I deviated from google’s recommended path a few times, and I see now that it would’ve helped if I’d printed the whole thing out ahead of time, since I rode parallel to a street with a bike lane for quite a while. At a certain point, I walked for a few blocks because traffic was a little hairy.

I took a couple of photos on the way with my iPhone. The LA river is actually pretty beautiful along this stretch. They’ve converted lots of it back to a real river instead of just being a concrete drainage ditch. I was impressed with the number of birds and plants I saw.

This was the only picture I took of the river, and now I wish I’d stopped to snap a couple more, especially the parts with birds. I guess I’ll have to go back.

Here’s MacArthur park at the end of my ride.  I was actually pretty close to where my friend Chris is doing her internship, but I was so tired at this point that I decided to just hop the metro home.

Imagine this group: an older widow, a young single construction worker, a busy accountant who travels frequently, and a couple with kids and a station wagon.

So the assets/needs of that group: cooking, sewing, lawn mowing, accounting, rides to the airport, babysitting, home repair, etc.

The accountant, for example, may not think she has any time to spare, but preparing everyone’s taxes would save them a lot of time. In return she could get rides to the airport from the couple with the station wagon, some meals prepared by the old lady to put in the freezer, her lawn mowed, etc.

The couple with kids are happy to give rides to the airport in their big station wagon or mow the lawn, so they could have the old lady or the construction worker babysit, get their taxes done by the accountant, get home repair done by the construction worker, etc.

The old lady might feel useless since her husband died, but she can cook, do mending, babysit, etc. and get her lawn mowed, her house fixed up, her taxes done, etc.

And the construction worker is happy do mow lawns and fix houses, but subsists on TV dinners and his clothes are wearing out. Well, you get the picture.

I think one piece that is really important that makes this different is that it allows the old widow to contribute her time doing the things that she’s best at instead of just having a work crew come from the church out of pity because her house is falling apart and her lawn is overgrown.

Of course, the primary benefit is that it builds community. People help each other and spend time together. It’s better than reciprocal favors because everyone gives their time to benefit the whole community so I’d hope it wouldn’t feel like a quid pro quo.

This could work by having one or two people coordinate the bank, but I like the idea of having a web app that could keep track of it all (I don’t know how to create that, in case you’re wondering).

Here’s the website I found about this, but it doesn’t look like they have any interactive features.

http://www.timebanks.org/

1. What is Moltmann’s theology of the Incarnation?

Christians and non-Christians have quite often produced an image of Jesus which suits their own desires.  They have idolized Jesus, and then have taken away the idolizations of believers and humanized him again.  He has become the archetype of divine authority and glory which men have longed for.  He has become the teacher of a new morality of mankind.  He has become the resistance fighter from Galilee.  An analysis of the changing ideas of Christ and the portraits of Jesus in history shows that they correspond so much to the needs of their age, place of origin and intended purpose that one cannot avoid the suspicion that they are illusory and artificial.

-Jürgen Moltmann The Crucified God[1]

In The Crucified God, Moltmann dedicates a chapter to discussing questions about Jesus’ incarnation.  The theology that emerges is simple and clear; Jesus is God incarnate, fully human and fully divine.  This doctrine is certainly not new or radical, but Moltmann explores the theological shifts that have altered this perspective.  Although he explores newer formulations informed by more recent philosophical and theological understandings, Moltmann’s fundamental theology of the incarnation is closely correlated to the theology he identifies with the early church.  “He is of one substance with God, begotten not made, God from God, light from light, etc. as the Nicene Creed says in the style of a hymn.  The mystery of Jesus here is the incarnation of God, the incarnation of eternal, original, unchangeable being in the sphere of temporal, decaying, transitory existence, in which men live and die.”[2] The important difference in Moltmann’s thinking is that he does not accept the premises about God’s nature which are based on what he calls “Natural Theology”.  “The general question of God which was taken as a starting point assumes a particular concept of God.  That divine being is intransitory, immortal, unchangeable, and impassible.”[3] Moltmann’s theology of the incarnation seeks to preserve the doctrine of Jesus’ two natures and does so at the expense of this kind of philosophically based conception of God’s nature.  For Moltmann, the incarnation of Jesus is the primary revelation for understanding the nature of God and other conceptions of God’s nature must be tested against this primary revelation.

2. Traditional Counterpoints

Following Moltmann’s example, I suggest two other possible possible theologies of incarnation that can be used to provide counterpoints to his own perspective.  He sums up these perspectives well in the question he quotes from Bultmann: “Does Jesus help me because he is the Son of God, or is he the Son of God because he helps ms?”[4] Of course, Moltmann rejects this as a false dichotomy, but I think these two other perspectives are very common and can offer insight into how Moltmann’s theology functions.  Using each of these three perspectives, I will demonstrate how his view of the incarnation is integral to his entire theology by exploring the consequences of the other two perspectives within his theological framework.

The first counterpoint to Moltmann is what I call ‘Jesus as man of God’.  This corresponds to the “is he the Son of God because he helps me?” side of the question.  Moltmann explores this perspective in The Crucified God, but does little analysis of the impact if would have on other areas of his theology.  The premise of this particular perspective is that Jesus is the perfect example of humanity.  “Within the context of practical reason, Jesus becomes the ‘personified idea of a good principle’.”[5] Moltmann references Kant as an exemplar of this theological perspective because he takes it to an extreme; “Even the Holy One of the gospel must first be compared to our ideal of moral perfection before we can recognize him to be such.”[6] This perspective does not sway completely to Unitarianism or Adoptionism, because it assumes that Jesus is still the incarnation of that ‘ideal moral perfection’, but it differs strongly from Moltmann’s own perspective because it begins with an ideal of moral perfection that is arrived at philosophically.  That ideal could certainly be scripturally based, but the important difference is that it need not begin with the person of Jesus Christ.  Instead this perspective begins with a series of assumptions about God and derives the person and nature of Jesus Christ.

