Humor

Humor. A fascinating term. Originates from the Latin humor (amazing what putting something in italics will do), which means “moisture” from the root humere (yes, related to “humid”). In its original sense, it referred to the cardinal humors: blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. These were understood as the four fluids that made up the body and determined one’s mental and physical dispositions. Over time, humor gradually came to refer generally to one’s mood or state of mind. Further development led to humor referring to the ability to discern what is silly, ridiculous, or comical and express it in a way that others see or feel the same thing.

Building on this, humor ought not be reduced to funniness or simply that which elicits laughter. True humor is a phenomenon of greater depth. True humor is founded upon profound joy, but this does not make light of it. True humor points to the authentic, to the real, to the true by highlighting that which is truly silly, ridiculous and, therefore, comical. When a skilled humorist engages in her or his art, the world is revealed as it truly exists. Sometimes this is done through exaggeration, sometimes through parody, sometimes through satire, or some other manifestation of the art of humor. These are all forms of humor. They are not synecdoches of humor and humor should be not be reduced to them. To say that humor is simply that which is funny or laughable is akin to claiming that love is merely that which is desirable or enjoyable. Laughter is, at most, a common, involuntary response to having truth novelly presented. However, the absence or presence of laughter does not make something less or more humorous. The most profound humorists are rarely thought of in primarily funny ways. The key is found in the etymology: humor is the art of joyfully discerning the disposition of the world as it truly is through calling its illusions and falsities to account.

[The obstinate children] say to the seers, “See no more visions!” and to the prophets, “Give us no more visions of what is right! Tell us pleasant things, prophesy illusions. Leave this way, get off this path, and stop confronting us with the Holy One of Israel!” (Isaiah 30: 10-11)

This is precisely what fascinates about humor: it allows the humorist to remain outside of something while providing keen insights into it. There is a beauty in the ability of a good humorist to critique, comment upon, and call to account anybody or anything. There’s a level of impunity afforded the humorist that the dynamic of humor creates. Even in situations grave and dire do we need a humorist to lift up our situation and point out the silly, ridiculous, or comical. This allows us to face what may otherwise be overwhelming. If someone or something threatens to overwhelm, one of the most powerful responses is to laugh. It simultaneously empowers the laugher while disempowering the laughed at. Not because of the laughter itself, but because the dominant paradigm has not managed to completely lay claim on the laugher; the laughter is indicative one is able to see the truth of the situation. If you can humorously respond to someone or something, it indicates the power dynamics.

Sarah said, “God has brought me laughter, and everyone who hears about this will laugh with me.” And she added, “Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children? Yet I have borne him a son in his old age.” (Genesis 21: 6-7)

It is critical to note that true humor is founded upon joy. While on the Congressional Civil Rights Pilgrimage to Alabama with The Faith & Politics Institute, I heard story after story from folks who helped foment profound social transformation through their nonviolent resistance to injustice. Incredibly did each story pivot on the joy experienced by participants: those who were jailed sang songs and willingly gave up amenities, those who boycotted buses walked with dignity and pride, and those who faced hoses and dogs did so with courage and love. These were terribly serious times, but this was not a somber movement. It was, to be explicit, a humorous movement. These women and men envisioned a truth not seen in the world, which made the world ridiculous in their eyes. In true humorist fashion, they highlighted the ridiculousness for all to see and experience. Doing so is a deeply joyful task. The profound truth that a black person is as valuable in God’s eyes as a white person, a truth we ostensibly regard as self-evident today, was once considered absurd by many. However, the Civil Rights Movement not only articulated, but lived into the alternative reality they could see. This echoes the words of Paul:

For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate.” Where are the wise? Where is the teacher of the law? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe. Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength. (1 Corinthians 1: 18-25)

Or even the words of other humorists:

“The most profound joy has more of gravity than of gaiety in it.” (Michel de Montaigne)

“Humor is not a mood but a way of looking at the world. So if it is correct to say that humor was stamped out in Nazi Germany, that does not mean that people were not in good spirits, or anything of that sort, but something much deeper and more important.” (Ludwig Wittgenstein)

“The church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society.” (Martin Luther King, Jr.)

The Church must recognize its role as that of a Divine Humorist: Being a constant source of an Other reality through which God’s children are called to joyfully Live. The Church must be a place that by its very existence subverts and converts the world into something deeply humorous, something spontaneously, thoroughly joyous. This is God’s work and it is difficult.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” (Matthew 5: 3-12)

Christianity need not look beyond its founder to see a humorist par excellence. What better way to point out the silly, ridiculous, and comical of this world than to embrace its darkness, sin, and death and hold them up for all to see. “This world,” Jesus’ life and death says to us, “is ridiculous. You are not beholden to this. So take up your cross — take up the silly, the ridiculous, the comical — and follow me.” To confuse humor with hilarity is analogous to confusing the Church with mere charity: one is often associated with the other, but to reduce the former to the latter is an unjust caricature. Christ very much gave out free bread, fishes, healings, and teachings, but these were not mere acts of charity. They were profound acts born out of a power and vision not found in Satan’s temptations, Caesar’s coffers, or Pharisaic piety. Similarly, the Church cannot engage in God’s work for superficial reasons: economic viability, congregational size, doctrinal purity, etc. As laughter is to humor, these may be natural byproducts of the Church’s work, but they are not the same. Should they become so, the Church’s role as humorist is reduced to that of the court jester: playing the fool for the powers that be.

