A Reflection on This September 11th: A Call for Casuistry and a Counter Script

What is it with guns and the so called “Christian right”? And how is carrying guns in spaces called church “good news”?

As I recently listened to various news stories of gun brandishing religious Americans, it seemed clear to me they are somehow self-deceived through the use of argumentum ad verecundiam. When asked about the practice of celebrating the Second Amendment (which for them includes bringing one’s weapon to church), the interviewed sources referenced the “forefathers of our nation”. There was no mention of the forefathers of the church or the alternative society that emerged in the midst of other nations or an empire, e.g., the Roman Empire. There was no remembrance of the sins of many of our American forefathers who, e.g., generally accepted pro-slavery ideology and practices while applying some kind of interpretive reasoning, which included biblical texts. Moreover, for these 21st century religious cowboys, the Second Amendment of the U.S. Constitution seems to be their primary text, while many of the stories and exhortations of the Biblical text that suggest non-violent practices are far from their minds.

It is this gentle cynic’s observation that this kind of self-deception is correlative to an identity being nurtured, formed, and socialized by the American dominant script, which is one of certitude, privilege, and entitlement. One of the crucial flaws of this religious thinking and practice is the story or script they knowingly or unknowingly embrace about who and what they are. Many of these kinds of church folk have little stomach for doubt and little aptitude or imagination for working with an alternative, counter script; i.e., the Christian narrative in its fullness. Thus having lost their way, they cannot navigate and negotiate their lives through what Walter Brueggemann describes as the “the ragged, disjunctive character of this counter-script.”

“That script is not monolithic, one dimensional or seamless. It is ragged and disjunctive and incoherent. Partly it is ragged and disjunctive and incoherent because it has been crafted over time by many committees. But it is also ragged and disjunctive and incoherent because the key character [God] is illusive and irascible in freedom and in sovereignty and in hiddenness.”

These self-deceived quasi churches across the American landscape such as New Bethel Church in Louisville are a mix of an intellectually and spiritually undernourished group of people who call themselves “Christian” while also trying to erect some kind of American ruggedness club. If they are to become more fully human as measured against “authentic, undiminished humanity,” embodied in Jesus, they will need to revive in their collective settings the rich Christian tradition and practice of casuistry with an aim to better understand their connectiveness in this fragmented world of competing narratives. In this case, it is proverbial mixing of oil and water, viz., American nationalism dubbed over and against the Christian narrative.

On another level, this self-deception is what Thomas Merton called Promethean Theology (The New Man): a human obsession with what is "mine" and "thine", i.e., between what is “mine” and what belongs to God. Like the prodigal son, there is separation from what is “his” and the rest of God’s possessions. Seeking a “soul full of my rights”, the gun-brandishing “Christian” has forgotten (from a lack of contemplation) the reality that we are to ‘Never take your own vengeance . . . for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay”, says the Lord.’ Our action is clear, “But if your enemy is hungry, feed him; and if he is thirsty, give him a drink . . . do not be overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good.” (The Letter of Paul to the Romans 12, which is key and context to understanding the often mis-interpreted Chapter 13)

Instead of seeking to defend themselves and our “individual rights”, may they and may we all engage in the work of contemplation, nurture, formation, and socialization by the practices of preaching, liturgy, casuistry, social action, spirituality, and neighboring of all kinds, such as hospitality and non-violent responses.

U.S. Delusions of Grandeur

Wendy Murray's "U.S. delusions: An army man changes his mind" In Christian Century (Aug. 2009) provides a critical update to the failing American script.

'Andrew Bacevich, professor of international relations at Boston University, uses strong words to describe what is going on in the U.S. He speaks of a "crisis of profligacy," "collective recklessness" and a "dysfunctional country." He says our political system empowers an "imperial presidency" and possesses "delusions of grandeur." This is surprising commentary coming from a onetime military man who was a soldier's soldier.' Read entire article.

Bacevich in an Aug. 15, 2008 interview with Bill Moyers also stated, "U.S. troops in battle dress and body armor, whom Americans profess to admire and support, pay the price for the nation's refusal to confront our domestic dysfunction."

