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On Loving Our Enemies, Part 3: What of the Vulnerable? What of our Loved Ones? [May. 11th, 2008|04:00 pm]
So when you spread out your hands in prayer,
I will hide My eyes from you;
Yes, even though you multiply prayers,
I will not listen
Your hands are covered with blood.
Wash yourselves, make yourselves clean;
Remove the evil of your deeds from My sight
Cease to do evil,
Learn to do good;
Seek justice,
Reprove the ruthless,
Defend the orphan,
Plead for the widow.

~ Is 1.15-17

Do you really think the only way
to bring about the peace,
is to sacrifice your children
and kill all your enemies?

~ Larry Norman, The Great American Novel.

And [Jesus] went a little beyond them, and fell on His face and prayed, saying, "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me; yet not as I will, but as You will."
~ Mt 26.39.

I come, then, to the conclusion of my small series on loving our enemies. In my first post, I sought to counter the mythic discourse of 'protective violence' by removing that artificial distinction that this discourse creates between my enemy, the enemy of my loved ones and then enemy those who are vulnerable. Thus, I argued that those who are enemies of my loved ones, and of the vulnerable, are also my enemies. Consequently, given that this is the enemy whom we are called to love, I argued that the language of love prohibits us from engaging in any violence.

Then, in my second post, I continued to explore our understanding of the enemy, and argued that we are called to know our enemies as friends. Thus, the language of 'enemies' does not reflect our antagonism to these people; rather, that language signifies that, by treating us violently, by abusing us, by exploiting us, etc., these people view themselves as our enemies. Hence, I argued that we come to know our enemies as friends by praying for them, by actively loving them, and by expressing interest in their lives.

In this post, I intend to respond to a few questions that hang over this discussion. That is to say, in light of these things, how do we care for our loved ones, and for those who are vulnerable? Specifically, if loving our enemies as friends requires us to abandon the use of violence are we simply resigning ourselves to passively accepting whatever violence might be inflicted upon ourselves, our loved ones, and the vulnerable?

To be clear from the outset, I believe that Christians are called to seek out the vulnerable, to come alongside the marginalized, and to pursue the liberation of all those who are being put to death by the sociopolitical, economic, and other Powers who act in the service of Sin and Death. This I think is cleary stated throughout Scripture -- it is found in the Deuteronomic Law, in the Prophets, in the Gospels, in the Epistles, and in the other OT and NT narratives. Thus, by eschewing the use of violence I am certainly not counselling any sort of passivity (indeed, I trust that those who know me will be able to testify that my life, and the trajectory which I am personally pursuing, is anything but passive when it comes to these things).

Consequently, I have four points I wish to make on how we go about pursuing the liberation, and well-being, of our loved ones, and of the vulnerable.

First, we seek the liberation and well-being of these people, by confronting the Powers and the systems that undergird, and justify, the actions of those who wish to harm or enslave our loved ones, and the vulnerable. In is not enough to assert that we would seek to defend our wives if a violent person broke into our home by doing x, y, and z; rather we must ask why we live in a society that sexualizes violence, and we must explore the systemic structures that produce statistics like these: 1 in 3 women in North America have been sexually assaulted; in North America a woman is raped every six minutes, and so on and so forth. To assert that one is dedicated to the defense of one's wife, while blindly ignoring the systemic sources and problems, is misguided at best (for it confuses symptoms with causes) and contradictory and irresponsible at worst. If we are genuinely commited to the liberation and well-being of our loved ones, and of the vulnerable, we must confront the Powers who ensure that more loved ones, and more vulnerable people, will be exploited, abused, and handed over to death, with each passing generation.

Second, when confronted with crisis situations -- discovering an armed intruder in our home, witnessing a robbery on the street, or whatever -- we must learn to act with a little more courage, and a little more creativity. Eschewing violence does not mean that we refuse to engage with these situations. Rather, we learn non-violent ways of de-escalating, delaying,and preventing, any violence that the other parties might intend. For example, the easiest way to prevent another person from being hurt in a fight, is to place yourself between the attacker, and the one being attacked. This is a physical action -- you physically intervene and use your own body as a barrier -- but it is not a violent action. Time after time, I have seen this method used effectively and I myself have used this method in many situations -- from bare knuckle fights between drunks, to fights involving box cutters, knives, and brass knuckles, to one situation wherein I ended up standing between a gunman and the young man he had been hired to shoot. Granted, I have had my eyes blackened a few times (mostly from wild swings -- it happens when you jump between two fellas who are intent on beating the shit out of each other), but I have consistently seen nonviolent means triumph in violent situations -- and, dare I say, even in situations that appeared to be hopelessly violent. Consequently, I am consistently puzzled by those who automatically wish to appeal to force, to guns, or to other violent means, in order to intervene in these crisis situations. People, let's use a little imagination, have a little faith (i.e. don't be so afraid -- whichy, by the way, is the most repeated command in the bible) and see what can be accomplished when we act peaceably.

This, then, leads to my third point. Acting peaceably means taking risks, and I am under no illusion that risk-taking can end rather poorly (although not as poorly as we might first imagine -- cf. the story of Twinkle Rudberg, who founded Leave Out ViolencE [LOVE], after her husband was killed when he tried to prevent a young man from robbing an old woman [http://www.giraffe.org/hero_Rudberg.html]; perhaps Paul is correct when, in Ro 8, he suggests that we are victorious in both our living and our dying!). Furthermore, this risk-taking can end poorly both for ourselves, and for our loved ones, and the vulnerable person whom we are trying to assist. So be it; this should come as no surprise to those who are called to shoulder crosses as they follow their crucified Lord, who is, himself, the fullest revelation of God. Thus, just as the Father eschewed violence, and suffered the loss of his Beloved Son -- who, in turn, drank the bitter cup, rather than calling the angels to his own defence -- we, too, must sometimes drink that cup and, other times, suffer the loss of our loved ones, because we, too, must eschew violence.

The fourth point, is that our enemy, and the enemy of our loved ones and of the vulnerable, whom we have now come to know as our friend, is sometimes the vulnerable person we are called to protect. Let me return, for one last time, to the example that has run through this series -- that of pedophiles. Members of all levels of society feel justified in inflicting violence and death upon those who sexually abuse children. However, because we, as Christians, have come to know such people as friends, we realise that these people are also those whom we must seek to liberate from violence. Indeed, in street-culture, it is a common observation that many of those who are street-involved are simultaneously 'victims' and 'offenders' -- at one moment they are being exploited, at another moment they are exploiting others (such is life when one's very survival is at stake). Consequently, we must resist anybody when they attack others, but we must also defend anybody when they are being attacked.

I could, or perhaps should, add a fifth point -- that of the systemic and ubiquituous corruption that exists within the institutions that are responsbile for exercising violence in or society (the police force, the penal system, international peacekeeping forces, armies, and so on) but these things have been so well documented elsewhere that I trust that this observation can function as a given in this discussion. Indeed, this point alone should be reason for us to distrust, and abandon, violence in all its forms.

So, I come to the end of my of my series. As a final point, I will say this. In crisis situations -- seeing a woman being robbed, encountering an intruder in my home -- none of his can be certain of how we will act. Many who say they would violently defend others would, in actuality, freeze or turn away. Many others, who say they would eschew voilence, would strike out before they had a chance to think. Let us hope, then, that we are practicing the disciplines that are necessary to build a foundation that will stand firm when the flood comes -- disciplines like praying for our enemies, exploring creative ways of living peaceably, and learning to exhibit faith by genuinely taking risks. After all, until the rubber meets the road, how can we truly know that we have any sort of faith in God?
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Gay Marriage -- Why Arguments based upon the 'Order of Creation' in Gen 1-2 are Faulty [Apr. 30th, 2008|09:32 pm]
Some Christians argue that the first few chapters of Genesis offer conclusive proof against homosexual marriages. They suggest that the relationship of Adam and Eve, prior to the "Fall", is the ideal model of an human sexual relationship and so, even though we now live in a fallen world, the relationship of Adam and Eve continues to set the standard for our sexuality. This, they argue, is the original, and good, 'order of creation', and this is the order that we must follow.

Boiled down into more polemical, popular discourse, this is the theological argument that underlies the assertion: "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve! Duh!"

Granted, the popular rhetoric is a little more offensive (although, it should be noted, the original argument is also offensive to a good many people), but it does a good job of highlighting how facile this position might end up being.

So, to be clear, I don't find this argument from Genesis and the 'original order of creation', to be at all convincing. Here's why.

(1) What was created in the beginning was good; it was not perfect.

Christians do not look back on some primordial "golden age". The garden was a good beginning, but it was only a beginning. There remains a trajectory to be followed, a story to be developed, a telos to be pursued. Or, stated more simply, the middle -- the process wherein the good is transformed, expanded, and refined -- and the end -- wherein the good is consummated -- have not yet occured.

[Furthermore, Gen 1-2 is not even the beginning that matters the most in Christian Scripture. The central beginning for the New Testament is the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus (coupled with the pouring out of the Spirit at Pentecost), and the central beginning for the Old Testament is the exodus of the Hebrew slaves from Egypt. These are the beginnings that are the most formative for the people of God (granted, the beginning related in Genesis is important, but even this bit of theological poetry is crafted by authors who have the exodus in mind).]

Thus, Christians hold to a linear, not cyclical view of history. We're not simply going back to where we started, we're moving on from there to something better.

(2) As the good pursues this trajectory, there is a great deal of room for creativity and innovation.

