No–I’m not the host . . .

Rather, Nick Kinsley at the blog Entangled States that I’ve recently begun reading has proposed a collection of thoughts by those who consider themselves moderates. You can find the announcement here.

This suggestion combined with the work of Fr. Greg Jones seems to be a move to organize and give a voice to the middle of the Episcopal Church. I’m not yet sure if it will work. I have a feeling that there are many different things that “middle” or “center” can mean. Having a “movement” implies having a direction in which to move (unless an active sense of inertia can be called a direction…) and I wonder if the “middle” is moving in the same direction.

As you’ll notice in my brief bio over there on the right side of the screen I describe myself as a moderate and I’m pretty serious about that so I plan to contribute something on the topic soon.

In the meantime, if you think you’re a moderate, post something up and let Nick know…

Well, I started actual composition on chapter 3 this morning after months of research. I was at the point where I felt things had clarified enough to start getting thoughts down on the screen. Of course, for me that’s when the second wave of epiphanies occur so I’ll write a lot and then read back through it to figure out what I’ve figured out–then rearrange it all again.

The focus this morning was getting a handle on the major kinds of Carolingian homiliaries and how they impacted the OE homiletical process. Naturally I’m using Gatch, Clayton, Smetna, and especially Hill (for those for whom the names mean anything…).

Here’s my first big insight. (I define a big insight as one of those things that you never really seen or heard before (or you’ve seen it or heard it and it hasn’t really clicked) but once you formulate it seems horribly obvious and you kick yourself repeteadly for not seeing it earlier.) There’s a demonstrable shift away from gospel commentaries in the early medieval period; Bede’s are pretty much the last big ones. That is, they still continue to be written but they don’t seem to circulate much or have much impact–like good ol’ Godwin of Sarum and those of Theodore’s school. Instead, the clear shift is to homiliaries. In fact, commentaries are even sliced up to fit in homiliaries at the sappropriate places as happens with Bede in Paul the Deacon.

I think I now have a good theory why . . .

I haven’t seen this theory before and I’m not saying it’s not out there in the mass of secondary material somewhere but I haven’t seen it in the major stuff I’ve read recently…

The shift from the commentary to the homiliary represents a shift in the paradigmatic locus of a gospel pericope. For a commentary, the paradigmatic locus and appropriate context for a pericope is located within the biblical book from which it was taken. For a homiliary, the paradigmatic locus and appropriate context for a pericope is the liturgical round. Thus, I’m going to suggest that your standard early medieval clergy et al. thought of a scripture chunk’s natural home as in the liturgy rather than in the Bible proper.

Others have posted more and better than I shall…

Suffice it to say that today is the Feast of St Benedict and it should be celebrated with all reverence especially by those of us who believe that the path of liturgy–the balance of the Office and the Mass–is a true path to know the Living Jesus.

Furthermore, Benedict in his wise Rule avoided the extremes of severity and freedom to present a balanced middle way that shows generosity to those advancing in virtue with godly obedience for the restraint of sin.

As an Anglican who feels that the Anglican Way preserves much that is truly Benedictine, offer it to the wider church as our gift, I most especially say in these days: “St Benedict, pray for us. We sure need it.”

(This continues Plain Sense I)

II Problems in Discussing the “Plain Sense”
By now it should be evident that the term “plain sense of the Scriptures” can be used in more than one way. In recent days, I’ve seen it used in at least three ways in the blogosphere (slightly caricatured for emphasis):

1. Plain Sense (bad) = fundamentalistic literalism offensive to those in touch with the reality (scientific and otherwise) of the 21st century

2. Plain Sense (bad) = unsafe reliance on meanings not sanctioned by or under the authority of the Catholic magisterium

3. Plain Sense (good) = the real straight-foward way to read the Bible with none of that wishy-washy liberal crap added in

Clearly there’s some semantic slippage within this term. I think we need to examine some differences to make sense of these different ways of using the term (and others not even cited here) and we’ll do it by offering a definition, then examining what the definition does and doesn’t say.

Here’s my provisional definition: The plain sense of the biblical text (or any other text) is the meaning that is most clearly indicated by the text itself taking into account grammar, denotation, connotation, figures of speech, figures of thought, and context.

