You know, when you have a catchy title like this one, these blog entries practically write themselves.
OK, so I had to reach to find three words that begin with the same letter, but the words serve to describe three ideas I saw in posts this week. I admit that I was happy to see these ideas, because the combination suggests that the class is working in some of the ways I had hoped it would when I made the syllabus.
For example, politics: No reflection on “religion” should happen without reference to political realities. Whether you define “politics” broadly as the expression of power relationships or more narrowly in terms of specific social issues, religion is a prime example of both. Many of you wrote about the UCC (along with ELCA and Catholicism) and the stance they take on matters like war, abortion, prison sentencing, etc. Obviously, these are all issues that sit at the intersection of relgioon and poitics; in fact, when most people talk about them they really don’t bother to separate the two, because they don’t experience them separately. Some people object to the political terms “liberal” and “conservative” because they introduce too many other positions, but sometimes I think “that’s the point.” As we grow more aware of how politics connects issues, we cannot simply make decisions based on single issues. I think it’s good for all of us to examine these faith traditions and to see that, when they get involved in the world (politics), things get complicated and kind of messy.
It’s no different in more immediate or “practical” matters. The issue of “violence” came up in some posts, and I certainly understood when Liz, for example, wrote that “I always pictured religious orders being sort of fearless in the determination to help those less fortunate than (sic) them. It saddens me in some ways that even now these religious groups are afraid to step in and help because of a few instances of violence.” Although Liz raises a good point, I also know that she would never advise anyone to venture into areas where they might get hurt. If a congregation like Immanuel is scared, can it even survive, let alone find the time and space it needs to pray and think? If there is violence in a neighborhood, what can we reasonably expect (religious) people to do in response?
“Piety”: I like the UCC slogan that God is still speaking, because it raises questions about what we are doing to listen. That seems like a good question to put to all of these faiths: how do you hear God’s voice when it comes to social issues? It’s also a good question to ask ourselves and to write about when we’re comfortable doing it. A few of you have been willing to do that, and I think those efforts help to make the course more meaningful and complete. Each of us should be challenged by what we are seeing to understand the positions by other faiths; I think we also should be wondering whether or not we should alter own own faith as well. jw
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Lutheran Social Teaching
As everyone who posted stressed, the presentation by Kelli and Crystal was very good. If they created an impression that Lutheranism is “laid back” (Crystal’s term), that’s in part because of all the people involved in the discussion. Most of us are learning about this tradition for the first time, and Pastor Jay was, I’m sure, a bit nervous about having to talk about these issues to a couple of bright honors students from a Catholic college. When I met him, he struck me as honest, open, and down-to-earth and, by his own admission, not too comfortable talking about doctrine.
This sense of discomfort in the face of doctrine or “official” teaching does bother Lutheran theology (please understand, I don’t necessarily see that as a bad thing). Our resident Lutheran even confirmed it when he said that, after “taking 8 years of Sunday School an 2 years of Confermation Classes and I do not recall ever learning about LST.” He too had to “look on the website” to discover “what my church believed.” It’s interesting that Steve wondered whether the Lutheran awareness of LST might change with all the focus on ordination of active homosexuals. It might, but I remember Kelli and Crystal pointing out that Lutheranism also had an opportunity to promote its social teachings when it decided to ordain women and evidently it still did not get the word out.
Clearly many of you (Liz wrote about it quite a bit) found the topic of ordination to be a “social issue,” which it is. As I tried to suggest in class, it is also a theological issue, and that is the real stumbling block in Catholicism. The refusal to ordain women cannot be defended by Catholic social teaching, even in its mildest forms (Leo XIII). It also cannot be defended by scripture, no matter what your local parish priest tells you (they too are usually uninformed, just less likely to admit it). It can only be defended and preserved for theological reasons. Ironically, much of what I think we all admire about the Catholic tradition, namely, its emphasis on God’s sacramental presence in the physical world, depends upon the same theology that defends male ordination. We can’t say that physical realty matters and is valuable because God became fully human and then dismiss the physical form he took. However, neither can we say that he only “ordained” men; he never ordained anybody. Moreover, as the Church continues to discover the horrors perpetrated by a (theological) system that does ordain and protect pedophiles, we do have good reason to recoil and, like Meghan, insist that we at least question how much gender matters when we are looking for true “mediators for God.”
