However it occurs, I see a deep problem in the disconnect between academic theology and the life of the Church.  The insights and ideas of professional theologians seem to be by and large utterly ignored by the vast majority of Christians and I am saddened by the ignorance that I have seen even in the clergy.  Yet oftentimes the subject matter of theology bears little insight on the interests and cares of the person in the pew and this is not helpful either.

There was a move associated with the Liberation Theology movement to focus on ‘Theopraxis’ (that is, right practice) rather than ‘Theology’ (that is, right thought).  However, the two are not alternatives but are rather dialectically interconnected.  One cannot have right practice apart from an understanding of the Gospel and one cannot fully understand the Gospel apart from living it.

Charlie Brown says that brothers and sisters can learn to get along. He says they can get along the way mature adults can get along. And he says that adults can get along the way nations get along.

At this point the analogy breaks down.

The failure of humanity to ‘get along’ ascends along the axis of size and maturity and resources.  Yet maybe the principle works in reverse as well and nations and adults must learn to get along the way children do.

If you have not read ‘The Gospel According to Peanuts’ I highly recommend it as a remarkably sophisticated and insightful exploration of theology via the Peanuts universe.  I have included a link to it in my Amazon Store.

(Image by ~MVI~ via Flickr)

I am repeatedly impressed by the posts over on to ‘the church and postmodern culture: conversation’, and the recent post ‘a phenomenology of impossible prayers’ particularly caught my attention.  The author’s focus is primarily on ‘crisis prayers’ – the crying out in situations of utter desperation and helplessness and how they express the general condition that humanity finds itself in with relation to God, who “enters philosophy in defiance of the conditions of experience.” Karl Barth described this God as ‘totally other’ to capture this idea.  God’s ‘otherness’ is no where so well captured as in the period of crisis where we are powerless to do anything and find God in a position to do anything.

The author meditates on on the formative aspects of prayer, namely those ways that prayer in crisis changes us.  It causes us to change our perspective on the world (to see it from God’s perspective where crisis is incessant) and to understand better the deeper streams of pain and angst that flow throughout cosmic history (most notably the pain of sin in the world).

I, however, wish to make a point along these lines that is in direct dialectical tension with the author’s meditation, namely, that the very impossibility of a God who nevertheless yet exists, should condition us to pray for and in the realm of impossibility.  If God’s love and power come piercing down into a human reality whose perspective would never have lifted to see the meta-reality of God, then our response to God should be similarly audacious.  What does it gain us in our walk with Christ to limit how much we ask of Him?

By this sentiment, I mean more than simply that we ought to pray for the impossible and highly improbable.  It is partly founded upon a sense that relationship with God, like any other true relationship, must be founded upon honesty and when we fail to be honest with God even in what we want of Him (for in reality, we usually do want that impossible thing or even that only he can bring about).  By faith we ask audaciously, letting the Spirit condition us and grow us to understand how to ask better and what God’s response tells us about his character. (An early lesson along these lines seems to be that God has profound respect for the laws of the universe that he has laid down).

The greatest growth that I have observed in audacious prayer, is realizing how small even my audacity is.  I may pray for the unlikely recovery of a friend in an automobile accident, but what is life in Christianity? Certainly it is far more than a functioning body.  It is a fullness of being as fulfilling the original intent in creation to commune through love with both man and God.  I might pray for a really great job, but again, the need for a fullness of life that underlies that desire for a good job is ultimately what for which I should be praying.  In all ways, we must raise our countenance as we seek to understand God’s ability to do more than we possibly could imagine.

Britten was comissioned to write the piece to dedicate Coventry Cathedral, which has been destroyed in World War II and was to be rebuilt. Britten, a pacifist, wrot the requiem, using the full Mass texts intersperced with poetry written by Wilfred Own, a soldier in WWI (who was killed a week before the end of the war). The consequent piece is the most dramatic and emotionally charged attacks on the institution of war in human society that I have ever encountered. Every poem underscores the absurdity of war and its ultimate futility. Britten artfully mixes the poetry in with the latin texts for an extremely powerful effect. Musically the piece is a spectacular modern, dissonant and atonal meandering structure. It is surprisingly listenable but yet still qiute profound. I particularly liked the part where the Dies Irae was introduced by the Trumpet and trombone sections playing horn calls that mimicked at the same time the bugle call of the cavalry and also the call of the Last Judgment. War is Hell. Literally.

I have never considered myself a pacifist. I do not like violence or condone it (outside of video games and movies of course ) but cannot categorically say that I am opposed to all violence at all times. I’m very torn on this position. In studying German history in my years studying German, I learned a lot about the evils that humanity is possible of achieving. WWI and WWII encompas both of these and in a sense are the dialectic of violence. World War I was the quo et demonstratem of pacifism.

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
And builded parapets and trenched there,
And streched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! and angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.
But the old man would not so,
but slew his son, -
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

The first world war war underscored the pointlessness of war in general. Why were these particular youths who had nothing against these other particular youths killing each other over disagreements that other unrelated leaders had with each other? It was all so pointless and evil. World War I I think represents the evil that humanity is capable of even when it is not trying to be evil.

World War II on the other hand represents what humanity can do when it does try to be evil, and I think it is the counterexample to the pacifist. The Allies were by no means saints going into save the Jews from the death camps, and many of their motivations and tactics were by no means honorable. Yet still, when you go to one of the concentration camps or study the history of Nazi germany you quickly come to the conclusion that this had to be stopped and by force.

Links:

• War Requiem Text
• Some Background on the Requiem

And yet…

And yet, something in my conception of ‘church’ seems missing. I found this at college where I met people who were super active and excited about helping the poor, the needy, the oppressed. I found people who sought deeper meaning and were always questioning and re-examining their beliefs and thoughts, lest they had made some error and invited falshood into their understanding. I encountered a richness and life that paled my high school youth group. This was not limited either to the ‘secular’ part of campus. In fact, my fellowship seemed to be on the forefront of issues of race, oppression, social justice and through them I found a richness in my Christian heritage that I had never seen before.

How did I miss this? How could I have read the Bible cover-to-cover, supposedly under the principle that its existence was intimately tied in with the voice of God, and missed so much? I have begun to feel that there is something missing in the world of church that I had before college. I go back to my church from high school and feel like there is an energy and life that is missing there.

In short, I am emerging. I am caught in the paradox of affirming the incubator that raised me, and yet feeling its gross inadequacies. Apparently, I am not alone. There is an entire community of people like me, coming from all sorts of backgrounds who feel like Christianity has become often stagnant in the modern (or rather postmodern) age and that something must be done. What this ‘something’ is unclear, but a conversation has emerged as to how we must change in order to continue to best strive towards the ideal laid out by Christ.

‘Conversation really seems to be one of the best ways of describing this ‘movement.’ The growth of the ‘social web’ (or to use the buzzword – Web 2.0) has made for an ideal ground for individuals, leaders, theologians, authors, and skeptics to share thoughts, ideas and exercise this conversation. This blog is my own little participation in this endeavor. My prayer is that it will be useful and informative to all who read it (and to its writer) as I attempt to struggle to find understanding, truth and meaning in a complex world.