God's agenda

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There were once seven young men who embarked on a spiritual quest for enlightenment. They had heard of a desert far away that was full of gurus, miracle-workers, and holy men. They dropped out of society and left their home with nothing more than hope, curiosity, and a few provisions. They traveled to a faraway country. The first holy man they visited lived in a cave on the side of a cliff, a five mile walk into the desert from town. He ate only raw food, was a vegan, and was said to have powers to heal. He was clairvoyant and could see into the future. 

This sounds like California in the 1970’s but actually it was Egypt in the 390’s. The holy father’s name was John of Lycopolis, a saint of the church, and his seven visitors were monks from Palestine. John greeted them joyfully through the hole in the wall of his cave, and the monks asked him to say a prayer. John was ninety years old and a renowned and experienced ascetic. Yet he was a layman and he asked if any of the brothers was a clergyman who could lead them in prayer. One of them was a deacon, but a little shy about it. He had not even told his six companions that he was ordained. Perhaps he was thinking, “This is a holy man full of the grace of the Holy Spirit. I’m just a deacon, what do I have to offer?” He kept silent and stayed back.

The old man looked straight at him, and with the gift of clairvoyance said, “You are a deacon!”

“Oh no, father, you are mistaken!” the young monk replied, a little timidly. John reached out and took the deacon’s hand and kissed it, out of respect for his office.

Yet he gently challenged the young man, “Do not spurn the grace of God, my child, and do not lie by denying the gift of Christ.” The ordained brother accepted the rebuke, and began the visit with prayer. The monks stayed there three days and John gave them good practical advice on living the Christian life.

The deacon was intimidated in the presence of a famous ascetic. He thought the grace that had been bestowed on him at ordination didn’t compare to the grace of the saint. In his fear, he decided to remain silent and out of sight. Perhaps he was newly ordained. A newly ordained deacon is often nervous that someone will criticize the way he swings the censor, or laugh at his mistakes in the altar, or find today’s sermon boring and irrelevant.

All of us, ordained or not, do exactly the same thing as that timid deacon. We sometimes hide our God-given talents and gifts, because we think they don’t measure up. We are afraid that someone will laugh at us, or look down at us. We think “My gifts and talents seem so puny next to his.” Full of fear, we procrastinate on tasks that will bring light to those around us. In the language of the parables, we hide our light under a bushel, or bury our talent in the ground.

When I compare my gifts to someone else’s I make the same mistake as the deacon in the story. I think my gifts and talents are my possessions, rather than God’s gifts. I compare the gifts I think are mine with that guy’s gifts and I feel like I just don’t measure up. Fearfully, I keep part of myself silent and out of view. When we do this, we are denying God’s grace; we say “no” to God’s agenda for us.

But how do we say “yes” to God’s agenda for us? Remember the story of Andrew the Apostle in the gospel of John. John the Baptist was standing in his camelskin suit by the Jordon with two of his disciples, Andrew and John. It was late afternoon on the day after Jesus’s baptism.

John saw Jesus and said to his two disciples, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”

The two disciples heard this and went to Jesus. Maybe they hoped that Jesus would take away their sin. Maybe they saw something special in Jesus’s countenance. Maybe they just couldn’t take one more meal of locusts and wild honey.

Jesus saw them and said, “What are you looking for?”

“Teacher, where are you staying?” they replied. “Come and see.” Jesus told them. So they followed him and stayed where he was staying. Andrew then found his brother, Simon Peter, and told him, “We have found the Messiah!” By being the first one to proclaim that Jesus is the Messiah, Andrew said yes to God’s agenda for him. Unlike the timid deacon, he did not spurn God’s grace and he did not lie by denying the gift of Christ, but embraced the mission given to him by God.

Each of us has talents and gifts given to us by God. Each of us has a unique place in God’s universe. We may not know God’s plan for our whole life. We do not know what we will be doing after graduation, or in a year, or in ten years. We may not know if we are called into church work or not. But Christ calls you and me to be faithful to the mission he gives us today. As baptized Christians, we belong to Christ, not to ourselves. Our agenda for the day is set by Christ, not by us.

Perhaps your day will be filled with study, domestic duties, or administrative tasks. Today’s agenda probably does not seem as exciting as Andrew’s was that day by the Jordon. But we follow Andrew’s example when we faithfully attend to today’s tasks even when we don’t want to, even when our gifts seem puny next to those of our peers. When we use our talents and gifts with courage, for the service of our Lord and our neighbor, in whatever task we are presently occupied with, we answer the call of Christ. 

*This was originally given as a homily on the feast of St. Andrew

Guilt-free life

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One of my favorite television shows is Firefly. The writing is clever, the characters are likable, and the fans of the show are madly loyal. Think wild west in space. But... not boring like I made it sound. 


The outlaw Malcolm Reynolds (below right) is the captain of a small spaceship that scraps together a living among the frontier planets by thieving, smuggling, and avoiding the "feds." One of the paying passengers is Shepherd Book (above, and below left), who is a Christian clergyman.

In one memorable exchange, the Shepherd is convalescing in the ship's sick bay. He had received special emergency health care by the feds after showing them his identity card. Something from Shepherd's past had given him high-security clearance with the bad guys. Was Shepherd's history was not as idyllic as his clerical occupation suggested?

