Category: Apprentice

The Priesthood of Adam and the Shape of the World

I’ve used the subtitle from An Offering of Uncles to give a hint of this post. When I first read Capon’s book I made no connection between the priesthood of Adam and the hiereus/priest. Over the years I’ve lent the book out twice and lost it twice and I’m holding on to this one (thanks to one of the online book sites specializing in out of print books) for dear life. Even after many years and a couple of re-readings, the penny hadn’t dropped. According to Capon’s assumption, Adam’s special role in creation was to be a priest. And though that priesthood has been marred through the Fall, it still remains an inescapable part of what it means to be human. To be a human is to be a priest. Which then begs the question – just what is a priest?

In my previous post I noted that: “The role of the hiereus/priest is adequately described in various encyclopedias both print and online. I was looking for more than a bit of religious anthropology.” However, we cannot escape that bit of religious anthropology if we’re to make sense of Capon’s assertion. According to Wikipedia (the source of all knowledge accurate or wildly inaccurate)

“A priest or priestess is a religious leader authorized to perform the sacred rituals of a religion, especially as a mediatory agent between humans and one or more deities. They also have the authority or power to administer religious rites; in particular, rites of sacrifice to, and propitiation of, a deity or deities.”

In other words, the work of the priest is to act as a connector between humanity and divinity, or better, between the common and the holy. This definition faintly echoes N.T. Wright’s understanding of the image of God in humanity at creation:

“This is what is meant by humans being made in God’s image: not that we simply are like God in this or that respect, but that as angled mirrors we are called to sum up the praises of creation, on the one hand, and to rule as wise stewards over the world, on the other. This is the vocation known as the ‘royal priesthood’, kings and priests.”

(“Mind, Spirit, Soul and Body: All for One and One for All Reflections on Paul’s Anthropology in his Complex Contexts” N.T. Wright, Paper give at the Society of Christian Philosophers: Regional Meeting, Fordham University; March 18, 2011)

The parallel between Capon’s theme and Wright’s definition of the imago dei hints that we may be onto something in the context of biblical anthropology. That something, the function of the priesthood of Adam, must wait until the next posting. In the meantime, here follows an update on the book in progress.

Of the Making of Many Books There Is No End

“And much study is a weariness of the flesh.” So speaks the author of Ecclesiastes. And the writing of books means the reading of books and each new development of a chapter prompts another look at a book that wasn’t already on the reading list. I’ve just finished a re-read of Leading Christians to Christ by Fr. Rob Smith. I looked up an old favorite, Systemantics by John Gall only to find he’d published a third, expanded, edition called The Systems Bible. (Yes, I ordered it and it’s on the growing stack. Damn you, Amazon.) Gall’s book isn’t a theological tome. But it is an amusing look at how systems don’t work. One of my favorite maxims is “Systems tend to oppose their own proper function.” If that isn’t a description of the Church I don’t know what is.

Plugged In

A couple of decades ago I was doing some freelancing computer troubleshooting. One small consulting company had run into trouble when a relative had tried to upgrade the memory in one of their PCs. After the “upgrade” it no longer worked. A memory error. It turned out to be an incompatible DIMM as apparently the helpful relative assumed all DIMMs worked in all PCs. I found the correct match, opened the PC, switched out the memory and fired it up. The power light came on, the beeps from the POST (power on self test) were audible as was the whirring of the hard drive. Unfortunately, the screen was still black. Nothing. I pulled the plug to shut the PC down (not recommended practice) and opened it up again in case I’d unseated the video card, but all was well. Fired it up and again the screen was black though all else seemed functioning. And yes, the monitor was showing power. Repeat shut down and restart and then I noted that in putting the case back together I had neglected to plug the monitor cable back into the PC. Fortunately, none of the employees were around to witness my embarrassment.

The memory of that absent-minded moment comes freshly to mind each time I encounter Jesus statement: “I am the true vine.” The monitor was in perfect working order, but without the connection to the PC it was just an overpriced door stop. Jesus said: “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:4-5) It is an imperfect analogy as the unplugged monitor was indeed useless; apart from Jesus, human beings can do quite a lot of things.

