Category Archives: Theology

The Costs of Communion

One of the Fathers asked Abba John the Dwarf, ‘What is a monk?’ He said, ‘He is toil. The monk toils at all he does. That is what a monk is.’

Then Jesus said to all, “If any would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake, he will save it.” (Luke 9:23-24; compare Matthew 16:24-28 and Mark 8:34-9:1)

“He who loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and he who loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and he who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for my sake will find it.” (Matthew 10:37-39; compare Luke 14:26-27)

I must draw your attention to two things. First, the comments by BSnyder at the end of this thread are very much worth reading. BSnyder taps into something important and muchly overlooked it seems to me. Receiving the Eucharist isn’t just about whether or not a visitor’s feelings get hurt which seems to be one of the major lenses for this conversation; rather it’s about binding yourself to the life of God which may have dramatic and even negative consequences for your health and well-being. Of the first thirteen who partook of the first Lord’s Supper in that Jerusalem upper room, tradition informs us that only one died of old age. The others, without exception, suffered a violent death for their expression of faith.

There are consequences to this faith.

Second, Christopher has written a very engaging post on this topic which again addresses the broader implications and, like BSnyder’s comments, connects reception of the sacrament to the realities of our existence and our spiritual travails:

Can CWOB at its best be practice of assurance in the same way as Baptism done? What does it mean to nibble at the edges and never take the plunge? Or to eat frequently and be drawn into a leap of trust? Can I fall back on Communion in the same way I can always fall back on Baptism when the Tempter whispers lies that I am other than God’s in Christ? To my mind, CWOB precisely because of the nature of Holy Communion to be ongoing may imply rather the very thing the likes of Maurice and Ramsey after found troubling in certain positions on Baptism, that somehow we can fall out of God’s irrevocable adoption. The singular nature of Baptism, on the other hand. In darkest night, I do not cry out, “I am communed.” I rebuke, “I am baptized.”

God’s give-away of grace, I trust will not be spurned by those who receive Communion and never come back. I need not protect God’s grace, but I do need to take care that others understand that grace and its power and implications for their lives. God’s works through God’s means. While CWOB implies a high Presence of Christ in Communion, does it properly warn of God’s wrestling grace?

Read and ponder as you consider CWOB and what it means for us.

CWOB and Jesus

You know that state where a pond is almost frozen and all it takes is a single snowflake to start the thermal reaction that freezes the whole thing over? I’m getting the sense that at least the chatterers of the Episcopal Church (myself among them) are at that point concerning Communion without Baptism. Following discussion here and some off-line conversations with Donald Schell, Donald posted a piece at the Cafe that’s getting some major and sustained attention.

There’s no doubt in my mind that this topic may well be our next biggest theological battlefield. And it will be a big one as our Eucharistic practice has major implications for our liturgical practice and our sacramental theology as a whole.

There’s one particular piece of the puzzle that jumps out at me because of my own weird angle on things… There’s a direct line from the principal arguments for Communion without Baptism that rest on the work of Norm Perrin. For those who aren’t familiar with Norm, he’s a New Testament scholar who stands in a very interesting place historically. The drive-by version is that the First Quest for the Historical Jesus was closed off by the one-two punch of Wrede’s work on the messianic secret and Schweitzer’s Quest for the Historical Jesus—so, in the first decade of the twentieth century. Then there was a vestigial Second Quest in the mid-twentieth century that’s connected with Bultmann’s Christian encounter with Existentialism and is most specifically exemplified in Bornkamm’s Jesus Christ. Right after that point came Perrin. In one sense he’s a transitional figure between the Second and the Third Quest. I tend to see him more as the father figure of the Third Quest.

I see three significant points on Perrin and CWOB. Point one. Perrin was self-consciously undertaking historical work. I’ve mentioned this before in other discussions but it’s important enough to be worth repeating: a major facet of the case for CWOB is that it attempts to base itself on the practices of the historical Jesus. Thus, this opens two immediate lines of investigation. First, it means that the theology and practice are based in a historical reconstruction. This assumes and presumes that the reconstruction is correct. Second, what is the alternative to the historical Jesus? It’s the canonical Jesus… By using the selective focus of a 20th century reconstruction of what the historical Jesus did, what aspects of the canonical Jesus are being left out or deliberately ignored?

Point Two. The points from Perrin seem to rest on the reconstruction of a particular kind of “Jesus meal”—the meals that Jesus ate with “sinners and tax collectors.” There are, however, at least four kinds of meal material that need to be considered from the Gospels alone: yes, the “meals with tax collectors and sinners”, but then there’s also the Last Supper, the feeding miracles, and the discussions about meals. All four of these need to be engaged. Of course, when we do that then I suspect we cut immediately to one of the big issues with most “historical” Jesus reconstructions—the automatic jettisoning of Johannine material. Returning to the canonical Jesus and discussions of meals means that John 6 is back on the table…

Point Three. As Father John-Julian reminded me a while back, evidence from earliest Christian (including some questionable Christian) literature suggests that the fundamental paradigm for the Eucharist was the feeding miracles—not the meals with outcasts. What happens when we inject this factor into the conversation?

So—I think that the biblical and theological root of the current case for CWOB bears some much closer investigation. What’s worth remembering, though, is that most people—even those taking part in the debate—-fundamentally don’t care about the biblical and theological roots. Instead they fall for the simplistic framing of CWOB being about “inclusion” or “justice”. Which it’s not. This canard reflects a self-perpetuating failure of sacramental catechesis. As a result, any form of reasoned discussion around the issue must be two-pronged. Always attend to the first point first: “inclusion” and “justice” really isn’t the issue here—we’re willing to baptize just about anyone! Only after disposing of that can you move to the real theology…

Congratulations to the Scotist

It seems one main reason for the Scotist’s latest absence from the blogs—was baptized on Sunday. Many congratulations to him and his family!

Two little ones truly are a lot of work but, as he notes, blessed work.

I’ve also observed the behavior he notes. That is, many Christians in our tradition and in others do take the Eucharist very seriously. Quite often Roman Catholics and even some protestants will not come to an Episcopal altar for the Eucharist even when it is clearly offered to all baptized Christians. The key here is that we make an invitation; we can not, do not, and should not force any one to accept it. It may be politely declined. In my experience, some Christians from other denominations will not even come forward for a blessing even when that option is presented lest there be any confusion.

