Foucault's Pendulum as a Metaphor

In the summer 0f 2016, I went to Portland, Oregon to attend the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church USA. At the convention center, just outside of the exhibition hall, was an installation of Foucault’s Pendulum. Foucault’s Pendulum is a large leaded ball hanging from a cable, swinging slowly and tantalizingly back and forth. Just watching it swing is captivating and soothing. But it’s not a meditation device and it does not just swing back and forth. Its pattern changes ever-so-slightly with each swing, so that the ball will eventually knock down one of the many pegs that encircle the top of the pendulum. Foucault’s Pendulum is an experiment that uses gravity to demonstrate the earth’s rotation. Unlike the pendulum on a grandfather clock, it does not simply swing back and forth and it does not require someone to go in and reposition the weights occasionally for it to continue swinging. Foucault’s Pendulum is driven by the unseen power of the earth’s spinning axis, so the back-and-forth movements of the pendulum do not end up back where it started. Over 24 hours, the pendulum will knock down every peg along the top. 

 

I think and speak of this pendulum often, so you’ve heard this description already. Beyond its brilliance as a scientific demonstration, I find Foucault’s Pendulum an apt metaphor for how God often works among us. 

 

We often say, “The more things change, the more they remain the same.” That may be a modern version of Ecclesiastes 1:9, “There is nothing new under the sun.” In fact, the whole opening portion of the book of Ecclesiastes seems to lay the groundwork for what some call “the Myth of Eternal Return.” There is something comforting about this rhythm – knowing the “the sun will come out … tomorrow” can bring us calm in a turbulent night. But the Myth of Eternal Return can also lead to despair. If there is nothing new under the sun, we seem to be in a cycle of repetition, leading nowhere in particular. “Nations rise, nations fall”; “the rich get richer, the poor get poorer”; and other anecdotes try to capture the futility we often feel with “one step forward; two steps back.”  

 

The Modern temper has often been convinced that the future can be different from the past. Whether we think of the science of evolution or the power of revolution, the one thing we take for granted is that an outcome can be substantially different from its origin. In that sense, we have embraced “the Myth of Progress.” Christianity has been partly responsible for giving us this temper with our belief that, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” (II Corinthians 5:17) (At the same time, the possibility of a different future often scares us, whether we think of a looming environmental disaster or unleashing a kind of AI-generated world that surpasses our control. In those moments we may echo some of the difficult language from the book of Revelation and wonder if doom is at hand. We might call that dystopian view, “the Myth of Regress.”) 

 

Instead of seeing the Myth of Eternal Return and the Myth of Progress as either/or possibilities, I think Foucault’s Pendulum offers a way of gathering our different experiences within the promise of the resurrection. We really do rely on the sun coming out tomorrow. We really do look in the mirror and find ourselves becoming our parents. In that moment, we might agree with the writer of Ecclesiastes that there is nothing new under the sun. That part of our experience is like the giant ball swinging slowly back and forth on Foucault’s pendulum. At the same time, we really do make and keep disciplines that enable us to overcome addictions or learn new skills. We really do live in a world that is experiencing Climate Change, calling us to live differently than our trajectory suggests. At that moment, we echo the Apostle Paul that, in Christ’s resurrection, God is doing a new thing. That part of our experience is often like the barely noticeable change in the course of the pendulum, as it actually does knock down one peg and then another, demonstrating that there is more to its movement than a simple back and forth like the grandfather clock.  

 

My hope here is to offer a metaphor of hope in times when it seems that our work is in vain and even when all we see are setbacks. I guess that’s just another way of repeating, “We have the resurrection, Chappies!” 

 

Mark of St. Mark

 

 

Mental Health and Religious Nationalism

 Friends, 

May is Mental Health Awareness month, a designation that we will try to address and honor throughout the month in our worship services. If you ever get ahold of a Presbyterian Planning Calendar, it seems that every month, even every weekend, tries to recognize something or another. I don’t always find the recognitions helpful, but I am all on board when it comes to recognizing Mental Health Awareness Month. Here’s why.

