Emerging Church: Defined?

So I have called myself Emergent in this blog for some time now. I dare say that anyone who has been around the church and is under 50 years old (and some who are older) has probably heard the terms “emergent” and “emerging church” without much explanation. Sometimes it refers to a way of worship that includes candles, eclectic music, and some alternative to a traditional sermon, just to name a few key features.

Now, I do kinda like music performed by those with dreadlocks. But that isn’t what I mean when I call myself emergent. Part of the reason there is so much confusion and complexity around the term goes back to the very definition of the term to begin with.

First of all, emergence is a term that comes out of systems thinking and some philosophers of science. I don’t know much about how this works in natural systems, but I can understand the concept. Emergence is a complex of interactions between simpler things which causes the appearance of something(s) which is greater than the sum or difference of the parts. Not knowing much about the other philosophies, I will just go straight to the church discussion.

Emergent, at least in one form of the definition, would describe people who believe that the truth of the Christian gospel and the Church comes out of the interaction of a multitude of traditions, not simply one tradition expounded well. Emergents generally do not want to believe that either Roman Catholicism nor Reformed Presbyterianism nor Tibetan Buddhism is a full and complete system of thought without error. Neither is Keynesian economics nor philosophical naturalism.

The natural outworking of this theory is a kind of Christian pluralism which is steeped in the various Christian traditions. Because I am not convinced that my pentecostal heritage is without error, I also intentionally worship with and engage the thought of Roman Catholics and Methodists and Lutherans. This is a new kind of ecumenism, but on somewhat different grounds than the previous versions of ecumenism. The previous ecumenical movement which is now represented by the World Council of Churches and similar bodies imagined that Christianity would be better represented by the various churches’ lowest common denominator. This new brand of emergent ecumenism encourages each Christian or church to fully embrace the complexities of their own system of thought, but to do so in dialogue with other Christians and even those outside of confessing Christian faith. Most of this comes from the disillusionment with the previous generation of leaders’ theological arrogance. This move is perceived to be an act of intellectual and spiritual humility, I think.

I think this humility is a good thing. But for me, the reason for such an approach comes directly out of my pentecostal heritage. Pentecostals embrace a “prophethood of all believers” perspective which considers every Christian to potentially speak the very words of God to the church. The church is then charged with a discernment process whereby the community will determine whether what they have heard are the words of God. Usually this discernment is an informal process and even occurs simultaneously in worship as the pastor, elders, and congregation lift their hands and hearts approvingly after the prophetic word and thank God for speaking. On one or two occasions in my pentecostal life, I have had a leader come to the front of the congregation and explain that they did not believe God had spoken through such a word. For me, being emergent is embracing this process throughout the Christian dialogue, even with voices that rub us the wrong way. The theory of emergence would tell us that the words of God which come from others have the potential to communicate truth to us.

Now this can go in two directions that I think are problematic. The first is a Christian pluralism that becomes little more than pluralism from a Christian perspective. I do not happen to think that Christians can learn as much from Buddhists or Muslims as they can from other Christians. There may be things we can learn from other faiths, but I would prefer to say that we are listening for the lost voice of earlier forgotten Christians among our brothers and sisters of other faiths. There are certainly some emergent-types who are ready to embrace everyone as if all truth is relative. I happen to think Christianity is the one true religion, I am just not sure that my interpretation of Christianity is completely true. I do think there is “absolute truth”, for whatever that term is worth, I just don’t think I have it. I do happen to think I am pretty close to it, or I would change my opinion to something closer to what I think is true. That is the reason for the dialogue.

While some emergents are ready to chuck the idea of truth beyond some subjective “true for you” concept, I think that is pretty ridiculous. Only a very small segment of philosophers and a great deal more literature academics ever really bought this concept, but someone forgets to tell that to every class of freshman undergraduates. People like Derrida and Foucault really buy it. At least if I understand Derrida, he buys it. But I don’t think even Derridians live that way. It is non-sensical. But the theories keep getting repeated in discussions by non-philosophical types over and over until people think it actually has some logical weight. I don’t think it does.

The other direction which is problematic is what I would call a spiritual consumerism. Here the problem is that emergent types think that they can just pick and choose which elements of the Church’s tradition that they want to select out for recovery. Labyrinths and cathedrals and deification are cool. Original sin and substitutionary atonement and conservative sexual practices are not cool. Now, I think we should only adopt that of the Christian tradition which we find to be truthful and life-giving and we should reject what should be rejected. And I don’t think that the whole tradition is without error or messiness. Honestly, I don’t have any good criteria by which we should engage the tradition critically and not become consumers who simply choose what is bright and shiny and reject our spiritual peas and carrots. I just know that I get nervous when I hear emergent types talking about Lectio Divina, but not talking about hell and evangelism.

So, that is my take on emergent and emerging church. Maybe I will write a follow-up post on the practical implications for the church. For now, this will do.

But, of course, if emergent is really a conversation which produces truthful dialogue, then you all need to comment and tell me what you think I have said truthfully and what I have said that is not quite there.

Peace.

Vulnerability?

So this post is a response to a friend’s request to look at some Bible verses on a related post. I call her a friend, but I have really only met this woman once and exchanged some words on a mutual friend’s thought-provoking blog.

I call her friend because in spite of our minimal relationship I can easily see that she is an absolutely delightful person, the kind that wears her heart on her sleeve and that heart is made of pure gold. The thing about wearing such a precious thing out in the open is, some people just want to steal it. This is the dilemma of the human condition. A golden heart is even more beautiful when it is held close by another. Have you ever noticed that gold is even more brilliant when it is around your finger or around your neck or wrist? It is as if gold is just meant to be held close to the skin. Such a precious heart should be as well.

But we all have this deep abiding corruption of sin, says the Christian tradition. We were created good and in the core of our being we still are. But sin has invaded every part, like yeast in dough, as the Scripture says. So if we are to witness to redemption by living with honesty and openness, how does my friend know that her golden heart won’t be stolen or just simply vandalized like so many other precious things are? Sinful people do sinful things.

Really, that is what this post is about. Can my friend wear her heart on her sleeve safely? Maybe she is only so open and honest with me because she knows that she can trust the chaplain. I don’t think so, I think this is just the way she is. What will be the consequences of this openness?

In our previous blogging conversation, we agreed that Christians should make it a goal of having open and honest conversations without any hidden agenda. The question is: With whom should we have those kind of relationships? Can we simply live that way with everyone as a witness to our faith and a desire to life virtuously and be willing to take the injury that might come from that? Is that even a goal? Or, do we find a close group of friends that can be trusted and live that openness with them? Like most things, I think the answer is somewhere in between. We live with as much openness as the maturity of a person or relationship can handle. But that is still a judgment call and we need some guidance.

My friend said we need to look to the Bible for our guidance. I probably should have thought of that.

How about Matthew 7:6? “Do not give to dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces.”

I guess Jesus thought some people’s sin was pretty bad. “Dogs?” “Pigs?” Wow.

Honestly, the passage isn’t easy to interpret. It is right in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount and the passage right before it is about pulling the plank out of your own eye. Not sure what that’s about. So I have to say that just reading it for what it is, we would probably have to say that Jesus is instructing that the most precious things must be protected from those who would take no regard for them. Dogs and pigs can’t appreciate the value. Ever had a puppy, you shut the bedroom doors to avoid shoes getting chewed and you set anything really valuable just high enough to not be reached. That should give us some advice about what to do with our hearts with people who have no regard.