From that time on Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.

Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. “Never, Lord!” he said. “This shall never happen to you!”

Jesus turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.”

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for you to gain the whole world, yet forfeit your soul? Or what can you give in exchange for your soul? (Matthew 16: 21-26)

Though the Church needs to be able to stand apart from the world to a certain extent to be a resource for Christlike ways forward, the Church must be wholly of this world if it is to effect substantive change. Christ in the Gospels is fully human, very much of this world, while still being fully God and very much of a wholly Other world. The Church must also exist in this tension. To separate the Church from the world is to set it against the very world God created and still actively works to renew and recreate. To equate the Church with the world, however, is to bury the Body of Christ within the fallen, contingent order. Thus, again, we return to the analogy of humor: the humorist provides penetrating insight which requires not only a thoroughgoing knowledge of the world’s operation, but an ability to come at the world from another perspective. The Church has an irreplaceable capacity to offer up that Other perspective.

I [Paul] became a servant of this gospel by the gift of God’s grace given me through the working of his power. Although I am less than the least of all the Lord’s people, this grace was given me: to preach to the Gentiles the boundless riches of Christ, and to make plain to everyone the administration of this mystery, which for ages past was kept hidden in God, who created all things. God’s intent was that now, through the church, the manifold wisdom of God should be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly realms, according to the Divine’s eternal purpose accomplished in Christ Jesus our Lord. In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence. (Ephesians 3: 7-12)

The Church has a unique capacity to be in this world and yet offer the world Other ways forward. An avenue for this hitting home for me has been in my independent study of nonviolence as well as the aforementioned Pilgrimage to Alabama. The former has given much cause for intellectual, spiritual, and dialogical pause while the latter gave me an experiential glimpse into the Civil Rights Movement. Through the Pilgrimage, I had the privilege of sitting in the pews of historic churches that were the bases of operation for major movements of social change. I had the honor of hearing luminaries from the Movement share their stories, their songs, their lives with our delegation. I witnessed Members of Congress reflect on the impact such a journey has on their public service. All of this kept reinforcing for me the powerful realization that the Civil Rights Movement was a transformative movement born primarily of Christians and based out of Christian churches. The vision and courage exemplified by those involved in the Movement had its genesis in the power and wisdom of the Church. The Movement’s ability to uphold principles of nonviolence in the face of atrocious acts of violence can, in a very real sense, only be attributed to the role of the Church. Certainly Mohandas Gandhi’s satyagraha was the means of enacting the principle of nonviolence, but leaders of the Civil Rights Movement attribute their core principles to Jesus Christ. And what better way to point out the silly, ridiculous, and comical of oppression than to resist with love? In so doing, the marchers held up a mirror so the oppressors could see the humor of the situation, so the oppressors could see and feel how the Other was thinking and feeling, so the oppressors could joyfully enter into God’s Beloved Community unfolding before their very eyes.

Remember those earlier days after you had received the light, when you endured in a great conflict full of suffering. Sometimes you were publicly exposed to insult and persecution; at other times you stood side by side with those who were so treated. You suffered along with those in prison and joyfully accepted the confiscation of your property, because you knew that you yourselves had better and lasting possessions. So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. (Hebrews 10: 32-35)

While I struggle with whether parish ministry is where God can best use me, I cannot deny the beauty of the Church’s place in the world. I furthermore recognize that the analogy I draw here, like all analogies, is incomplete and does not fully characterize the Church’s role. I am simply reflecting on an aspect of its role that I find to be compelling unto the point of redoubling my interest in working within the Church. More specifically, in parish ministry as a viable way of effecting change. There is still an element of smallness I associate with parish ministry on which I have more reflection to do. I do not mean smallness pejoratively; it best describes the primary association I have at this point.

Again [Jesus] said, “What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest of all seeds on earth. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds can perch in its shade.” (Mark 4: 30-32)

Thus, I am left to consider what my role in the Church will be. How do I best fit into the Body of Christ with the passions, skills, and experiences God has granted me? What does working in a church offer that working elsewhere does not? How can I best humor God? Where can God use me to point out the most silly, ridiculous, and comical of our human condition? How can I best embody God’s sense of humor in such a way that draws us together and forward, rather than drives us apart and back? It must be a place that helps me laugh as deep as I do often, for that would be one indicator of true humor’s presence. It must be a place that helps the world recognize when it is being silly, ridiculous, and comical for that would be another indicator. And it must be a place that constantly allows me to engage new perspectives so that I see my own ridiculousness and can laugh at myself. To appropriate Frederick Buechner: it must be a place where the world’s deep hunger meets my deep humor.

Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not think you are superior.

Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord. On the contrary:

“If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if she is thirsty, give her something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on their head.”

