The Sin Matrix

From Wikipedia: The term nostalgia describes a longing for the past, often in idealized form. The word is made up of two Greek roots (νόστοςnostos ”returning home”, and άλγος algos ”pain”), to refer to “the pain a sick person feels because he wishes to return to his native home, and fears never to see it again”. It was described as a medical condition, a form of melancholy, in the Early Modern period, and came to be an important topic in Romanticism.

Once a Canadian lad,

Exiled from hearth and home,

Wandered, alone and sad,

Through alien lands unknown.

Down by a rushing stream,

Thoughtful and sad one day,

He watched the water pass

And to it he did say:

“If you should reach my land,

My most unhappy land,

Please speak to all my friends

So they will understand.

Tell them how much I wish

That I could be once more

In my beloved land

That I will see no more.

“My own beloved land

I’ll not forget till death,

And I will speak of her

With my last dying breath.

My own beloved land

I’ll not forget till death,

And I will speak of her

With my last dying breath.

“At length did cross an Albatross:
Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God’s name.
It ate the food it ne’er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!
And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariners’ hollo!
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine.
‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus! –
Why look’st thou so?’ — With my cross-bow
I shot the Albatross.”

— Rime of the Ancient Mariner
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

it’s a long way to the promised land
so you’d better well know your way
where’s a ship on the ocean
and an albatross who is trying to lead you astray
leaders, politicians, and power whores
are in line to receive your choice
and you bet your ass, if you give it to them,
they will gladly take your voice
and it’s a long way to the promised land
wo-oh oh oh oh
it’s a long way to the promised land
if we work we might find it here
there’s no substitute for enlightenment,
there’s no reason for bridled fear
when you join the people who’ve joined the club
you gotta clench and play your hand
cuz if you fall in line you’re gonna fall in time
and you’ll never make a stand
it’s a long way to the promised land
wo-oh oh oh oh
what are you going to do?
when they call for you?
bend and capitulate?
or keep your head on straight?
easy answers bought without experience,
is gonna lead you to certain doom
because the truth is just what you make of it
it begins and ends with you!
it’s a long way to the promised land
wo-oh oh oh oh
it’s a long way to the promised land
wo-oh oh oh oh
it’s a long way
when you join the people who joined the club
you gotta clench and play your hand
cause the truth is just what you make of it
it’s a long way
get in line

Bad Religion – It’s A Long Way To The Promised Land

I’ve just finished reading a book called Joseph’s Bones by Jerome M. Segal. The argument of the book is that the Torah plus Joshua (the Hexateuch or the first six books of the Bible) tell a different story than has traditionally been taught. This is not a story about an all-knowing, all-powerful deity that chooses and guides his people the Israelites as they change and develop. Rather, this is a story about a deity that is in transition, a deity who was himself once a formless void who creates humanity so that he might know himself. This is not a God that knows everything, but is rather a God that needs to be taught, not about earth or about heaven or about power or about people, but about himself. God, so goes the argument, needs humanity in order to come to a greater understanding of himself, who he is and what he does.

And so when God goes to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham says, wait a minute, you’re not that kind of God. You’re not the kind of God that would destroy the innocent along with the guilty. You are a just God. Then, after God sends continual plagues and punishments on the Israelites in the wilderness during the Exodus, Moses says, wait a minute, you’re not that kind of God. You’re not the kind of God that starves people and sends illness down upon them. You’re a God whose relationship with his people is based on love. And in kind of a surprising afterward, this author argues that it was not until Jesus studied Scripture that God even bothered to read the Torah. The Torah, then, is not just a message from God to the people, it is also a message from the people to God. God changes, you see, through his interactions with his people. God comes to a greater understanding of his own identity.

Fascinating stuff. The God who is everything is not only unchangeable but also changeable. The God with whom we, God’s people, have an intimate relationship is guided by what we think and how we respond. This God needs us to tell him who he is so that he can come to a greater understanding of himself. Who do you say that I am? says Jesus. Who do you say that I am? This question suddenly seems less patriarchal…. more urgent. Who do you say that I am?