We’re currently working on getting a ward of the Confraternity of the Blessed Sacrament up and running at our parish, so I was pondering a bit over the weekend the purpose of the Confraternity in a church were weekly or more frequent communion is now the norm. To my mind, the purpose is a conscious and thoughtful investigation and experience of the theology of the Eucharist. In Eucharistic Devotion, we explore the many implications for the Real Presence of Christ in our midst and what that presence means for us as a community gathered in and as that Body. It’s in light of the links between the Eucharist and ecclesiology that grounds the decision of many to not approach strange altars even where the invitation is genuinely made.

The Scotist, CWOB, and the Eschaton

The Scotist has re-emerged (presumably following the end of the semester…) with some posts, notably one circling back to a previous post on Communion Without Baptism (CWOB). Here he mentions some and engages other issues that I’ve taken with his position but, in effect, states that his argument still stands. So—here are a few thoughts back at him.

I’ll start with his earlier post first.

Regarding section I

Citing some words by Christopher he begins by questioning the necessity of Baptism:

Someone might say, quite correctly it seems to me,

it is by the Font that we are visibly, explicitly, personally made and recognized as members of Christ’s Body,

and that truth concerns what God has ordained; being part of Christ’s body requires being baptized with water. But God is also quite free to include whomever he pleases in the Church without using Baptism as a means. To deny this would be to deny that God could have done otherwise than institute the sacrament of Baptism as a condition for membership in the Church; to accept this is to admit God may operate by his absolute power to attain ends by means apart from those he has revealed to us as means. I am not sure God is obliged to divulge all his means to us.

I would agree with the Scotist that God is not constrained by Baptism—he may bestow his grace upon those as he wills through whatever means he wishes. But the Scotist makes two errors here. First, he has elided the operation of two different channels: there are ordinary channels of grace that God has instituted in the Scriptures and in the life of the Church, then there are the extraordinary channels which God is free to use as he wills.

The ordinary channels are most clearly presented to us in the Great Commission: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, to the close of the age” (Matt 28:19-20). We have been given a mandate to use the channels of Baptism as the means by which individuals are joined to the Church and given grace and the Holy Spirit. To recognize that extraordinary channels exist in no ways denies or invalidates the ordinary channels which the Scotist seems to be suggesting.

Rather, the question should be framed thusly: when it appears that God’s extraordinary grace has led someone to the confession of Christ and to the door of the church and perhaps even to the altar apart from Baptism, should the ordinary means be used or dispensed with? My response, of course, is that the ordinary means (which are the clearest and most express revelation on the matter) are to be followed.

The second error, it seems to me, is that the Scotist speaks rather blithely about the gift of God’s grace incorporating a person into the Church. And here we’ve got a problem. It’s one thing to say that God has acted upon a person to move them or even sanctify them apart from the usual means of grace; it is another to refer to inclusion into the Church. The reception of grace and inclusion into the Church are two different things. For one, the Church is, among other things, a visible institution having a specific incarnate existence where individuals gather locally to express the eschatological and sacramental reality of the Body of Christ. The confusion of these two things opens the door for much confusion later.

Regarding section III

The Scotist fears that we have lost the art of hospitality—and here I agree with him. In fact, I believe that it’s because of this loss that the whole topic of hospitality is so often abused in this discussion. Classical expressions of hospitality, to which the Scotist nods in his mention of Priam’s visit to Achilles and the three visitors coming to Abram and Sarai, were structured around the recognition of reciprocal roles. Being a host was a duty with concrete obligations and expectations. But this was no less true for the guest. Yes, we operate in a debased society with an atrophied sense of hospitality but we still retain a notion of this. It’s one thing for me to invite a stranger or a distant acquaintance into my house. If they proceed, then, to leave the room into which I had invited them so that they could wander upstairs into my bedroom and  paw through my dresser drawers, I would be justifiable annoyed. Such a guest would have breached even our vague understanding of the role of the guest.

In a church building and within a liturgy, the priest stands in the role of the steward. He or she acts on behalf of the master of the household and has been entrusted with maintaining good order. Guests may enter and have absolutely no sense of their role as guests. At this point it is the role of the priest to clarify the rules of hospitality. This is best done under the following form: “We invite all baptised Christians to the altar to receive if that is your desire. If you have not been baptized or if you do not wish to receive, you are still welcome to come to the altar; please cross your arms across your chest and I will give you a blessing. If you are interested in receiving baptism or hearing more about it, please speak to one of us on the way out…” In communicating these norms, the priest has discharged the steward’s duty. At this point the obligations of hospitality fall upon the guest. The guest must then decide whether to abide by the hospitality offered by steward or whether to disregard them.

The Scotist writes:

It is rather that there is something wrong with a host who will not take care of the guests, and who will not see that they have what they need. In the case of the unbaptized, we know what they need–Jesus–and we can offer him in the sacrament of the Altar.

The problem here is one of presumption. Yes, the unbaptized guest does need Jesus. But how should the guest be introduced to Jesus? Do we presume to violate our ordinary means and to rush a guest into an act for which they may neither be ready for or desire or do we inform the guest that such things as ordinary means even exist? In the Scotist’s presumption, the guest—apparently—is not informed or given a choice; those who have put themselves in the position of the host have forced their decision upon the guest in the guise of hospitality. Rules are broken at the expense of the guest whether that is the guest’s desire or not.

Regarding section IV

The Scotist’s initial formulation makes no sense:

[A1] (1) If CWOB is forbidden, God is not omnipotent.
(2) God is omnipotent.
Thus, (3) CWOB is permitted.

There is absolutely no connection between the two clauses in A1(1). The Scotist hopes to plug this brigade-sized hole with a number of syllogisms. Here’s the first:

[A2] (1) Suppose CWOB is forbidden.
(2) If CWOB is forbidden, then God cannot save all human beings.
(3) If God is omnipotent, then God can save all human beings.
Thus, (4) God is not omnipotent.

