July 24, 2015

“A cohort of wonder”

Jupiter in Support of the New Horizons Flyby (Hubble image)

Jupiter in Support of the New Horizons Flyby (Hubble image)

William P. Brown serves as a great example of someone who has integrated biblical studies with scientific and technological progress so as to promote a “theology of wonder.”

This portion from one of my favorite books on the Old Testament, The Seven Pillars of Creation, explains how Brown first caught that sense of wonder. I’ve included the video he describes — and it’s still fun to watch today. His last sentence is a keeper, capturing something I was trying hard to say yesterday. What we need today are people in the church who can capture the wonder both of ancient scripture and contemporary science and communicate them so that we can all share in that wonder.

 

The inspiration behind this study stems from a childhood epiphany that took place in a science museum in Seattle. Set off in a far corner was a small video screen whose button was waiting to be pushed by a curious child. I happily obliged. A serene scene unfolded of a young couple lounging on a picnic blanket in a Chicago park. But before my eyes could linger, the screen took me out above the park, the city, Lake Michigan, the continent, and the globe. Vast stretches of outer space quickly came into view. The solar system resembled something of an atom. Next came other stars, the swirling Milky Way, and finally empty space dotted with tiny galaxies. Then in a matter of seconds I found myself once again suspended over the lounging couple, pausing only briefly before closing in on a patch of skin and proceeding all the way to the cellular, molecular, atomic, and quark-scale levels. I was mesmerized by this dizzying ride through the cosmos and the microcosmos. I saw things I thought were privy only to God.

That presentation, I discovered years later, was Powers of Ten, the ingenious creation of Charles and Ray Eames. Both a visual thought experiment and a virtual rollercoaster ride, this now “ancient” video dramatically covered the extremities of scale, from the unimaginably vast (1025) to the inscrutably tiny (10-16), from the cosmic to the subatomic. The sum effect on me was nothing short of transcendent.

 

Gloriously “weird” is how physicist Brian Greene describes the quantum world. “Too wonderful” is how the biblical sage responds to creation’s marvels (Prov 30:18-19). The psalmist trembles before the vastness of the universe (Ps 8:3-4). Biologist Ursula Goodenough celebrates the “sacred depths of nature.” What do they all have in common? I wonder. Though separated by over two and a half millennia, the authors of ancient Scripture and numerous scientists of today find themselves caught up in a world of abiding astonishment. Like the ancients, many scientists admit to being struck by an overwhelming sense of wonder—even “sacredness”—about nature and the cosmos. What a far cry from Francis Bacon’s objectification of the natural realm as humanity’s slave!

The wonder of it all prompts one—anyone—to wonder about it all. Bioanthropologist Melvin Konner regards the capacity to wonder as “the hallmark of our species and the central feature of the human spirit.” Although Homo sapiens (“wise human”) may be too self-congratulatory, there is no doubt that we are Homo admirans, the “wondering human.” Wonder is what unites the empiricist and the “contemplator,” the scientist and the believer. “Everyone is naturally born a scientist,” admits astrobiologist Chris Impey. We can no more deny that of our distant ancestors than we can deny that of ourselves. Together, the ancient cosmogonist and the modern cosmologist, the biblical sage and the urbane biologist form a “cohort of wonder.” [emphasis mine]

• William P. Brown
The Seven Pillars of Creation: The Bible, Science, and the Ecology of Wonder
(pp. 3-4)

A Lost Imagination for God

pluto-new-horizons-2015-07-14-01

We can never sneer at the stars, mock the dawn or scoff at the totality of being. Sublime grandeur evokes unhesitating, unflinching awe. Away from the immense, cloistered in our own concepts, we may scorn and revile everything.

But standing between earth and sky, we are silenced by the sight. . . .

• Abraham Joshua Heschel

• • •

This week I’ve been trying to wrap my head around something I have felt inside for some time, a perspective I’ve had few words for, a secret fear about my own journey as well as for the world in which I live.

On Monday, I tried to talk about it by means of a metaphor, using The Wizard of Oz. It seems to me that the world we live in today is Oz-like, a land of colorful things that interest and stimulate the mind and imagination. The wonders among which we dwell, wrought by our progress, make the Christian faith look colorless, bland, and uninteresting by contrast (i.e. like “Kansas” in the film). Now, the attractiveness of the “world” has always been an issue for Christians, but the “world” has advanced so far in the past two centuries so as to become an overwhelmingly pervasive sea that has swept the Church off her feet and is pummeling her beneath waves of technology, freedom, and affluence. “These are the days of miracle and wonder,”  sang Paul Simon, and the people who suckle at the breasts of such marvels are becoming increasingly immune to the ideas Christians throw at them.