Yes, the order created in the garden was good, but there is a great deal of room for creativity, innovation, and additions -- all of which can be equally good -- to this order. Perhaps the most notable example of this is the way in which the garden of Genesis gives way to the city, the New Jerusalem, of Revelation. If we were simply clinging to the original 'order of creation', then we would be obliged to continually try to 'get back to the garden.' The city would have to be seen as a perverse addition to God's good order, an addition that would have to be condemned and, ultimately, destroyed. However, despite the many critical things that Scripture has to say about cities, the city itself is caught up into God's good order.

The same could be said of other innovations -- music, architecture, even clothing, all of these things were absent in the garden but are incorporated into the biblical vision of the consummation of creation. In the end, we're not going to be walking around nude -- even though we were orginally nude, and even though our current justifications for clothing will have disappeared; clothing is an innovative, and good, addition to God's order.

(3) There is nothing in Genesis 1-2 to prevent us from considering homosexuality as one of these creative and good innovations.

Here a few subpoints must be made:

(3a) By arguing that homosexuality can be considered a creative and good innovation, I am not arguing that homosexuality is a 'choice'. Granted, sexuality is a notoriously difficult thing to figure out, but I am of the opinion that both 'nature' and 'nurture' effect us in this regard. For some people, I suspect that homosexuality is something of a choice, for other people, I know that it is not. Consequently, I would suggest that the fact that many are 'born gay' (i.e. are gay by nature) is simply a reflection of God's ongoing and innovative creativity in the world.

After all, to call God, 'Creator,' is not simply to assert that God created all things 'in the beginning.' Rather it is to assert that God is continually creating us anew, continually sustaining his creation, continually giving birth to new life, continually offering us good gifts, and so on and so forth. God is the God of creation, and new creation, and Genesis 1-2 gives us no reason reject homosexuality -- it could simply be a part of God's creative activity that continues after Genesis 1-2. Indeed, it could be one of the good gifts that God has given us!

Thus, even those (the minority) who 'choose' homosexuality, have not done anything wrong. They to, are simply engaging in an act of creative, and good, innovation -- and are mirroring God's actions by doing so.

(3b) Inevitably the question of children is raised at this point. Gay couples, it is argued, cannot procreate, and so homosexual relationships must be considered illicit (or at least subpar) because God intends marriage, and sex, to be a part of the process of reproduction, and of fulfilling the mandate to 'fill the earth and subdue it.'

Now, let us recall that the creation mandate itself is one that is good, but not perfect. That is to say, it is not one that applies at all times, in all places, to all people. If this was the case then infertile people shold be prevented from marrying (or their marriages should be considered subpar), and the whole idea of sex as an expression of intimate love, and as an experience of pleasure, becomes problematical. Yes, marriage is the proper place for sex to occur, but sex isn't something we practice solely in order to have children (and those who would suggest otherwise had better take another look at Paul's words in 1 Cor 7). Those who can't have children, and those who are uninterested in having children, are still free to practice sex within the context of marriage. Thus, I believe that gay marriages should be blessed by the Church. A creative, and good, innovation.

Furthermore, it should be noted that, at this stage of history, the earth is rather amply 'filled.' This was not the case when the events of Genesis occurred, nor was it the case at any other time in biblical history. When a people, and a community, is struggling for survival, having kids is pretty important (although, even in this situation, not having kids can be a good act of faith). When a people, and a community is well-established, things change. Thus, I think couples, be they hetero- or homosexual, are now free to not have kids.

Indeed, there are now so many kids who do not have families, that the creation mandate, when applied today, might be to adopt children rather than having our own. Why bring more children into the world when so many children are unloved today? Why not offer ourselves to these unwanted children? Isn't the choice to have children, rather than adopt children, simply an expression of selfishness -- of only wanting to love what is mine? It very well might be.

Of course, if this is how we approach the having and raising of children, it should quick be noted that homosexual couples, can offer a home that is just as healthy, and just as loving, as heterosexual couples. Thus, I believe that gay couples should be able to adopt children. Another creative, and good, innovation.

In conclusion, I end with one of Paul's doxologies (for the recognition of God's creative, and good, innovation, should always lead us to worship). Romans 11.33-36:

Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out! Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor? Who has ever given to God, that God should repay him? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever! Amen.
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Wright and Ehrman: Dialogue on Faith & Suffering [Apr. 27th, 2008|04:03 pm]
N. T. Wright and Bart Ehrman recently completed a three part on-line exchange on the theme of faith and suffering (cf. http://blog.beliefnet.com/blogalogue/). In this post, I will briefly summarise the key points of their exchange (while avoiding some of the tantalizing rabbit trails and side points -- which you can always go and read for yourselves) and then offer a few of my own thoughts.

Debate Summary
Read more... )

Reflection

To be honest (and to my own surprise), I found Ehrman to be the more compelling of the two in this discussion. While I agree that Ehrman and Wright were talking at cross-purposes for much of the discussion, Wright never goes on to address Ehrman's question. That is to say, even if the bible never adequately addresses the question of why we suffer, because it is focused on a response to suffering, the question of why we suffer should still be seen as a valid (albeit extra-biblical?) question. While I grant Wright the point about the focus of the biblical narrative, I wish that he had recognised that Ehrman, and others, will continue to ask this why question anyway.

Furthermore, I thought that Ehrman was right to "multiply examples" and I felt that Wright's argument, despite Wright's assertions to the contrary, was one that failed to account for the perspectives that come from the lived experience of suffering. Ehrman seems to experience suffering as a trauma, whereas Wright seems to experience suffering as a "dark mystery". I think that Ehrman multiplies examples because he thinks we should also be traumatised by suffering, and Wright seems to fail to see why suffering should be seen as traumatic. "Okay, I get it," he seems to say. "People suffer. No need to go on about it in so much detail." To which Ehrman seems to respond, "If that's what you think, then you really don't get it at all." On this point, I'm with Ehrman. In my opinion suffering is the great challenge to faith; it should traumatise us, and it should jeopardize the things we hold dear. This place of trauma -- i.e. this place where our world is fundamentally disoriented and made unrecognisable -- should be where we start (but, thankfully, it is not where we end, and it is here where I diverge from Ehrman). Now whether or not Wright has struggled with suffering to this degree, and has since developed on from that place, is hard to say, since he really refuses to engage suffering from this perspective (which, when coupled with what Wright actually says, leads me to suspect that Wright has never struggled with suffering at this depth).

Of course, there is more to be said about the way in which an active relationship with God through Jesus Christ transforms how we understand the "dark mystery" of suffering, but Wright never really develops this thought in much detail. This is really too bad because the way in which we relate to that "mystery" varies a great deal depending on whether or not we have encountered suffering as trauma. If we have not been traumatised by suffering, then the mystery thereof is sort of like a regretable, mind-bending riddle; if we have been traumatised by suffering, then the mystery thereof is something deeper, something aw(e)ful, something that throbs. Thus, in response to Ehrman's question, "Why do we suffer?", I wish Wright had responded, "I don't know. But I continue to believe in God, and here's why...". Of course, I don't believe that others will find the "here's why..." to be compelling, because I think that the only reason why we continue to believe in God, when confronted with the magnitude of suffering, is because we have met God. The reason why I find faith to be compelling is because God has chosen to come out to meet me, and I suspect that the only reason why a person like Ehrman would believe in God would be because God comes out to meet him as well. Now I can't help but wonder if Wright, in his efforts to engage in a substantial and reasonable dialogue, deliberately avoids this track, and where it leads, because it seems entirely too subjective and experiential.

Furthermore, sometimes our most powerful witness to faith in God in a suffering world, is found in silence. Remember Job's friends? They only truly exhibited their wisdom when they they first met Job and sat and mourned silently with him for seven days and seven nights (cf. Job 2.11-13). They became fools, and only deepened Job's sufferings, when they began to defend God. We would do well to learn from their example. We demonstrate our faith in God, not by answering the cry of forsakenness raised by those who suffer, but by sharing in their cry and refusing to stop crying until God answers.

And so, you see, Ehrman's form of agnosticism is a faith that I respect (and even admire) a great deal. Essentially, he appears to be a 'protest agnostic' -- an 'agnostic for God's sake.' This, I think, is the same faith that Camus held, and portrayed so powerfully in The Plague. Furthermore, just like Tarrou in The Plague, Ehrman sees no reason why agnosticism should lead him away from a life of loving service for others. Thus, I was a little disappointed to see Wright trotting out the tired old argument that agnostics have no grounds for living sacrificial lives. Obviously a good many agnostics have lived sacrifical lives of love, so Christians should give up on saying, "Hey, you have no reason to do that!" For the agnostic simply responds, "What do you mean? I need some deeper justification to love others? Good Lord, I'm terrified to think of how you would act if you didn't believe in God!"

Were it not for my own encounters with God, I believe that this for of agnosticism would be the position that I would take. I'm not sure if Wright would concede this point. He seems to think that there is more to be said for an objective apologetics (although he does stress the significance of a relationship with God for our exploration of these things, so, as I said, I'm not sure what Wright would concede, or why he approaches the issue the way he does).