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. (Romans 12: 9-21)

What Sodom and Gomorrah is Not About

Genesis 19 has a parallel story in Judges 19.  In both, there are visitors to a city who are taken in by a citizen.  In the night, the other inhabitants surround the house as they clamor for the visiting foreigners.  Their demand is for their fellow citizen to let them rape the aliens, which is resisted by the host.  The stories deviate at this point, but both lead to their respective city’s destruction.  In the Genesis account, Sodom and its surrounding area are destroyed by God’s wrath.  In Judges, Gibeah is destroyed by the 11 non-Benjamin tribes of Israel.  Since the stories have such pronounced parallels, their differences become much more emphasized.  These differences demand recognition that traditional interpretations and conventional, heteronormative biases being brought to the texts blinds us to what the stories’ anthropologies, narrative structure, and canonical references tell us Genesis 19 is actually about.

Genesis 19 opens with two “angels” (according to the NRSV) entering Sodom in the evening.  The Hebrew (ha-mal’akim) is used in various contexts meaning something more akin to “messenger” (in this case, messengers of God).  Brown, Driver, and Briggs point to this usage as contextually the same usage as Genesis 28:21 and 32:2 where these are theophanic messengers or even avatars of Yahweh (521).  This is differentiated from mere human messengers or prophetic characters who bear messages of or for God, but the narrative still refers to them as men.  Thus they are men of God in a metaphysically different way, which emphasizes the NRSV’s use of the term “angel” (from the Greek equivalent angelos) as opposed to simply “messenger” or “herald.”

Lot, who was residing in Sodom, invites the angels to stay the night with him.  After a meal, but just before going to bed, the text tells us that every man comes and surrounds the house.  The men demand Lot brings out the angels so that they “may know them” (v. 5, NRSV).  The cohortative of yada without euphemism here is the men of Sodom demanding Lot give up his visitors in order to gang-rape them.  Lot attempts to placate his fellow citizens by offering his virgin daughters, women who have not yet “known a man” (v. 8, NRSV).  This does not seem to interest the men who press in ever closer.  The angels strike the assailants blind and then urge Lot to take his family and escape.  After some negotiation, Lot finally takes his wife and daughters and escapes to Zoar (his wife not actually making it).  Yahweh then rains sulfur and fire down from heaven, destroying not just Sodom, but also Gomorrah, the Plain, and the inhabitants.

The alienness of the visitors in both narratives deserves structural attention.  The residents of the respective cities (Genesis 19: Sodom; Judges 19: Gibeah) surround a house wherein a foreigner is being housed.  The initial demand in both narratives is for the man/men within.  If only this much was read, it would seem that gender could very well be an important quality, but the narratives continue.  The critical component becomes how and why the respective hosts deny the demand (Genesis 19: Lot; Judges 19, the old farmer).  In Genesis 19, the NRSV has Lot saying, “Look, I have two daughters who have not known a man; let me bring them out to you, and do to them as you please” (v. 8a).  Similarly, Judges 19’s host attempts a placation by saying, “Here are my virgin daughters and his [the visiting Levite’s] concubine….  Ravish them and do whatever you want to them” (NRSV, v. 24).  Both vocal placation attempts fail, although the Levite does abruptly puts his concubine outside, which allows for carnal satisfaction to succeed.  These could seem to suggest a dualism of gender wherein the men forsake sex with women for men.  However, these are attempts to divert the assailants’ attention from their primary target: the foreigner, not merely a man.  This dualism of resident and alien is the primary catalyst for both the assailants’ siege as well as the hosts’ protection.  If the concern were merely one of wrong gender desire, the men of Sodom could have turned to one another for satisfaction (this is further evidenced by the men of Gibeah being satisfied by gang-raping the female concubine).  Conversely, consider how verse 8 of Genesis 19 continues, “… only do nothing to these men, for they have come under the shelter of my roof” (NRSV).  Similarly, Judges 19 has this preface for the host offering his daughters, “Since this man is my guest, do not do this vile thing [rape him]” (NRSV, v. 23b).  In both narratives, the structural focus is not upon the gender or sexual acts, but instead upon the status of one being a resident or a foreigner.  The sexual acts are merely vehicles for emphasizing how blatantly the residents disregard hospitality shown to visiting aliens.  In both narratives, the residents surround a fellow resident housing aliens.  In both narratives, the reason the hosts offer up women as distractions/deterrents is because the aliens residing within are guests and therefore should not be treated so (property of the host/visitors notwithstanding).  Structures of sexuality and gender being read into the texts are glossing the texts’ inherent focus of insider/outsider or, as aforementioned, supernatural/natural.

