…a Christian Pacifist? 4: Refocusing Our Eyes

by Daniel S. Trout

In 2 Cor. chapter 4, St. Paul sums up, not only the overarching theme of his epistle, but the basic ethos of the Christian life in this world: “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (vs. 18). Here, Paul is echoing the oft-perplexing message of Jesus in the Gospels, which our Lord intimates is the leitmotif of one committed to living as his disciple: pursuing the invisible realities of the Kingdom of God to the extent that we no longer crave the offerings of temporal existence as ends-in-themselves.

Both Paul and Christ are commending a radical way-of-life that is diametrically opposed to the manner in which people normally live; this is a complete overhaul of one’s desires, commitments and expectations. The danger of course, is to misconstrue this exhortation as a license to become a hater of the physical and adopt some kind of gnostic/neo-platonic (or in contemporary times, Buddhist or Jainist) asceticism that rejects the material world as evil or even unreal. Such was the chief accusation that Nietzsche levelled against his understanding of Church history, but Nietzsche (amongst others) mistook a proper reconfigured Christian appreciation for the sensory as an other-worldly disenfranchisement with anything outside of the heavenlies. Instead, what the New Testament teaches, particularly in the life of Christ, is that people truly living by faith must live as if they were “possession-less.” In other words, they must recognize that everything that they happen to have is theirs on loan, and is in no way intrinsic to their person as a new creation. This is chiefly why Jesus admonished the rich young ruler to sell everything he had in order to perfect. Jesus was communicating to him and all who were watching that human beings must resist being defined by their goods and whatever else they might value. What’s even more difficult is that Jesus extends his rebuke to this lust for self-definition, even to the people we love. Christ also says that anyone that loves his family more than his Lord is not worthy to follow. In a materialistic society like America where we are rated according to what we have and who we know, these are particularly difficult words to handle, but it is exactly this kind of emotive wrestling that Jesus is trying to stimulate. He is impressing on his listeners the necessity of living a life out of their control, where their person, their values and their mission cease to be their concern according to their autonomous design; instead, they fall under the direction of the Holy Spirit as he sanctifies us and illuminates our destiny within the larger salvific drama.

The implications of this reconstructed life, on an ethical level, is that, because the Christian does not own anything–not even himself–then there is nothing in this world worth trying to preserve, especially if his custody of something or someone is challenged. To be even more blunt: there is no Christian justification for fighting for anything. On the contrary, being able to accept loss with joy is something commendable in God’s eyes. This is why the author of Hebrews is able to praise his audience in chapter 10 for willingly relinquishing their property–”because you knew that you yourselves had better and lasting possessions” (vs. 34). The early Church, living under the tyranny of Rome understood that what they had were only shadows of a future reality when the true nature of things would become the new heavens and the new earth. Even their dearest relationships were but loose ties that had to eventually give way to the future transformation of human nature in the beatific state.

As Christians in America where so-called “family values” that place traditional virtues and the family itself on a pedestal reign amongst conservative Christians, the Scripture and the example of the early Church must shock us with the truth that these values do not exist. There is simply no precedent for exaggerating our relationships as we have. The way we know our loved ones now is but momentary in light of eternity when such bonds will be non-existent. We have each other now, as husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, children, etc. as individuations of one human nature according to ephemeral biological ties. As precious as this is, these ties are not of our creation, and not our own to control. Particularly as Christians we know that the elan vitale of a baptized believer is not even ourselves, but the life of Christ which we receive through his Holy Spirit and the partaking of his true Body and Blood at the Mass. Thus, to resort to violence over someone else is tantamount to fighting for Christ, a hard lesson that Peter had to learn in Gesthemane after his rash mistake. Even more so than our stuff, our dearest belong to Christ as citizens of his Church through their baptism, and we cannot love them more than he does. What we learn from Calvary is that true love for the ones we care about is not shown by resistance, but through a commitment to nonviolence that sacrifices ourselves and leaves others in God’s hands, his chief instrument being the haven of the Church.

When Christ died, he left his disciples alone, knowing that his crucifixion signalled the beginning of his departure from them. Nevertheless, he prayed for them, confident that God would send the Comforter to form them into a new Body where everything they had and everyone they knew would become their Mother’s responsibility. And so it must be for us–living out of control by releasing our things and other people to the Father’s care because we live within the peaceable Kingdom where everything and everyone that the community creates, shepherds and loves prepares us for the consummation that lies ahead. Such an attitude represents a spirit that has truly offered everything eucharistically in the fullest sense of the word, to God as a sacrifice for his praise and to his control.

