“A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, helps the medicine go down…”
A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.
Tonight we watched Mary Poppins with the kids.
Hadn’t seen it in ages – it’s still a classic.
The storyline is that Mary shows up, dropping out of the sky, as a nanny for two sad and unruly British children, and she is simply magical.
They have adventures you wouldn’t believe if you hadn’t seem them (I recommend another viewing if you haven’t seen it lately).
Great things happen in their lives, and things change for the better.
But the wind changes, too soon it seems, and Mary must go.
The children, sad as they are, realize her time with them is up.
It’s a delightful story, with a hint of sadness at the end because their magical times together are at an end.
Yet the real magic is that she can leave, and that those she touched are now different, and she, too, is different for having been touched in return.
This morning I announced to our community that the wind has changed.
We are being blown east. Heading from TC to DC. (more on this later)
It was not an easy thing to share, as the times we’ve had have been magical, and if I hadn’t been here, I’m not sure I would believe it.
I had never expected to compare myself to Mary Poppins, and so I won’t. The truth is, we were the unruly children, and those in our community were as Poppins to us. They touched us, and we have been changed. We hope that in some small way, the touch was returned.
The winds are blowing… Soon enough we shall head off in another direction.
But the real magic is that we can leave, and, in leaving, know that we all are different for having had the time together, even as new adventures await.
Just recently returned from the fourth Postmodernism, Culture and Religion Conference entitled: The Future of Continental Philosophy of Religion. The conference was at Syracuse University and included some of the best thinkers in Continental Philosophy. What follows will be a very poor, non-academic attempt to make some sense of the whole thing.
“What is continental philosophy?”, some of you might ask. Good question. When you find out – drop me a line. Actually, it often refers to philosophy that developed in the 19th and 20th centuries in mainland Europe, in opposition to much of the analytic philosophy happening in Britain. Important names paving the way for this include Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Husserl and Heidegger, among others.
Here are some common themes, borrowed from wikipedia:
First, continental philosophers generally reject scientism, the view that the natural sciences are the only or most accurate way of understanding phenomena.
Second, continental philosophy usually considers these conditions of possible experience as variable: determined at least partly by factors such as context, space and time, language, culture, or history. Thus continental philosophy tends toward historicism. Where analytic philosophy tends to treat philosophy in terms of discrete problems, capable of being analyzed apart from their historical origins (much as scientists consider the history of science inessential to scientific inquiry), continental philosophy typically suggests that “philosophical argument cannot be divorced from the textual and contextual conditions of its historical emergence”.
Third, continental philosophy typically holds that conscious human agency can change these conditions of possible experience: “if human experience is a contingent creation, then it can be recreated in other ways”.Thus continental philosophers tend to take a strong interest in the unity of theory and practice, and tend to see their philosophical inquiries as closely related to personal, moral, or political transformation.
A final characteristic trait of continental philosophy is an emphasis on metaphilosophy. In the wake of the development and success of the natural sciences, continental philosophers have often sought to redefine the method and nature of philosophy. In some cases (such as German idealism or phenomenology), this manifests as a renovation of the traditional view that philosophy is the first, foundational, a priori science. In other cases (such as hermeneutics, critical theory, or structuralism), it is held that philosophy investigates a domain that is irreducibly cultural or practical.
If any of that made sense, you’re in good shape. If not, read it again a time or two. Here’s a final thought: “Ultimately, the foregoing distinctive traits derive from a broadly Kantian thesis that the nature of knowledge and experience is bound by conditions that are not directly accessible to empirical inquiry.” In other words, there’s more than meets the eye. Sensory experience and the material world can only get us so far. If you’ve ever been to an evening of Pub Theology, you know these kinds of ideas come up again and again.
It is this line of thinking that makes continental philosophy more open to questions of God, theology and religion than its analytical counterpart. In this conference comprised primarily of philosophy and religion professors of secular universities, the themes of God and religion were ever present.