Another source and must read: Chris Hedges, War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning (New York : PublicAffairs, ©2002).

Deconstructing Rigid and Closed Human Systems with Xavier Le Pichon

“Throughout the ages we have to rediscover that our community is not only made of the highly motivated competing individuals as in my own scientific world, but that it includes fragile, vulnerable, suffering individuals who reveal to ourselves our own fragility, our own vulnerability, who actually lay bare our own sufferings that have been hidden in our deepest self. This fundamental discovery is at the heart of our humanity . . . As I knew from my own scientific experience, the weaknesses, the imperfections, the faults facilitate the evolution of a system. A system, which is too perfect, is also too rigid because it does not need to evolve. This is true in politics; it is true within a society, within families, within nature. A perfectly, smoothly running system, without any default is a close system that can only evolve through a major commotion: the evolution occurs through revolutions.” - Ecce Homo, Xavier Le Pichon

Having a vocation and the privilege to listen to and support various weak and vulnerable individuals and families in my community, and to take upon myself some of that pain while naturally recognizing in these experiences my own pain; I, a gentle cynic, have come to see more profoundly how the weak, the marginalized and the vulnerable (so called “imperfect parts”) need to be welcomed or integrated into our systems and structures. That is, a less uniform and rigid society where the weak and vulnerable are welcomed, supported and integrated into our communities allows for an ongoing evolution that facilitates a greater level of adaptability and holistic prosperity.

"[A] society that separates the produces from the others considered as dead weight, even as marginal and excluded individuals, is a hard society, characterized by conflicts and often by complete rejection of minorities. It is sad and pessimistic. On the contrary, a society where we all are well intergrated has a much more adaptable structure, with a different, easier and more conciliatory mode of life. It is often happier and more optimistic." - Xavier Le Pichon

During what Crisis Consultant Randall Bell has called "the largest natural disaster in the history of the United States", Hurrican Katirna, there naturally emerged the lamenting voice that asked, “Where was God?” Yet after the initial grief, the humanitarian response in the form of the often too trusted governmental system became stressed and faulted while it sought to aid the thousands of homeless and displaced of whom many were the poor and historically marginalized people of this region. As a result, many of the thousands of weak and vulnerable people facilitated an evolutionary moment in the “system”. The prior system (government response) which was too closed to evolve by itself thus experienced a major commotion and an evolution began to occur through a revolution. The weak and vulnerable spoke out, and society—churches, families, various groups and organizations—responded with an ongoing compassionate response.

My own ongoing practice of gentle cynicism acknowledges the reality that even the system I work within (human services) has its inherent rigidity and closed mechanisms. Yet having begun to penetrate that reality complicated by ongoing debates, economics and figures who operate largely out of various dualism (left vs. right, criminal vs. non-criminal, produces vs. dead weight) seeking an unrealistic “perfect” solution, I from an epiphany of the vulnerability of the other embrace an ethic of the relationship of responsibility to the other. I am learning that to become more fully human means welcoming the suffering, the weak and vulnerable while knowing all to well, that I too am vulnerable and weak.

Ivan Illich and a Call for a New Story

“Neither revolution nor reformation can ultimately change a society, rather you must tell a new powerful tale, one so persuasive that it sweeps away the old myths and becomes the preferred story . . . one so inclusive that it gathers all the bits of our past and our present into a coherent whole, one that even shines some light into the future so that we can take the next step . . . If you want to change a society, then you have to tell an alternative story.” Ivan Illich (Austrian former priest, philosopher, social critic, 1926-2002)

This gentle cynic wants to be less ambiguous and ambivalent about and be intellectually honest about the social reality of competing and incomplete stories—the often conventional, usually unquestioned variations of a dominate script—which serve only to distract from a story that is purely and rightly a “new” and “good” story, one worthy of our allegiance.