Reflection on the Filioque

by Daniel S. Trout

The filioque clause, which the Latin Church first added to the Nicene Creed in 447, has been the cause of so much sad division and bitterness between West and East; one might wonder if all the pain has been worth over 1500 years of fuss. More than this controversy, of course, has perpetuated the schism of Latin and Orthodox, but the filioque nonetheless remains the only outstanding theological dispute between the two parties. Much labor has already been done in attempt to understand the insistences for its retention and removal, and there have even been suggestions regarding its rewording (note the suggestion of Aquinas: “from the Father and through the Son”). A few thoughts from my own study are as follows:

The East is right, first of all, to protest the rather uncatholic manner in which the West added the clause, that is, without full universal consensus. On that point alone, one wonders if the presence of the filioque is even justifiable. Secondly, the East is also correct to contend that the nature of the clause’s affirmation of the Spirit’s procession from the Son confuses the ontology of the Godhead. The unbegotten Father is the ground of triune being, while the Son is begotten of him as the image of himself, and the Spirit proceeds from him as the applicator of his will. This Eastern insight illuminates that for the Orthodox, the phraseology of the Creed is much more of an ontology of personhood. Eastern trinitarianism always stresses the diversity of the Trinity over the unity, thus they desire that the Creed express the unique origins of each member of the Godhead, so as to distinguish their distinct roles and operations (esp economically). Thus, in Eastern ears, to hear of the Spirit’s procession from the Father and the Son, is to ascribe an ontological co-primacy of Father and Son, hence a distraction from the Father’s honor, and a relegation of the Spirit to an impersonal bond between the other two. In truth, the Spirit did suffer this consequential depersonalization in Latin theology, beginning especially with Augustine, all others following him as the heirs of his mistake.

The West, on the other hand, may argue with equal force of argument that without the filioque, the Creed contains no sense of the Spirit’s relation to the Son from eternity. If it is not made clear that even before the creation, the Spirit shared a special relationship with the Son as the Spirit of the Son, then a vital connection is missed with the following phrase which, speaking economically, describes the Spirit as “with the Father and the Son together is worshiped and glorified….” The West was adamant that it be clear that the Paraclete promised by the Son before his departure was the same from whom he was “sent” from all eternity, thus making sure of his representation. Furthermore, the West, following it’s own particular emphasis, was wise to demonstrate the manner of the Trinity’s unity as the one God that Israel confessed in the Shema. Again, starting with Augustine, Latin trinitarian dogmatics deemed it imperative to underscore the truth of the thrice-consubstantial One, contra the pagan pantheon. While this weight tended to incline the West to Sabellianism, the orthodox perspective certainly did preserve the Trinity’s oneness, free from any hints of modalism.

In retrospect, the prominence that both West and East give is laudable, and one can only wonder what its removal (in the West) and inclusion (in the East) might do to each sides’ distinct angle. For now, at least, we are stuck with whole theologies that have emerged from this disagreement, and I suppose it will take much more than the change of a preposition to satisfy anybody. Let’s at least be thankful for the rich dogmatic heritage the Church has gleaned from this, in spite of the warring.

…a Christian Pacifist? 3: The Scripture-formed Community

by Daniel S. Trout

The essence of genuine theological ethics is that they be unequivocally indebted to the authority of Scripture–its commands, its stories, and its ever-present power to transform the lives of its hearers into a virtuous people, or as some have described it, a “community of character.” The implications of this formation are, of course, predicated on the ecclesial possession of the Bible as the Church’s book–not mine or yours, but ours–to be read together and interpreted accordingly. This primarily occurs in the liturgy wherein the Word is both read and preached, but also in the daily offices (the BCP is probably the easiest to adopt). Unfortunately, this corporate hermeneutic tends to be lost in the radical individualism of the American evangelical sham, and Scripture-formed ethics tends to become another name for private value judgment as it may apply to business ventures, political dilemmas and–of course–adventurous sex.