Again—logic fail in step 2. No connection has been made between salvation and reception of the Eucharist. We are then given a third attempt to plug what seems to be a widening rather than closing hole:

[A3] (1) If God can save all humans beings, we are obligated to hope that God does save all human beings.
(2) If we are obligated to hope that God does save all human beings, then CWOB is permitted.
(3) Suppose CWOB is forbidden.
Thus, (4) God cannot save all human beings.

Logic fail from A2(2) is merely continued here. No connection has been made between salvation and reception of the Eucharist. But the hole continues to get wider due to the curious relationship between A3(2-4). Again, there is no direction connection made between the two clauses in A3(2). Yes, I hope that God will save all beings. However, my hope has no clear bearing on the Church’s Eucharistic practice. 3 and 4 remain fundamentally unproven and there is no logical connection drawn between them; they are simply a reversal of the still unconnected A3(2).

Here’s the next attempt to breach what was a gap and is now in danger of becoming a yawning chasm:

[A4](1)If the church is permitted to hope that all humans are saved, then it is permitted to act on the hope that all humans are saved.
(2)The church is permitted to hope that all humans are saved.
Thus, (3) the church is permitted to act on the hope that all humans are saved.

The two clauses in A4(1) do not cohere. Hope of a future situation does not necessarily grant permission to act a certain way now. My future hope is that the lion will lay down with the lamb. If I put my lamb next to a lion now, the lion will receive a tasty dinner and I’ll be out one lamb. Hoping that all will be saved in the future does not give me the right to act as if they are now. And, furthermore, we continue to compound the initial logic fail: No connection has been made between salvation and reception of the Eucharist.

Eucharist and the Eschaton

At this point, I’m going to make a preemptive move. If I recall correctly, the Scotist in posts prior to these had pinned his universalist hopes upon an interpretation of Isa 25:6-9. This passage from what’s known as Isaiah’s Apocalypse gives a beautiful image of communion with God, a literal feasting with the Lord. However, the argument that the Scotist attempts to derive from it is, according to my understanding, exegetically untenable. The chief problem is that Scotist has been deceived by his English-language Bible.

Here’s Isa 25:6 from the NRSV: “Isaiah 25:6  On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.” It’s easy enough to read here “all people” rather than “all peoples” and to read a universalism of sorts into it. To do so is to mistake the meaning of the text. The word rendered “peoples” by the NRSV really is a plural collective noun that refers to multiple national, linguistic, ethnic, or cultural groupings of people all coming together; it does not mean all individuals. The Hebrew word is ‘am and is accurately rendered in the Septuagint as ethneis and the Vulgate as populis. “Nations” might be a less easily mistaken English synonym but contains a governmental notion that the Hebrew word lacks.

We further note that Isaiah’s text is figural, not literal, and as such is subject to the rules for figural interpretation. Augustine laid down the principles in De Doct Chr 3.10-29 that nothing is taught in figures which is not taught plainly elsewhere in Scripture. This image participates in the broader Zion theology taught in Deutero-Isaiah and most specifically in the passage that we use in Morning Prayer as the Third Song of Isaiah (Surge Illuminare) from Isaiah 60. The New Testament picks this up in a host of ways, most specifically in Rev 20-1 where the image of the Bride of the Lamb, the holy Jerusalem, i.e., the Church uses the very language of Isa 60 at the beginning of chapter 21. Too, Matt 8 presents a clear teaching deriving from it when Jesus speaks to the crowds concerning the centurion:

Matthew 8:10-12  When Jesus heard him, he marveled, and said to those who followed him, “Truly, I say to you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.  11 I tell you, many will come from east and west and sit at table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven,  12 while the sons of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness; there men will weep and gnash their teeth.”

Acts and Paul interpret the Isaiah texts to mean that God’s plan of salvation extends to the Gentiles. They too may be baptized and be incorporated in the Church where they will dine with the Lord and the patriarchs. So, using Isa 25:6-10 to argue for CWOB looks to me like a non-starter.

In short, Scotist, you still have quite a bit of work to do to make a compelling case. The biggest is to create a credible connection between reception of the Eucharist and salvation which you assume and elide but never demonstrate. As you formulate such an argument, please remember to keep in mind a special group: those people who the Church has always recognized as partakers of the Church and of the Church’s salvation who never received the Church’s baptism—the martyred catechumens. The Church teaches that while they never received the Church’s rites, nevertheless they still died as Christians through the Baptism of Blood—and they never received the Eucharist, thus making it harder to argue that the Eucharist, rather than Baptism, is the sacrament of salvation…

Thoughts towards Infallibility and the Church

Ok—I’ve been intending to tackle this one for a while and, rightly, I do so with trepidation… My trepidation is all the greater because this cannot be a full post but must only be suggestions towards a full-on thought. (Time is quite lacking at the moment–if I shoot for the full-on thing it won’t get posted until sometime next year…)

I agree with YF and others that the fundamental difference between the Roman Catholic and Orthodox Churches over and against the others is the issue of infallibility.That’s truly what separates me as an Anglo-Catholic from Rome. I do not and, at this present time, can not accept the doctrine of infallibility as laid out in The Catechism of the Catholic Church (2nd ed.).

I’ll also note that there are a number of philosophical subtleties floating around this whole topic and, as a biblical scholar, I’m not real big on the philosophical subtleties. I’m a neo-Stoic pragmatist; some of the subtleties I’m sure I’ll miss—others I’ll simply dismiss as being overly subtle. This relates back to some things I wrote earlier and what I write here builds on these bits: On Theology and Personality and A Bit on Sin. The main points I want to drag up from these posts are as follows—from the first, I have a moderate-to-low need for theological certainty and have a decent tolerance for ambiguity. My personality doesn’t require infallibility, and saying that neither the Church nor the Scriptures are infallible doesn’t cast me into a faith crisis of any sort. From the second, one of the important manifestations of sin is the human capacity and instinct for self-deception.

As I said above, this isn’t going to be a fully worked-out post. Instead, I’d like to offer three directions that indicate the directions my thought is moving in. Perhaps later I’ll have the leisure to link them up.

I.

Ecclesiology and the Hypostatic Union

The hypostatic union is the Chalcedonian position that we’ve all heard and are wise enough now not to try and understand fully. That is, it’s the doctrine that Christ is simultaneously human and divine. The two natures exist within him simultaneously; there’s no mingling of the the natures but nor can the natures be separated. As I understand this, it means—among other things—that we can’t sort through the words and deeds recorded in the Gospels and try to sort out which actions, words, or thoughts were “human” and which “divine.”

