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Lent 2023 | Week 2: Where Do We Look To Figure Out What to Want?

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Mimetic Desire

Last week we asked the question, “What is it that you want?” We might like to think that what we want is unique to us. Our desires are our own and fulfilling them is what sets us apart from everybody else. But what if desire works differently?

What if what I want is not singular but mimetic?

Mimetic is a technical word coined by the French social theorist René Girard to describe the nature of our desires. We can hear in it the echo of the word ‘mimic.’ To understand desire as mimetic is to recognize that what we want often mimics what others want. We see what someone else desires and then adopt it for ourselves. It might be hard us to swallow, that we are imitative creatures, because it works against the high value we place on personal authenticity and self-expression. Imitation, we judge, is for lesser life forms: Monkey see, monkey do.

We are not monkeys.

But if we can have the humility to see how it is so often the case that our desires ape the desires of others we will be able to see the mimetic dynamics at work in our lives.

As Girard points out, “Man is the creature who does not know what to desire.” It is not to say that when we are hungry we don’t know to want food. Or that when we are cold we don’t know to want shelter. We are not working at the level of instinctual desire. To say that we are creatures who do not know what to desire has to do with those higher level, more abstract longings particular to being human. Who am I? What is my meaning? What is my purpose?

These questions do not have obvious answers. It isn’t clear to us what we ought to do to fulfill these desires. We can’t just go to McDonald’s and order some meaning. So what do we do?

We look for models. Not fashion models (though they are included here), but those things which model for us what is worth desiring. Not just clothing, but the whole gamut of desires.

We don’t know what to desire so we look to models of desire.

Take Netflix or PlayStation. What is going on when we binge a show or a game? In part, I think what makes us want to keep watching, or keep playing, is the intoxication of desiring what these characters desire. The most powerful stories not only make us feel or think, but also to desire. We don’t know what we want so we go to movies, shows or video games to be told, if for only an hour or five!, what to want – to get the girl/guy, to move a boat, to level-up, to save the world.

Of course, the big elephant in the room when it comes to mimetic desire is social media. What are we doing when we endlessly scroll through Instagram or Facebook (is Facebook still a thing?). A lot of things are going on, but the best (worst?) social media sites, have spent billions leveraging the power of mimetic desire. We scroll because we want to want something. In part, we are looking to and for models of desire.

What do I want?

I don’t know. Let me scroll some more.

Social Media Addiction

Social media can be seen as a mimetic playground. Author Luis Burgis explores some of how these dynamics play out when we engage with social media. He gives us some categories to think about models of desire (internal and external) and how social media can distort the influence such models can have in and on our lives.

  • What are some of the external and internal models in your life?
  • One way to think about desire is that desire comes from a place of lack. We want what we feel we lack. How might your time on social media help you put a finger on what is it that you feel you lack?
  • Burgis encourages us: “We have to know when our models are enflaming us with a desire that will bring real fulfillment or whether it’s going to bring a dopamine hit or allow us to fantasize about a life that we’ll probably never have and even if we did have would probably make us miserable.” How might this help you discern what is going on when you engage with social media?

Scripture

Take some time again this week to sit with Matthew 20:20-28.

  • In what ways are external and internal models at work in this passage?
  • How have your desires been shaped, for or better or worse, by the various models in your life?
  • Is it strange to think of Jesus as a model of desire?

Let Us Not Falter in Desire

“When Christ appears, your life, then you also will appear with him in glory.” So now is the time for groaning, then it will be for rejoicing; now for desiring, then for embracing. What we desire now is not present; but let us not falter in desire; let long, continuous desire be our daily exercise, because the one who made the promise does not cheat us.

St. Augustine
  • Take some time to sit with this quote.
  • Read Colossians 3:1-4.
  • What does Augustine think we ought to be desiring for?
  • How are we prone to falter in desire? What would it look like to “let long, continuous desire be our daily exercise”?
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The Sugary Sweetness of Idolatry

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Idolatry Playlist: Build Me Up Buttercup

Is it weird I have a playlist called “Idolatry”? Strange or not, I’d like to share some songs off that playlist as a way of exploring what the Bible calls idolatry.

As philosopher/theologian James KA Smith points out idolatry is less about false beliefs as it is about misplaced desire. We aren’t drawn into the control of an idol through by some compelling intellectual argument. Rather, idols work at the level of our wants — and what we want is something that often escapes our purview. We don’t always know what we want even when what we want is what animates our lives.

And so this series will explore this relationship between idolatry and desire.

The first song off the playlist is Build Me Up Buttercup.

If sugar had a melody, I think this would be it. The song was brought back into our collective consciousness a couple years back when Geico ran a series of commercials featuring the song:

Build Me Up Buttercup is the perfect sweetener to make something so bland as car insurance somewhat palatable.

While the tune embodies the feel-good quality of sugar, the lyrics remind us of the crash that comes after the high.

Why do you build me up (Build me up)
Buttercup, baby
Just to let me down? (Let me down)
And mess me around

If idolatry is like an addiction (the natural consequence of our misplaced desires), then sugar would be the gateway drug. We get drawn in by our immediate senses. The taste and the high keep us coming back for more even when we know the letdown is coming (not to mention the pounds!).

And then worst of all (worst of all) you never call, baby
When you say you will (say you will) but I love you still
When you say you will (say you will) but I love you still
I need you (I need you) more than anyone, darlin’
So build me up (build me up) buttercup, don’t break my heart

That last line is telling.

While the chorus begins with the question, “Why do you build me up?” in some ways naming a plea for things to change. By the end of the chorus it becomes, “Build me up buttercup.” It is not an interrogation anymore. Now it is almost an appeal for the very thing that was at first questioned.

This is how idolatry works.

