Showing posts with label Christianity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christianity. Show all posts

Sunday, July 8, 2018

Respond... Sermon on Mark 1:29-39

Matthew 1:29-39

29 Καὶ εὐθὺς ἐκ τῆς συναγωγῆς ἐξελθόντες ἦλθον εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν Σίμωνος καὶ Ἀνδρέου μετὰ Ἰακώβου καὶ Ἰωάννου. 30 ἡ δὲ πενθερὰ Σίμωνος κατέκειτο πυρέσσουσα, καὶ εὐθὺς λέγουσιν αὐτῷ περὶ αὐτῆς. 31 καὶ προσελθὼν ἤγειρεν αὐτὴν κρατήσας τῆς χειρός· καὶ ἀφῆκεν αὐτὴν ὁ πυρετός, καὶ διηκόνει αὐτοῖς. 
32 Ὀψίας δὲ γενομένης, ὅτε ἔδυ ὁ ἥλιος, ἔφερον πρὸς αὐτὸν πάντας τοὺς κακῶς ἔχοντας καὶ τοὺς δαιμονιζομένους· 33 καὶ ἦν ὅλη ἡ πόλις ἐπισυνηγμένη πρὸς τὴν θύραν. 34 καὶ ἐθεράπευσεν πολλοὺς κακῶς ἔχοντας ποικίλαις νόσοις καὶ δαιμόνια πολλὰ ἐξέβαλεν καὶ οὐκ ἤφιεν λαλεῖν τὰ δαιμόνια, ὅτι ᾔδεισαν αὐτόν. 
35 Καὶ πρωῒ ἔννυχα λίαν ἀναστὰς ἐξῆλθεν καὶ ἀπῆλθεν εἰς ἔρημον τόπον κἀκεῖ προσηύχετο. 36 καὶ κατεδίωξεν αὐτὸν Σίμων καὶ οἱ μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ, 37 καὶ εὗρον αὐτὸν καὶ λέγουσιν αὐτῷ ὅτι πάντες ζητοῦσίν σε. 38καὶ λέγει αὐτοῖς· ἄγωμεν ἀλλαχοῦ εἰς τὰς ἐχομένας κωμοπόλεις, ἵνα καὶ ἐκεῖ κηρύξω· εἰς τοῦτο γὰρ ἐξῆλθον. 39 Καὶ ἦλθεν κηρύσσων εἰς τὰς συναγωγὰς αὐτῶν εἰς ὅλην τὴν Γαλιλαίαν καὶ τὰ δαιμόνια ἐκβάλλων.

And immediately, coming out of the synagogue they went into the house of Simon and Andrew with James and John.  The mother in law of Simon was lying down and having a fever, and immediately they are speaking to him concerning her. 
And, when he approached, he raised her, taking her by the hand.  And the fever left her, and she was serving them.
When evening came and the sun set, they were bringing to him all the ones having illness and the ones demon-possessed.  And the whole city was gathered together at the door.
And he healed many that had illness, various diseases and he cast out many demons and he did not permit the demons to speak because they had known him.
And very early at night, having gotten up, he went out and went away to a desolate place and he was praying.  And Simon and the ones with him searched for him.
And they found him and they say to him, “all are looking for you,” and he says to them, “let us go elsewhere into the neighboring villages, so that I may also preach there, for I came for this purpose.”

And he came preaching and casting out demons in the whole region of Galilee and its synagogues.   

Have you ever had a nagging feeling that you left something unfinished? 

A project… a conversation… maybe something happened and the way that you…….. -- wasn’t all that you could have done? Maybe something was said and you just couldn’t come up with the right…. – until it was too late. Maybe someone approached you, you felt you needed to do something, and you just didn’t know how to……..

Grace and peace to you from God our Creator and Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior… Amen.

That was almost painful, wasn’t it! When our response, or how we respond, is left out -- we have an unfinished story. A discomfort. It can nag at us. Whether a moment ago you were shouting the unsaid word at me in your head, as I would have been doing, or you just wondered “where is she going with this…? There is some level of unease at an action without any response.


