Don't Cut Down All the Tall Poppies
We middle-aged males tend to go off course, to become cold, cynical, hard-hearted or worse. More than any contemporary writers I find that books (and lectures) by Eugene Peterson and James Houston help nudge me back on course, a bit like a powerful tug boat coming alongside a slow freighter, pushing it back into the channel. I confess that I sometimes hesitate to read or listen to these two spiritual theologians. I instinctively reach for the academic title and avoid the book that deals with the interior of my self. So when the review copy of Eugene Peterson’s Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places: A Conversation in Spiritual Theology arrived, it stayed in the pile of books at my desk for several months. But when I took the time to read it, it was good for my soul.
Like all of Peterson’s writing, Christ Plays is about a Christianity that is God-centered. We are called to live the way of the cross with others and for others. Peterson cries out against the way our shrunken, secular culture reduces persons to a modern “self” that is solely bounded by issues of biology, sexuality, utility, race and ethnicity. Instead he rightly opts for “soul” which captures the God-created, blessedness and wholeness of what it means to be a person created in God’s image. The church too, according to Peterson, is all too absorbed in the programmatic when instead it is called to be a community that listens, practices compassion, forgives, and loves.
While I was reading Christ Plays In Ten Thousand Places my 20 year old son, Jonathan, said in passing on a couple of occasions, “I want to read that book.” I later asked him why he was attracted to the book. He said, “The title caught my eye. To be honest, a lot of books are about an ethereal Jesus that I don’t know.” My copy is going straight to my son. There is another reason why I have no hesitation in recommending this book to him. Towards the end of the book Eugene tells the story of going to hear a writer (Paul Tournier) and being impressed by the fact that who the writer was and what he was saying were completely congruent. The same can be said of Eugene Peterson. There is a deep congruence to who Eugene is and what he says. I can think of no finer example.
Does this mean that I am not left with lingering questions about the book? No. On Peterson’s critique of sectarianism I was not convinced. Along with gnosticism and moralism, Peterson sees sectarianism as a contemporary threat to the church. Sectarianism, Peterson contends, is driven by selfishness and special interests and can be likened to the effect that termites have on wooden buildings. While I do see danger here I would see most sects as being rather like lady bugs in a garden. They are beneficial for the most part. Surely the history of spiritual theology owes much to sectarians. One immediately thinks of Blaise Pascal, John Wesley, and Countess Huntingdon, who in their time were highly sectarian. The impetus for the movements that they were part of was a bubbling of renewal from “below” rather than a selfish dictator who imposes from “above.” Among orthodox Christian bodies today, it is my guess that it is only in evangelical Protestant churches that Roman Catholic, Orthodox and evangelicals could all partake of the Lord’s Supper together, and surely this is also a test of Christian ecumenism.
On the extreme right there is certainly a sectarian danger and this is generally what springs to mind. However, perhaps the most dangerous sectarian force today is from the left wing of the church. Mainline Protestant bureaucrats and scholars have emptied the pews of many churches, imposing a heterodoxy from above. In a recent essay, Regent College alum Markus Bockmuehl excoriates much of contemporary biblical scholarship, and William Countryman in particular, for this “sectarian” tendency that comes from the left. (See his essay in I Am the Lord Your God, ed. Carl Braaten and Christopher Seitz, Eerdmans, 2005).
As a bookseller I am usually reading a number of books simultaneously. In the aftermath of the Pope’s death two books in particular caught my attention. The first book, or rather essay, is by George Weigel, The Cube and the Cathedral: Europe, America and Politics Without God (Basic, 2005). Weigel is one smart cookie who could easily be mixing it up with Friedman, Brooks, Dowd, and Krugman on the op-ed pages of the NY Times. Instead he has chosen to serve the Church. Each summer over the last 11 years he has taught in a school in Krakow. This book comes from his observations, perhaps a bit like Tocqueville in reverse, of Europe and its increasing distance from America. The colossal “cube” of Paris’ Pompidou Center, which houses the International Foundation for Human Rights, is contrasted with the Cathedral of Notre Dame. While visiting Paris, Weigel’s tour guidebook assured him that the height of the arch of the “cube” could contain Notre Dame in its entirety. Hence the title of the book.
The “Europe problem” that Weigel poses is at its root a problem of “cultural and civilizational morale.” Simply put, Europe is severing completely its Christian roots at a time when it is committing demographic suicide with a birthrate that is far below replacement levels. It is into this vacuum that Muslim immigration flows. Given this scenario Weigel asks whether the “cube” will better protect human rights than the “cathedral.” The only hope that Weigel has for a Europe in which human rights are respected is for Europe to be reconverted. Any reconversion would have at its heart John Paul’s spiritual vision which, much like that of Eugene Peterson, emphasizes the importance of the human person and of history, precisely because of the centrality of God.
