Coperthwaite, Voluntary Simplicity and Paradise

This morning I was struck by the following question:

Is it possible to have too much material wealth?
And is it possible to have a life with too much leisure -
        as harmful as one with too much toil?

I have been re-reading William (Bill) S. Coperthwaite's book A Handmade Life: In Search of Simplicity (Chelsea Green Publishing, 2003). In his section on Wealth, Riches, Treasure he asks the above question. Coperthwaite has already stated his opinions on work, or is "labor" a better word?, when writing about "bread labor." "Bread Labor" is the work that needs to be done to survive and make the world better at the same time: washing dishes, cooking, child-care, cutting firewood, teaching and planting gardens are all examples. Coperthwaite mentions how Gandhi thought all of this could be done if everyone pitched in two hours a day. Scott and Helen Nearing thought 4 hours a better estimate. Coperthwaite himself writes that when he goes to cut firewood he takes a book with him and alternates cutting and reading. At the end of the day, he is not sure which was the more rewarding exercise and which the more work.

Living on a boat with our family has reminded us that we can't take it all with us. In fact, I look at the amount of books and resources I have collect for pastoral ministry over the years, and realize that while the books are sitting boxed up in a storage unit, they are not doing anyone any good. Yet, am I willing to part with them? Are they now owning me? Frankly, it is easier to put it on the back burner, 'til the next time I get something out of the storage unit and am confronted with seeing once again these material goods that are starting to own me, or do they? When living in a house, I was not confronted with thinking through the material possessions that surrounded us.

Voluntarily choosing to live simply doesn't mean that we have to only live with cheap goods, that were cheaply made of inferior materials, and traveled long distances. It can mean, that because we are choosing to use/have/deal with less things the material goods we do have can be top quality, excel at some design criteria of our own, and/or feel "right" to us. Because we are choosing to have less, the less we have can be quality products. (By the way, this often leads to individuals spending less money over the long run.)

Listen to Coperthwaite:

THE EXAMPLE OF THE RICH
Imagine a society of a thousand people each having a yearly income of $1,000 and living in poverty. Then imagine that one person in that community has an income ten times the average. If this money were divided evenly, it would mean only $10 more per year for each person. This 1 percent increase would help somewhat, but not a great deal. Although a fairer sharing of the world's wealth is urgently necessary, merely redistributing monetary wealth is minuscule in importance compared with the need for intelligent, cooperative action aimed at improving the quality of life.
     The wealth of the rich would not mean much if it were spread out evenly, but the example of luxurious living spread about is a time bomb.
     The great evil of the rich is the example they set. Yet the power of the rich is very fragile, for their privilege cannot withstand the gaze of an enlightened populace. What good is their accumulated "wealth" if we refused to work for them? If we refused to accept their values and their way of life?
     The trap we are in is that we want to emulate the rich. Their factories produce for us, and we are their buyers, the consumers. If we refused to buy junk, they would have to produce quality. A factory is a liability if its products won't sell. They will produce whatever we demand. We have the control - though we don't know it yet - whenever we decide to take responsibility: that is, when we become mature in our economic thinking and in the use of our purchasing power. The monetary power of the wealthy is a social disease that can be cured, but the remedy needs our help.
     We now have a class of people living according to a consumption pattern that exceeds that of the monarchs of previous centuries and that is rapidly devouring the world's finite resources. It might not matter, physically, if a few thousand people acted in such adolescent fashion, but when millions do, the effect will ultimately be catastrophic, with the added danger that more millions, seeing the example of the rich, will strive for this luxury as well.
     That is our greatest danger now, and the crisis is approaching epidemic proportions. From this vantage point, the "voluntary simplicity" of Richard Gregg becomes more important than every before. Is it possible that we, the people of the industrial nations, the leaders in the race to destroy the earth, could set the pace for a move in a positive direction? Can we meet the challenge?
     Whatever we do is watched closely by the poor of the world. Will we use our economic advantage for the good of humankind or will we continue to rob and to exploit?
     We must search for ways to live that are within the grasp of all people. In this light, redefining wealth and riches becomes a primary challenge (78-9).

And he sets out some examples. But my point is to get us to think through our own myths about how the "world/realty" operates.

You, dear reader, my be wondering why this is here ... what it has to do with faith and with boating? To me it has everything to do with it. One cannot help but live a simpler life by living on a boat (some of us choose to live simpler than others, those who seek out a way of life distinctly different from that on shore verses those who may want more shore-life-type conveniences), but it is still simpler. And I strongly believe that the biological or carbon footprints are smaller.

But I also strongly believe that the reason we don't recognize (nor can find) the two rivers flowing out of the Garden of Eden (Genesis 2:10-14) is because we are not meant too. Rather, these two rivers are to remind us that the Garden of Eden is just around the corner. Today, they can remind us that we belong in the Garden, and the ways we impact the earth around us, are directly impacting the Garden (which is here, now, around us now).*

The Kingdom/Kindom of God is near - in fact, right around us.
May we have eyes to see, ears to hear, let alone touch, smell, and taste it.

