Tenabrae

A late night meditation on "Good Friday" following services that night, but held until today due to issues which took priority during the weekend and a day off yesterday.

From Isaiah 53:2-6 (NIV):

2           He grew up before him like a tender shoot,

               and like a root out of dry ground.

             He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,

               nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.

3           He was despised and rejected by mankind,

               a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.

              Like one from whom people hide their faces

                he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.

4            Surely he took up our pain

                and bore our suffering,

              yet we considered him punished by God,

               stricken by him, and afflicted.

5            But he was pierced for our transgressions,

               he was crushed for our iniquities;

              the punishment that brought us peace was on him,

               and by his wounds we are healed.

6            We all, like sheep, have gone astray,

                each of us has turned to our own way;

               and the Lord has laid on him

                the iniquity of us all.

The Good Friday service at Good Shepherd Lutheran in Irvine this year was the traditional Tenebrae Service (which I've been informed is from the Latin for "darkness"). It begins in silence, continues with the gradual extinguishing of candles on the altar as gospel accounts of Christ's passion are read, and ends in near total darkness with either a door slammed shut or the lectern bible slammed shut ("strepitus", signifying the closing of the tomb with Christ's body within). Communion is never distributed on Good Friday and attendees are asked to leave in silence at service's end. Although never intended to be a joyful experience, the experience of that service always seems to emotionally resonate with me and did again this year.

I remarked on this originally back during Lent in 2010 when I was creating some early entries for this blog. At that time I mentioned some writer's observation on people easily "getting" the wreckage of Good Friday and our horror on finding ourselves periodically in circumstances where even hope seemed a luxury. I would add here, I think part of coming to faith in Christianity is coming to the recognition a fair deal of the "wreckage" we personally encounter in our lives is devised by ourselves and is not simply our "natural" reaction to circumstances which befell us. We make choices based on our desires at the time events unfold and some times those desires reflect the corruption within us. Christ, undeservedly, suffered agonies which were rightly deserved by our actions. "Tenebrae" services helps to clarify that paradigm and helps me recognize the potential for darkness within me when I look in the mirror.

I think that recognition, even within the confines of the "grace" Christ offers us, is a reminder we need agape, and in our daily lives should aspire in extending it to others even if only a weak reflection of Christ's actions for us.

"He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering."

Another lagging draft, mainly composed Good Friday night, reflecting on my observation of the Passion and the renewed attention to the priest abuse scandals both here and in Europe.

The NY Times has been having a field day with accusations Pope Benedict failed to act strongly enough against child abusing priests decades ago while heading up the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith and as Archbishop of Germany. I’m loath to give the accusers too much credence because too often church critics despise the church and its adherents (I suspect because of both doctrine and its standing in the Christian world). From my perspective, secular critics often cherry pick circumstantial information to suit a preconstructed narrative and would not mourn the fall of the man, or his church (I guess it’s sort of like that old saying of never going to an ex-spouse to get the true measure of an individual; too many people who believe themselves wronged preserve an amazing capability to nurse grievances for years and often use that grievance as justification for ad hominem attacks and slurs when the opportunity arises).

And of the monster priests? Do I believe they were coddled by bishops who confounded their understanding of the mission of the church with the neglect of adequate discipline for corrupt individuals who preyed on children? In some spectacular cases, yes. In others, the desire to be an agent of “grace” to the repentant (or those offenders simply gaming the system) was probably quite a temptation. Sadly, the victims were often simply expected to forgive these transgressions of their childhood and move on.

And now the current holder of the keys of Peter, made explicit in his definition of church dogma ex cathedra magesterium, who to Catholics by definition is infallible with regards to definition of church dogma (at least since Vatican I), finds himself called to account by a hostile media who treats him as if he was the CEO of a business who gave shelter to criminal enterprises of the worst kind. Needless to say, even though we differentiate between dogmatic infallibility and human flaws, there is a tendency within the church to view these accusations as an attack on the foundation of the church itself. As for me, as an intellectual descendant of Martin Luther, I wish the dogmatic authority codified by Vatican I in the person of the pope had continued to be reserved for the College of Cardinals, but I’m not blind to the increasing hostility of certain atheists within the community to all aspects of Christianity and particularly it’s public expression by believers. Faith, for some people, only deserves ridicule.

