Wavering

We've all heard the story of Peter confessing Jesus as the Christ.  This has been the verse of contention where Catholics claim Peter inherits the keys to the kingdom and becomes the first Pope.  I've thought a lot about this verse lately.  I think there are many significant things to be seen that we end up missing out on.

I've considered the general presupposed view of Jesus that we inherit in the West.  One of the characteristics of Jesus I think we hold to in this is a picture of a man who is unwaveringly self-assured.  This, I find, is especially true in regard to his own self-understanding.  We take the gospel narratives and assume that Jesus knew his own identity and destiny from infancy.  But, with ourselves, how many of us know unequivocally who we are or where we are headed?  I think of all the twists and turns my life has taken me through, and I know that I am in the vast majority of people who are always slightly unsure with these big existential issues.  Most people take a long time to figure out who they are and what they want to do with their life.  I think it is an easy projection on our part to turn Jesus into the superhuman that none of us can manage to be ourselves.  

My personal thought on this is that in order to count Jesus as "God" we've reduced his humanity, and thus made him into all the things which we can't live up to.  One of these being the need for a leader who never suffers the deep uncertainty that seems to be a common attribute to most of human kind.  Another pertinent point is that most people who never deal with such uncertainty are those who we would diagnose with some form of mental illness.  Then, there are also those "god-like" leaders of men, who project a persona which is infinitely certain of themselves and their own convictions.  These are typically the type of leaders who lead suicide missions or start illegitimate wars to the destruction of their followers.

I bring all this out to challenge the all-too-common portrayal of Jesus as some indefatigable, assertive leader, infinitely confident of himself.  I question whether such a leader has ever existed, and insofar as they have, I question whether it is in anyone's best interest to follow such a man.  Especially in modern context I have significant doubts that such a picture of Jesus allows us to maintain his humanity.

So, back to the story at hand.  We read that Jesus, in the company of his most intimate friends asks them who the crowds were making him out to be.  They give him a list of potential roles he is rumored to fulfill.  He then asks them the great question, "But you, who do you say that I am?"   The funny thing is that we always read this as if it were a rhetorical question.  We never seem to give voice to the possibility that he himself is not really sure of the answer.  Granted, Matthew's Gospel skews our view toward this radical self-confidence of Jesus.  But Mark, which is earlier, has no such self-confidence.  Rather, Jesus asks them to keep it a secret, almost as though he was scared of the consequences of them being right.   Almost as though he weren't expecting them to give him that answer.  As the story progresses, Jesus begins to fulfill the messianic role more and more, but even in his resolute march toward Jerusalem there still are signs of uncertainty and hesitation, even within his obedience.  

There are indications throughout the Gospels that Jesus struggled to understand who precisely he was.  At times he seems to see himself as Elijah preparing the way for the coming Son of Man.  Then he begins to think of himself as the Son of Man, the gracious judge of the world.  Then toward his end he appears to think of himself more as the Messiah, though never with absolute certainty.  

I see it as being quite normal to project onto Jesus the certainty we long for in any of our leaders.  We do it with our presidents and preachers, so it is par for the course to do the same for our Savior.  But, I think in doing so we lose the profound insight of the gospel, and detach Jesus from our world.  This is one particular place where I take issue with our ideas of the divinity of Jesus.  To claim Jesus as Lord should bring heaven down to earth, not steal the light of the world up into the ethereal realm above.  

