While walking across campus yesterday, I ran into a colleague who asked me where I was going. I told her that I was off to teach a section of US History I (roughly 1492-1876, give or take). She asked me what books I used for the course, and though I started to tell her, stopped me shortly after I uttered "Morgan's Meaning of Independence." As it turned out, she had been a graduate student under Prof. Edmund S. Morgan, who passed away earlier this year at the age of 97. After telling me that she was so happy that I was using one of his books, as well as a few stories about what a wonderful mentor he was, we parted ways, and I started thinking about writing a post about Morgan (as she also told me she was going to a memorial service in his honor this coming weekend) about his influence on me as an historian.
But then the annual "Halloween Controversy" reared its head. As a child, my family always celebrated Halloween. By celebrate, I of course mean wearing costumes, carving pumpkins into Jack-O-Lanterns, and eating candy....and then eating more candy! What my parents didn't confiscate that is. It would be several years after I stopped "trick or treating" that I discovered that my father and I apparently had liked some of the same types of candy for years....but interestingly enough, those had been the ones that had always been confiscated when I was younger! At the same time, we lived in an area where there were many friends and neighbors who did not, often for religious reasons. One neighborhood family, in particular, once referred to it as "celebrating the devil" or some such. That statement aside, we all still played together the next day (and maybe even shared some candy), we just didn't walk around in costume together the night before.
And yet, there it was. All over social media these past few days, people posting pictures of themselves or their kids in costume, talking about parties they had or would attend, but also included in the mix of posts were some about how some friends weren't celebrating Halloween, or had stopped doing so, or who didn't understand why people used Halloween as an excuse to dress a certain way. Now, the point of this post isn't to get into an argument over whether or not Christians should or should not celebrate or take part in Halloween activities (if you want to read something from both sides of that argument you can take a look at this and this). It isn't even to get into the history of All Hallow's Eve, which you can read about here (and while you are at it, remember that the day after Halloween is All Saints Day). Rather, it is ponder ways in which Christians can learn from secular culture even while they engage it.
To do that, I return to Morgan. I am very thankful that a little over two decades ago I decided to take the first half of the US Survey (the very class I talked to my colleague about) as a freshman at Indiana University. Prof. Bernard Sheehan was my first college history professor, and he opened my eyes to what History could be and (and that it might even be a profession). He also introduced me to the work of Gordon Wood and Edmund Morgan (amongst other wonderful historians), and for that I am thankful. Over the years, I think I've read every book Wood and Morgan have written (at least once), and I've also learned more about both men (indeed, I literally bumped into Prof. Wood at a convention, and was so "star struck" that I could only mutter an apology). In the case of Morgan, one of my favorite quotes of his came from an interview in 2006, in which he talked about his conversion to being a "Calvinist atheist."
Those two words aren't often combined together, nor would they make much sense to some either in or outside of the Church. But in Morgan's story, it makes perfect sense. In 1938, after studying under Perry Miller (who shared both his interest in the Puritans as well as his atheism), Morgan found himself in Germany (while doing some post graduate work in Europe), and quite literally just a few feet from Adolph Hitler. It was, while being in the presence of the Nazis, that Morgan suddenly "came face to face with evil" and understood it as such, even before the world knew of such things as the Holocaust or extermination camps, and on another level, the Puritan theology he had studied under Miller suddenly made a great deal of sense. There was evil in the world, and the same people who could accomplish so many good things, were also capable of doing horrible wrongs.
Morgan, the atheist, was also a first rate historian, who probably did more than anyone else (save for perhaps his mentor Miller) to salvage not just the reputation but also the Calvinistic/Reformed theology of the Puritans for future generations. And yet, because he was an atheist, there could be some Christians who would refuse to read him (even, in the case of this historian, Morgan's writings kept me from all sorts of "derange[d] . . . fairy tales" -- to borrow the words of historian Oscar Handlin, written about the work of another practitioner of the historian's craft --along the way.
Professor Morgan may only be "sainted" in the Cathedral of Clio come All Saints Day, but there is every reason to celebrate what he accomplished professionally, and for Christians to find much that is good in his scholarship. Could Christians then, find something redeemable even in Halloween? Maybe. Perhaps it will never revert to All Hallows Eve. Perhaps there are all sorts of problems with it from a nutritional stand point (candy is very tasty, and thus good, but to much of it is very bad as well), or a consumerism stand point (we have to buy costumes, and decorations, and this and that...and surely the money could be better spent on other things), and maybe even a moral ones (I won't speak for others, but there are certainly some costumes I'd never allow/hope that my kids would never wear). There are, in other words, all sorts of reasons one could think to be "against" it. And if that is where you are, I'm not going to say you are wrong. There may even be counter arguments for those who have arguments in its favor (such as, it is just a bit of fun. Or that in dressing up and giving out candy/getting it you are hard pressed to argue that people are really worshiping the devil or consecrating chocolate bars to evil. Or even, to borrow from/paraphrase C.S. Lewis, that it is good to see make believe monsters, so that we might be better prepared to fight real ones). But I'd assert that for Christians, whether inside or outside of the Mainline, there are also much bigger cultural issues facing our nation and world than Halloween. And maybe, rather than focusing on this holiday and arguing over it, we should all turn our attention to those wider issues of much greater importance. After all, it is largely because of the work of a Calvinist atheist that we remember the Puritans for being more than just "kill joys" and people who tried witches.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Back to Bloomington (Presbyterian)
I am a proud Hoosier in more ways than one. Indiana is the state of my birth, but I also hold three degrees from Indiana University. For four years, I was an undergrad in Bloomington. For another six years I commuted weekly (and for part of that time nearly daily) from Indianapolis to the IU campus. When I first arrived the city and campus wasn't that far removed from how it was portrayed in the movie Breaking Away (which is a great movie still in many ways).
