Monthly Archives: August 2008

Rule of Life Resource

Whilst poking around websites of churches in my new area (with some helpful pointers from Brian M…) I came across this very nice write-up an a rule of life from an Anglican perspective.

I say “from an Anglican perspective” because it properly begins with the rhythms of Mass and Office shaped around classical prayerbook spirituality, then proceeds from there.

M and I have been talking for a while about a family rule; I’ve been thinking more and more about a personal rule that fits inside of the former. (Actually–that’s one of our key findings so far—a family rule needs to have the openness to embrace different personal rules within it.)

We’ve both been hitting the gym a lot more since our move (more on that later) and I was confronted quite sharply yesterday. I set the treadmill for 35 minutes and about halfway through said to myself, “you know, I’ll just do 30 today…” To be completely honest the change wasn’t because I was hurting, it wasn’t because I couldn’t or shouldn’t do—it was because it was hard and I didn’t want to do. Then it hit me: I’m a physical fitness sarabaite! (I figure that since we’ve joined the Y I no longer fall under “gyrovague”…)

I need a rule and perhaps a session with a decent trainer to help me get it set up—and with the electronic tracking system I know that the trainer can log on at anytime and check my fidelity…

As with my physical fitness, so with my spiritual fitness…

A rule, a spiritual director: both good things—and a new start in a new place is the best possible time to get it going.

On Guitars in Worship

This is a response to David E in his comment on the last post. I started a comment but it got out of hand, so here it is in an expanded form.

Read here on the St Louis Jesuits. As the first adopters of vernacular music in a vernacular idiom for Roman Catholic worship, the music of the St Louis Jesuits holds an appeal (and a disdain) for some not based on its musical or theological properties. For what it’s worth, I think the musical and theological qualities of much of this repertoire is rather limited. However, it is of immense symbolic importance, especially for Roman or Rome-leaning people (like some progressive Anglo-Catholics) of a certain age (read: Baby-Boomers) who were coming of age in the Vatican II years and its aftermath. That is, their attachment to the music is due to what it represents–the American Catholic Church getting to do things its way , a new generation literally getting its voice heard and overturning old ways of doing things. Now that a new “new generation” is rising, certain elements are in classic back-lash mode and despise SLJ music for precisely the reasons their parents loved it. I’ll admit to having one foot in this camp.

To avoid dwelling in knee-jerk generational generalizations, I’d rather cut to what I see as the real reason why this is a fight and/or why a fight exists–and should exist.

It’s not really about guitars and folk songs or not-guitars and not-folk songs, rather what lies at the center of the argument (as I see it) is competing notions of immanence and transcendence and their place in divine worship. Should church music sound like secular music? Why or why not? Speaking personally, I like guitars quite a lot whether it is in classic country or the virtuosity of Van Halen, Hendrix, Gibbons, Morelli or others.  But that doesn’t mean I want to hear that style of music in church. (I mentioned this briefly in my critique of a U2charist we attended a while back.) I generally don’t like American Folk Revival music  from the 60’s and 70’s anyway; I especially don’t want to hear that style in church.

For me, it’s too immanent; I crave something more transcendent. Some have argued that people can generally be grouped as Platonists or Aristotelians. That is, they either have a sense of reality as something “out there” or of reality as something “really here” intimately bound up with daily mundanities. I intuit that the same is true of spirituality. Some find their connection with God as the God who is immanent and bound up in the holiness of quotidian mundane life. Others find that connection in the God of the transcendent who is “out there” and Other and speaks a word of challenge against what we think is our mundane life.

Both sorts can learn from each other; both sorts need to learn from each other. But a basic orientation one way or the other will still endure.

I’m the second kind. I’m a Platonist by natural inclination. I find God “out there” and in the transcendent and in the different and in the things that shocking me out of my business-as-usual way of living and, through those experiences, can find God and the Hoy in the mundane and the everyday in the ways that I can identify God shocking and surprising me towards transcendence.

As a result, I want my worship to be transcendentally oriented. I want it to help me get in connection with the God “out there” so that I can learn the feel, the touch, the taste of the Other and transcendent God in order that I might recognize that same God in my daily eating, breathing, and moving. Chant is to the ear what incense is to the nose what stained glass and icons are to the eye: culturally conditioned signs of the transcendent but—cutting through the culturally-based significance—vehicles that truly assist me to touch the face of God.

That’s why I don’t want guitars in my service.

And that’s why I understand that other people want them—and need them.

