This one draws from the lectionary passage (Amos 7:7-17) as well as a few scattered reflections from General Assembly 219 and my personal angst over the ongoing “numbers crisis” in the PC(USA). While I’m certainly preaching to myself here, I hope others may find something of value in it, too.

And I’m still tinkering, so if you have any suggestions or comments, please feel free to weigh in – you’ve got until about 9am tomorrow.

Anyhow, here’s the Link to the full text over on my wiki:

• I Am No Prophet:  Sermon for July 11th, 2010

PREFACE

I. GOD

We trust in one God, who alone is the creator and sustainer of all worlds and all realities, whether labeled virtual, physical, spiritual or otherwise.  God reigns over all. God loves all.

But we rejected God’s reign, and scorned God’s love.  From the beginning, we attempted to create our own worlds, with our own rules, where we loved our own selves above all. Virtual realities are nothing new. As a consequence, we are a broken and messed-up people, still wandering through dysfunctional worlds of our own making, longing for a better one.

God, however, didn’t sit around idly, waiting for us to come back. Instead, God came to us where we were, taking on the flesh, blood, molecules and matter that would best communicate to us in the medium most  familiar to us at the time: We know this manifestation of God’s love by name: Jesus.

And so we trust in Jesus Christ, fully human and fully divine, who entered into an existence fundamentally different in substance and structure than the one he knew before his time on earth.  He came as a child into a strange world where he had to learn to sit, stand, walk, and communicate with others. He did this with the help of two in-world natives, Mary and Joseph, who showed him gracious hospitality, welcoming him into the world and teaching its customs.

We take note of Jesus’ ministry, as he gathered both crowds and small groups to himself, effectively using the technology, language, and familiar images of his day to convey God’s love and reign to all.  He particularly embraced those outside the mainstream—the ones labeled by society as outcasts, deviants, and unbelievers. He visited the sick and comforted the suffering. He challenged powerful institutions, calling them out on oppressive bureaucracy and legalism, and calling them back to the heart of the best traditions of their ancestors.

Ultimately, he gave up his life for this cause and was subjected to cruel betrayal, torture, and execution at the hands of those he came to save. He willingly accepted a fate he did not deserve on behalf of those who did, so that we might know mercy and grace, and through this act be once and for all awakened to God’s love, saved and redeemed.

We believe that God raised Jesus up from death into yet another new form and context, giving us hope and reassurance that, following his example, we need not fear new forms and new contexts—in the life to come, or in the life we live today:  We are a resurrection people.

Before his death, Jesus promised that his presence would remain among us, even when his physical form did not. Because of this, we trust in the Holy Spirit, who comforts us, guides us, and binds us together with all God’s people in all places.  We believe there is no place, whether made of molecules and matter or bits and bytes, that God’s Spirit does not permeate.

Further, God’s Spirit provides us both example and inspiration for presence that transcends geographical boundaries, as we strive to be present with and for one another across our own geographical locations in a deep and meaningful way.

We trust that God calls together faithful believers in every age to be the church, to worship and pray together, to fellowship and study together, serving one another and the world. Historically, the church has been recognized in two forms: The universal church, and the local church.  As professing Christians, we stand together with our sisters and brothers as members of the universal Church, which is not limited by time or place.

We celebrate the remarkable diversity and adaptability of the local church through the centuries.  Christian communities have gathered in homes, cathedrals, mountaintops, prisons, airports, in prosperity and in adversity, liturgically and spontaneously, and wherever two or more have been gathered together by the leading of God’s spirit.

Until recently local churches have almost always been associated with a geographical region, and this has served the church well.  However, churches transcending geography are not without precedent.  The Apostle Paul considered himself a participant and leader of many churches dispersed across the Mediterranean. He even writes that his “virtual” presence by means of his letters should be viewed as no different than his physical presence (2 Cor. 10:11).  Paul used the information superhighway of his day—letters, roads, and messengers—to be actively present and engaged with his faith communities.

We believe it is time to acknowledge that the idea of “locale” extends beyond mere physical location. Most people today are part of one or more thriving communities that are geographically dispersed.  We reject the notion that communities mediated through technology are inferior to ones mediated by physical space, or that they are acceptable only as a substitute when physically based community is not possible.  Rather, each type of community is different, each with its own strengths to be celebrated and weaknesses to be addressed. Some people will entirely prefer one to the other, and many will seek a mixture of the two.  We believe that God’s presence, true fellowship and community, as well the human propensity for sin, can be found to their fullest extent in any of the above.

