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We hear a lot about the need to adapt to changing times, to make sure we're not beholden to the institutionalization of the church. But, this observation isn't necessarily a new one. Indeed, as you will see below, the founding pastor of the congregation I now pastor, a congregation that has a long lustrous history understood this to be true. So, consider this word from Dr. Edgar Dewitt Jones, late pastor of Central Woodward Christian Church and a president of the Federal Council of Churches.
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The Church and the new broom that sweeps clean
Can the average church appeal successfully to the average man? That depends. If the church has become institutionalized, bereft of spiritual charm, and in bondage to outworn and discredited methods, the average man will pass it by and find his inspirations and comradeships elsewhere. The old proverb that a new broom sweeps clean is fraught with wisdom. The first-century church met exigencies as they emerged and adopted methods suitable to the time and the need. Where there is spiritual vitality and intelligent leadership methods, policies, programs follow in due season.
Edgar Dewitt Jones, Blundering into Paradise, (Harper & Brothers, 1932), pp. 85-86
Could it happen again?
There will never be another Jim Jones. There will never be another Jonestown. It was a perfect storm of demonic proportions that lead to the largest loss of American civilians in a non-natural disaster until the events of September 11, 2001.
Yet one thing hasn’t changed in 30 years: The Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) is still rendered vulnerable by the very freedom it cherishes.
This is the question we ask at a number of levels. The whole debate over the Patriot Act is similar to this one. How do we balance freedom and safety? Katherine concludes that we Disciples remain vulnerable. But is this a bad place to be in? What would the solution be?
I will post some more tomorrow, but this is an anniversary that needs to be taken seriously.
Professor of Divinity and Biblical Criticism at Glasgow University and the author of many Biblical commentaries and books, including a translation of the New Testament, "Barclay New Testament," and "The Daily Study Bible Series."
I am a convinced universalist. I believe that in the end all men will be gathered into the love of God. In the early days Origen was the great name connected with universalism. I would believe with Origen that universalism is no easy thing. Origen believed that after death there were many who would need prolonged instruction, the sternest discipline, even the severest punishment before they were fit for the presence of God. Origen did not eliminate hell; he believed that some people would have to go to heaven via hell. He believed that even at the end of the day there would be some on whom the scars remained. He did not believe in eternal punishment, but he did see the possibility of eternal penalty. And so the choice is whether we accept God's offer and invitation willingly, or take the long and terrible way round through ages of purification.
Gregory of Nyssa offered three reasons why he believed in universalism. First, he believed in it because of the character of God. "Being good, God entertains pity for fallen man; being wise, he is not ignorant of the means for his recovery." Second, he believed in it because of the nature of evil. Evil must in the end be moved out of existence, "so that the absolutely non-existent should cease to be at all." Evil is essentially negative and doomed to non-existence. Third, he believed in it because of the purpose of punishment. The purpose of punishment is always remedial. Its aim is "to get the good separated from the evil and to attract it into the communion of blessedness." Punishment will hurt, but it is like the fire which separates the alloy from the gold; it is like the surgery which removes the diseased thing; it is like the cautery which burns out that which cannot be removed any other way.
But I want to set down not the arguments of others but the thoughts which have persuaded me personally of universal salvation.
First, there is the fact that there are things in the New Testament which more than justify this belief. Jesus said: "I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself" (John 12:32). Paul writes to the Romans: "God has consigned all men to disobedience that he may have mercy on all" (Rom. 11:32). He writes to the Corinthians: "As in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive" (1 Cor. 15:22); and he looks to the final total triumph when God will be everything to everyone (1 Cor. 15:28). In the First Letter to Timothy we read of God "who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth," and of Christ Jesus "who gave himself as a ransom for all" (1 Tim 2:4-6). The New Testament itself is not in the least afraid of the word all.
Second, one of the key passages is Matthew 25:46 where it is said that the rejected go away to eternal punishment, and the righteous to eternal life. The Greek word for punishment is kolasis, which was not originally an ethical word at all. It originally meant the pruning of trees to make them grow better. I think it is true to say that in all Greek secular literature kolasis is never used of anything but remedial punishment. The word for eternal is aionios. It means more than everlasting, for Plato - who may have invented the word - plainly says that a thing may be everlasting and still not be aionios. The simplest way to out it is that aionios cannot be used properly of anyone but God; it is the word uniquely, as Plato saw it, of God. Eternal punishment is then literally that kind of remedial punishment which it befits God to give and which only God can give.
Third, I believe that it is impossible to set limits to the grace of God. I believe that not only in this world, but in any other world there may be, the grace of God is still effective, still operative, still at work. I do not believe that the operation of the grace of God is limited to this world. I believe that the grace of God is as wide as the universe.
Fourth, I believe implicitly in the ultimate and complete triumph of God, the time when all things will be subject to him, and when God will be everything to everyone (1 Cor. 15:24-28). For me this has certain consequences. If one man remains outside the love of God at the end of time, it means that that one man has defeated the love of God - and that is impossible. Further, there is only one way in which we can think of the triumph of God. If God was no more than a King or Judge, then it would be possible to speak of his triumph, if his enemies were agonizing in hell or were totally and completely obliterated and wiped out. But God is not only King and Judge, God is Father - he is indeed Father more than anything else. No father could be happy while there were members of his family for ever in agony. No father would count it a triumph to obliterate the disobedient members of his family. The only triumph a father can know is to have all his family back home. The only victory love can enjoy is the day when its offer of love is answered by the return of love. The only possible final triumph is a universe loved by and in love with God.
