Friday, August 11, 2023
fuck the prison industrial complex
I was bored and decided to watch 60 Days In. All I'll say is that, while it's exploitative of the prisoners, I think it also highlights how absolutely inadequate, inhumane, and exploitative our corrections system is; and it only reinforces my abolitionist tendencies. Prison does next to nothing to rehabilitate anybody, but does a lot to physically and psychologically torture them and teach them how to be more violent and selfish and live as an animal rather than a human being. It's disgusting how the system treats and tries to profit off of prisoners while doing little to improve them, better their lives, and keep them from harming others or themselves.
Thursday, June 8, 2023
the trinity as an expression of queer love
On Trinity Sunday, which also happened to be the first Sunday in pride month, my pastor gave a homily on the diverse language about God in the bible and early church literature, making the case that the expression of the trinity in both representation and reality is genderly diverse and, in my opinion, queer.
Despite God, as the ground of being, not having a sex or gender as God is not a being but Being itself, modern western language about God throughout literature and liturgy focuses almost exclusively on the masculine and, in the process, makes the feminine subordinate, which has had the unfortunate effect of supporting patriarchal theology and social relations for generations. The default, of course, has been to gender God as male — while limiting God’s earthly representatives to men — but the language used to talk about God varies from the masculine to the feminine and even plural/gender neutral, thus our theology of God, Truth, Nature, Ultimate Reality, etc., should reflect that.
For example, beyond being spoken of using masculine pronouns and as a father, God is also described as a woman in labor (Isaiah 42:14), a nursing mother (Isaiah 49:15), a comforting mother (Isaiah 66:13), a mother bear (Hosea 13:8), a mother bird sheltering her children (Ruth 2:12), etc., and in the story of creation creates humanity male and female in their (plural) image (Gen 1:26-27). The Hebrew words for the wisdom (chokmah) and spirit (ruach) of God are feminine nouns, while the Greek word for spirit (pneuma) is neutral. Jesus compares himself to a mother hen (Mt 23:37), and many early church leaders spoke of God and Jesus in more than masculine terms. An early liturgical work, Odes of Solomon, portrays God as the mother of believers (and all of humanity), nurturing them with "holy milk" (8:17). Clement of Alexandria writes of Jesus, "The Word [Christ] is all to the child, both father and mother and tutor and nurse" (The Instructor). John Chrysostom's Christ says, "Be thou in need of nothing, I will be even a servant, for I came to minister, not to be ministered unto; I am friend, and member, and head, and brother, and sister, and mother; I am all; only cling thou closely to me" (Homilies on Matthew, 76). Anselm, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Julian of Norwich, among others, also compare Jesus to a mother. God is essentially nonbinary or genderfluid.
All of this serves to highlight that the imagery and understanding of God historically transcends the simplistic and patriarchal presentation we're often presented with, illustrating that God both transcends gender while simultaneously encompassing all modes of gender. And our understanding should, as well. The trinity represents the relational and diverse nature of reality; and to more clearly perceive that reality, we must love and accept it in all its multiplicity because love is our first principle.
Franciscan friar Richard Rohr, who takes a more mystical approach to the subject, has often described the trinity as a circular dance and the deepest flow of life, noting that each 'person' of the trinity relates by "living in an eternal self-emptying (kenosis), which allows each of them to let go completely and give themselves to the other. They are simultaneously loving and totally loveable, one to another." And that love is the very nature and shape of divine being: "This deep flow is then the pattern of the whole universe, and any idea of God’s 'wrath' or of God withholding what is an infinitely outflowing love is theologically impossible. Love is the very pattern with which we start and the goal toward which we move. It gives energy to the entire universe, from orbiting protons and neutrons to the social and sexual life of species, to the planets and stars. We were indeed created in communion, by communion, and for communion (Genesis 1:26 calls it being 'created in the image and likeness of God')."
Love, then, is wrapped into the very fabric of creation. And perhaps even more controversially, and while probably not their intention, Deacon Matthew Newsome make a great case/argument that God is profoundly queer and polyamorous when he writes:
Just think about it for a moment. God is described as a trinity of three gender-fluid persons who, in their loving relationship and communion with each other, are one. Creation is nondual yet diverse. Creation is composed of relationships. Creation rests on love. And we mirror creation. As shocking as it may seem to some at first glance, God is clearly and profoundly queer and polyamorous—i.e., a template that holds within itself all other possible configurations of love, including that of our LGBTQIA+ siblings.
