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Author Archives: CaptainThin

50 Years of Doctor Who: Religion and Morality

27 Wednesday Nov 2013

Posted by CaptainThin in Uncategorized

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Andrew Crome, Christianity, doctor who, Exploring our Matrix, Faith, James F. McGrath, religion, Religion and Doctor Who, sci-fi, science fiction, Theology, Time and Relative Dimensions in Faith

Day-of-the-Doctor-banner

Churl and I had the chance to watch the Doctor Who fiftieth anniversary special together in theatres this past weekend. And while each of us enjoys considering the deeper questions in television programmes like this, we both agreed that the 50th was, at its core, primarily just a good romp. [A few spoilers follow.]

That doesn’t mean, of course, that there weren’t interesting questions in the story. The episode revolves around the conclusion of the Time War, an event which has been oft-referenced during Nu-Who but never seen. We already know, as a result, that the Doctor is the one who ended the Time War—an act which took the lives not only of the Timelords’ enemies (the Daleks) but also of the Timelords themselves. To prevent the destruction of the universe, the Doctor sacrificed his own people. Or, put less charitably, in saving countless others the Doctor committed the genocide of his own race.

The 50th anniversary special (The Day of the Doctor) brings our attention back to this event. In fact, as the show is about time-travel, it actually takes us back inside the event, back to the Moment when the Doctor must decide whether the ends truly justify the means—whether the end of the Time War is worth the destruction of Gallifrey. This episode, as a result, is heavy on moral questions. And they are quite explicitly asked here: a past incarnation of the Doctor (who has yet to make the choice) asks future incarnations whether the horror of what he did/will do still haunts them. “Did you ever count how many children there were on Gallifrey that day?” he asks. In other words, did these future Doctors ever look back and wonder how many children died as a result of this decision. The past Doctor wants to know how they live with themselves; he wants the benefit of their retrospect even as he still wrestles with whether he will make the choice or not.

It brings us back to the Moment when the Doctor must decide whether the ends truly justify the means—whether the end of the Time War is worth the destruction of Gallifrey.

I won’t say anymore than that here; you really should just watch the episode yourself. But since we’re talking about Doctor Who and deeper things, allow me to highlight a few interesting articles about Doctor Who and religion.

The BBC has an interesting retrospect on religion in Doctor Who over the past fifty years in a recent article by Andrew Crome entitled “Doctor Who: Time travel through faith.” The thesis in short? “Doctor Who has continually engaged with important religious themes across its 50-year run.” Dr. Crome takes a broad stroke approach to the topic.

For a more frequent discussion of Doctor Who and its relationship with religion, readers may want to check out James F. McGrath’s blog “Exploring our Matrix.” Dr. McGrath, a member blogger for the Progressive Christian channel of Patheos, frequently discusses recent episodes and news regarding Doctor Who. His site is definitely worth watching for new posts on Who.

relative-dimensionsIt’s also worth noting that the above two writers (Dr. Crome and Dr. McGrath) recently collaborated on a new book entitled Relative Dimensions in Faith: Religion and Doctor Who. The book includes essays by 19 scholars discussing such topics as “Doctor Who and the Apocalypse,” “The Role of Christian Imagery in Russel T. Davies’ Doctor Who Revival,” and “The Church Militant?” [If anyone feels inclined to get me this book, I wouldn’t say no to it!]

Finally, readers may want to catch up on my earlier post here on A Christian Thing as well. Entitled “Doctor Who: Religion and the Limits of Human Reason,” I examine the role of gods and demons in the Doctor Who franchise, with particular attention paid to Tenth Doctor stories “The Impossible Planet” and “The Satan Pit.”

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Why Rob Ford needs our prayers, not our condemnation

08 Friday Nov 2013

Posted by CaptainThin in Uncategorized

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1 Timothy, Christian, cocaine, crack, drugs, leaders, mayor, politicians, politics, pray, pray for kings and all those in authority, prayer, Rob Ford, rulers, toronto

As Rob Ford’s life falls apart so dramatically on the world stage, I cannot help but feel sorry for the man. That doesn’t mean I approve of either his politics or his personal life, but it does mean I recognize him to be a fellow child of God—broken and sinful, like me, like all of us. May God give him strength to meet his personal challenges, and may Christ the Saviour of sinners be present unto him, offering the mercy and forgiveness he needs.

Let us remember St. Paul’s admonition to Timothy, that prayers should be made for “all people, for kings and all those in high positions.” And this isn’t just a prayer for our sakes—“that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way”—though it is for that too. St. Paul’s words continue: “This is good, and it is pleasing in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.” What God asks of us is not merely that we pray for our leaders to lead us well; we must also remember His individual desire for each of them—namely, that they would find salvation in His Son—and for this too we must pray. (1 Timothy 2:1-4)

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“All generations shall call me blessed.” Even the Protestants

15 Thursday Aug 2013

Posted by CaptainThin in Uncategorized

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assumption, assumption of mary, August 15, dormition, dormition of mary, dormition of the theotokos, Lutheran, Mary, mother of God, theotokos

The Abbey of the Dormition in Jerusalem—the site where tradition states St. Mary "fell asleep" into death.

The Abbey of the Dormition in Jerusalem—the site where tradition states St. Mary “fell asleep” into death.

