Faith Must Convict Us

I was reading two articles this morning that seemed to have nothing to do with one another-- both were given to me by spiritual giants in my life, so I thought I had better read them.

This article from the Chronicle was about The Rev. Donald Guest, the new and controversial Senior Pastor at Glide memorial in SF. According to the article, some members of this very famous church, often famous themselves, find the new pastor to be angry and racially divisive. They think he talks too much about racism against blacks. Apparently, some wealthy whites in the congregation are getting upset. I could critique the article's bias towards identity politics, but that's not my point. I heard Guest preach on MLK weekend, and I thought it was the best summary of what it means to be a Christian I have ever heard, and it was some very fine preaching energized by a righteous anger.

Second, I read an essay by Marilynne Robinson (author of the novel Gilead) called "Hallowed be your Name" reprinted in Harpers. She explains that during the Great Religious Awakenings in American history, the force of religion was to convict the believer. She writes: "Anyone who has read Edward's 'Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God' knows that when he preached about damnation, he was preaching to the choir. That is, he did not encourage his flock to believe in their own special sanctity..." Robinson contrasts this with what others have called the third Great Awakening taking place in America now, which often looks outward at 'secular culture' for the source of the world's problems, rather than first (or at least also) looking at the mite in their own eyes.

Sometimes people tell me they think being a Christian is mostly about being a good person, and believing in Jesus is kind of secondary. OK, I can see the logic in this. But the significance of Jesus' life is to show us that WE DON'T KNOW HOW TO BE GOOD. We know how to be bad, and think it's good. We know how to imagine God thinks like we do, and therefore, that God dislikes our enemies. Thats how crucifixion, in all its forms, happens. Those of us who go to church are more vulnerable to that kind of thinking and its resulting violence.

If preaching doesn't challenge us to see the truth about ourselves, we are in big trouble. It sad to think that some progressives in SF might have been singing and praying at radical Glide for 20 or 30 years, and are not open to seeing their complicity in the city's (and the world's) problems. Rev. Guest said in the article "White people are used to calling things on their own terms. That's the problem when people become wealthy and powerful and successful." The journalist calls those "strong words," and goes on to name all the wealthy white folks on the board. I guess they are strong words, but they are also the Gospel, which means that even though it hurts us to see their truth, those words are the Good News.

Why we suffer and how God is powerful

An interview with Bart Ehrman on Fresh Air today is about the theological implication of human suffering. It got me thinking about a recent email conversation where a parishioner asked me how I make sense of the existence of natural disasters and disease in my faith life. This is what I wrote to him:

While suffering caused by nature is different than evil perpetuated by people, it's all about the classical theological question: is God all powerful, or all good? Because logically God couldn't be both. I don't think this is a paradox to be lived with in the name of "theological mystery" like the human/divine nature of Jesus is-- it matters too much to our ability to trust in God. I simply don't believe God is all powerful in the traditional sense. I don't believe God controls things like natural disasters or individual fates. Nor do I believe that God allows evil, in the letting-Satan-test-Job sense. I believe about God's power what is described in the New Zealand Prayer book's translation of the Lord's Prayer: God is the one that reigns in the power that is love.

That is the kind of power God has. God's power is the power to invite each one of us, in each moment, into personal transformation and into actions that transform the world into God's kingdom. In this view, prayer is the cultivation of a mindfulness that allows us to see that invitation and to take it-- to be transformed and transforming-- Christ's hands in the world-- the human-power behind God's power of love. I suppose that means in the kingdom of God, there will still be tsunamis, but not lynchings. Shit still happens, but how we react is different. I have evolved this way of thinking by reading process theologian like Marjorie Suchocki. Her book In God's Presence: Theological Reflections on Prayer is truly inspiring.

Lent is a good time to meditate on this theme, because the cross is a symbol of the kind of power God has: the power not to prevent suffering, but the power of life and love that ultimately defeats death.

photo by .eti

Jesus and Family Systems

The Girl from Mozambique and my Lenten discipline of reading the scripture lessons appointed for each day have inspired me to blog again. I'll do my best-- Let's see if I can keep it up!?!

We just began a book group for parents at Epiphany. We started off with a book that has challenged us all: Connecting With Our Children : Guiding Principles for Parents in a Troubled World by Roberta Gilbert. It’s challenging because it’s not that fun-- it’s rather abstract. The book is about family systems theory. How parents can best manage their anxiety (which includes all negative emotions). According to this theory, the goal is to create a space for children to grow up without being negatively impacted by the parents’ emotional needs—and therefore grow up into the person God made them to be. It is necessary for parents to look at their own anxiety, family of origin, and what might be unresolved in the past--because those relationships unwittingly affect us in the present. Family systems theory does not suggest that if only parents are perfect, doing everything right and providing all the best opportunities, then children will be their best. Instead, it says if parents focus on setting healthy boundaries for themselves with their children, neither doing too much or too little, the child can blossom.

To me the insight of family systems theory is profoundly theological. The anxiety Gilbert talks about is deeply connected to what Christians have called original sin—it’s the state we live in as a result of human violence and abuse, and we pass it on to our children, unless we can find a way out. Jesus shows us the way out. And I started to understand that better because of something I read this morning by Rowan Williams (Archbishop of Canterbury). It’s the forward to James Alison’s book Knowing Jesus. In that book, Alison describes that we know Jesus as the resurrected one, who has transcended the human system of repetitive violence—whether it is emotional or physical—and comes back as the one that forgives and loves gratuitously.

“We can collaborate in the relations that the resurrection sets in motion, relations of forgiveness, equality and care. And if we recognize our habitual bondage to reactive relations, passing on or returning the wounds we have received, and [instead] feel in our lives the solid reality or relationships that transcend this, then we know Jesus.”

I love the photo here (by Nelson Minar)-- it's a picture of our resurrection. The Angel blowing her horn to get us all out of our graves on the last day. What a great discipline for Lent, to engage in the kind of self-examination that will truly free us and prepare us for an Easter resurrection!