There’s a certain mystery factor here that will have to endure that is related to our inability to wrap our heads and words around our own being, let alone God’s being.

Now—the Incarnation is about the conjunction of these natures: the Word taking flesh. Theologically there are three other loci where I believe that something similar is happening. That is, in the Holy Scriptures, the Word becomes joined to human language and words as a means of God’s self-revelation. Similarly in the Holy Eucharist, Christ becomes joined to the physical elements of bread and wine as a means of God’s self-revelation and a means of grace. Finally, in the Holy Church, Christ incorporates us into his mystical body which becomes a single organism, a living church built of living stones to use the imagery of Paul, Peter, and John.

So—if the hypostatic union is held of the Incarnation (which it is) does it, can it, to what degree can we posit or perceive it within these other three incarnational entities?

(That’s an open question, by the way, not just a rhetorical one…)

I can’t answer this right now. But here’s an interesting place where I seer this particular thought experiment moving… I wonder if one way to characterize or to examine positions related to infallibility and the nature of the Church is not to utilize the language and understandings of Chalcedon. That is, when I look at YF’s position, I find it docetic; it relies too heavily on the divine character of the church to the diminishment and exclusion of the human nature at work within it. By the same token, I’d guess that he sees mine as being too Arian—recognizing the created, limited, and fallen aspects of the Church and tending too little to the divinity of Christ shared within the Church and within which it participates.

Thus, this is a big-picture point that gives us a theological entre into the topic.

II.

Apprehension of the Good

Ok, this will get into the philosophical weeds and I have no doubt I’ll say some howlers which will be pointed out by our resident philosophy-types.

I’ll start with two sections from the Roman Catechism:

2030 It is in the Church, in communion with all the baptized, that the Christian fulfills his vocation. From the Church he receives the Word of God containing the teachings of “the law of Christ.” From the Church he receives the grace of the sacraments that sustains him on the “way.” From the Church he learns the example of holiness and recognizes its model and source in the all-holy Virgin Mary; he discerns it in the authentic witness of those who live it; he discovers it in the spiritual tradition and long history of the saints who have gone before him and whom the liturgy celebrates in the rhythms of the sanctoral cycle.

2031 The moral life is spiritual worship. We “present [our] bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God,” within the Body of Christ that we form and in communion with the offering of his Eucharist. In the liturgy and the celebration of the sacraments, prayer and teaching are conjoined with the grace of Christ to enlighten and nourish Christian activity. As does the whole of the Christian life, the moral life finds its source and summit in the Eucharistic sacrifice.

I agree with these.

My only quibble is with the first section when it draws too narrowly the model and source of the example of holiness. While I have argued something similar of the Blessed Virgin, Christ himself must not be excluded and ought to be specifically named as well.

These two sections do not touch on the issue of infallibility. The next few will move towards it. Proceeding…

2032 The Church, the “pillar and bulwark of the truth,” “has received this solemn command of Christ from the apostles to announce the saving truth.” “To the Church belongs the right always and everywhere to announce moral principles, including those pertaining to the social order, and to make judgments on any human affairs to the extent that they are required by the fundamental rights of the human person or the salvation of souls.”

I don’t even have an issue with this based on its literal meaning. I agree entirely with the first sentence—one of the central purposes of the Church is the announcement of the saving truth: the loving action of God preeminently at work in the birth, life, death,resurrection, and ascension of Christ and our call to share in his divine life. The second is true as well—the church has the right to make announcement on moral issues—but this does not ensure that the church is always right.

Proceeding…

2033 The Magisterium of the Pastors of the Church in moral matters is ordinarily exercised in catechesis and preaching, with the help of the works of theologians and spiritual authors. Thus from generation to generation, under the aegis and vigilance of the pastors, the “deposit” of Christian moral teaching has been handed on, a deposit composed of a characteristic body of rules, commandments, and virtues proceeding from faith in Christ and animated by charity. Alongside the Creed and the Our Father, the basis for this catechesis has traditionally been the Decalogue which sets out the principles of moral life valid for all men.

I don’t see anything that I must disagree with here, unless it be an assumption that the “deposit” is of a fixed nature. I would, however, order the list differently; I see it as a characterstic body of virtues, commandments, and rules proceeding from faith in Christ and animated by charity. In my counter-formulation, the list is book-ended by the virtues which take preeminence over rules and commandments. (More on this anon.)

Proceeding…

2034 The Roman Pontiff and the bishops are “authentic teachers, that is, teachers endowed with the authority of Christ, who preach the faith to the people entrusted to them, the faith to be believed and put into practice.” The ordinary and universal Magisterium of the Pope and the bishops in communion with him teach the faithful the truth to believe, the charity to practice, the beatitude to hope for.

2035 The supreme degree of participation in the authority of Christ is ensured by the charism of infallibility. This infallibility extends as far as does the deposit of divine Revelation; it also extends to all those elements of doctrine, including morals, without which the saving truths of the faith cannot be preserved, explained, or observed.

Ok—now we’ve got issues and it’s precisely with the notion of the bishops holding the authority of Christ and infallibility as an aspect of that authority. First, I’m unclear where this appears in Scripture—and I’m sure there’s a long and persistently argued set of devices and ploys used to argue these points in Catholic/Protestant apologetics so I won’t even broach that topic. Rather, I’d like to move from a different angle.

I have trouble with the term “infallible” when it’s applied either to Scripture or teachings. I assume that it means, that the Scripture or teaching is unable to fail in its purpose. But that’s clearly not the case. The intent of Scripture is to form mature disciples of Christ. Yet reading the Bible does not produce this result. The teaching of the Church is intended to, well, do the same thing. And yet it does not. Therefore “infallible” must refer to something much narrower than what it first appears to me.

The way I’ve generally heard it described is “infallible” means that the teaching is absolutely correct and is guaranteed to be true. Its truth is preserved by supernatural means. And yet when we talk about the teaching of moral truths, teaching happens in two main mutually reinforcing ways: through words and deeds. Anyone who knows their history can point out often very graphic instances where each of the main bodies of Christendom—my own included—have dramatically failed to teach the truth on its most basic level and have betrayed the Gospel we were entrusted to proclaim.  Our collective actions have most certainly not been supernaturally preserved from error.