That being said, even in the years since I finished by doctorate both the city and campus have changed a great deal. And with professional and personal obligations here in Indianapolis, I've had less time (or reason) to head down to B-Town.
But that changed today. An old friend from middle school and high school, who is now a professor in the Kelley School of Business contacted me to see if I'd be willing to come down and talk at his church about The Mainline. Once we settled on a good Sunday, and I'd convinced my wife that it would make a great "day trip for the kids" (since they've never been to Bloomington before), off we went down the Interstate to old IU.
And so, we arrived at Bloomington's First Presbyterian Church. The congregation, in many ways, is reflective of the Mainline of the Seven Sisters in a college town. It has plenty of older members, but with a strong young family contingent as well. It is trying to have a good outreach to the campus (and if you read its history, and know IU's history, it wouldn't surprise you to learn that once upon a time, this church had a very active connection to the school, which itself was led by Presbyterians) that it is only a few blocks away from. I had never been there before, I could certainly understand why my friend had made his church home here.
The talk, I think, went quite well. While the group was small, they listened attentively and asked wonderful questions. So, we got to talk about if the liberal/conservative split was also an urban/rural one, whether or not some conservative churches would ever allow women to have leadership roles, the degree to which secular culture influences the Church and the Church can influence secular culture, the role of missionaries/missionary boards (both at the denominational and trans-denominational level) were and were not in competition with one another (and how that might fit within the Global Church as well as in a Religious Right/Left divide), the usefulness of the Mainline as a conceptual tool, and even a little discussion about Philadelphia (the original home of the mainline). These are all important lines of inquiry, and ones that I hope get more attention in the future (either from myself or from other scholars). And if there is one thing I took away from the hour or so we spent in conversation, it was to reinforce my argument that the local matters in ways that just talking about denominations will never fully capture when it comes to talking about American Religious History.
When all was said and done, it was a wonderful day to start our "one tank getaway." We got to eat lunch at one of the all time best pizza places, and we got to take our kids around the campus where "mommy and daddy met and fell in love." And though our son pronounced it "mushy," I think both he and his sister had a great time (and he really enjoyed his time at Sunday School this morning).
 |
| Best Pizza in Bloomington |
And then we made the trek home, in time to take part in a "trunk or treat" event at Fishers United Methodist Church. But the tale of candy acquired and consumed will have to wait for another day!
Monday, October 14, 2013
Cherry Picking
This past weekend, my son got called for "cherry picking" at his soccer game. He had beaten the defense and happened to be in the right place at the right time when a teammate kicked the ball his way. The goal he scored was rescinded by the opposing coach, over the protest of my son's coach (even though goals and wins/losses only matter in the spring tourney), all to the dismay of my son (who was being congratulated by his teammates and was confused by the call). To add to the situation, what my son did wasn't in technical violation of the rules (as his coach pointed out) and the goal was only scored because the other team's defender (the boys are still young enough where there is no goalie) had abandoned his post to go where the action was.
In the non-sporting, academic world, cherry picking isn't about having a player near the other team's goal or basket, it is when we pick what we want to talk about to the neglect of other things in a given book or article. Out of the many articles and posts I've read in the past week or two, these are the ones I'm going to talk about, in the context of The Mainline and the state of American Christianity and Religion.
The first is over Carol Howard Merritt's post in The Christian Century from September, in which she argues against the continued use of the name "mainline" to describe the Seven Sisters. It is a brief post and is one that is focused on making an argument for a recasting of those denominations as a sort of Progressive/liberal religious force, abandoning "mainline" (not because they are no longer the majority denominations, as I argue in my book) but rather because the term seems to her to describe people who "hang out at the Country Club and eat cucumber sandwiches in fancy hats." Her post has generated some interest in the possibility of finding a new name to classify the Seven Sisters (see the Religion News Service article here if you'd like to vote and/or read the commentary/discussion).
While such a discussion is interesting and fun (even if it isn't likely to catch on), there are a few problems with Merritt's post. The first is that the term "mainline" predates sociologist E. Digby Baltzell's use of it in talking about "upper crust" Philadelphia society. The reason it got attached to the Seven Sisters to begin with (as I discuss in my book) is because the Federal Council of Churches was organized in Philadelphia some fifty years before Baltzell's piece was even written. The mainline is older than the 1950s, it has a history (and yes baggage), but there is power in the name and to abandon it, to allow it to fall into disuse, is not something to be done lightly.
