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Humpty Dumpty and Sacraments

Friday, April 23rd, 2010

[The following is based upon the following materials; “Evangelical Sacraments: A Look at the Apology,” by John F. Johnson (CONCORIDA JOURNAL/July 1992, 259ff.); “Luther on Marriage,” by Scott Hendrix (LUTHERAN QUARTERLY, Volume XIV, 2000); and “What makes marriage a sacrament?” by David M. Thomas (in a publication by the Baylor University School of Social Work and excerpted from CHRISTIAN MARRIAGE: THE NEW CHALLENGE, Liturgical Press, 2007).]

What’s worth noting at the outset from these rather bland essays is that all employ the maxim set forth by that great linguistic philosopher, Humpty Dumpty:

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘glory’,” Alice said. Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. “Of course you don’t- till I tell you. I meant ‘there’s a nice knock-down argument for you!’”

“But ‘glory’ doesn’t mean ‘a nice knock-down argument’,” Alice objected. “When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean- neither more nor less.”

“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.” “The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master-that’s all.”

“Alice was too much puzzled to say anything; so after a minute Humpty Dumpty began again. “They’ve a temper some of them- particularly verbs: they’re the proudest- adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs- however, I can manage the whole lot of them! Impenetrability! That’s what I say!” Through the Looking Glass, Ch. VI

And so it goes with the word “sacrament,” as it often means “just what I choose it to mean,” and that is clearly evidenced by the three articles above. I notice that all reference Augustine as the foundation of their definition, but none thus far have actually cited the source, and I am obsessed with source material. Hendrix is a fine writer and his piece deals more with the married Luther than it does with Luther coming to terms with an idea of “sacrament.”

Johnson’s piece is in my estimation typical of people who write but draw no inferences from what they write. It is a recap of the Apology and Luther’s “The Babylonian Captivity of the Church,” which I wasn’t aware was a confessional document. That being said Johnson at least attempts to muddle through Augustine’s

“famous definition accedei verbum ad elementum et fit sacramentum was understood to mean that the word added to the substance constitute sacrament as a sign of God’s promise. In medieval theology sacrament was thought to consist of sacramentum: the external sign, and res sacramenti: grace” (259).

According to Johnson:

“ the Formula of Concord simply defines sacrament as a sign of grace (FC, SD VII, 50). This language had already appeared in the Augustana which defines sacraments as signs and testimonies of God’s will to awaken and strengthen faith. In a sacrament faith believes the promise (CA XIII, 1-2).

“The Roman Confutatore approved this definition. But they insightfully insisted that it be applied to the seven sacraments recognized by Rome. The Reformers respond that a sacrament is a rite which has the command of God to which a promise of grace is added. Signs which lack God’s command are not sure signs of grace. Rites which have both command and promise of grace are genuine sacraments. Augustine’s definition of sacrament as “visible Word” is cited in support (Ap XIII, 1-5). In a sacrament faith believes the promise and accepts that which is offered” (260).

Now from here the waters get a bit murkier, we go from a sacrament being “simply defined” to the interpretation of Luther and Melanchthon who assert that (a) everything in scripture is either command or promise (Law/Gospel); (b) in a sacrament the promise is forgiveness of sins. Here it would handy to have Augustine’s work close to hand so that a comparison may be made between what Augustine actually wrote and how it came to be interpreted by the Reformers and the Roman Catholic Church.

Again from Johnson:

“This concept of sacrament is frequently reflected in the Apology. Sacraments are signs of the New Testament (Ap XII, 42). They confirm terrified minds to believe firmly that their sins are forgiven (Ap IV, 276). Eucharist and Baptism are “rites in which God confers the content of His promise (Ap XXIV, 18). Sacraments are sign plus promise of grace (Ap XXIV, 69; cf. medieval distinction between sacramentum and res sacramenti). The promise is useless unless faith accepts it. The Holy Spirit works through Word and Sacrament; the Mass is no satisfaction, but a promise requiring faith (Ap XXIV, 70, 90). This reflects Luther’s claim that sacraments are rightly to be called sacraments of justification (BCC, 65). For in rejecting the medieval notion of ex opere operato the Apology approvingly cites Augustine’s claim that not the sacrament itself, but faith in the sacrament justifies (Ap XIII, 23)” (261).

“If marriage is called a sacrament it must be sharply distinguished from signs which are testimonies of the remission of sins (BCC, 92). Moreover, if all things that have God’s command and promise are to be named sacraments, then prayer, alms, and afflictions qualify. Thus no intelligent person will quibble with regard to the numbering of sacraments (Ap XIII, 6-17). Proper use of sacraments, not their numbering, demands our serious theological attention.” (262).

It would appear from Johnson that there is sacrament and then, not unlike the lite beers, there is a sacrament-lite, marriage chief among them. The above seems on the face of it not to make any sense: Luther asserts that command and promise are the key ingredients in a sacrament and then Johnson-who I assume is defending the position of Luther-seems to minimize the criteria by saying in effect “Well, if EVERYTHING that have God’s command and promise attached to them are sacraments then why not X,Y, and Z.” Indeed, if they fit the definition you’ve established or at least defended!

