On Revolution

A revolution is coming — a revolution which will be peaceful if we are wise enough; compassionate if we care enough; successful if we are fortunate enough — But a revolution which is coming whether we will it or not. We can affect its character; we cannot alter its inevitability. - Robert Kennedy

Nach dem Aufstand des 17. Juni
Ließ der Sekretär des Schriftstellerverbands
In der Stalinallee Flugblätter verteilen
Auf denen zu lesen war, daß das Volk
Das Vertrauen der Regierung verscherzt habe
Und es nur durch verdoppelte Arbeit
zurückerobern könne. Wäre es da
Nicht doch einfacher, die Regierung
Löste das Volk auf und
Wählte ein anderes?

After the uprising of the 17th of June
The Secretary of the Writers' Union
Had leaflets distributed in the Stalinallee
Stating that the people
Had forfeited the confidence of the government
And could win it back only
By redoubled efforts. Would it not be easier
In that case for the government
To dissolve the people
And elect another?
-Berthold Brecht, "Die Lösung"

Karl Marx saw a revolution of the working class as inevitable because he believed that the wealthy classes would never allow any improvement in the conditions of the workers at the cost of their own profits. This revolution did not happen in much of the developed world. The ballot box opened an alternative path for workers to get proper treatment through government regulations and social programs. 19th century parties calling for  revolution and meaning it became 20th century parties mentioning it symbolically.

I prefer to take a systems theory approach: when a system is stuck in a dysfunctional equilibrium and people cannot knock it into a better equilibrium by normal processes, then revolution becomes an alternative some may start to consider.

When a system is in equilibrium, it doesn't like to move out of it; it tends to bring things back to the equilibrium state. If the state is stable enough, it will strongly resist movement away. But if the system is dysfunctional, there will be many in the system who will want/need/demand change. As the system resists change, the stress on the system will increase without release. Earthquake analogy. When the stress gets released, and a change sufficient to overcome the equilibrium takes place, we might call it a revolution, if the system is of sufficient scope.

I'll tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Then I'll get on my knees and pray
We don't get fooled again
-The Who, "Won't Get Fooled Again"

Unless the revolution is sufficient to actually destroy a system (very few are), a new equilibrium will arise. The various conditions which shaped the previous equilibrium will still be in existence (restrictions on resources, human nature, and the like). As a result, the new equilibrium is likely to be dysfunctional itself. The specific rules, roles, and leaders will have changed, but the overall appearance is the same. The USSR, the one place instance of a revolution from within a country which is related at all to Marx's predictions, ended up quite similar to czarist Russia even though many details were different. This situation is a change of details without changing the overall appearance. A lower level of dysfunction in a system is less likely to produce a superficially similar system after a revolution, but they are much less likely to have a revolution in the first place.

So what about the quote from Robert Kennedy? He posits a choice between two sorts of revolutions. One is the sort described above: a release of tectonic stresses in a nation-system. The other is a revolution by transcendence: a change in the conditions which shape the current equilibrium, thereby making the current situation a disequilibrium one which will itself resolve into a new equilibrium. The second kind is the only sort of revolution which is of any use, ultimately.

No Special Sauce on My Eucharist, Please

I recently found a website purportedly raising money for a pilot program that, if successful, would place McDonald's franchises in underused church buildings across the country and of various denominations. I won't link to the program, called McMass, for various reasons: in part because I hope that the whole thing is sarcasm, but also because I think it's easy enough to find and that if it isn't sarcasm I don't want to support it in any way.

Whether sarcastic or not, this site points to some issues with contemporary church thinking:

1. The number of people at a church is somehow an indicator of how healthy a church is. Yes, in general, a church should be increasing its members, attendees, or whatever, because that is the result of spreading the Gospel. But putting firm numbers and definite expectations on such growth shifts the emphasis from the long, slow processes of growth in Christ as disciples to a strategy of increase at any cost. That cost can be continued growth of existing members or even the Gospel itself.

2. The church is unsuccessful, but can become successful by applying modern business methods. Yes, the church is fairly unsuccessful by business standards. But the business standard measures success ultimately by profit. When churches are taking in much larger amounts of money than they are "spending", people are suspicious of them in a way that isn't even relevant to, say, Apple. Or McDonald's.

The modern business methods in churches aren't there for profitability, of course. They're there to increase the numbers: attendance, membership, participation, even giving. It's about increasing efficiency, better marketing, giving the people what they want, eliminating underperforming ministries, creating buy-in, and the like. These practices will increase numbers, certainly. How the fit in with the Good News of Jesus Christ, I have no idea: making a convert increases numbers, but making a disciple (as the Great Commission calls for) does not.

3. Every congregation has the same problem, which has a single solution, unless of course they've already implemented that solution. In the McMass proposal, the problem is vacancy, and the solution is a McDonald's franchise. Other problems have been declining membership, cultural irrelevancy, and losing the Millenials. Solutions have included contemporary worship, seeker services, small groups, upbeat music, nontraditional settings, and mission statements.

