The Human Condition, Pt. 2

Last week I began reflecting on a question that someone asked at the Los Ranchos Presbytery Pastors Retreat: What does our current political situation tell you about the human condition? The answer I offered last week (which you can read here) was that our current political situation discloses how given we are to what I call “practical atheism,” the practice of living as if there are no real values, truths, or justice other than those that we simply negotiate with one another. I ended by noting that this predilection is not a ‘red’ or ‘blue’ phenomenon. It is a human phenomenon and is rooted in our finitude. 

The Christian tradition has long reckoned with the practical atheism to which we are inclined. We reckon with it best when we remember that we always reflect and speak from within this finite condition, not as if we can somehow float above it. At the same time, we are heralds of “The Word of the Lord,“ a phrase which points to something more profoundly and eternally true than the truths that we negotiate with one another. In other words, “The Word of the Lord” is that which does originate outside of the human condition, but it always spoken into the human condition by those who are within the human condition. What emerges from a fully finite and limited human community called “the church” proclaiming a “Word of the Lord” are two things. 

First, we are a humble community, because we know that this “Word of the Lord” is not simply an expression of our own brilliant ideas or an exertion of our own will to power. It is a word that convicts us insofar at it convicts anyone, saves us insofar as it saves anyone, and sustains us insofar as it sustains anyone. While we might be proclaimers of that word, we are not exempt from its effects. Ironically, our greatest strength lies in how open we are to letting the “Word of the Lord” humble us, even as we proclaim it. This humility is also what keeps us from being “Fundamentalist” whenever we proclaim “The Word of the Lord.” We remember that God’s Word is always spoken to a particular situation and cannot be simply parroted to a different situation without being distorted.

Second, on many occasions our proclamation of the “Word of the Lord” compels us to embrace perspectives that may seem utterly ridiculous to others, perhaps even to our own limited way of thinking. The cross is the primary example. The Apostle Paul said plainly that the message of the cross is considered foolish to the wisdom of our age. Of course it did in Paul’s day, writing to people living under the shadow of the boastful Roman Empire. And it still seems ridiculous today, to those of us living under the shadow of the boastful American Empire. The cross? Redemptive suffering over redemptive violence? Every action movie and most tales of political history argue otherwise. 

Too often “atheism” today is alleged to be whether one believes in a six-day creation, a young earth, or some kind of “man upstairs” who is pulling all of the levers of life. In the Christian Church, I think the challenge of “practical atheism” for our day is the same challenge that faced the Apostle’s community: Do we believe in the message of the cross? Or, to put it in other ways: Do we ascribe to nonviolence, do we believe that it is more noble to die than to kill, do we believe that it is better to give than to receive, do we believe in loving our enemies, do we believe in doing good to those who persecute us? Do we practice such things, or at least aspire to be discipled into this way of life? 

Lent begins next Wednesday and we will mark the season with an Ash Wednesday service at 7:00 pm. Throughout this season, the question will reverberate in my mind: What does our current political situation tell us about the human condition? We will be looking at how our experiences of grace and our practices of remembrance shape our identity as God’s people. 

Mark of St. Mark   

The Human Condition

At our Los Ranchos Presbytery Pastors Retreat, someone posed this question to a small group that I was in: What does our current political situation tell you about the human condition? 

It’s a hard question to answer for a number of reasons. The first is that none of us is above the current political situation. What we want to do is to focus squarely on what we find off-putting about those with whom we differ. But, since “the human condition” includes us, we cannot just answer about “them.” Whenever we take up this question, we can only answer from within the human condition. That’s the reason why the biblical phrase, “The Word of the Lord” is so important. However we understand the human element in the writings of the Scriptures, that phrase signifies a perspective that comes from without, not within the human condition. 

Another reason it is hard to answer the question is that it is hard to distinguish ongoing qualities of the human condition from our temporal phases – what philosophers call ‘essential v. accidental’ qualities of human life. Even Scriptural messages that begin with the phrase “the Word of the Lord” might be speaking to a particular moment, not addressing something that is eternally meaningful. 

