The New Priesthood

As a theology professor at a protestant institution I've learned the art of self-depreciation. The heritage of the reformation is always suspect of the "priesthood"- questioning anyone who might claim to have the theological corner on matters of God, salvation, or the bible. Especially the bible. Students are usually suspect of what I share with them about Genesis or Romans because they're supposed to be. What gives me the right to tell them what the text means? So I play the fool, the clown, or the jester - foolish enough to stand up in front and say "Maybe we should read the text this way." Not that I want to be a priest; I am thoroughly Reformed after all. I wonder, however, if there isn't something lost when every Christian becomes their own theologian. Whatever, I can hear the objections, so I'll just go back to honking my nose and juggling whiteboard markers.

What I find interesting is that the protestant priesthood hasn't disappeared, it's morphed into something else. Today if you want find someone to authoritatively give you the goods on what life and salvation are about, one goes to the business person... the economist... the money makers. They are the new high priests mediating the good word about life, well-being, and redemption. They are the ones who hold the "keys to the kingdom"... you know, marketing, finance, and creating a "brand." They are the ones who can tell us what people really need - practicality, utility, jobs. They are the ones who are in touch with the only remaining universal - money. Everyone knows what "money" is, what "money" can do, the power of "money" to bring well being and human flourishing. Philip Goodchild has written a very interesting book on this issue with the title the Theology of Money. He argues that the transcendent quality of money, and the way in which our current economic systems foster obligation through debt, is fundamentally theological - the new universal religion complete with symbols, rituals, and high priests. 

So, it is in this new priesthood that we place our hope for future salvation and the salvation of our kin. They must lead us... our churches, our institutions, our personal lives... because they have access to the universal truth of life. Or do they? I mean, why is it that putting our trust in the new economic priesthood seems to lead to financial ruin? Colleges, seminaries, churches, institutions, personal finances - when we finally decide to peak behind the curtain we discover we've been fooled by slight of hand and cheap tricks. Oh, the high priests aren't to blame, it's the mysterious spirit of the market... or President Obama... who are to blame. The promise of flourishing, the hope of salvation, crushed by the reality of debt, market adjustments, and the bursting of bubbles. Yet, the rhetoric remains... the "preachers" of this new gospel proclaim the same old message. Sure, they update the lingo and touch up the lipstick, but the priesthood remains intact.

I wonder, maybe the Roman Catholic Church needs a business person as their next pope - a market guru who can remake the Catholic "brand." You know, a Cardinal Glick who offers something that "pops." (Sorry for the Dogma reference. My students assure me that all of my pop culture references are lame.) Oh well, what do I know? I'm a theologian - excuse me while I go shine up my big floppy red shoes.

Ho...What the...Hey!

I'm a sucker for award shows. Last weekend it was the Grammys; this week it's the Oscars. I can honestly say I watched most of it - from Taylor Swift's over the top opening, to the return of Justin "Suit and Tie" Timberlake, to Jack White shredding on "Freedom at 21." I find these shows enjoyable, revolting, and cringe worthy all wrapped into one. It's painful to watch an artist implode, either by acting like a pompous ass while announcing the nominees, or by totally stinking up the joint trying to play their instruments. Or, when an artist wins and gives the old "I didn't think I would win" or the "I want to thank my fellow nominees" routine, to which everyone watching gives a Liz Lemon "O brother!" eye roll. I find the Grammys to be a buffet of musical fun.

My favorite moments, however, are usually when some up-and-comer totally nails it. Last year is was Mumford and Sons, the opening act for the Avett Brothers and Bob Dylan, rocking a rendition of "The Cave." This year it was The Lumineers who brought the house down. The beauty of their music is in its simplicity... just a few chords, a guy in suspenders beating a cymbal with a tambourine (he's exactly how I picture Tom Bombadil), and a group of people yelling out "HO!" and "HEY!" every now and again. Their music evokes joyful reveling, like a party is about to break out right there on stage. My favorite part of the song is when the lead singer belts out the second verse in a higher register. Why? Not sure... it just is. There are plenty of artists who perform gaudy electronic numbers, but they don't evoke the same aura or feeling. Nothing against hip hop or rap or synth pop sound, it just doesn't compare with passionate artists, eyes closed, pounding a keyboard or old guitar.

 I wonder if watching an artist at work is a bit like watching the Spirit give birth to creation "in the beginning." (Can you tell I've been reading Tolkien?) To hear the passion in a singers voice, to watch them effortlessly bring forth harmony and rhythm, one can almost imagine the Spirit "hovering", moving, sweeping, and soaring... bringing something totally new into existence. I'm always amazed at how musicians can make something so complex look so easy. Miraculous, really. I mean anyone, given enough time, can make computerized music sound halfway decent, but it takes creativity, passion, and attunement to make a violin or harmonica sing. So I'm thankful for music, for the Grammys, and for the artist I haven't heard of yet that will rock the show next year.

My Girlfriend Left Me

My TV girlfriend, as my wife refers to her, has left me. Elizabeth Lemon has moved on, leaving me with nothing but syndication. 30 Rock just wrapped up it's seventh season, ending a run of critical success and low ratings. Interestingly, much of the discussion this past week focused upon how clever and groundbreaking the show has been, even though the show was not all that popular. Recently, Tina Fey gave an acceptance speech in which she pleaded with the audience to "tape Big Bang Theory for once" so they might watch the finale. I've written about the show in the past, briefly mentioning how, for some reason, the show makes me "happy." At the end of a rough day or week, nothing lifts my spirits like the opening music followed by witty one liners and fast paced pop culture references. As a viewer one has to pay close attention; my wife didn't like the show at first because it forces you to work so hard. Alec Baldwin as a conservative money focused TV executive, Tracy Morgan as an out of control TV version of himself, Kenneth the simpleton and moralistic page - the characters created the space in which everything was fair game.  Liberals, conservatives, religion, the media, even the personal lives of the actors, all became the basis for gags and zingers.

