Holy Sexuality

“Our temptation is constantly to project on to the things and persons around us expectations they are unable to fulfill, and so to shrink both them and ourselves. We reduce the fathomless meaning of the other (fathomless because of its opening out to God) to the dimensions of our own need; we enslave ourselves to objects of desire that pretend to a finality and all-embracingness they cannot have. If we try to love human beings independently of loving God, we ignore what they are; we do indeed ‘use’ them, in the contemporary sense of the word, we make them serve our purposes, and in so doing make ourselves their servants in a sense quite opposed to the mutual serving of the members of Christ’s body.”

~ Rowan Williams, On Augustine

“God is calling us to so greatly love others that we do not desire for them anything that might separate them from God. Holy sexuality is a love so big that it treasures the purity of another, exonerating that person’s status as an image bearer or a daughter or son of the king and not dehumanizing him or her through manipulating lust.”

~ Rosaria Champagne Butterfield, Openness Unhindered

Literary Hedonism

One evening a month or so ago, my three oldest children were reading on the couch, each one in their own way. Maria, my second oldest, seven, was silently reading one of the Little House books to herself. In the middle of the couch sat Abraham, my oldest at nine years old. He was reading aloud one of the Hardy Boys books to Judah, five. Reading- aloud, silently, and by listening have been the trinity of my kid’s reading lives.

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I have been trying for most of my life to figure out reading. Before Rachel and I had children, we had aspirations for the kinds of educational goals that we thought would suit our children. These goals were as easy to discuss as ‘what would you do if you won the lottery,’ considering that we had no raw material to work from, no obstacles to weigh our dreams against. When we finally did have our firstborn son, we decided that above all else, we wanted our children to love and glorify God, and to love reading. We considered that a love of reading and learning would be conducive for properly shaping and equipping a young mind for the wide world and God’s purposes.

I obviously don’t know yet how many large directional mistakes we’ve made, but there are some things that have gone well. God has blessed our simple efforts to raise readers. Rachel and I wanted to expose their eyes and ears to the riches of literature, and we continued to raise our expectations just a bit higher than we thought them likely to attain.

Today, library trips are a regularly scheduled occasion. The children remind me of starving inmates awaiting daily rations. Entire series are greedily gobbled down before another trip can be arranged. Their enjoyment was something we could share together. I read the Lord of the Rings trilogy to Abraham and Maria while they were three and four respectively. Since then, we’ve thoroughly enjoyed countless hours of shared literary experience. I can’t tell you how many Harry Potter jokes we’ve recounted to one another. Huckleberry Finn, Treasure Island, David Copperfield, and Narnia have provided worlds of imagination and shared culture to appreciate. Lewis, Kipling, Tolkien, Homer- our list of patrons goes ever on and on. We wanted to read with serendipity, a word that Alan Jacobs bequeathed to us that forever changed our reading habits.

So, we read for pleasure, for pure joy. Let us call it literary hedonism. If we find that we can enjoy a text that we had to work hard to appreciate, we are overjoyed for the pleasure of the thing. Lest concerns of pride arise, we pay homage to the author to receive and engage what he or she has to offer. We have nothing that we did not receive. It is all so exhilarating. I look over the lists of texts we’ve read with wonder- how many more will we share? We’ll enjoy the tales of arms and of men, of rings of power, and of the best and worst of times.

Does Satire Work?

Tony Reinke’s work at Desiring God has steadily drawn my attention over the last year. Here is an excerpt of his recent article on sarcasm, where he draws fruitfully from the late novelist David Foster Wallace:

Satire’s most potent work is in exposing phony facades. But it cannot accomplish anything more important, and there’s the problem, as Wallace explained in a 1997 radio interview: “Irony and sarcasm are fantastic for exploding hypocrisy and exposing what’s wrong in extant values. They are notably less good in erecting replacement values or coming close to the truth.”

Sarcasm is a free-swinging wrecking ball. It cannot construct.

So what happens when mocking sarcasm lives past its use and becomes the tone of a generation? Wallace explains. “What’s been passed down from the postmodern heyday is sarcasm, cynicism, a manic ennui, suspicion of all authority, suspicion of all constraints on conduct, and a terrible penchant for ironic diagnosis of unpleasantness, instead of an ambition not just to diagnose and ridicule but to redeem. You’ve got to understand that this stuff has permeated the culture. It’s become our language; we’re so in it we don’t even see that it’s one perspective, one among many possible ways of seeing. Postmodern irony’s become our environment.”

Did the Simpsons Ruin a Generation?

So you might say satire works on one level, in its proper season. A sarcastic word fitly spoken is a delight to me. Reinke, however, (channeling Wallace) prophetically points to the moral possibilities of an entire generation steeped in parody, irony and sarcasm. There is also a time for earnestness and sincerity.

Identity Politics over at TGC

Reimagining the evangelical tradition to include voices that have been obscured isn’t just good for marginalized Christians—it’s good for all Christians. Theology from every context offers valuable contributions. The mature theologian takes his or her seat at the table of theological discourse and both enriches and is enriched by the exchange. Different perspectives taken together embody a more robust vision of faithfulness and affection for Christ than they could ever manage alone.