The idea that every congregation has the same problem (unless it's already been solved) is absurd. Rural, suburban, and urban congregations all have different dynamics because of where they are. Newer congregations aren't the same as older ones. Large congregations word differently from small ones. Conservative churches face different challenges from progressive ones. Ethnic, racial, and denominational histories influence congregations today. The idea that one solution, no matter how "successful" it has been elsewhere, will fix the problems of all of these is at best wishful thinking. This goes double when you realize that "successful" usually is defined in terms of number one and two above, and not in terms of a closer walk with Jesus.

4. The present time is special, at least when compared to the past. Usually this idea is implicit in the idea that now we have the knowledge (usually modern, effective business practices) to solve the problems the Church faces, which it has never faced before. The idea that somehow the contemporary situation is unique in church history such that we cannot look to the past for solutions (indeed, the past is often seen as a cause of the problem) is a kind of temporal arrogance. As Christians we are part of a chain of believers going back to those who actually heard the words of Jesus. We may know more about certain things, but only because we have the insights of previous generations: we see further because we stand on the shoulders of giants (Isaac Newton). We are not loved by God any more or any less than previous generations. We are no more and no less human than previous generations. The idea that our answers are better without listening to our predecessors, or that our problems are worse because of our predecessors, is, as a previous generation might have said, malarkey. The Church has always had problems -- and wisdom.

Biblical Inerrancy and Human Fallibility

I keep hearing from starkly conservative Christians on various issues arguments along the following lines:

1. The Bible is the Word of God
2. Therefore, the Bible cannot be wrong,
3. The Bible says thus-and-such on an issue.
4. Therefore, thus-and-such must be so.

Here's the thing. This argument overlooks the role of the reader of the Bible in understanding what it says, among other things. Let's take a closer look at this argument.

The Bible is the Word of God
Well, yes, but only secondarily. Jesus Christ is the Word of God, as the Bible itself says in John 1. The Bible is God's message to us. But that message says that Jesus Christ is God's ultimate message to us: God's self-disclosure of who God is. So while it is the case that the Bible is the Word of God, it is not the ultimate Word of God. The Bible is important, but it is not as important at Jesus Christ. If the Bible seems to say something which is at odds with what Jesus says or does, then Jesus is the surer guide to truth.

Therefore, the Bible cannot be wrong.
Well, yes. The Bible is God's message to us that Jesus Christ is God's ultimate message. There is really no reason for God to lie, or even be mistaken, in telling us that. However, it is about this message that God has for us in the Bible that the Bible cannot be wrong. Other aspects of the Bible are secondary. They are aspects that God uses to get the main message across. They need not be correct in themselves. In some cases, in fact, they had to be wrong.

Why? God may have inspired the Bible, but from the moment that any given verse was more than a divine thought humans were involved. These humans were, as all of us are, products of their time and place. Modern ideas about such things as the origin of life, the creation of the universe, and the age of Earth would have been absurd to those who first heard them as well as several generations of those who transmitted the texts. The result would have been that any texts which described the world in modern terms would have been considered nonsense by its first hearers and likely lost.

The Bible says thus-and-such on an issue.
Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. How can you tell? The only way to tell what the Bible says is to read it. And therein lies the issue.

The Bible cannot be wrong. But you can. And so can I. So can any of us who aren't God. And as soon as you introduce a fallible human into the picture, the picture changes. Because while the Bible cannot be wrong about its central point, you and I can be wrong about what the Bible means. The error, then, isn't the Bible's, it is ours. And when we make a mistake of this sort, then our claim that the Bible says a certain thing is wrong, even though the Bible is not wrong.

Therefore, thus-and-such must be true.
Well, yes, if the Bible actually says that. But see the section above. Not every interpretation of the Bible is necessarily true, simply because it is an interpretation of the Bible. This last statement is somewhat trite. It is trivial to come up with patently incorrect interpretations of the Bible. Nonetheless, interpretations which are offered seriously can have errors, not because the Bible is fallible, but because the interpreter is fallible.

So while every step of this argument is at least potentially true, the argument as a whole is far from ironclad. As it is usually used, it acts as a shutting down of discussion due to what those arguing seem to consider to be obvious truths. But it is only possible to make this argument if you ignore the role of the interpreter or reader in communicating the claimed statement of the Bible. Yet this role is vital: without someone to read, and by reading interpret, the Bible, it is an inert document, no more capable of revealing us God in Jesus Christ than a coffee mug in a box in the back storeroom of a coffee shop.

The Lectionary: Why Use One?