Our very biology is built on this. We eat food and our body responds with digestive chemicals and hormones that tell our system to extract nutrients. When we are too cold, our body responds with a shiver that warms us.

Socially, we are very attuned to the responses of other people. When we spoke, did the other person smile? Nod? Frown? And then we respond – based on THEIR response.

This passage is full of responses! The entire town responds to the news that there is a healer at Simon Peter’s house. The whole city! Can you imagine the commotion? Each and every personin the town of Capernaum has some kind of brokenness – an illness, an injury, a demon possession, which in this era might be something we’d call mental illness. The need for healing is a universal fact in this moment. And here they are, nearly breaking down the door, in order to come to Jesus.

But before the commotion, before the word gets out and the dust is kicked up and the house is crowded and smelly and full of desperate humanity – something quiet and important happens.
Simon’s mother in law has a fever – she can’t even sit up, and she is lying in bed.

Adult fevers in ancient Palestine were not a simple thing, nor something usually recovered from. Without antibiotics, infections quickly overwhelmed a person, and by the time she was unable to get up things were probably looking pretty grim. In fact, when Jesus came into the house, “immediately,” Simon speaks to him concerning her.

What happens next is remarkable. Jesus grabs her hand – and the word here is not gentle, in fact the same word is used when the soldiers “seize” Jesus and arrest him -- and raises her up. And the fever left her.

This is also an unusual word in this Gospel, “raise up.” In the Greek text this word is used in the gospel of Mark two other times – in 5:41, when Jesus “Raises” the daughter of the leader of the synagogue – and they have already confirmed her to be dead and started mourning for her – and, in Mark 16:6 – “he is not here, he is risen.”

A special word. Some would argue that this is the first resurrection from the dead story in the Gospel of Mark. It’s important.

“The fever left her,” the text says, “and she was serving them.”

I have to be honest – I got stuck here! I mean, What kind of sexist garbage is this? This poor woman has been to death and back and the best she can do with that experience is get right up and wait on the guys that have just barged in to her house?

Well – maybe it is. Maybe it is the best she can do.

Jesus heals a lot of people in Capernaum on this day. He has been to the synagogue and taught – and then healed to show that his teachings have authority. Immediately after the synagogue he comes to this house and then the whole town comes. He heals them all and we are told that he warns the demons not to speak because they know who he is. But what about everyone else? They are amazed at his teachings – they are feeling better – but just like those awful unfinished sentences I spoke a few minutes ago – they don’t DO anything. They don’t respond.

Simon’s mother-in-law is different. She didn’t ask for help – she was too sick to even participate. Yet he pulls her from death. Pulls her into new life. She was in a desperate situation, but then she has an encounter with Jesus -- and she responds. She responds by serving him. She responds to the new life given to her by serving Jesus Christ.

There is really nothing sexist in this line of text. As the disciples bumble around trying to follow Jesus and figure him out, Simon’s mother-in-law is the first person in this Gospel to really “get it.”
Mark tells us that the truest response to an encounter with Jesus Christ is to serve. Simon’s mother-in-law understands that at the very core of her being, and without even thinking about it, shows us true discipleship. She shows us what it means to follow Jesus.

And just look at what happens next. She serves them, she is restored to her rightful place in the household, and what happens? Here comes the whole town. Through her restoration and subsequent service an entire town is restored to life and health and wholeness.

This Jesus – he comes for us. He strives for us. He pulls us from the brink of death. This is Christ’s work. All we get to do up to that point in the story is be dead. “While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us…”

But then – then, just look how much our response matters.

Our call is to discipleship and to service, even if -- maybe especially if – the entire suffering and broken town is then on our doorstep, seeking healing, seeking acceptance, seeking community.

Seeking Jesus.

Remember that 1980s movie “Field of Dreams?” It’s the only movie I can think of that has a genre description “American Fantasy Drama Sports Film.” Kevin Costner plays a corn farmer that hears voices and thinks he needs to build a baseball diamond in his corn field. The voices have told him, “if you build it, they will come.” And they do! Shoeless Joe and his team. They play ghost baseball while Kevin Costner’s wife, who never believed in the nonsense, looks on teary eyed.