We recognize that ever since the invention of the auditorium, eyeglasses, hearing aids, and pulpit microphones, our worship experiences have already been increasingly mediated through the medium of technology, and we are thankful for the enhancements and inclusion these things have represented for the church.

Accordingly, we recognize the full legitimacy and divine calling of churches that gather partially, primarily, or solely in virtual worlds, and call upon our sisters and brothers in the universal body of Christ to join us in welcoming them into conversation, fellowship, and shared ministry.  This recognition is to be tempered with the caution that all churches—in any medium—are ultimately flawed and human institutions, and not all who self-identify as churches live up to the high ideals to which we are called.

Because of the wonderful diversity of local churches through the ages, and especially the new and unique ways in which churches in virtual worlds are evolving, we find it useful to affirm three historic marks by which Christian churches, and Reformed Churches in particular, have often been recognized: We believe that the church exists where the Word of God is truly proclaimed and taught; where the sacraments are rightly administered, and where church discipline is effectively practiced.

Our intention in affirming these marks of the church is not to define precisely how each one ought to function, or what “rightly” consists of, but rather to elevate the importance and seriousness which we ascribe to each of them.  We trust that churches who ascribe to these ideals and approach them with reverence, prayer and thoughtful discernment will be led by God’s Spirit to creative and appropriate decisions.

2.  Administration of Sacraments: At different times in the life of the church, various sacraments have been recognized, and in virtual worlds new expressions of the sacred continue to be explored.  However, there are two sacraments instituted in scripture by Christ that are recognized by most professing Christians: Baptism and the Lord’s Supper.  We affirm the historic importance of these two sacraments, and their significance as signs and seals of our faith.

We believe that all of these marks of the church are not just profitable, but indispensable to the life and witness of the church in any time or place.  For this reason, no church should ever be prevented from observing them publicly and visibly in some fashion within its normal context.

Three months ago, I embarked on a project to gather together Presbyterians in the virtual reality world of Second Life, and with them form a community of people who pray together, fellowship together, support and encourage one another, and reach out to others in the name of Christ.  What initially drew me into this project was my ongoing commitment to explore the intersection between new technologies and the church, my commitment to exploring what it means to be a Presbyterian in a post-modern culture, and my desire to follow God’s universal call to evangelism in all places.  Honestly, I was also a bit surprised to find that my particular “faith tribe” (the PCUSA) was one of the only major denominations not already organized and taking advantage of the opportunities to do all of the above in a global community with over 1.3 million participants, many or most of whom are what would be considered “unchurched” in either virtual or actual reality.

Despite the somewhat bizzare and otherworldly, high-tech nature of Second Life, as I began to encounter people there (Presbyterian and otherwise), have conversations with them about God, faith, and the church, and as our community began to meet regularly for conversation and prayer, I noticed that the skills I was drawing upon most were not my “high tech” ones, nor even my sense of “cultural relevancy.”  Rather, it was my experiences in a real-world New Church Development for several years, and snippets of advice I had gleaned from various New Church Development and Evangelism conferences (that I had often scorned or considered outmoded at the time) that I now found myself straining to remember, and, when implemented, met with the greatest success.  I am beginning to learn that the shared wisdom and experiences of those who have gone before me and worked hard to plant worshipping communities — however different they may initially appear from my own context — are of great value, and that solid principles of organization and leadership often transcend age, location, and context.

There are two reasons I would like to attend this NCD Discernment event.  The first is short term:  It is the hope that by spending a few days with those who have done what I am attempting to do, I can listen attentively and glean some useful guidance about church planting, about myself, and about following God’s call into difficult places.  In this, I hope that I can bring some benefit to the virtual-reality community where I feel God is currently calling me to lead.  The second reason is a more long-term one:  While I have always felt called to evangelism, mission, and community building, I have generally expected to do this work independently, “outside” of denominational structures.  I have felt that while I may have something to offer my denomination, my denomination would likely not have much to offer me.  My experiences in the past few months have led me to question this position, and to be more open to the idea that I, and any community I might someday lead — no matter how “different” or “outside the box” — would stand to benefit greatly from the collective wisdom and experience of those who have done NCD work in the PCUSA.  Now, with ears that are more “ready to hear,” I hope that this event can help me better discern the nature of my calling in relation to my denomination, and whether NCD work in the PCUSA is where God is leading me upon my graduation from seminary.