So, back to the question. My own answer tries to dig beneath the superficial differences to which we give so much attention and to try to understand what the Word of the Lord – as it was given in a particular moment of Scripture – might say to our particular moment. And here is what I’ve come up with so far. 

Our current political climate discloses how given we are to atheism. (Don’t hang up, let me explain what I mean by that!) The Psalms say, on more than one occasion, “Fools say in their hearts, ‘There is no God.’” What I believe the psalmists have in mind is not theoretical atheism – the disbelief in a theistic God “out there” that created the world in six days and intervenes occasionally and seem somewhat fickle about weather, who gets what disease, and so forth. In fact, in the Ancient Near East I don’t think theoretical atheism was seen as an option. There was such a sense of mystery that the question was more “Which god?” than “Is there a god?” So, if you’re someone who questions the metaphysical existence of a god out there pulling the universal strings, I seriously do not believe the psalmists have you in mind. And, incidentally, many people of faith question whether that kind of god exists. 

I believe the psalmist is addressing what I call “practical atheism.” By that, I mean the belief that nothing is inherently sacred, no truth is foundational to the truths we embrace, justice is merely a set of terms that we negotiate with each other, and so forth. It can be quite subtle, such as sliding easily from saying “As finite beings, our truth is necessarily perspectival” to saying, “All truth is relative.” It can also take the form of living as if one’s actions do not have meaningful, or especially eternal, consequences. It is the hubris of every tyrant and rascal who imagines that if we can get by with it, it’s okay. In the end, practical atheism places us – either individually or collectively – as the ultimate arbiters of the true, the good, and the beautiful, even though we may give lip service to higher ideals. 

I think our current political context makes clear the practical atheistic substructure of the human condition, particularly in the U.S. It is not a ‘red’ or ‘blue’ problem or a ‘left’ or ‘right’ problem. It is a manifestation of an ongoing challenge for humanity, because it is rooted in the limitations of our finitude. Next week I want to look at some of the ways that the Christian tradition has reckoned with this challenge. 

Thanks for stopping by,

Mark of St. Mark 

Loss; and Homelessness

Today’s Missive has two unrelated parts. 

Part One: 

This has been an incredibly difficult week for some of you and for many of our Orange County neighbors. The news of the helicopter crash that took the lives of Alyssa, Keri, and John Altobelli, Giana and Kobe Bryant, Sarah and Payton Chester, Christina Mauser, and Ara Zobayan came as an abrupt shock and continues to be hard to believe. While Kobe Bryant’s global popularity has brought heightened attention to the accident, I have found it deeply moving to see how various pockets of community here and in L.A. have reached out to each other offering solace or simply crying together. The philosopher Richard Rorty once said that even in an age that focuses on the differences that divide us, one unifying question is always, “How have you suffered?” There is something about our capacity to hurt, grieve, and mourn that is both terrible and indicative of our fundamental human decency.  

If this tragedy has a personal dimension for you, I am very sorry and hope you are able to find your way through your loss. If your response to this tragedy has been more indirect than personal, it is still a deep loss and often a trigger for activating previous losses in our lives. I hope that you, too, can find ways to breathe our collective hope that “in life and in death we belong to God.” 

Part Two:

In my work with the Orange County Alliance for Just Change and United to End Homelessness, I’ve been getting constantly re-educated about how a community as large and complex as Orange County can address the challenges that face homeless neighbors. We are a collective of 34 cities, many of which cooperate often but which also have competing interests quite often. As a result there are layers of organizational structures in place, but it’s not always clear whose role it is to coordinate the work and ensure that we’re all moving in the right direction – what our friend Tom Cramer often calls “the pointy end of the ship.” 

At the risk of sounding Pollyannaish, might I share what I think is some good news about this topic? I feel like many of our cities, and many of the communities within our cities, have turned a corner of sorts. There is fairly widespread agreement on a “housing first” approach to the challenge, which recognizes that whatever other physical, psychological, or spiritual needs a person who is homeless may have, those needs are more likely to be met well if they have some kind of stable living environment. There is growing awareness that in order for temporary and transitional housing to remain temporary and transitional, there must be a dedication to making permanent supportive housing available. And while there is still plenty of vitriol that raises its ugly head too often, there is also a quieter stead hum of serious activity and small accomplishments that are happening. 