For too long, matters related to mental health have been stigmatized in our language and our imaginations. Nobody disqualifies someone for seeing a doctor over a matter of physical health, but mental health has been treated differently. Think back to the Nixon Administration’s reaction to the release of “The Pentagon Papers.” They tried to discredit the information that Daniel Elsberg released by burgling the office of Elberg’s psychiatrist, hoping to uncover embarrassing information about his state of mind. They presumed the stigma of Elsberg’s mental health challenges would call his reliability into question and overshadow the administration’s own illegalities. The plan backfired, but the presumption behind it reveals the kind of stigma that has often been attached to mental health.

Throughout this month, our Health Commission, and especially our Parish Counselor Gretchen Carrillo, will offer us encouraging and instructive ways to learn more about how we can be a more faithful community with regard to mental health. If nothing else, honoring Mental Health Awareness month can help us understand how easily many of us have internalized stigmas into our language and presumptions. You may recall a moment in Jesus’ life, when his mother and brothers came to fetch him, in response to concerns that he was beside himself or perhaps even driven by evil spirits. Human communities have always found ways to presume a norm and marginalize those who don’t live into it, even coopting loving families into that circle of stigmatization. 

…………………………..

There was an excellent and troubling Opinion piece in Thursday’s New York Times about by David French (with whom I do not always agree) about what I am now going to call “Religious Nationalism.” You can read it here. I think he summarized it well when he said, "The Christian right is dead, but the religious right is stronger than it’s ever been. Another way of putting it is that the religious right has divorced itself from historical Christian theology, but still holds its partisan beliefs with religious intensity. The religious fervor is there. Christian virtues are not." That’s powerful and insightful. 

For those who were with us on Easter weekend, remember, “"We have the resurrection!” 

Mark of St. Mark

 

Easter Weekend

 A Long Weekend of Extremes

 

I like to think of this weekend as a long weekend, a loooooooong weekend that begins on Thursday and begins again on Sunday. On Thursday, as we signified in our Maundy Thursday service, Jesus sat at the table with his disciples for a last meal. It’s called “Maundy” Thursday because, in John’s gospel, Jesus got up from the table and washed the disciples’ feet, giving them the command (mandate) to love each other in the same way. 

 

Then, there’s “Good Friday,” which seems like such a misnomer, since there is nothing “good” about any of the human actions that happen on that day. A friend betrays; religious leaders persecute; disciples flee; political leaders waffle; soldiers torture; crowds jeer. If one ever wants to glimpse the worst of human nature, Friday is the place to look. And yet, with deliberate irony, the church began to see God’s ability to bring good out of evil at work, even on this day, within acts of violence and perfidy. 

 

The longest day of this long weekend might be Saturday. On Saturday, nothing happens. At least in the gospel stories, on Saturday everyone rested and abstained from doing work of any sort. The women disciples prepared their spices and ointments on Friday, so they could observe the day of rest on Saturday, before approaching the tomb to anoint a dead body just as soon as the sun arose on Sunday. The men disciples … well, we don’t know what they rested from on Saturday because they had not been performing very admirably on Friday and did not seem to have a plan for doing anything noteworthy on Sunday. I imagine Jesus’ opponents spent the day feeling victorious, while his followers spent the day in the depths of despair. But we can only conjecture, because the biblical accounts themselves are silent about Saturday. More about that below. 

 

Then came Sunday. Sunday starts with the women, going to find and anoint a corpse. What they find is a stone that had been removed and an empty tomb. Then, according to different stories, various individuals and groups began to encounter the risen Christ and so the joy of Easter hope begins. Death has been so many things to so many people – the shadow into which we must all journey ultimately; the inevitability that raises the question of whether life itself has meaning; the threat by which tyranny has always found its power. And now, the power of death is broken, and it is not just a story that affects Jesus. As the Apostle Paul puts it, “Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:4). For the early believers, our participation in resurrection begins in our baptism, not after our death. And that assurance is what empowered the church to face the threat of the sword and keep its profession that Jesus, not Caesar, not popularity, not even one’s own wants or needs, but Jesus is Lord. Sunday alone is a mouthful of a day. 

 

So, I hope you are experiencing the longest weekend right now. It is a time when we face our own duplicities and fear. It is a time for asking who we are willing to scapegoat in order to secure our own safety. It’s not all colorful and delicious – certainly not all fun. But it is all intentional, focused, ever moving toward the good news of the resurrection. 