As for the hermeneutical points that both Wright and Ehrman were trying to make, there isn't a lot that one can say in response. Due to the limitations of the chosen form of dialogue (something both Wright and Ehrman lament), the hermeneutical debate doesn't progress much beyond making assertions (Ehrman: "It doesn't fit together; biblical authors contradict each other"; Wright: "It does fit together, and your contradictions are more apparent than actual"). However, Ehrman does (implicitly) raise a good question: "What are the criteria that we use to understand the way(s) in which the various elements of Scripture relate to one another?" Indeed, Ehrman implies that there really are no good criteria for relating the various elements of Scripture to one another in any sort of coherent "synthesizing" manner. Unfortunately, while Wright presents an attractive synthesis (and one that I, personally, find compelling), he never explains the reason why his synthesis is justified. Here, I think, we are at a confessional impasse. I suspect that Wright believes that Scripture can be synthesised because God was at work in the process of producing Scripture, and offering us Scripture as a life-guiding narrative, whereas Ehrman, as an agnostic, sees no good criteria for tying together such an eclectic collection of ancient manuscripts. Apart from faith in Scripture as a witness to the revelation of God, I can't think of a reason why one should try to synthesize Scripture, and it is quite possible that, apart from this faith, one would be unable to see why certain passages are more central to the ongoing narrative than others.

Of course, at this point we arrive at an hermeneutical issue that is an ongoing contraversy within intra-Christian dialogue. That is to say, although I find Wright's metanarrative to be compelling, there are many other Christians who see it as flawed, and so they argue that the texts Wright chooses to highlight, as excellent "short-hand" illustrations of the broader story, are either misinterpreted or are poor choices. Ultimately, I don't think that this issue can be objectively resolved. At the end of the day, I think that all of us are (more or less) open to the criticism of having arbitrarily selected what passages we highlight, what passages we reject, and what coherence we find in Scripture (of course, the "more or less" is an important proviso here!).

So, in conclusion, let me say that I enjoyed the thinking stimulated by this discussion and, although I believe that Wright wins the point concerning what Scripture says and does not say, I believe that Ehrman wins the point concerning our own existential confrontation with suffering. Wright, I believe, is the better exegete, but, in my opinion, Ehrman appears to have more honestly and openly confronted the pain of the world in which he finds himself. Thus, I return to a point I made about Wright in my reviews of two of his recent books (cf. http://poserorprophet.livejournal.com/137308.html). Although I am inspired by his move from the academia to the Church (in order to encourage the Church to be an agent of new creation within the broken places of the world), I cannot help but wonder if his efforts in this regard are stifled by his rootedness in places of privilege and power (not to say that such places necessarily stifle our efforts or our understanding -- Ehrman, after all, is comfortably situated at UNC -- but I suspect that they go a long way to stifling the efforts of many).
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Well, since today is Earth Day... [Apr. 22nd, 2008|05:43 pm]
I decided to go online and figure out what my "carbon footprint" is (cf. http://www.carbonfootprint.com/). To my surprise, I discovered that I release approximately 4.196-4.206 tonnes of carbon dioxide into the air every year. Dear me.

Naturally, I was concerned about this, and I explored some of the ways in which I could "offset" this carbon footprint. It turns out that planting six (6) trees a year is all I need to do.

Now then, seeing as I planted about 200,000 trees when I was working up north (to pay for my undergrad), I discovered that I'm set for about 33,333 and 1/3 years. Dear me.

Naturally, I was appalled to discover that I've overdone things by about 33,253 and 1/3 years, so I'll have to find some ways to release a lot more carbon dioxide. If anybody would like to help me purchase a few SUVs, fly around the world, or set fire to a few oil wells, I'd be deeply grateful.
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On Loving Our Enemies, Part 2: Knowing Our Enemies as Friends [Apr. 19th, 2008|07:40 pm]
For while we were still helpless, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will hardly die for a righteous man; though perhaps for the good man someone would dare even to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, having now been justified by His blood, we shall be saved from the wrath of God through Him. For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son, much more, having been reconciled, we shall be saved by His life. Not only is this so, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.
~ Ro 5.6-11

Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.
~ Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Within the first part of this series, I argued that the way in which we understand the term "enemy" must be expanded. Instead of defining our enemies as those who injure us personally, I argued that we must understand our enemies to include those who injure the vulnerable, and those who injure the people whom we love. Furthermore, I conclude that the appropriate Christian response to our "enemies" is love, and that this love excludes violence -- protective, pre-emptive, or otherwise.

In this post I wish to further deconstruct the term "enemy" from a Christian perspective by building on the Christian understanding of what it means to love our enemies. However, the Christian call to love as God loves seems to make the whole category of "enemies" problematical. Although a wise person once asked Jesus, "Who is my neighbour?" some of us are scratching our heads wishing somebody had asked: "Who is my enemy?" (But perhaps the parable of the Good Samaritan also goes a long way towards answering that question as well?)

What I would like to suggest is that Christians should follow the pattern established by God, and laid out by Paul in Romans 5. They should live as agents of reconciliation who offer themselves in an act of friendship, not only to those who are just a little bit hard to love, but to those who seem impossible to love -- our enemies.

Yet how can we be the friends of our enemies? How can we know our enemies as our friends? Such thinking appears to be confused and contradictory. However, I think that it is not -- the question of "friends" and "enemies" is a question of perspective. From our perspective, shaped as it is by the Spirit of Christ, and our participation in Christ (who forgave his torturers, even while they tortured him and two others) there is now no person so violent as to be excluded from friendship. However, from the perspective of the person who acts violently towards us, we are enemies -- for it is this person who reveals that s/he thinks of us as enemies by acting violently towards us. We know this violent person as a friend when we actively love him or her, while the violent person knows himself or herself to by our enemy by acting violently toward us. Consequently, even though we are called to love all people, and know them as friends by acting lovingly towards them, we can still use the language of "enemies" so long as we realise that this language is only appropriate to the extent that it reflects the way in which the violent person understands his or her relationship with us -- and it is, therefore, inappropriate beyond that extent.

So, if we come to know our "enemies" as friends by actively loving them, what are some of the ways we can go about doing this?

The first and most obvious way is by following the words of Jesus in Mt 5 -- we love our enemies, and learn to love our enemies, by praying for them. Here I am reminded of the commentary of John Stott in The Message of the Sermon on the Mount:

'This is the supreme command,' wrote Bonhoeffer. 'Through the medium of prayer we go to our enemy, stand by his side, and plead for him to God.' Moreover, if intercessory prayer is an expression of what love we have, it is a means to increase our love as well. It is impossible to pray for someone without loving him [sic], and impossible to go on praying for him without discovering that our love for him grows and matures. We must not, therefore, wait before praying for an enemy until we feel some love for him in our heart.

Stott is quoting from Bonhoeffer's Cost of Discipleship, and Bonhoeffer goes on to write the following:

For if we pray for [our enemies], we are taking their distress and poverty, their guilt and perdition upon ourselves, and pleading to God for them.

Thus, Bonhoeffer argues that prayer drives us to identify with our enemies, both because we intercede for them, and because we realise that Christ died for all and that we, too, were enemies of God. This prevents us from completely ostracizing our enemies, from deeming them to be subhuman monsters and thereby justifying their destruction, and causes us to wish for them what we ourselves have discovered -- the liberating grace of God. We love our enemies by continually hoping for their salvation, not by hoping for their destruction; this is simply a continuation of Jesus' words in Mt 7.12: "So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you."

Consequently, I can only conclude that Christians are so quick to hate their enemies, and act violently towards them, because they are spending little, if any, time praying for these enemies.

Secondly, this should lead us to express an interest in our enemies, just as we express an interest in our friends. We should desire to know something of their respective journeys, their experiences, and the things that have shaped them. In this regard, I wish to put an altogether different spin on the words of Sun Tzu, quoted above. While Sun Tzu argues that knowing one's enemies is a way to conquer them, I would like to suggest that knowing one's enemies is a step towards learning to act peace-ably, and graciously, towards them; although there may be struggles (or "battles") we are able to avoid the "disaster" of violence! Yes, there is a conquest in this way of knowing, but it is the conquest of evil by good, for it is through this sort of knowledge that one develops genuine compassion.

Let me, then, apply this to the example provided in Part 1 -- those who sexually abuse children. When all we know about such people is that they sexually abuse children, it is next to impossible to love them. However, if we learn about some of the key factors that contribute to the perpetuation of these acts -- say the observation that a significant percentage of pedophiles were abused as children -- the door is opened to compassion, and if we actually personally journey alongside of such people as individuals and not as statistics, we may find compassion to be unavoidable.

That, at least, was how things developed for me. There was a time in my life when, due to the experiences of some people very near and dear to me, I would have responded very violently to sex offenders. However, in the work I was then doing with street-involved men, I became friends with a certain fellow who touched my heart deeply. It was only after we had become close friends that I discovered that this fellow had sexually abused children. When I learned of this, my very first reaction was to feel like a bad person for liking this man -- now only did I hate what he had done, I hated myself for loving this man as my friend! Thus, it was this experience that forced me to revisit thoughts I had on these things, and attitudes I had taken for granted. I realized, "I cannot cast the first (or any) stone at this man. Rather, I hope that this man comes to know the love of God, as I have come to know that love, and so I think it best to be an agent of that love to this man."

Indeed, perhaps this means that I cannot cast any stones. As with this man, so with all others.

In conclusion, I am reminded of the words of Conor Oberst, who sings the following:

Where was it when I first heard that sweet sound of humility?
It came to my ears in the goddamn loveliest melody;
how grateful I was then to be part of the mystery,
to love and to be loved.
Let's just hope that is enough.

(Cf. http://youtube.com/watch?v=Z4TueFlXKfU, or http://youtube.com/watch?v=biuHzcnEXf0; the lyrics are much clearer in the second link, but it has no video.)