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Malcolm had expected to be arrested and wondered why they had such cooperation from the feds. He visited Sheperd in the sick bay and asked him, "What kind of ident card gets us that kind of reception and send-off?"

Book responded, "I am a shepherd. Folks like a man of God."

Sensing he was avoiding a direct answer Malcolm said, "No, they don't. Men of God make everyone feel guilty and judged. That's not what I saw. You like to tell me what really happened?"

Shepherd answered mysteriously "I surely would... and maybe someday I will." The show's cancellation ended any further exploration of Book's secret past.

Mal's comment points to a sad fact: the guilt trip is alive and well. Christians use it. all. the. time. Liberal Christians feel guilty for driving anything other than a Prius. Conservative Christians feel guilty for thinking about sex. Orthodox Christians feel guilty for eating meat on Friday. Catholic Christians just feel guilty.

Guilt is used by Christians to motivate good thoughts and behavior and discourage bad behavior. The problem is that guilt doesn't work too well as a motivator. It tends to make us feel guilty for sin and not help us stop sinning. Instead of only suffering the ill effects of our sin, we suffer the sin and the guilt. Adding suffering to suffering drives people away from the church, and away from the medicine for sin: Christ.

The guilt trip arises from the idea that we can stop sinning if we want to and try hard enough. But this is not what Paul says. The human default is slavery to sin. Slavery. We are not strong enough or smart enough to free ourselves from this slavery. Jesus Christ redeems us from this slavery. Redemption is manumission, buying a slave out of slavery. We do not and cannot redeem ourselves. Feeling guilty about it does not help us to be free in Christ.

The guilt trip is a last gasp effort of the ego to have its way. I want to not sin, and darn it, I'm going to do it myself. To guilt trip is to pray “God, we no longer need you to care for us, since we do justice for ourselves.” 


The outlaw Malcolm Reynolds cautions Christians to go easy on the guilt. It doesn't work, and is really pride in disguise. Guilt's antidote is humility. Humility is not a permissive attitude to sin. Rather, humility engenders freedom from sin. 

Wrestling with Demons

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Demons and devils are the personification of evil. To think of demons is to imagine that misfortunes, temptations, and sufferings are caused, not by accident or by impersonal “forces of nature” but by sentient beings. Belief in demons arose from a time and place where it was assumed that all events and phenomena, good or bad, originated from a person. Demons were part of a worldview in which the universe was inhabited by a rich variety of unseen persons: angels, demons, saints, dragons, monsters, powers and principalities, thrones and dominions.

We no longer always assume that events and phenomena have their origin in persons; we believe in impersonal or abstract forces of nature. The unseen realm has been all but depopulated. Nature is morally neutral. Bad things “just happen.” Misfortune is just unhappy accident. Demons, it seems, have been given the metaphysical pink slip; we no longer need their services to explain evil. Humans, and perhaps God, are all that is left of the sentient beings in the universe.

This difference in worldview makes it difficult to understand the writings of Scripture and the early church. However strange those writings seem to us today, it is worth making the intellectual leap into their worldview. Early Christians spoke about demons in order to understand the mysterious source of evil. Belief in demons helped them explain a particular part of life that still puzzles us today. “Why do I do things I don’t want to do?”

The first Christians knew that the biggest evils start out small. Evil cuts through the heart of every man and woman; temptation is just around the corner. Evil does not only exist “out there” in genocidal maniacs, illegal immigrants, or politicians. Imagining demons as the source of evil can help us grasp and name evil, from the most egregious to the most subtle. Demon-talk shows us that the most visible and heinous evils are only magnifications of the smallest secret evils.

The same demon causes both the smallest prideful thought and genocide. He whispers in our ear, offering judgmental thoughts about our neighbor next to us. “That guy is really stupid,” he suggests. We enjoy thinking that we are better than our neighbor, and we can get in the habit of thinking like this. What starts as the demon’s provocation can become a habit. We begin to think that not only is that guy stupid, but other people too, whole groups of people, are stupid. This can progress until we think it’s a good idea to kill all the Jews, capitalists, or other scapegoated minority. Perhaps this is an oversimplification, but it seems that Jesus himself held this opinion. (Read, for example, the gospel of Matthew, chapter 5.)

Their way of imagining evil in the world has diagnostic and therapeutic credibility even if we are skeptical of its etiological usefulness. Demon-talk is the early Church’s ethical technology. Even if we are not solidly convinced on the demons existence, we can employ this technology. When I hear the demon whisper “That guy is really stupid” I can choose to indulge the thought and take fleeting pleasure in feeling superior to my neighbor. When I indulge this thought, it interferes with my own happiness. Alternatively, I can turn away from the thought and pray. Although I seem to be unable to stop the demon’s suggestions from entering in my thoughts, the Lord, who is victorious over the powers of evil, never fails to help me. The prideful thought against my neighbor begins to dissipate, and is replaced by love.

Thinking of demons and devils seems at first glance to be an outdated superstition. However, on  closer examination, this personification of evil may show us the way to overcoming stubborn thoughts and desires that work against our own best interests.

Religion Poisons Everything

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In today's modern world, what's the use of religion? It's simply old-fashioned superstition. Stories from the Bible are fairy tales. We don't need rituals like baptism and communion. Worse yet, fanatics from one religion kill extremists from another. Church leaders abuse children and steal money. Religion makes people stupid and evil. Jesus was a nice guy, but God's just not for me.