Finally, I was glad that Carla spoke (and Crystal responded) about the topic of open communion as a social issue. Carla wrote that she admired the way Lutherans thought of “their participation in Communion” as an “’amen’ to the atoning sacrifice of Jesus on the cross and the acceptance of his love for them.” Her admiration for the Lutheran practice, as well as her reticence to adopt it for Catholicism, calls attention to how this can be a social issue. I think Lutheran theologians would say that Carla really found the heart of their position, but I also think they would change the last word of her statement from “them” to “all.” As I understand it, Lutheran social teaching emphasizes that human solidarity begins in shared experiences—from the cross to the communion rail. In this way of thinking, Christians don’t agree first so that they can then experience God’s grace through the shared meal, they share the meal in hopes that it provides an experience of grace (two or three gathered in God’s name) that becomes the foundation for subsequent agreements.
Nice work everyone, and I look forward to hearing from the UCC duo tomorrow. We’ll also plan the Saturday excursion to weather-proof some homes. jw
This sense of discomfort in the face of doctrine or “official” teaching does bother Lutheran theology (please understand, I don’t necessarily see that as a bad thing). Our resident Lutheran even confirmed it when he said that, after “taking 8 years of Sunday School an 2 years of Confermation Classes and I do not recall ever learning about LST.” He too had to “look on the website” to discover “what my church believed.” It’s interesting that Steve wondered whether the Lutheran awareness of LST might change with all the focus on ordination of active homosexuals. It might, but I remember Kelli and Crystal pointing out that Lutheranism also had an opportunity to promote its social teachings when it decided to ordain women and evidently it still did not get the word out.
Clearly many of you (Liz wrote about it quite a bit) found the topic of ordination to be a “social issue,” which it is. As I tried to suggest in class, it is also a theological issue, and that is the real stumbling block in Catholicism. The refusal to ordain women cannot be defended by Catholic social teaching, even in its mildest forms (Leo XIII). It also cannot be defended by scripture, no matter what your local parish priest tells you (they too are usually uninformed, just less likely to admit it). It can only be defended and preserved for theological reasons. Ironically, much of what I think we all admire about the Catholic tradition, namely, its emphasis on God’s sacramental presence in the physical world, depends upon the same theology that defends male ordination. We can’t say that physical realty matters and is valuable because God became fully human and then dismiss the physical form he took. However, neither can we say that he only “ordained” men; he never ordained anybody. Moreover, as the Church continues to discover the horrors perpetrated by a (theological) system that does ordain and protect pedophiles, we do have good reason to recoil and, like Meghan, insist that we at least question how much gender matters when we are looking for true “mediators for God.”
Finally, I was glad that Carla spoke (and Crystal responded) about the topic of open communion as a social issue. Carla wrote that she admired the way Lutherans thought of “their participation in Communion” as an “’amen’ to the atoning sacrifice of Jesus on the cross and the acceptance of his love for them.” Her admiration for the Lutheran practice, as well as her reticence to adopt it for Catholicism, calls attention to how this can be a social issue. I think Lutheran theologians would say that Carla really found the heart of their position, but I also think they would change the last word of her statement from “them” to “all.” As I understand it, Lutheran social teaching emphasizes that human solidarity begins in shared experiences—from the cross to the communion rail. In this way of thinking, Christians don’t agree first so that they can then experience God’s grace through the shared meal, they share the meal in hopes that it provides an experience of grace (two or three gathered in God’s name) that becomes the foundation for subsequent agreements.
Nice work everyone, and I look forward to hearing from the UCC duo tomorrow. We’ll also plan the Saturday excursion to weather-proof some homes. jw
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Catholic Social Teaching and Vatican II
Posts this week:
Carla, Liz, and Joe start us off because they both examine the foundation of Catholic social teachings, namely, their authoritative basis. As Carla says, “the church sees itself as having the authority to make . . . claims to all humanity, whether or not specific economic or political structures disagree, and regardless of the fact that the whole world is not Catholic.” Liz echoes that point when she says that documents related to Catholic social teaching assert “some sort of religious justification” for a wide range of social approaches, from the capitalist value of “private initiative” to the social programs associated with the state. Joe has some problems with all of these assumptions, pointing out that any organization or body that claims such authority “undermines” the very basis for “human dignity.” “The Church’s agenda,” he writes, “seems to be more to protect its own authority in relation to human dignity than to fight for human dignity itself, which I feel must be at the very heart of any spiritual, moral, or ethical argument.”
The problem of how to express authority without being authoritarian is huge in our world, so big that, I would insist, a peaceful future depends on solving it. The Catholic Church offers itself as a source of hope in that it represents an alternative to the status quo. It can call people to what Meghan describes as a “larger sense of community,” the belief that human life possesses an “essential sociality” (Ed). More specifically, Catholic social teaching can lead people to place a premium on the more “holistic” approaches to life that Kelli describes when she writes about “healing of the mind, healing of the body and healing of the spirit.” It also can prompt the kind of social awareness that Steve writes about with respect to his moral decision to avoid businesses that conduct themselves like Wal-Mart.