The show is the creative genius of Tina Fey, who broke TV ground by being the first woman to write, produce, direct, and star in a TV comedy. Fey's version of feminism pokes fun at itself, raising important questions about gender stereotypes in the corporate world, while at the same time riffing off of themes like motherhood and companionship. Her alter ego fantasizes about astronauts and pilots... only to end up marrying a hot dog vendor at a civil ceremony in which she wore a Princess Lea outfit. The show was great at setting up stereotypes and then shattering them with the punch line. I wonder if anyone has written on Fey's version of feminist critique? (Or should I just read Bossypants?)

So why write about 30 Rock on a theological, or at least Reformed, blog?  Because at this moment in my life I thank God for TV. As an academic my life consists of reading, lecturing, thinking big thoughts, and taking myself "seriously." TV, and 30 Rock in particular, let's me laugh at low brow pranks and bathroom humor. Without it I'd end up wearing tweed jackets with patches while talking in a fake British accent. I should have named this entry "How 30 Rock Saved My Life." I love you Liz Lemon.  Godspeed, and "May the force be with you." 

Parenting Shrek Style

We were sitting at the table the other night eating supper when my son blurts out, "My friends and I were talking about sex today." He's eight...third grade. I looked at my wife, then looked at him, and said, "What do you know about sex." "I know there's a naked boy and a naked girl and they get on top of each other." I'll admit, I almost laughed. To hear an eight year old begin to describe sex in such mechanical terms - I barely held it together. "What else do you know?" I asked.  "That's all I got," he replied. "Good," I said back to him, "that's not for you to worry about. That's for moms and dads." With that the conversation turned to superhoeros and birthday parties. The next day I was talking to a buddy of mine who has a kid in the same class.  They had the same conversation, only this dad went further - he had the talk. As he told me about having the talk with his son, all thought about my response, or lack thereof. Was I wrong to change the subject? Am I wrong to think that my third grader doesn't need to be thinking about sex? "Good," I told my friend, "now your kid can tell my kid how it's done."

Last night, just as I was going to win big parent points by taking my kids to Pizza Hut for stuffed crust pizza, my 5 year old daughter opened the door and let a stray cat in our house. As I loudly asked my daughter what she was doing, the cat took off. Gone... nowhere to be found. After a search we found it, hunkered down under our bed, hissing and growling. I was ticked and irritated - how was I going to get this angry cat out from under the bed? I had super parenting to do and this cat was messing things up. So I took out my frustration on my five year old. "Why did you let this cat in the house?" I said angrily. Of course she cried... ran upstairs to her room. Super parent defeated. After a parental apology we finally got the cat out, ate loads of stuffed crust pizza, and my five year old daughter fell asleep in my lap watching Cinderella. Balance in the parental world somewhat restored.

I wish parenting came with a manual - most of the time I feel anxiety and guilt about what I'm not doing. When I'm away from my kids I miss them, and resolve to be the best parent ever, then when we're back together... I find my patience isn't quite where I thought it would be. It doesn't help that I live among a hoard of super parents - putting to shame all my feeble attempts to not mess everything up. Yet, even with all my parental insecurities I've found that kids are the embodiment of love and grace. I usually apologize to my kids for being an "ogre" - the Shrek of the parenting world...a big, hairy, Swede with the temper of the Norse gods. They always respond with a hug, and an "I love you dad." Love I often don't deserve, but a love that I thank God for every day.

Perspective...

I had a great idea for a blog post. I had it written up... I spent time on it...but something went wrong when I pressed the save button. Lost. Gone. The anger welled up inside of me like Bruce or David Banner... take your pick. Lief smash... only I paid good money for this keyboard so I decided against it. I'm a rational hulk.

What did I write you ask? I wrote about England... London and Cambridge. My wife and I made our first trip to the UK this week where I presented a paper at a conference. The conference went well, the presentation went well, the pubs and the conversation was excellent. It's the technology that won't cooperate.

Actually, this fits well with my original topic - how puny we are. Walking through buildings that are almost a thousand years old will do that to you. We think our stuff is sooo important - that our issues and our projects are so necessary for the existence of the universe. Today I saw proof that the universe will pass us by. What do we get? 70 or 80 years if we're lucky? Only to whither away like the grass... to fade like the flowers. Today as I stood among the hulking buildings and the monuments to important dead people I was struck by how temporary we all are. While it may sound morbid - I found it to be a relief. Just think if we did live forever... if we didn't know that the end was coming sooner rather than later - just think of how full of ourselves we would become. It would be unbearable... we would be unbearable. So today I thought about how our finite existence - our temporary-ness - may just be one of the most profound acts of grace God bestowed upon us. Maybe it's our finite nature that allows to love, to experience joy, to hold the world lightly, and to make jokes with friends while sitting at an English pub drinking beer. Maybe the true seriousness of life is that in the end the work of our hands doesn't amount to much - but we do it anyway. Maybe our finite nature is God's way of saving us from ourselves... lest we become to grandiose in our thoughts and plans.

That's what I was going to write about but then my computer cras