Baptist Is a Dirty Word

Is it a Pen or an Alligator?

2010-11-09T10:52:00.000-08:00

We believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of ...

If you grew up (like I did) in a church that recited the creeds, you may be able to finish this one by memory. As I read the history of the creeds in the church (a history filled with political intrigue, chest-puffing, prayer, and hot debate) I'm tempted to wonder... Are the Creeds the result of our theology? Or do they cause it? More likely, the chicken needs the egg and vice versa. The creeds are the result of a community’s experience, and, thereafter, help shape and define that community’s experience.

This is nothing new to language theorists, but it is especially poignant to me because I now belong to a non-credal tradition. Baptists don't recite creeds. We value personal freedom of decision and respect the constant change and progress of human theology. As my beliefs morph and change, I'm glad I don't have a creedal standard to constantly be measured against. But when asked what I believe... the old words come right back into my head. I cannot help but measure myself against them even though I know they were formed, often, by the wealthy and powerful at the expense of the marginalized and the "heretics."

Gregory of Nyssa, a Fourth Century Church Father, responded to the accusation that the creeds are not constant or universal with the statement that each time our core beliefs are recited, “the child Jesus [is] born within” us. His beautiful words entice me to believe that the developing Jesus is changing and growing in me, rather than the creeds changing over time or varying with culture. But the critic in me sees the human element. I find holy fear, not just for God, but for our ability to craft our own creedal spectacles, and then forget that we are seeing through a lens of our own making.

We wrestle with language to nail down what we believe. Then that language wrestles with us and changes what future generations think of as belief itself. I hope you enjoy this reflection on the power and bounds of language:

Is it a Pen or an Alligator?

Is it a pen or an alligator?
This thing with which I write?
I wrestle with it
Feel its teeth
My knuckles grip it
Or perhaps it’s that powerful jaw
That won’t let me go,
That will not submit
to the language that flows from it.
Yet, the question is absurd.
All can see the ink, the tame words.
Still, I’m tempted
To talk of scales and jaws
and marshy splashes.

Is God a pen or an alligator?
Is She the tool with which I write?
My knuckles grip the creeds.
Or is it God’s teeth that won’t let me go?
She will not submit
to the language I throw at her.
Yet, the question is absurd.
All see the ink of creeds inspired-
The shape of the tame words.
Still, I am tempted
To talk of scales and jaws
And divine splashes.
And ask the question of this inky monster:
Is it a pen or an alligator?

...and just for those who couldn't quite remember it all from church...
Here's the Apostles Creed:

I believe in God, the Father almighty, Creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead. On the third day He rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen.

The Sermon of Shame...

2010-11-01T11:17:00.001-07:00

Last week for my Preaching 101 class (yes, that's a real class... oh seminary...) we had to prepare and preach a short sermon. Besides the critique of a few too many "um's" in the mix, the reception was good. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Pardon the poor video quality (not bad for an iPhone under dim fluorescent lights!).
I'm exploring the text from Luke 17:11-19, the story of Jesus healing ten lepers. Usually the passage us used to talk about thankfulness. Having heard far too many sermons on thankfulness, however, I skipped off into a different direction.
Leprosy was a disease that separated a person from their community, made them religiously unclean, and eventually caused death. As I thought about that awful condition, my mind was drawn to the leprosy of today: Shame. The things we are ashamed of keep us far from those we love, make us feel unwelcome by both God and the Church, and slowly kill us. Leave it to Jesus, the solution he has to our shame is outlandish, simple, frustrating, and surprising.
It was a healing experience to preach it, and the class discussion reflected a need to get our secrets out in the open (at an appropriate time and place, of course).
I hope you enjoy my... Sermon of Shame...

Everything I Say About God is Wrong

2010-07-25T19:59:00.000-07:00

Join me in some good theological transgression...

Recently, Tony Jones did a series on his blog about apophatic theology, which starts here. "Apophatic" pertains to a branch of theology in which knowledge of God is gained through negation; a via negativa. For example, we may have a hard time saying that God is all-knowing because we cannot know "all" or really know if God knows all- it's just beyond our cognitive ability. We must, according to apophatic theology, say that God is not ignorant, since "ignorant" is a concept we can grasp.

Tony explored a few things we cannot say about God and had some great insights. But, with Peter Rollins, I'd like to propose an alternative. Peter, an Irishman after my own heart, speaks of God is stories. I employ my Irish tongue to speak of God in poetry. This is what we call theopoetics- the burgeoning flavor of theology which states that the huge mystery of God is better spoken of through poetry than through any systematic approach. Poetry is neither wrong nor right- it playfully defies both categories. Should one be bold enough to embrace the "almost-wrongs" and ungraspable "almost-rights" of theopoetic approaches to God, a theology more true to one's individual experience opens up. As Scott Holland aptly describes, "Good theology is a kind of transgression, a kind of excess, a kind of gift. It is not a smooth systematics, a dogmatics, or a metaphysics; as a theopoetics it is a kind of writing. It is a kind of writing that invites more writing..." (from Theology is a Kind of Writing). Here, for your edification, is my transgression.

Everything I Say About God is Wrong

(aka, My Lusty Affront to Apophatic Theology)

Everything I say about God is wrong.

Beautifully,

sensuously,

dangerously

wrong.

Wrong like the lowest organ pipe.

Dark and powerful,

It’s rumble hits you-

feet and ass first.

Church roof shingles shake and fall.

My God is a resonating wrong

a beautiful wrong

that whisks away all thought of right

like the curls on the girl

you’ll never have...

It matters more to have touched them once.

To open my mouth about God

is the wonderful slip in the bathtub

wet toes stubbing

knee slam

forehead hits the side

a face-full of wet plastic curtain

Even if you haven’t laughed in years

you’ll hear yourself out loud now

and wish someone was home to see you

naked

wet

and laughing

A dripping, sighing, smirk.

Dangerously, Beautifully, Confidently;

Everything I say about God is wrong.