+Z’ev

Today’s assigned readings:
Haggai 1:1-15, Revelation 2:18-29, Matthew 23:27-39

Jesus is speaking, “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead and of all kinds of filth. So you also on the outside look righteous to others, but inside you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness. Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you build the tombs of the prophets and decorate the graves of the righteous, and you say, ‘If we had lived in the days of our ancestors, we would not have taken part with them in shedding the blood of the prophets.’”
Matthew 23:27-30

This story is recounted in Olivier Clement’s The Roots of Christian Mysticism:

There was a saint in Egypt who dwelt in a desert place. Far away from him there was a Manichean who was a priest (at least what they call a priest). Once, when this man was going to visit one of his confederates, night overtook him in the place where the orthodox saint was living. He was in great distress, fearing to go to him to sleep there, for he knew that he was known as a Manichean, and he was afraid he would not be received. However, finding himself compelled to do so, he knocked; and the old man opened the door to him, recognized him, received him joyfully, constrained him to pray, and after having given him refreshment, he made him sleep. Thinking this over during the night, the Manichean said, “How is it that he is without any suspicions about me? Truly, this man is of God.” And he threw himself at his feet, saying, “Henceforth, I am orthodox,” and he stayed with him.

Notice the saintly old man shows the love of God even to “what they call a priest”. Notice the saintly old man even prays with this “what they call a priest” guy. It is God’s love evident in the hospitality of the saintly old man that convinces the “what they call a priest” guy to change his ways. Love - and leave the rest to God.

Another Desert Abba tells us that even if we are praying we should drop everything and offer hospitality if someone comes to the door. This idea is also part of the Jewish tradition which reads that Abraham was talking to God when the Three Angels visited him. Abraham walked away from God to attend to his duties as host in showing hospitality to these three angels because the human in front of us is more important than anything.

Changing POV/Theology: When the Pope met with Patriarch Bartholomew in Constantinople, I watched the video weeping. I’m not so hung up on institutional unity as some. I don’t think everyone needs to like B16 or “Black Bart” as he is called. I think, following the Anglican Teaching, that both the Church of Rome and Constantinople “hath erred”, not only in maters of faith but also liturgy… I feel the same about Anglicanism, too. But I think it far better that, even disagreeing, we all get along in love with each other. I wept first as the Pope walked to the Patriarchal Chapel and they rang the bells in joy: this is how a Bishop is welcomed in the Orthodox Tradition. They were welcoming him as one of their own, even though there was no other way to show it. And again, I wept as communion was given out - not because of sadness at the disunity, but because as every communicant came forward to receive from the Patriarch, they also turned to the Pope and bowed. There were no Russians there, or Americans, but I wanted greatly to see anyone receive communion and then ask the Pope for a blessing (in the Orthodox style, which would involve kissing his hand). Although it is not the Greek style any longer, it is still part of the Slavic and American (convert) styles and I longed to see it with all my heart. But much was accomplished that morning by sharing love. Leave the rest to God.

Again, another change in POV/theology: let’s discuss not just “open communion” (by which communities usually mean that other communities may share in the table). Let’s discuss “radically open communion” by which anyone may come to the table. Most Churches have open communion in reality, even those that have a policy that says otherwise. In most cases it’s impossible to check either baptism or membership. I’ve taken communion at many many a Roman Catholic Mass, even though I know the rule says I can’t. Even clergy who know I’m not Catholic have given me communion. Having laid aside the dysfunctional doctrine of ID Checking before communion, St Gregory of Nyssa parish in San Francisco offers communion to all comers. Offering Christ’s hospitality, the deacon says, “We are all guests at Jesus Table and so we offer communion to everyone…” Offering hospitality, they let God work the rest out.

All of these stories come to me today as we discuss “whitewashed tombs” or, in the beautiful language of the Authorised Version, “whitened sepulchres”. When we talk about love and openness and hospitality and yet fail to practice it, we are these very people “that on the outside look righteous to others, but inside you are full of hypocrisy.” We presume to measure out God’s love, being sure of who isn’t included. Rather than hear what we feel to be the commands of God in the first person, we hear them in the second person: this command has nothing to do with me, but everything to do with you. I am sexually pure but you are not. I am a good Christian, but you are not.

And thus we take on ourselves the right - the duty - to exclude those who fail to measure up to the standards God has given only in the first person.