In the end, what I've come to believe — and what I think apparent in both scripture and tradition — is that the universe itself is alive with love, and any theology expressing its nature can't limit our understanding or our expression of love to fit inside of some restrictive and oppressive box without doing violence to nature itself.
Despite God, as the ground of being, not having a sex or gender as God is not a being but Being itself, modern western language about God throughout literature and liturgy focuses almost exclusively on the masculine and, in the process, makes the feminine subordinate, which has had the unfortunate effect of supporting patriarchal theology and social relations for generations. The default, of course, has been to gender God as male — while limiting God’s earthly representatives to men — but the language used to talk about God varies from the masculine to the feminine and even plural/gender neutral, thus our theology of God, Truth, Nature, Ultimate Reality, etc., should reflect that.
For example, beyond being spoken of using masculine pronouns and as a father, God is also described as a woman in labor (Isaiah 42:14), a nursing mother (Isaiah 49:15), a comforting mother (Isaiah 66:13), a mother bear (Hosea 13:8), a mother bird sheltering her children (Ruth 2:12), etc., and in the story of creation creates humanity male and female in their (plural) image (Gen 1:26-27). The Hebrew words for the wisdom (chokmah) and spirit (ruach) of God are feminine nouns, while the Greek word for spirit (pneuma) is neutral. Jesus compares himself to a mother hen (Mt 23:37), and many early church leaders spoke of God and Jesus in more than masculine terms. An early liturgical work, Odes of Solomon, portrays God as the mother of believers (and all of humanity), nurturing them with "holy milk" (8:17). Clement of Alexandria writes of Jesus, "The Word [Christ] is all to the child, both father and mother and tutor and nurse" (The Instructor). John Chrysostom's Christ says, "Be thou in need of nothing, I will be even a servant, for I came to minister, not to be ministered unto; I am friend, and member, and head, and brother, and sister, and mother; I am all; only cling thou closely to me" (Homilies on Matthew, 76). Anselm, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Julian of Norwich, among others, also compare Jesus to a mother. God is essentially nonbinary or genderfluid.
All of this serves to highlight that the imagery and understanding of God historically transcends the simplistic and patriarchal presentation we're often presented with, illustrating that God both transcends gender while simultaneously encompassing all modes of gender. And our understanding should, as well. The trinity represents the relational and diverse nature of reality; and to more clearly perceive that reality, we must love and accept it in all its multiplicity because love is our first principle.
Franciscan friar Richard Rohr, who takes a more mystical approach to the subject, has often described the trinity as a circular dance and the deepest flow of life, noting that each 'person' of the trinity relates by "living in an eternal self-emptying (kenosis), which allows each of them to let go completely and give themselves to the other. They are simultaneously loving and totally loveable, one to another." And that love is the very nature and shape of divine being: "This deep flow is then the pattern of the whole universe, and any idea of God’s 'wrath' or of God withholding what is an infinitely outflowing love is theologically impossible. Love is the very pattern with which we start and the goal toward which we move. It gives energy to the entire universe, from orbiting protons and neutrons to the social and sexual life of species, to the planets and stars. We were indeed created in communion, by communion, and for communion (Genesis 1:26 calls it being 'created in the image and likeness of God')."
Love, then, is wrapped into the very fabric of creation. And perhaps even more controversially, and while probably not their intention, Deacon Matthew Newsome make a great case/argument that God is profoundly queer and polyamorous when he writes:
Being made in the image of God means that we are made to be in relationship. The fact that God has within Himself relationship, while being a mystery above our reason, nevertheless is compatible with reason. God, after all, is love (1 Jn 4:8). And love requires both a lover and a beloved. Love requires relationship. You and I must look outside of ourselves for this; but God, perfect in every way, has this within His very being. This is why instead of saying "God is loving," we say "God is love." God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit is both the Lover and Beloved and the Love between them. (The Trinity: Lover, Beloved, and the Love between them)
Just think about it for a moment. God is described as a trinity of three gender-fluid persons who, in their loving relationship and communion with each other, are one. Creation is nondual yet diverse. Creation is composed of relationships. Creation rests on love. And we mirror creation. As shocking as it may seem to some at first glance, God is clearly and profoundly queer and polyamorous—i.e., a template that holds within itself all other possible configurations of love, including that of our LGBTQIA+ siblings.