The other pole of this false dichotomy is the concept that Jesus divinity is his primary attribute.  This is the “Does Jesus save me because he is the Son of God?” half of the question.  Moltmann considers this to be the more widely accepted view historically and connects it with the assumptions made in antiquity about God’s nature being ‘intransitory, immortal, unchangeable, and impassible’.  “The more [the early church] emphasized the divinity of Christ, making use of this concept of God, the more difficult it became to demonstrate that the Son of God who was of one substance with God was Jesus of Nazareth, crucified under Pontius Pilate.  Consequently, a mild docetism runs through the christology of the early church.”[7] Like the other extreme, this perspective begins with something other than the person of Jesus Christ, it begins with an assumption about God’s nature which is based in philosophy and the so called “Natural Theology”.

In both of these examples, faith in Jesus is a secondary element to a more primary faith, either in the human ideal of moral perfection or in the human assumptions about the nature of God.  Neither of these is really faith, in my opinion, because they assume their conclusion and attempt to fit Jesus into a preexisting theological and philosophical framework.  By beginning with faith in Jesus, Moltmann demonstrates that there is another option beside the classic extremes presented in this false dichotomy, one that begins with faith in Jesus and explicates all other doctrinal points from that faith.  In a way, this could be considered a more empirical approach.  Our knowledge of God begins with observations of Jesus.  That experimental data, so to speak, helps form a theory about God’s nature.  Rather than beginning with an assumption about God, this method begins with hypotheses about God and tests them against the historical reality of God incarnate.  This is not purely analytical, however, because the premise for this way of thinking is Christian faith itself.  Jesus’ incarnation must be taken as a matter of faith.

3. The Crucifixion

Using each of these three perspectives, I would like to delve deeper into Moltmann’s theology of the crucifixion as presented in The Crucified God and Theology of Hope.  I’m beginning here intentionally because Moltmann’s perspective begins with the historical person and events, the so-called empirical evidence.  One place where these difference are most sharply defined is in Moltmann’s interpretation of Jesus’ cry of dereliction, the ‘god-forsakenness of Jesus’.  “His death was not a fine death.  The synoptic gospels agree that he was ‘greatly distressed and troubled’ (Mark 14.33 par) and that his soul was sorrowful even to death.”[8] In my opinion, Jesus’ cry of dereliction is the center of the crucifixion, at least as far as a living person can understand it.  Certainly, Jesus’ actual death should not be forgotten as important to that event, but in the cry of dereliction, we witness God incarnate experience the feeling that every person experiences, the feeling of separation from God and the weight of human sin.

From the Kantian ‘Man of God’ perspective, the cry of dereliction becomes somewhat problematic.  Because this perspective begins with the assumption that Jesus is God’s perfect holy man, there is no room for him to feel god-forsaken.  A perfect holy man would never forget God’s presence, would never succumb to feeling god-forsaken, but would instead suffer this fate the way later martyrs did, with joyous singing and religious ecstasy.  The cognitive dissonance this creates is evidenced by the later gospel accounts, which sublimate Jesus’ cry of dereliction from the painful “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” into the serene statement “it is finished”.  I agree with Moltmann that we can reasonably assume that the earlier Markan and Matthean accounts are more historically accurate and that it was changed to avoid this tricky theological territory.

On the opposite pole, this moment is equally if not more difficult.  If Jesus is the incarnation of the unchanging and impassible God, how could he feel God-forsaken.  This problem, and the problem of Jesus’ suffering in general was very prominent in the early church.  There is no way to preserve both the doctrine of God’s impassibility and of Jesus’ incarnation in the face of this event.  I think this is the source of the ‘mild docetism’ that Moltmann ascribes to the early church.  Because the person and nature of Jesus were derived from assumptions about God, there is no way in this framework that he could have suffered.  “More recent Protestant and Catholic of the history of the dogmas of the early church are agreed that a central difficulty for early christology was the undisguised recognition of the forsakenness of Jesus”[9] The heresies of the early church are a testament to this problem, with docetists on one extreme claiming that Jesus only seemed to suffer because he only appeared to be a human being, and Gnostics on the other claiming that the man Jesus suffered (or sometimes a completely different person) and that the divine ‘Christ’ was separated from him in the crucifixion.  I don’t think the early church ever really settled this issue, but simply stopped exploring the theological implications of holding a faith in both in the two natures of Jesus Christ and the reality of his suffering on the cross.

The prophets had no ‘idea’ of God, but understood themselves and the people in the situation of God.  Heschel called the situation of God the pathos of God.  It had nothing to do with the irrational human emotions like desire, anger, anxiety, envy or sympathy, but described the way in which God is affected by events and human actions and suffering in history.  He is affected by them because he is interested in his creation, his people and his right.

-Jurgen Moltmann The Crucified God[10]

Moltmann’s perspective is radical because it does not accept the traditional Christian and later philosophical Jewish belief in the impassibility of God, but I think it is ultimately far less problematic than the alternatives.  Given that God’s ‘pathos’ is not antithetical to older Judaism, such as the religion existed in Jesus’ time, I think that Moltmann’s position need not be considered truly radical.  It may in fact be a more traditional interpretation which may have fit well with the theological perspective of the intended audiences for the Gospels of Mark and Matthew.

With Moltmann’s theology of incarnation in mind, Jesus’ cry of dereliction on the cross adopts a special poignancy.  Because Jesus’ nature as fully divine and fully human, that very god-forsakenness is taken up into the very heart of God.  The only condition which would seem impossible for God to experience becomes a part of God’s being, and the depths of human suffering are taken up into God.  This was not a mere accident of chance that could have been avoided if Jesus had lived his life in some other way, the godforsakennes of Jesus was a consequence of God’s incarnation as a human.  “When God becomes a human in Jesus of Nazareth, he not only enters into the finitude of man, but in his death on the cross enters into man’s godforsakenness.”[11] Humanity’s default reality is one of godforsakenness, it is only through Jesus’ crucifixion where God takes on even that godforsakenness that we are saved.  Moltmann’s easy assertion of our godforsakenness seems radical, but I think it is a natural extension of the theology expressed in Paul’s letter to the Romans;  “For ‘no human being will be justified in his sight’ by deeds prescribed by the law, for through the law comes only knowledges of sin.  But now, apart from law, the righteousness of God has been disclosed, and is attested by the law and the prophets, the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe.  For there is no distinction, since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God; they are now justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus”[12] When we attempt to justify ourselves to make ourselves righteous by works of the law, we will fail and see that we are godforsaken, yet through the grace revealed in Jesus Christ we are no longer godforsaken.