We could say that the dominant scripting in our American society is one of “technological, therapeutic, consumer militarism” which socializes all on both extremes, liberal and conservative. It is a script that for most part is about “certitude, privilege, and entitlement” and has always and will always—as long as it is the dominant script—promise safety, prosperity, and happiness. However it is not hard to conclude that we are one of the most discontent (unhappiest) societies in the world. Thus, the dominant script has failed and it cannot make us safe or happy.

Remember the response after September 11, 2001, when the dominant script exhibited itself? People, prompted by our governmental leadership, knew nothing better to do than to go shopping. Then there came the abuse and opportunism by banks and mortgage services on the backs of the consumer. And yet, most revealing, our society has become the most determinative killers without even thinking about it. If we are to pause, listen, and contemplate before acting (something we should have done as a whole society after September 11, 2001), we would do well to consider the call of Ivan Illich for an alternative, “new” story, which may in its emergence seem like a extraordinary act of disengagement from and relinquishment of that dominant script by way of a counterspeech, seizing the conventional and habitually unquestioned script that has been leading us to unhealthy choices, unhappiness, and abuse by the powerful over the naïve and the weak. Such a story and such an act will gradually restore us on a path to health and wholeness.

Dialogue with William Lobdell's Story

Below is my brief response to an interview with William Lobdell with Tom Ashbrook (NPR, On Point)

Having heard William Lobdell’s story from various news venues over the past year, I am struck by his genuineness, openness and sense of “peace” with doubt. His journey is quite interesting and prompts me to reflect upon the ancient Jewish spiritual roots, which can be accessed in the wisdom literature of the Old Testament. Unfortunately, various kinds of “Christians” dismiss what I have come to recognize as normative in this literature and further conveyed in the radical life and teaching of Jesus.

Severely lacking in practice and the spiritual vocabulary of many American Christian churches is this normative and valuable experience of doubt. There are clearly large questions that revolve around an active formation of faith, and they can present themselves in complex periods of disorientation, dislocation, and a deep sense of abandonment. Active doubt, such as portrayed in the life of the Qohelet in Ecclesiastes, many Psalms, Job, and the life of Jesus remind us that life can naturally move from periods of orientation into profound and long-standing periods of disorientation. While many American Christians write off experiences of doubt as “lacking faith”, my own journey has allowed me to see doubt as a path to the formation of faith and coming to terms with the hidden-ness, illusiveness, and darkness surrounding concepts of God, the large questions and perplexing experiences of suffering and evil in the world. (I am grateful for the works of Paul Ricoeur and Walter Brueggemann on this topic.)

The ancient Jewish tradition offers some almost lost practices which can be quite redeeming at best or at least able to help move individuals and communities into some sense of being re-oriented. For example, there is the practice of lament and complaint in the literature mentioned above. In my many years of religious experiences (predominately Christian), it has only been recently that I have met a religious community comfortable with practicing lament and complaint within their corporate lives. I am learning that while doubt is normative in human experience, practices such as lament and doubt can assist us in moving into some surprising places: places where we are more comfortable, imaginative, and at peace with the unknown and life as it is.

On

As spring emerges after what has been a challenging winter, this Gentle Cynic continues to find resources, support and movement away from the cultural sway of Western individualization and the neo-humanist view of personality to one of community and harmony with the "other". As he gains greater insight, becomes more comfortable with ambiguity, and cultivates self-differentiation (with reference to his functioning in family, group, and community), he senses more connectedness along with a feeling of being "on", and not so as his past when hyper-vigilent doubt led to a feeling of being "off".

On

On I go

as past winds

blow me

from the road.

With swells

and flying debris,

I push

through the snow.

I trudge along

often alone;

at times

I join another.

Like geese

we are lifted

up and

forward

On a path

that has no

precise

markings,

Only a

placid

place of

challenge.

Image: Andrew Wythe, The Snow Hill, 1989

Sent

(Re-posted for editing purposes, from April 2008)

This gentle cynic recently found himself working out the idea of “being sent” as he entered the threshold of completing his MDIV at Eastern Mennonite Seminary and entering the complex world as one sent to minister in some purposeful way. The thoughts below have become a way to express his own sense of movement and to declare before his seminary community during their Baccalaureate his own present sense of mission—something that has come through much constructive critique, formative influences and struggle.

