Preaching Advent has been a highly rewarding experience (well for myself in any event . . . I won’t speak for the congregation). I preached three of four Advent Sundays. I decided to follow the Romans texts. I was able to integrate the first two texts within the broader and more traditional context of Advent with relative ease. First Advent was a re-evaluation of time (entering Messianic time); Rom 13. Awake the time is at hand. Second Advent was the need for local, particular traditions to be challenged so that Christ might enter into them; Rom 15. Fourth Sunday in Advent, however, takes us right back to the beginning of Romans. It was in preparation for this sermon that Paul’s non-Christmas imagery was catching up with me. What the hell I am supposed to do with Paul’s call to be a servant, set apart for the Gospel? I could focus on his note that this was promised beforehand through the prophets but that felt like a cop-out. I decided to go canonical on this one and embrace a Pauline Christmas. Romans 1 is the first chapter of Paul’s first book in the New Testament so I took it as programmatic and read this as Paul’s Advent. Here are a few excerpts;
Category: exegesis
Have You Seen This Dead God?
Lately it seems I cannot turn around without coming across the dead God. I have been reading Zizek again and instead of simply being playfully amused by his counter-intuitive insights I have begun to see more clearly his hegelian reading of the Trinity. God empties himself into Jesus and is split, de-centered from himself. And dies. The God of ‘beyond’ which can and does ground every ideology is emptied and the space of struggle, the Holy Spirit, is opened in this death. Traditional theology will tend to keep God the Father above and beyond pulling the strings and maintaining order. It is precisely that God that must be emptied into Jesus die for the purpose of salvation.
Man is eccentric with regard to God, but God himself is eccentric with regard to his own ground, the abyss of Godhead. . . . Christ’s death on the Cross thus means that we should immediately ditch the notion of God as a transcendent caretaker who guarantees the happy outcome of our acts, the guarantee of historical teleology – Christ’s death on the Cross is the death of this God, it repeats Job’s stance, it refuses any ‘deeper meaning’ that obfuscates the brutal reality of historical catastrophes. – The Monstrosity of Christ
I also recently finished reading Ronald Osborn’s Anarchy and Apocalypse. This is a relatively conservative appeal to the biblical resources of non-violence set within particular contemporary settings. However, here the dead God surfaces in the form of post-holocaust Jewish thought, namely that of Elie Wiesel. Wiesel sees God as the young child hung from his neck, dying and almost dead. This becomes the straightforward,
ethical as well as a religious imperative: if we are to remain human we must refuse passivity, ease, complacency, and fight for the justice which God, in His captivity, in the time of His banishment, cannot bestow. – Anarchy and Apocalypse
And all the reminded me of an old post I wrote reflecting on Kierkegaard’s test for true love which is to love someone dead. The dead is the absolute relationship. If the relationship of love changes it must be because of you, the variable element (no blaming the dead for not understanding you). To love one dead is love a non-being.
In order properly to test whether or not love is faithful, one eliminates everything whereby the object could in some way aid him in being faithful. But all this is absent in the relationship to one who is dead, one who is not an actual object. If love still abides, it is most faithful. – Works of Love
What is going on here? Will a decade, more or less, pass after which we will look back at these silly caricatures of theology? Or are these accounts already reflections and indictments of an already over-caricatured and debased theology and ecclesiology? I would like to call this theme humanist in its apparent rejection of God but that does quite do it justice. Death is something other than human or perhaps fully human; something that modern humanism (as I have encountered it) does quite seem to grasp. Also these accounts remain in many ways thoroughly theological. They are dealing with the dead God not with God as an illusion. It is this possible realism in theology that I find intriguing and potentially attractive.
And for your listening pleasure he is Gash’s 1986 God is Dead
Book Review – Anarchy and Apocalypse
Ronald E. Osborn. Anarchy and Apocalypse: Essays on Faith Violence, and Theodicy (Cascade Books, 2010).
Osborn’s short collection of essays is one of the more eclectic publications I have read in some time. Faith and violence are indeed the mingled themes that bind this work together; having said that, however, the collection is somewhat nomadic moving from shorter almost op-ed pieces to longer more technical engagements. Osborn’s introduction claims that a possible underlying ‘project’ here is an attempt to relate anarchist and Christian approaches to nonviolence.
Romans 13 – An Agambenian Reading
Romans 13 has long been a thorn in my Anabaptist side. Yoder of course went a long way in clarifying the distinction between being subject to those in authority and actually obeying those in authority. That reading however still left me with many unanswered questions as to what Paul is calling the church towards. In preparation for the Romans readings of this season of Advent I reread Giorgio Agamben’s The Time that Remains. In this reading the notion of messianic time functioning as “the time of bringing time to an end” became more clear and relevant as I was reading through Romans alongside his work. I interpret the structure of the world’s authority as functioning as a sort of limit to the mode in which humanity lives apart from the Spirit. As such the kingdom of the world is and will be coming to an end. This becomes significant for reading Romans 13. What struck me was the simple Greek structure of verse 7
ἀπόδοτε πᾶσιν τὰς ὀφειλάς,
τῷ τὸν φόρον τὸν φόρον,
τῷ τὸ τέλος τὸ τέλος,
τῷ τὸν φόβον τὸν φόβον,
τῷ τὴν τιμὴν τὴν τιμήν.