5.  Why the incarnation?

I chose the incarnation as the key theological concept underpinning Moltmann’s theology of the crucifixion, but it could be argued that it is really his general Christology, or the doctrine of Jesus’ two natures that is really at stake here.  The important distinction here is that the incarnation begins the discussion at the beginning of the historical life of Jesus.  To begin else where would to bring up the messy possibilities of Adoptionism or Docetism, but as we have seen those simply don’t work with Moltmann’s theology so it must begin with Jesus’ incarnation.  The conclusions that Moltmann comes to about Jesus’ crucifixion and even some of his less explicit ideas about atonement rest on faith in Jesus nature as God incarnate in human form, and that idea must be stated strongly and centrally in his theological framework.  That emphasis also begins where Moltmann says all Christian theology should begin, not with philosophical ponderings about the nature of God, but in the very person of Jesus Christ.

[2] Ibid . 88

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid. 91

[5] Ibid. 94

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.  89

[8] Ibid. 146

[9] Ibid. 226

[10] Ibid. 270

[11] Ibid. 276

[12] Romans 3:20-24 NRSV

I found a few sets of instructions for how to make butter, but essentially it’s just a matter of over-whipping cream. I decided to try the food processor method but I immediately regretted it, because my little thrift store Cuisinart didn’t hold an entire quart of cream.

I used local organic cream for this, because I figured this was already not going to save me any money so I might as well spend a little more. Clover Organic Whipping Cream was $3.39/pint at Berkeley Bowl vs. $2.99/pint for the Berkeley Farms non-organic.

I dumped most of the cream into the Cuisinart and started it up. Nothing much happened for a minute or so and then the cream started to thicken.

This is what it looks like as it starts to develop a little texture.

At this point I stopped the mixer because I thought it might be close to done, but it turned out that this was the far end of the “whipped cream” part of the process. The cream was looking firm, like butter, but none of the buttermilk had separated yet. I powered on through.

The butter lost it’s firm texture and then quickly took on this kind of overcooked scrambled egg look.

After a few more seconds, all the little granules of butter formed into more or less one lump and the buttermilk started to separate. It was actually working! I don’t know why but before this point I wasn’t sure it was going to work.

I started pouring off the buttermilk, there wasn’t much.

This next stage became kind of a pain, the butter mostly just stuck to the side of the container so I kept having to scrape it down with a spatula.

In order to get the last bits of buttermilk out of the butter, you have to add water run the Cuisinart and then pour it off. You repeat the process until the water runs clear. This went on for a while.

After there wasn’t any buttermilk left in the butter, I transferred it to a mixing bowl. The idea is that you press it against the side of the bowl to get the last bits of water out.

I added a little salt and mixed it in, and it was done.

The final product. It was actually more than I expected.

That’s it. Making butter is expensive and messy, but it did taste pretty good when I was done.

Theological Anthropologies and View of Human Nature

There are really four different theological anthropologies represented in the film’s four major characters. Although the students are important to the plot of the film, their theology isn’t really revealed, instead the views of Sister Aloysius, Father Flynn, Sister James, and Mrs. Miller are where the plot hinges.
Sister Aloysius’ view of human nature is extremely pessimistic. Her interactions with the students reveal a constant sense of distrust and suspicion. She does seem to hold male characters to a different standard than women. For example, when she is talking with Sister James about the students in her class she seems concerned for Noreen Horan. Whereas her attitude toward the male students is usually one of animosity, she wishes to protect Noreen. She says to Sister James “just get her through…intact.” Sister Aloysius is primarily concerned about Noreen’s interactions with the boys so I interpret this as a reference to her virginity. Noreen’s own agency seems to play no part in Sister Aloysius’ concern about her. I think this demonstrates her assumption that Noreen is good by nature. Her attitude toward the boys, on the other hand, is one of distrust. For her, the male characters are a corrupting influence, with Father Flynn being the most corrupting of all. So her view of human nature is that at some level people, or at least women, are good, but that they can be corrupted. The place she seems to see this corruption most strongly is through sexuality. Interestingly, Sister Aloysius treats Donald the same way as the girls. This comes up when Mrs. Miller is talking with Sister Aloysius as she walks to work. Mrs. Miller is trying to explain that her son is different, I assume that she’s suggesting that he’s homosexual. She says, “I’m talking about the boy’s nature, not about any action.” To which Sister Aloysius replies, “I only care about actions.” Sister Aloysius’ view of human nature is strongly connected with actions, I think because she believes that a person’s nature is pure but can become corrupted.
Father Flynn also believes that people are inherently good, and seems to share some of Sister Aloysius view that their nature can be corrupted. I think the important difference is that Father Flynn believes in redemption and forgiveness. When he is speaking with Sister James in the garden he tells her, “There are people who go after your humanity Sister, who tell you that the light in your heart is a weakness, don’t believe it! It’s an old tactic of cruel people to kill kindness in the name of virtue.” He equates humanity with that light, a point echoed in Sister Aloysius’ office each time her light bulb burns out. Although he sees Sister Aloysius as one of those cruel people that he warns Sister James about, he also reveals that he thinks even she can be redeemed. When he asks her if she has ever committed a mortal sin, Sister Aloysius shows a rare moment of weakness. She stutters, “I confessed it Father.” and he replies, “and whatever I have done, I have left it in the healing hands of my confessor, as have you. We are the same.” Clearly, he believes that she has been forgiven of her mortal sin, and that he has also been forgiven of his. But Sister Aloysius reveals her doubt of both her own forgiveness and his with her reply; “A dog that bites is a dog that bites.”
Sister James’ view of human nature develops through the plot of the movie. At the beginning, she is innocent and optimistic. She seems to always assume good intentions and look for the good in people. Her interpretation of Roosevelt’s famous line is a good example of this optimism. “Maybe he was saying that the world is good and we only need to work together to overcome our problems.” Even when she is faced with her own feelings that Father Flynn molested Donald, she is deeply troubled by the idea that he may not be as good as she had thought. After bringing her concern about Father Flynn to Sister Aloysius she says, “It is unsettling to look at people with suspicion, I feel less close to God.” She struggles with this sense while at the same time being confronted with more things that cause her to suspect Father Flynn. But she also takes his advice about light to heart. When her attitude seems to have shifted and she yells at Jimmy Hurley she sees herself becoming one of those “cruel people”. It isn’t until he apologizes that she sees that she has truly hurt him, and immediately apologizes herself. I see this as an echo of the Sacrament of Penance, she sees her own sin against his human nature and is contrite. I think this marks the first introduction of redemption into her sense of human nature. Early in the film she simply rejects the reality of sin, and when she is finally confronted with it in herself she sees the need for forgiveness.
Mrs. Miller’s view of human nature is unusual among the characters in that she holds to a doctrine of original sin. As she says to Sister Aloysius “There’s something wrong with everybody and their soul’s got to be forgiven.” but, she also believes in forgiveness and the inherent goodness of human nature. When talking about her son drinking communion wine, she says “But he’s a good boy, Sister, he fell down there, but he’s pretty much a good boy pretty much down the line.” Her attitude about her son’s suspected homosexuality is also interesting. She doesn’t seem to think that he can change it, it is simply part of “his nature”. She seems to uphold the idea that homosexuality is sinful, but she also recognizes that it is something that “God gave him to be.”

