“That the lame walk, that the blind see, that the dead are raised, that sinful and erring men as such speak the Word of God: that is the miracle of which we speak when we say that the Bible is the Word of God. To the comprehension of this statement there belongs, therefore, the recognition that its truth consists in the removing of an offence which is always and everywhere present, and that this takes place by the power of the Word of God. This offence, like the offence of the cross of Christ, is based on the fact that the Word of God became flesh and therefore to this very day has built and called and gathered and illumined and sanctified His Church amongst flesh. This offence is therefore grounded like the overcoming of it in the mercy of God. For that reason it must not be denied and for that reason, too, it must not be evaded. For that reason every time we turn the Word of God into an infallible Word of God we resist that which we ought never to resist, i.e., the truth of the miracle that here fallible men speak the Word of God in fallible human words – and we therefore resist the sovereignty of grace, in which God Himself became man in Christ, to glorify Himself in His humanity.”
– K. Barth, “Church Dogmatics” I.2, p. 529
It is here, at the point of Barth’s understanding of the revelation of God as we find it in scripture that we come, I believe, to the heart of the inescapable complexity within his overall theological paradigm. It is also here, consequently, that Barth makes himself anathema to those within conservative evangelicalism who – in some ways rightly, and in some ways perhaps over-defensively – suspect that Barth’s programme constitutes an undermining of and wholesale revolt against the inerrancy, infallibility, and hence the authority, of scripture as it has been traditionally understood. What is profoundly interesting about this rhetorical conversation is that in it, Barth would not at all understand his position as constituting a “lower” view of scripture at all; rather, quite the opposite. Barth would argue that an understanding of scripture as the Word of God which comprehends that work of revelation as occurring through, and in spite of, the thorough humanness and natural error of the authors of scripture, actually more fully appreciates the miraculous nature of God’s self-revelation through such means and therefore proves itself to be an indeed ‘higher’ view of this work of revelation than an understanding of scripture that requires that it’s human authors be miraculously (or ‘magically’) prevented the possibility of error, and hence in some way actually removed from their own humanness, in the act of writing.
To those of us coming to Barth from outside the theological streams of historical European, enlightenment, protestant liberalism, this line of thinking is so foreign that we are hard pressed not to simply dismiss it off hand as irredeemably and dangerously unorthodox. Indeed, I myself am not entirely sure what to do with it at this point. In the end, for those of us for whom the primacy of scripture is paramount, it may very well need to be dismissed as such. However, even if we are to dismiss this particular – and again I say, central – aspect of Barth’s thinking as erroneous, we must be ever careful not to do so simply off hand. The “greatness” of Barth as a theologian lies in the manner in which all thoughtful theology that follows him must do business with him; once encountered he cannot be circumvented, but must be conversed with. And, if in the end we determine that we disagree with Barth, we will be much better Christian thinkers for having had to wrestle with understanding precisely the point at which we have found it necessary to part ways with him.
It is clear to me that to understand Barth one must wrestle thoroughly with his doctrine of scripture, as disconcerting an experience as that may very well prove to be. And this is important for, if it is disconcerting, it is because Barth here seems to brush up against a profound and sublime understanding of God’s revelation; an understanding that takes the sovereignty, objectivity and miraculous grace of God’s self-revelation – and, specifically, the paradigmatic miraculous-ness of the incarnation of God - with utmost seriousness and genuine piety. It is not Barth’s intent to play fast and loose with the doctrine of scripture, but to deepen our appreciation of the miracle of revelation beyond mere parrot-talk of inerrancy and infallibility. And, as post-modernity comes of age around us, and with it the inherent skepticism of categorical assertions of this sort, those of us who hold to the primacy and authority of scripture must become fluent in these conversations of nuance and tension, or otherwise risk wholesale retreat from engagement with the seeking world around us.