The name we give to this process of building up and letting down in our day and age is consumerism. While we may not literally bow down to golden calves anymore, idols have simply morphed into any thing and every thing.

It’s that feeling of anticipation when Amazon promises delivery at 10, but then there is a delay and it won’t come until the next day.

“I’ll be over at ten,” you told me time and again
But you’re late, I wait around and then
I went to the door, I can’t take anymore
It’s not you, you let me down again

This is all part of the building up.

And we may think that the letting down is a glitch in the system. It is not. It is a feature.

Idols have this remarkable ability to promise happiness through possessing it only to have it end up possessing us.

You were my toy but I could be the boy you adore
If you’d just let me know

The genius of idolatry, if we can call it that, is that our being possessed by the idol comes through the very means of our being let down. This is how the Bible describes it. When an idol doesn’t come through, the idolators double down on their devotion, believing that increased devotion will lead to the eventual fulfillment of whatever hope has been placed in the idol.

The way this plays out in our consumeristic economy is rather than double down on any one idol, we simply move on to the next one. There is always another thing; another product that attracts us, that builds us up. We feel that tinge of excitement, of anticipation. So we order it. And then we get it. We possess it. And there is some satisfaction, some amusement. But then inevitably we are letdown. So we move on to the next product. There is always the next product; the next thing that builds us up with anticipation. And the cycle repeats….on and on and on.

What this does is trap us in a kind of static state. We move up and then we move down. And we are tricked into thinking this repetitive movement, the constant building up and letting down, indicates some kind of development or progression. But really we are stuck in the same place.

This place is what Jesus calls living on bread alone.

Bread, like sugar, like many of the products that fill our closets, is not evil. It is good, but only to a certain degree. What we need to recognize is that there are deeper desires at work within us. Transcendent desires. Desires which we might name as our longing for the Good, the True, and the Beautiful — what Scripture calls “every word that comes from the mouth of God”.

What idolatry does to us is promise the Good and the True and the Beautiful in the form of bread alone. It keeps our focus on things that cannot and were never meant to satisfy those deeper longings. So instead of looking towards a nutritious meal full of proteins and greens idolatry says eat some more gummy bears.

This is the danger of consumerism. It ruins our appetite for the things that can feed the more substantial and weighty desires in us.

In the end, idols build us up, let us down and ultimately break our hearts.

Like sugar, Build Me Up Buttercup eases us into the dynamics of idolatry. As we continue on in the playlist we’ll see how things can get darker and more sinister.

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Lent 2023 | Week 1: What Is It That You Want?

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Faith, Works and Desire

In the Christian life, we are well acquainted with the faith and works divide. That is, faith should show itself in works or else it is dead (James 2:26). Good belief leads to good works. And so, naturally, we focus a lot on faith, or what we believe, thinking that getting more and better beliefs will yield more and better works.

But what if we are missing an integral link that connects belief with good works?

What if there is another piece to the puzzle?

During this season of Lent, we want to consider that the additional ingredient we might need to add to the faith-works recipe, is desire. That perhaps the question which drives so much of our lives is not what we believe, but what we want.

What is it that I want? Or to put it more clearly, “What is it that I really want?”

It is not as easy a question to answer as we might expect. Mostly because so many of our desires are hidden from us. They run on in the background, all the while running (ruining?) our lives, without our knowing.

So over the next six weeks, we want to take a long hard look at the question, “What is it that I want?”

It is a slippery question. What we need are some handles that will allow us to hold our desires up to us, just long enough so that we can answer this question honestly and truthfully. For every week of Lent, we’ll be providing some resources here to help us do just that.

Scripture

Take some time to sit with Matthew 20:20-28. (This is a passage we will be coming back to every week of Lent).

  • If you are inclined, write this passage out put by hand. If not, make sure you read it slowly and repeatedly (2-3 times).
  • For this week, just jot down whatever comes to mind through this passage: questions, thoughts, observations, etc.

Thick and Thin Desires

Author Luis Burgis talks about how important it is to take the time to listen to our lives. We need this time in order to hear those moments that have brought a sense of deep fulfillment to us.

  • What are those moments of fulfillment for you? How might they help you to identify your “thick” desires?
  • Consider your daily life and ask what your “thin” desires are? Do they occupy an inordinate amount of your time?
  • How might you give more weight to your “thick” desires?

Living By Bread Alone

Theologian Miraslov Volf, writes about living by bread alone. We could say that living by bread alone, is living by “thin desires” alone:

When we live by bread alone there’s never enough bread. Not even enough when we make so much of it that some of it rots away. When we live by bread alone someone always go hungry. When we live by bread alone every bite we take leaves a bitter aftertaste and the more we eat the more bitter the taste. When we live by bread alone we always want more and better bread as if the bitterness was in the not having enough bread and not in living by bread alone.

Miraslav Volf
  • Take some time this week to reflect on what “bread” looks like in your own life.
  • In what ways are you left with the bitter aftertaste of living by bread alone?
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Jesus, Say Something

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As we “celebrate” Good Friday today, one of the more unsettling questions concerning the final hours of Jesus’ life is his refusal to respond to the false accusations made against him.

Mark 14:55-51

55 The chief priests and the whole Sanhedrin were looking for evidence against Jesus so that they could put him to death, but they did not find any. 56 Many testified falsely against him, but their statements did not agree.

57 Then some stood up and gave this false testimony against him: 58 “We heard him say, ‘I will destroy this temple made with human hands and in three days will build another, not made with hands.’” 59 Yet even then their testimony did not agree.

60 Then the high priest stood up before them and asked Jesus, “Are you not going to answer? What is this testimony that these men are bringing against you?” 61 But Jesus remained silent and gave no answer.

Why doesn’t Jesus say something?