Although Sodom and Gomorrah play a prominent role in various contexts throughout the Scriptures (Jewish as well as Christian), the Genesis 19 story has managed to be appropriated for arguments against the GLBT community especially within the Church.  This rhetorical usage of the narrative found in Genesis 19 seems to run contrary to how the canon itself treats the conduct and subsequent destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.  It is only in the letter to Jude that we find our closest-to-explicit association of the sister cities’ demise and sexual immorality.  In Deuteronomy, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah is justified “because this people abandoned the covenant of the LORD… he made with them when he brought them out of Egypt.  They went off and worshiped other gods”  (29:25-26).  Ezekiel explains the sins of Sodom as, “She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy” (Ezekiel 16:49).  Jeremiah pronounces “They [prophets of Jerusalem] commit adultery and live a lie. They strengthen the hands of evildoers, so that no one turns from his wickedness. They are all like Sodom to me; the people of Jerusalem are like Gomorrah” (23:14), which includes sexual immorality (adultery) as a remarkable sin, but this applied to prophets of Jerusalem and is one amongst many other offenses.  Jude’s unique association of Sodom and Gomorrah’s destruction with their sexual immorality demands a brief linguistic analysis. Jude accuses the sister cities of desiring “other” or “strange” flesh (sarkos heteras, v. 7).  Considering the above observations regarding the “anthropology” of Lot’s guests, it is no wonder that Yahweh would rise against humans threatening to rape his theophanies/avatars.  Understanding the “otherness” or “strangeness” of the flesh of Lot’s visitors as referring to supernatural beings is buttressed by 2 Peter 2: 6-11, verse 10 in particular.  These are the only etiological passages regarding Sodom and Gomorrah’s destruction.  Jeremiah merely incorporates adultery as a generic offense and Jude is more concerned with the mixing of metaphysically different beings.  Readings that pull out gay sex as prominent, primary, or even pertinent in Genesis 19 are proof-texting heteronormativity.

Note that no adultery took place in the Genesis 19 account (making Jeremiah’s reference difficult to apply directly).  Despite the host offering his virgin daughters to the men of Sodom, no sexual act ever took place.  Contrarily, in Gibeah (Judges 19) there was a brutal act of adultery, but Gibeah is not conjured as a paradigmatic example of wrongdoing.  In Judges 19, sexual immorality is actualized whereas in Genesis 19 it is only threatened.  This is not to downplay the horror of what was taking place in Sodom, but in terms of narrative intensity, an actualized gang-rape leading to the death of the Levite’s concubine is far more demanding of justice than Lot’s visitors being threatened but escaping.  This contrast of intensity points to the likelihood that the parallel passage of Judges 19 is probably a redactional retelling of the Genesis 19 account.  Consider, too, the arguments used to give Markan priority amongst the Gospels (shorter, less embellishment, rougher around the edges) and it seems assured that Genesis 19 is a well-known tradition that is reused and exaggerated in Judges 19.

Judges 19 opens with a Levite man taking a concubine for himself.  While there are debates about what the tribe of Levi actually did (Holman, 1029), generally the Levites were the tribe without territory since they were designated as carriers of covenantal lore for Israel (cf. Deuteronomy 10:6-9).  They were wandering priests or transient men who carried God’s message.  Thus, while the Levite is a messenger of God, this is very clearly a human who is a part of the priestly tribe of Levi.  Instead of divine messengers beset by residents, Judges 19 has a disturbingly human Levite as the threatened alien.

After a scene where the Levite (unnamed) has to reconcile himself with his concubine (also unnamed) and the concubine’s father, the Levite and his concubine stop to rest in the city of Gibeah.  An old man invites them to stay with him.  Again, the men of the city surround the house.  They demand the host send out the alien so that they may “have intercourse with him” (v. 22, NRSV).  Curiously, the NRSV translates the same verb from Genesis 19:5 differently here, but the message is the same: the men of Gibeah seek to gang-rape the foreigner.  The host seeks to placate the besiegers by offering his virgin daughter and the Levite’s concubine.  In horrific fashion, the Levite abruptly gives up his concubine.  The men of the city proceed to rape her throughout the night.  Apparently this satiates them, for in the morning the Levite leaves via the front door, takes his concubine (the Greek text resolves the ambiguity of her condition by stating she is dead, the Hebrew leaves it uncertain), and goes home.  He proceeds to cut her into twelve pieces, sends them to the 12 tribes, and demands a consortium to determine what to do about Gibeah’s crime.  It is concluded that a military campaign is the proper recourse.  After a couple losses, the 11 tribes defeat the Benjaminites and destroy Gibeah, other towns, the animals, and the people.

While the crimes of Sodom and Gibeah are parallel in some ways, another difference to be noted is the rhetorical use of the two destructive events in the rest of the canon.  Gibeah, despite the more atrocious crimes committed, is rarely invoked as a warning or paradigmatic example of wrongdoing.  Only in Hosea 9:9 do we have a reference to the “corruption” (NRSV) of Gibeah, which God will remember.  In Hosea 10:9, Gibeah is referenced as the beginning of Israel’s sinfulness.  But these are the only two rhetorical references.  In contrast, Sodom (and Gomorrah) is rhetorically referenced many times as indicative of utter sin and subsequent utter destruction (cf. Genesis 18:20; Deuteronomy 29:23; 32:32; Isaiah 1:9; 13:19; Jeremiah 49:18; Matthew 10:15; 2 Peter 2:6; Jude 1:7).  The canon elevates Sodom as a paradigmatic example of not sinfulness per se, but of destruction.  Most likely because, as argued above, Yahweh destroys Sodom and Gomorrah himself, which heightens the import of the destruction despite Gibeah’s crimes being more heinous.  The sin of desiring the “flesh” of an angel is, apparently, far more deserving of divine wrath than the sin of desiring a mere human foreigner’s flesh (or actually gang-raping one).  The Old Testament as well as the New attest to this by referring back to Sodom and Gomorrah’s destruction far more often than Gibeah’s when rhetoric regarding destruction due to sin is used.