At this moment, I am fairly certain that I cannot follow Barth here. I am further convinced, however, of the importance of learning how to understand and articulate why, exactly, that is.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Reflections on Barth's 'Church Dogmatics' - Part 1
“The Word of God which is revealed in revelation declares that man is not actually free for God. This is already expressed by the fact that it is actually the Word or the Son of God who is revealed… God comes forward Himself to be man’s Saviour. This presupposes, and is already proclaimed as a truth of divine judgment, that man cannot be helped in any other way. It is not merely that man lacks something which he ought to be or to have or to be capable of in relation to God. He lacks everything… He is not only a sick man, but a dead one. It was because the world was lost that Christ was born. Therefore, from the very standpoint of Christ’s birth we have to say, in the very strictest sense, that the world was lost... Man is free in many respects, He possesses many of the possibilities common to all creatures… but he does not possess the possibility of communion with God.” – K. Barth, “Church Dogmatics” I.2, p. 257
Within this section of his Church Dogmatics, Barth expresses his conviction that the revelation of God – rather than being the mere subject of man’s interpretation and criticism – in reality both binds and defines humanity itself. It binds us in that the revelation of God comes to mankind in the incarnation – the Word made Flesh – and so, in assuming humanity itself, that Word of God becomes the unavoidable master of humanity. In that same move, the revelation of God also defines humanity by mankind’s role as a participant in the equation of that very revelation; the revelation OF God and FOR mankind. In the sovereignty of God and the inescapable authority of His revelation, we are seized by the divine Word of God. The paradox of this seizure lies in Barth’s understanding that it is in the binding of humanity to the Word of God by and through the Holy Spirit that we actually find that genuine freedom for which we have been created and to which we are called: the freedom of man for God.
This humiliation and negation of the ways in which we would seek to understand true human freedom apart from the work and word of God is a timely and compelling message. Left to our own devices, mankind is ever tempted to remain imprisoned by our own endlessly self-referential visions of freedom; supplanting our subjective, blurry, understanding of ultimate reality for the objective clarity of God’s illuminating self-revelation for us. We are all too pleased to subjugate Christ to be molded by the forces of own sense of self-knowledge and personal experience, rather than allowing our eyes to be opened – or lives surrendered - to the authority of Christ as judge and redeemer of all human knowledge and experience. Until we receive that revelation of the Holy Spirit which both captures and liberates us as people who are finally and ultimately free for God, we remain prisoners of our own miniscule possibilities. For Barth this is only overcome when, “… the self-enclosed uniqueness of man, who only has and knows his own freedom, is overarched and enclosed and finally relativised through the uniqueness of God and His freedom, the freedom in which He is resolved to have fellowship with this man and once and for all to be his Lord.” (p.260)
It is the incarnation of Christ, and the Holy Spirit that enables us grasp the significance of that incarnation, which causes the revelation of God to bear so inescapably upon Humanity: either drawing us into the light of God’s reconciliation in Christ or into the heat of God’s judgment through him, God has caused his self-revelation to come to bear upon the world. The ‘freedom’ of man apart from God is an illusion of the most subversive nature, imprisoning man in the emptiness of endless self-pursuit. Even when this self-freed man turns his eyes to consider God, it is as one entirely lacking the resources and power to do so: it is Babel - a ‘tower to Heaven’ so piteous that God must condescend to stoop down to even cast judgment upon it. Who will free us from this all-consuming idolatry of self?