It's great, isn’t it? So hopeful!

But we don’t need to build a baseball diamond – or even a church – for Him to come.
The good news is that Jesus is present with us here and now, seizing our arms and fighting to pull us into new life.

So then what? All we have to do up to that point is be dead – but afterwards, after he raises us up, what is our response? Maybe then is when we do the building. Maybe we need to build a community that serves and opens our hearts to the lost and brokenhearted and hurting – a community so strong in service to Jesus Christ that we can take in those who the rest of the world
has only offered a sense of worthlessness and rejection and love them into healing and restoration and knowledge of their worth to God.

Think, for a moment, of where you fit in that community. Have you had an encounter with Jesus Christ?

I didn’t grow up in the church. In fact, I grew up in a family that was actively hostile toward Christianity. My late teen years were marked with a lot of loss – friends to suicide and to car accidents; an important mentor to AIDS; grandparents; and there just wasn’t any accompanying hope. There wasn’t a future beyond this world, and there didn’t seem to be much meaning in it.
But when I was twenty years old and working my way through school I was offered a job in a Lutheran church conducting the choir part time. I thought that actually having a job using the skills I was in school for sounded like a great idea. They interviewed me, never asked anything about faith. Crazy. I loved that job. I wanted to do it well, and I would spend lots of time matching lyrics and messages of songs in the choral library to the sermon texts.

Suddenly I was reading about hope, a future, and this man named Jesus Christ that people had spent my entire life telling me was irrelevant but whose words reached into my very core and showed me that it was empty and dark. A place of death. The words “existential crisis” are maybe thrown about too much but really, I was living it. By Christmas I was acutely and desperately aware that something was missing from my life that I really needed in order to continue. By Easter I was truly experiencing the resurrection. Jesus had fought for me and raised me into new, real life.

I didn’t know anything about the theology of discipleship at that moment – but what I did know is that my teen years would have been a lot less awful if I had had accompanying faith. Compassion
for kids and teens that didn’t know God became my life’s focus; using music, since it was what I knew how to do. My mind didn’t know how to respond to my encounter with Jesus – but my heart did.

Have you been lost, broken, grieving, or hurt and felt him seize your arm? Has he fought through all of that pain, suffered with you, grieved with you, died with you in order to raise you to new life?

Will you leave that story unfinished? Will you remain in the unease and discomfort of having done nothing? Or will you respond? How will you serve him?

Simon’s mother-in-law did not make any radical changes. She used the gifts, talents, and skills that she already had and turned them toward Christ and toward support of his ministry. She saw what was needed and she responded with what she had to offer.

I encourage you to look around. What is the need here? What does this community of faith need? What about the neighborhood? The whole town? How can we support Jesus Christ’s work of restoration and healing? How can we serve others in order to bring restoration and healing to our home, our work, our church, our community?

It’s true that once our eyes are opened to need it can seem overwhelming. But the good news is that Jesus asks us to serve using the uniqueness that God has given us. For Simon’s mother-in-law, that was restoring the household, ministering to Jesus so he could continue to minister to others, and providing hospitality so those who needed healing had a place to come and get it. And she is held up, shown in these few lines to be the first person to truly understand what discipleship means. There are no prerequisite skills, there is no act of service too small or too ambitious. The only requirement is to have been raised to new life by Jesus Christ. This gives us the qualifications to be true disciples, and to turn our hearts, minds, skills and strengths to his service.

If you are here this morning you have had some encounter with Jesus. You are called through that encounter to serve. The first part of the story has been written, and the next chapter is eagerly waiting to be continued. It’s your story to tell, and it’s kind of exciting to have the opportunity to write the next chapter with our unique…

…


…response.
Amen

Sunday, July 1, 2018

Peter -- The Gates: Sermon For Christ Lutheran Church June 24, 2018 Matthew 16:13-18



Good morning!
The last time I was in this pulpit I was a couple of weeks away from finishing my first term at Luther, and now I am almost finished with my first year.  I love it even more now than I did then, and I continue to have enormous gratitude for the support and mentorship I receive here at CLC.  Thank you.
At Luther right now, I have a wonderful Systematic Theology professor named Lois Malcolm.  One of the things I love about her is her claim that “everything is theological.” 