When you hear talk like that, it seems that belief in God is becoming rare these days. Maybe you have family members or friends who talk like this. Perhaps, although it is hard to admit it, you have heard doubts like this in your own mind.

Many Christians, even leaders and clergy, doubt but continue to come to church out of tradition, guilt, or fear. At times, we wish we could believe in Jesus Christ but don't. Church is boring; we think, “When will this service end so I can go home and watch my the game?" When we pray, we fear that no one out there is listening. Our prayer life is reduced to a quick “Our Father,” before bed just to cover our bases in case we die in our sleep. We think, "God, why did you take away my faith? Why don't I feel good when I pray anymore?” At times of doubt, religious practice stops giving us the comfort and assurance that we need.

But we want our piety to give us some happiness, comfort, or security. We enjoy beautiful worship and music. We meet new and interesting people at coffee hour. Being a Christian makes me feel like a respectable member of society, and reassures me that when I die I’ll go to heaven.

The comfort and assurance that comes from church, prayer, and Christian fellowship is great help in getting through our daily struggles. We all need the social support that we find in Christian fellowship. Yet when my religious practice stops giving me the comfort I want, my mixed motives are revealed. Maybe I've been using my religion selfishly. Maybe I use my piety to avoid or smooth over the rough spots in my life. When I’m caught off guard by fear of death, I start thinking about heaven as quick as I can, so that I don’t have to admit my mortality.

Times of doubt show us, in short, our childish and superficial approach to God. The use of religion to control our level of comfort is not real faith in Christ.

It seems that God sometimes allows a Christian’s piety to be removed for a season. This is not so that the Christian leaves the church and gives up on God. Rather, these times of doubt can be opportunities for spiritual growth. If we are honest and humble, sharing our thoughts with someone else, a pastor or a trusted friend, a period of doubt can be the time when false piety and magical thinking are removed. We can move from selfish piety to trust in Christ.

With honesty and humility, we can ask the Lord for help, even when he feels far away; we learn to rely more fully on Him. After all, I do not create God by my own piety. Reliance on our own piety gives way to real trust. We begin to trust that Jesus is Lord of the universe, and loves all humankind. Times of doubt are an opportunity to turn away from the false self and turn towards the true self, Jesus Christ.

When we learn, little by little, to trust in Jesus Christ rather than our own unaided will, we let ourselves be guided by Him. We let him take care of all those problems we see around us. It’s a relief not to be in the driver’s seat. Surely the creator and savior of all will be a better manager of my life than I will be. Guided by God’s will, we find joy and comfort that we couldn’t find when we were trying to control our lives.

Spiritually pwned

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Several years ago, while I still aspired to be a theology scholar, I was in the midst of finals. This is a stressful time. With papers to complete, and exams to prepare for, there are many opportunities to practice being anxious and overwhelmed. I knew that my perfectionism lay behind much of my stress. If I hadn't been so worried to produce a perfect piece of writing, or ace an exam, I would be far more relaxed.

I was speaking about this with someone I had recently met, wallowing in the self-pity and drama of the finals season. I mentioned that I wanted to stop being a perfectionist but didn't know how. 

"Do you know what I do when I'm acting like a perfectionist?" he asked me.

"No, what?" I replied, wondering what esoteric psychological technique he employed.

"I ask God to help me do it imperfectly," was his answer.

This man, I don't even know what his religion was, provided such a simple and humble answer to my dilemma. I, with my multiple theology degrees, had overlooked the obvious. Pwned.

Why Confess?

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Why should I confess my sins? To be honest, I'm often not sure what's a sin and what isn't. Is it a sin to get angry? Sure, if I lose my temper and start swearing and screaming--that seems to be a sin. But feeling angry at someone who insults me--that's natural, isn't it? What's a sin anyway? Do I need to confess every temptation and passing thought? 

And after all, doesn't God know my mistakes? He's supposed to know everything, right? I can't hide anything from him anyway, so why should I dredge up all that garbage from the past?

And to go to a priest and tell him all this stuff? Are you kidding me? My pastor's the last one I want to know all that embarrassing stuff! I've got to be on my best behavior in church. If anyone knew what went on in my life and in my mind, they would never speak to me again.

My mind gives me many reasons not to reveal my failings to someone else. Yet the wisdom of our elders tells us that revealing our darkest secrets to someone else is an important step in our spiritual journey.

A young man who wanted to join a monastery in the golden age of Egyptian monasticism had to spend a year under the guidance of an elder. In that year, the would-be monk was not to trust in his own judgment but was to reveal every thought and temptation to the elder. This was not some sadistic hazing, but practice in complete honesty and openness. Without transparency, no one can progress in the spiritual life. If temptations remain secret, they maintain their power over us.*

Honesty is like looking into the cellar. We may be frightened the first time we open the cellar door, but if we have someone else there with us, it's not so scary. When we open the door and turn on the light, we have a clear view of what spiders, insects, mice, and dust bunnies are there. With the help of a friend, and the grace of God, we can start to clean out the cellar little by little.

Those of us who wish to be freed from the hold that sinful thoughts and habits have over us benefit from frequently admitting our faults and temptations to someone we trust. Those who belong to a church that includes sacramental or regular confession have ready access to someone who will listen confidentially. Others may have to look harder for a friend or professional whom they can trust. Until we find someone we can confide in, we might try writing down our secrets in a journal, just to practice being honest and open. Psychologists and saints both recommend writing at times. Even if we confess formally at church, sometimes speaking to a trusted friend or writing in a journal may be helpful between confessions.

