andrewlittle
10-22-2007, 10:18 AM
For my 1000th post, I wanted to just reiterate something I think is important.
Below is a Morning Chapel sermon I gave while at Cambridge University in late 2003. Discussion in other threads, about gender issues related to God and the use of pronouns, prompted me to revisit this, mostly because this opened up a really vitreolic and, at the same time, heart-warming conversation between me and the British traditionalists with which I was studying and from whom I was learning.
The discussions ranged from the audacity of using non-canonical readings for chapel to the wrong-headedness of perceiving God as anything but male, but ended up after several months opening up lines of communication between us that I will forever remember. The most supportive discussions came from three older male ministers who were spending their sabbaticals at the college. One of them, a life-long bachelor, teared up as he thanked me for what I said.
If this gives something in return to the community that adopted me almost a year ago, I am happy. If not - well, get over it - it's my 1000th post and I'll spend it as I see fit. :D
Who can imagine God? Who amongst us, or in human history, has been able to claim knowledge adequate enough to fully describe God? Many have attempted to convince the world that they have that kind of intimacy with God, but we believe only one ever has - and Jesus never tried to put the all the wonder of God into human words.
If someone could actually conceive of the image of God, how could that notion possibly be communicated in human language?
Several conversations over the last two weeks steered me to this subject this morning. The main discussions revolved around the overwhelmingly male imagery used for God. The reactions to those chats varied, but many included obvious discomfort with anything but male images. For this reason, I have chosen Ode 19 from the Odes of Solomon as the reflective reading for today.
Reading : The ODE 19:1-5
1 A cup of milk was offered to me: and I drank it in the sweetness of the delight of the Lord.
2 The Son is the cup, and He who was milked is the Father:
3 And the Holy Spirit milked Him: because His breasts were full, and it was necessary for Him that His milk should be sufficiently released;
4 And the Holy Spirit opened His bosom and mingled the milk from the two breasts of the Father; and gave the mixture to the world without their knowing:
5 And they who receive in its fullness are the ones on the right hand.
If we are disturbed by non-male imagery of God, this reading should leave us apoplectic. Was the author totally gender confused? Or was he or she indifferent to the cultural, socially acceptable limitations of gender imposed by his or her society?
The metaphors used in Ode 19 seem to attack the problem of male imagery at a very deep level, creating visual images that can comfort, or haunt, the reader. God, rather than being male or genderless, is depicted as fully both genders. It forces an image of God that is, at first, uncomfortable due to the visual peculiarities we may perceive; in human terms we might consider it freakish. Therein lies a big part of the problem. We tend to want to perceive God as images of ourselves, rather than visa versa.
On that basis, God should look like us, right? God has to be male or female. Tradition says He’s male. Some say She’s female. Aren’t both views simply idolatry?
The visual glimpses painted within this Ode were impossible for me to escape. Once planted they, and any biases I possessed about gender, had to be reconciled. If we truly look at ourselves as images of God, without anyone being capable of achieving the fullness of God, how can we impose a human definition of gender on the Creator? Within this Ode the writer manages to confound our language’s gender limitations, and bring an awareness of God that transcends our human meanings of maternal and paternal. Can’t these images only be understood at the conceptual level? Once conceived in that part of our psyche, language becomes incidental. It becomes apparent that any noun or pronoun, male or female, is woefully inadequate in describing God.
Now I’m not going to present arguments for this view. I am simply going to give some reflections on why I wrestle with “traditional” imagery.
When I returned to Christ’s embrace, I was in sore need of a savior. I was predisposed to picturing God as male, just like me, and in terms of power and authority alone, since that described my role in business. The men of the church welcomed me but, as I later realized, only because of the worldly gifts of administration and fundraising that I possessed. The women’s groups, however, actually prayed me into church before I knew any of them. They then encouraged me into lay ministry and, eventually, into the seminary. When I had no more resources of my own, the women’s bible studies raised funds for my education. Which of these groups more appropriately engendered the spirit of Christ?
On the lowest day of my life, when I faced the question of whether to live or die, Becky B., the music director of my church, spend 12 hours with me - praying and counseling. The minister didn’t have time – he was an author and had a book signing.
On one of a few mission trips to the Tolteca Indians in southern Mexico, our van broke down. All 15 of us were fed while waiting for the repairs. We were joined in the meal by the 3 women who cooked our chicken, tortillas and sauces, but we noticed they were eating beans. As it turns out, they fed us a whole month’s worth of chicken for three families in that one meal.
Scott M., who you heard in the music I played for a prelude, sang with many evangelist campaigns, including Billy Graham. Now, he wrestles his relationship with his father and with God. His father, a prominent lawyer, sexually abused him regularly, as did some of the church elders – ostensibly to drive the “femininity” out of him. Since his religious upbringing has no room for non-father imagery, he has reached the point where he has no place in which to address God.
Ginny T., the conservative daughter of an equally conservative missionary and the wife of a wonderful charismatic lay preacher, perceived she had a call to ministry. Neither her nor her husband had any concept of a female in ministry upon which to answer that call. She and Jim prayed, studied and cried together as she worked out her calling in agony. She now pastors a church in Ohio, and has special ministries for those driven out of church by pastoral abuse. Oh yes, Jim leads the choir and teaches Sunday school.
There’s a litany of other examples, but suffice it to say that I have seen the image of God in the faces and actions of women and men, and in the faces of those who I could not identify as either. I cannot conceive of any imagery of God that excludes any. Each of us has images of God that give us personal comfort and a sense of belonging. This is good. But, especially as ministers, we are called to set aside our own comfort zone and minister in ways that help all people find their own walk with God, through Christ. Much of the time, this is done in the midst of pain, joy, baggage and recovery that doesn’t necessarily line up with our own.