What about Jesus? What did he do? Well I think he was willing to say the hard thing when he needed to, regardless of what it would cost him. That is obvious from his frequent exchanges with the religious leaders.

But Jesus also had a keen ability to hide his answers among little parables and riddles. He didn’t just say things exactly as they are. “Hey temple administration, your sacrificial practices are keeping poor people from being able to eat AND worship; they have to choose one or the other.” But then again, he did turn tables in the temple and called the Pharisees a “brood of vipers” when he didn’t like their evangelism practices.

I tend to think that Jesus’s tendency to hide the truth in parables had more to do with the conversation and teaching practices of his period than a prescription of a way of being. I had a great philosophy prof in undergrad that ALWAYS defended every philosopher that we studied as if he agreed with them. He is a Platonist and I dare say that he thinks Enlightenment rationality is bankrupt, but he defended them nonetheless. It was a teaching tool. Jesus did the same thing. That doesn’t make him dishonest. It made him a good Rabbi.

Paul was a little more straightforward with people. Read the Corinthians correspondence and his harsh rebuke in places which is often preceded by a sincere expression of his deepest love. His introduction to most of his letters expresses deep love and respect for his spiritual “children”. But, then he also tells them what he thinks when he needs to. And when he is in prison, he doesn’t hide his emotions or his pains. Paul wasn’t a Rabbi and he wasn’t speaking primarily with Jewish people. He talked like a Greek to Greeks, which is exactly what he said he would do.

Generation X/Y/millenial/busters, or whatever I and my colleagues are called, tend to be sick of slick advertising and slicker productions on television and at church. We like reality TV because the drama there at least pretends to be real dilemmas of real people trying to achieve a real goal (remember that most of them are games and a game is real!). We also are not interested in our leadership giving us half facts to get us to do what they want or media contriving a false dilemma to make us mad at something that doesn’t matter. This is what made me so angry at Karl Rove’s work in the 2004 presidential campaign. That election should not have been about gay marriage, but he made it about gay marriage to rock the vote. Gay marriage matters, but a lot of other things should have mattered more in that election. That lacks honesty, but it wins elections.

We crave real relationships (and leaders) that don’t hold back info so that we don’t have to interact with each other.
Ever had this conversation:
“How are you doing?”
“I’m fine” — when really you have had a horrible day and your most precious relationships are on the rocks and you aren’t sure how you are going to make your next month’s bills.

We want honesty. I think Jesus would have sat down and told us how he hurt for us. I think he would have told us directly what he thought we should do next. He would have journeyed with us in exploring how others would react to our choices.

At least I imagine that is how Jesus would have taught us and discipled us and been in relationship with us. But of course I may be wrong. But my thinking Jesus would be in relationship that way today is why I conduct all my relationships that way. I try to say exactly what I am thinking and try never to manipulate people with half truths or deflections. Some people tell me that this just means that I lack tact. Maybe I’m not kind enough in soft-pedaling hard opinions. I have heard that in recent years. But, for me that can only go so far because I value this kind of openness so much. One of the ways that this has worked itself out is my refusal to go by titles like Reverend/Pastor/Professor/Chaplain. I am Jeremiah, a person struggling to serve Christ who has had some experiences on this journey…many of them on what not to do.

I should put a good quote up that would give guidance away from how I want myself and others to live. It should challenge my proposal here. And as part of my honesty/full disclosure policy, here it is. This is from Henry Nouwen:

“There is a false form of honesty that suggests that nothing should remain hidden and that everything should be said, expressed and communicated. This honesty can be very harmful, and if it does not harm, it at least makes the relationship flat, superficial, empty and often very boring. when we try to shake off our loneliness by creating a milieu without limiting boundaries, we may become entangled in a stagnating closeness. It is our vocation to prevent the harmful exposure of our inner sanctuary, not only for our own protection but also as a service to our fellow human beings with whom we want to enter in a creative communion. Just as words lose their power when they are not born out of silence, so openness loses its meaning when there is no ability to be clsoed. our world is full of empty chatter, easy confessions, hollow talk, senseless compliments, poor praise, and boring confidentialities” (Reaching Out, 32).

Nouwen thinks that we need to protect ourselves from being too open because we need some things private to be able to engage in honest community. Uhhh…maybe he is right. I just don’t think so. Notice that his concern is too much idle talk and poor praise.

I agree with him on this, and I get the sense that my earlier colleagues in this discussion would as well, which is precisely why the three of us want to have open and honest dialogue and heartfelt discussion. I intentionally don’t give free compliments. I don’t try to flatter people. In fact, I am tired of people telling me nice sermon without telling me how they were changed. I am tired of every other senseless compliments without substance as well.

And you know what I have noticed? People that have known me very long know that I don’t try to flatter people and I don’t give away compliments that I don’t mean. They learn that my compliments come from the heart. And then these words have power because they are honest words. My new friends at UIndy have not known my long enough to know that I don’t pull punches. But my longtime friends know that I can be trusted, if nothing else. I know that my honesty has hurt people in the past. Some of those pains have stuck with them for a long time. But, unlike Nouwen, I think the answer is not to close one’s self off from the other. I also don’t think the answer is to return to empty compliments. For me, the answer is complete and open honesty. That doesn’t mean you say everything that you think, but it does mean that you mean what you do say.

That makes you vulnearble. Returning to my friend. I happen to believe that if someone takes her beautiful heart and steals it away or vandalizes it, her practice of opening herself to others will mean that she has a community around her to give her strength and endurance. More importantly, the grace of God will give her strength and healing from what others have done. At least, this will be my prayer. I think the rewards are greater than the costs.

But, I may be wrong. That is the reason I have included Jesus’ words and Nouwen’s words here. Maybe you have some words to add that I need to hear. What do you think, honestly?

Dorm Room Monasticism

So a few things have changed in the last two months. Most notably, I accepted an offer to become chaplain for one year at the University of Indianapolis. Since this is only a one year position I am trying to learn as much as I can in a short period of time.

Here is what I have learned so far:

College life is about as close to the monastic life that most of us will ever be. One student that I met this week is having a problem sleeping because of a problem with her roommate. She went three days without sleeping. When I met this student, a young woman of no more than 19, she shared how she really liked her roommate. She said this woman was quite nice and knew about the problem. But she still had not been able to sleep. Amazingly, she had not one bad word to say about her roommate even after a very difficult first week at college.

Another student had to endure the pain of broken relationship in the opening days after arriving on campus for the year. Though she admitted that it had been a very difficult week, she couldn’t help but talk about how supportive her friends had been and how much they loved her.

And then there was a group of young women, mostly from small rural towns where they had little experience with people different than them, who were seriously distraught because an international student was eating alone as he had done every day that week. They said one day he was willing to join them, but on the whole he had been unresponsive to their offers. They didn’t let their feelings be hurt. They devised ways so that he would accept their offer in the future so that he wouldn’t be alone anymore.

Most of our lives we have little reason to step outside of our needs and the needs of our immediate family. We don’t have to encounter people in all of the ugliness of their life and call them friend. Living together in physical community, as these students are doing, causes you to engage people in whole new ways. I dare say that this young woman who responded with such maturity to the roommate who had caused her such frustration will be far better prepared for the challenges of a young marriage than most are. Covenanting to live together, whether for a lifetime with someone you love or for a year with a complete stranger in a single room, causes you to be willing to give up something of yourself. Selfishness cannot have its reign in that place.

