NOTE: Yesterday I note two important insights from Rabbi Rachel Barenblat
concerning the significance of embodied trust from within the Jewish tradition. Today I draw upon the research and reflections shared by the late Reverend Dr. James Nelson in his 1975 masterwork: Embodiment. Jim was an ordained clergy person in the United Church of Christ as well as a respected member of the faculty at United Theological Seminary. I have also found wisdom in Integral Christianity: The Way of Embodied Love by Roland Michael Stanich.
When considering modern works of spirituality, theology, or Bible criticism, I mistrust authors who too easily confuse personal opinions for rigorous scholarship. I am equally suspicious of those who are unable to critique their own tradition honestly and with love: humility and careful analysis always trump the mono-minded rants of most apologists no matter how much I might favor the intentions of the later. Consequently, when considering Biblical history or textual research, I look to the deep research scholars like Raymond Brown, Rosemary Radford Reuther, Phyliss Tribble, N.T. Wright, Walter Brueggemann, Sara Coakley, Elisabeth Schussler-Fiorenza, Amy-Jill Levine, Douglas John Hall, Lauren Winner, Dorothee Soelle, James Cone, James Washington, and John Dominic Crossan. Like authors Barbara Brown Taylor, Henri Nouwen, Cynthia Bourgeault, Kathleen Norris, Thomas Keating, Richard Rohr, and Marilynne Robinson, they illuminate rather than obscure and interpret instead of projecting ideology. They are time-tested and objectively valued by their peers.
Now I must add James Nelson to this pantheon of allies: his robust and profound historical, Biblical, and ethical treatment of embodiment is without parallel. That it came out in 1975 does not diminish his achievement; in fact, his prescient insights are as valid almost 50 years later as they were when this text was first published. I only wish I had paid more attention back in the day. Take Nelson's insistence that St. Paul was not thoroughly addicted to the dualisms of his Hellenistic culture. Citing John A.T. Robinson, Nelson writes: "the concept of body (soma) forms the keystone of Paul's theology." (Embodiment, p. 50)
'It is from the body of sin and death that we are delivered; it is through the body of Christ on the Cross that we are saved; it is into His body the church that we are incorporated; it is by His body in the Eucharist that this community is sustained; it is in our body that its new life has to be manifested; it is to a resurrection of this body to the likeness of His glorious body that we are destined.' Further, when Paul contrasts flesh (sarx) with spirit, it is a mistake to read this as unvarnished Greek dualism - the immortal soul over against the corruptible body. More typically, Paul uses 'the mind of the flesh' to refer not to sensuality as such but to the denial of human dependence on God and a reliance on the law as a means of salvation.
These "body" references presuppose the literal and traditional substitutionary or vicarious atonement theologies - Jesus died for me religion - where Christ's body becomes an innocent sacrifice offered to an angry God. As a substitute, the body of Jesus on the Cross ransoms all humankind as his execution fulfills God's requirement that sin be punished by death. This perspective very loosely borrows metaphors and rituals from ancient Judaism's various vicarious rituals of sacrifice. It has shaped Western Christian thought since the earliest days with periodic refinements such as Anselm of Canterbury's medieval doctrine of satisfactionary atonement - where Jesus redeems humankind by his innocent death - as well as Reformed Christianity's penal substitutionary doctrine - where Jesus pays God for the punishment we deserve by substituting his life for ours.
I understand the emotional experience embodied by belief in these atonement theologies: they honor shame and guilt and offer release. At the same time, I reject any notion that we are ever fully alienated or separated from the sacred. Further, the image of an enraged deity who demands the torture and execution of any one - let alone "His son" - is unconscionable. That's why I find the most persuasive theology of atonement and the meaning of the Cross in the work of the French anthropologist Rene Girard. It is his understanding that Christ's sacrifice neither redeems sin nor pays off an enraged deity. Rather, what Jesus does on the Cross is document what human violence looks like from the perspective of the vanquished.
Girard teaches that societies historically select weak and powerless people to demonize and project fear and anxiety upon. By doing this, elites evoke a sense of solidarity within the majority and reclaim validity for their continued authority. Most often, after a season of hate-mongering and blame, the demonized become scape goats who must be destroyed - an act that further united people. Think of the Third Reich's campaign against European Jews after WWI or the experience of the US after September 11th 2001.Girard believe that the unique spiritual truth that Jesus shows us is what it looks like from the perspective of the scape goat. Religion typically celebrates the destruction of the scape goat as salvific. Jesus gives us the upside-down truth of what violence against the innocent and powerless looks like in all of its bloody horror. The blessing that can come from this broken body is the sobering recognition of what our religious/political violence looks like and the opportunity to become allies with God's grace. We can end our addiction to demonizing and executing our scape goats. From a Girardian perspective, I would redefine the gifts St. Paul's body theology offer like this:
+ Christ's body saves us from body of sin by showing us the consequences of our lives without illusion. As we relinquish our dependence upon lies, scape goating, spiritualities of shame and fear we not only incarnate compassion, but also begin to realize that we are always embraced by God's grace and never unwelcomed.