However, if hermeneutics is by nature a shared task, then not only do we resist the temptation to privatize interpretation for our own ends, we may also avoid the equally alluring enticement to assume the ethics of the larger culture, which, in modern secular society, is increasingly becoming a Benthamized (i.e. Jeremy Bentham’s utilitarianism) warping of Enlightenment-era natural law morality, with all the recent trimmings of nice-guy hedonism where everyone deserves to be OK in this perfect government-controlled Pleasure Island of uninfringable civil rights. Instead, Christian ethics become truly theological, as we are shaped by the Word attended and then applied as what we hear is lived amongst each other and out in the world. Ethics, then, is realized in the daily telling of the Church’s story as an outgrowth of the original apostolic-era formation, and becomes increasingly refined through the testimony of shared experience. What we should expect in the outcome is a refined discipline of cooperating with the Holy Spirit to illuminate the text within the collective consciousness of the Church as the people of the eschaton–realizing the presence of the Kingdom as its promises are communicated, for our salvation and for the lightening of the nations.

The uniqueness of this biblical core mandates that we be the “people of the book” in such a manner that–in our contemporary setting, at least–our conduct becomes anomalous since Scripture does not belong to the world, but to us. The Church determines the meaning of revelation to the exclusion of outside impingements, for its divine-giftedness makes its protection our responsibility. What makes this charge so significant is that it prevents (or should, anyway) the Church from surrendering its ethics to the world’s own unstable methodologies. Although we have a history of succumbing, Christianity should not be the heir of natural law traditions of any kind; we do not owe our morality to the Greeks, the Modernists, the Postmodernists, etc. Underlying all of these is the desire to make ethics conform to “reality,” whether that be in line with the transcendental, the natural or the traditional/mythic. The main reason why Christian ethics ceased to be pacifist from the 4th century onwards is that, in the Constantinian compromise, she attempted to become the bearer of a foreign philosophy; she tried to make Scripture fit the needs of a faith “indebted” to a decomposing pagan social order. Thus, for 1600 years the Church has (specifically for our interests) justified violence to accomplish its purposes–or sanctioned the state for the same reasons. She has mistakenly made the vicissitudes of unstable philosophies the tutor of her perceptions, seemingly forgetting that the true reality presented in the Olivet discourse is that Jesus has been enthroned since A.D. 70 and has initiated a new order free from the warmongering of the past age. The problem is that the Church no longer connects Matthew chapter 24 with chapter 5: it is the Church’s mission to usher in the new order, but it is the peacemaking Church that realizes God’s will on earth, not the one that accepts the world’s propensity for intimidation and coercion.

From a nonviolent perspective, it would seem that only a Church committed to pacifism can understand, and be transformed by the Scripture’s declaration of a peaceful new order where the nations no longer learn the ways of war. If we revert to natural law, isolated experiences or the law of the nations with their just war theories, then we have largely missed the point of being the new creation within a contrary world-system. To be truly Scripture-formed (sola Scriptura anybody?) means accepting the hard truth that the Church will chafe with the nations, that it will be inconsistent with what seems prima facie to the majority, and that it will have to suffer and face marginalization to claim the rest that God has sworn to give his sons and daughters. What is needed now is a Church brave enough free itself from the grip of policies and control-strategies foreign to Scripture, and be willing to be formed as the Body into the Scripture’s call for “aliens and exiles” (1 Pet. 2:11) among the nations–to teach them the ways of the meek and lowly, that they might glorify Christ at his Coming.

…a Christian Pacifist? 2: The Church and the New Politic

by Daniel S. Trout

This second installment of “What does it mean to be a Christian Pacifist?” could also be titled “Hating the World but Loving the world.” This distinction is crucial because it is precisely the posture one must take if due regard is given to the ethics of the New Testament. While those that discern a radical counter-cultural ethos within the Gospels (particularly) are frequently dismissed as apolitical, world-denying, and so on, I would suggest that such accusations are premature–in great need of reconsideration.

The heart of NT ethics is the presupposition that Jesus Christ is the embodiment of the eschatological initiation of the kingdom. His words, his actions and general lifestyle model true reconciled living for those that are called to be his disciples. Jesus fulfills the Law and transforms in his own person the nature, dictums, and application of the Law, thus laying the foundation of virtuous conduct for a mature Israel–his holy Church. While much could be said about these mentioned points, the thrust I must highlight here is the overarching motif that the new community is not of the world, and for that reason will earn its hatred (Jn. 15:18ff). This hatred is motivated by (what should be) the luminously obvious (think light of the world) character of the Church–she is the sacramental image of Christ’s new creation–and therefore lives on a different plane of reality. Within her lives the fulfillment of the prophet’s expectations: forgiveness, peace, and a certain hope founded on better promises. To a watching world, the Church must look like madness. Here is a community that revolves around its members commitment to love, reconciliation and sacrifice that esteems service and renounces the offerings of Babylon: lust, greed and war in the service of power and control–political, financial and sexual.

