Truth, Beauty, and Yodeling Pickles

Peter, “It’s just a bit of silliness really.”
JM Barrie, “I should hope so.”

~from the movie, Finding Neverland

There’s something about theology and ministry that makes me serious. Now, that’s not a comment about how seriously I take it, or these are topics of great concern that merit only very serious attitudes.

It’s more that these topics, for whatever reason, seem to cause a shift in my personality. I become very serious. Don’t believe me? Read this blog. It’s very serious, mind-crushingly serious, alienatingly serious. I can’t even remember the last whimsical post I wrote here. I can’t remember, for that matter, the last whimsical anything I wrote. I try to post on what I’m thinking about, but since this is an entirely sporadic blog (liberally sprinkled with “sorry I haven’t written for awhile” sort of posts), I’m not really even sure what the goal of this blog is and it’s certainly not a cross section of what I usually am thinking about.

This has become my serious side. It’s the side of me that doesn’t let itself out in most social situations, and the side of me that, for whatever reason, is both an integral part of who I am and the choices I have made, yet I don’t express in other situations.

Remember the pensieve from Harry Potter? It allowed one to store memories, pulling them out like threads then storing them in a bowl.

This blog, and writing in general of late, has been my pensieve for seriousness. Scroll down, read the earlier posts. Very serious stuff. The writing at least. The pictures are more about beauty.

Truth and beauty, that’s the stuff of life, yeah?

Only for the longest time whenever I’ve had to describe myself or add a tagline I’ve used the phrase “a lover of truth, beauty and occasionally silliness”.

That really does sum up my personality. Only there has been a plain lack of occassionally silliness in my writing. And honestly, I miss it. I’ve been thinking for a while about how to get it back in but, of course, as my main writing task these days is my dissertation and dissertations are, as a rule, especially soul-crushingly serious even within the already serious genre of academic writing, I’ve not a lot of mental space for indulging my whimsy.

I say I don’t have a lot of mental space for whimsy, but isn’t it a matter of making space?

Did I post that part of my dissertation, the part I talked about making space is a significant part of our relationship with God and with others, not only something we do but something that reflects the image of God? I don’t feel like looking now, because that’s tedious, and as there’s few things more serious than tedium, I’m going to dodge looking for the requisite link.

Making space is good. But making space for whimsy and silliness? That’s something the desert monastics would certainly scold me about. Such a serious lot. And the trouble is that I have long taken them very seriously so while I disagree with their scowling about laughter and fun, I realize that there’s was often a depth of spirituality that I, in my best moments, really would love to discover. Maybe my blog has become an unintended reflection of my inner suspicions that theology and the Christian life really are, and should be, quite serious endeavors.

“A hermit saw someone laughing, and said to him, “We have to render an account of our whole life before heaven and earth, and you can laugh?”

That’s from the Desert Fathers. Not all those desert monastic really knew God, but the ones quoted in that book did, and much more than I do.

And yet… to a person, every mature Christian I’ve met or heard speak in person–those whose walks with God are deeper and longer and more thorough than my own–have a sense of humor. That’s always high on a list of relationship ideals, right, that the other person has a sense of humor? That was a big part of my attraction to Amy. She made me laugh.

“And you can laugh?” Yeah, I think so. Precisely because we have to render an account. And there are parts of my rendering that will be, to be sure, pretty ludicrous in the re-telling.

Theology and the Christian life are serious, to be sure, so merit a degree of somber interaction. However, when it comes down to it, both are also pretty ludicrous. We’re trying to come up with words that describe the creator and sustainer and ultimate identity of the universe, who we say is one but also three, God but also man, but not just a man, a man that isn’t like other men but is so much like other men that our very orthodoxy is dependent on testifying that this man is a man as much as other men but not like other men in all sorts of pretty specific ways, like the fact that he didn’t sin and like the fact that even though God incarnated as a man, this man didn’t exhaust all the identity of God even though he was fully God in every way, but since we also have the Father–who was with but not identical with this man, but be careful about using qualifying identical because then you have three gods instead of one; and this third one, or part or mode or person (but not separate person, more of an identity within the threeness of the oneness) is tricky because it’s not really a person, only it is, but more of a wind, or a breath, or a tempest, or a bird? or maybe a force but also a person because our trinity needs three persons and isn’t the beginning of a joke in which a son, a father, and ghost walk into a bar. So, the man died, really died, but didn’t die because he was raised from the dead and is now alive but not alive with us, with the Father, and with us in Spirit–which isn’t a pretty phrase meaning we’re thinking about him but he’s literally with us in Spirit–only to return again at some point which is always just about to happen for the last 1988 years or so.

