think hard, think well

I just sold my 1993 Honda Accord as junk for a couple of benjamins. It was the first and only car I’ve ever owned. I bought it for $4800 in January 2004 with 105,000 miles on it. Since then, it’s gotten me through 73,000 miles, college and most of grad school.

I will always remember with fondness launching my 230-lb. frame into the tiny driver’s seat. Indeed, I will forever treasure the memory of many hours driven around the northeast with all my worldly possessions in the backseat, trunk, and strapped to the roof.

No more broken AC dial or passenger-side door handle. No more "Warning: in case of rapture the eschatological views of this driver will change" bumper sticker. No more right knee damage from driving too long in the equivalent of an airplane bathroom. No more jokes about me and my friends being "in one Accord."

Fare thee well, little Honda. You will be missed.

– Benj

Recently, a friend and I traveled to St Clare’s monastery in order to speak with some nuns about Roman Catholicism. Sister Jean told us a little about their order and the story of St Francis of Assisi and St Clare. Sister Jean invited us to join the nuns in the chapel for prayer whenever we wished. Towards the end of our conversation, I asked her how she viewed Protestants. “I know Eastern Orthodox Christians view us as brothers, but sort of ‘brothers in error’,” I said. “Is that how you think of Protestants?”

Sister Jean shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I just think that what we have to offer is more…” she trailed off for a moment. After a pause, she began again, “I think one of the primary distinction between Protestants and Catholics is our belief of the presence of Christ in the Eucharist.” It was time for prayers, so I didn’t get to chat with her more, but I told Sister Jean I wanted to discuss the Eucharist with her in further detail.

Despite different understandings of the Eucharistic Presence, both Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox Christians place considerable emphasis on the presence of Christ in the Eucharist. As members of Christ’s Body come together to feed on Christ’s Body and Blood, Christ is somehow present there.

What does this have to do with Mesopotamian cult statues? In a previous post, I discussed the Mesoptamian mouth-cleansing (mis pi) and mouth-opening (pit pi) rituals which were performed on cult images in order to transform these statues into the purified image of the deity. Without these, the image was essentially dead or, at least, not yet cleansed or “enlivened.” It is clear that these ceremonies were the means by which the statue became the proper image of the deity and was installed in the temple of the god. The issue on the table is this: what precisely did Mesopotamians believe happened to the cult image through these ceremonies? What was the nature of the image’s transformation and in what way did it represent its deity?

As I said in my other post on cult statues, some think the images functioned as icons in a church, pointing beyond the images to the reality of the deity elsewhere. The main proponent of this view is R.E. Friedman, however, Friedman gives virtually no support for this view. The majority of mis pi scholars believe that either the deity was in some way present in the image, or the image was imbued with the essence of the deity or that – in some mystical way – the statue simultaneously was and was not the deity. The main idea here is that the image is not simply a conduit for communication with the deity. The image in some way bears the reality or substance of the deity.

Interestly enough, several scholars have used the example of the Catholic theology of the Eucharistic Presence to describe what was supposed to have happened through the mis pi and pit pi. In their book, The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia, Christopher Walker and Michael Dick use this analogy to explain how the physical substance of the cult statue was transformed into the actual presence of the deity while maintaining the appearance of the cult image:

To Orthodox and Roman Catholics the bread and wine during the Eucharistic ritual become the real presence of the Divine Jesus, while still subsisting under the appearance of bread and wine. Obviously the Eucharistic species are not coterminous with Jesus, so that the Eucharistic Presence can be found simultaneously in Churches throughout the world. (2001:7)

In this view on the mis pi, the ritual allegedly transformed the physical materials which human craftsmen had used to make the cult statue into the real presence of the deity. The deity was not limited to the cult statue and could be present through the statue in many temples, just as the Eucharistic Presence is not limited to one church.

Again, it may not be wise to simply assume a one-to-one correspondence between the relationship of the Mesopotamian cult image to its deity and the relationship of humanity to Yahweh God as His “image.” However, it seems significant that the identity and life of the Mesopotamian image is directly linked with the presence of the deity. Apart from its relationship to the deity, the image is proverbially dead. To relate this back to the Eucharistic Presence: while Catholics, Eastern Orthodox and Protestants may disagree about the Divine Presence with relation to the elements of bread and wine, they do not disagree that the church is Christ’s Body or that Christ is somehow present when members of His Body meet with one another. While a specific understanding of what is meant by the Divine Presence among Christians may vary from community to community, none would contend against the idea that when “two or three are gathered together” in the name of Christ, Christ is present.

