Month: October 2008

Vespers at the Orthodox Church

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This past weekend we headed to downtown Austin for the oldest festival in Austin – the 76th annual Mediterranean Festival at St. Elias Orthodox Church. The church, officially an Antiochian Orthodox church, has since become a pan-orthodox community – proximity of geography achieving what centuries of dogma never could – an ecumenicalish orthodoxy. So here the Coptics, Syrians, Greeks, Russians (to name a few) worship together (in English nonetheless) and share their cultural heritages. The Mediterranean Festival is a chance for that heritage to be shared with the larger community. Taking the term “Mediterranean” lightly the offerings included Greek, Turkish, Eritrean, and Romanian foods and folk and belly dancing lessons. As great as these elements were, what intrigued me the most was the evening vespers service I attended at the church itself.

While the bands got going and the alcohol began to flow (clear sign that this was an Orthodox not Evangelical fest), Saturday evening vespers commenced as scheduled at Saint Elias. It was immediately apparent that most of us attending the service weren’t regular attenders. There were of course the gawkers who wandered in throughout the service, stood listening for a couple of minutes, got tired and sat down, and then got bored and wandered out. Then there were those of us who stuck it out with the whole stranger in a foreign land demeanor. We stealthily (or not so much) watched the few regulars for when to bow or cross ourselves or pray aloud. I gave up on that after awhile and just listened.

Although almost entirely in English, I understood little of the service. I am unused to sung prayers or liturgy of any sort for that matter. I’m not part of that whole ancient/future stream of emergent; it’s just not in my realm of experience. So, I had no clue what the role of the parade of priests (or whatever title they hold) was as they each performed different aspects of the service. I recognized a few familiar verses and prayers and I caught phrases referencing the salvation of the pious orthodox and some stuff about heretics, but mostly I heard repeated over and over again the phrase “Lord, have Mercy.” It was devout, but from my vantage point, utterly confusing.

So I was torn in my response to the service. I felt out of place. I wasn’t unwelcome, but it was obvious that no concessions were made to help make the service accessible to outsiders (who this night at least were in the majority). My low-church, seeker-sensitive/evangelical roots balk at such a system although I intellectually know that such a reaction is unfair and unloving. This was about a prayer service, not about what I expect from church. So I attempted then to simply acknowledge the beauty of the service and of the faith reflected in it. It was beautiful and the repeated prayers for mercy were moving (although the icons done in sentimental 1930’s styles were more cheezy than transcendent). But then as I sought to see the beauty, I wondered if I was merely being condescending. Was I acting too much like the outside observer patronizing a cultural event not so much as to enter into it and become part of it, but to stand apart and look down upon it.? Philosophical discussions about the possibility of either and all that gets lost in translation aside, I left the vespers feeling more like an outsider than when I entered in. I didn’t want to be an anthropologist, but I discovered I wasn’t a participant either. I was assuredly out of place.

Perhaps that is a good thing, perhaps not. Whatever the case, it has had me thinking and asking questions about such experiences and what they mean for my faith and for the church…

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Loving Our Neighbor and Ourselves

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Listening to the message at church this morning was a reminder of the tension the presentation of our beliefs often puts us in. Sometimes in affirming one thing it can appear that one is negating or ignoring other equally important and necessary beliefs. I know I do it all the time – create an either/or scenario when something is really both/and.

So at church Rick led a discussion about serving others. You know the whole first shall be last we are called to humble ourselves and serve thing. I obviously affirm all that, but a comment from someone bothered me a bit. She talked about how in devoting ourselves to others – giving up of ourselves – we are then filled as our cups overflow. The point wasn’t an economic exchange (we give in order to get), but more of an example of how God sustains those that serve. It’s the whole “it’s not about me” message.

