Advent 1

I spent Thanksgiving with my parents. At dinner time, we did our "five kernels of corn" tradition to express thanks for our blessings, and my father said he was thankful that all of his sons have been able to start families of their own, with companions who support them.

We spent Friday setting up my parents' Christmas tree and my mother's many nativity scenes.

On Friday night, the last night of my visit, I lay alone in the darkened living room beneath the Christmas tree, looking up through the branches at the lights, like I used to love to do as a child. While I lay there, I prayed for my mother, who's sick. There's more to say about that experience sometime, but not now, at least not in this forum.

This evening I was cantor at an Advent service. During communion, I was leading the congregation in a Taize song (a contemplative, repetitive style of liturgical music). The text was "Wait for the Lord, whose day is near. / Wait for the Lord; keep watch, take heart," and several repetitions in, the singing triggered something limbic in me, and I broke into sobs and couldn't come back in until communion was finishing and the song was winding down.

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Jesus Christ—

you are the light that shines in darkness
you are the love that warms cold hearts
you are the peace that reconciles

you are the truth that shines through falsehood
you are the holiness that shines through sanctimony
you are the passion that shines through schmalz
you are the devotion that shines through orthodoxy

you are the promise beyond disaster
you are the kingdom beyond the present regime
you are the home beyond exile
you are the embrace beyond loneliness

you are rest beyond exhaustion
you are relief beyond pain
you are life beyond death

come, Lord Jesus

D&C R145-R153

(About this reflection)

Well, just in time for Advent, which starts next Sunday, I finished my plan for an ecumenical D&C study this week by reading sections R145-R153, which form the distinctive canon of the Remnant Church, a 10-year-old organization formed by disaffected conservatives from the Community of Christ. They pick up the numbering of the D&C after 144, the last revelation of Israel A. Smith, since they consider W. Wallace Smith to be the leader who set the church down the road to apostasy. Their revelations have all been produced since 2002 by Fred Larsen, who is president of the Remnant Church by virtue of his being a lineal descendent of Joseph Smith, Jr. (I met Larsen briefly at Restoration Studies in Independence this last year.)

The revelations have an eschatological/millennial bent: these are the last days, the foretold calamities are coming, Zion as the central gathering place must be built up. I don't want to exaggerate that aspect of the revelations, though. This isn't the kind of wild-eyed apocalypticism you encounter in the rural West, i.e., let's head out to a cabin in the wilderness with our guns so we'll escape the nuclear fallout or the long arm of the United Nations. These people, rather, are living in the middle of Independence, Missouri, evidently trying to build some kind of planned community in accordance with the law of consecration, if I'm understanding the revelations correctly. I was struck, though, by a certain tendency to invoke the opposition between Zion and Babylon, reminiscent of 19th-century LDS rhetoric.

As long as I'm talking about rhetoric and imagery, I also noticed that these documents seem partial to the metaphor of Christ as Bridegroom and the Church as Bride. The sexism of that metaphor stands out inescapably in light of the fact that this is a community that rejects ordination of women.

On a more positive note, though, I was struck by the emphasis these revelations placed on the idea that Zion must be built so that Christ can return. "I, the Lord, await the coming forth of my Zion . . ." (R150:8b). "There is a marriage supper waiting. The bridegroom is ready, but the bride is not prepared" (R151:4a). "The time to prepare for my Zion is now, and I desire to come quickly" (R152:7b). In this same strain, the revelations emphasize the need for the Saints to respond so that God's purposes can be accomplished: "The Kingdom of God awaits your response" (R145:7b). "My endowing power awaits your response" (R148:5c). That emphasis accords with (or at least runs parallel to) my personal understanding of Mormon millenarianism, which I read in postmillennial rather than premillennial terms—i.e., it's incumbent on us to bring about the millennial world; Jesus isn't going to come swooping down at the end of time as a literal deus ex machina to do it for us.