For all the muddy waters that may consist of Barth’s writings when considered as an entire corpus of work, I find his understanding of the subjectivity of mankind in the face of the objectivity of God continually refreshing and compelling. In an age, much like that of Barth, where there is a tidal pressure in our western world to objectify personal human experience at the expense – or total ignorance – of God’s revelation of Himself to and for us in Christ, it remains a helpful and life-giving reminder. In the midst of our brokenness and futility, we cling to God’s Word-made-Flesh and to the words of the Apostle that: “All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation.” (2 Cor 5:18-19)
Within this section of his Church Dogmatics, Barth expresses his conviction that the revelation of God – rather than being the mere subject of man’s interpretation and criticism – in reality both binds and defines humanity itself. It binds us in that the revelation of God comes to mankind in the incarnation – the Word made Flesh – and so, in assuming humanity itself, that Word of God becomes the unavoidable master of humanity. In that same move, the revelation of God also defines humanity by mankind’s role as a participant in the equation of that very revelation; the revelation OF God and FOR mankind. In the sovereignty of God and the inescapable authority of His revelation, we are seized by the divine Word of God. The paradox of this seizure lies in Barth’s understanding that it is in the binding of humanity to the Word of God by and through the Holy Spirit that we actually find that genuine freedom for which we have been created and to which we are called: the freedom of man for God.
This humiliation and negation of the ways in which we would seek to understand true human freedom apart from the work and word of God is a timely and compelling message. Left to our own devices, mankind is ever tempted to remain imprisoned by our own endlessly self-referential visions of freedom; supplanting our subjective, blurry, understanding of ultimate reality for the objective clarity of God’s illuminating self-revelation for us. We are all too pleased to subjugate Christ to be molded by the forces of own sense of self-knowledge and personal experience, rather than allowing our eyes to be opened – or lives surrendered - to the authority of Christ as judge and redeemer of all human knowledge and experience. Until we receive that revelation of the Holy Spirit which both captures and liberates us as people who are finally and ultimately free for God, we remain prisoners of our own miniscule possibilities. For Barth this is only overcome when, “… the self-enclosed uniqueness of man, who only has and knows his own freedom, is overarched and enclosed and finally relativised through the uniqueness of God and His freedom, the freedom in which He is resolved to have fellowship with this man and once and for all to be his Lord.” (p.260)
It is the incarnation of Christ, and the Holy Spirit that enables us grasp the significance of that incarnation, which causes the revelation of God to bear so inescapably upon Humanity: either drawing us into the light of God’s reconciliation in Christ or into the heat of God’s judgment through him, God has caused his self-revelation to come to bear upon the world. The ‘freedom’ of man apart from God is an illusion of the most subversive nature, imprisoning man in the emptiness of endless self-pursuit. Even when this self-freed man turns his eyes to consider God, it is as one entirely lacking the resources and power to do so: it is Babel - a ‘tower to Heaven’ so piteous that God must condescend to stoop down to even cast judgment upon it. Who will free us from this all-consuming idolatry of self?
For all the muddy waters that may consist of Barth’s writings when considered as an entire corpus of work, I find his understanding of the subjectivity of mankind in the face of the objectivity of God continually refreshing and compelling. In an age, much like that of Barth, where there is a tidal pressure in our western world to objectify personal human experience at the expense – or total ignorance – of God’s revelation of Himself to and for us in Christ, it remains a helpful and life-giving reminder. In the midst of our brokenness and futility, we cling to God’s Word-made-Flesh and to the words of the Apostle that: “All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation.” (2 Cor 5:18-19)
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Engagement and Activism: Some Thoughts on "Faith Works" by Jim Wallis
Overview:
In “Faith Works: How Faith-based Organizations are Changing Lives, Neighborhoods and America”, Jim Wallis presents an incarnational manifesto; a roadmap toward genuine, relevant engagement with the most pressing social issues in America today, written across the lives of many people of faith who have themselves – in one form or another – actively engaged with these issues over the course of the last several decades. With an aim to draw the reader up into his vision of a socially responsible faith, Wallis weaves his own musings together with the stories of those people with whom he has labored alongside over the course of his own journey of Faith and Justice, formulating, in the end, a “How To” manual of sorts for faithful social engagement. The volume is broken into five major ‘movements’ within the whole, each broken down into several chapters: “Engage Your World”, “Deepen Your Understanding”, “Learn Your Strategy”, “Guide Your Steps” and finally, “Think Movement”. Given the scope of this work as a whole, there is presently only space here to reflect but briefly upon two particular aspects of Wallis’ thought which happened to stand out to me.
