Alan Jacobs (från min alma mater Wheaton College) har skrivit en fantastiskt intressant och viktig artikel i First Things. "Do-It-Yourself Tradition" heter den. Han behandlar ett gäng böcker från bl.a. Emergent- och New Monasticism-rörelserna. Båda dessa rörelser låter sig inspireras av teologi och praxis från den tidiga kyrkan, från katolsk och ortodox tradition. men kan kan man plocka från ett smörgåsbord och skapa sin egen tradition?
frågan är aktuell. min morbror ifrågasatte häromdagen (i Dagen) tendensen att hämta inspiration i "gamla kyrkor". förvånansvärt. men jag får återkomma till varför jag (föga förvånande) tycker han har helt fel.
"Many monks and nuns say that they retreat to the monastic life because their faith is too weak to flourish in the saeculum. And if such a retreat, in any of its forms, is not as attractive to Christians as it once was, it may be because we have more protections than our ancestors did from an experience of utter exposure.
Some of our protections are material, some political, some psychological, but in any case the world has seen, over the past few centuries, a move from the “porous self” to the “buffered self.” These are terms coined by the philosopher Charles Taylor. “The porous self is vulnerable,” he writes, “to spirits, demons, cosmic forces”—and, I would add, to unpredictable natural forces and political authorities who know little or nothing of the rule of law. “And along with this go certain fears that can grip it in certain circumstances. The buffered self has been taken out of the world of this kind of fear.”
The practices of the ancient Church were forged in eras of the porous self and were responsive to its fears and vulnerabilities. Can they be nearly as meaningful to us, surrounded by our protective buffers, as they were to our ancestors? Does their evident power suggest to us that we have paid too high a price for our buffers, that we may need to be more exposed? The self that can pursue the via illuminativa—that can be illuminated by God—may open itself to the demonic as well as the divine. The disciplines and practices of our Christian ancestors are not toys or tools; they are the hope of life to those who are perishing. This is what Alasdair MacIntyre had in mind when he said that, here among the ruins of our old civilization, what we may be waiting for is a new St. Benedict: someone who can articulate a whole way of life and call us to it.
The turn to the Christian past is indeed welcome, but it may demand more of us than we are prepared to give. In contemplating the witness and practices of our ancestors, we may discover that we’d rather remain within our buffers—if we can. But can we? Current electronic technologies—from blogs to texting to online banking to customer-specific Google ads—may be drawing us into a new age of porousness, with new exposures, new vulnerabilities. And in such a new age the hard-earned wisdom of our distant ancestors in the faith may be not just a set of interesting ideas and recommendations but an indispensable source of hope. Those who have ears to hear, let them hear."
läs resten här.
UPPDATERING 27 februari:
Stefan Swärd skriver debattartikel i DAGEN om emergent, läs här.
tisdag, februari 24, 2009
måndag, februari 23, 2009
lördag, februari 21, 2009
måndag, februari 16, 2009
kristen kultur?
en av den kristna bloggosfärens bästa skribenter millinerd skriver på First Things blogg om kyrkans relation till kulturen.
"To scan the popular Christian publications today is to conclude that the category of heresy has not been lost, but it has been relocated. The new anathema is “cultural Christianity.” “Missional Christians” disparage it. The supposed demise of Christendom is the rallying cry of young, hip evangelicals. Many would prefer to be labeled “Arian” than derided as “Constantinian.” They suspect even classical Christian doctrine, infected as it supposedly is with the cultural categories of Greek thought.
For them, culture is as dispensable to Christianity as a hermit crab’s shell is to the crab. The true essence of the gospel might don cultural attire when necessary, but only to just as quickly cast it off, seeking new garb to attract a fresh set of converts. Hence the jettisoning of one more outgrown shell—the Mainline Protestant ascendancy of American Christianity—is cause for the post-Christendom crowd to rejoice. From this perspective, glorious stone edifices in Manhattan such as Fifth Avenue Presbyterian and St. Thomas’ Episcopal are but discarded seashells scattered on the church’s historical shoreline. The Holy Spirit has found new and better habitations, like house-churches and theology-on-tap sessions in bars.