Within my Christian home, I recognize that Catholic arguments the Reformation would lead to an endless splintering of the Christian community without some allegiance to tradition and church authority are not without merit. One need only look at the long list of splinter Christian “churches” who embrace all sorts of odd doctrinal conclusions (all “biblically based”, of course) with their handful of members (Fred Phelps, in particular, comes to mind as a particularly repulsive representative), to realize it may not be a good idea to tell people anything they discern from their reading of the Bible is necessarily valid. From my perspective, we join organizations and institutions which ultimately may be as corrupt as the darkness which lies within our own souls. They are all things of man, and reflect the flaws of men. So we sit within imperfect institutions, worship our God, and listen to the jeers of the hostile crowd without.

Which brings me back to Good Friday. Pastor Tim this past week during the Tenebrae Service of Good Friday quoted a writer I wasn’t familiar with who claimed almost everybody “gets” the wreckage of Good Friday. We know the wreckage of couples who lacking the passion to renew their relationship, much less fight, and simply quit and walk away. We know the wreckage of the 12 year old girl kicked senseless by a 15 year old classmate for upsetting him with a set of text messages. We hear the voices of doomed passengers talking to loved ones they’ll never grow old with, saying goodbye to the children who they’ll never see graduate school. We hear the unexpected horrifying diagnosis, see the unexpected arrival of a drunk driver careening out of control, have watched the light fade in a loved one’s eyes and felt the warmth and strength of a human hand go cold and flaccid. And I sit in stone cold silence and horror during those moments, where simply continuing to breathe is an effort.

And yet 2000 years ago, this man, this iterant preacher, this innocent, meeting his end subjected to the most foul devices of torture and death the denizens of the most fearful empire of that time could come up, spoke only of forgiveness for his captors. He spoke of love, and said even though we didn’t deserve it, our creator loved us and would create a bridge for rapprochement through his sacrifice. It was said his followers saw him numerous times after his death, the same and yet, somehow, changed. Many of his early followers, rather than renounce their faith in him, went to their own deaths. Believe in him as son of the living God, or not; the world and its’ many faiths have produced few stories like his.

My faith has changed during my life, but my wonder at that story still renews me. The institutions and politics are really just an aside. During my moments of doubt and challenge, the difficult thing to live with as a Christian is not my belief in his resurrection, but the long wait following his ascension.

Have Faith

Early stage modification trials are in place with both Bank of America and Aurora Loan Service for our mortgage loans, but American Express is potentially complicating the outcome with their filing of a key derogatory against my gold account with them (seemingly not in conformance with the negotiated agreement we had). As usual, correspondence to address the issue and disposition are pending. On the positive side, the IRS approved the 1040X we filed for our 2004 return which resulted in a sizable (and timely) refund. Thanks is due the Tax Payer Advocate office in Plantation. Still, the ultimate conclusions at this stage in time are still impossible to predict with any sense of certainty. Yet I still "believe" things will work out. The facts supporting that belief are more nebulous than the belief itself. And yet. . .

Facebook has been a useful tool for me to organize my thoughts and start writing again (I'm more of a blogger than a twitter user), but sometimes an unexpected observation from acquaintences almost forgotten does help clarify things in an unexpected manner. An old HS friend describes his religious orientation as "Not superstitious". I like that because I think it addresses the core issues in what we really mean and need to consider when we make these generic statements about belief and faith. In this summer of change and challenge it brought to mind conversations I had a long time ago.

While an undergraduate at Columbia, I had slowly started to drift from attending services at the church I grew up in. I thought the pastor was some type of dispirited warped scholastic (his expression of faith seemed to be more in tune with the repeated performance of ritual than anything else). His family appeared to be a mess; his sons didn't appear to respect him; his attention seemed to be consumed by the small political intrigues of even smaller people, who led thoroughly unremarkable lives even by the standards of my hometown. So, I attended when Mom and Dad asked on religious holidays and began a mental walkabout among the questions in my own mind, which concerned themselves more with the vageries of one doctrine versus another and questions of text translation accuracy. I took courses in religious studies with Elaine Pagels at Barnard, Catholic Theology Post Vatican II with Ewert Cousins at Columbia, and spent some free time at the Union Theological Seminary Library exploring the different theorized editiorial voices in the Book of Job. It created a sense of smug satisfaction with the depth of my inquiries, answered nothing, and perhaps confused a third person analysis of the sublime and mystical with questions I refused to verbalize.

