Struggling with the assumptions of theology

I continue to struggle with 1) the whole idea that humans could possibly know the “mind”, “heart” or “will” of “God” and 2) that this supernatural “God” would intervene and reveal special messages to human beings (especially through one particular culture’s set of scriptures). As I understand it, most- if not all- forms of theology seem to be rooted in these two assumptions.

While I like the idea of using term “God” as being synonymous with “our ultimate concern” or symbolic of “that force within us that seeks truth or liberation,” my “red flags go up” when we start to personalize and give a human face to “God.”

As it relates to Liberation Theology, I’ve been wondering: Do we need a “God” to command us to treat others rightly? Has “God’s” name been utilized to invoke a compassion and justice based out of a fear of wrath or can we invoke compassion and justice through a reverence for our neighbor (which is enlightened by the scientific insight that we are all related in our biology and interconnected in this ecosystem called Earth)? Do we really need “God” to initiate responsive action toward the liberation of captives? Do we really need to be threatened by either earthly or eternal punishment or enticed with material or heavenly rewards in order to for us to be respectful, hospitable and humane towards others? I find it interesting that several other religious traditions manage to invoke compassion and make appeals for liberation without attributing it as being the willed command of a deity.

Instead of being “the revealed word of God,” could the Bible’s commands merely be those human ideas, tribal instincts and behavioral recommendations that gave Jewish and Christian cultures a sense of identity and stability in the midst of those surrounding cultures they considered “ungodly”? Here, I think of the Book of Leviticus and its repetitive commands to, “Be ye not like those people…be like this.” I also recall The Code of Hammurabi, how it was written centuries before the Hebrew Bible, how the Bible shares many of its laws, and how Hammurabi attributed the composition of his code to Marduk, the patron deity of Babylon. It’s enough to make me wonder: Is the Bible a collection of man-made commands that have been imposed by well-meaning people as being “God’s” will?

Maybe my “hermeneutics of suspicion” has been over-developed, but it seems presumptuous to suppose that the alleged creator of our expansive universe would be so wrapped up in earthly affairs that they would communicate their important and timeless message to all of humanity primarily and exclusively through the writings of a special group of Hebrew prophets and scribes who lived thousands of years ago. It’s hard for me to continue to believe that these special individuals were assigned to set forth “God’s” will in their time- for ALL time. As I’ve said before, I think the Bible is a collection of documents written for a variety of reasons by insightful, culture-bound Middle Eastern authors and that its interpretation is based on what some insightful humans throughout history have found in its pages to be meaningful, important and relevant for their own lives.

I’m willing to grant that there may be some transcendent, mystical dimension to life, but my doubts lead me to suspect that most- if not all- alleged mystical experiences could be accounted for with a naturalistic explanation of the brain’s neurobiological activities. While there “may” be some transcendent dimension, I doubt we human beings can be so secure in our certainty that such a dimension exists and that any of us can understand it.

It seems to me that “God” is a symbolic term that we humans often use to describe those aspects of reality which lay beyond our current understanding. If we don’t understand something, we often attribute it to “God.” How and why did I wake up this morning? I don’t know. It must be God. How was my daughter formed in the womb? I don’t know. It must be God. Why was I born into relative ease and privilege? I don’t know. Must be God. Why didn’t that tornado tear through my household as it did so many others? I don’t know. Again, it must be God.

For centuries, the natural sciences have been progressively chipping away at those things we formerly attributed to “God.” Astronomy, biology, physics, neurobiology and meteorology are just a few examples of fields that have made tremendous progress in explaining those things formerly beyond our capacity to comprehend. For thousands of years, cultures believed that “God” controlled the weather and that the weather was a reflection of either “God’s” favor or outrage. Now, I’d dare say, we know better.

At bottom- and at this point in my life- I think we attribute far too much of our perceived reality to the notion of “God.” I get suspicious of any and all who claim to know what this “God” wants- especially if it seems to mirror their own hopes, fears, desires and concerns.

Ministry with the Marginalized

Last night, a close friend of mine told me about Rev. Cecil Williams and Glide Memorial United Methodist Church in San Francisco. He found about Williams and his unique church when he was doing some research on the life of rags-to-riches millionaire and entrepreneur Chris Gardner whose story is told in the 2006 film The Pursuit of Happyness. My friend noticed that while the film shows the shelter that helped Gardner and his son get on their feet when they were homeless, the film doesn’t focus much on telling the story of the shelter or the church attached to it (which is deserving of its own motion picture). My inquisitive friend wanted to know more about this place in downtown San Francisco that was ministering to the homeless and drawing such large crowds. He soon discovered the story of Glide Memorial Church and its reputation of being one of the most popular and eclectic congregations San Francisco has ever seen.

