Late Night Haiku XXII

LXI. A lonely thought about
The soft sounds of a tree frog,
Who knows not of it.

LXII. What is this odd place,
That my thoughts arrive at now,
Like a long spring rain?

LXIII. The words do not come,
To match thoughts that bubble up,
Shall the thoughts erupt?

Christ and Culture

My two brothers in Christ, Ed and Brad both touch on elements of directions I want to follow concerning the issue I remarked about in my last post about Archbishop Burke, and societal issues in general. I'm torn, you see.

In my church history textbook tonight, I got to the section on my “theological hero,” the good Dr. Karl Barth. Barth is not only almost unanimously judged the most important twentieth century theologian, he is also probably the most important theologian most people haven't heard about. His story always fascinates me. After World War I, Barth rejected the liberal theology he had pretty much bought wholesale precisely because he saw it was a toothless giant. Liberal Protestantism was of the world and hence went right along with what happened in society, supporting World War I and, eventually, the Reich Church in World War II.

Disillusioned, like many young Europeans who saw the destruction of the first world war, he rethought his whole theology. Out of that came der Römerbreif (the Epistle to the Romans), Barth's commentary on the Apostle Paul's letter to the Romans, which sent shockwaves throughout the theological world that we are still sorting out today. His Kierkegaardian Existentialist influenced, but highly orthodox views, which would become later known as Neo-Orthodoxy, set the stage for a showdown in Germany in the 1930's.

When Hitler established the Reich Church and the majority of Protestants bowed to the Third Reich's policies (and many even endorsed them), the Confessing Church stood up against it. In addition to Barth, a better known figure, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, participated in this movement.The Confessing Church issued the Barmen Declaration, authored by Barth, which rejected the eclipsing of the Gospel by another, worldly gospel. I think this probably in large part agrees with what Brad is expressing.

However, like all things Barthian, paradox abounds. In addition to rejecting the Gospel influenced by society, the Confessing Church also stood up with the Gospel against society. Bonhoeffer went so far as to participate in an attempted assassination of Hitler. While the Confessing Church refocused the center of the Church on the Word of God, its members lived out their faith in working against an evil regime. Likewise, great Christians throughout the ages have stood against evil societal forces — for example the abolitionists and their stance against slavery. Which are regimes we called to stand against and which are societal issues that merely distract from the Gospel and even threaten to become another gospel?

I am not sure.

This is a paradox that I think yields no easy answers. I think the Catholic Church is doing a better job at grappling with this than many of us who are Protestant are. The Catholic Church is quite firm in its stand against abortion, cloning, and the like, but it also lives the Gospel out in its many mercy ministries, charities and other works to help the poor and sick. I think that's why many outside of the church hold in higher esteem the pope than they do many Evangelical leaders. I think much of the problem in Protestantism is not that we take stands for political causes, but that we let them take over our message. We are pro-life, but we also should care for the sick. We stand against sin, but we are also sinners. I think this is what Roland Martin was getting at in a piece I blogged about a few weeks ago. We should live out the Gospel, but in a consistent manner, not just in a few key issues that support our favorite political party. At the center must be the Gospel. The problem is that the center becomes decentered.

That's the challenge.

Gone Fish'in, Go Read Elsewhere

Ok, I'm not really out fishing at midnight (and I'm not going fishing tomorrow either, in fact, I don't like fishing). But, I am drawing a blank on something to post. So instead, let me point you to my latest column on Open for Business.

Archbishop Raymond Burke is not the type of man you would label as a conciliator. Since he came to St. Louis a few years ago, he has inflamed via his vocal opposition of politicians who support abortion, his suppression of a parish that ignored his orders and now his resignation from a charity board after it brought Sheryl Crow, a supporter of embryonic stem cell research, to play at a benefit concert. The common wisdom says he must be wrong, but is he really?

Feel free to let me know what you think either over on OFB or here.

An Ending

It was an odd feeling. I returned to my alma mater for one last official activity as a student. Because I graduated mid-year, I did not qualify last year for a senior certificate from a society I had been inducted into in my Freshman year. Instead, I was eligible this year. So, for the first time since December, I stepped onto campus today for “business.” I've been on campus to visit a few professors and attend a “coffee conversation” this semester, but all of that has been “just for fun.”

But, I knew this was still coming. It felt somehow especially final today to walk off the campus for the last time in anything related to my status as a student there. Unless someday I should be honored to return there as a professor, this will be my last official time on campus, though I'll surely be back more times to visit my professors.

I'm appreciative of the fact that I am already at Covenant. The last few months there have been great; the classes are great, the professors are great; and my fellow students, many of which I am please to be able to call friends, and a few of whom now read asisaid, are great. At least one ending leads into another beginning.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

With three weeks or so left of the Spring semester, I can really identify with the persona in Robert Frost's famous little poem. Especially the last couplet.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Barthism for the Day

Karl Barth on Paul's inclusion of Timothy in the greeting in Philippians 1.1:

A hero, a genius a “religious personality” stands alone; an apostle has others beside himself like himself and sets them on his own level. He speaks in an office occupied by many. He can fall, but his Lord does not fall with him.

Hmm… that's an interesting insight. I just discovered Barth's Epistle to the Philippians, which appears to be a fairly thorough commentary on the book of Philippians. Like all of Barth's works, it appears to have a thoughtful, pastoral tone. I need to look into getting a copy (I'm viewing what I can using Amazon's “Online Reader.”).

Another nugget from his section on 1:3-4:

The proper basis for thinking of each other and praying for each other among Christians is that they thank their common Lord. That is indeed the proof of whether in the prayers they offer they are really turning to him, the Lord, and not to some God of their own making.