A couple other elements of these revelations which resonated with my spirit: First, we get the image of Zion "unfolding" (R147:6b; R148:4b) like "a blossoming flower" (R150:8b). Of course, this is just a reiteration of JS Jr.'s language (in turn borrowed from Isaiah) about "blossoming like a rose." But something about the way the image was used in these documents was particularly vivid to me and gave me a novel image for the coming forth of Zion. Perhaps because I'm accustomed to hearing the "blossom as a rose" language used in connection with Lamanites rather than with Zion. Anyway, I was also struck by what a surprisingly gentle, "feminine" image it was—by contrast, for instance, with the image of the rolling stone from Daniel 2, which shows up here as well (R146:6b).

Second, I was impressed that in his introductions to the revelations, Larsen refers on a couple of occasions to his process including the seeking of confirmation for the revelations. In the intro to R147, for example, he writes that he received the revelation "in response to what I perceived as divine guidance in the early morning hours of September 1, 2003"—kudos for acknowledging the subjective nature of revelation—"and additionally confirmed in direct petition to our heavenly Father on September 19, 2003." A reference to seeking confirmation for a revelation appears as well in the intro to R151. Obviously I think there's more material in these documents that reflects the false traditions of the fathers than Larsen would recognize as such; but I commend the recognition of the possibility of error implicit in the process of seeking confirmation, as well as in the use of expressions like "what I perceived as divine guidance." That seems to me a healthy approach to seeking revelation.

D&C 163

No post last week because I was in Montreal, at the annual meeting of the American Academy of Religion. While I was there, I crossed paths with a friend I know from Mormon history conferences. He's in the Community of Christ, and on Sunday I accompanied him to the worship service of a Community of Christ congregation of Creole-speaking Haitian immigrants. The service was very evangelical in tone, by which I mean there was loud praise music, with guitars and drums and people raising their hands, for about an hour, followed by a very long, very emphatic sermon. A small congregation—maybe 50 people, a lot of whom were children—though apparently that's pretty vigorous for a Community of Christ congregation. We ate lunch afterward with the pastor, whose day job (or "night job," more precisely) is working security at the airport.

I'm not sure what to say about the experience. From an academic point of view, I found it a fascinating "field visit." At a more spiritual level, I'm grateful for the congregation's hospitality in allowing me to visit them. It made me want to go back to Haiti that much more. I'm not sure it helped me decide whether or not to make the trek back to Jackson County, if you know what I mean, which was part of my reason for going.

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As I've been promising for a few weeks now, here's my reflection on D&C 163, the most recent addition to the Community of Christ's canon. I don't feel moved to add commentary of my own, just reproduce some of the passages where I can testify that I hear the Spirit speaking.

The hope of Zion is realized when the vision of Christ is embodied in communities of generosity, justice, and peacefulness. (163:3a)

Prepare new generations of disciplines to bring fresh vision to bear on the perplexing problems of poverty, disease, war, and environmental deterioration. (163:4c)

Scripture has been written and shaped by human authors through experiences of revelation and ongoing inspiration of the Holy Spirit in the midst of time and culture . . .

It is not pleasing to God when any passage of scripture is used to diminish or oppress races, genders, or classes of human beings . . .

God's nature, as revealed in Jesus Christ and affirmed by the Holy Spirit, provides the ultimate standard by which any portion of scripture should be interpreted and applied. (163:7a-c)

That which seeks to harden one human heart against another by constructing walls of fear and prejudice is not of God. (163:3c)

The Temple calls the entire church to become a sanctuary of Christ's peace, where people from all nations, ethnicities, and life circumstances can be gathered into a spiritual home without dividing walls. (163:8c)

God is calling for a prophetic community to emerge, drawn from the nations of the world, that is characterized by uncommon devotion to the compassion and peace of God revealed in Jesus Christ. (163:11a)

Above all else, strive to be faithful to Christ's vision of the peaceable Kingdom of God on earth. Courageously challenge cultural, political, and religious trends that are contrary to the reconciling and restoring purposes of God. Pursue peace. (163:3b).