The Judges account is far more grotesque of a tale than its Genesis counterpart.  In Judges, the men of Gibeah not only rape the concubine all night, but the Levite then uses her carved up body to instigate civil war.  However, the manner of retributive destruction is far less grandiose.  While perhaps arguably comparable in its totality, the destruction recounted in Judges is by human hands sanctioned by Yahweh whereas the Genesis account has Yahweh himself destroying everything supernaturally.  Since the embellishments of the Judges account outweigh those of the Genesis account, what reason would Yahweh have for taking it upon himself to destroy Sodom, Gomorrah, the surrounding cities, and the Plain instead of using an opposing human force as done in Judges?  It would seem that the opening of each story speaks to its conclusion.  In Genesis, the visiting aliens are angels of God understood in this context to be superhuman.  Therefore the response to their being threatened is a superhuman one.  In contrast, the visiting Levite shows himself to be all-too-human, which explains why the destruction of Gibeah takes place in an all-too-human manner.  Furthermore, the themes of the narratives themselves, in conjunction with canonical silence on the issue of sexuality, indicate strongly that hospitality, violence, and pride are germane issues; not the usual concern over homosexuality or homosexual acts.  To read in commentary on homosexuality or gender issues in sex ignores the pervasive evidence within the narratives, the larger canon, and between the narratives that point us away from such heteronormative hermeneutics.

Christianism

While I was in Rome, I went to the Vatican Museum and utilized a tour guide as we went through.  The tour guide was not a native English-speaker and throughout her presentation she would use the term “Christianism” when she seemed to mean “Christianity.”  While her intelligent mistake made me chuckle, later in the tour it gave me pause as I thought about the term itself.  I am sure I am not first to have thought of this, but I was struck by how American pundits have utilized the term “Islamism” to distinguish radical Muslims from mainstream Islams, yet we do not hear of radical branches of Christianity being called Christianism.  It must help to be a dominant religious paradigm in a culture that you can ward off such labels, but as a Christian, I’m going to argue that it should be used more often.

On Wednesday, I went to the Supreme Court of the United States to stand in the line to get in while court was in session.  There was a long line with tons of press roaming about with cameras, microphones, and notepads.  Normally there are two lines: one for people who wish to sit in on a case for its duration and another for those who only want to rotate through for 3-5 minutes at a time (i.e. those who got there first and those who got there later).  I was in the second line, despite showing up a good 45 minutes before the court opened.  Apparently people had camped out the night before even.  Why all the hoopla?

 

 

That’s right.  The Westboro Church folks were on trial.  A military family had been besieged by Westboro during a funeral and they sued in response.  The case has gone back and forth and up until now it is before the Supreme Court to determine whether a funeral is an event with a captive audience and thus free speech is not as free as “Pray For More Dead Soldiers” signs, for example.  It was fascinating to watch the 9 judges grill both sides of the case.  But as interesting as that was, I’m not so interested in that right now.

 

I’m more interested in advocating that Christians, both liberal and conservative, come together and acknowledge that this is a group of unabashed Christianists who do an utter disservice to Christ and Christianity.  While they may not be blowing up buildings, they are involved in what I consider a far more insidious form of terrorism.  It’s an invidious tactic designed to do nothing more than tear everyone down even when people are in the midst of grieving over the loss of a loved one.  Indeed, if we as a nation have blamed Islamists for putting our soldiers lives at risk in Iraq and Afghanistan, then it should not be difficult to decry these Christianists with equal conviction.  They do not deserve the dignity of being called Christians, though I have no doubt that God still loves them.  Nor do I doubt that they are acting out their faith as they feel they must.  But even just by overhearing conversations people tried to have with some of the adults, I can hear how perverted and twisted their doctrines are from mainstream Christianities.  They’ve made their faith so absolute and exclusivistic that it ceases to be relational.  Indeed, it ceases to be a religion in the etymological sense of the term.

 

It seems that in the eyes of this organization, they see the world as being utterly permissive with homosexuality being the epitome of that permissiveness.  Therefore, in a natural effort to balance that out, their theology epitomizes God’s wrath and absolute judgement.  This drives them to the periphery of rationality and into the depths of irrational behavior that can do little more than incite everyone but like-minded folk.  In my experience, there is no use trying to converse with these people.  Reason cannot penetrate the worldview that they have constructed because it is philosophically absolute.  I have no doubt that even if they lost this court case (assuming the damages they pay don’t bankrupt them), they will continue their demonstrations with different tactics and/or under a different guise.