John Paul’s spiritual vision is powerfully presented in Memory and Identity: Conversations at the Dawn of a Millennium (Rizzoli, 2005). Consisting of conversations between John Paul and two of his Polish philosopher friends, the book covers politics and democracy but most passionately the Pope speaks on the atheism, consumerism, and materialism that plagues Europe today. This recently caused much controversy in Europe. John Paul speaks of “ideologies of evil” and applies the phrase to the contemporary European culture of death which he sees as being brought about by the rejection of God as Creator. Perhaps, along with, “Be not afraid,” the Pope will best be remembered for this warning about the “ideologies of evil” that stalk the land.
Recently I heard a scholar remark in a lecture that Australians are in the habit of cutting down all the tall poppies. I have no desire to comment on the reference to Australians but surely this observation applies to bloggers and op-edders. Now Eugene Peterson, George Weigel, and John Paul are all rather tall poppies. All I can do is take off my hat. However, Tom Cahill, author of How the Irish Saved Civilization, and himself a rather tall poppy of the Irish American variety, took a swipe at John Paul after his death (and even before he was buried) in an op-ed column in the pages of the NY Times. Cahill calls John Paul “a great political figure” but not “a great religious figure.” Instead Cahill charges that he emptied Catholic churches by failing to adjust to present day realities, and that in time John Paul may be credited with “destroying his church.” Cahill is a marvelous writer (and speaker) but he wildly misses the mark with his scythe. John Paul stands even taller in the field while Cahill is a much-diminished poppy with a flower that now droops.
The op-edders are now after Pope Benedict. Cahill has labeled him John Paul’s “grand inquisitor.” In sharp contrast I came across a description of Benedict contained in a piece written by Father John Jay Hughes from St. Louis in which he quotes a story that Benedict once told.
The memoir concludes with some of Ratzinger’s reflections on his coat of arms as archbishop of Munich, which is vintage Ratzinger. The coat of arms contained two symbols: a scallop shell and a bear. The first is the pilgrim’s emblem, still given to pilgrims at the shrine of Compostela in northwestern Spain: a reminder, Ratzinger writes, “that we have here no lasting city” (Heb. 13:14). The shell reminds him also of St. Augustine, about whom Ratzinger wrote his doctoral dissertation. Walking along the seashore as he reflected on the mystery of the Trinity, Augustine came on a child who had dug a hole in the sand and was trying to pour the sea into it with a shell. Augustine realized that his efforts to understand the mystery of God were as futile as the child’s attempt to get the sea into the hole. “The shell reminds me of my great master Augustine, of my theological work, and of the vastness of the mystery which surpasses all our learning.” The words place Benedict XVI squarely in the classical tradition of great theologians like St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas. What we can know of God remains always less than what, in this world, we can never know. The bear comes from a legend about Munich’s first bishop, St. Korbinian. Traveling to Rome, the saint encountered a bear that attacked the horse carrying Korbinian’s luggage. As punishment Korbinian made the bear carry his pack to Rome. “Isn’t Korbinian’s bear, compelled against his will to carry the saint’s pack, a picture of my own life? The legend says that Korbinian set the bear free once he reached Rome. It doesn’t tell us whether the animal went to the Abruzzi mountains or returned to the Alps. Meanwhile I have carried my pack to Rome and wander for some time now through the streets of the Eternal City. When release will come I cannot know. What I do know is that I am God’s pack animal, and as such close to him.” The passage takes on special poignancy when we know that Ratzinger several times asked Pope John Paul II to release him from his position in Rome to return to Germany and to his first love, theology. The Pope asked him to stay on. “We’re both getting old, Joseph,” the Pope said, “but we’ll work together.” Now his fellow cardinals have asked Joseph Ratzinger to continue carrying his pack, until the end.
Enough said. If anyone wants me to send the entire piece just drop me an email. I have borrowed it from the newsletter of my friend, John Conway.
Lately I’ve been listening to one of my son’s CDs. The song “God Will Lift Up Your Head” really caught my attention. It has solid sectarian credentials but I think even John Paul and Benedict would nod in assent. Written by the Lutheran Paul Gerhardt, translated by John Wesley, and adapted by Jars of Clay, a bunch of young guys out of Free Methodist Greenville College, it goes like this:
Give to the wind your fear,
Hope and be undismayed,
God hears your sighs and counts your tears,
God will lift up, God will lift up, lift up your head…
Leave to His sovereign sway,
To choose and to command,
Then shall we wandering on His way,
Know how wise and how strong…
God will lift up your head…
Through waves and clouds and storms,
He gently clears the way,
Wait because in His time, so shall this night,
Soon end in joy…
God will lift up your head, God will lift up your head,
God will lift up your head.