Do you ever have that kind of day where you just see God everywhere?  In a song you hear, or in sun that splatters through trees, or a toddler having a fit in Target?  Well I confess I have those days – a lot.  And during those times I can even see God all over a science fiction show like, say, Stranger Things!  I completely love it, though I confess I shouldn’t watch it at night because I start jumping at every sound… 
But I think we get into stuff like this because this is real life, right? 
Maybe not the demigorgon monster or the girl with crazy powers – but when those kids started talking with their teacher about the gate to and from the upside-down… that grabbed me. 
“The vale of shadows is a dark reflection or echo of our world – it is a place of death and decay.  It is right next to you and you don’t even see it.” 
The Gates of hell -- Right next to you and you don’t even see it. 


Grace and peace to you from God our creator and Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior -- Amen

I was asked a very serious question a few weeks ago – 
“Chavaleh, do you believe in hell?”
I had to think carefully.   Do I believe in the “turn or burn” hell used to control people?  No.  Do I believe that God would accomplish God’s purposes by bringing eternal torture to the atheist teenager that was killed in a car accident?  Definitely not. 
But yes, I believe in hell.  I’ve seen it up close and personal. Maybe you have too. 
Have you ever been in an emergency room or a cancer clinic waiting for a diagnosis?  Have you spent time with a stroke victim, trapped inside her body?  Have you sat in silence with parents that have lost a child?  Have you heard the anguish from a person whose mother or father said they would rather have them be dead than gay or transgender?  Have you heard the screams of children being taken from their parents? 
Yes, I believe in hell.  And I know that the gates of hell are open to be entered at any moment of loss or violence or accident.  It’s a strong, awful word – but there is simply no other way to describe some human experiences.  Torturous moments that seem to transcend time.  An event that once experienced, seems to color our lives in every direction – both the after, and the before. 
There is another word that is “eternal” in this sense.  In New Testament era Greek it is
“stavrosantes” This word is not in a tense that exists in English our verbs are confined to past, present, or future – we have to make a choice.  Not so in Greek.   This verb has it all -- it is past, present, and future – ongoing.  And it refers to Christ – crucified.  Jesus Christ, the one being crucified.  Now.  In every present. Transcending time, coloring life in every direction.

But before he even mentions the Gates in this passage, Jesus asks Peter some questions.
First, “who do others say that I am?”
That’s the question we love to answer, isn’t it?  Myself included, I’m not immune.  The nice, impersonal, refer to someone else theoretical question. 
Last semester I was working my way through the “Lutheran Confessions” class, which is, essentially, the things the Lutheran Church expects us to agree on.  Old documents that are sometimes beautiful, and sometimes victims of their times and struggles to overcome ideas that grasp at the authors from the past. 
There was a lot of memory work involved in this, and consequently a lot of time spent reciting things to my pastor/mentor.  We got to a section of the Augsburg Confession that essentially dealt with heaven versus hell and how God dealt with people who didn’t “believe.”
“What do you think of this?”  He asked me. 
“Well,” I said – momentary hedge – “my professor’s response to a question on this was to quote the section of the Bible that says if we ask God for bread he won’t give us a stone.”

“No, Chavaleh – what do YOU think?” 

It is a risk, to answer life altering questions from personal conviction, rather than through the thoughts of others. 

So Jesus’ second question to Peter hits us right in the heart – who do YOU say that I am?
It’s hard, isn’t it?  Jesus will not leave Peter or us in the theoretical, the discussion of other people’s beliefs.  He gets personal.  He puts us on the spot because lives are at stake.  Not in a knock on your door “do you have eternal life?” way – but real life here, now.  Jesus knows that every moment of our lives on Earth turn upon our answer to the question “who do you say that I am?” 
We are forced to decide over and over again.  We are surrounded by death, we are surrounded by hell and there is no hedging or standing on the fence.  We decide to ignore the upside-down, to walk calmly by the death and decay and not even see it – or we face it and with Jesus say “yes” to life. 