Listening to Those Closest to the Problem:
Under the banner of “Deepen(ing) Your Understanding”, Wallis writes this in chapter 6:
“Whom do we listen to and whom do we trust? Trust is essential to listening. Why do we continue to believe the myth that poor people don’t know anything and can’t be trusted? Where do you really find more truth about a society – at the top or at the bottom? Are the best solutions conceived in the corridors of power or in the neighborhoods? Do the poor really have no assets or resources, as most people think? Listening to the poor opens up whole new possibilities, ideas, and directions in overcoming poverty… Many youth and community-serving programs have found… they couldn’t get off the ground until they began to truly trust and engage and involve the people they were trying to serve. Many good and decent programs didn’t become highly successful until the poor themselves were given a real hearing, and became involved in their leadership.” (Wallis, p.105-106)
Why do we believe the myth that poor people don’t know anything and can’t be trusted? We choose to believe this myth (whether explicitly or implicitly) because, most times it’s simply easier to be paternalistic than it is to actually develop meaningful partnership within the communities we wish to serve. It’s just easier; more orderly, less risky, less messy to plan and strategize and scheme from the relative safety of the places and conversations within which we ourselves are already familiar and comfortable. To invite those closest to the problem into the conversation is to risk the conversation being changed in ways for which we are not prepared. It is to risk have deeper issues exposed; issues that we may not feel prepared to deal with. It is to risk becoming exposed ourselves; our mixed motives and gaps in competence suddenly and uncomfortably laid bare.
Why do we choose to operate in this way? Because a program – if we’re honest - is pretty easy to run; to genuinely come alongside real people, on the other hand, poses a much greater challenge. When we stop to listen, we acknowledge that we are entering relationship with real people, not merely crafting a program to solve a logistical puzzle. This two-way street of relationship brings to light layers of complexity that simple logistics just don’t confront us with. Which is why, given our druthers, we often find ourselves more inclined to programs than to people. Unfortunately (or fortunately), sustainable and meaningful engagement with issues of injustice cannot be found in paternalistic, programmatic sterility of this sort. Rather, it requires that we commit ourselves to people, not merely programs, and to developing functional, relational partnerships within the communities we seek to serve. It requires that we listen, dialogue, and risk the vulnerability of being laid bare in our own sin and incompetence as we engage with the real complexities of human and systemic brokenness to seek God together for the way ahead.
There is nothing easy about this. But, it is the way of the incarnation, and it is the path to resurrection that comes by way of the Cross. It is the way of Jesus, and so we must follow him into this if we are to follow him at all.
Keeping it Human:
In reflecting upon his own journey, and the lessons learned along the way, Wallis continues with the following:
“In the struggle for social change, it is very important to take care of one another – our families, our kids and ourselves. The human dimension is so easy to lose and so crucial to maintain. It’s so important to stay grounded, not to get too grandiose or self-important, keep humble, and, above all, keep your sense of humor” (Wallis, p.268-269)
If paternalism and programmaticism are the traps we fall into when we forget the humanity of those whom we are seeking to serve, there is another breed of pitfall that comes about when we, along the way, forget our own. This is, in many ways, what makes ‘activism’ so unattractive to many of us: when the only people we know as ‘social activists’ seem to be young, hard-bitten leftists with an axe to grind, a lot of spare time and very few familial constraints or societal responsibilities outside those of ‘the cause’, it can become difficult to relate or to imagine how the rest of us might fit in to the picture except as the occasional, seemingly complacent, objects of activist’s vitriol. The effect is particularly numbing because, if history has taught us anything, it is that the journey of seeing God’s redemptive justice worked out within human society is a long, tiresome, frustrating one in which success can only ever be measured by degrees. This is no sprint, but a marathon in the truest, most Pauline sense, and one which often has more to do with what God is drawing out in us than with our tangible personal impact upon society. If we are to respond to the call of justice in any sustainable way, it must be as human beings and fellow sojourners, rather than as human bullhorns and self-made martyrs. To have any lasting impact, this call must reach more broadly than merely to those naturally inclined activists among us.