A few important names present included Catherine Malabou, Professor of Philosophy, University of Paris, John Caputo, Professor of Philosophy and Religion, Syracuse University, Philip Goodchild, Professor of Philosophy, Nottingham University, Merold Westphal, Professor of Philosophy and Theology, Fordham University, B. Keith Putt, Samford University, Harvey Cox, Professor of Divinity, Harvard University, and Thomas Altizer, who was not formally involved in the conference, but did not fail to make his presence known through insightful and always lively comments and questions. Also there was Jim Olthuis from the Institute for Christian Studies. It was especially meaningful to have Caputo and Westphal there, as they are retiring from their academic posts (though probably not from writing and speaking!).
Paper topics that made complete sense to me: “Plasticity in the Contemporary Islamic Subject“; “Future Blindness“; “Postmodern Apocalypse: Placing Levinas & Derrida in Line with Transcendental Methodology“; “Non-Philosophy and Meaning-use Analysis: Explicating Laruelle with Brandom“, and finally “Dying to be Free: Extinction and the Liberation of Praxis in Ray Brassier’s Nihil Unbound.”
But for all the tough paper topics, there were also ones that made more immediate sense to me: “Does the Religious Intellectual Have a Future? Harvey Cox, Post-Secular Spirituality, and Living Religiously in Public“; “The Broken Binary & Interstitial God: Finding Faith in the Margin of the Text“; “Radical Theology and the Dangerous Memory of Jesus“; “‘Eating Well’ in Church: In-carnating an A/Theological Materialism”; and the very clear: “Philosophy is What it Eats.”
So what was I doing there, as a pastor?
Great question. Mostly I needed an excuse to put a ton of miles on my new van. Actually – as soon as the first session started, Christy was wondering the same thing. The first presenter in the panel we chose started reading her paper and, while a very profound paper, almost never looked up and had very little voice inflection. In other words, she could have been reading an obituary or grocery list. I worried we had picked the wrong panel (there were often 4-5 panels on various topics going on at once). But then we remembered that this was an *academic* conference, not a *church* conference, and that at these things you read your paper, you don’t preach it. So once we were able to focus, and the big words and unfamiliar names began to become more familiar, we began to realize this was about stuff we care about. Stuff we all care about: issues of faith and reason; God and theology; knowing and unknowing; certainty and uncertainty; life and death. The very same things I deal with as a pastor, and we all deal with as human beings. Issues of vital importance for the Christian who is seeking to engage our world today. And not incidentally, a recurring topic that continually came up was, how do we connect some of this stuff to real life? How do we engage the culture in thinking seriously about important topics? It was cool to meet student after student (as well as professors) who thought it was excellent Christy and I were there. They wanted to know what we were doing, what our community is like, and how we apply of this kind of thinking to our work. (The irony is many in academia long for such ‘real-world’ activism, and how people like me, in the so-called ‘real-world’, long for the high-level thinking of academia. The grass is always greener).
A great example of how philosophy and life in the church connect is found in the book by John Caputo: What Would Jesus Deconstruct? In this book Caputo draws on the deconstruction tradition of Jacques Derrida to tear down some of the ossified walls that have built up in the church over the years – and allows the light of day to penetrate. This book is a delightful read and I would recommend it to anyone. From the backcover: “Many in the church who are wrestling with ministry in a postmodern era view deconstruction as a negative aspect of the postmodern movement. But John Caputo, one of the leading philosophers of religion in America and a leading voice on religion and postmodernism, sees it differently. In this lively and provocative analysis, he argues that in his own way Jesus himself was a deconstructionist and that applying deconstruction to the church can be a positive move toward renewal.”
John Franke, professor of theology at Biblical Seminary, notes: “This is a marvelous little book. It enables readers to understand deconstruction as the hermeneutics of the kingdom of God and provides a glimpse of what this concept might look like in the hands of Jesus as applied to the church. This will be difficult therapy, and many of us will be inclined to resist. However, let us remember that while discipline is painful in the moment, it produces a harvest of peace and righteousness in the long run. May the church learn from the wisdom found in these pages.”