The second problem is that Merritt's argument is based on two additional assumptions: That by accepting the term "mainline" the Seven Sisters are "white-washes our influences" and that keeping it somehow limits the Sisters from answering the call to "who we want to become." As to the notion of "white-washing," Merritt accurately points out that it could be construed that the Seven Sisters have only been influenced by white theologians (more precisely, dead white males), whereas she points to a wide a diversity (whites, blacks, Hispanic, men, women, Catholic, and Protestant) of influences on theological trends within the Seven Sisters. The problem here is two-fold: First, the notion of white-washing is somewhat the creation of the Seven Sisters themselves (and to a larger degree, the Federal/National Council of Churches), and somewhat missing the point that when the organization was first created by those denominations, for a wide variety of historical reasons (including racism and sexism to be sure), it was the creation of largely white males. While such a history does not preclude change to be sure ("who we want to become"), as I read Merritt here, what she seems to be advocating is not just a move away from the past but all most a rejection of it. In short, taking this line to its extreme, one might see the repudiation of much good along with much of what one might disagree with. Institutions without moorings (or a firm foundation) are not likely to stand the test of time, even with a name change. And while the list of theologians are impressive and make for a strong argument, they are not the whole story nor are they the only theologians who deserve mention and consideration.
Indeed, Merritt's argument presupposes that the Seven Sisters are only home to liberals (both theological and political) since the 1960s. That isn't backed up by the evidence, even today you can find theological diversity within the Seven Sisters, perhaps most obviously at the local level. And that gets at her second point ("who we want to become"). Which "who" is Merritt talking about? The conservative, evangelical United Methodist congregation in Indiana? The liberal Episcopalian church in New York City? The Presbyterian Church (USA) in Texas? It assumes a consensus within and between denominations that is largely a fiction. It is a useful fiction in many respects (esp. for denominational leaders) but it is a fiction nevertheless. Just like no one voted to start calling the Seven Sisters, the founders of today's National Council of Churches, the Mainline to begin with, no one (even those taking part in the Religion News Service poll) is going to be able to craft a new label that really captures who those denominations are today. The diversity that Merritt alludes to (and celebrates) in her post insures that. Furthermore, while those churches and denominations aren't likely to disappear (let alone the Church--a topic I'll return to later in the week perhaps), the Seven Sisters do have a problem with "median age" that a name change or re-branding isn't likely to change either.
In the non-sporting, academic world, cherry picking isn't about having a player near the other team's goal or basket, it is when we pick what we want to talk about to the neglect of other things in a given book or article. Out of the many articles and posts I've read in the past week or two, these are the ones I'm going to talk about, in the context of The Mainline and the state of American Christianity and Religion.
The first is over Carol Howard Merritt's post in The Christian Century from September, in which she argues against the continued use of the name "mainline" to describe the Seven Sisters. It is a brief post and is one that is focused on making an argument for a recasting of those denominations as a sort of Progressive/liberal religious force, abandoning "mainline" (not because they are no longer the majority denominations, as I argue in my book) but rather because the term seems to her to describe people who "hang out at the Country Club and eat cucumber sandwiches in fancy hats." Her post has generated some interest in the possibility of finding a new name to classify the Seven Sisters (see the Religion News Service article here if you'd like to vote and/or read the commentary/discussion).
While such a discussion is interesting and fun (even if it isn't likely to catch on), there are a few problems with Merritt's post. The first is that the term "mainline" predates sociologist E. Digby Baltzell's use of it in talking about "upper crust" Philadelphia society. The reason it got attached to the Seven Sisters to begin with (as I discuss in my book) is because the Federal Council of Churches was organized in Philadelphia some fifty years before Baltzell's piece was even written. The mainline is older than the 1950s, it has a history (and yes baggage), but there is power in the name and to abandon it, to allow it to fall into disuse, is not something to be done lightly.
The second problem is that Merritt's argument is based on two additional assumptions: That by accepting the term "mainline" the Seven Sisters are "white-washes our influences" and that keeping it somehow limits the Sisters from answering the call to "who we want to become." As to the notion of "white-washing," Merritt accurately points out that it could be construed that the Seven Sisters have only been influenced by white theologians (more precisely, dead white males), whereas she points to a wide a diversity (whites, blacks, Hispanic, men, women, Catholic, and Protestant) of influences on theological trends within the Seven Sisters. The problem here is two-fold: First, the notion of white-washing is somewhat the creation of the Seven Sisters themselves (and to a larger degree, the Federal/National Council of Churches), and somewhat missing the point that when the organization was first created by those denominations, for a wide variety of historical reasons (including racism and sexism to be sure), it was the creation of largely white males. While such a history does not preclude change to be sure ("who we want to become"), as I read Merritt here, what she seems to be advocating is not just a move away from the past but all most a rejection of it. In short, taking this line to its extreme, one might see the repudiation of much good along with much of what one might disagree with. Institutions without moorings (or a firm foundation) are not likely to stand the test of time, even with a name change. And while the list of theologians are impressive and make for a strong argument, they are not the whole story nor are they the only theologians who deserve mention and consideration.
