On the first weekend of November, I went on the St James parish retreat. I rode up after work with Petrina and Roger, so I missed the cocktail hour (it was an Episcopal retreat, after all). As we came up the driveway to the Bishop's Ranch, a strong unidentified smell overwhelmed me, Finally, I realized that the smell was manure – I'd not visited the proper countryside for so long I'd forgotten the smell! There were four groups at the Ranch this weekend – our group from St James, one from St Ambrose, a group called Women of Wonder, and an AmeriCorp group stationed at the Ranch for six weeks. Although we'd missed cocktail hour, we hadn't missed Compline. For those unfamiliar with the term, Compline is a Christian evening service, the last of the day, in which one reflects and winds down.
The morning was cold and misty, unlike many I remember from BREAD (at least the misty part – I've been at the Ranch when it's cold.). After an organic breakfast, there was a plenary session led by Anna Eng, whom I had met before, on the Art of the Relational Meeting – the sort that leads to progress towards a goal and that is sorely lacking in the contemporary political sphere. Eng's use of the term “agitation” for “stirring of the imagination” seemed a little strange, just as the term “enable” in the EDGE method acronym reminds me of Alcoholics Anonymous. The blacksmithing workshop had filled up well before, so I went on a hike with Ullrich the jovial German and several others. Since we were out in the field when we decided to take an extended hike, and the map was hardly to scale, there was some debate where we were. We took Treehouse Hill Loop to Turtle Creek Lane, and up the dirt road towards the lake (which I have yet to reach). We crossed Turtle Creek, but had to stop at the second ridge because there was a dead sow on a truck. Apparently the sow had been tearing up the grounds of the Ranch and the management had called the pig hunters from Swine Country (company name) to eliminate her. So we chatted a while, and I took some pictures for the Scouts. It had begun to rain, and we couldn't have reached Lower Lake and returned in time for lunch, so we headed back to the refectory. We passed the gate to the Russell Ranch, went past the Peace Pole (what a bizarre structure) and back to the refectory.
After lunch, during which I bought a book by an Episcopal female priest on Marian devotionals (the book itself is difficult to describe, especially since I have not started to read it properly), I chatted with a fellow parishioner. Our philosophies differed dramatically, as you might expect from a dedicated Scout leader and a conscientious objector. It reminded me a little of the Hard-Travelling Heroes, except that I'm inclined to side with Hal than Ollie. Later, I went to the Ranch House. I found Carole Jan Lee's book of show tunes on the open piano. I couldn't resist. After a few false starts, I chose a song and began to teach myself how to play “I don't know how to love him” from “Jesus Christ Superstar”. The song resonated with me, but I'm scarcely the first to empathize with the Magdalene. Even later, I played Bananagrams (R) with some other parishioners, but the faults of Scrabble (R) which the former game aims to correct seem to me the strengths of the latter.
After dinner, the main event was square dancing: square dancing is an excellent activity for a church retreat – it's family-friendly, but still allows every level of public behavior up to flirting. The man and women of each couple were of compatible height, but the very family-friendliness of square dancing made a right-and-left grand with six adults and two short children. The caller explained the origin of the periodic stomp: although stomping is extremely satisfying, its original intent was to remove the manure from your boot. After we had covered the basics, the caller taught the grand square. I was dragged (not wholly unwillingly) into the grand square with a woman I'll call Blonde, Busty, and Beaming for lack of an actual name. A grand square is quite complicated, and probably becomes more difficult with sufficient imbibing, but BBB and I managed our part well. Other couples were significantly more confused. H., one of our St James parishioners, injured herself during the Cotton-Eyed Joe that followed the square dancing and preceded the evening's closing waltz.
Father David led Saturday Compline, using a poorly mimeographed sheet from the infamous New Zealand Prayer Book. The New Zealand Prayer Book can be disorienting, since it incorporates Maori traditional oratory, which differs greatly from English rhetoric. The New Zealand Our Father is called a translation, but expands to much for me to call it such. It is an exegesis, and one which I would like to examine further before endorsing it.