Another person who has gained a lot of traction in making some of these connections is Peter Rollins, an increasingly popular writer and speaker. Pete has a PhD in philosophy from Queens University in Northern Ireland, and has made his readings of philosophy become incarnate in both his work at Ikon, a faith collective in Belfast, and in his books and speaking events. He recently spoke at Mars Hill in Grand Rapids, and his work is so intriguing in making real, tangible connecting points that he was the subject of one of the panel discussions at this conference. An excellent paper looking at his work theologically and philosophically was delivered by religion professor Creston Davis: “The Cosmic Double-Cross: The Psycho-Christ Event”, and another paper was delivered by sociologist Gerardo Marti entitled: “Peter Rollins and the Deconstructed Church: How Pub Churches, Continental Philosophy, and Provocative Preaching is Shaping the Future of Emerging Christianity.”
If you’ve read Pete’s book of parables: The Orthodox Heretic, and Other Impossible Tales, you’ll appreciate the power this kind of thinking can have to push us into rediscovering the kingdom of God in our thinking and acting.
Another very intriguing paper was delivered by Daniel Peterson of Seattle University and G. Michael Zbaraschuk of Pacific Lutheran University entitled: “Giving up God for Lent: Resurrecting the Death of God.” It gave a lot to chew on regarding whether in evangelicalism we are worshiping the God who is, or a God we have invented; if the latter, then perhaps that God needs to die.
One of things I took from the conference is that we may have very different ideas about what different parts of faith are – doctrines, teachings, etc., but the bottom line on many levels is – how am I living it out? What is the material reality present because of my theological convictions? How does this play out in real life?
In any case, it was an excellent time and will surely continue to push my own thinking, living and commitment to living out a life of following Jesus. Made some new friends, including our host Wendy DeBoer, PhD student at Syracuse, and Dan Wood, theology student at Loyola in Chicago (fellow crasher of Wendy’s pad), and other students from the Syracuse Religion Department and elsewhere, including a crew from Cornerstone University (fellow Michiganders!), Harvard Divinity School and UC-Berkley. Also hung out with some old friends, including Pete Rollins, ate some good food, and hit a post-conference party with most of the folks involved – where a bit of alcohol cleared up everything. Also met a professor from Dordt College at the conference – showing that this stuff infiltrates even the corn-fields of Calvinist conservatism! (OK, that was unfair).
So if we ask, along with Caputo, “What would Jesus deconstruct?” what would we find? The answer is, first and foremost, the church! See my next post for a deconstruction of that deconstruction.
August is a crazy month! We’ve had a family reunion, friends moving, friends visiting, and next week — in a span of less than seven days — we will close on a house, move into it, and then depart for the Mediterranean for two weeks. Israel and Turkey are our destination. My sister, who is coming north to watch the kids, will spend a full weekend in our new house before my wife and I will! So this month has been a hive of preparing to move (again), as well as preparing for a terrific two week study trip.
How are we preparing?Reading books on the Apostle Paul, Revelation, and the early church. I recently finished “The First Paul: Reclaiming the Radical Visionary from the Church’s Conservative Icon”, and am working on “Paul” by NT Wright. I am midway through “Unveiling Empire: Reading Revelation Then and Now” – highly recommended.
Also doing some exercising, as we will be hiking four to six miles a day as we visit some incredible archaeological ruins. Further, doing some memorizing of biblical texts, as well as learning things about these cities we will be visiting such as key temples and social factors, as well as geographical details such as significant rivers, mountains, and other realities.
We are also packing – trying to pack light but also be prepared for possible scenarios — such as no toilet paper in the bathrooms (a common occurrence in Turkey – I’ve been in that situation, no toilet paper, no toilet, just a hole in the ground, and if you’re lucky, a bucket of water. Enough details.).
