"Holy Envy" at Lent

Being raised in a Christian tradition that did not follow the liturgical calendar (well, we had Christmas and Easter; plus, for the really devout, Good Friday), I’ve always felt like something of an outsider when it comes to the season of Lent. I envy my sisters and brothers from other traditions for whom the ebb and flow of the church calendar is a way of deepening, reflecting on, and putting into tangible practice their devotion to God. In a recent On Being podcast Krista Tippet interviewed a rabbi and a Muslim chaplain about their interfaith work. One of them raised the notion of “holy envy:” being able to appreciate something about another tradition that is absent (or less present) in one’s own. Today I still wrestle with what Lent should mean or could mean for me, and the concept of “holy envy” provides me an interesting way of thinking about it this year. And yet, the practices that Lent invites and inspires are not unique to any one tradition but are essential practices of Christian faith: fasting, prayer, reflection, contemplation. But in this season they take on a new significance as we are invited to participate in them again and anew.

This week Carlow’s Center for Mercy Heritage provided the following suggestions as to how we might both fast and feast during the Lenten season.

Fast from:	Feast On:
judging others, emphasis on differences, the darkness, thoughts of illness, words that pollute us, withholding anger, idle gossip, pessimism, worry, guilt, complaining, stress, hostility, bitterness, selfishness, discouragement, apathy, suspicion, being so busy, talking,	the Christ dwelling in them our oneness the light of Christ the healing power of God words that purify sharing feelings spreading good news optimism trust freedom appreciation self-care letting go forgiveness compassion hope enthusiasm seeing the good quiet silence listening

Many of these are very attractive ideas to which I can easily assent. Who doesn’t want more optimism, hope, and compassion in their lives? But to actually fast from something like “stress” or “being so busy” and to feast on something like “quiet silence” or “self-care” seems a tall order. Even more so to feast on “our oneness” and “the light of Christ.” And yet, as conceptual and ethereal as these ideas are, faith tells us that they are also very real.

The brilliant author of the Fourth Gospel put it this way in the magnificent hymn which opens this work: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5). By faith, Christians recognize this to be true today as well.

So in our present world in which there is both light and darkness, Lent seems an opportunity to adjust our gaze away from the darkness and again toward the light of Christ: “the true light which enlightens every person” (John 1:9). So “holy envy” or not, I’ll enter this Lenten season with my brothers and sisters to see how we may be enlightened together.

Is More Theological Research Really Needed?

Do we really need more research in Bible and theology?

This is a question that those of us in the academic world find ourselves asking from time to time. Well, at least I know that I ask it of myself. Our students (or families or churches) may ask it as well when they hear about the kind of research and writing we biblical studies faculty do. I found a good angle from which to approach this question in Avery Dulles, The Craft of Theology: From Symbol to System (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1992). Dulles provides a compelling case for the ongoing need for more theological research and development, giving both a theological answer and a practical one. He writes,

“Systematization in theology can never be complete, for the true object of theology is the unfathomable mystery of God, attained by tacit rather than explicit awareness. Every theological system is deficient, but some systems are superior to others, especially for making the faith intelligible to a given cultural group at a given period of history.” (10)

Dulles’ comment is an important reminder to me of two important ideas. First, further theological research is a theological necessity: our theology can never exhaust the depths of God, and therefore the subject matter of our discipline is one which is inexhaustible. As a result, theology will always be a work in progress; we will never fully arrive at the final word on God, God’s world, and God’s work in the world.

Second, a practical consideration: time and history never stand still, and new times and new cultural contexts raise new questions that call for fresh and compelling formulations—formulations which of necessity must go beyond the explanations and theological formulae of earlier generations. Thus, Dulles reminds us of the importance of ongoing, careful, and critical work in the field of theology, and, for me, in the sub-discipline of biblical studies. Rather than simply forwarding on the systematized answers of the past, there is a pressing need for a continual process of revisiting and revising our theology, to strive toward a theological system that is (if not complete) at least well-suited for our own particular place and time.