If openness and honesty open the door to the fruits of the spirit, perhaps it's worth a little embarrassment. Time for confession?

*John Cassian, Institutes, 4. IX and XXXVII

Ordinary Holiness

Every once in a while, a candid video finds its way around the internet. Videos like this show people in unguarded situations, where they are not trying to look good or put on a show. Sometimes these videos are embarrassing or scandalous. Sometimes they are cute or touching. These videos fascinate us because they reveal human beings at the most vulnerable and intimate moments.

Recently, a video (above) of an elderly married couple accidentally recording themselves on their webcam has become popular. At moments it is funny, as when the husband makes a monkey face, and sings "Hello my baby...." while the wife gently allows him be silly. At times it is rather intimate, as when he makes clear he still finds his wife beautiful and attractive. At one point, she starts to get frustrated with herself for not understanding the software, and he responds gently, "You'll do fine, you'll learn."

This married couple seems to be comfortable and safe together. There is no criticism, manipulation, or impatience here. I am sure that at other times in this couple's life there is conflict and sadness, as in all marriages. But in these two minutes and fifty-six seconds, there seems to be none of that. Their words and manner suggest a great love for one another.

The kingdom of heaven peeks in at surprising times if we look for it.

I don't have enough time to pray

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I have no time to pray. I have two young children, a demanding academic schedule, a wife who has a full time job, an internship, friendships to maintain, dinner to cook, clothes to wash, groceries to get, choir practice, exercise...and today I have to take the car for an oil change. I can say the Lord's Prayer real quick and I'm always at church Sunday morning, but I just don't have time to really pray, read Scripture, or be silent in the presence of God.

I often imagine that if I was a monk, then I'd really have time to pray. I wouldn't have kids running around needing their noses wiped while I'm trying to commune with the Creator of all. I could leave behind the cares of the world, and sit quietly enjoying the divine presence.

But now, in the midst of life, I just don't have time to pray. Or do I?

On of the earliest experts on the spiritual life, John Cassian, wrote about the zealous monks in Egypt in a book called The Institutes. The life of these monks was one of extreme austerity. They fasted often and slept little. In the night, the monks would come together to pray Psalms and read Scripture. Then each would retire to his own cell to continue his own prayer.

Cassian makes it clear that the monk would work while he prayed. As the monk braided rope or wove baskets he kept his inner meditation. He tried to keep his mind attentive on the heart, rather than daydreaming, worrying, fantasizing, remembering, or giving in to various mental temptations. Continual labor was not a hindrance to "prayer time." Rather toil was an "anchor" which kept the heart at peace.

This stillness of the heart is the freedom from sin that we all aim for. It is the first step in real communion with Jesus Christ. If Cassian is correct, it is within our reach.

It may be more difficult to maintain inner stillness with all worries of family life or career life. We may benefit from set-apart and scheduled time for prayer and meditation on Scripture. Yet, we may follow the example of the Egyptian monks and work towards inner stillness while we labor.

I do have enough time to pray.

(John Cassian, Institutes, Book 2, XIV)

What's the use?

This is a photograph of a sloth.

One day Anthony, a monk, was overcome by thoughts of hopelessness and lack of motivation. He thought he'd give up his monastic life, and go get a job and get married. As he observed negative thoughts beginning to overwhelm him, he cried to the Lord, "I want to stay here and find salvation, but my thoughts keep suggesting that it's all futile. What's the use? How shall I be saved from these disturbing thoughts?"

Once again, an answer was presented to him. He saw a man sitting, weaving baskets, then getting up to pray. He continued to work and pray, work and pray. Anthony heard a voice, "This is what you should do to be saved from your disturbing thoughts." His hopelessness gave way to joy and hope. Anthony continued to work and pray, and watch over his heart, and his troublesome thoughts left him. He was saved from his anguish by a gentle vision giving him simple instructions for living.

When faced with temptation, Anthony had some choices. Should he give in to the negative thoughts that disturbed his peace, and urged him to give up the monastic life? Or should he simply "man up" and force the thoughts away? He knew that he was not strong enough to combat these thoughts on his own. He liked to tell other monks "Do not trust in your own righteousness." In other words, "You're not as strong, upright, and moral as you think you are. You need help, and so do I." Knowing the futility of fighting against temptation on his own strength, he neither gave in to his negative thoughts nor relied on his own strength to save him. He called out for help from the one who is strong enough to help--the Lord.

Seeing his own helplessness in the face of disturbing thoughts forced Anthony to rely on the Lord. Ironically, his helplessness was the gateway to victory over those temptations. Anthony liked to say to his fellow monks, "We all need temptations to be saved." Temptations, if we watch for them, provide an opportunity to ask God for help, and rely more fully on Him. Temptations can break down that harsh master, our own ego. Temptations can produce humility and compassion, and we need them to mature and become closer and more like Jesus Christ.

(Stories taken from Benedicta Ward. Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Alphabetical Collection. Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1975, pp. 1-9.)