Indeed, Merritt's argument presupposes that the Seven Sisters are only home to liberals (both theological and political) since the 1960s. That isn't backed up by the evidence, even today you can find theological diversity within the Seven Sisters, perhaps most obviously at the local level. And that gets at her second point ("who we want to become"). Which "who" is Merritt talking about? The conservative, evangelical United Methodist congregation in Indiana? The liberal Episcopalian church in New York City? The Presbyterian Church (USA) in Texas? It assumes a consensus within and between denominations that is largely a fiction. It is a useful fiction in many respects (esp. for denominational leaders) but it is a fiction nevertheless. Just like no one voted to start calling the Seven Sisters, the founders of today's National Council of Churches, the Mainline to begin with, no one (even those taking part in the Religion News Service poll) is going to be able to craft a new label that really captures who those denominations are today. The diversity that Merritt alludes to (and celebrates) in her post insures that. Furthermore, while those churches and denominations aren't likely to disappear (let alone the Church--a topic I'll return to later in the week perhaps), the Seven Sisters do have a problem with "median age" that a name change or re-branding isn't likely to change either.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Spectacle of Toleration
Back in January, when I was in the midst of both enjoying and having an epiphany about Disney World and religion (which remains the most popular post on this blog), I was standing in line at the Barnstormer with my children checking my email when I came upon a call for panelists for a conference to be held in Rhode Island. The conference was dedicated to the notion of religious toleration in American History, with a focus on Rhode Island's colonial charter. As I've always enjoyed going to Rhode Island, including when I got to speak in Newport back in 2006, I jumped at the chance to make a return to the Ocean State.
I agreed to be a commentator for a panel that was built around how the notion of toleration had played out in the early and mid-twentieth century. The papers covered topics ranging from the granting of peyote usage in religious ceremonies by Native Americans starting during the New Deal, to the legal struggles of Jehovah's Witness around World War II (the famed Gobitis case), the mainstreaming of Mormons, and (in light of my own work on the Mainline) the attempt by the National Council of Churches to silence conservative religious voices on the radio by using the FCC. I was really looking forward to being a part of the Spectacle of Toleration conference, but alas, for a variety of reasons, I ended up not being able to go. Thankfully, my panel was both gracious (allowing me to email in my commentary for today's event) and tolerant of my absence. The papers I read, each in their own way, open the door for further research. Not just on their own, particular topic, but also the affect that World War II had the course of American Religious History.
Though I wasn't able to attend, and have been quite busy on my own both personally and professionally in the past few weeks, I've also been doing some very interesting reading about topics I've addressed on this blog before, namely on the issue of the Millennials. There is this intriguing piece on how the Religious Left (or maybe, liberal evangelicals to be more precise) are attempting to reach out to Millennials. Whether or not they are successful, or whether or not some of them are genuine in their attempt (if I'm reading the author of the article correctly, she believes their chief goal is simply to shore up political support for liberal politics), like most things with the Millennials, we'll have to see. But that is the future (beyond the speculation), in an attempt to understand how we got to the point where we are talking about Millennials and the Church at all by far the best article I have read on the subject is this one.
I really can't say enough good things about Matt Marino's post. Not only do I think it hits on something that needs to be discussed, but it is one of the most obvious things that might be an answer to the question about Millennials and the Church to begin with....and thus one of those things that might easily be over looked. The history of Sunday School in the United States is a long one, with several twists and turns, and there is also no doubt that there is much to recommend it even today. As someone who went through Sunday School, whose parents have taught/helped in Sunday School, and who has himself taught Sunday School classes, I have lots of positive memories and am sure that it helped shape my faith. And yet, at the exact same time, Marino's point that American churches and their Sunday Schools, at times, have put "programing" ahead of the Gospel and that children can grow up in a church without ever spending much time participating in the life of the church, really hits home. For the Mainline, who made an effort to raise Christians rather than seek to save/convert people (even little ones) to Christianity, Marino's post seems to make even more sense. And if reading his post doesn't also make you wonder whether or not it would be better to have your kids with you in the sanctuary with you tomorrow rather than in a Sunday School classroom, then I'd urge you to read it again!
I agreed to be a commentator for a panel that was built around how the notion of toleration had played out in the early and mid-twentieth century. The papers covered topics ranging from the granting of peyote usage in religious ceremonies by Native Americans starting during the New Deal, to the legal struggles of Jehovah's Witness around World War II (the famed Gobitis case), the mainstreaming of Mormons, and (in light of my own work on the Mainline) the attempt by the National Council of Churches to silence conservative religious voices on the radio by using the FCC. I was really looking forward to being a part of the Spectacle of Toleration conference, but alas, for a variety of reasons, I ended up not being able to go. Thankfully, my panel was both gracious (allowing me to email in my commentary for today's event) and tolerant of my absence. The papers I read, each in their own way, open the door for further research. Not just on their own, particular topic, but also the affect that World War II had the course of American Religious History.
