10 Explanations of the Trinity

I know I can come across as an arrogant condescending jerk. So when I commented on twitter and facebook over the weekend that the trinity isn't difficult to explain I naturally got some pushback. Well, okay, what I said was:

The Trinity isn't that hard to explain. Please stop dumbing down the church by acting like our most stimulating ideas are unexplainable. Fake populism and anti-intellectualism are extremely unbecoming in a minister.

I apologize for the aggressive tone. It was uncalled for.

What I mean by this though, is that I think there is an attitude which is unfortunately prevalent in the church, even among ministers, that treats theology as if it were some arcane art form. Ministers sometimes work so hard to be "one of their people" that they give off the impression that all that theology stuff is just too difficult for them. They leave it to seminary professors to try to explain complicated things like atonement, the trinity, and predestination. While I would love to brag that I am a master of the arcane, the truth is that these things aren't at base that complicated. This is not quantum mechanics. We all went to seminary. We presumably study and read and think about this stuff all the time. It is part of our job description that we be able to understand and articulate theological ideas.

To back up my braggadocio, here are 10 ways to explain the Trinity which anyone in your congregation will be able to understand:

#1 - The Clover. St Patrick famously described the trinity to the people of Ireland by using the analogy of the 3-leaved clover. Each leaf on the plant appears whole and independent, but they are indivisibly part of a single stem. Strength: This explanation has the advantage of being historical, includes an effective visual aid, and emphasizes the equality and unity of the persons. Weakness: An inanimate object is in some ways a poor choice of analogy for the dynamic living trinity.

#2 - Dancing. Central to understanding the trinity is the nature of their inter-relatedness (that fancy greek word Perichoresis). Have everyone stand up and form a circle, then do any of the thousands of folk dances in which the parties all move together performing their parts in unison. God is the dance, the energy, the movement at the center of creation and the trinity is our way of saying god does the dance perfectly - all of the dancers are in total harmony. Strength: This explanation will work great for kinesthetic learners. It is dynamic focuses on the relationship of the persons. Weakness: It is abstract and doesn't do a good job of describing the individual persons of the trinity.

#3 - Battery, Wire, Electricity. God is the power source, the battery, the creator. Jesus is the mediator, the wire which conducts God's love to us. The Spirit is the power itself, the love of God which comes to us through Jesus. Strength: Another explanation with a good visual aid. This one has the strength of differentiating the persons and putting them in a relationship which reflects the usual portrayal of their roles. Furthermore, this example can demonstrate our relationship to the trinity - we are the light bulb at the end of the wire which the Spirit turns on. Weakness: The analogy is rigid, and utilizes inanimate objects to explain something which is fundamentally living and dynamic.

#4 - Rublev's Icon. It is a famous work of art depicting three angels sitting at Abraham's table. The angels are at once the figures from the story in Genesis about receiving strangers, and the persons of the trinity in perfect relationship with each other. A notable feature of the painting is that the persons, while at the table clearly in conversation with one another are all turned toward the viewer as though we were a fourth participant in the conversation, thus illustrating the outward moving love of the inward relationship of the triune god. Strength: You can't go wrong with beautiful art for reaching people who might otherwise not grasp the subject. Weakness: It depicts the trinity as three separate persons which will then lead to questions about the unity of the godhead.

#5 - Quantum Physics. Ha! So the trinity is complex! Well, this is really just a very basic observation from a layman's understanding of physics, but for the last century we have gradually discovered that all matter is actually energy vibrating at different speeds. It is a gross exaggeration, but in one sense, you and I are beams of light. The simultaneous duality, or underlying unity of these supposed opposites, energy and matter, is a great entryway to talking about the mystery of how God could be simultaneously three persons in one. Strength: This is an explanation which will appeal to the intellectually curious. Weakness: Speaking outside your field of expertise leads to unwittingly saying ignorant things.

#6 - Creator, Sustainer, Redeemer. One effective way of approaching an explanation of the trinity is in terms of the roles of the persons. This is the approach of many of the confessions, essentially listing what God the father does, what Jesus does, and what the Spirit does. They are all God's work, but in particular ways, at particular times, in particular places. Strength: There is lots of confessional material to rely on here. Weakness: It is easy to fall into cliches and also easy to overly separate the persons.

#7 - Ice, Water, Steam. The different states of matter are an effective illustration of how one thing can take three very different forms with different attributes. Similarly God can appear and act in history in dramatically different ways and remain one God. Strength: Strongly emphasizes the unity of God. Weakness: Fails to differentiate the persons or express how they are all simultaneously God, not modes appearing at different times.

