The Theology of "Evan Almighty"

I went to see the movie "Evan Almighty" with my youth group on Sunday. In almost every way it was a very entertaining and I thought well done movie, but one small theological statement in the movie caught my attention. the basic plot is that Evan, a congressman is tapped by God to build an ark, just like Noah. At one point in one of their conversations God says that everything "he" does is because "he" loves Evan. This statement intrigued me and so I want to break it down for a moment.

My initial reaction to such a statement is concern. After all, a great many evils have been done in the name of love. Even such acts as spousal abuse can be done under its aegis. To say that what God does is done for love while touching on the one hand invokes some poor justifications in my mind. Now, if you accept that God, unlike the abusive spouse is perfect being, then the argument could be made that such concerns, while well founded for humanity, are not applicable when it comes to God.

It also struck me that this statement seemed a bit of a truism. Socrates brings up a similar point in discussing what is holy with Euthyphro. He raises the question of whether something is holy by virtue of being loved by the gods, or is something loved by the gods because it is holy. So is whatever God does an act of love because it is done by God, or does God only do things if they are acts of love?

I think where this becomes challenging to me is understanding God's place in the world. In this movie there is considerable strife between Evan and his wife Joan because even once he tells her what is going on she still struggles to believe and to understand what is going on. Evans actions, which are a direct result of God's commands/requests, seem to cause a great deal of harm. Now, the argument could be made that this harm is temporary and that it leads to the greater good of bringing the family closer together, but that is a whole different post.

Does this theology preach is my underlying question? I have raised a variety of objections, but ultimately does this theology come to the heart of what our faith should be/is that God is good all the time? Following God means that we are willing to make the assertion that what is good is good because God does it. Then again, maybe trusting in God would be easier if I had not been taught to be skeptical and question authority as a child.

As I continue to ponder this I am opening to people's thoughts ...

Preaching to the Choir?

I had an interesting experience a few weeks ago of preaching to a group of 10, I think that includes me and my wife in that count. I have preached to small groups like this before, at nursing homes and even at small services, but something struck me about preaching this time. Part of it was that this preaching experience was coupled with preaching the same sermon and hour before to 150 people. In many ways I felt I gave a far better sermon to the smaller group than the larger one, but what was most striking to me was how it felt to talk about "you" or "some of you" in reference to the congregation. Suddenly you meant something more, like I was actually asking something directly of people. I often want to ask something of people as I preach to them, but this time it was as though I was asking people directly, face to face. I was preaching about the need for us to give first to God and count on God to provide for the rest. Implied in the sermon was the idea that in general we tend to give to God after we first provide for ourselves, something I know I am often guilty of. I wanted to challenge people to change how they thought about giving and work instead on giving to God first and foremost, but when preaching to ten people it felt very different. Suddenly it was as though I was implying that each person in the group needed to change how they were living. I do not know the giving patterns of that group and do not know therefore if the sermon applied to them. I felt a temptation to soften the language of my sermon to this smaller group. The only reason I can give for these feelings was that I felt like I was actually asking something of people directly, like I expected them personally to change because of my message. Oddly enough that would seem to be one of the points of a sermon is to affect change in individuals, but when given the chance for that, I felt uncomfortable. I am still struck by the experience of actually feeling I was asking something of people personally. So my question in all of this that I am musing on, and still pondering, is whether a sermon is meant to be general, providing a topic for thought that people can take or leave as it strikes them, or whether it really is meant to be a call for personal transformation in people's lives. I am not sure yet how I feel about it, but I feel that challenge echoing inside as I reflect upon my weekly messages.

Trees of Hope

A little over a month ago Light of the Lakes UMC, the small church I serve at planted a series of trees along the part of its property that borders houses. It was done both in an effort to improve the neighbor, but also in response to the excessive and unintentional logging that occurred when the church was built two years ago. There is something powerful to me about planting those trees, watering some of them, and watching them grow. These trees are here for the future. As we planted them we talked about what the trees would look like twenty years from now when the six year old in the group might be getting married. It was fun to look that far into the future.
The reality of churches in general today, but this church in particular is that the future is very much uncertain. Who can say who will still be a part of the church then, or if the church will even still be around, and if it is if it will still be at its present location. I recently walked along the line of trees we had planted and saw all the new life that is apparent in the bright green shoots of new growth that each pine tree exhibits. It is a powerful statement of hope and faith that we planted these trees. They will not have a noticeable effect for ten or twenty years on the landscape, and the church may not last three, but trusting in God, we plant the trees, symbols of our commitment to the neighborhood, and our faith that God will find ways to keep us growing one way or another.