Who do we say Jesus is, and what will we do because of it? 
This question is important because we know, deep in our hearts, who Jesus is not.  Jesus is NOT someone who will leave us in our numbness.  Jesus is NOT someone who will allow our hearts to remain hard.  And most importantly, Jesus is NOT someone who will abandon any of us. 
Not even in hell.  He is with us -- Jesus the Christ, the one being crucified. 
What does it mean, then, for us if we are willing to step forward and say “I believe that you are the Christ.”
Well, the Jesus of Matthew’s Gospel tells a story which begins to answer this -- he is speaking to those who were faithful to that declaration. 
He says; “you are the ones blessed by my father, who will inherit the kingdom that is being prepared for you from the foundations of the world:  For I was hungry and you gave me food to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.”
We know this story – they do not remember doing any of these things for the Son of God. 
So Jesus tells them – if ever you did these things for one of the LEAST – one of the nothings of the world – you did it for me. 
And that’s beautiful, warm and fuzzy, isn’t it?  But he continues to the others, who were not faithful, “go from me into the curse that has been prepared for you and for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you did not give me food, thirsty and you did not give me drink, a stranger and you did not invite me in, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and you did not visit me, imprisoned and you did not come to me.”
They in turn say that they had never seen the Son of God in any of these situations.  He says to them – when you did NOT do these things for the least, for the nothings of this world, you rejected me and did not fill my need. 
These are hard words.  Is it possible to so harden our hearts, elevate ourselves and disregard the needs of others that we come to a point where we would rather reject Christ and the life he offers us and trade that instead for the curse “prepared for the devil?”  I don’t know.  The very idea fills me with sadness. 

But what I do know is that if we claim Jesus Christ – if we say yes and our answer to “Who do you say that I am” is “my LORD and my GOD” – we do not follow a shallow warm fuzzy savior who will let us feel good if we disregard the needs of the least and the “nothings” around us.  We follow a Savior who has been to hell and is present with those who are in it now.  We follow a savior who expects us to follow him through that death and into that compassion. 
Who do you say that I am, Peter?  Who do you say that I am, Chavaleh? 
I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of the Living God. 
And if in that declaration we have followed Christ into his death – that means death is behind us.  We don’t need to look forward with fear or uncertainty or anxiety or insecurity –     
Jesus has given us an eternal “yes” to life. 


I am not a “believe in Jesus and you’ll be happy” Christian.  I know that anguish is present here in this room, today. 
But the good news is that Jesus is also present, and with Jesus comes love and forgiveness and mercy and hope.  Who do I say that Jesus is?  I say that Jesus is a persistent yes to life.  I say that Jesus is the one who will not abandon us.  I say that Jesus is the one who challenges us to be present with the alone and a voice for the voiceless.  I say that Jesus is the hungry, the thirsty, the sick, the imprisoned – and also the joyful, the free, the full of grace. 
Jesus you are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.
And the only answer a living and loving God has to the gates of hell in the world is that God moves heaven and earth to beat us there.  To be to us both the one being crucified and the one who is risen.  The one who can take us from death to life and asks nothing in return.  The one who renews our “yes” to life when the world cries “no.”
Implicit in Jesus’ question to us is his willingness, his great desire to be what we declare him to be – our Lord, our God, a stubborn gift of grace from a deep and undrainable well of Love. 
Who do you say that I am?
This is not an empty question, not a theoretical question.  Lives are at stake.
Lives redeemed from hell here and now through the incredible love of Jesus Christ.  Lives that see the least and love them.  Lives that can bring hope to the world.   
Jesus cries a persistent YES.
Upon that YES I shall build my church – and the gates of hell shall not overcome it. 
AMEN.

