Queering the Church, Part Two: Praxis

In my last post, I discussed how the letters of Paul are not as clear on the issue of homosexuality as many in the Church would prefer—indeed, of the two primary pericopae often utilized by “Christian” heterosexist pastors and theologians, the language is in some places quite murky. In contrast, however, Paul does iterate multiple times the absolute necessity of unity, fellowship, love, and submission to one another in the body of Christ. How then do we illustrate this to our congregations? How can the quickly growing field of biblical scholarship and gender studies begin to turn around such an ambling, socially and culturally stunted behemoth? I suggest that this might best be done by “queering” the Church.

             This term, coined by literary queer theorists and theologians in the 1990s, refers to the reappropriation by a marginalized group of a word or object that was previously used to degrade, demoralize, and dehumanize members of that group. Great theological strides have been made in recent years in “queering the Bible,” that is, reading and studying the Bible from an LGBTQ perspective. In this particular case, “queering the Church” refers to the act of making the Church—an institution whose most recognizable public trait is homophobia—into not only an institution which is unashamed and unafraid of its gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, but an institution which openly embraces them. But the term “queering” has another connotation, as well: the action of setting apart, or “peculiarizing.” This is a notion that has deep roots in the liberation theology of the Exodus: “You shall not wrong or oppress the stranger in your midst, for you were once strangers in the land of Egypt.” In queering the Church, we should hope not only to become opened to the LGBTQ community, but stand out among our culture as God’s peculiar, inclusive people, for the simple reason that at some point in our long history, we knew what it was like to be despised, persecuted, “queer.” Is this not the greater mission of the body of Christ?

While it should be observed that no persecuted group has ever achieved justice with a magical catchall sermon or speech, I would here like to briefly outline five specific ways in which our congregations and faith communities might begin to push forward in this dialogue.

1. Begin the conversation

People fear what they do not understand. The more an issue can be discussed, however, the closer our brothers and sisters in the church can be moved toward understanding. David L. Tiede spells out the responsibility of church and seminary leaders to their congregations and students: 

Those who believe that the prevailing mores are unjust or oppressive must either garner the authority of the institutions which articulate and maintain the moral standards of the community or they must challenge that authority. Institutions such as seminaries, congregations, and church offices steward their legitimate authority in these matters more by persuasion than coercion. They must listen to the arguments of those who believe the standards are inept for the many or unjust to the few.[1] 

Sometimes the best way to initiate revolutionary change is to be open with our questions, and not be afraid to push back a little against the presumptions of others.

2. Illustrate the inherent misogyny that underlies homophobia.

As mentioned above, when the Bible is appealed to as a source of wisdom worthy of the so-called “problem” of homosexuality, it may be helpful to very carefully frame the issue within the historical context of misogyny in the ancient world. Most (though not all) modern Christians recoil from the accusation of sexism, and upon further discussion it will become evident to our congregations that our heterosexism is actually just thinly veiled sexism. As Martin claims, “The ancient condemnation of the penetrated man was possible only because sexist ideology had already inscribed the inferiority of women into heterosexual sex. To be penetrated was to be inferior because women were inferior.”[2] If we confront our churches and ourselves with the knowledge that our historical hatred of gays and lesbians is less about sin and morality than it is about deep-rooted assumptions about the superiority of men to women, we can then repent and begin to press beyond such social structures.

3. Be your faith community’s Paul.

            The Apostle Paul was perhaps the very first Christian contextual theologian, and we admire him for this. Should we not fulfill the same role for our congregations and faith communities that are struggling to accept gays into the family of God? Paul wrote on Kingdom ethics from a specific cultural and historical context. We should, therefore, also let our culture and historical context influence how we perceive Kingdom ethics today. It makes little sense to attempt to plug Paul’s contextual theology neatly into our own.

