So, I am looking for a church in Minneapolis/St. Paul. I am tired of post-Evangelical angsty churches, where everything is PC and a lot of it is all talk but no action. I am looking for a church that:

a. Cares about real, lasting community and relationships
b. Cares deeply about Eucharist and the mystery that it is
c. Is full of people that try their best to love beyond the hurts that have been done to them: whether by the Church, family, or friends
d. Cares about the Bible, philosophy and theology, but is not bound by indoctrination and legalism

So, if anyone out there has a suggestion, drop me a comment!

Moltmann gets more specific, telling us how theologians, the church and lay-people take upon themselves certain theological identities, whether they be political, critical, anthropological, social, etc. Holding to such identities divides the church into sects and denominations due to the tightly held identities for which those in such churches associates themselves with. These identities in turn create a lack of true Christianity by removal of the focus of the cross, what Moltmann deems the most truly Christian and the act for which gives us our non-identities.

Moltmann’s justification of this idea is remarkable:

When the Christian community feels obliged to empty itself in certain social and political actions, it must take care that its traditional religious and political identity is not exchanged for a new religious and political identity, but must sustain its non-identity. Otherwise a church which, seeking for an identity and political movement, once again becomes the ‘religion of society.’ … But can a Christian community or church ever become the ‘political religion’ of its existing or future society, without forgetting the man from Nazareth who was crucified, and losing the identity it has in the cross? … Thus even in the ‘classless society’ Christians will be aliens and homeless. Where solidarity is achieved, this distinction must be observed. It is a criticism of the traditional solidarity of the more recent attempts to establish solidarity with democratic and socialist forces. Not of course in the same way, because the cross does not make the world equal by bringing down the night in which everything looks alike, but by enabling people to criticize and stand back from the partial historical realities and movements which they have idolized and made absolute. It follows from these reflections upon the concrete political problems of Christian life, that the question of identity comes to a head only in the context of non-identity, self-emptying for the sake of others and solidarity with others. It cannot be established in isolation, but only revealed in contact with others. In exile one seeks a home. In alienation one seeks identity. Love is revealed in the hatred and peace in conflict. Thus the place where the question of identity can meaningfully be asked is the situation of the crisis of identity brought about by meaningful self-emptying and solidarity. (17-18, emphasis added)

It seems to me that Moltmann is speaking here of an emptying, a crisis, a removal of all that we associate ourselves with that does not bring us the cross, that which truly removes ones identity. He justifies this by saying that the suffering and solidarity that is found on the cross is really the only proverbial ‘ground’ that those who choose to engage with the Christian life can ‘stand on’. It is not our politics, not our families or homes, it is not our nations or loud voices. To truly live the Christian life we must become aliens, as Christ became truly alien on the cross.

So here is the question of the day: if we are to self-empty and crucify our identities, how does such alienation relate to our ‘civic duty’, our national identities and our politics? Are we to truly become passive in our civic duties?

Now I know what you are thinking, ‘everyone writes for a specific audience.’ I really do agree. Sometimes we do indeed write technically, knowing that the general audience will know what we imply through our writing. Other times we write in a language that is easier to understand.

However if I am being honest, as much as I love theology and am excited to begin my MA in the field, I too get tired of the lofty language. I get tired of the unexplained and over assumed terminology. I get tired of the high-brow, prideful stance that we in the business of theology often take.

While Jesus was seemingly subversive in his language and narrative-parables, our translations of his words do not imply a academic, intellectualized vernacular. He may have spoken in riddles, but not in such a way that those who listened couldn’t figure out the heart of his stories if they had the ‘ears to hear’.

So here is my challenge for those today who find themselves in the world of theological writing: let us all take a step back (myself wholly included). Who are we trying to impress anyway? I find it very hard to believe that the God of Love will love me less if I use more simple language to talk about h/er/im.

Does this mean that we bow down to a language of stupidity? That we dumb down our words and ideas? Absolutely not. It seems that we must strike a balance, one that encourages all people that they can know (i.e., that they are brilliant enough to continue to learn new things throughout the course of their lives), while also having a sense of humility for the learner; a sense of humility that realized our language is not for us, but for the other.

For what is the theologian if s/he is not a learner as well?

Now, onto another few topics (a little house keeping, really):

1. I have heard a rumor from an acquaintance that I have a blog reader who has been attending Solomon’s Porch and is not quite satisfied with their experience there. Upon returning to the Twin Cities I also have begun attending SP. So reader (don’t be embarrassed, though I know I am as I write this) if you continue to be unsatisfied at SP, how about we just start our own thing in a bar somewhere here in Minneapolis? Good beer, good people, good theology. Deal? Email me.

2. I plan on reading Jürgen Moltmann’s ‘The Crucified God” over the summer. I will try to post at least once a week in relation to this text. If any one is interested in joining in reading this, I am beginning with the first chapter this week and will post about it next week. While the book is only 8 chapters longs, I plan on completing it just after the July 4th weekend, giving me approximately 10 weeks to read it. It can get dense, and some of the latter chapters are much longer than the former. I look forward to hearing others take on this work of theology and encourage you, even if you have not ever read this kind of stuff to try it out. Moltmann has proven to be one of my most beloved thinkers in the Christian realm; I don’t doubt that you also would enjoy his thought.

And with that, let me say this: I have (un)officially decided to not vote anymore.

Let me unpack that a for you a bit. I have begun to explore the concept that to be a follower of Jesus is to be an anarchist within the nation-state for which I helplessly find myself bound to. Now, when I say anarchy I do not mean mass pandemonium and chaos, as so many people believe anarchy to be defined. Instead I call upon the Greek root of the word (ἀναρχίᾱ), which means very literally no-archy, or no one ruler.