Traditionally, the scripture readings for worship services were not selected by any of the worship leaders. Rather, churches used a lectionary: a book which lists the readings for worship services. In contemporary use, there are in fact multiple lectionaries for Sunday and holy day worship, for daily Eucharistic worship, and for the daily office. My comments here will apply to some extent to all of these, though of course you only use those lectionaries which work for the services you have.

Why use a lectionary? Let us look at two apparent weaknesses of using lectionaries, before looking at some other strengths.

A lectionary forces me to read more Scriptures than I preach about
The idea that you can read too much of the Bible strikes me as absurd in itself. But I know that many Christians have the idea that if a passage of Scripture is read, it must be explained. But this is not so. Much else happens in worship that is not explained. The point of reading the Bible during worship is to let the Bible speak to those present. The further proclamation of a sermon or homily is necessary, not so that the people can understand a passage of Scripture (because many passages of Scripture have too much meaning to be understood fully in a single setting anyway), but so that the people may understand some particular aspect more clearly.

Even if you do preach on a given passage, those at the service may get something different from the reading anyway. So including other passages doesn't change anything in this regard; it only means that the worshipers will be exposed to more passages, and therefore have more chances to have their lives changed.

I want to preach on a given topic, and the lectionary won't give me a Scripture to base it on
A variation on this criticism is, "I want to do a sermon series on a topic, and the lectionary isn't arranged so that I can do that." This second version is simply the first applied to one topic over multiple services.

Here is the problem with this criticism, as I see it. Essentially, you are saying, "I will decide what to preach on" rather than "I will listen to what God has to say to me, and what God wants me to say". Yes, preaching topically allows you to address topics of particular concern to your congregation or at a particular time. But usually, other avenues exist to discuss these topics: a pastor's column in a newsletter, a church blog, Sunday school classes, or bible studies, for example. These media also make it clear that what is being said is the pastor's informed opinion, and not necessarily the voice of God. By using a lectionary, the preacher is no longer allowed to follow his or her own fancy, but is subject to a discipline such that both preacher and congregation have to listen to topics regardless of their own whims or preferences.

There are other reasons to use a lectionary.
I want to expose the congregation to as much of the Scripture as possible
Then use a lectionary! While they are not perfect, and criticisms of current lectionaries exist, modern lectionaries use a substantial part of the Bible, far more than most pastors will remember to use otherwise. About the only alternative is reading straight through the Bible. This strategy is a lectionary of its own, really, only one which may be started arbitrarily and is not set up by any church authority.

I want my congregation to hear the same passages as other congregations
Then use a lectionary! There are three main lectionaries in us in U.S. Christianity, and they are quite similar. The Roman Catholic Lectionary is used by the Roman rite of the Catholic Church and is the basis for the other two. The Revised Common Lectionary (RCL) is used by many Protestant churches. It replaces Old Testament readings in the Catholic lectionary which are taken from books not in Protestant Bibles. The Episcopal Lectionary is a similar effort, which was devised in the same way as the RCL, but shortly before, and disagrees with the RCL only slightly.

I want to be able to use sermon preparation aids
Then use a lectionary! There are several aids to sermon preparation available, from exposition of passages to anecdotes and illustrations. Many of these are keyed to various lectionaries. By preaching from a lectionary, finding relevant sermon preparation aids becomes easier.

One final note: while a lectionary is set up for traditional-style liturgies, one can be used with other styles of worship: just read the passages where you already read Scripture. Lectionaries are about Scripture passage selection, not about positioning or surroundings or style of proclamation.

Questions? Comments? Criticisms? Let me know in the comments, please.

Gordon Lathrop, Holy Things, VII

Delving further into chapter 3, we find that Gordon Lathrop introduces another paradox: in baptism Christians call upon a God with no name by names. (Two notes here: one, Lathrop seems to be glossing over the Tetragrammaton in the Hebrew Bible, which is given as the proper name of God. In the end, this name only strengthens Lathrop's point, as the name means something like "He Who Is" and is, in effect, a way of not answering the question of "What is God's name?". Two, Lathrop fails to point out that two of the names in the Trinity, "Father" and "Son", only make sense in relation to each other and not in any absolute sense, while the third, "Holy Spirit", doesn't tell us even as much as the term "god" does.) This paradox is at the core of the baptismal process, as it culminates in a bath in the Triune name.

Gordon Lathrop, Holy Things, VI

Continuing in chapter 3, the juxtaposition between teaching and bath, while it can involve much variation it its details, cannot be allowed to become a reason for division. The variants should be seen as variations on the basic theme of teaching and bath. The various ritual bits which surround the baptism should. Seen as explanatory rites (a term Lathrop does not use here for some reason, although his discussion makes it clear that he thinks of them in a similar light), they should point to the central juxtaposition, not to  themselves, and certainly not to be causes of arguments and divisions.

