How (Not) to Speak of God: Revelation (p. 2)

After a hectic few weeks, things are starting to slow down again. Time to kick the dust off the old blog and get back to more regular posting. Although I still have more thoughts that I want to post on an image-bearing praxis, at the moment I want to pick up again with Peter Rollins's book How (Not) to Speak of God. I mentioned previously that Rollins is discussing orthodoxy from the standpoint of "believing in the right way". He goes on to unpack this perspective in more detail, focusing next on a discussion of the nature of revelation as concealment:

Hence revelation ought not be thought of either as that which makes God known or as that which leaves God unknown, but rather as the overpowering light that renders God known as unknown...Revelation can thus be described as bringing to light the secret of God in such a way that it remains secret.

Here, again, I'm forced to say that I didn't initially like his proposal. But as before, the more I think on it, the more I think that he's got it right. What is striking in the OT, and Rollins pulls numerous examples from that material, is that God's revelation never exhausts his being. The ones to whom the revelation is given seem to walk away from the encounter with less understanding than before - or, perhaps put better, with God having demolished the understanding that they thought they had. The revelation of God overwhelms and befuddles, leaving the one to whom it is given without rational categories but with awe and worship and no small amount of fear instead. And, interestingly enough, faith is the result of such encounters, in spite of (because of?) the reordering and disassembling of those rational categories.

And, of course, the NT is little different. For the Christian, the NT revelation of Jesus as the second person of the Trinity is the penultimate revelation of Godself. But no Christian that is intellectually honest would claim that the incarnation has exhausted all mystery of who God is - if anything, it has deepened the mystery by revealing another aspect of God's being that is beyond our ability to comprehend.

Rollins suggests that the reason for this dialectic of revealing/concealing is that in revelation God becomes "hyper-present":

Hyper-presence is a term that refers to a type of divine saturation that exists in the heart of God's presence. It means that God not only overflows and overwhelms our understanding but also overflows and overwhelms our experience...In the same way that the sun blinds the one who looks directly at its light, so God's incoming blinds our intellect. In this way the God who is testified to in the Judeo-Christian tradition saturates our understanding with a blinding presence. This type of transcendent-immanence can be described as 'hypernymity'. While anonymity offers too little information for our understanding to grasp..., hypernymity gives us far too much information. Instead of being limited by the poverty of absence we are short-circuited by the excess of presence.

That's a lot to ponder. If you're getting the impression that Rollins is something of a mystic, I think that would be an accurate characterization. I also catch echoes of Rudolph Otto here - I have to dig out my copy of The Idea of the Holy and see how this compares to Otto's discussion of the "numinous". Still, the obvious connection that I see here is that, contrary to theological approaches that lead to pride in one's ability to grasp God (intentional or unintentional), this approach cannot but help lead in a different direction - to worship.

Technorati Tags: books, emerging church, How (Not) to Speak About God, Peter Rollins

How (Not) to Speak of God: Faith (p. 1)

Rollins begins the book with a discussion of faith and theology:

Christian faith, it could be said, is born in the aftermath of God. Our fragile faith is fanned into life in the wake of what we believe to have been the incoming of a life giving encounter in which we feel connected with, and transformed by, the source of everything that is...For Christians testify to having been caught up in and engulfed by that which utterly transcends them. In short, the experience that gives birth to faith, at its most luminous, is analogous to the experience of an infant feeling the embrace and tender kiss of its mother.

On the other hand, theology could provisionally be described as that which attempts to come to grips with this life-giving experience, to describe the source from which everything is suspended and from which our faith is born. In faith God is experienced as the absolute subject who grasps us, while in theology we set about reflecting upon this subject...In faith we are held, in theology we hold...To take our ideas of the divine and hold them as if they correspond to the reality of God is thus to construct a conceptual idol built from the materials of our mind.