The infallibility of the church’s teaching, therefore, must be further circumscribed. It cannot extended to the teaching that comes through action and example and must be an intellectual category only. But what kind of intellectual category is it? When it comes to the moral life in particular, are we able to apprehend the good purely in and through an intellectual state or must we participate within right action to apprehend it and its nature?

I think we could care this line of thought further but I’ll stop here. I do believe that there have been saintly bishops who have lived, apprehended, and taught the truth as found in Jesus Christ far better than I ever will. There are likely popes among that number as well. And yet, the argument for supernatural preservation of certain circumscribed parts of intellectual truth as I understand it fails to move me. Perhaps it’s because I don’t understand it rightly; perhaps it’s because I don’t regard that piece as essential for my faith. There’s probably a decent counter-argument to the moral issue that I raise that takes a line along freedom of the will and a reticence on the part of the supernatural agent against coersion—perhaps that road can be taken at a later date…

III.

On the Provisional Teaching of the Church

“There was at that time a meeting in Scetis about a brother who had sinned. The Fathers spoke, but Abba Pior kept silence. Later, he got up and went out; he took a sack, filled it with sand and carried it on his shoulder. He put a little sand also into a small bag which he carried in front of him. When the Fathers asked him what this meant he said, ‘In this sack which contains much sand are my sins which are many; I have put them behind me so as not to be troubled about them and so as not to weep; and see here are the little sins of my brother which are in front of me and I spend my time judging them. This is not right, I ought rather to carry my sins in front of me and concern myself with them, begging God to forgive me for them.’ The Fathers stood up and said, ‘Truly, this is the way of salvation.’ (Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 199-200)

In the field notes from the first great laboratory of Christian spirituality—the Egyptian and Palestinian deserts—I’m constantly amazed at how much discussion is given to not judging the sins of others. Abba Pior indicates the reason for this counsel. It’s not because what others do doesn’t effect us—it does. Rather, the issue is that judging others provides an opportunity to leave our own sins aside, to put off our own amendment of life, and to focus on the shortcomings of others.

In the main, I think that the Church’s moral teaching is mostly right. I don’t argue against infallibility because I’m an antinomian or lapse into situation ethics or because I think there should be no standards at all. There must be standards and I think the historic teaching of the church has done the best job of consistently safeguarding the central teaching required by the Gospel of Christ. I’m just not persuaded that its retention or continued teaching is infallible. From my years of concentrated study of the Scriptures, the Fathers, and the teachers of the Church, I do believe that our truest guide lies in virtue as exemplified by the character of God as revealed in Scripture and in the sacramental life of the Church. Virtue and character are, admittedly, a little fuzzier than rules and commandments. There’s more to debate and there exist in the borders between virtue and vice strips—even swathes—of grey area. And, as one who does not believe in infallibility, that’s the price I have to pay.

I don’t believe that the teaching of the Church is supernaturally preserved from error. I do believe, though, that we are supernaturally aided and that the church has been supernaturally graced in those who have taught its teachings in both word and works. None of us have been—or will be—perfect and therefore our teaching will necessarily fall short. We as individuals and as a organization composed of flawed individuals will fail to proclaim in word and example the good news of God in Christ. And yet we do believe and confess that the Holy Spirit will never abandon the Church, will not leave us orphans. The Spirit and the Bride say “Come” and we will stumble towards that voice. As long as the Church remains faithful to that calling, we will not lose our way entirely. We may even walk a more direct path as time goes on. But our knowledge of that path and our apprehension of that path will always be provisional rather than infallible. Given our capacity for and our track record of self-deception we should start worrying the most when we believe ourselves to be most right. But our constant goal is the mind, the character, and the virtue of Christ. Thus, we once more join in asking for the inspiration that, as the book says: “we may think those things that are right, and by thy merciful guiding may perform the same; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

Monastic Theologies of the Trinity

I’m feverishly working away in my spare hours on a presentation for Ka’zoo. I’ll regrettably not be able to attend, but a comrade has graciously agreed to read the piece in my place. I’m writing on Ælfric’s supplemental homily XIa which I argue is a composition designed to summarize the core of the Christian message by explicating the Trinity using a life of Christ constructed through the liturgical year. Ælfric doesn’t go speculative (much), but rather chooses to go liturgical. It’s quite an interesting text and I’ve used it when I’ve taught both preaching and the Church Year.

It’s in light of this context that I was greatly amused to read the following from Br. Stephen:

And, if you were checking in today for religious insight, here’s an explanation of the Trinity given to me on last night’s walk at recreation, which perfectly encapsulates the healthy disinterest that monks generally have in systematic theology:

You have an old man with a beard, a young man with a beard, a dove, and a triangle that connects them. The Athanasian Creed explains the diagram. Go beyond that and you’ll probably get yourself into trouble.

He therefore that will be saved, let him thus think of the Trinity.

Pluralism, Christianity, and Separate Truths

There’s an article by Stephen Prothero at BU on the topic of religious pluralism that’s been making the rounds. This really is an important topic that we need to wrestle with especially as it relates to how societies negotiate pluralism and how open-minded Episcopalians comprehend and enact evangelism. I doubt much that I write here is new. Lee and others far more read in the topic than I will, I suspect, be able to trace what I write here to certain figures in the modern debate. I have no doubt many have been filtered to me by various teachers and texts. In any case…

In the main, I agree with what Prothero writes and the perspective that he takes. One of my early mentors who encouraged my academic investigations of Buddhism and Asian religion impressed upon me that if all religions are simply a path to the same thing that there was no reason for us to talk. That is and remains a fundamental principle of mine and is an important core around which to form an understand of pluralism as it exists in modern America.

Where Prothero doesn’t go is into the specifics of how Christians understand salvation and I think the specific nature of Christian salvation is what’s key. To say more, I have to back up a few steps, though.