First, this definition centers on the text. It does not focus on the author; authorial intent is not the plain sense of the text. We’ve all had our writing misunderstood. Sometimes, a person has figured out a way to read something we’ve written that disagrees with what we believe. And that’s tough–once a text leaves your pen, screen, or what have you, it begins taking on a life of its own. What you intended to say is part of that life, but is not the whole of it. For instance, look how many people think that the ++Rowan’s reflection paper about GC legislates a two-tiered communion. He has subsequently repudiated that–but that reading and understanding is now part of the life-history of that text whether ++Rowan likes it or not.

Second, this definition implies but does not state the role of the reader. Each reader gets a sense of a document’s meaning. While all readers construct meanings, not all meanings are equal–some are better than others. How do we judge between them? Well, part of it comes down to the realia of the text–grammar, denotation, etc.

In a New Testament interp class in my seminary days, my poor TA was trying to teach us about reader-response criticism. My partner for the assignment–now an Episcopal priest in Kansas City–and I returned to the larger group and assured them that the parable of the prodigal son was, in fact, a statement about the horrors of nuclear winter. We defended our bizarre interpretation by answering that our meaning was what the text had made us feel. Obviously–this is a bad reading. It is absolutely indefensible based on the grammar and syntax of the text.

Another facet of judging the quality of a reading examines how well the interpretation encompasses all of the evience of the passage. For instance, it is possible to argue that John’s Prologue is a gnostic hymn (and it has been so argued in the past)–but to do so, you have to find some way of accounting for v. 13–“And the Word was made flesh.”

I’ll not go on much further except to say that it’s typically easier to identify bad readings. I suppose bad in this case is a reading that seems substantively disconnected from where the text points. (And it is on these grounds that allegory is often criticized.)

Third, this definition is rather open and this is where complications arise. How does–or should–one determine the appropriate context of a text? Is it the paragraph that contains the text, or the paragaphs on either side of the prargraph with the text, or the chapter, or the book, or the canon as a whole? To some degree, it depends on what claim is being advanced. Again, it’s ob=ften easier to identify abuses of this. For instance, proof-texting: “It is good for a man not to touch a woman” out of 1 Cor is a rather egregious misreading. Rather, Paul presents this statement as the starting point for a discourse–not its conclusion.

A more complicated example is a text like Mark 9:1: “And [Jesus] said unto [the disciples], Verily I say unto you, That there be some of them that stand here, which shall not taste of death, till they have seen the kingdom of God come with power.” One way to read this–especially if you regard it is a disconnected saying of Jesus that was given a home by the evangelists–is that some of the disciples will not di before Jesus’s return. Indeed, one could even point to John 21 to suggest that there was a tradition in the early church that Jesus would return before the death of young John, the beloved disciple. Another way to read it is to keepo reading–the story immediately following is the transfiguration. Is that what was meant by “seen the kingdom of God come with power”? Quite possibly. At least, it certainly seems that Mark thought so . . . Context matters.

Fourth, a complication arises when we admit and start drawing attentions to figures of speech and thought. Some metaphors, similes, synecdoches, etc. are clar and obvious. When we speaking in the Psalms of sheltering in the shadow of God’s wings, I doubt most of us believe that God has physical wings. Ditto for a mighty hand and outstretched arm . . . But what about others–especially metaphors. How do you know when something is a metaphor and when it’s not? The key verses for any discussion of this topic are, of course, the institution narratives in the Synoptics and 1 Cor 11. Is “This is my body . . . this is my blood” the invocation of a metaphor–or a reality. And where’s the line between the two?

I think that most rational readers will agree that this is the place where the idea of the plain sense of Scripture shows a fundamental weakness. There can be disagreement between readers about what constitutes a figure of speech and/or thought and what doesn’t. Further more, even when the presence of such a figure has been identified, it is not always obvious which figure it is. For instance–to go back to the “shadow of his wings” bit–what kind of wings are they? A mother bired gathering her young–or a numinous angelic/divine figure? It does make a bit of difference in how we understand the text.