I could go on and on. But you get the point. There’s an inherent ludicrous quality about theology that sort of inspires a bit of snickering when anyone tries to take it too seriously.

Yet people are very intent about taking it too seriously and if you don’t take it seriously they’ll be the first to remind you how serious to take it. But what do they know?

Really, all that seriousness is about trying to cope with the fact that much of theology, and much of our lives, and much of reality in general is ludicrous. Not because it’s meaningless. But because the meaning is so complex and intricate that our attempts to package it up in brown paper with neat little bows is ludicrous.

And because, I think, God has a sense of humor too, so whimsy is embedded in Creation. Our recognition of it is not dodging the main points of life, it’s indulging in them, recognizing and interacting with the world in a way that doesn’t take it as serious as many people want us to take it.

Finding the silliness, exploring the whimsy, letting go the absoluteness that seriousness seeks to impose, isn’t just a distraction. It is, I increasingly believe, part of our participation with God, part of recognizing the world for what it is–a ludicrous sort of place–seeing the contradictions and complexities as often displaying the ludicrous reality in which we now live.

Laughter is good medicine not because it’s a placebo, but because it helps us see the world rightly once more. Whimsy gives us perspective. And inasmuch as it does, it is, I think, holy.

“And you can laugh?” Yeah, I think so. Because we don’t just render an account our sins. We celebrate our salvation, and that is a feast, a joyous event, a reflection of the fact that this God, the God, our God, takes us seriously but not that seriously. He thinks us ludicrous too, and is willing to rectify our faults because of his love for us, not because we deserve it, because we’ve proven how serious we are about our salvation, but because he wants to. So he does. Ludicrous as it is, God saves us. It’s his whimsy to save the world. God is holy and God saves, becoming one of us so that we can participate with him. Foolish and scandalous as this might be, that’s what he does. And it makes me laugh, because it’s so thoroughly good.

Truth, beauty and occasionally silliness aren’t just a tagline, after all. They’re how I define holiness because they are how I see God’s identity expressed in this world.

They are, as such, also the expressions of love.

Which is, I think, what theology should also be about. Certainly it’s what I want to be about, and I think finding the whimsy and humor again in my writing is a necessary part of my becoming a more developed theologian.

A theologian who is always serious doesn’t really know God.

I could go on and on, writing serious words about whimsy and bogging down in existential introspection about my own identity as a theologian and the seriousness of silliness as part of the theological project. But, that would be ludicrous, so instead, let us end with this, a yodeling pickle.

This post is part of the May Synchroblog. Here’s a list of other participants in this month’s bit of silliness:

12 Comments, Written on May 8th, 2012 , academia, contemplation, missional, musings, personal, silliness, theology
Hope and Oppressing

Some (unedited) musings from my dissertation:

Those who are investing their identity within oppressor oriented models — models where competition and domination are considered positive rather than negative — tend to rationalize their behavior in the context of their wider philosophical and social milieus. By participating with the crucified one, however, such rationalizations are discarded, seen for what they are—forms of self-alienation in the guise of self-fulfillment. Participants in forms of non-infinite identity are, ultimately, anonymous — they are without identity because their attempt at identity is contradictory and transient. They lose themselves in the mass of other objects, all flailing to be unique in a morass of historically tired attempts to assert themselves as unique. They define themselves by what they do, how they compare, how they control – but ultimately they remain anonymous as they are not differentiated in their identity through their participation with the fullness of identity, loved and empowered as subjects in God’s particularizing mission.

They are nonhuman inasmuch as they are distant from the only source of substantive human identity—the God in whose image they were created. Oppression is the active negation of such an identity, self-imposed exile from Kingdom, participating as subjects in the crucifying rather than in being crucified. In other words, those who seek to establish identity through means of oppression are given the pronouncement, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” There is no hope where oppressing promises hope, there is only hell.

That is precisely why a liberation of the oppressor is important. The oppressed realize there is no hope. The oppressors often do not. And in their deception they perpetuate sinful structures and behaviors, leading them and other inexorably towards death and dissolution.