The Church rejects the will of the Whore because, as Jesus has demonstrated for her, the will of the Father is infinitely more important and binding. And the directives of this holy will is that the Church, like Christ, show the world what it means to be the People of the Holy Trinity. This is precisely why the politics of the Church are inherently different from the world. The politics Jesus gave to her reflect the revelation of Trinity as a communion of persons distinguished by love, deference, self-giving and a unity of mind and will that yields eternal peace. For Christians, the Triune communion is the archetype of politics. Thus, as we become more immersed in the life of the Trinity through the work of the Holy Spirit–both personally and corporately–we begin to intuitively conduct ourselves as models of this new political order: the meek, the poor in spirit and the peacemakers. The life of Jesus, a life that abandons the temptations of desire, prestige and power, becomes our own as we imbibe his words, strengthened always by his Body and Blood.

Living according to this nature, therefore, it is simply unthinkable that the Church have anything to do with the politics of this world’s kingdom’s; doing so would be nothing less than attempting a mix of light and darkness–those of the Spirit and those not. The world’s politics accept everything that Satan offers, and though they be under God’s control, they are intrinsically evil and destined to pass away. As people of a new order, it is senseless to engage in politics foreign to the commands of Christ, to commit ourselves to preserving, yes even fighting for regimes pledged to policies and raison d’etres utterly strange to the new Triune life we have been given. As a result, Christian politics grounded in the Gospel record can only be pacifist because we never have a reason to do battle for so-called “just causes”, “honor” or whatever, in the name of any nation, under any banner. If we can only take one thing from the Calvary, it is that it is more glorifying to God to be crucified under their wrath than to stand with them for any corrupt ideology. The Cross is the banner of our politics–the symbol of death metamorphosed into life, victory and the defeat of all the powers that do politics according to Satan’s way of arrogance, rebellion and war-mongering.

It should now be obvious that, for the Church, living these politics doesn’t mean that she is apolitical; rather, she is the Queen of politics because her’s are restored in her reconciliation with the Holy Trinity, and with the baptized persons that comprise her. Thus, though she transcend the order of this world’s false kingdoms, she is compelled to live within them; that is why she is commanded to be salt and light. The Church is the decisive critic of all other politics because only she can show the nations the folly and violence of their ways and the verity and peace that is hers. But if she compromises, then the witness is tainted, the fruits of kingdom corrupted, the light shrouded. The tension of owning the kingdom of heaven means bathing in it and displaying its glory while surrounded by the muck of the old order, still scratching for an existence. The Church will only change the Devil’s politics, yes even destroy them, when she purely proclaims her own. This is cultural transformation in a counter-cultural strategy–through love in the midst of hate, through forgiveness in the face of revenge, through peace under the threat of violence. I pray we will all know no other way.

Gagging Imus: Another Episode of the Chandala

by Daniel S. Trout

By now, most people a probably aware of the most recent episode involving Don Imus, the shock jock who most recently called the black women of the Rutgers lady b-ball team “nappy-headed hos” in an off-hand comment, then the following day referred to Al Sharpton and a black congresswoman as “you people.” I rarely listen to (or watch) Imus, so I really have no desire to defend him or his work, but the surrounding raucous created by these (probably thoughtless) statements reveal, I think, a much larger cultural crisis in America than simply the routine PC rubbish.

What I would like to contend is that the tiresome tit-for-tat of PC, particularly in racial situations such as this one, is a phenomenon of the moral divide that continues to define–and widen–the gap between the classes historically identified and respected for (not simply possessing) material and political power and the ones that are not typically recognized for having such resources and muscle (or are deficient altogether). Put more simply, this is a skirmish between the caste of moral strength and the caste of moral weakness that live in a society where might (financial, political, rhetorical) makes right. The strong simply live in their state of power (often gloating) like Thrasymachus of Plato’s Republic while the weak bellow in a perpetual state of envy. To put this in Nietzschean language, the weak of America are the Chandala (see Twilight of the Idols). They are the disrespected, the outcast and the incompetent–those of the slave morality that spend their days whining about their state because, according to Nietzsche, they are weak; they don’t possess the constitution to rise above the rest as an ubermensch and attain the level of moral superiority.