Fifth, my definition stops at the level of meaning. I would wager that many if not most of the complaints about the plain sense of the text are not really complaints about a meaning but at an application of a meaning. That is, the problem is not what people argue that a text means but what they argue should be done about it–or with it.

I’ll give you an extreme example from Church history. “If your eyes causes you to sin–pluck it out” etc. Eusebius tells us that on the strength of this text Origen castrated himself. You could concievably point to this as a just one of the horros of the “plain sense” of the text. And I’ll disagree. Here’s why: Most readers would agree that the text uses a figure of speech–hyperbole. Jesus gives us an extreme to make a point about the need to avoid sin. Origen doesn’t seem to read it that way–but neither does he read it “literally”!! Had he read it literally, he would have torn out his eye or cut off his hand instead of his–yeah well. Instead, he apparently read it as a synecdoche where mention of a part of the whole refers to either the whole or to another part of the whole (thus, generalizing “eye” and “hand” to “body parts that make you sin”). The problem isn’t even with the way that Origen read it, though, it’s how he decided to apply it.

Furthermore, ther are disgreements about the purpose of the meaning of the text. The semantic meaning of the text may well be clear but the intention or purpose behind it may be in question. “Along time ago there lived a king” means one thing if the king in question is Aragorn–another entirely if it’s Tiglath-Pilesar III (the guy whose army sacked Jerusalem in 587 BC}.This is, of course, tied in to how we apply it. (I wrote a bit on this here as well.)

III. Hypothesis
So, there’s a working definition of the plain sense of Scripture, some reflections about it and some weakness and/or dangrs associated with it. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that the plain sense isn’t nearly the problem we make it. That is, I’d wager that with a good 75-85% of Scripture, you’ll find next to no disputes about the plain sense of meaning of the text. I’ll give you some examples.

Deut 3:14: “Jair the son of Manasseh took all the country of Argob unto the coasts of Geshuri and Maachathi; and called them after his own name, Bashan-havoth-jair, unto this day.”

1 Sam 15:12: “And when Samuel rose early to meet Saul in the morning, it was told Samuel, saying, Saul came to Carmel, and, behold, he set him up a place, and is gone about, and passed on, and gone down to Gilgal.”

Matt 8:2: And, behold, there came a leper and worshipped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.

And yes, I’m picking verses at random here to make my point. Now try these . . .

Gen 3:24: “So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.”

1 Sam 15:33: “And Samuel said, As thy sword hath made women childless, so shall thy mother be childless among women. And Samuel hewed Agag in pieces before the LORD in Gilgal.”

Exod 22:18 “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

I submit to you that none of my readers–or other readers chosen at random–will disagree about the plain sense of these texts. However, there can and will be disagreements about the purpose and application of these latter texts. The meaning, though, is not at issue.

That’s enough for now–more later. . .

Well, this past week has sure been one for news. First, ++Akinola warns that if things don’t change and soon he’ll create a rival Lambeth and now the C of E has stated that there is no theological bar to episcopal consecration of women. As with +(+)Schori, it is now only a matter of time before we have a female Archbishop of Canterbury. As a result, FiF UK is even now making plans to bail.

In all honesty, I can’t see how the center can hold. The notion of an international communion held together by affection rather than doctrinal confessions has failed. I pray that this is defeatism talking and that I will be proven wrong–but I just can’t see from where I sit now. My crystal ball suggests not a Conservative Communion and a Liberal Communion arising out of this. What ever arises will be more messy. Why? ++Akinola is a protestant. Recent convert to Catholicism Peregrinator from Canterbury Tales made this comment on a discussion at Texanglican’s place:

The Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth is going to have to remove their tabernacles, melt down their monstrances, and hide their rosaries if their going to process to the altar, I mean, holy table with Akinola.

For Akinola, Anglo-Catholics are part of the problem, not part of the solution.

And he’s right.

FiF will not align with ++Akinola. Some probably will leave for Rome, but I can imagine an alternate structure being set up for English Anglo-Catholics that will reach out to American and other Anglo-Catholics (How does Archbishop of Walsingham sound?)

