Apologies for the long gap in posting, which has been a function of lack of internet access rather than lack of time or (heaven forfend!) thoughts ... :)
John Dominic Crossan, author of The Historic Jesus, visited ESR this weekend and was a riveting speaker. He placed Roman ideology side by side against early Christian ideology. The Roman ideological (or theological) paradigm was war leading to victory leading to peace leading to (distributive) justice. In other words crushing the enemy established peace and in a peaceful world society could be ordered in a just way so that people's economic needs were met. Jesus and his followers claimed that to achieve peace and justice, one had to start with non-violence. Non-violence leads to economic justice, which in turn leads to peace. Needless to say, we know which paradigm still dominates today.
Caesar Augustus was worshipped as human and a divine, a God and a son of God because he unified the Roman Empire and brought peace through victory. Jesus, Crossan says, who brought peace through non-violence, was worshipped in the same terms because those were a construct a first century audience in the Roman world would have understood. Further, people in those days would not have challenged Jesus' resurrection--"wonders happened all the time"'--but would have asked, " what does it mean for me? What will it do for me?"
Crossan's most important point--and one he pounded on (and one I happen to strongly agree with)--is that history matters. Jesus arrived in a moment of opportunity, where, because of historical circumstances, his ministry was allowed to flourish for several years. Twenty years earlier or later, Crossan said, and he would have been crushed instantly. That brought mind to the Quakers and their emergence at another "window" of opportunity--the era of relative religious freedom during Cromwell's reign. Twenty years earlier or later and they would have been flattened by a state apparatus designed to keep people in conformity with the dominant ideology. (I might conceptualize this a little differently but that's for another post.)
I remember several times hearing people say, "If George Fox had been born in China, he would have been a Buddhist." OK ... yes, one's faith expression is obviously influenced by one's society. But the point is, George Fox wasn't born in China, Spain or the Ottoman Empire but England. History matters. I remember Tich Nat Hanh writing that if Buddha had lived in the Roman Empire, he, like Jesus, would have been crucified. Well, perhaps ... but the point is, he wasn't. If he had been, I imagine Buddhism would be much different today.
So I wonder: what would Quakerism look like if we were more willing to embrace the possibility of miracle and more rigorous in insisting that history matters? What miracles do we miss? What realities do we distort?
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Monday, April 19, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Was Jesus Chill?
I asked Roger if he thought Jesus was chill and he said, yes, if the Son of the God comes to earth, that's inherently chill.
Ok. But Jesus didn't always act chill. For instance, in the garden of Gethsemane, he more or less fell apart and started crying and asking God to take the cup away. On the other hand, when it was time to face Pilate, Jesus was chill.
Jesus had many moments when he stayed chill with people, such as when the Syrophoenician woman was insistent about having her daughter healed. He was chill about healing the Roman centurion's daughter. Chill about feeding the 5,000. Totally chill about saving the woman who was about to be stoned for adultery.
Preaching "love your enemies" is about as chill as it gets. I would call that the ultimate chill statement.
On the hand, he lost it with the Pharisees, and his final week was frenzied--hence the term "the passion." Driving the money lenders from the Temple doesn't seem too chill to me. But David might have slaughtered them all--so perhaps the whip was a chill gesture after all.
What do you think? Was Jesus chill? Roger says that since being chill is the highest of all human achievements, Jesus was a priori chill. But, of course, the other question is, dare I ask, how important is chill?
Ok. But Jesus didn't always act chill. For instance, in the garden of Gethsemane, he more or less fell apart and started crying and asking God to take the cup away. On the other hand, when it was time to face Pilate, Jesus was chill.
Jesus had many moments when he stayed chill with people, such as when the Syrophoenician woman was insistent about having her daughter healed. He was chill about healing the Roman centurion's daughter. Chill about feeding the 5,000. Totally chill about saving the woman who was about to be stoned for adultery.
Preaching "love your enemies" is about as chill as it gets. I would call that the ultimate chill statement.
On the hand, he lost it with the Pharisees, and his final week was frenzied--hence the term "the passion." Driving the money lenders from the Temple doesn't seem too chill to me. But David might have slaughtered them all--so perhaps the whip was a chill gesture after all.
What do you think? Was Jesus chill? Roger says that since being chill is the highest of all human achievements, Jesus was a priori chill. But, of course, the other question is, dare I ask, how important is chill?