Over forty years ago, under the leadership of Rev. Cecil Williams, Glide Memorial Church- a middle-class, Caucasian, conservative congregation with 35 members- transformed into a diverse and welcoming community of thousands- a place where celebrities and the marginalized could both gather in fellowship. On any given Sunday, it is said that within 15 minutes the entire sanctuary is packed with drug addicts, hookers, corporate executives, gays, lesbians, trans-gendered people, feminists, the HIV/AIDS infected, hippies, Mexicans, Black Panthers, pagans, gothic types, Christians, Buddhists, and Muslims. Newspapers in San Francisco have even noted that the rock-star activist Bono makes it a priority to stop by Glide whenever he is in the city.

Obviously, we aren't dealing with the average church here. The only other time I’ve heard of such a rag-tag bunch of misfits coming together was when a carpenter’s son showed up on the scene in 1st century Palestine teaching, healing, blessing, inviting and embracing lepers, tax collectors, Gentiles, Samaritans, prostitutes, the blind, widows, zealots, fishermen, orphans and children. Such a radical message of inclusion was probably as shocking to the inhabitants of Galilee 2,000 years ago as Glide's message is shocking to us now in 21st Century North America.

Glide Memorial’s understanding of the Gospel is rooted in unconditional love, social action, justice, compassion, honoring diversity and standing with the marginalized. Because of this, Glide also functions as a homeless shelter where hundreds of volunteers come to feed thousands of people every day. Glide also provides recovery and drug rehab programs for those who need them. At Glide, the focus is on action. Glide doesn't focus on doctrinal statements and theological conformity but they do pride themselves on being a safe community where people can be honest, share their stories and find help and healing.

In a 2005 interview with Psychology Today, Rev. Cecil Williams said:

"Being seen as perfect, good or respectable is not my concern. My concern is to create an open and honest community where it is safe to tell the truth. That is what people of all races and classes want today. Whether they're executives or homeless people, all people want to know: Who will care about me? Where can I go to tell my story and be myself?"

Glide Memorial's approach to ministry has served as a model for many United Methodist Churches across the country who are seeking ways to minister to their surrounding communities. In a 2000 interview with the San Francisco Examiner, Williams spoke out about what he saw as the Methodist Church’s misplaced priorities:

“What disturbs me about the Methodist Church is that it's so middle class. It may have big steeples, but they've lost the soul of the Gospel. I think the Methodist Church is so caught up in policies. It's not policies. It's practice. That's what we do."

But while the Glide community focuses on action, its preachers still seek insights from the Bible. Like many churches, Glide hosts regular Bible studies and worship services. However, unlike many churches, Glide takes a non-literal approach to the Scriptures and focuses more on helping their members and visitors find meaning by identifying with and relating their own experiences to the Bible’s stories. The Glide community also knows how to worship. Glide’s worship services are said to be more like “celebrations” where members experience improvisational jazz and blues, poetry readings, community theatre and a whole lot of hugging.

I’ve read several interviews featuring Cecil Williams since I talked to my friend. From what I’ve read so far, I can definitely say that Williams is a radical dude. Admittedly, his approach to the Bible and his theology of liberation would probably frighten most orthodox Christians. In 1964, Williams created the Council on Religion and Homosexuality and was among the first ministers- African-American or otherwise- to publicly champion gay and lesbian rights. Then in 1967, Williams shocked many when he challenged his congregation to “celebrate life and living” instead of death by demanding the cross be removed from inside the sanctuary.

Like I said, the dude is radical. But one has to wonder: If we who claim to be followers of Jesus find Glide Memorial's example to be too radical, then how would we have responded to Jesus’ ministry had we lived in 1st century Galilee? Could it be that Glide's approach is closer and more faithful to what Jesus meant by the "good news" and "the kingdom of God"?

On a more personal note, I began to wonder why Rev. Cecil Williams and his church intrigued me so. Perhaps it is because Glide's way of living out the Gospel reminds me of my mother’s approach to people. After I began reading about the Glide community I called my mom and asked if she had heard about them since she lived in San Francisco for a few years before I was born in 1978. She claimed she never heard of Glide because she wasn’t into church back then. But when she went to their web site and found out more about them she said “Man, that place sounds like my kind of crowd!”