This is really what monastic life was intended to do. The early church determined that the best way to become a disciple of Jesus Christ was in covenant community. For some that meant marriage. But the early monks became very suspicious of marriage. On the other hand, they knew that simply going out in the desert without human contact (which some did) lacked accountability. So they began to cloister together and submit themselves to the more mature members of the community. And working together to prepare meals, do work, and worship God meant that they had to encounter whatever pride and selfishness that was left in the other. I think that in some sense these undergraduates have cloistered together for a similar kind of life, at least the ones that take their Christian discipleship seriously have.

Anyone who has married knows that much of the early days and years of marriage are about discerning what is the best brand of toothpaste and who’s bank is really the better one to keep the checking account. These answers are never completely resolved. But one does learn how to give up their own desires for the sake of the one they have covenanted to live with. This is part of what true community is about.

It isn’t all negative of course, which is why we all do it so willingly. There is great joy in friendship, especially when we see that our friends are willing to be there for us in the most difficult of times. When a friend holds your hand as you grieve loss or goes out of their way to make sure that you aren’t alone on THAT night (you know which one I am talking about!), something changes about those difficult times. Somehow they become holy too. We usually don’t see them as holy in the moment. Looking back years later we begin to see that those were the days when we really became Christian disciples. We also can look back on those days and realize that we never knew closer companionship and never took so much joy in it.

Those are the kinds of things I have seen in just one week of watching college students learn to live together. Lifelong friendships have formed in just 10 days or so. They don’t know they are lifelong, of course, but they are.

I don”t want to overstate what I am saying here.

Many of the relationships on a college campus are superficial and destructive. Not every undergraduate is interested in living like St. Benedict.

But a few of them are. They are serious about becoming disciples of Jesus. And I have the pleasure of learning from them.

“May this be only the beginning, Lord.”

The New Art

The people of Caedman’s Call have always been among the more brilliant artists in the Christian community. But Derek Webb has gone to a whole new plane after leaving that band for a solo career.

Now he has created some of the best art the Christian community has seen in some time.

Here is my short narrative of how the thing developed.

Several months ago, Webb wrote an e-mail to his e-mail list saying that his latest album was simply too controversial for his record label. He hinted at how he was going to have to do something risky and off the radar. So then he sends out another e-mail with the address of another website coded into the message. When you went to www.paradiseisaparkinglot.com you found a set of instructions to chase down little 2 second stems of the song that apparently got him in so much trouble with his record label. These song stems were on flash drives at coffee shops and such all over the country. When they were found, they were uploaded to the website for everyone to see. My friend, Chris Marchand, managed to get one of the ones that went to Chicago. They just released the last stems, which are available at shanebertou.wordpress.com in there completed form…give it a listen. Along the way, there were other links coded into the website and other places for people to download a few songs. All in all, it was giant easter egg hunt that took people literally all over the country and all over the WWW to find his music in what he said was a giant attempt to thwart his record label.

If you ask me, it is beautiful. Webb has done the marketing genius thing once before. His first album was shunned by many radio stations and Christian bookstores because he referred to himself and the Church as the whore of the book of Hosea. Clearly a traditional biblical allusion, but it was too much to use the word “whore” for the “Lord, I lift your name on high” crowd of CCM’ers. Later he released one of his albums for free download if you gave him the e-mail address of five friends that might also want to download for free and give him five more addresses. After about a month of that, he sold his album in stores. Sales of all his albums shot up from basic obscurity and he was getting interviewed by newspapers in Nashville for the stunt. Of course, other artists have done it since then. But Webb was among the first.

Personally, I think the whole thing was a hoax. If you listen to the song, it is clear why his Christian label did not want to sell it. He is touching on some hot button issues and calling some people “sinner” that aren’t ready to be called that. But, I have a hard time believing that releasing the album for free via little 2 second flash drives and Internet downloads is any more legal than just releasing the album independently. Shane Bertou’s blog (linked above) called it performance art, and I would have to agree. We should not be surprised that someone who is such a good artist musically is also a great marketing person. Marketing is the most prolific form of art in our generation.

The more pressing question that will arise will be from the controversy and the discussion in the blogosphere about this song.

The gist of it is this:
Out of the heart, the mouth speaks. Too many Christians only speak about homosexuality. They don’t speak about the tens of thousands dying of malaria and AIDS every year. They must not be real Christians because sexuality matters more to them than people dying.

On one level, I agree with him. A whole host of other emerging church types think that this kind of judgment is at the heart of the whole movement. Two things are in play here. First, we should not be letting far right politicians set the Christian agenda. These politicians have ignited a nearly dominate evangelical movement by making Christianity about who you sleep with. Don’t get me wrong, Christianity has a great deal to say about who we sleep with, but that isn’t the point of Christianity. We cannot let the agenda of a particular political group set the mission of the Christian Church, which is primarily about proclaiming and working towards the coming Kingdom of God.

Secondly, even though Christianity has some things to say about proper sexual relationships, the way that some Christians have been saying it is not helpful to Christianity or the people they are speaking to. The medium is the message. Many have made the medium of communicating the Christian way of life a hate-filled string of thunderous accusations and fear-mongering. And, the same group of people seem to assume that this is a really easy issue and the lines are black and white. I don’t think very many of them have had actual relationships with homosexual people who are trying to be faithful Christians. There are a great deal of them, though most of them eventually give up on Christianity or join churches that are so leftist and marginally Christian that there homosexuality is a non-issue or even a cause for martyrdom or sainthood. That isn’t all of them. I have several gay friends who have refused to give up their evangelical form of Christianity, and can’t see themselves giving up their homosexuality either. I think they would all agree that this can be a torturous place to be (though I haven’t asked them this specific question).

I understand what Webb is saying. Most of the emerging church types are saying the same thing. My question is whether this is an either/or proposition. Do we have to change our sexual ethics if we are going to fight against poverty and sickness in Africa? It doesn’t seem to be a necessary choice. Furthermore, it doesn’t seem obvious to me that the only way to love homosexuals well is to suggest that this is how it is suppose to be. Perhaps the Church could love them better by journeying with them in their day to day trials. In fact, it may be that this is all we are to do in the struggle against disease and poverty and every other social ill. We are to be friends of those who are hurting. Sometimes this may mean bringing antibiotics to a malaria stricken nation. Other times this may mean we have to defend our gay friend’s right to be in the hospital room when their long time partner needs them most.

I pray that I might be called a friend of sinners, just as Jesus was. If that means I am accused of being friends with homosexuals or even Derek Webb, then I am ready for that. Somehow I have to hope that means that people will see something of Jesus in me and they will point and say, “That is what God is like. That is what it means to be fully human.” That is the incarnation of the Body of Christ.

Back to Mr. Webb: He is a brilliant artist. He happens to read a lot of the theologians that I read, and I like that. But, I am not sure that the either/or choice he implicitly presents us in this song is anything like the third way that Jesus proposed. Maybe it is just one more start to a leftist politics. Certainly the current strain of leftist politics is just as bankrupt as the current strain of the politically right. Maybe we can still understand God’s design for humanity to be sexual love between a man and a woman, and yet be willing to honestly stand with our gay and lesbian friends in solidarity. Maybe we don’t have to yell and hate in the process. Maybe those of us of a Pietistic bent can get motivated to make a difference on societal sin in the same way we do personal sin. Certianly the Pietists and early Methodists from whom most of us have inherited our spirituality had no problem putting away alcohol for themselves and trying to teach the poor how to read and write.