The other side is that I sang for a couple of years in seminary in a Catholic Mass choir that did Marty Haugen’s Mass of Creation with a guitar front-center. (i know; most rad-trads hate Haugen—I don’t. I think its better than a lot of the alternatives [especially Metho-Baptists worship settings ones I’ve experienced].) I’ve served and preached at folk services. I’ve even led with guitar in hand a Taize-style service with guitar and recorder.

Yes, there can be a place for the guitar. Yes, it can be done well, reverently, worshipfully.

But it’s not my taste. And when I’m choosing a congregation where I worship—especially given the recognition that as the spouse of a priest or if I become a priest myself I will not have any choice in the matter—I will choose a service without guitars.

Shout-out to bls for the spelling corrections… ;-)

Church Hunting

Looking for a new church home here has been…an experience. We’ve look at three churches over the past three Sundays. The first two were standard middle-of-the-road broad church parishes. The bonus was that we knew folks at both and our friends preached both weeks, giving good, strong, biblically and theologically grounded sermons. It’s just–the liturgy wasn’t quite what we prefer. Nothing *wrong* with it, it just didn’t fit with who we are.

So last Sunday we explored the self-proclaimed Anglo-Catholic parish in the area.

Oh my.

My first sign that we might be in for a time was when I spotted a guitar on a stand next to the priest’s seat. I was afraid it would get picked up and utilized in a kitschy St. Louis Jesuits type number during the offertory or communion.

It didn’t.

No—it got used during the sermon.

And the congregation was made to sing along as the priest strummed a southern gospel song. And the sermon was best described as “here are some things I thought were interesting that I encountered last week”. While a few of them weren’t bad not only did they not cohere—this went on for over a half hour…

It went down-hill from there.

Confession and other bits from Rite III. Uninformed liturgical cherry-picking of liturgical gestures during the Eucharist. The feared St Louis Jesuit numbers during the communing of the faithful. Etc.

There was earnest discussion in the car on the way home of attending at the convent…

Given child-care and children’s education concerns, though, we’ll probably head to one of the broad church parishes for now.

Denuo…

The Anglican Scotist put forward some thoughts on how Anglicans can share the wealth of Marian reflection with our protestant brethren. It has occasioned some thoughtful reflections from Christopher as well as a few dribbles from me. In his latest round, the Scotist takes issue with my comments, arranging them under three headings. I shall deal with these in turn.

I.
The Scotist takes issue with my deployment of the early history of devotion to the BVM. He argues that the origins of devotional practice need not have a major bearing on the shape of doctrines concerning the same person, especially as they develop over time. I would agree with the Scotist in principle. I do think, though, that had a doctrine this major been held by the universal church, it would have left its mark in the history of devotion—and that’s where I’m lacking the evidence.

I prefer to take what I consider a Vincentian view of the development of doctrine that is, there is a fundamental body of truth handed over at the time of the apostles. As time as progressed, as errors have emerged, as problems have arisen, we have elaborated on truths already contained within that fundamental body. To use the metaphor, we have added detail and flesh to the body—not an extra arm or leg.

The reason I point to the early devotion to the BVM is that I see “co-redemptrix” as a fairly major step. Is it indeed contained within the original body of truth in nascent form? Since I do not find it in the fist-millennium forms with which I am familiar, I do regard it with suspicion. Show me the evidence, Scotist, that this was held by the undivided Church, and I’ll be happy to consider it more deeply.

I’ll happily hold to the high view of Mary contained in, say, Bede’s Homily I.3 on the Annunciation. He indeed affirms that the BVM dwelt in a special state with regard to sin when he writes:

“The power of the Most High overshadowed the blessed mother of God because when the Holy Spirit filled her heart, he tempered for her every surge of fleshly concupiscence, he thoroughly cleansed her from temporal desires, and with heavenly gifts he sanctified her mind along with her body.”

However, I just as surely agree with him when a few lines later he states:

“Indeed, we human beings are all conceived in iniquity and born in moral faults; however by God’s granting it, as many of us are preordained to eternal life as are reborn out of water and the Holy Spirit. In truth, our Redeemer alone, who deigned to become incarnate for us, was thereupon born holy because he was conceived without iniquity. He was born the Son of God since he was conceived of a virgin through the working of the Holy Spirit.”

While holding the BVM in special esteem and regarding her as cleansed by sin—as we all are in Baptism when the Holy Spirit is bestowed on us, and it taking root in her perhaps more firmly and fully than in me—he denies the doctrine (currently held by the Romans as dogma) of the Immaculate Conception of the BVM that holds her guiltless of any taint of original sin.