I’m all for the whole love your neighbor/serve others thing, but I can’t affirm that such things are necessarily all you need to “fill one’s cup.” I’m a mom with young kids. I serve my kids 24/7, but as much as I love them and would do anything for them I can’t say that doing so is what fills me up. Absolutely and utterly drained is the more common feeling these days. I guess some could say I just have the wrong sort of attitude or am too selfish, but I think there is more that is needed. I can’t do this all the time – I need rest, I need a Sabbath. I need to be the person God created me to be. I need to love myself as well as love my neighbor. It sounds selfish (and it very well can be), but I think it is part of this both/and message that needs to be told. A good number of us do need to be told to get over ourselves and to serve – others though need to be told to care for themselves and rest. Both are needed – neither should be ignored or exalted.

It reminded me of recent conversations I’ve had with Mike on feminist theologians’ conceptions of sin. In traditional  conceptions the greatest sin is that of pride. To seek power and prestige is condemned and humility and service encouraged. Yet in feminist and other theologies of the oppressed, the greatest sin becomes allowing oneself to be walked over. One does not love oneself enough to lead. I see the truth there. And how these sins are presented depends both on the audience and the presenter. So it is dissonant for those who have never held or sought power to be told to relinquish it and serve. They are made to feel guilty for sins they have never committed, all the while failing to fulfill their calling in other ways.

The last shall be first and the first shall be last. We must love our neighbors and ourselves. We must be humble servants and leaders. We must serve actively and seek to rest. The tension is there always and it’s hard to present paradox without tipping the balance to one side or the other.

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Politics and Jedi

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As the election ramps up and the vitriol flies I hear more and more people wishing that the whole thing would be over. We have been gearing up for this election for the past two years – rhetoric and promises have abounded, lines have been drawn, and the divisions in our society made clear. Even those of us who affirm involvement in politics are a tad nauseated.

It is obvious that the selection of the American President is not a unifying element in our culture. We expect little from the campaign promises because we know that the “other side” will on principle fight against their realization. So when someone stands apart from that polarized system and is capable of affecting change he or she captures our attention and admiration. It’s sad, but the existence of such people who can get stuff done is rare. Rachel Louise Snyder speaks to this in her book Fugitive Denim as she discusses one of these actual agents of change –

“Bono is one of the few people walking the earth today who can convince world leaders to change rules, to establish different priorities. He’s a lobbyist of the highest order; a salesman whose greatest tool is himself, his own belief.” (p.28)

Bono stands outside the system, but gets involved on the most basic levels where change is needed. He gets his hands dirty and uses his awe-inspiring celebrity status to use his voice for good. In this role he is less like a politician and more like a Jedi. You know, a Jedi – as in Star Wars, the Force, and lightsabers. In the mythology of the Star Wars universe, the Jedi were the guardians of the good in society. Committed to a mystical/spiritual path, they chose to serve their culture as peacekeepers, protectors, and priests. They were present in society and did the hard and dirty work themselves. They were not the government or minions of the government but advisers to the government. Their presence inspired awe and their word carried weight. They weren’t saints, but people trusted them and for millennia they spiritually guided a galaxy.

As fanciful as it is, I wish there were more “Jedi” in our society today. People who stand outside the systems, but who guided by spiritual conviction and a deep abiding love for others are able to speak truth into that system. And because they are serving they are deserving enough of respect that people actually listen. It is curious that it is a rock star and not a politician or religious leader who holds that role in our society. We could just dismiss this as cultural obsession with celebrity, or we could be vulnerable enough to explore what those other leaders are lacking.

I for one am sick of talks about mavericks and the like. I’m more interested in guardians of the good than propaganda. I’m hoping for more Jedi.

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Framing History

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As a follow up to recent posts about a priori assumptions and the like, I wanted to add some rambling thoughts (emphasis on rambling) about framing stories and history. So while I get annoyed by assumptions when they are used to exclude possibilities, they do serve a purpose in providing us with a lens through which we understand history. We need such lenses as we look back and try to understand the past – in fact those lenses are unavoidable. We create frame stories in order to tell the story of history – they give us frames of reference, help us make sense of the world, allow us to create meaning out of history, and help us tell better stories.