While I can certainly still be impressed by the radical commitment and sacrifice of single twenty-somethings to a cause, and can still admit the ways in which youth movements will continue to play a prophetic role in stirring society at large from our places of systemic sin and complacency, I find myself in a place where this is no longer the most compelling vision for me. The bigger challenge, and the more compelling vision, lies in the question of what it looks like to take a community of those people who are just a bit further down the road, people with jobs and spouses and children – people with roots and responsibilities – and to discover with them where the journey of radical, costly discipleship might take us. Ordinary people, with all the burdens and constraints of ordinary life, figuring out how to follow wholeheartedly after an extraordinary God; a God of redemption, salvation, justice and righteousness. A God with a heart for the downtrodden and oppressed who calls us to share that heart.
What might it look like for a plumber, an electrician, a teacher, a businessman or a waitress to become kingdom-minded ‘activists’? This is the question that stirs my heart today. And, for this question to have any traction or genuine effect, we must understand our activism as human activism; we must pursue justice as people on a journey, compelled by our surrender to the Spirit of God Himself into the challenge and frustration and labor pains of this work, but also into joy and life; fullest life. This is the heart of the Gospel; may we, as followers of Jesus, be captured and compelled by it.
In “Faith Works: How Faith-based Organizations are Changing Lives, Neighborhoods and America”, Jim Wallis presents an incarnational manifesto; a roadmap toward genuine, relevant engagement with the most pressing social issues in America today, written across the lives of many people of faith who have themselves – in one form or another – actively engaged with these issues over the course of the last several decades. With an aim to draw the reader up into his vision of a socially responsible faith, Wallis weaves his own musings together with the stories of those people with whom he has labored alongside over the course of his own journey of Faith and Justice, formulating, in the end, a “How To” manual of sorts for faithful social engagement. The volume is broken into five major ‘movements’ within the whole, each broken down into several chapters: “Engage Your World”, “Deepen Your Understanding”, “Learn Your Strategy”, “Guide Your Steps” and finally, “Think Movement”. Given the scope of this work as a whole, there is presently only space here to reflect but briefly upon two particular aspects of Wallis’ thought which happened to stand out to me.
Listening to Those Closest to the Problem:
Under the banner of “Deepen(ing) Your Understanding”, Wallis writes this in chapter 6:
“Whom do we listen to and whom do we trust? Trust is essential to listening. Why do we continue to believe the myth that poor people don’t know anything and can’t be trusted? Where do you really find more truth about a society – at the top or at the bottom? Are the best solutions conceived in the corridors of power or in the neighborhoods? Do the poor really have no assets or resources, as most people think? Listening to the poor opens up whole new possibilities, ideas, and directions in overcoming poverty… Many youth and community-serving programs have found… they couldn’t get off the ground until they began to truly trust and engage and involve the people they were trying to serve. Many good and decent programs didn’t become highly successful until the poor themselves were given a real hearing, and became involved in their leadership.” (Wallis, p.105-106)
Why do we believe the myth that poor people don’t know anything and can’t be trusted? We choose to believe this myth (whether explicitly or implicitly) because, most times it’s simply easier to be paternalistic than it is to actually develop meaningful partnership within the communities we wish to serve. It’s just easier; more orderly, less risky, less messy to plan and strategize and scheme from the relative safety of the places and conversations within which we ourselves are already familiar and comfortable. To invite those closest to the problem into the conversation is to risk the conversation being changed in ways for which we are not prepared. It is to risk have deeper issues exposed; issues that we may not feel prepared to deal with. It is to risk becoming exposed ourselves; our mixed motives and gaps in competence suddenly and uncomfortably laid bare.
