Ways of Resistance

Without exactly making excuses, I’m sort of pleased that I procrastinated so much today. It’s not that I didn’t have work to do. I have a crapload, to use the french translation. The issue for me is similar to many babies and children, “I don’t want to.” But, on the other hand, I also have a lot on my mind. I’m feeling fairly vulnerable lately with all the changes in community life (both positive and negative). And I’ve started to take stock, research my thoughts, feelings, and desires related to community. It’s a hard process. Heart surgery, so to speak. I’m opened up to a deep incision and am still finding that there is always further to go and more to reveal. It’s hard to live in a canyon. But anyway…

Paul Munn describes himself and fellow followers of Jesus as “strangers and exiles.” Of course, he wasn’t the first one to use that kind of language or communicate that kind of thing. Jesus said similar types of things and, quite obviously, experienced profound loneliness and a whole array of societal rejections and misunderstandings. (Or am I reading myself too much into that story?) Nevertheless, I took it upon myself to add some good ol’ Christian disillusionment to the post (as if there weren’t enough already out there!). Here’s what I said:

I used to think that the marriage metaphor Paul uses to describe Jesus’ bride might, in a way, also imply a marriage-like commitment/vow to a specific group or community (i.e., the benedictines). But I’m not so sure now. I still desire a deep experience of God’s family and to “grow old together” with its members, just as some communities aspire to do. I guess it’s kind of strange for me, though, to understand how this could be possible, either within or with-out a familiar communal life, when we have as our primary identity the destiny of “strangers and exiles.” If it’s a matter of perpetual not-knowing or fleeting moments of actual deep community, I’m ok with that…but I confess, I don’t understand why.

Paul’s reply:

Yeah, I can understand that desire. But I think the reality is that communities change a lot over the years (if they last). People come and go, even when there are “life-long” commitment expectations, and the nature and purpose of the community usually shifts quite a bit. The changes are sometimes the reason certain people end up leaving. So the ideal you talk about is not the reality (at least not the reality I’ve seen or heard about).

Marriages can change quite a bit, too, I suppose. And people sometimes leave.

I guess I’m saying that our deepest desires for community are often good (and God-given), but humanly-defined societies never can satisfy that. I think it’s really a desire to be part of the community that is God, the body of Christ, and anything short of that will ultimately leave us disillusioned.

My reply back:

“I think it’s really a desire to be part of the community that is God, the body of Christ, and anything short of that will ultimately leave us disillusioned.” That’s a good point. Especially the disillusioned part. Maybe I’m just in a dark mood today, but I keep thinking that the reality for human beings (the ones I know, at least) trying to follow Jesus isn’t much better. I believe God wants us to know Him directly, especially in those we know and receive who are part of His body. But I’m still struggling to remember what makes this message (”strangers and exiles”) good for us, His children?

Never one to let a smart response fall by the wayside, he replies:

I’m not sure what you mean by “good for us”… I think it’s the truth, so it’s good for us to know. Jesus warned his followers that they would encounter widespread rejection and persecution, not because he wanted it to happen, but it helped them to know it was coming and so not get too thrown when it did happen.

And I do think there is a big difference in how much we are disappointed when we trust people (especially in powerful groups) and how much we are disappointed when we trust God.

Now, before I read his response, I had decided to ride the bus home from work. Julissa took the car, because the car she drives had a flat. (I really enjoy public transit, fyi. It’s like a free nap; you know, the kind you don’t have to feel guilty about when others around you are awake.) So, while I studied the rain, people, and slow city views, I began rereading a chapter from Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. This beautiful passage (below) stood out to me–a corrective, if you will. Here’s a few lines from it and then my last comment to Paul:

The serious Christian, set down for the first time in a Christian community, is likely to bring with him a very definite idea of what Christian life together should be and to try to realize it. But God’s grace speedily shatters such dreams…

Bonhoeffer plants this idea to the community in his book Life Together: “Just as surely as God desires to lead us to a knowledge of genuine Christian fellowship, so surely must we be overwhelmed by a great disillusionment with others, with Christians in general, and, if we are fortunate, with ourselves.”

I like that. I think he hits the nail on the head. I also like the distinction you made about disappointment which develops from trusting people or groups and the disappointment unleashed when we trust God. The latter seems to be a certain mercy which responds to our innermost need–more than anything. Like you said in an earlier post, it is “a better prayer” for us to pray and receive.

