I love a good student newspaper. I don’t think there’s a whole lot of ‘em out there, but the Cord at Laurier is a great one. They’ve  a great vision for what a student newspaper can be, and the quality of the writing is often quite high.

They’ve generously granted me column space this year – I get to write about religious and spiritual matters on a monthly basis. Writing about Christianity in a very basic way has been fun and refreshing; it’s a challenge to get solid and distinct Christian ideas across in a jargon-free way, without resorting to cliches and platitudes. It’s also great to be able to write in a distinctively Christian way, which happens contrary to the expectations of a lot of people on campus. In my brief time here, I’ve noticed that many people think of the chaplain as a “generic holyman,” who exists to promote and articulate all faiths. I’m not sure why that’s the assumption — maybe it has to do with that subtly hegemonic way in which secularism tries to boil distinctions down into a universally palatable mush. Regardless, I’ve made it clear that I’m going to write from a Christian perspective, because I am Christian. Identity politics are huge on campus, and because of that, I think people are starting to understand that it’s ok for religious people to speak out of their particularity, too.

Wednesday’s issue of the Cord has a religious focus, and there are a few students from various faith backgrounds writing on why they are members of their respective faiths. The editor asked me to write the Christian version of the article. “Why I’m a Christian,” in 700 words – now there’s a challenge. I’m not sure I answered that question, but here’s what I wrote:

Christianity: It’s All In the Imagination
Brian Bork – Laurier Chaplain

I remember in the wake of Bill Maher’s film “Religulous,” a few non-Christian colleagues said something of this sort to me: “I don’t like how Maher picks on religious people. If religious people get some sort of comfort from their beliefs, then they should be left alone.” Part of me wanted to say “thanks for the support,” but mostly it chafed a little to hear sentiments like this. I think they implicitly suggested that faith is just a sort of magical thinking, an artifact of a timid imagination, dreamt up by people who just can’t handle the grim thought of someday being dead and buried.
As far as I can tell, my faith isn’t a fantasy conjured by my imagination to give me comfort in an indifferent universe. I like to think I can share Marilynne Robinson’s sentiment when she writes “I felt God as a presence before I had a name for him, and long before I knew words like ‘faith’ or ‘belief.’” My sense of God’s reality has been abiding and genuine, even amid seasons of doubt. I understand that this all may sound like runaway intuition, but I’ve come to trust myself in this matter, and through my life, it’s grown more and more familiar and sturdy, even though as an object, God remains ultimately mysterious.
God is much more than a figment of the imagination, yet I’d say that Christianity is all about the imagination, just not in the make-believe sense of that word. Christianity requires an imaginative vision of reality – it requires a way of seeing, of perceiving the true nature of the existential backdrop of our lives. Christianity isn’t unique in this regard, because all of us, in one way or another, make assumptions about the underlying structure of reality.  But it’s the character of the Christian imaginative vision that makes it stick out in a culture where individualism, consumerism, and scientific fundamentalism are assumed to constitute reality. In a self-centred age, Christianity stands out sharply in declaring that the truth of the human condition is found not in the accumulation of wealth and prestige, but in the body of a tortured and crucified political dissident. Against the idols of rationality and the intellect (which have a natural home the university), it claims that God uses the foolish to shame the wise. In a culture where a popular career aspiration is to be “rich and famous,” it claims that it is the meek who will inherit the earth, that it is the poor who are blessed, and that the rich will be turned away empty-handed. In an age that prizes personal autonomy and individual liberty, it declares that true freedom is found in dependence on God and neighbour.
These things culminate in the most imaginative portion of the Christian vision, which is resurrection. Christians see the world through the lens of resurrection, which means that not only do they believe that Jesus Christ was once dead, and now lives, but that this resurrection is a sign post of a new age. It’s resurrection that has ushered in the real new world order, where life, abundance, and flourishing is what is hoped for, though at times unseen. That means that even though the world seems fraught with death, division, hatred, inequality and discord, that this isn’t the truth of the matter. When war and violence are justified because “that’s the world we live in,” Christians declare that no, indeed the world is not that way, because things have changed. And because they’ve changed, the possibility exists for humanity to live like things are truly different. This is how Christians see the world, in view of the resurrection.
Much of this is counterintuitive, and even quite scandalous, especially to folks who excel at being self-centered, individualistic, and vindictive. The Christian imaginative vision is a ruthless adversary of all human vanity and pretension. That’s probably why it is often reduced to mere metaphor, or a list of platitudes, or just ignored altogether, by the very people who call themselves Christian. It takes a great feat of the imagination to see the world as it truly is, and even greater courage, wisdom, and sagacity to live into that reality.

Today things are still a little quiet on campus, as most students seem to be walking around with syllabus shock and that dazed look that comes from realizing Christmas break is over. But it’s good to be back on campus, and I’m looking forward to what this semester has in store.  It almost feels like I’m starting over in a lot of ways, especially in my work at UW. Most of the students I got to know there last semester have left campus for a co-op term, and won’t be back until the end of April.

I’ve come to learn that the campus parish is in constant flux: people are always coming or going. I suppose “normal” churches have their own ebb and flow, too, but it’s probably rare that half the community takes off for the semester. If seasons have their rhythms, then campus life must be polyrhythmic – the meter of the academic year moves alongside that of the church year. That can be a little jarring, especially for those of us who want to keep time with both.