Vigilance

The Temptation of St. Anthony -Salvador Dali

One day, a monk named Anthony was sitting in his cave, weaving his baskets, pondering the state of the world. He was thinking about suffering, injustice, and poverty. He started to get bothered and a little bit angry. How can an all-powerful and loving God allow such suffering stain the His beautiful universe? In his righteous irritation, he prayed, "Lord why do some people die as babies, yet others live long lives. Why do some men starve on the street while others eat and drink their fill in palaces? Why does a good man work hard all his life and die penniless while a wicked man gets rich off the labor of his slaves?"

Anthony heard a voice answer him. "Anthony, keep your focus on yourself. All things are according to God's plan, and it will not help you to know the answers to your questions."

The voice did not answer Anthony's concerns. Anthony did not find out why suffering and injustice exists. The answer suggested Anthony should change where his attention was focused. In effect, the voice said "You will never know the answers to your questions, and even if you did, it would not help you. Instead of agonizing over these philosophical dilemmas, be vigilant over your own heart and mind to make sure that you do not become one of those wicked men you're complaining about. 'The good man out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil man out of his evil treasure produces evil; for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.' (Luke 7.45) If you continue to focus on the evil of other men, you will fill your heart with anger and resentment and risk becoming just like them."

Anthony spent his life watching over his heart and mind. He saw that the mind is nearly continuously presented with opportunities to be angry, hateful, greedy, lustful, proud, judgmental, gluttonous, depressed, and self-absorbed. Even though Anthony had great success in keeping evil thoughts at bay, he was tempted until the day of his death. These temptations did not hinder him from becoming a holy man. Ironically, as we shall see, temptations became the way he acquired holiness.

(Stories taken from Benedicta Ward. Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Alphabetical Collection. Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1975, pp. 1-9.)

Defense against the Dark Arts

“…for we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.” Ephesians 6.12 

The words of the New Testament and of early Church Fathers are familiar to Christians. We hear the words repeated in liturgy and prayer. If we have some further education we may be familiar with some of their theology or hagiography. We consider their words to be instructive, and in some sense authoritative. In many ways, the life of the ancient Christian must have been very similar to ours. They needed to eat and drink, support a family, deal with illness and death, and relate to other people. They prayed, sang, danced, produced works of art, built roads, and paid taxes. Yet the world view of the Scripture and the early church often seems distant and foreign. Many miraculous healings and happenings seem to us to strain credibility. Our treasured New Testament is filled with healings, miracles, visions, appearances of the dead, and demon possession. Other literature of the early Church is just as strange. Ascetics fast for longer than seems plausible to us, speak with demons and angels, and do such strange acts as living atop pillars. The death-defying tortures of martyrs are described in grisly detail, yet the martyr seems to suffer not the slightest inconvenience.

Contemporary readers often choose to ignore or downplay the stranger parts of Christian literature. Patristic theologians focus on the doctrinal discussions of the Fathers rather than their more bizarre accounts of miracles and the supernatural. Other readers may seek to find the “real” meaning. A given story of a miraculous healing is read as “really” about faith in Christ, or some other abstraction more plausible to us. Perhaps a great number of contemporary readers dismiss the stories and associated religion altogether. A fourth group may piously read the narratives as literal and keep a lookout for demons, angels, and healings at every opportunity.

The worldview of the early Christians is often not fully understood or taken into account. To understand it, we might learn from the discipline of anthropology, whose practitioners are in a similar position to so-called primitive cultures they study as we are to the early Church. In one study of the mythology of Native North American religion, the Robin and Tonia Riddington write, “Mythical cosmologies are not the attempt of savages to explain in fantasy where empirical knowledge is absent, but are rather the opposite—statements in allegorical form about knowledge of the interrelations between what we would call natural (objective), psychic (psychological), and cultural (learned adaptational) aspects of reality.”[1] Mythic narrative, or if you must, stories of the supernatural, conveys knowledge, not fantasy. It stands at the intersection of three things: sensory observation of the world, inner psychological experience, and social expression. Presumably, human sensory perception, the phenomena they observe, and human emotions are more or less the same as they always have been. The learned response and expression of those things is what differs. In order to understand the strange stories of the early Christians, it is helpful to listen respectfully and sympathetically to the mythic narratives they produced.

One aspect of early Christianity that is not well understood is the widespread belief in demons and other malevolent spiritual beings. There are a number of familiar yet strange Gospel stories of Jesus casting out demons, and less-familiar discussion of “principalities” and “spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places” in the writings of Paul.

Demons also play a prominent role in the literature that arose from what is called early monasticism. Men and women began to move into wilderness areas of Egypt and Palestine in the third and fourth centuries to devote themselves more fully to Christian practice. They prayed, fasted, performed works of mercy, and tried to cultivate the Christian virtues. Broadly speaking, two forms of literature arose from this movement: narrative and exposition. Evil spirits appear in both types of writing. In one story about Macarius the Great, the saint sees Satan walking to the desert with a number of small flasks. Each flask contained “food for the brethren to taste.” Satan explains, “…if a brother does not like one sort of food, I offer him another, and if he does not like the second any better, I offer him a third; and of all these varieties he will like one at least.”[2] As the narrative continues, we find that Satan is seen as the source of a particular monk’s sexual temptation, to use our term for it. As the story continues, Macarius suggests certain practices that will relieve the monk of that temptation. In this example, language of the demons is not mere superstition, but provides a way to deal with a specific moral or psychological problem, sexual temptation.