Dulles elaborates on this second point about the need for fresh theology in changing times:

“The questions confronting the present-day theologian arise from apparent gaps or contradictions in the normative sources, or from the deficiencies perceived in past theological syntheses, or from objections arising out of contemporary experience or knowledge. Theology, then, can never be static. It must deal with new questions put to the Church by the course of events and by the circumstances of life in the world. Continual creativity is needed to implant the faith in new cultures and to keep the teaching of the Church abreast of the growth of secular knowledge. New questions demand new answers, but the answers of theology must always grow out of the Church’s heritage of faith.” (11)

With that last sentence Dulles thus brings into view the dynamic tension that exists between tradition and faithful innovation—a tension that Jewish and Christian people of faith have wrestled with for centuries. And of course, this "dynamic tension" would make a great research topic in its own right.

Whale Carcasses, Ghosts, and Biblical Studies

I recently had the good fortune to be able to reread Moby-Dick for the first time since high school. Among other things, I was struck by a short chapter deep in the heart of the book in which Melville describes the disposal of a whale carcass after it has been processed by the crew of a whaling ship. The carcass, it turns out, has a very interesting afterlife as it continues floating at sea, clouded over with “sea-vultures” and “air-sharks” all arrayed in fine back and white suits for a “doleful and most mocking funeral.” Melville goes on to explain how the sight of the vast body, with clouds of birds over it and water splashing up next to it, may later be observed from a distance by another ship. To the untrained eye, from a great distance, such an observation may lead to a misinformed entry in the ship’s log—one that may affect boats and travelers for many years to come. Melville, or rather, Ishmael, explains:

     Nor is this the end. Desecrated as the body is, a vengeful ghost survives and hovers over it to scare. Espied by some timid man-of-war or blundering discovery-vessel from afar, when the distance obscuring the swarming fowls, nevertheless still shows the white mass floating in the sun, and the white spray heaving high against it; straightway the whale's unharming corpse, with trembling fingers is set down in the log—shoals, rocks, and breakers hereabouts: beware! And for years afterwards, perhaps, ships shun the place; leaping over it as silly sheep leap over a vacuum, because their leader originally leaped there when a stick was held. There's your law of precedents; there's your utility of traditions; there's the story of your obstinate survival of old beliefs never bottomed on the earth, and now not even hovering in the air! There's orthodoxy!  

     Thus, while in life the great whale's body may have been a real terror to his foes, in his death his ghost becomes a powerless panic to a world.

     Are you a believer in ghosts, my friend? There are other ghosts than the Cock-Lane one, and far deeper men than Doctor Johnson who believe in them. (Excerpted from Herman Melville, Moby-Dick, [Penguin Classics edition] pp. 336-337.)

For those of us in the field of biblical studies, or even religious studies more generally, Melville’s question is apt, and we would certainly be keen to echo it with our students. Many of us have seen the ways that incomplete or inadequate understandings of observed phenomena—or phenomena that others have observed—give birth to complicated systems of belief which, over time, gain the status of being “right thinking.” Yet when these are not based on a foundation of adequate critical reflection and careful thinking, a whole mountain of doctrine may be formed which later generations accept merely due to its longevity. For each new generation in its own time and place, there are some beliefs, values, and practices which need to be revisited both in terms of their origins and their current significance. Surely this is the responsibility of all educated people of faith, but especially those called to serve in the academy.

But Melville's question, “Are you a believer in ghosts, my friend?” is surely a double-edged sword. The one edge reminds us to  bring a critical eye to the ideas that we receive as part of our religious and cultural heritage. The other edge of this sword, however, reminds us to bring a critical eye to the accepted wisdom of our own scholarly discipline. As many others have pointed out, the field of biblical studies is one where theories and ideas of influential scholars can come to be too easily accepted as true by students and later generations of scholars. (As but one example consider the unfortunate characterizations of early Judaism prominent in some New Testament scholarshp of the 19^th and  early 20^th centuries). It takes careful thought, significant time, and, above all, intellectual courage to revisit the primary sources and the original phenomena that have lead to the development of a particular theory. And it takes more work in addition to articulate a different, more compelling view of the actual phenomena. But this is work that must be done if we are to exorcise the ghosts and not leave ships' logs full of false warnings for future generations.

Whether we work in the church or in the academy, those of us called to an intellectual vocation should work, among other things, against the “obstinate survival of old beliefs never bottomed out on the earth.” Far better—for us and our students—to face reality honestly and openly, allowing our minds to grapple with the world as it is, even as we attempt to do so with an awarenes of the context of our own tradition.