#8 - Optical Illusion. Have you ever seen those Mind's Eye posters where it just looks like a random blur of colors until you squint or blur your focus and then suddenly an image pops out at you? Or the picture of the young lady who is also an old woman? These kinds of images defy our perceptions and categories. They can be an entry into discussing how, when viewed from different perspectives God presents different aspects. As savior and teacher God appears as Jesus. As creator and providential caretaker God appears as a parent. As inward presence, spark and encouragement God appears as the Spirit. Strength: Visual aid possibilities abound and it emphasizes the unity of the persons despite the apparent differences. Weakness: Some might take offense at comparing God to an illusion.

#9 - Three Dimensions of Space. We interact with our surroundings through three dimensions: height, width, and depth. The dimensions are completely distinct and non-interchangeable, yet invariably present simultaneously in the same location. Without one or the other of the dimensions all of existence would be radically altered. They are mutually dependent for intelligibility. Strength: A very close analogy of the uniqueness yet mutuality of the persons of the trinity. Weakness: It's somewhat abstract and static.

#10 - Lover, Beloved, Love. There is a reason that orthodox language for describing the trinity uses "persons" as the basic unit of the godhead. God is alive and active, so the best way to describe God's nature is through a relationship of mutual love. The New Testament continually shows us the relationship between God and Jesus as one of giving and receiving love. Jesus is referred to as "my beloved" by God at several key moments. Significantly at one of these moments, his Baptism, Jesus receives the Holy Spirit. This is a picture of the exchange of love between the persons of the trinity. This is also the story of Good Friday and Easter. Jesus (the Beloved) gives up his Spirit (Love) to God (the Lover). God (the Lover) then restores the Spirit (Love) to Jesus (the Beloved) on Easter morning. Strength: This example is ripe with biblical imagery and applicable to our understanding of human relationships. Weakness: It would be easy to think of the persons as three completely separate individuals with this description.

Ultimately, as is by now apparent, no single explanation is going to be wholly satisfactory. What did you expect we're talking about the godhead?! Some explanations will be prone to the error of making God into three different people, others prone to making God into one person with three faces. But any of these explanations would be a good starting place and from there you can use your well developed theological skills to balance out the weaknesses of a narrow understanding of the trinity into a profound exploration of the richest Christian doctrine.

Ordination Charge

Doug was ordained, believe it or not. Stacia made the awesome stole pictured at right. I gave the charge which went something like this:

Doug, you have been, since your childhood, a walker of worlds. You have explored the continents and oceans of secret planets and private universes, some of which you have shared with me, but some are known only to you. This is good. It will help you with what I am about to charge you with.

I charge you, Doug, to tell a story... or rather to live a story of two worlds. Two worlds that from the beginning have longed to be one.

I charge you to be a walker of both of these worlds. The one a realm of Shalom, where all is mended, all is full, all is joy and truth. The other... well, it's pretty good too.

But this is no mere hero's journey where you get to go through a wardrobe, have an adventure, and go back to exactly where you left off. This isn't even Frodo's story where you discover upon arriving back in the Shire that you are too changed to stay there anymore.

The story I am charging you to live isn't one where you go on a journey to a different place. It's one where God took two vastly divergent worlds and with wood, nails, chutzpah and blood hammered out a bridge between them. And now you've got to take people across that bridge and show them the world you have walked in. And you've got to teach them to build more bridges, and then shorten those bridges, and close that gap and bring those worlds together.

I charge you with making the fantastical actual.

I charge you with making the miraculous tangible.

I charge you with making one day right now.

Go, walker, and tell them that the consensual reality of the Technocracy can be bent and broken.

Go and show them how by laying down their swords they can confound and defeat Leviathan.

Go and teach them to believe that when they pray "Thy kingdom come" it actually does and we get that much closer to the day when every tear is wiped away.

As John says in his apocalypse:

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I hear a loud voice from the throne saying:
"See the home of God is among mortals.
He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples,
And God himself will be with them.
He will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
For the first things have passed away."

Go because this isn't a fairytale about a distant realm. This is the far country. Here there be monsters. But this is also our eternal home, for this is the very place where that other world is breaking through, and it falls to you to help peel back the barrier, to use your expertise as a walker of worlds, to show others the way, the truth and the life.

Go, walker, and may the Holy Spirit go with you.

The Lonely Hillside

I gave the following message with Rev. Greg Larsen at the community Good Friday service in Fort Morgan, CO yesterday. He played his guitar, finger picking behind the spoken segments, then sang verses of Harry Chapin's "The Shortest Story" at the points indicated.

Jesus labored up the side of Calvary Hill with his burden of timber on his back. Stinging from the whips, wilting in the heat, facing a humiliating, excruciating death among criminals, while those he loved abandoned him. He walked on.

Generations of Christians since have proclaimed this ugly moment, this black tragedy, as Christ’s moment of glory. We have asserted that he died once for all. That his death ended enmity and strife and ushered in God’s peace. But the crosses keep being built on the hilltops…

Verse 1

I am born today, the sun burns its promise in my eyes;
Mama strikes me and I draw a breath and cry.
Above me a cloud softly tumbles through the sky;
I am glad to be alive.

