Interesting interview with Philip Jenkins, probably best known for his excellent The Next Christendom, on the future of Christianity, Islam in Europe, terrorism, American religiosity, etc.
The thing I like about Jenkins is that, although he tends to write for conservative publications, he strikes me as first and foremost a patient social scientist, not someone with an ideological axe to grind.
The cover article of the latest In These Times (complete with the inevitable Jesus-as-Che cover image) is about the new “Christian radicalism” being promoted by a variety of younger evangelical leaders and what the secular left might learn from it. The author claims that folks like Rob Bell, Shane Claiborne, and Gregory Boyd are part of an emerging (if you’ll forgive the use of the term) paradigm of Christian social witness that is “explicitly nonviolent, anti-imperialist and anticapitalist.”
Jim Wallis is quoted quite a bit in the article, but there seems to be some tension between the radicalism promoted by Bell, et al. which seems wary of organized politics, and Wallis’ more traditional political approach:
[A]s of now, the Revolutionaries seem to be embracing person-to-person, “be the alternative” solutions to the exclusion of advocating for social policy that is more in line with their vision of the kingdom. Boyd says, “I never see Jesus trying to resolve any of Caesar’s problems.”
Wallis believes this reluctance comes from the recent experience of being dragged into the mess of partisan politics on the terms of the Republican party.
“But the prophets [of the Bible] don’t talk about just being an island of hope — they talk about land, labor, capital, equity, fairness, wages,” says Wallis. “And who are the prophets addressing? Employers, judges, rulers. On behalf of widows, orphans, workers, farmers, ordinary people. The gospel is deeply political. It’s not partisan politics, but a prophetic politics. It is what the prophets and Jesus finally call us to.”
“Take any big issue we’ve got: Politics is failing to deal with it. They see that,” Wallis continues. “But I’m saying that we need to change politics. Social movements change politics — and the strongest social movements have spiritual foundations.”
Leaving aside the anti-Catholic animus (as well as what seem to be some dubious historical assertions) this is an interesting piece by British journalist Rod Liddle on the deep connections between English culture and Protestant Christianity.
There has been a revisionist view, popularized by Eamon Duffy in particular, that Catholicism represented the authentic religion of the English people which was stripped away by the heavy hand of Henry VIII and the English state. Liddle is here taking the more traditional view that it was a matter of England throwing off the shackles of Roman tyranny.
As it happens, I’ve just finished Own Chadwick’s history of the Reformation (Owen, brother of Henry, edited the Penguin series on the History of the Church in which Henry’s volume on the early church also appears). Chadwick takes more of a middle of the road view. He sees the decline in the church’s power in relation to the state as something that happened across the board, in Catholic as well as Protestant countries, and probably necessary for a more modern and rational form of government to emerge. Chadwick, in other words, takes a somewhat “Whiggish” view of the Reformation.
Chadwick also contends that, while reform could hardly be called a populist movement in England, the people accepted it fairly readily, and even among conservatives those calling for a restoration of the pope’s authority were a minority (of course, Chadwick’s book, having been written some time ago, doesn’t take Duffy’s scholarship into account). One of the virtues of Chadwick’s book is that he takes “reform” to be something that took place throughout Europe, but took different forms in different countries. This enables him to see the “counter” Reformation as more than simply a reaction to Protestantism, but also as a genuine Catholic response to the drive toward reform.
There’s a lot of interest in using this history polemically. Not just Roman Catholics, but Anglo-Catholics tend to emphasize the “catholic” elements of English Christianity and even take a somewhat dim view of the Reformation. One occasionally hears that Anglicanism has its theological and liturgical sources in the Fathers and the early church rather than in the Reformers (why not both?). On the other side, as in Liddle’s essay, Reformed Christianity is identified with English culture and nationhood, while Catholicism remains an essentially foreign, and somewhat menacing, force.
