WWJD–How tired is too tired?

Believe it or not, “people” are still wondering “What Would Jesus Do?”  The phrase was popularized long ago by the social gospel novelist and minister Charles Sheldon.  His novel In His Steps, first published in 1896, got the whole ball rolling.  Since then, the social gospel aspect of the question, which could even be tinged with socialism–praise God–has been replaced with a nagging and socially conservative moralism.  “What Would Jesus Do?” nowadays seems to be synonymous with “What Would Jesus Do If He Were a Right-Wing Republican Teetotaler Killjoy with a Great Big Paddle to Spank You with If You Are Bad?”

Well, what would Jesus do?  Based on the scriptural record and church tradition (the only two sources we have besides that voice in your head), this is what Jesus would do:

1. Die for the sins of humankind then be resurrected three days later to rule over the living and the dead;
2. Walk on water;
3. Tell confusing parables;
4. Turn massive amounts of water into wine;
5. Form, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, a person of the Holy Trinity;
6. Resurrect people from death;
7. Cast out demons;
8. Heal thousands of people;
9. Get himself born from a virgin;
10. Be the Word through which all creation was made;
11. Be the firstborn of all creation;
12. Be the Lamb upon the throne;
13. Get transfigured in the company of Moses and Elijah;
14. Combine in his one person the fully human and the fully divine;
15. Some other stuff that you can’t do, no matter how hard you try.

So there it is folks.  I may be crazy, but I think we should worry more about what we  ought to do and worry less abut what Jesus would do.  If we could do what Jesus does, we wouldn’t need Jesus.

Xmas Treat

What are you having for dessert after Christmas dinner? We just had pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving, so this is what we’re having:

Bourbon Pumpkin Cheesecake
(from The Gourmet Cookbook, 2004)

FOR CRUST
3/4 cup graham cracker crumbs (from five 4 3/4-by-2 1/4-inch crackers)
1/2 cup pecans, finely chopped
1/4 cup packed light brown sugar
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 stick (4 tablespoons) unsalted butter, melted and cooled

FOR FILLING
1 1/2 cups canned solid-pack pumpkin
3 large eggs
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
2 tablespoons heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 tablespoon bourbon
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 (8-ounce) packages cream cheese, softened

OPTIONAL GARNISH: pecan halves

SPECIAL EQUIPMENT: a 9- to 9 1/2-inch springform pan

MAKE THE CRUST: Invert bottom of springform pan (to make it easier to slide cake off bottom), then lock on side and butter pan. Stir together crumbs, pecans, sugars, and butter in a bowl until combined. Press crumb mixture into bottom and 1/2 inch up sides of pan. Chill crust for 1 hour.

MAKE THE FILLING: Put a rack in middle of oven and preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Whisk together pumpkin, eggs, brown sugar, cream, vanilla, and bourbon in a bowl until combined. Stir together granulated sugar, cornstarch, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and salt in a large bowl. Add cream cheese and beat with an electric mixer at high speed until creamy and smooth, about 3 minutes. Add pumpkin mixture and beat until smooth. Pour filling into crust and smooth top. Put cheesecake on a baking sheet with sides and bake until center is just set, 50 to 60 minutes. Transfer to a rack and cool for 5 minutes. (Leave oven on.)

MAKE THE TOPPING: Whisk together sour cream, sugar, and bourbon in a bowl. Spread on top of cheesecake and bake for 5 minutes. Run a knife around edge of cake to loosen it, then cool completely in pan on rack, about 3 hours. Refrigerate cheesecake, covered, for at least 4 hours. Bring cheesecake to room temperature before serving. Garnish with pecans, if desired.

Now, you could leave the bourbon out, but why in the world would you do that? And not having any in the house is no excuse. In fact, that’s a great excuse to go and buy some bourbon whiskey.

Self-portrait: dad

I was home today while the kids were at preschool, and Alex was at work. Since I was home alone, this was a great day to work on stuff without little helpers. This afternoon I assembled Tom’s first bicycle, training wheels and all. Like an elf, I was full of glee the whole time I was working on it and couldn’t resist taking my own picture with the finished bike. I can’t wait to see his perfect little face when he gets the bike on Christmas.

I still can’t believe how great it is to be the father of these children.

 

One Sweet Lady

 

What you see in this photo is a lump of chocolate that dripped out of the spigot of a vat a few weeks ago at Bodega Chocolates, a candy-making company in California. It is being hailed as an apparition of the Virgin Mary. I read an article about the Chocolate Virgin in the L.A. Times. Quoted extensively in the article is some guy who is a supposed *expert* on such apparitions, Stewart Guthrie. I will excerpt the parts of the article in which Prof. Guthrie explains why people see the Blessed Mother in this chocolate.