Not us, we think, and we say. We wouldn’t be with the crowd chanting ‘crucify’. We wouldn’t be with Peter denying we knew the man bound for death. We won’t and we don’t put people on crosses.

But while we say this millions are imprisoned. Millions more are living in war zones. Still millions more go hungry while we finish our lunch.

Before Jesus was arrested he told his disciples that one day he would come and say “You who are blessed by my Father, take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.”

Verse 2

It is me seventh day, I taste the hunger and I cry;
my brother and sister cling to Mama's side.
She squeezes her breast, but it has nothing to provide;
someone weeps, I fall asleep.

As Jesus hung from the cross in his final moments he had the strength to forgive his persecutors, and then he cried “It is finished.” – by which he meant everything. The whole world. The entire order of things by which we had lived until that point in which some gain only while others lose. The system of violence and oppression, the division between peoples, the need for crosses on hillsides… it is all finished. Forever.

We make Christ a liar each time we build a new cross for the impoverished, the outcast, and our enemies.

Jesus said his invitation would be answered, “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?”

Verse 3

It is twenty days today, Mama does not hold me anymore;
I open my mouth but I am too weak to cry.
Above me a bird slowly crawls across the sky;
why is there nothing now to do but die?

They cut him down and threw him in a tomb. They were done with him, but he is not done with us. He is still crying out that “It is finished,” hoping we will hear before we put another cross up. Before another child dies neglected. Before another bomb goes off. Before another person goes hungry, sits lonely in a prison cell, or spends another winter on the street.

We would not crucify the Christ we say. And he replies, “Truly I tell you whatever you do to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you do to me."

Morbidity and Good Friday

After my post about dwelling in the story of Easter this will make more sense.

It is my experience that most Christians either accidentally or intentionally skip or diminish Good Friday.

It is skipped by all those who simply don't observe it in any fashion. They go straight from Palm Sunday to Easter, greatly diminishing the entire story. Imagine if Star Wars leapt straight from rescuing Leia to the Award Ceremony after the destruction of the Death Star. Yeah, boring.

It is diminished by those who blend Good Friday into Easter or simply bring too much cheer into what is really quite a black day. Some pastors do this because they worry about getting maudlin or morbid and so they are quick to remind everyone that all the bad stuff which happens today is resolved in Resurrection.

I think it is important, on Good Friday, that we dwell on the crucifixion for the reasons I've stated, but this leaves me open to the charge of morbidity. I don't think it's a petty charge at all. My sister stays away from the church primarily because she finds it morbid. I myself find certain approaches to handling the crucifixion off-putting because they seem to do more than merely acknowledge the gruesome situation - they almost fetishize it. Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ is an example of Christian torture-porn which I do not approve of.

It is a delicate balance in my estimation. I want to maintain an unflinching focus on the horror of crucifixion, highlight and even dramatize the human sin, the destructive violence, and the carnal reality of God in flesh dying on a cross. Somehow this gaze has to retain its original naivete and not become too desensitized, nor sensationalized.

Let no one ever come away from one of my sermons imagining that I approve of the violence even in the dim recesses of my subconscious. It is not aesthetically beautiful. It is hideous. And not hideous in a tragic way which nearly becomes beautiful. It isn't hideous in an exotic and interesting way, either. It is mundane brutality if there can be such a thing. Banal, bloody, and basic. Christ on the cross isn't an icon of transcendent suffering. He is exactly like the two thieves beside him - a hunk of meat skewered and left to bleed out.

It is the perfectly ordinary and base way that he dies which makes the christian claim that the cross is the pivot on which the history of the world turns so remarkable. If Jesus died by having his head torn off by a Golden Eagle while his entrails were removed with golden hooks in the hands of blind albino eunuchs you could see why it would cause a stir. As it is, he died a petty bandit, in the company of petty bandits, via ordinary state execution methods. Who remembers the last person to get a lethal injection in their state? Will you remember in a year? In 2000 years?

Storydwelling

I am a storydweller. I like to inhabit stories. A crucial aspect of the art of the story is that it takes place over time. There are a sequence of events which follow one after the other. The order of events is not necessarily chronological. The order of events is story-logical. If you mess up the order of events, you mess up the story.

When it comes to the gospel narrative the church has come up with one, very powerful, way of telling the story using our calendar. We have liturgical seasons which follow the order of the story events. If we skip a season or do them out of order it destroys the story. Since most people don't come for worship on days like Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday they are getting botched versions of the story. They skip straight from Palm Sunday to Easter. Or maybe from Christmas to Easter. This doesn't just diminish the days they missed, this completely undermines Easter.

