Disruptive Grace

Month: February, 2013

Accepting Our Church For What It Is

As the pastor of Emmanuel Presbyterian Church (EPC), I sometimes write posts that are intended to be heard directly by my parishioners.  Yet, my sense is that there are others who need to “overhear” this.  With this post, I hope to provide an account of the work the session of elders did at NaCoMe retreat center on the weekend of January 25-27, 2013. Some of our elders were not able to attend (David and Cooper), and some had to skip sessions to head home early(Ginia and Terry A.), and so it is important for them to get a grasp on what happened as well.  I hope this will give you a picture of how God moved and worked in our midst, and why I think EPC has been given a simple gift that it must receive and cultivate: a singular passion for relationships marked by growing intimacy, transparency, and belonging.
We were privileged to have Jane Herring, a current VA Hospital Chaplain and Vanderbilt MDiv graduate, lead us in the contemplative work of “The Cycle of Grace.” This cycle has four distinct movements: Inputs: (1) acceptance & (2) sustenance; and Outputs: (3) significance & (4) fruitfulness.
With each movement, we started with the personal, asking questions of acceptance like “How have you experienced acceptance from others? And how have you experienced rejection from others?  How have you experienced acceptance from God, and how have you experienced the absence or even rejection of God”?   We moved from sharing from our own lives to asking these questions about EPC.  So how is EPC accepting?  One person shared that the act of corporate confession and the declaration of forgiveness constitute a mode of acceptance.  We take the risk of bearing our sin before God, and we are accepted as sinners.  Our masks are taken off, even if for a moment.

And it is this moment that, strangely, is a source of sustenance for us.  We cannot necessarily articulate why this is, but Sunday morning worship has a mysterious quality to it.  Jane, as a relative newcomer, shared with us that this has been her experience at EPC.  This was a gift to the session, for the experience of sustained weekly acceptance has become so familiar that it can be overlooked – “Well, ALL churches offer that! All churches say they are welcoming!”  And yes, we do refer to ourselves as welcoming, as a home.  But very few churches have a welcome that goes deep – that accepts the person behind the mask.  While it is dangerous to generalize regarding everyone’s experience (I’m certain some people have felt rejection by both people and God at our church – we are sinners after all), the session began to recount the times where we had each experienced a moment of acceptance in our church life.  The more we talked about it, the more began to model it, bringing down our own masks.  I, as the pastor, was allowed to participate fully, and didn’t feel that I had to use a filter.  The filters were taken down to the point where an elder told me: “Chris, it’s been painful to share my life with you and feel that you were not present to me.”  Ouch.  But I did not die, or lose my job, or any of the worst case scenarios that played out in my head.  No, I accepted this word.  It was a gift.  I had known all along that I wasn’t “all there,” at the least the way I had hoped I would be.

I began to face up to the fact that, against the best advice and wishes of my colleagues, my identity had become entangled with that of the church.  Neither of us know who we are.  We haven’t “found” ourselves.  And so we began looking to each other.  One person asked me when I first began 2.5 years ago: “So, what’s your vision for this church?”  If I couldn’t answer that question and execute accordingly, my life had no meaning.  And sure enough, after trying on multiple identities and visions (the language of “being missional” and “discipleship” played prominently in this endless exercise), executing with only momentary gain followed by momentary loss, I began to give up.  The church had exhausted me.  And so I began to look elsewhere.  I began to think that my salvation lay in going half-time, and using the other half of my life for my true passion.  Ah, but lo and behold, I did not know what I was passionate about.  I did not know myself, so attempting to separate even half of myself from the church would only yield the same results.  There is no greater pressure in our time than to find one’s self.  The future always holds a promise to us: move here, do this, give up that, and you will be happy and content.  But it is an empty promise.  It is what fuels the rat race, the one we judge in others, and the one that makes us judge ourselves.  We are never good enough, it seems.

Jane asked a very simple question to our session at this retreat.  If all we do is gather for worship once a week, and provide a space of acceptance for people, hoping and praying that they experience a mysterious transcendent presence, is that enough?  “Is that enough?”  That is the question we must ask of our current circumstances.  I recognize how much baggage we bring to the church as leaders.  We are always susceptible to projecting our own “stuff” onto the church.  Yet, this is what I have done.  I have not been able to accept the church as it is, and thus have not been able to accept myself, as I am.  Or maybe it’s the other way around.  I don’t know, and that’s okay.