While by no means a definitive study (more research today at some point) I’d like to make the following observations thus far:

  1. If the sacrament, according to Augustine and the Formula are signs of grace, must that sign of grace always be interpreted as “forgiveness of sins”? That phrase seems to be key for a reformation understanding of “sacrament” and I have to wonder why.
  2. According to Johnson (above) the sacraments confirm to “terrified minds” that their sins have been forgiven. “Terrified minds” interests me because it often seems like there is a certain type of psychology going on in Reformation writings that is reflective of either the reformer’s own personal fears, or a sort of psychology of popular religion. I don’t know if this is right, but a theology built upon a foundation of fear strikes me as a bad idea from the outset.
  3. The obsession with the phrase “forgiveness of sins” and the prominence it plays in our theology tells us something about the way we view ourselves and God. It assumes that we are a people paralyzed by fear, who continually tremble in the presence of God, and who come before him bowing and scraping—beggars all I think the phrase is. This stands in direct opposition to John’s Gospel as well as the Pauline epistles. It also dramatically shifts one’s perception (and definition) of sacrament, and chief among them the Eucharist.
  4. Any definition that does not come from scripture explicitly than by default comes from man. Definitions given by man, are as Humpty Dumpty points out, often subject to whim and fancy—or a specific context in the case of Augustine.

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O, O, O it’s magic

Tuesday, April 20th, 2010

I was reading around the realm of “ex opera operato” last evening-I do like that phrase-in an attempt to understand better the different meanings of the phrase. I was reminded of an essay I just read by Fr. Robert F. Taft, “Is There Devotion to the Holy Eucharist in the Christian East? A Footnote to the October 2005 Synod on the Eucharist” (WORSHIP 80 No 3, My 2006, p 213-233). In it, he recounts the practices of the pious and the eucharistic species, who among other things, often placed the species in an amulet to ward off evil. He tells the story of St. Gregory of Nazianzen’s sister, St. Gorgonia:

“Having given up on all others, she fled to the Physician of all, and keeping watch until the dead of night when the disease gave her a little respite, she fell down before the altar with faith, and in a loud voice called upon Him who is honored upon it. . . . Eventually she did something shamelessly devout. She imitated the woman who dried up her flow of blood with Jesus’ hem [Matt 9:20-22, Mark 5:25-34, Luke 8:43-48]. And what is it she did? With a like cry she placed her head upon the altar and drenched it with abundant tears as the one who had of old drenched the feet of Christ [Luke 7:37-50; cf. Matt 26:6-13, Mark 14:3-9]. She threatened not to let go until she obtained her health. Next she smeared her whole body with her own medicine, something of the antitypes of the precious Body and Blood that she treasured in her hand and mingled with her tears. Amazing! Conscious that she had been cured, she departed immediately, buoyant in body and soul. . . .”

Taft also points out that…:

“In the West, the eucharistie species were even used like a sacred relic built into the altar at the consecration of a church, as is attested by the eighth-century Latin Pontifical of Archbishop Egbert of York (t766). Employing the Eucharist as a Viaticum to be buried with the dead or even put into the corpse’s mouth had to be condemned time and again in the fourth to seventh centuries — proof positive that it was being done. It is even said that the Precious Blood was used as ink to sign the condemnation of Patriarch Photius at the Eighth Ecumenical Council Constantinope IV in 869-870. Signing critical documents in blood is as old as writing — and what blood is more solemn than that of Christ? Historians may look on the story with skepticism, but it would not have been invented had it been considered unthinkable at the time.”

Now I mention this because as I understand the phrase, it implies that the eucharist in and of itself confers grace or blessing, without necessarily having faith in Christ. So Melanchthon: “Here we condemn the whole crowd of scholastic doctors, who teach that the Sacraments confer grace ex opere operato, without a good disposition on the part of the one using them, provided he do not place a hindrance in the way” (Apology XIII, 18 at the on-line Book of Concord).

It appears that during the history of the Church people believed that the eucharist itself (cultus of presence?) had some inherent “power” in it. Put crudely, a sort of rabbit’s foot of sorts. The host then, once consecrated had become Christ who works where he wants, when he wants, and how he wants often in spite of us. It borders more on the psychology of belief, at least for the early pilgrims who were not nearly as sophisticated as we post-moderns.

Certainly my faith doesn’t make Christ present in the sacrament, and while I can understand Melanchthon’s argument given the historical context he was writing in (though I would take issue with his use of Abraham in XIII), he runs the risk (or perhaps we do) of making the efficacy of the sacrament not dependent upon on the presence of Christ, but rather upon the presence of faith in me. Melanchthon:

“And let him receive this by faith, let him comfort his alarmed conscience, and know that these testimonies are not fallacious, but as sure as though [and still surer than if] God by a new miracle would declare from heaven that it was His will to grant forgiveness. But of what advantage would these miracles and promises be to an unbeliever?  And here we speak of special faith which believes the present promise not only that which in general believes that God exists, but which believes that the remission of sins is offered. This use of the Sacrament consoles godly and alarmed minds” (ibid.).