So for example in high school I took a class called World Area Topics in which we studied the rise and fall of dictators through history. That was the framework within which we approached world history. In college I had a class called Revolutionary Europe – basically European history through the lens of acts of violence and sex scandals (fun stuff). Similarly an overview of American History textbooks from the past 100 years will demonstrate the evolving nature of frame stories. From morality based (Washington and the cherry tree), to imperialist (go Manifest Destiny), to anti-communist (we have always been a Christian nation…) the way history is taught reveals the assumptions and lenses of the storyteller. These framestories aren’t wrong or bad (usually), they just are. The issues arise when one or the other is assumed to be the only valid or true way of telling the story.

The stakes of course get higher when the frame stories of the Bible and church history are revealed (or attempted to be revealed). I’ve been taught church history though the lens of missions, evangelicalism, and as church vs. empire. Each hold truth, but not the sum of the truth. So the other night Mike and I got into a um, argument, about the centrality and importance of the framestory of the Jewish canon (so if you ever wonder what married nerds argue about…). It of course brought up more questions than answers. As I see it, those that developed the biblical canon did so because they desired to promote a certain framestory. The selection of books, the editing of sources, the very understanding of history all came from a certain perspective and were meant to convey particular meaning at the time. This is the Bible we have today – in accepting it as such are we in fact accepting the primacy of the historical lens of a particular people at a particular moment in time (as much as we can understand it of course)? What does that mean for the applicability of scripture? As one who is also unwilling to reject God’s role in the process, I still wonder to what extent “inspired” extends to. I could believe that God actively placed each book there in it’s current form for timeless application. Or I could believe that God guided the process to provide the most flexible and evolving source of knowledge possible. Or a million other options.

So while I understand the need for functional framestories, I appreciate the ability to acknowledge multiple possibilities. The faith factor complicates things from time to time. To accept default framestories can be difficult and can cloud understanding. But I guess that’s part of the balance between faith and doubt.

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Assumptions, Bigfoot, and Asherah

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Recently I was looking at some of Mike’s study materials from seminary. One of his profs’ specialty is on the Asherah Poles and so had provided materials on such. I was intrigued at how similar the ancient depictions of these poles were to the basic form of the menorah (especially as depicted on the Lachish ewer as shown). I was curious what theories there were connecting the two – are menorah’s the appropriated and “baptized” form of ancient asherah poles? Fascinating question (at least to me), but I didn’t find much information available. What I did discover was (yet again) a perfect demonstration for how one’s a priori assumptions about history, theology, and gender determine interpretation and reconstruction of the past.

Such assumptions are everywhere. I love those cryptozoology shows on the History channel that attempt to build a case for the existence of everything from bigfoot and Nessie to black panthers and giant squid. On every show there is the ubiquitous skeptic throwing out a shallow and circular argument against the theory of the day. The logic usually runs something like – “we know bigfoot (squid, panther…) doesn’t exist, so therefore these photographs/eyewitness accounts are wrong.” While amusing in the realm of cryptozoology, such a priori bias gets a bit more annoying when it gets applied to history or religion. I am constantly annoyed by assertions like “miracles can’t happen, so these things claiming to be miracles obviously didn’t happen” or “if the Exodus happened it had to happen during the X time period, there is no evidence of it in X time period so therefore it didn’t happen.” I know we are all guilty of it, but sometimes placing our biases and assumptions above and before the evidence is a tad frustrating. We end up sacrificing more than we discover as we force the world to fit our prefabricated boxes.

Take Asherah as an example (insert disclaimer here – I am not a bible scholar or archaeologist. I don’t know much about any of this – I’m just curious). Growing up I understood Asherah Poles to be idols used in goddess worship. The details were fuzzy, but the basic idea was that worship of anything other than God was in fact worship of Satan and therefore very very bad. The historicity or substance of Asherah didn’t matter so much as the fact that it was bad. As I started to read more feminist histories Asherah took on a more central importance as evidence of a feminine deity pre-dating the very masculine Semitic God. Among this small subset of feminist thought, the need to assert the primacy of the female reveals a visceral desire for not just equality but supremacy of the feminine. True history or not, it seems that even Paul had to contend with this version of history as he instructed women not to teach that women are the source of man since Adam was created first then Eve (1 Tim. 2). Whatever the case, feminist readings turned Asherah from just a hollow idol into a key figure in the history of women.