Though I wasn't able to attend, and have been quite busy on my own both personally and professionally in the past few weeks, I've also been doing some very interesting reading about topics I've addressed on this blog before, namely on the issue of the Millennials. There is this intriguing piece on how the Religious Left (or maybe, liberal evangelicals to be more precise) are attempting to reach out to Millennials. Whether or not they are successful, or whether or not some of them are genuine in their attempt (if I'm reading the author of the article correctly, she believes their chief goal is simply to shore up political support for liberal politics), like most things with the Millennials, we'll have to see. But that is the future (beyond the speculation), in an attempt to understand how we got to the point where we are talking about Millennials and the Church at all by far the best article I have read on the subject is this one.
I really can't say enough good things about Matt Marino's post. Not only do I think it hits on something that needs to be discussed, but it is one of the most obvious things that might be an answer to the question about Millennials and the Church to begin with....and thus one of those things that might easily be over looked. The history of Sunday School in the United States is a long one, with several twists and turns, and there is also no doubt that there is much to recommend it even today. As someone who went through Sunday School, whose parents have taught/helped in Sunday School, and who has himself taught Sunday School classes, I have lots of positive memories and am sure that it helped shape my faith. And yet, at the exact same time, Marino's point that American churches and their Sunday Schools, at times, have put "programing" ahead of the Gospel and that children can grow up in a church without ever spending much time participating in the life of the church, really hits home. For the Mainline, who made an effort to raise Christians rather than seek to save/convert people (even little ones) to Christianity, Marino's post seems to make even more sense. And if reading his post doesn't also make you wonder whether or not it would be better to have your kids with you in the sanctuary with you tomorrow rather than in a Sunday School classroom, then I'd urge you to read it again!
Friday, September 20, 2013
Peace
Peace. The word, the phrase, the idea, has been on my mind of late. The last post to this blog was about the possibility of the United States taking military action in Syria, and whether or not that fit into Just War theory. As it turned out, a few days after that post, such action was averted (at least for the time being), when a diplomatic solution emerged. Whether that particular solution was in the best interests (long term) of the United States, indeed whether or not that solution is even a solution (some suspect that Syria and Russia have out maneuvered both the White House and the State Department -- see here), remains to be seen. But, if peace is the absence of armed conflict, then at least for the time, we have peace (even if civil war continues to rage in Syria itself). If nothing else, and as I hope that post helped to point out, there is much discussion that can (and should) take place within America's churches about war and peace, and when the State can and should act in the wider world, and what the faith thinks about that (see here for more in that vein).
No sooner had we achieved peace, at least for the time, at least in one place on an international level, America was reminded how fragile that peace can be at home. Earlier this week a disgruntled civilian contractor walked into one of the building at the Washington Navy Yard and opened fire with weapons, killing thirteen people for no reason we now know, and in a random way that leaves many questions, and only grief in its wake. If in the case of Syria, American Christians were asked to think about what constitutes a just war, in the case of the Navy Yard shooting they are called much more to grieve with the families of the victims than to discuss policy changes to gun laws or mental health or security at government facilities, at least for now, and at least for the most part.
And then came news that hit closer to home. I awakened Friday morning to word (both via social media and from the local news) that someone I went to high school with, Officer Rod Bradway, had been killed in the line of duty. Rod was a police officer (a term that has largely replaced the notions of law enforcement from the nineteenth century and before of a "peace officer" and the related "justice of the peace"...those officials who were charged by the state to enforce the laws of peace upon our civil society) in Indianapolis, who had responded to a call of a suspected domestic violence incident, and from initial reports, was ambushed upon entering the apartment. Both he, and the man who shot him, died. Rod was two years older than me, and I won't pretend to that we were friends or even knew each other well, but I do remember him. He was always nice (not all upper class men were of course), and then there was the 50 yard field goal he made in a close football game!
It is ironic, if that is the right word, how tragedies such as these make us think about life and about concepts about peace in different ways. I can't say that I'd thought of Rob in years, nor seen him (probably since he graduated, or perhaps when my class did, as his younger brother was in my grade). And yet, seeing his official picture today (as well as old ones from our time at NorthWood High School) brought back memories of him and others. My prayers tonight are for his wife and family, that they may know peace in this time of tragedy. And that they may remember, as one of our classmates put it, that while life is not fair (though we wish it were), it is very precious.
And the search for peace, for our world, our country, ourselves, and for others continues despite these stories of success, progress, setbacks, and sadness. At Butler University, where I spend part of my professional life, in the past week or so there have been stories of trying to work for peace. A peace pole was unveiled on campus in an interfaith prayer service. Situated between the union building and the main classroom building, the pole, it is hoped, will be a visual reminder to strive for peace on earth. Likewise, the university announced plans to launch the Desmund Tutu Center, named for the Anglican Archbishop Emeritus of South Africa (who visited and spoke on campus earlier this month), that will be dedicated to "social justice and reconciliation, international relationships, and interreligious and community bridge-building."
What will become of these and other attempts to craft a more peaceful world remain to be seen. Christians, of course, recognize that while Jesus is the Prince of Peace, He did not promise that peace would reign on Earth (see Matthew 10:34) until He does. But they are also called to be peacemakers (Matthew 5:9), and that can come in a variety of forms. Perhaps these words from a song turned into a hymn (written by Jill Jackson and Sy Miller in 1955) are worth repeating as we start this weekend and think of such things:
Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth
The peace that was meant to be.