Enough for today. I challenge you all. If you want to see good modern art, then trace out some of the Derek Webb links I have given here…and see what has happened in the last few months. Fascinating. And give your comments back here. I would love to hear what you think.

Some closing reflections

OK, so these aren’t really closing reflections…in many ways they are only the beginning…but here it goes.

2 years to finish my Bachelors in theology
2 years to earn my Masters of Theological Studies
2 years of coursework for my PhD.

I am nearing the end of six years of classes to learn how to talk about God. It’s not that I didn’t talk about God before that. I did. Sort of.

I use to say a lot…I say even more now, but I am much more cautious about what I say. Part of the reason I am more cautious is because the words that I say are often more nuanced and deliberate than they were before. Maybe I am more cautious because I am more aware that I really don’t have this entire theology and bible thing figured out. Before I started this journey, I and all of my friends thought we knew pretty much what everyone should say about God. Now I am much less certain. And then, sometimes I am more cautious because I am aware of how my words may offend others. Sometimes I still choose to offend because I think someone needs to be offended, but I know when I am doing it now.

I think the biggest question at this point in my education and my faith journey is…Has six years of higher education in theology made me a better Christian?

I think that was really the thing that my Assemblies of God friends were afraid of when I left for this journey. They weren’t sure that I wouldn’t come back hating the bible or Christianity, or at least not believing them.

The reason that churches are often afraid of their people going away to school should be obvious by now. A great number of them really do return with big doubts about the existence of God and the truth of the Jesus stories. Even those who still believe are often no good for ministry anymore. They like to include all of the big words for their congregations, especially if those words are in Greek. Of course, the people in their congregations are really impressed with this for the first two weeks. After that they realize that the newly educated minister knows much more about Greek grammar than they do about practicing the presence of God.

So I don’t want to push the question aside that is so often pressed upon educated people of my tradition: Did higher education take away my Jesus?

Maybe the question seems odd. I suppose after all of my ramblings above, it doesn’t seem that odd. I think the question is legitimate.

My first response is …no. I know that learning all that I have about the historical situation in which Jesus ministered has changed my view of what Jesus was teaching. So in some ways, the Jesus that I once believed in has been altered. I use to think Jesus was trying to teach us all how to get to heaven. Now I think Jesus was trying to teach us how to be ready for when God brings heaven to earth (read Revelation 21-22). That is a pretty significant change. Some may see that change and say that my education has taken away my Jesus and replaced him something else. I prefer to think of it more like the man who was blind and Jesus spit in the dirt to make him see. When I was saved, I could see people walking around as though they were trees. Now I see people where the trees once stood. I certainly am seeing different things, but I don’t think that is so bad.

But then, after thinking about it a little, I would have to respond with a really emphatic …NO. I’ll put it this way.

Though it now takes me 25 pages to write the same idea that use to take me seven sentences, I still believe the same things about Jesus that I did seven years ago. I believe Jesus was God incarnate. He was made to suffer on a cross by the Roman and Jewish leaders who feared him. After three days he was resurrected to a glorified body and visited his disciples. And then he ascended into heaven and sent the Holy Spirit to empower the infant church to do great miraculous works in Jesus’ name.

That doesn’t seem so bad, does it?

So, why am I writing this?

I guess I am thinking about two people tonight. First, I am thinking about my friends in my faith tradition. So many of them want to be faithful to God and want to be all that God called them to be. I only wish that they would take up a diligent study of theology and trust that God would sustain there faith. I am witness to the fact that this study will only make you stronger as a person of faith.

Second, I am thinking about my friends who want something of the person of Jesus and his teaching of love, but generally think the bible and the confession that Jesus was God is a little strange at best and at worst, dangerous. Many of these friends were told by a science professor in college or history teacher in high school, that religious belief is for the weak. They have been told so many times that belief in God is irrational. I can assure these friends that belief in God is neither irrational, nor dangerous. Believing without thinking can be dangerous. I was that at one time. But a thinking person can evaluate the evidence and believe that Jesus was God, the Holy Spirit still miraculously heals today, and God created the heavens and the earth. And, none of that belief will cause them to kill Muslims or hate homosexuals. If you want to see hatred, read the patron saints of (the New) atheism, Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens. You will see that religion isn’t dangerous…sin is dangerous.

OK, so hopefully I will have some more time for posting now that I am finishing up my coursework. May this be only the beginning.

LEX LITURGIA, LEX AESTHETICA: THEOLOGICAL AESTHETICS AND LITURGICAL THEOLOGY

 

“In every age and culture, the process of evangelism into faith is, at the same time, a process of being formed in a certain aesthetic—that is into certain patterned forms of perception.”[1] At first glance, this statement would seem to indicate that Don Saliers is purporting a kind of extreme religious aestheticism. When pietistic Evangelicals learn that Saliers is a liturgical theologian, then their fears will quickly be confirmed that liturgy itself is a “merely” aesthetic endeavor and has little to do with authentic Evangelical spirituality. Karl Barth shared this Evangelical concern for aestheticism. Barth explained that by saying that God is beautiful we must wonder whether we “bring the contemplation of God into suspicious proximity to that contemplation of the world which in the last resort is the self-contemplation of an urge for life which does not recognize its limits.”[2] Can a category as seemingly subjective as beauty actually carry the weight of a proper evangelical concern? Romantic aestheticism finally concludes itself in a nihilistic “art for art’s sake.” For Barth, this aestheticism and any other “ism” which would claim centrality in our theological contemplation (i.e. logism, moralism, intellectualism, etc.) is a reduction to idolatry.[3] This certainly cannot be an evangelical aesthetics. But this is not what Saliers intends at all.

Rather, Saliers is arguing that faith conversion is finally a change in perception. I have argued elsewhere that the primary category for evangelical and apologetic concerns is beauty, because beauty classically understood is the category of being related to the efficient cause of love. A beautiful thing is that which delights upon contemplation. If “the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever”, then an evangelical theology is one that causes a person to take delight in God. Therefore, an evangelical theology is one that displays the beauty of God as an object of contemplation. Saliers contends that this conversion will require a new kind of seeing. Evangelical conversion therefore requires the formation of Christian “taste”. In this essay, I will explore how liturgy as an aesthetic object can (re)form aesthetic taste towards the Beauty of God. Conversely, I will explore the ways in which theological aesthetics can ministerially critique liturgy. Because of the formational character of liturgy, liturgists and liturgical theologians have an obligation towards an aesthetic that will help participants “see” God. This mutually critiquing relationship, liturgy teaching appropriate aesthetics and aesthetics teaching appropriate liturgy, is a particular instance of the lex orandi, lex credendi debate: lex liturgia, lex aesthetica.