 

Thankfully, in more and more instances, people are coming up with creative ways to respond to Westboro Church.  Often it involves making humorous signs that take the extremeness one step further.  Unfortunately, there are still many people who fall into their trap by getting angry and threatening them or arguing with them.  Truly, the only way to respond is to diffuse the ridiculousness.  Like in Judo.  You use the movements of your opponent so that it boils down to their own energy and momentum leading them to their own defeat.  These Christianists will eventually disappear, but Christainism will not.  There will always be extremists in any system.  The real question becomes: what do we do about them?  Do we hunt them down in caves in Afghanistan?  Do we argue with them in the highest court in the land?  Or do we join together and through our solidarity persevere through the ugliness that is hatred?  I, for one, feel that we must not let domestic or international terrorists unduly affect our national and personal psyche.  We are better than this.

 

Luke 23: 34a

Jesus said “God, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

Liminality

This is a concept I have been wrestling with for some time now.  My first wrestlings with it were in the framework of marriage, but now it is for the issue of ordination.  Basically, my question comes down to What is Ordination?  You can pretty much substitute any rite of passage into the question (What is Marriage?  What is Graduation?  What is Initiation?) and the question remains.

Liminality refers to the idea of a threshold.  I’ll use the rite of graduation as an example.  Before you go through the graduation ceremony, you are a non-graduate.  However, at some point (debatable when it is, which is part of the problem), you officially transition from the state of non-graduate to graduate.  The moment of transition is called the liminal moment.  Liminality has fascinated me ever since being somewhat cursorily introduced to it in undergrad particularly because of its critical place in religion.  Every religion has its various rituals to move someone from one condition to another.  Conversion is probably one of the biggest and most salient examples.  At one point you are not of a faith tradition and then, usually after undergoing a proscribed ritual, you are a part of that faith tradition.

I find this to be an incredibly important concept.  We have liminal moments at so many points in our lives, but they often pass unmarked (or marked in curious ways).  When we turn 18, we can now vote, smoke, and join the armed forces.  When we turn 21, we can drink, which people often (un)ceremoniously welcome.  When we hit puberty, we enter into manhood/womanhood (many cultures understood/understand puberty as the coming-of-age process into adulthood and had/have elaborate rituals to commemorate it).  And then there are innumerable social rites that have liminal moments: initiation into a fraternity or sorority, seeking and obtaining a job, earning a degree, etc.  There are also the more momentous liminal moments of our lives such as birth (abortion debates, perhaps without realizing it, often revolve around the question of liminality), marriage, and death.

For me, I really personalized this issue when I began to wonder aloud if a relationship is qualitatively different before a marriage ceremony than after.  As in, the relationship of the fiancees the morning before before the wedding is fundamentally different from the relationship of the wedded couple the morning after.  Or, to make it all the more momentous and pointed, are the bride and groom qualitatively different from one moment to the next even though they haven’t moved from their places at the altar (unless you put a lot of stock in the consummation of the marriage, then we’d have to wait until the wedding night- hence the big deal about virginity like the presentation of bloody sheets, etc.).  Is there a conferment of a different relational quality at a particular point during the ceremony?

At that point in my life, which was my 2nd year in college, I felt there was not.  I thought the ceremony was a social celebration and social contract of a relationship already committed to such a degree.  The relationship the morning before and the morning after is not qualitatively different because (I’ll speak from my paradigm since this was a personal questing) the couple have already sought God’s guidance and, through discernment, have determined that marriage is the course their relationship is to take.  Therefore, the ceremony is nothing more than a social convention.  In fact, I thought it rather silly to think that a couple would be relationally different from one day to the next, as if the couple had not been as in love, or as committed, or whatever the day prior.

I have since, probably through more serious study and just life experiences, come to a different understanding of liminality.  I find myself feeling there is more to our liminal experiences than mere socio-functionality.  This is me speaking, however, from within religious contexts now.  I don’t really feel inspired to talk about whether a college graduate is qualitatively different due to society’s collective response changing towards that person.  Granted, some will say that’s exactly what is happening regarding religious rituals as well.  That each and every ritual is socio-functional.

But I cannot help but disagree.  In fact, it troubles me that liminality seems to be an under-appreciated aspect of my faith tradition.  I don’t hear it stressed very often in the various rituals we have people undergo.  It genuinely troubles me that there seems to be no qualitative difference between those who are within the Church and those who are without.  But I get ahead of myself.

Qualitative difference.  This is a loaded phrase I keep throwing around.  Let’s take the liminal moment of Conversion to talk about this phrase.  If a conservative monotheist is asked whether someone undergoes a qualitative change during conversion, they would answer unequivocally “Yes” because the convert is now saved.  Their soul went from a state of peril to a state of salvation.  And this is the most important liminal moment a person can undergo!  Because if they have not been made right with God, then their soul will not transition from damned to saved.  They will not experience that liminality and therefore will not experience life eternal.  This is an example of qualitative difference.  The eternal condition of a person changes when they convert (according to this perspective).