Two pages into the book, Rollins has already set my brain to spinning. He goes on to discuss a shift from a Greek understanding of orthodoxy as "right belief" to a Hebraic understanding of orthodoxy as "believing in the right way":

Thus orthodoxy is no longer (mis)understood as the opposite of heresy but rather is understood as a term that signals a way of being in the world rather than a means of believing things about the world.

I mentioned in my earlier post that I really didn't like this book the first time through. There seems something a bit Burke-ish in this statement, a device of a sort to redefine heresy and make it a wonderful and virtuous thing. But I've sat on this and thought about it long and hard, and I don't think that's what Rollins is after here at all.

Here's what I think he's saying, and the more I think about it, the more I'm forced to concede his point: we make a pretense of saying things like all theology is provisional and all interpretation is subject to critique and whatnot. But Rollins comes right out and incorporates that stance into the very heart of his project. He's basically conceding at the very beginning that everything that he says, indeed everything that we all say, about God is at least a little bit of crap. We can never come to the point where our theology grasps all that is God. In fact, much of the Christian tradition has long held that to do so is to create an idol. We try to grasp God, indeed we must try to grasp God, so as to understand the One who has grasped us. What marks out orthodoxy, in Rollins's terms, is not so much the content of that grasping but rather the way in which it is held. Love, openness, humility - these, I think, would characterize orthodoxy in Rollins's terms.

But I don't think he's saying that what we believe doesn't matter. I don't think that's in any way his point. Rather, I think this is an understanding that orthodoxy is a journey towards truth. It begins with an understanding that we don't have it right, and it sets off towards the truth, recognizing that we will never completely arrive this side of eternity. The theology that doesn't recognize it's own provisional and incomplete character - this theology is no longer a grasping towards God, but is rather the fashioning of an idol.

You know what? I think he's onto something here.

Technorati Tags: books, How (Not) to Speak About God, Peter Rollins, emerging church

Image-bearing Praxis: Hospitality

Just a few quick thoughts for this evening. I wanted to start jotting down some thoughts on what the practices of a community in the image of God might be. The background to this brief series can be found here; a shorter version can be found in this article that I wrote for next wave. I want to begin by thinking about the practice of hospitality.

I've written previously about hospitality here. It's an under-expressed value in the American context, I think, for many reasons, not least because we typically live lives that are functionally oriented towards self. I'd define hospitality as the practice of opening one's life to others. This can take many forms - I'm less interested in the form and more in the focus or direction. Hospitality is something that I've thought in the past is a wonderful apologetic. I haven't, however, discussed how it can also serve as a discipline, both for self and for a community.

The act of opening one's life to others is inherently a self-giving act. As a result, it is naturally image-shaped; it naturally flows from a life oriented towards service and sacrifice. If I am consumed by self, I have no room for another; hospitality encourages me to make space for the other, space in which relationship can blossom and self-giving love can be expressed. Hospitality is also grounded in a sense of dignity of the other - I cannot open my life to one I hold in contempt.

Hospitality as a communal practice seems perhaps a bit counter-intuitive, unless it's used to give a more important-sounding name to the ministry of bulletin distribution. True communal hospitality means more than that, however - it's not about making sure that people have a good impression when they enter a gathering. That isn't hospitality; it's marketing. Hospitality is more about making space in the community for the stranger. In the Old Testament, the "stranger" was one who was not a part of the people of Israel but who found himself or herself among them. Hospitality for the stranger was a key part of keeping Torah. Today, we also as the people of God would do well to remember that we need to make space for the strangers among us. This could mean something as simple as telling the Story in such a way that it can be heard by those who do not know it, or structuring our gatherings so that the stranger feels welcome. It could also mean something more - it might mean making space for the hungry by providing something to eat; it might mean making space for the hurting by providing support and care; it might mean making space for the poor by providing help in times of need. It always, though, means making space for relationship to develop with folks who come into contact with the community, relationship that recognizes the inherent dignity of the other and gives gladly and selflessly.