It is this strange reluctance to give a response that is so confounding. On this, the darkest day of the Church Year, the day in which Jesus is brutally beaten and crucified, God remains silent. Is God a god too weak to speak? In this deafening silence we find ourselves caught up in the mystery of what Paul describes as the foolishness of the cross — the power of God demonstrated in and through weakness.

In what follows I’d like to reflect on the deeply emotive and masterfully melancholic song “Say Something” by A Great Big World . The song itself captures in it’s tone and melody an uneasy combination of anger, sadness and regret. The first lines of the chorus articulate so much of the undertone that perhaps we feel when it comes to a God who stays silent in the face of tragedy: 

“Say something, I’m giving up on you.”

Of course, the song on the surface is quite clearly a break-up song, but I’d like to read it through another kind of break-up: the one Judas instigates with a kiss, in which he turns from trusted disciple to jaded betrayer.

It is often assumed that Judas betrayed Jesus out of greed. That is what is heavily implied by John in his Gospel (John 12:4-6). But Matthew seems to paint a different picture. We are told Judas sells Jesus out for 30 silver coins, which is about a couple hundred dollars. In other words, it’s not all that much. What’s more, Matthew tells us that Judas was filled with so much remorse that he tried to give the money back and when the coins are thrown back in his face, he commits suicide. He is unable to live with what he did.

It is here we begin to see that Judas is much more complicated than we often give him credit for.

Some have suggested that perhaps what Judas was trying to do was force Jesus’ hand. Judas genuinely wanted God’s kingdom to come. That’s why he gave what he had and followed Jesus. He truly thought Jesus might be the one who could accomplish what so many before him had failed to do. But then Jesus kept going on about how he had to suffer many things and be rejected; how he had to be killed.

Judas, presumably thought just as Peter did. He wanted to set Jesus straight. Messiahs don’t suffer. They don’t get rejected. They don’t get killed. They inflict suffering. They do the rejecting. They go around and do the killing. So Judas, as the theory goes, made a strategic wager. He made the gamble to have Jesus arrested, to push Jesus into a corner, so that when push came to shove, Jesus would finally throw off his “lamb led to a slaughter” act and get to doing some real Messiah s#@t!

When that doesn’t happen, Judas’ is utterly broken. He bet the house and lost it all. Everything he had believed in and hoped for died on that hill.

Listen to this excerpt from writer and preacher Sarah Dylan Breuer that explores some of these themes. It takes the form of a journal entry written by Judas:

For months, I’d been traveling with him. I listened to him, comforted him, prayed with him, stood by him, shared my vision of how the world could be and how little and how much it would take to see things set right. I thought he understood, or was beginning to understand. “Do what you must,” I’d said to him, knowing that it would cost, but that either of us would give our life’s blood to see God’s kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven. This was the object of our prayers together each day, and of our silent prayers each night as we drifted to sleep beside the crackle of the fire and the steady sound of the other’s breathing, “Do what you must,” I’d said, and I thought that he was steeling himself to act.

As the time drew near, I told myself that I acted for the sake of a kingdom worth more than my life or his. I talked about resurrection as if that would cancel the cost. I talked about love, and told myself I acted in love for him and for the world we wanted to save from itself and from our enemies. And when, in the garden, he took my hand and turned the tables, I told myself that he finally understood what I had been trying to teach him. “Do what you must,” he said.

The kiss betrayed me.

In the moment I kissed him, my lies crumbled like the shell of a log burned to ash. He didn’t take up the sword, as I thought he would. He didn’t attack the soldiers and lead us to Jerusalem to destroy our enemies there. And suddenly it was all clear, stripped naked like the young man who had traveled with us and was now fleeing the soldiers. I had believed the lie that God’s rule could be purchased with violence. The lie that the big idea was bigger than our lives. The lie that I knew what love is, and the biggest lie of all—that it was my love of God that overrode my love for him. All dust.

With all this in mind, you can now hear the song as expressing the tortured memory of someone, of Judas, still coming to terms with the role he played in the death of his friend(ship).

Say something, I’m giving up on you

I’ll be the one, if you want me to

Anywhere, I would’ve followed you

Say something, I’m giving up on you

And I am feeling so small

It was over my head

I know nothing at all

And I will stumble and fall

I’m still learning to love

Just starting to crawl

Say something, I’m giving up on you

I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you

Anywhere, I would’ve followed you

Say something, I’m giving up on you

And I will swallow my pride

You’re the one that I love

And I’m saying goodbye

Say something, I’m giving up on you

And I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you

And anywhere, I would have followed you

Say something, I’m giving up on you

Say something, I’m giving up on you

Say something

This song, when heard this way, powerfully expresses the profound anguish that emerges as we hold in tension a God whose glory is somehow found in the pain and humiliation of a Roman cross. Surely God could have done it differently? And so we feel this anguish that holds within itself anger and lament, blame and humility, desperation and repentance. To enter into Good Friday is to recognize that deep within us is this poignant cry that is at once both a demand and a plea for forgiveness: “Say something, I’m giving up on you.”

As we have been through a year full of tragedy and trouble, Good Friday is a day we sit in the uncomfortable sound of God’s silence — all the meaningless pain and debilitating loss. We feel the anger that demands God to do more than to say nothing. And yet we also recognize on the cross God has said something. God has done something more than we can quite put into words.

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Onward, John 14 and What It Means to See God

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WARNING: If you have not yet seen Onward SPOILERS AHEAD!

In John 14:1-14, the Gospel passage from this past Sunday, we are given a glimpse into Jesus’ last conversation with his small company of disciples. He tells them, “If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”

One of the disciples, Philip, doesn’t quite get what Jesus is trying to say. He isn’t sure who this father is that Jesus has been talking about. So he asks, “Lord, can you explain to us who the father is and that will be enough for us.”