Doctrine of Sin

Connected with her view of human nature, Sister Aloysius seems to view sin as corruption. Because she doesn’t believe in real forgiveness or redemption, every sin becomes a permanent stain, which I think is what leads her ultimately into doubt and despair. In the other nuns and in the girls at the school, she sees untainted innocence, and seems to believe that they can simply avoid sin. But in the boys and in Father Flynn she sees a kind of contagious corruption. Her only “proof” of Father Flynn’s misconduct is that she saw him grab the wrist of William London. In that scene, shortly after Father Flynn touches him, he touches Sister James on the elbow, at which point Sister Aloysius yells at him from her balcony. In some way, William had been corrupted by the touch and when he touched Sister James he might corrupt her. Although her sense of Father Flynn’s corruption found a focus in the accusations of sexual misconduct, it really seems to stem from what he said in his first sermon. Suggesting that doubt might be a valid expression of piety flew in the face of how Sister Aloysius understood sin. To her, doubt was a sin, to have doubts was to be in a state of doubt and therefore corrupt. While they are eating dinner, she says to the other nuns “Is Father Flynn in doubt? Is he concerned that someone else is in doubt?” She assumes that he was revealing his own corrupted state, which leads her to tell the other nuns to watch for suspicious behavior. In the very last scene, when she confesses her doubt to Sister James, I think she is also revealing her own state of doubt throughout the whole film. Her question to the nuns at dinner was pointed both at Father Flynn and herself, but she holds on to her certainty about his guilt to avoid her own sense of doubt about God. Admitting her own corruption, in her view, holds a huge amount of guilt because it meant admitting that she could have corrupted all those in her care.
Father Flynn is not concerned about purity in his doctrine of sin. The montage between the nuns’ dinner and the priests’ offers a good contrast between his doctrine and Sister Aloysius’. The nuns are shown eating silently, drinking milk, and keeping the table tidy. The priests are raucously laughing, drinking alcohol, and smoking around a messy table. His doctrine of sin seems much more focused on the idea of human brokenness, which is deeply tied with his belief in forgiveness and redemption. In his first sermon, he talks about the sense of loss felt by the whole community when Kennedy was assassinated, and reminds them how much it brought people together. He compares this with the alienation felt by those struggling privately with sin and doubt and tells his congregation “when you are lost you are not alone.” He sees both the brokenness of people and their inherent goodness as creatures, sin is much more about relationships than about purity. His emphasis on Penance, which I mentioned earlier, is also important. For Father Flynn, sin can be forgiven, and I think his challenge to Sister Aloysius is that she needs to accept that she has truly been forgiven. In the scene where he confronts her about sin, he never admits exactly what he had done, but he does express his belief that it had been forgiven.
Like her doctrine of human nature, Sister James’ doctrine of sin develops as the plot develops. I think she holds much more and more closely to Father Flynn’s view as the plot develops. Initially, she accepts Sister Aloysius way of viewing the world, for example she became strict with her class in order to avoid the kind of sinful corruption that she was warned about. But she relents when she sees what that view does to her and to her students, and she allows room for grace. Her response to Sister Aloysius in the final scene suggests that by then she has fully rejected the view that sin is a kind of corruption. After Sister Aloysius admits her doubt, which in her view meant she was in a state of sin, Sister James takes her hand. This is a strong contrast with the scene early in the film where Father Flynn touches William London’s hand. Sister James doesn’t deny that Sister Aloysius has fallen and yet she still reaches out to her in the moment.
Again, Mrs. Miller’s doctrine of sin offers an interesting third perspective. She views sin as something intrinsic to people but also as something that can be forgiven. She describes sin in terms of “fall” when she talks about her son drinking, and in the same breath talks about how good he is. Her doctrine of sin is not legalistic in the way that Sister Aloysius’ is. In the scene where they are walking together and Sister Aloysius accuses her of being a bad mother, Mrs. Miller tells her “You don’t know enough about life to say a thing like that, you know the rules maybe but that don’t cover it. You accept what you’ve got to accept and you work with it.” Of all the characters, I think Mrs. Miller reflects the simul justus et peccator doctrine of sin the most. She sees the potential for good even the worst kind of situations. Unfortunately, this attitude allows her to willingly accept some pretty bad situations, such as living with an abusive husband.