Either way, history, by itself can’t settle theological disputes. It’s certainly possible that the Reformers were right in their main criticisms of the medieval church even if the Reformation often made progress by means of state power. (For that matter, Catholicism hardly foreswore the use of the sword.) Success doesn’t prove truth, but it doesn’t prove falsehood either.
War correspondent Chris Hedges has the latest entry in the impending Christo-fascism sweepstakes with his new book, cleverly titled American Fascists. Read the Salon interview here. LA Times review here.
The MO of a lot of these books seems to consist of cherry-picking the few people who actually adhere to a “dominionist” ideology and then imputing that ideology to the mass of evangelical Christians. Or, alternatively, supposing that the masses are so dumb or easily led that all that’s required is some catastrophic event to get them marching in lockstep. So all evangelicals become “dominionists” in embryo.
Interestingly, Hedges offers a Rumsfeldian “the absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence” type argument against the objection that we don’t, in fact, seem to be on the brink of fascism. In fact, there seems to be a curious symmetry between the arguments of the Christian right alarmists and some of the more feverish arguments on the right about the impending takeover of Islamism. Both see a minority with a dangerous ideology, but then fail to note the disparaty between the ideology and the ability to actually carry out their schemes. They also both imply that the co-religionists of the radical minority are potential recruits to the fringe movement (whethere they’re evangelicals or Muslims). But what is the plausible chain of events whereby the “dominionists” or the radical Islamists actually succeed in establishing control of America?
This isn’t to say that both groups couldn’t cause a lot of trouble, though it has to be pointed out that Islamists have actually succeeded in killing thousands of people, whereas it’s hard to point to any significant political victories for hardline Christian dominonists. Fear-mongering about “Christianists” also seems to overlook what seem to be far more plausible explanations for things like US foreign policy. The fact that the policies of the Bush administration, for instance, don’t depart in any radical way from what has been the bipartisan doctrine of “full spectrum dominance” ought to tell against imputing excessive influence to the Christian right. As should the fact that very little traction has been made in the areas supposedly most important to the Christian right on Bush’s watch (e.g. abortion, school prayer, gay marriage, etc.).
What frequently seems to happen is that positions which, in themselves, would seem to be legitimate matters for debate in a democratic society, such as how far abortion rights should extend or what the proper relationship between religion and the state is, are taken to be part of a sinister “totalitarian” ideology by secular liberals. Thus, anyone who presses those positions in the public square becomes not just a political adversary, but an enemy of the open society as such.
There’ve been a variety of discussions and arguments among Christians in the wake of Saddam Hussein’s execution about whether it’s proper for them to support capital punishment. Invariably, someone trots out Romans 13 as a proof-text for the pro-death penalty side of the argument:
Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment. For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval, for he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer. Therefore one must be in subjection, not only to avoid God’s wrath but also for the sake of conscience. For the same reason you also pay taxes, for the authorities are ministers of God, attending to this very thing. Pay to all what is owed to them: taxes to whom taxes are owed, revenue to whom revenue is owed, respect to whom respect is owed, honor to whom honor is owed.
Verse 4 in particular is frequently appealed to as the clincher: “for he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.”
First off, I think there’s legitimate room for disagreement about what “bearing the sword” means in this context. Does it refer explicitly to capital punishment, or is “the sword” a more general symbol of earthly authority? Presumably this has been hashed out by people far better informed than me.
But, even assuming that v. 4 does refer to capital punishment, are the folks who use this as an argument for Christian acceptance of the death penalty prepared to bite the bullett and accept the political stance that seems implied by the passage as a whole? As has often been pointed out, Rom. 13 seems to encourage a stance of extreme submission to the existing political authorities. At the very least this would seem to rule out any kind of armed rebellion against the state. Are we prepared to repudiate the American revolution, say, in order to endorse the principle of “be[ing] subject to the governing authorities”?