Technorati Tags: community, ecclesiology, image of God, imago dei, hospitality

Driscoll Happens

I can't believe I'm going to wade into this one.

Probably many, if not most, of the folks who drop by here regularly have already seen the brouhaha that Mark Driscoll precipitated by his comments following the Haggard fiasco. If you need to catch up, the post is here; the relevant quote:

At the risk of being even more widely despised than I currently am, I will lean over the plate and take one for the team on this. It is not uncommon to meet pastors' wives who really let themselves go; they sometimes feel that because their husband is a pastor, he is therefore trapped into fidelity, which gives them cause for laziness.

At which point the blogosphere exploded. And, in my opinion, justifiably so - it's a stupid statement that never should have seen the light of day. Grace has some great words about it; there are other responses floating around as well. I'm not so much interested in rehashing the whole discussion. I'm more interested in what's been developing since.

The short version goes like this: people have finally had enough of Mark's often controversial and sometimes ridiculous statements about men and women. For example, Rose Madrid-Swetman, who pastors a Vineyard congregation in Mark's neck of the woods, has written a truly excellent open letter to Mark. I met Rose at an Off the Map event last year and found her to be a gracious and intelligent individual, both of which are amply demonstrated in her post. But others haven't been so well-spoken. Now, there's a protest that's being planned by a group calling itself People Against Fundamentalism. And this is where things start to get weird.

There are two polarities on this one, I think, with a lot of folks in the middle. But the stuff going on at the extremities is just scary. One perspective doesn't get why this is offensive and thinks it's a tempest in a teacup. Frankly, I don't get that response. Mark's post was an offensive statement no matter how you read it. And let me go on record by saying that I agree completely with what Bob has to say here. Bob has been tracking this discussion closely - I should really just point you to his excellent commentary. Here's a segment:

His teaching may disempower women. It may hurt emotionally. It may lead to gifts given by God to the Body of Christ not being used to their full extent. It may even lead to some women making choices in life to forgo education and live a life that is more hemmed in and constrained than necessary... But none of these things, bad as they are, are abuse, oppression or misogeny. Tragic, yes. Misogeny, no.

That having been said, Mark Driscoll is a male chauvinist. He frequently uses "feminine" as a derogatory. His version of manhood is becoming more of a ridiculous caricature every day.

Let me stress that you need to read Bob's whole comment - I think it's balanced and well-stated. And I think, unfortunately, that it is probably true. It's all gussied up with theological language, but at the heart of the matter, I think there are plenty of indications given his public statements that there are some issues in his thinking on this subject. I just don't buy Mark's take on gender, on roles, on what it means to be a man or a woman, and on what it means to follow Jesus as gendered persons. I think I'm almost entirely opposite Mark on this subject, and I'll be the first to admit that it colors the way that I read his stuff. But the fact that folks who are close to Mark can read this kind of statement by him and not see that there's a problem is beyond troubling. It's disturbed.

Having said that, I'm really mortified that this is degenerating into a public demonstration. Bob also discussed this here, posting a bit of question and response that he's had with the folks at endfundamentalism.org. And I share his concern that we're now talking about a Christian-on-Christian protest, where the body of Christ is basically tearing itself apart in public. I can't in any way see how this is power used in the way of Jesus.

Make no mistake - this is a question of power. This is violence of a sort, a confrontation that's being staged and forced by someone attempting to advance an agenda. And I say this as someone who is sympathetic to that agenda. This is wrong. This is a situation where reconciliation is not being sought, by all indications. This is not an attempt at peacemaking. This is not an act of love for the other, for one's neighbor. This is not a demonstration of cruciform service that marks the use of power in the Kingdom. This is something else, something that I find deeply troubling, particularly because it masks itself as something right, something just.