With God as our father
Brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother
In perfect harmony.
No sooner had we achieved peace, at least for the time, at least in one place on an international level, America was reminded how fragile that peace can be at home. Earlier this week a disgruntled civilian contractor walked into one of the building at the Washington Navy Yard and opened fire with weapons, killing thirteen people for no reason we now know, and in a random way that leaves many questions, and only grief in its wake. If in the case of Syria, American Christians were asked to think about what constitutes a just war, in the case of the Navy Yard shooting they are called much more to grieve with the families of the victims than to discuss policy changes to gun laws or mental health or security at government facilities, at least for now, and at least for the most part.
And then came news that hit closer to home. I awakened Friday morning to word (both via social media and from the local news) that someone I went to high school with, Officer Rod Bradway, had been killed in the line of duty. Rod was a police officer (a term that has largely replaced the notions of law enforcement from the nineteenth century and before of a "peace officer" and the related "justice of the peace"...those officials who were charged by the state to enforce the laws of peace upon our civil society) in Indianapolis, who had responded to a call of a suspected domestic violence incident, and from initial reports, was ambushed upon entering the apartment. Both he, and the man who shot him, died. Rod was two years older than me, and I won't pretend to that we were friends or even knew each other well, but I do remember him. He was always nice (not all upper class men were of course), and then there was the 50 yard field goal he made in a close football game!
It is ironic, if that is the right word, how tragedies such as these make us think about life and about concepts about peace in different ways. I can't say that I'd thought of Rob in years, nor seen him (probably since he graduated, or perhaps when my class did, as his younger brother was in my grade). And yet, seeing his official picture today (as well as old ones from our time at NorthWood High School) brought back memories of him and others. My prayers tonight are for his wife and family, that they may know peace in this time of tragedy. And that they may remember, as one of our classmates put it, that while life is not fair (though we wish it were), it is very precious.
And the search for peace, for our world, our country, ourselves, and for others continues despite these stories of success, progress, setbacks, and sadness. At Butler University, where I spend part of my professional life, in the past week or so there have been stories of trying to work for peace. A peace pole was unveiled on campus in an interfaith prayer service. Situated between the union building and the main classroom building, the pole, it is hoped, will be a visual reminder to strive for peace on earth. Likewise, the university announced plans to launch the Desmund Tutu Center, named for the Anglican Archbishop Emeritus of South Africa (who visited and spoke on campus earlier this month), that will be dedicated to "social justice and reconciliation, international relationships, and interreligious and community bridge-building."
What will become of these and other attempts to craft a more peaceful world remain to be seen. Christians, of course, recognize that while Jesus is the Prince of Peace, He did not promise that peace would reign on Earth (see Matthew 10:34) until He does. But they are also called to be peacemakers (Matthew 5:9), and that can come in a variety of forms. Perhaps these words from a song turned into a hymn (written by Jill Jackson and Sy Miller in 1955) are worth repeating as we start this weekend and think of such things:
Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth
The peace that was meant to be.
With God as our father
Brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother
In perfect harmony.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Just War or just war?
I grew up in an area of the United States where there was a strong presence of Amish and Mennonite churches. For those of you unfamiliar with these denominations, one of the facets of their faith is a very strong peace, or pacifistic, testimony. While many of my childhood classmates and friends came from this heritage, I did not. Though my family wasn't what I'd call militaristic (though extended members on both sides of my family had served in the United States military), we were patriotic, and believed that there were certain times and certain principles worth fighting for if called upon to do so by our nation. That being said, I have a healthy intellectual respect for those who hold to Christian call to be peacemakers, even if I might argue that there are times when the only way peace can be made or preserved is through first engaging the enemy on the field of combat.
Historically, Christians have summed up their arguments in favor of supporting their government's call to arms via the Just War doctrine. Formulated by the early Church (much of it by St. Augustine), and embraced (and perhaps made famous) by the Roman Catholic Church (you can read more here), Just War theory argues the following:
1. The use of force is something that must be considered in the gravest of terms.
2. The use of force should be in defense, against an aggressor who is seeking to do great harm.
3. The use of force should be a last resort, after other (peaceful) options have been tried.
4. The use of force should carry with it a good chance of success when it comes to the conflict.
5. The use of force should not cause worse conditions than those that prompted their use at the outset.
6. It is up to the government to decide these factors.
7. The war should be conducted morally, this means fair treatment for non-combatants, wounded, and prisoners. Genocide and large scale destruction of whole cities is immoral.