Friday, October 9, 2009
George Fox: Christ, but not to rule over them
“And let the peace of God rule in your hearts.” (Col. 3:15):
The world would have a Christ, but not to rule over them; the nature of the world is above Christ in man until Christ hath subdued that nature in man. George Fox, from "Mind The Heavenly Treasure," a collection of devotions.
"The world would have a Christ, but not to rule over them." Isn't this the heart of our troubles: that we want Jesus, "but not to rule over us?" Isn't that the issue in the Society of Friends--that many want the beautiful aesthetic of Jesus, the love, the joy, the peace, the forgiveness, but within the context of a Jesus molded to our liking, so that we can control him? Isn't that at the core of our endless debating and overthinking about the resurrection, the Virgin birth, the divinity of Christ? That we want to reduce him a to great sage, put him on the level with other great sages, on a level with us? We're drawn to him ... there's an irresistible magnetism that reaches out across the ages and pulls us in towards him ...but we resist the implications of this power.
It's very few, however, who will diss Jesus openly,who are not on some level, in awe of him. We'll attack Paul without a second thought, as we will the institution of the church, but when it comes to Jesus, we treat him gently. Even Hitler was in awe of him--or at least afraid of his followers. Instead, like us, he attacked Paul: "that Jew" as he called him, the one who turned the "Aryan warrior" Jesus into something else. Aren't we still doing that? Not attacking Paul for being Jewish, but attacking Paul or the Church for making Jesus uncomfortable to us instead of confronting the idea that Jesus himself may be uncomfortable to us?
We are, as Ben Witherington put it, a Jesus-haunted culture.
We "would have a Christ." We love the idea of Christ, and if not Jesus himself, then his surrogates--Fox, Woolman, Francis of Assisi. So many Quakers would, ironically, want to start the faith at Fox, as if Fox were not explicitly living out the words of Jesus ... or want to start with a Jesus as man, Jesus stripped of the difficulties, the miracles, the grandeur, the majesty.
We would have a Christ but not to rule over us.
What if we, wildly, radically, impossibly, behaved as if --"as if"--isn't that what faith is?-- the whole story were true and not pick out the parts that allow us superiority? Of course, people don't rise from the dead and ascend to heaven after walking for a time on the earth. Of course, virgins don't give birth. There's nothing radical or remarkable in asserting that these things can't be true. It's completely ordinary to reject them. (Paul knew this. That's why he called himself "a fool for Christ.") The extraordinary move is to recognize that the seeming impossible might be real because that is to recognize that the world and the universe as we know them might be more miraculous--and multidimensional and sacred and wild-- than they seem. Doing that involves a paradigm shift.
What if we would have a Christ to rule over us?
Then, Fox says, we would have peace in our hearts. And from that peace in our hearts would flow peace within the Society of Friends. Do you agree with this?
The world would have a Christ, but not to rule over them; the nature of the world is above Christ in man until Christ hath subdued that nature in man. George Fox, from "Mind The Heavenly Treasure," a collection of devotions.
"The world would have a Christ, but not to rule over them." Isn't this the heart of our troubles: that we want Jesus, "but not to rule over us?" Isn't that the issue in the Society of Friends--that many want the beautiful aesthetic of Jesus, the love, the joy, the peace, the forgiveness, but within the context of a Jesus molded to our liking, so that we can control him? Isn't that at the core of our endless debating and overthinking about the resurrection, the Virgin birth, the divinity of Christ? That we want to reduce him a to great sage, put him on the level with other great sages, on a level with us? We're drawn to him ... there's an irresistible magnetism that reaches out across the ages and pulls us in towards him ...but we resist the implications of this power.
It's very few, however, who will diss Jesus openly,who are not on some level, in awe of him. We'll attack Paul without a second thought, as we will the institution of the church, but when it comes to Jesus, we treat him gently. Even Hitler was in awe of him--or at least afraid of his followers. Instead, like us, he attacked Paul: "that Jew" as he called him, the one who turned the "Aryan warrior" Jesus into something else. Aren't we still doing that? Not attacking Paul for being Jewish, but attacking Paul or the Church for making Jesus uncomfortable to us instead of confronting the idea that Jesus himself may be uncomfortable to us?
We are, as Ben Witherington put it, a Jesus-haunted culture.
We "would have a Christ." We love the idea of Christ, and if not Jesus himself, then his surrogates--Fox, Woolman, Francis of Assisi. So many Quakers would, ironically, want to start the faith at Fox, as if Fox were not explicitly living out the words of Jesus ... or want to start with a Jesus as man, Jesus stripped of the difficulties, the miracles, the grandeur, the majesty.