In the end, what I've come to believe — and what I think apparent in both scripture and tradition — is that the universe itself is alive with love, and any theology expressing its nature can't limit our understanding or our expression of love to fit inside of some restrictive and oppressive box without doing violence to nature itself.
Wednesday, March 29, 2023
a marxist god in the here and now
A fellow leftist Christian recently said, "I've long since made my bed alongside Dostoyevsky saying something to the effect, 'even if it were incontrovertibly proven to me that Jesus was not the Christ, still I would choose to believe in him.' Because for me faith in this arena is never based on the veracity of an historical theory but on a choice." But the same person also then asked, "What does it mean to believe in Christ while adhering to a materialist conception of history?" Indeed, how can one be both a Christian and a materialist at the same time? Do they just shrug and say, like Whitman, 'so I contradict myself! Contradiction is the bugaboo of mankind'? It's a question worth pondering, and it got me thinking about my own answer as both a Christian and someone who adheres to a materialist conception of history with leftist politics.
There's a line from Brian Sanderson's novel Oathbringer I rather like: "One can believe in a story without believing it happened." It's a powerful statement that holds a lot of truth. I can't count the number of stories I've read that have deeply affected me over the years despite being works of fiction or not historically accurate, many shaping the very person I am today because of how strongly I believed in them and their message. The story of Jesus is no different. While I believe much of the story of Jesus is true and/or represents truth, I'm also ok if it's not historical because of how it inspires me to think and act, along with the hope it instills and the support of his teachings designed to make us more loving to all of creation even if we're not always loved back by it in return. History or myth, fact or fiction, it has the same impact.
When I read the bible, what I see is the story of a people who, on the one hand, are struggling with the world they live in, full of greed, oppression, and violence, yet dreaming of a world that's filled with equality, abundance, and peace. It's a story of historical progress towards something better and the successes and failures that a particular people found worth remembering and sharing. And Jesus himself embodies the spirit of this dream. His name means "God liberates" or "God is liberation." His message was destined to be revolutionary, as Mary proclaims in Luke 1:52-53, "He pulls down the mighty from their thrones and raises up the humble. He fills the hungry with good things and he leaves the rich with nothing." His birth was announced to poor workers (shepherds), not the wealthy or kings. His life was spent trying to bring a new and more egalitarian world into being through acts like healing the sick, feeding the hungry, opposing economic exploitation, chastising the rich to distribute their wealth to those in need, and working to bring those on the margins back into the heart of the community. He opposed Roman imperialism, religious hypocrisy, persecution, and violence. He spoke of compassion, forgiveness, universal kinship, and loving our neighbours as ourselves, making concern for others the entry fee to the kingdom of heaven. And he did all of this because he was inspired by universal love and compassion for the human condition, choosing to be part of, and actively lead, a revolutionary Jewish movement of oppressed and economically-underprivileged classes against the layers of economic, political, and religious exploitation and domination imposed upon them by the ruling elites of the Roman empire.
It's a dream that I share, and just as this revolutionary spirit helped guide the Israelites out of bondage in Egypt, I believe it'll also help guide all of us out of the bondage of our current system that's idolized and globalized greed, oppression, and violence. And for me, Christ is a living symbol of that spirit—a spirit that's present throughout the course of human history.
That spirit is also present in many other places, like social and political movements and monasteries—the former reflecting the active aspects of revolution and the latter reflecting the contemplative aspects and desired outcomes of equality and community. I think Ernesto Cardenal touches upon these contradictions and their synthesis when he wrote In Cuba:
To me, God is love. God liberates. God is the spirit of revolution. And Christ loves. Christ is a liberator. Christ is a revolutionary. And as Marcus Borg wrote, Christ "revealed what can be seen of God in a human life" through his words and actions. God is among us when our hearts are full of this revolutionary spirit born out of love for the world. I consider myself Christian because I follow Christ's example—not the Christianity of imperialism, wealth, white supremacy, etc., but the revolutionary Christianity of Jesus and the liberation of the poor and oppressed.