I think a view of Jesus which allows him to be every bit as human as me, even in ambivalent self-understanding, rightly places the emphasis of the gospel story on God's action and work among imperfect human beings.  The beauty of the gospel, in my view, is not that Jesus was perfect in and of himself, but that God was his perfection even in Jesus' own incompleteness.  And, this is why the story is so beautiful!  Because it is our story too.  Jesus was our example, our model, and the first-fruits of the new Way toward God.  This is not that the emperor has come down to our lowly level, but that our brother has proved that God is sufficient to overcome our defeats, sins, imperfections, and uncertainty.

being human

A few months ago I read to what I believe is my favorite quote of all time:  "God reveals himself by revealing man to himself."  This has really been a capstone to my line of theological thinking for the last few years.  A couple years ago I remember being blown away reading Hans Kung who pointedly claimed that Christianity was essentially just radical humanism; humanism taken to the extreme.  I remember thinking this was a welcome corrective to the model of thought that would have Christianity be resigned to a perpetual antagonism towards the the vast plurality of lines of thought that we are all confronted with on a daily basis.  I'm pretty sick of it.  I'm certain the quantity of people who feel likewise would be innumerable.  I have long been annoyed by the simple fact that so many humanists seemed more Jesus-like than the majority of Christians.  It seems to me that so many of the concepts and attitudes that can be found at the heart of Enlightenment thinking are things that are completely in line with Jesus' teaching, only we as his followers have long forgotten how they are.

One thing that never ceases to amaze me is how multifaceted the simple concept of 'being human' is.  The depth of our existence is staggering to actually think about.  Even from a purely scientific standpoint it is awe-inspiring to consider all the complexity of humans.  From consciousness and psychology, to social networks and language, to art and the concept of aesthetic beauty, and then even to the ever subtle nuances of human spirituality, it seems it would be almost impossible ever run out of things to ponder in regard to 'being human'.  And, this is a place where I find myself confronted with the purpose of religion in our world.  

So often I think religion is foolish enough to think it possible to begin with God and precede toward man as though there is some plane above our own which is possible for us to experience.  And, invariably we find men and women standing as 'spokespeople' for this ethereal realm beyond us.  The will to power is sublimated into a pseudo-spirituality which works to enslave people rather than set them free.  I think the Enlightenment started from this same position, realizing how the power structures in the world of that time were tied to irrationality and religious superstitions which were perpetuated by the clergy and religious figures using faith as a means to hold on to power.  And, for all its flaws, the Enlightenment did serve to liberate people when religion had been overwhelmingly perverted to oppress them.  I don't think much has changed in our context.  Mega-churches perform the same function, using a 'spiritualized' self-help formula as extra incentive to 'just go with it'.  

I think it's all intertwined with the idea that revelation comes from above, and this is exactly what I have come to deny.  I don't think God has ever, or will ever, speak to us out of the heights, and any man who would speak as though he does is selling something.  Beware.

I believe God always has, and always will tell us of himself through other people, and these other people assuredly have no innate qualities which make them any better than ourselves.  The modern attitude that no 'middle man' is necessary for spirituality is right to an extent, but it goes to far when it fails to understand that part of being human is being social.  And, we will never hear from God fully if we refuse to listen to others.  This is where I see Christianity being more humanistic than humanism.  Christianity has no illusions of sufficient autonomy where the 'superman' stands alone without need of anyone else.  (I see that as one of several places where Nietzsche crossed the line from prophet to idiot)  In order to correct the mass superstition and religious delusions of the Medieval era, Modernity fled to the reverse pole where all men were islands of cursed self-sufficiency.  I believe at the heart of Jesus' message is a belief in the freedom of men from religious control and also a freedom from lonely isolation.  In this way, the heart of Christianity is an offer to be free of that which would reduce the sociality of being human.

This is one of several ways in which I see that God's revelation is something that does not come down to us, but that happens among us, between us, and within us.  The more we understand about ourselves, as individuals and communities, the more we have the potential to understand God and to grasp the message of salvation that has come to us across generations and cultures.

I'm coming to see that true Christian faith will always be a middle way between the dehumanizing tendencies of the culture it is in and the dehumanizing tendencies of those who would manipulate the gospel to keep a salary.  On both sides (church and culture) there are beautiful things that I personally think Christians a called to protect.  To swing to one side or the other is to lose the fullness of what the gospel gives us, and in doing so, to fall short of the glory of God.