Gordon Lathrop, Holy Things, V

In Chapter 3 Lathrop introduces a new sort of juxtaposition: thanksgiving and lament. (I use "sort" deliberately. This juxtaposition does not work differently than the ones before, but it is a juxtaposition, not of acts or times, but of emotions.) Thanksgiving without lament is the proverbial ostrich: it pretends not to see anything that does not conform to its outlook. Lament without thanksgiving is despair: it cannot offer or even expect solutions to the situations which cause the problems.

Another juxtaposition Lathrop introduces here is related to entering the Christian community: teaching and washing. Typically, for most subjects, and currently for adults, the pattern is teaching, followed by a bath that supersedes any teaching. In some cases (such as teaching about the bath itself), though, the historical practice is reversed: the teaching follows the bath. This pattern is still used for infant baptism (and in some other cases where either the baptizand is not yet capable of receiving instruction, or the baptism is urgent and cannot be delayed).

Gordon Lathrop, Holy Things IV

The beginning of chapter two continues the idea of juxtaposition begun in the latter parts of chapter one. This juxtaposition, or things set beside each other (parabolein), or thrown together (symballein), Lathrop sees has happening in three ordines: the cycle of daily prayer, the weekly cycle, and within the Sunday morning service.

In the cycle of daily prayer, Lathrop notes that the times of prayer seem to suggest honoring the sun, but the content relativizes the role of the sun, and honors them by honoring their Creator.

In the weekly cycle, Lathrop notes that the main service of the week for Christians happens after the Sabbath, and thus, on the first day of the week, which is the first work day. Thus the new day of worship is not a day of rest. Furthermore, the first day is also the eighth day, and thus simultaneously the beginning of the week, outside the week, and the beginning of something beyond the week.

Within the Sunday service, Lathrop notes that the service of readings and prayers, which is derived in concept (if not in form) from synagogue services, is joined to a meal which was the particular service of Christian groups. Furthermore, this juncture seems to have happened because of concerns for the poor, who were (on the evidence of Paul) being neglected by the full, separate meals. Instead of a full meal with neglected or only ritual help of the poor, there is a ritual meal with a real donation to the poor.

The next main point that Lathrop makes, building on 19th century Lutheran scholars (especially Löhe), is that the liturgy on Sunday is double peaked, with both the word and the table as peaks. (This idea is one I've had, under a different metaphor, of "climaxes", drawing in my case not on mountain ranges but on drama.) Lathrop argues that each of these peaks is itself double peaked. The reading of scripture is not superior to the sermon, nor is the sermon over the reading. Likewise, in the liturgy of the table, the thanksgiving is not superior to the reception, nor the reception to the thanksgiving.

Gordon Lathrop, Holy Things, III

The next section of Gordon Lathrop's work Holy Things (which ends chapter 1) introduces his concept of the broken. In his usage, being broken involves using old material in a way that subverts conventional meaning. He compares this usage to Jesus' use of parables (and thus another term for the broken might be the parabolic). In both, old words, old stories, old images, and old acts are used to illustrate a significant point through juxtaposing them in a way that radically undercuts conventional expectations. Just as a fundamentally unclean Samaritan can be "good" while a priest and a Levite are not, so top can a Byzantine court ritual be used to pay homage to a book, even when it surrounds the reading of a passage emphasizing humility. Thus, even though liturgical words and acts can be themselves quite dated and conventional, they can speak anew to people today, and speak powerfully, most especially when they go against convention. To reduce them to convention, however, is to render them powerless.

The Whirlwind Follows

“When religion and politics travel in the same cart, the riders believe nothing can stand in their way. Their movements become headlong - faster and faster and faster. They put aside all thoughts of obstacles and forget the precipice does not show itself to the man in a blind rush until it's to late.”

Frank Herbert, Dune

"Sir, my concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God's side, for God is always right."

Abraham Lincoln

Well within living memory is a time when Republicans and Democrats would work together in Washington DC to get bills through Congress and signed into law by the President. Both sides were sure that their approaches to any given issue were correct, but when these approaches differed, they argued and eventually worked out a compromise that neither side may have loved, but both sides would accept and vote for. Both Republicans and Democrats could see in the compromise bill a way of moving forward at least partially toward their chosen solution. Each side could say to their supporters that the compromise was the best that could happen at the time, but as more people became persuaded by their arguments, more could be done toward implementing their chosen solution.

Those days are past, and seem unlikely to return in the near future. A new kind of certainty has come into politics which sees the opposing side as not merely wrong but as actually being a threat. This kind of certainty has long been found in Christianity (and other religions too, most likely -- but I speak now only of the one I know well and therefore can speak about with some authority), and it is no coincidence that, as Christian groups have entered fully into the American political ring with a kind of theological politics, that this new kind of certainty has moved from religion to politics.

This kind of certainty, where disagreement represents a threat, has two main supports in theology: an argument and a commitment. The commitment comes about because many Christians stake their souls on a proposition. The argument is grounded in the omniscience and benevolence of God.