It’s hard to know whether Jesus is hurt by this question or whether he is exasperated by Philip’s cluelessness. Maybe it’s a little of both. In any event, Jesus answers, “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father?”

What Jesus asks Philip reminded me of a question that Carissa asked me a few weeks ago after we had finished watching the Pixar movie Onward. The movie tells the story of a son who desperately wants to see his father. The son in question is a teenage elf named Ian Lightfoot (voiced by Tom Holland of Spiderman fame), who never had a chance to meet his father because he died of a terrible illness just before he was born.

We are introduced to Ian on his sixteenth birthday. We quickly learn that he is struggling as an awkward teen, trying to figure out who he is without the loving guidance of his father. At school he is a bit of a loner, unsure of himself and timid. During a chance encounter with one of his dad’s old college classmates, he learns that his dad was charismatic, gregarious and most of all bold. Ian wants to be all those things, but he feels lost without someone there to help him find his way.

Later on that day, Ian’s mom gives him a special gift. It is a gift that his dad, before he died, had prepared for Ian to open when he turned 16. It consisted of a staff, a gem and a spell. Together these promise to bring back Mr. Lightfoot for one whole day. So Ian, with some encouragement, nervously casts the spell and…it works! Well, sort of. It literally only works half way. Before the upper half of his father’s body is conjured the gem explodes, breaking the power of the spell so that all that is brought back are the legs. Everything from the waist up is missing, waiting to be formed.

And so Ian and his older brother Barley (voiced by Chris Pratt, Holland’s Marvel buddy) begin a grand and glorious quest to find another gem that will allow them to complete the magic and bring back the other half of their father. As they set out with great expectation, Ian writes a list of things he wants to do with his dad:

  • Play catch
  • Take a walk
  • Heart to heart
  • Laugh together
  • Driving lesson
  • Share my life with him

The whole story points towards the moment when Ian is able to complete the spell and finally meet his dad. At the same time, there is a ticking clock. The spell is only good for 24 hours. Even if they have the gem in hand, once the allotted time passes, Ian and Barley won’t be able to bring their dad back.

Will the brother be able to finish the quest in time to see their father?

Here comes the spoiler: Time runs out and Ian doesn’t get to see his dad. So far as it goes, the brothers do finally secure the gem, but there is only a brief window in which the father will be resurrected and Ian decides that Barley should be the one to talk to him (you’ll have to watch the movie to find out why).

You expect the whole film that Ian will eventually get to see his dad. But no, that’s not how it ends. And this would have been a monumental let down had it not been for the epiphany Ian has, which happens at the lowest point of the film — when all seemed to be lost. The time for the spell to work had almost completely run out. They couldn’t find the gem and had no where else to look. Ian had just harshly blamed Barley for screwing it all up, at which point he ends up going off by himself to sit with his dad on a ledge overlooking the ocean. He had given up all hope and all he could think of doing was to spend whatever time he had left with his father, even if it was with just his legs.

He opens up his notebook and looks at his list of things he wished he could do with his dad. Turns out he won’t be able to do any of them. Won’t be able to play catch with dad. Won’t be able to take a walk with dad. Won’t be able to have a heart to heart with dad. But as he continues down the list, something begins to dawn on him. We begin to see flashbacks of Ian with Barley. We are taken back to a hilarious moment in the film when Barley had been shrunk down to a 6-inch version of himself by a spell gone awry. And we see Barley giving Ian a crash course on how to drive on the freeway as they are escaping a hive of overly-belligerent fairies.

Driving lesson. Check.

Slowly Ian begins to realize something. As he reviews his list and looks back at who his brother has been for him, not just that day but throughout his whole life, he realizes: Barley has always been for him the father he never had. It is a powerful scene. What began as a story about one son wishing desperately to see his father turns out to really be a story about a son who has always known the father because of another son who has made the father known to him.

What Carissa asked me when the credits rolled was, “Wait, so Ian never gets to see his dad?”

Well, yes and no.

Ian doesn’t get to see his father in the way we expect, but of course, he does see his father in another way, a way we didn’t expect — that is, through his older brother, Barley. Barley acts as a kind of sacrament in the movie. A sacrament can be understood as a visible sign of an invisible grace. The invisible grace, in this case, is the father. The visible sign is Barley. Barley makes visible the father. In the Christian faith, all sacraments echo the Incarnation, in which the invisible Father is made known through the visible Son, the person of Christ. And so Barley becomes a kind of Christ figure. Not perfectly but in kind. A son who makes known his father, pointing us toward the true Son who makes known to us the truth of the Father.

This is precisely why Jesus asks Philip, “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father?”

Onward thus paints for us an illuminating picture of what it means for us to “see” God. It is not about a literal seeing of God in the physical, but neither is it a vague, sentimental seeing that is entirely abstract. It is a figurative seeing of God in the tangible experiences we have with those who embody the character of God through the work of the Spirit within them. In the trinitarian language we find in John’s Gospel, Jesus, the Son, makes known the Father through his earthly ministry. But when his earthly ministry comes to an end, he promises the Spirit who will live in and among those who believe in him. Through this Spirit the life of those who have put their faith in the Son are enabled to become “icons” of the Father. Like Barley they make known the Father. And we like Ian, if we have eyes to see, can come to the realization that we too have come to known the Father in a very real way.

As Christians, there are times when we play the part of Barley making known God in and through our lives (perhaps often unbeknownst to us). At other times we are like Ian, realizing that we have come to know God through the faithful witness of others (those we might call the communion of saints). The scene of Ian sitting on a ledge overlooking the ocean is a helpful reminder to us of the way this knowledge often comes to us. It provides a way of understanding what it means to say that we know God. That faith, belief, trust in God requires these kinds of “small” epiphanies — quiet moments of realization where the various experiences of our lives come together in such a way that we see something we had previously missed.