Knowledge and reason have been my primary weapons in the fight against feelings I don’t enjoy feeling – like anxiety.  So when I don’t know something, I get anxious, and I have no protection left.  The search for knowledge is fueled by a fear of unknowing.  But what if I were to accept my place as an unknower, an unsagelike, unwise person?  What if all we have in front of us is all that there is to know?  What if EPC’s one true gift is its simple worship, its gathering weekly for 1 hour?  Is that enough?  Am I enough?

We are distinct, and yet we are on this journey together.  There is so much we do not know of ourselves, and we do not know our future.  But we do know what is right here, right now.  EPC, you are enough, as you are.  And I am enough, as I am.

To begin here is to begin with the Gospel, as it turns out.  This is not just a motivational exercise.  It is the truth we confess in Jesus Christ.  To begin here, with the simple acceptance, begs the question: what can we do to sustain this acceptance with one another?  What particular sign or gift has God given us as a means to bring this acceptance to the world?  And what fruit do we hope or expect to grow from such acceptance?

Needless to say, I have been putting the cart before the horse.  I have tried hard to figure out what I must do in order to make the church and myself worthwhile, meaningful.  It has not just been enough to bracket out what the community thinks of us.  What do I think of myself?  What do I think of Emmanuel?

Two things happened at this retreat that I think coincide quite nicely:

1. It was the first time where I saw myself in the third-person.  It was an out-of-body experience.  I was viewing myself as if I was being filmed.  I was smiling.  I actually liked what I saw.  This was further helped along by the fact that each session member went around and told me something about myself (not just my “professional self”) that they liked about me.

2. I, along with all session members, experienced ourselves as “cups running over.”  It was now effortless to give praise to Emmanuel, to the concrete detailed ways in which our little church exhibits so much love and joy.  In previous times, this has felt coerced, as if I’m praising the church for some political gain, or because I know they “need” to hear it.

I am writing this account to you church, so that there can be some account-ability.  While many of you were not at NaCoMe, I refuse to believe that this was just a one-time experience.  It has changed everything for me, even as it appears that nothing has changed.  It must bear worth repeating in its own way, its own time.  It is not something that only I must say, but we must all say with our own voice.  But allow me to confess my sin to you as your pastor: forgive me for not loving you as you are.  I didn’t know what I was doing.  You are enough for me as you are.  And you are enough for God too.  May we cultivate space together for one another so that we may dwell in love together for many years to come.

Your friend,

Pastor Chris

 

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Melancholia and the Apocalypse of God (Guest Post by Joel Avery)

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Melancholia and the Apocalypse of God (Guest Post by Joel Avery)

“What after all are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of God?” – Friedrich Nietzsche (1)

“He feels he has lost the meaning of life. Out of this awareness the religious question arises. The awareness of the predicament is most sharply expressed in great art, literature, and, partly at least, the philosophy of our time.” – Paul Tillich (2)

Melancholia

Lars von Trier’s film, Melancholia, raises what Tillich calls “the religious question” and can be read through the lens of radical theology. This approach offers both an interpretation of the film and an entrée into radical theology.

Melancholia tells the story of two sisters, Justine and Claire. In the first part of the film, Justine has just been married and arrives at her wedding reception, held at Claire’s mansion. What follows is a nightmare scenario. Justine suffers from chronic depression, and try as she might, she cannot enjoy the party. She is beset by demands to enjoy herself by her family, her employer, and the wedding planner.

Each has different expectations of Justine. Her father is a hedonist, and encourages her to enjoy the extravagance of the party. Her mother is opposed to marriage, and encourages Justine to seek happiness by abandoning her new marriage. Justine’s wealthy brother-in-law, John, tells Justine that since he has spent “a great deal of money” on the wedding, he expects her to look happy in return. Her employer offers her a toast, but turns the moment into an opportunity to promote her to a new position at his ad agency, and demands that she give him a tagline for a new campaign that very evening. The wedding planner grows impatient as Justine’s withdrawal from the party due to her depression ruins his carefully laid plans.

Justine’s husband tries to console her with a photo of an orchard he has secretly bought for her, in the hopes that some day she can go there and be free of her depression. He gives her the photo to keep with her as a memento. After sexual foreplay, Justine abruptly leaves the room, leaving husband and photo behind as she distractedly wanders the opulent grounds of the estate.