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

The Postmodern Human Condition: Burning Grief, the Abyss, and the Weakness of Love


A Luther Seminary Master's of Divinity Paper
Spring, 2018


The Postmodern Human Condition:
Burning Grief, the Abyss, and the Weakness of Love


            The transition from modernity to postmodernity has been a puzzling and even paralyzing one for academics and pastors alike.  The modern certainty and confidence in reason and ability to understand the world has been replaced by a postmodern pluralism, acknowledgement of radical “otherness,” and paradox.  This transition has confounded many Christian leaders; attempts to reach postmodern individuals through modern thought processes are fruitless, and these failures create despair in those who could help others cope with this new world.
Christian leaders and theologians have an opportunity brought by postmodernism to emerge with a more truthful representation of our faith and of Jesus Christ.  The postmodern condition is one of hopelessness and a lack of foundations; the metaphysical God and subsequent empty discussions of providence and a theology of glory cannot answer to this any more than the culture of pluralism and consumerism can.  In contrast, a theology of the cross includes an acknowledgement of the grief that results from any relationship, particularly the relationships within a triune God.  This theology also acknowledges the chaotic abyss above which we all hover – an abyss ignored and rejected by a theology of glory. A true understanding of the nature of the divine love brought by Jesus Christ to the world can address the postmodern condition and provide hope which is the “spirit, the aspiration, the very respiration of God’s spirit, of God’s insistence… Hope that dares to say ‘come,’ dares to pray, ‘come,’ to what it cannot see coming.  Hope that is hope in the promise of the world.”[1]

GRIEF
            The postmodern experience is punctuated by precariousness and the ever-present specter of grief.  Though once the domain of philosophers, the contemplation of future grief and loss is now a common thought brought about by greater awareness of war, disease, and sudden violence.  Postmodern philosopher Jacques Derrida writes,
To have a friend, to look at him, to follow him with your eyes, to admire him in friendship, is to know in a more intense way, already injured, always insistent, and more and more unforgettable, that one of the two of you will inevitably see the other die.[2]

This is the condition of grief with which we continually live, and though it is no different today than in modernity, postmodern individuals are more likely to be preoccupied with this knowledge. 
Mark Buchanan, in his recent book “Things Unseen,” extends this idea into longing for God and for the experience of God in eternity:
Isn’t that how you feel much of the time? That what you want the most—and most of the time you’re not even sure what that is—seems always out of reach? That your most robust laughter rings with the echo of your weeping? That your most joyous homecomings are haunted at the edges by unnamable sorrows? That your victories and breakthroughs are mixed with complaint and doubt? That something’s always missing? We were not created for earth alone. We were created for eternity.[3]
Ancient erotic literature addressed this feeling in a way which reason and modernity lost track of.  In descriptions and the experience of the beloved, “Presence itself points to absence,”[4] and “…the ache of longing and grief of remembering contradict the reports of joy when the absent one is imagined to be present.”[5]  This pre-emptive grief for the friend or the beloved is a natural state for postmodern individuals, which continues through actual experiences of loss. 
Jurgen Moltmann describes this experience of sorrow in spiritual terms:
“Sorrow is something deeper, something more intimate and more spiritual than mere pain.  Sorrow often penetrates right into what we call happiness, and even into what is truly happiness – happiness which is not yet sufficient for the person who sorrows, and before which he even trembles.”[6] 

Grief and the subsequent constant state of unrest in the postmodern psyche, take us naturally to the cross.  As Moltmann writes, “To understand what happened between Jesus and his God and Father on the cross, it is necessary to talk in trinitarian terms.  The Son suffers dying, the Father suffers the death of the Son.  The grief of the Father here is just as important as the death of the Son.”[7]