Even though this may seem like a good place to end a rather piecemeal post like this, I’ve actually got one more link to throw in the mix. Jason Coker posted the beginnings of a chapter by chapter review of Dallas Willard’s new book, Knowing Christ Today: Why We Can Trust Spiritual Knowledge. I liked the topic. It’s related, it seems, to this feeling I’ve been struggling to identify for myself. So, I wrote a comment:

I’m new here (to the blog), but this caught my attention because I’ve been thinking through the implications of knowledge in relation to the Body of Christ. I haven’t looked at Willard’s book yet, so I’m not sure if he will touch on it. But it’s a rich topic, eh? For example, if we cannot completely identify with any human society (including Christian community) as Christ’s body, in what way can we avoid the temptations to idealize/idolatrize the social power of groups, movements, institutions, or even community? In other words, I am wondering if knowledge of Christ’s actual body is in any way possible or if we must accept the somewhat shoddy and disappointing versions personafied to us by our experiences of them. You might tell by my tone or question that this is one of those areas where I’ve had “experience with the belittling of faith as true knowledge.” Nevertheless, I view knowledge (religious or otherwise) as the substance of human faith. It’s the way we know the world. However, Jesus seems to know things about the world that I will never understand, put faith in, or believe. Peter Rollins, I guess, would want to call me an atheist. But I’m a Christian, a leader, and part of a faith community. This is not the comment I was thinking it would be. Alright, enough typing…

And Jason C. responds, offering this gentle reassurance/reminder:

Jason - Welcome. Your contribution is appreciated! I’m with you, but I suspect that we’ll have to find the real thing in the midst of the “somewhat shoddy and disappointing” version we have. : )

What can I say? It’s been a fruitful day, even in the midst of some “shoddy and disappointing” productivity percentages at my work desk. But thankfulness is key, right? I’ll finish my post here with Bonhoeffer’s final sentence from the overall passage I quoted above:

The more clearly we learn to recognize that the ground and strength and promise of all our fellowship is in Jesus Christ alone, the more serenely shall we think of our fellowship and pray and hope for it.

May it be so.

I listened to Obama’s recent acceptance speech for the Nobel Peace Prize. It was eloquent, as usual. He, in fact, performed some fine rhetorical gymnastics as he contradicted himself on at least one very important point. Brian McLaren unpacks it for us:

Two paragraphs in the president’s speech struck me in particular. After acknowledging with humility the complex circumstances around his being named the Nobel Peace Prize recipient, he said he was:

mindful of what Martin Luther King said in this same ceremony years ago — “Violence never brings permanent peace. It solves no social problem: it merely creates new and more complicated ones.” As someone who stands here as a direct consequence of Dr. King’s life’s work, I am living testimony to the moral force of nonviolence. I know there is nothing weak — nothing passive, nothing naïve — in the creed and lives of Gandhi and King. But as a head of state sworn to protect and defend my nation, I cannot be guided by their examples alone. I face the world as it is, and cannot stand idle in the face of threats to the American people. For make no mistake: evil does exist in the world. A nonviolent movement could not have halted Hitler’s armies. Negotiations cannot convince al Qaeda’s leaders to lay down their arms. To say that force is sometimes necessary is not a call to cynicism — it is a recognition of history; the imperfections of man and the limits of reason.

The unresolved irony of those two paragraphs wrestles under their composed and muscular syntax. On the one hand, “there is nothing naïve in the creed and lives of Gandhi and King.” On the other hand, “I face the world as it is … evil does exist in the world.” It’s hard to read the latter in any other way than denying the former: King and Gandhi were naïve, underestimating the reality of evil in the world.

That’s a difficult point to deny, right? Wrong. A commenter takes McLaren to task on it:

Man, this whole argument of McLaren’s rests on the assumption Obama was calling Luther King “naive”. He wasn’t. He was saying it was naive to believe that nonviolence would always work as a solution to radical evil. Um, he mentioned Hitler, didn’t he? You missed that. How would nonviolence have stopped the rampaging Hutus in Rwanda? It is just self-serving one’s own ideology to think Obama was making an either/or statement.

So, against my better judgment (they can get a little feisty), I weighed in:

I think I remember reading a story in Claiborne and Haw’s book (Jesus for President) about a Rwandan man whose family was murdered and, essentially, became a target himself as he began to directly forgive his enemies. His example, of self-sacrificial enemy-love, is far more powerful and intelligent than any “smart bomb.” Of course, one only has to read the Gospels and learn the stories of early Christians to understand how this works. I suspect there are some situations where Christians cannot do anything to stop “radical evil,” that is, aside from giving one’s own life. But shouldn’t that be the call of those who follow a resurrected man?

Now, mind you, I have no personal experience with that kind of stuff. In fact, I doubt I am strong enough to die for most folks, much less my enemies. I just can’t seem to justify a behavior that Christ and early Christians so readily condemned (both in behavior and teaching), simply because I suck.

Anyone want to take me to task?

Occasionally, I feel greatly inspired. Perhaps it doesn’t take much, but I appreciate it when it happens. The idea was to spend the day mostly “taking it easy” with my family and some church friends. Julissa and I had a super long, but amazing day yesterday with a newish group of lively rabble rousers for our Saturday “Coffee & Theology” gathering and then spent the rest of the day with the Price family walking at the park, taking pictures, cooking Lomo Saltado (and, later, creme brulee, thanks to Joshua!). So, today was meant to be restful. And it was. But it was also inspiring.