The difficult thing for people like Don Imus is that he doesn’t live in Prussian Germany or Classic Attica, but in 21st century America where the master’s have been betrayed by members of their own class. In America, the Chandala do possess power, according to the willingness of certain representatives of the masters to bow to their complaining. Thus, the big-mouthed Imus’s of this world can’t strut because they’ve got traitorous watchdogs that curb their intuitive desire to speak and act within what should be an understood sphere of moral advantage; but this is an upside-down society in the public arena thanks to the liberal crusade of social elites living with a self-contrived guilt complex for years of so-called oppression, racist naughtiness and (gasp!) gross fossil-fuel consumption (which curiously they hesitate to personally release–note John Travolta and his airplanes).

The sad truth that nobody wants to face is that being PC and suspending Don Imus won’t cure this deeper problem. America remains a racist country built on personal success and exploitation, it’s just that we’ve reached the point of moral awareness where we know it’s wrong but don’t (from a secular perspective) know how to fix the past ills other than living a life of hand-outs and apologies. On the Sharpton side, he really has no more power than his slave ancestors did because everything he gets is only by condescension. Sharpton and everyone else like him is just a cry-baby because he wants what he can never really acquire–much less inherit–and that is the power and respect of man. So, he just whines to get his way; he whines because he is weak–Chandala. All he can do is whine because he has believed the lie that somehow gaining the money and power of the master caste will make the black man a player in a Caucasian/Asian-controlled world.

Sharpton is some kind of “Reverend”, but I’m sorry to say that he doesn’t have a clue what the Christian faith, that he claims to represent, gives to the poor and oppressed. Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, etc. are nothing more than the spokespersons of a secular liberation movement that advocates control–control wrestled from others and the control of PC labeling and humiliation–as the means to freedom.  As Christians, we know true freedom is only found by imitating Christ, by living according to his meekness, knowing that true strength is given by his first-fruits of new creation, not by forcing the respect of those perceived in power. If Sharpton and “his people” really want to have lives of peace and prosperity, then they must let go of this campaign that fundamentally uses coercion to achieve this ideology of so-called “equality”. Although they hide behind a democratic “discussion” tactic, theirs is essentially following the inclination to repay, even the most trivial of slights, with what basically amounts to revenge. They must learn to ignore, to forgive, to live with the expectation of greater future reward, because trying to win the war of physical competition in a losing battle only makes them look more pathetic, inept, foolish Chandala.

Maundy Thursday: Extreme Humility

by Daniel S. Trout

Today is Maundy Thursday, the beginning of the Easter Triduum (the three-day period before Our Lord’s Resurrection) and specifically the feast devoted to remembering Christ’s institution of the Eucharist at the Last Supper with his disciples. Much could be said about the significance of this event, as certainly the Church’s communion with Christ in the sacrifice of the Mass is the most spiritually formative event we know. Indeed, the absence of the altar feast casts serious doubt, not only upon the promise of Our Lord presence with us, but also upon our very salvation, for without the gratuitous offering of his life to us as the first-fruit of new creation, we would almost certainly fall into eternal death.

Nevertheless, I will highlight here something else about Maundy Thursday less often considered. Tonight, my bishop will do something far less mysterious and yet seemingly more difficult for Christians to grasp: he will wash the feet of the clergy and the vestry, in imitation of Jesus’ washing the disciples’ feet after the supper. Amidst the wonder and anxiety of that last evening, Jesus gave the final–and most penetrating–demonstration of how his disciples must live with each other: serving, not being served. There could be no more discussions of who was the greatest, no false displays of piety, and no quarrels and divisions of any kind; although the twelve (-1) were the Church’s immediate recipients of the power and knowledge of the New Covenant, they had to be the most unassuming of all, carrying forth the Kingdom in meekness of spirit. Jesus said they wouldn’t get it then, and they didn’t, but when the Spirit descended at Pentecost, what a time that must have been, when this act was illuminated in their memory. The King of the Universe condescended to stoop before his own creation, here represented by a band of squabbling students. But this is how Christ showed that the meek must live, if they were to inherit the earth.