II.
The Scotist takes notice of something that I pointed to in my comments—the exegetical and theological connection between Mary and the Church. He sees nothing wrong with this connection and thinks that it bolsters his point. I don’t see anything wrong with the connection either—but it behooves him to tread quite a bit more careful when and where he does not see implications that he does not intend. The Roman Catholic Church takes this connection quite seriously. Indeed, the current edition of the catechism contains a subtitle: “Mary—Eschatological Icon of the Church” (preceding Para. 972). To what degree do the characteristics of the icon pertain to its object? What is resemblance and what reality? To put a finer point on it, the Second Vatican Council initially planned to produce a statement on the BVM. Indeed–it did so, but not as a separate statement. Rather, it was rolled into Lumen Gentium, the statement on the nature of the Church and its relationship with other “ecclesial bodies”. Do you think, then, that dogmas concerning Mary can be considered atomistically apart from their wider implications? What light, for instance, does the dogma of the Immaculate Conception throw upon the dogma of an infallible Church? I don’t know myself—I’m still working through it—but this is another reason for my calls for caution.

III.
The Scotist then attempts to answer my main issue. And does not. He does describe well the differences between Abraham and Mary—and I don’t disagree. He produces a nice reflection on seeing with the heart of Mary–again, I don’t disagree. But what he has produced here is a fine show of devotion—and does not support thereby why Anglicans should embrace Marian dogma. Because that’s the real sticking point.

Therefore, I’ll try to be more clear in this response than in the pat and lay out specifically my objection to his initial post, an objection still unanswered.

IV.
I’ll begin with a rough and ready definition: a doctrine is a belief that we hold about the faith; a dogma is a doctrine that we must hold about the faith. The Roman Catechism is more specific, defining it as “[truths], in a form obliging the Christian people to an irrevocable adherence of faith,…contained in divine Revelation or when it proposes, in a definitive way, truths having a necessary connection with these.” (para. 88).  Therefore, dogmas are absolute and binding in a way that the more general term doctrine does not require. I am willing to identify and entertain the doctrines of the Immaculate Conception and the Assumption of the BVM; I reject them as dogma. That is, they do not have the same character as the dogmatic doctrines of the Incarnation, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection—or the identification of the BVM as Theotokos, the God-bearer.

The Scotist, in his original post, pushes for Anglo-Catholic reception and promulgation of the Roman doctrine-which-some-push-as-dogma of the BVM as “Co-Redemptrix”. As several of the quotes he provides make clear (especially that of JPII), this doctrine itself builds on the two prior Marian  “dogmas”, most especially the Immaculate Conception. I contend that while these are interesting doctrines worthy of consideration, they are not true dogmas, they need not be held for one to hold the full faith of Christ Crucified—and neither is this newcomer. This is the bar the Scotist has set for himself with his own words. Perhaps he intends that we examine the doctrine—which I tend to regard as popular devotion gone awry—but this is not what he has said.

Contra Scotistam I

So much to do, so little time… I’m slowly working through a large backlog of things that have to get done, things I want to do now, things I may want to do in the future, and things that ought to be commented on. And yes, I’m delinquent on correspondence too—for those of you waiting on emails from me: they’re coming…

Part of the backlog involves dealing with some things that the Anglican Scotist has posted recently that I couldn’t get to due to the move(s). I’ll take the easiest first—Marian dogmas.

I treat this first because, to my mind, it’s the easiest to dispense with, and long-time readers probably already know where I’m going to go with it…

To my mind, the Scotist has once again confused devotion with doctrine. That is, yes, classically the English and Anglicans have held a high opinion of the Ever-blessed Virgin Mary and I see that as a good thing. However, why that would make us beholden to post-Scholastic doctrines with questionable roots in the Scriptures and in the tradition of the Undivided Church is beyond me. In contrast to his Scholastic/Post-Scholastic approach, I propose something much simpler and, well, a bit more early medieval…(big surprise there…)

As I’ve discussed before, Christian devotion to the saints is fundamentally about relationships and was originally modeled on social structures of Late Antiquity. (For those interested, I’m drawing on Peter Brown’s The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity. [Anastasia—what’s your take on this one?]) That is, patronage was what made the system work—getting things done, receiving justice, etc. was intimately related to who you knew in the hierarchy. Following the standard cross-cultural notion that things are above as below, “patron” saints were literally just that: folks you knew or had a special “in” with who would put in a good word to the King on your behalf. And, as we move more through Late Antiquity and enter the Early Medieval period, kings’ courts because notoriously dangerous places due to factional politics. A powerful man at court was constantly in danger of becoming too powerful; kings had to watch their backs against potential usurpers. As a result, even knowing somebody well placed was not always enough to guarantee your safety. However—there was one person at court who was safe, who would always be on the king’s side and have his ear (yes, we’re talking Latin not Byzantine here…): the king’s mother! Again, as below, so above… The Blessed Virgin Mary, as the Mother of the King, is always a good choice for an intercessor.