In expository literature, demons and evil spirits are also seen, as in the following example by Evagrius.

"All thoughts inspired by the demons produce within us conceptions of sensory objects; and in this way the intellect, with such conceptions imprinted on it, bears the forms of these objects within itself. So by recognizing the object presented to it, the intellect knows which demon is approaching. For example, if the face of a person who has done me harm or insulted me appears in my mind, I recognize the demon of rancor approaching… [A]ll thoughts producing anger or desire in a way that is contrary to nature are caused by demons. Thus it cannot receive the vision of God."[3]

This example describes a common psychological phenomenon. Within a person’s thoughts a memory is produced of someone who has wronged him appears, and anger is rekindled. We might call this resentment. Evagrius suggests that the initial remembering of the old enemy is produced not by the some part of the person’s mind but by an external cause: “the demon of rancor.” The person responds to the thought or image of the old enemy and is thereby culpable for that anger, but the provocation or temptation to anger is produced by a demon. The initial cause of this evil is external and unnatural to humankind. Moreover, even if the provocation does not produce angry behavior, the attachment to anger itself is enough to hinder the “vision of God.”

Within the mythic cosmology that was widespread in the ancient Mediterranean, those early desert Christians explored the extremities of human psychology and adopted practices and rituals in order to transform and heal those who practiced them. Our Christianity is poorer if we neglect the treasure that these saints left for us. Yet due to the difference in world view, this literature is often neglected, misunderstood, or used for a source of proof texts. 

To learn from the desert fathers we have to listen carefully to what they have to say about the healing of the human soul, with all due care to historical and theological method. Hopefully, we can communicate that message to the contemporary reader who does not share the worldview of the ancient Mediterranean so that we may share the fruits of the spirit from those who have labored for them in the desert. 

[1] Robin and Tonia Ridington. "The Inner Eye of Shamanism and Totemism." Tedlock, Dennis Tedlock and Barbara, eds. Teachings from the American Earth: Indian Religion and Philosophy. (New York: Liveright, 1975), p. 191.

[2] Benedicta Ward. Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Alphabetical Collection. Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1975, p. 126.

[3] Evagrios Pontikos. “Texts on Discrimination in respect of Passions and Thoughts” in St. Nikodemos of the Holy Mountain and St. Makarios of Corinth, eds., The Philokalia, G.E.H. Palmer, et. al., trans. and ed., London: Faber and Faber, 1979, pp. 38-39.

Sermon: Matthew 9.27-35

The following is a slightly edited sermon delivered at a preaching class. As I am new to preaching, I thought I would share it with the hopes of benefiting from your comments:

Photo credit

This reading is from the gospel of Matthew. It presents us with a story of Jesus who heals two blind men and casts a demon out of a man, restoring his ability to speak. The story takes place a little before halfway through the gospel. Up to this point in the gospel of Matthew, Jesus had begun his ministry by preaching “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” He assembled followers and preached his message in the well-known “Sermon on the Mount.” He healed the sick without prejudice or partiality. He healed social outcasts, non-Jews, and women. He even raised from the dead the young daughter of one of the rulers of the synagogue. Matthew tells us through stories that Jesus is the one the Prophet Isaiah had spoken of: “He took our infirmities and bore our diseases.” [Isaiah 53.4] As the crowds saw the miraculous healings that Jesus performed, they “glorified God, who had given such authority to men” the evangelist tells us. [Matt. 9.8]

As Jesus was travelling with his disciples, word began spread of this mysterious teacher, who was descended from King David himself, and who preached that the kingdom of God is near. He was not merely a teacher, but the kingdom seemed already to be near when Jesus was around. People marveled to one another saying, “Never before was anything like this seen in Israel!” Perhaps he is the Christ, the Messiah that will save us from the heel of Roman oppression. The word gave hope to those who were sick and infirm. The rumor must have reached the blind men in our story. Yet Jesus was met with scorn by the religious leaders of the day. The Pharisees doubted that his power to heal came from God, but said “He casts out demons by the prince of demons.”

As Jesus travelled, so the story tells us, two blind men followed him, crying out, and causing a great deal of commotion, “Have mercy on us, Son of David.” Jesus does not heal them in the open, but continues to his destination. Jesus’s healings are not just for show, not to draw attention to himself. When the two blind men approach him, Jesus asks “Do you believe that I am able to do this?” In other words, “Do you trust me?” And without hesitation they reply “Yes, Lord.” They immediately express their trust that Jesus could heal their blindness—He can do what no human power is able to do. No doctor, no other prophet or holy man had given them sight. Their trust of Jesus is extraordinary.

Jesus touched their eyes and said “According to your faith be it done to you.” And their eyes were opened.

What is this faith that these men possessed? What did it mean for them to trust Jesus’s power to heal them? These two men came in their weakness, in their frailty, their powerlessness, and asked Jesus to have mercy on them. They asked Jesus to do what they were utterly incapable of doing. They had little doubt that Jesus could heal them.

The opposite of this faith is not doubt, but pride. Shortly before Jesus healed the blind men, a scribe came to Jesus and confidently proclaimed “Teacher I will follow you wherever you go.” He desired to follow Jesus, and was confident that he could. Jesus gave this man a strange reply, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head.” I’m not sure what Jesus was saying with this cryptic reply, but he did not say “I’m really glad you want to follow me, why don’t you join us?” He did not praise the man’s commitment as he commended the blind men’s faith. He dismissed him. Where the blind men came to Jesus in their poverty and weakness, the scribe came to Jesus with good intentions, yet full of confidence in his own strength. Trusting in my own strength is the opposite of faith.