Chick-fil-A

I had never eaten a Chick-fil-A before I started at Covenant. However, I heard from many of the students around campus about the “high holy day” of Wednesdays, when Chick-fil-A showed up on campus and had food for sale. Part of this can be explained by the total lack of hot food for sale on or near the campus the rest of the week, part of it can be explained by those looking for a bit of a taste from the South (particularly since many CTS students are from the South), but apparently Chick-fil-A can just generate a following beyond those reasons.

The funny thing is, I've probably had seven or eight Chick-fil-A meals this semester, and I'm starting to look forward to that special day of the week myself. Yesterday, I was at a local mall after lunch and happened to walk through the food court, which has a Chick-fil-A. They were giving away samples, and I had a nugget. After eating that nugget, I knew I really needed to get my Chick-fil-A sandwich today, along with their tasty carrot and raisin salad.

It doesn't hit me like “the Crave” for White Castle, but I am none the less craving a simple chicken sandwich. Interesting.

A Deconstructionist Epistomology of Religion

Ok, so how's that for a fancy schmancy title? I need to develop my ideas a little more (and see what's actually going on with this concept already), but I think it is high time to explore a deconstructionist philosophy within Christianity, and I'm not seeing it happening anywhere I normally look. Now, I'm sure if you know Deconstructionism, you are probably thinking I am crazy, so hold on just a moment.

I find reading Jacque Derrida painful, to say the least, but I find deconstructionism extremely interesting once I pull the concept out of Derrida's text (which is truly deconstructed). The basic premise is simple enough: “meaning is endlessly deferred.” Whenever we seek meaning about something, which is called “the center,” we move away from the center, placing the focus on the means of understanding. It is essentially impossible to zero in on the thing itself, according to deconstructionism.

Deconstructionism differs from the atheistic, twentieth century existentialism in that it does not argue that meaning is arbitrary or non-existent, but rather that it is impossible to get to. I think this is actually a more faithful outgrowth from Kierkegaard's original flavor of existentialism, and it also fits in neatly with my interest in redeveloping a Barthian neo-orthodox theology. Essentially, deconstructionism undermines any system of rational thought, admitting that none of them can get to meaning. This, of course, would include natural theology, to which we must follow Karl Barth in saying, “Nein!”

But, this does not lead to despair when applied within Reformed theology, because our knowledge comes not from our own reason but God's. To me, it seems that what seems true coming out of deconstructionism is essentially an observation about the fall: a fallen creation cannot rationally or otherwise actualize meaning. The meaning is clearly there, but that meaning can only be drawn close to, not found. We can accept a Thomistic framework of natural theology, but we must accept that the center will be missed and must be interpolated via revelation. This is an important point, because it does not rule out reason, but rather puts reason within the bounds of revelation, our only hope of actually escaping a never ending series of collapsing systems.

I think this is not only interesting, but it also serves as an excellent response to modernist over-rationalism. From experience we can say that modernism does not work, precisely because everyone must accept a crisis point of faith and make a leap of faith to enter whichever scheme of knowing they feel is most proper. Deconstructionism does not say anything new, yet it gives its message so boldly and directly, I think it does bring significant value to the table.

Good Quotes from Sir Jack

A a few classic lines from King Henry IV Part 1, courtesy of our man John Falstaff:

Tut, never fear me: I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.

Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well as better:
tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.

Thesis, Antithesis and Synthesis in Springtime Poetry

I may have talked about this on here before (in fact, it is quite likely, since I know I've mentioned both Eliot and Chaucer together before) but I thought with my recent piece of poetry (and Brad's comment on it), I would explain what I meant about it being the synthesis of spring poetry.

Chaucer's “General Prologue” to the Canterbury Tales is likely the most revered piece of poetry in the English Language. The first fifteen lines form one sentence in the form of an argument. When April comes and beats back the drought of March and Zepherius starts blowing, flowers bloom and birds get so excited about singing they sleep with one eye open! When all of this happens, it is time for pilgrims to go on pilgrimages to Canterbury to where St. Thomas Becket's relics are, for he helped them when they were sick.

Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote
The Droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe course y-ronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open ye, -
So priketh hem nature in hir corage:
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages -
And palmers for to seken straunge stronde -
To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.

So, Chaucer's thesis is one of new life, healing and — really — pure, unabashed joy. To borrow from my friends in the Intertextual school of criticism, Literature is really a structure of signs and symbols. The canon of literature, which most definitely includes Chaucer, can be “accessed” by future literature to evoke additional meaning. T.S. Eliot, the twentieth century's finest poet, loves allusion. He alludes to almost anything worth mentioning in the literary canon, religious texts, and all kinds of other stuff. But, when starting out the Wasteland, he appropriately chooses to point signs towards Chaucer. Anyone familiar with Chaucer will immediately see what Eliot is doing, but not only recall “the General Prologue,” but also see that as part of the fragmenting of reality that is Eliot's vision for the Post-WWI Wasteland, this invoking of Chaucer contradicts the thesis. From the first lines of “the Burial of the Dead:”

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

This is just the very beginning of Eliot's long, enigmatic poem, but it sets an important tone. This is a poem of deconstruction: reality deteriorates ever more rapidly in the various sections of the Wasteland. I think things really culminate in “the Fire Sermon” (part three).

So, between joy and death is what? A crime of passion, at least according to the book my professor was reading. I think this makes sense, for that would be a perversion of emotion that could have been joy, and that perversion leads to death. That synthesis is what I was at least toying with in my little poem, which is much more humble (in content, in length and in every other way) than that from which it draws.

Does that make more sense?