Thus, early devotion to the BVM as I see it was not fundamentally about doctrine. Yes, there certainly was doctrine about the BVM, but as Christopher notes, it was in relation to Christology.

The other important thing to note is something that the Scotist touches on briefly and, I think, without a full understanding of the inner workings of Marian devotion. Exegetically and then theologically, patristic and medieval sources understand Mary as the pre-eminent figure of the Church in Scripture. Mary represents the Church/Mary is the Church. I’ll give you a quick medieval exegetical for instance—look at medieval commentaries on the Song of Songs: One speaker is Christ, the other is, at turns, Mary , the Church, and the soul. There’s a fusion here that the SoS commentary tradition helped make insoluble. This fundamental connection has to understood to make full sense of Mary in the contemporary Roman Church. Without this connection, the logic seems less clear and more mysterious.

The bottom line for me is this: Yes, Anglicans should honor Mary, giving her the veneration she is due. And, as is proper with veneration distinct from worship, all veneration of the created objects in the history of our redemption (the cross, the saints, etc.) ultimately point to the Uncreated, the classical Marian text being her words to the servants (read: us) at the wedding of Cana: “Do whatever he tell you” (John 2:2). She is the God-bearer. She is the perfect exemplar of those who wish God to grow within them—we hope spiritually for what she experienced physically. She is the exemplar of the contemplative spirit in the active life who “kept all these things, pondering them in her heart” (Luke 2:19) and whose soul was pierced by the sword (Luke 2:35), and yet lived in the world as a wife and mother. Too, she who was the bride of God is a symbol of the Church and participates in that mystery that we live under and fumble towards.

But does this mean we must embrace modern Roman dogmas in her regard, especially the contentious issue of “co-redemptrix”? I think not. Yes, our salvation comes through her as she bore the Christ and shared with him her humanity, but redemption proper is a function of the Uncreated Godhead. If she were to be “co-redemptrix” for her role, by extension the patriarchs must also become “co-redeemers” for their role in the unfolding of salvation according to both the flesh and the spirit. (And you won’t see the Roman church pushing for that anytime soon…) So, devotion to Mary? By all means. Scholastic dogmas of Mary? Unnecessary, I think. Illicit? No, I don’t think that either—but not required.

On the Natures of Christ

This post started as a comment and ballooned out of control… Anglicat is a conservative comrade who keeps us updated on Anglican doings in the Land of a Thousand Lakes (um yah yah!) and posted an exchange questioning the theology contained in a sermon by her bishop. Specifically, the question was whether his sermon on last Sunday’s text (the Canaanite woman) betrayed Arian tendencies.

While the bishop may be guilty of Christological errors (I’ve not seen the sermon) there’s not enough here to convict. Chalcedon says it’s a both/and, not an either/or. See–here’s the problem… Orthodoxy walks the line between Arianism and Docetism: the first, of, course being the notion that Jesus is a creation (perhaps the first, perhaps the best, but created none the less). The second is the notion that Jesus was, in fact so God that he only seemed (Grk: dokeo) human.

In my experience liberals will, consciously or not, not tend towards the first while conservatives often tend toward the second. One of the key problems with Docetism is that it leads to what Luther calls a Theology of Glory that fundamentally misses a Theology of the Cross (I’m thinking Heidelberg Disputation, nicht war?).

Whenever we get creeped out by an overly human Jesus—a Jesus who sweated, got stinky, took craps, etc.—we should fear that we’re wandering towards docetic territory.

I completely affirm Jesus’s full divinity. And I affirm his full humanity received through his ever-blessed mother. And that’s why I’m not ready to pounce on the bishop yet. If, as Holy Scripture affirms, Christ emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, did he access the divine foreknowledge within his divine nature or did he take the Incarnation seriously enough to truly set that aside in order to actually experience life as one of us? What I suggest in no way diminishes or compromises his nature, but instead explores the depths of his humility.