The story of the healing of the blind men is an instance of something Jesus will say later in the Gospel. He said, “Whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith.” (Matt 21.22) The blind men asked in faith, and received their sight. This story is instructional for us. We are to trust in the Lord and ask for his mercy. We are not to set up some sort of rule for ourselves: If I pray in this way, or fast, or be more self-disciplined or... The effort of our will, without faith, without God’s help, is useless. Although the story speaks of physical blindness, the important thing is spiritual blindness. We do not have eyes to see, and we do not have sufficient strength to follow Christ’s commands. We have hearts of stone, not loving God with all of our strength; we don’t love our neighbor as ourselves. We are too preoccupied and tangled up in thoughts, resentments and anxieties to do so.

Although this sounds depressing, this is good news. Our Lord tells us: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick… for I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Matt 9.12-13) We who are unwell can admit our frailties, yet trust in God to help us. It is precisely our weakness that the Lord bears for us.

Even in our doubt, in our lack of faith, the Lord can help us. At another time, a man who asked Jesus to heal his son, yet lacked faith cried out “I believe; help my unbelief!” and his son was healed. [Mark 9.24] Even those of us who are not gifted with unshakeable faith can trust the Lord to do what we can’t.

The church gives us the opportunity to imitate the blind men in our story. When we confess our shortcomings to one another and to the Lord, we admit our spiritual blindness, our hard-heartedness, the futility of our will to accomplish the Lord’s commandment of love without his aid. When we partake of the bread and wine, we approach our Lord, ask for his mercy, and he touches us. By relying on the Lord, rather than our own strength, we can begin to be healed of our infirmities, and be transformed into what we our creator intended us to be: men and women who see with new eyes and love him and our neighbor with new hearts.

Partiality

I am a student at seminary located in the leafy suburbs of a major US city. The seminary looks out over an understated but relatively wealthy neighborhood. The respectable residents of these beautiful quiet streets commute every morning to the city and bring home city paychecks. In the summer months, early mornings hiss with those automatic sprinklers that keep the lawns green and lush no matter how dry the weather gets. Mexican laborers manicure the gardens and keep the stainless steel kitchen shiny. Things are comfortable and good. On days with snow on the trees, or when the leaves are turning color and lit by the low autumn sun, it is a beautiful place to be. Glory to God!

One road snakes through campus. Recently, construction closed the road and split the campus in half. Some dorms were inaccessible by car. The back gate was opened so that students could drive to those dorms. One day, in a fit of lethargy inspired by a trip to the local donut shop, I decided to drive rather than walk to the dorms by the back gate. This was the first time I had driven through the neighborhood on the back side of seminary, the neighborhood on the opposite side of the aforementioned leafy 'burb. This neighborhood is a rather drab collection of town houses and apartment blocks, with patchy lawns and litter. The residents of this neighborhood seem to be working or lower working class, and much more racially diverse. This neighborhood, which is less prestigious, and a little grubby, is usually completely cut off from the campus. 

The geography of my own seminary expresses certain aspirations and hopes. It faces the neighborhood that is more respectable, comfortable, and wealthy. Nothing wrong here, right? We all (including me) aspire to improve our financial and social situation. We want beauty around us, and we want to live relatively comfortably. These things are a gift of God, and not to be taken for granted.

Yet a fence and locked gate cuts off the campus from the less desirable neighborhood. We face what we want and turn our back to other neighbors.

We think of ourselves as this church: 

photo credit here

We do not think of ourselves as this church:

photo credit here

As I pondered this, I happened to read this passage of Scripture: 

"My brethren, show no partiality as you hold the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory. For if a man with gold rings and in fine clothing comes into you assembly, and a poor man in shabby clothing also comes in, and you pay attention to the one who wears the fine clothing and say, "Have a seat here, please," while you say to the poor man, "Stand there," or, "Sit at my feet," have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts?... If you really fulfill the royal law, according to scripture, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself," you do well. But if you show partiality, you commit sin, and are convicted by the law as transgressors." (James 2.1-9)

God gave human beings the desire for comfort, respectability, and financial security. These qualities produce stability and continuity in human society. Yet, as many early desert Christians knew, these desires can become more important than they should be, and cut us off from the love of God and neighbor.

Why I'm not worried about a demographic crisis

photo by Chandler David Poling

Among various Christian groups, there is an argument that goes something like this:

• "Christian Civilization" is threatened due to the decline of the population of Christians in traditionally Christian nations. 
• This decline is due to the encroachment of the ideas of modern secular humanism, which encourage women to delay marriage and childbearing by means of birth control and abortion, decreasing the Christian birth-rate.
• Moreover, the population of non-Christians is increasing in traditionally Christian countries due to immigration of non-Christians who still have large families.
• Christian women need to embrace their "highest calling" and have many babies and bring them up in the church to stop this demographic crisis.