As such I sympathize with the movement to turn Palm Sunday into "Passion Sunday" in many churches. I don't like it. It is truncating the story in a different way, less damaging, but still inelegant. But if only a few people come on Good Friday then only a few people are getting the full impact of Easter Sunday, so "Passion Sunday" makes sense.

Ultimately, though, I think it is a shame not to really milk this season for its spiritual liquor. It takes having a parade on Palm Sunday, prayers all week, a communal meal on Thursday, and mourning all day Friday and Saturday, for Easter to really come alive. Only once you've lived in a world where God is Dead, can you truly hear the good news that he is risen. It's a story. It can't be glimpsed from a distance. It is meant to be dwelled in.

Preaching is Hard... & it is Easy

There's a good post about the difficulties of preaching over at Shored Fragments.

He makes a solid point - it is pretty tough to have something worthwhile to say on a weekly basis to the same group of people. We don't expect that of many other professions. Most professional speakers and experts repeat the same message to different people even if they speak weekly. Broadcasters who speak a lot, and sometimes to the same audience, do it with a team of researchers and writers at their disposal. A minister is usually on their own. Grab a Bible, sit at your keyboard, write something poignant - go. Now do it again and again and again.

So, yeah, I agree: preaching is hard.

And it is also easy.

It is easy because we don't have to preach an entirely new message every week. We preach the same message in a slightly different way. What is required is a facility with language and metaphor, not a bottomless supply of new ideas and information.

It is easy because sermons grow organically out of your life together in the church. I don't have to pull a sermon out of thin air, I talk about what naturally arises in the course of daily life.

It is easy because we are not held to an absurd standard of polish and rhetorical brilliance. Not every sermon has to be a masterpiece. If you kill yourself over every syllable it will be forgotten just as quickly as if you improvise the entire thing. Being faithful to your purpose in preaching is more important than any amount of technical mastery.

It is easy because there are straightforward techniques one can practice and master with time. Writing is not a mysterious artform. Public speaking is even less mysterious. Practice elocution, pith, and delivery. You will get better.

Preemptive Celebration

In the Gospel according to Luke, Jesus Christ comes to announce the immediate arrival, in his person, of the Kingdom of God. The overriding theme of Jesus' life and ministry, the cause of his death, and the purpose of his resurrection is that the Kingdom is here, the era of the Spirit is inaugurated.

In displaying this Kingdom Jesus makes it clear that the invitations have already been sent. God, according to Jesus is making a wild offer of extravagant hospitality to any and all who accept. The principal question, left hanging by the writers of this Gospel, is whether or not we will join the celebration.

Note, that the celebration is already going on. Note, also, that none of the traditional obstacles to participation are present. People of every class and social status, of every tribe and nation, gender, and religion are invited and at various times shown to be participants in the feast. Furthermore, the Gospels go to great length to prove that not even sin is an obstacle to joining the party. The stance of Jesus toward sinners is one I would describe as "preemptive celebration".

Consider Zacchaeus, for example. Before Jesus ever even lays eyes on this vertically challenged thief, he announces to him that he will be coming over for dinner. Jesus doesn't confront him over his thuggery. Jesus doesn't give any hint that he has any purpose but procuring a full belly and a bed. Jesus definitely doesn't make his presence contingent on Zacchaeus' repenting. The party was going to happen regardless.

Jesus does this again and again. He eats with sinners. Not ex-sinners. Not repentant-sinners. He even makes a point of NOT washing his hands before dinner - making the point that coming to the meal unclean doesn't matter, it's being a generous host that matters. In other words, since the party is already rolling, the only thing that matters is deciding to attend.

There is the rub. When making the decision of whether or not to attend there IS one thing, and ONLY one thing that can get in our way - our own self-righteousness. It is the self-righteousness of the pharisees that keeps them from joining Jesus in dining with sinners - and it is this which he criticizes more harshly than anything else in the Gospel. It is ultimately, the point of the latter half of the parable of the prodigal son. The elder son excludes himself from the celebration even as the father comes and pleads with him to join. The parable ends without the question answered: will the elder son accept the invitation? The only thing stopping him is his own indignation.

Unfortunately elder sons and pharisees frequently find themselves in positions of worldly power and believe they have the ability to exclude certain undesirables from the ongoing feast. They do so by telling us that the true feast is in the future or in heaven instead of here and now. They also exclude by establishing standards - the most basic of which is repentance. They harass and cajole us into believing that God's offer is a starkly contingent one, we have to sign on the dotted line and show our identification before being admitted. They try their best to catch sinners headed to the feast and cause them to stumble. A practice for which Jesus had no patience. The tragedy is that they ultimately exclude only themselves from the joy of God's festival.

By contrast, Jesus kicked things off with a party. He celebrated before anything else. Before even making introductions in many cases, and certainly before anyone could try and formulate a guest list and start vetting the crowd for the event Jesus was attending. He celebrated preemptively. Cutting potential objections off with a burst of frivolity.