4. Value experience.

Our congregations have too long sat in the festering stagnant water of bibliolatry. When experience ceases to inform reason, and when scripture is treated as a god and not as a tool for communing with God, the Church will lose relevance. To prevent this, we must open ourselves to the moving of the Spirit in our lives, not restricting it to the pages of a book. It is criminally myopic for a church to publicly condemn gays without having ever met one. Actual face-to-face encounters with the LGBT community help to connect faces with the growing number of openly gay Christians who are struggling for a place in the Church, and it is hard to hate someone whom you know and love deeply. We simply cannot afford to place the Bible in such high esteem that we alienate and devalue the experience of others. Our churches need to develop a sensitivity to the Biblical text which is not often seen among people absolutely certain of the truth of their perspective, moving forward with fear and trembling.

5. Love.

Above all, we must love. Often, those claiming to be moderates circumvent the issue of
homosexuality by proclaiming that we should “hate the sin, not the sinner.” Unfortunately,
what we have thus far failed to grasp is that hate is the sin, as described by Paul in the
opening verses of Romans 2. It is easy to isolate two verses in 1 Corinthians 6 and read
what we want to hear from them, giving ourselves permission to discriminate and
marginalize by right of Biblical authority. It is a much more difficult task to take in the
entire letter through the pivotal locus of 1 Corinthians 13: unless we infuse our discourse
with openhearted love, we are but clanging cymbals. And now, perhaps more than ever, is
when the public needs to hear the melody of the Church ringing clearly, a song of freedom
and acceptance.

---

[1] Tiede, 153.

[2] Martin, 48.

Queering the Church: It's About Time (Part One)

Note: This is Part One of my two-part series on homosexuality and the Church. The first part examines supposed references to homosexuality in the letters of Paul; Part Two, which I will post tomorrow, will outline five primary ways to introduce this information to a church congregation.            

For the Evangelical Christian who leans even modestly leftward, it is not a difficult task to hermeneutically bypass Hebrew scripture that appears to condemn homosexual activity. The admonition found in Leviticus 20:13 that anyone found to be engaged in same-sex intercourse should be put to death can be cast in doubt simply by engaging in the process of questioning: In our current cultural context of modern and postmodern American Christianity, who should be deemed worthy by the public to carry out the sentencing of such a crime? Should it be our officers of the law who are to put all homosexuals to death? The absurdity of the question exposes the cultural and contextual gap between ancient Hebrew Yahwism and twenty-first century American globalism, and is often left unconsidered by many who vehemently defend what they call “traditional marriage.” The New Testament Gospels contain virtually no references to homosexuality at all (with the exception of a few queer theological interpretations of extracanonical Gospels[2]), so little can be argued from the authoritative words of Jesus of Nazareth. On this particular issue, he remains peculiarly silent. But what of the letters of Paul? How do we confront the theology of a man whose writings make up more than a quarter of the New Testament with our rapidly shifting knowledge of gender identity and human sexuality? Such is the aim of this study.

In Part One I will address two primary pericopae from the writings of the Apostle Paul, 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 and Romans 1:24-27, and their literary, historical, and social context. In Part Two of this post, I will help to outline a method in which the material of Part One might be disseminated within a congregational or ministerial setting. 

PART ONE: Textual Analysis

1 Corinthians 6:9-10

Paul’s first letter to the Church in Corinth deals with several important issues with which the early Christians in that city struggled, particularly unity, holiness, love, the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, and sexual morality. It is the latter with which this section is concerned. Paul was undertaking no small task to preach to the Corinthians about sexual ethic. Of the cultural setting of Corinth, David L. Tiede writes, “Corinth was a town with a reputation for cosmopolitan airs, for bawdy sex in the marketplace, for crafty dealings among the traders at the port…The human meat markets of every age have looked about the same, and every generation has had its high priests of sexual freedom and pornography.”[3] With this context in mind, two words in particular should be given special attention from 1 Corinthians 6:9-10: arsenokoitai (arsenokoitai) and malakoi (malakoi).