What then did Jesus mean by that sweeping statement, “apart from me you can do nothing.”? Was this another case of exaggeration for effect like the camel going through the eye of a needle? I think it may relate to part of his opening statement in this passage: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.” (John 15:1-2) The issue comes down to what “fruit” the Father is expecting. For nearly 20 centuries Christian community in some form or another has been let loose in the world. In those centuries that community has blessed our world in countless ways. In those centuries that community has harmed our world as well. We can safely assume that the acts of the Christian community that have caused harm are not the “fruits” the Father expects. The more difficult question is whether the good done by the Christian community represents those fruits.

After all, good can be done and blessings given by all sorts of human beings of any faith or of none. Human communities and organizations, regardless of belief or lack of belief, have accomplished much that is good in our world. If the fruit of which Jesus speaks is simply doing good works, then the statement “apart from me you can do nothing” makes little sense. Perhaps the fruits, i.e. the lifestyle and efforts of those connected with Jesus, are different from other human good works in that they are part of a greater understanding from God’s point of view.

Great chess players have the ability to “see” the possible consequences of each move several moves ahead. But no human being can truly grasp how our actions will reverberate in the lives of others. If we had that ability there would be no such thing as the “law of unintended consequences.” By abiding in Jesus, Christians are intimately connected to the Creator’s universal vision and understanding. Our deeds in Christ therefore serve a divine strategy that we cannot grasp.

However, that then raises the question of what it means to “abide” in Jesus. Going back to my adventures with the computer monitor, that monitor had power flowing through it from the electrical outlet. But without the video cable attached to the PC it could show nothing as there was no channel of communication. Abiding in Jesus is our means of clear communication with the Father and therefore with the Father’s purposes, projects and directions. If that is the case, then Jesus’ words about abiding in him are a challenge to several common concepts of Christian discipleship.

Instead of discipleship as a personal improvement regimen where our behavior looks more and more like what the New Testament expects, discipleship becomes the daily exercise of abiding, being connected to, Jesus moment by moment. The measure of our success therefore is not how much more patient and loving and generally nicer we become, but of how many seconds of each minute and minutes of each hour and hours of each day we are consciously connected with Jesus.

That may sound suspiciously like abandoning Christian engagement with the world and focusing entirely on my own spiritual condition. But if I am connected with Jesus, do we really think he will be content to let me rest in my “me and Jesus” cocoon? In contrast, abiding in Jesus may propel us out into the world in actions of blessing and building in places comfortable and uncomfortable. It may even propel us to giving rebuke to the greed and abuse and neglect that haunt human life.

At my former parish we had a set of spiritual disciplines we called the Trinity Way of Life. The first of those disciplines was Pay Attention where we were encouraged to spend brief moments throughout our day giving our whole attention to God. One thing we discovered was that when we got our attention focused, God frequently directed our attention to people and situations around us. It seems anti-intuitive in our culture, but according to Jesus’ image of the vine and branches the way to healing engagement with our world may be to turn all our energy to connecting with, and staying connected to, Jesus.

Day One

“Modern attempts to get away from the sheer historical facts of the Resurrection are, at best, based on a total misunderstanding. The whole Bible proclaims the need for, and the achievement of, a salvation that will remake creation (not one that will ignore it or escape from it), and it is just such a salvation, at once supernatural and historical, that was won on Easter Day. If the Resurrection narratives are [merely] a subtle way of convincing us that God still loves us, or that there is a life (albeit, a non-material one) beyond death, they must be reckoned among the oddest and most ill-conceived stories ever written.”

[Michael Sadgrove (b. 1950) & N. T. Wright (b. 1948), “Jesus Christ the Only Saviour”, in The Lord Christ [1980], John Stott, ed., vol. 1 of Obeying Christ in a Changing World, John Stott, gen. ed., 3 vol.,    London: Fountain, 1977, p. 73]

The above selection from Christian Quote of the Day came through on Easter morning. It addresses the very issue I plan to raise in this post and flows from the previous post on the meaning of the cross. Before I get to that there is this odd thought that came to mind this morning while reading the Daily Office relating to the Gospel of John.