Again, the emphasis is not on the presence of Christ in the eucharist, but rather on the “disposition” of the individual. It reminds me of the confession the Lion makes in the Wizard of Oz: “I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks.” I have long argued that the Eucharist is foundational to the relief of mental illness, even to someone so medicated or withdrawn that they barely understand what is going on, much less the “real presence.” I posit this belief upon the fact that Christ says “This is my body” and thereby places all of himself into the species. Does the person in question have “faith” in the promise? Probably not, but it is more important that Christ has faith in that individual, and so for that person the eucharist is indeed beneficial.

Finally, it is essential to never allow “presence” to overshadow “purpose,” as Power, Seasoltz, and Daly (et.al.) have argued. Christ isn’t “present” simply to make an ornament of himself, or a centerpiece on the altar; rather he is there to “work.” So I’m not certain if “ex opera operato,” much like the word “synergism” is to be condemned out of hand. Any theological teaching can be pushed to an extreme, not the least of which is forensic justification.

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Mystics

Sunday, April 18th, 2010

Whenever you join a group now, FB publishes that as your “status” and I’ve noticed that The Brothers of John the Steadfast was a popular group this week past. I don’t know much about the group and have no feeling about it one way or the other, but I noticed a link to Harrison’s response to the vote as well as Kieschnick’s. So I read both and wondered if either one of the two listed “mystic” on their CV.

That’s really what we need isn’t it? I searched the EBSCO site last evening using “mystic” and “mysticism” as keywords simply to see what would come up. I wasn’t able to find the type of study I was looking for, but I did notice two things recur over and over again: (a) the task of the mystic is to continually point toward God, and (b) a large number of those considered “mystic” by the early Church were women. I would argue that the Old Testament prophets were also mystics, they continually “saw” God and pointed him out to others, often at the risk of their lives.

When EBSCO gets up around the 20th and 21st centuries, mysticism becomes less about God and more about the philosophy of religion; in fact it would be interesting to know, today for example, how many people are involved in religious asceticism. I note from the little that I’ve read on the Desert Fathers and Mothers that they were sought out by others; rarely did they venture into town to “proclaim”-perhaps the distinction between the prophetic voice and the mystic. Their “holiness” or gift of “communion” with God was by all accounts widely recognized, but only by those few who sought them out.

There aren’t many theological words that don’t make a Lutheran nervous, if not reactionary, and I’d guess that “mysticism” would be one of them (although it didn’t appear on the SET). There is a uniqueness to prophetic and apostolic proclamation-perhaps implied. That is to say, if a name appears between the pages of Genesis and Revelation then you’re “in,” despite the fact that Paul clearly says that the gift of prophecy is given to people still today. So there is biblical evidence for the mystic of the 21st century, who is continually pointing out God. One of the many problems within Lutheranism today is that everyone is their own “mystic,” laity, commissioned or ordained.

This is what prompted my original question: does anyone on the ballot list mystic as one of their qualifications…even prophet? Based upon what many of my brothers in Christ post is exactly what they seem to want: someone who can clearly point and say “There is God.” Pointing to God is not without its dangers simply because there is no uniformity of God, and if bumper sticker theology is to be believed, “God” is always the co-pilot. The same may be said of religious organizations like our own.

My guess is that a mystic wouldn’t last long in office, if in fact he managed to get elected. (As a sidebar, it is interesting that so many women were mystics over the course of church history, and you have to wonder why that is. I tend to believe it is because of Mary and the women who would not leave the cross in fear as the men did. Perhaps this was their gift.) He would have to be a mystic with a particular agenda, after all one can’t simply point to God because God requires specificity. He should be for example the God of our forefathers-not Abraham or Isaac-but Walther and Loehe. He should also be a God of the Confessions…to the extent that he is the God of Abraham or Isaac is a minor consideration.

I doubt a mystic would get elected, but then perhaps he (or she) is really not needed. If the unifying them around which faith is organized is to be determined by elected committees and their view of God (or not), then a mystic is simply an exercise in futility.

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Warding off Evil

Friday, April 16th, 2010

In the Old Testament and inter-testament work, one finds this idea of warding off evil attached to the Pasch, as well as to sacrifice in the Book of Leviticus (third book in). I am continually amazed at the practicality of cultic sacrifice in the Old Testament and its power to cure a multitude of ills-or to avert them before they become disastrous. What’s more interesting is the inter-action of God with his people: he actually paid attention to the sacrifice-whatever form it took, grain, incense, or blood. The “Lord’s Supper” often pales by comparison-East, West and Reformation.