            The fluidity of language has a long history of birthing numerous interpretations of the Biblical text, both in ancient times and throughout recent history. Dale B. Martin, in his excellent study of human sexuality and the Church, Sex and the Single Savior, notes that both of these mysterious terms included in Paul’s Corinthian vice list held, until the 19^th or 20^th century, a distinctly male connotation, with no respect to our modern concept of sexual orientation. The term arsenokoitai, for example, took on new meaning when the Greek noun—which refers solely to men—was translated in the early twentieth century with the generic label of “homosexual,” thereby feeding the growing misconception that both the male and female gay identity stemmed from what was commonly considered to be a mental disorder.[4]

Furthermore, Martin suggests that arsenokoitai (arsenokoiteV) has a much more specific meaning than any generic homosexual activity. This specific meaning might be lost to us, but contextual hints may be found in the Sibylline Oracles (2nd - 5th cent., CE), an ancient Greek text which utilizes the word in a vice list very similar to (yet totally independent of) Paul’s reference in 1 Corinthians. However, arsenokoiteV here takes on a distinctly economic meaning, sandwiched between such admonitions as “Do not steal seeds. Whoever takes for himself is accursed,” and “Give one who has labored his wage. Do not oppress the poor man.”[5] In addition, two other early Christian texts, The Acts of John (2^nd cent.) and Theophilus of Antioch’s To Autolychus, also include arsenokoiteV among economic vice lists.[6] It is possible that by including aresenokoitai among such sexual sinners as adulterers (moicoi) and fornicators (pornoi), Paul is attempting to single out those who are motivated by their own greed toward sexual exploitation. In any case, it should be pointed out that the exact definition of this term has been and will most likely remain a mystery, and that due to this ambiguity, translations will continue to be influenced by the particular ideological milieu or bias of the translator. 

Unlike arsenokoiteV, however, the word malakoV (plural: malakoi) does have a well-documented meaning. Long before Arnold Schwarzenegger referred to his political opponents as “girly-men,” the ancients used the term malakoV to refer to any man with a less-than-masculine demeanor, a physically feminine build, distaste for hard work, or an otherwise milquetoast disposition. Josephus and Plutarch both use the term in their writings to refer to the cowardly.[7] The Greek word is actually the etymological ancestor of the English word malleable, and means, literally, soft. Often translated together with arsenokoitai as “sexual perverts” or “homosexuals,” a much closer understanding of the word might be its original King James English translation, effeminate, which inadvertently takes into consideration the inherent sexism of Paul’s culture. Men were chiseled and virile, but women were weak, both in will and in physical stature. The ancient understanding of the feminine was very much influenced by the coital act—men were aggressive penetrators, while women were to passively allow themselves to be penetrated. Any man who was seen to be “soft” followed the natural order of distinction bestowed specifically upon women, and was therefore weak and cowardly. As Martin concludes, the difficulty with Paul’s use of the term malakoV is not the inherently sinful nature of homosexuality, but instead the “rank misogyny” implied by the term.[8] This concept will be explored further in Part II of this study, which will be posted tomorrow.

Romans 1:24-27

In this text-segment, as in the Corinthian correspondence, context becomes one of the key issues to interpreting the passage. It should first be noted that the overarching theme of the Romans letter involves the complicated interplay of salvation for the Jews and salvation for the Gentiles, and it is through this lens that Romans 1:24-27 must be viewed. Specifically, when Paul speaks of what many today consider to be a theological re-hashing of the Fall of Humanity, he is actually referring to the idolatry of the pre-Christian Gentiles, as is revealed by the preceding paragraphs.

It should not be overlooked or ignored that the primary sin that Paul is speaking against here is not some modern concept of sexual orientation, but the sin of idolatry. The  “exchanging of natural intercourse [Greek: cresin, or use] for unnatural” among men and women is not the sin being committed, but is instead punishment meted out by God for the sin of worshiping false gods! Furthermore, David L. Balch observes that “Paul is not evaluating homosexual ‘relationships,’ a modern value, but judges the psychological state of the person experiencing addictive desire…Paul's terms desire, passion, inflame, appetite, and error suggest that he is critiquing unbridled eros, sexual passion.”[9] Paul, like many other ancient moralists, viewed homosexual activity as “the most extreme expression of heterosexual lust.”[10] This interpretation of the pericope holds that Paul was instead noting the consequences of idolatry; that is, the total abandonment of will to appetite. Indeed, the link between sexual promiscuity and gluttony has been well-explored by recent scholars:

Sexual desire and hunger for food were thought to be analogous. The pleasure or use of sex is to be limited by satisfaction, as a full stomach limits eating. The Greco-Roman question of sexual use does not ask about the gender of the subject or the object, does not ask whether the activity is homo- or heterosexual.[11] 

Women being inflamed with passion for women and men being inflamed with passion for men is not, then, the result of any innate, natural, sexual orientation that causes one to be attracted to a person of the same sex, but is instead the carrying out of a natural sexual drive to its depraved ultimate conclusion.

