inspiral blog

I’m sure by now you’d all be familiar with my enormous respect (to say the least) for Ched Myers, who wrote one of the books I’m basing our current series of talks on. I came across this rather insightful review of Mel Gibson’s The Passion of Christ by Ched, and think it is well worth wading through. When you finally get down to what he means, you find he’s hit the nail right on the head, but I’ll admit it’s tough going to get there sometimes.

Here are a few brief excerpts from what is a fairly long article:

The inevitable result of narrating the death of Jesus without narrating his life is that the credulous viewer is forced to surmise that Jesus must have been a nice guy who was killed for no good reason by mean, spiteful people. And if, in addition, the theological assumption (as is the case for Gibson) is that the main purpose of Jesus’ life was for him to die “for our sins,” then someone had to do the dirty deed of killing him.

And:

Attempts to “harmonize” what are four very different versions of the Jesus story have long been discredited because they give the editor such wide license to pick and choose. This effectively creates a “fifth” gospel – or in Gibson’s case, anti-gospel. The only way to unravel Gibson’s fabric is to examine each gospel separately, in order to see their different emphases and purposes.

Also:

While the via crucis in Gibson’s film is an agonizing, interminable study in pietistic Catholic midrash, Mark’s version is spare and grim, needing no embellishment. This is because in his time, this public spectacle functioned to deter subversives and to aggrandize the Roman military presence. It inspired not beatific (voyeuristic? sadistic?) ecstasy in the beholder, as in the film, but sheer terror.

On the subversive nature of the church (as it was intended):

“It is often said that the Christian understanding of the human individual, which considers him at the same time fallen yet redeemable, offers a point of departure more adequate, i.e. more correct and more realistic, than that which was provided by the Utopian idea, where man is seen as almost ready to complete his own redemption, or by the mechanistic idea, where man is nothing but a product of his circumstances. We are now ready to affirm that the biblical understanding of the powers in history can give us a more adequate intellectual framework of the task of social discernment to which we are especially called in our age. This discernment is not simply a way of helping the needy with their social problems, a kind of updated philanthropy, nor does it mean simply to guide individual Christians by helping them to do good deeds or to avoid sin. It is rather a part of the Christians’ proclamation that the church is under orders to make known to the Powers, as no other proclaimer can do, the fulfillment of the mysterious purposes of God (Eph 3:10) by means of that Man in whom their rebellion has been broken and the pretensions they had raised have been demolished. The proclamation of the Lordship of Christ is not a substitute for nor a prerequisite to the gospel call directed to individuals. Nor is it the mere consequence within society of the conversion of individuals one by one. Nor does it dispense with, or guarantee, or always necessarily facilitate such conversions… That Christ is Lord, a proclamation to which only individuals can respond, is nevertheless a social, political, structural fact which constitutes a challenge to the Powers. It thus follows that the claims such proclamation makes are not limited to those who have accepted it, nor is the significance of its judgment limited to those who have decided to listen to it.”

John Howard Yoder, The Politics of Jesus, pp. 159-161, emphasis in bold type added.

Researching for this week, I came across these two quotes in Ched Myers’ Who Will Roll Away The Stone?. On the erosion of the modern democracy:

“Democracy is a good idea, insofar as it redistributes power on a regular basis. But its great vulnerability is that it demands an empowered citizenry, one that is constantly training itself to identify and resist concentrations of power. That is hardly the case in the locus imperii [centre of power] today. Regular citizens have steadily decreasing control over the steadily increasing centralization of State power, which electoral politics simply no longer has the power to change…Because electoral politics under capitalism is firmly under the rule of image, it is also under the sway of those who can afford to manufacture those images. Representation has degenerated into consumer choices between rabidly competing, but scarcely differing, political personality cults. Elitist decision-making, structured advantages for big capital, two-party monopolizing, public mystification – these are the true enemies of democracy.” (WWRATS, p. 256.)

On somatic politics (or putting our bodies on the line for a cause):

“Hope is where your ass is.” — Philip Berrigan, Plowshares activist and former Catholic priest.

It definitely felt a bit strange meeting on a Sunday. It threw my whole week out of kilter – I actually only remembered at lunchtime that we were due to meet that day. Now it kind of feels like a Saturday today (Monday).