Only the way of the cross includes the path to resurrection, and only by participating with the crucified God do we then have a substantive hope for not only salvation from but indeed and more importantly, salvation into. This salvation into includes those ultimate goals for which oppressing tends to be concerned—issues of fulfillment, identity formation, security. Because the cross entails the loss of identity, the resurrection is about more than resuscitation of that old identity into becoming a more successful version of the same. Jesus does not valorize who we were but awakens us to new possibilities in accordance with who we were always meant to be. The resurrection is not futuram but an advent, a novum of new life, a new thing, a new way of living.

The cross opens a person up to be a new person, emptying and forsaking, while the resurrection is the promise of filling, of new life. That is why salvation is described so many times as indicative of this new life, a new way of being in this world, rather than merely debts being paid or acquitting judgments. A person is “born again,” given a new start in who they are, as particular individuals no longer enslaved to the determinative history which preceded, but rather interpreting that history as a path of redemption that leads into, first, death of self, then resurrection of new self.

As this path gathers together people from all backgrounds, the blameworthy and the blaming, it entails another basic human need, that of community, non-competitive, non-authoritarian community where identity is not derived either by establishing identity over and against others, but by sharing in the identity of Christ so that each person becomes substantively able to participate as a free person among others, celebrating diversity in an infinitely complex unity.

1 Comment, Written on April 15th, 2012 , academia, dissertation musings, Jesus, theology, writing
Vianne Rose Oden

Well, we had an eventful Easter weekend. On Good Friday, we got a call from the doctors office telling us that some of Amy’s tests had come back elevated, so we had to go to the hospital for more tests. The doctor on call (our doctor was on vacation) strongly suggested inducing, as Amy was at about 38 weeks and the tests suggests a few possible concerns, some quite major. Both mom and baby were still healthy, so it seemed better to keep it this way by delivering.

That started Friday evening, progressed all throughout Saturday. I got a little rest overnight, Amy hardly any. Amy had an epidural about 8 on Saturday night, we thought we would have a better sleep as it moved along, delivering well into Easter.

Well, we were both woken up at 11:45 by nurses who had noticed the heart beat was lower, a possible sign the baby was on her way. And so she was. Shocking to Amy and to the nurses, and to me who woke up hearing “Call the doctor, the baby is coming very soon.” I woke up pretty quick.

Amy started pushing around 12:30. At 12:43 am on April 8, 2012 – Easter Sunday – we welcomed a very alert and very interactive Vianne Rose Oden into the world.

Both baby and Amy are doing quite well. We finally came home yesterday afternoon. Thanks so much to the wonderful nurses at Arcadia Methodist who helped ease a time of pain and anxiety before the delivery, and then who helped us find our way as we became parents for the first time. Thanks to Dr. Walker who took care of us right at first, worked behind the scenes during the inducement, and who was very kind and skilled at the delivery.

And most of all thanks be to God for a wonderful, beautiful, healthy baby girl.

Some details for those who are interested: She was born 5 pounds 13 ounces, 17 3/4 inches long, and blonde hair (showing her Oden genes, as with both Amy and me only my dad’s side of the family has blonde hair).

Now some pictures:

Oh, and the name comes from the movie Chocolat, we heard it and both liked it right away. It’s pronounced Vi- as in the letter, and Anne as in Anne.

4 Comments, Written on April 11th, 2012 , Amy, around the house, personal, pictures, three beautiful things, Vianne
The Crux of the Cross

A wee bit from my dissertation writing:

Moltmann writes:

When the crucified Jesus is called ‘the image of the invisible God’, the meaning is that this is God, and god is like this. God is not greater than he is in this humiliation. God is not more glorious than he is in this self-surrender. God is not more powerful than he is in this helplessness. God is not more divine than he is in this humanity. The nucleus of everything that Christian theology says about ‘God’ is to be found in this Christ event. The Christ event on the cross is a God event. And conversely, the God event takes place on the cross of the risen Christ.

Those who are forsaken, who are poor in Spirit, are blessed because in their forsakenness Jesus identifies with them; these are the people whose life share his own experiences and those are the people with whom he was cast. They are blessed because then, with Jesus, his future becomes their future. If then, the experience of Jesus is ultimately the experience and orientation of God in bringing salvation, only by identifying with those who Jesus identified with does one then identify with Jesus.

To identity with the forsaken one must let go that which one feels is one’s right, letting go forms of oppression so as to participate in community with Christ who suffered under oppression. Those who are oppressed, then, are liberated as oppressors no longer can justify their oppression, so no longer oppress. The broken relationships are healed when the oppressor lets go domination to join Jesus on the cross and is thus together with those who Jesus joined by going to the cross.