All that said, God is also the ground of being and the laws of nature underlying the causal relationships present throughout the universe—i.e., mental and physical actions and results, causes and effects, etc. And historical materialism is simply the study of the material causes and conditions that shape human society and the ways we're encouraged (and forcefully prodded) to think and live, as well as who benefits from and suffers under those social relations. Here, Jesus is clearly on the side of making those social relations egalitarian and challenging the authority of exploitative classes, while his story emphasizes the ways in which God works with us and through us if we truly know and embody love.
There are undoubtedly mystical and supranatural elements to his story that point towards something that lies beyond our material world — to what we call God, transcendence, ultimate reality, the divine, the unconditioned, etc. — and our ability to achieve union with the divine, from his contemplative and intimate connection with God and frequent times of solitary prayer to the miracles he performed such as walking on water, healing the sick, multiplying food for the hungry, and raising the dead, including his own resurrection after being executed by the state in a method reserved for those who opposed the authority of Rome in some shape or form. His own resurrection story may have been literal or simply expressing the resurrection of what he lived and died for in the lives of those who carried on his message, but many seem to miss his mission here on earth and the way he represents God manifest in human form, acting within history. As David Inczauskis, SJ writes, "Many Christians, jumping straight to spiritual reality, transcendence, and the afterlife, forget that God reveals in matter, in this world, in history. They look to the sky for a God who came to earth." Whichever way we may choose to view the resurrection narrative, whether as history or myth, the story of Jesus is ultimately the story of a human being embodying the presence of the divine on earth who bridges the gap between the transcendent and the concrete by centering their spiritual message on how we treat one another (particularly the poor and marginalized), and hence the rift between humanity and itself created by our tendency to, in the words of Feuerbach, "suppose the essence of nature outside nature, the essence of humanity outside humanity, the essence of thought outside the act of thinking."
Jesus' life and teachings stress unequivocally that our beliefs and convictions in a 'heavenly kin-dom' should be reflected in our actions; and our actions shouldn't cause harm, but act as seeds for happiness and liberation. That to me is what matters most. Because whatever happens after this life is over, if we live righteously right here and now, then not only will this world be left a little better than we found it after we're gone, but we've also served to store up treasure in heaven.
There's a line from Brian Sanderson's novel Oathbringer I rather like: "One can believe in a story without believing it happened." It's a powerful statement that holds a lot of truth. I can't count the number of stories I've read that have deeply affected me over the years despite being works of fiction or not historically accurate, many shaping the very person I am today because of how strongly I believed in them and their message. The story of Jesus is no different. While I believe much of the story of Jesus is true and/or represents truth, I'm also ok if it's not historical because of how it inspires me to think and act, along with the hope it instills and the support of his teachings designed to make us more loving to all of creation even if we're not always loved back by it in return. History or myth, fact or fiction, it has the same impact.
When I read the bible, what I see is the story of a people who, on the one hand, are struggling with the world they live in, full of greed, oppression, and violence, yet dreaming of a world that's filled with equality, abundance, and peace. It's a story of historical progress towards something better and the successes and failures that a particular people found worth remembering and sharing. And Jesus himself embodies the spirit of this dream. His name means "God liberates" or "God is liberation." His message was destined to be revolutionary, as Mary proclaims in Luke 1:52-53, "He pulls down the mighty from their thrones and raises up the humble. He fills the hungry with good things and he leaves the rich with nothing." His birth was announced to poor workers (shepherds), not the wealthy or kings. His life was spent trying to bring a new and more egalitarian world into being through acts like healing the sick, feeding the hungry, opposing economic exploitation, chastising the rich to distribute their wealth to those in need, and working to bring those on the margins back into the heart of the community. He opposed Roman imperialism, religious hypocrisy, persecution, and violence. He spoke of compassion, forgiveness, universal kinship, and loving our neighbours as ourselves, making concern for others the entry fee to the kingdom of heaven. And he did all of this because he was inspired by universal love and compassion for the human condition, choosing to be part of, and actively lead, a revolutionary Jewish movement of oppressed and economically-underprivileged classes against the layers of economic, political, and religious exploitation and domination imposed upon them by the ruling elites of the Roman empire.