The simultaneously fascinating yet frustrating thing about liminal moments, and religious conversion illustrates it perfectly, is that they’re usually invisible.  A relationship that undergoes marriage might have indicators attached to it: you may now kiss your partner, Facebook Relationship Update, rings on the fingers, etc.  But the immaterially tangible thing we call a relationship is invisible.  The soul of a person (whatever that is…. I don’t know really) goes from a state of damned to saved.  We don’t see that.  We can’t objectively test that (sorry Science).  And that’s frustrating.  In fact, it often leads people to just throwing metaphysical liminality out.  What’s the point in worrying about it?

And that is precisely what brings me to this question again and again.  We pass through liminal moments and then what?  For example, when someone tells me they are saved because of their faith in Jesus Christ, but act exactly like the next person who does not profess any particular faith, I just wonder: so what?  The quarreling, the hardness of heart, the lack of grace, the narrowness of mind, the limitation of scope, the tribalism of acceptability.  Again, I cannot lay my finger on criteria, but I find myself unable to escape expecting visible fruits of one’s conversion.  And that can be of innumerable sorts: the young woman who turns vegetarian, the older man who commits to losing 60 lbs., the teenager who won’t be like her abusive mother, etc.  All of these people, I would hope, would bear fruits of their respective conversions.  When the mind and spirit commit to something, I feel that the fruits borne should speak to the efficacy of that conversion.  Therefore, there is visibility to invisible liminality.

But it’s exactly that invisible quality I’m trying wrestle with.  It’s that metaphysical quality that intrigues me.  It’s that inexplicable sense of communion with something greater than one’s self to the point of recognizing a new self has been created.  Just before death, a man has a revelation and repents of all his wrong-doing and professes belief in God.  The 18-year-old is now a new entity in society: instead of the usual title of “Minor” the teen is now legally an “Adult” and has many of the responsibilities of the status conferred upon/opened to them at that moment.

Perhaps therein is a key point.  Responsibility.  Perhaps I am frustrated at the lack of responsibility people seem to acknowledge is bestowed upon them when these liminal moments are passed through.  It should be a huge deal to render one’s life unto Christ.  It’s a life of service.  A life contrary to what usual human nature aims for.  Instead of orientation towards the Self, we must orient ourselves to God and to the Other.  This is a massive responsibility that, I feel, should change how life is lived.  Maybe I’m too biased by my own conversion experience years ago that wracked my life into despair and darkness for a time, which made the experience of Light too profound to not have it affect my life.

And the final issue with this I’ll raise is the issue of gatekeepers.  Who possesses the authority and power to preside, oversee, administer the liminal rite?  Who has the ability to determine who can pass through and who cannot?  And should these powers and authorities become too Self-oriented, at what point can you ignore the conventional and/or traditional mediums?

Or, for my current quandary:

Is God involved in ordination in such a way that there is a qualitative, metaphysical difference between me now and me after being ordained?

Is there a conferring of spiritual authority upon an ordained minister that s/he carries with him/her that would not be present otherwise?

Is the Church, a Church, necessary for that?  If not, how can such a liminal moment occur otherwise?  If so, how is that ritual of liminality performed so as to convey adequate respect and reverence for such a grave responsibility?

And how much weight should societal recognition play?  In other words, how important is the title of “Reverend”?

The Cross: An Attempt at Clarification

My previous post was met with excellent criticisms and points considering how I laid it out. I want to try and explain a bit more of what I was attempting to elucidate.

Most of this was inspired by my class on the History of Anti-Semitism, and it wasn’t until the cross became the central symbol that there was then a subsequent theological shift in Christianity to then view Christ’s death as not merely a bygone act, but instead, with the means of his execution taking centrality in Christian symbolism, his killers were considered to be eternally killing him (indeed, Jews were later accused of stealing Christian boys and crucifying them annually). While I’m crunching many centuries of historical development, suffice it to say that the Crusades, pogroms, burning of the Talmud, the secrecy surrounding the Kabbalah, the stigma of Jews in economics, leading right up to the Shoah can all be traced to the Jews existence posing a troubling question as to Jesus’ messiahship.

While a few key theologians attempted to persuade Christians to allow the Jews to live, albeit in a restricted fashion, the majority of thinkers instead found justifications for attacking synagogues, forcing conversions, causing mass suicides, and spewing anti-Jewish rhetoric. Jesus fulfilling the Hebrew Scriptures came to mean that the Jews were thus willfully ignoring his being their Messiah, which means that they should be put to do death because they killed Jesus instead of believing in him. Christian history is filled acts of violence against Jews, but this wasn’t until Constantine took over.

Constantine’s political and religious maneuverings staying the same, my question is this: Would such a history have taken place had Christianity adopted the Star in the East or the Empty Tomb as its central symbol? If Jesus’ birth or resurrection was paramount over his death? If it wasn’t viewed as a sacrificial atonement for sins, but a triumph of God over the worst humanity could do? When I speak of man triumphing over God, I mean that had there been no Easter, then God would have been defeated by man. However, because God rose again on the third day, God emerged victorious despite humanity’s sincerest efforts.

