The last six chapters of Exodus are entirely consumed with the details of constructing the Tabernacle. Earlier chapters likewise devote tremendous space to this topic. Clearly, God's dramatic and (humanly speaking) revolutionary act of liberation in the exodus was not an end in itself. The freedom gained for Abraham's descendants only matters within the relationship with the Lord that it fosters. This supreme example of human liberation from bondage points beyond itself to something else.
Likewise in Acts 2:42-47, the mutual aid and sharing of goods seen there--a wonderful alternative community established right in the midst of the vast empire of Rome--is not simply a subversive politico-economic option. Mutual aid in Acts occurs among those who believed, and is a portrait of their belief. The economics of this early Christian community were an equal part of worship alongside prayer and teaching.
The politics of the church is a politics of worship. Because of this it will always stand starkly apart from its atheistic or agnostic counterparts. My thoughts are just beginning to stir, but it seems that asking the questions, "How does our political existence inform our worship?" and "How does our worship inform our politics?" does not go far enough. The questions themselves are a sign that we have grossly bifurcated the intrinsic union of worship and politics. Our worship is necessarily political, and if our politics have naught to do with worship, then we are not Christian in our politics.
I know that not very many people read this, but since you've read this far--thanks!--do you have stories or know of Christian congregations or communities that exemplify a political existence that is worship? As my wonderful professor Christine Pohl has often noted, sharing stories of practices well done is a very good thing for us; I would much love to hear yours. Please share!
2 comments:
Dave, I so appreciate this reflection. It is very much in line with the direction our (a couple of my community-mates) prayer/reflection time went on Wednesday morning. For most of my life I've been very resistant to the fact that politics play a significant role in my spirituality; that, like my spirituality, it influences every other aspect of my life as well as those around me. Each one necessarily informs the other and when I am not aware of that the results can be dangerous or at best unhelpful.
But how to practice the intertwining of the two with intentionality? I've found that it seems to be so natural for many of the people I'm surrounded with now, though I'm not sure how it came to be that way. One thing that we do, in a practical sense, is bring the poor with us into prayer. Whether that's through what we are reading (I've also experienced a lot more reading and silence as part of prayer as opposed to only talking), who we are with, where we are, what we are doing. And then I would say that we bring prayer with us to the poor and to our acts of resistance. Prayer proceeds and abides with us in protest, petitions, sharing meals, etc.
Perhaps one of the ways that this is possible is the strong emphasis on close-knit community. It is easy to lose sight of the interconnectedness of faith and politics, not to mention of myself and other humans and the earth etc. when faith-talk and action is associated primarily with my parish and political talk and action is associated primarily with ballots and news programs. But when you have people in your life that you are with every day, with whom your resources are shared, when you become mixed up in a personal way with the poor, then you see that the political choices you make have everything to do with love and I find that love is the foundation of faith.
Then too, I believe that it is very easy to begin to take a narrow view if one choices to look at faith and politics through an either/or lens. It is easier that way to maintain a rigid, oblivious bias, it is easy to become an oppressor. Truly open, expansive prayer keeps our politics in check, reminds us that our point of view is just that, a point, a small dot on an unimaginable spectrum. Political awareness and activity reminds us that faith is more than our feelings, more than our personal relationship, that the people being bombed by drone aircrafts are our sisters and mothers, the people indefinitely detained at Guantanamo are our brothers and fathers. They and others are all our neighbors, who we are to love as ourselves.
Sorry if this got a bit rambly-- thanks your insights--I love reading this blog.
Thanks Amy. It really is amazing how great a difference it can make to simply befriend those who are poor (or to truly be poor oneself). I love the way that you talk about praying with the poor in your response here, and the way that the inclusion of those typically excluded enriches your prayers. I am continually blown away by the reality described in 1 John (and elsewhere) that our love for God and our love for those who are poor are intricately of one essence. God pretty much calls us liars if we claim to love him but don't allow that love to include our neighbor. Honestly, that sort of love is a fearful reality, and I know that I frequently don't live according to its rule. I want to know God, but whenever worship is primarily a thing set apart from the world, from human relationships, it seems like it must remain extremely limited.
Anyway, ramble, ramble, ramble. Thanks for sharing. Of any communities I am aware of, Catholic Worker houses offer one of the best examples of whole love. Good Works Inc, in Athens, OH is another community that exemplifies this cohesive worship. There are so many; and most will probably never have books written about them or be known beyond the town in which they live, but they continue to faithfully live out a full and overflowing love for God and others. I really hope Mer and I get to spend some time in Chicago and visit your community some day.
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