 

From a scientific perspective, the phenomenon is so common that it has been given a name: pareidolia, the perception of patterns where none are intended. And according to Stewart Guthrie, one of a handful of professors who have studied it, such perceptions are part of the way human beings are “hard-wired.”

“It’s really part of our basic perceptual and cognitive situation,” said Guthrie, a cultural anthropologist, retired Fordham University professor and author of the book “Faces in the Clouds: A New Theory of Religion.”

“It has to do with all kinds of misapprehensions that there is something human-like in one’s environment, when really there’s not.”

At the root of the phenomenon, he said, is is the survival instinct.

“It’s a built-in perceptual strategy,” Guthrie said, “of better safe than sorry. In a situation of uncertainty, we guess that something is caused by the most important possibility.”

Hence, if you’re alone and hear a strange sound — even on a gusty night — you’re more likely to ask, “Who’s there?” than think it’s the wind. And if you happen to be religious, according to Guthrie, your answer to “Who’s there?” may well be, in a broader context, God.

 

To me, this is crazy talk. It’s ridiculously speculative to say that, given a choice of responses to an odd-shaped lump of chocolate, people will first assume it’s the Virgin so as to assure their own personal safety.

 

People see the face of their Savior and of his mother, or of whatever deity, in their foodstuffs, windows, and treebark because most people believe that they are not alone, no matter how alienating the world is. They see signs and wonders because they know that the world in which they live is not so easily explained.

I’m joyful. At least I’m not you (I think).

If you’ve been reading Sheep Days, you will know that I’ve been depressed recently.  (I’m glad to report that, like a fever, my depression broke a few days ago.)  It’s hard to keep depression from spilling into my work, no matter how joyful that work is supposed to be.  A recent victim of my depression was the sermon I preached last Sunday.  Boy, was it gloomy!

The gist of the whole decrepit broodfest was that, despite the sorrow, anguish, malaise, anger, disillusionment, etc. we feel when we face daily life, we actually are supposed to be in a state of peaceful expectation for the Lord who will bring us joy.  I quoted from the existentialist theologian Paul Tillich (fun for me but boring for everyone else), I made few if any illustrations (ditto), and the sermon was too long.  What should have been a sermon that witnessed to some sort of gospel ended up, in my assessment at least, being a reflection of my recent bout of joylessness.  I tried to convince myself via the sermon that joy is more powerful than sorrow, and that waiting for the Lord to come and rectify the world is a perfectly faithful and hopeful thing to do.  Like I said, my depression has broken, so I may have convinced myself, but I sincerely doubt I convinced anyone in the congregation.

Well, I already felt crummy about the sermon.  Then we got to the time of intercessory prayer, which at Guadalupe often takes many minutes and is the true catharsis of the service.  My front-row lady, the one who always asks her questions during the service rather than wait for later, the one whom I love for this and more, says:  “You were talking about sadness in your sermon, and I was thinking that it’s true.  Whenever I watch CNN in the morning, there are problems and violence all over the world.”   And then, in the next breath, she says, “But you’re right, this does make me feel joyful because at least we’re here and not going through what those people are going through.”  Oh!  A hammer to my heart!  How cruel a bad sermon can be!  She was feeling some emotion masquerading as joy because she was not suffering the way others in the world are.  And she felt that this was what I was sanctioning, what I was proferring as gospel.  Of course, I had no intention of saying that Advent joy is in anyway related to feeling some sort of relief because someone else is worse off than we are.

Maybe a less ruinous interpretation of her comments would be that she really does feel joy and thanksgiving for the blessings that God has given her, and these blessings are best understood and appreciated in a context of global suffering.  My front-row lady has hardly lived a life of ease and leisure.  Guadalupe is no Beverly Hills; it is no gated community where the ugly problems of others are forced to remain outside.   A few minutes later, in the very same time of intercessory prayer, she made a heartfelt petition for the family of a bride in India who had died when she fell off a roof days before her wedding proceedings–a news item that had not yet come to me.

So, in the balance, we have a poor sermon, a misinterpretation of the sermon (maybe), and a loving petition for a stranger who had suffered greatly.  Come, Lord Jesus, and quickly, because all this is too mysterious for us.

Great comment

I know that I sometimes miss comments that are made on blogposts that I don’t return to.  Because of this, I want to encourage you to check out the comment my colleague and friend Adan made on my recent post on the Virgin of Guadalupe.