In this foot-washing model, Maundy Thursday reminds us of the humbling reality of our call. Especially for Christians in the traditional Catholic expression of the faith, it is tempting to get lost in the delight of the liturgy and the mystery of the sacraments, but lest I or anyone else attempt to float on the spiritual high these wonders give, this example grounds us in the daily task of being a disciple of Christ. True, the sacred table necessitates much rejoicing, but it principally empowers us to go forth to live what we have received. That of course, is what the celebrant urges us to do when he sends us off with the Blessing of peace–to (in effect) “go and do likewise.” Unlike most meals, which most people find a gratifying time of entertainment, the Lord’s Supper, because it is inextricable from the towel and basin, commands us not to leave with mirth, but with a renewed inclination to bend the knee for the aid of our friends…and our enemies. If we cannot accept this other side of Holy Communion, then it will never be more than a display of personal piety. Furthermore, we will never understand the nature of a Kingdom that belongs to the poor in spirit and we will never be the community of the new age–of unity, of love and of peace before a self-centered, violent world.

All Hail the Female Warrior

by Daniel S. Trout

In his excellent book, Dominion and Dynasty: A Theology of the Hebrew Bible, Stephen Dempster offers, in his analysis of Esther, the following wonderful incite: “Esther’s opposition to Haman continues the major theme running running through the narrative, that of the woman against the beast: Eve versus the serpent…Tamar versus Judah…Deborah and Jael versus Sisera…” (just to name a few of his examples). “In all these examples of struggle these women of faith are engaged in a battle to save the people of God.” (223)

What is so interesting about these models is the way in which they function as adumbrations for their ultimate fulfillment in the NT. Just as we see in the prophets (esp Moses and Elijah) and the outstanding heroes (Joshua, David, Zerubbabel) of Israel anticipations of Christ (preeminently) and John the Baptist, these heroic Hebrew women should no less be recognized as shadows of an even greater figure, whose role in the triumph of “the seed of the woman” eclipses all–Our Lady the Blessed Virgin Mary. While the likes of those mentioned in the above quote (along with Hannah, Ruth, etc.) were indispensable in perpetuating the dynasty of Israel and protecting the dominion from her enemies, Our Lady uniquely stands in the divine drama as the one who embodies all of these qualities in herself. Blessed Mary is the Theotokos who, in this motherly capacity, not only continues the royal line through the immaculate conception, but functions as the young Christ’s keeper, guarding him (esp in the flight to Egypt) and raising him to become the man who “when lifted up, will draw all men to himself.” Most significantly–and what sets Mary above all others–is her unique intimacy with God. As the God-bearer, Mary became forever sanctified through her emphatic “Yes” to the divine mission, and then, through the miraculous work of the Holy Spirit, became a holy ark to carry the incarnate Lord of Heaven to his expectant people.

The picture of Mary as a warrior, crushing the head of the serpent under her feet (the subject of innumerable medieval icons), was probably the result of Jerome’s bad exegesis, but the theology behind his mistranslation was almost certainly correct. The Church should never take away from Christ that victory only he could win; after all, the throne is his as David’s true heir, and he alone could triumph over the forces of evil as the God-man. However, lest we lose the continuity of the female warrior found from Eve through the story of Israel, Christians must affirm that the narrative persists–and reaches its climax–in the chosen Woman who succeeded where the previous came up short, and earned through her obedience and courage, an honor above all others that she herself anticipated. Our Lady may not have directly defeated the Devil and atoned for the sins of God’s people, but her role in the drama engraces her as an archetype of glory and virtue superseded only by her divine Son. Truly she is worthy to be “clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of stars.”

Ave, Regina Coelorum

Queen of the heavens, we hail thee,

Hail thee, Lady of all the Angels;

Thou the dawn, the door of morning

Whence the world’s true light is risen;

Joy to thee, O Virgin glorious,

Beautiful beyond all other;

Hail, and farewell, O most gracious,

Intercede for us alway to Jesus.

What Does it Mean to be a Christian Pacifist? Part 1

by Daniel S. Trout

The terms “peace” and “pacifism” have been so robbed of their meaning these days that I wonder if people can possibly understand what someone might mean if he claims to be a “Christian pacifist.” To begin with, from a biblical perspective, peace is not (as the world might present it) an agreement; it is not a ceasefire or truce that warring powers accept when one prevails or the adversaries reach an impasse. Likewise, it would also be a mistake to characterize true pacifism as simply a position, a possible option that one may choose when the prospect of war is on the table. I believe Hauerwas is correct when he comments that anyone who can even think about war as a means to an end has misunderstood the nature of biblical pacifism. Christian pacifism transcends whatever categories the world may try to incorporate because it is more than just an idea; it’s a commited way of living amongst people who live according to a promise.