[Quoted from William Barclay: A Spiritual Autobiography, pg 65-67, William B Eerdmans Publishing Company, Grand Rapids, 1977.]
Sightings 11/13/08
E Pluribus Obama
-- M. Cooper Harriss
In the November 6th New York Times, photographer Matt Mendelsohn describes a restlessness that overcame him on election night, leading him to drive across the Potomac to the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC, "expecting to find a crowd and some news." Instead he found roughly twenty-five people huddled around a transistor radio, a crowd so relatively small and quiet that they were unmolested by camera crews who, like Mendelsohn, expected numbers and bombast more in keeping with the throng in Grant Park, Chicago, not quite forty-score miles away.
Mendelsohn's instincts upon the election of our first president of color resound for evident reasons (Lincoln as "Great Emancipator" and the Memorial's steps as the location of Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech). They also respond to signals manufactured by Obama's campaign, ranging from the announcement of his candidacy at the site of Lincoln's "House Divided" speech, to his invocation of the man and his words last Tuesday night. But to ascribe this rhetoric simply to matters of race overlooks a broader religious move that the President-elect and his handlers appear to understand, and which surely has contributed to their success.
Abraham Lincoln is the patron saint of the American civil religion, a category that Robert Bellah codified in 1967 as "a genuine apprehension of universal and transcendent religious reality as seen in or…as revealed through the experience of the American people." That Bellah's definition coincided with discernible fractures in a singular American mythology is significant. Commentators including our own Martin Marty have noted that the past four decades have witnessed a shift from "the one" to "the many" in national discourse. Marty's formulation in the third volume of Modern American Religion marks a movement from "centripetal" to "centrifugal," from a strong, centrally unified national identity to one thrust away from a center, multivalent. Within this context, "Americanness" has become a competitive hermeneutic, recently evident in the debates surrounding the nature of patriotism and the responsibilities of liberty and citizenship.
Similarly, Abraham Lincoln finds himself created, like Albert Schweitzer said of Jesus, by "each individual…in accordance with his own character." Consequently, how should we read the Obama candidacy and these earliest phases of his presidency? Is "change" skin deep or does it extend further? Might we also read a return to a centripetal orientation of American national identity, a new validation of a civil religion lost for nearly two generations? Should we even aspire for a sense of "one" over the pluralistic diversity of "the many," given the very real hegemonic potential that such a homogenous orientation raises? These are questions to bear in mind, and questions to which we shall, no doubt, return.
But in the hopeful interim, we might remember Ralph Ellison, another antecedent of the president-elect. In a recent article for The New Republic, David Samuels remarks on the evident influence Ellison's Invisible Man (1952) exerts on Obama's autobiography Dreams from My Father (1995) and, thereby, "as a major influence on his personal evolution." I would argue that another portion of Ellison's work resonates with Obama's candidacy—especially with his centripetal understanding of American civil religion: the second novel that Ellison wrote from 1952 until his death in 1994 and never completed, though excerpts were published as Juneteenth in 1999. In Juneteenth we find Adam Sunraider, a race-baiting white New England senator, engaged in deathbed conversations with Reverend Hickman, an African-American preacher. The reader learns that Sunraider was once known as "Bliss," a child of ambiguous racial origins who, though he could pass for white, was adopted by Hickman, raised and loved by his congregants, and trained in the homiletical arts of the black church. Indeed, Sunraider's hateful "white" eloquence was fostered by Bliss's "black" rhetorical apprenticeship—evincing Ellison's profound understanding of the irony of American history.
At a pivotal moment in the novel's disjointed chronology, Hickman stands at the Lincoln Memorial, considering "some cord of kinship stronger and deeper than blood, hate or heartbreak." His admiration for Lincoln conflates with Bliss's betrayal. Yet, ironically, it is the racist Sunraider, speaking on the Senate floor, who invokes the one and the many: "[H]istory has put to us three fatal questions, has written them across our sky in accents of accusation…How can the many be as one? How can the future deny the Past? And How can the light deny the dark?"
Now that the remarkable feat that many believed they would not live to see is accomplished, these questions, which invoke the mystery of American faith, should occupy our concern, and the new president's. May we rejoice in this remarkable moment, yet not blind ourselves in tragic self-satisfaction to the challenges and complexities of what lies ahead.
References:
Read Matt Mendlesohn in the New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/06/opinion/06mendelsohn.html
Read David Samuels, on Obama and Invisible Man, in The New Republic: http://www.tnr.com/politics/story.html?id=5c263e1d-d75d-4af9-a1d7-5cb761500092
Read Robert Bellah on American civil religion: http://www.robertbellah.com/articles_5.htm
M. Cooper Harriss, a junior fellow in the Martin Marty Center, is a PhD candidate in Religion and Literature at the University of Chicago Divinity School and managing editor of the journal Ethics, published by the University of Chicago Press.
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