I see nothing less than three potential global Anglican bodies:

1. Canterbury and the former broad church wing–now the liberal wing.
2. An Evangelical Communion centered in the Global South.
3. An Anglo-Catholic wing, probably also centered in England.

Whether these potentialities become realities depends on a whole lot of things which cannot now be foreseen. Perhaps the most important involves who can–or will–reach out to the Continuum.

I said above that the collapse of the AC is perhaps the collapse of an international communion held together by affection rather than doctrinal confessions. Note what I said–and what I didn’t say. I didn’t say that this heralds the collapse of a communion held together by common prayer. Because we’re not. Our prayer internationally has not been common for the past 50 years or so. I believe that the Prayer Book and prayer book spirituality is the true hallmark of Anglicanism. What if we did commit ourselves to common prayer? What if we walked apart as bodies no longer of one mind but if we promised to one another to study how we can return to our common heritage of prayer?

Can the Anglican splinters still witness to the world a path to Christ through steadfast liturgical prayer?

Why do people get into Lesser Feasts and Fasts? Is it because they’re famous Episcopalians who did good stuff–or is it because we as a church feel that they are among the Blessed Dead?

Do we still have a sense of who the Blessed Dead are? We kept the Feast of All Saints; we dropped the Feast of All Souls.

The Church used to structure its sense of temporal connection with three categories:
The Church Militant: us poor bastards slogging our way towards salvation now.
The Church Expectant: Those who have died in the Lord who sleep in the earth until they are called before the great judgment seat on That Great Day.
Tjhe Church Triumphant: Those dead in the Lord who prolepticly enjoy the very presence of the Lord and intercede for us before the Throne of God.
So . . . where are we on those last two these days?

As a Lutheran I had a notion that the saints were people who embodied Christ to and and for others. I still think that’s true. But . . . in my encounters with the early medieval sources (including the good, the bad, and the laughable) and in my own “faith journey” I’ve come to believe that not all saints are, well, equal.

I’m still wrestling with some of these things–feel free to wrestle along with me…

It’s time that we talked a bit about the “plain sense” of Scripture. I’ve seen a certain amount in the blogosphere recently about the plain sense, so I thought I’d say a word or two (or a couple thousand) about it to give a biblical scholar’s perspective on the issue.

I. A Short History of the Plain Sense
The main argument in Church history that led to the need to talk about a “plain sense” of the Scriptures is, of course, the Reformation. John Calvin, Martin Luther, and others argued for the pespecuity of the Scriptures which is a fancy way of saying that the Scriptures are clear and understandable. As long as a person has the Spirit, they can understand what the Spirit meant in the composition of Scripture. Now–that was a loaded sentence so we’ll say a few things about what they were saying and what they weren’t–and yes, I’ll be working with some sweeping generalizations here.

A. Rejection of the Need for a Magisterium
In the first place, the claim of the perspecuity of the Scriptures was a reaction to the atmosphere of the Late Medieval Roman Catholic Church. Perhaps the most important meaning of their declaration is that a magisterium with an authoritative interpretation of Scripture was unnecessary. Note, please, they weren’t saying hat the teaching of the magisterium was necessarily wrong (at least not on all points); they were arguing that it was unnecessary and that Christians could read and understand Scripture for themselves.

With this statement, they were making a bit of a departure from standard church practice. In the first place, they were sanctioning giving the whole Scriptures to the people in their own language. We focus on the latter part but the former part was the real issue. After all, there had been vernacular translations and paraphrases of certain sections for quite a long time.

Giving the whole Scriptures to the people was a rather problematic endeavor. The Church had noticed that heresies arose when people read the Scriptures for themselves–and by themselves. After all, the Marcionites, Arians, Nestorians, Sabellians, Cathars, etc. were not heretics because they *weren’t* reading the Scriptures; they *were* reading them, reading them improperly, and thus the Scriptures were promoting the problem, not solving it.

Furthermore, there was always anxiety around the Old Testament. The Church believed and taught that the Old Testament and New Testament fit together as a seamless whole. The revelation of Jesus superceded parts of the OT. After all, according to Paul the Law was a pedagogue–the slave who instructed children–but since the children have achieved their majority as inheritors of the kingdom, the pedagogue can be dispensed with. More particularly–the Church knew which sections no longer applied. Any old Joe who picked up a Bible didn’t..

