We’ve often talked about the ideas and images of what constitutes “church” many converts to the indie life inherit or bring with them into the community. Tim Cravens has just posted a reflection on one aspect of this – the sense of embarrassment many indie clergy feel over not having our own buildings, salaried clergy and so on. Tim makes a good point that we need to not allow ourselves and our fellow ministers to become overwhelmed by this to the point that it inhibits our ability to be ministers in the here and now.

I tink part of the solution is to cultivate within each one of us, and within our communities, a confidence in our identity as OC/IC believers – or as I’ve said here before – we are not second class or second rate christians – we “are” the real thing.

One of Tim’s commentors pointed out, and I agree with her whole heartedly, is that there is a real need for cooperation, collaboration, and through that the cultivation of mutual support (i.e. confidence) within our movement. John Plummer’s phrase “we all need friends” in relation to relations within the OC/IC community are equally applicable here.

But that “friendship” must be deeper than merely, clicking the “lets be friends” button on our Facebook profiles – never to utter “Boo!” to one another again. Friendship – true frienship is deeper, and requires openness, and cultivation – it lifts us up out of the isolation we can sometimes feel within our smaller OC/IC jurisdictions, scattered as we are in the “Diaspora”.

Through frienship we can dissolve the barriers of suspicion and mistrust from within the community as a whole. Through frienship we can collaborate, and share, without the compulsion to create “larger” artificial organisational structures (every one of which that I’m aware of over the past 20 years of active OC/IC life has failed – with a body count!). Through frienship we might see an organic improvement in the quality of our communities, and the individuals chosen to serve and lead them (both lay and ordained). If for example, my friend Bishop X won’t ordain you – why the hell should I? If I trust Bishop X, if he/she is my friend – it would be disrespectful to undermine his/her judgement because he/she is my friend, and a fellow bishop.

But lets get back to Tim’s post – and his point that indie clergy are nearly always working in the world – holding down a job, running a household, having a life, and on top of that – doing ministry. Through friendship – through real collaboration – we can build a solid netowrk of mutual support to encourage, bring relief to, and cultivate confidence for our fellow ministers in the movement. Making the vocation of a “worker priest” (or worker bishop) that much more enriching both for the minister, and those he or she serves.

Through frienship we can radically change the dynamic of the way our OC/IC movement has dys-functioned over the past 75 years. And all it takes is a bit of openness, and a willingness to collaborate.

While making my rounds yesterday I fell into this essay “What Do Converts Want?” – written from a conservative Eastern Orthodox position. Reading the essay got me thinking – and asking the question (again) what is it that attracts folks to our OC/IC tradition – that is to say: what do OUR converts want?

Today while making my rounds I found this rather interesting graphic from the Pew Forum detailing the reasons American Christians noted for either changing, or disaffiliating from their denomonation. The listed reasons are interesting – and in some ways surprisingly unexpected. The graphic directly speaks to the question – what do converts want.

It seems to me that if we are to see improved stability and longevity in our communities we ought to be aware of these questions – and some of their answers. What is more, I’m guessing that some of our outreach efforts would benefit from an awareness of, and a sensitivity to the nuances of, some of the reasons for people seeking a new faith community.

I think it is also worth considering these topics because it allows those of us already “in” the community to ask, and reflect on why we are here, what are our core vision and values, and how far are we willing to bend, adjust, or compromise on them in order to accomodate new people in the community.

I’ve learned from hard experience over the years that it is better for everyone if we  bluntly, and unashamedly say, “this is us – this is who we are”, rather than to adapt our language and customs to our faulty perceptions of what the other seeks. When we don’t do this – those committed members in the community feel slighted, or puzzled, and the newcomer is left thinking we are without a spine – and therefore has no respect for the mission and life of the community as a whole.

We cannot be all things to all people – but we can be faithful.

Rummaging around PBS’ Religion & Ethics Newsweekly this morning I fell into this report from this past November exploring religion on-line that I had not previously seen. The report is interesting because it looks at a number of real-time examples of how more than 1 in 4 adults are now using the internet solely or in part for their spiritual needs.

A group in one congregation lived according to the rules of Leviticus for a month, and journaled their experiences on Facebook. A group of friends – through the process of mourning for one of their number – slowly came to appreciate the spirituality, and exploration of theology – in a a safe environment provided by their conversations online (I think they too were using Facebook).

I’ve been banging on now for over two years about how new tech, like the internet, can be a powerful tool for OC/IC communities, writers, and explorers. This well done report might inspire, it may even lead you to ask more questions about the how to, and the affects it might have on existing projects in your community.

Using Paul as a beginning – V. Henry T. Nguyen’s follow up on the theology of torture is well worth a read. Earlier posts here on the subject are here, and here.