It often seems as if the birth of Jesus sent the Old Testament to hell to be burnt, or at the very least, to be looked upon as a historical oddity; that which one might find in Dickens’ “The Old Curiosity Shop.” The irony of course is that Jesus is a Jew, and the “last” supper takes place within the context of the Pasch. This becomes especially pointed when you consider Jesus’ words “Do this in memory of me” in light of Dt. 16, Exodus 9, 12, 13, and the Mishnah tract Pesahim, where the clear implication is that the one participating in the Pasch is actually re-presenting the Pasch, or as they like to say in the West, “making the past present.”

I went to several grad schools and one was in downtown Detroit-I do mean DOWNtown. Neighborhoods that could have easily been the scenery for any number of holocaust movies, were slowly being cleaned up. Relics of the past were removed to make way for the homes of the young, well-heeled professionals. Warehouse districts became avant-garde markets, town houses and condos…heavily guarded of course. Naturally this is progress and the same I think can be said of sacramental theology insofar as its Old Testament roots go. It too has become gentrified as it evolves liturgically and is shaped by (as opposed to shaping) theological ideologies.

Oh it has all the liturgical accoutrements, the requisite bowing and scraping; the golden bowls; the gowns; the bells; the dramatic pauses… ”This…………………………………………………..is…………………………………………….my………………………………bod………………….y”; lengthy prayers, it’s almost a liturgy for theological tourists. One wonders what Elijah might think…soak the altar? By and large though it is all show, the patient after the castration. Where there is no victim, there is no redemption.

The cry from the Old Testament Pasch texts is to remember and to enter in to: “In every generation a man must so regard himself as if he came forth out of Egypt, for it is written…” (“Pesahim”); “Do this in memory of me.” Not only that, but there is a specific reason for the remembering-yes, praise and honor, but also protection as a corollary. That much, however weakly, has managed to make it through the gentrification process, into the phrase “forgiveness of sins.”

You have to wonder exactly what Christ meant when he said that—was it a sort of New testament cleansing of the temple a la Ezekiel (taher), and in that case ontological in some form? Is it a sort of “Do this and I won’t be pissed anymore”? For my money “forgiveness of sins” is never unpacked and the reason I believe for this is that it has a tendency to head to the realm of subjectivity that Lutherans abhor. This in itself is interesting for in the conversation Jesus has with Nicodemus (John 3), clearly the work of the wind is visible.

When David prayed “Create in me a clean heart O God…” (Ps. 51) one wonders how he knew it had been done? The reason there is no real sacramental dialogue within Lutheranism is that (a) no one cares, but more importantly (b) everything is based upon “transaction.” Go to the altar, follow the LSB (right hand column please) or TLH and there it is. This is not a problem unique to Lutheranism though, the same is true with Rome, although they pay greater lip service to the Eucharist in the Mass.

The theologians from the West and East, at least those writing publically tend to take a different view, and at least in the West, often seem to be at odds with Trent. Western theologians are very harsh on the notion of “sacrifice” being perverted and the ensuing debates (and rhetoric) that followed.

 I will never understand how it is that denominations can profess to have the Body and Blood of Christ and one can be an SOB going up to the rail and an SOB going out the front door-I just don’t get it.

I refuse to buy the sinner/saint distinction as something inherent. Sin is always a matter of choice, at least for someone baptized into Christ; it’s an elective. Yes I’m aware of those passages that someone will quote to me but they are all in the past tense—you “were,” not you “are.” To acquiesce to a S/S theology is a denial of sacramental grace; how can Christ fill a person and yet “not” fill?

The contemporary church seems to be OK with this, as we are too: a sort of a lackadaisical approach to Christianity. Our questions are no longer theological or spiritual, they are political; “Will no one save us from this President?” It’s interesting that while we have no desire to re-present the sacrifice of Christ, we have no problem at all re-presenting the days of Walther and Loehe as we “pine” for the spirit of the reformation—I should think for us any spirit would be worth pinning for!

Meanwhile Christ hangs out in an air-tight container (so he doesn’t get stale) or a monstrance (so that one might adore symbol rather than embrace substance), the words “forgiveness of sins” blithely sputters off our lips each week, as we enjoy our day off in the fervent hope that a new president will set all things right. Rubbish. Maybe warding off evil isn’t such a bad idea.

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Divine Absence

Wednesday, April 14th, 2010

The study of the Eucharist for me, in particular its foundation for Christian ethics, is one of constant fascination—and frustration. Anyone who thinks that there is “a” sacramental theology, even within Lutheranism, simply hasn’t read enough. There are perhaps two questions that recur over and over again, speaking generically they are (1) the role and meaning of “sacrifice” and (2) the role and meaning of “presence.” It is to the latter that I now turn briefly in an effort to consider “presence” in terms of “absence.”

