The day is Sunday, the place is Saint Mary’s Anglican Church, the who is primarily me, the what is an event wherein I am confronted on two fronts with an aspect of my behavior that I need to change, and the why I cannot say for sure, but taking a shot in the dark I would say that God is both holy and he has a sense of humor.

As I am sitting in the pews, amidst my family, both tracking the sermon and working on this sense that there is some part of my soul over which I need to relinquish control and acknowledge the intimate sovereignty of God, I overheard the priest talk about impatience and waiting. In giving an example where his impatience is most acute, the priest shared how he tends to project frustration on people who are in front of him in line, and how he reacts with the thought that such people need to hurry up because his time is important. As he was sharing, I found myself completely identifying with him and I began to pray. In the midst of acknowledging my need to work on this subtle, but grossly egoistic expression of falleness, my son, Ethan James, leans in and quietly says to me, “You are like that when you drive the car… Everyone is in your way.” Yes, indeed, my ten year old son, a prophet unawares, functioned to deepen the awareness of my need for change. And now, I am sitting here writing this, thinking about how Jesus once said that a person who accepts a prophet in his name will receive the reward of that prophet.

A closing prayer:

Lord, on the day I stand before you, please remember to share some of Ethan’s reward with me, as I have accepted your words through him. Amen

Not long ago I started writing a post that quickly developed into a full blown essay about men’s magazines and sexuality that I am now thinking of revising and editing for submission to magazines like Geez, or Relief. This has created a mild dilemma as I have not posted in awhile and what I was going to post I am now going to save for my attempt to become a “real writer” who is published. However, I have decided that I will grace the masses that hungers for my words with the following excerpt.

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A couple of days ago I browsed the back section of the latest issue of Men’s Health. I admit that this was not the wisest move given that this section is the red light district of these magazines: an area full of sexually explicit ads about sexually related stuff. I can honestly say that I was not looking to cast my eyes upon some skin, but rather I was drawn by a morbid curiosity to see how lowbrow and twisted the circus of worldly sexuality can be. One ad I spotted was for a product called “Vahard,” which prompted a mildly amused smile, along with a feeling of superiority as I easily discerned the ad’s obvious ploy to prey upon my masculine insecurities. This ad had a picture of a couple taken from an overhead perspective that gave the reader a sense of being the mirror above their bed. The couple is embracing one another on silk sheets, obviously moving toward coitus, and we know that this man is ready because he takes “Vahard!” As I continued to ponder this ad, I couldn’t help but analyze the thinly veiled sexual allusion of this product’s name: “Va” combined with “hard”. The associations and connotations began to flow. “Va” for vagina, and “hard” for the virile and aroused male member, which evoked a subtext of, “Oh yeah baby, you are going to hit that and you are going to hit it hard!” Then I thought about the fact that this is supposedly a natural alternative to Viagra, so now, I am seeing a reference to a drug that is the “sacred grail” of male performance. Finally, I thought of Valhalla, the heaven-like destiny of heroic warriors in Norse mythology, and in my mind a connection was forged between Thor’s hammer and the male member. This was a potent connection as I remember from my youth that Thor was able to strike the ground with his hammer and create an earthquake, which is exactly the kind of impact many males would love to have upon their ladies. We imagine her under the rhythm of our embrace crying out in ecstasy and then declaring, “Oh baby, the earth moves, and the ground shakes when we make love.” As I continued to look at the other ads of this sort, stoking the embers of my supposed superiority, I realized that no matter how much I tried to neutralize it effects through analysis, on some level I am not impervious to its attacks upon my sense of masculine competency.

The end of the semester draws near and I am reading the first drafts of student research papers. Among the many quotes I read was the following jewel by Saint Augustine:

Women should not be enlightened or educated in any way. They should in fact be segregated as they are the cause of hideous and involuntary erections in holy men.

What I particularly like about Augustine is that he is a fantastic example of how an exemplar of faith is not exempt from blindness. Regarding so many matters about the Xian life he is a master and a profound source of inspiration, but when it comes to his thinking about women and sex, it appears that vestiges from his time as a Manichean remained.

So, here is a challenge for you. The next time you have a theological discussion try working the phrase “involuntary erection of holy men.” into it. The challenge, of course, is to do so in a way that it connects with the content of the conversation and it flows with the point you are making. You don’t want to perpetrate a non-sequitur such as, “Yes, genuine discipleship requires critical engagement with the world while engaging in the full life of the Church, and thus avoiding the involuntary erection of holy men.” Kudos to you if you are able to use this phrase so that it flies under radar.