Our contemporary pharisees will call this antinomianism in an attempt to scare us back into line. They regarded Jesus as a blasphemer and a lawbreaker as well, but Jesus responded that his behavior was the very fulfillment of the law. What is the law but a tool to bring people to God? What does it mean to be in God's presence but to celebrate? In joining the celebration we are already fulfilling the law, whether we've come to the table with clean hands or dirty.

Furthermore, preemptive celebration doesn't circumvent repentance - it is perhaps the only ground upon which legitimate repentance is possible. Only by accepting the place already prepared for us at the table, can we accurately reflect on the grace which brought us there and be free from self-righteousness which is the one insurmountable obstacle to a penitential heart. Be like Jesus - practice preemptive celebration.

Pentecost

We're trying something crazy in worship today. We've purchased a bunch of indoor sparklers, which we will distribute to each person. During the prayer of invocation we will light them all, too-obviously symbolizing the coming of the Holy Spirit as tongues of fire. Should be, um, dangerous.

Preaching the Long Game

Preaching is a passion of mine. Could be I just like the sound of my own voice. Could be that it combines my interest in drama with ethics, storytelling, teaching, and philology. Could be that I genuinely want to share the Gospel to the best of my ability. Could be all three or something else entirely. You decide.

I was fortunate to get plenty of experience preaching before taking my first call. I was preaching at my home church regularly before going to seminary. At seminary I took every homiletics class I could get into, while volunteering to fill pulpits around the Bay Area. In my internship I preached about twice a month for the first half, until my supervisor resigned. For the second half of the internship I preached every Sunday.

All of this experience was great, but it had in common one flaw - it was always temporary. Usually I was "guest preaching" just one time in each of those places. Even at the internship I was filling in for someone and I knew I wasn't there for the long term. I think this gave a kind of unnecessary urgency to my sermons. I was rushed. I hurried to get to the punch line, knowing that I wouldn't get many other chances.

What's become more and more apparent to me as I preach week in and week out in my current call, is that I have time. It is not that the message is less vital or that I have lowered my sights or backed off of my goals. It is, rather, that I see how I can move from week to week along an intentional path with my congregation. I can have the destination in sight from farther out and work steadily to get there without having to sprint each time I climb into the pulpit.

This is important for a number of reasons.

When I sprint, I tend to leave people behind. If they weren't ready to run with me they just stand there looking bewildered at this precocious kid who has suddenly darted away from them. It isn't that I am bright and other people are slow it is that...

You can only sprint down a well-trod path. The first time someone walks a path they have to hack their way through the underbrush. I tend to forget that the first time I traveled this way I went step by step. I have to be patient enough to help them clear the underbrush and pack down the earth before the road is ready for running.

Also, when I move faster than people are ready for it looks like I'm jumping to conclusions. Unless the landmarks along the road are familiar, a hasty journey has the effect of seeming like a commercial flight at 40,000ft. You come in one airport and out another and you are just "magically" in a new place. You fail to see how the two places are connected. This makes it hard for people to accept my conclusions - they seem harsh and alien and unrelated to their own starting points. They can't see how I got from point A to point Q.

Finally, it is important to think long-term in preaching, because it saves me stress on a weekly basis. I don't have to figure out how I'm going to get my congregation to move from "love your enemies" to "nuclear disarmament" in a single sermon. I can take time and really explore love of enemies over weeks and weeks. I can help them extrapolate step by step over a variety of situations the implications of loving our enemies. I may even be so fortunate as to have people in the congregation come to important conclusions on their own.

National Day of Prayer

National Day of Prayer was this past Thursday. As a minister, I was invited by the local chapter of the National Day of Prayer Task Force to assist in leading a public prayer service in our town. It was held in the park beside the library at city center. A modest crowd attended and 3 other ministers from different denominations were involved.

The service began with a color guard, the pledge of allegiance and the national anthem. We then had prayers (interspersed with patriotic hymns) on the following subjects: Government, Military, Media, Business, Education, Church, and Family. I gave the prayers on Media and Education.

This event made me extremely uncomfortable on a number of levels.

Gramatically the very idea of a "National Day of Prayer" is ambiguous. Is it a day for people to pray about the nation? If so, what shall we pray? Shall we pray for the nation (the more likely assumption)? Or against the nation (ie: should we take a prophetic bent)? Or is this a day for generally that the people of the nation should set aside for prayer (in which case the nation is not the subject of the prayers, but the subject of the clause)? Because this is not a country made up of exclusively Christians the purpose of the holiday is intentionally vague. People of different faiths can interpret it to mean what they want. But then what are people of no faith to do with this day (or faiths that do not pray)?