I had some beautiful conversations with friends about life and pain and friendship and trust. I may have convinced the church I go to to stop using styrofoam cups for coffee, in favor of the hospitality volunteers washing some thrift store mugs I promised to provide for our coffee drinking pleasures. Julissa and I had a great time earlier in the afternoon playing with our son, Santiago, who has totally gotten away with my thinking/feeling/love/heart.

Finally (and I could say more, including a short bit about how awesome it was to hear some old Kevin Prosch played for worship this morning), Julissa and I watched a film short by some of the folks who participate in the 24-7 prayer movement (think UK/Pete Greig/ Boiler Rooms…not IHOP/Kansas City/Mike Bickle) in Germany. Anywho…it documents a few community rhythms that I am more and more fascinated with: hourly prayer, co-housing, and service. It’s inspiring to think of other folks doing things that I am only starting with and hoping to engage. It’s (en)couraging because I need examples of life-giving community to strengthen my faith (not just for me, but also for our family). It’s beautiful because I could see the gleam in Julissa’s eye as she saw how the rhythm was worked out with so many different family types and singles.

I hope/pray our household/family dreams becomes a true incarnation of Christ’s love for the Chapman/Mulberry neighborhood. It’s inspiring, you see. More to come on that later…

All in all, I’m feeling pretty good…weird, huh?

Paul Munn says in his post “technology and the collective”:

…our mechanized and technologically-driven society tends to dehumanize us and detach us from the natural way of life God created us for. And much of our technological equipment even seems to push us further from each other and from God. But I’ve heard many people blame this on technology itself, as if it is somehow inherently evil, and I don’t agree with that. I think the problem is deeper.

I’ve written much about the idolatry of the social collective, how we organize and institutionalize gathered human beings to form “We, the People,” a power much greater than any one person, a terrible substitute for the Body of Christ. I think our technology, as it has developed, has become a clear reflection of the evils of the social collective. No advanced technology can develop apart from this organization of people, and it necessarily reflects the values of the group. Technological developments have to be funded and so are driven by money and the purposes of the group, because what serves them well is what sells. Technology doesn’t drive itself, though it seems to (yes, I’ve read Ellul’s book). And it doesn’t drive people. People are driven by the power of the collective, driven to develop technology in a certain direction and driven to use it and serve it—or be cut off from the group, the source of life.

I think technology (broadly defined) and the power of “We, the people” are almost the same idea (which is to say that both technology and “We, the people” are ideas). Wendell Berry, a good Luddite, demonstrated how his refusal of a certain technology (a computer) amounted to a great social rejection/offense/marginalization, even among otherwise sympathetic environmentalists. Foucault utilized the term “technologies of the self” to describe this similarity. Wikipedia explains the interaction or overlap like this:

According to Foucault, technologies of the self are the forms of knowledge and strategies that “permit individuals to effect by their own means or with the help of others a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and way of being, so as to transform themselves in order to attain a certain state of happiness, purity, wisdom, perfection, or immortality”…

Foucault argued that technologies of the self must be understood as inextricably linked to his notion of governmentality: the guiding rationalities whereby individuals and social structures regulate and police norms of thought and behavior. Burchell states, “government, is a ‘contact point’ where techniques of domination and technologies of the self ‘interact’. According to Foucault, this “contact point” is where “technologies of domination of individuals over one another have recourse to processes by which the individual acts upon himself and, conversely,…where techniques of the self are integrated into structures of coercion.”

Anyway, I’m not sure I necessarily disagree with Paul’s clarification about technology (not inherently evil), however, its connection and perhaps even similarity to the collective seems to merit more than just a toss-out neutrality.

Our Dark Mother (“To be at His disposal”)

“Let Him do with me whatever He wants
as He wants for as long as He wants.
If darkness is light to some soul—even
if it be nothing to nobody—I am
perfectly happy—to be God’s
flower of the field.”

You mean it, Mother?
Suffering, surrendered like a
petal dropped and wasted. No matter
how thinly you felt His Absence
or how callousedly your heart beat?

Did your watery eyes even pinken,
with signs of hope drooling away?
Or sometimes did you say, “I have to
refuse what He desires to take,”
perhaps at night or in your mourning?

Is it true you longed to love Him,
Dark Mother, His Hiddeness—His
dark Passion too? Your Poverty
on the Cross with His, a Victim
for us and, you, a victim for Him.

“I can’t express in words—the gratitude
I owe you for your kindness to me.—For
the first time in this 11 years—I have
come to love the darkness.—For I believe
now that it is a part, a very, very small
part of Jesus’ darkness & pain on earth…
More than ever I surrender myself to Him—
Yes—more than ever I will be at His disposal.”