I have to finish by giving the young lady who used this quote in her research paper two thumbs way up. I mean, it is not often that I can be so entertained while reading student papers.

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he has not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son.

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It has always been hard for me to hear about God’s wrath and condemnation and not hear it like, “You miserable sinner, God is so gonna kick your ass.” The picture I have is of a mythological deity who in a fit of rage has departed from self control, and who thereby unleashes wave upon wave of crushing blows to inflict pain and finally ruin upon the object of his ire and frustration. I know my picture is a distortion of God’s character, and yet there are images and stories in the Scriptures that seem to support it.

Awhile ago, I read a work by theologian Donald Bloesch who stated that God’s wrath is the strange work of his love. I did not quite get the significance of his statement but I certainly found it provocative. Later, I read a novel by Ted Dekker, in which one of the characters said that God’s wrath is his reaction toward anything that inhibits or prevents his love. This seemed to provide insight into Bloesch’s expression, and it certainly ameliorated the image of a moral bully looking to trounce wrongdoers. Still, something negative lingered.

Yesterday, as I was reading the above verse from the third chapter of John’s gospel I was struck by a different notion of God’s wrath. As the verse indicates, God’s action is to deliver us from the default state of the human condition: condemnation. In the context of the whole Gospel we see that this deliverance was enacted through his self-giving, and it is this self-giving that most clearly expresses who God is. So, where does God’s wrath fit into this? I am not sure except to say that it must be consistent with his self-sacrificing nature.

While I was reading the above verse, I sensed God presented me with a question: “How would you have me respond to those who in refusing me refuse the foundation of reality and the source of all goodness? What kind of beauty, love, and goodness can be established through those who ultimately must bring everything into conformity with their fallen will and desire?” In response, I saw a picture of unending conflict, ugliness and destruction. From this, it seemed to me that God’s wrath must be his response toward that which brings destruction and ugliness. God’s wrath is his destruction of destruction.

None of this completely alleviates the discomfort or perhaps fear that I have regarding his wrath, but it certainly makes me see it as necessary and even desirable if the world is ever going to be permeated by love. As I see it, we can’t have the good we want apart from God. Both goodness and love are like an energy that flows from God and through hearts that are open to him. Thus, in refusing God a person kills the circuit, and in that place where the circuit ceases ugliness and destruction naturally emerges. In this light, condemnation is God merely identifying the ugliness of what is. Moreover, wrath is the strange movement of his love to restore all things to their original beauty and goodness.

EASTER SUNDAY 

It is truly right and good, always and everywhere, with our
whole heart and mind and voice, to praise you, the invisible,
almighty, and eternal God, and your only-begotten Son,
Jesus Christ our Lord; for he is the true Paschal Lamb, who
at the feast of the Passover paid for us the debt of Adam’s sin,
and by his blood delivered your faithful people.

This is the night, when you brought our fathers, the children
of Israel, out of bondage in Egypt, and led them through the
Red Sea on dry land.

This is the night, when all who believe in Christ are delivered
from the gloom of sin, and are restored to grace and holiness
of life.

This is the night, when Christ broke the bonds of death and hell,
and rose victorious from the grave.

How wonderful and beyond our knowing, O God, is your
mercy and loving-kindness to us, that to redeem a slave, you
gave a Son.

How holy is this night, when wickedness is put to flight, and
sin is washed away. It restores innocence to the fallen, and joy
to those who mourn. It casts out pride and hatred, and brings
peace and concord.

How blessed is this night, when earth and heaven are joined
and man is reconciled to God.

Holy Father, accept our evening sacrifice, the offering of this
candle in your honor. May it shine continually to drive away
all darkness. May Christ, the Morning Star who knows no
setting, find it ever burning–he who gives his light to all
creation, and who lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen.

HOLY SATURDAY 

O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the
crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and
rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the
coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of
life; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

GOOD FRIDAY 

Later, knowing that all was now completed, and so that the Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.” A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. When he had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

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I imagine that in some way Jesus’ dying words about being thirsty is a reality that is still present in the world, present in all those who have need, in all those who thirst physically and spiritually. The Scriptures declare that “God made him who had no sin to become sin for us.” In this radical act of God identifying with fallen humanity, in those moments when Jesus hung on the Cross bearing our sins, it would not be far fetched to say that he tasted the collective thirst that blights all of us who live in want for God’s presence in our lives.