Looking at our history, I see much death and destruction in Christianity’s history. While I cannot say, of course, that a simple change in symbolism would’ve prevented feudal lords from marching their armies to the Holy Land, I do wonder at how electing a symbol of death changed history instead of choosing an example of life via a symbol from Easter. I understand that we look at the cross and we do not stop the story at death, but continue it on to the triumph of God over sin, but that means Easter is conflated into the symbolism. While that is well and good, I wonder if perhaps our history has not been left behind. There is still much within our institutions that seem to carry the burden of the past, and I wonder if the cross’ prevalence is a factor.

These are musings, really. A sweeping change in iconography will never happen after so much has been placed on the symbol used. I merely wanted to explore how the historical conception of, use of, and justification of the cross not only guided our forefathers in faith, but how that history affects us still today.

And another thought only tangentially related… If Jesus was, is and forever shall be. Does that not mean that Jesus was, is and forever shall be Jewish? What does that mean for us who are not Jewish?

The Cross

The Cross has long been a symbol of varying meanings. When it has equal-length bars, you might have the Red or Blue Cross, a plus sign, the Swiss and so on. But should you extend the bottom bar so that it approximately doubles or triples the other bars’ length, you have a very different symbol. You have a symbol of the largest religion in the world. You have a symbol of hope for many. You have a symbol of terror for others. You have an interesting combination of meaning, history, faith, and power wrapped up in a very austere combination of two lines.

Bono has this to say of the Christian cross:

“… in the Old Testament, it was more one of worship and awe, a vertical relationship. The New Testament, on the other hand, we look across at Jesus who looks familiar, horizontal. The combination is what makes the Cross.”

For many others, the cross symbolizes the crux (if you will) of the Christian faith. Jesus Christ, son of God, died in atonement for the sins of humanity. A powerful story. One that has reached every corner of the globe. One that has changed many lives.

But what does it mean to have the cross be the central symbol of a religion? What does it mean to have these crucifixes around people’s necks, hanging over pulpits, planted outside Auschwitz?

It means that a Roman device for political execution commands the most authority on Earth at this moment. It means an instrument of death is ubiquitously present in our society. Certainly its meaning in that regard has become secondary or even absent in the face of the meaning Christianity has appropriated it for. We have, in the face of defeat and death, conquered through Jesus’ resurrection, which makes this symbol of death a symbol of hope. It inverts the terror the cross instilled during Roman rule and instilled hope instead. How is it that such a hopeful religion could now inspire that same terror with the same symbol?

I just had a chance to learn about where the cross came from as a Christian symbol. It was through Constantine, a Roman emperor. As he marched to usurp the Roman emperor, a vision came to him before the final battle. As this is a traditional story, there are different versions, but in essence, he had a vision of the cross and a voice said “By this sign, conquer.” He had the cross constructed and borne before his armies as he went on to victoriously conquer Rome and become Emperor. He then worked quickly to make Christianity not only legal in the Roman Empire, but also the eventual religion of choice. Thus, it wasn’t until the 4th century by a theretofore Pagan emperor that the cross became significant. Furthermore, the cross didn’t become theologically defended until Anselm in the 11th century. But history brings us to today with the cross being the iconic symbol for Jesus Christ.

But I wonder. What if instead of the cross, the death of Jesus, being enshrined… what if instead the main symbol was an empty tomb, or of the stone that was rolled away Easter morning? What if the historical focus of Christianity was not on the triumph of man over God, but of God’s triumph over death?

If you’ve been to an Easter service, I’m sure you’ve seen this. There is a black shroud placed over the cross from the Maundy Thursday or Good Friday service. On Easter morning that black shroud symbolizing death is cast off! And in its place a purple or pink or triumphant color is draped over the cross instead. What has happened? The cross is still there. It is merely veiled in new garb. The death of God is still paramount. The triumph of man over God is still glorified. The importance of Jesus being killed still precedes the infinitely more important part of his resurrection.

I do not have the time to tease this out much further, but let me draw some hasty conclusions as to the effects this centralization of death has had. By centralizing God’s death, God’s killers become all the more eternally culpable and to blame. It is not difficult to trace that to events such as the Shoah. Placing Jesus’ death as the turning point in history makes believing in the significance of that death more important than living out the life that preceded it. A common mistake is to think that AD means “after death” as if his death was truly the mark of a new epoch. It actually means “Anno Domini” or, the year of our Lord, which marks his birth, another aspect of Jesus’ life that gets completely overshadowed by his death (despite Christmas). Having everyone’s minds bend towards the execution of God instead of the birth, life or resurrection of God means that humanity is eternally bent on deicide. While the Jews have historically and are contemporarily blamed for the specific crime of deicide, the entire religion of Christianity flourishes around the idea of God’s death. This means our eyes are forever pulled back to the Trial, the Passion and Golgotha. We seek to put ourselves up on the cross with/for Jesus so that we can die as he died, instead of living as he lived. While up on that cross, we are able to look down on everyone else as we arrogate holiness, purity and infallibility to our means, modes and methods. Unfortunately, this very well could mean that we, too, shall eventually asphyxiate.