Yesterday, we invoked Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who famously wrote about a coming world without religion as we’ve known it. “Our whole nineteen-hundred-year-old Christian preaching and theology rest on the ‘religious a priori’ of mankind,” he said but then asked, What if “this a priori does not exist at all, but was a historically conditioned and transient form of human self-expression, and if therefore man becomes radically religionless . . . what does that mean for ‘Christianity?'” In his musings, Bonhoeffer made use of a different metaphor, saying that perhaps the world has “come of age.” Father is big and strong and can do anything in our eyes, when we are children. We rely wholly on him (whether we recognize it or not) for our life and well being. But when we mature and become independent, able to stand on our own, capable of providing for ourselves, what then is our relationship to Father? Who is Christ to a world come of age? asked Bonhoeffer.

Today, I want to lay it on the line and state my fear in plain terms, and tell you why this subject is eating me up personally and as an ambassador of Christ to others.

I am afraid that I live in a world in which we, myself included, have lost our imagination for God.

Let me put it like this, to bring it right down to today’s news —

In a world where people can build a small, durable machine, outfit it with intricate, precise instruments, and send it off into space for a ten-year journey of three billion (!) miles, keeping it on course so that it meets up with a small dwarf planet on the edge of our solar system where it captures a treasure trove of meaningful data and sends it back to us — in a world like that, what does it mean to have an imagination for God?

15-011a_0

I mean, this New Horizons project is mind-blowing!

Learning about this expedition elicits a sense of wonder I’ve not felt in a long time. Three billion miles! To the exact spot where they aimed it ten years ago! Without any serious glitches! How far is three billion miles? How can I even begin to fathom this? This kind of stuff is invigorating. It expands the mind. It sparks the imagination. It calls forth genuine awe. This is big.

God used to be big.

And in the past there was always plenty to remind mere mortals of this. Nature itself was terrifying. If that weren’t enough, religious rituals and ceremonies emphasized mystery and an invasion of otherworldliness into human experience. Majestic cathedrals were built to inspire thoughts of transcendence. Composers wrote intricate, soaring, ethereal music. Artists were commissioned to paint altarpieces, icons, and frescoes with sublime themes that portrayed grand stories and evoked mystic contemplation. People spoke, trembling, of God intervening directly in the world: sending plagues, giving great victories, judging nations, casting mountains into the sea. Life itself was uncertain enough that one might feel ever dependent on the mercy and goodwill of one’s Creator.

One commendable motivation of literalists and fundamentalists such as Young Earth Creationists is to try and keep this “big God” alive among us by insisting that all biblical accounts are journalistic depictions of what actually happened. “Isn’t God great!” But what they end up giving us is a cartoon God. This God delights children and satisfies those who are averse to literature, complexity and nuance. Those whose imagination can’t stretch beyond six to ten thousand years. Those whose God is not big enough to speak in poetry, metaphor, myth, or fiction.

The Church and Christians like me have not done a good job translating, updating, and expanding the imaginative worlds of the faithful so that they can begin to conceive of a God who is even bigger than three billion mile space missions, a universe approximately fourteen billion years old, and quantum physics that describe microscopic realms where the “laws” we know do not apply. A God of infinite variety and complexity, who can only be fully appreciated by a spirit of humble awe and wonder as we gaze on “things too wonderful for [us], which [we] did not know” (Job 42:3).

And then to think that in Jesus, God walked here among us. To see the wonder in human flesh, flowing water, broken bread and poured out wine; my neighbor’s eyes.

Where are those who will help us develop and expand our imagination for God in these days of miracle and wonder?

To become aware of the ineffable is to part company with words. . . . The tangent to the curve of human experience lies beyond the limits of language. The world of things we perceive is but a veil. Its flutter is music, its ornament science, but what it conceals is inscrutable. Its silence remains unbroken; no words can carry it away.

Sometimes we wish the world could cry and tell us about that which made it pregnant with fear-filling grandeur.

Sometimes we wish our own heart would speak of that which made it heavy with wonder.

• Abraham Joshua Heschel

Another Look: Who Is Christ for Us Today?

Guernica, Picasso

Guernica, Picasso

Note from CM: I am reading Letters & Papers from Prison because I want to explore more of what Bonhoeffer said about the “completely religionless time” he said was coming. Yesterday’s metaphor, which I realize came across with mixed results, was one small attempt on my part to begin working through my own sense that we, at least in the West, may be actually living in such an age.

• • •

What is bothering me incessantly is the question what Christianity really is, or indeed who Christ really is, for us today. The time when people could be told everything by means of words, whether theological or pious, is over, and so is the time of inwardness and conscience–and that means the time of religion in general. We are moving toward a completely religionless time; people as they are now simply cannot be religious anymore. Even those who honestly describe themselves as “religious” do not in the least act up to it, and so they presumably mean something quite different by “religious.”

• Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Letter to Eberhard Bethge, 30 April 1944

The famous passage above, from Bonhoeffer’s prison letters, has led to more than a half century of discussion on the question of “religionless Christianity.” Richard Beck has argued that this striking phrase and concept, which has caught the imagination of so many, was actually Bonhoeffer’s penultimate concern. The chief matter for Dietrich Bonhoeffer was: Who is Christ for us today? His central theological question was about Christology. The context was the “religionless” age in which we live.

Beck summarizes it like this:

Bonhoeffer was trying to understand how Christ could be “Lord of the world” in a world that didn’t recognize Christ’s existence or seem to need him. In that kind of world, who is Christ for us?

This was Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s question in 1944. The world was at war, with madness at every hand, and Christianity seemed impotent to do anything about it. It caused him to question whether history might be witnessing the end of the Christian era itself.

Our whole nineteen-hundred-year-old Christian preaching and theology rest on the “religious a priori” of mankind. “Christianity” has always been a form — perhaps the true form — of “religion.” But if one day it becomes clear that this a priori does not exist at all, but was historically conditioned and transient form of human self-expression, and if therefore man becomes radically religionless — and I think that that is already more or less the case (else how is it, for example, that this war, in contrast to all previous ones, is not calling forth any “religious” reaction?) — what does that mean for “Christianity?”

In his June 8 letter to Bethge, Bonhoeffer further discussed how the historical movement toward “the autonomy of man” had in his time “reached an undoubted completion.” To him, it had become evident that “everything gets along without ‘God’–and, in fact, just as well as before.”

Richard Beck observes that this “world come of age,” this world that had arrived at “adulthood,”was not viewed as a bad thing by Bonhoeffer. He seems to have recognized it as a natural development from childhood to adolescence to maturity. It was something God’s people should accept and not fear. With that in mind, he critiqued as pointless, ignoble, and unchristian any Christian apologetic approach that attacked the world’s adulthood.

Pointless, because it seems to me like an attempt to put a grown-up man back into adolescence, i.e. to make him dependent on things on which he is, in fact, on longer dependent, and thrusting him into problems that are, in fact, no longer problems for him. Ignoble, because it amounts to an attempt to exploit man’s weakness for purposes that are alien to him and to which he has not freely assented. Unchristian, because it confuses Christ with one particular stage in man’s religiousness, i.e. with a human law.

Furthermore, in using these apologetics the Church is advancing a heretical view of God. By complaining that in coming to adulthood the world has evicted God, the church denies the exaltation of Christ as Lord over all things. As if humans could rise up and cast out the Creator and Redeemer of all from his universe! The Church, according to Bonhoeffer, too often presents God as a frustrated parent who doesn’t want human beings to grow up and achieve independence. As if God’s aim is to turn us all back into children.

But if this is not a good approach, how then should Christians live? How should they witness to the Lordship of Christ in a world that has achieved independence from God? We come back to Bonhoeffer’s controlling question: “Who is Christ for us today?”

In the end Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in his letters and via his martyrdom, pointed to the Cross as the answer to that question. He writes, “God lets himself be pushed out of the world on to the cross. He is weak and powerless in the world, and that is precisely the way, the only way, in which he is with us and helps us. Matt. 8:17 makes it quite clear that Christ helps us, not by virtue of his omnipotence, but by virtue of his weakness and suffering.” 

In other words, God acts in the world through the very act of letting himself be evicted from the world. Christ’s resurrection power and Lordship in the world is exercised not by his powerful, commanding presence and domination over the world, but by letting himself be crucified and cast out again and again. Through his weakness, impotence, and even his absence, Christ reigns.

If the Church is to truly witness to Christ then, it will not be through apologetics or any type of “ministry” that attempts to put the world back under the guardianship of a celestial nanny. Rather, it will be through taking our place alongside our fellow humans as people without God in a world without God in order that we might truly know God. As Richard Beck puts it, “By pushing the false ‘Powerful God’ out of the world the way becomes clear for the God revealed in the cross of Jesus.” 

In this light, Dietrich Bonhoeffer expressed his desire to live:

…unreservedly in life’s duties, problems, successes and failures, experiences and perplexities. In so doing we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously, not our own sufferings, but those of God in the world — watching with Christ in Gethsemane. That, I think, is faith; that is metanoia; and that is how one becomes a man and a Christian.

The world’s “adulthood” is not something to be feared and fought, rather it becomes a “midwife” to the true Gospel of Jesus Christ: that in his absence Christ is Lord of all.

And perhaps, when we embrace life in a world without God, we shall become Christians.

• • •

Recommended Reading: Richard Beck’s series: “Letters from Cell 92″ at Experimental Theology.

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