Ascending to Higher Beauty

Plato argued that beauty must be learnt by experiencing particular beautiful things. By seeing many of these beautiful things, a person begins to see similarities between the beautiful things and is able to see that these similarities are the result of a single concept of beauty which exists prior to the particulars. Beginning with more physical beauties, a person may begin to contemplate the beauty of ideas and knowledge and finally understand the concept of Beauty itself.[4] Given Plato’s instructions and the infinite nature of God, the proper starting place for understanding aesthetic criteria and formation into aesthetic judgment is particular physical things. Much of philosophical aesthetics begins with a discussion of art for this reason. Likewise, theological aesthetics will also begin with particular aesthetic objects. However, the primary starting point of this theological aesthetics is not religious fine art, although fine arts have their place in aesthetic formation and evangelism. Everything that I will say about the liturgy as an artistic medium could also be said of Christian fine art in abstraction. However, I begin with the Christian liturgy because it is the everyday communal artful action. Only an elite group of artists and critics encounter fine art on a regular basis, though Christians would do well to make artistic contemplation a regular activity. But every person who attends a worship service encounters the artful action of Christian liturgy.[5] This regular participation in liturgy as an aesthetic object serves as the particular beautiful things which serve to form aesthetic taste in Plato’s schema.

Following St. Augustine, Frank Burch Brown speaks of how encountering a beautiful object or event such as a sunset or a symphony orchestra performance causes a delight that cannot be satisfied.[6] Aesthetic enjoyment is the cause of greater desire. If Plato is correct, then subsequent experiences of beautiful objects will train the observer towards similarities. Observers might question what element of the choirs’ weaving polyphony and the preacher’s dancing cadence caused their delight. Once tasting this beautiful liturgy, participants will begin to desire the “water” which will cause them “to never thirst again”.[7] As Plato described, encounter with the beautiful object of Christian liturgy is drawn to contemplate beauty in the abstract and finally must find God as the ultimate source of beauty.

This Augustinian-Platonic conception of aesthetic formation seems significantly more peaceful and gradual than that described by Derrida. For Derrida the aesthetic object is like Paul’s blinding on the road to Damascus, it is a blinding that causes one to see. But Derrida’s ‘blinded seeing’ (my terminology) is not total blinding or total seeing, but nevertheless a radical conversion of seeing. The security of seeing is lost and “tears of insight” are gained. All of which makes the “love of God grow within”.[8] This derridian artistic conversion is not unlike Aidan Kavanagh’s description of the liturgy’s effect on participants. The liturgical conversion is “an adjustment in the assembly of participants to its being brought to the brink of chaos in the previous liturgical act.”[9] The liturgy changes the participants, and the participants likewise change the liturgy in the next performance because of their adjustment. Following Gadamer, David Tracy likewise recognizes the transformative character of engagement with art.

Rather the work of art encounters me with the surprise, impact, even shock of reality itself. In experiencing art, I recognize a truth I somehow know but know that I did not really know except through the experience of recognition of the essential compelled by the work of art. I am transformed by its truth when I return to the everyday, to the whole of what I ordinarily call reality, and discover new affinities, new sensibilities for the everyday.[10]

Both Tracy and Derrida conceive of the aesthetic object as radically converting the observer by its shear beauty, a conversion that opens one’s eyes to seeing in a new way. Although transformation can happen in this way (we often still refer to this kind of transformation as a “Damascus Road experience”), it is not our normal experience. Though Augustine recounts his conversion to Christianity as a single event in a garden, the single event can only be conceived of as the final event in a transformational process. This transformation is consistently referred to by Augustine as a reordering of loves. The rate at which this happens is important but not critical at this juncture. If the efficient cause of love is beauty as both Plato and Aquinas agree, then a reordering of loves amounts to a conversion of aesthetic taste. Prioritizing the love of God is a change in aesthetic perception to recognize God’s Beauty as ultimate beauty. As Brown summarizes,

(C)ertain kinds of neo-Platonism emphasize that the sensible beauty that one can apperceive through taste is analogous to the divine beauty that can be known through the intellect or religious affections; one’s love of the former can lead therefore to love of the latter, and aesthetic taste can in this way be transformed into its spiritual analogue.[11]

Here the Platonic schema of particular beautiful things leading to a conception of beauty in general and therefore God is made explicitly religious. Taste enables aesthetic perception which leads to love of divine beauty. Because this process depends upon aesthetic taste which some people are perceived to have and others are not, “taste” plays a significant role in what it means to be formed aesthetically. As Saliers argues, evangelism is closely tied to developing a certain aesthetic.

Avoiding Aestheticism and Idolatry

Properly formed aesthetic is called good taste. Conversely, if good taste is proper aesthetic appreciation, then bad taste is a failure to see the aesthetic well. But taste as I speak of it does not refer to culturally formed elitist criteria. Rather good taste refers to the ability to properly judge to what extent a particular existing thing participates in beauty, goodness, and truth. Brown suggests four forms of “sinful taste”, that is bad taste theologically understood.[12] First is idolatrous aestheticism. Brown says that aestheticism maintains a perfection achieved through expressing an “inner vision” rather than correspondence to a really existing reality. Popular in Romantic art, this is art for art’s sake. Art needs no reference to God and is therefore worshipped as its own absolute.

Second, the sin of philistinism is failing to take delight in God. Barth referred to taking God’s glory as “mere fact.” The philistine takes no delight in theological and artistic truth and therefore can take no joy in God’s truth and beauty. Barth said, “The theologian who has no joy in his work is not a theologian at all.”[13] To truly apprehend God is find God beautiful. The philistine looks at the aesthetic and searches for its use. The doctrine of the Trinity, the rhythm of dance, and mystery of poetry are rendered obsolete for their uselessness. This is apparent in the constant inquiry into what art “means”.

Third, intolerant aesthetic elitism is the sin of pride. This indication of bad taste has often been the mark of good taste. The one well-steeped in aesthetic criteria is the most likely to dismiss “popular” art as mere kitsch. It may well be this popular art that avoids incommensurability with the “non-artist”. On the other hand, the fourth indication of bad taste is indifference to beauty. This indifference fails to distinguish between truthful and false representation. Like aestheticism, but for different reasons, evil and false representations can slip behind this “sinful taste” without aesthetic criteria to judge them.

Although each of these types of “sinful taste” is equally bad, the one that primarily concerns this work is the first, aestheticism. As I recognized in the introduction above, arguing for aesthetic formation as evangelism comes dangerously close to aestheticism. But evangelical theology is concerned primarily with reordering persons’ love towards God. Even as Barth warned of the dangers of aestheticism, he finally concluded that the final word in a proper doctrine of God must be that God is beautiful.[14] Therefore the most critical concern in theological aesthetics of this nature is aestheticism. As stated above, “art for art’s sake” or “liturgy for liturgy’s sake” are both properly called idolatry.

The key step in avoiding idolatry is a thorough grounding of all beauty in the beauty of God. More directly, all aesthetic appreciation must be contemplation of God. Brown speaks of the beauty of natural or created objects grounding in the ultimate Beauty of God. Classical Christian doctrine’s of Imago Dei or analogia entis support the view that created things participate in an infinitely less complete way in the Beauty, Truth, and Goodness of God. Likewise, liturgy as beautiful performance is grounded in the beauty of God.