After Compline, several parishioners retired to the ranch house living room to play the game Celebrities. I had never played this game before. It was something like a cross between Charades and Musical Chairs. The game mechanics were fine, but a combination of the age divide among the players and a paucity of contributors to the pot threw the match.
On Sunday, we attended a more conventional service in the chapel. Every time I have gone to the Bishop's Ranch, I have forgotten that it is a functioning parish church and has its own congregation. I kicked a ball around with one of the kids. Then it was time to go home to the city with Ryszard and Elia.
Showing posts with label exegesis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label exegesis. Show all posts
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Bible Reading: Suffocating Debt
In Matthew 18:23-34, Jesus tells the parable of the unforgiving debtor. The servile debtor, who owes the equivalent of millions of dollars, appeals to his master to commute the sentence of slavery, and the king yields. When the debtor is departing from the manor, he encounters a fellow servant who owes him the equivalent of twenty bucks. This man pleads in the same way as the debtor had done, but the debtor is unforgiving, chokes him, and throws the other man in prison. When the other servants witness this, they report the debtor's actions to the master, who orders the debtor to be handed over to the torturers until he repays his debt in full. As usual, the parable refers the divine consequences of human interactions. Then, Jesus caps his parable by saying, "My heavenly father will do this to you, if each one of you does not have mercy on your brother from your hearts." (Personal translation, from the Vulgate).
This parable could be applied to certain recent events, and almost certainly has, but that's not my interest here. When I was in Confirmation Class (which I took very seriously, unlike some of my fellow students), we had to memorize, understand, and paraphrase the Our Father, Nicene Creed, and various instruments of faith of the Episcopal Church to the best of our ability. In the process of studying the Our Father, I had an insight which was deep for my early teenage psyche: "forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive the trespasses of others". This segment of the Our Father was not a statement of desire for the Heavenly Father, nor a straightforward request for sustenance, be it material or spiritual; rather, it required explicit action on the part of individuals. It was the first time I understood my individual role as a member of the body of Christ. I also think that this act of human forgiveness, and the difficulty which many people experience in doing it, drives home what an incredible deal Christians have received.
It's worth noting that the language of the Our Father does not deny the seriousness of the trespasses; "forgiveness" in secular parlance has come to mean, in certain times and places, a diminution of the gravity of the offense, or even pretending the offense never occurred. If that is the way someone understands "forgiveness", it is small wonder they are loathe to forgive! Christians who are unable to forgive the peccadilloes of their fellow men, while accepting divine forgiveness for themselves, are worse than Pharisees, although the attitude is similar; at least the Pharisees placed the same (absolute) price on their sins as the same sins of the Judaean peasants. The other reason, I suspect, that this phrase receives such prominence, is that the Christian who cannot forgive others out of love also cannot understand the greater love which prompts God to forgive him.
That's my testimony and understanding. Feel free to elucidate, critique, dispute, as long as it's civil.
This parable could be applied to certain recent events, and almost certainly has, but that's not my interest here. When I was in Confirmation Class (which I took very seriously, unlike some of my fellow students), we had to memorize, understand, and paraphrase the Our Father, Nicene Creed, and various instruments of faith of the Episcopal Church to the best of our ability. In the process of studying the Our Father, I had an insight which was deep for my early teenage psyche: "forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive the trespasses of others". This segment of the Our Father was not a statement of desire for the Heavenly Father, nor a straightforward request for sustenance, be it material or spiritual; rather, it required explicit action on the part of individuals. It was the first time I understood my individual role as a member of the body of Christ. I also think that this act of human forgiveness, and the difficulty which many people experience in doing it, drives home what an incredible deal Christians have received.
It's worth noting that the language of the Our Father does not deny the seriousness of the trespasses; "forgiveness" in secular parlance has come to mean, in certain times and places, a diminution of the gravity of the offense, or even pretending the offense never occurred. If that is the way someone understands "forgiveness", it is small wonder they are loathe to forgive! Christians who are unable to forgive the peccadilloes of their fellow men, while accepting divine forgiveness for themselves, are worse than Pharisees, although the attitude is similar; at least the Pharisees placed the same (absolute) price on their sins as the same sins of the Judaean peasants. The other reason, I suspect, that this phrase receives such prominence, is that the Christian who cannot forgive others out of love also cannot understand the greater love which prompts God to forgive him.