The commitment support arises because, instead of staking their souls on the saving acts of Jesus Christ, many Christians have staked their souls on the truth of the statement that Jesus Christ died for their sins. Therefore anything which may call into question the truth of that statement is seen as a spiritual threat. Since the support for the truth of that statement is seen in the Bible as it has been interpreted and explained to these Christians, anything which seems to contradict what they have been told that the Bible says is ultimately seen as undermining the truth on which they have staked their souls, and is seen as being a spiritual threat by extension.

The argument supporting this kind of certainty runs in this way. God is all knowing, and good, and therefore always tells the truth. The Bible is the Word of God, and therefore is also true. Therefore what the Bible says (and how I read the Bible, though that is often not made explicit) must be true and anything which appears to contradict it must be false. This argument starts out acceptable, but goes astray. It is true that God is all knowing, and good, and therefore tells the truth. Furthermore, it is true that God is certain about both political and theological positions. The Bible is God's revelation (although the supreme revelation of God, and indeed Word of God, is not the Bible but Jesus Christ), and therefore what it says is also true. However, the readers of the Bible are not themselves gods, and therefore are not perfect, and can misinterpret the Bible. What the Bible says is true; but the Bible does not necessarily say what each and every reader thinks it says. When we read the Bible, we interpret it; whether we intend to or not, we bring our own ideas, our own context, our own past to Scripture. The Bible is the certain and infallible expression of God, but we are fallible readers of the Bible.

This flaw in the argument supporting the kind of certainty we see moving from theology to politics suggests a remedy: humility. What we need are politicians and voters (especially those claiming to be Christians) willing to say, at least to themselves, that while they are sure they are right, they are also sure they are not perfect, and therefore they can be wrong. Acknowledging this truth would not require anyone to change a single position on any political issue, including the highly controversial ones. What it would require is a change of tone. Rather than seeing your opponents as opponents of the truth who thereby threaten you, you now have to see them as people like yourselves, who seem to be wrong on a given issue, but because you may be wrong too, you are not better than them. You now have to respect your political opponents as people who may be wrong, just as you may be wrong.

Gordon Lathrop, Holy Things, II

Lathrop starts with the Bible, which he describes as the source of both texts (such as readings and prayers) and of imagery. Its enacted meaning, however, comes from being used in the assembly, and from the resulting juxtaposition of old text and contemporary people. This pattern itself is biblical.

Nothing in worship arises de novo. Everything has some sort of precedent, even as it changes. No matter how significant the change or important the one making the change, the resulting form uses preexisting material. Thus for the sacraments, we cannot look to their institution as the moment they spring into existence. They have a prehistory, even if scholarship cannot reconstruct it and no documents exist to attest to this prehistory. (Consider, and this is my own comparison, the Goths, who were Arian. Surely they had worship texts, as they are contemporary to written orthodox texts, and furthermore we known they had literacy, even in their vernacular, Gothic, because Wulfila translated the Bible into it. But we do not know anything about the content of their liturgy.) This prehistory does not dictate the meaning of the ritual, however.

Gordon Lathrop, Holy Things I: Introduction

All this represents my understanding of Lathrop's ideas. Regrettably my Kindle copy does not include page numbers. As I am doing this post while reading the book these ideas are found in order. Don't quote me, read the book yourself!). The first main contribution of Lathrop is his distinction between "primary liturgical theology", which is theology expressed in the liturgy, and "secondary liturgical theology", which is theology expressed in reflecting on the liturgy. Just as the primary liturgical theology is the feedstock for the secondary, so in some sense is the primary as embodied in the practice of the community more fundamental than any reflections of theologians.

Methodologically speaking, start with simple, "non-theological" words (e.g., book, table, meal) and let the meaning of the acts arise from the acting, before using the jargon (e.g., Bible, altar, Eucharist), which can prejudge their meanings and become obstacles in themselves.

He notes the tension between the assertion of the existence of holy things and holy people, on the one hand, and its frequent companion in the liturgy, the assertion that God alone is holy.

Relaunching

Hello, everyone. Since I got no comments from my last post I have decided to change the focus of this blog. I'm preparing for my comps and I don't have time to spend on something that doesn't seem to be of much interest or use to people. So coming to this space will be reflections, hopefully daily, on what I'm reading for comps.

Hello Everyone!

I know, it's been a while since I blogged. Things have been busy in real life. Beyond that, however, one idea for a blog post hasn't worked out. So what I'm asking for is feedback. I can tell from Blogger that my posts have a few readers. However, without comments or other feedback, I have no idea if anyone is finding my posts interesting, stimulating, or anything else. So I invite your comments, either here or on the previous posts. I especially invite comments on the whole blog or issues you would like me to address in the future here. I invite disagreement and criticism, but keep in mind that I wish it to be civil, and anyone claiming that ecumenism is a heresy of satanic will be ignored, and their comments deleted: such statements are not useful.