Finally, it is a tragic irony that those who utilize this very passage as fuel for the fires of judgment against the LGBTQ community apparently (and most unfortunately) read no further than the end of the first chapter of Romans. The very next portion of the letter contains the following admonition:

Therefore you have no excuse, whoever you are, when you judge others; for in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, are doing the very same things. You say, ‘We know that God’s judgment on those who do such things is in accordance with truth.’ Do you imagine, whoever you are, that when you judge those who do such things and yet do them yourself, you will escape the judgment of God? 

The same Paul who proclaims that the New Age of Christ has arrived, urging Gentiles and 

Jews alike to embrace one another as brothers and sisters, also writes to the Church in 

Galatia that “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no 

longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” This understanding of God 

as no respecter of persons bears a remarkable resemblance to Peter’s epiphany in Acts 10, 

as he preaches to Cornelius following his own vision regarding the acceptance of the 

profane: “You yourselves know that it is unlawful for a Jew to associate with or to visit a 

Gentile; but God has shown me that I should not call anyone profane or unclean.” As long 

as proof-texting is utilized by those perceived to be in power as a tool for marginalization 

and rejection of our gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender brothers and sisters, the church 

will never be seen by the oppressed as the catalyst for the New Age of Christ that Paul 

envisioned it to be.

---

[2] For more on this, see Teresa J. Hornsby and Ken Stone, Bible Trouble: Queer Reading at the Boundaries of Biblical Scholarship (Society of Biblical Literature Semeia Studies) (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011), particularly Jione Havea‘s chapter, “Lazarus Troubles.”

[3] David L. Tiede, "Will idolaters, sodomizers, or the greedy inherit the kingdom of God : A pastoral exposition of 1 Cor 6:9-10." Word & World 10, no. 2 (March 1, 1990): 152.

[4] Dale B. Martin, Sex and the Single Savior: Gender and Sexuality in Biblical Interpretation (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006), 39.

[5] Ibid, 40.

[6] Ibid, 41.

[7] Ibid, 45.

[8] Ibid, 47.

[9] Balch, David L. "Romans 1:24-27, Science, and Homosexuality." Currents In Theology And Mission 25, no. 6 (December 1, 1998): p 437.

[10] Victor Paul Furnish, “The Bible and Homosexuality,” in Homosexuality: In Search of a Christian Understanding, ed. by Leon Smith, p 13, quoted by Martin, p 49.

[11] Balch, 437.

Good Friday: Witness to an Execution

He who hung the earth upon the waters : today he is hung upon the cross.

—Common Prayer, from the litany for Good Friday

Remember Troy Davis?

Perhaps not, with all of the news lately about Trayvon Martin. The media has a way of creating a feeding frenzy on one issue before losing interest and moving on to something else. Let me refresh your memory: Davis was a man from Savannah, Georgia, who was convicted of the 1989 slaying of a police officer. After 20 years on death row, and against both mounting evidence of his innocence and massive public outcry, Davis was put to death by lethal injection by the Georgia State Corrections Department in September. Near the end, support for Troy became an international phenomenon, drawing pleas from Desmond Tutu, Jimmy Carter, and even Pope Benedict XVI to halt the political gears of death. The entire world watched eagerly to see just what America would do. And we used that spotlight to spread a message of violence and inhumanity: we are in the business of denying clemency.

It is ironic, I think, that a nation—an empire, even—whose government clings so fiercely to the faith of an executed rabbi does not recognize the injustice of condemning others to death. A religion borne out of a political killing eventually became the unofficial religion of a country which seemingly takes delight at the mere thought of carrying out political killings. Texas Governor Rick Perry, who operated his presidential candidacy on a Christian base, was even applauded at a September 2011 political debate because of the record-breaking number of executions that have been carried out under his watch:

We like putting people to death so much, in fact, that a recent study ranks the United States fifth in the entire world when it comes to execution numbers. As in, fifth out of over two hundred other countries. Fifth place. Right behind Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia, China.