In light of the cross, the oppressor can no longer justify oppression by blaming the oppressed for the state of oppression, charging them with violations of blasphemy, or political unsuitability, or being God forsaken and thus deserving of human forsaking. In light of the cross, alternate forms of identity formation that always leads to some kind of oppression are put aside in order to identify with the man who challenged all societal forms of justification and identity. One cannot, literally, be with Christ while being an oppressor.

One must be liberated from oppressing in the very nature of participation with the God who is the crucified God. In this we face a crossroads. A person is either with Jesus where he is, or they are with those who accuse Jesus, aligning themselves with those who were arrayed against him: the Jewish leaders, Pilate, the Roman soldiers. If someone oppresses they are not worshiping the God who is Jesus. The oppressors are the true blasphemers, the true rebels, the truly godforsaken. That is the crux of the cross.

1 Comment, Written on March 28th, 2012 , academia, dissertation musings, Jesus, missional, theology
A peace, not the peace

A bit from my dissertation writing this last week:

As a religious conflict between Jesus and religious leaders who did not have political power, the struggle discussed above was primarily a battle of wills—who really did have the authority to speak for God? This led to fierce opposition against Jesus, but was not the direct reason for his crucifixion. Jesus was not stoned, as a blasphemer would merit. Rather, his crucifixion was an act of the controlling legal authority of the time: the Roman Empire. Jesus was seen as someone who if not entirely himself a rebel at least contributed to fomenting societal disorder, and so could be blamed as a social agitator.

The teaching of Jesus clearly had societal implications and someone with his charisma and influence, along with his implicit assertions of being the Messiah, resonated with those who sought a renewed Kingdom of Israel in contrast to the ruling Romans. Rome did not concern itself with the religious debates Jesus had sparked but only sought to squelch potential uprisings, a potential that was, in Palestine, expressed through such Messianic pretenders.

The active opposition of the Jewish social leaders, like the Sadducees, and threats to social disorder caused Rome to take notice, and in taking notice take the path of least resistance in order to pursue what they asserted was their primary goal, that of peace. Rome ruled diverse lands by a combination of offering unique benefits and contrasting this with vicious reprisal. Those it could not sate it crushed.

Jesus did not, however, see Rome’s response as defeat, nor as true peace. In willingly submitting himself, he disputed ultimate Roman authority over him. Rome sentenced Jesus to death. Jesus refused to stay dead. An act of ultimate rebellion. In this he contrasted himself with Rome’s authority, and contrasted his teaching with Rome’s policies.

His way was a way of deeper peace, not through active rebellion but substantive refutation of Rome’s very ability to assert itself. His goal was much more than temporary forms of apparent peace through domination. He sought peace by uniting with those who had been left out of peace, who had suffered at the hands of peace-making, who had been sacrificed to maintain the peace-wielding power of others. Pax Romana thus came about through application of crucifixion. Pax Christi comes about through the reception of crucifixion.

Rome put people on the cross to bear the weight of the peace. Jesus, and those who follow him, face the cross for themselves, obligating themselves to a new way of being, not obligating others to suffer so that our life is more bearable.

This political reality did not only involve Rome. There were also the political aspirations of those who opposed Rome involved in the story of the cross. As it contained such social and political elements, the teaching of Jesus would have resonated with the Zealots, those Jewish men and women who actively sought political and social liberation.

Whereas the Pharisees sought religious reformation, the right orientation towards God in spiritual and religious matters, the Zealots sought the activism of God, the assertion of the right to rule and have political freedom, to throw off the yoke of their oppressors, a political zeal for liberation. “Like the zealots,” Moltmann writes, “Jesus broke with the status quo and those who maintained it into being.”

Just as the similarities of Jesus with the Pharisees brought both their initial acclaim and later their reprobation, so too did the similarities of Jesus with the Zealots awaken them to his possibilities as a leader but then infuriate them as he did not follow through with their political demands. Jesus was the friend of sinners—which alienated the Pharisees—and friend of tax collectors—which alienated zealots. When Pilate sought a way out of his predicament and offered to release a prisoner, the people chose Barabbas rather than Jesus, making a claim for who they felt was the more valuable.

Jesus was neither a good citizen of Rome nor a good citizen of Israel, he rebelled against both assertions of power in his resistance to domination and in his proffering an alternative kingdom. He was not the Messiah Rome could fear and so he was not the Messiah the zealots wanted.