That's my testimony and understanding. Feel free to elucidate, critique, dispute, as long as it's civil.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Third (Phrase About the Son of) Man
This morning, I attended church at Saint James Episcopal for the first time in quite some time. My absence on previous Sabbaths had not been out of sloth, but for various unavoidable causes; it seemed wise, nonetheless, during the life changes, that I assure the congregation that my absence in the next few months did not imply any lack of devotion to the institution.
I was listening to the service, I reached a revelation about something that has irked me for a long time, and irked me more than the sudden onset of scratchy throat this morning right before the first hymn began. The church at which I grew up, Saint Mary the Virgin Episcopal, which is neither Catholic nor attached to its neighboring building, Saint Vincent de Paul, used the following text during Eucharist: "Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ will come again". My current church, on the other hand (in addition to many other modifications of the liturgy), uses this: "Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ is with us all". I have been meaning for years to ask one of the clergy about this change, but I always forget; now, however, I think that I understand.
It seems to me that the change in the third phrase stems from the ignorance of the masses of grammatical distinction that are subtle yet useful and an attendant miscomprehension of the intended theology of this part of the liturgy. The first phrase is indisputable among Christians (unless you happen to be some sort of neo-Docetist
- http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/05070c.htm ),
but the difficulty arises (pun intended) in the English speakers' comprehension of the second phrase: "Christ is risen". Modern English congregants doubtless consider this a simple past, even if the phrase uses the dreaded passive. A speaker of Romance tongue, however, might analyze this phrase differently by distinguishing between "Christ has risen" and "Christ is risen". The former is the description of a past action without any necessary inference about the present, but the latter is the description of a present state dependent on a past action. The distinction between these two concepts largely determines the choice of "avoir" ("to have") or "etre" ("to be") as the complementary verb with a composite perfect in French; even in Latin, where the form of the two concepts is identical, a careful writer who wishes to make the distinction would use distinct "primary sequence" or "secondary sequence" for the verbal forms which follow in the subordinate clause.
Since "Christ is risen" is a description of a present state dependent on a past action, the tripartite temporal symmetry of the statement remains, and past, present, and future each recieve a sentence which they can call their own. "Christ is risen" is a statement about the present, not the past; the risen Christ has present power. The elimination within the English language of the distinction between the "avoir" and "etre" forms has prevented the less grammatically aware congregants from understanding this distinction, and the text comes to lack a Christological statement about the present. I cannot fault anybody for finding this lack unsatisfactory, especially on this day of Pentecost, because the essence of the Christian faith, as I see it, is the not the hope of future salvation, but the presence of Christ in this world right now through the members of his body. The replacement of "Christ is risen" with "Christ is with us all" places the weight of two-thirds of the tripartite division of time (present and future) upon one-third of the weakened tricolon; that one-third, moreover, deprives the statement of its element of future hope, and introduces a participatory element that the first two sentences, as well as the original third, lack. The orignal statement was explicitly and solely Christ-centered, and the results of the statement for believers implicit.
I was listening to the service, I reached a revelation about something that has irked me for a long time, and irked me more than the sudden onset of scratchy throat this morning right before the first hymn began. The church at which I grew up, Saint Mary the Virgin Episcopal, which is neither Catholic nor attached to its neighboring building, Saint Vincent de Paul, used the following text during Eucharist: "Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ will come again". My current church, on the other hand (in addition to many other modifications of the liturgy), uses this: "Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ is with us all". I have been meaning for years to ask one of the clergy about this change, but I always forget; now, however, I think that I understand.