All Saints Day

Later this afternoon I'll be offering the Old Testament reading during an All Saints service at the Episcopal church where Hugo and I worship. The assigned passage is Isaiah 25:6-9, and when I looked it up, I got a little misty when I realized that the first verse in that passage is echoed in one of my favorite passages from Restoration scripture:

For this cause I have sent you—
that you might lay the foundation of the Zion of God;
that a feast of fat things might be prepared for the poor—
a feast of fat things, of wine on the lees well refined—
that the earth may know that the mouths of the prophets will not fail;
a supper of the house of the Lord, well prepared,
to which all nations will be invited—
first the rich and the learned, the wise and the noble.
And after that comes the day of my power;
then shall the poor, the lame, the blind, and the deaf,
come in to the marriage of the Lamb
and partake of the supper of the Lord,
prepared for the great day to come.
Behold, I, the Lord, have spoken it.
(D&C 58:6-12)

On that theme, I was offered the chance this week to go back to Haiti with a group during the coming spring. I don't know yet if the schedule will be feasible. God, I hope so. I'm already thinking about what I could do this time around to better connect with people.

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It's been an insanely busy month for me, finishing up conference papers and writing applications for jobs and fellowships. It's stressful, worrying about whether I'll have a full-time academic position of some kind next year, or whether I'll be scrounging for work. On Friday night, after I'd emailed off one last document, I finally had some breathing room, so Hugo and I drove up with the dog to spend a couple nights at a little lakeside cabin owned by some very generous friends.

On Saturday afternoon, we drove to a city across the Virginia border where there's a thrift store we like to visit to find old books. I found this incredibly funky "street-hip" paraphrase of the Bible that for three dollars I had to own, and then there were a few other books I was tempted by, but they didn't have prices clearly marked. So I was hovering by the counter waiting to inquire with the cashier, a thirty- or forty-something man I'd not seen there before. He was talking with two other men, apparently about either the Iraq or Afghanistan war, and complaining about how in the liberal media all you ever hear about is how many of their little kids got killed, and frankly he doesn't give a damn because this is war, and we ought to just drop the bomb on them, and the three of them agreed that there are no true conservatives anymore...

This rage came over me, and I turned and reshelved the books I'd been going to inquire about. I wanted to just walk out altogether—except I really wanted that funky Bible, so I walked up to the counter and paid for it. The cashier was polite, and I was polite, even though I was thinking I ought to say something, but I didn't, I just grabbed Hugo and got the hell out of there. In the car, I fumed to Hugo about what had happened. "You should write them a letter," Hugo suggested. And I thought: Sure, I guess, but isn't that the coward's way out, since I didn't have the guts to say something in person?

I feel like I used to back on my mission, when I'd feel this impulse to talk to someone, but then I wouldn't, and then I'd keep thinking back on it guiltily, with "Open your mouth, and it shall be filled" running through my head.

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Speaking of opening your mouth and having it filled: On Friday morning, sometime between 4:30 and 5:30 a.m., I was jolted awake by men shouting on the floor below and banging on someone's door. I looked at the window, but didn't see cop cars (no flashing lights), so I listened from behind our front door to figure out if the disturbance was still going on, and whether we ought to call the cops. And then somehow—I was sleepy, so my memory of all this is fuzzy—it dawned on me that there were cop cars outside: three of them, plus a white van, but all unmarked. What was going on downstairs was a raid, with men in bulletproof vests and big rifles and a dog barking in one of the cars.

Hugo and I knew immediately who they must be coming for: the young guy living with the Mexican family downstairs who smokes pot in the stairway practically every morning. Always very polite; asked Hugo for help jumpstarting his car one morning. We'd often see him out behind the apartment building, watching the kids of the family he lives with—his sobrinos or primos, I assume. He was clearly unemployed, and we guessed he might be a dealer.

Still, the raid came as a shock, and as much as I appreciate the law's interest in helping clean up crime in our neighborhood, I also feel kind of... I dunno... creeped out by it. How long has our building been under observation—which in a way means, how long have I been under observation—without my knowing it? It feels very Foucault, very "panopticon power of the state"-ish. And I feel badly that men with guns were shouting and breaking down the doors of an apartment where children live. At one point, as I was listening from behind our door, I heard one of the cops say something about how the hallways are clear, they're all in the front room, and I immediately had this image of the poor mother and her sobbing children huddled in the living room while the cops tromp around.