Did Jesus know who he was and what he was going to do on earth? At what point did he know if he did? How does that connect w/fully man and fully God?

It’s a question that we’re dealing with right now in my Systematic Theology class, and one we dealt with last semester in my Early/Medieval Church History Class. And once again, I’m on the verge of throwing up my arms and yelling, “WHO CARES?”

Ok, it’s not that I don’t really care. I think maybe I just don’t care quite as much as most of Christendom throughout history.

I think we’re a little over-obsessed with the whole “Who was Jesus” question. Maybe we miss the boat sometimes when we spend all our time, energy, intellect, councils, and creeds trying to figure out the nature of Jesus’ humanity and divinity, and to what extent, and in what way, and when, and….

Jesus didn’t really tell us that we had to spend a lot of time trying to figure out who he was.  In  fact, of all his many teachings and acts, Jesus only brought up the question once.  But he did spend a LOT of time telling us other things we should do, like “feed my sheep” and “love one another as I have loved you.”  And Jesus’ disciples certainly didn’t acknowledge him as divine, or messiah, or much of anything else when they first chose to follow him — unlike today, where we expect people to confess him as divine savior as a precursor to following him.  I imagine that Jesus’ disciples followed him because he seemed somehow interesting or compelling to them — or maybe because they had heard about how awesome he was from others.  Some probably even followed him for the wrong reasons entirely.

I wonder if you really have to understand who Jesus is to recognize the value in what he told us to do, and then to just do it.  And then, long into your journey, if you decide, like Peter, that Jesus is the Son of God, good for you.  If, on the other hand, you stick with Jesus’ own preferred designation of himself (Son of Man)…great!  Jesus didn’t criticize or disown the other disciples who didn’t (or couldn’t) answer the question.  But please, please, please…let’s not waste any more time on councils, creeds, theological tomes, or debates while we could actually be doing the work Jesus asked us to do…whoever he was/is.

Warning: I’m thinking out loud here, so if you’re ultra-orthodox or easily offended, this might not be for you.

Earlier today in my Patristic Readings in Greek class, we came across an interesting word. I don’t have a good Greek font installed to reproduce it here, but it’s the same word in the New Testament that we usually translate as “cleave” (as in, a man shall leave his family and cleave to his wife). It also has connotations of “glue” and “stick” — but at least one Greek dictionary also used a stronger, more interesting word: Weld. The image of “God as Welder” instantly conjured up (for me, at least) a blue-collar, working class sort of God, and borrowing a popular political meme lately, I blurted out to my Greek class, “Hey, it’s Joe the God!” Not surprisingly, I got a lot of raised eyebrows on that one.

But I’ve been thinking about it a lot today. Yes, it’s true that John McCain has kind of been beating the whole “Joe the Plumber” thing to death lately, and all of its related offshoots (Bob the bricklayer, Craig the Construction Worker, Sue the Waitress, ad nauseum) but there’s an undeniable appeal to the “common person” here.

It’s one that resonates with me. My favorite author, John Steinbeck, spent a literary career celebrating the lives of working class people in books like The Grapes of Wrath, East of Eden, and Once there Was a War. Actually, it permeates everything he wrote. My musical icon, Woody Guthrie, and folk music as a whole, celebrate the “songs of the simple folk.” In my own life, I have often championed the cause of the masses–it explains my infatuation with blogging, Web2.0 technology, Wikipedia, and open-source software.

Back to “Joe the God.” I’ve been really stressing lately in my church history class over the issue of the “Divinity of Christ” that keeps showing up in the early councils and creeds. While I can’t completely deny that Jesus is God, I’ve had a hard time affirming it outright. I’m beginning to realize that perhaps this is because for a long time now, I’ve been far more enthralled with Jesus’ favorite title for himself (Son of Man) than with our favorite title for him (Son of God). I’m captivated by his humanity more than by his “divinity.” It’s the idea of “Joe the God” — or perhaps more accurately “Joe the Messiah” that really moves me, and I sense I’m not alone in this either.

Here’s a thought: The early church “fathers” struggled to find a balance between Christ’s divinity and his humanity. Is it possible that in our own time the pendulum has swung to far to the “divinity” side, to the point where [people like me] feel a strong need to advocate and emphasize Chris’s humanity? Yes, I know I sometimes take this to the extreme, calling the divinity into question–but perhaps its a needed over-compensation necessary in order to bring balance to the force. Oops, wrong universe–how’s that for syncretism?!