This is what I think Jesus means when he tells Philip, “Believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; or at least believe on the evidence of the works themselves.”

We often think of evidence in a forensic sense. Facts that can be verified through scientific methods of investigation. But the evidence I think Jesus alludes to is more like the “evidence” that enables Ian to see the truth about his brother. It is not evidence that can be placed under a microscope and probed to establish some kind of objective truth. It is not that kind of truth. But this doesn’t mean it is completely subjective. It is a truth that makes sense in a very robust way — in a way that shows truth to be personal, by revealing the truth about a person. This after all, is the truth that Jesus says he is when he says that he is the way, the truth, and the life. Jesus is the truth about God, the Son who makes known the true character of the Father.

To know this truth doesn’t require some extraordinary experience. It happens in very much the same way it happens for Ian — sitting there in that ordinary moment overlooking the sea with his longings and disappointments, the realization simply comes to him. And so it is with the life of faith. All that is needed is some space to reflect and there what finds us is that which we have somehow too easily overlooked. God has been there all along, if we only had eyes to see.

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This My Soul: Sin and Grace

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What first struck me about this song was the clever lyrical turn that happens at the end. Singer-songwriter David Radford takes the usual verse-chorus-verse-chorus structure and plays with it so that when the chorus comes around the third and final time it means something entirely different than what it did the first two times. The words are exactly the same, but the verses provide the context that flips the meaning.

I remember listening the first time and saying to myself, “Ah, Mr. Radford, I like what you did there!”

As we said in the last post, the song revolves around the theological theme of the first and last Adam. The first two verses explore our birth into all that resulted from that fateful day in Eden when Adam ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil as told to us in Genesis 3:

Verse 1:

A voice came and spoke to the silence / The words took on beauty and form / The form took its shape as a garden was born

Then man from the dust came reflecting / All goodness and beauty and life / But he lowered his gaze as he listened to the face of low desires 

Chorus:

This my soul you were born / You were born into / What this man has done / It all extends to you / Let the words shake on down along your spine / And ring out true that you might find new life 

Verse 2:

The voice came and swords blocked the garden / None could return with their lives / A curse there was placed upon every man to face for all of time

No wisdom of man or rebellion / Could deliver new life out of death / But the voice with the curse spoke a promise that the word would take on flesh 

[Chorus]

The theological concept that names what is described here is referred to as the doctrine of “original sin.” Original sin names both Adam’s transgression and the extension of that transgression upon all who are born into the human race. It describes the primordial act of sin as well as the fallen condition that continues to plague every human ever since. 

Even if some of us may have a hard time believing that the literal events described in Genesis 3 actually transpired, it is hard to argue against the larger truth presented to us in the doctrine of original sin. As G.K. Chesterton once quipped, it is perhaps the only doctrine that can be empirically verified. In our more sober moments, I think we know all too well the flawed nature of our humanity. There is something deficient in us.

Of course this is not the end of the story. Neither is it the beginning. We may call it original, but Sin is not our place of origin. Scripture does not begin with Genesis 3, but with Genesis 1. And there we find that we were not born in Sin, but in the image and likeness of God. Sin is neither the first word nor the last. Both belong to God. The human condition as we find it in Scripture, is our exhausting (and exhaustive) inability to be who we were created in and what we were created for. We may be born into sin, but we were created in the image of God.

All this is to say, Sin is not part of God’s creative act “in the beginning.” It is utterly alien, a destructive intruder inimical to the life God wants to share with us and the good world that God spoke into existence. The doctrine of original sin does not give us an explanation for why there is Sin, only that there is Sin. It holds up a mirror to keep us awake to the lowercase sins we commit that perpetuate and accentuate the power of uppercase Sin.

This emergence of uppercase Sin, as far as we can tell in the witness of Scripture, appears as mysteriously as does the crafty serpent in Genesis 3. It is an inexplicable disruption into the shalom that characterized life in Eden — a sudden outbreak of opposition to all the “goodness and beauty and life” God intends for God’s creation. In a way, the Christian belief is that Sin is unintelligible, both in its existence and its origin. And what we find in Christ is that its end comes about as inexplicably as it began. 

Here is where Grace comes in.

Just as Sin is this incomprehensible disruption, so too is Grace. Grace is the unanticipated eruption of God’s saving act into a world helplessly held captive to Sin. Grace everywhere in Scripture is synonymous with Gift. This language of gift reminds us that there is a Giver. Grace is the gift of God that comes to us from beyond us, outside of us. As Paul puts it in Ephesians, “It is by grace that you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God,” (Eph. 2:8). It is not in the power of humankind to save itself from Sin. Indeed, it is often our attempts to “fix” things that often lead to unforeseen evils that introduce even more sin and death into the world (as witnessed to by every Sci-Fi movie worth watching).

What we need is something that could not be anticipated or expected.

This is what we believe about the Gift that Jesus is to us. Sometimes theologians will add the words “sheer” or “utter” to highlight the unique quality of this Gift. What this kind of language is trying to get at is the astonishing way in which God has dealt with Sin. It is a gift that is sudden, abrupt — a gift that could not be predicted or accounted for beforehand. Jesus is the unforeseen eruption of God’s action to save and deliver us.

It is sheer and utter gift.

Whereas the disruption of Sin brought death, the eruption of Grace does so much more. And this is precisely what we hear Paul saying in Romans 5:15-17:

15 But the gift is not like the trespass. For if the many died by the trespass of the one man, how much more did God’s grace and the gift that came by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many! 16 Nor can the gift of God be compared with the result of one man’s sin: The judgment followed one sin and brought condemnation, but the gift followed many trespasses and brought justification. 17 For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God’s abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ!

