grace through faith in Jesus Christ. Almost four hundred years before Luther's heyday, the so-called Mellifluous (i.e., "Honey-tongued) Doctor was preaching and teaching a form of sola gratia/sola fidei.

The question arises that if we are saved by grace alone through faith alone and if faith, along with hope and love, being a theological virtue, is a free gift that God bestows on whomever He chooses, then what part, if any, do we play? The first thing to note about this, which distinguished Catholics and probably most Lutherans from Calvinists, is that God does not force His grace on anyone. While it is important not to reduce faith to mere belief, the free decision to believe, to initially respond to God's grace is certainly the beginning of faith. St. Paul's conversion, as recorded in Acts 9, gives us good insight into how faith is a response to God's initiative, which we call grace.

Christ embracing St. Bernard, by Francisco Ribalta

After seeing the flash of a bright light, which caused him to fall on the ground, and hearing the voice of Jesus asking Saul why he was persecuting Him by persecuting His Body, the Church, the Risen Lord immediately tells Saul, "Now get up and go into the city and you will be told what you must do" (Acts 9:6). As Saul and those who accompanied him understood it, "the city" is Damascus, where he was headed to continue his zealous persecution of Jewish Christians. We learn that those who were traveling with Saul heard the voice, but did not see anyone. Heeding the voice, they took Saul "by the hand" and "brought him to Damascus" (Acts 9:7-8). What we take away from this is that Saul, as well as those with him, heard the voice of the Lord and obeyed. Were they not all, including Saul, free to return to Jerusalem? I think this is a great beginning to understanding faith as our response to God's initiative towards us, even though we are forced to acknowledge that God, in His wisdom, most often uses subtler means.

What is saved, according to St. Bernard, is free choice: "Take away free choice and there is nothing to be saved. Take away grace and there is no means of saving.... God is the author of salvation, the free choice is merely capable of receiving it: None but God can give it, nothing but free choice receive it" (Liber de gratia et libero arbitrio "Book of grace and free will"). St. Bernard continued, "For to consent is to be saved. Where you have consent, there also is the will. But where the will is, there is freedom. And this is what I understand by the term 'free choice.'"

While there is certainly more to unpack here, especially within the context of Bernard's own theology, I find this convergence promising, a fertile field for the cultivation of Christian unity.