All four of the Jesus stories (Gospels) assert that the discovery of the Resurrection occurred on the first day of the week. If all one reads are Matthew, Mark and Luke then that assertion just seems like a bit of historical grounding. But what, in the mode of multiple layers of meaning, if there is more significance to that Sunday timing than historical grounding? John wrote his Gospel quite some time after the first three were in circulation. An ancient document which may be the earliest to describe the books of the New Testament (the Muratonian Fragment) has this to say about the fourth Gospel: “to his fellow disciples and bishops, who had been urging him [to write], he said, ‘Fast with me from today to three days, and what will be revealed to each one let us tell it to one another.’ In the same night it was revealed to Andrew, [one] of the apostles, that John should write down all things in his own name while all of them should review it.”

John included several episodes not found in the earlier Gospels: the wedding at Cana, the Samaritan woman and the raising of Lazarus being some of the best known. He also gave greater significance to the Resurrection being on the first day of the week, though in a roundabout manner.

John opens his Gospel echoing the opening verses of Genesis. But that is not the only Genesis reference. If he opens with the first day of creation, he reaches a climax when Pilate brings Jesus, beaten bloody, before the crowds, with the words Ecce Homo, “behold the man.” This event occurs on Friday, the sixth day of the week. In Genesis 1, the sixth day of creation concludes with the creation of humankind. We move from the beginning of the glory of humanity bearing the Imago Dei, to the brutalized Incarnate God whose scarred body illustrates the rage and loathing of a broken humanity who has failed its attempt at self-deification. Ecce Homo indeed. In the waning hours of that Friday, Jesus is crucified. In his dying he takes on himself the full weight of our fallen nature, the very nature that had nailed him to the cross. Taking on that burden, he dies. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work that he had done. (Gen 2:2) On the seventh day our crucified humanity lays in a tomb. John’s Genesis pattern may seem completed at this point. Certainly, the Genesis creation story linked to the Jesus story seems to bookend the whole story of God’s creation.

Yet there is still a Genesis link to come. On the first day of the week, in Genesis the beginning of creation, Jesus rises from death. It is not a resuscitation of a corpse. This Risen Jesus is quite corporeal, eating with his disciples, inviting Thomas’ touch. But he has also appeared in a locked room. In Luke’s story he vanishes after blessing and breaking bread with two disciples in the village of Emmaus. This embodiment seems something altogether new. And that is it, the significance of the Resurrection on the first day of the week is the announcement of a new creation. It is a theme picked up by Paul in his writings, a theme which has echoes in the prophetic writings. The Resurrection is a vindication to be sure, but it is more. The Resurrection is the defeat of death to be sure, but it is more. The forgiveness of sins, which Paul ties inextricably to the Resurrection (And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. 1 Corinthians 15:17) frees us from the chains of our past sins to be sure, but it is more. The Resurrection is the inauguration of the new creation. And in Christ we participate as part of that new creation. To leave that out, to confine the Resurrection to vindication or victory over death or forgiveness is to miss the ultimate consummation of the work of Jesus. For Christ is risen, the new creation has begun, and this is a life worth exploring. Alleluia.

The Cross: Multiple Layers of Meaning

What just happened? I write this on the morning of Holy Saturday, though it started a few days ago. Perhaps that opening question might have been asked by Jesus’ disciples in the shock following his traumatic reversal of fortune. That Jesus was dead was not in doubt. That he had died at the hands of the gentile occupying army was not in doubt. That at some point in his death throes he had claimed the Father had forsaken him was not in doubt. What his death meant may not have been asked on Holy Saturday, but it has been asked ever since then.

The arguments over the significance of Jesus’ death spring, in part, from the assumption that any event or story can have only one layer of meaning. For instance, the story about Jesus meeting with the unnamed woman at the well in Sychar has a coded meaning hidden in her background of having had five husbands and living with someone to whom she was not married. The story is the story of Samaria itself and part of the story behind the hostility between Jews and Samaritans. But it is certainly possible that the story in the 4th chapter of John’s Gospel is both an accurate account of an historical encounter and a parable of the history and redemption of Samaria.

That same possibility hangs over the various theories of the meaning of the death of Jesus. To that collection I want to add one more. Well, probably not “add” as I’ve no doubt that many have been down that path before me. Perhaps it is more accurate to say “highlight,” as I’ve not heard or read it explored in recent memory. This particular understanding incorporates several bits of the New Testament story without, I hope, doing violence to any of them. In particular I’m looking at Philippians 2:5-8; Hebrews 2:17 and 4:15; 2 Corinthians 5:21; Matthew 26:39 and several references throughout the Gospel of John.