THE ABYSS IN POSTMODERN EXPERIENCE
            Anxiety and the emotional and spiritual experience of looking over a precipice are also characteristics of the postmodern experience.  Modernism put up blocks against this abyss, hoping to fill it with reason, and the theologies of providence and glory were results of these blocks.  Religion presented and perceived as false expressions of happiness, stability, and facades has been rejected by the postmodern soul unable to believe in these falsehoods.  We have feared to acknowledge the abyss in our faith communities and pulpits, afraid that acknowledging our own lack of knowledge and certainty will destabilize our communities.  The postmodern understanding of “radical otherness,” where individuals feel disconnected from others could be met through an acknowledgement of the abyss.  Caputo writes, “In the postmodern world of advanced transportation and information technologies, the multiplex and multicultural diversity of life now comes rushing in upon us, inundating us in waves of differences.  We postmodern people are becoming less and less identical with ourselves, and more rapidly so with each passing day.”[8]  Elizabeth Jantzen, exploring the work of Medieval mystic Hadewijch, also extends this idea into religion: “Once one has looked into the nihilistic abyss and found the abyss returning the gaze, then the untroubled empirical imagination of Anglo-American philosophy of religion can hardly seem other than naïve.”[9]
            In contrast to this naive theology of providence that cannot address the postmodern world, the abyss is precisely where God is found.  Our congregations, friends, neighbors and we ourselves are guaranteed to find ourselves in these precipice experiences.  Theology of the cross addresses these experiences honestly and forthrightly.  Gerhard Forde addressed this even without considering the postmodern condition:   
The cross cannot be considered therefore as one option among several in our attempts to see God.  The cross shuts down alternatives.  It destroys the wisdom of the wise.  It blinds the sight of the theologian of glory.  What is revealed is precisely that we don’t know God.[10] 

Though this abyss of the unknowable is frightening, it is real, and it is precisely in embracing this reality that we can reach postmodern individuals who truly have nowhere else to turn.  Caputo writes, “This darker dialogue takes place among communities of faith, communities of those without community practicing an unconditional faith, a faith without protection from doubt.”[11]

THE WEAKNESS OF LOVE
            Jantzen and Hadewijch find this chaotic, unknowable abyss to be a generative force, one in which we can find the creativity of God.  “Whatever other meanings the abyss carries in Hadewijch, it is fundamentally a womb.  It is the depths of love from which God is brought into the world, first in the incarnation, and then as the soul is born into the divine and the divine brought to birth again in the soul.”[12]  This creativity is ultimately a characteristic of the way God loves the world.  Moltmann contended that “Creative love is ultimately suffering love because it is only through suffering that it acts creatively and redemptively for the freedom of the beloved.”[13] 
            Because postmodernity is beginning to discover, if not in power systems then in the souls and hearts of individuals, that progress as we have imagined it has only led to empty consumerism, manipulation in marketing, and social fragmentation as well as war and environmental destruction, theology that understands that God’s love and incoming kingdom as the antithesis to these developments can address the lack of satisfaction brought about by them.  In fact, as Caputo asserts, “…the mark of God in Christianity… is systematically found on the side of the “weak” features – of forgiveness, peace, nonviolence, poverty – not of the string or ‘virile’ features.”[14]
            Ancient erotic poets and other writers understood this “weakness” as a feature of love.  According to David Frederickson, they describe a “wounded heart, tenderness, madness, ecstasy, intoxication – and sweetness!  These erotic motifs from classical literature describe the vulnerability of the lover to the beloved’s welfare and response.”[15]  In fact, “…eros is love when the beloved is present and pothos is love when the beloved is absent.  They teach us that there is no escape from the vulnerability to loss and grief written inside of love… there is no dichotomy that can insulate love from longing.”[16]  Finding in the “Christ-Hymn” of Philippians that both human and divine love are characterized by desire for communion and suffering over absence, Frederickson contends that the love of Christ for humanity “…is not love at arms’ length.  Not pity, nor condescending grace… Like the lover of Latin elegy, Christ is defenseless against the power of love.  It conquers him and makes him a prisoner.  The Lord is a slave of love.”[17] 
This outpoured love, not in subservience but in pure desire, is a love that is desperately needed by the postmodern world.  The perception is that the love of God has conditions, has exceptions, and therefore this indispensable love is rejected.  This is not something for pastors and theologians to shrug off as a symptom of the age. “For the loving God, nothing is a matter of indifference. Before an equivocal, an undecided God, nothing is significant.  For the God who in his love is free, everything is infinitely important.”[18]