And here we are this morning, eating breakfast and drinking tea to observe the day that Jesus was nailed to a Roman cross as an insurrectionist (and tax evader?) and died as a martyr. What is wrong with us?

The only way that our rituals and traditions—even our religion as a whole—can possibly be of any use to humanity is if through them we somehow learn to love more, to forgive others, to gain an understanding of solidarity with the marginalized and oppressed. If Jesus's death means anything to us at all, it should help us realize more fully that the Reign of God is not like the empires of this world, and give us the fortitude to resist a culture of death by clinging to the hope of new life in the here-and-now. The Church is not a vehicle of Empire, and Empire is not the deputy of the Church. In fact, we are adversaries. When the Empire of this world says "condemn," the Church is (or should be) there to say "forgive."

Not long after Troy Davis's last day on earth, a transcript of his final words was made public by the Georgia Department of Corrections. There are echoes of the Jesus Way in his words:

Well, first of all I'd like to address the MacPhail family. I'd like to let you all know that despite the situation—I know all of you still are convinced that I'm the person that killed your father, your son and your brother, but I am innocent. The incidents that happened that night was not my fault. I did not have a gun that night. I did not shoot your family member. 

But I am so sorry for your loss. I really am—sincerely. 

All that I can ask is that each of you look deeper into this case, so that you really will finally see the truth. 

I ask to my family and friends that you all continue to pray, that you all continue to forgive. Continue to fight this fight.

For those about to take my life, may God have mercy on all of your souls. God bless you all.

Amen, Troy Davis. Amen.

Kingdom? What kingdom?

Not long ago, I was asked to read a piece of scripture for my seminary's spring convocation service. At this service, my wife and the rest of the students in her MDiv cohort will be commissioned as they prepare to travel on a pilgrimage to Burma, where they will be spend some of their time visiting a Burmese refugee camp.

The verses I was asked to read are from Luke 17:20-21:

Once Jesus was asked by the Pharisees when the Kingdom of God was coming, and he answered, ‘The Kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, “Look, here it is!” or “There it is!” For, in fact, the Kingdom of God is among you.’

There are lots of translational eccentricities with this text-segment. For instance, we have all heard it translated as "The Kingdom of God is among you," as well as the way in which it is picked up in Tolstoy's Christian anarchist manifesto, The Kingdom of God is Within You.  Since I was going to be reading this out loud to a large gathering of people, I felt it was important to get this right. I quickly shot a question back to the seminary: Should I say that the Kingdom of God is among you, or the Kingdom of God is within you? That one word makes all the difference: among implies that the Kingdom is physically present within the crowd (perhaps in the person of Jesus of Nazareth?), while within suggests that the Kingdom lives within the hearts and minds of those gathered.

Came the reply from the seminary: "You should use "The Reign of God is among you."

This brings up a completely different translational issue: what do we do about the word "Kingdom"?

The Greek word is βασιλεια (basileia), literally, "kingdom." But there are problems with translating this word literally—I'll get to that in a minute. Yesterday, while discussing this issue over coffee with friends, I began to develop a few possible answers (or, at least, conversational perspectives):

1. We should translate βασιλεια as "Kingdom." Two of my friends said that it's a good thing to leave well enough alone—the word kingdom is a good, accurate translation.

2. We should translate it as "Reign." This is understandable. The word kingdom has obvious bias based in a patriarchal society. Why not "Queendom of God"?

3. My friend Mark says that words like kingdom can have negative connotations within oppressed cultures, and suggests that "Dream of God" might be a better way to communicate the idea behind βασιλεια. This holds special meaning among societies who have gone through such economic and social hardship that they have let go of dreaming of future possibilities.

4. Still others say that we should leave the word in its Greek form. If we don't have an adequate translation, we should let the word speak for itself.