Whether you’re Lutheran (“in, with and under”), from the West (Exposition and Benediction), or from the East (mystical “presence”), you believe that Christ is “present” in the celebration of the Eucharist.( I might add as a side-bar that “present” and “presence” are not the same thing.) Whether East or West or Reformation you believe in transubstantiation and the proof is in the verba said over the elements: “This is my body.”  You can call it “mystical,” argue that it’s “in, with, and under,” or use an epiclesis, but at the end of narrative bread and wine have become body and blood. And so we say that Christ is present, “really.”

The argument then turns to the mode, and for majority of people who could care less about the finer points of liturgical theology, Christ is “present” for them-insofar as they even consider it-“in” the bread and wine. If in fact the host actually becomes the Body of Christ then there is some relevance to its reservation, and its adoration is not without merit. Contra that the argument goes that Christ is present specifically for the purpose of the sacrament. He sees when communion is ended and makes a quick exit from the elements prior to being put back into the container, lid on—rather like being buried alive.

If you look around the altar chances are that you won’t “see” Jesus and yet the claim is he is present. Since he’s not present as you or I might be, one might conclude that he is spiritually present, and in that case it is his “presence” among the communicants. You won’t “see” Jesus at the altar milling around because he is not “present;” on the contrary, the glaring fact is that he is “absent.” While I have nothing against the Adoration of the Sacrament as a practice in piety, the fact of the matter is that Jesus is not present in the host in the same way I might be present kneeling. Moreover he will not be “present” in the monstrance or paten-despite words and prayers to the contrary-until the parousia.

The celebration of the Eucharist, and the romantic “journey to Emmaus,” is less about Jesus “present,” and much more about (I think) the Holy Spirit. It may well be the meal of Christ, but it is the Holy Spirit who’s doing the seating and serving. Who else brings the presence of Christ to us?

Jesus is not present in the Eucharist anymore than he is present at Emmaus. It isn’t that he’s not coming, for he surely is, but he’s not there yet and that’s a good thing I think. The beauty of the Eucharist is his “absence,” because all you get is a glimpse—the girl in the second floor window, behind the curtain, in silhouette—desire. Desire becomes the driving force propelling one along the road to Emmaus; the “want” of the journey is far more important than the destination simply because the destination is for now visible only in silhouette.

The Eucharist is a divine meal, in fact it’s where divinity meets humanity under the wings of the Holy Spirit. In fact the Eucharist I think demonstrates just how human we all are simply because of the need we have of its gifts; chief among them participation in Christ mediated by the Spirit. The Eucharist fuels the “want” and it reminds us by the very absence of Christ, that there will be a time when he will be very present.

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Pushy Gods and Nosy Sons

Tuesday, April 13th, 2010

Has it occurred to anyone else that there is a certain “narrowness” with which Paul treats Jesus? Two very different essays (“A Passus in Christology”, by Charles Dickinson; “A Transformation of Sacrifice: An Application of Rene Girard’s Theory of Culture and Religion”, Mary Barbara Agnew C.PP.S.) coupled with my erratic thoughts about this week’s gospel tale are leading me to argue that (a) Paul was “frightened” of Jesus and (b) no one wants to “journey” to Emmaus-despite the poetic rhetoric-simply because they may in fact “find” Jesus Christ there. First to Paul…..

When you read the Pauline epistles what you don’t find is a great deal of material that deals specifically with the actual life of Jesus; put differently there is no “Jesus-ology,” on the contrary there is a very high Christology. The two are not the same. The outcome is a Pauline theology that is in many ways shaped by Romans and interestingly enough finds very little direct evidence in the Gospels. This is not to say that Paul doesn’t give what we might consider “new creation” advice to those churches having problems, but the advice stems from Paul’s theology of Christ, rather than from those things Jesus actually did. I think Christ is easier to “handle,” while Jesus poses too many variables. Fear might be the wrong word, maybe bewilderment.

How do you synthesize Jesus, who by all accounts was “extreme”? What you do is to focus on those marginal (not in the sense that don’t matter) areas, that is, those areas from which a system can be built. Oneness with the Father for example as a concept is not found in Synoptics, but in John for example. Justification by faith, for all intents and purposes seems to something Jesus wasn’t too concerned about, and yet becomes for us anyway THE doctrine by which the church stands or falls. Whether you believe that or not isn’t the point; what’s at issue is that it is something Jesus didn’t seem to have much to say about.

This same “narrowness” finds its way into sacramental theology and in particular the Eucharist. Girard would argue (and I haven’t read his actual work as Smith doesn’t have it at Walther, only works about him) (I think) that what a society can’t or won’t understand, it sacrifices, or “offers” to. So we claim to have a God and we know precisely what it is he wants, but we don’t want to do it. So we create a ritual in which we offer “things” in place of self-which is what God wants. So long as something , or someone, else is being offered, “I’m” safe. This same narrowness finds its way into the much ballyhooed phrase “forgiveness of sins” as it becomes something that is purely receptive, a benefit of what I offer. As long as I can be a part of process where a victim is sacrificed, I need not be; as long as I can be part of a process where my sins are forgiven, I need not forgive.