Of course, one need not be Catholic to embrace the tenants of Just War Doctrine, most Protestant Churches have some variation on the above, even if most of the old Mainline denominations have become more pacifistic (and like my old Amish neighbors) over the course of the twentieth and into the twenty-first centuries. The interplay between growing American military, political, economic, and cultural influence, and the turn against many American foreign policy pronouncements by the Seven Sisters over the second half of the twentieth and into the twenty-first centuries is something I talk about in The Mainline. For more on the growth of pacifistic thought in America's churches, see these posts (here and here)
All of this theological discussion on the nature of war takes on a new meaning this week. The United States is currently set to debate, at the request of President Obama, a Congressional authorization for the use of military force in Syria (you can read more about it here, here, and here for starters). And if you read these (and other posts) the complexity of that request becomes clear. Democrats who have been anti-war are being asked by an administration of their own party to authorize war (as an aside, let us no longer kid ourselves about such "use of force" requests -- there might be technical differences, but this has simply become the modern "declaration of war" -- and cloaking it in any other language or denying it as such does a disservice to the American armed forces that are asked and tasked with undertaking such operations). Republicans are torn between wanting to protect (historically) bipartisan means by which the nation now fights its wars (some, no doubt, thinking ahead to the next presidential election), while also showcasing mistrust of the Obama Administration's intentions and plans. Some of the public appears to be "war weary," while others argue that this is not "our fight," and others still calling on the U.S. to embrace a non-violent, pacifistic role.
If we were to apply Just War doctrine to the Syrian case (and few supporters or detractors seem to be doing so), I think it would be a hard one to make. One might argue that since earlier this year, when a "red line" was first pronounced about the use of WMDs, that the U.S. government has been thinking about the use of force in "grave terms," so criteria 1 would have been met. Criteria 3 also has likely been met (war as a last resort). Criteria 4 (that of success) is a bit murky, though any air strike would likely be "successful" (the murkiness comes, rather, from how we define total success). Criteria 6 (a governmental decision) obviously is met. And criteria 7 (because of the likely limited nature of U.S. involvement -- Secretary of State Kerry having said that there would be no deployment of U.S. ground forces) might also be considered achieved.
The problem is that for Just War doctrine to be applied in the affirmative ALL the criteria must be met. Criteria 2 (that force be used defensively to halt a great harm) is somewhat problematic. Syria is in the midst of (at best) a civil war. On the one hand is the Assad family dictatorship (which is ruthless, fighting for its survival, and may very well have used WMDs). On the other, is a group of rebels, which includes some moderates, but also some with terrorist links (the latter, it has been alleged, may have used WMDs themselves). Neither side, in other words, is blameless. And while both sides may, on some level, be "bad," neither is actually posing a current, direct threat to the United States either. The argument that might be made is that they could pose such a threat in the future, or that what is happening is genocide that must be stopped, but I've yet to really hear that be articulated. Indeed, what the Obama Administration is proposing is akin to the Bush Doctrine it claimed to have rejected when the president took office in 2009. Likewise, it is not clear that a U.S. strike would meet criteria 5 either (that the use of force would not make the situation worse than it already is). After all, civil wars are, by their very nature, terrible for the nation involved. More bombs are not likely to make it better or more tolerable for either side, nor for those trapped in between them.
In short then, it is hard to see the Syrian case in a Just War doctrine light. Indeed, it seems like any U.S. action would be just war, not Just War, in its implications. Be that as it may, like most things in the real world (one where theory has to be applied, not just debated in the abstract), the present situation is much more complicated than mere words on a page can articulate. Perhaps all that can be done is that people of good will pray for peace, even as war clouds seem to gather yet again. That isn't a pacifistic nor militaristic view, nor is it a Republican or Democrat, or even a Old Mainline or New Mainline point of view. It is simply the right thing to do, no matter the ultimate decision or outcome. "Wars and rumors of wars" (Matthew 24:6) are part of the real world experience for those who are blessed as "peacemakers" (Matthew 5:9) in the Christian tradition.
Historically, Christians have summed up their arguments in favor of supporting their government's call to arms via the Just War doctrine. Formulated by the early Church (much of it by St. Augustine), and embraced (and perhaps made famous) by the Roman Catholic Church (you can read more here), Just War theory argues the following:
1. The use of force is something that must be considered in the gravest of terms.
2. The use of force should be in defense, against an aggressor who is seeking to do great harm.
3. The use of force should be a last resort, after other (peaceful) options have been tried.
4. The use of force should carry with it a good chance of success when it comes to the conflict.
5. The use of force should not cause worse conditions than those that prompted their use at the outset.
6. It is up to the government to decide these factors.
7. The war should be conducted morally, this means fair treatment for non-combatants, wounded, and prisoners. Genocide and large scale destruction of whole cities is immoral.
Of course, one need not be Catholic to embrace the tenants of Just War Doctrine, most Protestant Churches have some variation on the above, even if most of the old Mainline denominations have become more pacifistic (and like my old Amish neighbors) over the course of the twentieth and into the twenty-first centuries. The interplay between growing American military, political, economic, and cultural influence, and the turn against many American foreign policy pronouncements by the Seven Sisters over the second half of the twentieth and into the twenty-first centuries is something I talk about in The Mainline. For more on the growth of pacifistic thought in America's churches, see these posts (here and here)
All of this theological discussion on the nature of war takes on a new meaning this week. The United States is currently set to debate, at the request of President Obama, a Congressional authorization for the use of military force in Syria (you can read more about it here, here, and here for starters). And if you read these (and other posts) the complexity of that request becomes clear. Democrats who have been anti-war are being asked by an administration of their own party to authorize war (as an aside, let us no longer kid ourselves about such "use of force" requests -- there might be technical differences, but this has simply become the modern "declaration of war" -- and cloaking it in any other language or denying it as such does a disservice to the American armed forces that are asked and tasked with undertaking such operations). Republicans are torn between wanting to protect (historically) bipartisan means by which the nation now fights its wars (some, no doubt, thinking ahead to the next presidential election), while also showcasing mistrust of the Obama Administration's intentions and plans. Some of the public appears to be "war weary," while others argue that this is not "our fight," and others still calling on the U.S. to embrace a non-violent, pacifistic role.