You see, I have what I call “a new-age mom.” She has faith in God and has attended various churches throughout her life, but she is an avid reader who remains open to different perspectives. This is a quality that she has instilled in me as well. Throughout my mother’s life she has been classified among those that society would cast out and I think this intuitively drives her to reach out to other people who feel cast out themselves. She has been rejected by most of her relatives because she was mixed (Black and Italian), she has battled addictions, she has endured sexual abuse as a teenager, she has witnessed the effects of alcoholism and domestic violence throughout her childhood, she has survived on the streets and she has been homeless. Yet I’ve also seen her do a lot of the things the Glide community does for people. I have seen her sit at the bedsides of her gay male friends who were dying from AIDS when their own families wouldn’t visit them. I have also seen my mom befriend an old immigrant lady who lived next door who didn't trust Blacks until she got to know my mother.

Whenever my mom would pick me up on weekends, I would see the wide variety of people she maintained close friendships with: foreigners, gays, rape victims, drunks, drug addicts, drug dealers, the elderly and the mentally ill. She taught me the unforgettable lesson that these people were human too. My mother never turned anyone away and she never felt like she was better than anybody else. Her approach to people has largely informed my ideas about what it means to show mercy and hospitality to the outcasts of society and for that I am thankful. I pray I can show that kind of love to people. I've got a long way to go.

But if I’m ever in San Francisco, I plan to check out Glide Memorial Church. Find out more about this community at http://www.glide.org/.

Book Review- On Job: God-Talk and the Suffering of the Innocent by Gustavo Gutierrez

Gustavo Gutiérrez is an expert at reading Biblical texts from the viewpoint of the underprivileged. He is a Peruvian theologian, a Dominican priest and a key innovator of Latin American Liberation Theology. He once said,

“You do theology differently when your stomach is full than when it is empty.”

In his book, On Job: God-talk and the Suffering of the Innocent, he tries to discover the meaning of the Book of Job and how it can contribute to both how we talk about God and how we approach the reality of human suffering, in particularly, the suffering of the innocent.

Gutiérrez shows readers how Job's experiences gradually cause him to doubt the theory of retribution and to evolve in his understanding of God's freedom, love, justice and gratuitousness. Gutiérrez helps us to understand how difficult it is to talk about God when the innocent suffer and how empty theology sounds when it refuses to speak from the harsh realities of life. Gutiérrez incorporates the works of various scholars, priests, playwrights, teachers, theologians and Latin American poets to help readers understand his approach to the topic. Gutiérrez believes that Job's suffering has made him more conscious of other innocent sufferers. Gutiérrez also insists that God's justice can only be understood in the light of God's gratuitousness.

Gutiérrez declares that those who suffer and talk (or complain) about God with honesty may actually be more pleasing to God than those who, like Job's friends, worship and obey God out of self-interested hope of reward or fear of punishment. Gutiérrez insists that abstract talk of God and his love is not profitable unless it speaks from an honest and deep consideration of the most desperate of human conditions and a deep contemplation of the plan, justice and gratuitousness of God.

From the outset, Gutiérrez informs readers that his approach is rooted in his experience with the social injustices he has witnessed in Latin America and that his goal is to find in the Book of Job insights, answers and approaches that will help us to "speak well of God" in the face of the harsh realities of life. I think that Gutiérrez has succeeded in his goal.

I commend Gutiérrez for taking on the challenge of one of the Bible's most difficult texts, especially one that deals with the hardest of human questions: Why do the innocent suffer? Amazingly, Gutiérrez has taken on the challenge and provides readers with a brief, detailed, clear, thorough and concise book. I also commend Gutiérrez on his extensive research and his knowledge of the many points of interpretation which theologians have long debated in regards to the Book of Job. Gutiérrez also shows courage in his opposition to many of these traditional interpretations.

Since reading this book, I have learned that the self-interested religion of Job's friends is not true faith, but is instead a subtle form of idolatry in which God becomes a predictable toy controlled by human behavior. Gutiérrez helped me to see the humanity of the author of the Book of Job and how I believe the Spirit of God worked through them to create a work of art that manages to ask the hard questions about God, faith and the harsh realities of life. Gutiérrez has helped me to see the Book of Job as a work of art that does not settle for quick and easy answers about the universal human experience but instead raises uncomfortable questions that, when asked, may open people's hearts for deeper experiences with the true God.

Gutiérrez has convinced me of the importance of honest prayer and contemplation of God and that to truly understand God's justice one must understand God's gratuitousness. I would recommend this book to anyone who has questioned God's goodness in the face of human suffering. I would also recommend this book to bible study teachers (it would make for great study and discussion), seminary students, pastors, ministers, pastoral counselors, social workers, and those who seek justice for "the least of these."