Some influential images in this particular episode of discerning what it means to be sent, have emerged from the artistic work of Andrew Wyeth. What is shared below is this gentle cynic’s way of sharing a recent glimpse into his own musing and grappling with the discernment of movement and mission; i.e., being sent (Baccalaureate theme included the reading of the Scriptural text of John 20:21-22).

Andrew Wyeth reminds me a little of myself, while his complex work reveals themes which have been a part of my seminary journey. Wyeth is one who began his work constructing an image of himself as “a contented loner, a modern-day Henry Thoreau, who sought inspiration from rural and coastal landscapes; only to see his work transformed as it progressed into interconnected themes of life and death, and time and eternity.

His ‘”pure” unpeopled landscapes’ took on profound human presence where he portrayed the physical lives and intense feelings of people, such as his work surrounding the Olson family and their dilapidated home which includes his famous Christina’s World, a scene which appears to be a young, thin women reclining in a field while looking up at her home just above the hill; when actually it portrays an aging women who had a disability that left her unable to walk; proudly refusing a wheelchair, she resorted to dragging her body around when her legs became permanently disabled.

Wyeth’s numerous works try to speak into harsh realities and embrace the complexities of life—the humorous, beautiful, painful, simple and tragic—while reflecting on the mystery and seasons of life, much of which have become a part of my rhythm of reflection as I am sent into a world filled with harsh realities and complexities.

Connected with this kind of awareness, I am summoned to believe, imagine, and serve knowing the transcending and far-reaching peace which Jesus Christ has promised and fulfills—the Shalom of God*, which when faithfully held before us yields perceptive imaginations, interpretive vision, unique solutions, and leaps of faith that are in tune with God’s creative and redemptive ways.

One of Wyeth’s lesser known works, Schooner Aground, depicts a scene that speaks into my experience of renewal in relation to the church and world. In the foreground are a host of people spread out presumably from the local coastal community along with some militia, all of which are watching a steam-powered tugboat (smoke billowing out of its stack) trying to pull out a grounded three masted schooner from the rocky shoreline. What stands out for me is a small boat (possibly a row boat) out at sea having a vague figure who seems to have his back turned against the struggling tug and is facing elsewhere—the smallest of the three vessels and yet the only one that is moving somewhere with purpose while not being preoccupied nor sidetracked by the surrounding activity. It is a vessel free to move unencumbered by the wider activities and the community of spectators. It is a vessel that yearns for the open waters; it’s on a mission. my experience of renewal in relation to the church and world. In the foreground are a host of people spread out presumably from the local coastal community along with some militia, all of which are watching a steam-powered tugboat (smoke billowing ).

With increasing concentration and influence over the last several months, I have considered what ministry might look like for me and have found myself content to pursue “bi-vocational” ministry; i.e., faithfully participating in the church as an alternative society—whatever that may look like—while faithfully serving the world directly through a vocation which allows me to invest in others with gifts I possess and have cultivated. Thus, both church and a specific vocation should make use of my gifts at places of margin and boundaries where I and others might move in and out of providing connections for ministry, resources, rest, and partnerships, where transformations are wanting to happen, and where a claim of God’s rule—God’s shalom—against the momentum of injustice and “the powers” is needed.


Sources:
* Ben Wenn and Adam D. Weinberg, Unknown Terrain: The Landscapes of Andrew Wythe (New York: Whitney Museum of Art, 1998), 12.

Anne Claussen Knutson, “Andrew Wyeth’s Language of Things” in Memory and Magic (New York: Rizzoli, 2005), 70.

Images of Andrew Wyeth’s works: Image 1, Baleen, 1982; Image 2, Christina’s World, 1948; Image 3 Schooner Aground

* Shalom of God speaks of a promised and emerging profound salvation of every aspect of God's creation, which, of course, includes humanity. There is in this meaning a deep sense of welfare, peace, soundness, and deliverance that transcends any institutional or nationalistic notion.