Humility requires those committed to nonviolence to surrender any smug self-righteousness they may feel, and it requires those who are committed to violence to recognize the supreme arrogance of claiming authority over the life and death of others. In humility let us pursue love and hope that love is enough for, as we worship a God who is love, we have nothing else to which we can turn.

[NB: In Part 3, I hope to return to the question of how we can go about "protecting" both the vulnerable and our loved ones, so bear with me!]
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On Loving Our Enemies, Part 1: Loving the Enemies of Our Loved Ones [Apr. 17th, 2008|10:55 am]
You have heard that it was said, "You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy." But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? If you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Therefore you are to be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
~ Mt 5.43-48

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse... Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay," says the Lord. "But if your enemy is hungry, feed him, and if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in doing so you will heap burning coals upon his head." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.
~ Ro 12.14, 19-21

The violence of our contemporary world is sustained by the mythic discourse of protection. That is to say, violence is routinely justified as a means of protecting the vulnerable, and, in particular, protecting those whom we love. Thus, troops are mobilized and forcefully cross international (and other) boundaries, not because said troops are "going to war" but because they now operate as international "police" forces. In contemporary discourse, a basic (shall we say "ontological"?) shift has occured in the nature of armies. The armies of the dominant global powers are no longer aggressive forces trained for terrorism and conquest. Rather, they are defensive forces trained to implement, and police, "the peace."

Of course, there is nothing new about this discourse. Empires have always waged wars for the sake of peace, and, in retrospect, we have been able to see that, time after time, it was these wars which were the greatest obstacles to peace. History has taught us that empires that promise peace through violence are, inevitable, the primary agents of the perpetuation of violence in the world.

Still, it is amazing how easy it is for us to understand this about the past, while simultaneously failing to see how we are being manipulated in the present.

Be that as it may, it is worth noting how the discourse of protective violence also operates closer to home, within our own justice systems. Take, for example, those who are in favour of capital punishment in cases of violent or especially heinous crimes -- and let's take the example that is most despised in our society: those who have sex with children. Many Christians support death sentences for pedophiles.

Of course, Christians who are in favour of capital punishment in these cases, generally don't justify their position on the basis of vengeance. That is to say, while the families of the survivors (or "victims") may desire vengeance, the general Christian public is a little more suspicious of vengeance. In theory, we recognize the dangers of vengeance and we recall the inability to see clearly, or respond appropriately, that frequently arise when we've been wronged. Furthermore, we remember the example of Jesus and the injunctions of Paul, and we think, "yes, although we would never blame the families for desiring vengeance, perhaps it is best if we leave vengeance to God." So, yes, let us confess our desire for vengeance -- indeed, let us fully work through that desire, rather than repressing it -- but let us distrust vengeance as a motivating force, and let us distrust our ability to see clearly while we are under the influence of this force.

But what of justice? And not only justice but what of protecting the vulnerable? What of ensuring that others will not suffer at the hands of those who commit such acts? This, then, is where the general Christian public becomes attracted to capital punishment. Yes, perhaps we should never kill others based upon feelings of vengeance, but perhaps we should kill others in order to protect the vulnerable (children, in this case) and in order to protect our loved ones (our children, in this case).

Of course, this form of justice is somewhat suspicious. It risks being little more than an act of pre-emptive vengeance. Here it is worth recalling the example of military action. In our day, we have seen the ways in which pre-emptive military campaigns have been waged by some nations in order to prevent other nations from developing the ability to wage war. In general, we have also seen how artificial such pre-emptive reasoning tends to be. Or, stated differently, we have seen that pre-emptive wars are immoral wars. Indeed, I think that all pre-emptive forms of justice risk falling into the same artificiality and immorality. I do not believe that pre-emptive acts of violence are ever justifiable.

However, I think that there is an even more fundamental reason why Christians should refuse to support the death penalty, or any other type of killing that is premised upon the discourse of protection (here I will leave aside references to the biases, incompetence, and corruption that exists within our judicial system -- such injustices have been well documented elsewhere and, although such injustices alone are reason to reject the death penalty, I'll leave it to the discerning reader to explore the research on these things). The primary reason why Christians should not support the death penalty in particular, or protective violence in general, is because we are called to love our enemies.

Here it is absolutely essential to recall that our enemies include the enemies of our loved ones. Stated in an overly simplistic manner, the discourse of protective violence runs something like this: "If you hit me, I'll turn the other cheek; If you hit my wife, I'll fuck you up, motherfucker." The discourse of protective violence rests upon an artifical distinction between "my" enemies, and the enemies of my loved ones, or of the vulnerable. I tell myself that I am committed to forgiving and loving my enemies, but I fail to see that those who hurt my loved ones, or those who hurt the vulnerable, are my enemies. The enemy of my loved ones, the enemy of the vulnerable, is the enemy who I am called to love.

(Some of us tend to forget this because, coming from places of privilege, we have never really encountered anybody who merits the label "enemy". We think loving our "enemies" means being nice to the guy who picked on us in highschool because we didn't swear or something like that. Thus, when we discover that one of our dear friends has been violently abused, we don't think of the abuser as the "enemy" whom I am called to love; we think of the abuser as a subhuman monster that should be destroyed -- "enemies", after all, are like that guy who picked on me, and so people who do horrible abusive things must belong in a different category altogether!)

With this realisation, those who wish to engage in any act of violence, "protective" or otherwise, must demonstrate that that act of violence is an expression of love for both the vulnerable and the enemy. Indeed, I believe that it is precisely this realization that led to the nonviolence of Jesus, and of the early Church -- this is why the early Christians were told that they could not become soldiers, and this is why they allowed themselves (and, nota bene, their loved ones!) to be killed by their enemies. Once we realize that we are called to love our enemies, then we must simultaneously realize that we cannot kill our enemies.

Thus, if Christians are to live as a peace-able people today, if Christians are "to be perfect as their heavenly Father is perfect" (which means that they are to love as their heavenly Father loves), then the primary challenge which we must confront, deconstruct, and reject, is the mythic discourse of protective violence.

This is truly where the rubber meets the road in our faith, for the most trustworthy gauge of how seriously we take our faith is not how we respond to those who abuse us, it is how we respond to those who abuse our loved ones.
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March Books [Apr. 4th, 2008|12:25 pm]
1. Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church by N. T. Wright.
Read more... )
2. Christians at the Cross: Finding Hope in the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus by N. T. Wright.
Read more... )
3. A Theology of History by Hans Urs von Balthasar.
Read more... )
4. A Broad Place: An Autobiography by Jürgen Moltmann.
Read more... )
5. The Making of the Counter Culture: Reflections on the tecnoratic society and its youthful opposition by Theodore Roszak.
Read more... )
6. Street Stories: 100 Years of Homelessness in Vancouver by Michael Barnholden & Nancy Newman, with photographs by Lindsay Mearns.
Read more... )
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Death and Story-telling from the Margins [Apr. 3rd, 2008|08:46 am]
Remember: in one's own death one only dies, but with the death of others one has to live.
~ Mascha Kalécko

Yesterday a fifteen year old girl was found dead in one of the Single Room Occupancies in the downtown eastside. The media is reporting that no foul play is suspected, but the word on the street is rather different. Be that as it may, I'll leave the details aside.

...

It's an odd thing to constantly be living one's life in the presence of death -- and not just death that comes to take those who have lived full and privileged lives, but death that comes violently for the young who never had a chance. My wife was hit especially hard this time. She was doing outreach in the alleys yesterday, it was a beautiful sunny day, and she was wondering why hardly any kids were out. It was only after she started hearing the stories circulating about the girl who died that things made sense -- the kids were hiding, avoiding risky places, they didn't know who would get it next.

...

I've always felt conflicted about sharing my experiences with the marginalised, or the experiences of others, on this blog. Some stories seem too intimate, too sacred, to share -- especially with strangers who, nine times out of ten, completely miss the point. I worry that I simply end up becoming another form of provocative, but essentially meaningless and inconsequential, entertainment. Readers will be titillated by my stories, and will leave me notes telling me how "hard-core" I am, and thus we arrive at a parasitic relationship where I exploit the vulnerable by sharing their stories with the apathetic in order to boost my ego.

And yet, another side of me feels as though it is burning if I keep these stories in. These stories must be told, they must be presented to the public. This is the suffering that is goin on in our own backyards -- these are the kids we ignore on the sidewalk when you step into Starbucks to buy our fucking "fairtrade" coffee. These stories must be told. They must be thrown back into the faces of the public because maybe, just maybe, somebody will be moved to act.

These stories are my act of begging. A begging that, just like the begging of the youth I know, is almost always ignored.

...

I hope Jesus has finally come to meet this girl. I hope her hard days are over now. I hope she is free. It is we, the living, who must feel her death as a wound. It is we, the living, who are left wondering how people can do the things that they do to other people. Her race is over. It is for us to labour in exile, while she is welcomed home.
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If You Want to Journey with Marginalised People, Do the Necessary Prep Work! [Mar. 23rd, 2008|08:49 am]
Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called child-heirs of God.
~ Mt 5.9

God did extraordinary miracles through Paul, so that even handkerchiefs and aprons that had touched him were taken to the sick, and their illnesses were cured and the evil spirits left them.

Some Jews who went around driving out evil spirits tried to invoke the name of the Lord Jesus over those who were demon-possessed. They would say, "In the name of Jesus, whom Paul preaches, I command you to come out." Seven sons of Sceva, a Jewish chief priest, were doing this. (One day) the evil spirit answered them, "Jesus I know, and I know about Paul, but who are you?" Then the man who had the evil spirit jumped on them and overpowered them all. He gave them such a beating that they ran out of the house naked and bleeding.