Theological Connections

In terms of how the film connects with the reading we’ve done, I think the theological anthropologies and doctrines of sin fall into two categories. Sister Aloysius’ view that sin is corrupting and unforgiveable is one, and the other characters’ view that sin is part of fallen human nature and can be forgiven is the other. These reflect two fundamentally different views of how God works in the world.
The two views line up well with Peters’ dichotomy of God pushing from the past vs. pulling toward the future. “I suggest we think of God’s creative activity as a pull from the future rather than a push from the past.” Sister Aloysius’ theology is deeply legalistic and tied up with God’s push from the past, the result is that human sin can and will corrupt individuals. Because there is no room for God’s vision of the future in her theology, it only leads to despair. When she confesses her doubt at the end of the film, I think she is really confessing that she can’t see God at work in the world in the present or future. On the other hand, the other characters have a more proleptic view of God. They don’t deny the reality of sin, but they see God’s redeeming presence in the world. Their views of human nature and sin are deeply connected with this faith in God’s redemptive work. The larger plot arc also connects with this theme. Sister Aloysius’ faith is based in the certainty of God in the past, the other characters’ in hope for the future. I think her doubt marks her turn from false certainty toward hope.
Sister James’ development throughout the film connects well with Peters’ discussion of world construction. She begins the film in a state of first naivete, Sister Aloysius even describes her as “innocent”. Her simple optimistic faith seems to have never been really challenges. As the plot progresses, she moves into critical consciousness, which is where Sister Aloysius seems to be stuck. I think the reason that Father Flynn’s sermon on doubt had such an impact on her is that her view of doubt as sin was the only thing keeping her from completely losing her faith. She was clinging to one last shred of her own first naivete and when that was threatened she decided that something must be wrong with Father Flynn. This is similar to Peters’ discussion of anti-modern fundamentalist literalism. “Fundamentalists are literalist who have been confronted with critical consciousness and do not want their world of meaning torn away from them…it risks putting faith in the world of biblical meaning rather than in the transcendent God who shatters our meaning and calls us to radical obedience.” Sister James moves into second naivete by the end of the film, and in that final scene, I think Sister Aloysius moves there as well. Her doubt was present from the beginning but until she confessed it, she would never be able to move past it.
As I said earlier, I think Mrs. Miller holds a simul justus et peccator view. Unlike Sister Aloysius, she doesn’t draw hard lines between good and bad people. Father Flynn also holds some of this, at least for himself, but I think that his remark that Sister Aloysius is “cruel” reveals that he doesn’t hold it universally. At that point in the film, he seems to think that she is only sinful and doesn’t speak to her being justified. On the other hand, in his discussion about her sin and confession his view seems to change. He tells her, “we are the same.” In that moment he is able to see her as justified and forgiven of her sin, just as he sees himself to be. But he also recognizes that she is still “cruel” just as he is still in bondage to sin.
Doubt really is the central theme of this film, but not in the way it seems to be. The doubt surrounding Father Flynn’s guilt or innocence is secondary to the crisis of faith for Sister Aloysius and the development of Sister James’ faith. Even broader than that, it is ultimately about the struggle for religious faith through post-modernism. I think the message of the film is optimistic about religion in the end. Even within deep doubt and crisis, the characters are able to find meaning

Boundaries are something we often talk about in Seminary. As a leader in the Church it is vitally important to recognize and maintain healthy boundaries. This can mean obvious things like keeping boundaries that prevent sexual harassment, embezzlement, or things like that, but healthy boundaries also means knowing when to say “no” to demands for time and energy. I have been trying to recognize those less obvious boundaries in my life and be aware of what limits I need to set to maintain my own sanity.

There is also another kind of boundary, the unhealthy or at least unnecessary boundary. This is where I see the issue of multiculturalism coming to the forefront. We often think in terms of the boundaries of our own cultural identity. In order to try to preserve that identity we labor under the mistaken idea that we need to set strict limits to how we interact with those on the other side of that boundary. I suggest instead that we start thinking in terms of borders. A border is different from a boundary. A border can be crossed and when we do, we leave our own place and enter the place of our neighbor. Sometimes this isn’t appropriate, some borders are also appropriate boundaries. I know that my next door neighbor doesn’t mind if I walk in to his apartment when he’s watching the football game. But, if I were to walk in at 3am while his family was sleeping, I would not just be crossing a border, I would be crossing a boundary. Obviously I also hold that boundary, I’m not some creepy weirdo who likes to walk in to peoples apartments in the middle of the night.

But when a border is not also a boundary, it invites crossing. I think the crux of multiculturalism shouldn’t be about eliminating borders, I think it should instead be about crossing borders, and welcoming others to cross our own border and participate in all the things that happen on our side of the border.

This brings me to another point in this idea that I have been considering. In my opinion, the most interesting new cultural developments (and even personal developments) happen right at the border. Using food as a primary metaphor for cultural exchange, I think the statement holds very true. “TexMex” or other “fusion” food cultures are a source of great innovation and exciting new ways of appreciating not just the best of two cultures but of creating a new and unique border culture. I also see this when a food culture is transported to a new place with a different agricultural climate. Haute cuisine in the past 30 or so years has embraced this border food concept, generating things like California pizza, a whole panopoly of French inspired fusions, and unusual reworking of ethnic foods in new and exciting local contexts.

Although this may seem like a new trend, this is as ancient as civilization itself. The Romans, for instance, initially thought that the French climate was too cold to raise good wine grapes, but now France is known for some of the best wine in the world. If that border between the Mediterranean and France had remained a boundary, we would have never known the possibility of French wine.

So I think the true task of multiculturalism is to recognize and celebrate borders, to cross them and to invite others to cross ours, and to see the possibilities that exist when we live close to those borders. Boundaries should still be respected, and we should always bear in mind that they should not be crossed even when they seem inappropriate. For a boundary to become simply a border requires an invitation from the person or people on the other side, and a willingness to cross.