 

So, let’s circle back to Saturday for a moment. In the gospels, nothing happens on Saturday because it is the Jewish Sabbath, and all of the disciples were faithful Jews. The early Christian tradition wondered what was happening with Jesus on Saturday, and they developed a tradition that, on Saturday, Jesus descended into hell and set the captives free. It was called “the Harrowing of Hell.” While I think the rationale for this tradition is sketchy, I love the intent. As the disciples weep, as the killers gloat, as the sinners bask in self-righteousness, Jesus is entering into the depths of hell itself and liberating captives. I think we should all embrace the Saturday of this long weekend as “Liberation Saturday,” a time to offer hope to the hopeless, food to the hungry, care to the injured, welcome to the marginalized, and freedom for the prisoners. 

 

It is a long weekend indeed, from Thursday to Sunday, from tears to joy, from brokenness to new life. Come, let’s celebrate it together.

 

Mark of St. Mark

Holy Week Begins

 Friends, 

 

On Monday Mohannad Malas will be the presenter during our final Great Decisions event for the year. Mohannad is well-known to many of us, having been part of a “tables of 8” group that we formed years ago to gather Christians and Muslims around tables and conversation. Many people from that group continue to gather and remain close friends. Mohannad co-founded IRA Capital, a real estate firm based in Irvine. In addition, he also serves on the Board of Trustees and established a chair in Islamic Studies at both UCI and Claremont Graduate University. Mohannad is also a film producer of PBS series and Oscar nominated films. The Great Decisions finale begins Monday at 7:00pm in the Fellowship Hall and on Zoom. You can access the zoom through the calendar on the church website. 

 

This weekend marks the beginning of Holy Week with the event that we call “Palm Sunday” and that some describe as Jesus’ “Triumphal Entry” into Jerusalem. It is a significant moment, because Jesus had repeatedly told the disciples that it was imperative for him to go to Jerusalem, where he would be put to death before being raised again. “Palm Sunday” is the day when Jesus makes that entry. And it is the occasion when we enter into that series of events that lead to Jesus’ death, which lead us to the resurrection on Easter. 

 

In many churches, for all manner of reasons, attendance on weekend services far outweigh the attendance at midweek services. Gone are the days when village shops would close during Holy Week so villagers could walk over to the church for services. So, if we adhered strictly to the liturgical calendars that were created during such times, most of our folks would enjoy the giddy, symbolic parade of Palm Sunday and then the next time they enter worship would be Easter, arguably the most joyful of all Christian celebrations. But moving from one mountaintop of joy to the next is a problem because, in between, is the awful valley where we encounter the last supper, the disclosure and reality of betrayal, the tears in the garden, the arrest and abandonment, the trial, the torture, and ultimately the death and burial. That difficult part of the week is often called the “Passion” (or “suffering”) of Christ. So, in order to assure that we hear the fuller story, we will hear both the Palm and Passion stories this weekend. 

 

Not long ago, Pastor Hayes and I reached out to other pastors in Newport Beach whom I know to be kindred spirits, namely Pastor Paul Capetz and Christ Church by the Sea (United Methodist) on the Balboa Peninsula, Rev. Ray Jordan and Kathy Kipp of Community Church, Congregational (United Church of Christ) on Heliotrope, and Father Shane Scott-Hamblen of St. Michael and All Angels, on Pacific View Drive. We met for lunch, because some of us had not met and none of us knew everyone else. It was time well spent, and we decided to join together with Fr. Shane and the congregation of St. Mikes for a Good Friday service. (Episcopalians are typically much traditional than the rest of us, and their Good Friday liturgy is closely associated with their Maundy Thursday and Saturday Vigil liturgy, so it was an easy choice.) 

 

So, despite the fact that our context is far different from the days of old, I encourage you to lean into the stories of Holy Week by attending our Maundy Thursday service next Thursday, at 6:30pm and the Good Friday service with our sister CDM churches, at St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church next Friday at noon. 

 

See you in worship, 

Mark of St. Mark

Parables Open the Space in Between

Throughout the Lenten season we have been exploring the space “in between” - in between friend and stranger, faith and works, lost and found, and so on. I have been uplifted by the way that many of you have taken the time to reflect on and respond to the work of seeing this space in between differences as where discipleship happens. By reading biblical stories as “tensions within polarities” instead of “a choice between opposites,” perhaps we will be able to see life more dynamically. What a gift that is when we are tempted to buy into either/or, us/them choices. 