If this Mesopotamian understanding of a cult image carries over into our understanding of humanity as God’s image, it may mean that humans (at least, ritually cleansed and “enlivened” humans) are in some way the substance or reality of God. This seems like it might line up with Adam’s role in Genesis pre-Fall, for an “image and likeness” connotes sonship. In the beginning, Adam and Eve are children of God. Not the same as God or coterminous with God, but godlings, so to speak (and therefore of the same substance or reality, perhaps?), who are to extend the rule of their Father to the rest of creation.

This is where I begin to have questions about the nature of Christ as the God-Human, particularly with reference to Hebrews and Colossians. I am not questioning the deity of Christ, rather, I wonder if any of the distinctions we tend to assign to his deity are not, in fact, aspects of his human role as an image/son of God. When Colossians 2 says that the fullness of the Deity dwells in Christ in bodily form, might this be referring to his role as the perfect human being, the whole image – the statue that has no need of ritual cleansing because he is already the perfect reality of God his Father?

The idea of that the Mesopotamian cult image simultaneously was and was not the god it represented also raises questions about the presence of Christ in the community of God. Christ was resurrected in a single physical body and ascended to the heavens. It seems reasonable to think that he still exists as this physical body, yet somehow the Church is also Christ’s Body. Paul speaks about the covenant community as the Body of Christ and those bodies (collectively?) as a temple of the Holy Spirit (i.e., the divine residence of the Deity). Just as the Mesopotamian god was present in both his image and temple yet still remained distinct from these and was not limited to these, Christ is both present and absent in the Church Body. Through the Eucharist, we celebrate Christ’s presence among us and also look forward to Christ’s return. In a sense, as the people of God, we are Christ and we are not Christ – simultaneously God and not God.

Any thoughts? I did a short thesis on this topic, but it mostly just raised questions for further study. I am not quite sure what to think of my own thoughts on the subject. It could be argued, I suppose, that the Church makes up the humanity of Christ rather than his deity, however, this seems contradictory to the doctrine of the hypostatic union.

In a future post, I want to discuss how Mesopotamians treated the cult image in light of its relationship to the deity and how this might have bearing on how we treat human beings as images of God (whether ritually cleansed or not). Yes, Bonhoeffer will be incorporated into the discussion at some point.

My mother-in-law is back in the hospital with dehydration and other aislements. Your prayers are appreciated. This promises to be less serious than last year’s saga, but it is still diappointing. Looks like she’ll be home tomorrow after some X-rays.

– Benj

Ordination (II)

By Rebekah Giffone

It is no longer a matter of can or can’t.
It is a matter of will and why.

They told me what they thought was lawful,
Not what was profitable,
Revealing that it is law that matters most to them:
The law is the telos of Christ –
Or something of that ilk.
They told me their interpretation of the law:
Women may lead members of humanity,
But may not lead members of the microcosm of newly-created humanity.

So I found a way to dodge their law
By pursuing the Academy and eschewing the Church,
Except for occasional Sunday visits.
There is no holy ground for woman in God’s house;
She must stake her own territory
Just outside the gates.

In the Academy, where all men are equal,
and all space is equally unholy,
I had no duty, no law, no obligation
To love my fellow man, whether female or male.
I could press my intellect without consideration,
and make a hell of the inquiring mind
by making myself the center, the telos.
I could be the intimidating, intellectual female,
The overpowering voice of woman unleashed.

In the Academy, I had only to be smart;
I could stand as a man among men.
Love was grand, if I could manage to be loving,
But it was not a goal in itself.
Not everyone can be smart,
But anyone can be loving, right?
Who wants to do what anyone can do?
I could learn it all just to prove men wrong,
To show them what woman can do.

It is no longer a matter of can or can’t.
It is a matter of will and why.

Now, I begin to study under Jesus
And He tells me that I can do all things,
But that it’s not about doing what I want
Or conquering men or even being smart.
Jesus says it isn’t about me staking my claim
In the church or in the world,
But about serving wherever I am,
Making all space holy.
It’s about subduing the self
And offering it to others,
Not the reverse.