Those that were intrigued by the feminist readings but unsure of their bias against male religion tried to fit Asherah into the biblical narrative. Passages from archaeological findings speak of God and His Asherah. If Asherah is a goddess would this then not imply a consort of the Most High God – a female companion receiving sacrifices and due worship on par with Yahweh? It’s a best of both worlds sort of scenario that would explain the presence of Asherah poles turned menorahs in the trappings of Temple worship. But others, reacting in many ways to the feminist elevation of Asherah, are saying that Asherah isn’t female or a goddess at all. While Ancient Near Eastern sources reveal the presence of goddesses such as Isis and Ishtar, there is no direct evidence that Asherah should be translated as an entity (or deity). They suggest that the Asherah is merely the idol or altar, generally in the shape of a tree, dedicated to a deity such as Baal or El. So of course the Hebrew God would have “his asherah” borrowed from the cultures and traditions of the surrounding peoples.

So with at least four different interpretations and stories available concerning this term, it becomes obvious why a priori assumptions play such a vital role. If one is just looking for demons around every corner, that’s what one finds. If one is seeking chronological affirmation for the importance of the feminine, exploring Asherah as goddess proceeds. If one desires to debunk feminist assumptions choosing alternate translations of Hebrew and Ugaritic texts becomes the game plan. There are of course those that fall into these various camps for reasons other than deeply held bias, but I found it amusing to see how easily identifiable such assumptions were in my cursory google of the topic. What annoyed me though was that the exploration of the evidence seemed to occur only as a means of shoring up one’s assumptions. Granted, I understand that the format of academic papers is to make a hypothesis and then prove it, but when that shuts you off from considering alternate perspectives you are limiting your knowledge. And making it really difficult for anyone to do research without having to pick a side.

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Singing Theology

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So earlier today I was doing that whole sing/dance/abandon all dignity thing with Aidan in the nearly futile attempt to entertain him (i.e. keep him from screaming). The iPod was in and I was going with whatever song shuffled through – mindlessly singing words I’ve heard dozens of times. So after “I Kissed a Girl” and “Carry on My Wayward Son” (seriously apropos for babies…) I launched into Jars of Clay’s version of “I’ll Fly Away.” I was halfway through the song doing the chubby baby leg disco when I thought – “I love this song, I know it by heart, but I don’t affirm this eschatology.”

Now growing up I always heard the lecture in church that one shouldn’t lie in song. You know the whole “don’t tell God you love him and want to give your life to him unless you really mean it.” Just because the words are powerpointing across the screen and everyone is singing doesn’t give you license to lie to God. Over the last few years I took that sort of idea to heart, but pushed it beyond the personal spiritual application to a theological level. If I had an issue with the theology or message of a song, I just wouldn’t sing it. And in all truth it surprised me how many hymns and praise choruses had me shutting my mouth for one line or another. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to lie, but that I didn’t want to be compelled or manipulated into affirming things I didn’t believe just because everyone was doing it.

What amused me today was that while I had no problem belting out the lyrics to “I Kissed a Girl” or “Puff the Magic Dragon” (although I have never kissed a girl or frolicked with a dragon), being untrue to myself theologically did bother me. I am not a dualist eagerly awaiting the day I can leave this mortal life and escape to God’s celestial shores. I don’t buy that theology, but, I realized, as with the other songs I can affirm a certain story. The song’s origin in the story of slaves seeking a joyous end to a harsh and oppressive life makes sense and is something I can affirm. It becomes about telling the story of particular theology in its historical context.

Affirming and celebrating those particulars in such ways is part of my journey of the moment. Overcoming the sour taste leftover from those particulars being pushed as absolutes is a harder endeavor. But primarily I’m enough of a pragmatist these days that whatever calms the baby gets affirmed in my book – so I just kept on singing.

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