We would have a Christ but not to rule over us.
What if we, wildly, radically, impossibly, behaved as if --"as if"--isn't that what faith is?-- the whole story were true and not pick out the parts that allow us superiority? Of course, people don't rise from the dead and ascend to heaven after walking for a time on the earth. Of course, virgins don't give birth. There's nothing radical or remarkable in asserting that these things can't be true. It's completely ordinary to reject them. (Paul knew this. That's why he called himself "a fool for Christ.") The extraordinary move is to recognize that the seeming impossible might be real because that is to recognize that the world and the universe as we know them might be more miraculous--and multidimensional and sacred and wild-- than they seem. Doing that involves a paradigm shift.
What if we would have a Christ to rule over us?
Then, Fox says, we would have peace in our hearts. And from that peace in our hearts would flow peace within the Society of Friends. Do you agree with this?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
George Fox: Christ, but not to rule over them
“And let the peace of God rule in your hearts.” (Col. 3:15):
The world would have a Christ, but not to rule over them; the nature of the world is above Christ in man until Christ hath subdued that nature in man. George Fox, from "Mind The Heavenly Treasure," a collection of devotions.
"The world would have a Christ, but not to rule over them." Isn't this the heart of our troubles: that we want Jesus, "but not to rule over us?" Isn't that the problem in the Society of Friends--that many want the beautiful aesthetic of Jesus, the love, the joy, the peace, the forgiveness, but within the context of a Jesus molded to our liking, so that we can control him? Isn't that at the core of our endless debating and overthinking about the resurrection, the Virgin birth, the divinity of Christ? That we want to reduce him a to great sage, put him on the level with other great sages, on a level with us? We're drawn to him ... there's an irrestible magnetism that reaches out across the ages and pulls us in towards him ...but we resist the imlications of this power. We kick against the pricks.
It's very few, however, who will diss Jesus openly, very few who are not on some level, in awe of him. We'll attack Paul without a second thought, as we will the institution of the church, but when it comes to Jesus, we treat him gently. Even Hitler was in awe of him--or at least afraid of his followers. Instead, like us, he attacked Paul: "that Jew" as he called him, the one who turned the "Aryan warrior" Jesus into something else. Aren't we still doing that? Attacking Paul or the Church for making Jesus into something uncomfortable to us instead of confronting the idea that Jesus himself may be uncomfortable to us?
We are, as Ben Witherington put it, a Jesus-haunted culture.
We "would have a Christ." We love the idea of Christ, and if not Jesus himself, then his surrogates-Fox, Woolman, Francis of Assisi. So many Quakers would, ironically, want to start the faith at Fox, as if Fox were not explicitly living out the words of Jesus ... or want to start with a Jesus as man, Jesus stripped of the difficulties, the miracles, the grandeur, the majesty.
We would have a Christ but not to rule over us.
What if we, wildly, radically, impossibly, behaved as if --"as if"--isn't that what faith is?-- the whole story were true and not pick out the parts that allow us superiority? Of course, people don't rise from the dead and ascend to heaven after walking for a time on the earth. Of course, virgins don't give birth. There's nothing radical or remarkable in asserting that these things can't be true. It's completely ordinary to reject them. The extraordinary move is to recognize that they might be real because that is to recognize that the world and the universe as we know them might be more miraculous--and multidimensional and sacred and incomprehensible -- than it seems. Doing that involves a paradigm shift.
What if we would have a Christ to rule over us?
Then, Fox says, we would have peace in our hearts. And from that peace in our hearts would flow peace within the Society of Friends. Do you agree with this?
The world would have a Christ, but not to rule over them; the nature of the world is above Christ in man until Christ hath subdued that nature in man. George Fox, from "Mind The Heavenly Treasure," a collection of devotions.
"The world would have a Christ, but not to rule over them." Isn't this the heart of our troubles: that we want Jesus, "but not to rule over us?" Isn't that the problem in the Society of Friends--that many want the beautiful aesthetic of Jesus, the love, the joy, the peace, the forgiveness, but within the context of a Jesus molded to our liking, so that we can control him? Isn't that at the core of our endless debating and overthinking about the resurrection, the Virgin birth, the divinity of Christ? That we want to reduce him a to great sage, put him on the level with other great sages, on a level with us? We're drawn to him ... there's an irrestible magnetism that reaches out across the ages and pulls us in towards him ...but we resist the imlications of this power. We kick against the pricks.