~ Acts 19.11-16

Friday evening I ended up attending a candlelight service at a church that some of my friends attend. This church has a reputation for trying to journey alongside of various marginalised populations, and several of the people who go there also work for a Christian drop-in in the downtown eastside. Not only that, but this church is also one of the churches that participate in the "Out of the Cold" program, and thus it operates as a shelter for homeless people on certain nights of the week during the winter.

Anyway, during the service last night a drunk street-involved man became volatile and became increasingly loud, vulgar, and violent. To my surprise, nobody seemed to know how to deal with the situation, and none of the people in attendence who actually worked in the downtown eastside did anything to de-escalate what was happening. Now I get that this church wants to be a welcoming place for those who are, in general, made to feel unwelcome, but once a fellow starts yelling, "Fuck you, you whore!" and things like that, while simultaneously becoming increasingly threatening and violent in his actions, well, something needs to be done. So, to make a long story short, I ended up having to get up and deal with the fellow. It ended up being fairly exhausting for me, but nobody got clobbered so all's well that ends well.

However, I felt quite frustrated by how the church handled the situation. Not only was there no structure in place for addressing this sort of situation (and this sort of situation is inevitable if a community chooses to try to journey with street-involved people), but those from the church who did respond to this situation made some real basic mistakes and ended up worsening things. For example, the first young guy who went to talk to the man, approached him from behind, and put his hand on his back. So, here are a few of the basics: when dealing with a volatile situation involving people who are street-involved (1) if at all possible, never come at somebody from behind; and (2) don't touch somebody unless you (a) absolutely have to, or (b) have a very close relationship with the person you are about to touch (and even then, think twice -- when somebody is preparting themselves for a fight, the last thing you want to do is touch them).

So, if this wasn't bad enough, some little old lady decided she wanted to take the fellow aside (after the service had ended and after we had moved outside) and reprimand him while telling him that Jesus loved him. Once again, I had to intervene to make sure the little old lady didn't get knocked out. So, here are a few more of the basics: (3) limit the number of people involved in the situation -- if somebody who is drunk and has been on the edge of violence wants to shut up and bugger off, let him shut up and bugger off. At that moment, he doesn't need to hear about how much Jesus loves him -- he needs to get some sleep and sober up; (4) The whole "aw shucks, we just want you to know that you are loved, so can you please just be a little more polite, good buddy" thing doesn't work all the time. Sometimes you need to look like a you've been in a fight or two, and you know how to carry yourself in that sort of situation. It's all about how you position your body, what you do with your hands and eyes, and what you choose to say or not say. This is an art that needs to be learned -- you need to be able to show that you are willing to physically commit yourself to the situation, while not actually posing or acting in a way that escalates the situation.

Hence, my quotes at the beginning of the post. Yes, I believe we are called to journey alongside of marginalised people; yes, I believe that we are called to intervene into violent situations (which is why I've jumped into so many fights), and, yes, I believe that this is an integral part of our call to be "peacemakers." However, we need to recognise that being a peacemaker is something of an art that requires us to practice certain disciplines -- disciplines that require some training -- otherwise we risk following the trajectory of the seven sons of Sceva.

So, let me be clear. If you are a part of a church that wants to try to journey alongside of marginalised people groups I think that that is really, really wonderful. However, as a community you will need to think carefully about how you go about doing this, you will need to develop some structures and people that are capable of responding to crisis situations, and it's not a bad idea to consult with agencies who have been doing this sort of thing for awhile so that you can learn from what they have done well, and what they have done poorly (also, for those without experience, who don't have good instincts, something like Non-Violent Crisis Intervention Training would be worthwhile). If you don't do the necessary prep work, your good intentions will likely create a good many messes that can result in people getting hurt and, even more importantly, can result in you driving away or hurting those marginalised people with whom you are trying to journey.

That said, I'm not altogether shocked that all of this went down at a Good Friday service. Somehow it felt... appropriate.
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An Open Letter to Jürgen Moltmann [Mar. 20th, 2008|09:31 am]
[Anybody out there know how I could actually mail this letter to Dr. Moltmann? I've tried to find a way to get through to him -- mostly by exploring Tübingen's website -- but I can't find anything.]

Dear Dr. Moltmann,

It has now been almost ten years since I first began reading your work. Over these years, your books have been my constant companions – they were the first serious theological works that I read and, as I have continued my studies, your writings have continued to be my “first love.”

However, as I have read, and reread, your initial trilogy, your Systematic Contributions to Theology, and various other pieces that you have published, I never once considered writing to you. But then I read your recently published autobiography, and I suddenly felt as though you were somebody I could approach – both to question, and to express my gratitude.

Let me begin with what are bound to be stuttering and inadequate expressions of gratitude. No other author so profoundly influenced both my thinking and living during some of the very formative years of my life. For this, I am forever in your debt, and am deeply grateful.

I fell head-over-heels into your work when, in the first year of my Bachelor’s degree in Religious Studies, a professor suggested that I read The Trinity and the Kingdom. Discovering your perichoretic understanding of the Trinity, and your application of that way of being-in-relationship to politics, ecclesiology, and other inter-personal relationships profoundly impacted me. “Yes!” I exclaimed to myself, “It is this mutual indwelling, this freely giving and receiving, of the Lover and the Beloved, which should define how we relate to one another!” Yes, you say it all so well; the Other ceases to be the limitation of my freedom, and is revealed as the expansion of my freedom. Let us love and be loved!

I hope you do not mind if I insert a few autobiographical remarks at this point. Like you, I have also never been tormented by the question: “Who am I really?” For, as you say in the postscript to your autobiography, “[t]hat question has left me since I experienced the love of a beloved person.” I well remember when I first encountered the love of God, and came to know myself as one who was, and is, Beloved. That experience was, quite literally, life-changing. It occurred when I was 17, a few months after my parents had kicked my out of the family home, and onto the street. At the time I was either homeless or (more usually) sleeping on couches at various friends’ houses, and I thought I was anything but Beloved. Yet the love of God broke through and changed my life, precisely when I thought I could go no lower.

Thus, the driving question of my life is similar to yours. After surviving the firestorm in Hamburg, you found yourself asking, “Why am I alive, and not dead like the others?” It seems like what answers you could find to this question came from the significance of your life and work. Perhaps, you seem to suggest (but never say!), you survived because God intended to use you in the many ways God has.

My question is this: “Why have I had my life transformed by the in-breaking of God’s Spirit of love, and others have not?” You see, after escaping homelessness, I have gone on to work with, live amongst, and journey alongside of the “crucified people of today”, as those people are found in the inner-city neighbourhoods of Canada’s urban centres (first in Toronto, and now in Vancouver where I currently reside). As I work, live, and journey with those who are being sexually, physically, and emotionally, exploited, abused, and abandoned, I regularly see people who are overpowered, and destroyed, by the powers of violence, addiction, and loneliness. Over and over I find myself wondering, “Why did God come and meet me but not all these others?” Regardless of the significance my own life has (or does not have), I cannot be satisfied with the suggestion that God broke into my life, and not into the lives of others, because he had some sort of special plan just for me. God could just as easily use anybody else to do what I do. Essentially, the question does not focus on me but on those others – the ones God has not yet come to meet. Why does God wait so long to come to meet us? Having spent close to a lifetime struggling with your own (similar) questions, I wonder if you can help shed some light on mine.

After I read The Trinity and the Kingdom, I quickly dove into The Crucified God. Reading this book was the first time I had heard of the notion of a suffering God, of a God who is with us, weeping and suffering alongside of us, even in places of godforsakenness – and it is to this belief that I have returned over and over again in my own life, and as I have sought to journey alongside of others. Indeed, in the years that I have spent journeying alongside of those who have truly experienced some of the hells of this world, and who are frequently understood (by themselves and by others) as godforsaken, I have shared this belief many times over and it has often given birth to perseverance, hope, and new life. Thus, I feel privileged to have been able to share your thoughts with many who would never read theology – child prostitutes, rape survivors, gang-members, drug dealers, and so on – and seen the fruit that your thoughts have borne in their lives.

Of course, your thinking has impacted me in many other ways – your thoughts on universalism presented in The Coming of God (and elsewhere), your reflections on the Eucharist presented in The Church in the Power of the Holy Spirit, and of course your many reflections on hope, promise, longing and anticipation in Theology of Hope – but, if I continued in detail, I would not know where to stop. Yet, as I try to express my gratitude, words fail me. “Thank you” sounds so superficial. What can I say? Je vous embrasse.

That said, there is one question that I would very much like to ask you. Throughout your writings, you constantly raise socio-political and economic issues, and are frequently in (a mostly approving dialogue) with the broader themes of liberation theology (despite the ways in which you were personally wounded by some liberation theologians). Indeed, I believe that you have consistently offered a liberating political theology that carries significant implications relating to issues of justice, solidarity, resistance, community, and, of course, love.

However, I would be very interested to hear how you then understand the ways in which your life as an Academic has related to these things. You see, after reading your autobiography and hearing of endless sherry parties, multiple trips to exotic destinations, several stays in flashy hotels, I started to think, “This all sounds so… bourgeois.” Where is the longing that hope brings? Where is the solidarity that love requires? Where is the resistance that arises from our memory of God’s actions and God’s promises? Consequently, although you speak of progressing from “the restless God of hope to the ‘indwelling and ‘inhabitable’ God” I can’t help but wonder if you simply became satisfied with the comforts offered to those who are situated in places of privilege and power.