Listen to all the echoes of gift here.

This is what we hear described in the final movement of the song:

Verse 3:

Then the perfect son of man / Took the place the voice had planned since the garden and before / He took the swords and cursed the grave / There’s nothing more to separate us from the promise / The words of a living hope

Chorus:

This my soul you were born / You were born into / What this man has done / It all extends to you / Let the words shake on down along your spine / And ring out true that you might find new life 

I think it worthwhile to point out the dynamic at work here. The experience of Grace entails the realization that there is something wrong with each and every one of us. This is what the doctrine of original sin is all about. We have a disease to which none of us are immune. This realization magnifies the Gift in many ways. To understand the depths of Sin is to recognize the immensity of Grace — and not only that, Paul wants us to see how much more is Grace!

This dynamic is baked into the very fabric of the lyrics. At the end of the song, we hear the same words that spoke of original sin, now speak the word of Grace. We feel in our spine that Adam’s failure extends in some real way to us. But now, with the sudden emergence of Grace, we find that what Jesus has done now extends to us in a more determinative way.

What the song helps me to hear is the interconnectedness of both Judgment and Grace — that these are two sides of the same coin; a coin we might call the Love of God. In the context of Scripture, Judgment creates the context for Grace…it makes Grace, so to speak, intelligible. Grace, on the other hand, sets the telos or purpose for Judgment, such that, Judgment is not made in order to condemn, but to restore. As we live in the time between promise and fulfillment, both of these must be heard when we speak of God’s Love. The same is true for either side of the coin as well. When we say Grace, we hear the echo of Judgment. Similarly, Judgement must be heard with an ear towards Grace.

But when it is all said and done, we know on what side the coin will fall. That is, Grace will get the last word. What we hear in the end is that all is sheer and utter Gift.

This my soul you were born into.

Amen.

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This My Soul: A Musical Devotional

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I’m not sure how I came across this song, but I’ve been listening to it a lot lately. I share it here as a kind of devotional set to music. The lyrics carry within them a lot of biblical imagery, which has led me to reflect and meditate on a whole bunch of different things. The plan is to share some of those things in the upcoming weeks. But for now, take a listen:

The song is a sustained reflection on Romans 5:12-19:

12 Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned—

13 To be sure, sin was in the world before the law was given, but sin is not charged against anyone’s account where there is no law. 14 Nevertheless, death reigned from the time of Adam to the time of Moses, even over those who did not sin by breaking a command, as did Adam, who is a pattern of the one to come.

15 But the gift is not like the trespass. For if the many died by the trespass of the one man, how much more did God’s grace and the gift that came by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many! 16 Nor can the gift of God be compared with the result of one man’s sin: The judgment followed one sin and brought condemnation, but the gift followed many trespasses and brought justification. 17 For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God’s abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ!

18 Consequently, just as one trespass resulted in condemnation for all people, so also one righteous act resulted in justification and life for all people. 19 For just as through the disobedience of the one man the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the one man the many will be made righteous.

Flowing out from this passage, the lyrics echo a plethora of other biblical themes. Here are some other passages I hear the song roping into its orbit:

  • Genesis 1-3
  • John 1:1-3
  • Romans 5:12-19
  • 1 Corinthians 2:6-10
  • 1 Corinthians 15:45-57
  • Galatians 3:10-14
  • Ephesians 1:3-14
  • 1 Peter 1:3-9
  • Revelation 22:1-5

As I said this song can be used as a musical devotional of sorts — something that can help us to engage with and reflect on Scripture. I’ll share some of my own reflections in subsequent posts.

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Baptism, Resurrection Power and the Power of Visual Imagery

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In our last post we looked at the communal meaning behind the Christian belief in the Resurrection of the Body. In this post, I want to look at how our individualistic tendencies can often skew our understanding about the basic building blocks of what the Christian faith is about. In my Easter Sunday message prep I came across the song “Resurrection Power” by popular Contemporary Christian Music (CCM) artist Chris Tomlin. I’d like to use this song as an example of this tendency.

As far as CCM songs go, this song is pretty much par for the course. The lyrics are loosely based on Scripture, in this case Ephesians 1:19-20, where Paul prays that the Ephesians will know God’s “incomparably great power,” which is the same power that “raised Christ from the dead.” Hence, resurrection power. As with most Tomlin songs, the tune is simple, uplifting, and infectious. What is problematic is not so much the song itself, but the visual depiction of baptism in relationship to the theme of resurrection.

In order for the rest of this post to make sense, you’ll need to watch the video:

First off, I think it is right and appropriate to tie baptism with resurrection. Baptism, at its core, is a sacrament of identification. We, in baptism, identify ourselves with Christ’s identification with us, so that what is true of him is now true of us. Just as Christ died and was raised, so we have died and are raised with him in baptism. Death is symbolized by our immersion underwater — a death by drowning. In dying we are then brought up out of the water indicating the new life we receive in Christ. We see this play out in the video.

So far so good.

But notice how in the video, it is a solitary individual, unsure of where he is going, unaccompanied, driving by his lonesome out into a remote field all by himself. Did I mention he is alone? Here, I think, is where the visual story telling goes awry in depicting what baptism is about (and by association, what resurrection is about). It seems to want to say that baptism is something we can do for ourselves. I have to admit, the way the scenes are cut and edited to fit the lyrics, I feel a certain kind of triumphant elation when the man plunges himself into the water just as the song builds in its climactic turn (right around 3:12). But that’s just it. Baptism is not a triumphant achievement. It is a gift we receive in humility. We don’t plunge ourselves into the water. We are baptized. We get baptized. Baptism is something someone else does for us, not something we can do for ourselves.