I have this impulse to go down and make some kind of effort to reach out to the family (that's the connection to "Open your mouth, and it shall be filled"), but I have no idea what to say or do.

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I read D&C 163 this week, the latest addition to the Community of Christ canon. Lots of highlighting, lots to talk about, potentially, but I don't really feel that words are being given to me yet, so I'll wait until next week.

D&C 162

(About this reflection)

Another Grant McMurray revelation—the last in the canon.

I see an unresolved tension at work in this revelation. That statement might not surprise McMurray, who says in the introduction that "even as I present [these words] to the church, I do so sensing that there is more to be said." He invites the church "to join in the task of discerning God's will for us. I am not yet sure what form that will take . . ." So in that spirit, let me offer my own sense of what more there is to say by way of advancing the project to which this revelation calls the "people of the Restoration" (162:1a).

The basic tension I see in this text is that it calls the Saints to pay closer attention to their past, but the text itself doesn't actually engage closely with that past and therefore isn't very helpful as a model for what it seems to be calling the Saints to undertake. The text as it's presented to the church is still overly preoccupied with breaking away from the old forms and the old language—even as it urges the Saints to be cautious of that very impulse.

Ick. That sounds so academic. But I'm trying to articulate something that I think is vitally and practically important for how Latter Day Saints live out the tradition God has given us.

Here's where the text urges the Saints to listen more closely to tradition, or to the past:

Listen carefully to your own journey as a people, for it is a sacred journey and it has taught you many things you must know for the journey to come. Listen to its teachings and discover anew its principles. (162:2a-b)

You have already been told to look to the sacraments to enrich the spiritual life of the body. . . . Be respectful of tradition and sensitive to one another . . . . (162:2d)

You are a good and faithful people, but sometimes you fail to see the power that is resident in your own story and fellowship. Listen carefully, listen attentively, and sense the Spirit among you. (162:8a)

In between that, though—and here's where you see the tension—the text keeps pulliing in the opposite direction, insisting on the value of novelty:

Do not yearn for times that are past . . . [D]iscern the divine will for your own time and the places where you serve. You live in a world with new challenges, and that world will require new forms of ministry. (162:2b-c)

You have already been told to look to the sacraments to enrich the spiritual life of the body. It is not the form of the sacrament that dispenses grace but it is the divine presence that gives life. Be respectful of tradition and sensitive to one another, but do not be unduly bound by interpretations and procedures that no longer fit the needs of a worldwide church. (162:2d)

The spirit of the Restoration is not locked into one moment of time, but is instead the call to every generation to witness to essential truths in its own language and form. Let the Spirit breathe. (162:2e)

The richness of cultures, the poetry of language, and the breadth of human experience permit the gospel to be seen with new eyes and grasped with freshness of spirit. (162:4a)

To which I say, Amen—with reservations. Do new times require new forms of ministry? Of course. Should the Saints not be unduly invested in the precise forms of their sacraments? I agree. Should we allow the gospel to be seen with new eyes? Emphatically! "Let the Spirit breathe"? Fantastically put!

But . . . I think this text makes an assertion that ends up giving too much force to the impulse for novelty. Look again at verse 2e: "The spirit of the Restoration is not locked in one moment of time . . ." Sure, yes. Important to say. ". . . [B]ut is instead the call to every generation to witness to essential truths in its own language and form." Well . . . no. The Restoration is more concrete than that. The Restoration is not a call to express essential truths in whatever language you find available in your time and place. First of all, the whole notion that truths exist independent of language and can be expressed in multiple languages is really problematic. It's a common metaphor for thinking about how language and truth work—I have a hunch I've probably used that metaphor at various times in this blog—but it's misleading. Anyway, even if we agree to run with that metaphor, the Restoration isn't just a call to invest truth in many languages. The Restoration is itself a particular language. It has a particular vocabulary, a particular grammar. The language can certainly change over time, as languages do: certain terms or symbols can become archaic or obsolete; new ones can be invented or imported from other languages; the "grammatical rules" can change to make formerly unorthodox expressions permissible. But there can come a point at which a language has changed so much that what you've really done is created a new language.