Despite what you may think…

…I’m not a heretic. I took an online quiz that proves it conclusively:

You scored as Chalcedon compliant. You are Chalcedon compliant. Congratulations, you’re not a heretic. You believe that Jesus is truly God and truly man and like us in every respect, apart from sin. Officially approved in 451. Chalcedon compliant 83% Monophysitism 50% Modalism 33% Apollanarian 25% Monarchianism 25% Gnosticism 25% Arianism 17% Socinianism 17% Nestorianism 17% Adoptionist 8% Albigensianism 8% Pelagianism 8% Donatism 0% Docetism 0% Are you a heretic? created with QuizFarm.com

Moderation, shmoderation

Via “3 Quarks Daily,” I came across the following:

Making a meal of moderation -Dec 10, 2006

By Colin M. Morris

Whenever stories about our Muslim citizens hit the news, the very complex world of Islam tends to be reduced to two simple categories – moderate Muslims (good), extreme Muslims (bad). But that’s a political judgement made from the outside, often based on some notion of security risk. As a religious judgement, it just won’t do.

Put the boot on the other foot. Talk instead about moderate and extreme Christians. What does it mean to be moderately Christian when you are a follower of one who said you must lose your life in order to save it; that the social order will be turned upside down; that those who seek to do you harm must be loved and cherished. If that is moderation, what is extremism?

Indeed, if you looking for Christian extremists, go no further than the nearest Society of Friends (Quakers). A more respectable group of people you couldn’t hope to meet, but on one issue they could be judged extreme – however patriotic they are, they won’t take up arms to fight for their country. They’ll die for it, but they won’t kill for it. And in times of war, Quakers and other pacifists have gone to gaol for their extreme views.

Or take monks and nuns. For the sake of their faith, they have turned their backs on normal life – sex and the family, economic and political power, social ambition. If to be extreme means to go to the limit, you can’t go much further than that out of obedience to God.

An MP recently expressed anxiety about what he called the radicalisation of Muslims in some mosques. But every religious movement is in the business of radicalising its followers. Unless words have lost any meaning, to be radical is to get below the surface, to go right down to the root of an issue, in the case of religion, to do and believe the things that will get you ever closer to God.

And it’s the strength of a free society that it concedes the right of believers to have this higher loyalty without treating them as subversives.

Of course there are the deluded who make religious noises and are capable of anything, but it is not genuine faith, however fervent, that produces them. The explanation for their behaviour belongs in the realms of psychopathology rather than religion.

With the wisdom of hindsight, perhaps if after 9/11, there had been less religious rhetoric talked about a crusade against evil, there might have been less danger of our demonising a great faith.

© Colin M. Morris is a former President of the Methodist Conference and has held senior positions in the BBC. He was Director of the Centre for Religious Communication in Oxford from 1991-96, and is author of numerous books, including, most recently Things Shaken – Things Unshaken (reflections on faith and terror) and Bible Reflections Round the Christian Year.

Dr Morris is a frequent contributor to BBC Radio 4’s Thought for the Day, in which form this article was originally broadcast. Reproduced with grateful acknowledgement to the author and the BBC.

Moderation, in the present politicial and economic context, is anathema to Christianity.  We make radical claims about the nature of reality and the nature of humankind that demand an extreme (“prophetic”) position.  Let’s here it for the Quakers and the nuns.

Decay and Joy

Today I finished reading The Rings of Saturn by German author W. G. Sebald. I was led to this book by the recommendation of Teju Cole, the author of “Modal Minority.” As Cole reports, the book is not easy to categorize. I would say it is a book that moves the reader–in many ways. It’s a sort of walking travelogue through eastern England, but with many detours to distant lands and times. Sebald’s topic is decay; he calls history “a long account of calamities,” and he invites the reader on a hike down its decadent and sinuous paths. He draws on many sources, but one he returns to more than some is Jorge Luis Borges, the famous Argentine polymath and maker of worlds. Borges, and later Sebald, imagined parallel trajectories for history, a feat that results not in a tangled mess but rather in an ever more insistent suggestion that there is an order that we cannot understand to our reality. There is no suggestion that this reality is benign, however there is an overwhelming sense that it is unimaginably beautiful.

Of all the arresting lines in the book, here is one:

“Perhaps we all lose our sense of reality to the precise degree to which we are engrossed in our own work, and perhaps that is why we see in the increasing complexity of our mental constructs a means for greater understanding, even while intuitively we know that we shall never be able to fathom the imponderables that govern our course through life.”