I’m going to try to blog all of the little writing assignments I have throughout the semester. In my Ministry Across Cultures class, we’re reading A Different Mirror by Ronald Takaki. and have been asked to write a reflection about the first chapter.

Here is the question:
Describe briefly takaki’s frame for what it means to be “American” Using this frame, how might we re-think our idea of what it means to be Lutheran?

Takaki uses the metaphor of a mirror to describe how we view ourselves as Americans. I especially appreciate his suggestion that the mirror used by many Americans the mirror is distorted. He also suggests hope for a mirror without distortion. “Reflected in a mirror without distortions, the people of multicultural America belong to what Ishmael Reed described as a society ‘unique’ in the world because ‘the world is here’ –a place ‘where the cultures of the world crisscross.” (p19) He points to Langston Hughes poem asking to “let America be America”. For Takaki, American identity is not defined by race or culture, but by common ideals. Even more strongly, one of the central ideals is multiculturalism itself. To be American is to be a member of a deeply multicultural nation. His parallel comparison to the Latino concept of mestizaje, the intermingling of cultures and races is quite apt. He sees the stronger value in “integration” rather than “assimilation”. I realized that we don’t speak of integration much since the removal of segregation laws, but I think the concept is key to the future of multiculturalism. It allows space for both strong cultural identity and strong community across cultural borders.

To apply this concept to the sense of Lutheran identity, I keep coming back to core ideas of doctrine. Many of us who come from a particular segment of Lutheran culture get bogged down in our ideas about potluck dinners and church basement coffee. I think we need to realize and embrace the reality that Lutherans, like Americans, are and can be very diverse in their practices and yet still be deeply Lutheran. Lutheran identity is informed primarily by theology, by the deep faith in God’s abiding Grace, and by the call to service to our neighbor and the world. That may very different in downtown Minneapolis than it does in downtown Los Angeles, but the core is still there. What I think we need to emphasize and learn from Takaki’s frame of American identity is that there is no group that is more Lutheran than another, just as he is, as a Japanese American with a certain background, as deeply American as a European American who’s ancestors came over on the Mayflower, and even as deeply American as a newly arrived Ethiopian American immigrant.

What is baptism?
The central part of my theology of baptism springs from my theology of the Lord’s Supper. I have been reflecting on the essential pro me aspect of the sacraments, and I think that is the crux of my understanding of the what, how, and why of sacramental theology. Ultimately, like every act of worship, baptism is God’s work for and in us. I believe that God is present in all created things , so the idea of God’s presence in the water of baptism is not difficult for me. I think the important idea is that in that water, during that ritual celebration, God is present specifically for me. Ultimately, I can’t answer what baptism is, because baptism doesn’t belong to me or to the church. It is God’s sacrament for us.

What does baptism do?
I think the adoption imagery has had the strongest impact on my own piety. My own baptism occurred when I was only a few hours old, a sick infant in an incubator. As I’ve come to know the story of my birth and baptism better, I realize that my parents were fairly sure I wouldn’t survive. Knowing that, why did they choose to baptize me at that time? Rather than assuming that they wanted some “fire insurance” I prefer to think that they were putting my life into God’s hands. It is more than simply saying, “God, we trust that you will do what is best with our child.” Viewing baptism as God’s adoption of a child means that we have to give up our own ownership of that child. Taking it a little further, my own reflection on those events has made me realize that not only am I an adopted child of God, but that my life ultimately does not belong to me. I don’t mean that in a depressing kind of way, I don’t plan to take ascetic vows, but I think of it as part of the salvation that we are promised. As we say “we are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves” so if I try to own my life it will only be filled with selfish misery, but if I remember that God owns my life, it will be filled with meaning.
I know viewing baptism as adoption can lead to some Christological sticky territory surrounding Jesus’ own baptism, but I don’t know that it needs to. This may be wandering toward some other unforeseen heresy, but I like to think of the adoption of baptism as a revelation of God’s existing relationship with us. That fits with the pro me understanding as well. We don’t baptize as a way of asking God to adopt a child, the baptism is for the child to tell them that God has adopted them. So why bother baptizing? Because how else will we know what God does for us?

What does baptism involve for a life of faithful discipleship?
I think baptism is an important part of the Christian life. Even the focus on baptism as a community is an important one in this respect. In baptism we welcome someone into the body of Christ and in the ritual, I think it is good to ask the congregation to pledge to support the baptized person in faith. We are adopted by God, which means that we find out about a vast number of sisters and brothers in Christ. Baptizing in an important activity for a Christian community because it reminds them that “outsiders” are actually full members of the body of Christ.
Another facet of my own theology of baptism comes from Luther’s understanding of baptism as being something that only needed to happen once. I like the use of the present verb tense that Tieg suggests, saying “I am baptized” rather than “I was baptized” . For personal piety, I think this is critical, because it reminds us that we are heirs according to God’s promise. There is both comfort and challenge in that understanding of the Christian life. Luther was correct in reminding himself that he was baptized and that no one could take that away, but at the same time, that reminder challenges us to view the world in a radically different way. We are certainly saved by God’s external righteousness in us, but I think that spurs us to interact differently with the world. Not because there is some reward. What more could we receive from God beyond what we have been promised and given? But rather, we act differently because the gift is too big for each of us to contain.

How do the ceremonial actions employed either enhance or hinder what we claim and promise theologically for this event?
I think the ELW service does a pretty good job of focusing the ritual in the right place. The language is careful not to put the action in our hands, but rather focuses on God’s action for us in baptism. The imagery of rebirth and adoption figure prominently, along with uniting the community with the newly baptized. I would probably choose the “___Name___ is baptized” variation in the water rite to make sure the emphasis isn’t on my action but on God’s. Maybe it would be better to preface it with something like “God, Triune, baptizes __Name__, in the name of the Father *splash*, the Son *splash*, and the Holy Spirit *splash*” but I may just be overthinking it. Jesus tells his disciples to “make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit” so maybe it’s ok to use the “I baptize” language.
Tying baptisms to the church calendar is a good idea. I have been in communities where Easter is treated as a huge raucous celebration and I think baptism fits well with that time of year. Although our culture makes Marriage one of the biggest celebrations in our lives, I think it would be good to give baptism a similar treatment. The whole community should celebrate welcoming the baptized, preferably with a big party.