I recently met with one of the most conservative priests in my adopted diocese. He wanted to talk about a letter I wrote to the Anglican Journal this year telling everyone who cares and lots of people who don’t that I am a gay priest who believes in the authority of Scripture. And this conservative priest was in substantial agreement with most of what I wrote. Except the gay priest bit. He didn’t like my use of the adjective gay to describe the noun priest. For him, the word gay cannot actually be used to describe nouns. It can only be used to describe verbs. It’s an adverb. Well, that’s not totally true. He and others like him have made a compromise, created the phrase ‘the gay lifestyle’ where lifestyle is a noun that is a euphemism for a whole variety of verbs (disgusting verbs like sodomize and fuck and fist). And he pointed out that according to the canons of the church there is and can be no such thing as a gay priest. (I’m not sure that he even believes that there can be any such thing as a gay person, much less a gay priest.) There is only ‘the gay lifestyle’ that normal people can either choose or not choose to be a part of. And so, if I am a priest who is living a celibate, single lifestyle (which of course I am, wink wink nudge nudge) I can’t be gay because I am not doing any of the verbs associated with ‘the gay lifestyle’ (just to recap, these include sodomizing, fucking, and – yikes – fisting).

It’s humbling to understand that when I assert my identity, there are people out there who think that I don’t exist. This is what happens when I say to the bishops that I want to get married to my partner and they say I can’t. They’re not putting a limit on my behaviour. They’re saying that I don’t exist. They’re saying that there’s no such thing as me. I’m reading the document that others are writing about me and I find that I’m not there.

I am formless and a void.

Mystics would say that this is the place I need to get to before I can really start to have spiritual experiences, before I can really get to know God. And after reading Joseph’s Bones, I think I get it. God and I both start formless. We both start as chaos. And when it comes right down to it, the only thing we can really say when asked to describe ourselves is… I am who I am… who do you say that I am?

The problem with the Devil is that his answer is…. nobody. I say that you are nobody. You are nothing and nobody and you don’t exist.

A wise man once said that the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.

Maybe.

But the second greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world that I don’t exist. Convincing me that I don’t exist.

I think I was just cured of my atheism.

I like to sing. It makes me feel good. And I think I sound ok when I do it. Nobody’s ever run away screaming.

Singing is how I pray. I mean really, almost every song ever written is about Jesus if you sing it the right way. (I guess every song can be about getting it on if you sing it the right way too… Sunny Days, sweeping the clouds away, can you get to where the air is sweet…) And is not like music is out of place in church. There’s hymns, there’s organs, there’s choirs, there’s bands. And they are of various quality, sure, but sometimes that’s part of the charm of church music. It’s not perfect, but it’s generally heartfelt.

So here’s an interesting tidbit about me. I am discouraged from singing in church. I say, can I sing today, and my rector says no you can’t. Sometimes, like this past Sunday, when I sing without asking, I get in trouble. Imagine. Getting in trouble for singing. And it’s not like I was singing anything outrageous. It was the Song of Mary set to a Russian Chant. But it was somehow inappropriate and offensive.

It’s a microcosm of a bigger problem, and that bigger problem is clericalism. Clericalism is when the priest or deacon tells you what to do (its a bit different when a bishop tells you what to do, though I’m not sure its any better). I’ve become really aware of it now that I’m a cleric. And I suppose its not just limited to clerics. Doctors are famous for telling you what to do. Teachers as well. Bureaucrats are famous for it, and they often throw in the added bonus feature of not being very clear about exactly what it is they want you to do. I’m drowning in a sea of paperwork.

I guess I’m a little confused about what an expert is. Is an expert somebody who has the right to boss you around when it comes to any given topic? Or is an expert somebody who has the responsibility to help you understand any given topic better?

Is Jesus supposed to tell us what to do in order to live a better life and then get mad at us when we fail? Or is Jesus supposed to help us learn how to live a better life?