Over the course of the evening, as Justine fails to meet the expectations of her family, employer, and social norms, and fails to enjoy the wealth, beauty, and sexual pleasure available to her, each guest turns against her in anger and frustration. As dawn breaks, Justine’s family has berated her, her new husband has abandoned her, and her boss has fired her. All bonds, familial, economic, and social, have been broken in the course of the evening.

The second part of the film takes place some time after the wedding. Justine has slipped into an almost catatonic depression. Strangely, in the time since the wedding, a massive rogue planet, named Melancholia, has emerged from behind the sun, on a path toward Earth. Astronomers predict that it will pass by the Earth, providing an amazing astronomical spectacle, but leaving the Earth untouched.

Justine’s brother-in-law John is an amateur astronomer, and follows news of the new planet enthusiastically. Justine’s sister Claire is afraid that the planet will collide with the Earth. Despite John’s insistence that astronomers have calculated its path and determined Earth’s safety, Claire obsesses about the planet, and visits websites that claim that the planet’s true course is being covered-up by authorities.

John spends his days with his son, Leo, excitedly anticipating the arrival of Melancholia. Claire spends her time caring for Justine, who she is able to gradually bring to good health. Leo is excited for his aunt’s return to health, as he wants to build “magic caves” with her, a request he makes repeatedly, thought Justine is as yet too ill to do this with him. Gradually, Justine becomes more functional as Claire attends to her with patient care. Justine is able to care for herself, but remains depressed and uninterested in regaining all that she lost on her wedding day.

It soon becomes apparent that Melancholia will pass by Earth only to arc back again on a collision course. Justine welcomes the destruction of the Earth, calling the world “evil”. Claire is incredulous that Justine could say such a thing. John initially denies the prediction of disaster, but once his own calculations confirm it, he commits suicide. Claire is terrified of her and Leo’s impending doom, and tries to flee with him to the local village. After returning from this vain attempt at escape, Claire tells Justine that she wants to spend their last moments together out on the terrace, with music and wine. Justine rejects this idea entirely, upsetting Claire.

Justine goes outside to Leo, and tells him they are going to build a magic cave. As Melancholia looms larger in the sky, the trio gathers branches and make a tipi outside. They gather together inside, as Melancholia collides with and obliterates the Earth.

The Apocalypse of God

Melancholia captures what Peter Rollins terms the Apocalypse of God. (3)  This apocalypse is an event that Jesus initiates when he calls the Kingdom of God from the future into the present moment, bringing the transcendent into the immanent. This ushers in the religionless religion that Bonhoeffer identifies as faith: “Faith is the participation in this being of Jesus (incarnation, cross, and resurrection). Our relation to God is not a ‘religious’ relationship to the highest, most powerful, and best Being imaginable – that is not authentic transcendence – but our relation to God is a new life in ‘existence for others’, through participation in the being of Jesus. The transcendental is not infinite and unattainable tasks, but the neighbor who is within reach in any given situation. God in human form – not, as in in oriental religions, in animal form, monstrous, chaotic, remote, and terrifying, nor in the conceptual forms of the absolute, metaphysical, infinite, etc., nor yet in the Greek divine-human form of ‘man in himself’, but ‘the man for others’, and therefore the Crucified, the man who lives out of the transcendent.” (4)

But what brings about the for-otherness? According to Rollins, it follows from the experience of crucifixion. (5)  To follow Christ is to follow Christ’s loss of all systems of meaning (religious, social, political, etc) on the cross. Crucifixion is the experience by which God calls us to enter the world without the power and protection of systems of meaning. Bonhoeffer says that “[W]e cannot be honest unless we recognize that we have to live in the world etsi deus non daretur. And this is just what we do recognize – before God! … The God who lets us live in the world without the working hypothesis of God is the God before whom we stand continually. Before God and with God we live without God. God lets himself be pushed out of the world on to the cross. He is weak and powerless in the world, and that is precisely the way, the only way, in which he is with us and helps us.” (6)

In Melancholia, this stripping away of all systems of meaning happens to Justine at her wedding. Yet all of these were oppressive to her – they all made demands of her that she could not meet, and made promises of meaning upon which they did not deliver. Any investment she would have had in them would have been idolatrous. In Tillichian terms, if she had made any of these her ultimate concern, they would have failed to fulfill her. In this way, the stripping of these sources of meaning strips away the power these narratives have over her. So far, this is a properly Tillichian approach, but Rollins takes us further than Tillich. Where Tillich suggests that these idols fail because they do not ultimately fulfill, Rollins argues that anything that promises ultimate fulfillment is an idol. In this way, any image of God that offers fulfillment is an idol. Christ on the cross loses God. Bonhoeffer calls us to live without God. What is lost is the deus ex machina that guarantees meaning.