We will be traveling to many of the early church sites on our trip. After a few days in Galilee, we will go where the disciples went from their early rural roots into the more cosmopolitan and Hellenistic territory of Asia Minor. As they encounter cities like Ephesus, Laodicea, Hierapolis, Philadelphia and Smyrna, how did they deal with the reality of the Roman Empire and pagan religions which everywhere promoted “peace, prosperity, freedom and salvation”? What did it mean to call Jesus “Lord” in a culture that was convinced Caesar was Lord? What in the world is really going on in the crazy apocalyptic book of Revelation? Was it about some future cataclysmic clash of good and evil? These are some of the exciting things we will be learning as we travel from Bethsaida, Capernaum and Tiberius in Galilee to Cappadocia, Galatia, Lycia and Phrygia in Asia Minor.
Check back for updates, and check out our trip blog!
Reflections on the spiritual merits of losing your way
I recently traveled to a relatively large city that I was unfamiliar with: Belfast, in Northern Ireland. I had never been there before, so I watched a Rick Steve’s video on Ireland, perused a guidebook or two, and picked up a map of the city at the airport.
My first instinct was to chart out a plan for what to see in the city. So I made a list in my head. First stop: a used bookstore near Queen’s University, which was a gem of a place – old dusty books, some on shelves, some scattered haphazardly; dirty, marked-up tables with melted candles on them serving as both cafe and reading area. I nearly picked up an old Paul Tillich volume, but it proved to be out of my budget, so I settled on a paperback for three pounds – Violence, by Slavoj Zizek. Next I wandered over to the University to sit in on a class. Somehow I ended up in a lecture for Accounting 101 rather than Irish Culture in Art and Image (so much for planning!) Fortunately Zizek got me through the class. Then I stopped in at a pub for some food and my first Guinness in Ireland, as recommended by the guidebook. Great stuff. So far so good. All according to plan (mostly).
The next day I decided to do it a little differently. I left the guidebook in the hotel room. I refused to consult the map. I stepped out the door onto the street, and amidst the busy-ness of taxis, buses, and pedestrians, acted like I knew where I was going. I had no idea. I just walked. And walked. And walked. Noticed the shops, the pubs, the people. Saw several old churches. City hall. Turned up an alleyway. More shops. Should I keep going this way? I have no idea where I am. Yet as I was getting more and more ‘lost’, I felt a profound excitement – this was new territory, there were places to discover, and I felt as though on the edge of discovery. This was a journey. This was living. Planned is certainly OK, but the unknown somehow allures.
Is this not true in relationships? The relation to the other, says John Caputo, is “bracing but risky business.” He gives an example: When you get married, you are saying “I do” not only to who this person is, or who you think this person is, but to whomever or whatever this person is going to become, which is unknown and unforeseen to the both of you. In other words, it’s a risk – what Levinas called, a “beautiful risk,” yet a risk all the same. This willingness to go forward despite (and perhaps at some level because of) the risk is what leads us to call it beautiful. Caputo quips, “If it were a sure thing, it would be about as beautiful as a conversation with your stockbroker.”
I keep walking. Another street. Another small alley with stone pavers. What’s this? A cafe with outdoor seating. Old wooden tables. Flower beds awaiting spring. A man standing outside, smoking. I thought, ‘What the heck?’ and went in. Inside was more like a traditional pub. I walk up to the bar.
Bartender: “What’ll you have, mate?”
“Do you have coffee?”
“Sure – Cappuccino, Latte, Americano.”
“I’ll have an Americano – for outside.”
“Right then.”
I ended up having an enjoyable couple hours reading outside this small cafe, eating lunch, reading Zizek, and drinking good coffee. Further, I asked the guy smoking to take my picture, and we got into a great conversation. Introduced myself as Bryan and he said, “I’m Brian as well.” After complimenting each other on our great names, he asked why I was there, and I mentioned something about a conference on theology. Said I was a pastor. He said, “I grew up strictly religious, but I’m an atheist myself.”