I guess I gave up on giving anything up . . .

Just after the turn of the 1800's a revival movement began in the wild Western frontiers of America.  A few preachers got fed up with the bureaucracy of their own denominations and defected.  The movement that was born sought to unite all Christians by convincing them to throw off denominational ties in the name of being "Christians simply".  (Yes, that's right . . . division in the name of unity people!)  Three "nondenominational" denominations ensued:  the churches of Christ, the Christian Churches, and the Disciples of Christ.  I grew up in the first of these.

My denomination (which denies its status as a denomination) was one that declared emphatically that all that was necessary to live a good Christian life was a New Testament.  Nothing less, and unequivocally, nothing more.  If one was to isolate six untrained groups of people in remote areas with nothing but a New Testament, one should, years down the road find six churches that looked exactly the same.  So the theory goes.  One thing which was certain was that no other governing principles were needed.  Therefore, when I reached the age of 22 and heard the word "liturgy" for the first time, I remember thinking how sad and misguided those poor 'denominational' souls must be.  

As much as I am aware, I represent the fifth generation of my Mom's half of the family to grow up in a church of Christ.  I say this to explain the simple fact that the mindset it represents is no longer something I received through training, but I feel fairly confident it is hereditary.  That is, it has sufficiently been woven into my DNA.  And though my views on many things, including liturgy, have changed, my heart still heralds back towards a sort of radical autonomy when it comes to group participation.  Not that I won't ever participate in group activities, only that if I do I tend to do it when I think I'm good and ready.

So, about Lent . . . 

I guess I fit in at Journey pretty quickly.  For several years I had adopted the 'autonomous thinking' bit to such an extent that I am now too 'church of Christ' to actually go to a church of Christ.  I've found several others at Journey who feel the same; substitute their particular denomination for my own.  Yet, now I find myself in a community that, at least for certain seasons, is liturgical.  And, I don't feel I have quite yet reconciled myself to this way of experiencing God.  

Truthfully, I'm not really against practices like Lent.  In fact over the last few years, I've come to think that such activities are a pretty good idea.  The problem is that I came to such conclusions by considering the theory of Lent.  Thus, when people began asking me what I intended to give up this year, my radical self-determination made an executive decision not to comply.  I played around with several different things I could give up, and a few disciplines that I might adopt.  But, by the second week of Lent I hadn't really settled down on any one thing, and I just kind of gave up on the idea altogether.  There are a lot of excuses I could give.  I've never had awesome experiences based on ascetic disciplines, no matter how mild.  Not to mention the part of me that obstinately disputes anyone's right to impose an arbitrary set of dates where I would need to make my own life inconvenient.  But, when it all boils down, I think I'm just too lazy and proud to adhere to Lent.  All the theology and personal history I would profess are really just a facade to cover up that point.  Yet, that's where the beauty of community comes into play.

I am fortunate to be part of community that practices Lent even when I don't feel like it.  I've been reminded this past month that being surrounded with people who are drawing closer to God, will inevitably do the same to those who are not making any particular effort to do so.  I've noticed how Lent has broken more than just personal routines, but has also helped our community have different conversations than we would otherwise.  We're having to deal with each other's inconveniences, and in doing so are asking questions of each other that might not otherwise be asked.  We share reasons that might not be shared at other times.  And, most importantly of all, we're reminded of the beauty, as well as the imperfections, of being human.  It gets a lot easier to love each other when we're daily reminded how insufficient we each are to even achieve small, seemingly insignificant goals.  It's all we can do to keep from smoking or drinking.  It's frustrating to face the difficulty of remembering to pray or wake up a few minutes earlier.  Most people I've been around have fallen short multiple times on whatever discipline they chose, and though these shortcomings do not seem to be the point of Lent, I am coming to see the beauty of Lent in them.  If anything convinces me to sacrifice my deeply ingrained orneriness this time next year, that will probably be it.