These are all good answers. The difficulty is that words like kingdom and reign have lost their meaning in the global culture of the 21st century. You don't see too many true blue kingdoms in the world anymore, and the word reign doesn't mean much within a democratic context. And the word dream (while certainly beautiful) fails to communicate the deeply political dichotomy between the Basileia of God and the Empire of Caesar in first-century Judea. I also think that leaving the word as it stands in Greek is difficult, as well, as Basileia doesn't adequately convey the passage's spiritual context to the normal, everyday (non-Greek speaking) person in the church pew.

I don't have a solid answer as to how this verse should be translated. I just know that 1) it should be appropriately political, 2) it should be deeply spiritual, and 3) it must be approachable from the perspective of "the least of these."
I'm interested in what you think. You can post your opinions in the comments below.

Why I Am Still A Christian

I am not a Christian.

At least, not by the standard definition espoused by most Christians in America (and perhaps around the world) today. I don't believe in the so-called virgin birth. I believe that scripture should play second fiddle to experience. I'm not completely convinced of the bodily resurrection of the crucified Jesus. At this point in my spiritual life, I think that the apostle Paul of Tarsus was a hack (although I have openly declared my willingness to have my mind changed about him). I'm a Quaker, which pretty much knocks me off the Christian shelf for most other denominations.

But I still cling to the Christian faith.

My extreme suspicion of the institutional Church and my lack of belief in most things orthodox have led many of my friends to ask me: So just why do you still associate with that bunch? Why do you still call yourself a Christian?

Below I have tried to list a few answers that very question. By no means is it an exhaustive list, but feel free to peruse it and post any further questions below. This is (essentially) why I am still a Christian:

1) Because my great-grandfather was a carpenter. I think.
Around the time I graduated high school, my Granddad passed down to me a substantial amount of his father's possessions. My great-grandfather, whose nickname became my birth name, was a seminary-educated United Methodist pastor, a homesteader, an all-around tinkerer, and—I'm told—quite the carpenter. He was a boldly human man, who couldn't relate a decent joke without cracking up halfway through telling it, and once tried to convince the workers at the local senior nutrition center that a cherry pit found in a slice of pie meant that he got to kiss the cook. He loved his family and—I'm told—was a good person. However, he died when I was very young, after a series of strokes and a descent into dementia which left him a fragment of the person he once was. Among his possessions handed down to me were his small theological library (including the original copy of his BDiv thesis from Eden Theological Seminary), and a small, darkly stained wooden lectern which—I'm told—he crafted with his own hands, and frequently used to hold his sermons as he preached in rooms without pulpits.
It recently occurred to me, however, that I'm not really sure that my great-grandfather actually made that lectern. I didn't know him extremely well; I never personally saw him working in his shop, never saw him slathering stain on carefully sanded and assembled pieces of wood. In fact, the only reason I have to believe that he actually built the little makeshift pulpit is based upon the uncertain suppositions ("I think your great-grandfather made that...") of my mother and grandfather.
It then occurred to me that ultimately, I don't really care whether or not he actually made it—I will treat it as such. I treasure that little lectern as one of my most prized possessions, because it has great personal meaning for me, and because—regardless of whether he built it or not—it most certainly belonged to my great-grandfather.
I believe in God because I have experienced a profound longing in my heart for a greater purpose for not just humanity, but for this insignificant little verdant planet we call Earth. And though I may not believe in the virgin birth, or that Jonah was actually swallowed by a big fish (ask me about my beliefs on the book of Jonah sometime), that doesn't mean that those stories do not hold great significance for me. Quite the opposite, actually.

2) Maybe I was born with it; maybe it's Maybelline.
No bones about it; I was born into a culture that gave primacy to a Christian ideology/worldview. Had I been born into a Muslim culture, this post may very well have been entitled Why I Am Still a Muslim, or Buddhist, or Hindu, or Baha'i, or Scientologist. Well, maybe not that last one. Some people view this as a reason for rejecting one's worldview—after all, we tend to either love or hate the niche in which we were raised. Instead, I embrace it. It's my culture. I was born into it. I find meaning in it. I will embrace it and make it my own.

3) Because I have a hard time fully dismissing something that I don't fully understand.
Granted, this is not a satisfactory argument—I don't need to kill someone to dismiss the act of killing. And I will fully admit that I have given up on ideas and practices in the past that I did not fully understand. However, most of the people I know who have rejected the entirety of Christianity have not stuck with it long enough to learn about it in depth, essentially throwing the baby out with the proverbial bathwater. The Christian tradition is so multi-faceted that one could spend their whole life trying to nail down a systematic worldview, and would never succeed at it. This fascinates me.