What is more, baptism teaches us that we are accepted into a new community. We are baptized into a people — the body of Christ. That is why baptism is never done in isolation. It is always before a watching community. A community of those who will support and sustain us in our new life as members of Christ’s body, precisely because they are the ones who are receiving and ushering us into that body.

Now, couple all this with the oft-repeated chorus, “Now, I have resurrection power.” What we are left with is the subtle suggestion that the power of resurrection is something we possess as individuals for our empowerment as individuals. All of this is a glaring example of the unrelenting focus on the individual in so much of what is labeled Christian in our culture. The individual is not a bad thing to care about, but what often happens is that we, as the proverbial saying goes, miss the forest for the trees. We see this at the end of the video where we find that maybe there is some semblance of a community forming. But no. It turns out they are just other individuals going to out to the same field to baptize themselves. It seemed to me like a guy finding a hidden Starbucks that paved the way for others to flock to it and get their morning fix.

Again, there is nothing wrong with the song itself. I actually quite like it. It is just to say that the visual story telling draws our focus inward whereas Scripture I think wants to draw us outward, outside of ourselves (which I think is how the belief in resurrection is best understood). If we read the passage in which the title of the song is based in context (Ephesians 1:19-20), we would see that the power Paul is talking about is a power that is able to unite what has for so long been separated by enmity and strife. The nasty division between Jew and Gentile. But now, as Paul tells the mixed community of Christ’s body, by the power that brought Christ up from the dead:

19…you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household, 20 built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. 21 In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. 22 And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.

Eph. 2:19-22

Now, imagine if the video for this song was set to images of reconciliation in which those who have been estranged to the Church are suddenly welcomed into the body. This is the newness that the resurrection makes possible. We have been raised with Christ into a kingdom in which the marginalized and outcast are now at home among God’s people. None are excluded. So, what if at the climactic moment of the song we do not have a man baptizing himself, but the welcoming embrace of those who were once “far-off” now brought near through the saving work of Christ.

Now that would be some resurrection power.

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The Resurrection of the Body

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It’s been a while, but in our last look on the resurrection, we ended with this image of our lives being held in the memory of God as we await, what the Apostle’s Creed calls, the Resurrection of the Body. This is the orthodox way of expressing the hope for which we patiently wait. It is not the hope of the soul going to heaven when we die, but the hope of the “Resurrection of the Body.” The way it is phrased is wonderfully ambiguous. There are a number of ways to interpret what “the body” means, and when taken together they give us a fuller meaning of what salvation entails.

First, “the body” can mean Christ’s literal, physical body. The Resurrection of the Body is about the resurrection of his body. His body is the body, raised from the dead in advance of all others. As Paul writes, “Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (1 Cor. 15:20). Christ’s risen body is like that first flower that blooms while the snow is still melting, giving us a glimpse of what is in store when spring comes and winter fully passes away.

Second, “the body” can refer to a figurative body. Think of Paul’s famous analogy of Christ’s body — the body of which we have been made members. It is a singular body made up of many parts. The body that is resurrected, in this case, is a people This, I think, is the corrective we need in thinking about salvation in the modern West. That is, we need to see salvation as a communal reality before it is individual. Or better, it is only individual because it is communal. This is something that is entirely glossed over in the “will you go to heaven?” way of thinking about salvation — a predominantly individualistic way of casting salvation.

Lastly, ”the body” can be taken to mean bodies in general. Here, the Resurrection of the Body is about the resurrection of all bodies, not least of which is our own. This is perhaps the most intuitive interpretation. I look forward to the day when my body will be raised. Of course this is true, but I think it best to understand resurrection in the order we have just laid out. The Resurrection of the Body is first about Christ, then about us, then about me.

Rather than seeing the story of Scripture told in five acts, we tend to see it, in our highly individualistic culture, as only three:

  1. Act ONE: Creation/Fall
  2. Act THREE: Jesus
  3. Act FIVE: The End

What is missing? Acts TWO and FOUR, which are Israel and the Church. The way we understand salvation deeply affects the significance we place on these two acts. When the individual is at the center of God’s plan for salvation, Israel becomes an oversight and the Church an after thought.

So it matters how we see the End.

Could we recast the End as our End and not simply my End? Or what if we saw our individual ends as inextricably bound up with the communal End described in Scripture? Then maybe we could better appreciate how integral Israel and Church are. For it is within the living memory of these two communities that the story of Scripture has been and continues to be kept alive. And through the ongoing telling and retelling of this millennia old story, we are given the resources to know that we are not just anybody, but made into somebody by virtue of our inclusion in the body, Christ’s body. It is in, through and for this body that we find our end and it is with this body that we will be raised at the end on the last day.

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Tony Stark, Peter, and the Story Arc of Christian Discipleship

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WARNING: If you have not yet seen Avengers: Endgame SPOILERS AHEAD!

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In our gospel passage this past Sunday we looked at a description that Jesus gives about the kind of death that Peter would die. Jesus tells him, “Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go” (John 21:18).

The words here are a bit cryptic, which makes interpreting what exactly Jesus is getting at hard to decipher. Having just seen Avengers: Endgame, I thought it might be fun (and illuminating) to explore what Jesus predicts about Peter’s future through the story arc of Tony Stark (aka Ironman).

When we first meet Mr. Stark (ten years ago in the first Iron Man movie), he is a genius engineer, womanizing playboy, and all around smart-ass — the epitome of a self-absorbed and self-determined individual. In other words, he did what he wanted and went where he wanted. Minutes into the film he is severely wounded in an attack by a terrorist group and held captive in a remote cave. In exchange for his freedom, Stark is forced to build a Jericho missile, a weapon of mass destruction that he himself designed for the U.S. military.