But in the end, the problem of authority does not go away. Where do we go to find common ground and thereby establish a basis for the kind of solidarity that does not automatically place one institution or figure higher than another?
The promise of the documents you read this week—Gaudium et spes and Mater et Magistra—comes in part from their historical context. Both of these works are expressions of a period that has come to be known for Catholics as “Vatican II.” The dramatic changes in the Church connected with this event cannot be overstated. One of the most telling for me is the fact that, prior to Vatican II, no Church council had written documents that were so pastoral. Vatican I, for example, issued several documents, all in the form that previous councils had used for generations; that is, they gave the Church “canons,” specific rules to be followed and explicit consequences for those who chose not to follow them. The format of the canon was fixed: “If a person does such and such, let him be anathema” (considered an abomination). Before Vatican II, this was the guiding principle and dominant form of Church “teaching.”
I would like to think (though increasingly I fear I am wrong) that the context for social teachings in documents like Gaudium et spes and Mater et Magistra provides a clue for how the Church can lead Catholics and others through the troubled issue of “authority.” The wider pastoral approach of Vatican II suggests that the “authority” of the Church is pastoral concern, even love, for what Gaudium et spes calls the “whole of humanity.” If we ground our interactions in love, specifically the kind of love advanced in the Gospels, does it change the nature of authority between us? It seems to me that Jesus thought it did and that the dominant voices of the Council agreed.
We can talk about the success or failure of this vision when we are together Wednesday night. I’ll be at the library turn-around at 6:40 to see if anyone needs a ride. After that, we’ll meet at River Lights and then at Salsa’s. Thanks. jw
Carla, Liz, and Joe start us off because they both examine the foundation of Catholic social teachings, namely, their authoritative basis. As Carla says, “the church sees itself as having the authority to make . . . claims to all humanity, whether or not specific economic or political structures disagree, and regardless of the fact that the whole world is not Catholic.” Liz echoes that point when she says that documents related to Catholic social teaching assert “some sort of religious justification” for a wide range of social approaches, from the capitalist value of “private initiative” to the social programs associated with the state. Joe has some problems with all of these assumptions, pointing out that any organization or body that claims such authority “undermines” the very basis for “human dignity.” “The Church’s agenda,” he writes, “seems to be more to protect its own authority in relation to human dignity than to fight for human dignity itself, which I feel must be at the very heart of any spiritual, moral, or ethical argument.”
The problem of how to express authority without being authoritarian is huge in our world, so big that, I would insist, a peaceful future depends on solving it. The Catholic Church offers itself as a source of hope in that it represents an alternative to the status quo. It can call people to what Meghan describes as a “larger sense of community,” the belief that human life possesses an “essential sociality” (Ed). More specifically, Catholic social teaching can lead people to place a premium on the more “holistic” approaches to life that Kelli describes when she writes about “healing of the mind, healing of the body and healing of the spirit.” It also can prompt the kind of social awareness that Steve writes about with respect to his moral decision to avoid businesses that conduct themselves like Wal-Mart.
But in the end, the problem of authority does not go away. Where do we go to find common ground and thereby establish a basis for the kind of solidarity that does not automatically place one institution or figure higher than another?
The promise of the documents you read this week—Gaudium et spes and Mater et Magistra—comes in part from their historical context. Both of these works are expressions of a period that has come to be known for Catholics as “Vatican II.” The dramatic changes in the Church connected with this event cannot be overstated. One of the most telling for me is the fact that, prior to Vatican II, no Church council had written documents that were so pastoral. Vatican I, for example, issued several documents, all in the form that previous councils had used for generations; that is, they gave the Church “canons,” specific rules to be followed and explicit consequences for those who chose not to follow them. The format of the canon was fixed: “If a person does such and such, let him be anathema” (considered an abomination). Before Vatican II, this was the guiding principle and dominant form of Church “teaching.”
I would like to think (though increasingly I fear I am wrong) that the context for social teachings in documents like Gaudium et spes and Mater et Magistra provides a clue for how the Church can lead Catholics and others through the troubled issue of “authority.” The wider pastoral approach of Vatican II suggests that the “authority” of the Church is pastoral concern, even love, for what Gaudium et spes calls the “whole of humanity.” If we ground our interactions in love, specifically the kind of love advanced in the Gospels, does it change the nature of authority between us? It seems to me that Jesus thought it did and that the dominant voices of the Council agreed.
We can talk about the success or failure of this vision when we are together Wednesday night. I’ll be at the library turn-around at 6:40 to see if anyone needs a ride. After that, we’ll meet at River Lights and then at Salsa’s. Thanks. jw
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