Bill Reimer
May 17, 2005
bookblog@regent-college.edu
Like all of Peterson’s writing, Christ Plays is about a Christianity that is God-centered. We are called to live the way of the cross with others and for others. Peterson cries out against the way our shrunken, secular culture reduces persons to a modern “self” that is solely bounded by issues of biology, sexuality, utility, race and ethnicity. Instead he rightly opts for “soul” which captures the God-created, blessedness and wholeness of what it means to be a person created in God’s image. The church too, according to Peterson, is all too absorbed in the programmatic when instead it is called to be a community that listens, practices compassion, forgives, and loves.
While I was reading Christ Plays In Ten Thousand Places my 20 year old son, Jonathan, said in passing on a couple of occasions, “I want to read that book.” I later asked him why he was attracted to the book. He said, “The title caught my eye. To be honest, a lot of books are about an ethereal Jesus that I don’t know.” My copy is going straight to my son. There is another reason why I have no hesitation in recommending this book to him. Towards the end of the book Eugene tells the story of going to hear a writer (Paul Tournier) and being impressed by the fact that who the writer was and what he was saying were completely congruent. The same can be said of Eugene Peterson. There is a deep congruence to who Eugene is and what he says. I can think of no finer example.
Does this mean that I am not left with lingering questions about the book? No. On Peterson’s critique of sectarianism I was not convinced. Along with gnosticism and moralism, Peterson sees sectarianism as a contemporary threat to the church. Sectarianism, Peterson contends, is driven by selfishness and special interests and can be likened to the effect that termites have on wooden buildings. While I do see danger here I would see most sects as being rather like lady bugs in a garden. They are beneficial for the most part. Surely the history of spiritual theology owes much to sectarians. One immediately thinks of Blaise Pascal, John Wesley, and Countess Huntingdon, who in their time were highly sectarian. The impetus for the movements that they were part of was a bubbling of renewal from “below” rather than a selfish dictator who imposes from “above.” Among orthodox Christian bodies today, it is my guess that it is only in evangelical Protestant churches that Roman Catholic, Orthodox and evangelicals could all partake of the Lord’s Supper together, and surely this is also a test of Christian ecumenism.
On the extreme right there is certainly a sectarian danger and this is generally what springs to mind. However, perhaps the most dangerous sectarian force today is from the left wing of the church. Mainline Protestant bureaucrats and scholars have emptied the pews of many churches, imposing a heterodoxy from above. In a recent essay, Regent College alum Markus Bockmuehl excoriates much of contemporary biblical scholarship, and William Countryman in particular, for this “sectarian” tendency that comes from the left. (See his essay in I Am the Lord Your God, ed. Carl Braaten and Christopher Seitz, Eerdmans, 2005).
As a bookseller I am usually reading a number of books simultaneously. In the aftermath of the Pope’s death two books in particular caught my attention. The first book, or rather essay, is by George Weigel, The Cube and the Cathedral: Europe, America and Politics Without God (Basic, 2005). Weigel is one smart cookie who could easily be mixing it up with Friedman, Brooks, Dowd, and Krugman on the op-ed pages of the NY Times. Instead he has chosen to serve the Church. Each summer over the last 11 years he has taught in a school in Krakow. This book comes from his observations, perhaps a bit like Tocqueville in reverse, of Europe and its increasing distance from America. The colossal “cube” of Paris’ Pompidou Center, which houses the International Foundation for Human Rights, is contrasted with the Cathedral of Notre Dame. While visiting Paris, Weigel’s tour guidebook assured him that the height of the arch of the “cube” could contain Notre Dame in its entirety. Hence the title of the book.
The “Europe problem” that Weigel poses is at its root a problem of “cultural and civilizational morale.” Simply put, Europe is severing completely its Christian roots at a time when it is committing demographic suicide with a birthrate that is far below replacement levels. It is into this vacuum that Muslim immigration flows. Given this scenario Weigel asks whether the “cube” will better protect human rights than the “cathedral.” The only hope that Weigel has for a Europe in which human rights are respected is for Europe to be reconverted. Any reconversion would have at its heart John Paul’s spiritual vision which, much like that of Eugene Peterson, emphasizes the importance of the human person and of history, precisely because of the centrality of God.