The crucifixion of Christ occurred outside of all systems of meaning. The crucified were stripped of political rights, were cast out of society, and to be crucified was to be cursed, religiously. So when Paul calls us to follow Christ (in whom there is no Jew or Greek, etc), we are being called to exit all systems of meaning. Christianity is not another meaning-granting system among many, it stands outside of all meaning-making systems. Bonhoeffer addresses it in this way:

“Here is the decisive difference between Christianity and all religions. Man’s religiosity makes him look in his distress to the power of God in the world: God is the deus ex machina. The Bible directs man to God’s powerlessness and suffering; only the suffering God can help. To that extent we may say that the development towards the world’s coming of age outlined above [the God of the gaps], which has done away with a false conception of God, opens up a way of seeing the God of the Bible, who wins power and space in the world by his weakness. This will probably be the starting point for our ‘secular interpretation’.”

Although Justine is liberated from the systems that oppressed her, her experience of liberation is devastating and traumatic, and suggestive of what is to come in the full Apocalypse of God. It is once one has been liberated from these systems that the Apocalypse of God can occur, that one can be for-others, because one is no longer committed to this world, one is not defined by it, and so one can be for-others without prohibitions that arise from our systems of meaning. But how can one be for others if one rejects the world?

Starting from Nietzsche’s death of God, Altizer describes this rejection of the world as a radical No that allows for a radical Yes, an eschatological faith:

“Friedrich Nietzsche … brought to an end the metaphysical tradition in the West. … No longer is there a metaphysical hierarchy or order which can give meaning or value to existing beings. …[T]he proclamation of the death of God – or, more deeply, the willing of the death of God – is dialectical: a No-saying to God (the transcendence of Sein) makes possible a Yes-saying to human existence (Dasein, total existence in the here and now). Absolute transcendence is transformed into absolute immanence. … Nietzsche’s vision of Eternal Recurrence is the dialectical correlate of his proclamation of the death of God.” (7)

Altizer points out that Nietzsche’s critique of the Christ of Christianity makes room for Jesus:

“What Christianity has called the gospel is actually the opposite of that which Jesus lived: “ill tidings, a dysangel.” Christianity is a dysangel because it retreated into the very “history” which Jesus transcended and transformed, the transformation of blessedness of Jesus’ proclamation into the No-saying of resentment. Thus Nietzsche looked at Christianity as the stone upon the grave of Jesus.” (8)

So Christianity has acted to block the Apocalypse of God by becoming a meaning-making system (undoing the crucifixion), and it is this system that Nietzsche critiques. But Nietzsche’s critique leads us back to Jesus, and the possibility of a different kind of faith. Altizer again:

“[In Eternal Recurrence], opposites coincide, radical negation has become radical affirmation. … Does Nietzsche point the way to a form of faith that will be authentically contemporary and eschatological at once? We shall define eschatological faith as a form of faith that calls the believer out of his old life in history into a new Reality of grace. This Reality (the Kingdom of God) effects a radical transformation of the reality of the world, reversing both its forms and structures, a transformation that must finally culminate in the “end” of the world. … [I]n Jesus’ proclamations … the Kingdom of God ceases to be a promise and becomes instead a present reality. … [T]he Kingdom – supramundane, future, and belonging to a new era – penetrated from the future into the present, from its place in the beyond into this order, and was operative redemptively as a divine power, as an inbreaking realm of salvation.” (9)

Eschatological faith is also dialectical. The Kingdom of God and kosmos (“old creation”) are antithetical categories. … But Hellenistic Christianity assumed a non-dialectical form: the world became the arena of sanctification, redemption now takes place without any effect upon the actual order of the world. … The Church thus invested the world with an ontological reality … and thereby established what Kierkegaard was to call the great compromise of Christianity. … Christianity had become a “world-affirming”religion. … If the death of God has resurrected an authentic nothingness, then faith can no longer greet the world as the “creation”. Once again faith must know the world as “chaos”. … Therefore the dissolution of the “being” of the world has made possible the renewal of the stance of eschatological faith; for an ultimate and final No-saying to the world can dialectically pass into the Yes-saying of eschatological faith.”