Back to politics and a nod to the other point of view: A few months ago, long before the rise of “Joe the Plumber” my friend Trait Thompson made a case against looking for a “Joe Six Pack” to lead the nation, arguing that instead we need an FDR or a Thomas Jefferson. It’s a great post, and you should read it. Ironically, we both like John McCain, but (obviously) come at it from different angles, as we always have (It’s great to have friends across the aisle, btw).

So I wonder if those who yearn for strong or exemplary leadership in our government are more drawn to the image of Jesus as “Son of God.” Drawing Augustine into the equation (just for fun), I wonder if perhaps those who, like him, view mankind as depraved and fallen are more likely to feel a need for an external, all-powerful divine Savior. Conversely, perhaps those with a pre (or post) Augustinian view of things, who see mankind as “made in the image of God” and therefore intrinsically good, look internally to humanity for our salvation–casting Jesus as the “people’s Messiah” or “Son of Man.”

If this is the case, following the threads begun in the age of Enlightenment, through the democratizing influence of the internet today (think web2.0), and looking toward a post-modern future with shades of Ray Kurzweil’s messianic/apocolyptic concept of Singularity…

Maybe the pendulum is ready to swing in Joe the Messiah’s direction. Second Coming of Christ, anyone?

On one hand, when I read what others have admiringly written about him, and when I read summaries and explanations of his doctrine and highly influential contributions to western theology, I dislike him intensely and am resentful at the direction in which he led the church.

And yet, when I read him in his own words, I can’t help but recognize a kindred spirit.  I’m struck by his painstaking authenticity, his earnest search for understanding and relevance, and at his keen insight into humanity, psychology, education, and culture.  To be sure, I see early traces of doctrines he developed in later writings (original sin, depravity, salvation by grace alone, etc.) and I still disagree with him.  It makes me wonder how much my affinity toward Augustine has to do with his personability as a writer, and some shared circumstances — in addition to being a seeker-of-truth, he was a teacher, a rhetorician, student of literature, and devoted father to his son.

I’m also amazed by the intensity of Augustine’s need to write — his corpus is immense — and while Confessions is probably not the very first piece of world literature with an autobiographical bent, it is universally recognized as the father of that literary genre.  That means he was willing to experiment in new styles of writing.  It’s written in the first person, ostensibly directed to God, but he readily acknowledges that much of what he says is for the benefit of “my readers.”  Mind that he wrote this while still relatively unknown, and in his early 30′s.  Delusions of grandeur, self-confidence, or just a desire to share?  In addition to a stack of books, he also wrote instructional “how to” manuals, soapbox sermons, and back-and-forth conversational letters to both contemporaries and heretics alike.

Any of that sound familiar?  Augustine fits the profile of a typical blogger.  I think he would have loved the interactivity of blogs, too, although he probably would have been a frequent violator of the “comments should be shorter than the original post” rule of blog etiquette.

I don’t know if I’ll ever quite come to terms with Augustine.  In fact, the more I’ve been studying the “heresies” of the early church, the more I come to identify theologically with Pelagianism — the exact heresy Augustine spent the last years of his life combating.  Still, he’s no longer a voice I can just ignore or dismiss out of hand.  In addition to inspiring me to write this post today, Augustine’s Confessions was the inspiration behind the Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau, a profound influence on my own thinking and educational/social philosophy.  Somehow, I don’t think Rousseau could have agreed with Augustinian doctrine that much either.  But perhaps, like me, he was enthralled by the writer and the writings, if not by his conclusions.  Come to think of it, Rousseau would have made an excellent blogger, too…

First and foremost among these ecumenical shin-digs is the Council of Nicaea (CE 325).  Seems the whole thing started from an argument between a priest, Arius, and a bishop, Alexander.  Among the things that Arius believed:

• “The Word” (aka Jesus, aka the Son, aka logos) wasn’t around from the beginning of time (whatever one construes “time” to be, of course) but was “created” by God (aka Jehovah, aka the Father, Creator, etc.).
• Therefore, God outranks Jesus in the heavenly hierarchy, conveniently preserving the monotheism argument.  But complicating the logical one…
• God and Jesus are made of different stuff.  Similar stuff, unidentifiable stuff, but decidedly different stuff.
• God is constant, but word/son/Jesus is subject to change (including suffering).

