As a self-designated “faithful heretic,” amid my ongoing conflicts, I can continue attending church though so often I end up in battle with the saints and the angels because there are important areas of agreement. In my sermon notes there are frequently panicked comments about a sermon on judgement or Jesus’ exclusive divinity that morph into a kind of surrender when it comes down (as it did in fact today) to the “believer’s” accepting his or her inadequacy and surrendering to God’s author-ity.
I began today before church with some reading in Andrew Harvey’s Son of Man—which attempts to rescue Christ from the death-grip of Jesus-ism. A contemporary heretic of the best (or worst) kind, Harvey declares that Jesus never claimed divinity and that he aimed not to establish but to overthrow all religions. At the same time, Harvey celebrates the unconditional universal love of creator / creation for—itself / itselves, declaring that true Christianity—in the mystical tradition of William Blake and Julian of Norwich—begins with an acknowledgment of the soul’s essential oneness with God.
I felt a little guilty walking into church with this sacrilege ringing in my heart and prepared myself to consume second Corinthians so I could ignore the preaching I knew would focus on Jesus as singular savior and necessarily crucified, etc, etc, etc. I wasn’t completely wrong. the preacher did indeed echo a line I’ve heard before when I questioned whether Jesus is the only path: “Why did he have to die” if not to save us (me, you, everyone) from sin? That is, if other paths will work, why is this one there at all (I guess that’s a standard argument against any new plan: but the old one works fine. But this one seeks to be axiomatic.)
My answer is generally, maybe he didn’t “have to”—not in the sense of the choreographed (a.k.a. “purpose driven”) creation, which so distresses me with its lack of free will and surprise. Maybe he was led to because he had reached a point where self-sacrifice allowed him to accomplish two great things: first, to free himself for true union with the greater self—the Christ-soul, the Atman; and second to demonstrate that radical surrender to his followers.
But in spite of that (endlessly repeated) argument, I found myself completely at peace with several points Alex made and feeling that we’re headed to the same place even though his (and my fellow churchgoers’) path repudiates all other paths as leading to it. Here’s what I found I agreed with.
One, he said that the nakedness of Adam and Eve was not (or not exclusively) a lack of clothing but a complete openness between them and the creator: a mutual consciousness, if you will, a shared psyche. Humanity’s “natural” state is communion with the divine.
He also said that our own (rational) efforts to unite with God are fraught with failure and, ultimately, doomed. We must surrender and let the power of God / the universe wash through us. That power and awareness, which I (and maybe both of us) call Christ, leads us (as the Psalm says) beside still waters and restores our souls. As lilies of the field, we simply awaken to the eternal presence of divinity with and within us and, letting go of our petty claims to knowledge, wisdom and control, are led toward the essence of ourselves—or rediscover it. That enduring essence, bound up as it is with things eternal, outlasts this existence and buffers us against the trials we face—though it does not relieve us of the duty to address those trials when they cause other creatures / beings to suffer. (This remains, I believe, Christianity’s great contribution to sacred tradition: that relieving suffering of fellow beings and, generally, action in the world are part and parcel of the redeemed, enlightened, saved spirit. That willingness to sacrifice for the good of the whole is both a catalyst to and a fruit of spiritual maturity. Unless you’re doing some of that you’re probably not far enough beyond your own ego.)
We can surrender to and become like “God” because we are, first and foremost, “children” of “God.” This means we are by definition lovable—because (in the most central tenet—I think—of any Christian theology) God is love and loves unstintingly. Harvey extends this to plants, rocks, giraffes and fireflies. My church friends probably stop with people, but the essential message, which is naturally for people, remains the same. As offspring of the heavenly (chips off the old block), we can become like God, like Christ. We are of the same nature and stock, “heirs” as Paul says.
Thus redeemed by surrender to Christ (not by Jesus per se) we take up our staffs (and crosses) and follow because the journey leads to reunion—with the family, with the originator, with what we always were.
Sin is separation and blindness. We are separate from God not because we do what is wrong but because we cannot do what is right outside of recognizing that our actions and behaviors originate in God and are redeemed by definition if we simply acknowledge that. Like the prodigal son, just by coming home we receive blessing. It’s the relationship—the identification, even the identity—that matters not what we do.
Except that, once returned to that “nakedness” we must redeem the world. For God’s love mandates that. Other laws, divine or otherwise, are stand-ins for the law of love. As Jesus said, “Love God” and “love your neighbor” “on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” That’s all it’s about: Love.
And on that, my church friends and I most emphatically agree.