Thus Beauty is distinguished from the merely pretty. Aestheticism which produces art for its own sake only describes the decorative and pretty. Beauty must refer also to what is good and true. Beautiful objects must point beyond themselves to real Beauty, the essence (or form) of Beauty. Medieval theologians borrowed this concept primarily from the Neoplatonists.[15] Neoplatonists thought that the extent to which a thing pointed beyond itself towards the form which it participated causes the particular to be perceived as beautiful (and good and true). Beauty was grounded in the forms. Medieval theologians drew on this concept to claim that beauty in particular existing things was due to their grounding in God, the Truly Beautiful. Something could be considered pretty without significant ontological grounding. But a beautiful thing was beautiful because it participated in God.

Like the medieval theologians, Gadamer too wanted to ground beauty in ontology, though not for theological reasons. He did so by drawing on the concept of symbol, a word often employed in sacramental theology. Gadamer explains that symbol was originally a token of remembrance between a guest and his or her host. The host would take an object from his or her home and break it, giving half to the guest. If a descendent of the guest were to meet the host some time later, he or she could bring the symbol and the two pieces could be fit together again. Therefore, symbol referred to “something in and through which we recognize something already known to us.”[16] Therefore, to speak of art or liturgy as symbol is not simply to say that the experience of liturgy “means” something else. Thus communion is not simply the recalling of a first century Passover meal or even a theatrical performance of a forthcoming heavenly banquet. Symbol refers to a broken piece of something larger. The liturgical event participates in the historical narrative of redemption in a real but incomplete way. Because it is only a piece of the reality of which it is a part, the liturgical act is always only a partial revealing of the truly Beautiful. Gadamer proposes that the symbolic always “rests upon an intricate interplay of showing and concealing.”[17] John Milbank proposes that seeing the beautiful is seeing the invisible in the visible. I take him to mean something like Gadamer’s hermeneutics of symbol.[18] For Milbank this may even include seeing the invisible as invisible, which is the heart of Christian mystery. Christian dogma names the mysterious as mysterious and contends that something is accomplished in doing so. Mystery is at the heart of sacrament. Naming bread and wine “body and blood” makes the mystery visible and yet still quite invisible. Nothing we see, eat, or smell in Christian liturgy looks, tastes, or smells like body and blood. In this sense the invisible is still invisible. In another real sense, these invisible are made visible in bread and wine. The bread and wine are a symbol in the sense that they participate in a “broken” way in Christ’s body and blood.[19] This grounding of the aesthetic object in a proper reference to God avoids idolatry. Only God can be identified with Beauty itself without qualification.

Therefore all proper speech about God is dependent on some form of analogy. Regardless of one’s acceptance of analogia entis or its rejection (Nein!) in favor of analogia fides, the role in theological speech is the same. Analogy opens up the possibility of speech about God without reducing God to a being like us. Analogy preserves the infinity of God and makes knowledge of God possible, avoiding univocity and equivocity. The use of analogy in theological and liturgical speech helps to distinguish the merely pretty from the beautiful. Pretty things may please the eye. But beautiful things point beyond themselves to the very reality of Beauty, God.

As David Bentley Hart has argued, the doctrine of analogy is the link between the Platonic conception of aesthetics and the doctrine of creation that must ground any Christian ontology. When creation is understood as a finite (and sinful) participation in the transcendental predicates of Being, then all creation can be expressed in terms of greater or lesser participation in God. This is the “principle” of analogy in all its various theological forms.[20]

This principle of analogy allows liturgical aesthetics to avoid aestheticism. Beautiful liturgical events are beautiful insofar as they point beyond themselves toward God. Christian liturgists and liturgical theologians must be attentive to the extent to which liturgy itself is the object of contemplation. Liturgy (and Christian fine arts) must cause observers to contemplate God rather than the liturgy.[21] Though the liturgy is the means of contemplation, God must be the object of contemplation. Like analogical speech, art and liturgy are always an approximation of truth that points beyond themselves to truth larger than themselves.

Thus the fruit of this extended treatment of idolatrous aestheticism and the principle of analogy is a liturgical theology which can be informed by aesthetic criteria without falling into aestheticism. Art and liturgy which avoid aestheticism have their proper grounding as symbol in the reality to which they themselves take part. The degree to which something participates in God, Beauty Itself, is the degree to which it is beautiful. A theological aesthetics must provide some principles, if not measures, by which participation in God and therefore the Beautiful can be recognized. This is the role of the conception of symbol proposed by Gadamer. However, liturgy is not beautiful only because it is symbol. Liturgists, like artists, must also consider aesthetic criteria if the liturgy will serve as a beautiful object that helps form aesthetic taste.



Theological Aesthetic Critique of Liturgy

Geoffrey Wainwright argues for the grammatical ambiguity of the Latin lex orandi, les credendi. As Wainwright argues, prayer and belief have a mutually critiquing interplay in which worship influences doctrine and doctrine influences belief.[22] Likewise, liturgy influences aesthetic formation and theological aesthetic criteria influences liturgy. I have said nothing more or less than Wainwright, only something more particular. A particular kind of theology, theological aesthetics, has a mutually critiquing interplay with a particular kind of prayer, liturgy. Lex liturgia, lex aesthetica is a particular form of lex orandi, lex credendi. Like the latter formula, the former formula must also be considered a proper principal for liturgical theology. However, aesthetics fails its role in liturgical critique if not a proper theological aesthetics. Thus it must be grounded in the Beauty and love of God according to the principle of analogy.

This principle of analogy provides the first theological aesthetic critique of liturgy. Liturgy as an aesthetic object must claim some kind of participation in God or collapse into aestheticism and idolatry. In other words, liturgy which attends to aesthetic concerns must be sacramental worship. Liturgical aesthetics must be a visible sign of the invisible Beauty of God.[23] Liturgy with no conception of participation and mediation of God cannot account for aesthetic concerns without already being clearly aestheticism, liturgical aesthetics for the sake of aesthetics.

Roman Catholic sacramentality extends the concept of mediation beyond the proper Sacraments to other sensible means. Of course Catholic thought insists that nothing is necessary but the Eucharist itself. But abundant aesthetic bells, incense, gesture, poetic language, music and grand architecture create a rich sensory awareness within the Mass. Though Catholic “Real Presence” is objectively so, these other sensory experiences serve to prepare the worshipper such that the Sacrament is efficacious.[24] This didactic use of aesthetic experiences cannot be the end for Catholic sacramentality, however. Because of the principle of analogy, all beautiful objects are such because of participation in divine beauty. The grand architecture is perceived as beautiful because God too is grand. Beautiful harmony is such because “all things work together for the good”, and so on.

Thus Puritan “liturgical aesthetics” make sense if one denies the principle of analogy as most Reformed theologians did.[25] Revelation (whether natural or special) as the only source of knowledge of God makes no room for liturgy made by persons as a legitimate source of divine knowledge. This liturgical theory is consistent with their conception of revelation. However, the theological error leads to an austerity that fails to take delight in God, a theological philistinism.

Sacramental theology, the conception that what happens in worship mediates and participates in God, requires that aesthetic concerns remain vital. God who is Beauty Itself is maligned by inattention to aesthetic criteria. To summarize several interdependent conclusions: God is Beautiful. Creation participates in God and God’s Beauty according to a principle of analogy. Sacramental worship therefore participates in God’s beauty as part of creation. Therefore, worship must be beautiful if it will participate in God well and form participants into a proper perception of God.