Blessed Be

*For a fuller discussion of this idea, see Brock and Parker's Saving Paradise

Apocalypse and Paradise

I have been hesitant to discuss this topic, but as we now have predictions of the end of the world occurring in October (sense it didn't happen over the weekend) I have decided to add my two bits to the discussion.

Before I start, I would like to say that this has serious ramifications for our society in general. Family members of friends of ours sold everything and gave the money to charity because they were no longer going to need it. It's a great gesture. I'm not sure what this means about their feelings of those running the charities. The concern is what do they do now? They've got nothing left. Do they dare trust another authority figure again? Will they trust the church?

Secondly, predictions about the world coming to an end and Christ's coming back are very old, as old as Christianity. So, in some regards, this phenomenon is nothing new.

Here's my perspective, view on things. Any of you are welcome to disagree, but this is how I see things at the present moment.
I have always read Apocalyptic literature (like the Revelation of John) as a way of giving hope to an oppressed group of people. In essence, Apocalyptic literature says, "It is going to be ok. God is ultimately in charge. It may not look like that now, but in the end, God's kingdom will prevail."

When we remove Paradise from this earth, we lose a sense of who we are as beloved children of God. In the Sermon on the Mount, in Matthew's gospel, Jesus says, "Consider the lilies of the fields..." We consider them because we are connected to them. If the Divine cares for them, how much more are we cared for? Yet we are connected to them. What effects the lilies of the fields effects us in ways we have always suspected, but are only just now scientifically discovering how close the connection is.

When we insist that Paradise is someplace else (Heaven, accessible only in the afterlife, or after the end of the world), we remove ourselves from the world around us. Inadvertently, this separation allows exploitation of the lilies of the fields to which we are so connected. Which means our own exploitation, of course.

Keeping Paradise connected to the earth, knowing it is just around the corner, and is something we can participate in the here and now, connects us to another part - actually a stronger part - of the Christian tradition. I invite you to look, ponder and read Saving Paradise by Brock and Parker (I've mentioned this book in a previous post) for a fuller discussion of this tradition. Keeping Paradise, the Kingdom of God, the Great Economy a part of the earthly experience, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, provides a critique of our smaller economies, kingdoms and environs. As such, the critique gives us something to work towards. Paradise shapes our actions. I believe it also reminds us of who we are, beloved children of God.

I think you can see my own bias. It shapes my perspective in how I live and how I see the world. What underlying beliefs and biases shape how you see and interact in the world?

Cyril's Good Friday Service

Just as I gave some historical information yesterday regarding the Eucharist, so I give some today regarding the crucifixion. Again, this comes from Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker. Saving Paradise: How Christianity Traded Love of This World for Crucifixion and Empire.

Another controversy in Cyril [of Jerusalem]'s community was whether the crucifixion of Christ was shameful. Apparently, as late as the fourth century, the way Jesus died discredited Christian claims of Christ's divinity. The church sought to assign his execution a meaningful place in the scheme of salvation. Cyril argued that the Crucifixion was not shameful because the Resurrection had dispelled it ignominy. In keeping with New Testament texts, he said that Christ's death expiated sin and that his blood could protect against death. He likened Christ to the Passover lamb, which guarded against the angel of death and liberated the oppressed from a cruel tyrant. Cyril refuted those who claimed the Crucifixion was an illusion. He insisted that Christ's death revealed that he was human as well as divine. "Take the cross as an indestructible foundation on which to build the rest of the faith. do not deny the Crucified," he urged.

Though Cyril had a ready theological explanation for the Crucifixion, he consistently emphasized the Resurrection. "Now that the Resurrection has followed the cross, I am not ashamed to declare it." His church read accounts of Christ's resurrection every Sunday of the year, and every evening it observed the ritual of the Lucernare, the lighting of the lamps from the flame that always burned in the Anastasis. The fire symbolized the presence of the risen Christ. By Egeria's [and eye witness who's journal we have] report, the remembrance of the Crucifixion was observed one day a year, on the Friday of Holy Week. The Passion narratives were read on the legendary site of his Crucifixion (132-3).

If you find yourself attending a Good Friday service this evening, remember you are a part of a large and ancient tradition.

But I also find it informative to know that this is one day's focus in the life of Cyril's church, the rest of the year the focus was on Resurrection. And Resurrection is coming.

Maundy Thursday Ponderings on the Historical Eucharist

There is a strong tradition of celebrating the institution of Holy Communion (also called the Lord's Supper, the Eucharist and the Last Supper) at today's Maundy Thursday service. Readings are read from the four gospels. Matthew, Mark and Luke account Jesus changing the Passover meal with the sharing of "my flesh and my blood" while John's gospel has Jesus and the disciples gathered for a Passover meal that includes the washing of feet.

I wanted to share an historical take on what is often celebrated today. The following comes from Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker. Saving Paradise: How Christianity Traded Love of This World for Crucifixion and Empire. Beacon Press. 2008.