I’m about to enter my last semester of coursework of this doctoral program before I begin my dissertation. Everyday I am admonished to narrow my focus of expertise even while I am encouraged to make my scholarship part of a greater conversation of meaning. One act is to be more engrossed in minutiae; the other act is to be more and more relevant to others. Through it all, there is–as Sebald maintains–the intuitive sense that we will not even begin to breach some of the mysteries. The Teacher of Ecclesiastes said it long ago:

“I, the Teacher, when king over Israel in Jerusalem, applied my mind to seek and to search out by wisdom all that is done under heaven; it is an unhappy business that God has given to human beings to be busy with. I saw all the deeds that are done under the sun; and see, all is vanity and a chasing after wind….For in much wisdom is much vexation, and those who increase in knowledge increase sorrow.”

But all is not lost! Paul Tillich preached in 1955:

“Sorrow is the feeling that we are deprived of our central fulfillment, by being deprived of something that belongs to us and is necessary to our fulfillment. We may be deprived of relatives and friends nearest to us, of a creative work and a supporting community which gave us a meaning of life, of our home, of honor, of love, of bodily or mental health, of the unity of our person, of a good conscience. All this brings sorrow in manifold forms, the sorrow of sadness, the sorrow of loneliness, the sorrow of depression, the sorrow of self-accusation. But it is precisely this kind of situation in which Jesus tells his disciples that His joy shall be with them and that their joy shall be full. For, as Paul calls it, sorrow can be the ’sorrow of the world’ which ends in the death of final despair, and it can be Divine sorrow which leads to transformation and joy. For joy has something within itself which is beyond joy and sorrow. This something is called blessedness.

Blessedness is the eternal element in joy, that which makes it possible for joy to include in itself the sorrow out of which it arises, and which it takes into itself. In the Beatitudes, Jesus calls the poor, those who mourn, those who hunger and thirst, those who are persecuted, ‘blessed.’ And He says to them: ‘Rejoice and be glad!’ Joy within sorrow is possible to those who are blessed, to those in whom joy has the dimension of the eternal.”

I wish joy on you, even if you arrive through sorrow. I wish blessedness on you.

Feast Day of Guadalupe

Today, December 12, is the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, patroness of the Americas, Mother of God, friend of the oppressed.

I mentioned to my congregation last Sunday that we were probably the only Presbyterian congregation in the country named for Mary. (This is not quite true since we were named for the town of Guadalupe where the church is. The town was named for Mary.) Like most Protestants, and especially Hispanic Protestants, there is not much love for Mary in my congregation. They are particularly uncomfortable with Guadalupe, the apparition of Mary in the New World to the Nahua man, St. Juan Diego (canonized recently in 2002 by John Paul II in a cloud of controversy). She has become, for them, a symbol of the Catholicism that they or their parents decided to leave behind. I find this to be terribly regrettable and a major loss caused by the Protestant evangelizaton. Protestant fear of worshiping Mary is–maybe–historically justifiable, but mostly it’s based in an ignorance of how important a mother can be in a faith that is not merely based on brainy propositions and theological declarations.

I recently had the great good fortune to read an annotated translation of Luis Laso de la Vega’s Huei tlamahuiçoltica, a Nahuatl history of the apparition of Guadalupe to Juan Diego on a hill outside of Mexico City in 1531. The Huei tlamahuiçoltica, more commonly referred to by the name of its first section, the Nican mopohua, wasn’t published until 1649, more than a century after the alleged apparition. There are a host of fascinating and thorny historiographical issues that question exactly how the story of the apparition was sustained and related over that time span between event and publication.

The story itself is in the genre of gospel. In fact, the phrasing, the constructed series of events, the miracles, and the role this text has come to play in the lives of Mexican Catholics all argue that it has somehow transcended mere hagiography and has reached an almost testamental quality. It is beautiful, and it most certainly invites exegesis. I have seen Church-sanctioned liturgies that include passages from the Nican mopohua, a startling admission of this story’s centrality and impact.

To conclude this post, two vingettes about Guadalupe:

1. My academic adviser grew up in a Mexican Catholic household. When, in a paper I wrote, I suggested that Guadalupe was an “other,” i.e. distant, different, he shouted in his written comments to me, “No! She’s not an other! She’s a mother!” Got it.

2. Last Sunday, a younger person in the church asked my stalwart elder, a Yaqui man of 75 years, if Mary and Guadalupe were the same person. This man, a Presbyterian his entire life, responded, “Yeah. They’re the same. But Guadalupe is just a white Mary that someone painted brown.” Of course, he nailed the center of the historiographical controversies (and took sides). Was she an invented tool of the Spanish to evangelize Indians, or did the Mother of God remember her lowly beloved people in America? Or, is she more Nahua goddess, barely shrouded in the image of the Christian Mary?

In my semi-informed opinion, Protestants who reject the intercession of Mary are generally the same Protestants who are so concerned with ethics that they have forgotten the joy and beauty of our faith.