How can this be?
They told me that the law said that being a woman
Meant God-ordained subservience and degradation.
They never told me that serving meant standing
And leading in the strength of humility.
They never told me that being a woman
Under Jesus
Meant modeling his willing self-sacrifice,
Standing as a man among men,
And laying down his life.
They never told me that this
Is what it means to be a real woman.

Ordination (I)

By Rebekah Giffone

I wish God was from the 1950s.
The sights and sounds of that old Bible Belt
dreamily drift toward me as I lazily sip my tea
and the soft, summer breeze rustles in the lace curtains.
I like the rose pattern on the edge of my tea cup,
and the feminine cut of my knee-length dress.

Those days are ended now,
and new patterns begin to emerge,
patterns that plague my pretty little head
and force me to pound the gates of heaven for guidance.

Life was easier for me then,
when I lived in the shade of the Bible Belt.
Sometimes, I want to go back to the days
when it was okay to be a kept woman;
when my only calling was to follow my husband,
and standing up was a man’s duty.

In those golden days,
when only men were called by God,
I thought that I could do whatever I wanted,
as long as I wanted to raise children, too.

But I have entered a man’s world,
and must, like every man,
shoulder the burden of all men,
whether male or female.

I thought that good men
knew what was what
and that as soon as I stopped
trying to wear the pants,
a good man would come along,
who wasn’t as confused as I,
and show me how to live.
Isn’t that what you told me, Mr. Harris?
Isn’t that what you promised me?

Now I see that we are all confused
and that it’s not fair for me to expect
someone else to have life all figured out
just because he has more testosterone.

I told God, amidst my womanish tears,
that I do not want to be a man,
that I am too shy and awkward
and not skilled enough,
and not strong enough,
and that I am afraid of the future,
and of scaring away all the good men.

He would have none of it.
“Daughter,” He said to me,
“Is it not I, the LORD, who have made you?
And is it not I, the LORD, who cares for you?
Is it not I, the LORD, who calls you?”

No, I do not want to be a man;
I want to stay in the world I know,
In the role I know how to play,
doing the things I know how to do.

Freedom is too heavy for woman,
And God’s call is too great for her to bear.

Do they know why it’s so hard for her?
Do they know why she’s so afraid?
They tell her God is wholly masculine
and that theology is a masculine task.
They tell her God loves her no matter what,
but that she has to be (wifelily) sexy
and bear children or God won’t approve of her.
That’s her lot. That’s her job.
That’s because their God is a man.

And if she’s tired of being sexy,
and wants to serve God with her mind,
to learn and teach the Scriptures,
they tell her that Biblical interpretation
is a man’s job
and that if she wants to teach the Bible
or lead the people of God,
she must become a man.

I told God that I am afraid to become a man,
that I’m not strong or brave or bold.
He would have none of it.

My newest acquisition is the iPod Touch, from which this post is made. I love it, but I’m still getting used to the tiny keyboard. If Apple made a fold-up external keyboard, I could use my Touch for notes in class.

For now, though, it’s just fun. More blog posts will be coming soon; I’m doing some work on alphabetic acrostic poems in the Hebrew Bible.

Tomorrow, June 30, Corrie and I celebrate two years of marriage. On this night two years ago, I was kidnapped by my groomsmen and other friends and taken to Iron Hill Brewery for drinks and merriment. Then we went back to my apartment and smoked pipes and talked till 2am. Then I slept on my small pad in the living room for the last time.

When morning came, I symbolically gathered up all my old twin-size sheets and my crumbling egg-crate bed, and tossed them in the dumpster. Then I showered, grabbed my tux, and headed for the church with my buddies.

Eight furious and flurrious hours later, it was all over. Or, maybe it had just begun (cheesiest line ever!)…

Two years later, I am happy to report that we are still in love. But it’s a different sort of love; I knew marriage would change our relationship for the better, but it was one of those things that you just don’t understand until you take the plunge. I think that the scariest part of being married is that the stakes are so much higher; the risk of causing and receiving pain is so much higher. Yet this is also the best part of marriage, since the same closeness that inevitably brings pain also brings joy and intimacy.

It’s easy for me to say that marriage is great. I highly recommend it. But wait till we’ve been married for five years, and then ten, and then twenty-five, then fifty–that’s when my opinion might mean something. I suppose marriage is what Corrie and I make of it, by God’s grace.

– Benj