August 15 is the traditional day Christians celebrate the Dormition (or “falling asleep”) of St. Mary. On this day, we thank God for her faithful witness to Christ throughout her life, up to and including the point of her death.

Protestants sometimes have an almost allergic reaction to words celebrating Mary. This comes, no doubt, from a desire to not be seen as deifying the Mother of Jesus—the kind of thing (some) Protestants are likely to accuse (some) Catholics of. I am not interested here in debating the role Mary may or may not play as an intercessor for Christians today, but I do wish to reflect on why she deserves more honour and respect than many Protestants pay her.

Rightly is Mary called the Theotokos—the Mother of God. This term is sometimes misunderstood. “How can Mary be called the Mother of God?” some ask. “Surely this implies that she is more important than God—that she precedes Him!” This, of course, is not what the word means. It means nothing more than what it says: Mary bore God. When God became flesh, He did so through Mary. God was born a Man in the person of Jesus Christ; and Mary was the Mother who bore Him.

Rightly is Mary called the Mother of God. God was born a Man in the person of Jesus Christ; and Mary was the Mother who bore Him.

Indeed, it is in the conception of Jesus Christ that we see most clearly the humble greatness which makes Mary so worthy of our respect, admiration, and imitation. Hear how the angel Gabriel greets her at the Annunciation:

“Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women” (Luke 1:28).

We can well imagine why Mary was “troubled” at his words, and “cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be” (1:29). Consider it again. Mary is greeted by a messenger of God Himself. And he greets her as God’s “highly favoured” one—indeed, as the woman most blessed among all women. To still her confusions and fears at this greeting, Gabriel repeats himself: she “hast found favour with God” (1:30).

We should stop right here and stand in awe. The Scriptures tell us that Mary is blessed among woman. She has found favour with God. Indeed, she is highly favoured. Would that these things should be said of us! Because of this high honour God grants to Mary, He chooses her to conceive the “Son of the Highest,” the inheritor of the “throne of his father David,” the One who shall “reign over the house of Jacob for ever,” and of Whose kingdom “there shall be no end” (1:32-33).

This young virgin, living in the village of Nazareth is to be the recipient of God’s greatest blessing—to be the bearer of Himself, the God-with-us, the Saviour of all the earth. The God who created Mary will enter into her womb and becomes flesh. Her Creator will become her child. She will deliver the Son who will deliver her and all humanity from sin.

Mary with the Christ-child. From a painting in the Shepherd's Field's chapel in Bethlehem.

From a painting in the Shepherd’s Field’s chapel in Bethlehem.

What a glorious, impossible thing it is that God seeks to do through Mary. And she asks the question, as any person might ask, how this thing is to be, since she is a virgin. She is answered with the promise of God’s power to do even the impossible. And so it is that the Holy Spirit overshadows a young woman and she conceives the Son of God.

But I’ve yet to state the most striking thing of all, and that is Mary’s response to the angel’s proclamation. She does not, as Moses did, attempt to exempt herself from God’s call. She does not ask Him to choose someone else. No, she accepts His Word. This Woman blessed above all other women reacts in humble obedience: “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word” (1:38).

The blessing Mary receives here is not an easy one. She is no doubt aware of the reaction others will have to her pregnancy, seeing that she is not yet married. Indeed, but for an angel’s intervention, Joseph would have divorced her, suspecting infidelity. But hers is the highest fidelity!

This pious woman must also know how the recipients of God’s Word have fared throughout Israel’s history. As Jesus will later lament, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you!” (Luke 13:34). And yet, despite the fear Mary must have felt at Gabriel’s words, she accepts. Willingly. Without a fight. What great faith!

She would have need of such strong faith throughout her life; for being the Mother of God would not be a calling free of suffering. Simeon said it well in prophesying of her grief: “A sword shall pierce thy own soul also.” Indeed, Mary witnessed the Crucifixion of Christ in a way no other human being will ever truly understand. For Mary was, as John Donne says, “God’s partner here, and furnished thus half of that sacrifice which ransomed us.” She did not watch Christ’s Passion the way we do. We see the Crucifixion as external observers; but Mary sees it as the death of her Son. Mary’s sorrow at the Crucifixion can be second only to God the Father’s, for they alone see the Cross as the place where their holy, innocent, beloved Son dies.

We see the Crucifixion as external observers; but Mary sees it as the death of her Son.

Mary-Church-of-the-Holy-Sepulchre-2013

Mary weeps at the death of Jesus. From the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.

So too her joy at the Resurrection must be greater than ours. For she receives back not only her Saviour, but also her Son. Indeed, her faith for the rest of her life must be a remarkable thing. For the God to whom she prays is also the Child she cradled in her arms. The God who provides her daily needs is the Child she nursed. The God in whom she places hope for eternal life is the Child whose death she mourned at the Cross.

What a mystery it is to consider Mary’s faith in Her Son! It speaks of a familial love for God that all are called to embrace and imitate; but none this side of heaven must ever truly see God as family so nearly as did she. Well can we imagine her recounting the words of her own prayer again and again: “My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden; for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. For he that is might hath done to me great things; and holy is his name” (Luke 1:46-49).

Mary-Dormition-Abbey-Jerusalem-2013-02

An icon of the “Falling Asleep of the God-Bearer” (which is what the Greek reads) in the Abbey of the Dormition in Jerusalem. As the Church looks upon her body, Christ receives her soul.