Beyond the doors of its sanctuaries, the church sent people out into the world as agents of life, as those who resisted the exploitation and violence of the principalities and powers of the world. To teach them such resistance, the church immersed them in a ritual of life in paradise. Because beauty in such rituals had great power, it could also have dangerous consequences. If beauty was used to valorized or sanctify what was harmful to humanity, its power could be destructive. In this spirit, the early church avoided focusing on the Crucifixion, not only in its art, but also in its Eucharist. Some even avoided mentioning it (158).

The Didache (the oldest surviving liturgical handbook, from 1st century Syria) makes no reference to Jesus' crucifixion. Rather, "it's Eucharistic prayer gave thanks to God 'for the life and knowledge which you have revealed to us through Jesus your Child.' It explained the cup as a symbol for Jesus, 'the holy vine of David,' and associated the bread with the life of the church. 'Just as the bread broken was first scattered on the hills, then was gathered and became one, so let your Church be gathered from the ends of the earth into your kingdom'" (158-9).

Clement of Rome (who according to Irenaeus was the 3rd bishop of Rome) said that Jesus Christ, "the high priest of our offerings" had "opened the eyes of our hearts." Clement's prayer doesn't mention the crucifixion either:

Through him you have called us

From darkness to light,

From ignorance to full knowledge of your glorious name

And to a hope in your name,

Which is the origin of all creation.

You alone are the Most High in the heavenly heights,

the Holy One who rests among the saints.

You cast down the insolence of the proud,

You frustrate the plans of the nations,

You raise up the humble and abase the proud.

You enrich and you reduce to poverty

Sole benefactor of spirits and God of all flesh

You have taught us,

Sanctified us and glorified us (159).

Justin Martyr's account (mid-2nd cent.) of the Eucharist does mention Jesus saying "Do this in memory of me; this is my body," and "This is my blood," just as the synoptic gospels recall. However, Justin Martyr does not include the phrase "broken for you" nor Matthew's phrasing for the cup "poured out for the remission of sins." By the way, the phrase "broken for you" "is found in only some ancient versions of 1 Corinthians 11:24 but not in the four Gospels" (159). Justin Martyr explains "that the 'food over which the Eucharist has been spoken becomes the flesh and blood of the incarnate Jesus, in order to nourish and transform our flesh and blood.' He explained that the liturgy was to take place on the day of the sun, because Sunday was 'the day on which God transformed darkness and matter and created the world, and the day on which Jesus Christ our Savior rose from the dead'" (159-60).

The first example of a Eucharist prayer that included words of brokenness in the anamnesis (remembrance) was the mid-third-century prayer of Hippolytus of Rome: "Take, eat, this is my body which is broken for you. ... This is my blood, which is shed for you; when you do this, you make my remembrance." But church teachers made clear that this remembrance referred to the living body and blood, the incarnate Christ who made the request before he was broken and who died "to destroy death ... to pour out his light upon the just, to establish the covenant and manifest his resurrection." The holy foods on the Eucharist table nourished those who received them to be "filled with the Holy Spirit" and "strengthened in faith."

In early Eucharistic prayers, when Jesus' crucifixion was mentioned, it was listed among a series of events. It was not the focus of the liturgy and was not the key to its meaning. The entire story communicated the Spirit in life. The Eucharist foods signified Christ's living body, the union of spirit and flesh in his incarnation, and the abiding power of life, manifested in his resurrection. The foods represented his miracles of feeding and healing and his post-resurrection appearances to the disciples, several of which involved meals. During the fourth century, associating the Eucharist with the Last Supper became commonplace, but even then references tot eh Last Supper were not universal. The liturgy of Addai and Mari, which originated in Edessa in Anatolia in perhaps the third century, is still in use today by Christians in the Assyrian Church of the East, once called Nestorian by their opponents. It has no words of institution and makes no connection to "the night before he died."

Eucharistic prayers went out of their way to make it clear that the Christian observance was not about shedding blood of any sort (160).

The political, social, and theological meanings of Christian Eucharist prayers varied over regions and diverse Christian sects, but early Christian rituals consistently placed the accent on Jesus' incarnation, his teaching and miracles of healing and feeding, his baptism, and his resurrection. The remembrance of the Crucifixion was not central to what the Eucharist memorialized; instead, the Eucharist focused on incarnation and Resurrection. The feast remembered how Jesus overcame death with life, never to die again (161).

[The Eucharist] ritual restored humanity's divinity in paradise, providing a basis for relationship rather than division among Christians, pagans, and Jews. The potential was there, even when imperfectly realized, for Christians to recognize all of humanity as created in the image of God. Grafted onto the tree of life and feasting at the wedding banquet through the Eucharist, Christians embraced a world of flesh infused with spirit. They received insight and strength to resist unjust principalities and powers, to live in freedom and responsibility, and to hold to nonviolence in the struggle against evil. They partook of the feast with doxology, praise for beauty and thanks for life. They went forth to live in the world as a life-giving presence. In the Western churches, the Eucharist continued to be understood as a feast of the Resurrection until the ninth century. Eastern Orthodox churches continue to regard it so, and in recent years some Western Christians have revived the ancient understanding and enlarged it in creative new directions (162-3).