Justine demonstrates with No-saying when she calls the world evil. Whereas John denies that Melancholia will destroy the world, and Claire is terrified that it might, Justine never indicates what her expectation is, though she welcomes an apocalypse, because the world, as it exists, is a source of oppression.
This echoes Tillich’s concern about reading God into the horizontal plane:

“If the idea of God (and the symbols that applied to Him) which expresses man’s ultimate concern is transferred to the horizontal plane, God becomes a being among others whose existence or nonexistence is a matter of inquiry. Nothing, perhaps, is more symptomatic of the loss of the dimension of depth than the permanent discussion about the existence or nonexistence of God – a discussion in which both sides are equally wrong, because the discussion itself is wrong and possible only after the loss of the dimension of depth.” (10)

For John and Claire, the threat posed by Melancholia is their ultimate concern. John responds to this threat by despair and suicide, and Claire responds by despair and religious ritual: she tries to flee what cannot be escaped, and then proposes “wine and music” at the mansion(Sunday morning, anyone?). The existence of the threat is of ultimate concern for the couple.

For Justine, however, the ultimate concern is the evil of the world. If Melancholia will destroy the evil world, she welcomes it. Her eschatological faith is one that is independent of the actual threat of Melancholia. If the rogue planet had simply passed by Earth, she would still remain committed to the destruction of the world.
Bonhoeffer puts it this way:

“Who is God? Not in the first place an abstract belief in God, in his omnipotence, etc. That is not a genuine experience of God, but a partial extension of the world. Encounter with Jesus Christ. The experience that a transformation of all human life is given in the fact that ‘Jesus is there only for others’. His ‘being there for others is the experience of transcendence. It is only this ‘being there for others’, maintained till death, that is the ground of his omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence.” (11)

Justine has experienced crucifixion. A personal apocalypse engenders in her an eschatological faith that prepares her for the Apocalypse of God: the coming of Melancholia to destroy the world. Because Justine’s faith is not a world-affirming faith, she can become other-affirming. The radical No produces a radical Yes. She says No to Claire’s religious responses to Melancholia, to anything that offers assurance (and not just false assurance). Justine’s radical Yes comes when she goes to Leo and tells him it is time to build a magic cave. Justine invokes magic and uses sticks to build an obviously-feeble shelter. There is absolutely no pretense here. The invocation of magic and the frail and failing shelter point directly to the coming Apocalypse, rather than directing Leo and Claire to thoughts of escape or survival. In this place of weakness, Justine comes together with those she loves, free to love them as they are as Melancholia/God comes to obliterate the world.

This is radical liturgy: an act of love that exposes and affirms our brokenness rather than trying to cover over it. In this space, Claire is able to weep, and to be with those she loves. Justine remains calm, and Leo, the child, waits almost expectantly. Radical liturgy does not draw us into despair, but acknowledges the place where we already are, and allows us to acknowledge it and share that place with others in love.

What happens after the world ends? What does the post-apocalypse look like? It is not a place where all is made right according to the systems of meaning of the old creation. It is a place that begins to emerge in the magic cave, in a place of weakness, united in love and frailty, open to the world-destroying, incoming Apocalypse of God.

1 Walter Kaufmann, trans., The Gay Science (New York: Vintage Books, 1974), 182.
2 F. Forrester Church, Ed., The Essential Tillich (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1987), 2-7
3 Peter Rollins, The Idolatry of God
4 John de Gruchy, ed., Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Witness to Jesus Christ (London: Collins, 1987), 273-75.
5 Peter Rollins, Insurrection
6 John de Gruchy, ed., Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Witness to Jesus Christ (London: Collins, 1987), 273-75.
7 Thomas J.J. Altizer and William Hamilton, Radical Theology and The Death of God (Indianapolis: Bobbs Merrill, 1966) 98-103.
8 Ibid.
9 Ibid.
10 F. Forrester Church, Ed., The Essential Tillich (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1987), 2-7
11 John de Gruchy, ed., Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Witness to Jesus Christ (London: Collins, 1987), 291.