 

One of the brilliant qualities of Jesus’ preaching and teaching is his use of parables. People often treat parables like sermon illustrations, a dumbing down of difficult concepts so everyone can understand them better. Others treat parables like allegories, where every detail “represents” something in particular, even if one has to perform mental gymnastics to make them fit. And, indeed, there are times when a parable seems to clarify or serves as an allegory. But many parables obfuscate instead of clarify, because they overturn our expectations we have of how life typically works. And every allegory tends to break down sooner or later. With most parables, sooner more than later. 

 

One biblical scholar who has shaped my approach to parables is the late William Herzog II.  In his book, Parables as Subversive Speech, Herzog take an old adage about parables and corrects it. Parables are often described as “earthly stories with heavenly meaning.” Herzog describes them as “earthy stories with heavy meaning.” The difference is enormous. As earthy stories parables are often set in difficult contexts – demanding landowners, abusive bosses, upper-level decisions that can be devastating to poor folk below, etc. In such a world, some parables wrap up nicely, some take dramatic and unexpected turns, and some just end with no apparent resolution. For example, did the Fig Tree we read about two weeks ago respond to the year-long treatment and begin producing fruit? We don’t know. Herzog’s subtitle is “Jesus as Pedagogue of the Oppressed,” meaning Jesus’ whole teaching approach is oriented toward those who are living under the shadow of the Empire, so those who suffer the effects of imperial power today are in the best position to appreciate the parables. For example, perhaps the non-ending of the Fig Tree parable calls us to shift our focus – what if productivity is not the point? That would take the wind out of the sails of a whole section of books in Barnes and Noble, wouldn’t it? (I’m tempted to get clever and write an alliterative paragraph of how “parables puncture pretentious presumptions,” but, alas, I’m out of space.) 

 

This week’s Scripture will give us a story, not a parable, and it will enable us to explore that space between “righteousness and mercy.” I’m looking forward to it and hope to see you there. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Difference and Opposition, part 2

 Friends, 

I want to continue following the idea from last week, exploring the distinction between ‘difference’ and ‘opposition.’ To review, when we treat differences as opposition, we shut of the tension of the space in between them – negotiation, compromise, openness to learning from others, etc. – and place ourselves into an either/or posture against our “opponents.” Last week I wrote about the influences in my own journey that help me see the tension between differences is a rich and promising place for discipleship. However, I don’t want to leave you with a misunderstanding. So, this week I am thinking of the cautionary tale of Buridan’s Ass: Buridan tied his ass to a stake and set two bales of hay equidistant from it on opposite sides. The ass was hungry and wanted to eat the best hay, but neither bale offered a clear reason for it to choose one over the other or to forsake one or the other. As the ass vacillated in indecision, the poor thing eventually starved to death. 

I like this tale because sometimes we face two options, neither of which is altogether good or bad, so it is hard to accept one and reject the other. In fact, our Presbyterian heritage insists that until the Reign of God comes in its fullness, none of our choices will be altogether good. But I don’t mean to imply that our only option is to die of starvation. “Living in the tension between differences,” is not simply dithering and avoiding choices because none of our options are perfect. 

So, how can we be faithful in those moments when oppositional thinking presents us with either/or choices, yet we know that neither is absolutely good? I’m not sure that there is a single, final answer to this question, so, we live in a constant state of discernment. At times we “hold our nose and vote,” because not voting may allow a worse option to win the day. At times we refuse to cooperate with an unjust system, even to the point of suffering for that refusal. At times we prophetically offer an alternative to the unjust system, like the early church choosing to live simply in order to sustain one another. 

Here’s some good news: That Presbyterian heritage I mentioned above can be very constructive. We start with the belief that, until the Reign of God has come in its fullness, we will not have perfect choices. That means no political party, nation-state, family, individual, institution, or even religion is untainted by some kind of shortcoming or sinfulness. Yet, within that awareness, early American Presbyterians insisted on democracy as the best form of government. They did not embrace democracy because they thought a 51% opinion is always right. The majority is also affected by sin. They supported democracy because it was less exploitable than aristocracy, oligarchy, monarchy, theocracy, and other systems that concentrated too much power into too few hands of sinful people. I still think that is a compelling reason for faithful Christians to support democracy, as well as balancing the three branches of government, honoring subsidiarity, and other practices that disperse power. Each of those ideas is a way of attaining what Reinhold Niebuhr called “proximate goods” in a fallen world.  