Pay back every debt
for tax, tax
for revenue, revenue
for fear, fear
for respect, respect
Then Paul adds significantly in verse 8,
Μηδενὶ μηδὲν ὀφείλετε
Be in indebted to no one for anything (I can’t comment on the double-negative in Greek here; I suspect it is common)
The process of relating to earthly authorities is that of closing down their economy, of divesting yourself of its structure (which is different than escaping it). The work then is not of revolt (necessarily) which is why this passage can be confused for quietism but rather that of rendering it inoperative an important Pauline term that Agamben stresses. I read this in light of Kierkegaard’s commentary on Paul’s And having overcome all, to stand. Much of our effort exists directly in relationship to opposition. Opposition in many cases is absolutely necessary for the existence of our work. I need the machine to rage against it. This is a reductionist characterization to be sure but I can’t help think of how many movements will simply fall down when the powers are removed from their pushing. In any even I take Paul to be doing something different than direct revolt. This does not necessarily clarify what we should then do with this reading but it demands that we not acquiesce to earthly authority but that we are continually in the active process of liberating ourselves and others from indebtedness.
To the extent that you are invested in this world whether tax, debt, fear or honour pay it back in kind so that all that remains in practice is the opening of love and not the foreclosure of debt. The work of this ‘flesh’ will continually be present in a humanly inescapable manner (who will rescue me from this body of death). We become though tools of light which cut through and create a division within the divisions of this world that constantly undermine and deactivate them. This is all exegetical rhetoric at this point. I have no idea what sort of tool I will function as what it demands though is that no position within world renders spiritual impossible. No system is dominant that it can, by its force, reclaim the new creation of the Messiah. This problematizes the typical leftist project as I would see it which continually stresses system as that which binds and liberates (though it does that at a certain level). I read this text and larger Pauline theology (in light of Agamben) as one which always supposes the freedom of the individual so that she might work within the place of her calling (and in communion with the saints) dividing the divisions and use this time for bringing time to an end.
A Theology of Home Owning
My wife and I are, for the first time, looking seriously at buying a house. My first impression is that I did not expect it to be as ‘spiritual’ of a process as I am realizing. First there is the question of ownership. My recent theological trajectory arcs towards the need to identify where I try and control questions of God, truth, morality, etc. To what extent do I remain open even vulnerable to changes that I did foresee or create? How does this relate to home owning? My impression is that the saying a man’s home is his castle remains powerfully relevant (to what extent the gender ascription is relevant I don’t know). The modern house is designed to be a space of dominance; a space where control and predictability are attainable. We essentially colonize a small space for benevolent or destructive ends. Is there a way of approaching home ownership that does not fall prey to this tendency?
What I am beginning to see is that the process and act of home buying must be integrated into a person and family’s larger theological and spiritual orientation. For instance my wife is interested in a space that can be renovated so that it can be a type of canvas to explore new environments of living that can facilitate and nurture relationships. I am interested in examining my motivation for location so that our purchase does not entrench further social, racial, economic boundaries that are based on fear. From my brief conversations I find fear to be probably the most influential emotion in how people have gone about decision making. It is certainly not the only influence and it is not always the strongest but it is almost always present. I have had little fear in my life so I need to be careful in recognizing the roots and realities of other people’s fears. Theologically, however, these fears must be discerned and sorted so that they do not create decisions that only enforce a continually fearful world for other people.
And of course tied in with all this are questions like the proximity to work, family, friends, and schools as well as the issue of transportation (what is walking and biking distance). What this means is that there is no one right house or approach to home buying.
Then there is the whole question of trust. So we begin with a trusted friend who refers an agent. We meet the agent and the agent refers a mortgage broker., etc. And suddenly a web spins out that would have looked entirely different had we cast an alternative first strand. I cannot become an expert in all these fields while starting a new job, caring for a new child, all the while living under my in-laws roof! So we trust. Lord help us.
What I must shed regardless of our decision is the notion, the illusion, that a home can be a refuge or escape from the world. The world will always reside within our homes in one form or another. Our purchase then cannot be about possession and control because there remains too many variables (internal and external) that will continue to effect my family’s life no matter how well I reinforce the castle walls. Our actions, spaces, and objects emerge as spiritual realities (whether residual or ontological). They are not neutral. They are engaged with God’s work of creation and redemption. The image becomes almost levitical thinking of how priests concerned themselves with the mold on walls and binding of diverse threads. Spaces and objects can be holy or profane, clean or unclean and they are never in these states permanently because these states are bound up in our ongoing engagement with God. This gives me hope. Perhaps the holiness of God can even be encountered as far away as the suburbs . . . perhaps.