It's very few, however, who will diss Jesus openly, very few who are not on some level, in awe of him. We'll attack Paul without a second thought, as we will the institution of the church, but when it comes to Jesus, we treat him gently. Even Hitler was in awe of him--or at least afraid of his followers. Instead, like us, he attacked Paul: "that Jew" as he called him, the one who turned the "Aryan warrior" Jesus into something else. Aren't we still doing that? Attacking Paul or the Church for making Jesus into something uncomfortable to us instead of confronting the idea that Jesus himself may be uncomfortable to us?
We are, as Ben Witherington put it, a Jesus-haunted culture.
We "would have a Christ." We love the idea of Christ, and if not Jesus himself, then his surrogates-Fox, Woolman, Francis of Assisi. So many Quakers would, ironically, want to start the faith at Fox, as if Fox were not explicitly living out the words of Jesus ... or want to start with a Jesus as man, Jesus stripped of the difficulties, the miracles, the grandeur, the majesty.
We would have a Christ but not to rule over us.
What if we, wildly, radically, impossibly, behaved as if --"as if"--isn't that what faith is?-- the whole story were true and not pick out the parts that allow us superiority? Of course, people don't rise from the dead and ascend to heaven after walking for a time on the earth. Of course, virgins don't give birth. There's nothing radical or remarkable in asserting that these things can't be true. It's completely ordinary to reject them. The extraordinary move is to recognize that they might be real because that is to recognize that the world and the universe as we know them might be more miraculous--and multidimensional and sacred and incomprehensible -- than it seems. Doing that involves a paradigm shift.
What if we would have a Christ to rule over us?
Then, Fox says, we would have peace in our hearts. And from that peace in our hearts would flow peace within the Society of Friends. Do you agree with this?
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Reading the Bible in 20 months:violence
One thing that struck me while reading the Bible straight through during a 20 month (supposedly one year) period was how saturated it is in violence. The levels of violence are truly mind-boggling, from Jael hammering a tent peg through an enemy's head to mass slaughter, genocide, murder, mass murder, rape, child sacrifice (this is after Solomon, when the Israelites have lost their moorings), mutilation ... the head reels after a time.
Most, if not all, of the revered figures in the Old or First Testament, are violent: Moses murders a man, Saul slaughters the Amalekites, David kills people for insbordination at the slightest provocation, slaughters his enemies, has his friend killed so he can marry his wife ... Elijah kills the 450 priests of Baal .... To be a player, a leader, as opposed to a prophet or observer like Isaiah, almost inevitably seems to involve hair-raisingly barbarous behavior.
And then, in the New Testament, it stops. Jesus is clearly a player, not a prophet, and is explicitly embedded in a Moses-David-Elijah narrative. He's seen as the second David, the new Messiah. Yet he is nothing like anyone who came before. I don't think I "got" this fully until I read the Bible straight through. People often point to Jesus' throwing the moneylenders out of the Temple with a whip of knotted cords as proof that he was willing to engage in violence, but this action is nothing, nothing!!, in comparison to do his predecessors. Not one person is killed and nobody, apparently, is serioulsy injured. In fact, it's possible nobody was injured at all. Jesus scares people and knocks over tables, scattering a crowd. After the bloodbath of the Old Testament, this is like tapping someone on the shoulder and asking them politely to leave to room.
So in the New Testament, we get a new thing. Jesus' story, at the end of his life, is saturated in ultra-violence, but none of it is his doing. He is the willing sacrificial victim, modeling a new way of confronting violence and oppression. After his death and resurrection, his followers are also dogged by violence. We especially remember Stephen's stoning. Paul is pursued in violent ways. But as we proceed through the New Testament, we see the newness. Rather than being preoccupied with violence and how to protect and defend against violent aggressors (which is what most of the Old Testament is about, with the Jehovah God central to that protection), the New Testament shifts to focus on building a nonviolent community based on love, equality, integrity, compassion and imitation of Christ. The violence is out there, but it becomes increasingly peripheral to the concerns of this new community living a new covenant. It's not through the New Testament, but through other historical accounts that we learn that Paul is beheaded, Peter and Andrew apparently crucified, many ordinary Christ followers killed by the state in gruesome ways. These are not the central concerns of the New Testament writers. They are concerned with how to live out Jesus' gospel of love. It is stunning.