+ Christ's body on the Cross does not purchase our health but offers us the alternative of love, renewal, and peace-making. This is the authentic source of sacred solidarity. In this, our very bodies practice trusting God more than self.
+ Christ's body in another form - the church - not only gives us a community of encouragement where we can practice living by love, it is also a physical home for all who have been rejected, demonized, shamed, and wounded. As the Taize community states: we become a sign of festival within the brokenness.
+ Christ's body as Eucharist trains us in finding the holy in our horizontal commitments; it never rejects the vertical aspects of our communion with God, but rather asks for a both/and spirituality much like the two bars of the cross +. Together we are nourished: mystically we ingest the essence of God, socially we practice acceptance and welcome, and spiritually we renew our commitment to peace. When we enter into this embrace, our own flesh becomes as Christ's to the world and we give shape and form to the resurrected body of Christ in a new albeit wounded form.
Nelson's insights accept the contradictions of St. Paul as he apostle worked within a patriarchal milieu as well as a licentious context. His "concern for sexual purity through dissociation from the idolatrous practices of the pagans is clearly understandable." This does not, however, render him an opponent of embodied trust nor does it make him a celebrant of his culture's body/spirit divisions. It is true the the Apostle often embraces the sexism of his era and is inconsistent in honoring his "Hebraic understanding of the unity of body /self." But as Richard Rohr repeatedly reminds us, St. Paul uses the word flesh (sarx) to mean our broken self, our wounded self, our alienated and self-absorbed spirit, what we would now label our false self that is being transformed into our truest bodyself by God's love and our ongoing commitment to key spiritual practices.
The Apostle Paul tends to use dialectics in his writing, jockeying two seemingly opposite ideas to lead us to a deeper and third understanding. One of his most familiar dialectics is the way he speaks of flesh and spirit. Paul uses the word sarx, typically and unfortunately translated as “flesh” in most contemporary languages with a negative connotation in opposition to spirit. John’s Gospel uses this same word, sarx, in a wonderfully positive way: “The Word became flesh” (John 1:14). So flesh must be good too! But Paul’s usage had the larger impact. If you read Galatians or Romans, you’ll probably understand these two terms in the usual dualistic way, which has done great damage: “Well, I’ve got to get out of my flesh in order to get into the spirit.” This was even true of many canonized saints, at least in their early stages—as it was with the Buddha. But I want to say as strongly as I can: you really can’t get out of the flesh! That’s not what Paul is talking about.
The closest meaning to Paul’s sarx is today’s familiar word “ego”—which often is a problem if we are trapped inside of it. So what Paul means by “flesh” is the trapped self, the small self, the partial self, or what Thomas Merton called the false self. Basically, spirit is the whole self, the Christ Self, the True Self “hidden with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:3) that we fall into by grace. The problem is not between body and spirit; it’s between part and whole. Sarx or ego is the self that tries to define itself autonomously, apart from spirit, apart from the Big Self in God. It’s the tiny self that you think you are, who takes yourself far too seriously, and who is always needy and wanting something else. It’s the self that is characterized by scarcity and fragility—and well it should be, because it’s finally an illusion and passing away. It changes month by month. This small self doesn’t really exist in God’s eyes as anything substantial or real. It’s nothing but a construct of your own mind. It is exactly what will die when you die. Flesh is not bad, it is just inadequate to the final and full task, while posing as the real thing. Don’t hate your training wheels once you take them off your bicycle. You should thank them for getting you started on your cycling journey! To easily get beyond this confusion, just substitute the word ego every time you hear Paul use the word flesh. It will get you out of this dead-end, false, and dualistic ping-pong game between body and spirit. The problem is not that you have a body; the problem is that you think you are separate from others—and from God. And you are not! (Center for Action and Contemplation, https://cac.org/flesh-and-spirit-2018-04-06/)
St. Paul's emphasis on embodied trust points to the holiness of Christ's integration of body/mind/spirit. This is one of the blessings underscored in Integral Christianity where Roland Michael Stanich writes that it is not coincidence that the first of Jesus' miracles - turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana - prefigures the transformation of bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. Noting that the bread and wine which Jesus calls his body and blood come from the earth and are fashioned by human hands, Stanich invites us to see the unity of God's presence within Jesus and all creation. "The vastness" of Christ's mind recognizes "the vastness of his body and blood" that is born, formed and shared from Mother Earth. In this, none of us are separated from the sacred no matter what confusing dualisms our spiritual traditions may have sacralized. Small wonder I have found gardening to be a sacramental practice: I am figuratively embracing the very essence of Christ's body and blood.
No comments:
Post a Comment