The Torah’s Vision of Worship – Part II.2 – The Liturgy of the Covenant; Covenant as Sanctuary Building and World Building
(Table of Contents for NOTCP series)
Exodus 25-40 deals primarily with the construction of the tabernacle which has been a hobby horse for many arm-chair architects over the years. Though if one approaches this section in such a pragmatic fashion you will be “faced with a unique combination of long-winded description on the one hand and total omission of various particulars on the other” (citing M. Haran, 137). Balentine, instead, explores the theological construction that is occurring in and around this section.
The Torah’s Vision of Worship – Part II – The Liturgy of the Covenant
See here for outline of this project.
Continue reading “The Torah’s Vision of Worship – Part II – The Liturgy of the Covenant”
Come on God, Kids will be Kids
I never realized that immediately after Aaron’s sons Nadab and Abihu were burnt to death by God in the Tabernacle in Leviticus 10 God commands Aaron that neither he nor his sons should drink before enter the Tabernacle. Dang kids were messing around at the alter while drunk . . . offering strange fire (KJV)! I’ll bet it was strange.
The Torah’s Vision of Worship – Part I – Creation’s Liturgy and the Cosmic Covenant
I don’t suspect that the next number of posts in this series will garner great interest (though I do indeed think Balentine’s work deserves a wide audience). I have created a page above as I hope these posts will eventually build towards to a contemporary and constructive theological account of the priesthood as expressed in the Pentateuch.
Peter Blum on Im/possibility and the Church’s Syntactical Relationship with the Poor
The Gift of Difference hit the ground running with Peter C. Blum’s chapter, “Two Cheers for an Ontology of Violence: Reflections on Im/possibility.” The chapter reflects on the strange possibility that Derrida’s ontology of violence and the impossibility of nonviolence may actually offer more resources for peace than Milbank’s ontology of peace which (as almost all contributors to this work identify) actually justifies and ultimately requires violence. Derrida reduces the impossibility of nonviolence to an assertion that existence in the form of expression will always be an expression of reducing “the Other to the same” (11). Blum quotes Derrida, “nonviolent language would be a language which would do without the verb to be, that is, with predication. Predication is the first violence” (12). Impossibility for Derrida though is not the end but it is where “things get interesting” (15). Blum raises a case of the Nickle Mines shooting as a case of the madness and impossibility of forgiveness. Blum is not concerned with whether or not the Amish response escapes violence but the manner in which it forces us to face the impossibility of nonviolence, its madness.
I don’t think I will offer substantive responses to each chapter (though many deserve further reflection). What this chapter raised was a sort of tangential offshoot in relation to the Kingdom-Church-World Theses over at Halden’s blog. What I found confusing there was Thesis #11. The language was muddled especially the church’s syntactical relationship to ‘the poor’. In this short thesis there are three prepositions used to relate the church to the poor.
Thesis 11: Such kenotic, cruciform solidarity in obedience to the way of the cross leaves no room for the church to be anything other than the “church of the poor.” The church’s kenotic solidarity with the world thus occurs as solidarity with the poor. As Jon Sobrino reminds us, “The mystery of the poor is prior to the ecclesial mission, and that mission is logically prior to an established church” (Sobrino, No Salvation Outside the Poor, 21). Or as Moltmann puts it, “It is not the Church that ‘has’ a mission, but the reverse; Christ’s mission creates itself a Church. The mission should not be understood from the perspective of the Church, but the other way round.”(Moltmann, Church in the Power of the Spirit, 10). With the Catholic bishops at Medellin, the church must reaffirm and exercise the “preferential option for the poor.” This “preferential option” is not simply one of many tasks of the church—it lies at the center and heart of its mission. In fact, it is its mission, because this is Christ’s mission.
To me this clearly indicates the ongoing struggle of the western/affluent church to integrate something it still does not quite understand. Are we the poor? Are we with the poor? Are we for the poor? Given Blum’s reflection on impossibility I would like to suggest that the church is called to announce and embody the impossibility of wealth. This was the revelation to the church of Laodicea. You say, “I am rich.” But you do not realize that you are poor (Rev 3:17). There is no such thing as human wealth. This is our great illusion. This is found throughout the prophetic tradition of the Old Testament. The wealth streams to the Temple of God. It is only there that is has any worth. We must not be for or with the poor or even attempt to become the poor. We must rather unveil our poverty in thought, word, deed. The impossibility of wealth then can be taken up in the gift of God (Come buy food without cost . . . ). This most certainly does not leave material poverty off the agenda as the unveiling of poverty releases us from the mechanics that the illusion of wealth demand from us. For me this also helps release the church from a bind that previous theologies tend to place on practice namely what we hope for the poor. Do we want the poor to be wealthy? Why would we assume that they would turn out to be anything other than what the wealthy already are? We must not eradicate poverty as such but eradicate the illusion of wealth that creates security systems that alienate one from another. It is this alienation more than material poverty itself that must be overcome. This erases the need to join syntactically with the poor and creates only the conditions for God’s gift.
Alas, many think that the eternal is a construction of the imagination, money the reality – in the understanding of the eternal and of truth it is precisely money which is a construction of the imagination! – Soren Kierkegaard in Works of Love.
David CL Driedger 