It's a dream that I share, and just as this revolutionary spirit helped guide the Israelites out of bondage in Egypt, I believe it'll also help guide all of us out of the bondage of our current system that's idolized and globalized greed, oppression, and violence. And for me, Christ is a living symbol of that spirit—a spirit that's present throughout the course of human history.
That spirit is also present in many other places, like social and political movements and monasteries—the former reflecting the active aspects of revolution and the latter reflecting the contemplative aspects and desired outcomes of equality and community. I think Ernesto Cardenal touches upon these contradictions and their synthesis when he wrote In Cuba:
At breakfast some Marxists asked me about our community at Solentiname. I explained that we try to lead a life in common, with no "thine" or "mine," a life of voluntary poverty—free from the desire for money and from the demands of a society of consumption. We live in brotherly union, all working for the community. We are all equal. And then I stopped. I understood that what may seem very novel in the capitalistic world is a daily reality in Cuba. (I couldn't talk to them about prayer because it would be misinterpreted, and I wouldn't know how to explain mystic union to people who don't believe in God.) I was afraid that they were going to ask me what need there is for such communities in a socialist society. At that moment I would not have known what to say.
I kept thinking of the question that the young Marxists might have asked me. It seems to me that in a perfect socialist society it would not be necessary to "flee from the world" in order to live the Gospel. In any case, the material life of those communities would be the same as that of all the others. And I remembered what St. John Chrysostom said (in a letter to a rich man): "If cities were Christian, monasteries would be unnecessary."
To me, God is love. God liberates. God is the spirit of revolution. And Christ loves. Christ is a liberator. Christ is a revolutionary. And as Marcus Borg wrote, Christ "revealed what can be seen of God in a human life" through his words and actions. God is among us when our hearts are full of this revolutionary spirit born out of love for the world. I consider myself Christian because I follow Christ's example—not the Christianity of imperialism, wealth, white supremacy, etc., but the revolutionary Christianity of Jesus and the liberation of the poor and oppressed.
All that said, God is also the ground of being and the laws of nature underlying the causal relationships present throughout the universe—i.e., mental and physical actions and results, causes and effects, etc. And historical materialism is simply the study of the material causes and conditions that shape human society and the ways we're encouraged (and forcefully prodded) to think and live, as well as who benefits from and suffers under those social relations. Here, Jesus is clearly on the side of making those social relations egalitarian and challenging the authority of exploitative classes, while his story emphasizes the ways in which God works with us and through us if we truly know and embody love.
There are undoubtedly mystical and supranatural elements to his story that point towards something that lies beyond our material world — to what we call God, transcendence, ultimate reality, the divine, the unconditioned, etc. — and our ability to achieve union with the divine, from his contemplative and intimate connection with God and frequent times of solitary prayer to the miracles he performed such as walking on water, healing the sick, multiplying food for the hungry, and raising the dead, including his own resurrection after being executed by the state in a method reserved for those who opposed the authority of Rome in some shape or form. His own resurrection story may have been literal or simply expressing the resurrection of what he lived and died for in the lives of those who carried on his message, but many seem to miss his mission here on earth and the way he represents God manifest in human form, acting within history. As David Inczauskis, SJ writes, "Many Christians, jumping straight to spiritual reality, transcendence, and the afterlife, forget that God reveals in matter, in this world, in history. They look to the sky for a God who came to earth." Whichever way we may choose to view the resurrection narrative, whether as history or myth, the story of Jesus is ultimately the story of a human being embodying the presence of the divine on earth who bridges the gap between the transcendent and the concrete by centering their spiritual message on how we treat one another (particularly the poor and marginalized), and hence the rift between humanity and itself created by our tendency to, in the words of Feuerbach, "suppose the essence of nature outside nature, the essence of humanity outside humanity, the essence of thought outside the act of thinking."
Jesus' life and teachings stress unequivocally that our beliefs and convictions in a 'heavenly kin-dom' should be reflected in our actions; and our actions shouldn't cause harm, but act as seeds for happiness and liberation. That to me is what matters most. Because whatever happens after this life is over, if we live righteously right here and now, then not only will this world be left a little better than we found it after we're gone, but we've also served to store up treasure in heaven.
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