Therefore, this is what it foundationally means to be a Christian pacifist–to embrace the assurance of our Lord that the victory he has won for us secures a lifestyle that all who share in his salvation may enjoy. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” (Jn. 14:27) The contradistinction Jesus makes here is important because he implies that his manner of gift-giving is absolutely different from the world. God’s gifts come from an eternal benevolence, viz. from One who alone has the right and authority to grant something (in this case, peace) because he is control of everything. Thus, Jesus implies that we have no reason to seek the world’s offerings, since the world does not possess the means to give; there is no real ownership, consequently, there can be no expectation of fulfilled promises.

And this is precisely why a Christian can really be nothing other than a pacifist. We are a people in covenant with God, therefore it is by the principles of this covenant that our lives are ordered. And one of the main benefits of this covenant is peace, brought about by the reconciliation Christ made through his blood shed on the cross. But Calvary did not just purchase our redemption, it gave us an example of what the redeemed life looks like–sacrifice: a rejection of everything the world’s system offers, and an unconditional YES to the mission of the Gospel, even if it kills us. Our life in this covenant means that we can accept no other substitute. We cannot participate in the world’s game of war and peace because we cannot affirm an order that pretends to govern itself outside of Christ’s lordship. To couch the situation in an OT milieu, it is similar to Israel allying itself with Egypt to battle Assyria; a relationship the prophets constantly denounced. Why? Because war and its directives meant completely different things for these neighbors, so this relationship could only ever be an unholy alliance. The same remains true for us, whether our Western leaders call it a “just war” or a “roadmap to peace,” the underlying problem remains: authority, goals and means external to the covenant program; they are part of another City, with its own set of ideas. We must recognize that their language of justice, peace, etc. is not even consistent with our own.

The difficulty for Christians is understanding how to be non-violent in the midst of a world committed to the use of violence, and which tries to elicit violent reaction from us. Although we are the people of peace, we have spiritual adversaries to fight and their physical instruments are hard to resist. Although we are promised rest, we have labors that demand our attention, and those labors entail being salt and light amongst people that hate us. How we live within these paradoxes is part of the tension of being who we are, and I pray that God will be merciful, especially in the most ambiguous of circumstances. As a rule, I think we must maintain the mindset of living the promise, and not letting our conduct be ruled by external pressures, for we are not accountable to man, but to God.

In Praise of Geocentrism

by Daniel S. Trout

As Christians living in the 21st century we, as most modern people do, conditioned by the predominant worldview of scientism, tend to regard the old geocentric perspective of the ancients and the medievals as outdated (a kind way of saying “wrong!”) or at best, quaint. For those more acquainted with the history of science, geocentrism represents the ignorance of ancient myth, philosophical naivety (particularly Aristotelian/Ptolemaic), and anthropic arrogance. The last point is a popular accusation particularly levelled at Christians; the litigant, usually a commited naturalist, finds that the biblical worldview is simply too preoccupied with the earth, with man–the special divine image–at its epicenter as the crown of creation.

I find it disappointing that so many Christians today have (even unwittingly) taken this criticism too much to heart, and have actually sacrificed their biblical perspective for something else that the so-called “intelligentsia” say is more”up-to-date.” Whether we feel comfortable admitting it or not, Christians are, theologically-speaking, geocentrists, and we should take pride in the fact that we know a God who made mankind to be the vice-regent over his physical dominion. However, being cognizant of this truth and actually living it out seem to still be two different matters. Even as the theological geocentrism is becoming recovered (even en vogue) by BT people, most Christians still practically live as heliocentrists.

Heliocentrism–at least, in its modern form (this couldn’t quite be said of the ancient variety–is at its heart a philosophy of anthropological indifference. To quote a popular ancient grave-marker, it can be summed up as, “I was not. I was. I am not. I care not.” To be perhaps unjustly brutal, our current heliocentrism is basically a brand of passive nihilism that encourages a reckless way of living. After all, if man is but another pathetic creature stuck on the same rock, spinning around the same fireball as the people of the past who tried in vain to find meaning, then why care for tomorrow? This mindset degenerates into a self-destructive hopelessness, since people forget what makes them special. People live to die instead of living to live again. People feel alone. That’s precisely what heliocentrism does–it makes them feel lost and abandoned; they live in a huge empty universe devoid of God’s presence. As much as modern science has opened our eyes to many phenomenal mysteries, it has, philosophically-speaking, left us with a univocal determination of being and purpose. To couch the modern situation in Heideggerian language, we are just Dasein, thrown, and fallen, struggling through a confusing world towards inevitable death. Thus, with no pride in being the divine image, man just indulges in whatever is around him until he expires.