While in this cave, we find that a doctor named Yinsen has also been abducted to tend to Stark’s injuries as well as serve as his personal missile building assistant. Both realize that there is no way the terrorists are going to let them go and so they hatch an escape plan. Part of this plan involves building what turns out to be the first Iron Man suit. When they finally make their break things go awry and Yinsen ends up sacrificing his life in order to give Stark the time he needs to get away. It is this act of self-sacrifice on the part of a complete stranger that sets Tony Stark on a hero’s journey that will take more than a decade to complete.

To be sure, there is a charming narcissism that is part of what makes Tony Stark Tony Stark. Indeed his most quintessential (and iconic) line comes at the end of the first movie where he announces to the world, “I am Ironman.” This comes on the heels of being told that it is best to keep his true identity under wraps. But as we noted, he does what he wants and goes where he wants. Simply staying put as Tony Stark is just not as gratifying and glamorous as ascending to superhero stardom.

If you have seen the movie you will know that this self declaration, “I am Ironman,” becomes the climactic and crowning line of Avengers: Endgame. But this time it is spoken by a man who has not remained the same Tony Stark we knew once upon a time. He is no longer possessed by a narrow obsession with his own self-interest. Or rather, it might be better said that his self-interest has since been (en)lightened, no longer weighed down by the heavy tyranny of caring always and only for himself.

We see this set up in the early part of Endgame where we find that in the 5 years since the demigod Thanos snapped half of all life out of existence, Tony Stark has made a comfortable life for himself. Having married longtime love Pepper Potts, they now live a quiet life together in a peaceful lakeside mansion with their 5-year old daughter Morgan. In a way, this is a tremendous step forward for Tony Stark. That he is able to settle down with Pepper and become a father shows a certain kind of growth and maturity from him. But more will be asked of him when Captain America and company show up with a dangerous plan to try and reverse the Snap.

Will Tony safeguard his current idyllic life or will he risk it for what is yet tenuous and uncertain? Will he take the path of least resistance or will he embark on a rescue mission fraught with peril and possibly death? Or as Jesus puts it, will he choose to save his life or lose it?

This brings us to the decisive moment that all 22 movies in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) have been driving towards. History is about to repeat itself, but with a vengeance. This time Thanos is hellbent on wiping every living creature out of existence, not just half. He has once again taken hold of what he needs to do it and just as he is about the snap his fingers he proclaims, “I am inevitable.”

And then comes the snap…

…but nothing happens.

What went wrong (or maybe what went right)?

Somehow Tony Stark has gained the upper hand (pun intended) and it is he who now possesses what is needed to snap Thanos out of existence. (Oh snap!) But he knows that the power released in doing so would more than likely cost him his life. With the fate of all the cosmos hanging in the balance, Tony Stark looks up at Thanos, says, “I am Ironman,” and with a snap of his fingers completes a story arc ten years in the making, taking him from egotistical megalomaniac to self-giving hero.

What Tony Stark goes through can offer us a way to interpret what Jesus says is in store for Peter. Peter, like Tony, is cocky and brash. But also like Tony, his story arc will take him from cocky and brash to humble and self-sacrificial. Who is it that will lead Peter by the hand and take him where he does not want to go? According to church history, Peter is crucified upside down. So many believe that the “someone else” who will lead him may be a soldier leading him to his crucifixion. This is certainly a legitimate interpretation. But what if we thought about it in another way? What if we looked at it in a more figurative way — that what leads Peter is something akin to conviction.

When we speak of being convicted, it is not quite the same as saying, “this is something I want to do.” To be convicted, it seems to me, is not the same as wanting to do something. But neither is it the same as doing something we don’t want to do. Conviction is a kind of unwanted wanting. It is unwanted in that it is something that often works in the opposite direction of our regular inclinations, but is nevertheless a wanting in that it compels us to act in line with a greater desire that issues from beyond us. This is the realm of what Scripture calls the will of God.

When Scripture talks about doing God’s will, it is not language that speaks on the same register as doing that which we want or that which makes us happy. But neither is it calling us to be miserable as if God only makes us do things we don’t want to do. It is speaking on the level of conviction. The journey that Tony Stark goes on moves him from a life driven by selfish desires towards a life drawn forward by conviction. The last thing Tony wants to do is leave the life he has made with Pepper and Morgan and yet he finds himself strangely compelled to open himself up to the very thing that will surely disrupt and possibly put an end to that life.

Where did such a conviction come from? One answer is that it came from Yinsen giving his life to set Tony free. Another finds its beginning in the invitation made to him to become a part of a new community (the Avengers Initiative). It is this community that offered him a way to see his life as part of a larger whole. In a way that is what God’s will consists of. In the Christian faith, this larger whole is defined by a people. Or more accurately, a people gathered around a story about a God who died to set us free. God’s will is what can be discerned within the confines of a community learning to live into this grand story given to us in Scripture. 

So back to what Jesus says to Peter. Could it be that the “someone else” Jesus references is none other than God? That for Peter and for all of us who have been made a part of Christ’s body, the Church, Christian discipleship is about the willingness to follow a God whose will it is to lead us into places where we don’t want to go; and yet find in being led to such places we are drawn out of our tendency toward self-absorption by a conviction shaped by Scripture, discerned in community. And like the story arc we have been following on screen with Tony Stark throughout the MCU, may we take heart that such convictions are not gained over night nor are they formed in a straight line. It is a bumpy ride filled with a mixture of failure and triumph lasting a lifetime. Of course, this is nowhere more evident than in the life of Peter. We know about his foibles. We read about his denials. But in the end, we also know that he becomes one who is able to die a good and honorable death. As the Gospel of John puts it, “a death that would glorify God” (John 21: 19). May our lives follow a similar story arc so that when the hour of our death comes may the same be true of us.