Many may argue that to be a follower of the Way of Jesus is to bow down to his kingship. I believe this to be an antiquated, patriarchal way of viewing the Godhead. While kingly metaphor has Biblical legitimacy, you may know by now that I do not consider the Bible inerrant: it is a product of its time, its authors writing of their experiences with the Ones through their worldviews. The kingly references are of no exception to this. (A side note, ‘Ones’ is plural because I do not consider myself a monotheist but rather a trinitarian.)

‘Jesus as high-king’ is falling away from the reality that the person of Jesus came and was, quite frankly opposite of all things kingly, subverting and flipping what it was and is to be king on its head, making being king low as opposed to high and mighty. For it is through Jesus we are called friend, which is to live in equality with the Ones who love us for no good reason other than to simply love. Thus, I believe that anarchy, to live with no one ruler may be vitally important to our true fellowship with the Godhead, and in turn eachother. As we live in communal partnership, commitment and horizontal power infrastructures with the Godhead, so must we also live with one another, throwing out the vertical, hierarchical infrastructures in the same way Jesus did. Doing this calls us out of slavery and into community. It is transformational, and gives egalitarian power to all; power that doesn’t have to be scary and controlling, but rather inclusive and loving.

However, we must also consider this: “[So] give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.” As recorded in Matthew, it seems Jesus is saying we might live the seperation of what is God’s and what is the Empire’s. So how do we apply this to a theology of anarchy? I believe the answer (as if there is one) is to be both a realist and an idealist. It is to live within the system (realism) because, let’s be honest, there is scarce land anywhere in the world that is unclaimed and thus we cannot really get out of the ‘system’ and create our own little utopias as much as we might try. Yet, there is no need to bow down to the broken nation-states we uncontrollably find ourselves in (idealism). These ‘systems’ are not part of the communal Rule of the Godhead, nor do they concern themselves with the ever-breaking-in-communal-Rule (even if they say they do on the back of, for example, a US one dollar bill). This call to give to the Empire or God what is theirs cannot and should not stop anyone from being the voice of the idealist: the prophetess or prophet who points out and calls forth ones ability to be better, to change and to evolve from outside the walls of the ‘system.’

So the paradox is this: to be both the teacher (realist): the one who moderately and humbly listens and is evangelized to, while also being the prophetess or prophet (idealist): the one who radically speaks and evangelizes toward the communal Rule of the Godhead, calling forth ones ability to be better. In doing so we subvert our world through the sheer act of holy and confused love which, being given to us through the cosmic Christ gives us the ability to love for love’s sake. It is with this love of the Godhead and neighbor that we might consider removing ourselves from supporting the system that does, through its brokenness, oppress us all. While we may never be able to fully depart from said empire, is there not reason to, through the act of pacifist-anti-voting, challenge the system?

Let us be honest, we live in a society that is both hetero-normative, and well as marriage-normative. There is very little room given for those who are same gender attracted, as well as those who choose a life of singleness. While those who are same gender attracted or those who desire a life of singleness are not the statistical majority in North America, this does not give society the permission toward a strictly utilitarian ethic and law attached to relationships and marriage. The greatest good for the greatest number does not work. Universalizability is in many ways, simply a sham (thanks, Immanuel Kant).

What is all the more disturbing to me is how marriage is bound to the State, essentially saying that what makes a marriage ‘real’ is some licensed document that proclaims it as such. I find this to be a cultural misnomer—that marriage license=marriage. It is a misnomer that many my age believe to be true, and thus it needs gentle correction.

A wise, elder-friend of mine told me a story a few days ago. His great grandfather was a slave in the United States. Slaves, as it were, were not allowed by law to be married. Because of this, this man’s great-grandfather and grandmother had to make their own ceremony of commitment to one another: while they were surrounded by witnesses, they jumped over a broom stick to signify their commitment. These two people stayed together until death, though the ‘legality’ of their marriage was suspect as it was not recognized or protected by the State.

What makes a marriage real is the commitment being made in front of those who will actually walk along side two people during the course of their lives. No marriage is an island. Marriage is a deceleration of together-ness, but one that recognizes that such together-ness needs more than legal protection. It also needs protection from the destructive, selfish forces we find within ourselves. The forces that ask us to abandon and leave a person. The forces that do not take into account the greater affect such a union will have on those peripheral to it.

Why does the state reward those who choose a non-serious, uncommitted ‘marriage’, one that does not carry with it the weight of accountability (i.e., the people and the broom stick) and can be easily undone,  yet ostracize those who want a true union, one that seeks recognition from those around them—namely family, biological or otherwise? Is that not truly what makes a union? Or, is it simply a piece of paper that people sign? Does it have to be both/and, or can it be one or the other?

The divorce rates in North America are so high, I am curious about whether we’ve gotten it all backward? Why do we as a culture put such a high value on the legal recognition and protection of ‘marriage’, one that fifty-percent of the time fails? I know a handful of people who are not ‘legally’ married, who have committed their lives to one another and each others families ceremonially that are considerably more healthy in their union than those who have sought a legally recognized union. I am not suggesting that marriage is unimportant or should not be sought for those who desire it out of the serious, and almost insane truth that you cannot live your life without ‘this person’. Rather, I am suggesting a new seriousness be attached to marriage. That the entire family infrastructure—that is, those who stand and recognized the union of two people, feels again the true weight of responsibility toward those whom they witness being united.

In the mean time, should the State get out of the business of marriage? Should it instead embrace ‘civil union’ as the proper and just terminology for those seeking legal protection and benefits in relation to their union? Similarly, should the Church not also wash it’s proverbial hands in relation to its involvement with the legal side of marriage as well? Or, are we simply too late?