How did this happen? If you have read the Bible straight through, have you had illuminations?
Most, if not all, of the revered figures in the Old or First Testament, are violent: Moses murders a man, Saul slaughters the Amalekites, David kills people for insbordination at the slightest provocation, slaughters his enemies, has his friend killed so he can marry his wife ... Elijah kills the 450 priests of Baal .... To be a player, a leader, as opposed to a prophet or observer like Isaiah, almost inevitably seems to involve hair-raisingly barbarous behavior.
And then, in the New Testament, it stops. Jesus is clearly a player, not a prophet, and is explicitly embedded in a Moses-David-Elijah narrative. He's seen as the second David, the new Messiah. Yet he is nothing like anyone who came before. I don't think I "got" this fully until I read the Bible straight through. People often point to Jesus' throwing the moneylenders out of the Temple with a whip of knotted cords as proof that he was willing to engage in violence, but this action is nothing, nothing!!, in comparison to do his predecessors. Not one person is killed and nobody, apparently, is serioulsy injured. In fact, it's possible nobody was injured at all. Jesus scares people and knocks over tables, scattering a crowd. After the bloodbath of the Old Testament, this is like tapping someone on the shoulder and asking them politely to leave to room.
So in the New Testament, we get a new thing. Jesus' story, at the end of his life, is saturated in ultra-violence, but none of it is his doing. He is the willing sacrificial victim, modeling a new way of confronting violence and oppression. After his death and resurrection, his followers are also dogged by violence. We especially remember Stephen's stoning. Paul is pursued in violent ways. But as we proceed through the New Testament, we see the newness. Rather than being preoccupied with violence and how to protect and defend against violent aggressors (which is what most of the Old Testament is about, with the Jehovah God central to that protection), the New Testament shifts to focus on building a nonviolent community based on love, equality, integrity, compassion and imitation of Christ. The violence is out there, but it becomes increasingly peripheral to the concerns of this new community living a new covenant. It's not through the New Testament, but through other historical accounts that we learn that Paul is beheaded, Peter and Andrew apparently crucified, many ordinary Christ followers killed by the state in gruesome ways. These are not the central concerns of the New Testament writers. They are concerned with how to live out Jesus' gospel of love. It is stunning.
How did this happen? If you have read the Bible straight through, have you had illuminations?
Monday, March 24, 2008
Easter Monday
We got back Saturday evening from our trip to Barnesville, Ohio. Sunday (and this morning) I was unable to access this blog but now I believe I have the problem solved. (HT:Roger)
In meeting for worship yesterday, my mind was filled with theologian N.T. Wright's assertion that Jesus' words on the cross were so unprecedented that the gospel accounts of his death must be true. Martyrs were common during the period of Roman Empire, but normally, according to Wright, a martyr would spend his last suffering minutes (or hours) calling down curses on his oppressors and prophesying their doom. It was a language of unfettered vengeance, part of a back-and-forth set piece of power and domination. In contrast, Jesus calls out to God to forgive his tormentors, and further, states that they don't understand what they're doing. This a stunning, radical shift in a martyr's relationship to his enemies. Jesus refuses to speak their language or to participate in their world view. Instead, he responds to them with forgiveness. Dying, he works to end the cycle of vengeance and violence with love, profound peacemaking and compassionate understanding of the other.
Wright makes clear that Jesus not only speaks a language of love, peace and forgiveness, he enacts it. This is what happens on the cross, as Jesus stands in for Israel and models for them a new path.
In meeting for worship yesterday, my mind was filled with theologian N.T. Wright's assertion that Jesus' words on the cross were so unprecedented that the gospel accounts of his death must be true. Martyrs were common during the period of Roman Empire, but normally, according to Wright, a martyr would spend his last suffering minutes (or hours) calling down curses on his oppressors and prophesying their doom. It was a language of unfettered vengeance, part of a back-and-forth set piece of power and domination. In contrast, Jesus calls out to God to forgive his tormentors, and further, states that they don't understand what they're doing. This a stunning, radical shift in a martyr's relationship to his enemies. Jesus refuses to speak their language or to participate in their world view. Instead, he responds to them with forgiveness. Dying, he works to end the cycle of vengeance and violence with love, profound peacemaking and compassionate understanding of the other.
Wright makes clear that Jesus not only speaks a language of love, peace and forgiveness, he enacts it. This is what happens on the cross, as Jesus stands in for Israel and models for them a new path.
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