I’m at the end of a curious discussion over on my blog, Sarx, about a post I read elsewhere:

In discussing how to raise kids who might want to become Roman Catholic clergy or religious, a Roman priest offers a number of suggestions. The first two are:

1. Keep mainstream mass media out of the home, period. This will go a long way toward creating a prayerful, peaceful, joyful home.

2. Afford no opportunity for the children to develop friendly regard and admiration for atheist uncles, lesbian aunts and the like. Keep all such far, far away, period.

Imagine not even allowing your children to develop “friendly regard” for someone because you have adjudged them too evil for words.

Eventually the writer of the original document showed up and offered his justification (please read the entire discussion over there if you are interested). To him I asked, “When the child asks ‘why is Uncle so and so never here at Christmas?’ or ‘why does Auntie so and so not come to her nephew’s school play?’ What will you say?”

His reply surprised and saddened me.

My response: The real difficulty is in explaining why we will not go to the large family gatherings at Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving and so forth. These are held in the homes of persons who have left the faith and live in open disregard of the teaching of the Church.

The reasons given are that my parents raised us along different lines altogether and to go there would betray them and my siblings as well, and that by giving tacit approval to their apostasy and deviance I would betray Jesus Christ and the Church, Western Civilization, Natural Law, normality, humanity, sex.

Then there is the fact that we need the blessing and approval of God for many reasons- for example to have our prayers answered. But one does not gain the approval and the blessing of God by bringing ones children into a scandalous atmosphere. In fact, it is forbidden.

My principle is this, that I am perfectly happy to meet with any of my siblings any time, but not in circumstances where approval of a forbidden relationship is implied. On that basis we have been able to go to the odd family gathering together with the children, or have family over-those that are practicing, or who at least have not made themselves apostles of darkness.

I don’t know what to make of that theology… “gaining the blessing of God”, but for me the scandal is that he avoids his family out of piety and teaches his children to do so as well. I’m sure (as I noted over there) that he finds my experiences to be scandalous as well.

At my family’s holiday table there were 65 plus people, Jews and Christians, heathens, illegitimate children, gays, ex-lovers, drunkards. And we all bowed our heads in prayer at the opening of the meal and celebrated the revelry of the feast afterwards. I suddenly see as I write this why I loved St Gregory’s so much: I’d grown up experiencing this state of open communion.

The writer of the post is not alone in his theology - it is shared by others of various sects. But I fear he may be alone inside his whitened sepulchre. I fear he’s building individual ones for each of his kids as well. Changing POV/theology one other time to closed communion:

The Orthodox Church offers perhaps the most closed possible. I’ve seen clergy stop people at the chalice and demand bona fides of some sort: a priest’s name, etc. The Orthodox Church is so small that, in some cases, simply saying your priest’s name is enough to “get in” because everyone knows everyone else. Some historians debate how important this is. Some evidence indicates that until the 19th century Romans and Orthodox laity, at least, experienced intercommunion.

Without regard to the history of closed communion, what we do know is that many who were considered “sinners” were not welcomed for a time at the table. Or, perhaps, they were unable to prepare for communion or were fasting for some reason. Orthodoxy has, for centuries, offered the “Trapeza” which means “Table”. Thus these people who were excluded from the communion fellowship at Church were welcomed to the feasting. Trapeza on a regular Sunday can be just the 20 or 30 regulars sitting down to lunch. It’s a wonderful fellowship. But on Easter and Christmas, Trapeza can become a huge mix of people, Jews and Christians, heathens, illegitimate children, gays, ex-lovers, drunkards. And we all bow our heads in prayer at the opening of the meal and celebrated the revelry of the feast afterwards. These folks may (or may not) have had communion earlier - that is between them and the priest. But they all come to the feast.

St Gregory of Nyssa Church welcomes all at the altar, the Orthodox Church welcomes all at the agape feast. Differences of theology, but not so different in the application. But both radically different from the family table that wants to produce Roman Clergy by a process of exclusion which strikes me as the anti-commmunion, the anti-love. That’s why I titled the post over there, “Inculcating Hate”.

It’s easy to say you love everyone. But how do you live it in our culture? Here we have food with family and friends.

Shabbat Shalom!

Huw

Today’s assigned readings:
Haggai 1:1-2:9, Acts 18:24-19:7, Luke 10:25-37

The young man answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And Jesus said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbour?”
Luke 10:27-29

When I got home from work on Friday (well, Saturday at 12:30AM), there was a present at my house: 6 home-made scones flavoured with candied ginger. It was the first time in three years our neighbour had said anything other than “howdy” as we passed each other on the way to the mailbox. On the other side of the house, the man that has shared a common wall with us is moving out after more than 4 years here. We’ve never once seen the inside of each other’s house.