Below is a Morning Chapel sermon I gave while at Cambridge University in late 2003. Discussion in other threads, about gender issues related to God and the use of pronouns, prompted me to revisit this, mostly because this opened up a really vitreolic and, at the same time, heart-warming conversation between me and the British traditionalists with which I was studying and from whom I was learning.
The discussions ranged from the audacity of using non-canonical readings for chapel to the wrong-headedness of perceiving God as anything but male, but ended up after several months opening up lines of communication between us that I will forever remember. The most supportive discussions came from three older male ministers who were spending their sabbaticals at the college. One of them, a life-long bachelor, teared up as he thanked me for what I said.
If this gives something in return to the community that adopted me almost a year ago, I am happy. If not - well, get over it - it's my 1000th post and I'll spend it as I see fit. :D
Who can imagine God? Who amongst us, or in human history, has been able to claim knowledge adequate enough to fully describe God? Many have attempted to convince the world that they have that kind of intimacy with God, but we believe only one ever has - and Jesus never tried to put the all the wonder of God into human words.
If someone could actually conceive of the image of God, how could that notion possibly be communicated in human language?
Several conversations over the last two weeks steered me to this subject this morning. The main discussions revolved around the overwhelmingly male imagery used for God. The reactions to those chats varied, but many included obvious discomfort with anything but male images. For this reason, I have chosen Ode 19 from the Odes of Solomon as the reflective reading for today.
Reading : The ODE 19:1-5
1 A cup of milk was offered to me: and I drank it in the sweetness of the delight of the Lord.
2 The Son is the cup, and He who was milked is the Father:
3 And the Holy Spirit milked Him: because His breasts were full, and it was necessary for Him that His milk should be sufficiently released;
4 And the Holy Spirit opened His bosom and mingled the milk from the two breasts of the Father; and gave the mixture to the world without their knowing:
5 And they who receive in its fullness are the ones on the right hand.
If we are disturbed by non-male imagery of God, this reading should leave us apoplectic. Was the author totally gender confused? Or was he or she indifferent to the cultural, socially acceptable limitations of gender imposed by his or her society?
The metaphors used in Ode 19 seem to attack the problem of male imagery at a very deep level, creating visual images that can comfort, or haunt, the reader. God, rather than being male or genderless, is depicted as fully both genders. It forces an image of God that is, at first, uncomfortable due to the visual peculiarities we may perceive; in human terms we might consider it freakish. Therein lies a big part of the problem. We tend to want to perceive God as images of ourselves, rather than visa versa.
On that basis, God should look like us, right? God has to be male or female. Tradition says He’s male. Some say She’s female. Aren’t both views simply idolatry?
The visual glimpses painted within this Ode were impossible for me to escape. Once planted they, and any biases I possessed about gender, had to be reconciled. If we truly look at ourselves as images of God, without anyone being capable of achieving the fullness of God, how can we impose a human definition of gender on the Creator? Within this Ode the writer manages to confound our language’s gender limitations, and bring an awareness of God that transcends our human meanings of maternal and paternal. Can’t these images only be understood at the conceptual level? Once conceived in that part of our psyche, language becomes incidental. It becomes apparent that any noun or pronoun, male or female, is woefully inadequate in describing God.
Now I’m not going to present arguments for this view. I am simply going to give some reflections on why I wrestle with “traditional” imagery.
When I returned to Christ’s embrace, I was in sore need of a savior. I was predisposed to picturing God as male, just like me, and in terms of power and authority alone, since that described my role in business. The men of the church welcomed me but, as I later realized, only because of the worldly gifts of administration and fundraising that I possessed. The women’s groups, however, actually prayed me into church before I knew any of them. They then encouraged me into lay ministry and, eventually, into the seminary. When I had no more resources of my own, the women’s bible studies raised funds for my education. Which of these groups more appropriately engendered the spirit of Christ?
On the lowest day of my life, when I faced the question of whether to live or die, Becky B., the music director of my church, spend 12 hours with me - praying and counseling. The minister didn’t have time – he was an author and had a book signing.
On one of a few mission trips to the Tolteca Indians in southern Mexico, our van broke down. All 15 of us were fed while waiting for the repairs. We were joined in the meal by the 3 women who cooked our chicken, tortillas and sauces, but we noticed they were eating beans. As it turns out, they fed us a whole month’s worth of chicken for three families in that one meal.
Scott M., who you heard in the music I played for a prelude, sang with many evangelist campaigns, including Billy Graham. Now, he wrestles his relationship with his father and with God. His father, a prominent lawyer, sexually abused him regularly, as did some of the church elders – ostensibly to drive the “femininity” out of him. Since his religious upbringing has no room for non-father imagery, he has reached the point where he has no place in which to address God.
Ginny T., the conservative daughter of an equally conservative missionary and the wife of a wonderful charismatic lay preacher, perceived she had a call to ministry. Neither her nor her husband had any concept of a female in ministry upon which to answer that call. She and Jim prayed, studied and cried together as she worked out her calling in agony. She now pastors a church in Ohio, and has special ministries for those driven out of church by pastoral abuse. Oh yes, Jim leads the choir and teaches Sunday school.
There’s a litany of other examples, but suffice it to say that I have seen the image of God in the faces and actions of women and men, and in the faces of those who I could not identify as either. I cannot conceive of any imagery of God that excludes any. Each of us has images of God that give us personal comfort and a sense of belonging. This is good. But, especially as ministers, we are called to set aside our own comfort zone and minister in ways that help all people find their own walk with God, through Christ. Much of the time, this is done in the midst of pain, joy, baggage and recovery that doesn’t necessarily line up with our own.