In our times, the cult of celebrity has replaced other kinds of cults (read religions) in the popular imagination. Whereas once humanity may have looked to its religious figures to discover their archetypes of human life, now we look to celebrity. Jesus was once the one who died and rose again, giving all he had to the world. Now we have Bill Gates and his wife, pulling themselves up out of the muck of regularity into the risen life of wealth, willing to share with the world through their charitable organization. Once Jacob tricked Esau out of his inheritance. Now Prince Harry steals Will’s headlines. Once St. Bernadette lay in the dirt gasping over her vision of Mary. Now Perez Hilton dishes the dirt in his vision of who might be ‘Mary’. And just as Eve was tempted by a snake into being ashamed of her nakedness, now Britney has been tempted by the paparazzi into shameless displays of nakedness. She is the new fallen woman, the symbol of what is wrong with the world. And so we worship at the shrine of the national enquirer, witnessing to the suffering of people who are not us. But we don’t pray for them. Oh, no. We pray for the poor, or those in war torn countries, but we never pray for those who have to bear the burden of our misplaced religious devotion. We call ourselves ‘atheists’ or ’spiritual but not religious’ and instead of loading our burdens onto Jesus’ back (who can take it) we load them onto Britney’s. Or Hilary’s. OrMarilyn Manson’s. Or…And it’s 50-50 whether we’ll laugh or cry when they crack. (RIP Heath Ledger.) 

Ok. So I just finished reading a book called After Christianity by Gianni Vattimo (sp?) in which he argues basically that Neitchze’s proclaimation that ‘God is dead’ is actually true in that we no longer can reasonably believe in God’s supernaturality. God can no longer be a higher power or a man in the clouds or a supreme being, and there can be no heaven and hell, and there can be no angels or demons or limbo or anything like that because we ‘know’ those things are impossible. This reminds me of of Spong’s question in The Sins of Scripture about how far into the universe the Risen Christ has risen. (The answer is that even if he was travelling at the speed of light, even after two thousand years he still wouldn’t have reached the end of the universe and thus, presumably, heaven.) Spong also reminds us, as I’ve mentioned before and will mention again, that we have to ‘believe’ in things because we know they’re not true.

Vattimo is interesting, however, in that even though for him metaphysics is dead, religion is not necessarily. We ‘know’ that God isn’t supernatural and, if we want to keep in the apophatic tradition of identifying all the things that God is not (i.e. unknowable, invisible etc.) then it might be good enough to stop there. And this seems to be the atheist agenda: to say that God is not… not supernatural, not existent, not possible, not real. But apophatic strategy in a non-apophatic world doesn’t exactly work. For true apophatics, to say that God is ‘not’ is to open up possiblities of what God might be. In our world, where postmodernists and literalists continue to argue over whose penis is bigger, however, to say something is not is to remove it from the scope of debate. And so, while is still may be helpful to figure what God is not, in order to keep God in play for people, we may want one or two indications of what God is.

 And for some people, it is enough to simply say that God is an idea. And this may be a good idea or a bad idea (thinking of Marx’s opiate of the masses or the modern atheist comparison of God and a computer virus). For others, God may be a relationship, or an emotion, or a sensation (i.e. I can feel the Divine). Others may argue that God is energy and so is related to matter (e=mc2, which gives one pause about the actual possibility of Jesus being human/flesh and divine/energy which are equal when the speed of light gets involved). There are lots of ways to start doing this.

 And so, I am released from feeling like I have to ‘believe’ in things that I know aren’t ‘true’. I am now free to think about things I know are true as though they were God. Because for me, that is exactly what they are.

So a couple of weeks ago, an anonymous donor left copies of an article about how atheism is a big threat to Christianity in the mailboxes of all the clergy at my church. So, frightened for my life, I started to read a bit about Atheism, so as to stop the threat from ruining my professional life. And you know what? The atheists convinced me.

Basically, the atheist critique of Christianity (in particular, but religion in general) can be summarized in four points.

1. Christianity misrepresents the origins of humanity & the cosmos, and slants history to suit its own purposes.

2. Christianity demands unreasonable supressions of human nature.

3. Christianity inclines people to violence & submission to authority.

4. Christianity expresses hostility to free inquiry.

Now, in my own thinking, I have five critiques, not necessarily of Christianity. They are:

1. Competition 

2. Heterosexual Normativity 

3. Paternalism

4. Profit Capitalism

5. Sexual Repression

Basically, I’m concerned about the misrepresentation of things (heterosexual normativity, profit capitalism), about the unreasonable supression human nature (sexual repression), the maintainance of authoritarian structures that promote violence (paternalism), and hostility to points of view different to one’s own (competition). So, what? Am I an atheist?