Via Huw I saw this post this morning on Kirkepiscatoid (don’t even ask me to pronounce it!) about a . . . well. . . ecclesiastical “spat” over a Gospel book. While I actively avoid posting on anything but OC/IC issues this caught my eye because it does touch on a theme we’ve had going here for over a year now – the role of technology in our community.

The synopsis of the story is this: an Episcopal community has a deacon who is legally blind. She can see if the text is large enough – and a laptop with the font set at 500% works just fine allowing the good rev. deacon to confidently fulfil her role in the Liturgy. Most of the regulars here at Boze! are probably sitting there thinking: great, so what’s the problem?

It seems that the problem is, well, that the “Gospel book” is not a “book” and that according to the canons of the Episcopal church – it must be a book. Or is that really the problem? I suspect that part of the problem is the natural conservatism of religion – the encroachment of technology, the “new” and possibly fad-ish into the “ancient” rites of the cult. This is a point worthy of discussion. Let me throw a few curious tid-bits into the frey and see what the cat thinks of it.

1)    The use of a “book” is uniquely Christian. That is to say that the book, or codex, was a “new” technology in religious settings, in the first centuries of the church, one that Christianity favoured over the scroll. Who’s to say then that faced with a new technology we ought not consider it as being preferable to the old (which we were responsible for introducing in the first place)?
2)    In our Eastern setting the Gospel book is an icon – and as such it is one of the most accessible relics. How does the possible introduction of a “new” technological replacement affect our sense of the symbolism, sanctity, and the inherently tactile nature of the “codex”? That is to say – would you kiss the corner of a laptop during the little entrance?

I have used my Palm on occasion to celebrate Liturgy – when for example I am travelling light, or when there have not been enough service books to go around. Aside from the occasional awkwardness of using an unfamiliar piece of kit it works fine, and has no observable negative affect on the liturgy. Huw has been building a prayer book that he uses via his iPhone. Churches of various traditions are making more and more liturgical resources available for use with various media including laptops, mobiles, and PDAs. Are prayers offered on commuter trains, plains, and in homes from these sources somehow less valid, or worse – heretical, and if so, why or how?

Last month I posted on food sourcing and ethics, asking about the relationship between the seemingly high proportion of OC/IC folk who have become vegetarians and spiritual discipline and theology. You can see the original post by clicking here. This morning, making my rounds I fell into this article over at Religion Dispatches about a new movement in the Jewish community re-envisioning the rationale behind kashrut in the wake of recent scandalous events surrounding one of the largest kosher abattoirs in the US.

The author, Benjamin Weiner, writes: “the Jewish principle of sanctified eating, have been using the case as a rallying point against religious hypocrisy. If rabbinic supervision as it is currently constituted, they suggest, is concerned only with ascertaining the purity of meat according to the letter of the law, and does not provide the moral foundation to militate against flagrant social abuses, then a revaluation of the concept of kashrut itself is in order. . . . The ancient rabbis taught that since the destruction of the Temple a Jew’s own table is his or her sacred altar, and should be subject to the same degree of sanctity. Kashrut is not meant to be a system of arbitrary food taboos, but a discipline that elevates the human drive to eat above the kind of desecrations Agriprocessors may have committed.”

“Sanctified eating” – my earlier post, written in Bright Week, mentions that during the Great Fast we are more conscious of food, the value of food, its preparation, and so forth. I also asked if  OC/IC folk ought to give serious consideration to carrying some of that mentality into the rest of the liturgical year; what would that look like, would we all become vegetarians?

But here’s another take on it – kashrut is a product of religious law. Interestingly enough, very early in the development of the Christian cult, we abandoned (or so it seemed) this aspect of our Jewish heritage (see for example Acts 10.9ff) – and it would seem that we have never really revisited the matter since the second century. The fasting customs (and they are that, customs, not law) evolved over six centuries in conjunction with the third and fourth century fervour for asceticism. The ascetic diet was not a reflection of ethics, morality, or even theology, rather it was (believe it or not) a medical matter that had become spiritualised. Certain foods – mainly meat and dairy – are “heavy” foods, making the individual lethargic, sluggish, and fat – weighing him down. The logic translated into areas of transcendence – a lighter diet, meant a nimble mind, a lithe body, and a lighter countenance – the individual therefore, is more able to transcend this world, and join the society of the angels. Seriously folks, I’m not making this up! Mind you – there is some truth to the logic – a heavy meal does make one lethargic, and mentally sluggish. Ancient doctors did observe that virgins, and ascetics lived longer, and were more alert. Modern medicine too has demonstrated that a diet heavy in certain ingredients shortens life, and has a negative impact on health. But this observation has nothing to do with Christian theology.