From right and from left, from the two forces of political assertions of his time, Jesus was rejected—neither liberal nor conservative we might say enough and so spewed from both their favor. His favor was not what he sought, nor their definitions the way he defined his own identity. Those who insist on defining themselves through the path of zealot or Pharisee do so in contrast to the way of the cross, which is why such paths are alienating and competitive, establishing an “us versus them mentality”. Such forms of expression must, then, often be discerned by their divisiveness rather than by their rhetoric, which will often attempt to claim Jesus as their justification.

Both forms justify oppression either by themselves or by others as a way of pursuing a peace, a peace they say represents Christ but more often than not actually represents oppression. It is a justification of oppression that disguises itself through selective use of the message of Jesus and of those prophets who came before him.

Pax Romana is limited to some, and often restricts or opposes others. Pax Christi is for all, together. If peace insists that others bear the weight for such peace, and suffer under it, that is the peace of Rome.

1 Comment, Written on March 24th, 2012 , academia, dissertation musings, Jesus
Oppressors and the Cross

As patterns of oppression become embedded in the ecclesial traditions, those traditions and leaders that are responsible for conveying Christian theology embed their own self-justifying domination in this theology. The cross undermines all of this. Moltmann writes, “The crucified Christ himself is a challenge to Christian theology and the Christian church, which dare to call themselves by his name.”

This is not a theoretical issue nor one related to preferences, as a discussion about contemporary choruses versus traditional hymns might be. This is not, likewise, merely an issue of church growth. This is a question of the very identity of the church and indeed its survival. A critical theology of the cross makes criticism of the church a radical venture, as each church must be established on the basis of the crucified Christ in order for it to be, indeed, a Christian church. The cross is “the criterion of their truth and therefore the criticism of their untruth.” In this way, then, the church is a microcosm of humanity in general, given identity by this particular Christ and only in this identity finding substantive identity for continuing life. The life of the church is oriented by the reality of this man Jesus, the man who died in a particular way with a particular mission.

Those in the church cannot appropriate this mission for their own benefit or to further their own goals, which would be to distance themselves from Christ in the process and thus establishing their own markers for the knowledge of good and evil. The original sin makes its presence known in every church that confesses Christ but dismisses the cross in word or in practice. And as with the human condition in general, churches that establish their identity elsewhere are oriented towards death.

Thus, an ecclesiology that embeds oppression is not merely unfortunate, it is anti-Christ, orienting itself in contrast to the mission of Christ, representing Christ in name but opposing this mission in practice. The cross confronts such oppression and in its absurdity offers a constant challenge to attempts to develop theology for the sake of the dominant.

Moltmann writes that it is “the cross alone, and nothing else” that is the test of Christian theology, “since the cross refutes everything, and excludes the syncretistic elements in Christianity.” Only a theology that takes the cross seriously, with all its challenges and confrontations, can be established firmly in the mission of Christ as Christ himself initiated it. This does not negate the ability for theological development or reflection, but rather continually re-centers it, examining it for substantive contribution rather than distracting accretion.

Leave A Comment, Written on March 12th, 2012 , academia, dissertation musings, Jesus, writing
Comprehensive Exam #3: Moltmann and the Spirit of Life (part 2)

This work of the Spirit has broad implications. First, there is an ecological implication. The Spirit who is the Spirit of life, by definition is interested and connected to all that is living. Where there is life, there is the Spirit. This means that how we respond to this world is directly related to our participation with the Spirit, those who are participants with the Spirit are renewed in their creative and constructive contribution to ecological thriving. This very pervasive presence of the Spirit in all of nature has been considered by some as being quite close to pantheism, and more accurately described as panentheism, in which the Spirit is not equivalent to nature, but rather the Spirit is throughout nature, but more than nature. Indeed, for many this steers too far away from orthodox theology, at least according to their interpretations.

Indeed, as many more liberal commentators, such as process theologians and others, do have a more loosely orthodox description of panentheism, Moltmann’s own approach combines a pervasive work of the Spirit in nature with an always sharply defined understanding of the Spirit as a unique Person of the Trinity. This emphasis on the Spirit’s personhood, rather than as a vague force or presence, means that for Moltmann it is the Spirit who is the defining presence of nature, rather than nature being the defining presence for the Spirit. As such, the Spirit is working in and among all life, bringing all life to a new and renewed eschatological fulfillment.