If we were to apply Just War doctrine to the Syrian case (and few supporters or detractors seem to be doing so), I think it would be a hard one to make. One might argue that since earlier this year, when a "red line" was first pronounced about the use of WMDs, that the U.S. government has been thinking about the use of force in "grave terms," so criteria 1 would have been met. Criteria 3 also has likely been met (war as a last resort). Criteria 4 (that of success) is a bit murky, though any air strike would likely be "successful" (the murkiness comes, rather, from how we define total success). Criteria 6 (a governmental decision) obviously is met. And criteria 7 (because of the likely limited nature of U.S. involvement -- Secretary of State Kerry having said that there would be no deployment of U.S. ground forces) might also be considered achieved.
The problem is that for Just War doctrine to be applied in the affirmative ALL the criteria must be met. Criteria 2 (that force be used defensively to halt a great harm) is somewhat problematic. Syria is in the midst of (at best) a civil war. On the one hand is the Assad family dictatorship (which is ruthless, fighting for its survival, and may very well have used WMDs). On the other, is a group of rebels, which includes some moderates, but also some with terrorist links (the latter, it has been alleged, may have used WMDs themselves). Neither side, in other words, is blameless. And while both sides may, on some level, be "bad," neither is actually posing a current, direct threat to the United States either. The argument that might be made is that they could pose such a threat in the future, or that what is happening is genocide that must be stopped, but I've yet to really hear that be articulated. Indeed, what the Obama Administration is proposing is akin to the Bush Doctrine it claimed to have rejected when the president took office in 2009. Likewise, it is not clear that a U.S. strike would meet criteria 5 either (that the use of force would not make the situation worse than it already is). After all, civil wars are, by their very nature, terrible for the nation involved. More bombs are not likely to make it better or more tolerable for either side, nor for those trapped in between them.
In short then, it is hard to see the Syrian case in a Just War doctrine light. Indeed, it seems like any U.S. action would be just war, not Just War, in its implications. Be that as it may, like most things in the real world (one where theory has to be applied, not just debated in the abstract), the present situation is much more complicated than mere words on a page can articulate. Perhaps all that can be done is that people of good will pray for peace, even as war clouds seem to gather yet again. That isn't a pacifistic nor militaristic view, nor is it a Republican or Democrat, or even a Old Mainline or New Mainline point of view. It is simply the right thing to do, no matter the ultimate decision or outcome. "Wars and rumors of wars" (Matthew 24:6) are part of the real world experience for those who are blessed as "peacemakers" (Matthew 5:9) in the Christian tradition.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Evidence
I always tell my classes at the start of the semester how, when I went to off to college, I thought I was going to go to law school and become a lawyer. That didn't happen, for a variety of reasons -- the waning of the influence of "Law and Order" in my life; the realization that I really did love (and wanted to make it my vocation) History; and power of professors in the Indiana University History Department to reshape my thinking. That being said, I did marry into a legal family (my father-in-law and wife are both members of the bar) and my brother also ended up in law school. I've done legal history as well, and so the law is never far from me, nor are its precepts. One of the foundations is the importance of evidence when you make a case, and tonight I came up on further evidence that maybe, just maybe, I was on to something in The Mainline.
Readers will recall that one of the arguments I made in the final chapter was that we needed to think (in order to save the term) of a new make up for the Mainline of the twenty-first century. I included in that list of denominations or groups Pentecostal Christians (most importantly, the Assemblies of God). In a recent article for World Magazine, Thomas Kidd (who was kind enough to provide the blurb for the back of my book, in an effort at full disclosure -- another legal rule) makes the argument that Pentecostals (highlighting the Assemblies) are indeed bucking the trend when it comes to membership growth and are a force to be reckoned with on the religious scene of today. You can read the whole article here.
It isn't, of course, the final verdict in such discussions about the role/importance of denominations in telling American religious history, but it is a pretty good bit of evidence that maybe, just maybe, not every story about denominations has to be about decline.
Readers will recall that one of the arguments I made in the final chapter was that we needed to think (in order to save the term) of a new make up for the Mainline of the twenty-first century. I included in that list of denominations or groups Pentecostal Christians (most importantly, the Assemblies of God). In a recent article for World Magazine, Thomas Kidd (who was kind enough to provide the blurb for the back of my book, in an effort at full disclosure -- another legal rule) makes the argument that Pentecostals (highlighting the Assemblies) are indeed bucking the trend when it comes to membership growth and are a force to be reckoned with on the religious scene of today. You can read the whole article here.
It isn't, of course, the final verdict in such discussions about the role/importance of denominations in telling American religious history, but it is a pretty good bit of evidence that maybe, just maybe, not every story about denominations has to be about decline.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)