The Family Tree and Wave Models

It is "National Siblings Day" in the US as I write these words. While this day is hardly a significant date in the church calendar, it does bring to mind the concept of "sister churches." This phrase tries to convey a sense of equality, both of current status and of historical roots. As such, it is generally a positive assessment when one church considers another to be a "sister church".

The term "sister church" evokes the idea of a family tree, thus allowing us to talk about "daughter churches" which split off from "mother churches", and by extension "grandmother" and "granddaughter" churches. The family tree metaphor should not be pushed too far -- for example, what church is at the root of the tree, thus representing the initial church of Acts: Catholicism or Orthodoxy? That question is essentially one of polemics between the various branches of Christianity, rather than one which can be easily and objectively answered.

The family tree model finds its origin in genealogy, but has been used in other fields as well, where two or more current entities share some sort of common origin. In biology, the family tree model is the root metaphor for taxonomy. In historical linguistics, the family tree model is the traditional representation of relationships among members of a language family.

In this latter case, there is an alternative to the family tree model, known as the wave model, in which changes to a language move out from a given dialect to its neighbors. Could such a model be useful in ecumenical relationships? It may be useful in describing the interrelationships among various Protestant bodies after their separation, as theological influences do not respect denominational lines. (Indeed, the influences also affect Anglicans, Catholics, and Orthodox, but these latter groups tend to be more self-defined and thus have stronger senses of identity.) I do not know of any attempts to systematically organize Protestant bodies in a wave model format in detail, though the groupings such as "mainline", "evangelical", "charismatic", "fundamentalist", and the like are attempts to do so in general, as churches can split off from a parent body in one group to take on the characteristics of another group. In some sense, then, the organization of Christian bodies might be best done by a combination of family tree and wave models.

The ecumenical payoff of this argument is the following. Churches most easily negotiate a union (or reunion) when there are relatively few differences between them. The family tree model can suggest churches which are similar, but the results, especially among Protestants, needs to be checked by the wave model. Realistically, this analysis is only for ecumenical theorists to explain why two or more churches are compatible; the churches themselves are unlikely to use this analysis to find a union partner. Rather, churches will be attracted to each other based on closeness which results from the effects of the family tree and wave model relationships.

In short, the family tree and wave models are theoretical tools which ecumenists can use to describe the relationships between churches. Such models can be used to explain why certain mergers, or even coalitions on issues, form. They cannot determine mergers: both models are fairly insensitive to both the nature and the significance of differences between two churches. In theory, two churches might disagree on only one issue. This combined family tree-wave analysis would suggest that these two churches could merge easily. If the difference is on some other issue which one or both churches considers essential to the Christian faith, and neither is willing to change its position, then a merger is not easily but impossible.

Thoughts on Reunion Proposals Pt. 3: Size Matters

In the nineteenth century, Germany was a collection of various states. Several Germans sought unification, and two ideas of which states would be included competed with each other. Advocates of the Kleindeutschland idea sought a unified Germany that included the Rhineland, Bavaria, the Saxon lands, and Prussia (among other states). The competing Grossdeutschland idea sought to also include the German speaking parts of Austria. (Of course, the Kleindeutschland idea ultimately prevailed. However, there are several important details behind this victory, which need not detain us here.)

Advocates of the Kleindeutschland idea did not believe that the German speaking Austrians were not really German. Rather they advocated Austria's omission because of political considerations (which again are beyond the scope of this blog). Might it not be possible, for various practical reasons (for example, a better chance of actual reunion), to temporarily abandon the search for a Grossoekumenismus in favor of a more achievable Kleinoekumenismus? That is, might a smaller group of churches, which already have greater agreement, unite where a larger group would fail to reach consensus?

In particular, instead of aiming for a broad "East-West" union of Oriental Orthodox, Eastern Orthodox, Catholic, Anglican, Mainline Protestant, and Evangelical Protestant churches, would not unions within East and West be easier? A Eastern Orthodox-Oriental Orthodox union, for example, would not need to face the issue of the filioque, for example. Other examples may come readily to mind. Why should a disagreement between Catholics and Eastern Orthodox mean that Catholics and Anglicans must stay separate? Furthermore, a union within one side need not be held up because of squabbles within the other side. It makes no sense for the disagreements between Eastern and Oriental Orthodox over the formulae of Chalcedon to mean that Presbyterians and Disciples of Christ must be in separate organizations.

Such a small ecumenism need not be the end. When the easier unions have happened, and only a few churches (plus the various outliers, discussed in a previous post) remain, then the push to full union could resume. Discussion on the various sticky points between the various aspects of traditional Christianity could continue through the previous unions. Meanwhile, a kind of ecumenical momentum would build up, and the idea that previously divided Christians can unite and live together within the same church structure, yet continuing to practice their own gifts and ministries, would become readily accepted.