For others, culture is less easily distinguished from Christianity. It is almost as indispensable to Christianity as a turtle’s shell is to the turtle. A turtle is permanently fused to its habitation by its backbone and ribs; the shell is inextricable from the creature itself. Removing it would rip the animal apart. In its single shell lie a turtle’s protection, distinction, and beauty. This unique relationship to its hardened exterior is what places turtles among the earth’s oldest reptiles—contemporaries of both dinosaurs and us. This relationship to culture calls to mind St. Patrick’s Cathedral, also on Fifth Avenue. When one thinks of “American Catholicism,” one does not think of an abstract idea—one thinks instead of the shimmering stone edifice packed with worshipers at 3 p.m. on any given weekday in a way that its neighboring churches, say St. Thomas’ and Fifth Avenue Presbyterian, are not."
läs resten här.
"To scan the popular Christian publications today is to conclude that the category of heresy has not been lost, but it has been relocated. The new anathema is “cultural Christianity.” “Missional Christians” disparage it. The supposed demise of Christendom is the rallying cry of young, hip evangelicals. Many would prefer to be labeled “Arian” than derided as “Constantinian.” They suspect even classical Christian doctrine, infected as it supposedly is with the cultural categories of Greek thought.
For them, culture is as dispensable to Christianity as a hermit crab’s shell is to the crab. The true essence of the gospel might don cultural attire when necessary, but only to just as quickly cast it off, seeking new garb to attract a fresh set of converts. Hence the jettisoning of one more outgrown shell—the Mainline Protestant ascendancy of American Christianity—is cause for the post-Christendom crowd to rejoice. From this perspective, glorious stone edifices in Manhattan such as Fifth Avenue Presbyterian and St. Thomas’ Episcopal are but discarded seashells scattered on the church’s historical shoreline. The Holy Spirit has found new and better habitations, like house-churches and theology-on-tap sessions in bars.
For others, culture is less easily distinguished from Christianity. It is almost as indispensable to Christianity as a turtle’s shell is to the turtle. A turtle is permanently fused to its habitation by its backbone and ribs; the shell is inextricable from the creature itself. Removing it would rip the animal apart. In its single shell lie a turtle’s protection, distinction, and beauty. This unique relationship to its hardened exterior is what places turtles among the earth’s oldest reptiles—contemporaries of both dinosaurs and us. This relationship to culture calls to mind St. Patrick’s Cathedral, also on Fifth Avenue. When one thinks of “American Catholicism,” one does not think of an abstract idea—one thinks instead of the shimmering stone edifice packed with worshipers at 3 p.m. on any given weekday in a way that its neighboring churches, say St. Thomas’ and Fifth Avenue Presbyterian, are not."
läs resten här.
söndag, februari 15, 2009
den förlorade sonens söndag
(jag skrev texten nedan åt Världen Idag och den trycktes i fredags. idag firas i Ortodoxa kyrkan den förlorade sonens söndag, en av de söndagar som förbereder oss inför den stora fastan)
Evangeliet enligt Lukas 15:11-32
Nostalgi. Vad tänker du på när du hör det ordet? För någon i min ålder handlar det kanske om att se klipp från "Fångarna på fortet" på YouTube. Eller att minnas tuggummipinnen i 80-talets lakritspuck. Nostalgi är något man gottar sig i. Ordet kommer från grekiskan och består av två led: "nostos" som betyder att återvända, och "algos" som betyder att lida. Ordet försöker alltså uttrycka det lidande som uppstår när vi längtar efter att återvända, att få komma hem.
I Jesu berättelse om den förlorade sonen målas denna nostalgi upp med tydliga färger. I svinstian händer någonting. Efter att ha slösat bort allt han fått av sin far har han bara minnen kvar. Och de brinner i hans inre. Kanske finns det en plats för mig fortfarande. Ett hem. I vår svenska översättning står det att han "kom till besinning". Ordagrannt betyder grekiskan att han "kom till sig själv". Här har vi alltså en annan sorts återvändo. En som handlar om att hitta sig fram på den snåriga vägen till mig själv. Men detta förutsätter att man har tappat bort sig själv. Och det sker ofta helt utan dramatik, som att somna.
Vi vet inte hur det kom sig att den yngste sonen valde att gå i exil. Antagligen blev livet på gården sakta men säkert mer och mer meningslöst. Samma gamla sysslor. Samma eländige bror Duktig. Och samtidigt möttes han av lovande rykten från fjärran länder. Under arbetsdagen dagdrömde han om pengar, om den lättköpta avkopplingen. Det var aldrig här lyckan fanns, utan alltid där. Och för varje gång han valde att vända bort sitt ansikte från sin far, eller att inte trösta en trött mor, och istället lägga ytterligare ved på sin febriga dröm om lycka någon annanstans, då tappade han bort en bit av sig själv.