In the Christian story we declare that God took on human nature in Jesus of Nazareth. And that immediately creates some problems. How would that function? It’s hard to keep one’s balance with that kind of declaration. We tend to slip over on the human side with fudging on divinity citing a high degree of “god consciousness” as an explanation for Jesus teaching and impact and dismissing extraordinary works of power as the credulous records of an ignorant age. Or we slip over on the god side with what I’ve come to call the “Clark Kent Conundrum.” Jesus looks human, but he’s really not. Strange visitor from a distant planet; faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings with a single bound… and of course standing for truth, justice and the American way. I lifted the image from Fr. Robert Capon who was fierce in his insistence on the full humanity of Jesus without compromising the divinity. In that, Capon is right in line with Paul in Philippians:

Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. (Philippians 2:5-8)

This same assertion is reiterated by the author of the letter to the Hebrews:

Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. (Hebrews 2:17)

The author here adds another function to the self-emptying of the eternal Word, the function of high priest. He has a great deal more to say about this high priestly role (as will I in other posts) but the one additional comment relevant is a couple of chapters on:

For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. (Hebrews 4:15)

It is that exception, “yet without sin” that opens another view to the cross. After all, because of that exception Jesus is not sharing our full human experience. From his earliest days, he does not experience that awareness of isolation and alienation that haunts the human psyche. His awareness of and contact with the Father is unbroken. How can Jesus be my truly human savior until he knows my truly human darkness?

For a long time, Paul’s assertion about God making Jesus to be sin did not sit well with me. I was fine with Jesus carrying my sins. I was fine even with Jesus paying the price of my sin. But to be sin? “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21) Unless, of course, that was to be his final experience on the cross. For Jesus to experience the alienation of sin is a frightening thought for any Trinitarian. It means that there was a break within the very essence of God. Assuming that to be the case, it also made more sense of Jesus’ agony in the Garden of Gethsemane.

The agonizing prayer that “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.” (Matthew 26:39) I had always understood to be referring to the suffering and death on the cross. It seemed odd that one who knew the Resurrection was coming should have been so fearful as to ask for a reprieve if such a thing were possible. But if the cup referenced by Jesus was not the physical challenge but the taking on of the full alienation of sin, then it makes (to me) better sense.

Finally (for the moment) there is the cry of dereliction: “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” from Psalm 22. That would seem to mark a moment of sudden disconnection. If the Incarnation of the Word required a full immersion into our full humanity, this moment could also be considered the ultimate completion of that Incarnation. It also gives a slightly different twist to our interpretation of the word tetelestai most often rendered as “It is finished.” But tetelestai can be read other ways and in this context perhaps we should read “It is accomplished.” I am not suggesting that this view of the meaning of the cross is either original or superior to any other. I do suggest that this understanding may be a perfectly legitimate layer in the multiple layers of meaning of the cross.

The Palm/Passion Conundrum

I used to think that Palm Sunday got pretty short shrift in the Episcopal Church. Over forty years ago, in the revisions for the current Book of Common Prayer that were completed when I was in seminary, we combined Palm Sunday and Sunday of the Passion onto one Sunday observation. That made the service both long and disjointed. In our past we observed Passion Sunday two weeks before Easter and Palm Sunday the next week. But there were some peculiarities.

In our former liturgies, on Passion Sunday we didn’t read any of the Passion Gospels that describe the arrest, torture and execution of Jesus. Instead we read of a confrontation between Jesus and the religious leaders which concluded with him declaring “before Abraham was, I am.” To these authorities that statement would sound like Jesus would be claiming to be God. Not surprisingly their reaction was to look around for stones to throw at him. He manages to escape. And that’s Passion Sunday?

Then there came Palm Sunday, today, the Sunday before Easter. But did we read about Jesus riding into Jerusalem? Nooooo. We read the passion from the Gospel of Matthew. The whole blessed thing. Over three pages of small print. A very cursory review of our former liturgical practice indicates that the story of Palm Sunday was never read at all in our Sunday services. Our changes have made a step toward giving the Palm Sunday story its due, but only a small step.