It is perhaps curious to us – in our modern world of corporate agriculture, and the growing concern many people have for the effect that has on food quality, the environment, and the poor – that in late antique Christianity there is no consideration for, or reflection on the source of the food (other than ensuring that it had not been offered to a foreign god), its quality, or the treatment of the workers, or animals produced. Why this was I think is probably quite simple, at that time people either produced most of their own food, or traded with the producers – that is to say that the chain from source to table was much shorter and simpler than it is today.

It is true that in the past decade or so we have seen various attempts to re-introduce the idea of eating as a sacred activity; I’m thinking specifically of Jeff Smith’s Frugal Gourmet, and more recently the publication of various monastery cookbooks. However, it seems that a contemporary Christian theology of eating as a sacred activity, a sacrament even, rather than as an ascetic discipline, is largely absent. If we approach eating as a sacramental activity – then the sourcing of ingredients, the preparation of the meal, and the eating itself, becomes interwoven in a chain of ideas and activities reflecting the vision and values of our sacramental theology – our life as OC/IC believers. We are challenged to be more aware of the impact our purchasing power has on others, on the environment, and yes, on our individual health. We are faced with questions of well-being, of ethics, is this food “clean” or is it defiled with suffering, and injustice?

Perhaps it is time that we OC/IC folk have a conversation about re-envisioning the sanctity of food?

PS – today’s reading by the way is Jn. 6.5-14: Jesus feeds the 5000.

- 5th Tues after Pascha Jn. 8.51-9

Who are you? The religious authorities demand that Jesus demonstrate to them who he is, and by what authority he claims to teach. The Gospels revisit this question in various ways; even having Jesus ask the disciples “who do they say I am” and “who do you say I am” (Lk. 9.18-21). There is always a hint of mystery about the person and nature of Christ in the Gospels. Even when the Evangelists assert his divinity, as in today’s reading, or in Peter’s declaration in Luke: “You are the Christ” – there remains a cloud of questions about what exactly this is, and its implications for us as Christ’s disciples. We are an intellectually curious people – and this is good. But this package comes with a warning on the label.

What is not a mystery, is “the word”, the teaching. Jesus says to the accusing Pharisees, “whoever keeps my word will never see death” (Jn. 8.51). To a prospective disciple Jesus asks what does the Law teach you about achieving eternal life, the man replies: “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbour as yourself.” He replied to him, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live” (Lk. 10.27-8). Notice, the teaching is not overly concerned with the nature and person of God, the Christ, or Jesus.

Even when Jesus answers the scribes, they refuse to believe him – they cannot believe him, and move to have him killed (Jn. 8.58-9). His answer contradicts what they “see” before them, what they “know” of the nature of things, what they expect based upon centuries of interpretation, and speculation.

Jesus convinced his audience (those who have ears that hear) of the veracity of his teaching. When as a youth, he was found in the Temple debating with the scholars of the Law, he confounded them with his wisdom, and authority (Lk. 2.47). When teaching in public, the Evangelist notes that the “crowds were astonished at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as their scribes” (Mt. 7.28-9). The scribes – the authorities on the Law – were no longer trusted, they had somehow lost their authority. Perhaps, having spent all their time in increasingly esoteric speculations, devising ever refined instructions on observing the law, they lost sight of the link between the “word” of God, and its application – its intrinsic value.

If, as today’s reading suggests, we spend our time speculating on the nature of God, the person of Christ, rites and rituals, who has authority and who does not, we loose precious moments of “hearing” and “doing” – observing the teaching, rather than merely contemplating its possibilities.

To be sure, there is room for “orthodoxy” and theology is a necessary element of our sacramental tradition, but only as far as it is overwhelmed by (not balanced by, or followed by, but literally overwhelmed by) orthopraxis. What Jesus observes in his day – is easily applied to our own; the priorities of faith have been reversed, giving precedence to orthodoxy when in fact the true sign of a disciple is his or her orthopraxis. Thus, those who hear the word, and fulfil it, will not see death, because they are too busy living. They will not seek to glorify themselves (Jn. 8.54), because their praxis will be an unquenchable light for all to see (Mt. 5.16).

What “is” religion? Religion Dispatches has this interesting essay today about a recent American court case in New York that determined that Feminism is not a religion. Well, D’uh! – I thought . . . . but then kept reading. What emerges in the essay is a rather complex morass of versions of a definition, and the complications this creates not only in academia, but also in legal terms. It is a rather curious thing to realise that something I’ve essentially taken for granted all of my adult life – has no commonly held “definition”. Indeed – I’m sitting here typing this and even now, I am unable to produce a working definition of “religion” (which may partially explain why a chapter of my Thesis on cult and devotion has been extraordinarily painful to write!).

This realisation – that we a) take this thing we call “religion” for granted, or better, we “assume” everyone knows what it means; and b) that we don’t have a common working definition – got me thinking about questions relating to its possible effect on theology and praxis; particularly in our OC/IC context where putting your finger on what it means to be “indie” is equally troublesome.