Meanwhile all these liturgical and theological gymnastics obscure the fact that the Eucharist is at its heart a meal. Luther had it right in 1519. It is a memorial meal, but it is still a meal whose purpose is to recall what it was that had taken place, for whom, by whom, and why; presence without purpose is simply a ritualistic pimping of Christ. But the ritual is created-elaborate rituals complete with all the gold and silver accoutrements and robes-why? In large part I believe to obscure the radical simplicity of Jesus.

This is precisely why no one wants to go to Emmaus. If you go over to textweek.com and enter the Lukan pericope you’ll find no end of article and essay titles that contain a high level of syrup. Emmaus is a great place to go if the focus is going to a docetic christology that is divorced from Jesus; however if you’re going to meet JESUS Christ then the encounter becomes a bit more tenuous—Jesus is the “man,” “Christ” is the title. To journey to Emmaus is nothing less than complete and total surrender; in essence it is a self-emptying rather than an exercise in the deconstruction of God.

Look, no one likes a pushy God, or his freakin’ weird Son with radical ideas, and so Jesus becomes Christ, which is good news for when we do arrive at Emmaus we find the Son, painted on velvet and hanging on the wall. That’s a journey we all can take.

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Wounds and Eucharist

Monday, April 12th, 2010

I was reading through some material on sin and redemption, as well as McKenna’s “Eucharist and Sacrifice: An Overview” and I came across a notion that Aquinas had centuries ago. It was an idea I was familiar with, but McKenna’s article, brought it into greater relief for me. Aquinas said that it was up to the institutor of the sacrifice to determine the form of the sacrifice, and Christ chose a memorial meal for the form. That’s interesting on a number of levels, not the least of which is this week’s gospel tale of the road to Emmaus.

If in fact you want to call Christ’s life and death a sacrifice-and on a personal note I would argue with that depiction-then this same life and death sacrifice comes with Christ in the Eucharist “in the ongoing exercise of his public ministry” (McKenna, 398). More to the point, if in fact the meal is a memorial, then it is precisely this sacrifice that is “remembered.” When Jesus appeared to Thomas, he didn’t leave his wounds outside the wall he walked through, and I suspect he carried them with him on the road to Emmaus. You simply can’t exclude those “parts” of Christ that don’t fit a particular ideology, and sacrifice is a good example. I suppose you can bandage the wounds, or ask Christ to wear a long-sleeved shirt, or perhaps beg him to keep his tunic closed, but you can’t wish the wounds away. It is at the end of the day sacrifice that makes Jesus, “the” Christ.

Chauvet is one of the best scholars I’ve read on the Eucharist (SYMBOL AND SACRAMENT, and THE SACRAMENTS) and he rightly points out that Christ’s sacrifice is unlike any other. The Servant Songs of Isaiah are completely meaningless unless, as Chauvet puts it (borrowing from Heidegger), Christ “lets go” of being God:

“This ‘sacrificial’ letting-be seems to us to open a way to express theologically the significance of the life and death of Jesus ‘for all humankind,’ a way at least as fruitful as that of ritual sacrifice or of the feudal justice exacting compensation” (SYMBOL AND SACRAMENT, Louis-Marie Chauvet, translated by Patrick Madigan, S.J. and Madeleine Beaumont; Liturgical Press, 1995, p. 301).

It isn’t that the cross is minimized; rather the cross is seen as the inevitable outcome of Christ’s “consent to his condition as Son-in-humanity and as Brother of humanity…where he consents to taste humanity to its extreme limit, death experienced in the silence of a God who would not intervene to spare the Just One this death” (Chauvet, 301, italics original). The resurrection then is God’s acceptance of Jesus’ “letting-be.”Meal as memorial is the remembrance of this kenosis, and it can’t be disregarded or ignored in our genetic haste to get to the “forgiveness of sins”—whatever that may entail.

There’s a certain irony to a celebration of the Eucharist, where the Host is the wounded Christ who is largely ignored, and yet it is only because of his “presence” that “sins are forgiven” (I use the phrase only for convenience). It is also worth noting that there are no “sins forgiven” on the road to Emmaus, and what was “it” that opened their eyes? It was I believe the “presence” of the wounded Christ at their table. The same wounded Christ who had just finished a lengthy recitation of both scripture and prophets, calling on Cleophas and company to “remember.”

It is worth noting that the terms “sacrifice” and “priest” in the context of the Eucharist and the presiding minister do not come on the scene until the third century (Tertullian and Cyprian). Once Christianity is legalized with the conversion of Constantine and Christian persecution comes to a close, the influx of formerly pagan individuals into Christianity sped up-according to McKenna-the move toward “cultic” activities of priests. This of course leads to the Middle Ages where “priests” no longer were proclaimers of Christ, but rather “performers” of the mass and the abuses that followed. I might also add that the Reformers too displayed an ignorance of the liturgical history that had preceded them. Perhaps Girard’s thesis is worth noting.