Looking at the Old English material, this anxiety can be clearly seen. Ælfric in his sermons warns against applying the old law in a blanket fashion (like in the sermon for the Circumcision of Our Lord); Æthelwold in his translation of Benedict’s Rule warns against the monks hearing of the Books of Samuel and Kings outside of a liturgical setting where they were properly (i.e., typologically) interpreted.

As a result, lay people–the literate ones at least–were given only parts of Scripture (like the Psalms) and edited portions of the Gospels for their reflection and pious devotion. The Reformers threatened this whole system.

B. Rejection of Interpretive Methodologies
Another facet of this insistence on the perspecuity of Scripture was directed towards the abuses of allegorical interpretation. And there were certainly abuses that needed correcting. Look at any sermon or interpretation of the number of fish caught in the disciples’ net in John 21 and you’ll see a perfect example of what I mean–wild speculation abounds. The Reformers were arguing that these excesses violated the clear meaning of Scripture. There are at least two things to keep in mind, though: 1) the Reformers themselves were schooled in and used these “allegorical” methods and 2) these were pre-Scholastic methods operating in a post-Scholastic environment.

First, the Reformers were themselves schooled in these methods of interpretation; it was deep in their bones. Consequently, when you open their writings–and I’m thinking specifically of some of Luther’s sermons here–you find exactly the same thing. While they rejected the excesses of the method, they knew and used the method itself. Understanding their rejection of it means understanding the limits they thought should be palced on it.

Second, these reading methods were quite old. They were patristic, in fact, and sprang from the reading methods of Late Antiquity. Allegorical interpretation proper is most often found coming from a monastic milieu (Gregory the Great being a foremost promoter) that operated within the categories of Stoic philosopy. That is, their focus and interest was on human action–moral action in particular. Taking seriously that all Scripture was inspired to be profitable and upbuilding, they played in and with the text within the boundaries of the creeds. They would take texts that seemed (to them) to serve little or no useful function and wring it for every potential bit of profit, sometimes utilizing rather unusual mental gymnastics to find some divine honey.

Scholasticism with its Aristotelianism and later Nominalism explored and used the texts in different ways than the Stoic-flavored contemplative readings. Under the dialectical schoolmen, the texts became less a playground and far more a mine for doctrine. This is the attitude that the Reformers brought. If the text was a source of axioms for theological proofs, it had to have a stable meaning that didn’t change so much. So–allegory had to be curtailed if not rejected. Note that Aquinas interprets the Scriptures the same way; the literal sense is the sense to be used for the establishment of doctrine.

Now, these two meanings were the anti-Roman meanings of the Reformers’ dicta. But–here are some other factors embedded in there as well.

C. The Agency of the Holy Spirit
The Reformers–like the Catholic magisterium–believed that the whole text, Old and New Testament, was written by a single author: the Holy Spirit. Furthermore, the Spirit taught how the Bible was to be read. Without the Spirit, the Reformers believed that the Scriptures were inscrutiable–or at least could not be rightly read. Thus, they assumed the unity of the OT and NT, and that some literal meanings were either not correct or had been superceded.

One of the most important safeguards here is that if the whole Scriptures were by the Holy Spirit all apparent contradictions within Scripture are just that–apparent rather than actual. For instance . . . when in his ministry did Jesus cleanse the Temple: at the beginning as reported in John or at the end as in the Synoptics? (Many interpreters concerned with contradiction asserted that he did it both times. You’ll still find this today in some circles.) Potentially more damaging, who are the “brothers and sisters” of Jesus recorded in the gospels? Could they really be the biological children of Joseph and Mary–who, it was taught, were celibate? (These family members were interpreted as cousins.)

What happened when the Reformers put the Scriptures in the hands of the people is what the magisterium predicted–problems. People without the discipline and teaching of the Church–often without even a basic understanding of the creeds–began interpreting the Scriptures in ways that neither the magisterium nor the Reformers intended. Various heresies were soon revisited. Antinomian controversies rocked the nascent Lutheran Church. The “Enthusiasts” began proclaiming complete liberty from all morality. Calvinists, in particular, attempted to translate the legisltion of Torah into the law of the land with remarkable failures. Marian devotion plummeted after the first generation of Reformers. In short–they had a mess on their hands.