När vi för första gången möter Odysseus i Homeros stora epos sitter denna världslitteraturens mest kände landsflykting och gråter hämningslöst. Hans hemlängtan håller på att kväva honom. Men det måste nog erkännas att hans tårar också till viss del fälls för hans eget ödes skull. När han nu efter alla år som gått väljer att fly den gudomliga nymfen Kalypsos famn, för att återvända till sin hustru Penelope, väljer han också bort odödligheten som erbjudits honom. Lämnar han gudinnan kommer han att återförenas med sin ungdoms kärlek, men han kommer också obönhörligen att dö. Det vi anar i berättelsen om den förlorade sonen är att återvändandet hem innebär något annat. Här står inte gudomlig kärlek i motsats till den jordnära verklighet som hemmet innebär. Odödlighet består i att omfamnas av Fadern och att dela en festmåltid med honom, där änglarna gläder sig över syndaren som vänt hem.
För att hjälpa oss att inte förlora oss i dagdrömmar, eller förvandla vår tro till en idé, går Kyrkan om några veckor in i den stora fastan. Detta är vår årliga övning i att återvända hem till Fadern. Låt oss nu sjunga med Psaltaren "Vid Babylons floder satt vi och grät, när vi tänkte på Sion … hur kunde vi sjunga Herrens sånger i ett främmande land?" (Ps. 137:1,4) och öva oss i väntan. Vi som liksom den förlorade sonen har förlorat oss själva i ett främmande land har fått Abraham som förebild, han som "i tro slog … sig ner i det utlovade landet som i ett främmande land och bodde i tält … Ty han väntade på den stad med fast grund som Gud själv har planlagt och byggt" (Heb. 11:9-10).
onsdag, februari 11, 2009
tisdag, februari 10, 2009
the entrance of sin
Yes, there was a tree, and upon it, among the wax leaves, an order of fruit which hung plentifully, glazed with dew of a given morning. And there had been some talk off and on—nothing specific—about forgiving the inclination to eat of it. But sin had very little to do with this or with any outright prohibition.
For sin had made its entrance long before the serpent spoke, long before the woman and the man had set their teeth to the pale, stringy flesh, which was, it turns out, also quite without flavor. Rather, sin had come in the midst of an evening stroll, when the woman had reached to take the man’s hand and he withheld it.
In this way, the beginning of our trouble came to the garden almost without notice. And in later days, as the man and the woman wandered idly about their paradise, as they continued to enjoy the sensual pleasures of food and drink and spirited coupling even as they sat marveling at the approach of evening and the more lush approach of sleep, they found within themselves a developing habit of resistance.
One supposes that, even then, this new taste for turning away might have been overcome, but that is assuming the two had found the result unpleasant. The beginning of loss was this: Every time some manner of beauty was offered and declined, the subsequent isolation each conceived was irresistible.
från Scott Cairns bok "Philokalia"
For sin had made its entrance long before the serpent spoke, long before the woman and the man had set their teeth to the pale, stringy flesh, which was, it turns out, also quite without flavor. Rather, sin had come in the midst of an evening stroll, when the woman had reached to take the man’s hand and he withheld it.
In this way, the beginning of our trouble came to the garden almost without notice. And in later days, as the man and the woman wandered idly about their paradise, as they continued to enjoy the sensual pleasures of food and drink and spirited coupling even as they sat marveling at the approach of evening and the more lush approach of sleep, they found within themselves a developing habit of resistance.
One supposes that, even then, this new taste for turning away might have been overcome, but that is assuming the two had found the result unpleasant. The beginning of loss was this: Every time some manner of beauty was offered and declined, the subsequent isolation each conceived was irresistible.
från Scott Cairns bok "Philokalia"
fredag, februari 06, 2009
torsdag, februari 05, 2009
heliga rum
lägg märke till kombinationen av bildspråk som beskriver kyrkorummet: tempel, tabernakel, altare, nådastol. en plats för änglar och martyrer. en "verkstad" för den himmelska nåden. en plats med helande "kunskap" [gnosis]. amen.
(från ett koptiskt kyrkoinvigningsritual. manuskript från 1000-talet. hela texten som inscannad pdf här.)
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