Amen. So it is that we reflect upon Mary this day, the remembrance of her falling asleep. And as we do so, we must, with the generations before us and the generations to come, indeed call her blessed. For she was blessed to be the bearer of Christ. Because of this, she understands the personal intimacy that is God’s love for His people in a way the rest of us can only wonder at—as a Son to His Mother. We too know that we are children of God and brothers and sisters of Christ. Yes, we know we are part of the family of God; but Mary experienced it in a way we cannot this side of heaven. Still, her example of deep, familial love with God is one we must strive for, even though we know the perfect realization of it must wait until we follow Mary to the Father’s mansions.

We remember Mary this day, and we thank God for her—for her faithful surrender to the will of God, for bringing into this world the Saviour of us all, and for the familial love she teaches us God has with His people. And so we honour her his day, the commemoration of her passing into sleep. We can only imagine what it must have been like: Christ welcoming His beloved Mother home!

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We are the blind

14 Wednesday Aug 2013

Posted by CaptainThin in Uncategorized

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Mathew Block, Music, poem, song, We are the blind

healing-the-blindChurl has occasionally shared his poetry here on A Christian Thing (though much of it now appears on his subsidiary blog Sing Me Hwæthugu), so I hope the following won’t feel too out of place here. It’s a song of mine. Obviously it’s a work in progress, but please listen in and let me know what you think.


We are the Blind

1. We are the blind
You the Sight-Giver
Look on Your people we pray
Open our eyes
Banish the darkness
Morning Star, bring on the day

Light of the World
Flame of the Father
Break through the night of our sin
Shine in our hearts
Burn the dross from us
Great Light illumine the Way

2. We are the false
You the Truth-Speaker
We are the children of lies
Yet You call us Your own
Sisters and brothers
And attend to our prayers and our cries

Truth of the World
Word of the Father
Over our noise speaking through
Write in the dust
When sin condemns us
Let us read mercy in You

3. We are the dead
You the Life-Maker
Breathe on our desert-dry bones
Call us by name
Make the earth tremble
As we come forth from our tombs

Hope of the World
Son of the Father
Rise in the hearts of all men
Take us by the hand
Lift us toward You
As by Your love we ascend

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Too Damn Catholic

02 Friday Aug 2013

Posted by CaptainThin in Uncategorized

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Anglican, Book of Concord, confessional lutheran, Confessions, Council of Trent, First Vatican Council, Lutheran, roman catholic, Second Vatican Council, Tradition, Vatican I, Vatican II

stpetersSome time ago my friend Churl began a series of posts here on A Christian Thing discussing his frustration at the Evangelical tradition in which he was raised and his attraction to Roman Catholicism. Of course, Churl has always recognized these are not the only options: there is Orthodoxy, of course; and on the Protestant side, there are options like Anglicanism and Lutheranism. Alongside Churl’s posts, Chinglican has been chiming in with his defence of Anglicanism, but the Lutheran on this blog has been remarkably silent. That’s not to say I haven’t any opinions on the subject. I do. In fact, Churl and I have discussed the topic on a number of occasions outside of the blog (you know, in real life). But while I have many opinions, I have much less time in which to write them down.

Part of what has delayed an online response from me has also been the recognition that it would necessarily mean examining Catholic doctrine in detail. Indeed, talking about joining any church must, by definition, include a very real hashing out of doctrine, because it is doctrine that distinguishes one church from another. Such discussions can be very confusing to many people. They also, by definition, tend to make people angry, because if you say you believe X, you must also say you reject Y.

But I have told Churl I would write a response for the blog. So I will. And this is my response: I’m too damn Catholic to be Catholic.

That might sound flippant or even nonsensical. It isn’t intended to be. “But what does it even mean?” you ask. I’ll explain, but before I do, let me explain what I do not mean: I do not mean to say that I think Lutheranism and Roman Catholicism are similar enough that I can simply “act” Catholic while remaining Lutheran.

To be sure, Lutheranism and Roman Catholicism share many things in common. I would even argue that, of all Protestants, Lutherans have the most in common theologically with Roman Catholics. We both confess the efficacy of God’s grace poured out in the Sacraments. We both believe Baptism is for infants (that cuts out most Evangelicals). We both believe in the Real Presence of Christ’s body and blood in Holy Communion (that cuts out everyone else). Sure, some “high church” Anglicans believe in Transubstantiation, but it’s hardly representative of the church at large; in Anglicanism you can also find lowest of the “low church” symbolists, and consubstantiationists, and subscribers to Calvin’s “mystery” language (with its mysterious “spiritual (but not physical) real presence”). It’s notoriously difficult to talk about what Anglicans believe because there seems to be no authoritative voice in the church. Who speaks for Anglicans? No one and everyone. Is it Thomas Cranmer? Shelby Spong? J.I. Packer? Or perhaps it is Katharine Jefferts Schori or Justin Welby?

This kind of anything-goes theology doesn’t jive with Catholic or Lutheran sensibilities; we instead assert that there are authoritative voices who determine what doctrinal teachings are and are not allowed (by now it should be clear that by “Lutheran,” I mean “confessional Lutheran”). Lutherans and Catholics both accept that the Scriptures are God’s very Word and are therefore authoritative for faith and practice. Likewise, Lutherans and Roman Catholics both recognize the witness of the Church historic as normative for the interpretation of these Scriptures: we each assert, for example, the primacy of the three ancient creeds (The Apostle’s, the Nicene, and the Athanasian). If you deny these texts, you can be neither Catholic nor Lutheran.