Now, please, I hope you will forgive me for asking these questions. It is not my desire to be counted amongst those liberation theologians who “crucified” you in ’77. This question is one that is a part of my own process of “faith seeking understanding”. Indeed, it is part of my own process of trying to understand how one can be both an academic and be rooted in communities located within “the groaning places of the world” (N. T. Wright’s phrase). As I now consider moving to Europe to pursue PhD studies in theology, I cannot help but wonder if such studies will lead me into greater intimacy with the crucified people of today – with whom I am already intimately journeying – or if it will lead me away from intimacy with these people. Thus, I would find it very helpful if you could explain to me how your life as an Academic has fit with the themes of justice, solidarity, resistance, community, hope, and love, which you yourself have developed.

Let me try to say this another way. Although you explore the importance of recognising one’s locus theologicus, in your book Experiences in Theology, you do not comment on the idea that some loci may be better than others. After reading your autobiography, it seems to me that you are operating with the assumption that one can engage in a liberating political theology, even while living comfortably in places of power and privilege, so long as one is aware that this is where one is located. What you do not seem to suggest is that this liberating political theology should, in fact, lead us away from such places of power and privilege as we move into increasing solidarity, and intimacy, with those who are godforsaken, oppressed, and crucified within our societies.

In this regard I have trouble simply accepting the idea that the Academic contributes thoughts – analysis, theories, suggestions, and so on – while others, say the activists, actually engage in the practical work of living these things out. I think that such a divide is devastating to both Christian thought and action, and I wonder how much Christian academics who think this way are only fooling themselves. In this regard, I cannot help but think of the words of Slavoj Žižek:

Even in today’s progressive politics, the danger is not passivity but pseudo-activity... [radical academics] count on the fact that their demand will not be met—in this way, they can hypocritically retain their clear radical conscience while continuing to enjoy their privileged position… Let’s be realistic: we, the academic Left, want to appear critical, while fully enjoying the privileges the system offers us. So let’s bombard the system with impossible demands: we all know that such demands won’t be met, so we can be sure that nothing will actually change, and we’ll maintain our privilege! (I’m mixing a passage from Lacan with a passage from The Puppet and the Dwarf in this quotation.)

Now, let me be clear: I do not believe that you are the sort of radical Leftist academic that Žižek is criticising in this passage. I have no intention of questioning either your motives or your character. However, I do wonder how you understand the relationship between your rather radical theology and your (seemingly) rather privileged life(style). Indeed, given my own interest in academics, how you answer this question could significantly impact the direction of my own life.

And so, Dr. Moltmann, I must bring this letter to an end. Once again, let me reiterate the debt of gratitude that I owe you. Thank you, a million times over. I pray that your own gratitude and delight in life would only continue to increase, and I pray that, like you, after having so many intimate encounters with death, that I too will be increasingly joyful and delighted in every new morning.

Grace and peace,

Dan
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Stations of the Cross: When Visual Arts replace Cruciform Living [Mar. 19th, 2008|10:58 am]
At the beginning of Holy Week, the "artist in residence" at my school, led a number of students and faculty through the Stations of the Cross. I did not attend. However, it did get my wheels turning a bit. You see, a professor had emailed me and invited me to go through the Stations with him, but I was worn down from a rough couple of weeks in the downtown eastside, so I turned him down.

Truth be told, I've always been a little suspicious of the ways in which Christians approach the Visual Arts. I've often wondered if we simply use the Visual Arts as a means of stirring emotions within us that we do not feel otherwise -- and the catch is that we should be feeling these emotions, and we know that we should be feeling these emotions. However, rather than going into the sort of life experiences that would stir these emotions within us, we choose to participate in some sort of Visual Arts experience, which functions as a simulacrum of the real event, and thereby stirs our emotions. We then become satisfied because we think that it is the feeling of these emotions that is important, when in actuality is is the participation in the event that leads to these emotions that is important.

This then leads me back to the way in which we tend to practice the Stations of the Cross during Holy Week. Rather than living lives that continually lead us through these Stations, we prefer to simply participate in some sort of Visual Arts experience, which allows us to stimulate the emotions we associate with the Stations of the Cross. Rather than engaging in cruciformity, we observe the simulacrum of cruciformity, and receive some form of emotional gratification (I don't think that I would be overstating my case to say that such an experience is to Christian living what pornography is to sex -- which is why The Passion of the Christ is the ultimate Christian snuff film).

Of course, this is not to say that we should then abandon this sort of ritual. Rituals, and rituals involving the Visual Arts, can be important. However, I believe that we are engaging in a vile form of hypocrisy if we choose to participate in the Stations of the Cross at Easter while refusing to move on the via crucis during the rest of the year.

These, then, have been some of my Stations of the Cross during the last few weeks:

-Having my wife come home and tell me about a 15 year old girl she had met, who is addicted to crack and working in the sex trade because, ever since she was five, her father used to rape her in front of her brothers in order to teach them "how to be men" (Station One: a death sentence/Station 10: a person stripped/Station 11: a crucifixion).
-Jumping into a knife fight/rumble between two groups of feuding kids, just before things got bad (Station 5: participating in the crosses of others).
-Meeting a woman on the bus at night; she was asking me for money, and I had none. She had no shoes on and sores all over her feet (Station 8: behold the daughters of our city).
-Four dead sex workers (Station 12: death)

I think you get the idea. If you truly want to come to know, and experience, the Stations of the Cross, I know no better way than choosing to journey with those who are in exile.
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If you could ask God one question... [Mar. 13th, 2008|03:28 pm]
...what would it be?

For me, there is one question, and only one question, that sums it all up:

Why have you waited so long to return and make your home among us?

This, I think, is the great challenge to faith -- a challenge that has not, and I suspect cannot, be adequately answered until God does come again and make all things new.
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If it is 'Too Late,' Then we must Hope [Mar. 12th, 2008|08:28 pm]
[I]f anyone says, 'After Auschwitz it is too late to go on hoping for the Messiah, who could come but who has not in fact come'---then, said Fackenheim, he would reply, 'It is precisely because it is too late that we are commanded to hope... To hope after Auschwitz and Hiroshima is just this: don't leave the future to hell because hell is always with us.
~ Moltmann, quoting Emile Fackenheim, in A Broad Place: An Autobiography.

I think that this quotation from Fackenheim does a fine job of expressing the sort of hope that I am pursuing. Journeying, as I do, with many who are considered hopeless, I am often confronted with the questions posited by the supposedly well-intentioned realism that pervades our culture:

"Why bother with all these people? After all, they will never get clean, they will die on the street, they will continue to break, and be broken by, others. Why remain in such a dark place? Why throw away your life, why surrender whatever talents you might have, on those who will not appreciate them? For these people, it is too late. Move on. Be free of them (doesn't your Jesus offer you freedom?). Focus on those who are close to you, focus on those who will appreciate what you have to offer. Make the little difference that you can, but, for heaven's sake, don't get so caught up in all of this!"

Such realism is entirely hopeless. It is here -- here in the places that are beyond hope, in the people that are beyond saving, in the broken who are beyond fixing -- here that hope must truly come to exist. For hope should not be mistaken for the optimism that comes with experiencing privilege, nor should it be mistaken for the pale myth of progress that continues to cling to our culture. No, hope, the true hope of Christianity, must be born from the hells of our world. True Christian hope is precisely the sort of hope that arises from the (realistic but hopeless) observation that "it is too late."

Why is this the case? Because Jesus is the perfect example of the ways in which our concepts of 'lateness' are displaced by God's activity. By all accounts, after dying on the cross, and spending three days lying dead in a tomb, it was too late for Jesus to be anything but another failed messianic pretender. The imperial powers, coupled with the local religious and social elites, had definitively put an end to Jesus's work -- Jesus was dead, the game was up, all the disciples could do was flee for their lives. But then resurrection happened... and everything changed. New life, life that conquers death, occured, and is now a central part of the lordship of Jesus.

And so we know, when all the powers of death are united, when they are bearing down on us and telling us that it is too late for change, too late for this person, too late for that person, too late for hope -- when know that there is a power greater than death. The power of God, acknowledged in the confession of Jesus's Lordship, it is this that requires us to hold onto hope for everyone whom death tries to claim (and even does claim).

Too late? We know that it is not too late. It is early! The new day has only just begun to dawn.

Too late? We know that it is not too late. It is only too late for death and all the powers in the service of death. For the rest of us, there is hope.

Too late? We know that it is not too late. After Holy Saturday, all of our hells have been planted with hope, and even the most devestated places can be the foundation for fertility. Yes, it is not too late, this wilderness will yet rejoice, will blossom, will shout for joy.

Too late? We know that it is not too late. The eyes of the blind will see, the ears of the deaf will hear, the lame will leap like a deer, the dead will be raised to new life, "and the ransomed of the LORD will return. They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away" (Isaiah 35).
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Challenges to 'Counter-Cultural' Christianity [Mar. 8th, 2008|10:25 am]
In The Making of the Counter Culture: Reflections on the technoratic society and its youthful opposition, an exploration of the counter-culture of the 1960s, Theodore Roszak notes how the majority of those interested in the counter-culture are youth who were raised within the domains of bourgeois society. Roszak views this as an unanticipated development within the middle and upper classes. Thus, he argues that "the bourgeoisie, instead of discovering the class enemy in its factories, finds it across the breakfast table in the preson of its own pampered children." He then goes on to note the twin perils of this counter-culture: "on the one hand, the weakness of its cultural rapport with the disadvantaged, on the other, its vulnerability to exploitation as an amusing side show of the swinging society."