The answer is, maybe. The God I believe in isn’t a guy, or even a being. My God might be better described as a feeling, or an idea, or an emotion, or a power. Certainly not the theistic God that we refer to as ‘him.’ So in that sense, I’m atheistic. I am also really skeptical of the more supernatural elements of the Christian religion: Eve coming from Adam’s rib, the flood of the whole earth, angels & demons, virgin births, bodily resurrections. I don’t want to say that I don’t believe in those things. I believe in them, but I don’t think of them as describing literal truth. I’m always mindful of the idea that we have to ‘believe’ in things because we know they’re not true.

And I am concerned about Christianity. I’m concerned about apocalypticists who actually pray for destruction of people & the environment so that the end times will come more quickly. I can’t believe that there are people who call themselves Christians who pray for destruction! And it’s ridiculous that people actually say things like God hates homosexuals. First of all, God doesn’t hate. God loves. Second of all, GOD ISN’T A PERSON! God doesn’t work like that. Jeez, what are you guys? Morons?

Sorry, little break there. I’m supposed to respect everyone’s point of view. Or am I? Another critique that the atheists have is that Christians let people get away with promoting ignorance in the name of religious freedom. Is religious freedom really the freedom to be ignorant? Is this what it has turned into? I hope that my God inspires me to continue trying to understand with humility rather than letting me get away with being a jackass!! But Christian jackasses abound! Once again, I find myself agreeing with the atheists.

So what’s a poor Christian to do? Defend Christianity against the onslaught? But actually, I don’t think atheism is an attack on Christianity. I think that it is actually a response to trouble in the world. It’s just that trouble is defined as religion. And so as a Christian, I think it is my job to take the atheist critique very seriously, and integrate it into how I respond to the world. Am I brainwashing? Am I promoting ignorance? Or violence? Or hate? No really.

AM I?

Why is it that when people want to stop being paternalistic they stop being leaders? I mean, one of the problems with paternalistic approaches is that the people they’re being used on get dependent. So when you have a group of people used to being bossed around and then their boss just stops bossing, they have no idea what to do. And then the non-bossy boss complains that they don’t know what to do. Or that they’re not doing anything. Guess I have to be bossy if I wanna get anything done. Because, of course, a non-paternalistic approach means abdicating any sense of responsibility on the part of the leader.

This is why, to me, developing lay ministry is so important. If you train people how to do things, then when you leave them on their own to do those things, they know how. Seems like a pretty simple idea. Ah, says the clever skeptic, but what happens if they refuse to come to training sessions. I offer them all kinds of opportunity to learn how to do all the things I want them to do, but they don’t seem to care. Good point. They don’t care. Because the leader is not really trying to meet their needs. If they won’t come to the training then it’s important for the training to come to them. Or for the leader to teach them how to care. It is a sad fact about the world we live in that people have to be taught to care. They’re not always learning it at home.

So what’s a priest to do? Sermons about caring and love. Modelling caring and love in general parish activities. Thinking up more exciting ways to get people involved when they are available. Giving up expectations that worship services are ever going to be perfect. See, the thing about giving up paternalism is that it may actually require the leader to do more work than that leader did when s/he was being paternalistic. Which is maybe why so many people got into paternalism in the first place. Because it was easier. Paternalism is the shelter of the lazy. And it breeds laziness.

 Man am I sick of priests telling me that their congregations are too busy to do anything. What? Is church a chore? Isn’t providing ministry and service to others a pleasure? No really. Isn’t it? Shouldn’t it be? Isn’t discovering what people need and want as ministry part of the fun of it? I mean, I know it’s more work. It’s easier to just be a know-it-all. It’s easier to know what’s best for people better than they know themselves.

I guess sometimes the sin you hate most in others is the sin you hate most in yourself.

So I’ve been reading family systems theory this month. It’s probably good for me because a lot of people that I speak to know it and talk about it and live their lives by it to a certain extent. And it’s got some interesting things to say about how we relate with one another, distancing and being emotionally mature, and where our reactions come from etc.

But I get stuck on its individuality. You must deal with your own issues first. You must keep looking inward before you can effectively look outward. You must be aware of what separates you from others before you can work on your connections with others. You must know what roles you play and what roles others play to understand relationships. Ok. Fine. But that’s a world view that I don’t always buy into.