This brings me to my topic today, Hell. I don’t claim to be a Universalist, but I don’t feel a need to refute Universalism either. If Hell exists, I hope that no one ever goes there. My interpretation of the bible in its context suggests that there is something like hell that Jesus is talking about, my faith doesn’t rest on this idea, so usually I don’t bother with it. If the New Testament is read literally, there is no hell. Let me repeat that to make it extra clear, in a literal reading of the New Testament (in Greek) hell is not mentioned. Think I’m wrong? Well read on:

First of all, I ask the reader to forget everything they think they know about hell for now. Much of western civilization’s imagery about hell comes from extra biblical sources, especially Dante’s inferno. For a sola scriptura literalist, it would be inconsistent to apply non-scriptural descriptions. Popular mythology has so permeated society that I think many sola scriptura folks don’t even realize where their picture of hell comes from.

As far as I’ve been able to find, there are two terms in the New Testament that have been (mis)translated as “hell” in English, Hades and the Hinnom Valley, or hadou and geenna in Greek. If there are others, I would be very interested to find out about them and do additional research. I don’t know Hebrew, so I’m afraid I can’t really speak to the references in the Old Testament, again I would be interested to hear what others have found there.

Let’s tackle “Hades” first. In the Greek worldview, Hades was seen as simply the “land of the dead”. Greek mythology doesn’t really speak in the dualistic terms that many modern Christians use. For the Greek religion, all people, good and bad, went to Hades after death. It’s described as “shadowy” and “misty”. There is no connotation of fire, or of the Devil with a pitchfork, or anything like that. As I understand it (and again I don’t know Hebrew) this roughly correlates to the pre-Christian Jewish concept of “Sheol” which is often translated as “the grave”. Punishment and reward didn’t factor into the Jewish conception of the afterlife. Don’t believe me? Well, David, Solomon, and many other heroes of the Old Testament are described as being in Sheol after death, often with the term “with his ancestors”. Look it up. “Just read the text” as my Old Testament professor would often say. I’ll admit that Hades doesn’t sound too great, but it certainly isn’t a place of eternal torture and punishment.

That interpretation comes from the other term, Hinnom valley. A little background about the Hinnom valley. The Hinnom valley was near Jerusalem, it was the city’s garbage dump. In the valley, there was a constant trash fire burning, and when criminals or foreigners died in the city, their bodies would be burned there. Lake of unquenchable fire? Yep, they threw sulfur (aka brimstone) on the flames to keep them going. Smelly, nasty, not a good place for a weekend trip. Eternal punishment, well, I just don’t see it. It’s just the term that they used when we would say “in the trash”. Jesus uses the term in this way in Mark 9:43:

If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to the Hinnom Valley, to the unquenchable fire.

Again, that sounds pretty nasty, but if you take it literally, I don’t see how you can claim that he’s speaking about hell. No, he’s speaking about throwing something in the trash. Better to throw your hand in the trash than to throw your whole body away. I’m not a literalist, so I take this to mean something like: better to question a belief that leads to hatred than to allow your whole self to be consumed by hatred. But yeah, I guess the literalists are going to have to get out the hacksaw, yuck! (please don’t actually do that, go talk to a psychiatrist and/or a pastor first!) This usage appears several times in the variations of this pericope across the Synoptic gospels. Jesus uses it in each to refer to different body parts, but the message is the same.

I know there are more references, but I think that covers most of it. Comments are welcome, do your research and refute me if you disagree.

In the context of Matthew’s audience, Jesus’ disciples’ violation of the Sabbath is fruitful ground for interpretation. I will be primarily looking at this text from a first century Jewish context, focusing on the five perspectives Jesus uses to justify the actions of the disciples. I have classified these perspectives as; the Davidic precedent, the priestly precedent, Jesus’ comparison to the temple, the reference to Hosea, and the “Lord of the Sabbath” statement. I will also focus on how the story relates to the tone and themes of the rest of Matthew’s gospel. Finally, I will discuss the parallel text in the synoptic gospels and the significance of the difference between those passages.

First, we should consider this passage in light of the rest of Matthew. Jesus’ attitude toward the Law in Matthew is especially important. Clearly this passage is not an abolishment of the Sabbath regulations. “[Jesus'] argument, drawing upon both the Torah and a prophetic verse, accords nicely with Jesus’ affirmation that he has come ‘not to abolish the Law and the Prophets, but to fulfill them.’” Jesus is talking to the Pharisees in this passage, so his method of argumentation is hardly surprising and is in line with his method in other parts of Matthew. Because he is upholding the Law, I consider this to be an example of Jesus participating in the halakhic dialogue of the Scribes and the Pharisees. Although they reject his justification and reasoning, as is shown in Mt 12:14 when they conspire against him, Jesus is still acting as a participant in the Pharisaic discourse rather that ignoring their perspective outright.

