Whatever happened to Charity?
Eigenheim Mennonite Church (Rosenort) Sanctuary - 1894 |
“ . . . suppose I have enough faith
to move mountains. If I don’t have love, I am nothing at all.” (1
Corinthians 13: 2b, NIRV).
So your church is in trouble . . .
again. Join the club. Conflict and Disunity might be the inherited
middle names of the Bride of Christ ever since Paul and Peter
quarreled over the status of non-Jews in the fellowship: meet Mary
Conflict Disunity Church—bride of Christ.
In order to maintain the inherited
reputation of our divisive natures, we’ve had the Spanish
Inquisition, the Reformation/Counter Reformation/Radical Reformation,
the Crusades. We’ve burned enough heretics at the stake to heat all
of Europe for a generation. We’ve hounded people like Galileo into
recanting for the audacity of suggesting that the earth spins around
the sun. We’ve split ourselves into so many denominations that
we’re getting close to the place where there’ll be one for each
of us.
The abbreviated story of the last
century of church, for instance, might well be, “He arrived in a
Model T Ford, but left in a Huff!”
Although “unity,” as they say,
“ain’t everything.” It’s like water. Water ain’t everything
either but without it, “Ya ain’t got nothin’!” Or am I
exaggerating? When does a family that quarrels and pulls in different
directions all the time cease being a family?
Here’s one problem as I see it. We
have this book we call The Holy Bible, (and here comes a tautology),
a teaching/learning tome of great import in the formation of what we
call “The Church” (as if there were only one). It was basically
written in the years from 600 BC to 100 AD, give or take, and for the
last 19 Centuries, no new insights have been allowed entry; it’s
tightly bound with a back cover.
The implication is that God started
inspiring scribes and sages during the Babylonian Exile . . . and
stopped after Jesus’ apostles were all dead.
Now if Galileo was audacious, what
does that make us who declare that God no longer inspires new
insight? He’s probably turned his back on us in frustration,
whiling away eternity in a game of solitaire. “You won’t listen;
so I won’t talk.” (Or as philosopher/theologian Frederich
Nietzsche is reported to have said, “God is dead. God remains
dead. And we have killed him.”)
The above are meant to be understood
metaphorically.
Two reminders: One, the
worship of objects is idolatry; don’t let’s think of the Bible as
an object; it’s a conversation on paper about our evolving
understanding of creation that’s, unfortunately, missing a huge
portion going on 19 centuries long now. And two, the
fact that you or I can peruse and speak every word in the Bible
doesn’t mean that we can actually read it. Without the
historical context and an understanding of how language was used at
the time of writing; without knowledge of the processes of
translation; without the willingness to allow tradition and
experience to inform us about what is relevant and what’s not,
about what’s timely and what’s obsolete; without scholars and
teachers, prophets whom we should honour and not denigrate, unity is
doomed—we will always bog down in the morass of pooled and prideful
ignorance.
Same is true of the writings of
Shakespeare, Chaucer, even James Joyce, come to think of it.
Fundamentalist religion,
fundamentalist politics, fundamentalist anything: these are the
ingredients of the dross on which the world periodically chooses to
feed. We’re doing it again. Knowledge, wisdom, discovery, even
facts are disdained in a dive off a deductive cliff. Black is white,
cold is hot, mud is custard pudding
. . . and someone will surely
catch us before we hit bottom.
As if.
So your church is in trouble . . .
again. You may as well get used to it. It’s been with us since the
beginning; a new, progressive development on the unity front just
isn’t likely, unless . . .
“And now abideth faith, hope,
charity, these three; but the greatest of these is
charity.” (1 Corinthians 13:13, KJV) Love (charity) is the
foundation; faith and hope are structures we build upon charity’s
sure footing. Anything else, according to Paul, is a never-fail
recipe for division and disillusion.
If the coordination of doctrinal
understandings is assumed to be the foundation of our charity and our
hope . . . our unity . . . we will have failed again to let history
teach us.
Alternately, we could set to work
gathering wood for holy bonfires.
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