Glancing over the comments at the Cafe, I think George Clifford makes a useful distinction (but I, no doubt, take it in some different directions from where he does). That is, human brains seem to be wired to expect and experience something beyond empirical materialism. There is an ultimate reality. I believe that we are biologically wired to experience glimpses of it and even to participate in it, but I do not believe that we have sufficient capacities to comprehended it in the fullness of what it is. In an effort to move towards comprehension, though, human societies use social constructs called religion.

Every human society that I know of has religion which, if we get reductionistic about it, tends to join notions of transcendence and experiences of the holy—those glimpses of ultimate reality. Within this group, I see two rough categories, one of which ties transcendence and holiness into ethics or some form of personal behavior which aligns humanity with transcendence and holiness, and those that do not. (Do note that under this means of describing things, a “secular humanist” does indeed fall into the first category; I do see that as a faith system even if it is a non-theistic or athiestic one.)

Furthermore, of the major ethically-connected religions, it seems to me that many of them describe ethical paths with remarkably similar outcomes. That is, the major faiths teach messages of compassion and love and avoiding unnecessary violence and exploitation. Framed another way, they encourage virtue and seek to restraint of vice in individuals and society. Framed broadly, this works. When we start looking at specifics like, oh say, sexual behavior, there may be sharp disagreements between different systems about what constitutes vice and virtue.

Within most religions, though, the ethical outcomes are the ancillary or secondary principles that derive from the primary principles which relate to deities or ultimate human purposes. Thus in Christianity, morality flows out of who we believe the Trinity to be. In Buddhism, morality flows out of an understanding of the human condition. I’m not at all using secondary to mean unimportant; rather I’m using it to designate the fact that there are other first principles from which these notion flow.

What complicates things is the principle of revelation. Most faith systems (whether theistic, nontheistic or atheistic) root their primary principles in the belief that there is a substantive shape/form/direction in/of ultimate reality that the reality itself has communicated or mediated to humanity in some way. In a less qualified means of expressing myself, [God/the gods/the universe itself] communicate(s) with us; our primary principles are rooted in this communication.

Interreligious dialogue is entirely necessary and proper—as regards secondary principles. We should talk with others to learn about the attainment of virtue, paths and practices that move us personally and as societies towards compassion, non-violence, and human flourishing. But we must be honest to ourselves and to our faith systems. Interreligious dialogue is genuine when first principles are not compromised.

Moving specifically to what Prothero writes, he approaches the question from a slightly different direction than I do. That is, he starts from the premise that religions agree that things are screwed up and that religions try to answer the question of how people and societies move to/don’t participate in the state of screwed-upness:

What the world’s religions share is not so much a finish line as a starting point. And where they begin is with this simple observation: Something is wrong with the world.

I think he oversimplifies this (and that’s likely related to his venue and audience rather than full-blown imprecision on his part); I think he’d agree that what he’s saying is that the world’s religions agree that the quotidian human engagement with the world is wrong. (That is, some think that there’s nothing wrong with the world, just with how humans engage it and act within it…)

I come from a different angle. I do prefer to start from the finish line: how do we connect to and participate in ultimate reality?

Prothero and I agree that Christians have a unique answer to this drawn from our first principles. He writes:

It might seem to be an admirable act of empathy to assert that Confucians and Buddhists can be saved. But this statement is confused to the core, since salvation is not something that either Confucians or Buddhists seek. Salvation is a Christian goal, and when Christians speak of it, they are speaking of being saved from sin. But Confucians and Buddhists do not believe in sin, so it makes no sense for them to try to be saved from it. And while Muslims and Jews do speak of sin of a sort, neither Islam nor Judaism describes salvation from sin as its aim. When a jailer asks the apostle Paul, “What must I do to be saved?” (Acts 16:30), he is asking not a generic human question but a specifically Christian one. So while it may seem to be an act of generosity to state that Confucians and Buddhists and Muslims and Jews can also be saved, this statement is actually an act of obfuscation.

The conventional expression of this is the belief that good people will “go to heaven” even if they’re not Christians.

The problem is that this conventional sense is a fundamental misconstrual of Christian salvation as taught by the Church. I’ve talked about this before in a Cafe article (one of my favorites, actually), a bit of which I’ll quote here:

Being a Christian isn’t about getting to heaven. Being a Christian is about participating in new life, in divine life, sharing in the very life of God. In baptism we have been—in my favorite phrase from Paul—“hid with Christ in God.”

This is both the point and the purpose of Christian salvation. It’s not about waiting around to go somewhere or existing in some state after we die; it’s about participating in the life of God both now and later. Life is the point. Opening our eyes to and taking hold of what God has done for us in creation, in incarnation, in the crucifixion and the resurrection—that’s the point. The purpose is no less clear. It’s to live that life and to share it, to help it expand to others.

It’s to live a life hid with God in Christ.

This post also attempts to encapsulate it in a concise statement. That’s how I understand how Christians comprehend ultimate reality: we are joined in the sacramental, mystical, and eschatological Body of Christ within which we participate in the life of God. When viewed from this perspective, is this something that a Buddhist desires? Or a Muslim? I can’t imagine they would…

Can I say without reservation that because of this Buddhists and Muslims cannot connect into ultimate reality? That’s harder.  This is the classic: do all religions “go to the same place”/”shoot for the same goal” question, I suppose. My sense is that most religions do have a sense that we need to engage ultimate reality but we all do a have a different sense of what this is and how we do it. Ultimately, I think our answers to this relate to how we understand the human capacity to grasp and comprehend ultimate reality. Expecting it and experiencing it are not the same as comprehending it.

My Christian first principles tell me that Jesus Christ is the Way, the Truth, and the Life and that none come to the Father but through him. Or, to use the language that I’ve been using up to this point, Jesus Christ (and therefore incorporation into his sacramental, mystical, and eschatological Body) is the only means for participating within ultimate reality. I’m also told that my incorporation comes wholly through God’s grace and that the channel of this grace is normatively expressed in the sacrament of Baptism. The Tradition of the Church admits exceptions to this rule; Aquinas’s discussion on the issue shows some open doors and many Christian thinkers far better and wiser than I have wrestled with the fate of those to whom the Gospel has not been proclaimed.