Somewhere during that time I spent an afternoon with Pastor B, who delivered the eulogy at my grandfather's funeral (with a delightful Musto Catholic/Protestant schism just barely contained for the day). Pastor B's eulogy was elegant and thoughtful, and drew me into starting a conversation with Pastor B, who I don't believe was more than 10 or 15 years older than me. So we talked on a long ago Sunday afternoon regarding the seemingly contradictory voices of the Book of Job. Pastor B in a nod to my geeky undergraduate presence and ego, complimented my scholarship, and said, "I would like to ask you a question first, if that's Ok". I agreed, and Pastor B asked me, "Do you think God exists?". I looked at him sitting there with his clerical collar and black shirt on (yet so different from other ministers I had known until then) and didn't respond fast enough for someone sure of that answer and he knew it. We talked further, but I left that day for a religious sabatical that covered four years and a parallel existence I don't believe anyone would characterize as christian in nature.

I'll probably write more on this, but when I next entered a church I was mainly convinced Pastor B's question could be answered yes because I had come to believe our sentience and complexity could not be viewed as the probabilistic outcome of evolution driving biological mechanisms. I also found resonance with the concept the author of our existence would not be succored by our petty sacrifices and attempts at embracing any moral code. Redemption of creatures who are both divine and depraved would best be achieved by the grace of their creator. Ironically, this belief, as Montaigne pointed out so many years ago, could not be argued definitively, and was forced to reside in the house of personal faith.

I think we're kidding ourselves if we believe we can progress to the arguing of the relevancy of various theological doctrines, if we can't answer some of the basic questions first. As for Pastor B, my understanding is he died of AIDS some years ago, along with his lover, an excellent ER doctor, who in one of those weird six degrees of separation moments, was also the instructor for the cardiac section of the paramedic course I took in NYC during 1979-1980. I suppose, with no irony intended, if the answers can be known, Pastor B could provide them now. Still, in the loss of two really talented individuals (one who I considered a good friend and sounding board) it's hard to see the hand of a loving God. I suppose I've come to believe the anthropomorphism we indulge in characterizing actions we believe should fall under the domain of an omniscent and onmipresent God say more about us than (him?). Which simply brings us back to the first question Pastor B presented me (or perhaps the type of God we would have).

So, while I wait for conclusions to reveal themselves and continue to lead my life, I choose to "Have faith", recognizing that choice is impossible to defend with a rigorous proof, and yet is still a reflection of of an intuitive core belief of mine.

Governors, Love, Forgiveness and God

Mark Sanford continues as governor of South Carolina after concluding God's plans for him include him finishing out his elected term as governor. Apparently Mr. Sanford's proffering of himself in his weakened leadership state while advancing his legislative agenda and reclaiming his rightful position as family patriarch (although I'm not sure how his wife views his running off to Argentina within a week of her asking him to leave the family domicile), is the redemptive path God has in mind for Mr. Sanford. Meanwhile, certain post-feminist elements of the mainstream media seem to find a certain allure in the fact Mr. Sanford may have simply fallen victim to "eros" (nothing so crass as an ill-considered affair).

Without wanting to be simply contrarian, I suspect the truth is somewhat more nuanced. Mr. Sanford (at least as of this morning) seems to have a little bit more history in this "activities" area than original reports were willing to credit, and I can't help but see the outline of a furtive grasping of a life and reputation which must be hard to relinquish given the perks alone. As for Mrs. Sanford, she appears more tough minded and pragmatic than I normally expect with someone who shares any type of passion with anyone (I think it's ironic we are often the most susceptible to the greatest passions when we are most vulnerable.). I would guess the home fires have been banked for some time in the Sanford residence.

Of course, while reclaiming God's mantle for ourselves, I was reminded of David's liason with Bethsheba. I don't think anyone would disagree the event was one of the central events of David's life and God forgave David. He also struck that first child of David and Betsheba dead. That's probably a little bit too "Old Testament" for us today.