-Walter Strickland in a recent Gospel Coalition article. This article provokes several questions that are becoming increasingly more difficult to ask. The article describes a central idea that American Christian history has been predominantly focused upon white Christian accomplishments, to the point of marginalizing serious theological figures from minority communities. He provides a brief bio of Charles Octavius Boothe, an astute theological mind who was born into slavery during the 19th century, and concludes with some reflections about learning as a black male in a predominately white theological tradition.

“Theology from every context offers valuable contributions.” This statement is an assumption of cultural relativism that doesn’t seem well supported by evidence. Diversity can provide needed perspective to theological discussion, but diverse contexts will not necessarily offer value.

I suppose Strickland could counter, as he does in his article: This is because “history is recounted by the wealthy and powerful.” Ergo, history will necessarily be skewed in a certain direction. This point, however, collapses upon itself when you consider that Strickland is attempting to undertake this very task. All Cretans are liars, the Cretan poet says. Should we trust him?

This reminds me of the objection that history is impossible to do objectively because historians are unable to extricate themselves from their subjective starting points. But the show carries on. N.T. Wright contends that what we need here a kind of epistemological realism, a basis for walking out into the tall grass of historical work without overly cautious concerns of being bitten by the snakes of our postmodern subjective sensibilities. In other words, yes, I have a point of view, but I don’t believe that this will obscure my vision so badly that I am unable to think objectively about my presuppositions.

To continue, perhaps the most important part of his article details Strickland’s experience of being a black male learning in an educational environment fostered by predominantly white men:

My theological education offered me a love for Scripture and a theological framework, but it unintentionally taught me that people of color have little to contribute to theological discussions. I had well-intended white professors who assigned white authors and invited white guest lecturers. In order to become more like my Caucasian professors, I began to squelch everything in me that didn’t correspond to them in order to do “real theology.” I began stripping away my blackness in order to fit the evangelical theological mold. At that time, I only entertained theological inquiry that emerged from culturally white space; I developed a bias against African-American theologians; and I belittled the rich heritage of the black church. I was miserable.

Since these considerations are so laden with moral freight, Strickland must, in my opinion, do a much better job describing what ‘stripping away his blackness’ or ‘culturally white space’ means. Only then would we be able to understand why he belittled the rich heritage of the black church. NB, where can we derive a theological basis for ‘the black church’ in the New Testament?

Furthermore, I’ve read similar accounts across a variety of disciplines, and it is interesting to note how seriously subjective the account is. This is not to say that the account is unimportant, but it is significant to insist that the real issue is not the history per se, but the manner in which the student is processing his current cultural experience in light of that history.

This experience is no doubt paralleled by Asian and Latino Americans, not to mention Native Americans. The absence of an institutionalized Christian ethos embodied by your ethnic community doesn’t provide you the basis for positing one.

Strickland further made an interesting point about cultural context:

Boothe demonstrates that theology can emerge from various contexts. In evangelical circles, however, certain contexts have been given almost exclusive priority. Formal theology has been disproportionately conducted by white men, and their perspective has been standardized. Thus “well-read” evangelicals can gain that label despite never interacting with theologically faithful traditions outside the dominant evangelical culture.

Again, are we asking historians to expand the horizons of their interest, or are we asking them to assume that for every white theologian you will find an equal and opposite black/Asian/latino theologian? Strickland continues:

By normalizing a particular context, issues that arise outside of that context are often dismissed as illegitimate. In fact, theological development from non-white contexts are often only deemed “proper” when they engage issues pertinent to white culture and conform to “authorized” conclusions. This explains why issues that disproportionately affect non-white communities—like systemic injustice, racial oppression, economic inequality, and human rights—have received scattered engagement among evangelical theologians and ethicists.

And here is where we hit a real ideological roadblock, one I am not sure I understand. We have come full circle back to the assumption: “Theology from every context offers valuable contributions.” I won’t even ask what ‘white culture’ means in this context, because it seems like Strickland has leapt into the present. Suddenly, buzzwords in the discussions surrounding racial tensions are being brandished as relevant to the quite tenuous discussion of historical representation in the church.

I suppose the best way to represent this is to say that Strickland says black people were being ignored in the past and they are being ignored now. I’m not trying to dispute that contention. I am trying to dispute whether “being ignored” means that we should always expect to be finding a black, Asian, Native American, Latino, or female Jonathan Edwards in every chapter of Christian history. If so, that is an ideological fantasy that does no justice to minority communities. Rather than being examined according to their individual merits, they will be lumped, always and forever, into groups and considered only within these groups. True merit will be masked by the shade of identity politics. Strickland honors Charles Boothe in his article, not by pointing to the color of his skin, but by examining his life on the basis of how he employed the limited resources he had.

I reserve the right to disagree with myself at another time, but I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking through Strickland’s article. I have a great respect for the folks at The Gospel Coalition, so I was eager to have this out of my head and open to scrutiny. Please let me know if you have any comments or clarifications to offer in the comments section below.