It looks to me like that's the direction D&C 162 is moving in, despite its concern that the Saints engage more closely with tradition. The text doesn't use much of the traditional language of the Latter Day Saints. There are references to "the peaceable kingdom," to "Zion," a reference to "the great and marvelous work." "The Spirit of truth." Jesus Christ is named a couple of times, though he's also referred to in more abstract terms as "the One"—"the One whose name you claim" (162:1b), "the One you follow" (162:6c). The primary symbol for God in this revelation, other than "the Spirit," is a Voice, "the Voice that speaks from beyond the farthest hills, from the infinite heavens above, and the vast seas below," "the Voice that echoes across the eons of time and yet speaks anew in this moment" (162:1a-b). There's discussion of the principles of "stewardship" and of "the inestimable worth of all person," which I assume is meant to be recognized as a paraphrase of "the worth of souls is great in the sight of God."

My point is: yes, you can find in this text certain traditional Latter Day Saint terms and concepts. But the dominant impression I get from the document is that of novelty—a new language for God, a distinctively modern idiom. There's nothing wrong with any of that per se. I'm not some conservative railing against liberal innovation. I certainly don't think McMurray should be trying to imitate King James English. And I think the images we're given of "the Voice" are very cool. Even so, I feel . . . impoverished. I love D&C 162; I feel the Spirit speaking to me through this text; there's highlighting all over my copy. But I find it odd and disappointing that a document which gently chastises the Saints for "fail[ing] to see the power that is resident in your own story" and urges them to "listen carefully to your own journey" doesn't attempt to speak more extensively in the traditional language of the Saints, the language of the canon. How can we listen to the tradition if its language isn't being spoken? Couldn't turns of phrase from elsewhere in the canon been more richly woven into this document, thus multiplying the visible connections between this revelation's teaching and the teachings of revelations past?

Milking my language metaphor for all its worth: D&C 162 reads to me less like it was written in the language of the Latter Day Saints than like it was written in a Latter Day Saint/liberal Protestant creole. Not that there's anything wrong with creoles, I hasten to add. But is that really where God wants us to go? The impression I'm getting from D&C 162 is that the Spirit wants to urge the Saints not to take that route, but the man through whom that revelation comes is not well-versed in the language of the tradition himself, because he's received his professional training at institutions where other languages are spoken. He himself isn't listening to the Latter Day Saint tradition and its distinctive scriptures as much as he's listening to the theological conversations of other communities and learning to speak their languages.

That's judgmental of me to say, of course. I'm going to let it stand because I'm prepared to be judged by the same standard. There are those in the LDS community who would fault me for exactly the same thing for which I'm faulting Grant McMurray and other Community of Christ liberals: too much love of novelty, too little respect for tradition. As McMurray says, it's a matter of trying to discern where God wants us to go.

D&C 161

(About this reflection)

This is one of two revelations produced by Grant McMurray, the first president of the Reorganization who was not a descendent of Joseph Smith. I appreciate the modesty with which the document was presented to the Saints: it was written and presented to the church in 1996, but McMurray waits four years before initiating the process that led to the document's canonization because, he said, "I felt it was important that the church live with the words and not feel compelled to make any urgent decisions about them." That principle rings true—that the canon should be composed of texts which have proved their value to the faith community over time.

I was going to excerpt passages that spoke especially powerfully to me; but when I sat down to start doing that, I realized that I'd end up copying down probably most of the text, so I think it makes more sense to just provide a summary of what, for me, are the highlights.

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The document opens with a call to fix our eyes "on the place beyond the horizon to which you are sent." We are assured that "the great and marvelous work is for this time and for all time." We are exhorted to "be faithful to the spirit of the Restoration," which is said to be "a spirit of adventure, openness, and searching."

We are called to "become a people of the Temple--those who see violence but proclaim peace, who feel conflict yet extend the hand of reconciliation, who encounter broken spirits and find pathways for healing." The Temple should "stand as a towering symbol of a people who knew injustice and strife on the frontier and who now seek the peace of Jesus Christ throughout the world."