Some theologians have argued that Paul is only referring to legitimate authorites whose rule is in harmony with the moral law, but that seems like a forced reading of the passage to say the least. So, it seems to me we’re forced, for the sake of consistency, not to appeal to it as a justification of capital punishment unless we’re prepared to assent to the teaching of the entire passage. I certainly don’t recall hearing too many pro-death penalty Christians repudiating the principles of 1776, but I’m open to correction.
Moreover, the point of the passage hardly seems to be to encourage Christians to support the death penalty within the empire, or petition for its frequent use. It looks a lot more like Paul is telling the Roman Christians to live in such a way as to be blameless before men and God. It’s about how they should act, not how the state should organize its criminal justice system.
Two worthy Christmas posts. First, from Siris:
And so we see the significance of Christmas. Annunciation is the Feast of the Incarnation, the Word made flesh; Epiphany is the Feast of His manifestation to the world as flesh. But Christmas grabs us, seizes us, because it is the Feast of His Humility, that he did not regard equality with God something to hold tight, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, coming in human likeness, found in human appearance, humbling himself. God wrapped in a blanket, lying in a trough in some cave in a tiny little town because no one had room for him elsewhere; unheralded and unsung except by angels in the heavens and shepherds coming in from the fields. Luke knew what he was doing; what he wrote down was one of the most memorable religious images in all of history. It seizes the mind, overwhelms it, sets it alight, and moves it to action.
This is why, incidentally, I am always wary about Christians criticizing people for celebrating Christmas, which we often do. We should not do this — no, not if they put up their lights and tree ten weeks early, nor if they listen to inane songs, or whatever other random fits of daffing with which they may go crazy. They are caught in the grip of an image that cannot be shaken; it inflames them with a fever that they can hardly bear. It grabs their hearts by their handles and pours them out until they are half-mad and all irritable from the strain of it. And, absurd as some of the festivities may be, the fire that lights them is a little bit contagious; even on the fringes, where people isolate themselves as much as possible from the religious side, one still feels its influences. It’s not always the healthiest madness, but it is a forgivable one. When Dionysius descends, can people not be caught up in the bacchanal? How can they hold back, and not romp in reverence? Is there nothing to be enthusiastic about in the celebration of God’s own humility, rich in giving, unashamed to be poor? By one gift beyond all expectation, we are inspired in our own myriad little ways, however faulty, however absurd. But if God was so humble that he did not shirk being a poor baby boy laid in a trough, we are called to the same humility; to humble ourselves in giving, and, failing that, to humble ourselves to those things others do that we deem foolish or absurd or tacky. God had to put up with your own folly and absurdity and tackiness, but He did not hesitate to endure it, and, more than endure it, associate Himself with it, if that’s what it took to bring you to light. And that’s what it took. We should all let the humility rub off on us a bit.
And one from Connexions:
The commercialism and materialism of Christmas is such a soft target, I almost wonder why we bother. If everyone agrees it’s wrong (At last! Something the whole church can agree about!) why do we bother talking about it? I want to suggest that even in the materialism of a modern Christmas, there’s a lesson for God’s people if we are willing to hear it.
Christmas is a supremely materialistic festival. We celebrate the fact that God took human flesh — became incarnate — and lived among his people. He did not enter the world as a glorious heavenly being. He came as a baby, doing all the things that babies do. Forget the sentimental carols and Christmas cards. If the Christian gospel means anything at all, it is that “God is with us”. Through the incarnation, God takes fallen human flesh and makes it holy. I think it was Irenaeus who put it this way: “He became what we are, that we might become what he is.” So if ever there was a time to celebrate our flesh with eating, merrymaking and music — this is it! Christians should not be on the sidelines looking po-faced. We should be showing the world how to party!
The real trouble is not with Christmas, but with the rest of the year. In the west we live every day as though it were a party. The reason we over-indulge to such excess at Christmas is that we over-indulge the rest of the year. The target of the church’s complaint should not be the materialism of Christmas, but the materialism of a lifestyle in which excess is not only lauded, it is practically compulsory.