Still, the time off over Christmas was great. A lot of it was spent reading:

Young, Restless, Reformed by Collin Hansen. I saw an ad for this book in Books and Culture and was intrigued by the title. I suppose I’m still young, and I’m Reformed, and I’ve had my bouts with restlessness, so I thought I might find some commiseration in the book. As it turns out, the book is an extended treatment of what is ostensibly a new subculture in protestant churches in America: the young Calvinist. The book grew out of a 2006 article Hansen wrote for Christianity Today about the growing interest in Reformed theology among folks in their early twenties.  The article was infamous in my West Michigan circles, because it contained a dismissive quote from John Piper about Grand Rapids (and presumably about the CRC and Calvin College). There’s a lot to like about this new Reformed subculture, but I think there’s even  more to be wary of. Expect a more extended treatment of the book on this blog soon.

Pagan Christianity, by Frank Viola and George Barna. Normally I reserve my dismissive criticism for John Shelby Spong, but this is a dreadful book. Barna and Viola seek to show that most of what we consider to be “Christian” practice is, in fact, a contamination of the New Testament ideal by pagan ideas. Things like church buildings, clergy, seminaries, and infant baptism are not properly Christian, and they have less than noble roots. I’m not sure how prevalent these ideas are among Christians, but I’ve heard at least a couple of students articulate something similar to me this fall. I suppose there’s something seductive about such thinking, seeing how it’s transgressive and all, and I’m sure some of these ideas are to be expected in light of some of the excesses of the institutional church. But to articulate them in a book like this – one that makes a mockery of logic and is historically naieve – doesn’t really help the case of the authors. If you do end up reading the book, make sure you check out Ben Witherington’s review (it’s in four parts, and almost as long as the book itself).

The Beauty of the Infinite by David Bentley Hart. I understand about half of this book, but the parts I can grasp leave me in a swoon. Hart is amazing; a man of peerless erudition, wonderful prose, and theological acuity. He gives a hard time to all the right people (Tillich, Bultmann, Gore Vidal, even dear old Calvin), and has helped me understand more about Gregory of Nyssa and Friedrich Nietzche. I’m about a quarter of the way in, and I get the sense that he’s still just revving his engine. I haven’t encountered his main argument yet, but I’ve enjoyed the detours along the way: great discussions of aesthetics, ethics, and the juxtaposition of Nietzche’s “will to power” with Christianity’s “ontology of peace.” Hart has two books coming out in the new year, with more appeal to casual readers, I’m sure. The first, “In the Aftermath: Provocations and Laments” is a collection of reviews and essays, including a devastating takedown of Daniel Dennett. His next book “The Christian Revolution,” is coming in March. It was originally to be an historical overview of how Christianity was a liberating force in a world suffused with fatalism and haunted by animism, but I hear he’s appended a criticism of the “new atheists.” Oh, to be able to hear a debate between Hart and Hitchens.

A and I have also been reading aloud The Brothers Karamazov. It’s great to hear it out loud; I can really hear the “polyphony” that Rowan Williams is always talking about. I’ve also been wondering what would happen if John Piper and those young Calvinists with their mechanistic understanding of predestination got into a tussle with Ivan Karamazov…

Ok. That’s it for now.

Dispatch #1

i had a dream last night that i was having a conversation, in my office at laurier, about kelly joe phelps’ voice. i don’t remember who i was talking to, or if the person even exists out here in my waking life.

kelly joe phelps is one of my heroes. he’s something of a blues alchemist: someone who can take the common elements of songcraft (strings, verse, and story) and conjure up something that shimmers and shines more brightly than the sort of FM leavings we’ve come to expect on our morning commute.

i haven’t listened to him in a while, but i decided to take the dream as an encouragement to hear him again. i listened to “roll away the stone,” a song that begins with nothing but his voice:

‘early one morning here as i look out across a worn out plain”

not unlike that caller in Isaiah, though maybe a little more weary. the song is one of supplication; it delivers a shout across a barren plain and moves toward this plea, in blues verse:

‘teach me lord that righteous way

teach me lord that righteous way

i want to roll away the stone’

a rolled away stone is one of the prerequisites for easter; without it, our faith is in nothing but interred bones.

i suppose that the rolling stone of easter morning was something of a singular event, historically speaking, and in terms of significance. i don’t think that means it was supposed to be the last time something like that happened. in fact, i think was intended to start an avalanche.

there are thousands of stones that need to be rolled away: stones that stand in the way of our understanding of god. the pathways between ourselves and our neighbors can be rocky and steep. there are big rocks out there that founder our faith and belief. there are boulders rolled in front of justice and stones that block the view of the kingdom.

the rolling away of stones is a big part of christian duty. i think that’s what kelly joe is singing about.

i’ve never been one for “mission statements” or “casting” my “vision.” those terms sound to me like the anti-poetry/soft jargon of the corporate boardroom. so, i’ll just say that i’m here on these campuses to help roll away some of these stones. that may sound a bit vague, but i think it leaves breathing room for the spirit of god to work.