Indeed, the first Lutherans saw no disagreement between their faith and the faith of the Catholic Church down through the ages. They write, “This is about the Sum of our Doctrine, in which, as can be seen, there is nothing that varies from the Scriptures, or from the Church Catholic, or from the Church of Rome as known from its writers” (AC 21:5). They believed themselves to be faithful to the historic Church’s teachings even as they rejected theologically errant innovation that had arisen in their own time. “Our churches dissent in no article of the faith from the Church Catholic,” they write, “but only omit some abuses which are new, and which have been erroneously accepted by the corruption of the times, contrary to the intent of the Canons” (AC 21:10).

To be sure, Catholics and Lutherans still disagree which of them truly remained faithful to the historic Church’s witness. But we both agree that this historic witness (whatever it is) is normative for the Church up to and including the present day.[1] From the Lutheran perspective, The Book of Concord represents an attempt at codifying a normative, indeed, authoritative interpretation of the Scriptures and the Christian faith, based on biblical exegesis and informed by appeals to the Fathers and the Ecumenical Councils. Roman Catholics, for their part, define a much larger authoritative tradition, including not only the seven ancient councils but also fourteen others in later times, as well as a number of other assorted works like the Catechism and ex-cathedra pronouncements such as Munificentissimus Deus (which, in 1950, made the Assumption of Mary binding dogma for all Catholics).

trentLet me refer to just one of these authorities: The Council of Trent. To be Roman Catholic means to accept these extraordinary dogmata (ie, doctrines declared necessary by the church to be believed by all); failure to accept even one such dogma places one outside the Church (for such is the Magisterium of Roman Catholicism). To Trent then:

“If any one saith, that by faith alone the impious is justified… let him be anathema” (Session 6: Canon 9). And again: “If any one saith, that men are justified, either by the sole imputation of the justice of Christ, or by the sole remission of sins… let him be anathema” (Session 6: Canon 11). And once more: “If any one saith, that justifying faith is nothing else but confidence in the divine mercy which remits sins for Christ’s sake… let him be anathema” (Session 6: Canon 12).

These anathemata apply to me, for I believe that “men cannot be justified before God by their own strength, merits, or works, but are freely justified for Christ’s sake, through faith, when they believe that they are received into favor, and that their sins are forgiven for Christ’s sake, who, by His death, has made satisfaction for our sins. This faith God imputes for righteousness in His sight. Rom. 3 and 4” (AC 6). Indeed, it seems doubtful that one could read these passages as anything but a deliberate condemnation of Lutherans.

And this is a key point: it is the people they condemn. “Let him be anathema.” In the Lutheran Confessions, we condemn errant teachings frequently enough; for example, “We condemn quite a number of other errors of the Anabaptists [ie, other errors in addition to errant views on baptism]” (AP 9:51). But we do not focus our condemnations on the errant. We draw our doctrines narrow in accordance with the Scriptures; but, equally in accordance with the Scriptures we draw our theology of the Church, the Body of Christ, wide. The visible church on earth is a manifestation of the Body of Christ; but it is not synonymous with the Church Catholic. I repeat, no church body stands in a one-to-one correlation with the invisible Body of Christ.

For, as Roman Catholics and Lutherans both teach, the visible church is made up of Christians as well as “evil men” who do not truly believe. If the visible church were, then, synonymous with the Body of Christ, we would have to say that both the believers and the unbelievers in this earthly fellowship were members of Christ’s Body. As a Lutheran, this seems to me obvious error. Only believers are truly members of the Body of Christ; only believers constitute Christ’s Bride, the Church.

And that goes for all believers, regardless of denominational affiliation. Lutherans do not believe one need hold membership in a Lutheran church in order to be a member of the Body of Christ. That doesn’t mean we diminish Lutheran distinctives; we believe our Lutheran doctrine to be true and that, consequently, the doctrine of others is wrong. But one such doctrine we uphold is the idea of the Universal Church—the belief that the Christ’s Bride is the invisible fellowship of all believers in Christ. “The Church is not only the fellowship of outward objects and rites,” we confess, “but it is originally a fellowship of faith and of the Holy ghost in hearts” (AP 7:4).

By contrast, Roman Catholics threaten non-catholics with damnation over topics like the primacy of the Pope’s authority [“This is the teaching of catholic truth, and no one can depart from it without endangering his faith and salvation” (Vatican I, Session 4 Chapter 3:4)]. There are too many things in Catholicism declared necessary unto salvation, too many things upon which membership in Christ’s Body has been made contingent. John Donne lamented this piling on of dogmata well: “All things are growen deare in our times,” he wrote, “for they have made Salvation deare; Threescore yeares agoe, he might have been saved for beleeving the Apostles Creed; now it will cost him the Trent Creed too” (Sermons Vol. 6, No. 12).

