A theology of juxtaposition...

This will be far from complete (the damned flu demon continues to hang on virulently) but worth a few observations.  After recently posting about the inter-connections between a spirituality of play-fullness and feasting, I returned to a theological touchstone:  Feast of Fools by Harvey Cox.  As some know, this slim and often overlooked volume from 1969 continues to give shape and form to my ministry in ways that still make sense to me! 

Given the emerging political realities of this nation - the Occupy Wall Street movement, the fight-back in support of unions in Ohio, the candidacy of Elizabeth Warren and the defeat of the mean-spirited and religiously narrow "personhood" ballot initiative in Mississippi - could it be that the spirit of Feast of Fools might warrant a second look?  (see Washington Post @ http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/plum-line)

And let's not forget that the musical that was inspired by this theology - Godspell - is being revived yet again on Broadway.  (see http://theater.nytimes.com/2011/11/08/theater/reviews/godspell-at-the-circle-in-the-square-review.html) 

In chapter nine, Cox writes:  "A religion must be to some degree "out of step" with the assumptions of the era or it becomes banal. Juxtaposition sees the disrelation between the inherited symbol and present situation not as a lamentable conflict to be resolved, but as a piquant cacophony to be preserved."  He then offers a concise summary of what is at stake - and I sense this speaks to our moment in time at least as profoundly as it did in the late 60s.  He makes these observations:

+ Traditional theologies emphasize faith's dependence on the past: they are historical.

+ Radical theology, the theology of creative negation, focuses on the present crisis of faith: it is incarnational.

+ A theology of hope is oriented toward the future: it is eschatological.

But a theology of juxtaposition plays off the tensions among all of these three not by neatly balancing them, but my maximizing the creative friction among all three. So it focuses precisely on those discomfiting points where memory, hope and experience contradict and challenge each other. It recognizes our estrangement from much of the tradition, but it is also somewhat estranged from the ethos of today, too. It is unwilling to reconcile itself to either: it delights in the disrelation.

In both theory and practice, I have found the synthesis that Cox advocates to be the one that best allows for not only a counter-cultural response to the status quo - that is, the radical hospitality and inclusivity of Jesus born from the prophetic and poetic traditions - but also one that creates space for a new/old form of worship, prayer and community. "Conscious discontinuity with the tradition does not mean we either betray it or abandon it," he writes. "Rather we use the tradition as the assumption from which a new departure is orbited. Calculated discontinuity exploits the friction between the past and the present to generate new possibilities for the future."

Not long ago, for example, I received a letter from a person whose family will be relocating to the area.  They wondered about how they would fit into First Church - and shared with me a few of their questions.  Now, at the outset I am always apprehensive about such inquiries because community is something to be experienced rather than something defined by a list of requirements, yes?  And at the same time I know that the consumerist metaphor of the marketplace is so dominant in America that it often shapes our initial faith conversations.  That is, people "shopping for a church" - and that is the reality - want to know whether our "salad bar" contains the ingredients they most desire.

I was able to carefully and compassionately answer their questions reasonably well until it came to worship:  what type of worship takes place at your church?  Hmmmm... well it isn't traditional worship - although tradition plays a part.  And it isn't contemporary prayer and praise - for that is too often vacuous and simplistic.  It isn't post-modern evangelical - that is overly minimalist and heady - nor is it a Jesus Seminar neo-Unitarian experience either.  My response required the help of YouTube clips: new/old music that lovingly embraces chant as well as Collective Soul, candle light and state of the art computer graphics, traditional congregational hymns and responses as well as music from jazz and World Beat, too.

And when I did a follow-up to see whether my description worked, the response was intriguing:  your community sounds very, very interesting - unique - and we will eagerly be looking forward to visiting with you soon.  It seems to me that using this theology of juxtaposition helps us express that something is not only horribly wrong at this moment in time, but that God's presence is still within and among it all, too.  Ours, therefore, is not a closed system or society.  It is, as Cox wrote over 40 years ago, "the reappropriation of the radical Utopian, sectarian and monastic impulses in Christianity" singing and moving together.  We are a playful, feasting, singing, dancing and thinking community of young/old people learning to live simply in the Spirit of Jesus while still engaging in a violent and greedy culture.

Now this theology doesn't work for everybody.  It connects with those who want to know more about Christ but are apprehensive of controlling traditions.  It works for those who are open to questions and deep theological discourse.  It works, too for people interested in the inter-play of faith and culture and those willing to wrestle with the darkness in addition to the light.  But it doesn't connect with those who want easy answers - or privatized religion - or market place community.  And it doesn't work with people who want to remain addicted to their wounds. This new/old/juxtaposition community takes work and vulnerability - making mistakes and asking forgiveness - it requires openness and trust and a high tolerance for ambiguity - and that just doesn't work for some of us, yes?

I am once again stunned, however, at how relevant and real the work of Cox in Feast of Fools continues to be for me.  And maybe for you, too?