Given the death of the Lord of Glory that is commemorated on Good Friday it is certainly understandable why dubbing it “good” seems such a misnomer. And yet, when I consider that through the cross Jesus has identified with my deepest need, that he is somehow present to me even in sin, I am prompted to declare that Friday is indeed good, for God is with us even as we thirst for him.

MAUNDAY THURSDAY

It was just before the Passover Feast. Jesus knew that the time had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he now showed them the full extent of his love. The evening meal was being served, and the devil had already prompted Judas Iscariot, son of Simon, to betray Jesus. Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”

Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”

“No,” said Peter, “you shall never wash my feet.”

Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”

“Then, Lord,” Simon Peter replied, “not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!”

Jesus answered, “A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you.” For he knew who was going to betray him, and that was why he said not every one was clean.

When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. I tell you the truth, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.

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I don’t imagine it’s easy for anyone to really get their head around the idea of having Jesus wash your feet. I have heard from several sources that foot washing was considered so menial that not even the slaves of the first century Mediterranean culture were expected to perform this task. And, yet Jesus, the eternal Son of God, the Lord of all creation stripped down into what was perhaps the first century equivalent of boxers and an A-shirt, and washed the grime from each of the disciples’ feet.

This past Thursday, as I faced the mild social discomfort of having our interim pastor wash my feet as part of the Maunday Thursday celebration, I caught a glimpse of the discomfort I would have faced having Jesus wash my feet. In this, I truly identify with Peter’s response, “you shall never wash my feet.” Sure, on the surface Peter’s response seems appropriate, for how disruptive of the social order, and how unbecoming it is to have a dignitary stoop to such a low task. Moreover, what kind of egoist would willingly receive such a service from any human. And yet, I sense there is veiled pride at work in both Peter’s and my protestations.

I’m not sure how, but symbolically I liken this act of washing feet with vulnerability. The image that comes to mind is an incontinent, old invalid who lives in a nursing home and who has to have a nurse periodically wash his bum because he messes himself. Very simply, this is a damn embarrassing image, and if any of us were subject to such a situation we would no doubt feel a good measure of shame, and we would feel vulnerable to those who attended us. In similar manner, if we had the eyes to see what our little moral lapses looked like in the spiritual realm perhaps we would see a lot of shitty bums and dirty feet. Yes, I know this is a crude thought, but what we have to realize is that compared to the standard of God’s brilliant, burning, and holy love even the small ways that we are petty and egoistic is ugly.

I think that my resistance to having other people wash my feet, and particularly having Jesus wash me feet, comes from knowing that in some fashion this act which subverts social protocol, undermines decorum, and disturbs the order of things functions as a sign that points to the radical need of my soul, and quite literally, who in hell wants to own up to such a need.

I accept that no one is free from error, and yet I want to assert that human frailty is not an excuse to resist submission to those in positions of authority. As I see it, our submission is not most essentially to the person in authority, who is frail and fallen, but to the gift and calling of God that is present in that person’s life. This said, I think it’s important to add that our submission should be discerning in nature. Perhaps it is proper to say that we need to critically submit to those God has placed in authority. For in doing so, I imagine that we benefit from the gift that is present in such a person’s life, and we winnow out the bad that comes from how the gift may be perverted by the person’s brokenness.

In saying all this, I realize I raise the question of what a critical submission looks like, and I have to say that I honestly don’t know. Off hand, I would say that it doesn’t mean we are free dismiss the person or rebel against a person in authority when we disagree with them, because that would effectively be no submission at all. However, I imagine that there are ways to resist or provide a living critique without undermining the basic authority structure.

I imagine that God is pleased when we creatively apply the Gospel to the specific conditions of our lives. The Scriptures do not give us an exhaustive set of ethical rules to abide by. God apparently was silent on many issues, particularly ethical issues, that he could have spoken at length and in great detail about. This, however, would not be in accord with the dynamic creation he made, how he made us, nor with our calling to be co-laborers in the ministry of the Gospel. God gave us deep rational and creative instincts, and we are called to employ our rational and creative capacities to apply the Gospel to our specific cultures and the specific circumstances of our lives within that culture. In this manner the Gospel continues to be an incarnate reality, uniquely manifesting itself in specific times and places.