Each week we offer prayers of confession during worship, not because we are all creepy people deep inside, but because even when we strive to do what is right we often participate in sinfulness. That practice is prophetic in itself, demonstrating to the world that we can be honest, realistic, and genuine about our failings, and still come before God with bold humility. And then we “Hear the Good News” because our sinfulness may be a true word about our lives, but God’s grace is always the final word. 

Mark of St. Mark

Difference v. Opposition

 Friends, 

I won’t be the first or last to observe that we have deep divisions in our society. However, without descending into rose-colored glasses, I want to push back on this notion a little bit. We tend to name our differences in the most oppositional terms - red/blue, us/them, in/out, left/right. During our Lenten season, we are very deliberately trying to address those differences as polarities, and our discipleship journey as living in the tension between those polarities. Last week, for example, we looked at the story and the context around the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37), to explore what it means to live between “neighbor” and “stranger.” This week we are looking at the story of Mary and Martha (Luke 10:38-42), to explore what it means to live between “faith” and “action.” We do this work liturgically and sermonically during Saturday and Sunday worship, and explore them more deeply through our Text Studies, which you can see here.

In my own faith journey, I have found two ideas to be particularly helpful when trying to live as a disciple of Jesus Christ in a world that often defines itself in terms of extreme either/or choices. The first was a simple passing statement that I once read – written by or about Jaques Derrida – that we have the tendency to treat “difference” as “opposition.” Once we adopt oppositional thinking, then for one idea to be “right” the other must necessarily be “wrong.” If one is “good” the other is “bad.” When differences are entrenched as oppositions, we lose the language of “better or worse” and the art of compromise becomes “selling out” or “caving in.”  When we structure challenges as “red/blue,” “us/them,” it becomes easy to identify ourselves by our differences and ignore our commonalities. A better approach is to recognize that the “opposition party” (see how we talk?) is not always wrong and we’re not always right. To act otherwise is both unwise and contrary to some good Presbyterian theology that sin is universal (affecting “us” as well as “them.”) 

The second idea that I have found helpful is more of an approach than a comment. The theologian Paul Tillich began his systematic theology by describing “ontological polarities” of human existence. By “ontological,” Tillich is attempting to name something that is true about human beings generally, deeper than our cultural or historical particularities. By “polarities,” Tillich is recognizing that human life is often lived within the pull of very different, but real parts of who we are. For example, we live within the tension of “freedom and destiny.” Of course we have freedom. We think, we deliberate, we choose, and we either reap the rewards or suffer the consequences. On the other hand, of course we are destined. We didn’t choose to be left-handed or right-handed; tall or short; straight, bi, or gay; or to be born in our country during our time. All of that was given to us and we cannot escape it. Still, we have freedom. One could say the destiny of our DNA, culture, disposition, etc. set the menu from which we exercise our freedom. It’s not freedom or destiny; we live within the polarities of freedom and destiny. 

To me, it seems altogether insightful and true to experience to approach theology – God before us and us before God – in terms of the polarities that structure our experience. That is why I appreciate the approach that our resource, “A Sanctified Art,” has provided for us during Lent. Last weekend, we looked at the tension between “neighbor and stranger” and this week “faith and works.” We do not approach those differences as incompatible oppositions. We can explore living in then tension between them, not simply living according to one or the other. 

And that brings us back to the starting point of this missive. One outcome of our Lenten journey may be that we develop an ability to resist the oppositional presumptions of red/blue, us/them, in/out, and left/right. Perhaps we will recognize within ourselves principled opinions that cross over oppositional thinking. Perhaps we can recognize that quality within our neighbor as well. Part of the reason Paul Tillich begins his theology with recognizing our “ontological polarities” is to remember that whenever we speak of God we are always doing so from a limited human framework. That is a humble starting point and one that we can exercise with regard to the big questions that vex us politically as well as the differences we see between ourselves and our neighbors. If our Lenten journey can get us a little farther down that road of walking humbly, it will be a faithful journey indeed. 

Mark of St. Mark