Ending with dinner rather than starting with it will take a bit of getting used to as well – dinner has a warming-up function that is lost in this order reversal, but I’m sure we can find a way of compensating, even if it’s just getting used to it.

Starting and finishing early definitely has its advantages though – I wasn’t nearly as tired as usual (despite a late night) and there’s a natural ceiling to finishing with dinner that means we don’t end up going till the wee hours of the morning, which helps with kids.

So it’ll take some getting used to, but once we wear this new routine in, I’m pretty sure it will be an improvement.

I’ve spent some time this week discussing this idea (via email) with a new friend on the nonviolence trainers network. Justin made two important clarifications to my former post on entitlement, clarifications that are important to make here: the first emphasized the importance of the voluntary nature of shedding entitlement, and the second emphasized the centrality of defending human rights to Christian discipleship.

On the first clarification, Justin wrote, “Martin Luther King talks about ‘voluntary, unearned suffering’ being redemptive, educational and transformative. The key here is ‘voluntary’. I would suggest when we experience such unearned suffering we experience the daily reality of millions of people around the world and it is this experiential opening that is redemptive, educational and transformative – for us.” Amen to that. Justin then went on to reference the Christian Peacemakers Team that was recently released after being kidnapped and held in Iraq for many months. They came through that experience not only with more understanding of the plight of many innocent Iraqis, but also reminding the media that it is those stories which they should be covering.

So that’s a balance worth addressing – perhaps the emphasis in shedding entitlement shouldn’t be on that being a just or accurate reflection of reality (because in worldly terms, it’s not fair), but an act of self-giving love (which Jesus demonstrates time and time again).

On the second clarification, and it was a reasonable one to make given the post, I commented to Justin that, “In no way would I want to suggest that we don’t defend others’ human rights – quite the opposite in fact, as I agree entirely that it is a core element of Christian discipleship. Rather my point is that in defending others human rights, or in doing justice of any kind (which to me is to be equated in part with being a follower of Jesus) that we ought not consider the defence of our human rights to be a prerequisite to action. That is, we can’t go into peacemaking or any other justice endeavour with the premise that as soon as our human rights are violated, or threatened, we’re outta there. That requires (voluntarily) letting go of our entitlement to them.” In support of this, Justin cited the CPT motto, originally asked by Ron Sider, namely, “What would happen if Christians devoted the same discipline and self-sacrifice to nonviolent peacemaking that armies devote to war?” It’s a compelling question, and not only in relation to war and peace, but in all other instances where faithful Christian discipleship conflicts with the world’s values.

The emphasis here though is on the Christian being willing to give up her or his entitlement to human rights, not on their being willing to give up others’ human rights. Again, this is a balance worth addressing.

The upshot of all this is that I was never intending to devalue the importance of human rights, but rather putting human rights in their proper perspective in terms of Christian discipleship. Thanks to Justin for his comments that continue the ongoing conversation around just how this works in the context of our lives.

This week we switch from meeting on Friday nights to meeting on Sunday afternoon/evening, and finishing with dinner. We’re anticipating some changes, but have no idea how it will change things in actuality. The advantages are:

* Most people say that it’s a more convenient time and will therefore be able to come more often.
* We won’t need to put Chelsea to bed halfway through it!
* People will be more rested at the end of a weekend than last thing on a Friday.
* No late nights.

I guess the question marks are over how it will change the dynamic. How will having dinner at the end change things? People might be less relaxed into it than when dinner was beforehand. It might be awkward trying to balance cooking and talking seriously. It will mean less flexibility in terms of length of discussion or activity, but that might not be a bad thing. Or it might make no difference at all. What about the daytime timeslot – will that make a difference to how people are feeling?

I’m certainly not worried about it, just curious. All indications are that it will be a good, positive change. We only need to wait and see now!

This week we talked about repentance, and the idea that it is tied to our existence in the world (not a merely personal decision). Specifically (inspired by Ched Myers), I asked the questions, “Could it be that what it means for us as First World people to repent is to shed our sense of entitlement? Could it be that in letting go of our idea that life owes us something we might be freed to live radically unattached to anything but that which is truly important?”

In the ensuing discussion, Erica asked a question that I had been musing over in my preparation: namely, does shedding our entitlement to anything at all have implications for human rights? That is, is it possible that shedding our entitlement to human rights can be a Christian option? I share Erica’s strong protectiveness over human rights, and therefore react against anything that seems to threaten them. I didn’t have a particularly good answer at the time, although I did say that in shedding our entitlement to things, it doesn’t mean that we don’t actually have them, and that the grace of God means that often we do have them even though we’re not entitled to them.