One of the outgrowths (and causes) of the Reformation was Renaissance learning. Western scholars started studying Greek and Hebrew, old texts were compared with one another, and Protestant biblical scholars began talking about the grammatical sense of the text. As these trends progressed and universities became the locus of major biblical interpretation, the grammatical sense became a way of saying “the clear sense not constrained by a Catholic interpretation.” As things moved even further this became “the clear sense not constrained by either Catholic or Protestant interpretations.” Finally, it became “the clear sense free from any dogmatic constraints” and we were on our way towards the scientific study of Scripture.

The sceintific study of the Scriptures began doing its work which included noticing all sorts of contradictions, seams in the texts, historical blunders, and many of the traditional presuppositions were called into question. The original intentions of the author became the dominant “meaning” but the authors in question were now the many separate human authors rather than the Spirit. Finally, the accuracy of what the text revealed was questioned. Questions of cosmology, biology, and history arose as the texts were read without dogmatic restraints and as they were read in parallel with other contemporary texts.

Finally, certain parts of Protestantism could no longer ignore these developments and they began a backlash against this method of reading the text. The result was a certain hardening or rigidity of reading known to us as fundamentalism. The fundamentalists, in a way, insisted on what the Reformers did–that there was a single correct literal sense of the text over against other ways of reading–but they were arguing something different against different opponents from what the Reformers had been arguing. This is the point when the novel notions of infallibility and inerrancy were introduced. So, these are the seeds of modern day “literalism.”

The problem of terminology now arises. In essence, the fundamentalists and the biblical scholars were in agreement: most passages of the Bible have a more or less obvious meaning. To interpret them apart from that is to depart from the clear or plain sense of the text. I don’t say “literal” here because a strict literalism means a rejection of figures, schemes, and tropes in a way that is itself an aberration.

As all self-conscious readers of texts know, sometimes a text signals that its contents are not meant to be read literally. Figures and tropes are clearly literary devices and should be read that way. When Jeremiah says that the Word of God is a hammer, no rational person thinks that God’s breath congeals as a hand tool. Furthermore, certain genres in Scripture clearly signal that they are to be read with a different set of understandings–unless you believe that there is a literal seven-headed red dragon running around somewhere a la Revelation.

In order to avoid these misinterpretations and misrepresentations, both biblical scholars, fundamentalists, and other believers talk about the “plain sense of the text.” And I don’t think that this is a problem. In fact, I am prepared to argue that this is the sense that the great majority of all Christians use when they sit down to read the Bible (or any other text for that matter). So–what’s the problem?

(To be continued…)

One of the great things about the web is that it isn’t static . . . As and/or if more entries come in for the Christian Identity Carnival, I’ll plug them into to the original post. Thus, I’ll draw to your attention that the Anglican Scotists has presented the first of what seems to be a series of posts addressing the various topics.

I won’t go in to depth on this now, but we need to have a good and thorough discussion about Scripture. I’ve written or scripture before, of course, but it’s time to look closely at text and hermeneutics. Folks from several different sides–like the Scotist and David and some others at Per Christum–have been rejecting the “plain sense of the text.” This is a polemical position that isn’t really arguing about the “plain sense”; rather, it argues against the identification and application of said plain sense…

More later.

When I read through spiritualities of the past, I find that I don’t have the same psychology of sin. A great many of the medieval mystics, Caroline Divines, and other luminaries I read speaking of weeping over sins–and they mean that literally. I’ve never done this. Is not that I’m not sorry for my sins, but they don’t pull at me the way that these folks apparently felt. I wonder why that is . . .

Part of it is probably attributable to the decline in auricular confession. Because we don’t have to ennumerate our sins, we don’t recognize them or even notice them as much as our spiritual forebearers. This loss of attentiveness is not a good thing, but it’s where we are. The Episcopal Church has no official stance on Confession that I’m aware of but there is a liturgy for it (pp. 447-452) and many of the higher churches offer appointed times for the sacrament; for Lutherans, of course, private confession is confessionally mandated . . .