It seems to me that the change in the third phrase stems from the ignorance of the masses of grammatical distinction that are subtle yet useful and an attendant miscomprehension of the intended theology of this part of the liturgy. The first phrase is indisputable among Christians (unless you happen to be some sort of neo-Docetist
- http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/05070c.htm ),
but the difficulty arises (pun intended) in the English speakers' comprehension of the second phrase: "Christ is risen". Modern English congregants doubtless consider this a simple past, even if the phrase uses the dreaded passive. A speaker of Romance tongue, however, might analyze this phrase differently by distinguishing between "Christ has risen" and "Christ is risen". The former is the description of a past action without any necessary inference about the present, but the latter is the description of a present state dependent on a past action. The distinction between these two concepts largely determines the choice of "avoir" ("to have") or "etre" ("to be") as the complementary verb with a composite perfect in French; even in Latin, where the form of the two concepts is identical, a careful writer who wishes to make the distinction would use distinct "primary sequence" or "secondary sequence" for the verbal forms which follow in the subordinate clause.
Since "Christ is risen" is a description of a present state dependent on a past action, the tripartite temporal symmetry of the statement remains, and past, present, and future each recieve a sentence which they can call their own. "Christ is risen" is a statement about the present, not the past; the risen Christ has present power. The elimination within the English language of the distinction between the "avoir" and "etre" forms has prevented the less grammatically aware congregants from understanding this distinction, and the text comes to lack a Christological statement about the present. I cannot fault anybody for finding this lack unsatisfactory, especially on this day of Pentecost, because the essence of the Christian faith, as I see it, is the not the hope of future salvation, but the presence of Christ in this world right now through the members of his body. The replacement of "Christ is risen" with "Christ is with us all" places the weight of two-thirds of the tripartite division of time (present and future) upon one-third of the weakened tricolon; that one-third, moreover, deprives the statement of its element of future hope, and introduces a participatory element that the first two sentences, as well as the original third, lack. The orignal statement was explicitly and solely Christ-centered, and the results of the statement for believers implicit.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Galatians 4: Better Never Born Into Slavery?
The talk of slave and free in the scripture reading from my programme makes me feel uncomfortable; although it would be absurd to read the word of God without considering the message, the message of a particular passage often discomfits the mind and heart. I am puzzled by the spiritual application of Galatians 4:27.
"Be glad, O barren woman,
who bears no children;
break forth and cry aloud,
you who have no labor pains;
because more are the children of the desolate woman
than of her who has a husband."
Within the immediate context of the comparison of Ishmael and Isaac (which, I noted, corresponds here to Jew and Christian rather than Jew and the not yet existant Muslim), the Judaizers are slaves who are persecuting the Christians who are free. Yet this quote from Isaiah appears to suggest that it would have been better for those who were born into slavery to have never been born. I agree with theis position, to extent that it applies to those born into slavery and never freed, but those who are freed through Christ could not have been freed if they had not been born, and that birth was - by default - into slavery.
In a way - and perhaps this is a misanalysis - the passage seems to say that never existing would be a better state than knowing God after the trials of slavery. I have had too many experiences where the freedom could be appreciated truly and freely only after the 'slavery' period to accept this statement without reflection.
Any of my Christian friends who could help me understand this passage better, your aid would be appreciated most sincerely.
"Be glad, O barren woman,
who bears no children;
break forth and cry aloud,
you who have no labor pains;
because more are the children of the desolate woman
than of her who has a husband."
Within the immediate context of the comparison of Ishmael and Isaac (which, I noted, corresponds here to Jew and Christian rather than Jew and the not yet existant Muslim), the Judaizers are slaves who are persecuting the Christians who are free. Yet this quote from Isaiah appears to suggest that it would have been better for those who were born into slavery to have never been born. I agree with theis position, to extent that it applies to those born into slavery and never freed, but those who are freed through Christ could not have been freed if they had not been born, and that birth was - by default - into slavery.
In a way - and perhaps this is a misanalysis - the passage seems to say that never existing would be a better state than knowing God after the trials of slavery. I have had too many experiences where the freedom could be appreciated truly and freely only after the 'slavery' period to accept this statement without reflection.
Any of my Christian friends who could help me understand this passage better, your aid would be appreciated most sincerely.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)