Several things seem worth noting in closing: (1) “remembrance” is part and parcel of any eucharistic celebration; (2) this “remembrance” includes the sacrificial death of Christ; (3) if Augustine is to be believed, the eucharist as sacrament is simply a visible presentation of the invisible sacrifice that is taking place; (4) Christ can’t be ignored, and yes Virginia, he is wounded; and (5) presence is wonderful, but without purpose it remains a joke-simply rhetoric.

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Presence vs Purpose

Thursday, April 8th, 2010

I realize that an essay titled “Transubstantiation, Transfinalization, Transignification” (in LIVING BREAD, SAVING CUP: READINGS ON THE EUCHARIST, R. Kevin Seasoltz, ed.; Liturgical Press, 1987) and written by Edward Schillebeeckx doesn’t excite many people (if any). Sheer boredom motivated me to continue to read this piece and I’m happy to say that if one is willing to mine deep enough it is entirely possible to find a treasure.

Schillebeeckx is arguing against adoration of the sacrament at the expense of the res sacramenti, the actual purpose of the sacrament. He is not arguing against the sacramentum et res (real presence of Christ in the sacrament); rather the argument is that modern theologians, often at odds with patristic texts and medieval scholasticism, place the emphasis on eucharistic presence and ignore the purpose of Christ’s presence.

“The ‘real presence’ must be viewed against the background of the saving act of Christ, who in this sacramental bread gives himself to us. Christ remains truly present in the sacred host, before being received in communion, but always as an offer; it is a ‘praesentia oblate.’ The presence becomes reciprocal—that is to say, presence in the full and completive human sense—only in the acceptance of the presence offered, and in that way it becomes the presence of Christ in our hearts, which is the very purpose of the eucharist. Only a eucharistic presence that is personally offered and accepted [italics original] becomes an altogether complete presence. The presence of Christ in the tabernacle is therefore real, but as such it is only offered, and in this sense it is secondary in relation to the complete reciprocal presence to which it is directed as to its end and perfection” (ibid., 188).

Despite the nuances of this lengthy quotation of Schillebeeckx’s, there are more than a few things here Lutheranism could pick on, not the least of which is the purpose of the much applauded “real presence.” So for starters, you can’t argue for “real presence” without an equally “real purpose.” If there is no purpose then Christ is reduced to waiting tables, becoming (really)“present” simply for the sake of presence. The star on top of the Christmas tree: so what? In fact, we have no business even celebrating the sacrament with a complete understanding of that purpose. (I know what’s coming, but I’ll wait to address it.)

Next, Christ is only present to you (within the Eucharist) insofar as you accept what he offers, and that I think is twofold: he offers his presence and his purpose. The two cannot be separated, as Schillebeeckx argues that popular Roman Catholic piety did for many years. On this point Schillebeeckx would find Luther in agreement with him. The purpose of the Eucharist then- in terms of presence anyway- is not to make Christ generically present, but rather to make him present for you.

Third, “Christ remains truly present in the sacred host, before being received in communion, but always as an offer…” Is it possible to say that reception completes presence? This I think is Schillebeeckx’s problem with adoration of the sacrament: “Yes,” he would argue, “Christ is present in the host, but only as an offering-ONLY as offering, and so while perhaps a good practice of piety, it pales by comparison to the reception of the Eucharist itself.”

Finally I’m beginning to wonder if “reception” of the Eucharist is the best choice of words; would “acceptance” be better? If there has been no acceptance of Christ’s offering—to include the purpose of the offering– then Christ simply is not present and the sacrament becomes a mid-service snack. When Paul is speaking to the Corinthians about the risks involved in the much maligned phrase “guilty of not discerning the body,” and the ensuing results, he is not arguing that the Eucharist is poisonous to those who do not “accept” on the contrary I believe is arguing that there is no salvific effect. Put differently, those who refuse the offer of Christ are simply left as they are, ultimately destroyed by their own indifference. Christ is not present for them period.

Discernment of the body is often used as a reason for not communing younger children and as a rational for confirmation. Seen this way it is an argument for an intellectual understanding of the sacrament rather than an understanding of “why” Christ is present. The answer to that question is quite simple: he is present for you-what else need a kid know?

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Easter Sentiment

Tuesday, April 6th, 2010

I’m a hater of sentiment in general, but sentiment without substance or explanation or instruction, is simply self-indulgent.  Among the FB clerics and those who would be clerics and those who believe that they are clerics, this takes place on festivals throughout the liturgical year of the church. As one might expect, sentimental reductionism is in high gear now, which is in and of itself ironic: once the Octave of Easter is past, pants are put back on, zippers pulled up, taxis are called and the resurrection love-making comes to an end….”See ya next year babe!” That’s something every girl dreams of.