When I lived in San Francisco our neighbour came close to filing a lawsuit over some construction. We invited her and her son over for dinner. And arranged a compromise that worked for all parties. It was the first time we’d met in three years. As I pulled out the hors d’œuvres, some pork dumplings, our guest gasped. She was Jewish…

Living in Astoria, NY, we heard the neighbours often enough. A family that owned their house and had raised two sons - both in their early 20s. Their normal, nightly dinner conversations could be heard in our living room. Their abnormal conversations could be heard in all areas of our house except, for some reason, the kitchen. Finally we met one son. IN three plus years, never even met the rest of the family, although I saw the youngest son every day at the grocery store on the way home from work.

And, stretching back, I wish I had one good story about a neighbour that didn’t involve my own parents or family (from 1975 - 78 our neighbours were my grandprents and my great-grandparents). I think my own excuse for all of this would be, if I was asked, “shyness”. But shyness, if pressed, is usually a polite cover for fear, I think. Or embarrassment - which is another word for ego.

Truth be told, I’ve walked down the street a many times during my 20 years in NYC and SF. I’ve seen lots of people who, visually, at least, “fell into the hands of robbers”. We’re quite accustomed to that in large cities. And… well, sometimes I didn’t even bother passing “by on the other side.” I’d just walk right over them. It’s pretty normal. The most recent time was this month, in San Francisco: on the north side of 8th Street between Market and Mission. I can still see the man, laying on a piece of cardboard. It was well after noon as we walked passed. And I kept hoping that my Canadian boyfriend would not suddenly remember that he and I - and that man on the ground - we’re all human beings, in the way that Canadians have of doing. So I walked passed brusquely, like a proper American, and tried to will myself to ignore what was happening…

The Church Fathers say this parable of Jesus’ is not about what it seems to be about. It is, rather, about him. Humanity is symbolised by the man on the ground. Jesus is the good Samaritan, coming to rescue us. The people who pass by on the other side are all the religions of the world. Only Christ is the one that saves us. I don’t dislike the patristic read (as unwarranted as it is by history or the text). I do dislike the way some take that to be the only possible way to understand this parable. The Gospel text (the earliest midrash) seems to put a different meaning on this story: for it is someone who asks Jesus what to do. It’s not a theological dissertation about soteriology. Or…

The interesting point about the Samaritan is, of course, that he’s not Jewish. When I took a class on the Parables at St Gregory of Nyssa church, the first think Rick Fabian said was “The parables are stories about uppity women and thieves.” All of the heroes are not people we’d expect. In the case of the Samaritan, the hero is, to Jewish ears, “theologically gross”. They have the the wrong faith. They are schismatic. They don’t even have a full Torah. They reject the Rabbis. They are isolationist heretics. (One might say, compared to Catholic/Orthodox folks, Samaritans are rather like Protestants who reject church Tradition). Yet Jesus makes this man the hero of his story without worrying about his theology.

We have many ways today that we could point the finger. I know some readers of this blog who would want to point at liberals such as myself, or some who would want to point at the conservative (Orthodox or Anglican) sorts who read these pages. We’d all like to fix each other’s theology. But Jesus nearly never makes points about orthodoxy. Only about orthopraxy. Nearly never, let’s not get pick just now. While there is no cause to say orthodoxy matters not at all, there is lot’s of evidence that it doesn’t matter as much as we’d like to imagine. Be that theology liberal or conservative, we’ve no cause to put it before Orthopraxy.

And as we point our fingers, excommunicate and expel each other, banish each other for “impurity” or “political incorrectness”… we become the Priests and Levites of the parable. We fail over and over to be the Samaritan. And so there we are, on this Sunday. There are those of us who are Pharisees about our (liberal or conservative) religious systems. But Jesus says, quite clearly, that it it is how we treat our neighbours - the one’s who are the same, the one’s who are different - that matters.

Saint Maria Skobtsova of Paris wrote, “At the Last Judgment, I shall not be asked how many prostrations I made, or how faithful I was in my ascetic exercises. I will be asked, did I feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick and the prisoner. That is all I will be asked.”

I don’t yet know how to apply this in 21st Century America, but clearly my neighbours do better than me. I worry from time to time about sexual morality and theology, but I can not get out of my head the idea that, on the last day, God will be more concerned about that man on Market Street than about my boyfriend.

Much love,

Huw