The current liturgy for Palm Sunday begins with an acclamation and a prayer, followed by the Palm Sunday stories from either Matthew, Mark or Luke. Then follows a prayer over the palms followed by the palm procession. Most Episcopal churches use the hymn “All Glory, Laud and Honor” but stop in the midst of the hymn for this prayer:

Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

At the conclusion of the procession the service drops any focus on the Palm Sunday story and focuses instead on the Passion, including the reading of the Passion Gospel. Since the great majority of the service is the Passion, it’s hardly surprising that, over the years, most of my preaching on that day focused on the Passion as well. But in so doing I’ve neglected an important opportunity to tell part of the Jesus story that is often overlooked. It is overlooked in part, because it contradicts the narrative of religious culture that has been part of Christianity for centuries.

The scene that Jesus is acting out is almost familiar to his followers and the citizens of Jerusalem – almost familiar but with a twist. He is riding into Jerusalem and the crowds hail him as the son of David, declaring their hope that Jesus is the coming king, the long promised Messiah. But. Had they been paying closer attention they might have noticed that he’s not been following the script of kingship.

He’s drawn huge crowds, but he hasn’t assembled troops. He’s performed amazing miracles that can only be done with the power of God, but he hasn’t called down fire from on high to destroy the Roman occupying forces. He’s brought healing to many but at least one of the healed was the enemy, the servant of a Roman soldier. He’s taught about God’s kingdom, declared that this long awaited kingdom is at hand, but he’s peppered his teaching with troubling directions about blessing those who curse us and loving our enemies. He’s been to Jerusalem a couple of times but does most of his ministry in Galilee.

When he finally does make his move in Jerusalem he rides on a donkey. When a king comes riding to take charge of an enemy occupied city, he rides a warhorse. Jesus rides a donkey. In so doing he is channeling a prophecy from Zechariah: in which the king enters Jerusalem in humility and there is a promise of peace to the nations. Jesus is sending a message in all that he does. The kingdom of God doesn’t operate in the way human governments and rulers operate. God’s approach to power is not our approach to power.

There are two types of kingdom in contrast here: the kingdom of God and the kingdom of Caesar. These kingdoms are based on quite different – and contradictory – principles. Caesar’s way is the way our world works. Sadly, Caesar’s way is all too often the way the Church works. But the Caesar way is not the Jesus way. The Jesus way makes no sense in Caesar’s world. The Jesus way meets with incredulity, scorn and anger in Caesar’s world.

It is the Jesus way to which God calls each and every individual as an apprentice. It is the Jesus way into which God invites apprentices to be a Christian community. It is only the Jesus way that lasts, it is only the Jesus way that at the end of the day, wins.

The Ecclesiology of Inigo Montoya

Ecclesiology: noun, \ i-ˌklē-zē-ˈä-lə-jē, plural ecclesiologies. The meanings given refer either to the study of the doctrine of the Church, or oftentimes the study of church adornments and furnishing. It’s the former definition I’m about in this post and this is where the waters get muddy to the point of opaqueness. There seems to be a nearly infinite number of ecclesiologies floating about in Christian circles. Some of them refer to forms of church government, some to church membership, some to forms of worship. Lately I’ve been reflecting on a rather different approach to ecclesiology, that of Inigo Montoya. If you don’t know who he is, read the next paragraph; if you do, skip that and read on.

In the fall of 1987, the movie The Princess Bride hit the theatres and soon became a cult hit with a number of memorable lines. Perhaps the most frequently repeated came from Mandy Patinkin in the role of the swordsman Inigo Montoya. The leader of the outlaw group (Wallace Shawn as Vizzini) keeps responding to every unexpected event with the word “inconceivable!” Eventually Inigo Montoya confronts Vizzini: “Inconceivable? You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means.”

The useful thing about Inigo’s line about misusing the word “inconceivable” is that so many terms will do just as well, such as: “Church? You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means.” In reading the New Testament to examine the direct and indirect references to the Church led me to the conclusion that the first definition of Church against which all other uses must be tested is that Church is a community. It is not the leadership, though leaders are obviously part of that community. Nor is it buildings, nor denominations nor any other of the manifold uses of the word church in our common speech.

Perhaps a better way of phrasing it is that many of the uses of the word church may well be accurate but at the same time when addressing the question “What is the church?” those uses are at best misleading and at worst, useless. I am not offering a definitive answer to that question, only suggesting that a) the question is important and b) that the answer may be more complex and challenging than we think.