One answer is that a Buddhist or Muslim may encounter ultimate reality and that the agency is Jesus Christ whether the unbeliever knows it or not, recognizes it or not. Personally, I think this leads to a road that cannot be traversed with certainty due to our human inability to comprehend the scope and nature of ultimate reality. Because here I think we run into the problem of dividing and separating that which is authentic divine revelation from what is not. Buddhists, Muslims, disagree with my grasp of first principles because of their conflict with the other believers own first principles. I think mine are right and that theirs may be a faulty human construction that miusconstrues the true nature and state of ultimate reality. Or, on the other hand, can those apparently alternate and contradictory notions be resolved a=on a plane for beyond my comprehension?

Where things become dicey, therefore, is when we start examining the line between revelation and human construction. What are the fundamental truths that [God/the gods/the universe itself] has bequeathed to us and what are human constructs built upon and around this revelation? Obviously the issue here isn’t just religions talking to one another. The proliferation of Christian denominations is intimately related to how this question is answered, into how and where we draw the lines between the divine and the human which is further blurred by the belief that God inspires humans and societies towards the fulfilling of his will and purposes.

In the clearest for-instance I can drag up, the Young Fogey and I absolutely agree that the distinction between our systems of belief rests in the principle of infallibility. The Young Fogey believes that the Church as a whole has been granted the capacity to rightly discern the fundamental divine teachings of revelation from the human constructs built upon them that may be altered. (I believe that’s a fair statement and I know he won’t hesitate to correct me if it’s inaccurate…) I have less faith in the Church as a whole. I believe that the Church as a whole is not able to infallible determine and discern the fundamental divine teachings from human constructs. I believe that the Church as a whole is on the right path and that in the great majority of things the Tradition of the Church has judged rightly,  but I do not, cannot, and will not use the word infallible to speak of the human institution of the Church. As a Body of believers we still stumble from one age to the next, sometimes correcting misapprehensions from earlier ages, sometimes creating new ones as we go. The Spirit directs us and clarifies but always through the inspirations of humans whose wiring does not have the capacity for complete comprehension due to the dual issues of material limitation and sin.

To complicate matters even more, I think that our tradition presents clear warnings against a clear and easy distinction between what is divine and what is human. Consistent wrangling on the nature of Christ and the Trinity seems to always come back to the fact there there are two distinct natures—the divine and human—which subsist in their entirety within Jesus Christ. To my unsystematic mind, this means that we recognize that there are these two different states [imprecise word, I know] but that the act of trying to separate them out from one another is fundamentally problematic.

My solution a sa an admitted unsystematic kind of guy who believes in the humani inability to fully comprehend the  divine is to throw up my hands and to retreat to ascetical theology. Thus, I say that I understand Christianity as the proper path to ultimate reality, the Triune God, as taught in the Scriptures, Tradition, and practice of the Christian faith. I really cannot say what happens to those who are not baptized, not being privy to the God’s deliberations and expressions of grace. I do know that I have been charged to “make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that [Jesus] has commanded [us]” and that part of being a Christian means doing this.

Another part means fussing around the dividing line of what is divine revelation and what is human construct, all the while knowing that I can never know if I’m really right but knowing that life in God and the formation of virtue are my truest guides through the mirk.

This is how I closed out the Cafe piece referenced above and, since it’s still where I come down on it, I’ll end this post that way too:

[The Christian purpose] to live a life hid with God in Christ.

And I’d tell you exactly what that phrase means, except that I’m not sure myself.

Oh, I have some ideas. One revolves around how much the New Testament uses the word “abide” as an activity that God does with Jesus and Jesus does with God and that we do with Jesus and therefore we can do with God and so on and so forth. Abide. Sometimes I think it means just lying in the presence of God in prayer and sometimes I think it means walking in love as Christ loved us and sometimes I think those are just two small parts of the fullness of what it really means. I’ll keep working on abiding…

Another idea has to do with our good ol’ Anglican worship. It’s how certain moments catch me and throw me—sometimes in church or sometimes days later—and give me a taste, a moment, that I can put my finger on and say, “Wow—that definitely connects to the life of God.” Worship doesn’t just fit us for the life of God but gives us moments and examples with which to see the slow yet steady spread of the lushness of God’s life and God’s will into our life that twines around the pillars of our hearts and with its soft, seeking roots cracks through calcified compassion.

In short, I’d tell you—but I think it’s got to be lived not told.

This Easter enjoy life, embrace life, share life, and live out a life hid with Christ in God.

A Guiding Ideology of the Liturgical Renewal Movement

I was working up a post on the Kalendar in Holy Week when I encountered a concept that really deserves a post of its own. In thinking through the changes to Triduum (Maundy Thursday through Holy Saturday including the Vigil), I put some pieces together. This is one of those odd insights where the pieces have been in plain view the whole time and stating it out loud is an absolute no-brainer—it’s just never clicked to the degree that it has now…

One of the central—if not the central—ideology of the Liturgical Renewal Movement (LRM) was to shift the liturgical churches from a eucharistic piety to a sacramental piety. That is, instead of focusing on and primarily referencing the Eucharist as the central sacrament of the Church, they sought to focus on the two chief sacraments, placing Baptism alongside the Eucharist. I would suggest that many of the liturgical and theological differences between the Church of the ’28 BCP and the Church of the ’79 BCP can be directly attributed to this shift.

From the perspective of the Church of the ’79 BCP, the Church of the ’28 and its piety focus on the Eucharist in fundamental relation to the events of the Passion. Note, for a moment, the piety captured in this collect, variants of which had wide circulation in the Anglican world of the early 20th century:

O Lord, who in a wonderful Sacrament hast left us a memorial of thy passion, grant us so to venerate the sacred mysteries of thy body and blood that we may evermore perceive within ourselves the fruits of thy redemption through Jesus Christ…

Here the Eucharist is pre-eminently a memorial of the Passion and also a participation within Christ. The reverse is also true: the events of the Passion are understood eucharistically.

Again, from the perspective of the Church of the ’79 BCP, the anthropology of the Church of the ’28 is eucharistically derived with a focus on unworthiness, particularly an unworthiness to receive the Eucharist. The Prayer of Humble Access is typically People’s Exhibit A in prosecuting this line of thought:

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy: Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his Body, and our souls washed through his most precious Blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.