A major focus of the revelation is the "arduous" and "even painful" task of "creating sacred community." We are asked to "open your hearts and feel the yearnings of your brothers and sisters who are lonely, despised, fearful, neglected, unloved." We should "invite all to share in the blessings of community created in the name of the One who suffered on behalf of all." We are cautioned not to "be fearful of one another" but to "respect each life journey, even in its brokenness and uncertainty. . . . Be ready to listen and slow to criticize." Later, in the same vein: "Be tender and caring." "The gifts of all are necessary in order that divine purposes may be accomplished."

I know those instructions are true. Oh hell, let's use the word I usually avoid because I hate its authoritarian connotations: I know those commandments are true. And there's nothing self-congratulatory about my saying that, because they are commandments that chastise me.

We are told to "be respectful of tradition" because "the story of scripture and of faith empowers and illuminates." At the same time, we should not be "captive to time-bound formulas and procedures."

The revelation calls the Saints to "create diverse communities of disciples and seekers." Our call is to "become a global family, united in the name of the Christ, committed in love to one another, seeking the kingdom for which you yearn and to which you have been summoned. That kingdom is a peaceable one and it shall be known as Zion."

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My impulse at the moment is to feel angry and depressed: Why can't LDS leadership hear the Voice that speaks in this language? But I'm going to check that impulse. For one thing, it's not entirely fair: I could find these principles in LDS discourse, though they may not be expressed so powerfully and are buried beneath a lot of authoritarian, dogmatic, diversity-fearing sediment. The other reason to check this impulse is that what LDS leadership, or the LDS community more generally, does or does not do is beside the point as far as my obligations are concerned. D&C 161 articulates the gospel call in a way that commands my assent, and my task now is to live up to its principles in the context in which I find myself.

D&C 153-160

(About this reflection)

I read this week the revelations of Wallace B. Smith, great-grandson of Joseph Smith, Jr., and the last Smith descendent to lead the Reorganization. For my post this week, I simply want to excerpt passages where I felt the Spirit speaking to me.

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Be of good cheer, O my people.
Neither be discouraged by uncertainties
nor disheartened by the seeming lack of understanding on the part of some
regarding the kingdom-building task.
If you will move out in faith and confidence
to proclaim my gospel,
my Spirit will empower you,
and there will be many who respond,
even in places and ways which do not now seem clear.
Support one another in love,
confident that my Spirit will be with you
even as I have gone before you and shown you the way.
(D&C 154:7)

Trust in my promises,
for they have been given for your assurance
and will bear you up in times of doubt. . . .
I am aware of your uncertainties,
but if you will call upon my name,
my Spirit will go before you into whatsoever place you are sent,
and I will continue to bless you as you have need.
(D&C 156:7-8)

The temple shall be dedicated to the pursuit of peace.
It shall be for reconciliation and for healing of the spirit. . . .
It shall be a place in which the essential meaning of the Restoration
as healing and redeeming agent
is given new life and understanding,
inspired by the life and witness of the Redeemer of the world . . . ,
an ensign to the world
of the breadth and depth of the devotion of the Saints.
(D&C 156:5-6)

As you go forth to witness of my love
and my concern for all persons,
you will know the joy which comes
from devoting yourselves completely
to the work of the kingdom.
(D&C 156:11)

I have heard your prayers when you have cried out to me,
and I have been with you in the places where you occupy.
I am aware of your desires to serve me,
and my assurance is that as you go forth,
your offerings of faith and service are acceptable to me.
In all your efforts, therefore,
continue to trust in my grace
and respond in love to the leadings of my Spirit.
(D&C 157:16-17)

Do nothing in haste,
but continue to trust in the enduring promises
of the One in whose name you have been given life.
Then, as you gain ever more confidence
in sensing the leadings of my Spirit,
you will begin to see with new eyes,
embrace the truths that are waiting for your understanding,
and move joyfully toward the fulfillment of the tasks
that are yours to accomplish.
(D&C 159:7-8)