Beyond concerns regarding sacramentality, Christian liturgy must also account for aesthetic criteria. But aesthetic judgment is something that cannot be reduced to formulas. This fact makes it difficult to use beauty and aesthetics as a critical principle in the liturgy. Philosophical and theological aesthetics serve as resources to provide criteria for judging beauty in a particular thing. Though these criteria are not easily quantifiable, they can serve as diagnostic tools for assessing liturgical aesthetics. Without these criteria as a guide, worship may form participants into an aesthetic vision that is less then Christian orthodoxy.

Aquinas named three criteria which are relatively accepted in aesthetics universally: unity, harmony or proportion, and brightness.[26] Though these criteria have been adopted by philosophical aesthetics generally, they are theological categories for Aquinas. He explains the categories under the relations of the Trinity, attending to each regarding the Son. Beauty is a category that proceeds from God as it accords with God’s Being.

Christian liturgy attends to these aesthetic criteria regarding the liturgy’s internal cohesiveness and in relationship to the world which the liturgy portrays. If one attended only to the aesthetic qualities of the liturgy internal to itself, then this would amount to “liturgy for liturgy’s sake”. Internal aesthetics are necessary for the appeal of the senses to the liturgy itself, but the “truthfulness” of the liturgy to the outside world must also be attended to if Church and liturgy are in any way to be called “sacramental”. When Kavanagh refers to the sacramental he means that the Church is sacrament because it shows the World what it was meant to be.[27] Therefore, the liturgy should be an enactment of the world as it is meant to be. Therefore the aesthetic criteria help one judge the extent to which the Church’s liturgy points beyond itself towards a World rightly formed. The formal principle for a particular aesthetic genre is largely dependent upon socialized aesthetic preferences. However, the church’s liturgy and doctrine is largely a way of seeing, a worldview. Thus the formal principle is not something arbitrary or even socially formed. Liturgy and belief must make account for the world as it is experienced. The World therefore is the formal principle of Christian liturgy. However, it is not the World only, but the World as eschatologically oriented by the Church’s witness.

Taken as a whole, ‘fittingness’ describes the degree to which the theological or aesthetic point beyond themselves to the World well. Are the specific elements held in proper proportion such that each element is expressed to its proper intensity? Is the representation sufficiently rich such that it portrays seemingly disparate concepts with proper harmony or dissonance? Is the unity of the whole called into question by a significant concept’s overemphasis or omission? The concept of fittingness also takes into account the contextual appropriateness. Significant difference found between cultural expressions is simultaneously locally and universally conditioned. Though the aesthetic criteria below encompass localized definitions of unity, harmony, and brightness, the categories themselves are universal.

But this universality does not account for the way that a grand gothic cathedral would be inappropriate in a sub-Saharan African village. The expense of producing such a structure among financial poverty would be morally irresponsible. And the architecture would be misplaced among tribal ways of life. Thus attentiveness to particular localized taste is also necessary. So the aesthetic concept of ‘fittingness’ serves as a guide trans-culturally while considering cultural taste preferences.[28] Further parsing of the concept of ‘fittingness’ includes analysis of the individual aesthetic criteria. This provides guidelines for forming a beautiful liturgical witness.

Unity primarily concerns the coherence and completeness of the aesthetic object. As a theological principle, Aquinas derives this concept from the Son’s identical nature with the Father. Nicholas Wolterstorff explains that as an artistic criteria unity is based on the formal concept of unity inherent to particular art forms.[29] For example, this means that the medieval cathedral is unified by the formal conception of medieval architectural standards. When measuring the unity of a conception of the world’s reality the formal concept is reality itself. Therefore, unity of the Christian story or any other worldview will be the extent to which every area of reality is included in the conception.

For example, Christianity’s failure to convincingly account for or provide alternative visions for evolutionary theory has debatably been a lack of unity in contemporary Christian witness. Likewise, if a theory’s internal coherence broke down at significant points as Newtonian physics was known to do, then unity is lacking. Therefore as Christian liturgy performs the world, it must have a logic that makes internal sense and it must account well for the way the world is and should be if it is to be considered unified.

Practically speaking, Christian liturgy which uses the orthodox language of creation must give an account of modern evolutionary theories or it will appear to be fideistic to participants. Since liturgical formation is typically a process of ongoing engagement in worship, an account of creation language and evolutionary theories need not take place every week. But liturgically ignoring alternative accounts of the world which grasp the participants’ allegiances will lack aesthetic unity with reality as it is experienced. This will not be a simple Tillichian correlation or unthinking fideism. Liturgically this will require biblical preaching that explains the grammar of Christian faith found in the creeds. This is not to say that creation language should be explained away or deemphasized in light of modern science. But Christian liturgy must explain the imaginative language of the liturgical art without explaining it away.[30]

Proportion speaks of the relationship of one element to another. Aquinas speaks of proportion regarding Jesus as a perfect image of God. Proportion regards the degree to which the image reflects the imaged. Augustine explained proportion by lamenting the loss of single eyebrow from the human form. “Loss to the mere mass of the body is insignificant. But what a blow to Beauty!”[31] For example, liturgies which emphasize either mercy or judgment (or Oneness and Threeness) without the other are recognized as out of proportion. Likewise, harmony speaks of the beauty of varied elements when spoken of together, therefore holding such diverse concepts as mercy and judgment as mutually dependent. Contemporary Evangelical theologies often emphasize the grace and mercy displayed in sacrificial atonement without the ethical implications of incarnation. This results in a theological error with moral consequences, which effects the beauty of Christian witness. When each is given their proper place, Christian doctrine will proclaim forgiveness and also take up the social responsibility inherent to Christian faith. Outsiders will see that as a beautiful way of life.

Harmony also speaks of the richness of an account. A single musical note has unity, but it lacks the richness of harmony. The popular “Roman’s Road” or “Four Spiritual Laws” approaches to faith serve as an example here. When an account is reduced to a single concept without the tensions of other “dissonant” concepts it lacks beauty. As Don Saliers says about praise without lamentation, a theology that lacks richness may turn out to be simply a cheap imitation.[32] Proportion and harmony within the Christian liturgy will attend to the relationship of liturgical elements. Does the liturgy emphasize visual, aural, and tactile elements appropriately? Besides these internal aesthetic questions are the questions of the liturgy’s fittingness with reality. Hymnody which is primarily dissonant or, conversely, contains only major chords with melodies in perfect triads fails to project the world of harmony and disharmony well.

Aquinas named the third criteria “brightness”. For Aquinas this follows from the Logos as the “light and splendor of the intellect”.[33] Wolterstorff identifies this criterion with what he calls “fittingness-intensities”.[34] By this he means the degree to which an aesthetic object achieves the character to which it is intended. If Christian liturgy enacts a redeeming story, then its “brightness” would be measured by the depth of the redemption enacted. Is every area of a person’s life redeemed including the physical, emotional, and spiritual parts? Is creation itself redeemed? Can social entities, artistic forms, and academic disciplines (to name just a few examples) be redeemed? Does redemption mean a complete break from that which held bondage (i.e. does the alcoholic ever return to the drink and if so does redemption even extend there)? If the redemption enacted in liturgy is one that only “saves” a person’s soul from eternal damnation while leaving there present lives unchanged then the “redemption” portrayed is insignificantly “bright”.