Roman Catholics have long been committed to affirming St. Cyprian of Carthage’s words in a very narrow way: extra Ecclesiam nulla salus—“outside the Church there is no salvation.” And by “Church” they have historically meant the visible Roman church. Indeed, as late as the 20th century, Pope Pius XI could write his in encyclical Mortalium Animos: “The Catholic Church alone is keeping the true worship. This is the font of truth, this is the house of faith, this is the temple of God; if any man enter not here, or if any man go forth from it, he is a stranger to the hope of life and salvation.”[2]

It is in this sense that I say I am too damn Catholic to be Catholic. I believe too strongly in the invisible Church, the “Universal”—which is what “Catholic” means—Church to believe Roman claims that their church is the only true Church. I cannot believe that lack of membership in any particular visible church body makes one “a stranger to the hope of life and salvation,” as Pius XI wrote. No, it is not our membership in visible churches that is necessary for salvation, but rather our membership in the invisible Church—in Christ’s Body, the fellowship of all believers. This is something Lutherans believe, teach, and confess; I cannot say Roman Catholics teach the same—or at least they didn’t until very recently (more on that in a second).

vatican1It will not do to simply suggest we reinterpret these condemnations, or to say that our understanding of the Councils’ words have evolved over time. Indeed, Vatican I strictly condemns such reinterpretation of accepted doctrine: “The meaning of the sacred dogmas is ever to be maintained which has once been declared by Holy Mother Church and there must never be abandonment of this sense under the pretext or in the name of a more profound understanding” (Vatican 1, Session 3 Chapter 4:14). Saying we understand better (ie, have a “more profound understanding” of) the dogma than its framers is thus forbidden. And more forcefully: “If anyone says that it is possible that at some time, given the advancement of knowledge, a sense may be assigned to the dogmas propounded by the Church which is different from that which the Church has understood and understands, let him be anathema” (Vatican I, Session 3 Canon 4:3).

That does not mean the Roman Catholic Church has not, in fact, attempted at times to “clarify” (or, more honestly, reinterpret) some of these older doctrines. Indeed, Vatican II provided a very welcome new understanding of extra Ecclesiam nulla salus. Roman Catholics no longer condemn Christians outside the Roman church; instead, they declare that all the baptized have the “right to be called Christian” (though those outside Rome miss some of the benefits given solely to Christ’s Church, which is still defined as the Roman Catholic Church).[3] So too Roman Catholics have in recent years softened their anathemata against the Lutheran understanding of justification by faith.[4] While these things are to be applauded, there nevertheless appears to be a disconnect (to my mind, at least) between the original intent of The Council of Trent—and other texts which drew the definition of Church so narrowly—and Vatican II’s more recent pronouncements. Indeed, this reinterpretation of authoritative texts seems to directly ignore Vatican I’s warning about assigning to established dogma “a sense… different from that which the church has understood.”

And therein lies the problem: either the Roman Catholic Church was right when it narrowly restricted assurance of salvation to being a member of the visible church and accepting all Catholic doctrine (including the primacy/infallibility of the Pope, the assumption of Mary, the condemnation of Protestants at Trent, etc.); or it is right now when it grants the possibility of true Christians existing outside the visible church. If one attempts to fix the problem by saying our understanding of the dogmata in question has simply evolved—that we understand them better now than their own formulators did—we come up against Vatican I’s condemnation: none are to interpret accepted dogma in a way contrary to the Church’s historic understanding. So if we say we can, through new methods of interpretation, make Trent and Vatican II speak with one voice, then we must still reject Vatican I’s condemnation of such reinterpretation. The Tradition to which the Roman Catholic Church attaches authority, then, contradict itself; and if this Tradition—this Magisterium—is the grounds which support the Roman church’s declaration to be the one true Church on earth, I for one therefore find the foundation less than firm.

I agree that one must seek the Church in order to find Christ. She is His Mother, and through her we are brought into communion with Him. But do I believe the Church is to be equated with the visible Roman Catholic Church? No. Instead, I must agree with Martin Luther:

“Therefore he who would find Christ must first find the Church. How should we know where Christ and his faith were, if we did not know where his believers are? And he who would know anything of Christ must not trust himself nor build a bridge to heaven by his own reason; but he must go to the Church, attend and ask her. Now the Church is not wood and stone, but the company of believing people; one must hold to them, and see how they believe, live and teach; they surely have Christ in their midst. For outside of the Christian church there is no truth, no Christ, no salvation” (LW 52:39-40).

This is the Catholic Church. This is the Universal Church—the company of believers. I will not abide any visible church drawing the broad boundaries of the invisible Church more tightly than does God. The dogmata of the Roman Church do just that, and so I reject them; I’m too damn Catholic to be Catholic.

———————-

I apologize if anyone found the above reading difficult or insulting. I do not mean to hurt feelings, nor do I question the sincerity of my Christian brothers and sisters’ faiths. But there can be no honest ecumenical agreement where there is not also honest recognition of disagreement.

Do I think I am in the right, theologically speaking? Yes. And I therefore necessarily think that others’ opinions are wrong. But I will forever count upon the mercy of Christ as the means of salvation, not my intellectual capabilities nor anyone else’s (whether used rightly or wrongly). “It does not depend therefore on man’s desire or effort [or, we might add, man’s denominational affiliation], but upon God who has mercy” (Romans 9:16). I count Roman Catholics and Anglicans and Baptists and all manner of other Christians fellow members with me in the Body of Christ. Wherever the Good News of Christ is preached and believed, wherever the Holy Spirit enters into the hearts of the faithful, there the Catholic Church is. There my sisters and brothers are.