Note in particular the theological function of the bit of this prayer that was edited out of the ’79 BCP’s Prayer of Humble Access: “that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his Body, and our souls washed through his most precious Blood.” I suggest that this change was made for three fundamental reasons. The first was to remove the separation of bodies and souls which the ’79 editors saw as too dualistic (see Hatchett), the second was to remove the suggestion that the body/bread effected one thing and the blood/wine effected another, but the third—and the pertinent one here—is that “washing” is connected to the Eucharist rather than Baptism.

The epicenter of this theological Change was expressed liturgically in the restructuring the Triduum. The centerpiece is the Easter Vigil as the great Baptismal Feast of the Church.This recapturing enabled the reorientation of Lent as a preparation for Baptism which takes the previous penitential character of the season and recasts it. We’re no longer just heading towards the Cross; we’re also heading towards the font.

Another noticeable change is the emphasis on the foot-washing on Maundy Thursday. While foot-washing has always been part of this day, I think that the LRM gave it a new emphasis and importance as a type of Baptism performed by Jesus on the apostles.This emphasis places Baptism as equal in importance to the Eucharist at the Last Supper, a uniquely momentous point in the Church’s consciousness.

The underlying point of these changes is the make the central festivals of the year, the liturgies of Triduum and Easter, to be centrally about both Eucharist and Baptism, then to portray the Easter Vigil as the paradigmatic act of Christian worship to which all Sunday Eucharists point. From there, the LRM and the ’79 BCP derive an anthropological shift. The sacramental center of this theological anthropology is not the Eucharist and our unworthiness to receive it, rather it is Baptism and our worthiness as members of Christ.  It is from this anthropology that a host of other changes have resulted.

(On a side note, I hypothesize that it would be very instructive to look at the exegesis of John 19:34 through the 20th century. This is the verse where the mingled blood and water flow from the side of Jesus. My guess is that at the beginning of the century, most liturgical exegetes would interpret this theologically as a reference to the Eucharist—see the number of depictions where this flow is caught by a chalice. As the LRM made headway, however, I think you’ll see a shift towards seeing it as a sign of Baptism which is how it was presented to me at seminary…)

In short, then, I think that one of the most profound theological differences between the Church of the ’79 BCP and the Church of the ’28 BCP can be traced to the impact of the LRM. Obviously there are other theological and cultural factors in play here too but I’d argue that this is how those factors were expressed liturgically. The reshaping of Triduum , the pre-eminence of the Easter Vigil, and the representation of all other Sundays as a reflection of the vigil serve to reinforce a sacramental anthropology that plays down a penitentially-rooted eucharistic anthropology in favor of a “higher” baptismal anthropology.

Thornton’s The Rock and the River

I recently finished Martin Thornton’s The Rock and the River thanks to recommendations from Fr. Cobb and others. Like his other books that I’ve read, it contains much valuable information that yet requires a  certain amount of translation for the current American context. Typically, the translation is pond-differences; the Church of England is a different beast from The Episcopal Church and expectations about knowledge and practices aren’t necessarily the same. The translation here was different—less a translation in space, more of a translation in time.

This book is Thornton’s attempt to wrestle with the new directions in Protestant theology that erupted after World War II, specifically in terms of the Existential turn in Tillich and Bonhoeffer but also the reassessments exemplified in Robinson’s Honest to God. Thornton’s central thesis is that as the authors attempt to construct new systems of religious thought, they are fundamentally restating standard Christian teachings and goals—but casting aside the traditional means for attaining these goals.

Thornton tells us that his editions of the works of the New Theologians (as he terms them) are littered with the acronyn “YBH?” (Yes—but how?)  indicating that here a great point has been made—but with no practical consideration of how the discussed spiritual state may be acheived. A case in point is one near and dear to my heart, Bonhoeffer’s Cost of Discipleship:

In The Cost of Discipleship, Bonhoeffer, having poured derision on rules, rites, sacraments, and formal prayers, pleads for “costly grace which demands a genuine discipleship of obedience and exclusive attachment to Jesus Christ”. All will aplaud his sentiment, but what, in daily life is such “obedience”? Obedience to what? A moral code? No, for we have seen that this is impossible without grace. To a system of prayer? No, because anything so “formal” has been rejected. How do ordinary men and women, bankers, typists, farmers and nurses, achieve “exclusive attachment to Jesus Christ”? Certainly not by a superhuman act of will, or by an intellectual decision that this is the right way. “It is achieved,” continues Bonhoeffer, “only when the form of Jesus Christ itself works upon us in such a manner that it moulds our form in his own likeness.” Yes, but how? “When” introduces a perfectly orthodox theory about the work of grace in the human soul; and we are given only the negative statement that “this is not achieved by dint of efforts ‘to become like Jesus'”. The alternatives appear to be either a predestinarian quietism, in which grace acts within the chosen soul by divine fiat—or even as a sort of magic—or there must be some particular, practical, concrete method of responding to grace offered: in other words a proven regula. If this latter alternative is rejected, and Bonhoeffer would certainly not entertain the former, then we are left with an impassioned plea for a wonderful theory. (pp. 30-1)

Now—I don’t know if Thornton was aware of Bohoeffer’s Life Together which may answer this (it’s not cited in the book and my copy is in hiding), but Bonhoeffer is the single one of the New Theologians who comes closest to what Thornton is talking about and even he falls short.

As I look around at the beginning of our brave new century, I see that the direction of the New Theologians has only accelerated. So many of the laity and laity-who-become-clergy seem to have seized on the popularizing works of Borg, Crossan, Pagels et al. as the only alternative to fundamentalism or a rote unquestioning orthodoxy. And these folks take the existentialism and iconoclasm of the New Theologians and push them to new extremes.

I think Thornton’s point is still true: many of the icons they think they’re breaking are not icons at all but golden calves against which orthodoxy has always warned; many of the psycho-religious states these books advocate are again not contrary to classical orthodox teaching—but in rejecting traditional expressions of faith, they have jettisoned the tools through which we attain them.

Too, these orthodoxies are also mingled with material heresies in these books as well…

What Thornton offers, it seems  to me, is a reminder that “Ascetical theology is the Church’s own built-in apparatus for taking intellectual and cultural change seriously and intelligently.” (15)

I need to think about this more, but all in all, Thornton once again points us in the right direction.