Partly this is because always playing a role and being aware of it is exhausting. If it weren’t then I could maintain a heterosexual facade with no trouble. But I came out of the closet in order to stop playing a role. And perhaps I’m still playing a role, but it is a role that is closer to the real me. That’s my goal: to get closer and closer to the real me and to eventually discard the roles.

 But, and this is another reason I’m not buying into family systems theory, I’m too stupid to always see the real me. Maybe I’m too drunk, or not drunk enough, or too self absorbed or not self absorbed enough, but I don’t always get me. But I know people that do, maybe not one hundred percent of the time, but a lot of the time. I like to surround myself with people that get me because then the responsibility for getting me isn’t entirely on my shoulders. Should it be? Should I really be completely responsible for myself? Or should I be dependent on others for that?

Various first nations cultures would say that the whole community bears responsibility for getting each one of its members. Identity is not so easily differentiated in that kind of community. And I would hope that Jesus’ ministry to outcasts, welcoming them in and loving them, is kind of about getting them and teaching other members of his group how to get them, the outcasts, too. The broader culture tells the outcasts what they are and then decides whether to love them or not. Jesus loves the outcasts first because he gets them, and so it matters less figuring out roles and identities and so on.

I think that I’m only barely grasping onto sense at this point. But the point I’m trying to make is, isn’t it nice when you are in a group of people where you don’t have to constantly be analyzing your reactions and relationships. Isn’t it nice when you can be around people who love you like Jesus loved the outcasts.

I’ve been thinking that we are united in our allegience to the objects of worship, even if we are not united in our interpretations of the objects of worship.

But really, there is only one object of worship and that is God, whatever you call it/him/her/us. Our allegience to God unites us.

But now I’m stuck on the different ways we demonstrate our allegience. Is focussing on God enough to overcome our differences? If we promise first and foremost to be allied to God and second to be allied to Scripture, Reason, Tradition, or Experience or any combination of the four. Is it possible to separate our understanding of God from those four? Does God exist outside of Scripture? Does God exist outside of Reason? Does God exist outside of Tradition? Does God exist outside of Experience? Of course. Do I? That’s harder, but I think I can trust my understanding of God to pull me out of those four if only for the brief moment that I can remember that I am united to all those other people who God pulls out of…

Idealism is a wonderful thing. Praise God and don’t sweat the small stuff. Like the Bible, the Church, you know, the small stuff. Yeesh.

Is anybody else a little bit mystified at exactly what the ministry of deacons is? Why don’t deacons just become priests? And why on earth do priests ever have to be deacons? I am a deacon right now, at least for the next five months, so I really want to know. What is it exactly that I am supposed to be doing?

At school, I learned that deacons’ ministry is to bridge the gap between the church and the world, bringing the world into the church and the church into the world. Priests do that too, and all the baptized. So that doesn’t really answer the question for me.

Liturgically, deacons are responsible for different things depending on where you are, but most often they read the gospel and set the table for communion, as well as saying the words that send people out into the world. But if that’s all there is, then it isn’t hard to imagine that a deacon is subservient to a priest who, after all, preaches on the gospel and presides of the table. And there are plenty of churches who don’t have deacons who have people who aren’t the priest read the gospel and set the table. So that doesn’t quite cover it either.

I’ve started lately to think of ordination as imposing a set of limits on ministry; when you are ordained, you don’t have as much freedom to practice whatever kind of ministry you want because your busy doing the ministry that you are ordained to do. So a priest is ordained to do liturgical ministry etc. Deacons, then, are ordained into a set of limits, but I think that they have more freedom to decide what those limits are. They might choose to focus in on Pastoral Caregiving, for example, or education, or chapalincy, among other things. Deacons have more freedom than priests but less freedom than the baptized who can switch it up when they get bored.

This is important for my understanding. Baptized people are called to general ministry within the church or specific ministry outside of the church. (This call can even be a vocation.) Deacons are called to specific ministry within the church. (Again, vocation.) And priests are called to the specific ministries of the priesthood. Thus, deacons can be baptized people and priests can be deacons. But the point is that each ordination puts more limits on the location of your vocation. Catchy, isn’t it?

Anyway, that’s preliminary thoughts.