Bless be the tie that binds

The ideas behind this post have been building in my mind for three years. While reading about the 2004 General Conference of The United Methodist Church I discovered wonderful picture. It was off Bishop Ott picking up the pieces of a broken communion chalice. The chalice had been broken in frustration/protest of a vote that as taken during the conference around the issue of homosexuality. For some reason the image of the broken chalice connects in my head with the image of a broken church. I had the honor of taking a course with Bishop Ott while I was at seminary and the idea of him helping to pick up the broken pieces of the church is particularly fitting.
Anyone who has ever tried to pick up broken glass knows how easy it is to get cut. I think the chance of getting cut is just as great in the church. Homosexuality is not the first issue to divide the church, all the way back to Paul and Peter, there has been a struggle between who we should let be a part of the church and on what terms. The climax of the 2004 General Conference was the a resolution of church unity that came in response to much of the hurt and talk of separation that took place that year. The statement did not try and gloss over the differences in the church but instead focused on the greater value people felt in unity.
How do we stop the pain that occurs around these issues of division? How do we find a way to live into unity in the midst of diversity without hurting someone too much. I felt the tension again this year as the church prepares for another General Conference. How do find a way to end the conflict without more people getting hurt? It is easy to talk about unity and working towards a time of peace, but are we able to do that now? The Presbyterian church is considering legislation during its national session that would call for a end to legislation seeking to change ordination. The hope is that this would but an end to usual struggles around homosexuality and ordination. It is not meant to maintain the status quo, but instead to let people find a way to heal before continuing the conversation.
I see great deal of pain in the church around this issue and wonder if this might be the best thing for all of us. At the same time however I know there are people who are already hurting, pain that is already being caused by people who are being excluded from their call to ministry because of their sexual orientation. No matter what we do, people are being cut on the jagged edges of our broken church. I don't know the answer to all that is at stake in this. The image I am still left with, is of a Bishop, kneeling on the floor, picking up the pieces of a sacred vessel, working to repair or lives, just as God does.

A doorway to God

Today is the second anniversary of the completion of Light of the Lakes UMC. We celebrated this event last Sunday in church. As part of the sermon I used different images of churches I had photographed in France. The three churches I showed were Sacre Couer, Notre Dame, and Sainte Chapelle. I grew up going to Hamline UMC, which while smaller, was built (in the 1920's) in a similar style to the great cathedrals of Europe. Baxter, as a newer, younger, growing community has few examples of older styles of churches, and instead has churches built along much more modern lines. what is perhaps most striking to me is the effect of these different worship spaces. From what I understand, a lot of modern churches are built to make people feel comfortable and at open. Theater style seating and corporate style atriums remind people of other buildings and places they are comfortable going. The cathedrals of hundreds of years ago were built along very different lines. Rather than wanting to make people feel at home, they were meant to convey the majesty of God, to transport one's soul and spirit towards Heaven, to reveal a bit of the Divine to humanity. Do our churches today help give us a sense of the divine? Or do our churches instead become something mundane? In an effort to make people comfortable and at home (important things to do) do we loss something that makes church exceptional, special, something more. I would b e the last person to advocate overly for the sacredness of church. I think that God can, and is experienced all around us. The church is not the place where God lives, nor is it the sole place to experience God, but it must be a place to experience God. I think the challenge today is to make sure that our places of worship help bring a sense of the divine to our everyday lives and help transport people, at least for a moment out of our everyday lives into something extraordinary, into a place of worship.

Hallelujah

The line "it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah" from Jeff Buckley's song "Halleujah" keeps going through my head this week. It reminds me how much I love the Psalms. At first I was always kind of bored by the Psalms, they seemed to just be a bunch of long ways of saying "YAY GOD!" but over the years, and through my educative process at seminary, I have learned to appreciate the subtler nature of them. In particular I like the Psalms of lament, because they contain so much powerful emotion from across the spectrum. Lament Psalms are about praising God, but they come to that praise through pain, agony, and even loss. This speaks to me because while I have rarely truly doubted in God and I am generally optimistic and cheerful, the ability to express grief is important to me. It is easy to praise God when life is great. It is easy to give thanks to God, when we are surrounded with God's bountiful gifts. But to express that same love in the midst of tragedy is so much more powerful to me. A cold and broken hallelujah shows a love for God that goes beyond our temporary condition and understands the more powerful and permanent relationship we have with God. Not based on our happiness at this moment, but based on God's presence and love for us in the midst of all the bad things that happen in life. I only hope my love for God is strong enough to give birth to so powerful an expression of faith as a cold and broken hallelujah.

Pinning Down God

I have had an image in my head of a butterfly pinned to a board in a museum, with tiny labels attached to different parts. For whatever reason that image seems very fitting to me of how I often want to view God. I have a real desire at times to want to pin God down to something and attach labels. If I can do this then I can really isolate what God is, the component parts of divinity. All of this is just a reaction to the struggle with uncertainty in faith. For the last several weeks I have really been living in the midst of that. I am struggling to find an authentic way to express both my sound belief in God and the cloud of uncertainty that surrounds it. I believe the uncertainty that I feel is a good thing, but there is still that desire. A few months ago I was trying to take a picture of a butterfly, but the butterfly refused to land long enough for me to take a good picture. The same is true with God. The more I try to pin God down, the more God flits away. It is theologically frustrating, but aesthetically and emotionally satisfying.