One thing that I see developing is that the challenges of homelessness are being segmented, little by little. It is a process that is often driven by funding and I have some concerns that we are leaning toward a false dichotomy between the ‘deserving poor’ and the ‘undeserving poor,’ but there are some upsides to this segmentation as well. By specifying the needs of Veteran’s Homelessness and Youth Homelessness for example, we can not only gather a larger group of sympathetic support, but we can also give better attention to the unique challenges that veterans or young people have when trying to move from homelessness to being housed. And when we are able to effectively address one kind of homelessness, we free up resources, energy, and good will to address other forms of homelessness. In the end, I think this more specific approach to finding permanent housing for Veterans and Youth will have a great effect on our overall efforts. 

That’s just a glimpse into where my head is these days. I am heartened by the quiet good will that is often drowned out by the noise, and the small steps toward effective compassion that is often hidden behind the disarray. 

And I cannot end this note without pointing you toward United to End Homelessness’ current fundraising challenge. We have a $31,000 matching fund goal that ends today, to enable youth who have aged out of foster care to find permanent housing. You can read more about it here. I cannot tell you how powerful it is to see so many St. Mark folks listed among the contributors. Blessings to you.

Mark of St. Mark

Pulpit Exchange

This weekend we will have the joy of welcoming Rev. Chineta Goodjoin to St. Mark as our guest preacher and I have the joy of preaching at New Hope Presbyterian Church. New Hope worships on Saturday evening, so I get the double joy of worshiping there on Saturday and at St. Mark on Sunday. When I do, please know that I am keenly aware and appreciative of the wonderful relationship between New Hope and St. Mark that many of us have cultivated over the years. 

New Hope and St. Mark have celebrated with laughter and mourned with tears together. We shared the joy, along with the Presbytery of Los Ranchos, when New Hope Presbyterian Church was chartered as an official congregation a little over two years ago. (To see the backstory of New Hope, read this delightful article.) We mourned with Rev. Goodjoin when one of her lifelong best friends was murdered in 2015 as part of the hate crime at Mother Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC. The next year, we joined with New Hope for an Ash Wednesday service containing ashes and gunpowder, as we initiated a season of Lent reflecting together on gun violence and the cross. And for the last five years we have joined with New Hope, First Presbyterian of Orange, and Canyon Hills Presbyterian churches for a noon Good Friday service. New Hope also has a Social Justice Ministry that dovetails nicely with the work of our Peace and Justice Commission, offering us many chances to work together. Those of us who have had the opportunity to serve alongside of Rev. Goodjoin and the New Hope congregation love, honor, and respect the way that God is at work among them. 

So, I urge you to make a point of being in worship this week, to hear the Word of the Lord from a faithful pastor and to continue building our church relationships together. The following graphic that New Hope posted on their Facebook page captures my feelings precisely. 

Mark of St. Mark 

Only, Only, Only

Two curious things happened in close order when I lived in Iowa. But, alas, not close enough for me to parlay one of them with the other. It was a moment lost, but at least I learned a lesson from it. 

At Heartland Presbyterian Church where I served, there was a trash enclosure with two dumpsters that I would visit occasionally to empty a trash or recycling bin. One of those dumpsters had a sticker that read, “Paper only.” It also had a sticker that read, “Cardboard only.” And one that read, “Glass only.” And “Plastic only.” I often thought I should take a photo of that dumpster, because there was a lesson there. Unfortunately, I don’t like taking photos and never got around to it until one day I decided to go for it, went out to the enclosure, opened the gate, and saw that the company had replaced the dumpster with one that simply read, “Recycle.” The lesson I learned was to capture a photo of something if I think I’ll want to retain it, whether I take it myself or simply save it from somewhere else. As a result I have a whole folder of curious pictures that I may or may not get around to employing one day. 

If I had taken that photo, it would have been a big, metal dumpster with these stickers on it, only whoever pasted the stickers was totally unconcerned about justifying them in any kind of order. My first inclination was to capture a photo of these stickers because “Somebody needed a lesson on the precise meaning of the word only.” In time, however, I realized that they made sense, even collectively.