I know that this questioning puts me at odds with my own tradition, and in fact with centuries of consensus. From An Outline of the Faith in the Book of Common Prayer:
Q. How is Prayer: Church described in the Bible?
A. The Church is described as the Body of which Jesus Christ is the Head and of which all baptized persons are members….

Since the Reformation there have been alternative descriptions offered, each of which can make some appeal to the Bible for support. While I lean towards the description from the Book of Common Prayer my concern is that a quick acceptance of that or any of the alternatives pulls us away from the Biblical emphasis on how the Church functions (or fails to function) as a community.

That’s enough for now. Next (maybe) I’ll share my reflections on how that community is supposed to function and what that means for the way the culture of religion helps or hinders us.

The End of Lent

I wrote the article below for our March newsletter in the parish. The title referred to Easter as either merely the end of Lent or the beginning of new creation. After publication it did occur to me that “The End of Lent” had one other level of meaning, i.e., the purpose or destiny of Lent. After all, we need constant reminder that the disciplines of the spiritual life are not for making us feel better about ourselves or to make us more religious persons. Instead they are to connect us so deeply with God that our deeds of mercy become more than human good intentions but rather channels through which God’s healing grace and justice enter our broken and benighted world.

All of the month of March falls in the season of Lent, including all of Holy Week. Our focus for Lent 2018 has been on a congregational challenge to practice spiritual disciplines in a program called 10 Brave Christians. Response has been heartening as we have distributed nearly 100 of the program booklets. The real test for us is how many of us persevere through the program.

In the meantime, the society in which we live and move continues with its disturbing behavior in mass slayings, sexual harassment and exploitation, angry squawking, finger pointing, fake news and outright lies. Given the inundation of bad news it can certainly seem that a church like Trinity running a program like 10 Brave Christians, is living in denial or “so heavenly minded that it is of no earthly good.”

Part of the problem in understanding how our program addresses the crying needs of our world springs from a misunderstanding of what the Resurrection of Jesus means. As we prepare to celebrate the Feast of His Resurrection on April 1st it might be helpful to change the way we think of that Feast from being a glorious conclusion to the end of Lent to seeing it as a glorious beginning to a season of new life and new hope.

First of all, we need to grasp that the Resurrection of Jesus was not the mere resuscitation of a corpse. Had that been the case, while it might have provided some comfort to the disciples, it would have left the human situation exactly as it was before the crucifixion. Resurrection is the beginning of a new creation built of the same material involved in the first creation. Jesus appears suddenly in the midst of a locked room, but invites Thomas to touch his substantial body. He has, according to Paul a soma pneumatikon, a spiritual body, yet he eats substantial food in the presence of his disciples. This Resurrected person is something new in human history, something that the evolutionary history of humankind cannot account for. The Resurrected Jesus does not come up through human history, he breaks into human history to launch a new humanity.

But the real misunderstanding we Christians have about the Resurrection is that the effect of the Resurrection is only vertical. That is to say, because Jesus died for us and rose again we can have our sins forgiven and be with him in heaven when we die. That much may be true, but it is distorted by the omission of the horizontal effect of the Resurrection. Because of our baptism and through the indwelling of God’s Spirit in us, the new creation is at work in and through us in our benighted world, in all our works and words done in Christ. Those last two words, in Christ, are essential to the new creation working through us. Any Christian, no matter how sincere, who operates solely by his or her own good will and effort makes as much or as little impact as the operations of any person of good will, of any faith or of none. When we acknowledge our own powerlessness to effect substantial change and, with empty hands, invite the Spirit of God to work through us, then the power of the new creation is let loose in otherwise ordinary deeds and words.

Thus, the Risen Life of Jesus moves through us to affect all that we do in our world. Our cooperative work with God’s good purposes is honed and enhanced through our intentional connection with the Risen Lord in regular disciplines like 10 Brave Christians and our Trinity Way of Life. The work God enables us to do and the words God gives us to speak do much to thwart evil in our times, even though we may not know what might have otherwise happened. That work and those words also release much good and healing in our world though we may not directly see the results.

This may all seem a bit much to keep in mind as we struggle to keep Lent in an arrhythmic and frantic culture. But it makes all the difference in whether Easter Day is merely the end of Lent or a launching of God’s redemption in the normal spheres of our lives. This year, April 1st may be a day when the foolishness of God again proves wiser than human wisdom. Or it could be just another April Fool’s Day. That’s pretty much up to us.