The Davidic Precedent
Jesus references the story in 1 Samuel 21:1-6 of David asking the priest Ahimelech for bread. There is no mention that this occurred on the Sabbath, so this is most likely simply a justification for an exception to the established Law. The Old Testament story adds another layer of context to this story that is especially appropriate. Ahimelech is willing to give David the holy bread, but reminds him that the men must be ritually pure through abstinence from sex if they are going to eat it. David’s response affirms their purity but also adds that “the vessels of the young men are holy even when it is a common journey; how much more today will their vessels be holy?” (1Samuel 21:5 NRSV) So the purpose of their journey bears some significance on whether they are allowed to violate the prohibition against eating the holy bread. With this context, Jesus seems to imply that his disciples are justified in their actions because of the nature of their journey. In his account, Jesus also adds that David and his companions were hungry, which is not in the Old Testament text. This may be significant because it would appeal to the principle of piqquah nefesh “by which it is permissible to violate a commandment if this is necessary in order to preserve life.” That would fit with the idea of Jesus engaging in Pharisaic discourse, but I am not inclined to accept that interpretation. If this were a use of that principle, it would be quite poorly justified unless both David’s group and the Jesus’ group were literally starving to death. Neither account indicates there was that level of hunger. Another interesting perspective is brought up by R.T. French in The New International Commentary on the New Testament focusing on Jesus’ statement that he is “something greater” than the temple. So the exemption for David was because of who he was. “It was David, as David, who was permitted to do what was not lawful; and now Jesus places his own authority alongside that of David.” This argument flows well with the rest of the passage, but it does presuppose that this was intended to be a Christological argument, whereas the entire passage could be understood to refer to a more general discussion of the Law. If we accept that Jesus is teaching the Pharisees about proper interpretation of the Law, I think it fits better to make this less focused on Jesus’ right to an exemption from Sabbath practice and focus more on the general principles he is supporting.

The Priestly Precedent and the Temple
The example of David eating the bread of the presence is taken a step further with Jesus’ reference to priests’ activity on the Sabbath. Having established that the disciples’ mission had some bearing on their legal requirements, he extends this principle to the specific activity of working on the Sabbath. As Menahaem Kister points out, this principle was explained by R. Akiva in tShabbat 15:16 “the Temple service supersedes the Sabbath”. “The priests profane the Sabbath in the Temple, and the Temple service thus overrides the Sabbath, but ’something greater than the Temple’ (and thus also the Sabbath) ‘is here’.” The priestly exemption for services on the Sabbath does not seem to be in dispute here, but Jesus’ claim that he is greater than the Temple certainly would have been more controversial. “It is hard to overestimate the shock value of this pronouncement… Its priestly establishment was the nearest thing Israel still possessed to a government of its own. To threaten the temple, as Jeremiah had discovered long ago, was to commit unpardonable treason.” Even so, his argument could rest on the priestly exemption alone if the Davidic precedent of mission or piqquah nefesh was taken seriously by the Pharisees. Again, this point could also stand alone on the severity of the disciples’ hunger, which seems to have been an accepted exemption among the Pharisees.

Mercy not Sacrifice
Jesus quotes Hosea here for the second time in Matthew’s gospel. The context is quite different. Earlier, in Matthew 9:13 Jesus uses the same reference “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.” In that passage he is responding to the Pharisees regarding eating with tax collectors and sinners. “The principle here is not to sacrifice as such (which Jesus does not rule out, 5:23-24) but to the Pharisees’ preoccupation with ritual purity, which overrides concern for those in need.” In the trajectory of his entire argument, I think this interpretation fits well. After giving examples of when exceptions may be made to the Law for the sake of a higher ideal, Jesus is appealing to the higher ideal of mercy over the sacrificial keeping of the Sabbath. Kister affirms this point by saying that Jesus implies “that mercy supersedes the Temple service, thus mercy supersedes the Sabbath too.” This would also open the question of whether Jesus is referring to himself when he speaks of “something greater” or if he is actually referring to God’s desire for mercy being greater than the stricture of the Law that the Pharisees present. Both interpretations rest on how the phrase “Son of Man” is interpreted in the final verse.

Lord of the Sabbath
The final perspective Jesus gives in this passage is in many ways the most enigmatic. He simply declares that “the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath.” (Matt. 12:8) France brings up the scholarly disagreement about the interpretation of the phrase “Son of Man” arguing that taking it to mean humanity in general would be inconsistent. Although it seems that Jesus is referring to himself here, I think the more general reading would be more reasonable to the Pharisees. As he suggests, the change in usage from general to specific may have been introduced by the later Christian community. I would argue that the logic of the argument flows better using the more general understanding of the phrase, especially when considering the parallel passage in Mark which prefaces the final statement with “The Sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind of the Sabbath.” (Mk 2:27) This may also be evidence of the semantic shift between the writing of the two gospels.

Synoptic Parallels
In his article The Chreia, David Gowler suggests that the form of this passage reflects a standard format of elaboration delineated by Hermogenes. I think that his suggestion is quite apt and ties in well with the rhetorical style of this passage. If Matthew’s audience was more firmly entrenched in the Pharisaic tradition than Mark’s and Luke’s, it is hardly surprising that the author would have elaborated the argument as was appropriate in the rhetorical style of the time.
All of the synoptic gospels include a version of this story, but I think the differences are quite striking. Mark’s account has the most interesting differences for me. First, most of the arguments are left out, adding credence to Gowler’s suggestion that the account in Matthew was an elaboration. Only the Davidic precedent and the “Lord of the Sabbath” statement remain, but Mark includes an argument about the purpose of the Sabbath, which is absent in the other two accounts. This could be taken to reflect the two interpretations found in the Old Testament. By directing the Sabbath practice toward humans, Mark may be recalling the justification given in Deuteronomy: “Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the LORD your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the LORD your God commanded you to keep the sabbath day.” (Deuteronomy 5:15 NRSV) This verse points much more strongly toward Mark’s interpretation; that the Sabbath is for the sake of humans. But Matthew and Luke omit that reference, which implies that they are looking toward the justification given in Exodus: “For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and consecrated it.” (Exodus 20:11 NRSV) This passage practically removes the human motivation for Sabbath practice, and focuses it much more on the holiness of the Sabbath.

There seem to be many nuances in the interpretation of this passage, but overall I think the entire interpretation rests on if this is read as a general interpretation of the Law or a specific exemption for Jesus. In the context of the lax treatment of the Sabbath in the Lutheran church, the former interpretation is certainly more appealing but that would suggest that the phrase “Son of Man” should be read to apply to all humanity rather than to refer to Jesus himself. If there was in fact as semantic shift in the meaning of this phrase in the early Christian community, I suspect it would be evident in a comparison of the usage of the term in Mark and Matthew.