Why do we choose to operate in this way? Because a program – if we’re honest - is pretty easy to run; to genuinely come alongside real people, on the other hand, poses a much greater challenge. When we stop to listen, we acknowledge that we are entering relationship with real people, not merely crafting a program to solve a logistical puzzle. This two-way street of relationship brings to light layers of complexity that simple logistics just don’t confront us with. Which is why, given our druthers, we often find ourselves more inclined to programs than to people. Unfortunately (or fortunately), sustainable and meaningful engagement with issues of injustice cannot be found in paternalistic, programmatic sterility of this sort. Rather, it requires that we commit ourselves to people, not merely programs, and to developing functional, relational partnerships within the communities we seek to serve. It requires that we listen, dialogue, and risk the vulnerability of being laid bare in our own sin and incompetence as we engage with the real complexities of human and systemic brokenness to seek God together for the way ahead.
There is nothing easy about this. But, it is the way of the incarnation, and it is the path to resurrection that comes by way of the Cross. It is the way of Jesus, and so we must follow him into this if we are to follow him at all.
Keeping it Human:
In reflecting upon his own journey, and the lessons learned along the way, Wallis continues with the following:
“In the struggle for social change, it is very important to take care of one another – our families, our kids and ourselves. The human dimension is so easy to lose and so crucial to maintain. It’s so important to stay grounded, not to get too grandiose or self-important, keep humble, and, above all, keep your sense of humor” (Wallis, p.268-269)
If paternalism and programmaticism are the traps we fall into when we forget the humanity of those whom we are seeking to serve, there is another breed of pitfall that comes about when we, along the way, forget our own. This is, in many ways, what makes ‘activism’ so unattractive to many of us: when the only people we know as ‘social activists’ seem to be young, hard-bitten leftists with an axe to grind, a lot of spare time and very few familial constraints or societal responsibilities outside those of ‘the cause’, it can become difficult to relate or to imagine how the rest of us might fit in to the picture except as the occasional, seemingly complacent, objects of activist’s vitriol. The effect is particularly numbing because, if history has taught us anything, it is that the journey of seeing God’s redemptive justice worked out within human society is a long, tiresome, frustrating one in which success can only ever be measured by degrees. This is no sprint, but a marathon in the truest, most Pauline sense, and one which often has more to do with what God is drawing out in us than with our tangible personal impact upon society. If we are to respond to the call of justice in any sustainable way, it must be as human beings and fellow sojourners, rather than as human bullhorns and self-made martyrs. To have any lasting impact, this call must reach more broadly than merely to those naturally inclined activists among us.
While I can certainly still be impressed by the radical commitment and sacrifice of single twenty-somethings to a cause, and can still admit the ways in which youth movements will continue to play a prophetic role in stirring society at large from our places of systemic sin and complacency, I find myself in a place where this is no longer the most compelling vision for me. The bigger challenge, and the more compelling vision, lies in the question of what it looks like to take a community of those people who are just a bit further down the road, people with jobs and spouses and children – people with roots and responsibilities – and to discover with them where the journey of radical, costly discipleship might take us. Ordinary people, with all the burdens and constraints of ordinary life, figuring out how to follow wholeheartedly after an extraordinary God; a God of redemption, salvation, justice and righteousness. A God with a heart for the downtrodden and oppressed who calls us to share that heart.
What might it look like for a plumber, an electrician, a teacher, a businessman or a waitress to become kingdom-minded ‘activists’? This is the question that stirs my heart today. And, for this question to have any traction or genuine effect, we must understand our activism as human activism; we must pursue justice as people on a journey, compelled by our surrender to the Spirit of God Himself into the challenge and frustration and labor pains of this work, but also into joy and life; fullest life. This is the heart of the Gospel; may we, as followers of Jesus, be captured and compelled by it.
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