A Tale of Two Kingdoms

Pretty much all I write about in this forum has a fundamental assumption that can tie a number of disparate musings into a connected thread. One might call it my way of looking at the world. In fact, it is the troublesome word “world” that strikes near the heart of the matter.

In the New Testament the use of the word world most often translates a Greek term: kosmos. Although kosmos has come into our language as cosmos, its original meaning referred to an orderly arrangement, even a decoration. By implication it could refer to the whole created order, but that included the inhabitants of the world and the way those inhabitants organized life, including moral organization which could encompass politics, business or the whole value system of human societies. Because of the breadth of possible meaning, the New Testament is ambiguous in its application of the term. In the letter of James, we read that “friendship with the world is enmity with God.” But, famously, the Gospel of John tells us that “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…” There is one other use of the term world that further illustrates the ambiguity.

In John’s Gospel there is a recounting of a conversation between Jesus and the Roman Procurator, Pontius Pilate. When Pilate challenges Jesus about the accusations the Jewish authorities have lodged against him, the most common translation of Jesus’ reply goes like this: Jesus answered, “My kingship is not of this world; if my kingship were of this world, my servants would fight, that I might not be handed over to the Jews; but my kingship is not from the world.” (John 18:36) But taking the term kosmos as orderly arrangement, a paraphrase called the Complete Jewish Bible gives this rendition: Yeshua answered, “My kingship does not derive its authority from this world’s order of things. If it did, my men would have fought to keep me from being arrested by the Judeans. But my kingship does not come from here.”

Thus, the reply of Jesus draws an immediate contrast between the order of things that Pilate knows and a different arrangement from which Jesus draws his authority. The example Jesus uses is the example of armed resistance. That is the behavior Pilate (and Caesar) recognizes. That is why Pilate cannot seem to grasp what Jesus is saying. In Caesar’s kingdom, Jesus simply doesn’t make sense.

And there we have the two kingdoms face to face. On the one hand, there is Caesar’s kingdom. We know that kingdom well. It is the arrangement of things that governs human life across the globe. It is the system of government, business, education, politics and social groups of all sizes in all cultures. If you have ever had the pleasure of engaging in church politics whether in a congregation or a convention, it is painfully obvious that churches more often than not, order themselves according to the rules of Caesar’s kingdom.

Some time ago a wise priest discouraged me from invoking Robert’s Rules of Order to govern church meetings. He pointed out that the origin of that protocol was to handle conflict. It assumes conflict. And when there is none, invoking those rules can occasionally create conflict. Robert’s Rules of Order are tailor made for Caesar’s kingdom.

The alternative to Caesar’s kingdom is, of course, the kingdom of God, even though God’s church all too often can’t seem to tell the difference. This second kingdom is the one that Jesus announces as he begins his ministry. Jesus announces that this kingdom is near, is at hand, is in our midst. This last comment (Luke 17:21) is often translated as the kingdom being within or among, but in your midst is a reading more consistent with Jesus’ other teachings on the kingdom. One commentator notes that: “The whole language of the kingdom of heaven being within men, rather than men being within the kingdom, is modern”

Perhaps there is no other clearer passage about the orderly arrangement (kosmos) of God’s kingdom than Jesus’ rebuke to his disciples as they were arguing who would be the highest officials in the kingdom Jesus was proclaiming. It is best to take the whole passage which gives the setting:

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to [Jesus], “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” They replied, “We are able.” Then Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.” When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:35-45)

I have neither the qualifications nor the capacity to do a thorough exegesis of the contrast of the two kingdoms. Instead I want to underline that there are two kingdoms, that one of them, God’s kingdom, is at work in the midst of Caesar’s both undercutting its legitimacy and healing the wounds it causes. All else I write about blessing, priesthood or any other aspect of spiritual formation flows from my understanding of that reality.

If it ain’t broke…

… don’t fix it. That piece of homespun advice gets bandied about a lot, particularly when well-intended folks offer unwanted advice to people who are content with life. It’s also used to avoid dealing with self-sabotaging behavior when the prospect of change is too daunting, too painful or even just too inconvenient to face. My own experience is that sometimes when that expression is used we may be mistaken about what “it” is or how “it” is supposed to function.