How do we describe the benefits, the possibilities, and the challenges of belonging to a religious tradition – without a working definition of “religion” independent of any characteristically “Christian” or OC/IC markers? Do we even need to be able to do this? One reason why it might be useful is answering the question: “Does religion matter?” or “Why does religion matter?” both for our own benefit, and for apologetic purposes. Moreover, does it not help us to describe, and analyse our reasons for choosing THIS tradition over all others if we have a neutral base-line understanding of this thing we call “religion”?

What effect does our lack of a generally accepted definition of “religion” have on our ability to address the points of both reasonable and militant atheism – or are we only able to do so within the context of our own OC/IC religious tradition?

Finally, does our working assumption, that everyone “knows” what religion is, have consequences for our OC/IC thinkers in developing new avenues of theology and praxis?

Last week I posted on the Pew Forum’s recent survey suggesting that a shockingly high proportion of Christians hold that torture is acceptable. In my post – I stated that this figure suggests that our preachers, teachers, and community organisers are not doing enough to convey the central Christian tenet – that suffering, to cause the suffering of others, is unacceptable.

This morning – while making my rounds – I stumbled across Sarah Sentilles essay: “Are Christians Theologically Prepared to Accept Torture?” over at Religion Dispatches. Sentilles makes the case that Americans have been prepared to approve the use of torture through their theological reference points; namely, the theology of the atonement, and the regular reference to Christ’s own torture. In this way there is a culture of acceptance that this act of torture (and death) is salvific – it saves others.

The doctrine of the atonement is a very Pauline idea (see Hebrews), and  is just one reference point answering the question “why the incarnation” (for another see Athanasius On the Incarnation, or Proklos of Constantinople Homily 4), but it is not one that was particularly popular in the Patristic period, nor is it one that I find I have a great deal of sympathy with (indeed I have real problems with it). My own theological conditioning then – my point of reference – would not have prepared me, indeed it did not prepare me, to assent to, or accept the viability of torture as a tactic to be practiced by Christian military officials, or a government claiming to be grounded in a Judeo-Christian ethic. An interesting idea to be sure – but this leaves us with the question of how the theory of the atonement, as a theological reference point, does condition it’s followers to accept torture. Moreover – how does this conditioning create a filter for other areas of suffering? Sentilles explores possible answers to the former in her essay. I sat and wondered about the latter for this post.

If we believe that Jesus came to end our suffering, and that it is our religious duty to strive to end (or prevent) the suffering of others – how then can we square this belief with an acceptance of torture? Curiously, now that I’m sitting here thinking about this, I am faced with the perplexing, anc commonly held “christian” belief that personal suffering is “good” for the soul; it has been over the centuries promoted as our own individual, mini-atonement. But is this really what Christ had in mind when he taught us to visit the sick, the lonely, and the imprisoned? If personal suffering is as good as we’ve been lead to believe, should we not then let the hungry go hungry, the lonely sit in their empty rooms alone, and the imprisioned be forgotten – so that they can “atone” for themselves, and for others through their “good suffering”?
My questions may not be as refined as Sentilles’ who extends her consideration of “conditioning” to ask a series of questions about the interrelationship of having the doctrine of the atonement as a theological starting point, and torture: “I do not presume to know the answers to these questions, but I hope Christian communities will be brave enough to ask them. I hope the results of the Pew survey will challenge Christians to ask difficult, critical, uncomfortable questions about what happens in churches on Sunday mornings. Despite our intentions, how might the words of our liturgies justify torture? How might the images hanging in our churches justify torture? How might our theology justify torture? How might the very symbols that give comfort also cause harm? What needs to change?”

Is the theory of the atonement as strong a reference point in our OC/IC communities as it is in say the Roman Catholic, or Evangelical community? If so – how does it affect our (normally) progressive theologies of social justice and healing? Have we unconsciously moved to a different theory – one that it might be useful to articulate because it would inspire further positive praxis on our part?

This Christmas I got a loom . . . to go with my spinning wheel of course (one has to have a means of doing “something” with all of that spinning.

Anyway – I’m still getting the hang of it all – but having spun some flax, died it (using natural dyes), and stared at it for two weeks, I decided to experiment – and weave  . . . . well something. Previous adventures in weaving have left me with a scarf, a luxurious blanket, and now – I give you – a home-spun stole!

The pic sucks – in my impatience I used the camera on my lap-top rather than the “real” one. But you get the idea. I’ve not done any of the finishing work yet (it only came off of the loom this afternoon)- embroidery, fringey bits etc.

There is something very rythmic about weaving – which makes me think of the rythm of the liturgical year, of chant during a vespers, and the other liturgies. It also makes me more aware of how the disruption of that sense of rythm can be disorientating.