As Christians, we know there is more than just life, death and then nothingness. Life has meaning, and man has a mission from the heavens, should we choose to accept it. With this reminder, I am not suggesting that we reject one of the basic findings of modern science. Nevertheless I am unabashedly recommending that, as Christians, we really live like the sun was created to illuminate and warm the earth, and not as if the earth revolved around the sun just to receive its glowing gifts. There is a sense in which man is the measure of all things, but we have forgotten the God-given significance of this privilege. Particularly over the last 200 years, we have let ourselves become slaves to theories about nature, history and society, when all the time the power lies in just being the fruits of new creation in God’s kingdom where man reigns from now through eternity.

Is there a Christian Economic Strategy?

by Daniel S. Trout

It’s rather easy to rail (especially from one’s computer) against the modern Church’s cooperation with our decadent culture, but I wonder, particularly in regard to economics, if there is a system of trade/monetary exchange that is more authentically Christian.  Both capitalism and communism fall grossly short because they presuppose a neutral arena of exchange where men can equally interact.  This is capitalism’s greatest weakness due to its inextricable bond with the optimism of 18th century rationalism and all the “self-evident truth” nonsense that completely ignores the problem of sin, and reduces life to a materialistic quest.  Communism is, of course, no better since it simply replaces one materialism with another.  Although it attempts to eliminate greed and self-interest, it’s method is essentially violent and, like capitalism, misses the foundational point that mankind is born morally bankrupt and cannot negotiate on fair and truly competitive terms, nor create a peace through bloody revolution.  But, as long as people think money makes the world go round, then the theories will continue to abound, be tweaked and used and abused to give people a false sense of meaning, security, and above all, unity.

This is why Christians have to give up this contemporary delusion.  To the world, we should be a strange, pilgrim people who have no business pretending that we can have economic fellowship with the world that is just and moral.  I mean this, of course, in the long-term.  Naturally, on the every-day level, I can superficially buy my groceries, sell stuff on e-Bay or whatever, but this is not true fellowship; this is just a slide along the surface of a larger theory that has, at its center, a principal of material and fiscal domination.   For all its exterior claims, capitalism is ultimately the same old story of resource control.  Like every other economic theory, capitalism wields an ethic of power: what I can control is just, and any infringement upon my control is unjust (consider America’s current Iraq crusade).

Thus it is just inexplicable how American Christians try to wed their faith with the world’s business.  There is (at least, there should be) a deep moral conflict between us and them.  Christianity knows no neutral sphere where one may suspend personal conviction for the sake of unity; that’s just outdated modernist bologna.  Our faith maintains a servant morality (yep, Nietzsche was right) of love and sacrifice.  Absent from the vision of NT ethics is any notion of fellowship underscored by competition, control and a personal achivement/esteem.  Jesus says that this is how the Gentile kings lord over their subjects, but he shows them a different way: not sitting at the table but serving.  In our current situation, Jesus’ example is simply folly.  An economic of this sort would be crushed under the ruthless character of the capitalist spirit.

As Christians, we have no economic theory.  Our progressivist modern world deals with theories of all kinds because it is always trying to find a better way to do everything.  Christians have something better than a theory: we have a personal discipleship program that’s better than any big idea.  In the Church, we are all part of a corporate reconciliation process wherein every member has, as his primary concern, the needs of others, whatever they may be.  Christians simply should not have the time for the struggle, the frustration, and the alienation caused by our so-called “rights” of wealth, property and the like.  Christian economics means selling everything we have and living like Jesus.  This is the Church’s mission, because, on earth, the Church is Jesus.  If more Christians actually had an ecclesiology with a christological center, then maybe our Lord’s radical demands might not seem so uncomfortable.  As it stands, most don’t, but the call “follow me” endures.

So, to bring this together, let’s just say this: (1) There is no Christian economic strategy; we are not defined by what we own, earn, or dominate, but by what we have given up for the One “who for our sakes, became poor.” (2) We cannot have economic fellowship with the world because they have an opposed concept of morality and justice. (3) All secular economic theory is divisive, authoritarian…violent.