4) Because I am madly in love with Jesus of Nazareth.
I have read the gospels. I have seen in the person of Jesus not the doom and gloom caricature offered by much of fundamentalist theology, but instead the radical, wild-eyed prophet of Love, who emerged out of the ancient Judean wilderness and who speaks to us today even as he spoke to the oppressed peasant farmers who gathered at his feet to hear stories of nonviolent revolution, of the unleashing of the Kingdom of God on earth in the here-and-now. And while it can be said of many—if not most—theologians, philosophers, writers, prophets, and troubadours that they are merely products of their time, I firmly believe that the words, Love one another; if someone strikes you on the left cheek, turn to them the other also; blessed are the poor, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven; and blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God, will never quite lose their gravity or usefulness to the hearts of people. Jesus tapped into the common bond of what it means to be human, and asserted this with his claim, Who are my mother and brothers? THESE are my mother and brothers, indicating the kinship of all who were gathered to hear him speak.

Such teachings and insights will never lose their beauty or their allure for me.

Charlie Chaplin's Final Speech in "The Great Dictator"

While I was at work today, a facebook friend of mine posted this video online. While watching it, I immediately began to choke up. I felt something again. For the first time in months, I felt that there was some sense of goodness out there, and that there are others who know it exists. I sat there weeping at my desk, wanting so badly to believe in what the little man with the Hitler mustache was saying. For a brief moment, it made me feel human again.

For those interested, the full text of the speech is below.

"I'm sorry but I don't want to be an emperor. That's not my business. I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible; Jew, Gentile, black men, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each others' happiness, not by each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way.

Greed has poisoned men's souls; has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge as made us cynical; our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost. The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in man; cries out for universal brotherhood; for the unity of us all.

Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women, and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me, I say "Do not despair." The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish.

Soldiers! Don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you and enslave you; who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel! Who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder! Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men---machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have a love of humanity in your hearts! You don't hate! Only the unloved hate; the unloved and the unnatural.

Soldiers! Don't fight for slavery! Fight for liberty! In the seventeenth chapter of St. Luke, it’s written “the kingdom of God is within man”, not one man nor a group of men, but in all men! In you! You, the people, have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy, let us use that power.

Let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give youth a future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power. But they lie! They do not fulfill their promise. They never will! Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people! Now let us fight to fulfill that promise! Let us fight to free the world! To do away with national barriers! To do away with greed, with hate and intolerance! Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men’s happiness.

Soldiers, in the name of democracy, let us all unite! "

An Apology and a Suggestion

Dear friends and readers of my little blog,

It has been quite some time since my last post. I have been in the thick of some serious spiritual and emotional difficulties, and suffice it to say that I've been feeling a little more "everyday" than "revolutionary" lately. It might be a delusion of grandeur to believe that anyone has actually missed any posts here, but I apologize for my own inactivity. I am working through a mound of junk in my head and in my heart, but will be posting regularly again soon, once I can sort out my thoughts.

In the meantime, I would love it if you could do me a favor. Please check out my friend Mark's blog, Points on the Wheel. Mark and I have been close friends for a couple years now; both of us share a passion for service and a mutual (and I would say, "healthy") mistrust of the institutional Church. So here's a bit of "revolutionary" to go with your "everyday": Mark is attempting to do wonderful, wonderful things in Haiti (that's right...remember Haiti?). He is an inspiration to me, and given the chance, I think he can inspire you, too. Check out his blog, get a feel for the work he does, and consider making a contribution of $10 to help his cause. We are in the midst of one of the most frenzied seasons celebrated by a consumer-obsessed culture; perhaps instead of buying that extra sweater your uncle would never wear anyway, your money can go to help fund the building of a locally operated chicken farm in Haiti.

It's a small price to pay for the realization of what Jesus called the "Kingdom of God" in the here and now. My friend Mark calls it the "Dream of God." Dream on, my friends. Dream on.