I asked him if he had a good question for my friends meeting at the pub back in the States. He answered by way of telling me about a book he had written: A Dream of Jesus in My Cocktail, or something to that effect (still seeking publication). It’s about three missionaries to S. Africa who refuse to engage in the physical and social challenges facing the people, but merely offer them the panacea of hope after this life. Then the question: “Is it wrong to delude people if the delusion is serving the greater good?”
He had to jet, work was calling. I had another Americano and kept reading. After awhile the weather began to turn, so I decided to head out and explore a little more. Found a few other nooks and crannies, and some that came in handy later in the week. I learned the city with my feet rather than from a book. I saw it with my own eyes, not just on TV. I got lost. And in getting lost, something was found. Here I was at a conference which was exploring new ways to articulate the journey of faith, about exploring the sometimes fuzzy edge between theism and atheism, and I run into a local man who grew up religious and thinks he has left all that rubbage behind, yet clearly has not. A terrific discovery that could never have been “planned” or even “foreseen”.
I wonder how this relates to our spiritual journeys. My sense is that traditionally we like to go ‘by the book’. In other words, we’re on a journey, but the trail has already been blazed. All we need to do is look for the signposts left by all who have gone before. The discovery is all done. The theological trail has been marked. Just as there are no explorers discovering new continents on our planet anymore, so it seems there is no new spiritual territory to discover. In What Would Jesus Deconstruct, John Caputo asks, “When is faith really faith?” Great question, and I don’t have a simple answer for that. His response: “Not when it is looking more and more like we are right, but when the situation is beginning to look impossible, in the darkest night of the soul.” In our circles, we didn’t let people come back who admitted to having a ‘dark night of the soul’. We needed security. Certainty. And we had it, or so we thought.
But I wonder what kind of a journey this really is? Caputo ponders the nature of a journey: “If you knew very well where you were going from the start and had the means to get there, it would almost be like getting there before you even set out, or like ending up where you were all along.” Indeed. If it’s all charted territory, and there is no discovery – is it actually a journey? Or are we willing to traverse places where there are bends in the road around which we cannot yet see? It seems to me that this is the essence of what faith is about. If the path is already lit, if there are no moments of darkness, if the map has been drawn – then of what need is faith? True faith, at its core, involves radical trust. So if there is no element of risk, no venturing into the unknown, then our spiritual journeys have never really left home. Caputo continues: “Going to a place we already know how to reach or going with a tour guide who has mapped out every stop along the way, or along a paved road with guard rails, rest stops, and food stands where everyone speaks English, is hardly a journey at all.”
This extends not just to our personal faith lives, but to our churches as well. My experience in being part of starting a new church is that many people inevitably ask, “So what is the long-range plan?”, “What’s next?” or “Where is this thing going?” The understood (and hoped-for) answer generally has to do with stability, money, perhaps even a building. My usual answer has been, “I don’t know exactly.” We know what things we value, what kind of ethos we are seeking to have as a community, but as to how all that plays out – who knows? Indeed, who can know, as we have not yet been there. We seem to want to squeeze out any room for the Spirit, which Jesus noted “blows wherever it will”. We eschew the need for actual faith. We want to know if we’re investing in something that is “going to make it”, or “headed for success”, otherwise we’ll invest our time and energy elsewhere. So much for risk. So much for faith. Yet Caputo puts it this way: “The more credible things are, the less faith is needed, but the more incredible things seem, the more faith is required, the faith that is said to move mountains.”
And so as I wandered around Belfast with no real idea where I was going, it felt as though I were really on a journey. What was around the bend? Where would this street lead? Where would be my next stop? Who would I meet? The times that were not mapped out and were not on the itinerary were some of the highlights of my trip (we’ll have to save the story of Pete Rollins getting us lost on the way back to Belfast from the North Coast for another time). It was the moments in which I was, you might say, “creatively adrift”, and on a true adventure (ad-venire), in which the “incoming” of something unforeseeable was made possible. That is a journey worth taking, or as my friends at Ikon would sing: “I once was found, but now I’m lost.”
-=-=-=-=-
A shortened version of this article was published in the Traverse City Record-Eagle.