This comprehensive work of the Spirit interacts with humanity in pervasive ways as well, calling each person to a renewed relationality and an emphasis of life over death in their particular contexts. In all situations, the Spirit leads towards that which expresses life and leads away from that which expresses death. For humanity, then, the soul crushing affects of domination, restriction and limitation are fought against. This is a liberating work of the Spirit, who liberates the oppressed from their oppression, and liberates the oppressors from their oppressing, leading all to a new relationship of equality and freedom, in which each person is fully able to be who they were created to be without having to define themselves over and against others.

The perichoretic movement of God, in the power of the Spirit, enables a new way of living, calling forth “a broad place where there is no cramping,” a holistic expression of eschatological life in which the freedoms of God are expressed in passionate and creative freedom. It is, indeed, a dance, a dance of life, a dance of hope, a dance of freedom and invigorating friendships. This liberating call leads people to hope in a new way of living, one that calls them forth to express this new life, and which, in places of restriction, causes the chains of repression to chaff and be resisted.

For Moltmann, this work of the Spirit is highlighted in the life and work of Christ, with Moltmann emphasizing a strong spirit-Christology, in which the power of the Spirit is seen as influential and defining throughout the whole life of Christ, especially in the cross and in the resurrection. This work of the Spirit means that Christ is also with us in our suffering, sharing the same Spirit, able to communicate the hope and empathy of Christ’s historical experiences into the contexts of our experiences, so that Christ is a brother to us in our suffering and a redeemer for us in our salvation.

We do not have to be defined by the restrictions placed on us by others, but in the Spirit we are defined anew by Christ, given freedom in a renewed identity, that calls forth our creativity and contributions, calling us to live life in a way that enables others, indeed the whole world, to find their own freedom and participation.

This exploration gives renewed priority in the context of Christian community, which is not separated from the world but is embedded within it as a beloved community, in which each person is given space and priority in discovering the fullness of the Spirit’s gift within the particular community and within the whole of their contexts, whatever context this is. This means that Moltmann is decidedly interested in all the various forms of liberation and contextual theologies, seeing these as pneumatological priorities, pushing his theology into conversation with feminism, other cultures, and always interested in what new work God is up to throughout this world.

This hope filled work by Moltmann is comprehensive as an exploration of the Spirit’s work throughout this world, and indeed throughout the various topics of theology. Moltmann secures his places a wholly Trinitarian theologian, arguably even more so than Pannenberg, whose discussions of the Spirit, while pervasive, neglect to emphasize the Spirit uniquely in a distinct monograph. The personhood of the Spirit in Pannnenberg, then, can tend more towards a rhetorical emphasis. In Moltmann, however, we have a distinct Pneumatology that actively fights against any attempts to restrain the personhood of the Spirit beneath another topic. The Spirit is a defining reality.

In his emphasis of the Spirit as the Spirit of life, however, it can be argued that Moltmann neglects the more difficult passages on judgment and the Spirit’s involvement in correcting individual sin. Indeed, Moltmann does not deign to even discuss such aspects, being willing to critique Scripture’s more negative discussions rather than relinquish a wholly hopeful view of the Spirit’s work. Moltmann also does not seem to say too much about other spirits, with the Spirit of God being the emphasis throughout in sole regard. Add this to a more systemic view of sins, more structural rather than moral, Moltmann can be criticized for having too much hope, and leaving aside the quite pertinent and Scriptural issues of personal holiness, sin and thus the topics that might be more individually oriented.

However, this may be, it might also be argued that for Moltmann, these topics are so well discussed that it is not as much he disagrees with the discussions as he finds nothing new to say, so in coming to the Spirit of Life we have to approach it truly as a contribution rather than systematic and comprehensive discussion. For Moltmann here, as with all his works, his goal is less to be systematic and entirely coherent and much more to be engaged with the questions and struggles of life as we encounter it. The Spirit of Life is always engaged with life in its many modes and contexts, with our spiritual experiences and rational thought both reflecting aspects of pneumatological insight. As such, Moltmann here seeks to build theological integrity with our experiences, giving us hope in our contexts, calling each of us to a renewed, hope filled life with God that is a constant celebration of truth and beauty, in an always creative love for life with God and with others.