Yoder, I think, says it best in The Politics of Jesus:

Certainly any renunciation of violence is preferable to its acceptance; but what Jesus renounced was not first of all violence, but rather the compulsiveness of purpose that leads the strong to violate the dignity of others. The point is not that one can attain all of one's legitimate ends without using violent means. It is rather that our readiness to renounce our legitimate ends whenever they cannot be attained by legitimate means itself constitutes our participation in the triumphant suffering of the Lamb. (p. 237, emphasis mine).

Technorati Tags: Mark Driscoll, power

Play On, Jazz Man

This was one of those weeks that sneaks up from behind and clobbers you repeatedly with a blunt object. I've felt more drained this week than I have for a long time; on all fronts, it seems, I've felt stretched and stressed. The project that I'm leading at work has reached the point where my team takes on the bulk of the work. And it's been rough - we're testing a data warehouse, but we've had environment issues aplenty, which means that we'll try to log onto the system to complete our tests only to find that the system is down and we can't log on. What's happened as a result is that I've had to take on more of the individual effort than I'd anticipated, which isn't good for me or for the team. Because my team will be using the system once it elevates, I'd rather have them more involved in testing now - but that hasn't really happened, and there's not much I can do about it, except keep treading water.

I don't write about work often - I have a good job, meaning that I do interesting things for good people, even if at times I struggle with wanting to do something more meaningful. But this week it's really been kicking my tail. Which leads to the other item on my plate - today I was scheduled for an assessment session to determine whether I'd be a good fit as a church planter with the BiC. I was really pumped about this, if a bit apprehensive, but it also meant a bit of extra work on my part. I've been doing personality assessments and typing up a bio and something of a visioning proposal - I'm not sure what else to call it, basically a rough sketch of what it is that I want to do. For some reason, I had such a hard time pulling it together. Maybe it's just that I'm trying to put into words something that's only existed as a half-baked dream in the back of my head for such a long time, or maybe it's that this represents the first concrete step in moving that dream into reality. I'm not sure why, exactly, but it was more effort than I anticipated. However, I got a call yesterday that there was a mixup in the scheduling of the assessment, and that I was going to be bumped back to January. On the one hand, this is a good thing, as my wife will be able to participate (that was the reason for the reschedule); on the other hand, now I'm waiting two months. It's not a big deal, really - it was a bit of miscommunication and I completely understand what happened, so I'm not complaining in the least. It's more of the feeling of a bit of air being let out of my balloon, so to speak.

On the other hand, I celebrated my birthday this week. I don't really make a big deal out of birthdays - it's just a day, just a number. Thirty-two isn't exactly a milestone to get excited about. But to be honest, this was a good birthday. We went out for pizza as a family on Thursday, and then my wife and I were able to have an actual date last night. And she surprised me by springing for something that I've been wanting for a while - a nice Global santoku. Now, I'm of the opinion that a block of expensive knives that sit on a person's counter but never get used for their proper purposes is a real waste. But I'm also convinced that there are some things that are not worth buying cheaply. A cheap knife that cannot be sharpened properly and that does not hold its edge is also a real waste. I think that one finely crafted blade is worth more than a dozen specialty tools that do not work properly - and this santoku is one finely crafted blade. It's a bit shorter than a typical chef's knife, coming in at about 7 inches. But I love the shape, as I feel like I get more use of the edge and more control of the tip. Global's edge has more curve than some, which makes it a fine tool for chopping as well as slicing. And the balance is perfect - the center of gravity is precisely at the bolster, which means the blade and handle are of equal weight, making it easy to control. I've had a shorter version for a while now that I've been using as a utility knife, and I'm completely sold on the shape and on the quality of the work that Global produces. I have no doubt that this will replace my chef's knife as my go-to blade of choice.

(Have I ever mentioned that I love to cook?)

Tonight, I've had a chance to sit and sip some tea while enjoying Dexter Gordon's Tangerine. Everyone else is asleep; the only thing that I hear is the skillful jazz riffs of a saxophonist who was able to do what he loved. The only thing I'm missing is my pipe - but that's a small thing. A chance to pause for breath, to reflect and to recharge - that, on the other hand, is a great thing.