Politically, a "National Day of Prayer" is very troublesome. There is no question that there is Biblical precedent for entire nations engaging in prayer, or individuals praying on behalf of nations. But the nations depicted in the Bible are unapologetically theocratic. What on earth does such an idea mean in a secular democracy? Overt religiosity has always played a role in American political rhetoric, but it sits uneasily with our foundational governing principals. We are of two minds, politically, about the role of religion in our national identity.

Theologically, a "National Day of Prayer" is a veritable minefield. I don't think there is anything wrong with praying for the nation, per se, but it is at least flirting very closely with idolatry. Are we praying to the God of all peoples on behalf of this one people, or are we tempted to turn God into an American? What does it mean to say in the church sanctuary "thy kingdom come", and then in the park to pray "preserve this kingdom against other kingdoms"? How do we negotiate the question of allegiance when expected to place our hand over our hearts and declare our loyalty to the American flag, but we have already declared ourselves servants of the Risen Lord? What about the narrative of violence such events portray? Notice that the schedule included prayers for the military, but none for our enemies. What does this say about the theology of the event?

But the biggest trouble I had was practical, and this is what I would like to hear your thoughts about: how should we approach public situations like this?

One choice, obviously is non-participation. I seriously considered that route, believing that I would have a hard time praying with integrity in such a setting. Ultimately I chose to participate for two reasons: I want to interface more with the community outside my church, and I hoped it would be possible to gently guide the event away from idolatrous nationalism at least in the portions I would lead.

If we choose to participate a host of practical questions arise - do you join with everyone else in saying the pledge of allegiance? I did not.

Do you sing the national anthem? I did not.

Do you place your hand on your heart or show other signs of reverance for the flag? I did.

What attitude do you bring to the prayers and how do you participate in them? For example, I found I could not say Amen to the prayers for our military without silently saying a personal prayer for our enemies as well.

When leading prayers, what do you emphasize? What would you say?

Let's hear it people. How would you handle these situations?

The First Evangelist

John 20:1-18

She runs and her footsteps roll down the dark roads of Jerusalem like distant thunder. Her leather sandals, smacking dusty ground, shout retorts off the walls of white-washed sepulchres along the slope of the Mount of Olives, telegraphing her hasty retreat to sleeping citizens who stir momentarily, but roll over in their beds unaware of the momentous discovery she has made. For a heartbeat she nearly loses her balance while taking a corner too recklessly. She grabs the wall to right herself and keep on course.

Her race is born of shock and confusion. She runs to outpace the raging torrent of her emotions, which if they catch her will bear her haplessly down a merciless channel to dash her soul apart. Every breath she takes is a desperate gasp against the stabbing pain in her lungs, but it is hard to notice new wounds when you are nursing a freshly broken heart.

Only an hour before, she had set out, alone, in the quiet black before dawn, to carry her grief to her master’s tomb. She took with her a small satchel of fragrant herbs to spread over the body of the man who, until Friday afternoon, had been to her the shocking proof of God’s love. He was like a sudden bolt of lightning across a cloudless night sky. Impossible. Unpredictable. He was like the waves of a roaring sea against an earthen dam. He tore holes in your defenses until nothing could stop the spring of hope from flowing into your heart. She had dared to imagine, because of him, a world void of cruelty.

It was especially cruel, therefore, that the latest act of this rebellious world had been to tear his life to shreds on a Roman cross.

And so, as she climbed the hill near Golgotha, to the tomb where Joseph of Arimathea had laid His corpse, she was too desolate even to weep. She had trudged that lonely path till at last she came to the garden before the entrance and was suddenly jolted out of her misery. The stone was rolled aside. The tomb had been disturbed.

The satchel of fragrant herbs tumbled to the ground unheeded she was already running back the way she had come.

Running, as the sun rose over the city of David. Running over the threshold and up the stairs to an upper room. Shouting in a hoarse and breathless voice…

“Gone! … Peter!”

Collapsing onto a divan in a coughing fit, she struggles to master her throat and share her tale. Her dearest friends gather around her. Peter, John, Martha, Thomas… she has come to think of them as family. Brothers and sisters. They share her grief. In these past days especially, they have found the only solace possible in one another’s company. Lazarus, Matthew, James… It will devastate them to hear of this latest insult. They hurry to her sides and help her sit up. Someone gives her a bowl of new wine, which she drinks to quench the burning in her chest.

They look at her expectantly, and at once she begins to weep.

“They have taken the Lord out of the tomb,” she tells them. “They have taken him… the stone was moved… they…”

She can hardly bear it. Martha is slowly backing away and starting to wail – a high pitched ululation, the song of mourning. John’s face is turning red. Peter, however, leans closer and sets his ear near her mouth.

“Are you sure,” he asks.

She nods, “They have taken him, and we don’t know where they have put him.”