When I went through my thoroughly anti-religious phase, I still retained a love for Christmas, with its sense that, at least one night of the year, something magical and transcendent was possible. Maybe it was just sentimentality, but presumably God can take natural sentiment and transpose it into something more significant. For a lot of people, that little spark may be all they have, but surely part of the job of the church is to fan those sparks into flames of faith and love whenever that’s possible.
I’m not really in favor of the attitude that simply asks secular people to leave religion to “us” religious people and stop co-opting “our” holidays. For one thing, secularism is, at least in part, the offspring of Chrstendom, and Christians can’t simply disown it and disavow any responsibility for it. If nothing else, a society thoroughly purged of its Christian residue is likely to be far worse than what we have now, with all its compromises and half-measures. And secondly, doesn’t the church exist for the world rather than to provide a religious club for like-minded members? I’ve always liked the parable of the sower, who promiscuously spreads his seed to take root where it will. And that has always seemed to me like a pretty decent image for what the church should be up to.
I’d wager that it’s when Christians really celebrate Christmas with the joy appropriate to the occasion, rather than acting like sour-faced scolds, that non-Christians, marginal Christians, half-Christians, and “cultural” Christians will be drawn into the fullness of life that we believe is possible when God comes near us, as he did in the Incarnation of his beloved Son.
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Christians in the Middle East are being put at risk by the “short-sighted” and “ignorant” policy on Iraq of Britain and its allies, the leader of the world’s Anglicans has said.
Doctor Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, warned Saturday that Christians could be chased out of the region due the hostility created by the invasion of Iraq, in an article for The Times newspaper.
The Church of England leader accused coalition countries of endangering the lives and futures of thousands of Christians in the Middle East, who were now being viewed by their countrymen as “supporters of the crusading West”.
He said that despite concerns being voiced in the build-up to the March 2003 US-led invasion of Iraq, there was plainly no strategy for handling the risk that Middle Eastern Christians would be put under.
More here. Abp. Williams’ original article here.
Arab Christians obviously find themselves in a very tough situation – caught between Islamist elements in the Middle East, and western military powers for whom they’re largely invisible, or potential enemies. Abp. Williams has some thoughts on how western Christians might practically improve the situation of our brothers and sisters in the Middle East.
“The familiar observation that the Bible is the best-selling book of all time obscures a more startling fact: the Bible is the best-selling book of the year, every year. Calculating how many Bibles are sold in the United States is a virtually impossible task, but a conservative estimate is that in 2005 Americans purchased some twenty-five million Bibles—twice as many as the most recent Harry Potter book. The amount spent annually on Bibles has been put at more than half a billion dollars.” (Read more. Via.)
Via Andrew Sullivan, part of an interview with then-Cardinal Ratzinger:
At any rate, we can see that [animals] are given into our care, that we cannot just do whatever we want with them. Animals, too, are God’s creatures, and even if they do not have the same direct relation to God that man has, they are creatures of his will, creatures we must respect as companions in creation and as important elements in the creation.
As far as whether we are allowed to kill and to eat animals, there is a remarkable ordering of matters in the Holy Scripture. We can read how, at first, only plants are mentioned as providing food for man. Only after the flood, that is to say, after a new breach has been opened between God and man, are we told that man eats flesh… Nonetheless…we should not proceed from this to any kind of sectarian cult of animals. For this, too, is permitted to man. He should always maintain his respect for these creatures, but he knows at the same time that he is not forbidden to take food from them. Certainly, a sort of industrial use of creatures, so that geese are fed in such a way as to produce as large a liver as possible, or hens live so packed together that they become just caricatures of birds, this degrading of living creatures to a commodity seems to me in fact to contradict the realtionship of mutuality that comes across in the Bible.
Also, turns out the pope is a cat person, so he has good taste too.
A Thinking Reed 