[1]    The early Lutherans, while asserting the primacy of Scripture, never suggested that we may approach Scripture in a vacuum, apart from the witness of the Church throughout history. Indeed, as John R. Stephenson writes, the “authors of the Formula of Concord sharply forbid any unbridled exegesis of the inspired text;” Christians are bound by the ancient Church’s witness. For more on this, see Stephenson’s article “Some Thoughts on Why and How Creeds and Confessions Exercise Authority over Lutheran Christendom” (originally delivered at LCC/LCMS/ACNA dialogues, recently published in Lutheran Theological Review 25 (2013):60-73 here).

[2]    To be sure, encyclicals do not have the same authoritative status as some other texts in Roman Catholicism. But Pius XI’s words demonstrate a long-standing Roman interpretation of what St. Cyprian’s ancient words mean.

[3]    “All who have been justified by faith in Baptism are members of Christ’s body, and have a right to be called Christian, and so are correctly accepted as brothers by the children of the Catholic Church. Moreover, some and even very many of the significant elements and endowments which together go to build up and give life to the Church itself, can exist outside the visible boundaries of the Catholic Church… Nevertheless, our separated brethren, whether considered as individuals or as communities and Churches, are not blessed with that unity which Jesus Christ wished to bestow on all those to whom He has given new birth into one body… For it is through Christ’s Catholic Church alone, which is the universal help towards salvation, that the fullness of the means of salvation can be obtained” (Unitatis Redintegratio 3).

[4]    The Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification affirms that Lutherans and Catholics have a much closer “consensus on basic truths of the doctrine of justification” now than in the past, and that “the remaining differences in its explication are no longer the occasion for doctrinal condemnations” (5).

Sundries

02 Friday Aug 2013

Posted by CaptainThin in Uncategorized

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Here I am writing what is sure to be seen as a throw-away post. But it’s not (see especially item four below). I’m just too busy to write at length what I wanted to write right now, so let me just give a brief post highlighting things of interest to readers of A Christian Thing.

First, a plug for my recent post over at First Things. Ever open up the Psalms at random and find one perfectly fitted to your own experiences? How about the opposite: ever read a Psalm that is miles from where you are? Find out why that can be a good thing in my post “You Probably Think this Psalm is About You.” [Spoilers: It’s about the Church.]

Second, a welcome to our new blogger Not a Dinner Party. I can’t agree with everything she has to say in her initial post (full admission: I’m the only blogger on this site who currently belongs to a church body which restricts the pastoral office to men), but that’s how it goes when you hold a Thing—a discussion—of this sort. It’s vital that everyone get a chance to speak. For what it’s worth, I like what Churl had to say in response.

In her post, Not a Dinner Party drew our attention to the “Young Evangelicals are Getting High” article which recently caused a bit of a stir online. A few days ago, Rachel Held Evans referenced the “Getting High” post in an article of her own for CNN’s religion blog. Which brings me to this evening’s

Third topic of interest. Held’s article (“Why millenials are leaving the church”) has itself got people fired up. No summaries here (you can read it on your own), but I wanted to list a few important responses to it that are now up online.

For my money, the best of these comes from Mere Orthodoxy’s Jake Meador in a post that places Held’s ennui with Evangelicalism side by side the persecution of the Church throughout history. He reflects on  Held’s insistence that “the Church must (and will) change along with millenials” before calling it “an astonishing display of vanity.” Reading his post, it’s hard to disagree. Nathan Gilmour over at The Christian Humanist brings up the contradictions at play in Held’s post (noting, for example, her contention that millenials want less politics in the church but then saying the church needs to be more attune to social political issues). Finally, The Washington Post features Brett McrCracken with a very good response focusing on the chronological snobbery at play here. A selection:

I also think that the answer is decidedly not to sit the Millennial down and have him or her dictate exactly what they think the church should be. But this is what Evans suggests. Her article ends with this proposed action step:

“I would encourage church leaders eager to win Millennials back to sit down and really talk with them about what they’re looking for and what they would like to contribute to a faith community.”

How about the opposite? Millennials: why don’t we take our pastors, parents, and older Christian brothers and sisters out to coffee and listen to them? Perhaps instead of perpetuating our sense of entitlement and Twitter/blog/Instagram-fueled obsession with hearing ourselves speak, we could just shut up for a minute and listen to the wisdom of those who have gone before?

Interesting stuff. And now I come at last to the

Fourth item of business. I am finally going to respond to Churl’s posts about his growing attraction to Catholicism. Tune in here tomorrow morning for an article in which I make an unwelcome entry to the debate, talk about doctrine, and generally displease everybody.

Sorry about that.

What about angels?

03 Wednesday Jul 2013

Posted by CaptainThin in Uncategorized

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angels, Catholic, cherub, cherubim, Christian, Lutheran, Martin Luther, Philipp Melancthon, Protestants, seraph, seraphim

Dore's illustration of the "Heavenly Host" in Dante's Paradisio.

Dore’s illustration of the “Heavenly Host” in Dante’s Paradisio.

If you’re anything like the vast majority of Protestants (and I include myself in this condemnation), you seldom think about angels. If pressed on the matter, most of us could no doubt offer up some fluff on what these beings are. But the idea that they are constantly at work in the Christian’s life—that we are, in fact, constantly in contact with these creatures today and yesterday and all the days of our lives—this is seldom a subject of thought. We do not emphasize the work of these creatures in catechesis or sermons, we do not seriously contemplate them during daily life, and it’s for this reason, I presume, that we believe so much cartoony nonsense about them.