1 Comment, Written on March 7th, 2012 , academia, comps, Holy Spirit, Moltmann, pneumatology, theology, writing
Baptizing Oppression

For the oppressed, to be restored in community with their oppressors means both being lifted out of the oppression and, as Volf rightly reminds us, a process of forgiveness to begin, so that the oppression leaves not only the physical reality but also the internal identity. For the oppressor, the process must come from a different direction, and so a theology of the cross that emphasizes identification with Jesus in his brokenness may actually lead to misapplied formative theology. When the dominant identifies with the dominated without relinquishing the patterns of the domination, they are, in effect, baptizing the domination as part of the formative community, leading often to its inclusion within not only the church, but indeed also in broader Christian theology itself. A baptized domination must find, after all, validation from some direction in order to perpetuate and, indeed, defend itself from critique. This is why, again, that a comprehensive liberation of the oppressor cannot simply be a matter of practical theology—how the church gathers and what it expresses. As patterns of oppression become embedded in the ecclesial traditions, those traditions and leaders that are responsible for conveying Christian theology embed their own self-justifying domination in this theology.

from my dissertation

Leave A Comment, Written on March 6th, 2012 , academia, church, dissertation musings, Jesus, theology
Oppressors and the Cross

Some dissertation musings I wrote out, more of a sketch of thoughts than a final product. But it shows a little bit what I’m thinking about these days.

Oppressors don’t feel guilt, and they don’t orient their sin around guilt. The cross as a way of expunging guilt isn’t effective or worthwhile. We put ourselves up on the cross with Jesus, deserving the blame he received as a way of dealing with our existential guilt. Jesus is there instead of us. But that’s not the message of Acts 3. The oppressors do not feel guilt, they attach blame. They are the ones who put Jesus on the cross, each for different reasons.

The oppressor tends to attach blame to the oppressed, foils for discontent. Something is wrong in life, oppressing sin needs a target to blame in order to excuse sinful behavior. The wife who isn’t good enough becomes the excuse a husband needs to cheat. The culture that is economically suffering becomes a target to blame for a society dysfunction. Supposed nefarious plans for domination in one group becomes a source for anger and domination, leading to colonization, racism, sexism.

We find targets to blame to justify our own arrogance and attempts at oppression. The oppressors who do this do not feel guilt because they have rationalized their behavior as being justified by the supposed sins of others, who brought on their suffering due to some present or historical deficiency. The inversion of oppression works the same way. The oppressed blame their oppressors, raging against the causes of suffering. Here is where the cross takes on a new emphasis for established and new oppressors.

The cross becomes a target for our blame because human psychology needs a direction to rage and ruin. Like Cain, we take our frustration on targets other than God. We orient ourselves in a religious posture while re-directing the rage and fear onto other targets, onto those who should be our brothers and our sisters. When, in fact, our existential fears—whether aesthete or pharisaic—really target existence itself, and for that the only acceptable target is God. The cross becomes, not a place for our guilt, but a place for our rage to go against whatever inequality, frustration, or temptation we might feel.

Don’t blame others for deserving what you do to them. Blame Jesus, put him on the cross. He went willingly before all the blame cast upon him, taking the blame for others.

The cross takes our blame, our rage, our racism—all those sin-stained orientations of death that despise others while trying to justify our own position. The oppressors put Jesus on the cross, and it was not because they were feeling guilty. It was because they were not feeling guilty and so had to have targets to blame to redirect their responsibility.

The face of God is the face of the crucified Jesus, who takes our rage and accusations with silence, only saying, “Forgive them, they know not what they do.” Jesus who takes this rage and accusation is the only one whose identity is wholly secured to absorb it, not only for himself, but for all the victims of phenomenal history and all the victimizers. Those who feel guilt put themselves among the criminals on the cross with Jesus. Those who oppress, however, are represented by Pilate or the Jewish leaders or the mocking, sadistic Roman soldiers.

“Now, fellow Israelites, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did your leaders. But this is how God fulfilled what he had foretold through all the prophets, saying that his Messiah would suffer. Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord, and that he may send the Messiah, who has been appointed for you—even Jesus.” (Acts 3:17-20)

4 Comments, Written on March 5th, 2012 , dissertation musings, Jesus, sins, theology, writing
Moltmann and the Spirit of Life (part 1)

The second question on my third comprehensive exam was familiar territory. Here’s the question and the first part of my answer:

Moltmann’s Spirit of Life is undoubtedly the most important contemporary constructive pneumatology. Engage Moltmann’s view of the Spirit sympathetically and critically

When Moltmann made his turn from writing theology from a single perspective in his books to writing what he called “contributions” to theology, he proposed a number of topics that he would focus on, including the common theological themes of trinity, christology, eschatology and others. Curiously, this earliest discussion of his goals did not include a proposed monograph emphasizing the Holy Spirit. Like his colleague Pannenberg, Moltmann had an interest in a holistic Trinitarian perspective, and seemingly like his colleague, did not see the Spirit as requiring a particular focus. However, as his contributions developed there seemed to be a building momentum in which Moltmann’s broader theological project emphasized the Spirit more and more. Indeed, it might be said that the Spirit burst forth from Moltmann’s developing project in a way that surprised him, and then marveled others.