Why Has Ecumenism Stalled?

Ecumenism has a history of over a century. During this time, there have been a number of church mergers carried out, ecumenical organizations founded, dialogues begun, and even relations between estranged churches established. Yet for the last couple decades, the movement has had less to boast of. A few landmark agreements have been signed, but few churches have united, and there is little cause to expect more in the near future. Certain key issues remain in dispute between churches, despite long-standing dialogues. Interest in ecumenism among non-specialists seems to be low. What went wrong?

I think we can trace this stalling to the origins of the movement. Ecumenism was not the emphasis of any given church or community; rather, it was a project of various individuals, both well-known and obscure. While it is true that there were plenty more people involved in ecumenism in its early years beyond the key figures, in each case these were individuals who took on ecumenism as a special emphasis of their ministries. Even when such individuals occupied key roles in their respective churches, they were unable to move ecumenism from a special ministry to a something greater.

However, by its very nature, ecumenism is not merely one more project alongside others. While we Christians have often seen ecumenism as something else the churches should do, alongside such things as evangelism, charity, worship, and so many other projects, a successful ecumenism cannot remain as such. Successful ecumenism will transform the very churches doing the task, spreading its effects beyond the "ecumenism people" to creating a reunited church which changes the very context of all members of the churches involved, even if they have had nothing to do with ecumenical work.

Therefore, to cordon off ecumenism into its own committee, commission, ministry, or pontifical council, and to run the rest of a church as if that organization didn't exist, in the end undermines ecumenical endeavors. How can a church discuss ordained ministry with its dialogue partners, for example, if it changes its own ordained ministry rules during the discussion and without consulting the results of the dialogue, let alone other churches? Such changes tell the dialogue partners that since the results of dialogues won't be used in making changes, they aren't particularly serious about the discussions. This argument does not mean that churches cannot change on their own, or even change positions on various issues; they can. But if a church wants other churches to take their positions on various issues seriously it has to show that it takes their discussion of them seriously.

However, churches which treat ecumenism as simply one more thing the church does alongside other things basically turn their ecumenism people into their version of a foreign ministry or state department. One does not normally ask the foreign ministry for input on issues relating to education or roads, let alone organizational matters. But this fact is grounded in the fact that a country's educational system or road network (or governmental bureaucracy) are not usually matters for discussion between nations. However, issues like ordination of women, the episcopacy, or the limits of Eucharistic participation are simultaneously matters of internal church arrangements and ecumenical dialogues. By discussing such matters with other churches one concedes that they are matters of some interest beyond one's own church. Thus some input from beyond church boundary lines should be welcome, even if in the end not decisive.

Hospital Chaplancy

I'm not at home right now, but wanted to get a post in. Tonight I'm giving a shout out and recognition to hospital chaplains. These men and women have ecumenical (and indeed interreligious) ministries. They care for patients of all religious backgrounds, and often work with ministers (clergy and lay) of different traditions and even in institutions of different backgrounds to theirs. At least to patients their ministries are examples of working in harmony and without undue emphasis on denominational lines.

Thoughts on Reunion Proposals Pt. 2: Who's In?

This post is the second in a series on reunion proposals in general.

What are the basic techniques which might be employed on various issues to produce a reunion proposal? I can think of three:

1. Compromise. All parties involved find some formula which, though not the formula of any party, is acceptable in some way to all. Compromise is something of a split the difference strategy. Something like this strategy was attempted after the Council of Nicaea. The party which accepted the council wanted to describe the relation of the Son with the Father as homoousios, that is, of the same substance. The Arian party wanted to describe the relationship as being of a different substance. The formula of homoiousios, that is, of similar substance, was put forward in the hopes that both parties would accept it. (They did not, of course, and the Nicene Creed to this day includes "homoousios", usually translated as "one in being".)
2. Tolerance. All parties involved decide that the differences on a given issue, though real enough, do not matter enough, and they can agree that the others' positions on these issues are acceptable and not heretical. This sort of strategy has been tried in various controversies within a given church. For example, the Congregatio de Auxillius was called to settle disputes on grace between Dominicans and Jesuits. After hearing the debates, the conclusion was reached that both sides' positions were acceptable and could be defended.
3. Persuasion. A single party argues its position on a dispute so persuasively that the other parties agree to accept its position in place of their own. This strategy has been tried numerous times; it is not clear, however, that it has worked, except in those cases where some outside geopolitical factor has added its weight to the arguments.

Some Christian groups would not accept compromise or tolerance of differences, and refuse to accept the possibility of being themselves persuaded of someone else's position. The only sort of ecumenism acceptable to them, therefore, is one in which all others are persuaded that their positions are correct. This sort of position is a kind of ecumenism of return. (There are others, too.)