Speaking from where I sit (completely human), I don’t have foreknowledge. I don’t know how things will work out. I live in anxieties and hopes and consider these to be a fundamental part of what makes us humans human. I live in a body flawed by a fallen nature and hemmed by limitations of the flesh. The first is sin and is a defect caused by man’s disobedience; the second is not–it’s a by-product of created reality. The Incarnate Christ was without sin–but by its very definition Incarnation means accepting limitations. That is, created matter forces me to be localized in time and space. I sit in my basement; I can’t at the same time be standing outside because my physical body simply doesn’t allow it. (A resurrected body is an entirely different matter and is way outside the scope of this post…) So, what limitations came with the Incarnation as a consequence of taking on human flesh? Did Jesus choose to access the full knowledge of God proper to his divine nature or did he accept the limits of his senses and experience in line with the limitations of his human nature?

Where the rubber hits the road is the cross. Did Jesus know with complete certainty that God would raise him on the third day or does he provide us with the greatest example of faith—trust that God would fulfill his righteous promise? I as a frail human cling to the hope that Christ was acting in true faith, true hope, true love, and not as an actor who already has the full script and knows with certainty how it all comes out. A Jesus who knows with certainty that all he must endure is a day or so of pain, some rest, then the return to glorious splendor seems more docetic and less human to me than a man who—through trusting completely in God—faced torture and execution for what was good, true, and holy without certain knowledge of his exaltation.

All that is a long way to say this: Chalcedon gives us a Jesus who is completely human and completely divine. What did Jesus (fore)know and when did he know it? I don’t think Scripture tells us. My rule of thumb is that if the Scriptures, Creeds, and Councils don’t tell us, then we may acceptably hold positions that remain within those bounds, suitably guided by the writings of the Fathers. In that regard, I don’t personally have a problem with a “racist Jesus”. Indeed, I think I might even prefer a racist Jesus because the episode would once again reiterate the humility of our Master: a man sent from God (to use Johannine language–not denying his divinity…) who is willing to engage, listen to, and learn from an unclean foreign woman.

Anglican Gifts

When talk of ecumenism has come around, I’ve suggested that the Church’s fall into denominationalism is perhaps not as bad as it seems; the different traditions have preserved different aspects of the Gospel. I’ve mentioned before that while the Lutherans maintain justification by grace, the Presbyterians uphold the sovereignty of God, we Anglicans retain the proper pairing of w(h)ine and cheese (and let’s not forget the fudge…).

However, there’s a very nice piece up at the New Liturgical Movement on one of the genuine gifts of the Anglican tradition–effective, reverent worship in the English vernacular. Although, we’d best be careful about our heritage… The Byrd compositions featured at the NLM are wonderful–but how often do we Anglicans here them? When was the last time you heard a good Solemn Evensong at your parish? We have great traditions, and riches in them to share with the rest of the Christian world; let’s not leave them rotting at the back of our cupboard.

Random Political/Economic Note

If my guess is good, expect to see a bit more about Peak Oil in the news media–especially in reporting that ultimately comes from European sources.

Whether they believe in the Peak Oil concept or not, in the aftermath of their Georgian adventure it is in Russia’s best interest to publicize it as much as they can in Europe. That is, with functional control of the GTC pipeline and being the largest Eurasian oil producer, they will want Europe to get the idea that if the continent wants oil in the future it will be coming through them…

Feast of the BVM

Happy Feast of the BVM to all!

M reminded the girls that today is the feast of Mary and Lil’ G replied “Great! Let’s celebrate! I know, we could have a pot roast…”

[In our house Fridays are generally vegetarian pizza nights; pot roasts signal Sunday dinner.]

I’m back in Mary’s Land from the second clean-up trip but chaos reigns–and will for the next few weeks probably as we settle in and get used to new schedules. I probably won’t be online too much in the near future.

Lambeth

I haven’t said much about it. Partly because I’ve been moving, but partly because it’s not really my place to say it.

Here’s the word I’ve been waiting for.

Bottom line is this: All of our debates have been about homosexuality. There seems to be this belief from the conservative side that “gays run the church”. It really doesn’t work like that. Instead, the church is run by aging baby-boomers who came-of-age in the time of civil rights and either marched or now regret not doing so. Spurred by activists they are eager to be on the right side now but in their eagerness have failed to do what they themselves purport to recommend: listening.

They are not listening well to their people, gay or straight.

I know bishops aren’t representatives; their jobs are not to represent a constituency—but their jobs are to be shepherds of souls.

They would do well to heed Christopher’s advice. Stop talking about issues; start talking to people.