Although it is not often claimed that Moltmann has a priority for theological coherence, especially in comparison with Pannenberg, with his interests more specifically about discussion what he sees as personally interesting and useful, there really is an underlying coherence to Moltmann’s theology that comes out as one reads through his entire corpus. And it was in the process of writing his contributions that this coherence seemingly demanded a more substantive discussion on the Holy Spirit than had been attempted in Western theology. Indeed, one might also suggest Moltmann’s Spirit of Life was the continuing fulfillment of Moltmann’s role as Barth’s theological successor, not Barthian in being a disciple of Barth, but rather a successor as taking Barth’s theology critically and constructively to the next level of theological thought.

Whereas Barth, later in life, suggested that a robust theology of the third person was a necessary task for theology, he did not attempt this himself. Moltmann, driven more by his theological impulses, took this call up and in doing so provided one of the most important discussions of the Holy Spirit, in our time and maybe among the most important in history.

At the core of Moltmann’s theology is his emphasis on life. He views theology as being directed towards life, reading Scripture and applying his theological musings in ways that always emphasizes the priority of life over death, in both particular historical ways as well as broad, cosmic and eschatological ways. Similar to Pannenberg, Moltmann sees the Spirit as this power of life, the identity of God which is the enlivening presence in creation. That which lives, lives because of the Spirit. This is not a pantheistic suggestion, but rather derives from Moltmann’s prioritizing the enlivening aspects of the Spirit as seen in the Old Testament, especially in Genesis but also beyond. By beginning with the Spirit as the creative force for life, the Spirit is not at all limited to religious discussions or ecclesial contexts, but is instead a pervasive and dynamic force that works throughout the world, throughout time and space, being the particular presence of God with and for this whole creation.

Moltmann holds to a social view of the Trinity, in which each Person is dynamically related to one another throughout eternity, a perichoretic relationship of total mutuality and interpenetration. The Spirit is not merely the bond of love between Father and Son, but is dynamically a unique participant, communicating the divine life within the divine life and communicating the divine life to all that has been made by the always active Triune God.
The Spirit is the presence of God himself in the midst of creation, indeed becoming vulnerable to creation in a relational embrace of love. If God could not be vulnerable to hurt or pain, it would not be love, so Moltmann protests against the traditional concepts of God’s impassibility.

Indeed, he argues that it is the very passion of God that defines the inter-relationality of the Trinity and the relationality of the Trinity with us. The Spirit then, is understood as God in action and God in passion, an active force of love and life. With this in mind, Moltmann protests the filioque clause as limited the freedom and mutuality of the Spirit as an equal participant of the divine life, and in doing this restricting the Spirit to the spheres of more clearly ecclesial influence. However, as pneumatology renews its understanding of the Spirit as full Person, as fully God, the pervasive work of God is then understood as holistic and comprehensive. The Spirit of God acts in comprehensive ways and the Spirit of God is indeed the active love of God, with Moltmann emphasizing love as eros in terms of God’s love.

For Moltmann, “The Person of God the Holy Spirit is the loving, out-fanning, outpouring presence of the eternal divine life of the Triune God.” This is how he defines the Person of the Spirit near the end of his text, however, it is clear this is a driving understanding from the very beginning. Because the Spirit is so closely intertwined with both the inner Trinitarian life as well as all life in this world, Moltmann proposes the concept of the Spirit in terms of immanent transcendence. The Spirit brings the life of God to humanity, and to all of creation, while at the same time raising humanity to a renewed relationship with God, God among us who brings us, and all of creation, to its eternal hope, a hope that is defined by a complete restoration of creation in relational celebration, diversity and unity comprehensively bound together by the energies of the divine life.

2 Comments, Written on March 4th, 2012 , academia, comps, Moltmann, pneumatology, theology, writing
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