That piece of advice came to mind while reflecting on what I wrote 2 weeks ago after the mass killing in Orlando. God had a different destiny for the shooter than the one he chose. “A human being, a child of Adam, destined to be a priest whose acts of love would weave meaning into the world, instead took up weapons…” And from a couple of paragraphs later “The priesthood of Adam has failed again of its hope.” Both of those statements imply a good deal of content and I hope to begin unpacking them here. At the same time, we dare not forget those killed and wounded in Orlando, nor let the deep wounds of individuals lost be buried under the sheer numbers of people killed by one person in a very short time. Each person who died was also destined by God to be a priest giving meaning to our world.

I’ve been referring to such actions as the Orlando killing under the heading of the “priesthood of un-meaning.” That does not mean that the killer exercised a different sort of priesthood than the victims or indeed all human beings. It is how that priesthood is acted out – does it give meaning and joy and purpose? Does it tear apart lives, destroy hope or further the brokenness of human life? One exercise of priesthood did just that at the nightclub in Orlando. But there were also many, many other acts of priesthood that occurred that evening. We know of a few of them like the bouncer who leapt through a crowd of panicking people to open a door for 60-70 patrons to escape. There were many more like first responders and victims comforting and working to save other victims. And each one of those acts were priestly acts that echoed God’s intent in creating humankind.

Even a broken priesthood can shine the light of hope through the deepest darkness. Even a broken priesthood can in some small degree heal wounds inflicted by the priesthood of unmeaning. But our acts of kindness and love and bravery and compassion cannot hide the fact that Adam’s priesthood is broken. When each act of horror occurs we can see clearly that brokenness. Yet at the same time each act of bullying in a schoolyard or a business office or a government office or a church is also the sign of a broken priesthood. Each act of abuse and betrayal is a sign of that broken priesthood. To add to the problem, human beings are capable of exercising both aspects of priesthood – blessing and unmeaning. We can exercise both acts in our relationships in the same day, even in the same hour.

Add to broken priesthood a history of anger, resentment and the feeling of powerlessness. Then mix in broken religion and an automatic weapon with a substantial clip and you have Orlando. Take those last elements away and you have abusive relationships and toxic workplaces. Yet, take away even anger and resentment and the feelings of powerlessness and you still have a broken priesthood that tries its best to bring healing good to our world and yet ever fails to fulfill its own vision.

That’s a long way around to the place I got stuck two years ago. But the getting stuck was not because we are without hope and without remedy. Rather, I was stuck because I had a hint that the remedy was so radical that I wasn’t sure I wanted to go there myself. It is time to start working on that journey and I’ll share those thoughts in a week or so.

The Priesthood of Unmeaning (Again)

It’s happened again. A human being, a child of Adam, destined to be a priest whose acts of love would weave meaning into the world, instead took up weapons and left — at last count — 50 dead and more than that wounded. The numbers are appalling. But to those who have lost someone they loved, there is a name and a face and a history that was killed. That person was one of 50. But he or she might have been one of 5 or one of 5,000 and the pain and the sorrow and the darkness would be the same.

The news coverage will fade quickly enough. Leaders here and abroad have expressed their sorrow, their outrage and their solidarity with all who have lost and were lost. A few politicians have said stupid things or made cynical use of tragedy. (Many people not in politics may do the same but they don’t get press coverage.) But when the press have moved on to other things and when the next tragedy happens there are still hundreds of people who will remember a name, a face and a history that is lost to them.

The priesthood of Adam has failed again of its hope. Unmeaning has been loosed upon us with echoes of the laughter of hell. Not even the new priesthood of the Christ will bring the lost back to life in our midst. Thus all who seek to exercise that new priesthood will struggle to go on in the face of the relentless tide of evil and unmeaning. But go on we must and go on we will. We will bless those within our reach with the blessing of the Christ. Following the instructions given to Aaron, we will place God’s Holy Name upon them. We will reach beyond the normal network of our relationships to bless those who react in horror and fear. And, this is the hardest part, we will bless those who curse and condemn Muslims and homosexuals and invoke the name of God over the carnage.

The priesthood of Adam may well seek to curse and condemn and judge in reaction. Those who exercise the priesthood of Christ will not be turned aside. We know the outcome of the battle against meaning and love and purpose. As the old Pentecostal preacher cried: “I took a peek at the back of the book and Jesus wins.”