John Paul’s spiritual vision is powerfully presented in Memory and Identity: Conversations at the Dawn of a Millennium (Rizzoli, 2005). Consisting of conversations between John Paul and two of his Polish philosopher friends, the book covers politics and democracy but most passionately the Pope speaks on the atheism, consumerism, and materialism that plagues Europe today. This recently caused much controversy in Europe. John Paul speaks of “ideologies of evil” and applies the phrase to the contemporary European culture of death which he sees as being brought about by the rejection of God as Creator. Perhaps, along with, “Be not afraid,” the Pope will best be remembered for this warning about the “ideologies of evil” that stalk the land.
Recently I heard a scholar remark in a lecture that Australians are in the habit of cutting down all the tall poppies. I have no desire to comment on the reference to Australians but surely this observation applies to bloggers and op-edders. Now Eugene Peterson, George Weigel, and John Paul are all rather tall poppies. All I can do is take off my hat. However, Tom Cahill, author of How the Irish Saved Civilization, and himself a rather tall poppy of the Irish American variety, took a swipe at John Paul after his death (and even before he was buried) in an op-ed column in the pages of the NY Times. Cahill calls John Paul “a great political figure” but not “a great religious figure.” Instead Cahill charges that he emptied Catholic churches by failing to adjust to present day realities, and that in time John Paul may be credited with “destroying his church.” Cahill is a marvelous writer (and speaker) but he wildly misses the mark with his scythe. John Paul stands even taller in the field while Cahill is a much-diminished poppy with a flower that now droops.
The op-edders are now after Pope Benedict. Cahill has labeled him John Paul’s “grand inquisitor.” In sharp contrast I came across a description of Benedict contained in a piece written by Father John Jay Hughes from St. Louis in which he quotes a story that Benedict once told.
The memoir concludes with some of Ratzinger’s reflections on his coat of arms as archbishop of Munich, which is vintage Ratzinger. The coat of arms contained two symbols: a scallop shell and a bear. The first is the pilgrim’s emblem, still given to pilgrims at the shrine of Compostela in northwestern Spain: a reminder, Ratzinger writes, “that we have here no lasting city” (Heb. 13:14). The shell reminds him also of St. Augustine, about whom Ratzinger wrote his doctoral dissertation. Walking along the seashore as he reflected on the mystery of the Trinity, Augustine came on a child who had dug a hole in the sand and was trying to pour the sea into it with a shell. Augustine realized that his efforts to understand the mystery of God were as futile as the child’s attempt to get the sea into the hole. “The shell reminds me of my great master Augustine, of my theological work, and of the vastness of the mystery which surpasses all our learning.” The words place Benedict XVI squarely in the classical tradition of great theologians like St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas. What we can know of God remains always less than what, in this world, we can never know. The bear comes from a legend about Munich’s first bishop, St. Korbinian. Traveling to Rome, the saint encountered a bear that attacked the horse carrying Korbinian’s luggage. As punishment Korbinian made the bear carry his pack to Rome. “Isn’t Korbinian’s bear, compelled against his will to carry the saint’s pack, a picture of my own life? The legend says that Korbinian set the bear free once he reached Rome. It doesn’t tell us whether the animal went to the Abruzzi mountains or returned to the Alps. Meanwhile I have carried my pack to Rome and wander for some time now through the streets of the Eternal City. When release will come I cannot know. What I do know is that I am God’s pack animal, and as such close to him.” The passage takes on special poignancy when we know that Ratzinger several times asked Pope John Paul II to release him from his position in Rome to return to Germany and to his first love, theology. The Pope asked him to stay on. “We’re both getting old, Joseph,” the Pope said, “but we’ll work together.” Now his fellow cardinals have asked Joseph Ratzinger to continue carrying his pack, until the end.
Enough said. If anyone wants me to send the entire piece just drop me an email. I have borrowed it from the newsletter of my friend, John Conway.
Lately I’ve been listening to one of my son’s CDs. The song “God Will Lift Up Your Head” really caught my attention. It has solid sectarian credentials but I think even John Paul and Benedict would nod in assent. Written by the Lutheran Paul Gerhardt, translated by John Wesley, and adapted by Jars of Clay, a bunch of young guys out of Free Methodist Greenville College, it goes like this:
Give to the wind your fear,
Hope and be undismayed,
God hears your sighs and counts your tears,
God will lift up, God will lift up, lift up your head…
Leave to His sovereign sway,
To choose and to command,
Then shall we wandering on His way,
Know how wise and how strong…
God will lift up your head…
Through waves and clouds and storms,
He gently clears the way,
Wait because in His time, so shall this night,
Soon end in joy…
God will lift up your head, God will lift up your head,
God will lift up your head.
Bill Reimer
May 17, 2005
bookblog@regent-college.edu
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