Peter shares a meaningful look with another man there, one of the master’s most beloved disciples, and kissing her on the cheek, the two of them depart immediately. James and Thomas press her for more information, others are prostrate on the floor of the room praying “Adonai, Adonai, Adonai” (lord, lord, lord) and the piercing sound of Martha’s wailing drifts out the windows and over the streets.

Repeated, the story of her horrible discovery seems paltry. So much is unknown. Some speculate that the thieves were Centurions. Others suggest that it was servants of the Sanhedrin who violated the tomb, but as the initial agony fades she grows impatient with speculation. She longs to see for herself, to know for certain that her teacher is gone, and perhaps to beg anyone, everyone, for information. Someone must know where they dragged his body. Someone must know what they have done with him.

While the others are still debating who may be guilty of this offense, she quietly slips out of the room and down the stairs. She pulls her headscarf tight over her hair and steps into the street once more.

The journey back up the mountain is different this time. A hook of uncertainty has caught in the tapestry of her emotions. Her cheeks still wet with tears she feels herself pulled up the slope by her unraveling worries. Could it be that she was somehow mistaken?

In the distance she hears the shofar blowing. It is the first day of the week and men are going to the temple for morning prayers. The sun has risen over the Jordan as she walks into the garden at the top of the hill. Rays of light through the branches of an olive tree make it seem on fire.

Beside the tree she sees the opening of the tomb, unsealed, and within she hears people moving. Her breath catches as two men come walking out, but it is only her brothers. Both have the look of shattered glass on their faces – Peter is especially perplexed. He shakes his head at her unspoken question. They all stand in total silence as the minutes pass, lacking the courage to say their fears aloud, before the men turn away and walk down the road.

Mary looks at the unguarded opening. A gust of wind ripples over the rooftops of the city, carrying the smells of dust, and clay, and baking bread past her nose. The shofar blows again.

And then she decides. She could turn away, fly this place, and shriek her righteous anger at the heavens until the fissure in her soul dries up and closes over, but she chooses instead to plunge into the darkness of the grave, to know for herself.

The light is gone and her nostrils are full of the scent of death. She rushes to the back of the enclosed space where she knows already, he is not. On the bier the cloths lay, folded. The shroud is separate and all of it caked with blood. She is alone, but she is not. Two men, with voices like crashing cymbals, are next to her, or on the bier, or all around, or not there at all. She turns away from them and they are there facing her. They smile and it is like clouds parting.

“Why are you crying?” they ask in unison.

It is too terrible, or too wonderful, or simply too much for her too look at them. She mumbles something about finding her Lord and stumbles for the entrance. She is stopped abruptly, running headlong into a tall man who was not there before. She crumbles to her knees, overcome. Her chest heaving, she tries to croak out an apology between sobs.

He takes pity on her.

“Who is it you are looking for?” he asks brushing a tear from her cheek. His hands are coarse from callouses and they smell of earth.

“Please,” she begs him and she bestows her very self with the word, “Please, if you have carried my teacher away, tell me where you have put him. Please.”

And she knows as she says this that it was not just her teacher they buried in this grave, but her life also, and if he has been taken from here, then her life has also been stolen away. She knows this like a stone knows the quarry it was cut from, and forever bears the marks of that memory on its skin. She knows that she must find him to find herself and thus she cannot think of giving up her search. She says this to the stranger with her pleading. He must hear her and have mercy on her.

As the shofar blows a third time he places his hand on her head, and says one word, “Mary.”

That one word, spoken from his mouth, is for her more than all the words on all the scrolls of all the prophets. For it contains a love so amazing, so divine, that if every continent were made of parchment, and every sea a well full of ink, and every person dedicated every minute of every day to writing the story of that love we could never finish the tale.

“Rabboni!” she cries, which means ‘teacher’, but in this case also ‘I love you’.

As her tears of sorrow are transformed into rivers of joy, he lifts her to her feet, and they embrace, and it is a moment that transcends time and space, but it is still only a moment, for he tells her that she must let go and return to the others, her brothers and sisters.

“Go,” he says to her, “and tell them.” He makes of her his first messenger, his first evangelist. “Tell them that I am returning to my God and your God, to my Father who is now also your Father.”

Though part of her wants to stay there with him, she goes without hesitation because she knows now that he cannot possibly be taken from her. She knows that not even the grave can hold him and thus all of her fear evaporates like the morning dew.

She runs, and her footsteps roll down the streets of Jerusalem like distant thunder. Her leather sandals, smacking dusty ground, shout reports off the walls of white-washed sepulchres along the slope of the Mount of Olives, telegraphing her joyous flight to the citizens at their morning prayers. Barely touching the ground she flies, for she brings good news of great joy for all people. For this day, in the city of David, a new world is born to us.

He is Risen! Jesus Christ is Risen! Alleluia!

And that is the news that the first evangelist had to share.

And that is the news that I have to share with you.

And that is the news that you have now, to share with others.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, all glory and honor be unto them, Amen.