I think that this is an astute observation, and one that remains true for Christians who are interested in pursuing (or recovering) a counter-cultural form of Christianity within our contemporary context. In particular, I can't help but think of the Emergent Church 'Conversation'. It seems to me that the Emergent Church is, by and large, filled with disillusioned bourgeois Christians, and frequently falls prey to the perils Rozsak notes. It frequently fails to connect with the disadvantaged (even as it talks about AIDS in Africa, and caring for the environment) and is frequently simply a means of amusement, and self-gratification, for those who are no longer amused, or gratified, by the expressions of Christianity that dominated mid-to-late twentieth century America. All that to say, I don't think that there is very much that is 'counter-cultural' about the Emergent Church. Rather, I think it frequently simply counters the culture of modernity, and posits a form of Church that fits well within the dominant culture of 'post-modernity', or 'late capitalism.' Indeed, that the Emergent prefers to be called a 'Conversation' and not a 'Movement' should already be tipping us off to these things!

To a certain degree, I think that the same criticisms, and cautions, should be applied to the New Monasticism. Granted, there seems to be genuine efforts to attain a much deeper connection with the disadvantaged, but the extent of the depth of the New Monasticism remains to be seen. Given the media hype that has surrounded some of its proponents (think Shane Claiborne), I can't help but wonder if a great deal of its popularity is due to the fact that it can be viewed as an 'amusing side show'. Here I am reminded of Herbert Marcuse's response to his own rise to fame after the student revolts of 1968. "I'm very much worried about this," Marcuse said. "At the same time it is a beautiful verification of my philosophy, which is that in this society everything can be co-opted, everything can be digested."

Finally, I think that the same caution can be issued to certain 'hot' theological topics, especially topics that attempt to posit something unique (and thereby counter-cultural) about Christianity. Take, for example, our increasing interest in trinitarian theology. Now I don't want to suggest that we abandon trinitarian thinking (far from it!); what I do want to ensure is that trinitarian theology remains grounded in the proper place. That place, of course, is the cross of Christ, which then also becomes our own places of cruciformity as we follow Christ on the road to the cross. Thus, Jurgen Moltmann (who is surely one of the reasons why trinitarian theology has gotten 'hot') says the following in his recent autobiography, A Broad Place: "the doctrine of the Trinity becomes abstract and loses its relevance without the event of the cross." Rather than being a amusing side show within theology, trinitarian thinking should also lead us to a deeper connection with the crucified Christ, with the crucified people of today, and with our own call to cruciformity.
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February Books [Mar. 5th, 2008|08:08 pm]
Well, as expected, my cover-to-cover book reading has been rather limited this month given both my focus on my thesis research and my desire to read some longer books this year (hence, I've been very slowly working my way through Marx's Grundrisse and Green's NICNT commentary on The Gospel of Luke over the last few months). However, these are the books I managed to finish last month:

1. Christ and Time: The Primitive Christian Conception of Time and History (revised edition) by Oscar Cullmann.
Read more... )
2. Consuming Jesus: Beyond Race and Class Divisions in a Consumer Church by Paul Louis Metzger.
Read more... )
3. Les Justes by Albert Camus.
Read more... )
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Quick Link [Mar. 3rd, 2008|01:34 pm]
I've begun to have an interesting conversation with Dr. Craig Carter, on his blog, about Liberalism, Fascism, Marxism, and Christianity. Not sure if it'll go anywhere, but I thought a few other people might be interested in joining the conversation. Here's the link: https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22805636&postID=3938383778913520460 (be sure to read the original post).
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Cutting the Roots, Instead of Trimming the Branches [Feb. 29th, 2008|12:03 pm]
In 1976, Jean Baudrillard wrote a provocative essay entitled Forget Foucault, wherein he argued that Foucault's discourse, as powerful as it is, is fatally flawed. Drawing on Foucault's writings on both power and sexuality, Baudrillard argued that Foucault was able to speak so well of these things only because the forms of those things were disappearing. Hence, Baudrillard writes that "Foucault spoke so well of power to us... only because power is dead". He then goes on to say that "[Foucault] spoke so well of sexuality only because its form, this great production (that too) of our culture was, like that of power, in the process of disappearing".

Now, I'm not convinced that Baudrillard is correct when he argues that power is "dead" (by this he means that it is "[n]ot mere impossible to locate because of dissemination, but dissolved purely and simply in a manner that still escapes us, dissolved by reversal, cancellation, or made hyperreal through simulation (who knows?)"). Indeed, it seems to me that contemporary capitalism reflects a change in the form of power, but not its death or disappearance -- it continues to exhibit a great concentration of power within particular institutions.

I am, however, more sympathetic to Baudrillard's notion that the form of sexuality is disappearing -- and that got me thinking.

In particular, it got me thinking about criticisms of the State project that have been raised by the likes of Hauerwas, Cavanaugh, and Bell Jr. What if Hauerwas et al. are able to speak so well about the State, because the form of the State is disappearing? Perhaps we are able to so trenchantly criticise the State because the State is, in essence, dead.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't disagree with the criticisms of the State raised by Hauerwas et al. I just think that when such criticisms are limited to the State we are not getting to the root of the problem we are confronting today. At its core, I believe the problem we are confronting today is that of late capitalism (global capitalism, disaster capitalism, call it what you will). Power today is not rooted in the State, it is rooted in global economic forces and institutions, and it is these forces and institutions that then manipulate the State to meet their desired ends. Therefore, rather then focusing overly-much upon the State (and spending all our time trimming branches -- indeed, trimming branches that these institutions are also eager to trim!), it is these economic powers that we must confront if we are to have any hope of digging up the roots of the problem of living Christianly today.
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The Sins of the Father (and a further thought on universalism) [Feb. 28th, 2008|04:23 pm]
You shall not worship [false gods] or serve them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate Me.
~ Ex 20.5

This idea, that God punishes children for the sins of their parents, is one that is widely considered offensive -- to both Christians, and those who stand outside of the Judeo-Christian tradition. Indeed, I have often heard people say, "Who wants to worship a God like that?", assuming that God is some sort of vindictive asshole. Indeed, underlying this objection is a more general refusal of the idea of a God who engages in judgment and who punishes sin. In response, I want to begin with the general point and work my back from there.

In general, it seems to me that God does not actively punish sin. Rather, I believe that God usually punishes sin by passively allowing a person to suffer the consequences of his or her actions. Hence, in the OT, when Israel rebels against God, God permits Israel to chase after other gods, to look to foreign empires to save them (from other foreign empires!), and the result of this is that Israel is dominated by those empires -- she is conquered and led away into exile. Further, in the NT, this seems to be the view that Paul presents in Ro 1.18-32: once people exhange the glory of God for that which is corruptible, God "gives them over" (a phrase Paul uses three times in this passage) to the consequences of that exchange. Stated simply, the punishment for chasing after that which is dehumanising is to be allowed to become less than human.

How then does this relate to our reading of Ex 20.5? I believe that this verse, and the others like it, make it clear that our actions don't simply impact ourselves, but impact others. I am not alone in causing myself to suffer because of my sinfulness; I also cause others to suffer. Hence, the seriousness of sin: when I sin, I cause others to bear the burden of my sinfulness.

Perhaps an examples will help. In my last post, I mentioned kids who suffer from Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS), and the devestating consequences that that can have on the life of a child. Now, it is not as though God, as a vindictive asshole, has chosen to punish a child because his or her mother abuses alcohol; rather, it is that FAS is simply one of the consequences of alcohol abuse. God did not set out to punish the child, but in Ex 20.5, God does let us know that our sins will have a negative impact on our children. Other patterns of abuse confirm this -- sexual, physical, and substance abuses have a way of being passed on from parents to children, and the abused frequently goes on to become an abuser.

However, as I noted at the beginning of this post, this is the way in which God passively punishes sin. When God actively responds to sin, he tends to favour another method: forgiveness. Hence, the full weight of our punishment for sin is revealed on the cross of Christ, and the result of the cross is our forgiveness. Thus, I can't help but wonder if God's final active response to sin -- the return of Christ, the coming of God, and the Day of Judgment -- will also be a great (and terrible!) act of forgiveness. On that day, God will no longer hand us over to the consequences of our decisions -- indeed, there will be no other Power for God to hand us over to, for Sin, Death, Hades, and all other powers in their service will have been defeated! Thus, rather than handing us over, I suspect that God will welcome us home -- all of us.

Hence, as we await that day we have, through the victory of Jesus and the gift of the Spirit, received a wonderful opportunity. Although we know we have been forgiven, we still carry the burden of the sins of others. However, we can now embody and proclaim forgiveness and, in doing so, bear those sins away.

Maranatha!
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N. T. Wright on Hell: Summary and Comments [Feb. 28th, 2008|01:39 pm]
I have always felt some frustration with the way in which N. T. Wright approaches the topic of hell, both because of the positions he engages and because I expect a little more from someone so committed to the larger narrative of Scripture.

I first came across his views in three small articles he had written ("Toward a Biblical View of Universalism" in Themelios 4:2 [1975]: 54-58; "Universalism" in The New Dictionary of Theology, eds. S. B. Ferguson and D. F. Wright [Leicester: IVP, 1988], 701-703; "Universalism in the World-Wide Community" in The Churchman 89:3 [1979]: 197-212), but he has, once again, addressed the topic in his recent book, Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of God. I'll begin by summarising what he says in this book, before making a few comments.