It’s refreshing, therefore (and challenging) to read the words of our Christian forefathers. They were under no illusion as to the real and active work angels undertake on our behalf. I like to include in my prayers the conclusion of Martin Luther’s Morning and Evening Prayers: “Let Thy holy angel be with me,” he writes, “that the Wicked Foe may have no power over me.” There’s a spiritual battle that surrounds us, and we need the intervention of these servants of Christ. Indeed, it is for our sake—for the sake of Christians like you me—that these beings are sent out to work. “Are they not all ministering spirits sent out to serve for the sake of those who are to inherit salvation?” (Hebrews 1:14). They are God’s servants and our help.

As you reflect on the role of angels in your faith and life, you may find helpful this hymn by Philipp Melanchthon. Rereading it last evening was, in fact, the occasion for my own such reflections in this post.

Lord God, we all to Thee give praise,
Thanksgivings meet to Thee we raise,
That angel hosts Thou didst create
Around Thy glorious throne to wait.

They shine with light and heav’nly grace
And constantly behold Thy face;
They heed Thy voice, they know it well,
In godly wisdom they excel.

They never rest nor sleep as we;
Their whole delight is but to be
With Thee, Lord Jesus, and to keep
Thy little flock, Thy lambs and sheep.

The ancient dragon is their foe;
His envy and his wrath they know.
It always is his aim and pride
Thy Christian people to divide.

As he of old deceived the world
And into sin and death was hurled,
So now he subtly lies in wait
To ruin school and Church and state.

A roaring lion round he goes,
No halt nor rest he ever knows;
He seeks the Christians to devour
And slay them by his dreadful power.

But watchful is the angel band
That follows Christ on every hand
To guard His people where they go
And break the counsel of the Foe.

For this, now and in days to be,
Our praise shall rise, O Lord, to Thee,
Whom all the angel hosts adore
With grateful songs forevermore.

As an aside, the translation above does not include all the verses, and is actually Cronenwett’s 19th century English translation of Eber’s 16th century German translation. While Eber’s translation and the English translations based on it rhyme, Melancthon’s original does not. See a full translation of Melanchthon’s Latin here. It’s the stronger translation, but I couldn’t include it here because it’s copyrighted.

———————

Doctor Who: Religion and the limits of human reason

08 Monday Apr 2013

Posted by CaptainThin in Uncategorized

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Tags

Christian, Christianity, doctor who, dr. who, Faith, impossible planet, mythology, religion, rings of akhaten, satan pit, science fiction

Doctor-Who-Akhaten

The Doctor confronts the old god in “The Rings of Akhaten.”

In case you haven’t heard, this year marks the fiftieth anniversary of Doctor Who. As a fan, I’ve wanted to pay homage to the show for some time, planning to write a post discussing the good Doctor and religion. Now seems as good a time as any, given that the most recent episode “The Rings of Akhaten” is a story in which the Doctor comes face to face with a “god.”

It’s a common enough theme in science fiction: the self-proclaimed deity who is unmasked as a pretender (think Star Trek: The Undiscovered Country—“What does God need with a starship?”). Still, the Doctor’s confrontations with religious beings are a little different than those in other science fiction series. He is, after all, a semi-divine figure himself. All space and time is at his disposal. He can go anywhere and anywhen. He’s more Q than Picard, if you will.

The Doctor’s confrontations with religious beings is different than other science fiction. He is, after all, a semi-divine figure himself.

So when the Doctor comes up against a “god,” we know he’ll be able to expose it as a fraud. And it always is another a fraud. It might be a powerful being; it might be ancient. It might, as in the most recent episode, have existed for millenia, feeding on the offerings and worship of its followers. But whatever else it is, it is not truly divine. It is as much a part of the universe as anything else. It can always be explained. It can always be understood.

Except, perhaps, in one two-part story from the Tenth Doctor’s era. In this story, the Doctor again comes across someone professing godhood: he meets a being which claims to be the Beast, the devil himself. But the Doctor has faced many false gods in his day; they are all pretenders. “If you are the Beast,” he mocks, “then answer me this: Which one, hmm? Because the universe has been busy since you’ve been gone. There’s more religions than there are planets in the sky. There’s the Arkaphets, Christianity, Pash-Pash, New Judaism, San Claar, Church of the Tin Vagabond. Which devil are you?”

Only this time the devil is real. “Which devil are you?” the Doctor asks. “All of them,” the Beast replies. He is not lying.

Here the Doctor is confronted with something greater—and more terrifying—than he can imagine. Not merely because it is an unknown but instead because it is by its nature unknowable. When the Doctor asks the Beast when he came to be chained in the Pit, the latter answers, “Before time.” This answer makes no sense to the Doctor; he cannot conceive of a “before time.”

“What does ‘before time’ mean?” he asks.

“Before time and light and space and matter. Before the cataclysm. Before this universe was created.”

“You can’t have come from before the universe,” the Doctor responds incredulously. “That’s impossible.”

To which the Beast replies, “Is that your religion?”

The Doctor can only respond, “It’s a belief.”

The Beast scoffs, “You know nothing. All of you, so small.”