The second curious thing that happened to me around that time was that a friend of ours seemed determined to convert me to Catholicism. She described for me in detail how the book of Revelation was based on the Catholic mass. She pointed out a form of “Pascal’s Wager,” that whether or not we could say for certain that the Roman Catholic Church is the only true church, it made sense for me to join it just in case, since I was already “all in” on Jesus and such. And, the real argument – straight from her priest – was that Protestants had too many “solas.” 

“Sola” is the Latin word for “alone” or “only.” This word has a history among Protestants from arguments that our forebears made against Roman Catholics. You may be familiar with them: Sola Scriptura, Sola Gratia, and Sola Fide, or “Scripture only,” “Grace only,” and “Faith only.” My friend thought it persuasive that any movement with multiple “onlys” was obviously confused. 

This is the point at which I wanted to show my friend the dumpster photo that I should have captured. At first glance, it seems ridiculous to have four stickers, each containing the word “only.” But, in time, what I realized was that there are some recycle containers that require paper only. For them, the “paper only” sticker is proper. And likewise for all of the others – cardboard, plastic, and glass - in some cases, those are the only things one should contribute to the container. In our case, the recycling company dealt with paper, and cardboard, and plastic, and glass, so each of the stickers was true when take collectively.

Likewise, when Protestant were arguing with Roman Catholics over authority, they argued that sola scriptura, in opposition to the church’s decisions that were binding on the believers’ conscience. When they were arguing over salvation, they argued sola gratia, in opposition to the church’s practice of being the only source of forgiveness. When arguing over the proper understanding of good works, they argued sola fide, in opposition to various requirements of the church. All of these were important and nuanced arguments, which I am oversimplifying here. In each case, the use of “only” (sola) was proper in that moment, just like “paper only” would be proper for some recycle bins. But, there are also times when one can say that sola scriptura, sola gratia, and sola fide are a reasonable way of describing our church collectively, even if there are three ‘solas’ there. 

Wow, the things one can learn from a dumpster. Who would have thought? 

Mark of St. Mark  

Sinfulness and Structure

The Presbyterian Church has contributed some of the values and practices that are at the core of our way of life throughout US history. I will note two of those contributions and the rationale behind them (as I understand it). In some ways, we could say this is “the bad news” and “the good news,” so I’ll start with the bad. 

Presbyterians understand human sinfulness to be universal and radical. By “sinfulness” I am not talking about specific transgressions of rules, laws, or commands. I am speaking of a condition of human life itself. In addition to being mortal and finite, we are sinful. The (pre-Presbyterian) Africa Bishop Augustine explained this condition using the Latin phrase, Incurvatus in se, life that is curved in on itself. This sinfulness/selfwardness is not an accidental part of human life – meaning that some persons are this way while others are not – but an essential part of who we are. Martin Luther, deeply influenced by Augustine, argued that those who have been justified by faith continue to struggle with this sinfulness, being simul justus et peccator, simultaneously justified and sinful. That’s what I mean when I say that Presbyterians understand sinfulness to be “universal” – it describes all of us, not just a few bad apples and rotten eggs. 

We also understand sinfulness to be “radical,” meaning that it is rooted deeply within us, a part of who we are essentially and affecting every aspect of our being. That does not mean that we are utterly incapable of doing anything good or that there is no essential goodness to us at all. It does not mean that all desires of our hearts, minds and bodies are bad. To call all aspects of our life “sinful” means that we recognize our propensity to curve in or ourselves in every way. It means that our understanding, our heart, our conscience, even our bodily cravings are subject to this life turning in on itself.  I know it sounds very finger-waggy to put it in these terms, but human life demonstrates rather consistently that there is honesty and wisdom here. Reinhold Niebuhr once famously said that sin is the “only empirically verifiable Christian doctrine.” Well said. 