Wright begins, IMO, in the right place by refocusing what Jesus had to say about Gehenna. Essentially, Wright argues, Jesus was warning Israel of what would befall her if she continued to pursue violent revolution and rejected the way of peace that Jesus was offering (Wright expounds on this in more detail in Jesus and the Victory of God). Hence, he argues:

As with God's kingdom, so with its opposite: it is on earth that things matter... Unless they turned back from their hopeless and rebellious dreams of establishing God's kingdom in their own terms... then the Roman juggernaut would do what large, greedy, and ruthless empires have always done to small countries... Rome would turn Jerusalem into a hideous, stinking extension of its own rubbish heap. When Jesus said, "Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish," that is the primary meaning he had in mind.

So far so good, and Wright continues to argue that the parables that appear to address hell directly must be remembered as parables that insist on the pursuit of justice and mercy within the present life.

Hence, he concludes that Jesus offers us no fresh teaching on this topic, but simply follows the normal first-century Jewish belief on this topic -- which does include the belief that some people will be damned.

Wright then goes on the attack against the type of universalism promoted by liberal theologians in the '60s and '70s. He argues that their optimism is naive and that our recent experiences of horrible evils (he names places like Rwanda, Darfur, and the Balkans) remind us that there must be a judgment -- good must be upheld, evil condemned, and the world set right.

Again, this is all well and good, but then Wright's argument continues in a way that I wish to challenge. He argues that setting the world right requires that some have "no place" in the new creation -- in particular, those who have pursued idolatry, and thereby both acted in subhuman ways, and become subhuman creatures. What is the fate of these subhuman creatures? Not the traditional view of endless torment, nor a universalist view of repentance made possible after death, nor, yet again, a conditionalist view that argues that those who presistently refuse God's love, will be annihilated. Rather, Wright argues that the fate of such people is to become "by their own effective choice, beings that once were human but now are not." Hence, he argues that these creatures, existing in an ex-human state "can no longer excite in themselves or others the natural sympathy some feel even for the hardened criminal". In this way, they are "beyond hope, beyond pity".

Ultimately, Wright states that he would "be glad to be proved wrong but not at the cost of the foundational claims that this world is the good creation of the one true God and that he will at the end bring about the judgment at which the whole creation will rejoice." Indeed, he even goes so far as to suggest that Revelation 21-22 might open the door for holding the view that those outside the gates might be healed because the water of life flows out of the city, but he holds back from going any further in this thinking. Thus, he says, regarding this suggestion:

This is not at all to cast doubt on the reality of final judgment for those who have resolutely worshipped and served idolas that dehumanize us and deface God's world. It is to say that God is always the God of surprises.

There are a few points I would like to raise related to Wright's presentation of these things. To begin with, I'm puzzled that he chooses to engage the forms of universalism that he does (and always has). Granted, there are some serious flaws in the liberal universalism that he criticises, but there is another form of universalism that he either doesn't know or ignores -- that is, the hopeful universalism propogated especially by Hans Urs von Balthasar, but also expressed recently by Gregory MacDonald.

Secondly, I'm not sure why Wright links hell so closely to judgment. Indeed, I think the most compelling thing about Moltmann's understanding of eschatology and universalism, is that he deftly and biblically demonstrates that the two need not be held together. It is quite possible for good to be upheld, evil to be condemned, the world set right, and, at the same time, for all people to be saved. Yes, there must be exclusion before there can be an embrace (as Wright argues, following both Volf and Tutu), but that does not mean that the act of exclusion must be final -- it could mean that all will, in the end, be embraced. This point, I think, goes a long way to overthrowing his stated objection to universalism.

Thirdly, given Wright's emphasis upon the biblical narrative, I'm a little surprised that he doesn't think (or at least doesn't say) that the salvation of all might be just the sort of "surprise" that fits rather well within the trajectory of that narrative. Despite the Old Testament material that shows us that the Gentiles would be also be welcomed into the Kingdom of God, the offer of the inclusion still came as a surprise to many in the days of Jesus and Paul. Of course, in retrospect, we 21st-century Christians can see how that inclusion fits the story rather well. I can't help but wonder if a similar surprise awaits us. Given the hints that exist within the Scriptures, we might also see the inclusion of all people in the consummation of the Kingdom.

Fourthly, I'm somewhat troubled by the things to which Wright appeals in order to refute "liberal optimism". In his "catalog of awfulnesses" and his mention of those who are "utterly abhorrent" he lists mass murderers, child rapists, those who engage in "the commodification of souls", and so on. Here's the kicker: over the years I have personally known several people who would fit into these categories, yet I hold onto the hope that they will be saved, and made new, along with the rest of us. I have known those who have tortured and killed others (gang members), I have known those who have sexually exploited children (pimps and johns), and I have known those who have commodified the souls of others (drug dealers), yet I have been unable to "cast the first stone." Now, let me be clear on this: I believe that all of these actions are truly, truly horrible, but I do not yet believe that the people who performed these actions are horrible. Yes, such people must be resisted, yes, they must be held to account; but must they be damned? I don't think so.

Wright, I think, is too quick to demonise the humanity of the Other in these examples. I don't know if he has spent much time with such people, but I wonder how that might change his views. You see, because I have had the opportunity to personally journey alongside of many of these people, I have had a chance to see that most of them had little or no chance to be something other than what they are. Some were born broken, others were so broken when they were young that they never had a chance to develop into anything else (remember most of those who sexually abuse kids, were sexually abused as children -- this is not to suggest that all those who are sexually abused as kids go on to abuse others, but it is a large factor, and I think other circumstances in one's life go a long way to determining whether or not one goes on to abuse others or not). Ultimately, contra Wright, I don't think that it is the human Other that becomes ex-human and is damned. Rather, I think it is the forces that dehumanise the Other -- forces of sickness, of structural evil, and so on -- that are damned, while the person is restored to their fully human status in Christ.

But wait, what do I mean when I say "some were born broken"? A few things: first, some people are born unable to empathise with others or follow moral codes (this is called Antisocial Personality Disorder, or, more commonly, such people are referred to as sociopaths). It is hard to know how to respond to such people. People who never had a conscience. Yes, they can do awful things -- but will they be damned or will they, in the end, be healed? Secondly, I also think of kids born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome -- often born into poor and violent homes. Such kids often have their brains damaged in such a way that they are unable to empathise, and unable to understood the consequences of their actions. Again, it's just the way their brains are wired. I've known a few like this; some were gang-bangers, who had done some awful things, but I'm just not sure that they'll be damned in the end. They, too, might be healed. In such people, sinful actions are the symptom of an underlying brokenness -- a brokenness they had absolutely no control over.

Similarly, for many of those who are not born broken, but are made broken, I cannot help but wonder if those who have not journeyed alongside of people who have experienced great traumas and violence, can really understand the true depth of the impact that trauma and violence can have -- especially on children. If these children grow up to inflict violence upon others this is tragic, but I wonder to what degree they are culpable -- or, rather, I wonder if I would have been able to grow up and be any different, or if any of us would. So, in the end, will these people be damned, or will they, like us, be healed, and made new?

I can't help but think of the scenario in Jn 8.1-11 involving the woman caught in adultery. I wonder, if at the moment of judgment, once we have been fully confronted with both our own sinfulness, our own complicity in the broader structures of sin, and the ways in which those who sinned against us have been sinned against, if what will result is similar to what happens to the woman. In 1 Cor 6.2, Paul tells us that the saints will judge the world. I wonder if this means that God will say "If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone." I wonder then, if we are unable to throw stones, if God will also say to those being judged, "then neither do I condemn you. Come now and leave your life of sin."
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"Miss Heroin" [Feb. 21st, 2008|09:26 am]
Well, continuing with the poetic, I thought I'd post a poem written by a friend of a friend. My friend is an elderly ex-con -- he spent forty years of his life behind bars for bank robberies and for running heroin, before he was found by Jesus. Actually, come to think of it, I should write some more about him one day. Anyway, when he was in prison he had a friend who was addicted to heroin, and this friend wrote the following poem about his addiction.

Before you go thinking it's all sort of cheesy, you should know that this was a suicide note. He killed himself in his cell, and left this poem.

Miss Heroin

So now little man you've grown tired of Grass,
L.S.D, Cocaine & Hash.
And someone trying to be a true friend,
said I'll introduce you to "Miss Heroin."
Well honey before you start fooling with me,
just let me inform you of how it will be.
For I will seduce you and make you my slave,
for I've sent much stronger to their grave.
You think you'll never become a disgrace,
and end up addicted to poppy seed waste.
So you'll start inhaling me one afternoon,
you'll take me into your arms very soon.
You'll swindle your mother just for a buck,
you'll turn into something vile and corrupt.
You'll mug & you'll steal for my narcotic charm,
and feel content when I enter your arm.
And then when you realize the moster you've grown,
you'll solemnly promise to leave me alone.
So sweetie if you've got the mysterical knack,
then sweetie just try getting me off of your back.
The vomit the cramps, your guts tied in a knot,
your jangling nerves screaming for just "1" more shot.
The hot chills, the cold sweat, the withdrawal pains,
can only be saved by my white little grains.
There's no other way, there's no need to look,
for deep down inside you'll know you are hooked.
You'll desparately run to the pusher & then,
you'll welcome back into your arms once again.
And when you return just as I foretold,
I know that you'll give me your body & soul.
You'll give my your morals your conscience your heart
and you will be mine.....

"TILL DEATH DO US PART"
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