Do we have an answer?  Moltmann writes, “If there were no God, the world as it is would be all right.  It is only the desire, the passion, the thirst for God which turns suffering into conscious pain and turns the consciousness of pain into a protest against suffering.”[19]  He says that this is “…the open wound of life in this world.  It is the real task of faith and theology to make it possible for us to survive, to go on living, with this open wound.”[20]
For some, this open wound can be described as nihilism, and the terror that accompanies it.  However, John Caputo finds in grace the ultimate nihilism.  He writes that “The nihilism of grace is hidden in plain sight.  It sits silently in the center of cosmic nihilism, waiting to be noticed, according to the logic of being for nothing, living life without why.  The nothing is the purifying fire of the gift, which burns off every why and wherefore.”[21]  He continues that this grace “…issues in a view of human life that deprivileges the order of possessions, power, property, and prestige, and instead privileges a simplicity and poverty of life that is at odds with the rule of global capitalism and politics.”[22] 
This grace, this kingdom of God, is more imminently a hope for the world now than ever before.  We hover at the edge of an abyss of deconstruction and despair, searching for satisfaction in materialism and other false gods.  But eventually as we come to face grief and a chaotic future, these things will prove empty.  “But the logos of the cross is not a recipe for impotence and nihilism.  On the contrary, it is the very tissue of hope in life.”[23] 
Moltmann’s conclusion was that
In the crucified God is the basis for a real hope which both embraces and overcomes the world, and the ground for a love which is stronger than death and can sustain death.  It is the ground for living with the terror of history and the end of history, and nevertheless remaining in love and meeting what comes in openness for God’s future.[24]

            Our conclusion can be the same.  Instead of rejecting the postmodern world with either attempts to entrench and shore up modernity or withdrawal, disengagement, and resignation toward a “dying church,” we can engage and embrace it.  Admitting that relationships are fraught with grief, we can uphold the grief inherent in the triune God.  Understanding that the abyss is part of the human condition and not a failure of character or faith, we can show that God is present in the abyss:  creative, generative, and restorative.  Viewing the love of God as weakness and desire instead of sovereignty and obedience, we can demonstrate and share this love with a broken world. 
                                                                                                                                               




[1] Caputo, John D. Hoping Against Hope: Confessions of a Postmodern Pilgrim. Fortress Press, Minneapolis, Minnesota: 2015  Pg 199
[2] Derrida, Jacques.  The Work of Mourning.  University of Chicago Press, Chicago: 2001. Pg 107
[3] Buchanan, Mark.  Things Unseen.  Multnomah Publishers, Colorado Springs:  2002.  Pg 44
[4] Frederickson, David E.  Eros and the Christ.  Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 2013.  Pg 48
[5] Frederickson, Pg 26
[6] Moltmann, Jurgen.  The Trinity and the Kingdom.  Harper and Row, San Francisco: 1981. 
Kindle edition, Location 692
[7] Moltmann, Jurgen.  The Crucified God.  Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 1993. Pg. 243
[8] Caputo, Hoping Against Hope, Pg 100
[9] Jantzen, Pg 256
[10] Forde, Gerhard O.  On Being a Theologian of the Cross.  William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan: 1997.  Pg 80
[11] Caputo, Pg 102
[12] Jantzen, Pg 249
[13] Moltmann, Loc 961
[14] Caputo, John D.  “The Weakness of God: A Radical Theology of the Cross” in The Wisdom and Foolishness of God, Christophe Chalamet and Hans-Christoph Askani, Editors.  Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 2015 Pg 32
[15] Frederickson, Pg 40
[16] Frederickson, Pg 151
[17] Frederickson, Pg 69
[18] Moltmann, The Trinity and the Kingdom, Loc 2225
[19] Moltmann, Loc. 796
[20] Moltmann, Loc 813
[21] Caputo, Hoping Against Hope, Pg 172
[22] Caputo, The Weakness of God, Pg 41
[23] Caputo, Pg 58
[24] Moltmann, The Crucified God, Pg 278