Apply the converse to most of these arguments, and you have Alexander’s POV.  Arius gathered a following, wrote some texts and even some hymns (maybe something like “Of the Father’s love begotten / ere the worlds began to be after being baptized in Galilee…”) and then everyone got their panties all in a wad.

I know that I’m supposed to agree with Alexander, and most people I’ve encountered seem to do that pretty readily, sometimes without much thought.  The two main arguments (at least from what I could find online and in talking to other students) go something like this:

• The argument of Alexander was the stronger of the two theologically and logically, and thus prevailed.

From what I can tell, there were intelligent arguments by intelligent men on both sides of the issue, and both firmly supported by different scripture passages.  I guess we could assume that [sarcasm on] Arius was just an idiot who couldn’t read, in which case it *really* baffles me that the best theological minds of the time spent half a century going back and forth before finally resolving the dispute.  Maybe we’re just a lot smarter than they were. [sarcasm off]

• Alexander’s side eventually DID prevail.  This proves God was somehow guiding the process and wouldn’t have allowed the church to wander down a heretical path.

Except that it did.  For at least fifty years after the council of Nicaea, until the next big council in 381, the church and its leaders continued to go back and forth on the issue.  And unless Arius was just some highly original genius, who’s to say that generations of Christians in the 300 years before the Nicene Creed hadn’t come to similar conclusions? (my history text indicates that Arius’ views reflected the historical tradition held by a large number of Eastern Christians).  Does that mean that God allows the church to remain in heresy, but only for 50 years?  Or is it 300?  Or…well, maybe we’re in a heresy phase right now?

I don’t know that I actually agree with Arius.  Or Alexander.  Actually, the voice that most resonates most with me in this debate is that of the Roman Emporor at the time, the famed Constantine.  He wrote a letter to both knuckleheads, saying (among other things):

It was wrong in the first instance to propose such questions as these, or to reply to them when propounded.  For those points of discussion which are enjoined by the authority of no law, but rather suggested by the contentious spirit which is fostered by misused leisure, even though they may be intended merely as an intellectual exercise, ought certainly to be confined to the region of our own thoughts, and not hastily produced in the popular assemblies, nor unadvisedly entrusted to the general ear.  For how very few are there able either accurately to explain subjects so sublime and abstruse in their nature?

Translation:  You both have waaaaay too much time on your hands.  You should try farming, or fighting barbarians sometime.  Then see how important your consubstantiation is.  Constantine continues (and I add some emphasis)…

The cause of your difference has not been any of the leading doctrines or precepts of the divine law, nor has any new heresy respecting the worship of God arisen among you.  You are in truth of one and the same judgment: you may therefore well join in communion and fellowship.  For as long as you continue to contend about these small and very insignificant questions, it is not fitting that so large a portion of God’s people should be under the direction of your judgment, since you are thus divided between yourselves…(Eusebius, Life of Constantine, II, 69-71)

But Constantine was just an emperor.  What could he know? He wasn’t even baptized until he was on his deathbed, the heathen.  So, they ignored him of course, not because he didn’t make sense, but (my opinion here) because they each wanted to be RIGHT! And we still do.  Unfortunately for Arius, democracy can be a real bitch, so he got outvoted at the council.  And excommunicated.  And then he was reinstated, and Alexander was excommunicated.  And then Arius was excommunicated again.  You get the idea…

Meanwhile, the church kept having councils, and kept on saying to those with whom they disagreed, “we’re taking our toys and going home.  You can’t play with us anymore.  Nanny, nanny, boo, boo.”  Unity and uniformity gained, diversity and freedom lost.

When I go before my Committee for Preparation for ministry, I wonder if I can take a third option?  Can I say, in reference to the creeds, I don’t care?  Affirm, not affirm, it doesn’t matter to me one way or another.  Let me simply do the things that Jesus did, rather than say the things his followers said, 300 years later.

The illegal immigrant wandering through the desert without water doesn’t really give a rip whether God and Jesus are made out of the same substance.  But Jesus tells me to give him something to drink.  To the teenager whose father died in a car accident, it is utterly insignificant whether Jesus was created by God or always existed.  But Jesus tells me to comfort him. What is ministry?  What is a minister?

Perhaps we have too long supposed that what we believe informs who we are and what we do.  Maybe it’s the other way around.  Maybe what we do informs who we are and what we believe.  Perhaps what ties me to my Presbyterian brothers and sisters is not the historic creeds we all profess nearly as much as it is the shared relationships and shared ministry I have found among them.

I hope they’ll still let me in…