These Christian groups are not able to truly participate in ecumenism. Therefore, as a practical matter, ecumenical efforts may as well ignore them -- they aren't going to be involved in a reunion, and exchanges of positions do not need ecumenism as a motive, nor ecumenical structures to support them. This conclusion has certain consequences. If there are churches who will be on the outside of ecumenical efforts, then a Church reunited by such efforts will not include all churches.

This state of affairs may happen anyway, however. There is not a clear boundary between which groups can truly be called Christian, and which should best be considered other religions. Do we include such groups as the Latter Day Saints, Christian Scientists, Unitarians, or Jehovah's Witnesses as Christians? What about various smaller groups far outside more mainstream Christian forms (Orthodoxy, Catholicism, Anglicanism, and mainline and evangelical Protestantism)? Can we draw a border which excludes some of these groups without prejudging any issues in dispute among Christians? Is a historical tie enough, or does there need to be a commitment to certain core truths? But if the latter, how does one objectively draw up such a list without prejudging issues of dispute between these penumbral groups and mainstream Christianity? Any boundary drawn, regardless of how well motivated, is a human construct and therefore fallible. It thus risks leaving some Christian groups on the outside as well as some non-Christian groups on the inside.

Thus an all-encompassing ecumenism is unlikely to happen: some groups may be left out on accident; while other groups will be left out because they cannot participate due to their own attitudes towards opinions differing from their own.

If a truly all-encompassing ecumenism isn't going to happen, is it necessary to aim for total reunion of those it can encompass? While such a reunion should remain the ultimate goal, as a practical matter a smaller reunion may be more feasible. In a sense, the various church mergers of the twentieth century employed this strategy, but here I am considering it on a wider scale. I see five main forms of Christianity: Orthodoxy (both Eastern and Oriental), Catholicism, Anglicanism, mainline Protestantism, and evangelical Protestantism. I can conceive of a kind of "Little Reunion" wherein not all five forms reunite. (This "little reunion" is, of course, larger than a reunion within a given form, or even confessional tradition. It is "little" when compared with a "great reunion" of all five forms.) Such a "little reunion" would have the advantage of reducing both the number of issues which need addressed and the amount of difference needing to be dealt with. An Anglican-Catholic-Orthodox reunion, for example, would not disagree on the value of fixed, written liturgies as a requirement for worship, something less valued among the two Protestant forms. (This is merely an example, and I do not mean to imply that these three are necessarily the best choice for such a little reunion, nor am I trying to minimize the real differences involved.)

Questions or replies? Feel free to comment below. Comments are moderated, so keep it civil and no spam.

Thoughts on Reunion Proposals Pt 1

This post is the first in a series of reflections on reunion proposals in general. These posts are not intended to evaluate any particular proposal, to make a proposal of their own, or to argue for particular decisions on various points of difference among Christian bodies.

It is, of course, ridiculously easy to make some sort of facile reunion proposal. Even ignoring those which amount to ecumenisms of return (that is, of the form "everybody accepts one church's positions on everything), it would be quite simple for someone to propose a kind of compromise whereby each church involved is asked to accept some positions of other partners while contributing some of their own to the final agreement. These proposals can vary based on which churches are involved and which positions are conceded to which one.

But these facile proposals founder on the question of why such churches should accept the others' positions. Why should Baptists accept bishops? Why should Methodists accept papal supremacy? These proposals can offer no greater reason than "in the name of unity," while the positions are chosen at random, by some sense of "importance" to the churches whose positions prevail, or by personal taste of the proposer.

But if the reunited Church is to truly accept a given doctrine, moral position, or even organizational peculiarity, it needs to be for reasons which actually persuade its members to take the stance. For instance, if non-Catholic Christians are to accept papal supremacy, it must be explained in a way which they find persuasive and which allows them to appropriate it on their own terms. Such an acceptance need not necessarily mean that they interpret it identically to Catholic thought on the matter, so long as Catholics can see in the doctrine they accept something sufficiently equivalent to their own interpretation.

Therefore, in reunion discussions, the various points of difference need to be addressed such that the various positions are discussed on their own merits. Commissions examining these issues should therefore look at the reasons behind the positions, and not merely find some sort of formula which the various parties to the discussion  agree on. Furthermore, if the discussions are going to lead to actual, meaningful reunion, these arguments need to move far beyond the commissions. Ideally, they would come before all members of the involved churches in order to seek the consent of the faithful, though in the case of various points of polity (say, what will happen to pension obligations of the pre-merger churches) they may need only disseminate to the various people whose task it will be to oversee or carry out these agreements, and those who are directly impacted by them, as others will naturally lack the interest in these points (and may lack the specialized knowledge necessary to understand them).

I invite your response in comments below. Standard blogger.com comment policies apply. No spam and keep things civil!

Hello, and Welcome!

Hi, and welcome to this brand new blog about things ecumenical. I hope you will find my posts interesting. Please feel free to let me know what you think.