Part of it too is a shift in psychology. We live in a more humanistic time. Our worldview is different from theirs. Furthermore, our current liturgies are addressed to and reinforce our worldview rather than theirs. The liturgies that are most in my bones, the ELCA Green Book and the ’79 BCP don’t emphasize penitence the way that earlier liturgies did and (as I have remarked before) when I look at those liturgies with modern eyes their humility seems excessive to the point that it borders on spiritual pride (Look at me!–how wonderfully humble I am! I’m *so* much more humble than you, etc.). I’d probably feel different if I were raised with these liturgies–but I wasn’t.

As a result, I’ve never know quite how to approach sin in a constructive fashion. One thing I know I need to do is to find a confessor; I hope to do that when I move. But something really clicked for me today in relation to an image from Theresa of Avila. It was in reference to the nearness of Christ to us and the soul as a mirror.

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried lighting your house with candles or oil lamps, but they don’t produce very much light at all. One of the tricks for improving this problem before electricty was to put a mirror behind the light source, effectively doubling it by redirecting the light. I suddenly had an image of Christ, Lux Mundi, standing near, even next, to each one of us. The soul is a mirror and sin a black stain upon the mirror that absorbs light, not reflecting it. We are called to letour light so shine before others….but we are not the original source of that light–we reflect rather than create. It is in reflecting Christ that we share his love to the world. Sin, then, diminishes the effect of his light through our own diminished capacity to reflect. For some reason this way of looking at the subject touched me and caught me in a way that others haven’t to this point. Our sin dimishes his witness in the world; the exercise of virtue, on the other hand, as motivated by the Sacraments and the movement of the Spirit restore our reflective abilities…

In light of church-wide events, I thought it would be edifying to take a look at people who aren’t paid theologians or high muckety-mucks and see what we really believe–establish some “facts on the ground” as it were. Especially with the rhetoric of two religions in one church or “conjoined twins connected at the head,” I wanted to see how the people who read this blog think about Christian identity. As today is the Feast of St Irenaeus of Lyon, I thought I’d use his three marks of the church to kick us off, modified by two logical additions. Furthermore, in order to focus our thinking, I asked for a 1,500 word limit. Here are the categories:

Canon
Creed
Apostolic Succession
catholicity
reformation

Several thoughtful responses have appeared. Thank you to all who participated–and thank you in advance to those who will read, comment, and join in upbuilding conversation about who we are as members of the Body of Christ.

I’ll order the entries on their principles of organization. Some of us moved on a point by point basis, others integrated and fused the five marks into a more holistic approach. I heartily commend them all to you.

Some moved through the points using elements of the tradition as starting places for reflection. Lutherpunk used authoritative statements from the ELCA’s Statement of Faith, to the Augsburg Confession, to the words of Luther himself. On a similar tack, Joe from Canterbury Trail used quotations from notable Anglican authors. I used collects from the BCP to orient my thoughts. D. C., The Questioning Christian, numbers his points like a lawyer (no surprise there… :-D).

Annie chose a more free-form approach to the orderly process and consciously gives us a more personal reflection on these topics. The abbot of the Monastery of the Remarkable English Martyrs, Caelius, offers a set of comments, reflections and questions to jog us towards the truth. The Anglican Scotist offers us an initial reflection on the topic of canon.

Moving to the further free-form, *Christopher, though burned out from recent events, offered some initial movements and pointed us to some of his pertinent reflections on the topics. Travis, the theologically formidable host of Gaunilo’s Island, gives us an integrated blend of the topics that lifts up the overall liturgical character of the church. (With his blend of theology, liturgy, and poetry so reminiscent of a certain archbishop, I’m calling upon VW for immediate Alternative Eyebrow Oversight.) Lastly, despite all sorts of protests to the contrary, bls from The Topmost Apple offers a fine reflection both mathematical and theological.

Thanks again to all who participated and who will participate–and I can’t wait to see the comments and discussions that grow out of these wonderful posts!

(And if I missed anyone or if anyone is in the process of putting something up, let me know and I’ll add it here.)