Because sinfulness is radical and universal, it stands to reason that we would structure our ways of life together with limits to power, such as systems of checks and balances. Now we can see why those early Presbyterians were so opposed to absolute monarchies and insisted that the three branches of government would hold one another in check. And we can see why there is such an accountability structure within the church, where the local church is accountable to the presbytery, the presbytery to the Synod, etc. For Presbyterians, granting decision-making power to a group provides more checks and balances than to grant such power to an individual pastor, so most of the decision-making power of the church is given to a council of elders (hence our name, from the Greek word presbyter or elder.) Whether noble or nasty, whether an individual or a collective body, our sinfulness means that where there is power there needs to be limits, because each of us is disposed toward tyranny if we have unchecked power. 

Now, the good news: God redeems; God saves us from our worst tendencies; God transforms us into the image of Christ, whose life and death was a way of unfurling himself in order to life and die for others. Even the coming of Christ was a way that God – the ultimate power who could easily be the ultimate tyrant – demonstrated God’s love toward us by giving us God’s only son. Niebuhr might have said that sin is the “only empirically verifiable Christian doctrine,” but the Apostle Paul counters that as real as our sin is, God’s salvation “much more surely” real.  The Scriptures typically describe this transformation as “love,” because love overcomes that propensity to turn in on ourselves and enables us to turn our minds, our hearts, our conscience, and even our bodily cravings outward in a way that can be genuine, mutually beneficial acts of justice, concern, or companionship. 

One way early Presbyterians expressed this belief in God’s redemptive activity was in the claim that “God alone is Lord of the conscience.” By that, they meant that each of us – from private citizens to elected officials to elders in a church – has a freedom of conscience. That freedom was the bedrock on which the First Amendment was written. That freedom works in every direction as a safeguard: A church hierarchy cannot tell the individual believer what he must believe; a popular groundswell of sentiment cannot tell a leader how she must act. Each of us is free to follow our conscience. But, since each of us is always subject to sinfulness, our conscience must always be a guided conscience. The study of Scripture, the practice of community, the discipline of prayer, the call to justice – all of these churchy things are actually what liberate us from being enslaved to either tyranny from without or our own misguided passions from within. 

The frank recognition of human sinfulness, and the good news that we are not forever entrapped in the warped world of human sinfulness, is the theological underpinning of many of our institutions. And while it seems to be the cause de jour to bash all things institutional, I would hope that we don’t throw the theological baby out with the institutional bathwater. There’s a lot of wisdom and insight here.

Mark of St. Mark

Turn the page

As we sit here in the fresh days of a new year, I’m thinking about the various ways that we might use the phrase, “turn the page.” If we’ve said something unwise or done something hurtful, we may have to work through a process of apology and restitution in hopes that we might “turn the page” and put the past behind us. If we’re in the middle of a captivating story – literally or literarily – we “turn the page” with spellbound excitement. And, sometimes we simply “turn the page” because whether we are enjoying it or suffering through it, life has a way of moving on. 

Now, we turn the page from 2019 to 2020. For some, it is a welcomed chance to begin anew, to put the pain and struggles of the past year into the history books and chart a new direction. For some, it is a bit more dreadful, because the familiarity of the past is less daunting than the unknowing of the future. For some it is both bitter and sweet. And yet, for all of us, the New Year is come. So, what can we expect as we turn the page to 2020? 

I’ve long been skittish about the human capacity for making predictions. I have an easier time tracking trajectories, but predictions – whether they come from biblical scholars, Vegas bookies, meteorologist, or that hyperactive guy with the rolled up shirt sleeves on MSNBC – predictions are guesses one and all. I could tell you what to expect in 2020; you could tell me what to expect in 2020; and neither of us would necessarily be the wiser. 

Instead of a prediction, I lean toward the proverb that was expressed in a poem by Antonio Machado, which reads "se hace camino al andar," or "you make the way as you go."* We will walk in faith, as we always have. We will live into hope, as we always have. We will strive for justice, as we always have. We will listen to what the Spirit is saying to the church, as we always have. And then, at the end of 2020, through our joys and sorrows, accomplishments and setbacks, things gained and things lost, we will say “God’s steadfast love endures forever,” as we always have. 

Come friends, let’s make this way as we go. We’ll go singing, praying, lamenting, rejoicing, and ever believing in God’s faithful love. 

Mark of St. Mark

* Antonio Machado, Selected Poems, trans. Alan S. Trueblood (Cambridge: Har­vard University Press, 1 982), p. 143.