These aesthetic criteria serve simply as an alternative way of considering the multi-level tensions which Saliers contends are necessary for faithful liturgy. The tension between divine ethos and human pathos cannot be reduced from artistic expression and imagination. Christian liturgy is always “both God-attentive and thoroughly grounded in human life always found in specific social/cultural patterns.”[35] This kind of tension cannot be expressed with words alone. But the liturgical art can enact these tensions without reducing them. Thus liturgy as artful action can make intelligible the tension between the similarity and greater dissimilarity of Creator and creature. In other words, liturgy as art can speak analogically in a way that plain speech and secondary theology cannot. It seems that Saliers attention to tension is the struggle to maintain unity, proportion, and brightness well.

Conclusion

Evangelical formation is largely dependent on the dynamic relationship between liturgy and aesthetics. By experiencing particular beautiful objects, which occurs regularly in Christian liturgy, a person is formed into a particular way of seeing. This way of seeing opens the worshipper to an imaginative artful framework which is able to hold significant tensions together without reduction. Not only is liturgy able to do this, it should be considered the primary way of doing so. This is not based on a Romantic desire for beauty for its own sake. God’s being is a multi-layered reality which cannot be contained with simple words. Likewise, the drama of salvation history is multi-faceted and requires a new way of perceiving if the uninitiated will be able to apprehend. By experiencing the liturgy and its multi-layered realities, a participant is formed into an aesthetic perception of the world. This beautiful perception entices thirst that can only be quenched by God. Thus aesthetic perception causes a person to love God, as Beauty is love’s efficient cause.

However, idolatry is liturgy as the object of contemplation rather than the means of contemplating God. This aestheticism results from aesthetic concerns in liturgy without a proper doctrine of creation. Liturgical aesthetics without the principle of analogy cannot account for its role in evangelism or worship. Sacramental worship leads the worshipper to contemplation of God by aesthetic means. Sacramental worship employs symbol to make the invisible beauty of God visible in the artful action of liturgy. Symbol as employed by liturgy is not a simple this means that. Rather, symbol serves as the visible mediation of an invisible reality without fully exhausting the invisible. One might say, “There is more to it than that.” Eucharist is the “real presence” of Christ, but does not contain the presence of Christ. The principle of analogy allows speech about God and divine reality which participates substantially but inexhaustibly in the divine. This is artful speech.

Because liturgy is an artful performance of divine reality, aesthetic categories are helpful in critiquing liturgical action. The aesthetic criteria of unity, proportion, and ‘fittingness-intensity’ ensure that liturgical acts form participants in a truthful aesthetic perception. They do so based on there theological basis in the doctrine of God. Aesthetic criteria not founded in the doctrine of God are only the basis for the merely pretty. But liturgy which points toward the Beauty of God by attending to the aesthetic criteria formed theologically will form an aesthetic vision that avoids aestheticism and leads persons to “enjoy God forever.”



[1] Saliers, Worship as Theology, 195.

[2] Barth, CD II/1, 651.

[3] Ibid., 655.

[4] Plato, Symposium, 210a-211a.

[5] I am careful here to distinguish between liturgy and what we often call “art”. The primary distinction for Saliers and others is the object of contemplation. Works of art are themselves the object of contemplation. However, the liturgy rightly performed uses aesthetic means to encourage the contemplation of God, not the liturgy. This distinction will return significantly in “Aestheticism and Idolatry” below. Cf. Saliers in Art, Theology and the Church, 188-9.

[6] Brown, Good Taste, Bad Taste, and Christian Taste, 97-100.

[7] Cf. John 4:13, NIV.

[8] These quotes and explanation of Derrida are from Brown, Good Taste, Bad Taste, and Christian Taste, 90-2.

[9] Kavanagh, On Liturgical Theology, 74.

[10] Quoted in Theological Aesthetics:A Reader, ed. by Gesa Elsbeth Theissen, (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans Publishing, 2004), 261-2.

[11] Brown, Religious Aesthetics, 146. The “certain kinds of neo-Platonism” to which Brown refers are Thomas Aquinas in particular and neo-Thomists in general. Though I have thus far referred only to “medieval theologians,” my argument follows Aquinas significantly as he is the medieval theologian par excellence. As Brown shows, the Platonic schema of ascending from experiencing particular beautiful things to beautiful ideas and finally Beauty/God in general is made explicitly Christian with Aquinas and the medieval theologians.

[12] Brown, Religious Aesthetics, 151-157. Also see a expansion on Brown in De Gruchy, Christianity, Art and Transformation, 80-94.

[13] Barth, CD II/1, 658.

[14] Barth, CD II/1, 652.

[15] “Aesthetics,” Microsoft® Encarta® Online Encyclopedia 2007 (http://encarta.msn.com © 1997-2007 Microsoft Corporation. All Rights Reserved).

[16] Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful, 31.

[17] Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful, 33.

[18] Milbank, “Beauty and the Soul”, 2.

[19] Lathrop’s use of “broken symbol” is analogous to Gadamer’s symbol as two broken parts of a whole. For Lathrop, a symbols breaking opens it up to new meanings which it could not contain previous to the breaking. Its “meaning” is incomplete. For Gadamer, the “meaning” is equally opened by a kind of brokenness, the parts breaking from the whole.

[20] David Bentley Hart, The Beauty of the Infinite: The Aesthetics of Christian Truth (Grand Rapids: Eerdmands, 2003), 241-9. Cf. Brown, Religious Aesthetics, 123-4.

[21] Saliers, “Liturgical Aesthetics” in Arts, Theology, and the Church, 188-9.

[22] Wainwright, Doxology, 218-9.

[23] I intend here a faithful transposition of the classical definition of sacrament in theological aesthetic terms. Thus “an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace” is correlatively a “visible sign of the invisible Beauty of God.” Cf. Brown, Religious Aesthetics, 105.

[24] Brown, Religious Aesthetics, 124-5.

[25] One notable exception is the positive place for aesthetics and art for Jonathan Edwards. See Jonathan Edwards, Religious Affections, ed. John E. Smith (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959), 298-9; and Roland Dealattre, Beauty and Sensibility in the Thought of Jonathan Edwards (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968.)

[26] Summa Theologica, I q. 39, a. 8.

[27] Kavanagh, On Liturgical Theology, 42-3.

[28] Wolterstorff has an excellent discussion of the use of particular artistic elements in liturgical acts. He explains that what is fitting for worship in Pentecost may not be fitting for worship at Lent. Likewise, music that is fitting for one congregation’s conception of confession may not be fitting for another congregation’s conception of confession. In this sense ‘fittingness’ is intimately concerned with context. Art in Action, 184-7.

[29] Wolterstorff, Art in Action, 164-5.

[30] I think this will require admitting the socially-embedded nature of religious grammar while revealing the socially-embedded nature of modern scientific language. Presuppositional apologists argue that we must “admit that we stand in a particular tradition…and remind our interlocutor that he or she does too” (Kevin Vanhoozer, “Theology and Apologetics” in New Dictionary of Christian Apologetics, 38.). Evangelism and therefore aesthetic formation must pay close attention to apologetics without being reduced to apologetics without remainder. Liturgists and preachers must do this kind of apologetic work without leaving the proper ethos of liturgy and worship. Liturgy is not primarily didactic.

[31] Civitas Dei, Bk. 11, Ch. 22.

[32] Saliers, Worship as Theology, 122-5.

[33] Summa Theologica, I q. 39, a. 8.

[34] Wolterstorff, Art in Action, 166-8.

[35] Saliers, Worship as Theology, 25.

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