How Curiosity Killed the Cat

It is time for me to excavate this blog out of the graveyard of my half-uttered thoughts and aborted projects.

My intellectual and spiritual explorations have brought me to the realization of the limitations of my understanding of God, and of the limitations of any attempt to try to conceptualize God. Any description of God falls short of capturing who or what he is, and Christianity can only point to a fading shadow of his essence. The very use of the words "is" and "essence" imply concepts and constructs that carry a weight of meanings that can only fail to do justice to what they try to point to.

How can we speak of what is indescribable? How can we think about the unthinkable?

Paralleled to these thoughts is an experience of the incredible richness of religious plurality within (and without) Christianity which seems to point to different facets of the divine, or at least to facets of a divine craving and their expressions within humanity. There is something beyond mere ideological religion, beyond theology, that these things seem to point to without quite being able to attain or to grasp fully.

Some superficial reading of contemporary philosophers have brought my attention to philosophy. Many concepts exposed seem to open the door to alternate understandings of religious texts and beliefs, and perhaps of reflecting on the ungraspable divine. With this in mind, I have decided to explore more deeply the writings of some of these authors over the summer, with the hope of getting a better understanding of some of their ideas; and if I can draw some personal and communal points of praxis out of this, it would be all the better.

My reading so far has brought me through Zizek and Theology by Adam Kotsko and The Postmodern God by Graham Ward. The Postmodern God has proved to be particularly helpful in advancing my thoughts by introducing authors that I will undoubtedly be exploring further. I am quite surprised by the quantity of French authors that have deep and valuable contributions to make to the Christian religious conversation, and that are often disregarded or discarded by the French church.

The next few posts will be devoted to my reading of these authors and subsequent thoughts about their ideas.

No Conviction

The following tale is taken from "The Orthodox Heretic" by Peter Rollins. This book is a compelling groupment of tales and parables, that I would recommend to any one (un)interested in being wowed and slapped in the face by stories. The main critique I would have for it is that it is way too short.

This tale, "No Conviction", is the very first one found in the book. I hope you enjoy this and get a taste for more out of this read.

In a world where following Christ is decreed to be a subversive and illegal activity you have been accused of being a believer, arrested and dragged before a court.

You have been under clandestine surveillance for some time now and so the prosecution has been able to build up quite a case against you. They begin the trial by offering the judge dozens of photographs which show you attending church meetings, speaking at religious events, and participating in various prayer and worship services. After this they present a selection of items that have been confiscated from your home: religious books that you own, worship CDs and other Christian artefacts. Then they step up the pace by displaying many of the poems, pieces of prose, and journal entries that you had lovingly written concerning your faith. Finally, in closing, the prosecution offers your Bible to the judge. This is a well-worn book with scribbles, notes, drawings, and underlings throughout, evidence, if it were needed, that you had read and re-read this sacred text many times.

Throughout the case you have been sitting silently in fear and trembling. You know deep in your heart that with the large body of evidence that has been amassed by the prosecution you face the possibility of a long imprisonment or even execution. At various times throughout the proceedings you have lost all confidence and have been on the verge of standing up and denying Christ. But while this thought has plagued your mind throughout the trial, you resist the temptation and remain focused.

Once the prosecution has finished presenting their case the judge proceeds to ask if you have anything to add, but you remain silent and resolute, terrified that if you open your mouth, even for a moment, you might deny the charges made against you. Like Christ, you remain silent before your accusers. In response you are led outside to wait as the judge ponders your case.

The hours pass slowly as you sit under guard in the foyer waiting to be summoned back. Eventually a young man in uniform appears and leads you into the courtroom so that you may hear the verdict and receive word of your punishment. Once seated in the dock the judge, a harsh and unyielding man, enters the room, stands before you, looks deep into your eyes and begins to speak,

“Of the charges that have been brought forward I find the accused not guilty.”

“Not guilty?” your heart freezes. Then, in a split second, the fear and terror that had moments before threatened to strip your resolve are swallowed up by confusion and rage.

Despite the surroundings, you stand defiantly before the judge and demand that he give an account concerning why you are innocent of the charges in light of the evidence.

“What evidence?” he replies in shock.

“What about the poems and prose that I wrote?” you reply.

“They simply show that you think of yourself as a poet, nothing more.”

“But what about the services I spoke at, the times I wept in church and the long, sleepless nights of prayer?”

“Evidence that you are a good speaker and actor, nothing more.” replied the judge, “It is obvious that you deluded those around you, and perhaps at times you even deluded yourself, but this foolishness is not enough to convict you in a court of law.”

“But this is madness!” you shout. “It would seem that no evidence would convince you!”

“Not so,” replies the judge as if informing you of a great, long forgotten secret.

“The court is indifferent toward your Bible reading and church attendance; it has no concern for worship with words and a pen. Continue to develop your theology, and use it to paint pictures of love. We have no interest in such armchair artists who spend their time creating images of a better world. We exist only for those who would lay down that brush, and their life, in a Christ-like endeavor to create it. So, until you live as Christ and his followers, until you challenge this system and become a thorn in our side, until you die to yourself and offer your body to the flames, until then my friend, you are no enemy of ours.”

Cryptic Metaphors, Morbid Title

It has occured to me that the title of this blog - Un Dead - might need some explaining.

I find it fitting on two levels, in the same way that the church brings me mixed feelings of sadness and hope.

First of all, I have made the point that the Church in Europe seems to be dying. It is showing the first symptoms of death: immobility, empty eyes, and more generally rigor mortis. But it's not dead. Oh no, it's not. It is not resting in peace. Like a dead coming straight out of one of Romero's movies something about it is just not right. Whether it be its aimless gait, its uncertain gesticulations, its inarticulate groaning, its awkward lack of coherence with the scenery, or the mere fact that it tries to eat people's brains rather than to become their friends.

Could the church be a zombie?

The second, and more positive, explanation is that the prefix "un" brings the concept of retrieving, of taking something away, of coming back to an original state. A boat tied to a rope can be untied. A blocked road can be unblocked, a clogged sink unclogged. A frozen piece of bread can unfreeze.

Can a dead church be undead?

I do not want to dwell on the church's shortcomings and failings, but they say we learn from our mistakes to move on to a better place. This title tries encompass both ideas: what is wrong? How do we go beyond?

A (not so) fresh start...

I have had thoughts racing through my mind at various speeds for some time now.

Thoughts about Christianity. What the Church is. What the Church is meant to be. What my place in all this mess is.

The overarching feeling I get from this sometimes absurd race is a mixed one of discouragement and excitement.

Discouragement because I often see the Church as the decomposing corpse of what used to be a beautiful bride, putting on layers of makeup to hide her shame and disgrace.

Excitement because I do see light at the end of the long and dark tunnel of my cynicism. In spite of my darkest ramblings, the dying body sometimes still twitches with life and love. In spite of my ramblings, God has a brighter future for this smelly bride. Even if she is a heartbreaking sight, there is hope for better days.

Isn't it when we are at our weakest and ugliest that grace becomes effective?

I understand that these statements might be outrageous to some.

My purpose here is not to throw stones. I do not claim to hold the truth or the answers.

I consider myself to be part of the crippled Church I describe, and this blog is an exploration of my observations, my thoughts, my disillusions and my dreams.

I am an incomplete and stubborn creature depending on God's grace.