But I’ve thought further since and here’s what I think.

Firstly, the implication of putting human rights before our commitment to faithfulness to God, is that human rights are our first priority or allegiance; and that means idolatry. Then there’s the slippery slope argument: what constitutes a human right? Once we admit one thing, others inevitably follow, and it’s hard to know where to stop.

But the clincher for me was when I thought “how does Jesus’ story, and particularly his cross, shed light on the idea of entitlement?” (and the fact that this didn’t occur to me earlier is an indictment on me, although I guess the focus on our context as First Worlders would go some way to explaining that oversight).

Anyway, it strikes me that by allowing himself to be nailed, butt-naked, to a cross, Jesus shed any sense of entitlement to rights for himself as a human being (let alone God). And the book of Phillippians fleshes this out further, in chapter 2 when it says, “6. Let the same mind be in your that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God [who surely has more rights than a human?],
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
7. but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
8. he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death–
even death on a cross.”

That is to say that if even God does not consider himself entitled to press for his own rights, then who are we to do so? More than that, this is how God shows his love – shows himself – that he sheds all entitlement out of concern for us! If this act is the ultimate self-defining moment for God (and I believe it is), that ought to teach us something about our entitlement as followers of Christ.

Only then does God go on to exalt Jesus, but that’s partially because he did not consider himself entitled to exaltation things in the first place – God’s grace and mercy in action. So it’s not that God doesn’t care about those things, or want those things for everyone, but that, in humility, he doesn’t consider himself entitled to them. Once we recognise that, it’s easier to see why Jesus did things like washing people’s feet, and insisting on servanthood – he shed the sense that it was beneath him.

So it seems to me that shedding entitlement as a Christian must include our entitlement to human rights. And so I appreciate even more greatly the challenging and thoughtful questions that come up in our gatherings, since it frequently leads to clarification for me, and hopefully for others too. Feel free to argue with me or disagree.

For those who were there on Friday night:

lackadaisical \lack-uh-DAY-zih-kuhl\, adjective:
Lacking spirit or liveliness; showing lack of interest; languid; listless.

Or, in my dictionary (Heinemann’s Australian Dictionary):

lackadaisical \lack-uh-DAY-zih-kuhl\, adjective:
1. Careless or slapdash.
2. Listless or lacking in energy.

and secondly, moot: I’ll highlight my usages:

moot (verb)
1. To bring up as a subject for discussion or debate.
2. To discuss or debate. See Synonyms at broach1.
3. Law. To plead or argue (a case) in a moot court.

moot (adjective.)
1. Subject to debate; arguable: a moot question.
2. Law. Without legal significance, through having been previously decided or settled.
3. Of no practical importance; irrelevant.

Not that I was entitled to vindication, but…well, you know.

Being a Christian is a lot like learning to swim. Bear with me here; I think it’s worth it.

Those of us who learned to swim early find it easy to forget how daunting it is. There’s a time when the possibility of drowning and losing one’s life is very very real, and getting in the water requires a great deal of courage. That’s what I’m talking about.

I’ve been teasing this analogy out for a while since I decided we needed to come up with a way of teaching what it’s like to be a Christian. What became obvious pretty early on is that it’s not simply a matter of downloading information to someone, and having them accept it. And so I came up with this: trying to become a Christian merely by learning facts is like trying to learn to swim without getting in the water. You can learn all the theory you want – you can be have complete mastery of the physics of buoyancy and propulsion – but if you never get in the water, if you do all of this sitting on the pool deck, then you can’t really say with any integrity that you know how to swim.

In the same way, you can be as well-versed as you like in theology, you can understand the dynamics of what a Christian life looks like and what a Christian believes, but if you never actually commit yourself to doing it, or to the relationship that it entails, you can never say with any integrity that you know what it is to be a Christian. And as a result, you can never say with any integrity that you tried it enough to say it works or it doesn’t.

Therefore it follows too that to teach it, you have to build into it the live of those who are learning – or better yet, have them build it into their lives. It’s been said that Christianity isn’t taught, it’s caught, but that’s not all – it’s lived. It’s a life rather than a way of thinking.