Here the Doctor, nigh on a deity himself, is confronted by something beyond him. Unknowable. Unthinkable. Impossible. He cannot conceive of existence before time and matter. His reason is too small; it cannot bend so far. He cannot comprehend it. He cannot measure it and test it. “If that thing had said it was from beyond the universe, I’d have believed it. But before? Impossible.”

So too did God question Job: “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know! Who stretched a measuring line across it? On what were its footings set, or who laid its cornerstone?” (Job 38:4-6). The questions are, for Job, impossible to answer; they are beyond his understanding: “Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know” (Job 42:3). But Job’s inability to answer God’s questions about creation—and the Doctor’s inability to comprehend of existence “before time”—does not change the fact of their existence.

So then: the Doctor finds himself opposed by a power he cannot even comprehend. He has no more ideas. He has no more options. Even the TARDIS—and, consequently, the only chance of escape—has been lost. All hope is at an end. The situation is utterly and completely beyond him.

The situation is utterly and completely beyond him. How fitting then, that the solution must also come from beyond him.

How fitting then, that the solution must also come from beyond him. It has, in fact, been prepared in advance by those who first imprisoned the devil. The Beast had been imprisoned “before time,” he tells us, when “the Disciples of the Light rose up against me and chained me in the pit for all eternity.”

doctor-who-satan-pit

The Doctor meets the Devil in “The Satan Pit.”

It is impossible to miss the reference to Scripture here. “And there was war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back. But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven. The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray” (Revelation 12:7-9). And again: “The angels who did not keep their positions of authority but abandoned their own home—these he has kept in darkness, bound with everlasting chains for judgment on the great Day” (Jude 6).

As in the biblical text, the devil was defeated and chained in the darkness (in the television series, the devil is quite literally chained imprisoned on an “impossible planet” fixed in space in the shadow of a black hole). But the Disciples of the Light seem to have foreseen both the Beast’s attempt to escape and the Doctor’s presence at the event. When all hope is lost, the Doctor finds the Disciples of Light have prepared a solution for him ahead of time—quite literally before time existed.

Having fallen into the Pit, the Doctor awakens to find he was “expected.” “I was given a safe landing and air,” he says to the Beast, asking why. Slowly it dawns on him: provision for his safe descent was not the devil’s doing; it was the work of the Disciples of Light. “That’s it!” he exclaims. “You didn’t give me air, your jailers did! They set this up. They need me alive, because if you’re escaping then I need to stop you!” The Doctor discovers what the Disciples of Light intend him to do, and he does it—knowing full well it will mean his own death.

Except it doesn’t. In a deus ex machina worthy of the name, the Doctor’s previously lost TARDIS is discovered to have also fallen into the Pit. In fact, it’s landed right where it needs to be, almost as if by plan. And perhaps it was by plan. That’s what’s so fascinating about this particular Doctor Who story: it leaves room for the possibility of something more—something beyond mortal comprehension, beyond even the super-human Doctor’s understanding. The Doctor lays down his life to defeat the devil, only to find his life restored to him in the end.

God out of the machine indeed.

———————

The two-part story under discussion here is “The Impossible Planet” and “The Satan Pit.”

Cross-posted at Captain Thin.

Disagree with Christians? That’s fine. But do not silence them.

27 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by CaptainThin in Uncategorized

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Canada, Christian persecution, human rights, office for religious freedom, religious freedom, religious minorities

holy-postLast week the Canadian Government announced the creation of a new Office for Religious Freedom, an entity devoted to highlighting the rights of those suffering religious persecution internationally. The online reaction to the office has, to put it mildly, been mostly negative. In so doing it highlights a growing Canadian intolerance for the religious and the belief that religion is something best confined inside believers’ homes—that one should not dare to bring it out in the open.

That concern lies behind my recent article for the National Post’s “Holy Post” blog. It’s entitled “Disagree with Christians? That’s fine. But do not silence them.”

Faith, it seems, is now to be understood as a concession made to backwards, backwoods yokels. If you must be religious, then for heaven’s sake do it in the privacy of your own home, where no one else has to see or hear you; religion has no place in the public sphere. Having government step forward to publicly defend religious freedom abroad, therefore, has critics gnashing their teeth.

Even those who have been cautiously optimistic about the office have betrayed a surprising indifference to the plight of persecuted religious minorities. Some pundits have warned against the office spending “too much” attention on Christian issues. To be sure, other groups facing religious persecution — Buddhists, Muslims, Bahai, Sufis, and, yes, atheists — must be just as vigorously defended. But what exactly is so verboten about speaking honestly about the severity of Christian persecution in the world and seeking to redress these wrongs?

I go on to discuss the current level of persecution facing Christians worldwide, before declaring my own faith and explaining that these beliefs “make me who I am” and “inform my decisions and actions in the world.” “Disagree with me?” I pose the question. “That’s fine. But do not silence me. Do not tell me my voice is not allowed in the public forum.” Especially when its raised in support of those who have no voice of their own—those suffering for their faith elsewhere in the world.

Read it all over at the National Post.

Note: There’s an error in the text as it currently stands over at The National Post. It says that Open Doors counts one hundred thousand Christians as suffering persecution. It should read one hundred million.

———————

Lent: Not giving you up

13 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by CaptainThin in Uncategorized

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give you up, Lent, rick astley

 

 

Not sure where this (like most memes) comes from, but it’s far too good to not share:

lent

 

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