This is admittedly a straw-man, but one hears various versions of this floating around from time to time. Here's why I'm not worried about a demographic crisis:

Jesus said "Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, to the close of the age." Matthew 28.19. This command, the "great commission" is far from finished. There are nearly 7 billion people on this planet. 7 billion! Probably 5 billion of the do not know Christ, and perhaps a bundle of the 2 billion or so Christians are Christians in name only. That's a lot of nations that have not had disciples made of them.

Trying to keep the demographics like they were in the good-old days means we don't minister to those on our doorstep who don't look or act like Christians. Let's bring in the harlots and the publicans and the Samaritans rather than be anxious about breeding more PLU's.

A simple Christian faith suggests trying to do what Christ says we should do rather than wringing our hands about this or that thing we perceive as problematic or evil. The Lord is in control of the world, not humans.  

By all means, have babies, have lots of them, and love them! Bring them into the church and raise them to be faithful Christians. Be fruitful and multiply! Don't give into the temptation seek consequence-free sex, or to indulge your every desire. At the same time, neither "Christian civilization" nor babies are the "one thing needful."

Reading after Fundamentalism I

 

Photo: Morgana Wilborn

In the last centuries of human life, the methods of natural sciences have produced great blessings for mankind: vaccines, abundant and secure food supplies, and Marshmallow Fluff, to name a few. The runaway success of the scientific method, which depends upon objectivity, experimentation, replication, and empirical observation, has convinced many of us that knowledge derived from scientific inquiry is the only real knowledge.

When we read, we tend to consider that we are reading in one of two ways. Non-fiction is objective, that is, it reveals some objective truth about the universe. Fiction is subjective, good for entertainment or creative self-expression. Non-fiction is important, fiction is fun.

When believers read the Christian scriptures, we tend to think of them as important non-fiction. We bring our more-or-less scientifically educated minds to the task. We have kind of a sieve through which we sort what we read. "This must be true." or "This cannot possibly be true." In short, we are concerned primarily to sort out our truth claims.

Unfortunately, well-intentioned zeal for truth may lead us to misunderstand what we read. When modern biblical criticism began to question the historical accuracy of the account of Genesis, some Christians totally freaked out, and begat one of the most well-intentioned bad ideas in the history of well-intentioned bad ideas: fundamentalism. Whereas until now the historical truth of scripture had been more or less assumed, (although some influential church fathers felt quite comfortable denying it) with fundamentalism, the literal truth and inerrancy of the bible became a litmus test of correct dogma, and a tool for hatred, in some cases. In any case, fundamentalists often miss the forest for the trees. Sometimes it seems that understanding what scripture says is less important to fundamentalists than defending biblical innerrancy as a doctrine.

However, perhaps so-called fundamentalism and so-called modernism are two sides of the same coin, products of the same presuppositions. Both value truth which has been denuded of the subjective. Objective truth is valued--the subjective is relegated to poetry or entertainment.

The search for objective truth, however, might be more elusive than previously thought. During the course of the 20th century, some men (who have a high probability of having a French last name, and an affinity for Gauloises) have debated whether objective truth can ever be realized, or if there is any chance of reaching anything like a universal truth (or any chance of correctly pronouncing Gauloises). Although the demise of so-called modernity is not as complete as some college philosophy students would have you believe, the consensus that truth equals objectivity is more difficult to maintain.

Some Christians have followed the so-called post-modern lead, and tried to get derive more meaning from scriptural stories by viewing the stories as myth, or useful fiction. Various terms are used for this view: "anti-realist," "post-modern," "fictionalist." When they read scripture, they think "This may not be literally true, but it comforts me to think of it as true." or "This is lovely poetry, the truth of it is irrelevant."

This approach to reading the scriptures is attractive in some ways. It help us not be distracted from the big picture of the story by being preoccupied with which bit of the story is literally true and which bit is not. The literary or mythical approach can focus on the way that stories can shape our minds and hearts, give us hope, and help us behave a little better.

Unfortunately, this approach also has a problem: truth. Perhaps the stories in scripture are entirely fictional and function only has useful parables on how to live better lives. Perhaps "God" is simply an idea that expresses the finiteness of humankind and the wonderment of the universe. But this is not what Christians have believed from the beginning and, I hasten to add, it is not what I believe. My faith in a creator demands that he be "real" somehow, that "God exists" even if in some transcendent way.

Moreover, the Church has believed for centuries, and I believe, that Jesus Christ really rose from the dead, and that his tomb was really found empty. The fundamentalist temptation is to get caught up in proving Christ's resurrection as an objective truth claim. The fictionalist temptation is to deny the objective truth in favor of the subjective "meaning" of the story, and thereby strip the story of its power. A story cannot save me from my sins. Jesus, I believe, and so the church teaches, can and will save me.

I said all that above so I can say this: most of us don't know how to read the scriptures. We are concerned to find some objective truth that may never be realized. Yet if we jettison the search for truth, we end up being followers of fables. Going to church becomes as meaningful as going to Medieval Times or watching Star Trek. What is a modern reader to do?

The following posts will suggest an alternative based on earlier precedents in Christian history. When I read scripture, I might fruitfully put aside the impulse to find objective truth, and instead look for a message applicable to me.  Perhaps it is less important to seek information about the history of Israel, the life of Jesus, or even the nature of God. It is more important (and more firmly grounded in the more noble traditions of the church) to read the stories of scripture in order to be transformed from the messed-up, anxious, and inconsistent humans we are to people who can receive the gifts of the Spirit: "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control." (Galatians 5.22)