How (Not) to Speak of God

I have a few more posts on the subject of community in the image of God - surprisingly, I haven't quite run that one into the ground yet. ;) I wanted to give a bit of thought to praxis and reflect on practices that I think flow from this approach. But I also just finished Pete Rollins's new book How (Not) to Speak of God and wanted to begin blogging my thoughts on it. It's starting to get a bit of attention - tsk blogged on it a few months ago, as did Scot. The Church and Postmodern Culture blog has also hosted several interactions with the book.

I have to say, this was one of the more challenging books I've read in a while. It's not the sort of thing that I'd hand out to the average person looking to get a sense of what the emerging church is all about. It's heavy on philosophy and is so abstract that it makes my stuff look like a how-to manual. That's not necessarily a criticism - Rollins is obviously a first-rate thinker who knows his stuff. But he makes the reader work for it.

I'll also say up front that, at first reading, I didn't really like it. I found it frustrating and, at times, it seemed that he was contradicting himself. But this is a book that benefits from a slow, thoughtful read, and at times a second reading as well. And, the more I mull on this, the more I think he's on to something. Rollins talks about all revelation as both a revealing and a concealing - I really wanted to argue with this, but, at the end of the day...I think he's right. This approach forms something of the backbone of the book; it's a thoughtful appropriation of postmodern philosophy laced with a heavy dose of irony, along with a chunk of liturgies from his community that demonstrate how his theological approach plays out in a practical setting.

I'm going to start working my way through some of Rollins's thoughts. I think that this book represents one of the first serious attempts to take some of the emphases of the emerging movement in a constructive (rather than deconstructive) direction, and the result is going to surprise, encourage, frustrate, and anger folks.

Technorati Tags: books, emergent, Peter Rollins, How (Not) to Speak of God, theology

Community in the Image of God: Justice (p. 10)

I've been suggesting that the image of God represents God's delegated authority to humanity to participate in the divine task of creation. I've also been suggesting that at the heart of the metaphor is an understanding of what that authority means, an understanding of the use of power in service to others. The authority of God is self-giving and empowering - creation itself represents God's empowering of something other than himself to be. To use authority and power in the image of God is to give it away.

A community in the image of God is characterized precisely by this cruciform use of power. It is at its most Christlike at precisely the point at which it is least self-seeking and self-serving. This challenges us - it isn't enough for us to serve each other. To truly reflect the image of God, a community must reach outside of itself - it must do more that serve the interests of its own people. A community can focus on service and still be self-seeking, if that service never extends beyond the bounds of its own walls.

The community of God has always existed for the benefit of others. The Abramic covenant in Genesis 12 is explicit - the blessing on Abram was ultimately for the blessing of the world. That the people of Abraham rarely succeeded in this vocation does not nullify the call. And the shape of that vocation was, in its intent, self-giving; the powerless were to be protected, defended, and upheld, those the Old Testament calls the orphan, widow, and stranger. The word that the prophets use for this care is justice - not in the legal sense with which we are familiar, but rather in the sense of what is Right, what is God-shaped and God-honoring.

This Old Testament category is something challenging. It calls us to serve those who cannot return the favor. It calls us to give that which will not be returned. It calls us to set aside any benefit that we might receive in order that another might receive benefit in our place. It is, in some sense, a little death - a death of self, that another might live. It is the vocation of the cross - the ultimate abandonment of one's life in service to another. It is the irrevocable giving away of power that asks for nothing in return.

If this sounds familiar to Christian ears, it should not be surprising - it is the gospel. The Good News is that God has empowered us to become his children, and has done so by setting aside his own power and taking up the cross. We who are being formed in his image are called to the same. To be a community in the image of God is to pursue justice. It is to serve those who cannot repay, seeking no benefit to self. It is in such acts that the way of Christ is revealed most clearly - and in such moments that we are most in the image of God.

Technorati Tags: ecclesiology, image of God, imago dei, power, justice