Holy Saturday

He descended into hell...

In Support of Solemnity

We live in a casual culture. The Church, in it's constant struggle to be in the world but not of the world (or however you want to put it), is pulled between getting with the times and maintaining tradition. These poles are misleading of course, because nothing is more traditional than getting with the times, and in many cases nothing is more timely than a carefully maintained tradition. However, I think it is a fair assessment to say that many clergy in the mainline protestant circles I run in have been driven by an iconoclastic impulse against formality and "rigidity" in the church.

This is a broad trend that is not new. It applies to everything from music styles in worship, to the rejection of vestments and clerical regalia, to preaching from the floor instead of the pulpit. It applies to the use of slang, our discomfort with titles, and interest in vernacular paraphrases of scripture like "The Message". It is also evidenced by our rejection of rules, desire for flexibility, and tendency to make things up as we go along instead of following a process that we repeat mechanically. We want to use consensus decision making processes instead of parliamentary structure. We like discernment, but we hate popular votes.

In many ways this describes me very well, and I think I have good reasons for some of these preferences. More and more, however, I find that I don't like where this trend leads. I am strongly convicted that solemnity is actually of huge benefit to ministry, and discarding it is a bad idea.

Even in a culture as thoroughly casual as our own, solemnity is employed to indicate what we hold important. No one acts the same at a job interview as they would at a beach party (generally). By making our rituals casual we signal to the participants that they are unimportant. Far from being approachable it makes us irrelevant. Ritual should transport the participants to an alternate world, not fit seamlessly with daily life. Solemnity is one crucial way we signify that this time, this place, these people are set apart.

Consider some examples...

I get up to preach my sermon, and between the scripture reading and the actual beginning of my sermon I say, "Hey, guys, how ya doin'?" I shift my weight from foot to foot while sifting through my notes until I find my spot and then I say, "Okay, so the sermon today is about..."

I see preachers start this way all the time. It tells the congregation that what they are about to say is totally unimportant. No different from a chat over latte - which is often exactly what they are trying to communicate. However, if a sermon is no different from a casual conversation why the hell would the congregation come to church instead of staying at home and having a casual conversation, with people they probably like better than the pastor? In some cases this is a misguided attempt to be approachable, but in many it is just lazy and unprofessional.

Can you preach with solemnity and professionalism from the floor in street clothes? Yes and yes. However, don't be dismissive too quickly of the pulpit and robe. From years in the theater I know very well how crucial a set and costumes are to a production. Donning the costume and stepping on stage are powerful aids to getting into character. Don't succumb to the temptation to treat the sanctuary like your living room. If you change your clothes from what you would wear day to day, and you change your setting in some small way it will affect your preaching in a positive way, because you won't lapse into incoherent rambling or forget what it is you are doing as easily.

I go to the local hospice for visitation in jeans and a T-Shirt. I come without any prayers, rituals or scripture to share. I just sit and chat.

Don't get me wrong, it is wonderful to go sit and chat with people in hospice. For many people that will be all they want. Some will reject offers of prayers or scripture reading, or sharing communion, and in many cases they won't care or notice what you're wearing. Some WILL notice what you're wearing though and it will effect how they treat you. Especially if there is a big age difference, arriving in too casual of attire will be an obstacle to them accepting your pastoral ministry. Furthermore clothes have the same effect here as in preaching - they remind you of the job you're doing.

What happens though when you run out of things to chat about? What if you have nothing in common with the person you are visiting? What if you are just in a foul mood on the day you are needed for visitation? If all you are bringing is yourself and your conversation you are frequently going to be inadequate. As a minister you have more to offer than yourself. You have the rituals and traditions of the church. Why rely on your witty repartee when you could rely on the Bread of Life?

A long time member approaches me and says they've never been baptized, but since most Presbyterians are baptized as babies and they're already an active member previous pastors have told them that it wasn't important. The commitment that baptism symbolizes is all that matters and since they're already committed to the church there is no reason to perform the sacrament.

If we regard the sacraments solemnly we could never say that being baptized is unimportant. If Baptism isn't even important enough to bother doing then why should we regard the things it symbolizes as important either? Why are repentance, or adoption, or regeneration, or membership in the church things to be valued?

This last example to me is a sign of where a lack of solemnity leads. It starts by saying rituals are merely symbolic actions. If so, then the solemnity with which we normally conduct them, and the rules that govern that solemnity are not necessary. We can jettison both. Once we've done that though, we are left wondering of what importance the ritual itself is. If the ritual is not important then why bother doing it at all? Supposedly only the symbolic meaning of the ritual matters, but what is missed is that rituals are not actions with symbolic meaning. Rituals enact meaning through symbolism. Without the ritual there is no meaning.

Solemnity around the ritual is intended to remind us of the importance of enacting meaning.