Despite all the hymn quotations, the quotes from Luther’s Postils, prayers, collects, sermonic abstractions, quotes from the Fathers, rubbish from Synod, come the end of the Octave baby the party’s over! Could be we’re all pimps and Easter is our girl….maybe it’s the bonnet she wears that turns people on?

Despite the hell I know I’ll get, I don’t think forgiveness of sins should be a primary resurrection theme, nor I might add should justification. I say this only because there is a “period” at the end of the sentence: forgiveness of sins period; risen for our justification period.  Well in the grand scheme of things so what? Even the tried and true baptismal clichés: died with Christ, resurrected with Christ in baptism ring more than a bit hollow when the period comes at the end of the sentence. The problem of course is the land beyond the “period,” where love making is taken to a new high. Maybe it’s more than we can take?

It is very, very easy to place stole on neck, smile on face, step into pulpit and preach forgiveness of sins; it is far and away more difficult to embody and articulate exactly how and what those living in the forgiveness of the resurrection should…………………………see the trouble? Rhetorical poetry is fine for prayers and hymns but in large part it is an affront to the Resurrected Christ simply because it presumes life in Christ is largely, well, rhetorical. Our Easter presumptions are in large part forensic “period.” “Thanks babe.”

As are I might add our eucharistic thoughts…when we have them, and yet one effects the other: how one approaches the Resurrected Christ will have a tremendous impact on how one approaches the Eucharist. How does the Resurrected Christ greet each person at the eucharistic table? “Here, take it”? That doesn’t seem to have been the case along the road to Emmaus (which I might add moves the liturgy of the eucharist to a different level)….more later-

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Wounds

Monday, April 5th, 2010

“Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.’ “ (John 20.27). I was thinking over John 20 and Ezekiel 37; about dry bones and peace, and then Thomas came to mind, but more importantly the wounds of Christ. Isaac, once he became blind, was able to tell the difference between his sons by the coarseness of their skin; Esau the “coarser” of the two. Jacob, while not blind, knew his son Joseph by the coat he wore, and it is famously brought back to the Patriarch with the blood of an animal smeared on it to prove the lie his other sons would tell of their brother. David knew Absalom as the murderer of Amon and the avenger of Tamar; the distinguishing feature being blood. The same might be said of Adam and his first two sons, Cain and Abel: the type of sacrifice they offered marked them as did murder (and the Lord) mark Cain.

In the New Testament, perhaps most famously is the father of the Prodigal who knew his returning son perhaps less by appearance than by disposition; a change that had come over him. And then there’s Jesus, and the marks that made him recognizable to his Father. That Jesus shows his wounds to Thomas is important, but what I think is more important is that the Father sees the wounds of his son; that he recognizes his son and the wounds as reminders of the battle that he fought that set him apart from all things. It is because of these wounds that Christ carries, Paul is able to make the statement he does in Philippians 2.9-11. On another note, nothing in that section of Philippians mentions sin or justification or our “rescue”; rather it is the wounds which were a result of obedience that exalts Christ.

The “skin” or the “coat” or the “disposition” of Christ was his wounds, and that is I think why the wounds remained visible post-Easter Resurrection: for the Father to see, to recognize, and to exalt. If you remove the wounds from Christ, you simply make him Jesus, the son of Joseph and Mary, despite his Incarnation. Ultimately it is the wounds that make him “the” Christ. Wounds make Christ fully human; being resurrected by the Father makes him fully divine.

It is hard to imagine, something we Lutherans are not known for, that the only reason Christ carried his wounds physically was so that Thomas might make his great exclamation “My Lord and my God” (Mary wasn’t shown them in the garden). Ask a veteran about the pain associated with a wound. You’ll likely hear that the pain never, ever goes away. During the Civil War, the badly wounded often had limbs amputated. They would later report that they “felt” as if the limb was still attached. So too the wounds of Christ I suspect are still painful to him, perhaps as a reminder of the cost of obedience.

The more amazing thing is the belief that Christ was wounded so that we wouldn’t have to be; it’s as if discipleship is an earthly “Green Zone”; free from fire and IED’s. Some might argue that we are “declared” wounded but that simply doesn’t fit in with the scriptural witness, not the least of which is “Pick up your cross.” Nor can it be argued from the Servant Songs in Isaiah. If the Master was wounded, how does it follow that his disciples are not? Baptism may be a mark, but it is far from a wound. Put differently, Baptism lays the back bare for the scourge of society.

The other example of gospel reductionism is to view only sin and death as wounds; this is one of the dangers of a strictly forensic approach to justification and forgiveness. One is wounded more by realizing sin and attempting a turn away from it, than simply from “sin” itself. Sin is in my experience a very pleasant pastime to be engaged in; it is the active struggle not to be engaged that “marks” the life of a disciple.

Finally, to reduce Easter to something like “Christ was raised for our justification” is to simply ignore the wounds of Christ. If Thomas’ sin was one of unbelief, how much greater a sin is the unbelief in wounds?

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