The analogy continues: there are those who think they can sit on the edge of the pool and dangle their toes in the water too. They have a sense of what water feels like on their body. But the truth is that they have never swum either.

A lot of people, I think, go to church, or try to be good, or do any number of “religious” activities, yet it means nothing much. They’ve only paddled around the edges, and barely had an inkling of what it was like to really live. But they don’t know that – how could they? – one can only know that from the perspective of the deep end.

Then there are those who are happy to get in the water, so long as they remain in the shallow end of the pool. You can fully immerse yourself there, admittedly, but your feet are still firmly planted on the pool floor. At any time, you can simply stand up again and rely entirely on yourself. And inevitably we do.

This is the way I see my faith for many years, and to an extent the Christianity of many who are still in church. You never actually need to rely on God, because you’re not prepared to risk it enough to do so for real. It’s an immersion in a way of life that never actually gets lived. There’s a degree of frustration to it – how I’d like to be able to swim like those people confidently – but I’m not prepared to let go of control enough to make that happen.

And then there are those who miraculously leave the comfort and familiarity of the shallow end, and risk their very lives by going where it seems illogical to go – the deep end, where there’s no safety net, nothing beneath my feet. It’s throwing yourself completely at the mercy of the water. But what you soon realise, if you are able to be patient and relax and not panic and thrash about, is that water has enough density to hold you up. It is actually possible to float there with minimal effort on your part. But it takes the courage to get there in the first place. It’s one thing to know the physics of that; it’s quite another entirely to experience it.

This, to me, is what Christianity is about. Going to the place it seems illogical to go – to relinquish control of one’s life, one’s destiny, and trust it to another, throwing oneself at the mercy of God. But what you soon realise is that it’s actually the only way to live. Of course, it takes courage to get to that point. And it’s one thing to believe in your head that trusting God completely is the way to go; it’s quite another entirely to experience it.

Of course, you can float in the shallow end too; but there you always know that you can put your feet down and rely on your own strength to save you. And that means you inevitably do exactly that. So in actual fact, counter-intuitively, it’s easier to simply float and only float in the deep end. Same with being a Christian; it’s easier to trust when you’re in over your head. When you have enough, and can rely on yourself or your own ability, you inevitably do. I think that’s (at least partly) what Jesus meant by “blessed are the poor, meek, etc.”.

I love this analogy of the deep end, or the deep water. It requires a massive amount of trust to go where you know you are in over your head. But it’s only in that situation where you’re risking it all that you are really in a position to trust completely. And it’s only when you’re in a position to trust another completely that you can let go of what’s not important, and really live.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder whether floating in the deep end should give way to drowning in this analogy, and new life. After all, the whole idea of baptism is immersion leading to the death of the old life, and the rising signifying the new. But that might be complicating things. So I’ll leave it as it is for the moment.

Understand I don’t necessarily see it as a progression – pool deck to the water’s edge to the shallow end to the deep end – or back again – but sometimes it might end up like that. Ideally it’s a bomb from the 10 metre board, but we’re not all that brave. Plus we all like to go back to the safety of the pool deck from time to time…and that’s where denial kicks in (cf last week).

Paul’s “message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” is kind of spot on. There’s so much in the Bible about people who “get it” and people who don’t, about how some people live in darkness and some in light. And it never seems like that from the pool deck – it can’t be that much different, we think – I’ve been under a shower, I know what water feels like. But it actually is different – massively different – when your abilities are stripped bare and you rely entirely, completely, on God, in the deep end.

I’ve made a few forays out into the deep end – recently, even more so. Always in a moment of fear, I return to the shallow end. My hope is that I’ll spend more and more time out there until I get used to it. It probably won’t lose its scariness, the element of fear, but that’s the point isn’t it? – we’re not sustained by God for stuff we can handle on our own.

So it really is a case of jumping in with both feet or nothing at all. How very like me.

If it’s Simon you’re after, you’ll find I’ve moved blogs to here. “I just think I need some space.” “We’re not breaking up, we’re just on a break.” “It’s not you, it’s me.” etc. etc.

no, actually I just decided it was better to keep inspiral blog separate from all the weird crazy stuff I want to post, so…simon blog was born today. I’m so proud of the little tacker.

If it’s inspiral you’re after, you’re in the right place.